#young boy Lars taking care of his man

[nickybloodhead]

************** Lars x James ***********

Lars had been waiting for James all day, he was really looking forward to him coming home to have him for himself all afternoon, he wanted to jump on him and not let him go.

However, as soon as the blond walked in the door, he could see the tiredness on his face, it looked like it had been a hard day so he just put his arms around him and gave him a soft kiss and then took him to the bedroom.

James didn't protest, he knew what Lars had in mind and it was really just what he needed, just comforting contact to relax him for the rest of the afternoon.

Lars took care of putting James on the bed, with his small hands he got rid of the blond's clothes who just leaned back against the backboard of the bed and hummed contentedly at the Dane's care. He was the one who pampered Lars most of the time, so these few moments where he was the one receiving the attention, he appreciated it very much. He looked at Lars completely spellbound, he was so tender and gentle with him, he loved it.

Lars straddled the big man and kissed him while massaging his shoulders, he wanted him to relax and let go of any tension or discomfort, he moved his hips gently over his lap and gasped into the blond's lips, who was already naked under him, he pulled aside his underwear and ready, slid James' cock into his hole slowly, he sighed and closed his eyes as he felt the stretching of the thick girth.

James really wanted to move and fuck Lars, to take him in his bed and claim him until dawn…. But he was really exhausted so he just rested his hands on his lover's petite waist and looked at him drowsily.

“I'm sorry, I know tonight was our night of fun” the blond murmured a little sorry for his lack of desire, well, not really. He was starting to get hard just from how tight Lars was.

“It's okay, I know how exhausted you are and anyway, I like being like this with you. We're together in the most intimate way, it's perfect and I love having your big cock filling me up good and proper"

James chuckled and kissed Lars, his hips moving up just a little.

“You're fucking perfect for me.”

“I know, what would you do without me?” muttered Lars with a cocky grin, James rolled his eyes and held him tighter against his chest. He planned to spend the whole night with his cock buried in that warm perfect hole, in the morning he would take it upon himself to give his boy a good fucking, he deserved it.

This is a short and fluffy one, I hope you like it.

[foxaftershocks]

Mine (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: You don't like the way some of Lars' fans talk about him.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, possessiveness, jealousy, marking, semi-public sex

AN: Another one for the Ghost Boy series. I'm taking a break after this one so I'll see you all when I'm back.

“Ohmigod, I can see him,”

You stood outside the fire station, waiting to get the moment the Ghostbusters emerged on camera. They were about to make a statement about the latest threat to New York City, one you’d written for Gary. It was always a toss up whether he would say what you wrote, but if you could live stream it, at least more people would see it.

“How is he hotter in person?”

There was a crowd around you, a group of young women standing close to you. You had to shift if the live was going to be worth it. But the crowd had packed itself pretty close and you didn’t think you were going to be able to find another spot. You sighed, lowering the phone.

“I know he’s a total nerd but I bet he’s a beast in the bedroom.”

Familiar eyes swept over the crowd from the side of the door. Lars was looking for you. That much was clear. You took the opportunity to watch him without him being aware of you. You did have to admit he was looking particularly handsome.

“No, he looks like he’d be really tender. Like it would be really emotional.”

His eyes snagged on you and you saw the way he brightened. He stood straighter and it almost looked as if he was going to take a step towards you. You smirked at him, a little wink making his cheeks flush, just enough for you to notice. He hated being in front of the camera and you knew he was only there today because you’d asked. The amount of power you wielded was intoxicating.

“I don’t care what he’s like. All I know is I want to climb that fine specimen of a man like a tree.”

Your teeth clenched. It would be stupid to complain about the comments from the women near you. You’d asked Lars to be there because of women like them, the kind who appreciated every time he was on the socials. That didn’t mean you liked hearing the way they spoke about your boyfriend.

You’d both agreed to keep it quiet at this point. Not that it was something to announce on the company’s social media. And Lars didn’t have social media of his own. But you knew you’d gained a few followers from the hopes of seeing Lars on there. They’d been disappointed, not wanting the speculation that was sometimes in the comment sections.

“I just want to run my fingers through his hair. It looks so soft.”

Gary stepped out of the door to a loud cheer. You raised the phone again, hoping the women would quieten down as he spoke. Lars straightened again, his eyes going to the other man, a barely contained curl of his upper lip just visible. Next lesson with him might be working on his poker face when in public.

“The first thing I want to say is that ghost got busted,” Gary said to wild cheers.

The women beside you were still whispering amongst themselves and you had to lower the phone. There was no chance you were going to be getting a clean shot. Rather than tune in to Gary reading from the speech you’d written, you turned your attention on Lars, standing in the background, hands clasped behind his back. With the sun shining down, he was so stupidly handsome.

“Do you think he’ll stick around when that guy is done talking?” one of the women asked, loud enough to interrupt your appreciation.

“If he does I’m definitely going to go shoot my shot,” another of them said.

You pressed your lips togethers. There was reading it on a screen and then there was listening to a group of women talk about hitting on your boyfriend. You weren’t usually a jealous person, but you’d never been with someone who got so much attention from other women. And looking at them, some of them were stupidly pretty.

He caught your eye again. You wrinkled your nose at him, watching the way a slow smile spread over his face. He could be so stoic sometimes it was gratifying to watch him with his heart on his sleeve when it came to you.

“Ohmigod, he’s totally smiling at me.”

“Duh, you’re like so pretty. I bet he wants you to come talk to him afterwards.”

“Ohmigod, no way, I can’t.”

“If you don’t I will.”

And there was the kicker. You rolled your eyes, looking down at your phone. The response online to the speech was going well, a few people live tweeting about it from fan accounts. When you looked up, the smile had slipped from Lars’ face, instead watching you with more interest than he should have. You pointed over to Gary, waiting for his attention to shift.

Good boy.

The tension kept ratcheting up the longer you listened to the women beside you. Giggling and laughing, they were obviously trying to get Lars’ attention. Flicking hair and batted eyelashes. Your jaw was clenching and you were just counting down the seconds that you could get Lars alone.

“Thanks guys,” Gary said, folding the paper you’d given him, shoving it in his pocket with an affable smile.

He turned, reentering the fire station. Lars lingered, his wandering back towards you. You flinched as the girl immediately to your right screamed his name. His attention shifted, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. The women surged forward, surrounding him before you could even take a step. With a small sigh, you waited long enough to see Lars shrug them off before entering the firehouse himself, almost scared of them. Their disappointment shouldn’t have made you feel better, and yet when you slipped inside there was a sense of smugness within you.

He was loitering in the entrance, watching for your return. You didn’t bother saying anything, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. He went with you willingly, not questioning you as you took the stairs down towards the containment unit.

“Are we filming something, love?” he asked.

“Not unless you’re looking for a scandal,” you replied.

You pushed him against the wall beside the stairs. The way he was looking at you was bemused, like he couldn’t figure out what you were doing but was more than willing to participate. Keeping him pinned there, you pushed up onto your tiptoes, lips grazing against his. You nipped at his lower lip before drawing back.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Proving a point,” you replied.

Not to those silly little girls. Mainly to yourself. And to him a little bit. But mostly to yourself.

Your hands slid up his body, fingers delving into his hair. You tugged him down, kissing him roughly. His hands were warm as they closed over your hips, holding on tight enough that he might be leaving bruises to be found later. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, pulling it harder than you ever had before. You knew you were being a touch too rough with him but you wanted to leave your mark.

Your lips trailed down, finding that spot behind his jaw that was soft and vulnerable. You dragged your teeth over it, feeling the rumble in his chest as he moaned. Your tongue soothed over his skin. With the fingers still in his blond hair, you tugged his head to the side. Your lips took their time trailing down his neck until you came to his pulse point.

Your teeth sunk in. He yelped but didn’t push you away. You sucked at his skin, wanting to bruise him, to see your mark left on him. You wanted those girls to see he wasn’t available for their fantasies since he was too busy fulfilling yours.

“Fuck, love,” he groaned, but his hands were tight on you and you could feel his interest growing against your hip.

Your hands skimmed down his body, not bothering to take your time. You wanted him, no two ways about it. And you were going to have him.

Deft fingers found their way through buttons, seeking out warm skin to touch and taste. Your tongue was tasting the salt on his skin as he groaned, leaning back against the wall as if he needed it to hold him up. It was once your hands had slipped past the waistband of his trousers that he seemed to remember where he was.

“Love, they’re all just upstairs,” he said.

“So?” you asked, lips brushing over the beautifully developing bruise on his pale skin.

“Someone could walk in on us,” he said.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your hand curled around his length, hot and heavy in your hand.

“No,” he hissed.

“Then be good and quiet and I’ll make sure it’s worth it,” you said.

He nodded his head, enthusiastic as you began to slowly drag your hand along his length. Pushing up, you kissed him again, wanting the taste of him on your tongue. He whined into your mouth as your hand continued to work him, feeling all the ways he was growing in your touch. Twisting your wrist, you massaged his tip, feeling his hips thrust into your hand.

“You like that, huh, ghost boy,” you said, drawing back so you could watch the way his face contorted in pleasure.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck.”

You were being almost lazy about it, taking your time as you worked him over. The feeling of him in your hand, the weight of him, it was one you’d never grow tired of. His cheeks were flushing, a pretty pink colour, eyes blowing wide, the blue a thin ring surrounding his dark pupils. He was watching you from under hooded lids, lips parted as his breathing came heavier.

“Don’t want anyone else like this, do you?” you asked, increasing your pace.

“No,” he groaned, head falling forward, seeking you out.

His lips were desperate when they met yours, hands grasping you, holding on as you stroked him. Large hands on your ass, tugging you closer while your hand was on him, hips pressing into your touch.

“No one else makes you feel this good,” you told him, right as you did that thing that always made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“No,” he agreed, “no one else.”

The weight of him in your hands, soft skin and hard length smeared with pre-cum, thumb swirling over the head. All of it was heady when mingled with the power you had over him in that moment. You paused a moment, listening to the sound of people moving upstairs. His tiny whine was addictive.

You were slow to start up again, hips rutting into your hand, your lips finding a place on his throat. He was doing so well, keeping quiet, the flush on his skin and his heavy breathing the only indication he was growing close. Your tongue licked a long strip up his throat, tasting the salt on his skin and your teeth nipped at him. His fingers were digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he tried to keep quiet.

You could tell when he began to get close, the small noises in your ear growing more desperate hips more insistent as he pumped into your hand. Pulling him into a kiss, you did that thing again, feeling his whole body shudder. Warmth spilled over your hand, hips stuttering, your name a soft groan in your ear.

Pulling your hand out of his trousers, you licked his cum from your skin. The way he watched your tongue was gratifying in its own way. You grinned up at him, feeling so much better.

“Fuck, darling,” he said when he caught his breath again, “I don’t know what came over you but I’m loving it.”

“Those girls…” You shook your head, “I know it’s silly but something about listening to them talk about you…”

“I thought you liked that women found me attractive. That it was good for the business,” he said, doing up his belt.

“Sure but this was in person and they were planning on shooting their shots and they kept talking about what you’re like in bed and I don’t know. It just hit different,” you said.

“Were you jealous?”

Large hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you back towards him. He looked down at you, quirking one eyebrow up but the satisfied look on his face ruining the entire effect.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, “but you’re mine. And I know no one knows but I guess I don’t like it when they hit on you.”

“They try and hit on me online,” he said.

“Yeah but you’re not the one reading the comments. I am. So it’s fine,” you said, “it just got to me today, I guess.”

He lent down, lips findings yours in a soft kiss. You could feel it, the way he loved you, just from how careful he was being with you. Drawing back, he pushed some hair behind your ear.

“You’re the only one for me, love,” he said.

“I know, ghost boy,” you replied, “I was just being silly.”

“Well, any time you decide to be silly, my body is willing and ready for you to work it out on,” he said.

You laughed, falling forward until your face was buried in his chest and his arms were around you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his own puff of laughter warming you up from the inside out.

“We should probably get back to work,” you mumbled, muffled in the material of his shirt.

“Must we?” he asked.

“You don’t want to go run some tests on the latest ghost?” you asked.

You knew his answer before he said it. He’d been talking about getting his hands on the latest ghost the entire night before. He threaded his fingers through yours, tugging you towards the stairs.

“This might be the best day ever,” he said to you over his shoulder.

You laughed again, letting him drag you to the car so you could return to the lab. Your heart had returned to normal and it was easier to shrug off the comments from those girls. As if he would ever want them when you made him this happy.

[orions-choker]

+:★:+*Chapter One: Whiplash+:★:+*

The beginning of summer, 1983, the Kill ‘Em All for One tour was just about to begin. What should have been the start of months of booze, chicks and music for the boys, turned into a rescue mission. It was no secret to the entirety of the band that James’s family life was strained at best, no one blamed him for not talking about it. It came as a shock to them when James approached the band with a request.

“You have a sister?” was the instantaneous response from Kirk, his brows furrowed in confusion as he sat on the ground of the hot garage, tuning his guitar. “Well okay, I knew you had siblings but aren't they like…kids?”

Lars shook his head “No.” he said voice heavy with his danish accent. “Thats fucking stupid bringing a kid on a metal tour.” there was an unwarranted hint of annoyance in his tone.

James groaned, head falling back with a roll of his eyes. “Shut the fuck up you didn’t even let me finish.” He snapped. His hand ran through his messy blonde locks in exasperation. “Y/N, my youngest sister, she's 18, not a kid, there's no one else to take her in, our brother won't let her stay without me around and I'm not sending her to live with Virgil.” He spat his fathers name in disgust.

“Point stands dude, is it a smart idea to bring a young lady on a tour with a bunch of drunk assholes?” Cliff, ever the voice of reason, finally interjected. “I’m not saying no I just think you should think about it.” He shrugged casually, tossing his hair back behind his shoulders.

“Of course it's not a good idea, I have no other choice though dude.” James sighed. He tossed himself down onto the old couch, head hanging low, hands clasped together. “She's the only family I really care about. I can't let her be homeless right now and god knows I don't have a place for her to stay.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Kirk smiled wide, crooked teeth on full display. He raised his hand in the air. “I promise to be on my best behavior then!” It earned him a drumstick to the back of his head. He whipped his head around to lars, clutching at the impact sight. “Dude, the fuck?”

Lars pointed his other drumstick towards James. “I cant fucking believe we’re saying yes to this, you owe us big time man.” He growled, ignoring Kirk’s cries of pain. “And for the record im doing as many drugs as I want and banging as many chicks as I want I dont give a fuck.”

With the conversation settled it was a week later that James’s little sister showed up in front of the old worn down tour bus. Two large duffle bags in tow, the entirety of her belongings packed into those duffle bags. She looked up to her brother, in astonishment, her hazel eyes wide and sparkly.

Despite the sorry state the bus was in, Y/N had declared it to be one of the coolest things she had ever seen. “Woah…” She mumbled as James slung an arm around her small shoulders. She was dressed clad in tight black jeans, her huge combat boots and one of James’s own band shirts.

“Pretty cool right.” James assured her with a small shake before moving towards the door. “Plus the guys agreed you get the master bedroom in the back.” He informed her, helpfully leaving out the fact that Lars had thrown quite the fit when they voted for that.

She smiled sweetly up at her brother, tucking her short messy blonde hair behind her ears, just a few shades lighter than James’s own. “Thanks James…” She sighed softly. “I’m sorry again…” She trailed off awkwardly. It hadn’t been her first choice, but when James informed their older half brother he would be leaving on tour.. All hell broke loose. Y/N was no longer welcome to stay and having freshly graduated highschool she had no chance to get on her feet.

James shook his head, ignoring her apology. Grabbing his own bags he led the two of them to the door of the bus, pushing it open to be greeted by the rambunctious sounds of 3 other men. It died down as the two Hetfield siblings boarded the bus. Y/N’s first instinct was to shrink behind the much taller form of her older brother.

“Y/N, this is Lars, Cliff, and Kirk.” He introduced the boys one by one. Y/N had a lot of thoughts based on first impressions. Taking in the sight of each of them she formed an idea of what their personalities would be like. She did this, she enjoyed making whole stories for a person based on their appearance, always eager to be proven right.

Lars was a spitfire, small and full of pent up energy. He already looked half cut and drunk when her eyes landed on him. She couldn't help but notice there seemed to be a sheen to his skin that the others didn't have, sweaty maybe. The drummer she surmised, drummers were always sweaty.

Cliff oozed calm energy, relaxing even as he sat sprawled across the couch. The cloud of smoke around him implied he was most certainly high but even still she could tell he was a comforting person. Despite this she could see hard calluses across his fingers, he was passionate about his playing for sure.

And Kirk, well…Kirk knocked the wind from her lungs. His dark curious eyes were the first to meet her gaze out of all the boys. His head cocked to the side, dark soft curls framed his face like a sweet halo. His lips were pulled into a small smile, and he waved at her. A wave that sent a pang through Y/N’s heart that was hard to describe. She couldn’t make any assumptions about Kirk, no she wanted to learn everything about him.

Y/N blinked hard, realizing the silence that fell across them, waiting for her introduction. “Shit, sorry, nice to meet you, I'm Y/N.” She greeted them awkwardly, her mouth tugging into an uncomfortable smile. In a desperate attempt to get away from the situation she turned to her brother and in a small whisper she asked. “Can I go to my room now please?”

A frown came over James’s face. “Yeah sure just dont hide in there forever.” He sighed, gesturing towards the back of the bus. Past all the bunks lined up on the side Y/N could see a small sliding door that presumably led to the private room.

She hoisted the duffle bags higher on her arms and with a small nod at each of the boys she scurried past. Not willing to make eye contact with Kirk again as she left. She could hear James talking to the boys.

“Give her time and she’ll open up. It's been a rough couple of years. I don't think she’s all there anymore.” He explained the disappointment evident in his voice. It stung Y/N a little. She was fully aware of her shortcomings in the social department but it still sucked to hear her own brother confirm it,

The bus was small that's for sure, aside from the front cabin that housed the small kitchen and common space there was a total of four bunks, a criminally small bathroom and finally her room the only private room on the whole bus. Even that was lackluster. A double sized bed sat smack in the middle, storage for clothes tucked away underneath, one small window at the head of the bed and a small Tv tucked into a cubby with a tape player.

Y/N wasn’t one to complain, it sure beat homelessness, and ideally she wouldn’t spend too much time cramped up here, if she was going across the entire country she may as well enjoy it. She got to work tucking away her clothes, toiletries and the few trinkets she owned, mainly a few small teddy bears, birthday gifts from her brother. She placed them lovingly against her pillows.

With a lurch the bus moved forward, sending Y/N tumbling against the mattress. She frowned and grumbled. “A little warning would have been nice.” As the later afternoon sun beat down through the back window, Y/N was incredibly thankful for the AC unit working overtime in her room.

She sighed happily, sitting down right in front of it, she had worked up a sweat maneuvering around the small room. She grabbed a small sketch pad from her purse, crossing her legs underneath herself and pulling out a pencil. Art had been her escape for many years, she wasn’t musically inclined like her brother but she was creative nonetheless.

The sky turned dark by the time she finally put the pencil down, her pages were adorned with messy markings, resembling a certain dark haired curly boy. She frowned at the paper, moving to erase a blemish she had made when there was a knock at the door.

Y/N squeaked in surprise, quickly rushing to shove her sketchbook aside before sliding the door open hesitantly. Much to Y/N’s chagrin, she came face to face with Kirk. He held a sweet comforting smile for her, his hand still raised in a knocking motion. Y/N found it hard to breathe again, words escaping her as she got a better view of his face up close. His skin was bare and smooth, a beautiful tan color, a mole on his cheek she never noticed. There were some revisions she would have to make to her drawings.

“Hey, we're stopping at the next McDonalds, want anything?” he asked. The first time she heard his voice and it sounded like the chime of church bells. Boyish and awkward but it dripped with warm honey. She caught sight of his teeth as he spoke, a little sharp, a little crooked. He was endearing in every way. “Y/N?” Her name slipped past his lips like he was made to say it.

Fuck, she was staring again. She coughed awkwardly, averting her gaze. “Uh yeah, I’ll come in with you guys.” She mumbled barely above a whisper. Kirk took a few steps back to allow her to exit her room. She slid the door closed behind her. “Thank you.” As Y/N followed him to the front of the bus she could hear the static-y voices of a movie playing. On the small T.V in the common area was The Amityville Horror. Her eyes lit up in excitement, turning to her brother.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” She asked James, gesturing to the T.V. Her lips pulled into a playful pout. “You know I love this movie, what the hell man.” She jokingly complained to her older brother.

James, with beer in hand, raised his eyebrow at her. “I didn’t put this shit on, Kirk did.” he defended himself, taking a sip of his beverage. Y/N turned to Kirk with a grin, the most emotion she had shown since she stepped foot on the bus earlier that day.

Kirk returned her smile tenfold, his toothy grin finally on full display for Y/N to see. She wanted to memorize that look on his face, memorialize it forever with pencil and paper. “Horror fan?” He asked, excitement evident in his voice.

Y/N scoffed playfully, her eyes rolling in exaggeration. “You don’t even know.” she informed him. “I have an insane collection of tapes I can show you.” This earned her an audible groan from her older brother, clearly haven been subjected to her obsession for a long time.

The bus screeched to a halt, the interior illuminated by the bright yellow of the golden arches outside. Y/N all but clung to Kirk as they piled out into the mostly dead parking lot. Rowdy laughter filled the air as the boys stretched their legs. Y/N and Kirk remained in an animated discussion about the mutual love for all things horror they shared.

Even as they sat down to eat, picking at the warm salt fries, it was like no one else existed in that moment aside from the two of them. They bonded over shared favorite authors and directors. Y/N was quick to pull out an old sketch pad, filled to the brim with her creature concepts, guts, gore and blood decorated the pages.

“Holy crap chick.” Kirk mumbled around a mouthful of his food. “James didn’t tell us you were an artist, this is creepy as shit!” he pointed excitedly to a page of demons, quick to display it to the rest of the table. “It’s incredible.”

The rest of the boys nodded along in agreement, mostly too caught up in their own conversations. Cliff leaned over for a closer look. “You should design some merch for us.” He smiled at Y/N warmly.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She scrambled to retrieve the book from Kirk's hands, clutching it close to her chest. Heat rose to her cheeks, and a sheepish smile tugged at her mouth. “Oh, uh thank you! Maybe when I’m a bit better, these aren't great.” She insisted with a shake of her head.

Kirk rolled his eyes at her, playfully flinging a fry towards her. “They look great, don't sell yourself short.” His affirmation caused the blush on Y/N’s cheeks to grow deeper. Y/N dipped her head in appreciation, finishing the rest of her meal quietly.

Much to the disappointment of everyone aside from Y/N and Kirk, they spent the rest of that evening running through Y/N’s horror film collection. Eventually falling asleep to the background noise of halloween, a tangled mess of bodies and limbs. Y/N pried herself from the couch softly.

She couldn't help but smile fondly as she made her way towards her own room, seeing all the boys curled around each other in awkward positions on the couch. Her eyes lingered on Kirk's peaceful sleeping face, his head resting against Cliff, mouth parted slightly as he snored softly. Silently she thanked her brother for insisting she tag along for this tour, and suddenly it felt like 6 months on the road was far too short.

[gepazu]

imagine the boys taking you on your first ever date … lars would be sure to recite everything he’d get you in the front of a mirror as he fixes himself up with a smile and sing-song pitch to his voice. would definitely give you a bouquet of roses with your favorites accentuating the deep greens and reds. he’ll pull a cheesy pickup line that makes you giggle a bit before smiling fondly, holding out his hand—and telling you how darling you look at this very moment <3 also.. if you look closely… you might see a type of longing in his eyes once you catch him staring at your hands and lips. you won’t tell him he got caught or something.. but you will kiss him on the cheek after your date and wave goodbye—not knowing the hand you’re waving with now loudly jingles with the keys to his heart <3.

clarence, on the other hand, would be the fidgety type—hands never seeming to pull his tie right (he almost choked because he didn’t realize he pulled too tightly). despite his stoic expression in front of his dress-mirror, his ears to his nape are flushed a cherry-blossom pink; breathing a bit erratic as he imagines the expression on your face when you seem him prim and proper at the cafe. would you smile? be amazed? be as fidgety as he is right no—wait, he wasn’t fidgety! he isn’t, he tells himself with a cough before looking at his watch, seeing his reflection in it, and groans inwardly. okay… maybe he is a bit flustered.. but it’s probably because it’s you he’s going out with. he’s utterly infatuated with you… and the problem is he wasn’t taught anything about love (until now—until you, that is) <3.

and cael.. oh cael. you’re heart is going to feel like bursting multiple times mid-date from his actions and antics! he knows you inside and out, having taken care of you after you were entrusted into his arms from a young age. despite having seen and known you for what feels like a sweet forevermore—his heart stills manages to spill all over you in some rare moments when your hand slips between his, lips covered with bits and pieces of cotton candy he can’t help but want to kiss to get a taste of you. his thoughts grab ahold of him and reel him in by the baited hook; leaning in to kiss the uplifted corner of your mouth. blue silver strands dawn down at your shoulders, a wave of stiffness and doe overcoming your entire body. a quiet apology snaps you out of your daze, the feeling of daylight dappling heated skin becoming a familiar kiss. you think the sudden apology was strange and out of place, but your fingers entangled with his wasn’t. it was right, and perhaps a silent word of “forgiveness” that the man was grateful for, truly. what else did he realize he felt truly? his growing love for you <3.

© GEPAZU 2023.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i feel like i should tag @lovebrushed bc she gave me the inspo for writing this (I AM SO SORRY IF U DONT LIKE THE TAG) (plus the fact there was indeed an x reader tag for lbc KBDKDHDKHD) so yea! take this as a sign of me joining the lovebrush chronicle writing fandom! KHSLSJSLSKAKS

[saintsenara]

back with more for @hprecfest - although i'll be skipping day three because i have the concentration span of a kitten and therefore no chance of making it through a podfic...

day two: favourite comfort fics

two boys kissing by writcraft sirius black/severus snape mature | 6.8k words

why i recommend it:

because I'm a sucker for both sirius and snape getting a happy ending, and this fic delivers this within a beautiful, gentle examination of the horrors of sirius' young adult life and the way that hope and desire are things he clings to during the lonely misery of his confinement in azkaban. the repeated motif of the sky always gets to me:

when he showers, he whistles a song. he’s not sure he knows it’s name, but he can remember strobe lights and the way snape looked when he was as young as sirius can remember him being. that was back in the days when severus tried so hard not to be queer and sirius thought he had everything to live for.

sirius spits out toothpaste into the sink and contemplates himself in the mirror. it looks like there’ll be a thunderstorm tonight. he puts his toothbrush into the glass and moves into the room, poking his head out of the window. the wind has gathered momentum but the sky is clear.

he breathes in the air and watches the stars.

so bracing by @kellychambliss minerva mcgonagall/severus snape teen | 9.2k words

why i recommend it:

because i love to see older woman/younger man relationships in fandom - there's still far too few of them - and because i love to see fics from the perspective of minor characters, and this, which is as much a careful and generous character study of tom the barman (and the town of skegness) as it is of its central couple never fails to make me smile:

tom took the chance of sitting down again, and when he didn't get tossed out on his arse, he felt a little emboldened. "and you thought you wanted this? life in a muggle pub in skegness?"

snape loaded a glass into a dishpan, and then another. and another.

"my family," he said, just when tom had decided that he probably wasn't going to say anything at all. "my family wasn't one for holidays. it was all my father could do to keep food on the table, once the mills failed. and once the drinking started. but before all that, there was one summer -- spring, actually. may. we couldn't afford high summer season. da somehow saw his way clear to taking my mother and me to the seaside. i was about six. we came here. skegness. we froze our arses off."

"skegness is. . . so bracing," tom murmured, and snape snorted.

"in a word. three days in a grotty little caravan. cheap, greasy food. saw a sad muggle magic show." he loaded more glasses with a crash. "i loved it. fucking loved the lot of it. "

never gonna give you up by @laeveteinn harry potter/lord voldemort teen | 15k words

why i recommend it:

because it makes me shriek. i'm not usually a fan of either professor harry or professor voldemort fics, but it turns out that my exception is when they're forced to work together as a team because harry's newly-divorced and adrift in a world which no longer makes sense and voldemort's a ghost who's obsessed with memes:

“what are you thinking so intently about?” voldemort murmurs. “you mustn’t overtax your brain, it wasn’t meant for hard activity.”

harry snorts. “honestly, i’m just trying to figure out where albus got his bad taste in men. it’s not ginny; lars isn’t actually that terrible.”

and for some reason, voldemort lets out a lengthy sigh.

clay by @titconao3 harry potter & severus snape general | 46k words

why i recommend it:

because i have an unstoppable fondness for the concept of redemption, which is hugely and unfairly maligned in this fandom, and this story is an astonishingly beautiful meditation on the theme, not only in how it approaches both snape and harry as they come to terms with the war and what it has taken from them, but in how it portrays tobias snape and his own reckoning with his past and quest to make amends with his son:

tobias was on a roll. “you lot, always talking about your magic, waving your bloody sticks around like it makes you better than us normal people…” he slammed his hands on the table and severus shuddered, his fists opening and closing around nothing. he’d left his wand in the room; it wasn’t like he could use it, and he had to trust potter could deal with tobias snape. the man was nothing, to a boy who’d faced the dark lord and come out the victor. “you’re not. you’re not! your goddamn magic… we’d have been better off without it, i’m telling you.” severus looked again through the crack and saw tobias with his back turned on potter, his shoulders shaking. he was angry, but not yet taking it out on potter. maybe he was scared of potter’s wand; maybe now that he was sober he was better at keeping his violence in check. either way, severus didn’t trust it would last forever. it never had, before.

to forgive divine by jellybeany neville longbottom/draco malfoy teen | 7.4k words

why i recommend it:

because there are days when you need eighth-year fluff, and this sort of fluff is so rarely given to neville as a central character, but it should be:

he’d wondered if it was something like that, to be honest. 

because, because. malfoy was always so interested. he’d read in a fortune cookie once that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it's indifference.

which was a rubbish fortune at the time, but it’s relevant now.

[winglesswriter]

Character interaction tag

I was tagged by @willtheweaver. Thank you so much! I'm so excited about this one, you have no idea!

Will's OC: Opal has served as the village chief of Fernstan for most of her life. A white fox with red eyes, her appearance is striking and instantly recognizable. Knowledgable, good natured, and always on hand with advice, she is well loved by the community. Much of her wisdom was learned through experience, some of it the hard way. Growing up fast and having had to rely on herself at a young age made Opal aware of how disadvantaged some are. Most of her tenure has been dedicated to the welfare of the village. Though considered by many to be a sweet and gentle soul, beneath is a firmness and strong will that borders on stubbornness. Those who push their luck be reminded of their mistake for days. But she also has quite a large capacity to forgive, even tolerating children when they commit antics that would drive their parents crazy.

My OC: Yarren was born into a world where his people are oppressed - their way of life, religion and language were all suppressed and made illegal under foreign rule. But even though his parents were killed for keeping the Istritu traditions, Yarren stubbornly hangs onto the old customs and fights the oppression with all he has. He got his face tattoos and wears his braids proudly. Since a young age he showed signs of being touched by a god - he has the power to manipulate plants. As for his personality, there's a lot of anger in his short body and it doesn't take much for it to bubble to the surface. He's arrogant and prickly and doesn't trust easily, all to the point of self-sabotage. He cares deeply, though, about his friends and all of his oppressed nation. He is good with words and quite charming when he wants to be and people naturally follow him. Secretly he dreams about a big romantic love, but it's the kind of love that is also forbidden.

How would they interact: When an Istritu boy turns into a man, he undergoes a ritual that involves a vision of an animal that he then gets tattooed on his body (in Yarren's case his chest). Guess what Yarren's animal is? Yes, it's a fox! So he would be absolutely delighted to meet Opal and he would take it as a sign from gods. He wouldn't be surprised by a talking fox at all. He's also in desperate need of a parent figure and they have a lot in common, so he would gladly soak in any and all advice she could give him about being a good leader.

No pressure tag for: @sunset-a-story, @rachaellawrites, @vinniehorrible, @annotated-catastrophe, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@dyrewrites, @satohqbanana, @frostedlemonwriter, @illarian-rambling, @theeccentricraven

@words-after-midnight, @sarandipitywrites, @sleepyowlwrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @did-i-do-this-write,

[3mutantsinatrenchcoat]

An earthquake rumbles part 5

Previously

Dude, we are already on part five??? Das crazy-

Uhh cw? Probably for swearing, panic, mentions of children being sick and very bad parenting but he's doing his best

The man huffs as he pushes away rubble from the stairwell, finally reaching the streets from the subway. "Okay bud..stay with me" he looks back at the turtle child, whose overheated body let's out weakened huffs, the breaths visible in the colder air.

"I know..I know.." he sighs and starts walking "wer gonna find a pharmacy..we have ta find somethin.." he looks around as he grips the metal pipe tighter. He runs down the street, reaching his free hand behind himself to make sure the little turtle was stable. "Hang in there.."

He looks around for any flashes of purple or any people. He didn't want to have to deal with either. Now he would have said a few days ago he wouldn't have minded seeing other humans so long as they kept their distance but hell, he had a turtle child. And one thing he knew from growing up in the south is that different is deadly.

Like one of them bright colored bugs that you learn about in school, if you stand out you are a target. And boy he did feel like he stood out. Not only that other people seem to be selfish, he regrets how he almost was selfish when he met the turtle child.

He wished he was kind enough to have picked him up as soon as he saw him, but he walked away. He doesn't know why he went back but he did. And he doesn't regret it.

He slows to a walk up the the pharmacy doors, one of the glass doors shattered and littering inches of glass on the floor. He gently pushes on the door but all it caused was more pieces of glass to fall. "Sound risk..okay, okay another survival rule kid, no sound." He turns and walks around the building finding a busted window. ".. alright alright, we are getting some where." He uses his gloves to wipe off any excess chunks of glass before taking off his bag, careful to make sure the kid didn't fall.

"we should really get you some clothes buddy, new ones." He tosses the bag into the window and holds the child to his chest as he climbs in. He stumbles slightly before he gets his second leg in and stands up, looking around. "Good..it's...it's slightly ransacked but we might have some supplies." He grabs his bag by the strap and starts walking around, finding the kid section. He sets the young turtle down and looks over the section. It was ransacked. "No...no..no no.." he starts pulling at the empty shelves.

He pulls tin shelves and throws them to the ground. "No! No! No! SHIT!" he hits the shelves making a loud clang, the young turtle starts crying.

"I know! I know! It's scary! You're sick what do you want me to do!" He turns to look at the kid. "I didn't ask to take you in but I did! And now you are gonna die!" He drags his hands across his face and kicks one of the discarded shelves across the floor. "FUCK!"

He walks away from the crying child, leaning his head against a shelf. "...fuck..."

"well, that's not the Lars I knew" the female voice rang out softly.

The man, Lars looks at the woman, her long pretty blonde hair and her favorite sunflower printed dress on. "You aren't real..."

"I'm as real as you allow me to be Lars." She leans on the shelf beside him, her pretty blue eyes looking at him with sorrow. "I know it's difficult-"

"I miss you, my mayflower" he reaches out to touch the blonde curls that his fingers couldn't wrap around. "...I miss you.."

The woman reaches her hand out and cups his cheek, he swears he could still feel the warm of her palm. "Calm yourself, you are stressed. Keep your head on"

"I was never the one good with kids, it was always you, May.." he closes his eyes.

She smiles and pulls her hand away. "What is the issue? You know what to do, remember your nephew and the boating incident?"

He slowly stands up straight, looking at her. "He had an infection and a virus was running around so the pharmacy was out of kids medicine.."

"mhm. And what did you do then?" She smiles, watching as his eyes go wide.

He runs a few aisles over, looking up and down before grabbing a few boxes. "What if he takes to much?"

"if it feels like too much it's too little, he's a mutant" she speaks from behind him.

"right the incidents on the news-"

"mhm, right before you went up there" she smiles. "And-"

The man throws the boxes. "And liquid is better for exhaustion than the solids" he starts grabbing the other boxes.

He remembers how he felt driving his truck, speeding at 90 down the road, nearly crashing into the pharmacy as his brother stayed home with his nephew, all the hospitals filled with sick and no space for the teen. He remembers how the door clattered in protest when he swung it open and started grabbing off the shelf without a care to the world, he knew what was needed and 5 minutes later he was speeding out the parking lot, breaking probably several traffic violations.

That was years ago, and this situation was different. Here he was, grabbing medicine, no car, no wife, no family. Just him a mutant, infection all the same.

He hurries over to the turtle mutant, realizing he had left him crying. He sighs and slowly sat down beside him. "I'm sorry bud..I'm..." he sighs and starts unboxing one of the medicines. "This is so gonna suck but" he looks at the bottle and then at the measurement cap. "....fuck it we don't need this" he tosses it aside and pulls off the plastic, uncapping the bottle.

"alright survival tip again bud, drink this like you are drinking vodka. It's going to suck but it will make you feel better" he hesitates before mumbling to himself. "What kind of parenting advice is that-"

He scoops up the kid by the back of the head and makes him sit up slightly before putting the bottle to his mouth. "Okay we are going to guess and pray bud, guess and pray."

He pours, counting 5 seconds in his head. It was immediate how the mutant started squirming at the bittery cherry flavored syrup. "I know, I know it sucks, it's okay..it's okay.."

He pulls the bottle away. "Don't spit it out swallow it-" he quickly grabs the kid's chin, holding his face up slightly. "Don't spit..." the kid looks up at him, teary eyed and using what little energy he saved up from sleeping like he did to squirm.

He watches as the turtle scrunches up his face and swallows. "Thank you, see it wasn't that bad"

He looks around before scooping up the kid. "Let's find you some Gaterade. It tastes like shit but it works" he was never a big Gaterade fan. He preferred root beer but he doubts there would be any in this place. He makes a mental note to find a gas station eventually.

He walks around, holding the child to himself as he looks for the fridges, finding one up against the wall he swings it open. "Mmm..here" he pulls out a bottle of blue Gaterade. "It's sort of the best flavor in my opinion, don't ask me why"

He sits down against the wall beside it and shifts so the kid could sit, using his arm to rest his head slightly. "That feel better?"

He watches the turtle kid open his eyes slightly and look at him before looking at the bottle.

Lars smiles and opens the bottle, holding it up and letting the turtle drink. "Alright, so I'm thinking I'm stuck with you right?...so...what is your name?...or do we need a new one?"

The turtle gulps down the drink, halfway paying attention to him. Before he sets it down. "Mm..m-mikey"

Lars stares, genuinely not expecting him to have been able to talk. "Huh...okay...hi Mikey, I'm Lars.." he spoke softly watching as the turtle, well. Mikey use up what little energy he had left to set down the bottle and curl back up against him, closing his eyes.

"yeah, yeah...I know.." he caps the drink and pulls Mikey close to himself. "Don't use up all that energy, you can go back to sleep again.." he smiles as Mikey seemed to take him up on that offer.

He leans against the wall, still feeling like he was failing...but he did feel like he done something right. He smiles down at Mikey, maybe he wouldn't mess this up too bad.

His head leans against the wall and he closes his eyes letting all the stress die a little before he hears the sound of glass shattering slightly, his eyes opening quickly as he looks around.

Then he hears the voices.

"shit"

[BONUS DRAWING]

Lars and mikeeyyy

[chilopodacrudus]

Piers Backstory Part 1 Electric Boogaloo

I noticed I was putting much more detail into the 2nd and 3rd parts so I redid the first; oops.

CW for: Piers is a serial killer and not a good person. He has the good intention of helping a child who is suffering from abuse but not exactly a good method of helping; this gets him in trouble. CW for a child implied to be having a bad time at home.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/chilopodacrudus/738185995997118464/piers-meets-god?source=share

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/chilopodacrudus/738216351750111232/piers-hell-arc-2-grief?source=share

Piers: A six foot tall middle aged man with a thicker athletic build to him. His hair is mid length; his bangs a dark brown the rest of his wavy hair a much lighter blonde. He adjusts his glasses staring off into the distance; his eyes darting across the few faces he see’s walking around the strip mall he frequently people watches in.

Marcy: A young girl; roughly 8, long frizzy hair and tomboyish clothes stands cautiously behind a pillar. She’s looking out for someone; there’s a steady panic in her eye.

Piers: He notices Marcy immediately; that’s Lacey’s niece. Lacey was a client of his for his dog walking business he runs on the side. He’d like to think they were decently close; he does quite a bit of extra work for her as she’s fallen on hard times. He’s concerned for Marcy; her father was an absolute prick. He knew something was going on at home as he bore witness to it during his spying in the past. What was the idiot up to now. He approaches Marcy with a smile on his face. "Marcy? Hey kiddo…your parents around?" Piers ticks his eyes towards where she's looking; Jason can be heard yelling and sounds very drunk.

Jason: A rough looking man; unshaven but dressed in his Sunday's best. Ruffled dark brown hair and a bitter air to him. "MARCY? The hell is that fucking kid; MARCY." He stumbles into view with a sneer on his face and starts to yell for her "MAR-…" his face changes and flushes white when he see's someone he knows a forced smirk on his face as he looks at Piers. "Marcy it's time to go" He nods his head to Piers; clearly putting on a front to not out himself in front of someone he's familiar with.

Marcy: She’s overwhelmed; she doesn’t know where to turn, if it were up to her she would dart to Piers and hide. Instead she instinctively pulls down her sleeve hiding a fresh bruise.

Piers: He bares witness to all of this with a dead look of intent in his eye. He had already made up his mind long before now. He turns to Marcy with his expression becoming much more intense; likely more so than he’d want it to in the moment. "Marcy…everything…will be okay..I promise"

Jason: "Marcy I don't have all day here.."

Marcy: She smiles at Piers a bit put off by his expression but she nods "Thanks…" She speaks softly and begrudgingly goes to Jason and walks with him out of the area.

Piers: He nips his bottom lip and mutters to himself. "Everything will be just fine…"

A few days later; Piers is at his home speaking with Lacey who is picking up her dog Berns, a large collie. Piers' dog Doc; a rottweiler is laying on the couch gnawing on a toy.

Piers: He has a warm look on his face; he was very fond of Lacey, much more fond than she knows."He's a good boy as always Lacey; a pleasure"

Lacey: She’s a lanky nervous woman; tall with a punk rock vibe. Her hair done in a long half hawk of dirty blonde. She wore large steel toed boots. She speaks frantically always tripping over her words. "Thanks man you know I owe you; I'm so sorry I couldn't send the full payment this month I…and I'm sorry for coming so late"

Piers: Holds up a hand stopping her "Like I said; he's a pleasure. This is just a side gig you don't have to worry about anything.”

Lacey: "You're an angel; thank you so much. If you need anything…just let me know"

Piers: "Of course you two take care"

When Piers closes the door his smile fades a blank expression again as he swings by his bathroom to pick up a large duffel bag. He stands in front of the mirror of his bathroom staring into it deeply. Something in his mind clearly switched.

It's past midnight; Piers makes his way to Jason's house. He's stopped by here to do errands for Lacey before. Wearing tight rubber gloves; rubber covers over his boots and a outer layer of easily tossable plastic coveralls.

No lights are on in the house; he parks his car several blocks away and takes a path through the woods towards the backdoor carrying his duffel bag.

He picks the backdoor lock and makes his way carefully inside; shutting the door behind him. He passes by Marcy's room; briefly pausing to narrow his eyes. He was terrified that she would see what he was about to do but it had to be done.

Entering the room he sets down his bag and pulls out a tire iron; gripping it firmly in his gloved hand a soft clink is heard and Jason stirs from his sleep.

Piers: Before Jason can fully comprehend what's happening "Hey" he bashes him over the head once, waits; then goes for a second swing, bitterly watching him hack up blood and wince while staying eerily calm. There was nothing in his eyes. "Bastard" He speaks deadpan before pulling out his makeshift blade. A crooked mess of a thing made with one solid chunk of metal. He slits Jason's throat with no hesitation; not even bothering to enjoy the scene before him as he quickly takes out a large black piece of vinyl to put over his body. He didn't want Marcy to see him like this. He notices Jason's pocket watch out of the corner of his eye and nabs it without really thinking putting it in his bag and making his way out.

Several days later; Piers is on his couch looking at the pocket watch. He admires it; it’s a one of a kind piece gifted to him by Lacey, the etching of her name inside solidifies that. Jason was Lacey’s brother; he knew this but he knew she would have done the same thing if only she knew.

A knock at the door.

Lacey: She stands looking more disheveled than normal. Her eyes sunken from lack of sleep and tears; she’s here to drop Berns off like usual.

Piers: Without thinking he instinctively lays down the pocket watch on the night stand next to the front door. Putting on his ‘empathetic face’ he answers the door. "Hey; how are you holding up"

Lacey: "Ha I…you know…not well" Her eyes are darting left and right she goes to say something but is interrupted by Berns’ excitement.

Berns: The large fluffy collie wags his tail happily seeing his dog buddy Doc; pulling on the leash and rushing into the house knocking the pocket watch on the ground clearly in Lacey's view.

Piers: He panics ‘shit shit shit’ snatching the pocket watch with a spin on his heel but not before Lacey catches a glimpse of it and Piers knows what she saw. "BERNS come on man…manners" He attempts to laugh it off praying it works.

Lacey: Her eyes are wide like a doe in headlights her heart feels like it stops mid beat she stumbles over her words but tries to regain her composure. She knows the watch was stolen from the crime scene she thinks she’s dreaming briefly. "Hahaha he's…yea…I…I'll be b..back to pick him up…usual time"

Piers: His smile saddens; his heart flutters he can’t believe he was so careless."Yea sure you be safe out there" His words seem much more sinister but he didn’t intend them to be.

Lacey: She slams the door shut and runs to the side of Piers’ house collapsing down with both hands clutched over her mouth tears streaming down her eyes. She has no idea what she’s going to do she can’t believe what she saw.

Piers: His expression changes from a solemn one to blank. His mind is reeling as he slides down to the floor; his back to the door. He squeezes the pocket watch between his fingers tapping his thumb against it. Snapping his head back and rolling his eyes he’s fighting every instinct he has but he knows what he has to do. "I’m so sorry Lace…you gotta go"

The next day Piers is staring at himself in the mirror going over unheard internal monologue. His mind is made up and so he performs just as he always does. He picks up his bag of goodies and heads out.

He heads to Lacey's house; this will be much easier as Lacey gave him a key to her house to take care of chores for her while she's away but he isn't sure if she's changed the locks yet after seeing what she saw at his house.

She hasn't.

He slips into her house with his usual garb when doing such things. Lacey is sitting in the living room clearly paranoid with little sleep. Piers eyes go wide when he notices that she see's him. He drops his duffel bag to the floor as Lacey slowly gets out of the chair and holds her hands up.

Lacey: "Why'd you do it" She’s been rehearsing this; she blurts it out so quickly she nearly spits.

Piers: He swallows making his way towards her slipping a pocket knife into his back pocket from his bag. He didn’t want her to suffer; at least he didn’t think he did. "I was doing Marcy a favor" His voice is dry and matter of fact devoid of the warmth of their normal conversations.

Lacey: "What do..what are you talking about?" She has no time for games or sorry excuses she’s not here to hear his side of the story she’s already made up her mind of how to think about the whole thing.

Piers: "I've been watching them for awhile; you wouldn't believe the things I've seen him do Lace…"

Lacey: She looks to the side; clenching her eyes closed briefly she grabs at the side of her head and wraps her arms around her body. Jason was her brother; he wasn’t perfect but clearly he wasn’t evil. She loses all of the composure she had. “I don't believe you; I DON'T BELIEVE YOU"

Piers: His heart sinks; he isn’t used to letting such emotions grip him during times like this but he goes forward none the less; gripping her firmly against the wall."I guess it doesn't really matter now does it…Marcys safe so I did what I could now…" He leans in and offers a gentle whisper as he slips the pocket knife into his hand and places it against her neck. "I'll give you one last favor…close your eyes Lace…and I'll make it quick"

Berns: Berns roused from his sleep from the commotion and stumbles into the room; confused but reads what's going on pretty quickly. Lacey's heart was pounding; frozen in place but when she catches eye of him she screams for him for help. In the blink of an eye; Berns lunges at Piers and gnashes his teeth deep into his right calf causing him to slash Lacey across the face as he jerks back and yells.

Piers: "FUCKING…BERNS DOWN" He didn't want to hurt Berns; he had nothing to do with this, he grips Berns' nose and squeezes his mouth open snatching him and throwing him into the bathroom and closing the door. Limping with his eyes wide he curses and slams his hand into the door. This wasn’t good he can’t stop making mistakes.

Lacey: She scrambles into the bedroom; her dad gave her his old hunting rifle for protection, that's all that was on her mind now. She shakily takes it out of the case and loads the ammo; the instructions her Dad gave her on how to use it repeating over and over and over in her mind.

Piers: Stumbles towards her limping badly from a torn leg he slams open her door. His voice laced with venom as he shouts. "LACEY"

Lacey: She panics and fires without aiming hitting Piers with a gut shot. She drops to her knees and scrambles backwards in complete silence; staring at the splatter of blood and viscera in front of her.

The neighbors had called the police hearing Berns having a fit minutes before; the sound of police sirens flood Piers' ears.

Piers: He gives Lacey a crooked grin; blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He was eviscerated; his organs poking through as he stumbled and crawled to his feet like a wounded animal. "You're a lucky one Lace…" he growled at her as he takes what's left of his energy and dashes into the woods. The snow is deep but his adrenaline pushes him further and further until his body gives out. A long blood trail behind him. He slumps up against a tree gripping his stomach frantically trying to pull himself together his face twisted in pain. "Fuck…fucking idiot fuck…really? This? This is…" He gives a pained laugh that quickly turns into a frantic yelp and falls silent. "The hell am I doing…"

A long; agonizing death, a gut shot isn't quick but he'd be dead before the cops ever caught up with him. Which was preferable to him at the time.

[byneddiedingo]

Jean-Marc Barr and Barbara Sukowa in Europa (Lars von Trier, 1991)

Cast: Jean-Marc Barr, Barbara Sukowa, Udo Kier, Ernst-Hugo Järegård, Erik Mørk, Jørgen Reenberg, Henning Jensen, Eddie Constantine, Max von Sydow. Screenplay: Lars von Trier, Niels Vørsel. Cinematography: Henning Bendtsen, Edward Klosinski, Jean-Paul Meurisse. Production design: Henning Bahs, Andrzej Borecki. Film editing: Hervé Schneid. Music: Joachim Holbek.  We're accustomed to movies, usually blockbuster action films, in which the feats of filmmaking technology are more impressive than the narrative or characterization, but it's startling to find that kind of disjunction in a supposedly serious art-house film. That's what happens in Lars von Trier's Europa*, however. The film's visual tricks -- front and rear projection, double exposures, juxtapositions of black-and-white and color -- linger in the mind longer than any of the characters or the story. At base, Europa is a thriller, set in Germany in 1945, about an idealistic young American, Leopold Kessler (Jean-Marc Barr), whose German uncle (Ernst-Hugo Järegård) gets him a job as an apprentice conductor on the Zentropa railway line. Leo is an idealist and a pacifist (the film is rather vague about what he did during the war) who wants to help Germany recover, but this only makes him putty in the hands of various opportunists, from the American military to the railway owners to an underground group of die-hard Nazis known as "werewolves." Things grow more complicated for Leo when he falls in love with Katharina Hartmann (Barbara Sukowa), whose father, Max (Jørgen Reenberg), owns Zentropa and is undergoing scrutiny in the "denazification" efforts by the occupying Allied forces. This is standard, even promising, thriller material, and to a large extent von Trier and co-screenwriter Niels Vørsel deliver on its premises. There are moments of suspense and surprise -- especially the assassination of a newly appointed Jewish mayor by a young boy planted on the train by the werewolves -- that would do any thriller writer and director proud. And it has to be said that the general atmosphere of the film, a lingering sinister darkness and chill, is effectively produced. But the tarting up of the story with gimmicks takes me out of the narrative and into a concentration on the effects. For example, there's a scene in which Katharina, in monochrome, is standing behind Leo, who is in color, until she walks out of the frame and re-enters next to him, both now in color. Then Leo leaves the frame and re-enters, now in monochrome, behind her. I know how it's done -- rear projection and careful storyboarding -- but I remember the effect, and not anything that was said by the characters while the trick was taking place. Something of the same could be said about the frame in which von Trier sets his story: The film begins with a shot of railway tracks lighted by a moving train and the voice (Max von Sydow's calm baritone) of a man hypnotizing someone: "You will now listen to my voice. My voice will help you and guide you still deeper into Europa...." The voice recurs throughout the film until it's clear that the "you" is Leo. As for the "Europa" into which Leo is being guided, von Trier has explained that he had Franz Kafka's satirical fantasy Amerika in mind while making the film. The framing, I think, freights the story with more significance than anything that actually appears in the film. Von Trier has said that Europa is something like "Hitchcock in a Tarkovsky setting," which is nothing if not overreaching. *Europa was released in the United States in 1992 under the title Zentropa to avoid confusion with Agnieszka Holland's Europa Europa, which had been released in 1991 in America. Von Trier also named his production company Zentropa, which is the name of the railway company in his film.

[agentcable]

Supernatural Season 2 Ep. 6 "No Exit"

Sam and Dean investigate the slayings of blond women from an apartment building and discover the demon is a ghost of H. H. Holmes, the first serial murderer. Meanwhile, Jo follows the Winchesters and gets captured by the ghost.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

The episode starts in an apartment. The lights are flickering and there's scratching in the walls. A girl is on the phone complaining about the lights. She sits on the couch and sees black tar on the table. She gets up and walks to the other end of the room. She sees more of the tar oozing from the light switch and flowing down the wall. She sees a man's eye in the switch and screams.

Sam and Dean are outside the roadhouse joking about heading to LA to investigate the disappearance of Katie Holmes, who's been kidnapped by an evil cult. However, they hear screaming inside and go to see what's wrong. Jo and Ellen argue about letting Jo go on a hunt alone. The phone rings. Ellen answers, and Jo shows Sam and Dean the case of the girl's death in Philadelphia. Six young blood women have disappeared from the same building over the past 80 years. The murders only happened once every decade or two, so the police never noticed a pattern. Dean asks if Ash put the case together. Jo says she did. Ellen tells the boys to take the case. She says to Jo that this family has lost enough and she won't lose her too.

The boys sneak into the girl's apartment and scan the room with their EMFs. Sam picks up a signal when he scans the light switch. He notices the tar-like substance and realizes it's ectoplasm. Sam says he's only seen this stuff once or twice. You have to be a very angry spirit to make it.

The boys hide behind a corner as they walk down the hallway. But as they get closer, they realize it's Jo, who's followed them, talking with the building manager about renting the apartment. She says Dean is her boyfriend and they want to rent the apartment. Dean says he wants the apartment. Jo hands the manager a roll of bills for the key.

Sam and Dean are getting weapons. Dean asks Jo if her mother knows she's here. Jo says she left a note saying she was in Vegas and got Ash to leave a credit card trail to the casinos. Dean's phone rings. Ellen wants to know if Jo is with them. Dean is about to tell her, but covers for Jo and says he hasn't seen her.

Jo says the building was built in 1924 as a warehouse and then became an apartment complex. There was nothing before that. No violent deaths have been reported in 82 years. Sam thinks it's a cursed object that brought the spirit along. They scan the building. Jo says they'll save time by splitting up, but Dean says he won't let her out of his sight.

Dean and Jo are scanning the first two floors and arguing about the hunt. Jo says using her as bait is the fastest way to catch the spirit. Dean laughs and says, he's sorry. Jo confronts Dean about his attitude and says she's tired of his chauvinism. Dean says women can do the job, but amateurs can't. Dean tells Jo she has options and no one chooses this job. She should be grateful for her mother's care.

They walk down the hall. Jo stops at the corner, looking around. The camera shows a vent with gray, gushy fingers. Jo turns around and the fingers disappear. Dean smells something he knows but can't name. Jo scans the vent and picks up a signal. Dean unscrews the vent and reaches in, pulling out a look of blonde hair.

Teresa reads a letter in the mail as she enters the apartment later that evening. Ectoplasm falls from the ceiling. The lights flicker, and she sees the walls open. She calls, but there's static. She tries the front door, but it's locked. Then she sees the hand coming out of the vent. It grabs her and pulls her in.

The next morning, Dean wakes up to sirens outside. Jo has been awake for a while, looking over the information and holding a small pocket knife. Dean hands her a larger knife. She hands him hers, and he reads the inscription: W.A.H. (William Anthony Harvelle), her father. Dean apologizes and she asks him what he thinks of his dad. Dean remembers going target shooting with his dad when he was six and hitting every target. Jo remembers her dad coming home from hunting each night. She and her mom were happy to have him home. Jo says she wants to do this job for him.

Sam says another girl, Teresa Ellis, is missing. She lives in apartment 2F. The walls and ceiling were cracked, and there was ectoplasm. Jo points out that the building next door was once a prison. She calls Ash for info. It was the Moyamensing Prison, built in 1835 and torn down in 1963. They hanged people in the field next door. Ash emails Sam a list of 157 names. One of the names is Herman Webster Mudgett (H.H. Holmes). Sam looks up Holmes. He was executed on May 7, 1896. He was America's first serial killer. He confessed to 27 murders, but some say he killed over 200. He killed blonde women with chloroform. Dean smelled this in the hallway last night. Police found human remains and blonde hair in his home. Jo says they should find the bones, salt them, and burn them. Sam says it won't be easy. His body was buried in town, but it's encased in concrete. Holmes didn't want anyone to mutilate his corpse because he used to do that.

Sam says Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago called the Murder Castle. The plase was full of secret rooms, trapdoors, acid vats, and quicklime pits. He locked victims in chambers inside the walls and kept them alive for days. He killed some by suffocation and starvation.

The three of them break through the wall and go inside to look for Teresa. Dean and Jo find a narrow path. Jo can fit through, so she goes on alone. She follows the path to the north wall and goes down an air duct to the lower level. Jo sees more ectoplasm seeping through the bricks. Dean hears her screaming on the phone. The call cuts off. Dean rushes to the next floor, looking for her. He finds her phone.

Sam and Dean have been looking for Jo inside the walls all night and haven't found her. Dean's phone rings. Ellen is angry because Dean lied to her. She asks where Jo is. Dean says they'll get her back. Ellen makes him promise since she heard this from a Winchester before. Ellen adds that she takes the next flight. Sam sees a sewer system in the building and they leave right away.

Jo wakes up trapped. She turns on her flashlight and sees fingerprints and blood on the ceiling. In the next room, Jo sees Teresa. She says Sam and Dean will find them. Holmes grabs Jo's hair.

Sam and Dean find the sewer hatch.

Back in the chambers, Holmes whispers that Jo is beautiful and touches her. Jo grabs her knife and stabs him. He shouts and disappears.

The scene changes to Dean crawling through the sewers.

Teresa asks if Holmes is gone. Jo doesn't know. Holmes knocks her knife away and covers her mouth, starting to suffocate her. Sam and Dean burst into the chamber and fire rock salt into his stomach. Sam and Dean rescue Jo and Teresa. Sam gets Teresa out of the sewers, but Dean says they have to use Jo as bait. Jo agrees and sits still in the middle of the open chamber. Holmes appears behind Jo and gets closer. Dean fires a buckshot into the ceiling, releasing salt that falls to the ground and traps Holmes inside the chamber.

Dean stelas a cement truck and fills the hole to the sewer, keeping Holmes down there.

The four of them drive back to the roadhouse with Ellen in the car. Everyone is silent. It's quiet. Nobody messes with Ellen.

Dean apologizes to Ellen for lying to her and says Jo did well. Ellen says she needs a minute alone with her daughter. Ellen can't believe she trusted these boys. Jo storms out of the roadhouse and tells Dean to leave. John was her dad's partner on his last hunt. He got her dad killed. John never mentioned Ellen to the boys because he couldn't look her in the eye. Jo walks away.

----------

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Podcast "Supernatural - Then and Now" hosted by Rob Benedict and Richard Speight Jr.

[mercurydancer]

An Unexpected Chance Pt. 20

Taking Overs and Happenings

_

Boba would give Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up with a loving and caring father... - R. A Salvatore, Attack of the Clones Novelization

"The government he would serve would be Authority personified. Human Authority… At war's end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given to the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them. Human beings. Dooku would serve an Empire of Man."

"He's no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of those bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste." [Dooku to Sidious about working with Anakin] - Revenge of the Sith Novelization Matthew Stover pg. 49; 51

(and anyway did you all know that Dooku was a racist ableist bitch because I tell you the fuck what... Dave Filoni makes those fucking weird choices broskis.)

_

          Shmi Skywalker stood on the exit ramp leading to a place that a piece of her heart had always lingered, and yet had never seen, and knew that it was time.

          Her husband, Cliegg beside her, Owen and his wife Beru, behind them, and even further back four Nightbrothers that had joined them in their quest, had become a part of the White Sun. To free others like them, certainly, to find the one that had saved them, absolutely.

          Shmi took a few steps into the Jedi Temple Hanger, aware of the eyes that were on her, the recognition that spread, and wondered how long it would take before…

          The doors at the far end of the hanger burst open, and for a moment Shmi was staring at the living embodiment of her own heart, staring at a young man in dark Jedi robes, Padawan haircut strange and resplendent, blue eyes that held the skies of Tatooine within them, and a smile that rivaled the sun.

          Ani.

          Her boy ran towards her with more speed than seemed possible, and enveloped her in warmth, in the depth of his love, and in that one moment it did not matter that he was taller than her, it did not matter that she could feel the power that radiated towards her in a way she never could when he was young… All that mattered was the arms that were wrapped around her belonged to her boy.

          Shmi Skywalker Lars was holding her son, and it was like no time at all had passed.

          Shmi pulled back slowly, reaching up to brush her hand through her son’s bristly hair, taking the padawan braid in her hand. She looked over the beading, the careful weaving, and then looked to her son’s eyes, smiling.

          “I am so proud of you.”

          Anakin’s eyes filled with tears, and he smiled at her. “Mom,” he said softly.

          “Hello, Ani,” she said, “it’s so good to see you.”

          “It’s…” Anakin took a step back, wiping his eyes, “it’s so good to see you,” and then he looked back at the others, taking in her small family – their small family, and the Brothers they had with them. “What…what brings you here?”

          “I came to see my baby,” Shmi said. “But I have also come to reunite Brothers and because White Sun was called.” She smiled at him, “You apparently have a lot of slaves to help free. We are only the first, the Mandalorians are coming as well.”

          “The Mandalorians?” Anakin asked, and then blinked, looking back at the Brothers, and then smiling at her. “You’ve been working with Maul.”

          “We have,” Shmi smiled. “But before he gets here come, I need to introduce you to some people.” Shmi took his hand and brought him over, standing him before her small family. “This is Cliegg Lars, he is my husband.”

          “Hello, son,” Cliegg said, and then almost immediately winced, “not…that I have to call you that now, you…you likely have to get used to the idea. I understand. I’m sorry, I…”

          “I…have a dad?” Anakin asked, his nose wrinkling slowly as he looked at him, and Shmi laughed aloud.

          “You do,” she said, walking forward to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek, and then taking Owen by the hand, “and this is Owen, he is your step-brother, and this is Beru – his wife.”

          Anakin absolutely boggled, and Shmi could not stop the laughter that rose in her chest, the warmth in her at seeing her small family interact. The Brothers were hanging back, but there was nonetheless a quiet sort of joy in the way they watched. Once Anakin seemed to have settled into the idea of having this bit of family, once he had realized that they were not vanishing, and could see the way they loved each other, could see the way they fit, Shmi took the hand of the oldest brother and led him forward, smiling at seeing how the brothers linked hands together, all approaching as one.

          “Anakin,” she said, getting his attention, “this is Venom,” she said indicating the tallest and the oldest, his tattoo markings standing out black on orange, “this is Spite,” she said about the shortest, who stood beside him, tattoos curling and elegant. “This is Grudge,” she said about the one whose skin was the darkest and whose tattoos were sharp and black. “And this is Wrath,” she indicated the last, skin yellow as the sun, and eyes quick. “They are looking for the one that saved them. They are looking for Maul.”

          “They have found him,” Maul’s voice rang out, and Shmi turned her attention back finding him standing there as well as other faces that she had grown more familiar with over the years, as well as two other Brothers.

          Shmi smiled, she remembered the reports from Soln, she knew who was standing there.

          Maul had brothers. She supposed the ochre one was Feral, the one that had been with Soln as he took him to the Temple. The other, Savage…well, she had been less than pleased to hear the report from the one that took him.

          Hondo was always a pain to deal with, made worse when he was preening, and he had been preening about something even more annoying given the fact that Shmi found herself interested. Shmi looked directly at Maul and found herself smiling.

          “I see that you have found yourself restored,” she said. “I am pleased to see it, though I see it came with a few added centimeters?” she raised a brow, smiling. Maul ducked his head briefly and she laughed quietly, approaching, and standing before him, putting her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm, and whole, and he stood before her silently as she looked him over. “You look good,” she said.

          “Thank you,” Maul said. “It is good to see you, thank you for coming.” He paused. “Why did you come?”

          Shmi smiled, “I was called,” she said, backing away, and looked to Mace who approached, his hands folded before him. “I hear you have a lot of Blood Slaves that need help.”

          “We do,” Mace said. “I do not believe it will be the same that you usually deal with, but we are not sure. Tiq has been the one that has been talking to them the most, and he will be able to help.”

          “Healer Tiq, who helped both of my boys, where is this Rodian, I would like to thank him.”

          “Oh!” a voice called, and her attention swiveled to a blue Rodian, who took a few steps forward. She met his red eyes and smiled. “Hello,” he called out as he approached, and her smile widened, reaching out to take his hand that he was very happy to give her. “It is good to meet you in person, congrats on your marriage.” He dipped his head to her husband, and smiled at her family, and Shmi watched as her husband glowed, taking a few steps forward.

          “Thank you,” he said. “I got the best deal out of it, I’m sure.”

          Shmi laughed, “Hush.” She turned to Tiq again, taking in his smile, “thank you for doing what you have. Thank you for taking care of them.”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I had much help.” And the look he gave her was warm and significant, the Rodian that she had spent much time talking to through all hours as the night as they worked together a dear friend. “They have both been wonderful and I am proud of them every day.”

          “So am I,” Shmi smiled, and squeezed his hands in both of hers, before turning to look at Maul. “I brought more of your Brothers. They have been wishing to see you, and have been very patient.”

          Maul took a moment to look at Shmi, and then to turn his attention to the Brothers, Shmi very aware of the way Wrath took a few steps forward first, the others slowly following. But as Maul watched, as his attention fixed they froze. Shmi watched as Maul’s hand curled into a slight fist, and she could see the slow shifting of something like grief, something like sadness in his eyes.

          Feral walked forward then, laughing, and carefully hooked his horns in his brother’s, and as he did Shmi could suddenly see the resemblance for what it was, could see the similarity in jaw, in facial structure, and she beamed. Feral tugged Maul’s head into a gentle angle, pointing the horns off to the side, careful, “Don’t worry,” he called, “come on, Wrath, my brother is not going to fight. He was enslaved by another Master; he does not know yet how to make friends. We shall teach him, though, yes?”

          And Shmi watched the realization spread, even as Maul’s body language relaxed, as he fell further into the invitation, and Wrath’s face spread into a wide smile.

          “Of course, we will teach him much!” and the laughter that bubbled in his voice was audible. “First lesson, then?”

          “Destructions are always better when~”

          Shmi caught the way Feral whispered to his brother, caught the moment when Maul started to stiffen and then very carefully relaxed, and that was the moment when Wrath barreled into him.

          Maul allowed himself to be rolled over in a tangled mess of fabric and limbs and laughter, helped along by the others immediately working to join in, squishing in close, Maul sitting in the middle of a tangle of brothers, including two of his own blood…

          Shmi was aware of the tears that slid down her cheeks.

          Shmi did not care, unable to stop, and unwilling to, pride and joy mixing in her chest. She remembered the young man that had first found them, the one that was looking so hard for a place to belong, a place where he could be himself, a place where he could learn… To see this…? It was all that she had ever hoped for and more.

          Shmi could also see…the moment when it began getting too much.

          Maul was a complicated and utterly tragic combination of touch-starved and so utterly alone that overstimulation was not just likely it was almost always close to the surface. She saw the moment when his enjoyment turned to that prickling desire to pull away, to run. She also saw the moment when something else shaded his gaze as well, and she wondered.

          Being a child for nearly seven months, only to finally grow, to come back, and to be…so different. For everything to be different.

          His Master was dead. Had Maul even been given the opportunity to truly process that, to process what it meant?

          But her worry was alleviated when Savage softly began extracting them, when he pulled his brother up to his feet, and when Maul turned and walked away did not do anything to stop him, nor even appear upset. Instead, he took hold of Feral’s hand, and knocked his horns against the other Brothers, ones that Shmi realized Savage likely knew.

          “My brother has been alone for a long time, and much has changed,” he said softly.

          “It is alright, Brother,” Venom said, “he will be alright.”

          Shmi caught Tiq following after, and she turned her attention to Mace, before looking back to Anakin. “We will have more time to be reacquainted soon,” she said, “but we have been called for a reason.”

          “We have more Blood Slaves to help,” Anakin smiled, and Shmi could feel nothing but pride.

_

          Maul walked.

          He did not particularly know where he was going, and he was not sure if he cared. All he knew was he had to move, he had to…

          So much was happening, so much had changed, and he still did not feel right, and he had been… Maul had been behaving erratically for a Nightbrother. They had seen him and known that he did not belong and that was why… Maul thought of all the other Brothers that he had saved. All of the other Brothers that he had taken to safety before he had heard of the Holocron… All of the ones that had been distant, that had not wanted to stand near him…

          Maul had thought they had been afraid of him because of what he had rescued them from. He had thought it had been because they were wary of his touch and his presence… Now Maul was realizing that he had simply…warded them off. He had not known how to welcome their presence and so none of them had come.

          Maul was buzzing. He did not know if it was better or worse to understand that it was because he truly did not know how to exist as a Nightbrother.

          And then…and then…Maul’s Master, he had been…

          But…

          “Maul,” Tiq’s voice called out, sending his thoughts stuttering to a brief halt, even if his legs kept walking, and Tiq quickly caught up to him, walking alongside. “Talk, pressure, movement?”

          And the question was so familiar, was one that they had worked on, a quick and dirty sort of way to figure out what his first need was, and then the possibility of going from there.

          “Movement,” Maul said, almost without thinking of it, led by the feeling of itchiness in his skin, the slight stutter in his walk that he was sure only he could feel. He needed to get used to his own body once again, and the fact that it was once again was somehow even worse. How much more could he go through? What else was he required to give? How many bits of his own hearts would he have to sacrifice before…

          “Come,” Tiq said, and turned on his heel, walking without once touching him, and Maul followed immediately. It was a drill they had perfected over the years, one that Maul could fall into and just…not think about it.

          Maul was tired of thinking.

          Maul stood in the elevator next to Tiq, closing his eyes, bouncing on his toes, feeling the way he wanted to balance, aware of his own weight in a way that he was unused to. Everything was strange.

          “Obstacles or contact?” Tiq asked softly.

          “Obstacles,” Maul said. He did not want to touch anything, not even if it was to hit it.

          He was at the point where he was certain that he would wind up hitting harder than he wanted to.

          “That’ll be good for you, yes?” Tiq hummed, “give you an opportunity to feel how your limbs want to work.”

          “Yes,” Maul agreed softly. “I am sorry.”

          “Do not be,” Tiq said. “Let’s get your energy out, give you a chance to get used to yourself, and then we can go from there. Orientation times five, yes?”

          “Who, what, where, when, why,” Maul hummed. “What is the date?”

          “The fifteenth, fifth month of the year 7954. It is eleven fifty-four in the morning, and we are in the Halls of Knowledge on the elevator heading towards the Master’s Training Room. It seemed appropriate given the circumstances.”

          “I agree,” Maul said softly. “Tiq, who am I?”

          “You are Darth Maul,” Tiq said softly, “you are a twin, you are twenty-six years old, and you are the younger brother of Savage and Feral. You have an unnatural fondness for spice,” Maul smirked, “a tendency to fling yourself in situations that are much too big for you,” that smirk shifted to a smile, “and you are also someone that I care for a very great deal.”

          Maul opened his eyes and met Tiq’s own, taking in the smile.

          “I am very proud of you, Maul,” Tiq said. “You are alright. You have been given a great deal to hold all at once, do not worry if you find yourself unable to hold it all. It is expected that you will leak a little. Let us get all of that energy out of your system and we can work on processing it.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, taking all of that in, and softly, “Pressure would not be bad…” he breathed.

          Tiq immediately pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing, Maul finding himself leaning into it, and finally going to hug him back.

          The sound of the elevator doors opening caused Maul to take a step back. The hollowness was still there in his chest, but it was not as yawning.

          “Come on,” Tiq said and led him to the training rooms.

_

          Tiq was aware of the way that Maul was buzzing, could feel the burn in the other’s presence, the flickers of flame that shivered. Tiq could not blame him, and when they finally came into the training rooms, Tiq walked off to the side, very aware of the way Maul launched himself forward into a sprint.

          Tiq picked up the player that he had left here, and flicked through the songs, before finally humming and picking the tune he thought would work the best, and pressed play.

          Tiq moved to sit with his legs crossed and watched.

          As the music swelled Maul ran, leaning further and further forward before finally rolling forward and springing up, landing on his hands and letting himself fall backwards in an arch, catching himself on his feet and once again springing. He smoothed his motions as the words in the song crooned, allowing himself to stretch his limbs, to roll and pose, to leap and to adjust.

          It was always spectacular watching Maul move, and he had only improved with age.

          As the song crunched Maul sped up, letting his knees go to his chest, his limbs to akimbo, his feet to nearly fly across the mats, twisting and rolling and spinning, and then when the singer’s voice began he once again slowed his movements, letting himself stretch, to grow accustomed to that extra length.

          Maul slowly grew more comfortable, letting himself leap higher, roll longer, and finally begin to leap off the obstacles that were scattered. He ran up walls, swung himself over edges and plummeted sheer drops, rolling and spinning and twisting as he did so. As the song ended, Tiq picked another, humming quietly as he crunched through and found one whose energy cranked even higher.

          The drums pounded, escalating, as it beat and beat and beat…

          And finally, it all exploded, and Maul launched himself into motion.

          There were no attempts to stretch this time, no attempts to slow it down, the motions violent, a kata in air, all swift kicks, and fists and what would be blood.

          And then finally the song cranked down, and Maul froze, foot high in the air above his own head, a straight-line drawn heel to heel, and he slowly lowered that foot down, brought it level to groin, and held it, still keeping to that line with his thighs. It wound itself up and Maul kicked straight up, fell backwards, and rolled into a series of twists and rolls, ending finally as the song warbled and trailed off with that same line with the other leg.

          And finally, he stood there, bouncing on his toes, and began slowly easing himself into a much gentler series of movements.

          And so Tiq played one last song, smirking softly as the soft cords resonated, and the song truly began, and Maul blinked, before laughing, and then closed his eyes and just let himself move.

          Sweeping low, all movements about length, about reach, about growing used to the limits of his own flexibility… He let his limbs stretch and curl and pull and push, shifting as the pitch warbled, as her voice bent and he slowly allowed himself to follow. Tiq watched as the last song moved him through a cooldown, as he let himself roll forwards along the ground, to touch his toes, to lean his chest to the floor between his split legs and bring them slowly up over his head, and then slowly to stretch out along the floor again.

          Tiq was certain his own bones would have broken.

          The song carried Maul through his final movements, through the drawing of several lines, and finally Maul lay on the ground completely flat, his eyes closed, and the tension that had been in his limbs, had been vibrating just under the skin had finally eased.

          “I would have thought you’d develop a spine with age,” Tiq called softly, “it seems I was wrong.”

          Maul laughed.

          Tiq counted it as a win.

          Maul slowly stood up then, shaking his limbs out once and then finally approaching Tiq, and Tiq could see how much smoother he was, how his gait had gentled, and he seemed to fit himself more, before finally sitting down crossed legged before him.

          “Hello,” Tiq said with a smile.

          “Hello,” Maul said, breathing deep and slow. “You said you had something for me?”

          “I do,” Tiq said. “And for as much as I wish to give it to you now, I think we need to settle everything else first. It’s…a gift, but it can also be a double-edged one.”

          “And double-edged sabers are handled with much care.”

          “Exactly,” Tiq grinned. “So first…how are you?”

          “I…” Maul laughed, rough, and understandably wet, “Tiq I do not understand, so much has happened, I just…” he closed his eyes. “I feel like everything is moving so fast, and I am… I have brothers? I have brothers and they love me, and I remember…so much and not enough, and I have…all of this is inside of me, and I do not know where it goes, I do not know where it fits with who I am and what I became, and… There is a part of me that feels like I can allow…I can allow…myself to breathe…the space to relax…and the other part of me that knows better. My Master is dead, and my brother killed him to spare me… My Master was the Chancellor, and he was…kind…to me…” Maul wiped his face.

          “Tiq, why was he so kind to me? Was he just…was he trying…and when he said…was he just trying to fool me? To destroy me?” Maul held his hands out and Tiq took them, holding them within his own softly. “Tiq I do not understand,” he breathed. “I do not want… I want…” Maul’s expression crumbled, and he pulled his hands back, fisting them in his lap, “why would I grieve? Why would I grieve when I know…I know that he must have… Tiq…do you think that he hated me?”

          Tiq smiled, and it was rough, and it was hard. “And so, we once again are at the question at the center, and this time I do have an answer. And it is one I think you know, which is why you keep questioning it. It’s the reason you find yourself grieving even when you hate. And I know you hate him. I know you do. I know that you are not grieving the man. You are grieving the ideal. You are grieving what you wished it could have been. And this, Maul, is the most natural thing in the Galaxy.”

          “I hate it,” Maul hissed.

          “I know,” Tiq said, “and that is okay. That is okay. It is perfectly understandable.” Tiq took a breath and sighed. “Maul, if I had…if I had any other choice I do not know if I would talk to you about this so soon. But things are out of my hands…  Count Dooku…was your Master’s latest weapon, and I was forced to blackmail him.”

          “You-Tiq…wait, what?”

          Tiq smiled, “you see, Dooku was under the mistaken impression…that he was worth something to your Master. That he was worth something to Darth Sidious…but he was not. He was a weapon. Something to be used and discarded. But…in order to get this through to him I was forced to tell him about you…and about the fact that while your Master believed him to be expendable, to be…exploitable… Maul,” Tiq breathed softly, “your Master did love you, as much as I think he could love anyone.”

          Maul was silent for a moment, his eyes so wide, and so… “Oh,” he breathed.

          “But Maul,” Tiq said, and reached out, Maul taking his hands, unthinking, unhesitatingly, holding so tight… Tiq could feel the tremor, could see… “Maul listen, this is one of the most important things about love that you have to understand – Love is not enough, and in some cases, in many ways…love can actually be used to hurt, to cut. And your Master cut you deep with it. His affection was possession, and his love was in the form of control and, too, in a way, on an ideal. That you could not meet this ideal is not anything to do with you. It is entirely to do with him. You did not deserve to be under that. You did not deserve to be controlled and twisted like that. In a way, it does not matter that he loved you. His actions show precisely what he was, and what he was…was cruel, and evil, and vile, and I am happy that fucker is dead.”

          Maul’s face broke into a grin, a laugh tickling at the corners of his mouth, and Tiq leaned forward, Maul’s horns pressing to his forehead unthinkingly, gentle, gentle…

          “You never deserved to be under the care of a man who told you that all you were was a body. You never deserved to be brought up by someone who hurt you, and good fucking riddance. Good fucking riddance I hope it hurt, I hope he was awake and aware all the way down, and I hope he knew just how powerless he was. I hope that he knew just how much we all fucking hated him. Because yes, Maul, I do not think there was a Jedi in that Senate that did not hate him. And we hated him for you. And I want you to understand something, yes? We were glad to hate him.”

          “I think I was right,” Maul said softly, “you probably would be a good Sith.”

          Tiq laughed and pulled back, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a gesture that made Maul grin, “Do you really think so? Would I be a good Sith?”

          Maul paused, the grin fading as he stared at him, thinking, and then he finally sighed. “Oh, very well, so I may be indulging in some wishful thinking.”

          Tiq laughed, “There is nothing wrong with that at all,” he assured softly. “I think I’m even flattered.”

          “You should be,” Maul sniffed, “I do not think that many Jedi would make good Sith, or even spend time thinking about it.”

          “Truly?” Tiq asked, grinning. “No one at all? Not even someone like…oh, you teased him enough about it, but Obi-Wan?”

          Maul pulled a face that was so utterly disgusted, so completely unimpressed that Tiq was hard-pressed to not burst out laughing. “Obi-Wan Kenobi would be the most obnoxious Sith in all of history.”

          Tiq failed at holding his laughter in.

          “He would…he would be so aggressively annoying,” Maul said, his mouth squiggling, his eyes narrowing, “he would…by the Force, Tiq, why would you wish that upon me?”

          Tiq laughed harder. “OH,” Tiq wiped his eyes, “that was about as funny a reaction as I had hoped it would be.”

          “Rude,” Maul huffed. “I am going to have nightmares.”

          Tiq lost it. “Oh, Force, regrouping, Maul, please, how do you feel?”

          “Better,” Maul said, and the complete lack of hesitation was so good to hear. “I…” Maul paused. “I…understand that his love was control. That it was bad for me, and it would almost have been the same as if he hated me. But it is…to know that he did love me… Why?”

          “That I do not know,” Tiq said, “but I do know that whatever the reason it would have never been good enough, and so in this instance the why is beyond consideration. Why? Because he could. Because he wanted control more than he wanted your well-being. Because he was perpetually angry and wanted to take it out on someone that relied on him, none of these reasons are good and none of them are ones that you should hold in your hearts as though they are ones you deserve. His meanings and his reasonings are utterly irrelevant outside of this one simple fact, are you ready?”

          “What is it?”

          “He is dead – and your Master will never be able to hurt you again.”

          Maul took that in for a moment, silent, silent, and Tiq was prepared for the moment when he bowed forward slow, and softly, “Tiq…do you have…do we have the footage. Please, please can I…”

          “Yes,” Tiq said, and pulled the player over, fishing through datachips to finally press one into the machine. “We were able to piece together a record of the fight and how it happened. The holocam in the Senate was damaged, but it was still running. We do have the footage. You can see him die.”

          Maul swallowed, shifting to properly see it, but it was not the death that opened it up, instead, Tiq showed him the interrogation.

          Maul could not stop laughing.

          The opening salvo, the first line of a simple ‘Shut up, bitch’ had been enough to send Maul into a near fit of it, doubling over and his hands over his mouth like he was trying to hold it in for dear life, but it escaped anyway.

          As Tiq chipped away at him, insulted his being and his job and his ability to listen… Maul remained scrunched, almost hiding it, but it was audible, and it was visible, “Very good!” the Tiq of the holocam called out, giving a loud and very exaggerated clap, “that is ten points to the Chancellor of the Republic, you are very good at this, aren’t you?”

          “Yes…I am…”

          And Maul finally started howling.

          Tiq paused the footage, let Maul get over his doubled-up pose, to straighten, to rub at his face and regain his composure. “Tiq,” Maul managed his voice choked, tears in his eyes, “Tiq, you cannot do this to me, this is too much.”

          “Your Master is a bitch! It’s not my fault at all.”

          Maul giggled, a sharp and breathless sound, but so full of joy, and Tiq beamed.

          Tiq let Maul take in the fact that it was an accusation of molestation that had finally gotten him to cave and paused it briefly. “It is, Maul, because I realized he did love you, and he would have had some lines in his behavior towards you. I made a guess as to what it was, and I got lucky. But I need you to know…”

          “That his love was poison,” Maul said briefly, “his love was a chain. And I am free from both.”

          “There is no more poison in your veins, and no chains around your neck,” Tiq agreed softly, “you are free. Now I’m going to skip…”

          “Do…do you have the part where you blackmailed Dooku, please? I want…I want to see that, and to see… I need to see…”

          “I will show you his death,” Tiq promised. “You will see him die, and you will know it to be true.”

          Maul huffed quietly, “am I that obvious?”

          “It’s understandable,” Tiq said softly. “We have claimed Sidious dead before, and it took a Holocron that reverted you to a child for us to be made aware of our mistake. I deeply regret that…”

          “It is alright,” Maul said. “I did not…I never once…”

          “That isn’t entirely true,” Tiq said, “do you remember banning Anakin from speaking to him on his own?”

          Maul blinked. “Do you think…that he would…”

          “I think he would have tried,” Tiq said. “Considered among so many Jedi to be the Chosen One to bring Balance to the Force? What would be a more thrilling conquest than turning that against us?”

          Maul took that in quietly, and softly, quietly, “he would have destroyed him.”

          “He would have,” Tiq agreed, “which is why it’s so crucial, and honestly quite so funny that you simply banned him from seeing him… It is a testament to Anakin’s love of you that he listened. It is very hard work getting a teenager to listen. You did it very easily.”

          “I made him promise on his mother,” Maul said.

          “Ah,” Tiq grinned, “that would definitely do it.” Tiq paused. “Still loves you a great deal, though.”

          Maul laughed. “He is like a younger brother…at least what I imagine it would be like… Tiq…” Maul stared at him for a moment, and there was something so amazed and something so soft in his eyes, “Tiq, I am a twin, I have brothers.”

          “You do,” Tiq smiled, “and I am so glad that you were able to meet them. I am so glad that you found each other.”

          Maul said nothing for a moment, almost basking in it, before he finally sighed, “you were going to show me how you eviscerated Dooku?”

          “Eviscerated is a little strong,” Tiq said, laughing.

          “Incorrect,” Maul said, grinning. “Now let me see!”

          Tiq laughed and worked on scrubbing through the fight, delicately avoiding the moment when he got electrocuted, and then finally let it play as Tiq pressed a few buttons on the chair.

          As Maul realized that Tiq had not known that he was about to call Dooku, as he realized that Dooku had habitually called him ‘My Master,’ Maul doubled over, and nearly shrieked with laughter.

          “HIS FACE!” Maul managed, tears sliding down his face as he absolutely lost his shit, “Tiq!!! You didn’t tell me…he outed himself???”

          Tiq laughed, “I was waiting for this moment. It was worth every second.”

          Maul finally settled slowly, watching the rest of the encounter, and as he took in Bail’s expression, he wiped his eyes. “I want to call him; can I call him?”

          “What are you going to do?”

          “Mock him relentlessly,” Maul answered, purring.

          “Maybe when we get him back to the Jedi Temple. He needs to be contained in a proper cell.”

          “Are you going to rehabilitate him like you did with me?” Maul asked, and there was something almost quietly tolerant.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “I do not know what we are going to do with him. With you…you were different in a way. The way you were trained…how you were raised…you knew no other way. It was rehabilitation but it was also almost reeducation. Dooku…” Tiq was quiet for a moment. “Dooku should know better. He was about to…I have seen what your Master was planning, Maul. I have…” Tiq’s face tightened. “Dooku was not just complicit with slave labor, he was working on undermining…” Tiq shook his head. “There is a great deal that he has been doing that is absolutely vile, a great many people have died because of his actions, and…” Tiq paused. “It is interesting, I believe, how a person can trick themselves so thoroughly into believing that they are doing the right thing.”

          “I do understand that,” Maul said with a nod and a shrug.

          Tiq smiled at him and opened his arms, Maul allowing himself to sink into the hug. “Thank you for asking if we do plan on rehabilitating,” he said. “Unlike you, Dooku exists and is a Citizen of the Republic, and he is being tried like one. If I have the opportunity I would, but admittedly I don’t know if he would listen to me.”

          “Why is that?” Maul asked.

          “I’m non-human,” Tiq answered with a shrug.

          “Fucker.”

          Tiq laughed. “Indeed,” he agreed.

          “I hope it stung like hell when he realized that I was the one our Master cared for.”

          “I rather do as well,” Tiq agreed. “But that’s vindictive and I will let that go.”

          “I’ll hold onto it for you.”

          “Thank you,” Tiq laughed. “But it is not necessary.”

          “I will do it anyway,” Maul said. “Because I want to hold it over him.”

          “Sith.”

          “Jedi,” Maul returned, and finally laughed. “I have missed you.”

          “I have missed you as well,” Tiq said. “I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you…you have done so much… It is so good to see that you are alive, and you are well.” Maul shifted to hug him tight, and Tiq laughed quietly, “You’re not quite as easy to hold anymore.”

          “I don’t know if I like it,” Maul said, pulling back. “You cannot tell anyone…”

          “Not a soul,” Tiq agreed.

          “I liked my height,” Maul said. “The fact that most people could pick me up…”

          “It’s a good way to alleviate some of the touch starvation,” Tiq nodded.

          “It is that,” Maul agreed, waving a hand almost grandly, “but more importantly it leads to the idea that I am easier to kill, and therefore makes them easier to stab. They pick me up, I merely…” he mimed stabbing at someone under the ribs, and Tiq wheezed, doubling over, and laughing aloud.

          “Maul!”

          “What?” Maul shrugged, “it is true! If I allow you to hold me in such a manner then…” he shrugged. “I care about you a great deal. Touch starvation or…” Maul trailed off.

          Tiq was quiet for a moment. “You worked with Mandalorians and with Hondo’s pirates, yes? As well as Shmi Skywalker?”

          “Yes,” Maul said. “I was…I was not completely alone.”

          “Just mostly,” Tiq said quietly. “Well. That likely may change.”

          “What did you find out, Tiq? What was my Master planning?”

          “First…” Tiq sighed, “First I am going to show you his death, and then I am going to give you what I found.”

          Tiq opened the footage and allowed Maul to take it in, watching the way Obi-Wan provided such a good distraction from the actual threat of Savage. Maul took the holoprojector from Tiq, replaying the footage, watching as his Master was impaled again…and again…and again…

          And finally put it down and shoved it away from him.

          “Tiq…” he breathed, “my Master is dead…”

          “Yes,” Tiq agreed quietly, “he is dead.”

          Maul paused for a moment, so still… And then, quietly, Maul began to laugh.

          It was a desperate broken little sound, hitched and broken, slowly shifting to something louder, fuller, and finally outright hysterical. It was a shattered, utterly desperate sort of laugh, Tiq waiting, watching, and when that hitched and pained sounding laugh became the start of hitched and pained sobs, Tiq was ready, and opened his arms. Maul folded himself close and wept, and there was such anger in the sound, such… “I hate him, Tiq,” Maul breathed.

          “I know,” Tiq said softly. “I know, it’s alright. You can mourn. It is alright to mourn. It is not fair, and it is not right. You are allowed to mourn.” Tiq held him until he finally ran out of tears and pushed himself back, wiping at his eyes… Tiq caught hold of his hands, squeezing. “Gentle,” Tiq said softly, “there is no reason to make yourself hurt. You are allowed to be kind to yourself, even for something like this. Grief is complicated.”

          “Grief is awful, and I hate it,” Maul grumbled.

          “Understandable,” Tiq said. “But still…be kind.”

          “What did you have for me, Tiq,” Maul said softly.

          Tiq paused for a moment and finally sighed. “Reach for my mind, Maul, feel.”

          Maul narrowed his eyes, and Tiq felt the soft tickling heat of Maul’s Force-presence reaching out for him. Tiq reached out slowly and offered the memories that he had stored. Maul’s presence flickered near them, before it flared in realization and wonder, and Tiq felt the way he brushed against them, and softly, softly… “Tiq…what is that?”

          “Those are your memories,” Tiq answered softly. “Your Master did not just cut them out he kept them. These…I have not looked at them, Maul, but I can feel them, and they are sound.  Your Master kept them, and I think…eventually he was going to give them back. But now…I am.”

          Maul blinked, “can…can you do that?” he breathed, “is it possible, can you…is my mind not too…?”

          “It is not too broken,” Tiq said, “nor is it too scarred over. The brain has a natural elasticity, and in this instance it wants to be whole. I believe…that should we work together, they should be accepted.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment, and softly, quietly, “please.”

          Tiq tilted his forehead towards Maul, feeling the horns press up against him, closed his eyes, and took a breath, feeling Maul do the same…and slowly.

          Steadily…

          Breathed out…

          And plunged into a mind that he knew.

          Maul pulled back with a gasp, standing, his body reeling, staggering away from Tiq and finally falling to his knees.

          “Maul, can I touch you?” Tiq asked, his voice soft, and Maul braced his hands against the ground, breathing, breathing, feeling like he wanted to throw up. There was so much…as so much was flowed into him, as his memories…

          As that dark pillar was given a face.

          As he stared up at Palpatine.

          And thought of him as father.

          Maul vomited into a wastebasket that hadn’t been there, shaking, his body heaving as he emptied everything in his stomach.

          It had been Palpatine, it was him, all of it was him, and then the wastebasket was moving and Tiq was closer, gently hushing, still not touching, still not…

          “Please,” Maul managed softly, and Tiq pulled him close, settled his head on his lap, let him sprawl out, ran a hand up and down up and down his arm…

          “It’s alright,” Tiq breathed, “it is alright.”

          “I loved him once,” Maul breathed. “I loved him. He raised me. I knew him from…my earliest memories…if only as a presence that… Tiq… Please…I don’t want…I don’t want to think of this anymore. I don’t want…”

          “Hush,” Tiq said softly, “you know that is not true.”

          “There is so much…” Maul managed, his voice trembling, “Tiq…”

          “A lifetime, right up until seventeen,” Tiq said. “It is alright. Let yourself settle, I’m right here, grab on.”

          And Maul reached, clinging tight to Tiq’s Force-presence, allowing himself to sink into the Jedi’s peaceful aura, letting it calm him, slowly allowing his mind to trail down paths and links that it had not been able to make in so…long…

          Tiq remained stable and cool, and Maul slowly let himself bask in it, letting his mind settle, flow the anxiety, the hurt, the… There was so much hurt…so much hurt… And it framed…all of those conversations, those moments…

          “Tiq…” Maul breathed, “he wanted me back…”

          “I do think so,” Tiq said, and the hand on his arm was protective, and the presence he basked in was warm, and so welcoming, “but he did not get you. And he will not. You are not his. You are not ours. You are yours. Your chains are broken, Sith. You are free.”

          Maul took that in, closing his eyes and breathing it close.

          Maul was free.

          He was free.

          “Thank you,” he breathed.

          “Of course,” Tiq said. “How are you feeling, Maul? Do you want a spar?”

          “I could use a distraction,” Maul said, and slowly began to push himself up.

          “Excellent,” Tiq said, “because I think that someone…”

          The door to the training room burst open, Obi-Wan marching forward holding…

          Maul was on his feet and as the pike that had been his weapon and his companion for so long flew through the air he reached out…and caught it.

          And let the red blade THRUM into existence, heat and death and warmth in his hand.

          “Aw shit,” Maul cussed, placing it next to him and taking in where the blade length rested on him. “It’s too short.”

          “That is a bit of a challenge,” Obi-Wan hummed, “but I’m certain it’s nothing you can’t overcome?”

          “Fifteen words to tell me to simply spar anyway, Kenobi,” Maul sniffed, eyeing him. “And yet you call me verbose~”

          Obi-Wan gave a regal shrug before pulling his saber from his belt, twirling it into his favored Soresu, and Maul could see the initial twirl had allowed him to readjust the power on it. It would scald, but not kill.

          Maul hummed, “A moment.”

          Obi-Wan gestured for it, remaining in his ready stance.

          Maul smiled.

          And then twirled the pike, his eyes closed, feeling the weapon, feeling the way it wanted to rest on him, learning where it pressed against his limbs, feeling the brief flashes of heat as it grew too close and adjusting it with the slightest of movements. Familiarity bloomed, and when he finally knew where it would fall, when he knew that he would not hurt himself as well as his enemy, he fell into his own opening stance, pointed at Kenobi, checking the balance to make sure, and casually readjusted the power in his own.

          It was truly only sporting.

          “Very flashy,” Obi-Wan hummed. “But have you ever fought anyone with an actual saber?”

          Maul grinned, baring all of his teeth, and let the low hum of his Force presence darken and darken, and BURN. “No,” he answered, almost purring, “and so I thank you for the opportunity, Kenobi~”

          Maul was aware of the others that were coming in, could see the way Tiq had gone to join Plo at the far end of the room, could see the Nightbrothers as they sat on either side of his brothers, and could see the utter curiosity burning in Ahsoka and Anakin.

          “You know I live to serve,” Obi-Wan said, flicking his saber, and finally, Maul flicked his saber into a guard, and launched himself forward – the pike leading.

          Obi-Wan pulled back, knocking the pike blade up into the air with his saber, only for Maul to catch it and spin it back, sending the butt of the weapon towards his chin. Obi-Wan leaned back, flicked his saber across and sent it to the side, and Maul pulled back, spinning it around with a flourish and as Obi-Wan went to block he twisted the mechanism that kept it solid and instead granted it added flexibility, the interlocking parts gaining just enough gap to grant just enough wiggle without threatening structural collapse, and best yet would allow it to still weather any need to block.

          It was one of the Armourer’s proudest achievements.

          “Oh, that’s not good…” Obi-Wan managed when Maul lowered it to eye-level, a grin on his face.

          “It might be smart to run~?”

          “Might,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then launched himself forward.

          Maul laughed aloud as he brought the butt of the weapon once again into play, forcing Obi-Wan back, and following up with a low sweep that threatened his ankles, the Jedi leaping up and still back. And then Maul twisted the weapon around so the pike was threatening and humming, allowed Obi-Wan the moment to realize it was pointing directly between his eyes, and then began a series of short sharp stabs towards him, always pressing forward, always at different angles, that added flexibility giving the pike an almost unpredictable amount of devastation.

          It was hard to tell where it was aiming, and as Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and began working on blocking and parrying, Maul grinned wider and wider.

          Maul twisted the mechanism to solidify it, spinning around with the butt of the weapon and managing a direct hit to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, causing him to stumble back, and as Maul swung the pike back around Obi-Wan launched himself forward. Maul grinned and rolled backwards, gaining distance. Obi-Wan spun his saber around, working on attacking while Maul’s focus was on retreating, and Maul finally launched himself up in the air, the lightsaber pike deactivating as he landed to balance upon it, a grin splitting his face.

          Obi-Wan blinked up at him.

          Maul took a breath, and with an internal laugh, channeled the Force in a scream of power that took the form of a single solitary word –

          “KENNOOOOOBIIIIII!!!!!!”

          “Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan managed and he turned on his heel and ran.

          Maul twisted the mechanism, launched himself forward with his weapon rattling a terrible facsimile of a death rattle, and Obi-Wan managed a single hard block, but the pike went back around, hit the Jedi’s hand, and sent the lightsaber flying, that pike swinging back once again to point directly at the Jedi’s neck, that mechanism twisted yet again to stabilize it. There was no true point in burning him.

          “Well,” Obi-Wan managed. “That was…frightening.”

          Maul tilted his head. “Yield?”

          “Now,” Obi-Wan paused. “I could…” Maul leapt up and spun over the saber that had been aiming at his back, catching hold of the hilt with a boldness he never would have used if he had not known that it was still set low and therefore would not cut off his hand should he miss. As it was, it was a perfect catch, and Maul aimed the blue sword at its owner’s throat. “Oh, well, that was rather impressive. Yield, yes, I think that sounds like a good idea.”

          “Thank you.” He deactivated the saber and tossed it towards its owner, Obi-Wan catching it and hilting it. Maul deactivated his own pike, grinning. When Obi-Wan went in for a hug Maul initially blinked, feeling it close around him with a momentary start, before allowing himself to hug back.

          “Don’t ever yell my name like that again.”

          Maul laughed aloud and tightened his grip, hitting his back hard once. “I’ll consider it.”

          Obi-Wan pulled back and rolled his eyes at him, laughing himself. But it was good. Maul had needed something like this.

          “Well done,” a voice said that Maul had not been expecting, and he turned to find the one who had made the weapon standing there, as well as a medley of Death Watch that also included Soln. The Armourer approached, and Maul hesitated before approaching as well and holding out the weapon. She took it from him, held it in her hands, and then looked to him, her helmet cocked slightly as she took him in. “You did not grow in the way that I expected.”

          “I don’t know that it was expected by anyone,” Obi-Wan said, taking a step forward. “Hello, are you the one that made that weapon?”

          “I am,” she returned, “I am the Armourer. You fight well…for a Jedi.”

          “I will of course take that as the highest compliment,” Obi-Wan smiled. The Armourer tilted her head to him in a gesture of amusement, and Maul knew that he had managed to get in her good graces.

          “I will reforge your armor and the saber,” she said to Maul. “You will have need of them soon.”

          “Thank you,” Maul said, putting his fist over his chest and offering her a low bow. She returned it with a dip of her head and walked away, Soln approaching. “What brings you here?”

          “We were told you have a problem with some Mandalorians,” he grinned. “We are here to help reclaim them.”

          “Ah,” Maul said. “Fill me in.”

_

          Maul stood on the deck of a ship, staring out over the waters of Kamino.

          Maul had listened while Soln had spoken, listened as the Jedi filled further gaps. But as they spoke, Maul had remembered.

          Darth Sidious had never told him the entirety of the plan, but there were echoes, things that Maul remembered. A plot to destroy the Jedi. A plot to use the Senate they loved so much against them. It had made Maul want to laugh.

          There was a brilliance within it that was frightening, not the least because a part of Maul could admit that he admired it. It was a brilliant plan.

          His Master had always been brilliant.

          But now Maul stood overlooking what was meant to be his Master’s crowning achievement, and the knowledge that it would never be used against the Jedi… It would never be used against his family, or the Galaxy that they loved.

          Maul wondered if they realized how much they loved it. He wondered if this would have been what made them realize it just as it was stripped from them.

          The Separatists had been weeded out, cut from Dooku they had fizzled, and ultimately there was nothing to unite them. There was to be no war…

          And so, an army that had been created needed to be dissolved.

          And millions of men needed to be helped to find purpose beyond a war that would never happen.

          The Jedi’s entire Mind Healer force had been pulled from all corners, after they had managed to find replacements, of course, and were currently being debriefed by Tiq. Maul himself had helped in some of the debriefing.

          Yoda was currently on Kamino and had been making observations, talking to the Clones that were there. The knowledge that they were dealing with men that in some ways were a bit like Maul had been.

          Men fashioned into Weapons.

          Beings that had no concept of themselves as anything but tools of destruction.

          Maul was not sure if he was ready to see them. What Maul had not expected was for the way the Brothers understood. And not just Feral and Savage, but also Venom, Spite, Grudge, and Wrath. Yet…in a way he supposed he should have.

          What were they for?

          What were they for…

          But in the end they stood with him, and their presence was a balm in a way Maul did not know how to reach for. They often included him regardless, and he had learned slowly of the ways that a Brother asked for another’s presence.

          Tiq had also been with them, a constant presence, talking, gentle, as well as a consistent reminder that they did not have to see them yet. Maul could take his time. They all could. They would do what needed to be done.

          Tiq had laughed just about as hard as Maul when the Nightbrothers had looked at him.

          “Always remember you can take a step back,” Tiq had said, and they had promised to remember.

          He knew they intended to keep that promise.

          But for now, Maul was going to see what could be done.

          They came in for a landing, and Maul continued watching.

          As the rest disembarked Maul waited.

          He was unsurprised when the Armourer finally found him, and he turned to her.

          “It is finished,” she said. “The second iteration of my greatest creation. You will wield it well.”

          “I will,” Maul agreed, and followed her to where his armor waited.

          He took the pike in hand and finally left himself, clad in the armor of the Mandalorians that had been his own. Influenced by the aesthetics of the Sith. Influenced by his own.

          Maul kept his distance, his presence small, unnoticeable as he walked amongst them, and watched. His Brothers had approached, had walked to them with an intimate knowledge that Maul could not quite match. His own childhood had been spent in loneliness, in solitude, his own training wrapped around the fact that there was only himself… And the reflection he saw in glass. And the more that he saw the more he felt as though he was staring at an imitation, at a broken and shattered mirror that showed him so much of what had been…and ultimately what he no longer was.

          Maul stood in a transparisteel tunnel and stared out at a sea of men that moved in unison, trained in unison, that awkwardly attempted to talk to the Jedi that had spread amongst them, that had no idea how to integrate with them, even as he could see the way they longed to…

          The Mandalorians had spread, the splinter of Death Watch that Maul had stumbled upon when destroying the mines of Zygerria…and those were the ones that were ultimately the most gravitated to. Outside of course, of the Brothers…the Brothers that were gaining a following that was growing.

          Soln had been called for good reason and Maul wondered quietly whether or not this would be something they latched onto. Perhaps Death Watch would grow. Maybe they would finally be enough to destroy the group led by Pre Vizsla.

          Maul would not mind. From what he recalled Jango was considered a member of the True Mandalorians, but as Maul looked out at the men that clearly had no understanding of existence outside of battle…outside of fight…outside of being a weapon… He could not believe that Jango had remained a part of that faction.

          And the more he looked…the angrier Maul grew.

          There were children.

          More in pods waiting to be decanted.

          All of them had been meant for war.

          And a single man had agreed to it. A single man had seen fit to take these children, take these beings, and enslave them to war, and act as though they did not matter.

           Weapons.

          Maul was looking out at an army of weapons.

          It was something he recognized implicitly.

          Jango had been gone, a job he had been on taking him away, and it was during that time that they had begun their work, but Maul had little doubt that he would not be gone for long.

          Maul had avoided all Kaminoans, watching from above the way they interacted with the ones that had been under their care and known that he would be unable to keep the hate down.

          It was all too raw.

          Maul did not know what he would do.

          But Maul would find out.

          For now, he would watch, and as he watched Maul found himself so thankful for Tiq and his Group. Maul was so thankful for the Mandalorians he had found and their utter insistence that he come with them.

          It was strange to think that this had been the splinter faction that Meltch Krakko had belonged to.

          It was strange to think that he may have grown up amongst them if…

          But his Master had still been alive.

          It was likely that all Maul would have done would be invite death.

          Yet now…Maul’s Master was dead.

          Now…all of their chains were broken.

          It was simply a matter of getting them to see that.

          Maul took a breath and finally decided to move amongst them.

          His distance was no longer helping. Maul allowed his iron control of his presence slip, and began walking down to meet the rest of the men.

_

          Tiq was surrounded by an ocean of numbers.

          He was thankful for much, but the fact that numbers had always been easy for him to remember was in the top tier. It would be an awful thing to forget or to butcher when their batch numbers was literally all that these men had to their person. At least…until they either decided they wanted a name or decided that their number would fit for a name.

          Either one was acceptable, at this point it was closer to discovering another race than it was being amidst Clones of one man. If their naming practices involved a great deal of numbers then it deserved to be respected. And then Tiq’s attention was pulled to the Brothers, and he found himself smiling.

          “So…” one of the men was saying, CC-3636, if Tiq wasn’t mistaken, it was in the Aura – this one’s crackled, “you…you’re Venom, and you’re Feral, you’re Spite, and Wrath, and Grudge, and…you’re Savage?”

          “Yes,” Savage answered, grinning, “and he is Maul,” Savage nodded towards…

          Oh.

          Well.

          Tiq rather thought he understood how that could be terrifying.

          Maul had always been soundless, but to manage that with a suit of armor was a particularly intense sort of task. That black armor with its crown of horns that were so much larger than Maul’s own, the face that slowly came into view as he stopped before them and tilted his head slightly to look at them… And also offered a horn-lock, one that was immediately taken up by Feral, who hooked tight and grinned.

          “It’s not quite the same, they’re a good deal less…living, but I have to say I do like them,” Feral said, taking a step back and reaching up to touch the tips. “How many have you killed like this?”

          “Enough,” Maul answered and the grin in his voice was sharp.

          The Brothers laughed, a warm thing, amused, and there was a certain delight in the sound.

          Tiq felt the desire to roll his eyes, but there was no denying the way the men around them were reacting. There was a kinship there that they seemed to not have expected.

          And how could they have…but now that it was there, Tiq could see the beginnings of interest.

          “You can name yourselves things like that?” CC-1993 asked.

          “Why would you not be able to?” Venom asked. “Though admittedly most of us were named by our older Brothers.”

          “Oh, does that…does that mean you need to be blood to name another?”

          “Oh, apologies,” Venom said. “While it is true that we four are blood, and they are blood,” he indicated Maul and Savage and Feral, “Brothers is nonetheless what we call ourselves. We are Nightbrothers, even without Blood, we are connected in battle and in soul.”

          There was a slow building interest, and Tiq found himself smiling.

          This was an unlooked for, but certainly helpful line of familiarity.

          This was something that could be used to help.

          They had already started to shift from the way they stood together, the slow relaxing of shoulders, the movement to start to copy postures. They were also all very interested in the Brother’s tattoos. As they explained, the Brothers smiling as they indicated them and what they meant… The Mandalorians had also approached, and together they were pulling a crowd.

          There were younger ones approaching then, recently decanted, and the Brothers welcomed them with an ease that seemed to win the men over more…

          The sound of a ship passing by overhead drew Tiq’s attention, and he was aware then too of Maul.

          Maul who focused on the man that was coming in through the door dressed in full Mandalorian armor of his own, and as he approached, drew his pike, and then Maul’s voice cracked out, “Demagolka! Aruetyc hut’uun! Naast be ade! Aruetii ti aliit bal manda… Gar buir duraa.”

          Tiq felt his eyes widen. Well.

          That was one way to start a fight.

          Jango launched himself forward, a roar of anger and pain, and Maul met him. It was an almost wretchedly one sided fight.

          Jango was skilled, there was no doubt, and similarly no doubt that Mandalorians were warriors born… But so, too, were Nightbrothers.

          And Maul was not playing fair.

          Jango used whatever weapon he could think of, but if they ever threatened the crowd that was still watching a Jedi was able to send it back…but more importantly, Maul was willing always to use the Force, to rip Jango from his feet and throw him across the room, to send the flames that Jango sent at him back at his own face with a single palm raised up. And when Maul had finally tackled Jango to the ground, had finally knocked his helmet away and brought a single blade to his throat, that was when Maul finally tore off his own helmet and began to speak.

          “You call yourself a True Mandalorian, Jango?” Maul purred. “You call yourself someone your father would be proud of? Knowing that you call yourself a Mandalorian while you disobey the first basic tenant, while you allow yourself to become demagolka and destroy your manda and theirs? Why?”

          “They aren’t people,” Jango hissed. “They’re nothing…”

          The sound of a harsh and rasped gasp brought Tiq’s attention to a little boy, one that had… Oh.

          Tiq had heard of…

          “Filth,” Maul hissed. “Your vengeance has blinded you to everything…even the needs of the one you called son. Tell me, Jango? How can you possibly know that you are worthy of existence, worthy of love…when every single being bearing your face, bearing your soul is also worthy of extermination? How can you elevate one to a son, when you do not even see them as human?”

          And Jango was staring at his boy. Jango was staring at the child who had frozen, who stared into his eyes, “Boba…” Jango breathed, and that was when Boba turned and ran.

          Tiq kept track of the boy with the promise that he would check on him later. He had a feeling the boy needed time…

          Jango fought against Maul then, struggled to get out of his grip, but Maul was Zabrak. Maul had twice the muscle density and wound up pinning Jango on his front, that knife at his ear. “Stop,” Maul commanded softly. “Just stop. You have lost. You are just a man, Jango. You are just a man…”

          And Tiq could see the way the other men had straightened, could see… And he found a slow smile pulling at his mouth. And he understood what Maul had decided needed to be done.

          Maul had shown them that their tormentor was mortal. Maul had shown them that he could be beaten.

          And softly, quietly, “Jango…why would you attempt to get revenge on the people that only reacted to your orders? Why would you get revenge against them when you shot first and you know that by right their actions were just?”

          Jango said nothing.

          “Would you like to help us kill Pre Vizsla?”

          Jango blinked. “What?”

          “You killed Tor Vizsla, that much is true, but you have not killed all that remains of him. There have been others that have followed in his footsteps, have taken Death Watch in his image. Would you like to destroy them?” Maul asked. “Would you like to regain your honor? Would you like to avenge your father?”

          Jango paused, and then slowly looked up at him. “But Death Watch…?”

          Soln laughed quietly and stepped forward, crouching down alongside him. “We are Death Watch. Or rather…Death Watch as it should have been. Before Tor twisted us. Pre Vizsla has further corrupted what we stood for. Destroyed the honor that it once possessed, stripped the non-humans from its ranks, and has the gall to call himself Mandalorian by the rule of a sword he did not win. His father may have won it. It may run in his family…but it was not won by him.”

          “We are going to kill him and destroy the rest,” Maul said pleasantly, “and we are offering you the opportunity to make up for what you have done. There will be no war, Jango. The Jedi will not fall. But you can still have your revenge. A more…ultimate revenge.”

          Jango paused, and then tapped the floor twice. Maul let him up.

          “Who are you?” Jango asked softly, looking to him.

          “I am Maul,” he answered. “If you continue to test me you may find out why.” Maul grinned with all of his teeth, and Tiq heard the soft ripple of laughter that spread, the shock slowly dissipating.

          And then Maul stalked away, leaving Jango with Soln, who put his arm on Jango’s shoulder and also led him away.

          Tiq left to find Boba…and eventually found him with Maul.

          Tiq listened for a moment, took in the soft words, and gave the slightest of nods.

          For now…for now Boba would be alright. Upon turning, Tiq found a blond-haired man standing, and as he saluted Tiq smiled, “he’s just ahead. Maul is with him.”

          “Thank you,” he said. “I…thank you.”

          “There is no need,” Tiq said. “We are happy to bring you to freedom. It will be a hard road, but it is one you can learn to walk.”

          The man nodded stiffly, and looked beyond him, “can I…can I talk to them?”

          “Of course,” Tiq said softly, “I dare say Maul would even welcome your presence, and whatever help you can give…”

          “He’s still…” the man paused, and then softly, “he’s still my brother.”

          “He is,” Tiq agreed, “go.”

          “Thank you.”

          He slipped away and Tiq wished briefly that he had remembered to ask for what the man’s number was. Tiq hoped that he would be able to help Boba.  

          Tiq entered the main room once again to find the men buzzing. There was an energy and a spark in the air that had not been there before. He also saw more than just the one man going to find Maul.

          Tiq could not help but grin.

          Seemed Maul had broken more chains than he was perhaps expecting, and in its placed…forged a few rings. Perhaps more than a few.

          It was a good thing.

_

          Maul sat quietly, kneeling in the dark. The Armourer sat before him, her hands on her knees, silent.

          It felt like ages since the last time he had done this. A lifetime ago, and in a way it was. His Brothers were free…

          Maul had done it.

          All of the work…all of the sacrifices, all Maul had done… They had done it. The Brothers were free. And now they had freed the Vode. The Vode who had been fed the Liquor of the Sands, had come to their own freedom with their help, the Brothers standing as ally and friend, and slowly integrating.

          They had taken names, tattoos, and shared similarly Mandalorian customs, as well as their own culture that they had assembled in the hell of Kamino.

          Maul was proud, and he knew that he was not the only one, the Jedi a constant presence that had worked so hard… And then there was Shmi. Shmi and her family of White Suns. They had worked to be someone to gravitate to when the Brothers or the Vode felt lost. The Galaxy was big, and they were many, but they were relatively young in the Galaxy. There was so much to learn.

          But the Senate had been a big help as well, Padmé and Bail leading the work to allow them citizenship, to allow the Vode and the Brothers into the Republic.

          Bail had been promoted as Chancellor.

          Maul had voted for Padmé.

          Maul had almost forgiven Bail for winning.

          It had been over a year of constant work, of shaping the Galaxy around them, of learning their place and spreading out.

          But now they had come back.

          They had one last order of business.

          Death Watch needed to be unified.

          The Mandalorians must rebuild.

          And so, the Armourer had come to him…and Maul had no idea why.

           “Why…have you asked me here?” Maul asked.

          “We are going to kill Pre Vizsla,” the Armourer responded.

          “Of course, you are,” Maul said. “That has been a goal of Death Watch since I freed you from bondage…but what does this have to do with me?”

          “Vizsla has the Darksaber,” the Armourer answered. “He has the power to unify the masses under that banner which means whoever kills him has won it. They have won Mandalore.”

          “Mandalore is ruled by a Duchess,” Maul returned. “A Duchess that does not share in the beliefs of those that follow the Saber.”

          “But for those that do, they are the only ones fit to rule,” the Armourer returned. “And it is possible that these ones may…overthrow others…”

          “You wish to oppose Duchess Satine?” Maul asked, raising an eyebrow. “An interesting proposal. What do you plan to do when she asks the Jedi for aid? Would you turn against them?”

          “We do not need to directly oppose her,” the Armourer denied. “We Watch for Death, Maul, but that does not mean we are always the cause of it. I do not know that we would have to oppose her in direct confrontation, but there are those that may seek the Saber.”

          “Then you must think well of who you wish to wield it,” Maul answered. “The battle is to keep your head as well as the Saber, I would expect.”

          “It is,” she said. “Which is why I am asking you to fight for it.”

          Maul blinked.

          “What?”

          “Maul,” she said, and her voice was more patient than he expected she wanted it to be. “You are Sith, but you are also ours. You are Death Watch. You have more right to the saber than some could even dream, and you are also one of the most powerful beings in the Galaxy. But you are also loved by many. If you took the saber there may be some that might wish to challenge you…but they would have to get through many others to do so.”

          “And who, precisely,” Maul began, contempt lacing his voice, a skeptical hiss, “would fight for me?””

          Maul whirled to face the crash behind him, startled to find not just… It was not just Death Watch that had come. It was the Vode…it was the Brothers…as well as his brothers. Feral and Savage stood there, grinning.

          “We would have you as Mand’alor…”

          And it was Soln that spoke, Soln that stepped forward, the one that had been leading Death Watch since Maul had freed it.

          Maul stood slowly, turning to face them, to look at them all…

          And blinked at the presence of Jango.

           Jango stood staring off into the distance, his arms crossed over his chest, defiance in his posture…but as Maul approached he straightened, meeting his gaze evenly.

          Jango had been talking to Tiq, Maul was aware, but the complexities eluded him. In a way, Maul had not cared. He knew that Boba was safe, was with someone who loved him for his own sake and that had been enough.

          It was one of the reasons Maul had not gone through with his proposal to Padmé to take Bail out, the knowledge that Boba had been given to Bail and Breha and was doing very well. Much better than Maul believed he had ever been with a father that had seen him more of an experiment to how he would have turned out. A child that was not loved for their own sake was rarely a happy child, and Boba had deserved better…just as the rest of the vode had.

          But now here Jango was, and the realization of what it meant…

          “You would have me for Mand’alor,” Maul said, staring at him.

          Jango said nothing for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “I would see you as Mand’alor. We have too long been divided…and I know that you have united more than just Death Watch to your name. The Armourer is right…you are the right choice.” Jango paused. “You also saw to it that Boba…that Boba was taken care of. I know you were one of the first to help him, and I…” he paused. “I am grateful.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment. “Have you asked for visitation rights?”

          “I do not know that Boba would want to see me,” Jango returned.

          “Try,” Maul said. “I will vouch for you.”

          “Why?”

          “Because that is the first I have heard that you actively considered Boba for his own sake. Because I can see that you miss him.”

          Jango said nothing.

          But Maul could see the slight smile on his face…and he could feel the contented excitement in his aura.

          It was a step…and it was a very good one.

          But now Maul still had the choice. Now Maul had to stand with the weight of the fact that they had asked him to rule.

          “I had planned…on rebuilding the Sith,” Maul said. “I joined your Death Watch in honor of a father I lost. I follow your tenants, but at the core of me I am Sith.”

          “The Mandalorians and the Sith have worked together before,” the Armourer said.

          “And the Sith need a people and protection while you are growing,” Soln said, stepping forward. “You need not split yourself in two. And you do not need to rule without help.”

          Maul took this in for a moment. “You want me as a figurehead.”

          The laugh was soft, and Soln put his arm around him, “This is not about use, Maul. We do not wish to use you. We wish to help you. Advise you. You would not be a puppet without power. I don’t know that we could do that to you to begin with.”

          “You could not,” Maul said. “I would not take it well.”

          “Thought not,” Soln grinned.

          Maul took in the offer, looked at the ones standing there, the Brothers he had thought to invite, to try… And thought of what it would mean. He would be giving a true unification to his people and the Vode, given the opportunity to unify Death Watch with a people that still needed a home, to create a world where they were home.

          And he would not have to do it alone.

          “Very well,” Maul said softly. “I shall be your Mand’alor.”

_

          “Jango.”

          The call of his name was enough to bring Jango’s attention back, finding Maul standing there.

          The Zabrak had changed into his armor, outside of the helmet which he was resting on his hip, the horns that covered his own, weapons in themselves, but he knew it was not all the Nightbrother had.

          “Maul,” he returned easily, as Maul stepped up next to him. “What is it?”

          “Will you be my Second?” Maul asked, turning to meet his gaze.

          Jango blinked. It was an unexpected question. Jango had initially thought that Maul would have gone with Soln, or perhaps one of his own brothers. There were many that would have jumped at the chance to watch Maul’s back…and yet he had gone to Jango.

          “Why?”

          Maul sighed. “I have no ulterior motive, Jango,” he said. “I merely asked you ages ago if you would like to be the one to claim revenge. I intend to give it to you, and while you cannot be the one to kill him…I would nonetheless trust you with my back.”

          Jango took that in for a moment, staring at a man who he realized was giving him the opportunity for everything that he had wanted…that was doing his best to give him what was promised. Jango didn’t even mind that it was late, it had needed to be. There had been so much that had needed to be done. So much that had needed to be done to fix Jango’s mistakes.

          “I will be your second,” Jango said. “I will watch your back. Though you must promise that this fight is fair. You cannot use that darjetii osik, Maul. If you fight him in a way that he cannot match then you will lose – not just honor but face. They will challenge you.”

          “You don’t have to worry about that, Jango,” Maul said. “I intend to fight him fair. I have no doubts in my ability to kill him without the Force.”

          “So, you’ll give him what you didn’t give me?” Jango asked, the slightest of smiles on his mouth.

          Maul eyed him like he had said something incredibly stupid.

          “It was not about fighting you fair,” Maul said, “it was about proving that you could be beaten. That you were not the most powerful thing that those men had ever seen…and you were more mortal and breakable than they thought. It was about showing you were a man, Jango, and not some monster that was unbeatable.” Maul paused. “That’s my job.”

          Jango laughed aloud, unable to help it, taking in the flashing fangs in the other man’s smile, the slit of his eyes and grinning, even as he felt that twist in his chest. “I don’t know that it worked. They love you, and I am grateful for it. You were right to do it,” Jango said finally. “And you were right to challenge me. I did abandon everything. I did allow my need for revenge to destroy my principles… I did…shame my father.”

          “Grief does strange things,” Maul said, staring out at the starscape, his gaze distant, and it brought his profile into sharper view.

          Jango looked at him, taking him in in a way he had not before…and found that he was young.

          “How old are you?” Jango asked.

          “Twenty-six,” Maul said without hesitation, apparently without thought, “I had thought twenty-seven, but I was informed that our gambling with my age had proven incorrect.”

          Jango stared at him. “You do not want to be the Mand’alor,” he said softly.

          “I am willing,” Maul said. “There is much that I can do with that position that I have wanted to do.” He paused. “But no. No. I do not know how well I will lead these people… You claim that there are those that would advise me, but I am…” Maul spread his hands. “No one has claimed their position. I do not know if they are waiting for me to prove victorious…”

          “I would,” Jango said, looking at him. “I have not…I do not have a good track record when it comes to my decisions. If I had not chosen to shoot first…if I had merely attempted to talk to the Jedi then it is possible…” Jango said nothing for a long moment. “Healer Tiq would be proud of me. I don’t know that I have said that without growing angry before…without trying to deny it…”

          “Healer Tiq is frequently proud of all of us, I believe,” Maul said softly.

          “I was young,” Jango said. “I recognize that now.”

          “I am young,” Maul returned.

          “You are. And a better man than I was.”

          Maul laughed, bitter, almost scoffing. “I have been given opportunities and I have played them,” he said softly.

          “We all deal the hand that we are dealt,” Jango agreed. “I am older now. And wiser…if you would seek what I have…”

          “I would take it,” Maul said. “I would also…so long as it was not a challenge for the Darksaber…be willing to indulge you in a fair spar?”

          Jango grinned and clapped the man on his shoulder. “I would be honored. And do not worry, Mand’alor. I know where my loyalties lie. Now tell me, how do you intend to counter the saber? Your pike may be considered an unfair advantage, as would your double-bladed weapon.”

          “Do not worry,” Maul said. He paused then. “Would you like to meet the man who originally offered to be my Second?”

          “You turned him down?” Jango asked.

          “I made a promise,” Maul said with a slight shrug. “I intended to keep it. I agreed to accept his weapon, though. He was willing to agree to that.”

          “Oh?” Jango asked, following Maul as he headed out into the ship. Jango walked beside him, watching the man in his peripheral vision as he greeted the people he passed with a nod, or a gesture.

          “Yes,” Maul said finally, looking to him out of the corner of his eye. “He was my Teacher. I attempted to be a Jedi for a time.”

          “Did you,” Jango said softly, a brow rising.

          “Didn’t take,” Maul said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “I am too angry.”

          Jango laughed, surprised.

          He paused for a moment and then briefly, quietly, “You were wrong, though.”

          “About?” Maul asked.

          “I always did love my son. But it was in that one instant that I…” Jango paused. “You made me recognize that I had been hurting him. In a way that I…” he trailed off. “I wanted to thank you for that. And for…for following up and fighting to allow me visitation. He is happy.”

          Maul was quiet for a moment.

          “I am sorry, Jango,” Maul said. “I did not want to keep you from your son forever.”

          “I know.” Jango paused. “They do not think that it has to be forever. But there is much I have done without…knowing.”

          “It is hard,” Maul said.

          “It is.”

          And then they finally turned the corner into a meditation room…and there sat a tall dark-skinned man, his eyes closed, meditating silently. It was a Jedi, which he had suspected, but one with a sterner expression and heavier countenance than Jango had anticipated.

          “Teacher,” Maul said, and the man looked up, and Jango watched as his expression softened.

          The man stood smoothly, approaching, and his attention turned to Jango.

          “This is Jango Fett,” Maul said. “Jango Fett, this is Mace Windu. He was my Teacher, as I said.” Jango inclined his head to the other man, something that was returned. “He is the one that I have promised as my Second. He has agreed.”

          Mace Windu took that in for a moment and then nodded, looking to Jango directly. Brown eyes met his and their gaze was fixed and stern. “Take care of him.”

          “You have my word,” Jango said, putting a hand to his chest. He knew a worried buir when he saw one. Jango understood. “I plan to see to it that he only has to focus on the fight before him.”

          “Good,” Mace said, and his expression pulled into a smile, “thank you.” He paused and then turned to Maul. “Would you like to take it now or later?”

          “When are you comfortable parting with it?” Maul asked.

          “I am comfortable with you growing familiar with it,” Mace returned.

          “Then I shall take it now,” Maul said, and Jango watched as Mace pulled the lightsaber from his belt and held it out to Maul.

          Maul took it carefully before igniting the blade, and purple streamed out.

          It was a beautiful weapon.

          Jango nodded.

          “That’ll do.”

          “Indeed,” Maul said softly.

_

          Feral stood alongside his twin, Savage framing his other side, and Jango at Maul’s back.

          Feral understood why he could not be Maul’s Second, and even understood why Jango was the one that they had chosen, but it nonetheless rankled. Jango had inclined his head politely towards the two Brothers when he had seen them, and Feral had returned the gesture. But ultimately, Feral wanted to be with his brother.

          Feral was so proud, and so utterly amazed that he sometimes did not know how to handle it.

          It was strange to think that this was the same brother that he had gotten to know. It was strange to think that this was the same brother that would hide with him from younglings by lying atop pillars, would tease them with limbs just out of reach to allow them to try and catch… The same brother that would similarly use those pillars to hide from Obi-Wan and have Feral inform him that he would not be talking to him.

          Feral had learned so much about his brother, Savage often joining them when he was able, which was not as much as he would like.

          Savage had agreed to help Viscous. He was the spokesperson for the Nightbrother Diaspora that were still attempting to settle and so was often busy, but they always were together when they could be.

          Maul had spoken of the possibility of making this more common, of the opportunity to unite their peoples with the Vode, and the Mandalorian splinter group that was still in existence and had been growing.

          Feral did not understand much of Mandalorian politics… He understood that there was technically a Duchess, one that Maul seemed to hold in some manner of…not perhaps contempt, Feral had seen his brother hold people in contempt before and she did not hold the same level of ire, but certainly a level of annoyance. But they were not attempting to retake the whole of Mandalore. Not yet, as Maul had put it with a very intent look at Obi-Wan which the Jedi had pretended to ignore.

          The Duchess had apparently called Maul after that, and Maul had simply hung up on her.

          Repeatedly.

          Feral had been unable to stop laughing.

          But from what Feral did understand, Maul had no intention of going after the Mandalorians that were upon the planet, and instead was perfectly willing to leave them be… But he was planning on reuniting the factions that were under another man.

          A man that Maul had to kill. A man that Maul needed to take a saber from.

          Feral could understand that.

          Symbolic weapons that held the power to unite the peoples underneath them was not an unknown concept to Nightbrothers, though theirs had all been lost to them. As it was, Feral walked next to his brothers, and knew that he would kill to keep them together.

          Feral walked next to his brothers and thought of a small boy that had stood in their midst and the man that he had turned out to be. Feral was proud.

          And more than a little amazed.

          Feral knew it was not all his brother.

          Feral knew that the Jedi had helped the Vode, and similarly he knew that the Vode had latched onto the Nightbrothers, and he also knew that the Death Watch had been what had helped free the Brothers, and similarly so had White Sun which had been so instrumental in not only showing the Brothers that not all women wished to enslave or hurt them, but also that there was more out there. There was a constantly reaching hand that had been extended towards each of them…

          But Feral could not forget Maul in that Holocron as he spoke of not knowing if he would ever come back.

          Feral could not forget the little boy that had loved.

          Maul looked to him briefly and Feral smiled.

          “You ready to be the Maul’dalor?” Feral asked, his smile given teeth.

          Jango laughed, even as Maul rolled his eyes.

          “We should start calling it that,” Jango said, laughter in his voice. “Mandalore is still under the rule of the Duchess, and supposing you don’t mean to take over…”

          “Obi-Wan is not here, is he?” Maul asked, looking around unnecessarily.

          “He is not,” Savage answered, laughter in his voice and in the slight curve of his mouth. “As you very well know. You forbade him from coming, and as you are about to be Mauld’dalor…”

          “That is even worse than calling me Mand’alor,” Maul said.

          “Very well, Mand’alor,” Jango said immediately.

          Feral and Savage both roared with laughter, Maul turning to stare at Jango, the man smiling at him without fear or worry.

          Maul rolled his eyes once more and continued walking.

          “I do not have an interest in actively opposing or hurting the Duchess Satine because she is…well. I do not know if she considers me a friend…”

          “You have probably seen to it that she does not,” Feral laughed.

          “But I do enjoy her company,” Maul said, talking over him. “And I do not wish her harm. She is an idiot. Her ideals on pacifism are not only misplaced they are extreme, but I believe they are reactionary to what the Mandalorian people had become. And I do respect her ability to stand by those ideals even if I do think that given enough pressure she would break her own people before she allowed them to break.”

          “You have thought about this a good deal,” Jango said briefly.

          “I have,” Maul answered. “I have also decided the possibility of stealing her citizens right underneath her nose by simply being a better ruler of her people would be more entertaining than any attempts I make to actually dispose of her.”

          Savage laughed. “It likely would be,” he agreed.

          Jango looked at his comm briefly, giving a soft sound. “They’re in position. We can seek an audience with Vizsla whenever you feel up for it.”

          Maul paused at that.

          “I am hesitating aren’t I?” he asked.

          “You have made us walk around the perimeter…four times now,” Savage pointed out.

          “I was waiting for them to get set up,” Maul said. He paused. “Can I do this?”

          “Take Vizsla’s head off?” Jango asked. “Undoubtedly. Rule an entire people?” Jango paused, “your Brothers are loyal. The Vode adores you. Death Watch…” he trailed off. “It is funny to me…that I have joined with someone who is seeking to rebuild what killed us.”

          “We were thrown out before you even entered the picture,” Maul said. Then paused. “Fuck.”

          Jango laughed. “You’re claiming it. You have recognized its history. You know its tenants. You are willing to follow.”

          “I have. I do. I will.”

          “You care.”

          “I do.”

          “I think that will make you a great leader,” Savage said.

          “I think they would kill for you,” Feral said. “And they will not be the only ones.”

          “More importantly…” Jango said, and his voice was low, and it was hard, “I think they would die for you.”

          Maul made a soft sound at that.

          “Are you ready?”

          Maul closed his eyes, for a moment breathing deep and allowing himself to center, Feral feeling the tension in the bond that connected him to his Brother, the uncertainty. Feral brushed up against it, and Maul grabbed hold, Feral gripping tight to his brother’s aura and feeding him slowly with feelings of certainty, of loyalty, of love.

          Feral had no doubt that Maul could do this.

          Maul’s hold tightened briefly, warming Feral with feelings of acceptance, of gratefulness…

          And then Maul slowly let go, breathing out.

          “Very well,” Maul said. “Tell them we are going to enter the compound.”

          Jango sent the message across, and Maul led them into the mines.

          Pre Vizsla was waiting.

_

          Pre Vizsla hung up the comm, his head bowed.

          Talking to Satine was exhausting. He stood before her as her chosen Governor when for years…for years all Pre had wanted to do was claim her spot. All he had wanted to do was rule Mandalore, to return it to the Glory. All his life Pre had heard of the battles of his Ancestors. The sword that he carried a legacy to a people that had been. To his family and what they had created.

          Pre had looked back upon his line of greater men and found himself small in a way that he could not stand.

          He was standing upon their shoulders…but there was nowhere he could reach.

          Pre had joined with the Count, made attempts to broaden his resources, to reclaim Mandalore…

          And yet here he stood, and the Separatists had fallen to pieces.

          The Count had been imprisoned.

          Grievous was even gaining therapy the last he had heard, which he would never have believed.

          There was nothing left. All that was there was him…and Bo-Katan, and the remains of a force that they had created.

          The problem was, Pre had no plan.

          Pre could no longer operate in the shadows. There was no way to show that Satine’s leadership had holes. There was no way for him to take over in a way that would lead to the people trusting him.

          There would be no war…there would be nothing that he could use to conceal his efforts.

          They would have to start again.

          Pre wondered idly whether or not it was even worth doing. Dooku had been captured, surely…surely at some point he would tell them of Death Watch.

          Surely Pre’s life would be forfeit as would the rest of them. He had no doubt that Dooku would attempt a plea bargain, and it would be everyone else’s neck but his. It was infuriating.

          Pre had no desire to spend his last years in a cell. Pre hated idleness and he hated the idea of wasting away more than anything.

          His ancestors had been proud warriors, ones that had even stolen from the Jedi themselves, and now here he stood…

          Here he stood.

          In an old mining catacomb in a moon that had almost been destroyed… Governor of a people of warriors that could not fight.

          Pre wished for many things.

          An honorable death was one of them.

          Pre looked over as Bo-Katan approached, taking in the woman as she nodded to the members of the Watch she passed, her gaze nonetheless fixed on his. Pre did not know what to tell her. She had abandoned everything, family her home, her sister in order to be with the Watch, had carved out the Nite Owls. Her dreams had been the same, to see The Mandalorians returned to the warring peoples they were. To see their honor and glory restored…

          But what did they have left?

          Pre sighed, turning to face her as she finally came to a stop before him.

          “What did she say?” Bo asked.

          Pre thought back to the conversation, wondering what was actually useful, what Bo actually wanted. Sometimes he thought that she missed her sister. Sometimes he thought that she wanted for him to tell her that she had changed her opinions, that Death Watch should be reinstated. Pre wasn’t even all that sure he blamed her.

          Satine was still her sister.

          But at the same time, there was the way that she had said it. There was the annoyance in the tone, and Pre could never tell.

          “She spoke of Dooku,” Pre said. “About how he was going to be making a plea bargain. Mentioned Death Watch.” Pre paused before smiling. “She told me to be careful.”

          “Then it’s all over then,” Bo said softly. “Unless we run now…”

          “Where would we run?” Pre asked. “Would you have us go underground? Have us refuse to take off our helmets, go into a galaxy as common bounty hunters? Leave our names and selves behind?”

          “There has to be a way,” Bo said. “Maybe we create our own army. We have…”

          “What resources do we have?” Pre asked. “Who would we go to that are not villainous scum? How can we trust them to have our backs? What happens when they realize that Death Watch does not have the numbers to truly oppose them?” Pre sighed. “I cannot see a way out, Bo. Can you?”

          “There must be something,” Bo said. “Surely…my sister would offer clemency, we could…”

          “You wish to take an offer from your sister? Even if it would put us in the position to betray her later?”

          Bo said nothing.

          “I had thought not.”

          There was silence and Pre sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

          “Are we just going to give up then?” Bo asked. “That’s it? This…this is it?”

          Pre looked to her, spreading his hands. “What would you have me do? All of our power, all of our dealings we had in secrecy, but they were nonetheless underneath Satine’s nose. They were nonetheless done with a group that is now being prosecuted.”

          Bo drew herself up, angry…

          An explosion shook the camp, and Pre stood up, for a moment wondering whether or not Satine had figured it out and had sent for them… But this was Satine. She would never have resorted to violence.

          So, what…was this?

          The sounds continued, a fight, coming towards them, and then…

          The doors were blasted open. His troops poured in, retreating, sending bolts that…

          That froze…in mid-air… Hovering before them like some sort of deadly light show.

          They stopped firing, and the shots were sent away, sent back into the walls harmlessly.

          Pre could not believe what he was seeing. Three men entered first, one of them dressed as a Mandalorian all in black, and the two behind them were… They were Nightbrothers. The one in front was a Nightbrother, his horns tall, each of them walking forward with an air of utter confidence, a swagger that spoke of warriors born…

          And behind them came another man… A man that was repeated in the faces on the ones behind him, and… More Nightbrothers.

          And then someone that Pre remembered, someone he never thought he would see again.

          Soln.

          Soln Wor.

          Death Watch had been cleansed of the non-humans that had once inhabited it by his father. Soln was amongst the number, as were… And as Pre watched he realized what this was…

          And found his attention drawn once again to the Nightbrother at the front.

          Blood-red skin…eyes that glowed in the dark, and an expression that was almost…

          Bored.

          And then those eyes locked on Pre.

          And Pre remembered hearing of this being.

          Pre remembered the whispers of the one that was tearing apart Zygerria. Pre remembered the temporary fear of what would happen if those stripped from Death Watch came back. He remembered fearing what they may do…

          Pre looked into those eyes…

          And he saw his death.

          Pre watched as the force before him spread out… His gaze fell upon Jango Fett… Jango Fett…who was staring at him with a smirk on his face…

          And then the one who walked forward froze in the wide arena that they had used to challenge each other in, the arena that would be his death.

          “I am Maul,” he said, his voice a rich growl that rumbled low, and then a singular finger pointed towards Pre Vizsla, “and I challenge you – one warrior to another…for the right to wield the Darksaber. I challenge you for the right to rule Death Watch.”

          Pre looked back to the men and the women that had followed him, the ones that he did not know how to help… And stared at the one before him.

          Maul.

          Pre tilted his head.

          “So be it,” he said, and stepped forward into the ring.

          Pre knew that he would not be fighting fair. He had seen the way the Nightbrothers had used the Force. He also knew that the one that had to lead their people was one that had to be tricky, had to be quick, had to know that life would not play fair…

          And so, he stood before him and ignited the Darksaber.

          And then Maul ignited his own weapon, and purple came forth.

          The blade of a Jedi.

          But Pre did not think that this man was a Jedi.

          It was only as he attacked with the Darksaber, it was only as Maul met him on even footing…that he realized that Maul intended to kill him without the Force.

          Good.

          Maybe he would be able to give him a scar to remember.

          Pre attacked fiercely, attempting to put the man on the defensive, to get him to stumble back, but Maul was even with him, and indeed was more skilled. Pre could see the slightest of smiles on his face, and the realization that he was amusing him was almost more than he could take.

          The feeling of a boot in his face, sending him back caused him to pull a blaster, firing immediately and with every shot Maul deflected it, none of them were back towards Pre, but it was clear that Maul could block him. Pre launched himself forward with the saber once more, the jetpack boosting him forward.

          Maul caught the blade with his own, pushing him back, and Pre changed his angle, managing to elbow the man’s head…

          It was only as Maul reared backwards in surprise at the sudden blow that Pre could feel ringing through his bones that he realized he may have made a mistake.

          That same head that Pre realized was crowned in horns and was made for it bashed into his own heavily, Pre finding his vision going temporarily black, stumbling away, and he slashed with the saber instinctively, feeling it be caught, aiming another stroke, and then sending his wrist-mounted flamethrower directly towards him.

          Maul dropped below it, diving forward, sending Pre toppling, the flamethrower dying as it became too dangerous… Pre also realized his danger in grappling with a Zabrak.

          Pre could feel it, the strength in the limbs that sought to pin him, to keep him…

          Pre sent the blades mounted in his wrist straight-up, Maul forced to back away, fall back, and for a moment he saw blood…

          There was that scar…

          Pre rolled himself to his feet, and once again launched himself in the air, throwing bomb after bomb as Maul rolled…

          And then he launched himself up towards him, one of the first times that he actively utilized the Force, and it was to equalize their playing field. Pre felt the boots on his chest, felt the crunch as he hit the ground and rolled, pressing the button to release the death-trap from his back and kicking it towards Maul, who dove underneath it and came up with the saber yet again.

          Pre brought his own saber up, attacking and parrying, feeling the jar in his arms as the blows from someone so much stronger rained upon him. And all the while blood trickled down Maul’s face, trailing through the red of his tattoos.

          Pre knew that he was grinning.

          Pre kicked, feeling the impact of a boot on his own face even as he sent Maul backwards with his own. Maul stood first, Pre forcing himself upright, unable to let it happen like this.

          It would be on his feet, or it would not be…

          Pre shot his rope trap, catching Maul around the legs… Maul cut the rope off, and Pre shot the saber from his hand, charging forward, and the hope… There was a hope…

          Pre attacked and Maul caught hold of his sword arm, and Pre knew that was it.

          Maul bent his arm back, nearly breaking it across his own shoulder, Pre forced to let go.

          And that was the moment when Maul once again began attacking.

          Fists and feet and Pre could not keep up… Maul was a superior warrior.

          Maul sent him to his knees… And Pre could not…

          Pre forced himself to tackle the other man, to send him back, to go for his throat… Maul forced his way through Pre’s hands, smashing his horns against Pre’s forehead, and the black spots were back, and they were worse… Pre fell backwards, sent to the ground…

          Maul stood…and Pre heard the sound of the Darksaber…the knowledge that Maul had claimed it.

          Pre forced himself slowly to his feet and Maul waited, watching, the blood trickling down his face…

          “It is as you said…” Pre said roughly, feeling his legs tremble beneath him, staring into the face of his death. “Only the strongest shall rule.”

          And then nothing.

[sonofdorn-vii]

Fatherhood

The barfly had been going on for hours to anyone that would listen. A couple of years back, he said, labouring on a moisture farm for the season out in the Jundland Wastes, he met this boy.Young, maybe 8 or 9. Working every day through the baking Tattooine heat, you start to be invisible to the stuck up farmer and his hick family, unnoticed. But, he added conspiratorially, HE would see things.

Like a young boy, remarkably good with engines and fixing piece of shit droids nobody else wanted. The same boy playing with a BB Blaster behind the house, hitting the rusting cans he was aiming at every single time. No kid is that good, the barfly would declare to nobody in particular. The kid was too young to pilot a T16 Skyhopper, but he did. Take off and landings utterly textbook, even had a little flare like a Veteran pilot showing off. It's odd, he'd continue, though everyone had long since gone back to their drinks.

Wanted posters had been springing up all over Mos Eisely, all a bit vague and non committal as to what they actually wanted. Allusions to people too lucky, too fortunate, too... odd. Talk of a cash reward for any information about unusual behaviour, the Imperials just wanted to keep the peace, or so they claimed. But the barfly was in deep with the Hutts, owed them big. He was gonna talk to the 'perials, he'd slur, get his reward. Nobody cared, nobody was even looking at him anymore, the barfly was well known as a braggart and a liar. He was saying nothing worth listening to, never did.

As he staggered from his stool at the bar, counting his few remaining credits back into the pocket of his worn dustjacket, only one patron in the bar even noticed him leave. This patron was in a booth across the room, half in shadow. The hood of his brown robe up over his head, just the bottom of his face visible in the dim light. Greying hair stubbled his chin, his hidden eyes following the barfly as he tripped up the steps and out the door. Leaving a few credits on the tabletop, the man in the hooded brown robe left the bar silently, just as unnoticed.

The first moon had just risen as the drunk man made his way down the street, stumbling occasionally, still chattering on to himself about the strange boy. Ducking into an alleyway, he began to relieve himself against the wall, not quite able to stand straight.

The man in the brown hood had followed, and silently approached the barfly from behind. Left hand clamped over his mouth, the hooded man stabbed a rusty blade into the barfly's back, aiming for the kidney. Again and again the blade stabbed, the barfly struggled but the calloused hand over his mouth held firm muffling his screams. The barfly stopped struggling quickly, his blood running down his stained trouser legs and soaking into the parched sand of the alley floor. He slumped to the ground, wheezing his last breath, never having seen his attacker, never comprehending what had happened.

The hooded man looked quickly left and right, then sped out of the alley and into the street as fast as he dared, but desperate to escape unnoticed.

The brown robed man was three streets away when he found himself in another alley between two buildings. Breathing hard, he ducked out of sight, the bloody, rusty knife in the deep pocket of his robe. He was shaking badly, his heart hammering in his chest. The barfly knew about Luke. He was going to tell someone who'd listen eventually and they would come for the boy.

Pulling back the hood of his robe, Owen Lars let out a ragged breath, trying to calm himself. They can't take him, he thought, wiping the blood from his hands on his dark robe, they can't take my boy.

[padawanlost]

Something I've noticed recently over the past few months is this trend where people have been diagnosing Anakin with narcissistic personality disorder instead of C-PTSD or BPD, the more commonly seen diagnoses. I personally disagree, but I wanted to hear your "two sense" on the matter if you will, you're one of the best meta-writers on this site.

It’s because people don’t like Anakin as presented on screen. They want Anakin to be as selfish and arrogant as possible so they can blame him from everything that happened. If it’s ALL about Anakin than everyone else can be left off the hook. 

Anakin ‘I don’t want to be a problem’ Skywalker is clearly narcissistic. I mean, he fits all the signs:

Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration

“Ten years in this place, and still he was an object of interest. Of speculation. All their hopes and dreams hanging on him like decorations on a bantha skeleton at Boonta Eve. He hated it.” [Clone Wars: Wild space, Karen Miller]

Have an exaggerated sense of self-importance

“You would forgo your destiny for Padmé?” Anakin’s brows beetled in anger. “I never claimed to be the Chosen One. That was Qui-Gon. Even the Council doesn’t believe it anymore, so why should you?” [ James Luceno. Labyrinth of Evil]

Expect to be recognized as superior even without achievements that warrant it

Anakin bumped his hand against [Obi-wan]. “Wait. Just—wait.” Embarrassed, he took a deep breath. “Look. Don’t take this the wrong way. It’s just—it’s the mission, right? That’s what matters. So—”  “Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s whisper sounded amused. “It’s fine. I was about to suggest it myself when the droids turned up.”  “You were?”  “Play to your strengths and minimize your weaknesses. That’s how a battle is won. That’s how we’ll win the war.”  Anakin had to smile. I should’ve known he wouldn’t take it personally. “Yeah. So—once I’m up and over and nobody raises the alarm, give me a five-count then follow. I’ll give you the best Force boost I can. Not that you’ll need much. Your leap was only a meter and a half behind Master Windu’s. Remember?”  Obi-Wan gave a breathy chuckle. “I remember I had nosebleeds for a week afterward. Don’t ever feel bad for being extraordinary, Anakin. Now off you go. We don’t have all night.” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Take advantage of others to get what they want

“He thought of how unflinchingly loyal Anakin was to anyone he considered a friend.” [Matthew Stover’s Revenge of the Sith]

Exaggerate achievements and talents

He was the Chosen One, they told him. He was supposed to bring balance to the Force. Anakin thought that some little extra support might go with being the Chosen One, a helping hand or at least some understanding from the Jedi Council, but instead he was passed around like an unwelcome burden, ending up with Qui-Gon Jinn and then Kenobi because nobody else would have him. His chosen status meant less than nothing; it felt more like a stigma. And they wondered why he was difficult at times. Maybe they didn’t want balance, whatever that was. Maybe nobody liked a Jedi who was that different. He felt like an embarrassment to them. I do everything you ask of me. I try so hard. When is it going to be enough? When are you going to say, “Okay, Anakin Skywalker, you’re good enough”? Karen Traviss’s The Clone Wars

Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance, beauty or the perfect mate

Impatience. Concern. Relief. Loneliness. Weariness. And grief, not yet healed. Such a muddle of emotions. Such a weight on [Anakin]’s shoulders. Months of brutal battle had left [Ahsoka] drained and nearly numb, but it was worse for Anakin. He was a Jedi general with countless lives entrusted to his care, and every life damaged or lost he counted as a personal failure. For other people he found forgiveness; for himself there was none. For himself there was only anger at not meeting his own exacting standards. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people

It’s not just Skywalker’s rank that makes us give him one hundred percent. It’s because he treats us with respect, and he puts himself on the line with us.” [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Monopolize conversations and belittle or look down on people they perceive as inferior

Having worked their way around the village, finding nothing to wake their uneasily sleeping sense of alarm, Obi-Wan and Anakin returned to the beaten-dirt square and the charter house. Its doors were open now and a woman who had to be Teeba Brandeh stood on the broad step, hands on her narrow hips, watching the children scatter across the square to play a proper game of kickball. Grinning, without bothering to ask if he might, or if it were wise, or if they had the time to spare, so independent these days, Anakin jogged to join them. After a moment’s amazed hesitation the children welcomed him with squeals of delight, rough-and-tumbled him into their midst and made him one of their own. Obi-Wan shook his head. “He’s nice,” said the girl with the bracelet and the ragged hair, wandering over to stand beside him. “Don’t be cross with him, Teeb Yavid.” Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Siege

“Oh, no,” said Anakin, grinning. “It was fun too.”  May the Force give me strength. “And that business with the boy? Because when I said no heavy lifting I—” Anakin’s amusement vanished.  “He wasn’t heavy. These younglings are skin and bone. I look at them and—” He clenched his jaw.  ”Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Siege

Expect special favors and unquestioning compliance with their expectations

[Anakin] did not like the fact that he had won. It seemed wrong that he had stepped so far out of line, and yet had been retained as a Padawan. He did not like the unease this victory, if victory it was, produced in him. Above all weaknesses, arrogance was the most costly. They keep me here because I have potential they’ve never seen before. They keep me in training because they’re curious to see what I can do. I feel like a rich man who never knows whether his friends are true-or whether they just want his money. This was a particularly galling thought, and certainly neither true nor fair. Why do they put up with me, then? Why do I keep testing them? [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

Have an inability or unwillingness to recognize the needs and feelings of others

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally this stupid. I just—” And then she felt her face crumple and heard herself sob. Her knees buckled and she began to sink toward the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she choked. “Don’t mind me. I’m fine.” [Anakin] caught her before she tumbled completely. Lifted her without effort and carried her to the sofa. Boneless and unprotesting, she let him. Let her face turn to his roughly shirted, dirty chest and howled her rage and shame against him. Dimly, she felt his hand warm and comforting on her back and heard his soft voice saying, over and over, “It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe now. It’s all right.” The crazy thing was that she did feel safe. For the first time since those Separatist blaster bolts seared the air and sand of Niriktavi Bay, since she saw her friends and colleagues slaughtered, she felt safe. Then, abruptly, she felt mortified. What was she doing? Weeping like a child all over a man young enough to be her son? Where was her pride? She shifted away from him, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “You’ve got a right to be upset. Now, where’s that medkit?”Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth 

Be envious of others and believe others envy them

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn.  [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

[Anakin] had worried that Obi-Wan did not have room for him in his heart. But Shmi’s smile rose in Anakin’s mind. Hearts have infinite room, my son. JUDE WATSON’S THE TRAIL OF THE JEDI

Behave in an arrogant or haughty manner, coming across as conceited, boastful and pretentious

The fear and dread in her face eased, just a little. “You’re a very sweet young man, Anakin Skywalker.” [Karen Miller’s Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

[Anakin] humbles me, sometimes. He makes me feel small. He can’t see a broken thing without wanting to fix it. [Karen Miller’s Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

“I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” [Karen Miller’s Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Insist on having the best of everything — for instance, the best car or office

“I’m not giving him to you,” [Anakin]’d told her. “He’s not even really mine to give; when I built him, I was a slave, and everything I did belonged to Watto. Cliegg Lars bought him along with my mother; Owen gave him back to me, but I’m a Jedi. I have renounced possessions. I guess that means he’s free now. What I’m really doing is asking you to look after him for me.”  “Look after him?”  “Yes. Maybe even give him a job. He’s a little fussy,” he’d admitted, “and maybe I shouldn’t have given him quite so much self-consciousness—he’s a worrier—but he’s very smart, and he might be a real help to a big-time diplomat … like, say, a Senator from Naboo?”Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith 

[dracowars]

ten years apart | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x reader

word count: 6,0k

summary: where anakin comes back after ten years

a/n: i'm so sorry for the length but i just couldn't stop writing :( please get a drink and snack before reading this hella long os <3

warnings: angst, mentions of blood

universe: star wars

Exhaling heavily, you throw the garbage bag into the shaft and push it down with all your strength. Beads of sweat have already formed on your forehead which you wipe away with the back of your hand. It is, again, incredibly hot on Tatooine today and the unbearable heat has been beating your mind and body all day. But what temperatures can you expect from a desert planet, right?

The desert planet of hell, as you like to call it. Disgusting creatures, pirates, bounty hunters and actually all kinds of insidious henchmen cavort here in Mos Espa. The city you grew up in. The city you have always been stuck in and probably will be stuck in for the rest of your life. You come from a small and poor family, no money to escape this hell, always having to work hard to survive.

And yet you had a better life than other children here. Because you were lucky enough to not get sold as a slave. Your parents could always raise enough money - often in ways you do not support - to save you. Even though you are more than grateful, you cannot help but to sometimes wonder what would have happened if. If you became a slave, maybe just maybe, you might have met the same lucky fate as him.

It has been ten long lonely years since the two Jedi Masters Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi were stranded on Tatooine and seeked help. You were still very young, therefore you can barely remember their faces. But you definetely do remember the face of him, Anakin Skywalker. The little boy from Tatooine.

How could you ever forget him? He was the nicest, bravest and most courteous boy you have ever met in your life. You always knew that something about him was different. The way he acted, the way he thought. There was just something about him that fascinated you and before you knew it you had developed a small crush on him. You got along well and you loved to watch him when he was working on his droid yet again. He always told you about his dreams, how he wanted to help, how much he wanted to get away from this dump called Tatooine. With his mother.

And with you.

Anakin and his mother Shmi Skywalker were slaves and belonged to Watto, one of the many junk dealers and human traffickers of Mos Espa. Even though they must have had a terrible life, Anakin always stayed positive. The smile on his dirt-stained face when he was building on his droid was priceless and you can see it in front of you as if it was yesterday. In fact, it has been ten years.

Ten years since the Jedi Masters took Anakin with them to train him as a Padawan in the ways of the Jedi. You were happy for him, you really were. He was finally able to leave this terrible planet and live a better life elsewhere. But to a certain price, since he had to go without his mother and also without you, his best friend.

"Y/N! These tables do not clean themselves!", a voice calls for you from inside and you just roll your eyes before leaving the heat outside, entering the building again. Inside, the musty smell of smoke greets you, low music plays in the background and you go straight towards the round bar in the middle of the room. This is the most popular hotspot of Mos Espa: the infamous Twin Sun, a bar in the center of the city. The place where the creepiest species float around, where the dirty business is done.

You absolutely hate your job in the bar. Every day you have to tidy up and serve under worst conditions. Especially in the later hours of the evening, when it is completely overcrowded, you are running back and forth every second, receiving disgusting comments from the guests. However, hardly anyone is here in the early morning and you have to only take care of the leftovers from the previous day. Unfortunately though, you have to endure this kind of job.

Your parents, who always saved you from the worst, are too old and weak now to raise money themselves and you felt obliged to take on this role. That is also the reason why you have several jobs at the same time. In addition to working in the Twin Sun, you also work at some booths at the weekly market and when you are lucky, you can sometimes even help out on the farms outside of the city. It is the only way to ensure your family's survival.

While you are about to wipe the empty tables, the roaring unpleasant noises of podracers echo through the building, sweeping through the bar like an earthquake, and the following loud cheers of the audience can hardly be overheard. The race is also a reason why it is exceptionally empty here today. Almost every living creature in Mos Espa is in the Grand Arena, cheering on their favorite, probably making some bets beforehand.

Personally, you hate these races more than anything.

Besides being totally unfair and dangerous, it is really just about the money - the money you do not own. The same participant always wins and despite your hatred of these races, you watched one of them for the first and last time when Anakin himself participated, won and was thus able to free himself from slavery. Only his mother remained on Tatooine but he promised he would come back and rescue her once he is a fully trained Jedi.

It has now been ten years and he has still not shown up.

Well, maybe he did show up after all, just did not look for you as he initinally promised. Maybe he only picked up his mother, not you.

A few years ago you had to watch how his mother got sold at the weekly market, but the buyer actually seemed very nice and later you found out that he even gave her freedom and took her as his wife. The man called Cliegg Lars used to come to the bar regularly until a few weeks ago. Does Anakin know, or can he maybe even feel, what happened?

"What do you think you are doing?! Finally work for your money or I will kick you out!", the bartender, who is also your boss, suddenly yells at you and pulls you out of your thoughts. "Sorry", you huff out and continue to clean up the tables at a quicker pace. It is a day like any other day. At least that is what you thought.

After you have cleaned all the tables you stand behind the bar and tidy up the glasses. Meanwhile it is already in the afternoon and the bar is much more crowded than it was this morning, which means more work for you. However, for some inexplicable reason, you are very distracted today, your mind always wandering off, and when you do not pay attention for a tiny second, a glass slips out of your hand and shatters into a million pieces.

"Watch out!", your boss grumbels at you immediately, only waiting for such an opportunity. Quietly cursing under your breath, you pick up some of the broken pieces. With a hiss you reflexively pull back your hand after accidentally cutting yourself on a sharp piece. Quickly, you put the small bleeding area against your lips to stop the blood from flowing.

"A table just got free back there! Clean it", your boss orders, not waiting for you to get up again as he almost throws the wet cloth into your face. Trying to control the rising anger inside of you as best as possible, you stand up, dispose of the broken pieces and make your way to said table. When you reach it, you have an uncomfortable feeling all of a sudden, a feeling of someone watching you. You turn around but do not see anyone looking into your direction. Shaking off the weird feeling, you take care of your task and then go back behind the counter to do your work while you hear your boss talking loudly to one of the guests on the other side.

"Watto, Watto.. Never heard of him before", he says thoughtfully over the music. You frown irritated and bend over to be able to see your boss. He is talking to a young, handsome man who seems quite determined about finding Watto. "Buy something or get out of here, kid!", your boss suddenly threathens, but the young man seems pretty unimpressed. Nevertheless, he turns around and leaves but not without your eyes meeting first. His blue eyes shimmer in the weak light and while turning away, he pulls the brown hood of his cloak over his head.

Even though your boss did not call you for help, something deep inside of you tells you to help this unknown, mysterious man. After all, you actually know Watto. You worked for him in your younger years until he went bankrupt eventually. Therefore, it is very uncommon and suspicious for someone to ask for him.

You put everything aside right away and go to your boss, who seems to be in an extremely bad mood today. "I take my break now", you quickly let him know and without giving him a chance to answer, you already head towards the entrance. When you arrive outside, you take a look around and spot the young man just a few meters away from you. Running after him, you gently tug on his sleeve to draw his attention to you.

"Excuse me", you stop him in his tracks and he turns to you with confusion written all over his face. "I heard you ask my boss about Watto in the bar. I know where to find him."

His face seems even more surprised now and he raises his eyebrows. "Really?", he asks, a hint of hope in his voice. You nod in agreement. "Can you lead me to him?", he resolutely asks and you nod again.

"You do not look like you are from here. What do you want from Watto?", you ask him curiously and go ahead to lead the way while he follows right behind you. "That is not important and also none of your business, I think", he replies emotionless, only looking ahead and not at you. You are a little taken aback by his harsh words but decide that it is best to not ask any more questions. He seems quite serious about it and somehow you still cannot get rid of this strange feeling inside of you.

You lead the way to the market, where some stalls are set up, and finally find Watto at his regular place in the shade of a house. He sits on a small chair and is currently busy examining a screw in his hand as you both approach him. Watto raises his gaze when he realizes that someone is walking towards him and as soon as he recognizes you, he flutters into the air excitedly.

"Oh! I have not seen you in a long time", he laughs and looks at the unknown man next to you. "There is someone who was looking for you, Watto", you explain in Huttese and point to the young man next to you, who bows his head slightly as if he could also understand what you are saying. Which is ridiculous, of course, because only Tatooine people can speak and understand Huttese.

Immediately Watto flies back, unsure whether he has done anything wrong. "Excuse me?", he trys hiding his nervousness, suspiciously looking at you.

Instead of telling Watto what he wants, he picks up a piece of equipment and fiddles with it. "Let me help you with that", he murmurs under his breath while actually speaking in Huttese, fixing the broken piece. "What? I do not know you! What can I do for you?", Watto grumbels but his eyes widen at once as he discovers something. "You look like a Jedi. Whatever it is.. I did not do it!"

A Jedi?

The next words abruptly catch you off guard and your heart completely stops beating.

"I am looking for Shmi Skywalker."

You look at him in shock as he pulls the hood down, Watto looking at him exactly the way you do as he finally lets out the words you were too scared to say.

"Ani? Little Ani?", Watto breathes out in astonishment, now using Basic instead of Huttese. When Watto then realizes that he fixed the broken piece, he happily jumps into the air. "You are Ani! You sure sprouted! A Jedi! Hey, maybe you couldda help wit some deadbeats who owe me a lot of money.."

"My mother."

"Oh, yes. Shmi.. she is not mine no more. I sold her", Watto confesses, obviously feeling uncomfortable about the situation while you are still not able to get out a word as they get stuck in your throat.

You were sure that you would never see Anakin again in your life, that he would have long forgotten about you. And now that he is actually back, that he is actually standing right next to you, you cannot believe it. He changed so much that you did not even recognize him.

And it seems he does not recognize you either.

"Sold her?"

"Years ago. Sorry, Ani, but you know, business is business."

"Who did you sell her to?"

"I-I do not remember, actually. I think it was a farmer, yeah, a moisture farmer probably", Watto stutters and his words pull you out of your trance all of a sudden, hitting a trigger in your head.

"His name, Watto."

"I-I think I do not know-"

"Cliegg", you mention softly, turning your gaze to Anakin whose brows are furrowed in confusion. "His name is Cliegg Lars."

"How could you-", Anakin starts, slowly becoming more tense, but as he looks at you more closely, at your face and in your beautiful glistening eyes, his expression suddenly softens. "Y/N?"

"Anakin", you say barely audible, trying to prevent your eyes from watering at hearing your name out of his mouth for the first time in years.

He does remember you. He did not forget about your existence.

You both cannot help but stare at each other for what feels like hours before he gently pulls you into his now very strong arms, hugging you tightly.

After all these years you were separated one would probably think that the hug would be uncomfortable and awkward. But it is far from that. Anakin's embrace is warm and soft, like it used to be when he was still here. He just got stronger and much taller since then.

He grew up.

On a whole different planet, far far away from you.

He has become a Jedi and fights for justice in the galaxy while you are still stuck on the same old planet, struggeling to keep your family alive.

"I can't believe it is actually you, Y/N!", Anakin gives you a warm smile after breaking the hug, his hands still resting on your forearms to keep you close while scanning you from the top to the bottom. "You have grown so much."

"I could say the same to you", you giggle, hiding your bright smile behind your hand while you blush. His blue eyes have become even brighter than you remember them and his face and stature in general look extremely healthy. If someone had told you years ago that Anakin would develop into such a handsome man, you almost would not have believed them. Yet, in your eyes he is still the same Anakin.

"And you are a Jedi", you mumble, pointing to the lightsaber attached to his belt under his brown cloak. Anakin continues to stare at you for a moment before finding his way back to reality.

"O-Oh yes. My lightsaber", he stumbles over his words and looks down at his weapon, but makes sure to completely hide it behind the fabric after that while clearing his throat. Slowly but surely it suddenly gets a bit awkward between you, none of you knowing what to say or where to start.

You have so much to tell him and still want to ask him so many question, but you do not know how.

"So, you know where my mother is?", Anakin finally speaks up again and breaks the silence, but with a question you did not quite hope for.

"It is very far outside of Mos Espa, yes. I can bring you there", you answer with a little sadness in your voice. Of course, he wants to find his mother after all these years.

"Hey! When you come back, make sure to visit me. Ani, I could really need some help, you know", Watto calls after you both as you show Anakin the way.

"He has not changed a bit", Anakin chuckles slightly next to you and follows you over the street, where you pass numerous creatures and vehicles.

"We need a vehicle to get there", you absently speak to yourself while searching for a suitable one. "Or a Dewback works too."

"A landspeeder sounds good", Anakin immediately answers after you end your sentence, almost interrupting you. With raised eyebrows you look at him sceptically.

"What happened to your sense of adventure?"

"I got older, I guess", he sighs and you hear out some sadness in his voice for the split of a second, but you tell yourself that it must have been your imagination.

"We all did", you mumble and finally agree to take a landspeeder instead of a dewback, even though it is much more expensive. However, Anakin insists on paying and after doing so you sit in the passenger seat, patiently waiting for him to join you and start driving.

At high speed you whiz over the dry sand and out of the city towards the seemingly endless outback. From time to time you glance over at Anakin, who does not look at you once, not even when you tell him the directions. When you catch yourself staring at him for longer than a second, you look away quickly but not without noticing the changes in his apperance.

His face has become much more striking and his hair got darker. The dark brown cloak that is covering his body compliments his eyes and makes them shine even more.

On your way you drive past a group of Jawas with their Sandcrawler, who are currently busy taking apart an abandoned spaceship that has apparently been stranded out here.

After a few more minutes you finally reach the Lars homestead and get out of the speeder, Anakin giving you a helping hand that you shyly accept. He keeps his gaze on the dome in front of you though and you can feel the nervousness that suddenly emanates from him.

As soon as you both walk towards it, a girl, younger than Anakin and you, comes up the stairs after she has apparently heard your arrival. Which is honestly not very difficult out here regarding the fact nobody comes here that often.

"Can I help you?", she asks, concern in her voice, and the longer you look at her, the more familiar she gets until it clicks in your head. She is Cliegg's daughter-in-law. You have often worked together on the farm. It seems like she already recognized you as the concern in her face slowly fades.

"Beru, right? I often helped you out on your farm", you take a step towards her and she nods in agreement before glancing at Anakin, who is standing directly behind you.

"We are looking for Shmi", you explain and Beru's brows furrow, obviously confused as to why you search for her.

"She is currently at the market in Mos Eisley with my boyfriend. But they should be back any moment", she mentions and then points down the stairs behind her. "If you want, you can wait for her inside."

Accepting her offer, you follow her inside the dome and you are completely amazed when you arrive at the open pit, a crater housing a courtyard from which all rooms can be accessed. You saw the huge hole in the ground before but never paid attention to it.

You follow Beru into what seems to be a kitchen and she asks you to sit down, but before you are able to, Anakin suddenly turns around due to a noise and a man in a power chair appears behind you.

"Who are you? What do you want?", he asks grumpily and Anakin's grip around his lightsaber on his belt, probably a reflex, reduces as you step in between. "Oh, Y/N! It is you!"

"Good afternoon, Cliegg. I am sorry for our unannounced visit, but we are looking for your.. wife", you say, almost whispering your last words, your heart stopping for a moment when you realize Anakin does not even know his mother married this farmer.

"What?", Anakin asks, shocked, his eyes widened and his lips split while he takes a step forward.

"I am Cliegg Lars. Shmi is my wife. Then you must be my stepson", Cliegg introduces himself and offers Anakin a handshake, which gets refused as Anakin just stares at him in disbelief.

"How is that possible?", Anakin breathes, directing his gaze to the ground, and you discover how he fiddles with the sleeves of his cloak in despair.

"I bought her from Watto at that time and gave her freedom before I made her my wife", Cliegg explains calmly, also noticing Anakin's displeasure about the situation. "My son and Shmi are just-"

He does not get to finish his sentence when loud screams and shouts interrupt him out of nowhere, silencing all of you. A brief moment later you are already on your way back up, Anakin ahead.

Once at the top you spot another landspeeder that has stopped in the distance, fuming. Due to the bright sunlight it is difficult at first to see that two people approach you, followed by several aggressive, snarling Massiffs. Disgusting beasts from hell that usually only live in the mountains unless they have been tamed by Tusken Raiders for their own purposes.

Quickly, you come to the conclusion that they must have been attacked by Tusken Raiders, who are now chasing their pets after them. It takes another second until you all realize that these two people running towards you are none other than Anakin's mother and stepbrother.

"Owen!", Beru desperately exclaims next to you, hands covering her mouth in shock.

Without hesitation, Anakin and you sprint straight towards them at the same time, hoping to somehow help and save them. But when suddenly a blue light brightly erupts next to you, you almost forget to keep running.

Anakin now runs towards them with his ignited lightsaber, much faster than you, and reaches them in seconds. Positioning himself protectively in front of them, waiting until they have run past him, he kills one of the Massiffs with the single stroke of his deadly weapon.

"Y/N, get them to safety!", Anakin shouts while he is fighting with the Massiffs, and you obey his words, quickly escorting them back to their house.

Glancing back after you have brought them inside safely, Anakin has just fended off an attack and pushes the monster a few meters back through the air, his hand outstretched. Finally, yowling and panting, the few survivors retreat and if you would not have called out Anakin's name, you are sure he would have followed them.

Deactivating his lightsaber, he quickly comes back to you, his face flooded with anger and pain. However, instead of paying attention to you, he walks straight past you.

"Are you injured?", you catch his upper arm worriedly and bring him to a stop. Shaking his head, he immediately removes his arm from your grip and continues his way down the stairs. With a sigh, you follow him.

"Where is she?", Anakin asks emotionlessly when reaching the bottom of the stairs, stopping abruptly and causing you to accidentally run into him.

"Ani?", a quiet voice finally sounds and Shmi steps out.

"Mom", Anakin swallows hard and embraces her tightly in his arms as she comes running towards him. After ten long years, mother and son are finally reunited.

"Oh, you look so handsome", Shmi sobs and takes a closer look at Anakin, taking his face between her hands, whereupon Anakin places a kiss on her palm. "My son. Oh, my grown up son. I am so proud of you, Ani."

"I missed you", he sniffs in response and a few tears find their way down his, her and also your cheeks.

"You came back, I can't believe it", she happily smiles at him, pride showing in her eyes.

"Just like I promised", he gives her the same smile and they hug each other again.

"And you saved us. You truly became a Jedi", Shmi sobs and Anakin gives her a kiss on the forehead before her gaze falls on you for the first time. "Y/N! Thank you so much for bringing him here."

"Of course", you wipe away your happy tears and smile back at her.

"Let us eat something, children", Cliegg then suggests while already being on his way to the kitchen, followed by his son and daugther-in-law.

"You might want to freshen up. I will show you where you can", Shmi offers and leads you both through a hole in the wall into a medium-sized room before she reluctantly separates from Anakin.

"Show me your leg", you order as soon as Shmi is out of reach and he turns around to you in confusion. "Your leg, Anakin. I saw you limp."

"It is not that bad", he shrugs it off and puts his Jedi robe aside, revealing his broad shoulders.

"Please", you repeat again and stare at him worriedly until he is no longer able to hold your gaze and pulls up his pants to reveal his leg. You have to swallow hard when a gaping wound appears on his shin and it takes you a lot of self control to not scream at him right there.

"That has to be treated, Ani!", you rebuke him indignantly, but now he is the one who keeps staring at you until you notice what you have just said. "A-Anakin, I mean."

"N-No, no! It is okay. I like when you call me that, it just... it has been some time since you last did", he clears his throat and your cheeks turn into a slight shade of red.

"Y-Yes, a long time ago. But we have gotten older, like you said", you stutter out, trying to make the situation less awkward. "I will ask if they have Bacta patches here, fix you up and make my way home."

"What are you even talking about?", Anakin raises his voice all of a sudden, rather unintentionally as you notice in his subsequent expression, while he grabs your wrist tightly to keep you from walking away.

"You have just seen your mother for the first time in ten years. I am sure you have a lot to tell her and I do not want to stand in the way", you explain and place your hand on top of his to loosen his grip, but to no avail.

"But.. I want to tell you too, Y/N. You are forgetting that I saw you again for the first time in ten years as well. I do not want you to go now", Anakin admits and takes a step closer to you, his eyes pleading to not leave him. "Apart from that, I will certainly not let you go now when these monsters are out there."

Leaving you no choice and not even a chance to answer, he suddenly pulls you into a tight hug, much like he did with his mother.

"I missed you so damn much", he softly whispers and you can't help but smile while you wrap your arms around him.

"I missed you too, Ani", you mumble against his shoulder and claw your hands into the fabric of his clothes.

Although you already hugged each other when you first met today, this one feels much more intense than before. It makes you feel safe and warm and comfortable, a feeling that you have not felt on this planet for a long time. For ten years, to be exact.

The next morning, you tiredly step outside into the burning hot twin suns and follow the voices coming from the kitchen. You stayed awake late yesterday and Anakin told you everything. From start to finish, he explained everything about his training to you, everything that happened after he left ten years ago. You have eagerly listened to his stories about the numerous adventures and here and there caught yourself staring at him sadly but lovingly.

Even though he pretended to be strong while telling these heartbreaking stories, you could see that he is not. After all these long years you can still read it on his face in an instant. He was not strong after Qui-Gon Jinn was killed shortly after their departure and also not when he became Padawan of a Jedi who was almost still a Padawan himself. He was not strong when he has been seperated from his family and he still is not as strong as he pretends to be. No matter from which point of view you look at it, Anakin is still the little boy from Tatooine.

"Good morning", you yawn when you meet the Lars family in the kitchen.

"Sit down, Y/N. I made breakfast", Shmi happily greets you and puts a plate down for you on the table.

You have not seen Shmi this happy in a long time. You never met her often after Cliegg freed her from slavery, but when you did, she always looked very absent and, above all, sad. She seems like a whole different person now.

"If you are looking for Anakin, he is outside", Shmi mentions when she notices your mental absence. Shyly, you nod and give her a warm smile. After you have eaten up your breakfast, you make your way upstairs. Arriving outside, you briefly get blinded by the bright suns when the dome no longer offers you protection.

However, as soon as your eyes get used to the sunlight, your breath gets caught in your lungs when a huge spaceship appears in your field of vision. The ship landed just a few meters away from the farm, the boarding hatch open. You spot Anakin in front of it, deeply submerged in a conversation with another man.

Said man notices you right away and draws Anakin's attention to you with a subtle head movement. When Anakin then sees you and the worried expression on your face, he waves you over. Nervously, you set yourself in motion and approach them.

"What is going on here, Anakin?", you ask shyly after discovering a lightsaber on the other man's belt, quickly gesturing a bow with your head.

"This is my master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Maybe you still remember him", Anakin introduces him to you and, in fact, you actually do remember his face.

"If this isn't the little girl from back then who watched us leave with such a heartbreaking expression", Obi-Wan loudly thinks and scratches his beard before patting Anakin's shoulder. "I will go ahead and meet Padmé on board."

At his words, an uncomfortable feeling of nervousness rushs through your body until it turns into a feeling of sheer fear. Not only because you remember the name and its associated, incredibly beautiful Queen of Naboo, - which Anakin also told you about in his stories - but also because you suddenly feel like your worst nightmare turns into reality.

"W-What does he mean by that?", you stutter out, not really wanting to hear an answer to your question, but Anakin gently puts his hands on either side of your cheeks to calm you down.

"The Jedi Order has called Obi-Wan and me back to Coruscant, along with the senator", Anakin sighs and sadly looks to the ground, his thumb lightly stroking your skin. "My mother is happy here and that is most important for me. I now know that she is fine and safe."

Transforming his words into sharp weapons, they painfully shoot through your heart and you take a step back immediately, breaking the body contact with him.

"But I am not, Anakin!", you yell at him desperately, much louder than originally intended, and he just looks at you in shock from your sudden outburst. "I am not fine since you left ten years ago! I can't do this anymore."

"Y/N-"

"No, do not touch me! Please", you sob and wrap your arms around your own body in order to protect you from further damage. "Would you- Would you have even searched for me at all if I had not found you first?!"

Breathing hard while accusing him, he remains quiet and does not answer. His eyes wander around, desperately seeking an appropriate answer that will not hurt you, but he terribly fails.

"That's what I thought", your voice breaks and a single tear runs down your cheek before you turn around and walk away. However, you do not get very far when you feel a firm grip on your arm and are turned around again to face him shortly afterwards, your bodies only inches away from each other.

"Come with me."

"W-What?"

"Come back to Coruscant with me, Y/N", he begs you, his voice full of sorrow.

"A-Ani-"

"I had a dream about my mother and about you. You were badly injured and I was too late to save you", Anakin confesses, desperation prominent in his coarse voice, opening up to you all of a sudden, letting his guard down and showing you his vulnerable side for once. "That is why I came back. That is why I am back on Tatooine."

"A-Anakin. I can't.. I have responsibilities here", you choke out and look away, not able to hold his pleading gaze while your hands and knees shake in fear. "I have to go back to my parents.. I can't just leave them like this."

Silence spreads between you until Anakin lifts your face up with his fingers on your chin, deeply looking into your eyes. Suddenly your fear is reflected in his glassy eyes. A fear you last saw all those years ago when he left. When he had to leave his mother and you behind. It is precisely this fear that is now reappearing in his eyes and all of a sudden the little boy from Tatooine is back, not wanting to leave his home.

"I understand", his shaky voice whispers as he is close to tears as well.

How much you would like to just go with him. To just leave everything behind and finally get off this dirty planet. But you know it would not be fair to your parents and that you can't just leave them behind. As much as you would love to go with Anakin, you would never forgive yourself if you did.

"I am really sorry, Ani", you carefully say and place your hands on his upper arms to steady yourself before he pulls you closer and places his chin on top of your head.

"I will come back", he breathes into your hair and his voice sounds so fragile in your ears that you can no longer hold back the pricking tears, letting them stream down your cheeks freely. "I promise."

"I will wait for you", you fake a smile through your tears before he gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead, leaving a warm spot there.

The following repeated exclamation of his name coming from his master makes your heart ache even more and Anakin takes a step away from you, breaking off any contact.

"See you soon", he forces a smile and slowly retreats backwards to the spaceship, not averting his gaze from you and repeatedly raising his hand to wave goodbye.

Your eyes filled with tears and your vision blurred, you watch him leave and say goodbye with a heavy heart.

After ten long years you were finally able to see him again. You were ten years apart and now you pray that it will not be another ten years until you meet again.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

do you think the companions have a closet of like. flea and tick preventing stuff/medicine somewhere

Imagine someone opens that closet and they don’t know about the werewolf thing and they ask someone “hey why do we have all this dog stuff??? Where are the dogs???”

Hey, not only do I think that, I think it's entirely possible that they have their own mini veterinary closet, including the dog treats. The dog treats are the most important.

I'd like to thank you, though, because as soon as I read this ask, my mind start buzzing, or yipping, as the little dogs, might, and, well. . .

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

Lucia's sure taking a long time . . .

Lars fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table, casting his eyes once again to the stairwell that led down to the Companions' living quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd sat around their hearth to wait on his best friend and it definitely wouldn't be the last, he was sure, but he always felt a little nervous sitting by himself as large warriors with huge blades went about their business around him. Eating, drinking, laughing . . . wrestling. The first time he'd seen Lucia's papa and uncle get into an all out brawl there on the hearth stones, he'd had the shakes until long after his grandma tucked him into bed.

A thud on the table startled the boy from his thoughts. "Here, kid, watch this for me, will you?" Lars stared wide-eyed as Ria, who was generally the nicest out of all the Companions — aside from Lucia, who insisted she was one despite only being ten — darted back up the steps and out the double doors to the Winds District. Not a moment later, the doors from the training yard banged open as Njada Stonearm — who was definitely the meanest Companion — barged in, eyes aflame like the hearth. Lars shrank back in his seat.

"Ria!" her voice echoed above the crack of the fire and the murmur of a few others talking across the room.

"Not here," called Athis, snickering.

"Jus' missed 'er," slurred Torvar.

A growl left the Nord woman's throat as her eyes swivelled round and landed on Lars, who was peaking out from behind the large satchel Ria'd left on the table. The boy's eyes bulged in horror as she took three long strides and arrived beside him, arms crossed under a face painted with a harsh scowl.

(Sometimes, a lot of times, Lars wished he was brave enough to ask Njada Stonearm to beat up Braith, but he had the feeling she'd either laugh him off — or worse, encourage the Redguard girl to redouble her efforts to kick his—)

"—dumped this here, huh?"

"W-wha—"

A hand, large and strong enough to crush his skull, shook the bag in front of him. "Ria left this here, didn't she?"

"Ye-yeah—"

"Quit mumbling!"

"Y-yes sir, I, I mean ma'am!"

If anyone ever looked absolutely done with the world, it was Njada Stonearm in that moment. Lars squirmed under her glare, but said no more, and the Nord woman grumbled under her breath. "I've gotta hunt down that rabbit brained . . ." she trailed off, eyeing Lars with a cold interest. "You. Take this downstairs and put it in the Circles' supply closet."

Lars tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he let out a strangled cough instead. He choked a gasp when Njada Stonearm thumped him on the back. "Get going, kid," she said as she turned on her heel and marched out the same doors Ria fled through earlier.

With shaking legs, Lars got to his feet and hefted the satchel into his arms. There was a faint clink! clink! of glass, and he wondered if it was some kind of fancy reserve just for the Circle. He knew Lucia's mama was fond of Imperial brandies, so maybe that was it?

He crossed the hall, an easy task as Athis and Torvar promptly went back into their cups once Njada Stonearm had redirected her ire to Lars and so they didn't bother him. It was when he got to the stairs that the wobble in his knees became a full shake. Braith often told him he was infected with the Rattles and no one bothered telling him because it was more fun to watch him convulse like a half dead draugr. Sometimes, like right now for instance, he almost believed her.

One of the men barked a laugh, Lars wasn't sure which, but it jarred his limbs into motion; he eased his way down the wooden stairs, scared every moment that he'd trip, fall, and anger not only Njada Stonearm, but the whole Circle as well. His heart lodged in his throat. If he broke the bottles and made a mess of their contents, would he ever be allowed back in Jorrvaskr? Would he ever get to play with Lucia again?

The heavy door into the basement quarters was an almost reassuring barrier to the boy as he aligned his back with it, arms full of the satchel's awkward bulk. With a grunt, he thrust back, and the door creaked slowly open. When it was wide enough, he slipped around the dense oak, and once again hesitated. Now where? He didn't actually know where the Circles' supply closet was. Though, he thought, shifting from foot to foot with the wide hall empty before him, it might be down near the Circles' private quarters.

The supply closet wasn't really the difficult to find, being one of the few closed doors at the end. The other was the door to the Harbinger's room, but that'd been shut for months since . . . Lars swallowed, coughed again, and with the bag balanced precariously in one arm under his chin, he opened the door.

"What're you doing?"

"Gah!" Lars teetered forward, and if it weren't for Lucia's hand clenching the back of his shirt, he'd have fallen face first into—

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?" Lars asked, once he was steady on his feet and able to take in the concents of the supply closet.

Beside him, Lucia's face scrunched in clear confusion. Shelves on shelves of bottles, bright yellow and each marked with a label depicting some kind of nasty insect underneath a vivid red X, filled the majority of their vision. Lars' arms almost went slack under the weight of the bag. Was he carrying more of that stuff? Flea and tick repellent? Below the shelves was a stack of huge sacks that smelled a little too strongly of dried meat. Was that—?

"What's all this for?"

Lars gaped at Lucia. "You mean, you don't know?"

She shook her head, teeth gnawing her lip.

"Lucia? Lass, what are you doing in the closet?"

The two kids whirled around to find Lucia's uncle striding down the hall toward them. In a blur, Lucia sprinted to him, and, grabbing at his gauntlet clad arm, hung on for dear life. "Uncle Vilkas! Uncle Vilkas! Did you know about the pet medicine? Are those bags full of doggy treats? Oh! Is Mama getting me a puppy? Is that why she left for Markarth yesterday? Is she getting me a war dog so I can take him with me when I'm doing contracts? I've always wanted a puppy! The Circle always goes and visits the Jarl's kennels and I never get to go!"

"What—"

"I mean, why else do Mama and Papa always smell like they've been rolling around in a dog bed whenever they come back in before breakfast? Or when they're sneaking in during the middle of the night? Or when—"

"Lucia! What are you talking about, lass?" Vilkas, at last, cut in.

"Oh! Well, I was consalt— consulk—"

"Consulting," her uncle supplied.

"Yeah, consulting my beasty, beast, uh, animal guide before I came looking for Lars 'cause we're gonna go hunt goblins in his mom's vegetable garden when I found him in the Circles' closet, which I thought was weird because I thought this was where Papa was hiding Mama's New Life present — so maybe Papa is getting Mama the puppy? — but I didn't get to ask Lars why 'cause he was about to crash into the shelves, and then I'd have had to help him clean up the mess, and I'd rather go hunt the goblins than do chores, so . . ." Lucia rambled on, fast as a dartwing. All the while Vilkas nodded along to what she said, before at length raising a hand to hush her, his pale eyes resting on Lars. The young boy felt his knees start to wobble again.

"What's this, then?" Vilkas gestured to the bag.

"Uh, Njada Stonearm sent me down with it, sir. She um, she said to bring it to the Circles' supply closet . . ." By the end, Lars could barely hear his own voice, but whatever he heard seemed to placate Vilkas. The man took the satchel from Lars', the boy's thin arms falling limp with relief.

"I'll take care of this, Battle-Born. Lucia, you two run along," he said, holding the bag as easy in one hand as one might hold an apple. Lars couldn't help but feel a little envy at the dark warrior's ease and strength.

"Wait," Lucia's fingers twisted together around the hilt of her wooden sword. Lars hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. "I don't understand though! Is it a puppy? Is it Mama's? Will she share him? Uncle—"

Vilkas laughed. Lars never really heard the man laugh before. It was different from his brother's: deeper, richer, almost wolfish, whereas Farkas' laughter was a booming bark. The boy's brow creased at the comparisons, his eyes traveling to the inside of the closet again. There was more in there beside pet medicine and dog food, but before he could read anymore labels, Lucia's uncle shut the door and was ushering them down the hall a moment later.

"You'll know soon enough, lass. One day, when you're in the Circle yourself," he was saying.

"In the Circle? Myself?" Lucia's eyes glittered.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He pulled the basement door open and waved them up the stairs. "Then, and not a moment before. And lass?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"While you're out hunting goblins, keep the little Battle-Born out of too much trouble, will you? Lad needs someone looking out for him." Lucia was already halfway up the stairs, but Vilkas could still reach to ruffle her dark ashy hair, and the girl preened under the attention.

Lars shifted about in embarrassment, but the Companion ignored him.

The two were halfway to his mother's garden, Lucia delivering a flash lecture on the nature of goblins, when a thought struck Lars, hitting him right between the eyes like Braith often did.

If the Companions didn't have any dogs, then why did he hear howling echo from Jorrvaskr at night?

[angelrider13]

A Barren Sea of Sun-Bleached Bones

Sooooooo this is something that I’ve been thinking about off and on for a while now and given that I’ve had literally nothing better to do at work because everything has gone cuckoo bananapuffs, have some rambles! (*pokes @hamelin-born because it sounds like you’re also having a rough time lately and could use a pick me up*)

-

When Thalassa wakes up in a desert with twin suns beating down on her, her first thought is ‘this might as well happen’. Her second thought is ‘why the fuck is this happening?”

(Titan, brother, why would you do this to me? When did I wrong you???)

She has no idea where she is and eventually she succumbs to the heat. When she wates, she finds herself in the care of a woman who introduces herself as Shmi Skywalker and explains that her husband, Cliegg Lars, found her unconscious in the desert.

She’s in Star Wars. On Tatooine of all places. Because of course she is. In her first life, Thalassa wasn’t overly familiar with story - she’d seen the first 6 movies, a few episodes of the various cartoons here and there, but she knows that there is a wider knowledge base that she never looked twice at and is therefore missing.

What she does know is this: Tatooine is run by slavers.

Tatooine is a slave planet and everyone knows but no one cares enough to stop it.

Well then.

Thalassa settles in and recovers and gets to know her rescuers. With Shmi married to Cliegg (happily so and by her own choice, Thalassa checked), it’s clear that the timeline is somewhere between Episodes 1 and 2. Something she doesn’t particularly care about much aside from the fact that it means war has not broken out. Yet. Meaning that larger entities will not yet be putting much effort into winning the Hutt’s favor - which in turn means that no one will be looking to closely at the Outer Rim desert planet. Or that, if they do, they will look the other way. As always.

So Thalassa stays and watches and explores and learns. She helps around the homestead, walks through the cities. She makes note of who owns slaves and who doesn’t. She observes any slave quarters she comes across. She grows close with Shmi and Cliegg ad teases young Owen about his budding romance with Beru.

And sometimes, she just walks out into the desert and disappears for days, weeks.

There are echoes, you see, all round the desert. A song on the wind, screams in the shifting sands. Tatooine wasn’t always a Desert. Many, many, many, moons ago, it was a Sea. And that is not something easily forgotten. Deserts aren’t so different after all - their shifting sands hide treasures as easily as waves and their memories stretch just as long.

It is for this reason that Thalassa has lasted as long as she had. In another life, perhaps this planet could have been Hers. In this life, it is the echoes of that past that sustain her when she is so far from her own Sea.

Shmi frets over her whenever se returns from these wanderings for Thalassa’s skin is perpetually dry and cracked, splitting open whenever she so much as twitches. Her hair is bleached and brittle and the sands have carved deep lines into her face. (She hasn’t dared changing shapes since she arrived - she suspects she would simply fall apart if she tried.) Shmi continues to rub salves into her skin and Cliegg tries to caution her against further trips, to at least make them shorter, to take more water, something.

And Thalassa smiles because they care, but their little moisture farm would never produce enough water to sustain her. Besides, she can’t stop yet.

“I’m searching for something,” she says.

“What?” Cliegg asks as Shmi bandages her arms, worry shinning in their eyes.

Thalassa smiles wistfully. “A memory.”

-

She finds it eventually. It takes her two years of looking and waiting and listening, but Thalassa finds the heart of the memory, of the Sea. The entrance could have been great once. A temple, perhaps. Or a palace. Or probably none of those things and something else entirely. But is was something once. Something grand. Now it is little more than weathered stone - nothing other than a natural formation if one doesn’t know how to look. It’s a maze of caverns deep underground and Thalassa can see were once great arches and painted tiles and etched columns. The echoes that were only faint whispers on the wind are stronger here - louder, firmer, solid. Real. She can see what once was and what now is. What was once a vast Sea is not little more than a well. A small pool no longer deep or large enough to flow through underground riverbeds.

There is still enough water for Thalassa to submerge herself completely. The water is soothing against her dry, cracked skin - an ancient, dying Sea welcoming one of its own. Thalassa opens herself to this strange-familiar Sea, lets it see all of her and in turn it grants Thalassa the same.

Tatooine was once a water planet - vast and deep and blue. But time marches on and things change as they always do. The slightest of shifts in the chemical makeup of the atmosphere, the gravitational axis tilting a single degree to the left. Small hings. Little things. But a single change is always enough and Tatooine began to dry up until it became as it is today. Thalassa can feel the boundless rage of this dying Sea at the state of its domain today. Not so much the state of its waters - change is what it is and there is no escaping it - but the state its people. Because Seas, regardless of time and place and origin, are the same. Seas are free. And Tatooine has been chained and branded and bound for so long that its people have forgotten any other way to be.

But the Sea remembers.

The Desert remembers.

And it rages at this slight, at this betrayal, at this abomination that has been allowed to fester at among its people so long unchecked.

Very well, Thalassa promises, The infection will be cut out.

Tatooine’s Sea is grateful and offers what is left of its dying depths to the liberation of its children.

Thalassa’s skin knits together, the ever present rash in her throat fades, the dryness in her lungs vanishes. She takes stock, considers, and changes. Scales, claws, a tail. It feels good. The water is not deep enough, vast enough for Leviathan, but she changes anyway, filling the cavern with her massive form. She stretches and twists and basks in her ability to be once more. She changes. Again and again and again. An old woman bent with age, a young boy with scraped knees, a Zabrak male, an elderly Rodian, a Twi’liek woman, a Jawa just because she can. It has been so long. Tatooine’s Sea is laughing at her, she can tell, but she doesn’t mind.

The Desert greets her when she finally emerges, its voice a twin of the Sea’s, different that what she is used to but no less welcome. It reminds her of her stone brother.

-

Thalassa returns to the Lars-Skywalker homestead and Shmi is already pulling out medical supplies before she registers the shine of Thalassa’s hair, the unblemished skin of her face.

“It was a gift,” she explains when Shmi strips her down anyway and runs her hands over smooth skin she swears was falling apart only a week ago.

Thalassa lets them fuss for two days before she wanders off again. She made a promise after all and she’s had time to observe. She knows who is rotten and who is not. The Hutts for one. The most obvious blight. But to cut them out so soon, so quickly, without any plan or safety net would do Tatooine children no favors. One day. But not yet. She must start small. She knows where to go first.

There is a man who live in Mos Entha with a dozen slaves to his name. Thalassa does not claim knowledge of all the races this universe has to offer, but she knows children when she sees them. All of them are young. All of them are pleasing to the eye. All of them are dressed in little more than scraps of sheer cloth.

The man dies that night.

In the morning, Thalassa returns to Shmi and Cliegg with a dozen children of various races peeking out from behind her legs.

“She was like you,” Thalassa tells the children of Shmi before she ushers Cliegg out of the room when Shmi pulls out a scanner and Beru starts setting up medical supplies.

(Thalassa has seen the scar on Shmi’s hip. She knows what used to live under Shmi’s skin.)

Cliegg sets up rooms for the kids without protest and the farm gains a dozen helpers. Owen is a gruff, but protective, older brother. Shmi and Beru are both gentle and patient even when the children finally feel secure enough to start testing boundaries and act out.

This is how it starts.

-

Thalassa cannot bring everyone back to the homestead, of course. But she’s watched. She knows. Slaves are never content to be slaves. And here they are survivors born of both the Desert and the Sea. They will find a way. Secret languages. hidden paths, safe houses. Thalassa does not have to be a member of their community to know.

Slavers start disappearing. The smugglers, the mercenaries, the masters. No one dealing in the trade of sentient beings is safe.

Shmi finally confronts her about it he third time she brings home a group to be de-chipped. Shmi would never turn them away - that’s not in her nature - and Thalassa has provided them with enough funds for the extra mouths (The Desert and the Sea both have their secrets and guard treasures well from outsiders. But not from on of their own.), but she does wonder what, exactly, her friend thinks she’s doing.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says when she asks as she looks out in the desert. “Do you know what a Sea is?”

Shmi may have lived in a desert all her life, but she is not stupid and she is a little indignant that Thalassa thinks she might be. “A large body of water,” she answers, keeping the frown out of her voice and off her face.

Thalassa smiles. “You’re not wrong. Most people would agree with you. But I asked what a Sea was, not how to describe it.”

Shmi blinks, thrown by the direction this entire conversation has taken.

“A Sea,” Thalassa continues without looking away from the vast stretch of sand, “is freedom.”

Oh, Shmi thinks.

“Tatooine used to be a Sea,” Thalassa says again, “And such a thing leaves echoes. A Desert is not so different, after all. They are no place for chains and brands and chips.” Thalassa spits the last word as if it is the most vile poison and Shmi wonders if she truly understands what such a life is like to hate it so.

“There is a Sea inside of me,” Thalassa says, turning to look at Shmi with glowing gold eyes, “And it is raging at the way your Sea and Desert have been bound. The have been screaming for so long, Shmi, so long. I will free them even if I have to cut down every slaver myself.”

Shmi believes her. Not only that, but she believe Thalassa ca do it. Her friend has always been an odd one. Human in appearance, but never quite right. Something easy to pass off in a universe such as theirs. But the way she seems to whither in the desert is like nothing Shmi has ever seen. The cracks that once carved themselves into Thalassa’s flesh - and still do whenever she ventures out too far for too long - had never seemed as simple as a reaction to the body’s lack of water or exposure to heat. And then one day Thalassa healed. She healed and she stated wearing different skins. Shmi has heard people start calling her Quyllur of the Many Faces. They have stories about beings like her - whispers passed down in he dark of night while huddled together for warmth. Thalassa does not know these stories. She does not know their language or culture or history. She is something different. But she is something similar enough.

-

Thalassa cleans Tatooine of filth one slaver at a time. None of them can quite figure out why they are being hunted, only that they are. Some try to flee or buy protection. Some even petition the Hutts fir help. But Thalassa is an ancient, death-touched Sea with a pair of twins - a Desert full of screaming winds and barren Sea full of sun-bleached bones - at her back. She can be patient. Water goes where it will and Death come for all in the end. Thalassa will get her way.

-

It happens slowly, quietly, but it happens.

Most people don’t notice at first because they aren’t looking. Who pays attention to slaves after all? That is their first mistake. A slaver should always pay attention and never be comforatable - a slave is never content to be a slave. All it takes is a single moment, a single detail, a single second. But people who assume they have all the power never think like that. And it is always, always, their downfall.

-

The slaves are freed.

The masters are killed.

No one notices.

And then the first Hutt dies.