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melanie-ohara · 7 months

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WIP Weekend - Wolfwren. Wolfwrenkend. Is that anything?

I'm having a very tough week, so the writing is not going great. When I'm stressed I have a tendency to start things instead of keep working, so alongside the Wolfwren fic I'm already publishing (part 3 soon!), I started another. Here's all of it so far I guess

They were five cycles behind Baylan Skoll and the gap was getting was wider. Traveling with the Noti made them slow, even if Baylan was still on foot, but with Shin Hati and her bandits still out there Ahsoka and Sabine couldn't leave them undefended. At first, Sabine was impatient, and frustrated at Ahsoka for not explaining where they were going - but the closer they got to the mountain the more on edge Ahsoka became.

Sabine's connection to the Force was still tenuous most of the time, but she felt more and more like Ahsoka was cutting herself off from her and she had no idea why. They hadn't argued - yet - but things on the ship were tense and rather than stay aboard as it hovered along on a quarter power, Sabine opted to move into Ezra's pod. It was built for a Noti, so it was far too small, but it was good to have her own space separate from Huyang and Ahsoka. One of the Noti - who didn't seem to have individual names, as far as she could decipher their language - had adopted the Howler she called Mirshko, which meant she just had space to stretch her legs from the bed to the kitchen counter while she looked through the stuff Ezra had left behind.

Most of it was junk - scraps of wood he used to carve the Alliance symbols for the Noti and the hand tools he used to do it, a few drained power cells, and empty ration crates he must have stolen from Thrawn's star destroyer - but there was a neat little wooden box that caught her attention. It reminded her of her own memory box, now billions of light years away on Lothal, only Ezra had clearly made his by hand. Inside she found fragments of Ezra's two broken holocrons - Jedi and Sith artifacts she still didn't understand - and the smashed remains of his first lightsaber. She smiled at the memory of him sprinting into battle with a burst of blaster fire from the ridiculous hilt before it sparked to life and split a stormtrooper helmet down the middle. The crystal from it now sat in the hilt of his new lightsaber, but Sabine still wondered why he'd turned down the one he had given her all those years ago. She'd never got the chance to ask.

Sabine sighed and closed the box. It was getting late. If she went up to the ship now, Huyang would prepare her a warm drink before she went to bed. Ahsoka hadn't returned yet from scouting their route ahead, which used to worry Sabine. Now Ahsoka spent more time on the path following that strange white Convor than she did with the Noti convoy, barely sleeping or eating. Sabine had never seen the bird before, but Ezra had told her how it always seemed to show up just before Ahsoka did, and when they had all thought Ahsoka was dead she had painted it on her pauldron in remembrance. That all seemed such a long time ago now, especially given it had all happened in a distant galaxy. Ahsoka seemed at peace with the idea of never returning home, but Sabine hoped every day for a pod of Purrgils to appear overhead to carry her away. But Ahsoka had made it very clear that if Baylan Skoll reached the mountain unchallenged, something terrible would be unleashed. He had to be stopped, and it was all Ahsoka seemed to think about.

Sabine had given up worrying about her Master and for now she'd rather not subject herself to Huyang's company, pleasant though it was. She had to crouch to use anything in the kitchen, and she'd found it was much more convenient to sit cross-legged on the floor while she made her evening meal and before-bed drink. That was a tradition that dated back to the Ghost - Hera used to make warm milk for everyone before they shut down for the night. Zeb insisted on it long after Ezra and Sabine had grown out of it, and it continued until their victory on Lothal. Until they went their separate ways. She missed the good old days, when they were all together still. Being a squad commander during the official Galactic Civil War had been trying, and then Ahsoka's return and attempts to train her before the Empire obliterated Mandalore, and her family along with it…

There was a clatter as Sabine put the delicate Noti tea set down too hard.

"Karabast," she cursed under her breath. Nothing was broken though, and she picked up the small cup and blew steam from the pale pink liquid inside. It wasn't as sweet as the blue milk she was used to, and she wished she had a few meiloorun flowers to drop in, but it was warm and comforting, and it would soothe her enough to sleep. Sabine took a long sip and then started on her armour. Beskar was comfortable enough that she could sleep in it, but it weighed heavy on her of late and she'd felt the need to take it off more and more since the war ended. She changed out of her underarmour into the tank top and loose trousers she wore for training and clambered awkwardly into the small bed to finish her drink and go to sleep.

Shin Hati watched from the crest of the hill overlooking the Noti camp, waiting for the ship to take the bait and move off. The Noti were immaterial, and she knew she wouldn't stand a chance against the Togruta Jedi even with her bandits, but the Mandalorian… she could take her. Shin had watched quietly for days now, and she knew Wren's routine probably better than she did herself. The bandits she had sent after Tano would prompt her to call her ship to return her to the convoy, which would give her a narrow window to get in, kill the Mandalorian, and get out. The idea that Wren's Master would be signing her death warrant with her arrogance brought a grim smile to her face.

Finally, she saw the engines flare and the ship gradually accelerated away from the Noti camp - clearly, the droid didn't want to wake anyone. Shin silently thanked him for his courtesy as she hurried down the hill and into the camp. Nobody on guard. No sensors or traps. Occasionally Wren planted proximity explosives around the approach to the camp, but she was sloppy and only seemed to bother when she'd seen wild Howlers. Tonight, the path to her pod was clear. As she advanced, she unclipped her lightsaber from her hilt.

#fanfic #writing #ahsoka #sabine x shin #shin hati #sabine wren #ahsoka tano #huyang #peridea #wild guesses about about ahsoka s2 #wolfwren #star wars #wip #wip weekend #sabine named her howler Courage in mando'a #i hope anyway #the language is very hard

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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The Mandalorian Tarot: Major Arcana

If you’re following me, you know this is a Mandalorian obsessive account. I love the man, I love the show, I write a Mando-fando that is all about pining and touch. I tend to go all in when I have an interest.

Another one of my interests? Tarot. A friend challenged me to Mandalorify the major arcana. And because Jon and Dave know their stuff and are good with archetypes (which is all tarot really is), it was an easy fit.

YOU GOT MANDO IN MY TAROT. YOU GOT TAROT IN MY MANDO. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

But. I can’t draw, so I’ve dreamed them in words and included the Rider-Waite-Smith deck illustrations that I would riff on if I could.

READY? LET’S PLAY.

(All tarot illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith. All Mandalorian images property of Star Wars/Disney.)

UPDATE! @heathenashtattoos has taken up where I cannot and is making these cards a reality! I will post them individually and come back to link them to this post as we go.

0 THE FOOL = THE MANDALORIAN / IT IS MADE! --->

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

If I could draw: Din on the cliff, with his jetpack on, meaning he has no fear of falling. Instead of the bindle-stick the Fool carries, he’d have his pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. Instead of the dog nipping at his heels, Grogu. And, of course, the landscape would be Tatooine/Navaro-esque.

~~~

1 THE MAGICIAN = LUKE SKYWALKER , IT IS MADE! --->

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

If I could draw: Luke in his blacks, holding up his lightsaber. The Jedi symbol would replace the infinity sign.

***

2 THE HIGH PRIESTESS = AHSOKA TANO / IT IS MADE! -->

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

If I could draw: Ahsoka sitting cross-legged in meditation mode, but with eyes open and a knowing smile. Instead of two pillars, she holds her lightsabers up and parallel to each other.

***

3 THE EMPRESS = PELI MOTTO / IT IS MADE! -->

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

If I could draw: Peli sitting in the dock, against the R4 unit, holding aloft a spanner and surrounded by her pit droids.

***

4 THE EMPEROR = BOBA FETT / IT IS MADE! -->

The Emperor is all about authority. And all I gotta say about Boba is BIG DICK ENERGY.

If I could draw: Just put him on the Jabba throne and let him lounge like a badass.

~~~

5 THE HIEROPHANT = THE ARMORER / IT IS MADE! -->

The Hierophant is the keeper of traditions and a spiritual guide. As the leader of the covert and keeper of the Way, The Armorer fits.

If I could draw: The Armorer, framed by her forge, holding aloft her tools, with Mandalorian acolytes. Instead of the crossed keys at the bottom, let’s just have a mythosaur skull.

***

6 THE LOVERS = FROG LADY AND FROG HUSBAND

This should be obvious and I will fight anyone who says it isn’t the right thing to do. I will die for this.

If I could draw: I would actually depart from the Smith depiction and just draw them embracing or holding each other by the arms and staring into each others’ eyes. Some kind of glowing background? Maybe the egg tank?

***

7 THE CHARIOT = THE MUDHORN

Oh. You thought I was going to say the Razor Crest, didn’t you. Don’t worry, I have plans for our beloved craft, but it ain’t here. The Chariot can be a ride, yes, but it’s about victory. Sometimes it’s about the victory over your inner “beastly” natures. To travel to the next phase in the journey, the Fool must take on the beasts that drive the Chariot and claim dominance over them, and when he does, they will carry him to the next level. Since it’s the victory of the beastly mudhorn that brings Din to his bond with Grogu and becomes his signet, Mudhorn for the win.

If I could draw: Again, I’d probably play on Smith’s imagery, put the charging mudhorn in the middle, and replace the rams with Din on his knees brandishing the vibroblade and Grogu in his pram with his Force hand up.

***

8 STRENGTH = CARA DUNE

Don’t come at me about including Cara. I am glad Gina got shown the door and I lose no love on that bigot. But. Cara is not Gina and to cut her out is to cut out Jon and Dave’s creation and I won’t do it. I actually love her a lot--she’s got her flaws, but she’s sassy and strong and solid, and I would happily accept a piggyback ride from her any day. She’s also a major player in Din’s story and deserves a spot in it. Strength comes after the Chariot--once you’ve conquered the beast within, you have confident dominion over it and it becomes a companion or a tool for your use. Cara is one with her toughness, she’s used it to do some good and bad shit in her past, and she continues to wield it effortlessly and fearlessly. She is absolutely this card.

If I could draw: I would put her maybe sitting on top of the downed ATST. I’d replace the infinity symbol over her head with the one on her cheek (Rebel Alliance).

~~~

9 THE HERMIT = KUIIL

The Hermit is a loner, yes, but in his solitude he looks within, learns from all he’s been through, and becomes wise. He holds aloft a light of wisdom and truth. This was always going to be Kuiil.

If I could drawn: Just our buddy, looking out over the Arvala-7 landscape, holding aloft an in-universe working lamp. No need to get fancy. He would want it to stay simple.

***

10 THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE = IMPERIAL SYMBOL AND STORM TROOPERS

The Wheel is fate. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you’re on top, and sometimes the Wheel crushes you beneath it. You are helpless to its roll and where you’ll land. Storm Troopers are such a sad bunch. They are keepers of Imperial Law on the ground. On a good day, they capture a Rebel or hold off an attack. On a bad day, their Moff just blasts them to make an example.

If I could draw: The wheel would just be the Imperial symbol and there’d be Troopers on and under it. Maybe the one on top is just standing there, looking authoritative. The one underneath has been blasted. Some Wheels have two more figures--one on each side--and I’d add those too. The one on the down-going side would be falling, arms flailing, blaster shooting (if only sound were available, there’d be a Whilhelm scream), and the one on the up-going side would just be dangling by one arm, along for the ride.

***

11 JUSTICE = COBB VANTH

Well, it just feels right to make the Marshal into Justice. But it’s not just a literal translation of making sure the right thing gets done and the bad guys are punished. Justice is about wiping away emotion and making decisions with bare truth, looking at every side of the situation and understanding what is really there. And I think Cobb fits this well. He doesn’t want to give up his armor because of what it means for the protection of his people. But he’s willing to consider it, if there’s another way he can protect them. Emotionally, he doesn’t want to deal with the Tusken Raiders, but he does it because he can see it’s the best course of action. He flies into battle with the Krayt Dragon. He gives up his armor without a fight. He makes a fair trade and sees the balance in it because he walks away from the emotion and chooses the best course of action. Cobb Vanth for Justice, errybody.

If I could draw: Cobb in the Fett armor, but with the helmet at his feet. In one hand, a bottle of spotchka. In the other, the Tusken mushroom drinky thing; he’s holding them with equal balance.

***

12 THE HANGED MAN = MIGS MAYFELD

The Hanged Man is not just about a dude who’s hanging upside down. (If that was the case, I would have just gone with Gor Koresh and called it a day.) Hanged Man is about changing your perspective to see things in a new way so you can grow. Many times, this growth also requires sacrifice. Over the two episodes we see Mayfeld, we know he goes from Imperial sharp shooter, to traumatized deserter, to merc, prisoner, and exonerated friend. He’s seen some shit, given up a lot, and he’s willing to see how he can be a help to others and find redemption for himself.

If I could draw: Hear me out. Take the image of Mayfeld hanging upside down from the Crest hatch into the prison ship. Mirror that above with an image of him in his Imperial Ground Transport gear. Flip it all upside down so bad Mayfeld up top, good Mayfeld on bottom, images mirrored but inverted, hence “looking at things a new way and getting everything a little topsy-turvey.”

~~~

13 DEATH = MOFF GIDEON

Death is about transformation, so it’s not always the most sinister card. But Death does not discriminate. It comes for us all, constantly stalking, and it will strike you down to serve its needs. You need to face Death to get to your redemption. But really, Gideon is our big baddie here, so why the hell not.

If I could draw: I would forgo the Smith illustration and go for the Marseilles tradition on this one. Gideon and the Darksaber replaces Death and the scythe.

***

14 TEMPERANCE = IG-11

Temperance is the transformation that comes after Death. Once Death has chopped your physical being into pieces with his scythe, Temperance is there to take all your pieces and put them back together into something new and better. It’s also a card that asks you to re-evaluate your priorities and see if you can find better motivations than you previously had. IG’s death and reprogramming speak loudly to me on this.

If I could draw: IG pouring the tea.

***

15 THE DEVIL = THE CLIENT

Here’s another baddie card that’s all about your worst faults, about excess and giving into the stuff that will eventually kill your soul. The Client holds on hard to the Empire, doing whatever he’s ordered to do to be one of the top dogs. And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Gideon takes him down like he’s nothing.

If I could draw: The client, wearing his Empire bling, with chains around Doctor Pershing and a rough-looking Storm Trooper.

***

16 THE TOWER = THE RAZOR CREST

I don’t know about you, but Chapter 14 killed me. And not because the Dark Troopers flew away with Grogu. We all knew Din would never stop at getting him back. But when the Crest was destroyed, it was like someone punched me in the soft parts, and I made a lot of severely anguished noises. The Tower is the most tragic card in the tarot. It’s when forces beyond your control make a very big (and usually negative) impact in your life and everything changes. You are left to pick up the pieces and survive any way you can with the skills and resources you’ve been blessed with.

If I could draw: Just that moment of the ray hitting our beautiful Crest, just as it begins to break apart, maybe with Din, Boba, and Fennec watching in horror in the foreground.

~~~

17 THE STAR = GROGU

The Star is hope. It comes after the biggest tragedy in the deck to tell you that not all is lost. There is always something there to live for. C’mon, kids. In this series, there was only one choice.

If I could draw: Just Grogu. Maybe drinking his soup. Or maybe he’s levitating his metal ball overhead, reaching up to it with a smile on his face. *coos*

***

18 THE MOON = BO KATAN KRYZE

We all like Bo Katan, sure. But remember my Clone Wars/Rebels fiends, she was Death Watch, and they were terrorists. She sided with Maul to take over Mandalore. Sure, she’s come a long way and her path is a bit more honorable now, but she’s got an agenda, which makes her hard to trust. Since the Moon is about more feminine energies and has themes of illusion and deception--things look great in the moonlight, but maybe not as they really are--Bo Katan’s our girl.

If I could draw: Head and shoulders profile, double-imaged so you see her face, but her Nite Owl helmet superimposed in profile over it. Nite Owl signet on the bottom. Possibly flanked by her two Nite Owl cronies.

***

19 THE SUN = GREEF KARGA

Everything's sunny when Greef’s around! He’s the feel-good gramps that’s going to make any situation A-Ok! If you’ve got a problem, Greef can sort it out...or he knows someone who can! The sun is always gonna shine on you and take you back.

If I could draw: Just Greef smiling and being cheesy with the halo of the sun around him.

***

20 JUDGEMENT = FENNEC SHAND

This card traditionally shows the resurrected rising from the grave, ready to be judged. Fennec’s got a lot to answer for in her life, but she is being given a second chance, and my number one girl crush is going to do new and wonderful badass things with it.

If I could draw: I’d either just show her opening her gut pocket to show her new works, all full of aura, with her looking down at it reverently. OR I might do a scene of her being rescued by Boba.

~~~

21 THE WORLD = THE HELMET

Din’s helmet is the world he lives in. But it’s also a symbol of The Way. The World represents completion, a wholeness of self and being, the end of the journey. And since Din is our Fool, his journey is an exploration of his morals and honor, what it means to walk the way of the Mandalore, and what the meaning of the helmet is for him. He may choose ultimately to keep it on and go all-in on Mandalorian-4-lyfe (Child of the Watch style), or he may understand that the helmet is just a symbol and the honor was in him all along; he can wear it or not wear it and it’s all the same.

If I could draw: The World usually depicts a circle or sphere of some kind, the symbol of perfect completion. The helmet is close enough, so it takes up the center. Traditionally, there are four symbols in the corners that give more meaning to The World, and I would replace them with The Razor Crest, Grogu, the Mudhorn Signet, and the pulse rifle or blaster. These represent his home, his foundling, his clan, and his religion, all of which make up more of the whole; what it means to him to be Mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Challenge accepted and faced.

Adira dops her witchy mic….

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #tarot #mandalorian tarot #star wars #din djarin #luke skywalker #ahsoka tano #grogu #bo katan hate gang

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sullustangin · 3 years

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Theron Shan Week, Prompt 1: Childhood

Corellia, 14 ATC (3639 BBY)

(Post Annihilation, pre-Hutt Cartel)

Word Count: ~3000

Rating: PG/T

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33142732

A whoosh of air.

He touched down on the last building ledge before the street turned into a crater. He recalibrated his jetpack for the potentially dangerous terrain he was about to face below. This job was to be a quick one. Recover personnel data and exfiltrate to the remains of the Coronet Spaceport. Then it was on to Makeb for initial reconnaissance. That job would take more time than this one, but still, it had to be quick. Too much was buzzing there, literally and figuratively…

Theron Shan was willing to bet there’d be boots on the ground not long after the new galactic year rolled in. He leapt from his perch on the building and activated the retroboosters just in time to let himself touch down softly, flexing his foot against the ground to test stability.

Acceptable. Theron switched the pack to standby and fixed his attention on what was beneath his feet. That was always the center of focus now, lest he plunge down into the sewers as the ground gave way.

Before proceeding any further, Theron called up old holostills. Despite the ruin of Coronet City, certain features remained identifiable, and he’d be damned if he was going to go rooting through the wrong building.

He’d done his best to forget this place, after all.

As his implants matched key architectural features and the crumbling skyline, Theron closed his eyes to conjure long-shelved memories.

Yes, he had stood here before. This used to be the gymnasium. He’d spent countless hours there. It was the one place he could fly. It was the last place his body had been perfect.

Well, almost. He’d had an adventurous childhood. There was certainly a difference, however, between slicing his foot on a shell on the Gold Beaches and being shot in some Czerka factory on Telos IV. Theron impulsively ran his tongue over his new teeth. After Ziost, he estimated he had six original teeth left.

Funny how he thought of that in the place he cut his last molars.

That all said, Theron never had a particularly strong opinion about his body. His body was a tool, something he used to serve the Republic and work in the Strategic Information Service.

Just as his boot nudged a sign, covered over in dust, his implants chirped to confirm his location. Using a heavily gloved hand, he crouched to wipe the metal plate just enough to read the lasered words: CORONET CITY MILITARY ACADEMY GYMNA—

The rest of the sign was broken off, probably somewhere in this rubble. It confirmed everything else though, including his own recollections about this place.

As Theron tread carefully through the ruin, his focus was on the rubble under his feet and the map in his implants, augmented by the old memories that ran in his head like holos.

Those were simple tasks, however. Theron’s mind was far more active than that, much to his annoyance. He thought back…

His mind and body had been sharply honed from a young age. The discipline of a Jedi was more than mental. However, he noticed the first hint that something was wrong with him. Theron had to work so hard, and he had to be so much more fit he than the other younglings he occasionally encountered in his travels with Master Zho. Yes, he was strong and athletic and graceful. But Theron struggled. He fought gravity, as others danced with it.

Theron remembered her in particular. The girl who had bested him with such little effort was also the most compassionate of the bunch. She was going to be a great Jedi, he knew it. She barely bent her knees before she could launch high in the air, and she landed silently, as if invisible wings lowered her back to the dusty earth. Theron had to put everything he had into the launch, and the soil puffed up around him in the arid environment as his body displaced it.

She was poetry. He was gutter-speak.

Theron could defeat ill-disciplined younglings, but someone like her – someone who took this just as seriously as he did – outmatched him. He tired long before she did, and it was a mystery to him how her muscles did not ache, how her breath never managed to run out.

It was only in retrospect that Theron realized he had a crush on her. At the time, the warm feeling that had crept across his face whenever she spoke to him, the small flutter his tiny, preteen heart gave – that had been dismissed. Jedi didn’t fall in love. Jedi didn’t have selfish attachments.

Theron wanted to become a padawan on the off-chance he’d be paired with his mother as his master.

The dream changed – it had to – after Haashimut.

Zho left him without telling him he was as Force-null as his biological father likely had been -whoever he was.

Nobody knew who his biological father was.

His mother didn’t come for him. They couldn’t find her.

As he turned 14, Theron was lodged at Coronet City Military Academy. Here.

Theron turned. This was where the lift had been that went down to the basement, where the janitorial offices and the records facility had been. He peered over the edge of the shaft. No, he wasn’t going to risk it. Theron activated the magnetic picks on the toes of his boots, turned the retroboosters to standby, just in case, and he started the dusty, sweaty climb down. The heat that built up reminded him of one particular shame that came over him --

Theron was put on a brief crash course of all the subjects Jedi hasn’t necessarily prioritized in his education to this point.

He discovered his mother was imperfect and had apparently broken the Jedi code. At least once. Theron was evidence – a body of evidence.

He was embarrassed. He felt like he’d been fooled by everyone about his mother, about his abilities, about his life – everything.

The first bubbling of teenage fury rose up in him, and when the school registrar asked for his name, he did not supply “Theron Zho” as he so often had when traveling with his so-called ‘father.’

“My name is Theron Shan.”

Theron hadn’t known at the time that “Shan” was as common as Smith or Parr or K’tilhok in certain corners of the galaxy. He thought he was being defiant. He was one of nineteen Shans in his class at the Coronet City Military Academy. So much for that rebellion, that attempt at scandal that would surely bring her to confront him…to see him for the first time since he was six months old.

Theron always carried that last holo with him… the one of her with him and her. The anger died away when the news reached him that Satele Shan had rediscovered Tython. It wouldn’t be formally founded and populated for another few years, but she had done the impossible. To her credit, she had sent word to the governors of the Academy that she was gratified that Master Zho’s charge Theron had been safely placed in their care.

The business of Tython would be a long process that took time. She was going to be busy.

Theron continued to train his body and maintain the physical fitness he had, even though he was never going to have the opportunity to do a backflip, summon his lightsaber into his hand, and duel a Sith Lord atop of a ship hull or anything like that.

Theron also found out that the kind Jedi youngling had become a padawan. She was killed at the Coruscant temple. He didn’t want to remember her name anymore. It hurt too much, for he had realized that if he had been Force Sensitive, he wouldn’t be here on Corellia in so many ways.

That first Life Day on Corellia, Theron knew the conundrum of his heart being so warm and yet the outside world being so cold as other children went home on weekends and holidays, and he remained in the dormitory. His bed assignment was changed at the end of term, so nobody thought anything was amiss. Everyone’s bed assignment was changed between terms. He wasn’t thought to be any different than other child. His parents just got him late and returned him early, his peers thought. It was impossible that he stayed there for a month by himself.

But he did.

Theron always remembered the janitors that cared for the building and the one chef that remained to feed him and the residential staff. It wasn’t just a holdover from Jedi teachings about equality and respect. He mouthed their names as he passed the doorless thresholds that were once their offices: C’thik. Donya. Thileo. Danodeen. They cared for Theron. He cared about them the best he could.

Something inside Theron hurt any time he had an urge to express his feelings beyond gratitude. Many impulses to hug were suppressed. When he woke up from the formless terror that pursued him in the night, he did want to scream out, in the hopes someone heard him. But he pushed that down. He grew up, or at least he imitated the idea of what he thought was being a grown up.

Theron’s constant presence at the Academy came with the assumption of an unhappy home, so in the second term, it appeared some well-meaning mothers encouraged their sons to befriend him. He remembered some of them. They’d grown up in places like this too.

Theron didn’t remember the names of his … companions? Fellow inmates? all that well. They were good kids. They didn’t get Theron, who was so mature about some stuff but just so oblivious to other stuff, like girls and music and holos and virtual games.

The girls at the Academy were made of braver stuff than the boys were. Theron didn’t know what to make of them, for the most part, but they at least tried to strike up a conversation with him. They asked how he was. He failed, utterly, at small talk, so once their questions were answered, he moved on. The girls were brazen in coming to watch him in the gymnasium. Theron was already in SIS by the time he figured out they hadn’t been interested in the technical merits of his routine.

The boys (with one exception) never got too close to Theron. They were terrified of him after he knocked an upperclassman’s teeth down his throat for trying to shake down the class runt in Theron’s year for his datapad. They still hung out with him, but they watched him with the same fascination they had when they visited the zoo’s jaggalors. He was a creature so fierce they were never even tempted to tap on the glass, see how he was doing, what was going on inside.

The one exception’s name was Arlo, the runt in question, and the datapad was his comic book collection. The collection had been started by his grandfather and maintained by his father and uncle and passed down to the smallest Gran ever born in that family.

Theron thought it was the most wonderful thing to have a hand-me-down anything from anyone.

Arlo wasn’t bothered when Theron asked why he was being trained in the military arts; the Gran had strict career quotas, and everyone was expected to do their part. Arlo was not an obvious candidate for battlefield hero. “I’m in this to get into the intelligence service. SIS.”

That was the first time Theron ever heard of what would become the rest of his life.

In exchange for self-defense lessons, Theron became very knowledgeable about the last 75 years of comic books. It was still the only element of pop culture he kept up with. Theron kept it to himself; his dates never got it. He and Arlo plotted their schedules so that they could train together, study together, and have a free period on the day of the week when the comics hit the holostands. They took the tram to the nearest major holostand – the one near the academy didn’t have comics, possibly at the behest of the commandant. In their minds, nothing was going to stand in the way of them getting into SIS together and seeing the galaxy and fighting the Empire.

…Somewhere in the middle of that, as he stood in the basement, Theron realized he had still been just a child.

Well, this might have been a wasted trip. Theron stood in what remained of the records office. At the back of the room, there was a great kriffing hole that vented down into the sewer he’d been so anxious to avoid, and half the databanks had clearly collapsed into it. If they’d been swept away, then it was game over for Theron. Ugh. The flimsi work he’d have to file.

Then again, it was only half the databanks. He still had a 50/50 chance of success. Theron activated his implants and scanned for the power source. Aha, there. And it had a battery back-up. Theron waited for the full report on the battery’s health before he did anything. He needed to know how much time he had.

He wanted to be done with this place.

Once the battery passed its health screening, Theron sliced in with his implants and booted the entire system up with the clearance codes he’d been given by the current commandant; the one Theron had known was long gone.

Yes, he knew there was corruption. Yes, he knew critical files were missing. Yes, yes, yes, yes, please boot up now –

Would he like an index of available files?

Yes, yes, he would. It would tell him whether this was pointless –

Or not. It was not. The two sets of files he had been instructed to extract and wipe from this system were right there. The Empire hadn’t even realized it had trodden right over vital intel about the agent now known as Technoplague and the SIS Director.

Marcus Trant had been Coronet City Military Academy’s finest alumnus, rising high and fast before, during, and just after the Great Galactic War. His arrival on campus had turned heads. Not Theron’s. Theron remained focused on his study and his physical routine.

It was after Theron had stuck the landing on his floor routine that the man approached him. Theron remembered watching him with wariness until he introduced himself as the Director of SIS. He was seeking recruits for the agency’s early start program. Promising 16 and 17 year-olds could go. Since Theron was a ward of the state, it was entirely his choice; parental permission wasn’t required.

Theron’s first question was whether Arlo could go with him.

Arlo was ultimately sidelined from SIS due to a heart murmur. Even if he was just an analyst, SIS wanted him to be able to handle himself in a blaster fight, and they didn’t want to kill him while training him. That meant he went back home to become a religious scholar.

Theron went to SIS. Arlo gave him a copy of the comic collection, with his father’s permission.

Then the rest of Theron’s life had started.

Theron checked the files to ensure he’d copied everything over before wiping and reformatting those sectors of the database. For Trant, his files could be a wealth of raw data and inspiration; he could have drawn on his experience at the academy to create codenames passcodes, associations. He could have used innocuous childhood memories to create these items. Someone with enough data about Trant’s life could feasibly put the pieces together.

For Theron, it was all about his biometrics: his medical records, his yearbook holos, even his growth charts could be used to identify him in the field as a grown man. The name didn’t matter as much as the evidence of the body.

He was done here. Theron sent the final command to wipe that area of the database and reformat. Trant and Theron were no longer documented alumni here.

As Theron readied his jetpack for exfiltration (he was keeping it simple: up and out), his implants sorted the images attached to the files before sealing them. He saw something.

He paused the process to have a look at his 14-year-old self. He was 14 years and 5 weeks, actually. Zho had sent him to Haashimut 7 weeks before, just before his birthday.

…and he looked terrified. His life had been ripped apart, and he was flying without a safety net or a familiar face anywhere near him. Theron though he heard the whine of a holocam that would signal a great white flash --

Theron pushed back at the memory, as he always had, and he dismissed the holo, letting the sealing process finish. It was over. There was nothing he could do now. He was no longer a failed Jedi Youngling.

…it was all about context. Theron ignited the jetpack and began his ascent out of the ruin of the Academy.

He’d had a good childhood with Master Zho – if he could forget what happened next. In all honesty, nothing awful had happened at Coronet City Military Academy to make him hate the place. It had been his haven between being a Jedi and being an SIS agent. But it was being between lives that had made Theron so miserable: his past was irrelevant and his future was uncertain for almost three years. That was the context that made every moment there excruciating.

But that was done and over with. He was fine. He had his career. Arlo had his career and his ever-expanding comic collection. They still commed once in awhile.

As Theron landed at the spaceport, a message came through his implants from his personal Holonet box. Oh. Karrie.

Kriff, he’d forgotten to tell her –

Kriff. He was off to Makeb and he’d forgotten to tell the girlfriend he wasn’t even on Coruscant.

Well, if she was the girlfriend after that screw-up. He left it on ‘read.’ He’d try to comm her in transit. Theron really did like her. He was pretty sure he was in love with her.

Theron would deal with the personal stuff later. On to Makeb and the next mission.

Neither the Republic presence on the planet or the girlfriend endured the following year.

Author’s Note: I’ve had this sort of headcanon dump file for Theron, and I drew this out of it. I have a few more bits still in it. In terms of timeline, I imagine that after the Treaty of Coruscant was finalized, Satele disappeared to go find Tython for the better part of 18 months. It’s during this period -- as Theron is 13 going on 14 -- that Zho finally gives up on him and Theron leaves the Jedi. Satele finds Tython and finally gets word of Theron’s situation. I decided that “finding Tython” and the “founding of Tython” are two separate events; the Jedi didn’t just move in the second Satele popped up with the good news. So 3653-3651 is a transition period for the Republic, Satele, and Theron at the same time. It’s a new galaxy for the losers of the war.

@theronshanweek-official

#theron shan #theronshanweek2021 #swtor #swtor fan fiction

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

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Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (14/17)

In which Savage tastes freedom. Zombie Savage AU | 2k | warnings for body horror, suicidal ideation, mention of sexual violence

The back is still against the doorframe, even though it takes all of Savage’s might to keep it rooted there. He only bothers because Maul is staring at him—Maul, his little brother, who is alive!—Maul is finally meeting Savage’s eyes, and he looks brittle enough that a mistimed movement might shatter his composure. Savage will not do that to him. Not in front of their enemies.

Their enemies: if Savage allowed the Mother’s body—no, that’s not right, Kenobi said it’s his brother’s—his—if he allowed the body he is inside to move, he would stand in front of Maul now, using his broad back to shield him from the man who mutilated him and laughed, and the Woman who might use Her power at any time to violate him. Savage would be the impenetrable wall that keeps him safe forever. Savage will be the wall. They will have to shatter it—to shatter him, tear him limb from limb, and obliterate even the chapped nail on his left little toe before they may pass. He will die before anyone touches Maul. He will never outlive his brother ever again. Even now, he can feel the cables slithering out of his chest cavity and the shrapnel taking flight, worming their way across Maul’s back in clear threat. One step towards my brother, and it will strike. I will. The destroyed ‘saber parts squirm out of his rib cage. Floor tiles uncrease as they scuttle out of the wreckage of his right eye socket, leaving a meaty chasm; and the repair kit debris that knit him together after his attempted death caresses his arm as it shimmies out. He is almost emptied of metal now, only an umbilical cord tethering his skewered heart to the trash wall that has metastasized into a creature like the dread rancour from Feral’s least favorite nighttime story. He is glowing green.

Kenobi is distracted away from Maul, gazing at the metal birthed from Savage’s body with barely veiled horror. The Sister looks nauseated. She has gazed appraisingly at Savage, gauging his use; she has smiled haughtily; her eyes have threatened sensual caress. From her current expression, she would sooner eat the carcass of a half-decayed veeka-bird than touch him.

Good, Savage thinks. Good.

He is safe from her, inside this patchwork undying body; he is safe and Maul is safe, now that Savage is too horrendous for these people to look at. He can read it in the blown white of their eyes: this body is too monstrous for Her to use anymore. It’s not the body of a mate, a tool, an opponent, but a loathsome and piteous creation that will revel in its new, raging, abhorrent triumphant freedom.

This is not the body the Mother gave him.

It’s not the body of the baby that Savage’s long-dead big brother cradled against his chest; not the body of a roughneck chasing his peers nor the body that sobbed before Maul’s empty crib and helplessly soothed Feral when he was little, the body that carried his brothers and fed them and shuddered with terror. It’s not the body Savage grew up in, the body he grew to become.

But it’s not the body the Mother gave him.

He allows himself to explore it, quickly. His fingers, metal and gnawed skin alike, are shy, but even they can feel some differences. The planes of immaculate muscles are gone. The body She made undid the scars of his previous hard-won life, a vain indulgence aimed solely at Her and Her ilk, but now it is overstuffed again with the proud marks of battle. He already noticed that the long powerful arm has shrunk—not the one he raised when She told him to kill Feral, that one’s long gone and replaced by Death Watch steel, but its twin is shorter again, the way it used to be—and shrunk, he hopes, shrunk too is the limp dick She engorged and crafted for a purpose he still does not want think about. He noticed these changes, before, absent-mindedly on his fleeing ship, but mourning the deaths of all brothers who ever lived he was far too miserable to care. He tallies up the evidence now with his fingers. No longer does Savage hit his strangely high head against doorframes and lamps he should have cleared. It’s so obvious, and he should have noticed it earlier, shouldn’t have needed Kenobi pointing out his liberation. This is not the body Savage grew up in, but it’s so much closer than he ever dared hope he could regain.

You created that body, Kenobi said to Maul. Accused him. You, Maul. You did this. Not Talzin. Not any Nightsister.

This single accusation is enough to turn upside down the current eternity of Savage’s life.

It was Maul.

The body was created by Maul.

It’s Maul: the fulcrum that changes everything. It’s hard to believe, to consider the body’s movements friendly after months of living in the dumb meat She made for Her weapon and after weeks of cursing the Mother for not letting him die, and Savage does not actually know what a technobeast or a mechu-deru is except that they are the thing he is, now—he will ask later—but the very idea that this is Maul’s doing creates nothing but utter, giddy relief.

It’s not the Mother’s body that Savage wears anymore. This body that averts Nightsister eyes in revulsion and that keeps murderous Jedi far from his brother, this body that let him stand up after a mortal strike and return to his brother who still lives, his alive, clever, precious little brother—it’s not a poisoned gift by Mother Talzin that unmakes the person he used to be and demands its price in his brother’s blood. The beating of his hearts—their silence, now—is no longer subject to the will of a heinous Witch.

No, Savage’s ingenious brother has found a way to tear him free from Her grasp. This body was made by Maul, it obeys him, and… it will not kill him.

Savage stifles his sob. They are in the presence of enemies. Still, his shoulders raise as the weight drops away, and the rancour of his innards curls around Maul in grateful adoration. This body will not kill Maul.

Maul made it. It obeys him. It won’t kill him.

Never again will Savage have to fear being used to murder his brother.

Never again, never again. Maul rarely allowed Savage to broach the topic, back before their separation after the attack of Maul’s evil Master, and if he did he insisted that he was far more powerful than Savage and therefore, if anything, he would kill Savage and not the other way around. Savage usually pretended that it soothed his worry, because he didn’t want to reject Maul’s unpracticed attempts at consoling him—and he was happy that Maul was so much stronger, even as he hated the treatment that had given Maul that power—but how could he stop being terrified he might be used to hurt Maul? He’d never worried about hurting Feral, and that had given him nothing but ruin. Besides, even the most impressive fighter will one day let down his guard, and the more time they spent together the less Maul seemed to even entertain the idea that Savage could be a threat. Maul slept leaning up against him; he turned his back freely; he joked about Savage’s cooking. The closeness was both joyful and terrifying. So Savage worried, and worried, and created schemes upon schemes that might stop him when the Mother’s body he was trapped in was used to attack.

Never again.

Savage settles into the body, for the first time since Feral died. He feels the background headache and the pulsating pain in his chest, but he also focuses on the fact that his eye line is at the height it was before he gave himself to the Witches. The debris crawling back into his bisected arm is not the Mother’s reluctance at giving up Her weapon but his brother’s love.

It is strange: Savage came here to die. He was ready to make an ally of the person who’d hurt his brother most in the world—bar one—to make Sidious bleed for killing Maul, but failing that…

He came here to die.

Kenobi, he’d decided, would mutilate him the way he’d torn young hopeful Maul apart. Maul had jabbered and raved about that moment often enough, early in their comradery or later-on unguarded after nightmares, and though Maul liked to pretend it was a lucky hit and Savage admittedly knew far less about lightsaber combat, the sheer cruelty of the cut suggested that it was deliberate. Having met the Jedi in the flesh twice afterwards just convinced him further. So Kenobi was supposed to dismember this meat prison—let the Mother keep control of Her weapon when its brain is in pieces!

Kenobi had refused to play his role, but he hadagreed to join forces against Sidious. Sidious was much more powerful than Kenobi—occasional sweaty nightmares against utter mindless terror—and if the Jedi would not grant Savage release, then both of them would challenge the Sith Lord. Kenobi, who’d hurt Maul, would die miserably. Savage’s misery would end in death. Two wishes fulfilled. He was going to die.

Freedom was death.

Death was the only mercy.

Mercy was more than he deserved.

Time ceased to matter after he thought he saw Maul’s death, and so he doesn’t know when he heard of the destruction of Dathomir, but—for the worst eternity of his life, he believed he was the last creature left of his murdered planet. He, who’d watched his brothers die and he who killed them. There was no glory in living on. Even if there was, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be alone. Every movement of his new body reminded him of the Mother, the Woman who made him kill Feral, the last person he ever wanted to remember, and there was no duty to a brother that would make the misery worthwhile. He wanted to die. He’d wanted to die since Feral, but after Sidious’ attack, there was no counterweight. No Maul.

Death was more than he deserved, but he could not help but yearn for it.

It wore itself deep into the grooves of his mind—no release from this body but death. No release until Her weapon strikes true.

But Savage is not a weapon now.

Maul, his clever clever brother, gave him a body that strikes fear into the hearts of Nightsisters and Jedi, a body that might even, now that Savage can consider the matter with a lens that begs for more than death, a body that might even be able to protect Maul from his monstrous Master.

Savage is not a weapon, and he is not alone.

Maul is here, standing before him and facing away from the Jedi who mutilated him and the Witch who once controlled Savage. Maul is alive, gloriously alive, and this undying body will be the wall that shields him. No-one will ever hurt Maul again.

There is still pain, in this body that Maul gave him. There is far more pain than in the Mother’s body, which smothered every feeling and every thought if he wasn’t careful; this body hurts constantly, but now Savage can recognize the near-forgotten brag. I am, the ragged ache that replaced his hearts screams. I’m mine. I’m no longer Yours.

He stands still, and watches Maul regain his composure and turn around. The rancour retracts, bleeding back into the body. Savage can feel its quiet shy reentry. The pieces of metal are trying, pointlessly, to cause as little pain as possible. Savage does not know whether he recalled them, or whether Maul did—they are reunited now, and nothing else matters.

#savage opress #savage oppress #darth maul #zombie savage au #dimtraces makes things

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

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Unique Weapons, 12: Blades, bludgeons and bows of all shapes, sizes and mysterious backgrounds. Heroes and villains across fiction can often be immediately recognized by their signature weapon, causing the weapon itself to be an iconic part of the character. From Perrin’s spiked half moon axe to Roland’s enormous sandalwood revolvers, the jedi’s lightsabers, Arya’s needle, Legolas’s bow, Wolfwood’s Punisher, Detritus’s Piecemaker, the bride’s katana, Bond’s Walther PPK, Robin Hood’s longbow, Jason’s machete or Indiana Jones’s whip, a weapon can even function as a physical manifestation of the character’s personality. None of these weapons are intensely magical in their own right but can serve as the physical basis for family heirlooms, legendary artifacts and magical or masterwork weapons. Alternatively they can be found as loot and become part of a PC’s distinctive appearance, allowing the player to become fully immersed in their character’s look and feel. —Note: Some entries call for the DM to “Roll a Random Weapon” which simply means that the DM can roll from the pregenerated lists on this blog or choose whatever weapon they feel would be appropriate for the situation.

A bronze dagger with twin straight blades each a foot in length. Despite its apparent great age it is still a masterwork of blacksmithing and is capable of slicing through flesh and bone with ease. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the construction of the knife is identical to that used by a void cult who performed human sacrifice in an attempt to create an otherworldly entity known as the Outsider.

A beautifully crafted compound bow with a fitted handle and a curved staff that tightens smoothly.

A simple, solid-looking longsword with a plain hilt of cold metal scored with faint grooves for a good grip. The blade itself is rather dull but its edge has a cold and frosty glint and a single silver letter shines near the hilt. Despite its unsharpened edges the blade cuts through flesh and metal as if charmed to do so. The weapon never needs sharpening or maintenance and rests in a scabbard of weathered brown leather.

A large heavy crossbow built by ancient dwarven combat engineers. The weapon is powered by a system of clockwork gears and torsion springs. When not in use, it hums almost inaudibly and ticks reassuringly like a steady grandfather clock.

A longsword made of durable steel with a distinctive rippled pattern that never requires sharpening. The weapon feels heavier than it should be, as though it carries the weight of responsibility, duty and honour. The name of the sword is spelled out in raised letters along the grip, causing the wielder's palm to read “Oathkeeper” when held tightly.

A spiky and particularly cruel whip that can collapse into a small disk making it easy to conceal. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize it as a Lamia or Mayhenian Scourge and is the favourite weapon of the empire's secret service agents as a tool of covertness, intimidation and information extraction.

A longsword with a long thin, blade carrying a slight curve, its edge cruel enough to cut silence and make it scream.

A Random Weapon that when held, causes the wielder to hear discordant and wild music. While the chaotic rhythms pound in his ears he can see the true shape of the reality around him in all its harshness and dark truths.

A spiked shield made from the horned skull of a great desert dinosaur.

A rapier with a thin, flexible, whiplike blade and a complicated basket hilt. Branded into the leather grip is the motto of a master swordsman; “I Am Fate's Sword. She Wields Me Cruelly.”

—Click Here for homebrew Masterwork Weapon Bonuses or Here for homebrew Minor Weapon Enchantments to give these objects even more personality and mechanical benefits.

-Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Or keep reading for 90 more weapons.

—Note: The previous 10 weapons are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A beautifully crafted compound bow with a fitted handle and a curved staff that tightens smoothly.

A longsword with a long thin, blade carrying a slight curve, its edge cruel enough to cut silence and make it scream.

A spiked shield made from the horned skull of a great desert dinosaur.

A rapier with a thin, flexible, whiplike blade and a complicated basket hilt. Branded into the leather grip is the motto of a master swordsman; “I Am Fate's Sword. She Wields Me Cruelly.”

A barbaric axe adorned with a crude markings and a skull. When in the presence of magic, a dark aura expands from the blade, trying to pull the arcane essence into it.

A bastard sword of unearthly beauty with patterns of silver inlay on a black blade. A spindle of green light emanates from an emerald set in the hilt.

A bastard sword with a slight curve, its handle is silvery and woven with very fine wire. The blade is made from a metal which was only found once, in a meteorite. It has a pearl in its pommel, which seems clear except for a small cloud that moves through it. When swung it always moves faster than the wielder intended, making it difficult to control.

A bastard sword with an elaborate hilt, that rests in a matte black, scabbard covered with rows of runic signs and symbols. The blade is pure silver and polished to a pure shine of mirror-like brightness. The sword and sheath are first found in an oblong packet of thickly wrapped sheep's skins fastened with a leather strap.

A battleaxe with a heavy blade that is notched and stained, with sharp, wicked curves. Small holes dot the blade near the handle and when the wielder swings the axe, air whistles through these spaces.

A beautifully decorated scimitar adorned with long red ribbons of silk that seem to move in accordance with the wielder's intentions. This impressive and distracting display makes it easier to strike enemies.

A black lacquered quiver containing two dozen crossbow bolts, all made from a fibrous mineral that shimmers like strands of polished silver. The unidentifiable material gleams and shimmers in the light, radiating all the colours of the rainbow.

A bloodstained longsword set with a blade composed of iron layered with bronze and is inscribed with the name Orckeeper. The hilt is wrapped in dull brown deer leather and ends in a sharp blade where a pommel would normally be.

A blowpipe with an ornate copper viper wrapping around the deep brown oaken pipe.

A braided rope quiver containing 5d8 arrows constructed from palm tree wood, gull feathers and tipped with shark teeth.

A broadsword with a thick, wide blade. The grip has a dark, swirly look to it, giving the aspect of a cosmic void. The crossguard has a hollow centre and a sharp diamond shape with pointed edges that matches its pommel. The rain guard is adorned with jewels that emanate with regality.

A bundle of carefully wrapped silk cloth that contains three skinny darts and a blowgun cleverly disguised as finely carved pipe.

A cestus (Gauntlet statistics) of blackened leather reinforced with strips of dark iron over the fingers and cruel spikes along the back of the hand and forearm.

A curved dagger with a hilt carved in the shape of a three-headed lion. Knowledgeable PC's will know that the lion hilt is the symbol of a wood elf family of high nobility.

A double edged longsword with a jewel encrusted hilt, crafted from a golden alloy.

A dagger made of volcanic glass with an ornate silver embossed ebony handle. It is wicked sharp but fragile if bludgeoned.

A cavalry sword (Scimitar statistics) that's simple, heavy and murderously well-sharpened.

A dagger set with a wavy blade with an ever so slight chromatic sheen to it.

A curved bastard sword with a slight red tint to it. The blade is serrated with cruel barbs. The black-red iron seems to pulse with an unnatural hunger.

A dagger that appears to be made entirely of ice, although it is not cold to the touch and does not melt in hot conditions. Snowflakes appear and disappear in a swirling cloud about the blade. When it is used in combat, the wielder’s skin takes on a bluish hue, as if he were suffering from frostbite, he suffers no ill effects from this condition and the colour fades a few minutes after releasing the weapon.

A burlap bundle enwrapping 11 javelins made of elm wood tipped with steel.

A longsword that appears to be carved from stone from afar but upon close inspection is simply raw iron that is pitted and craggy. An ancient Elven crown rune is stamped in gold at the seat of the blade, just above the quillons. Two black rainbow tourmalines are bound at each end of the quillons, while a red one is set into the pommel. When the longsword is used in combat, golden light crackles like lighting up and down the blade.

A decorative leather forearm guard with flowing scrollwork and golden lacing. A paired stiletto (Dagger statistics) that matches the armor’s aesthetics is sheathed on the underside of the armguard and is easily concealable.

A driftwood stick with a heavy seaweed rope suspending a heavy block of coral at the end. The object can be wielded as a crude but perfectly serviceable flail.

A fine greatsword bearing a blade of steel with a hilt wrapped in brown leather. The blade has been carbonized with a flat pine green paint to keep it from reflecting light except along the edges. The pommel contains a puny, well cut chrysoberyl. The tapered flat quillons are unremarkable, but the crossbar is stamped with the image of a ring, and a window. The sword rests in a scabbard of beaten silver.

A finely crafted longsword, set with a matte white blade and a hilt of polished silver and gold wire.

A finely ornamented hunting saber (Longsword statistics), perfectly suited for being on some noble's hip as they make a big show of bringing in a deer.

A gnomish contraption that’s half defence, half offence. The weapon is a large turtle shell that can be strapped to the wielder’s wrist, with a dagger like blade that juts out just longer and wider than the wielder’s open hand. The oddly designed spiked shield is particularly useful in cramped tunnels or warrens where swinging a weapon is difficult or outright impossible.

A greatsword that appears to be made of darkness, its shape is a tangible black void, outlined in a crimson streak which is the source of the blade's faint light. It crackles like lightning when drawn, and creates a sharp buzzing sound when swung, like that of an angry bee. Oddly, when the blade strikes a foe, there is no sound from the hit, despite the strength behind it. Visible on the weapon’s pommel of the blade is an elven glyph meaning "Magic".

A greatsword with a long but relatively thing blade. Along both flats of the blade, etched in elven are the words; "My mark is before me, I shall not waver"

A heavy crossbow with an inlay of polished and engraved staghorn featuring trophies of arms bearing designs similar to the coat of arms of the local nobility.

A greatsword, heavy and broad of blade, sharpened on both edges and coming to a blunt point. The blade is forged of one piece with the hilt from a mottled, tawny-bronze alloy and is shot through with silky black marbling along the length of the blade itself. The weapon possesses a simple grip of brown jasper plaques carved with indentations for curled fingers; its quillons are simple, heavy and swept back slightly, its pommel a heavy bronze ring bearing a tassel of tawny leather braids.

A heavy and hardened olive wood staff engrained with beautiful swirling, natural patterns.

A heavy mace that bears obvious hammer strikes, around which are floral designs.

A lacquered case containing a matching set of dueling rapiers that refuse to deal a killing blow. The individual swords are marked "His" and "Hers" in High Elven.

A lacquered wooden case containing 15 crossbow bolts made from ceramics with a unique spiral design. These partially hollow bolts, fragment upon impact, showering their targets in razor sharp shrapnel and blinding ceramic dust.

A lacquered wooden quiver containing two dozen slender, needle-like arrows designed to pierce cloth and leather armor, leaving deep, puncture wounds.

A large battleaxe of a dark grey metal. Its handle is wrapped with a grimy strip of leather which is stained by the blood of countless creatures.

A large scythe with a fleshy, dark red handle, and a blade made of a large jaw, lined with incisors.

A leather bundle containing 17 crossbow bolts with shafts of ash wood engraved with knotwork and fletching of gray feathers.

A light crossbow carved from lustrous ebony. The main body of the weapon shows a golden engraving of vine tendrils and leaves

A longsword forged from a single, solid piece of burnished steel, its craftsmanship is clearly elven in nature. The hilt is longer than normal and gently twisted, creating a good gripping surface. The sword is lacking in quillons or crossguard but does sport a distinctive large spherical "eye" placed at the top of the hilt between the blade and the hilt. The carved eye's pupil always faces outward, as if looking at its target, creating an eerie effect for its foes.

A light pick whose head is shaped like an ibis head with glassy black eyes. Painted along the haft are complex hieroglyphs that may speak to the history of the weapon's crafter.

A long handled, dwarven made warhammer with a striking head artfully designed to look like a ram-headed criosphinx.

A long-handled halberd with a narrow, razor- sharp blade and wickedly barbed tip that bears a faintly glowing, sickly green aura. The shaft is wrapped in dried skin peeled from the corpses of zombies. The faint odour of rotting eggs surrounds the wielder in combat.

A long, green steel spiked chain, with every third link bearing a small pair of red, razor sharp blades about a half inch long. A third of the length from either end is a leather-wrapped handle approximately a foot in length. Half foot long blades adorn the ends, themselves attached by six inch handles.

A longsword made of siderite steel, forged by dwarven machine forges, workmanship simple, but elegant. Its full length forty and a half inches, the blade, twenty seven and a quarter. Exquisitely balanced, the weight of the blade is exactly equal to weight of handle. The weight of the whole sword surely below forty ounces.

A longbow crafted from thick wood with carved stone at the tips and handle. The stonework is made of simple but elegant geometric pattern.

A longbow crafted of mahogany with a wingspan of 62 inches. The weapon has a perfectly poised grip, a smooth neck with laminated layers of woven wood, whale bones and tendons. The arch has an incredible lightness and is accurate to perfection. Although not too long, hiding in the composite is entwined a considerable distance of wire. Equipped with a silk-hemp string and velvet accurately stretched over the protruding handles 22 inches, gives the tension precisely 55 pounds of power.

A longspear made of dead wood, tipped with a cruel iron tip. A pair of long ribbons are tied near the top, seemingly made of orange leaves.

A longbow made of dark yew wood with a string obtained from the sinew of a wild bull.

A longsword with a hilt wrapped in ebony with steel rivets. The pommel is of “skullcrusher” shape, allowing its use as a bludgeon in a pinch. There are straight, square quillons at the crossbar, with a large ring protruding from one of the blade sides. Its scabbard is of coyote fur with oiled brown pigskin accents and steel trim.

A massive greataxe with a dark, obsidian blade and a handle of ivory that is six feet long. The axe head is held to the shaft by golden cord. The haft is covered with intricately carved images of the gods. Among the images displayed are Stronmaus smashing moons with his hammer, Hiatea slaying a 50-headed hydra with her flaming spear, and Iallanis joining the hands of Memnor and Karontor together.

A longsword with a simple grip made of olive wood and a brilliant bronze blade inlaid with electrum. Its curved guard resembles an ancient harp.

A particularly large and obtuse maul with a slightly curved spike on one end.

A perfectly functional Random Weapon that's slightly damp to the touch. Any cloth or leather parts of the weapon are replaced by lustrous fish scales and metal portions are instead crafted from seashells and worked as hard as any metal.

A pitch-black shortsword that is invisible in firelight.

A polished quarterstaff made from petrified redwood. The glossy sheen of the fossils displays its beautiful colouration of patches of blues, yellows and oranges with deep red veins running throughout the staff.

A primitive dagger made by taking a human jawbone and inserting shards of obsidian in place of the teeth.

A primitively decorated blowgun made of fire blackened wood, with a wide mouthpiece made of hammered copper that never oxidizes due to a special coating that seems beyond the skills of the people who made the barrel.

A Random Melee Weapon that made from scales, talons and teeth shed by a dragon. Spaced out along the weapon's length are precious metals and gems from a dragon's hoard. The weapon grows slightly warm when within 50 feet of a dragon.

A Random Sword that is unusually long and thin, yet surprisingly strong. The handle is made of a yellowed ivory, in which an observer will notice small glyphs and sigils constantly fading in and out of sight.

A quarterstaff carved in the style of a totem pole with four wooden human figures in the fetal position stacked on top of each other, from top to bottom the human figures start large and get smaller.

A Random Sword whose surface is constantly melting and reforming into patterns filled with silently screaming faces, as if one for each person slain by the blade.

A rapier with a blade composed of steel alloyed with brass. The weapon’s hilt is wrapped in pebbled indigo deer leather. Its scabbard is of goat fur with brown suede accents and steel trim.

A Random Weapon of exquisite workmanship, decorated with abstract patterns and inlays.

A longsword of fine blue steel, hilted with a single cross-quillon and a plain, spherical polished knob pommel. Set in the heart of the tang, where the quillons meet just above the fine chain-wrapping of the grip, is a large cabochon-cut black sapphire.

A redwood lance whose tip is shaped like an elongated heart.

A Random Weapon that is half the weight of a normal example of its kind. The object is black and inscribed with spiders, webs and references of a spider queen.

A round shield about three feet across with a foot-long iron spike in the middle. The shield is made from two layers of wood with the grain of each layer at a right angle to the other layer increasing the strength of the shield. The wood is covered in a layer of decorated cowhide. The iron spike screws into a “puddle" of lead in the middle of the shield and can be unscrewed and placed in a sheath on the back of the shield when not in use.

A Random Weapon with pieces of bone and solidified ash seamlessly integrated into its form. The weapon vibrates slightly when a creature within 30 feet is dead or dying.

A rusty shortsword with a thin, unblemished section along the centre of the blade. Inscribing the surname of an extinct gnomish noble family on that section attunes the sword to its family, causing it to act as a bane weapon against that family line.

A sabre-like longsword with a narrow, slightly curved blade and almost nonexistent hand-guard. Its dark steel is inlaid with a mosaic of unpolished jet chips and raw rock crystal that date from a time before the written word.

A sacrificial dagger with a serrated blade set into a hilt made of human bone carved in the shape of a scorpion’s tail. After the weapon kills a living creature, a dark mist seeps from the dagger until the blood dries.

A scimitar of rather poor steel, honed to a keen edge with a guard of iron curved into rearing serpents. Its grip is of leather, dyed red that looks as though it was recently replaced.

A set of a dozen seemingly too heavy shuriken, strung on a twisted wire with an elaborate clasp in order to carry them.

A shortsword gilded with interesting metalwork and discrete patterning. The blade is coloured a dull silver and the hilt is a matte gold-bronze.

A shortbow made from the horn of a unicorn delicately split and fashioned by the fey.

A shortsword of the gladius style that is about as average as it gets. The leather grip is slightly worn but comfortable, the metal of the blade is neither dull nor shining, and the edge is adequately sharp. The weapon would look perfectly at home at the side of any rank and file soldier.

A sickle with a glowing white blade shaped like the moon, and an embellished navy blue hilt adorned with marble stars.

A simple pugio (Dagger statistics) which comes in a heavy scabbard made of bone, wood, and thin strips of metal. The blade is immaculately sharp and bright, but the scabbard looks as though an ox stomped on it.

A simply designed, light brown katar-style dagger, with a basic cross guard and an H shaped grip with a little bit of flair at the ends.

A six foot long trident with a handle of dark wood and three prongs of red iron.

A skillfully carved quarterstaff, each end carved in the likeness of a horned viper with hardened fangs. One half of the staff has been stained is a pale green, while the other has been stained is a deep black.

A slashing shortsword with a black, fire opal grip with an onyx gemstone abutting the back of the heft. Engraved in the heft are the maker's marks; the image of a lion and a tiger, one on each of the sides. The wide blade extends from a small guard and is made of the highest quality steel that doesn't rust or stain. The weapon tingles the hand while held, in a sensation neither pleasant nor painful. Its sheath is made of lapis lazuli, inlaid with specks of precious metals, depicting a starry sky, the natural lines of the material having been used in the imagery of a landscape under night sky.

A small steel boot-knife with a scrimshawed bone handle.

A steel greatclub wrapped in scaly yellow shocker skin, its wrought iron head is covered with engraved lightning.

A strange dwarven battleaxe that has one axe head, but the back of that is a large claw. The battleaxe has a chain and switch on the handle that allows the claw to close. The user can crash the claw into the ground and use it to pick up tightly packed or loose dirt or solid rock. The wielder can then swing the axe to throw the rock using the same statistics of a standard sling. If the wielder is proficient with the battleaxe they will also be considered proficient with its sling. The act of scooping up the dirt and launching can be done in a single smooth attack motion.

A strange, mystical longspear that is difficult to look directly as if some restless force lies within it, just beneath the surface. The wood of the shaft is bone white and smooth, while the steel spearhead is textured like a stag's horn.

A sizable claymore (Greatsword statistics) favored by the militant highland tribes. Apparently the weapon's crafter had a sense of humour, as etched into the flats of the blade are the words “FRONT TOWARDS ENEMY”.

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storyknitter · 4 years

Text

Someone to Lean On

Inspired by @whumpster-dumpster ‘s prompt found here! (Seriously, go follow her, her prompts are amazing!) Warning for blood.

16 ATC, Yavin 4

“Quit acting like you’re not dead tired. Sit. Down.” Knight Kira Carsen’s hissed order carried a thread of worry that Theron would have picked up even without his implants. As the shuttle lifted off, her skirt brushed against his knees and he glanced up surreptitiously at the two Jedi who fought so well together. Even after working with the duo for months, he was always surprised by their synchronicity; one’s lightsaber protected the other’s weak spots, the places left open to attack, without question or hesitation.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find that protectiveness extended to the rest of life as well.

Master Nabeshin – Vassanna – met her friend’s gaze, silently communicating... something before turning to him. “Is this seat taken?” she asked softly and gestured to the empty segment of padded shuttle bench to his right.

Unprompted, his mind drifted back to the safehouse on Rishi and the kiss they’d shared – hesitant, soft, sweet. Despite the aches and pains that had wracked his body, he hadn’t wanted to stop, and the precious few moments stolen here on Yavin only served to make him want to kiss her again – and again and again.

Theron couldn’t help a small grin. “It’s all yours.” He ignored the curious glance from Satele and the naked jealousy on Doc’s face as Vassanna slipped onto the seat beside him, close enough to feel her saber pressed against his hip. If she hadn’t been so elegant about it, however, Theron would have said that she’d flopped onto the bench. Stifling a yawn, she pressed her fingertips to her temples, rubbing lightly.

“You okay?”

She glanced sidelong at him and gave him a weak smile. “Headache. And maybe a bit tired. This planet, it’s... it’s hard to meditate here. Then this whole thing with Revan and the, um ...” Trailing off, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s just a lot,” she whispered.

The haunted look in her eyes made him want to hold her close, to reassure her that everything would be all right. Ugh, what was his problem? She was a Jedi and could take care of herself perfectly fine. So instead, he simply nodded in agreement.

Though her comments brought his concern about the newly freed Sith Emperor to mind again, he brushed the thoughts aside for the moment and focused on Master Nabeshin. Kira was right: she looked absolutely exhausted and far older than her nearly-twenty-five years.

“If you’re tired,” he said, glancing purposely at his shoulder, “you could take a quick catnap on the ride back to the coalition base.” It wasn’t much, but at least he could relieve some of her stress. Dropping his voice conspiratorially, Theron leaned closer to her, a smirk playing on his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” A faint whiff of something sweet and floral mingled with the distinctive odor of combat, wafting past his nose.

Vassanna hesitated only briefly before resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes slipping closed with a sigh. Something in Theron’s chest clenched as she melted into his side, a soft, murmured thanks falling from her lips. Behind Kira, Doc turned away with a frown.

(Satele watched from across the shuttle as her best – and if she were honest, her favorite – Knight spoke quietly with her son. Closing her eyes, she searched the Force and found exactly what she had expected and, perhaps, feared: a small, impossibly delicate tendril connecting the pair, shimmering faint, but sweet.

Please, she begged the Force, let this end better for them than it did for Jace and me. Please.)

Theron enjoyed the Jedi’s weight against him more than he probably should. He leaned his head against the durasteel wall behind him, excusing his momentary weakness: he simply needed to rest his eyes, just for a minute. It had been a long, hard fight after all, and his left shoulder was beginning to throb and burn. He couldn't remember exactly when the re-injury had happened, but it was nothing a bit of kolto couldn’t fix.

It seemed as though he had hardly taken a deep, meditative breath or two before the shuttle touched down at the base camp, his eyes snapping open and his neck complaining rather painfully. Everyone filed out slowly, their aching muscles stiff and complaining, and Kira reached down to wake Master Nabeshin.

“It’s okay,” Theron said softly, unwilling to disturb the woman sleeping on him. “I’ll give her another minute or two. She clearly needs the rest.”

Kira nodded – though he ignored the mischievous little smirk that accompanied it – and dragged Doc toward the base. Within a handful of moments, however, Theron’s implants were pinging, his remaining time on this rock scheduled, divided up and parceled out. His presence was required immediately and he was forced to wake Vassanna.

Stomping out his disappointment with a sigh, Theron jiggled his good shoulder gently. “Master Jedi? Rise and shine.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth; she’d woken him with the same phrase on Rishi whenever he’d fallen asleep on his datapad, which might have happened once or twice. “C’mon, it’s time to wake up.”

He shook his shoulder again as ice crept into his veins: her body remained limp and heavy against his side. “Vassanna?” She shouldn’t be so sound asleep – the shuttle ride hadn’t been that long. “Vee, wake up.” The nickname felt strange on his tongue, but a vague fear he couldn’t put his finger on pushed him to wake her any way he could.

Vassanna’s head lolled forward as he shifted to face her, the back of her neck stained dark, and Theron had barely registered it as blood before she tipped off of the bench, tumbling to the floor. Letting out a string of curses as his heart stopped beating, he leapt out of his seat and caught her before she hit the durasteel floor, his left shoulder screaming in protest.

“Kira! Doc!” he called over his still-active comm, a tang of desperation creeping into his voice. “Come on Jedi,” he muttered, “open your eyes. Please, Vassanna.”

Despite the fear coiling in the pit of his stomach, saying her name was... something else. He’d gotten so accustomed to calling her “Master Jedi” that using her actual name felt intimate, forbidden, and– no, focus, dammit.

Cradling Vassanna in his aching left arm, he bit the fingertips of his right glove, tugging it off with his teeth and dropping it at his side. Carefully, oh so carefully, he undid the clip holding her hair up in its bun, long dark hair pooling over his lap and spilling onto the floor.

As Theron gingerly ran his fingers across her scalp, he found the source of the bluish-purple blood coating the back of her neck and, now, his bare hand: a deep, jagged cut she must have received when Revan had thrown her at the large stone pillars that surrounded the arena. His heart rate picked up speed and he swore again.

“What the hells happened here?” Doc snarled as he dropped to his knees next to the inert Jedi and began scanning her, medkit open at his side. “What did you do?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything; she got hurt in the fight.”

If looks could kill, Theron would be as dead as his ancestor.

At a gesture from the medic, Theron removed his hand. Kira assisted in treating Vassanna – only temporary stitches and some kolto gel, thankfully – while Theron held her close, his heart still threatening to hammer itself out of his chest.

As Doc worked, Vassanna stirred with a moan of pain, flailing weakly. Before Theron could stop himself, he’d taken her hand in his, sticky with drying blood, and squeezed tight.

“Shh, you’ll be okay, just breathe,” he murmured.

“Smell good,” Vassanna mumbled into Theron’s side, and he blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“How do you smell so good?” She was slurring her words, which probably wasn’t great, but Doc rifled through his case and retrieved a hypo-syringe, jabbing it into her bare upper arm. Vassanna flinched and let out a small whine before continuing. “It’s hot and muggy,” she said, her speech clearing, “and miserable and you kriffing smell good.”

“Pretty sure that’s just the head wound talking,” Theron said with a smirk. “But thanks – I showered this morning.” His retort garnered a chuckle from Kira and even a snort from Doc.

“What?” Vassanna sounded so confused. Theron wondered if she even knew what she’d just said. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed her hand in his and the blood covering both – her blood. “What happened?” she whispered, meeting his gaze. The worry and fear he saw in her eyes twisted his gut and all he wanted to do was make things better.

“You’re all set, gorgeous,” Doc said, packing up his tools. “You’ve got a pretty impressive bruise and a serious laceration, but ol’ Doc’s got you all fixed up.”

Yeah, thanks to me, Theron thought, jaw clenching as he restrained himself from decking the good doctor. An emotion he tried not to name coiled around his chest, squeezing and crushing him, making it near impossible to breathe. Jealousy, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. He smothered the feeling as best he could: he had no claim on Vassanna.

But maybe you want one, the sly voice said.

Boxing up that little voice until he could properly analyze it – alone – Theron looked back down at Master Nabeshin. “I think you hit your head while we were fighting Revan,” he said softly, resisting the urge to brush the loose wisps of hair out of her face. “How are you feeling?”

Stars, her eyes were beautiful. How had he not noticed the flecks of silver in them before?

Vassanna bit her lip and he had a brief moment where all he could think was kiss her: she was cradled in his arm, sprawled across him, her saber-calloused hand still in his. His thumb rubbed absently across the back of her knuckles and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from hers.

“Hey!” Doc’s voice broke through whatever enchantment held Theron in its grasp. “Dial it back, lover-boy.”

Theron nearly choked when his brain processed the medic’s comment. Lover-boy? “What the fresh hells are you talking about?” Heat rushed up his neck, seeping into his ears and cheeks. Dammit, was he actually blushing?

Kira was doing a terrible job of concealing her laughter, though she at least had the decency to turn her face away from them.

“I’m fine now,” Vassanna said hesitantly. “Thank you.” Her cheeks also seemed tinged with color, Theron noted wryly.

Slowly, cautiously, she tried to stand. Kira and Doc flanked her immediately and with their assistance, she only wobbled slightly when upright.

“C’mon, gorgeous. Let’s get you to the med tent,” Doc said. He tossed a pointed look at Theron as he continued sardonically, “You need your head examined.”

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 13

Siolo Ur Manka had lived in the Jentares system for nearly seventy years by the time their ship, still on loan from a Mandalorian named Silas, touched down on the planets soft soil. It was overrun with thick jungle, and it sang with the Force. With life, and light, in the bird songs and the ambling hum of great beasts that marched through the foliage with thick soled feet and swinging necks.

And in it’s shadow death and darkness, beneath the undergrowth and in the fanged mouths of predators.

Maul’s vornskr trotted behind him, their tails raised like tiny black flags.

“Ahsoka, Ezra, Ben, keep up,” Maul warned over his shoulder. Ben, a biggest and also the most troublesome, turned his face away from a fluttering insect to chirp at Maul. Ahsoka batted his should and knocked him back in line.

Kenobi, on Maul’s side, had his little lizard hanging from his hair. He’d named her something silly. Boba? Boga. She was tasting the air curiously while Kenobi looked around them in no small degree of wonder. If he’d never left the Temple before Bandomeer then there was no way he’d ever been to a planet with this much foliage on it.

The air was thick and humid and Jango looked miserable where he tramped through the brush after them.

Not that it was easy to see with his helmet in place, but Maul was getting better and better at reading his body language.

Jango still confused him.

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that even though Maul had accidentally shoved nightmare fuel memories into his skull he still wanted to adopt him into his family. He was lucky that Jango thought they were only visions of the future, and not memories of Maul’s past.

Even if Jango knew that, would it matter?

The people Maul had killed before still lived, for one thing, so for all intents and purposes for everyone that wasn’t him they might as well have been visions. Everything he knew was true and detailed, but insubstantial and subject to change. He’d changed Kilindi and Daleen after all.

Maul was probably lucky that he’d been found by a Mandalorian. Anyone else would have had to many questions up front, or would have tried to force him into the life of a child. Maul would have had to kill them, and cover that up too. It would have been annoying.

Maul kept an ear out for anything dangerous as they neared the clearing where Siolo made his home.

Maul had been here years ago, five years in the future, and killed the old twi’lek master. He was a powerful Jedi, and deeply entrenched in the Force. Maul had only beaten him through trickery, and he could teach Kenobi that if it became necessary.

Maul shook his head. Since when was he seriously considering teaching Kenobi anything? He’d offered, once, to help him harness his anger and turn it into a tool. But Kenobi was too Jedi already to accept it.

A shame. He could have made a powerful Sith.

Perhaps-

No.

Maul shook the thought off. He was already too attached to too many people. He’d even begun gravitating towards Jango against his will.

He didn’t need a father, and he had years more experience than the Mandalorian did.

All the same, there was a part of him that still was ten years old, one that Maul ignored most of the time, that wanted what he could offer. It was faint, beaten down by the Maul that inhabited a body he’d long outgrown, but the longing was there.

They came into a clearing.

Siolo Ur Manka was just as Maul remembered him. And elderly twi’lek with mossy green skin, his lekku were draped around his shoulders. He wore the brown robes of a jedi, and he was sitting peacefully, entrenched in his deep meditation.

The three sentients came to a halt half the field away from him. Ezra, entranced by the thick swirls of the Force around the master, left the safety of their group and trotted over to him. Maul hissed at him, but he was ignored. Ezra’s eyes were caught by the minute twitching of one of Siolo’s lekku.

“We should probably warn him,” Jango mused as Ezra crept closer, his chest to the ground. Maul watched him. His posture was poor, but that would come with time. His butt wiggled as he stretched himself closer and closer to the Jedi Master.

“No need,” Maul waved his hand flippantly.

When Ezra made to pounce he was caught in the air, gently, by the Force. Siolo opened his eyes to looked at the vornskr, who bared his tiny teeth at him and tried to growl. His tail lashed uselessly. He was much too young to properly poinson the Jedi Master.

“I believe,” Siolo said in his Rylothian accent, “That this is yours?”

Maul used the Force to pluck the small predator out of his grasp and bring him back to his side.

“That was poor technique,” he chided gently. Ezra chirped at him and crawled into his shirt instead of answering. Maul didn’t fight him. Ahsoka jumped up onto his shoulder with ease and bumped her cheek against his, as if apologizing for her littermates mistake. She was undeniably Maul’s favorite. She was already scarred, and already a fighter, and she’d destroyed three mouse droids on the way to the planet. She was going to be vicious and unstoppable once she was bigger than a bread box.

Siolo looked over his assembled audience. He gripped his cane and stood, slowly. Maul was not fooled. He may be retired, but he was still a dangerous adversary. He was one of the few beings that Maul had ever run from in his life time, even if it was for only a few days while he built his lightsaber.

It felt strange to stand before him without it, and in fact without any conflict between them. He was not here to kill Siolo.

It was a weird feeling, to seek someone out without the intention of taking their head off their shoulders. Maul was still getting used to it. He was no less deadly than he once had been, but he saw more use in letting people live than killing them outright.

“Do not see every enemy as an enemy. See them instead as an ally, whether they know it or not."

Mauls cheek twitched but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge the woman’s voice. This was getting old. He was certain it had something to do with the shattered holocrons. He needed to get back to Malachor and find them again, if for no other reason than to make the random voices of unwanted advice shut up. Every time he heard someone speak to him his palm itched where the small scars were pressed into his skin.

Siolo looked over each of them in turn. Maul could feel him mentally brushing against Maul’d shields, and when Obi Wa- Kenobi stiffened Maul was certain he felt the same thing. If Jango wasn’t wearing his helmet it might well have happened to him too.

“I don’t get many visitors out here. Certainly none as… unique, as you are.”

“We look for a Master for Obi Wan,” Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder lightly and urged him forwards. Kenobi took a deep breath and squared his shoulders when he approached. Once he was close enough he bowed deeply to the older Jedi.

“Venerated Master,” he said politely. “I am Obi Wan Kenobi, of the Coruscant temple, and the AgriCorps. “

“Yes, the Force tells me as much,” Siolo inclined his head. “It also tells me you have great potential. Show me your abilities, young one.”

Kenobi perked up, bouncing up on his toes. “Yes, Master! Um, do you have a lightsaber?”

“I have not carried one in many years,” Siolo shook his head and brushed his robes out before he rose to his full height and lifted his walking stick. “Shall I repeat myself? Show me, young one.”

Kenobi looked dubious, but he drew his lightsaber all the same. Maul sat on a fallen tree, and Jango took up residence at his shoulder. He stayed standing, his visor fixed on the two Jedi. Kenobi hesitated before he swung at Siolo.

The old jedi parried the blow with his walking stick, reinforced with the Force.

It was a trick that Maul had never quite gotten right.

“How did you know this Jettii was here?” Jango asked while Kenobi went in for another blow.

Maul hummed.

“I was once sent to kill him. “

“Yet, here he stands. And he doesn’t seem to know you.”

Maul shot him a grin with far too many teeth. “I don’t take orders well.”

Jango huffed a laughed just as Obi Wan was knocked to the ground. Siolo was much gentler with him than he had been with Maul, though looking at him now Maul realized that the old master had been gentle with him as well. He could have killed him, if he really wanted to.

Even if Maul had tried to flee, Siolo could have cut him down with a single parry when he was a boy of but seventeen. It rankled his pride, but in the end that mercy had been his downfall.

Jedi weakness.

(Maul ignored the phantom feeling of warm arms and cooling sand and blue eyes that did not hate

He ignored the refusal to kill and two blue blades, and sharp, predator teeth held back. How much harder it was not to kill the clones on the Tribunal (Or why he listened to Tano in the first place)

Mercy stung at him and it was so much more difficult than cruelty)

Kenobi got up, bowed to the Master, and started again. Siolo trounced him soundly each time, and while Maul could feel Kenobi’s frustrations building, he never yelled or threw his weapon down or demanded to know why he kept losing. Maul didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

“Aren’t you going to go fight?” Jango asked, nodding towards Siolo. Kenobi had at least given him enough challenge that one of his lekku fell out of place.

Maul shook his head. He knew how he compared to the Jedi Master. “We’re looking for a Master for Kenobi. As you said, I will have no other Master.”

Jango placed his hand on Maul’s small shoulder and squeezed it. Maul looked at it, but didn’t knock it away like he might normally have.

“No,” Jango agreed. “Never again.”

They sat together until Kenobi had worked himself up, sweating and panting, and Siolo called for a halt to their spar. He barely looked rumpled.

“That’s enough, young one. You fought well. Was that Cin Drallig’s style I saw?”

Kenobi nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. He teaches all the younglings their lightsaber forms.”

“It shows. You’ll have to practice being more adaptable than he is, but I can see your potential. Both with a lightsaber, and the Force. Here.”

Siolo handed him a water skin, one that Kenobi drank eagerly from. Jango leaned forwards on his knees when the two Jedi started making their way over. Maul made himself stay seated, and kept his hand off of his modified blaster. Siolo’s eyes stayed on him, and Maul was reminded that the old twi’lek had once told him that others had come before he had. Siolo eyed him, but if he could sense the depths of his darkness he didn’t give it away.

“You keep strange company, Initiate Kenobi,” Siolo mused. “A pair of Mandalorians are unusual companions for a young Jedi.”

“I promised I’d help him find a Jedi Master,” Jango said evenly while Kenobi flushed in embarrassment. “Maul heard you lived here.”

“You’re right,” Siolo inclined his head. “And he shows great promise as a Jedi. I have felt few so strong in the Light in recent years.”

Kenobi sucked in a startled breath. “But, Master! I was angry in our fight,” he argued, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I was upset when you kept beating me so easily.”

Siolo looked faintly amused. He touched Kenobi’s shoulder. “I would expect so. You’re young, and you will grow out of that if you try. I didn’t sense any true attempt to hurt me, even when you were angry.”

“But anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside!”

“So it does,” Siolo inclined his head. “But we are Jedi, not droids. We still feel. Even the greatest of Masters is not immune to anger. The important thing is that we do not act on it, or give it control over us. Do you understand?”

Kenobi’s brows furrowed. “I… I think so.”

“Your Master will be able to explain it further to you.”

Kenobi startled, confusion on his face. “But, I have no Master. That is why we came here, to you!”

“I know,” Siolo said kindly. He squeezed Kenobi’s shoulder. “But I am too old to raise a Padawan properly. I am retired from fieldwork, and your education would be skewed if I were to try. You deserve better than an old twi’lek for your master, child.”

“But- I’m almost thirteen,” Kenobi’s blue eyes glittered.

“Yes?” Siolo looked confused. “I was almost fifteen when my Master took me on.”

Kenobi gaped at him. “But thirteen is too old to be a Padawan? For human’s and species with comparable life times.”

“Is that what they’ve decided these days?” Siolo shook his head. “I heard talk about making a cap of youngling’s ages a few decades ago, but I hadn’t known they’d made it a solid rule.”

“Why would they do something like that?” Jango asked, frowning at Siolo.

Siolo shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. Something about the other branches needing more members, but it seems silly to force younglings into them if they don’t want to be.”

Jango inclined his head. “You’re sure you won’t take the boy as your student?”

Kenobi was trying desperately to look brave and self assured, but it wasn’t working well. He looked crushed. Like each time he got his hopes up they were dashed upon the ground.

“As I said, it wouldn't be fair to Young Kenobi for me to take him on. But there are plenty of other Masters in the order. Come, have supper with me, and I’ll see if I can’t think of a few names.”

Siolo motioned for them to follow him to a hut that was almost completely hidden by trees. Kenobi followed first, then Maul, with Jango behind them. He was saying something into his comlink, but he was too far behind for Maul to hear exactly what it was.

Maul stepped into a hut that felt far too warm and smelled like stew, and the galaxy turned on.

Far off in the stars, dozens of comlink lit up with a new order.

The Mand’alor required a Jedi, and they were to find him one. Gently.

‘Gentle’, for Mandalorians, was a rather subjective term.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mace was intensely grateful that Depa was sitting at his side.

Her Padawan braid hung long down her shoulder, it’s beads glinting faintly in the dim light. It was almost time for the braid to be cut off. Depa was more than ready to be a Knight, and her trials were slated for the next week. She was busily writing on her datapad, apparently absorbed in the last of her coursework.

Mace wasn’t fooled.

He could tell from the faint furrowing of her brows that she was listening carefully to what was happening in the council chambers.

They all were.

As Mace’s padawan she had a privilege to sit in on council meetings, unless they were more high security. This meeting was troubling, to be sure, but it wasn’t an emergency meeting.

Not yet, at least.

“Certain of this, you are?” Master Yoda asked, his normally light voice deep with concern for their newest loss. Mace carefully let his irritation flow into the Force. It was something he had a lot of practice doing, unfortunately. Depa glanced at him curiously before she bent her head over her data pad again. It was balanced on her lap, while a few others were stacked next to the small chair that she was afforded beside his own.

“Yes, Master,” Qui Gon Jinn’s face was smooth now, but Mace could see the faint remnants of lines etched in with grief and frustration. Mace could only imagine. He’d lost his former Padawan, fallen or otherwise, and his prospective future Padawan all in the span of a single night. “The boy had training, but not from any Jedi, and he was powerful in the Darkside. He was not half grown and he cut down Xanatos with almost no effort at all. Before the night was over he and the Mandalorian had taken Initiate Kenobi and left the planet.”

It was sparse at best, and there were so many gaps in the story that Mace could have ridden a Bantha between them, but so too were all of Jinn’s reports. Those that didn’t involve a simple end to the story and the rest was filled with ‘I followed the Will of the Force’.

Mace was not his biggest fan.

“I fear that the dark child plans on corrupting Kenobi. The boy is already prone to anger and aggression.”

That was true, but the same could have been said about Mace when he was Kenobi’s age.

“And the Mandalorian?” Tiin asked, a deep frown on his face.

“I could not say why he would aid in taking Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn admitted, bowing his head.

“Perhaps it was for revenge,” Sifo Dyas offered up, his mouth turned in a grim line. “Many Mandalorians were injured during the battle on Galidraan. Perhaps the battle was not enough.”

A grim thought.

Mace’s stomach turned. Depa’s grip on her stylus tightened. Through their training bond Mace could feel her intense concern for the youngling.

“Either way, I will pursue them and uncover the truth,” Jinn announced.

The room fell quiet. Mace exchanged a look with Yaddle and Giiett. Tyvokka didn’t look any more happy about it than anyone else felt.

“That may not be the best idea,” Poof said gently. “You are grieving, Master Jinn. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the temple for a time.”

“I do not need time,” Jinn said swiftly. “Initiate Kenobi needs someone to find him, immediately, and I am the only one who knows the Mandalorian and the Darksider.”

Eeth Koth looked to Tyvokka, who in turn shook his head.

“You were not the boys guardian, Qui Gon. And he is not your Padawan. You are too emotionally invested in this matter,” Tyvokka said gravely. “We should send another.”

None of them mentioned it, but everyone had heard about how devastated Kenobi had been when Jinn had refused to take him as his padawan after the show he put on at the Initiate competition a month or so earlier. Now Kenobi had fought off pirates and draigons at Jinn’s side, and he still referred to the boy as ‘Initiate’. Anyone else would have taken the boy for their padawan in a heartbeat.

Many would have already, except…

“Unacceptable. I will find Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn insisted. “And I will bring him back.”

Finally, Yoda spoke again.

“Feel that you have failed the boy, you do. Choose to pursue him, for Obi Wan’s best interest or your own redemption. Which do you seek?”

“I cannot allow a random knight to go after them,” Jinn argued. “The Mandalorian and the dark child are more dangerous than you can imagine!”

“According to you, the Mandalorian also fought by your side against the draigon’s.” And according to some of the miners they had contacted before Jinn gave his report, he had also helped him disable bombs set to destroy the planet. Curious that Jinn didn’t see pertinent to mention that.

“That was to save his own life. We have no idea what a Mandalorian would do to a Force Sensative child, let alone a Jedi Initiate. We need to rescue him.”

“You’re right,” Mace said evenly, catching Jinn’s eye. “We need to. Poof is correct. We all know that Xanatos was important to you, whatever may have happened in recent years. Stay home for the time being. Rest in your chambers, visit your friends, sit in the creche. Trust in the council to retrieve Kenobi.”

“Have faith in your fellow Jedi, you must,” Yaddle added. Jinn drew himself up to argue before it all seemed to deflate. For just a moment his shields slipped, and the grief and guilt came rippling out to wash over the Council members. Depa gasped quietly at his side.

“Yes, master’s.”

Mace could count on one hand the number of times Qui Gon Jinn had actually listened to them. He could only watch the maverick Jedi bow to them and leave, his shields drawing back up around him.

The door closed soundly behind him.

“He really should speak to a Mind Healer,” Poof said sadly. Mace had to agree. They’d tried to get him to do as much after Xanatos first left the Order, but Yoda had advised them not to push him on the matter.

They’d listened.

Now, Mace wondered if that was the best idea.

Speaking of Yoda…

“Why was Initiate Kenobi sent to Bandomeer without an escort?” Mace asked suddenly, drawing all attention to himself. He was the youngest in the room by far, not counting Depa. “When Initiates are assigned to one of the corps they’re typically escorted by a Knight, or a Master who already belongs to them, aren’t they? So where was Initiate Kenobi’s?”

“Going to Bandomeer as well, Qui Gon was. Look after the boy, he did,” Yoda said helpfully.

“Yes, and that worked so well,” Koth frowned at the Grand Master.

“Circumstances we could not have foreseen, there were,” Yoda pointed out.

“True, this is. Yet still, more caution we should have used,” Yaddle argued. “Did this one purpose, didn’t you? To push the two together, yes?”

Yoda’s ears drooped minutely. “A good pair, they would make. Show me, the Force did.”

“This is why you asked that other Master’s interested in the boy not act?” Tyvokka asked with no small degree of unhappiness. The master was well known for his care of Younglings, something that his own apprentice had inherited. Somedays Mace wondered how neither of them were full time creche masters.

Depa looked to Mace, startled. He frowned at her, but nodded once. It was true. Yoda had staked an unofficial claim on the boy. He wanted him for his own current lineage, and while Dooku was unable to take a Padawan while he had Komari Vosa, and Feemor had been undercover as a shadow until only a week ago, Qui Gon was the only one who could have done it.

Mace let his irritation flow into the Force.

The old Jedi’s meddling was getting out of hand. Had the Council of Reassignment even authorized Kenobi’s transfer to Bandomeer, or had Yoda gone over their heads in this scheme of his?

“A great Jedi, Kenobi will be,” Yoda said again, tapping his walking stick on the council room floor.

“If he returns,” Sifo Dyas said grimly.

“We need to send someone after him quickly. In that Qui Gon was no wrong,” Koth admitted.

“It will have to be someone who is good at laying low, and good at tracking to get close enough to the Mandalorian and the ‘dark child’ he spoke of,” T’un mused.

“Perhaps Tholme and his new Padawan?” Omo B’ouri suggested. “Vos is one of the Kenobi’s old creche-mates.”

“Much darkness I sense in Vos,” Yoda argued, shaking his head.

“...Feemor,” Mace said suddenly. “He has Shadow training, he’s recovered from his last mission, and we don’t have another lined up for him yet.”

On top of that, suggesting Feemor would get him closer to getting Yoda to agree, since Feemor was Yoda’s Grandpadawan.

Or should be, if Qui Gon hadn’t publicly disowned him. It was one of the biggest reasons Feemor had asked to train as a Shadow, instead of continuing on his Councilor path.

Whether Feemor was still Yoda’s Grandpadawan by rights or by sentiment, Mace’s suggestion did the trick.

Yoda nodded, slowly.

Good. Trying to go against Yoda as council meetings was light trying to fight the tide. The Grand Master had much sway over the rest of them. 900 years of being with the Jedi would do that.

“Very well. Send Knight Feemor after Initiate Kenobi, we will. Retrieve our lost Initiate, we must. Learn more about this ‘dark child’ too, we shall.”

No one disagreed. Mace took a data pad from Depa and started writing up new mission orders for Feemor, as well as arranging for his funding for the mission. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a long one, but the Force was tilting around them. New shatterpoints appeared and disappeared everyday.

Only time would tell where the future would lead.

Mace commed Feemor to come receive his new mission.

#Star Wars #star wars the prequel trilogy #star wars time travel #Darth Maul #Maul #darth maul time travel #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #Siolo Ur Manka #mace windu #qui gon jinn

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bonesaldente · 3 years

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Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 5: Revenge

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“Lord Maul, there’s been a security breach in the prison.”

You exchange looks with Maul.

“Is it Satine?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maul has a smug expression on his face, one that typically wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation.

“Stop her, but do not hurry too much. Just don’t let her leave the planet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t question his orders, instead rushing out of the throne room while comming the other units.

“You are using her as bait for Kenobi,” you remark, seeing through his plan.

A timid voice behind you speaks up. “How do we know they won’t send Republic forces?”

Surprised you turn around to look at your sister, who until now has not been very outspoken during strategic discussions.

You wave off her worries. “We are a neutral system, they would know better than to come here. Kenobi on the other hand…”

“Noble as always, the Jedi will come to rescue his damsel in distress,” Maul finishes your sentence.

Loa nods in understanding.

“You will have your revenge, brother.” Savage muses.

“Are you going to kill him immediately?” It would be out of character of him to not at least think of a different way of hurting Kenobi.

“I am going to take from him what he kept from me… I will kill Satine, then kill him after, so that he dies knowing his duchess died… all because of him.”

And you’ll finally have one person less to worry about, one less reappearing figure of your nightmares.

Your comlink vibrates and you open the transmission, the blue silhouette of Mandalorian armor appearing.

“The duchess has been arrested, but her accomplices are still at large.”

“Did she make the transmission?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Bring her back to her cell and keep looking for her accomplices.”

You sever the connection and give Maul an expectant look.

“Now we wait.”

You did wait. One and a half days, to be more precise.

“An unregistered ship is closing in on the landing pad,” the voice crackles through the comlink. “How should we proceed?”

“Let’s see how this would play out without our interference, shall we?” Maul looks positively entertained.

“Standard procedure,” you order and cut the transmission.

“Don’t get too carried away,” you tease him. “He might actually make it off this planet if we keep letting him pass.”

Of course you know he won’t, but the thought is too amusing to not voice.

“Oh, I will make sure he will not ever set foot off this planet again, that I can assure you, my lady.”

There are perks to having the throne room to yourself, you think. One of them is the ability to be as lighthearted and flirty as you want to. The other … has been explored once or twice as a form of stress relief after a nerve-frying meeting already, though you doubt there is time for that right now.

“I’m sure you will.”

Absentmindedly, you tug at your braid. It’s a little lower than usual, just barely enough for you to notice the difference, but it’s that way for good reason: Maul did it for you this morning, after having watched you do it countless times with such skill and routine that he couldn’t help his curious nature. The final product was the result of the fourth try, after the first three failed for various reasons; not pulling hard enough, letting go of strands, getting distracted by your exposed neck. The last one, however, was surprisingly good, good enough for you to leave it in for the rest of the day while at the same time being a reminder of the pleasant memory.

“Let’s check on our friend Kenobi,” he suggests, the excitement glinting in his eyes.

You shake your head in amusement, tapping away on your wristcom to recall the security holo footage from the prison, zapping through various levels and angles until you find Satine’s cell - now empty.

“It appears the Jedi is faster than anticipated,” you remark, raising your arm to show him the abandoned place.

“So it does,” he muses, not worried in the least.

The emergency line crackles to life.

“It’s the duchess. She’s getting away!”

“Which way is she headed?”

“The landing pad!”

You look at Maul who nods calmly.

“Stop them from taking off,” you command. “We will be there.”

The spaceship most likely wouldn’t have been able to take off on its own, let alone after several missiles were fired at its engines. Now it is spinning in the air, seconds from blowing up.

Better get out now, Kenobi.

You still have to squint, though the pain is bearable as long as you allow your eyes to get used to the changed light conditions gradually. The fire set to the ship however makes it all the more challenging for you to look at, and when the Jedi and his friend finally jump out and the ship goes up in a ball of flames, you have to shield your eyes so as to not go temporarily blind again, as it happens when the lighting changes suddenly.

Your hood is blown back with the intensity of the explosion and small pieces of metal rain down on your group. You’re lucky you have your mask that at least keeps you from breathing in the smoke and dust.

Slowly, you all approach the crash site where a blond man in Mandalorian armor - red Mandalorian armor, that of your warriors - weakly crawls over the ground, moving a piece of metal away from… away from the former duchess.

It seems his affection for the woman runs deeper than expected.

It is only now that he appears to notice you or more precisely, Maul.

“No, it can’t be.”

He ignites his lightsaber, though his stance is that of a man who has already pushed past his limits and Maul holds his neck in his outstretched hand in no time.

“We meet again, Kenobi. Welcome to my world.”

You can hear how positively euphoric the zabrak is to finally have his revenge in such close proximity and you yourself can’t help the elated feeling that washes over you. This is it.

“Take them back to the palace.”

The Jedi is unable to walk anymore and it truly would be a pitiful display had you not lived the past ten years in fear of him and the rest of those knights somehow tracking you down and … bringing you to justice for the numerous crimes on your record. But no longer do you need to fear him, or any Jedi at that.

“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you… and your duchess.”

Nothing but Maul’s words of victory and Satine’s desperate gasps as he holds her up in the air by the neck can be heard, with the exception of Kenobi drawing in a sharp breath upon seeing the woman in such a predicament.

“You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi. Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yes, your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred.”

The last time you saw Kenobi - in person, seeing as he is one of the more prominent faces of the army of the Republic - he was a mere padawan, young and inexperienced but marked by deep sorrow. Today, he is almost unrecognizable, but it is this moment that you can see the same kind of raw emotion on the face of the man that is usually so collected. Today, he is a padawan all over again, watching helplessly as somebody he cares for dies at the hands of the Sith.

“Don’t listen to him, Obi-”

“Quiet.”

Kenobi takes a deep breath, and you just have to admire that pure self-control in a situation so dire.

“You can kill me, but you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side. Only the weak embrace it.”

“It is more powerful than you know.” There is something more than intimidation that resounds in Maul’s voice; he sounds almost regretful for a second, more sincere than you expected him to be in the presence of the man he hates with such a passion.

“And those who oppose it are more powerful than you’ll ever be. I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn’t yours. The nightsisters made it for you.”

He’s been to the village? What else don’t you know?

“Silence!” Maul’s until now calm demeanor crumbles and out comes the fury that has been lingering in his hearts for over a decade.

“You think you know me? It was I who languished for years, thinking of nothing but this moment. And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you. But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.”

You know the moment has come, the moment where he will break him.

Kenobi is pushed to his knees as Maul ignites the darksaber; It is borderline poetical how the former ruler of Mandalore will lose her life through the weapon she banned alongside its culture.

It happens in mere seconds: Satine’s body is pulled forward with the force, Maul turns and the darksaber goes straight through her middle. Fast, clean; almost merciful.

The Jedi scrambles to catch her falling body, brushing her hair out of her face so tenderly that despite your detestation of the man, you almost feel sorry for him. He, just like Maul, was a victim of his circumstances. And now, he is suffering just like Maul did.

The gloomy mood is overwritten by Maul’s silent ecstasy that he is feeling so intensely, he is - subconsciously or not - projecting it onto you.

“Remember, my dear Obi Wan… I’ve loved you always. I always will.”

Her words are spoken hoarsely, quietly with her dying breath and you feel like an intruder to watch this tragic scene unfold, but you can’t take your eyes off the two. Kenobi’s chest shakes with sorrow when her body goes limp in his arms. “Do we kill him now, brother?”

You love Savage like a brother, but there are times that his approach to things is a little primitive.

“No,” It seems his crimson brother has thought of a new way to destroy Kenobi - even further.

“Imprison him below. Let him drown in his misery. Take him to his cell to rot.”

Your head whips around to face Maul, your surprise clear in your eyes.

This is not what you had agreed on. He was supposed to kill him now and end this once and for all.

“The prison is not suited to hold a Jedi,” you argue.

“We will find an appropriate cell for our guest, I’m sure.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from talking back to him. This is his revenge, not yours. And if keeping Kenobi alive for now is what will make him feel better after having lived abandoned and alone on Lotho Minor for years, then so be it. But you have one condition.

“I’m coming along to make sure the appropriate measures are taken.” It’s not a question, it’s a plain statement that is not to be argued with.

If he is to be kept on Mandalore then you need to make sure he will not ever leave the prison complex, for the sake of your own sanity - you’ve lived long enough worried about this man bursting through the door after he saw your face on Naboo, you don’t need to have this fear for the rest of your life.

You try to tell him as much with one look, unwilling to let down your mental walls around the Jedi.

Maul understands.

“Very well.”

He looks so regal, sitting in that throne with his crown of horns atop his head and the sword of the ruler in his right hand. You try to etch the picture into your memory, your eyes traveling from the clean lines on his face over his toned shoulders to the cybernetics that you are still in the process of getting used to, though the sound of metal on the stone floor has quickly become one you associate with Maul.

Spinning on your heel, you wave for the guards to follow you.

“Let’s take him away.”

It’s almost disappointing how little Kenobi does to fight back, but at the same time it makes you extremely anxious. It shouldn’t go so smoothly, it never goes this smoothly. Did he bring reinforcement after all? The next thing you’ll know is the Jedi are invading Mandalore and destroying everything you have.

No, you wish he had fought against the guards dragging him over the ground instead of just hanging there with his head dropped in utter defeat, as well as how he is currently kneeling on the transport pad without even glancing at his surroundings.

“Speed it up if you can,” you order the armored man in charge of the controls, voice cold and commanding as always through the modulator.

You have just made it onto the platform of the prison when you hear the first shot.

“Take cover!” you yell at the same time that someone else cries out: “It’s the rebels!”

Somebody’s jetpack explodes behind you, sending you flying over the edge of the platform. You just barely manage to hold onto the ledge with one hand, watching as one of the guards, the one you had told to hurry, falls hundreds of feet until you can’t even him anymore.

Grunting from the exertion, you pull yourself back up, immediately rolling under a swing from -

“You!” You hiss, shooting at the blasted woman that is the cause for your still impaired vision. The shots just bounce off of her beskar armor, though one singes the red hair enough to distract her momentarily, giving you a chance to draw your vibroblades, your actual vibroblades, not the laughable replacement you had on your first encounter.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” You snarl, lounging at Bo-Katan, the constant throbbing behind your temples only fueling your strength by reminding you of what she’d done.

This time, you get the upper hand quickly, pushing her closer and closer to the abysm lurking beyond the ledge of the platform. Other rebels are approaching from behind you but you don’t care; you almost have their leader at your mercy - the moment she has to evade by using her jetpack, you’ll get the second you need to have a clear shot at her unprotected head. You know this, and so does she.

“You are a traitor!”

“Pre Vizsla was meant to be Mandalore’s ruler, not this outsider!” She counters, venom dripping from her voice.

“You’ll pay for your betrayal, I will see to that,” you snap in return, inching closer to the edge.

“Oh, will you? Speaking of seeing,” her obnoxious tone makes you grit your teeth, “how are your ey-”

You slash at her without warning, but she lets herself fall backwards. Your eyes track her movement, blaster pointed and ready but right before you can pull the trigger, she does something unexpected.

“Aah, you bi-”, the blinding light shining from her gauntlet makes you stagger backwards while you desperately try to cover your eyes. You don’t get to finish the curse as someone jams something, a needle, into your neck.

“Why you blasted son of … ssson of… what did… “

You fall, the world going black when your back meets the floor with a dull thud.

“I still don’t quite understand why you took her with you. If anything, it’s going to infuriate Maul even more.”

“I am well aware of that, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, running a tired hand through his hair. He has hardly gotten any sleep in the past 48 hours and it’s starting to catch up to him. “But she could have valuable information that, unlike Maul, she may be more inclined to share with us.”

“Sir,” Cody steps into his field of vision, holding a datapad in his hand. “Our scans have brought some first results concerning her identity.”

“Excellent, put them up.”

The holotable lights up when the datapad is connected to it, and a second later he is faced with a headshot of the masked woman who goes by the name Spectress.

“The first time that name popped up was around eight years ago, there is no mention of her before that. There are several outstanding arrest warrants for assassinations and kidnappings, some of which concerned galactic senators.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The commander gives him a respectful nod and takes a step back to stand next to Captain Rex who has been silent until now.

“So basically… We know nothing about her?” Anakin’s incredulous look only adds to Obi-Wan’s weariness and he is about to retort something when Rex suddenly speaks up.

“Uh, Sir? I think I have seen that person before.”

Anakin looks at his captain with furrowed eyebrows.

“She has been on several ‘Wanted’ posters, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, Sir, I mean something else.” The clone clears his throat. “I’ve seen her… on Kamino.”

Immediately, his interest is piqued. “Kamino? What could she possibly have wanted on Kamino?”

“I don’t know, Sir. She was with Jango Fett. They seemed to know each other.”

“Jango Fett… so that was before the war broke out.” Obi-Wan thinks loudly. “Anakin, are you thinking what I’m thinking?

“She could know something about the creation of the army and Syfo Dias.”

“Exactly.” He strokes his beard in thought. “Also, if she truly is as close to Maul as we think, she might have information on the unknown Sith Lord.”

“The only question is how we’re going to make her talk,” Anakin throws in. “I doubt someone like this is going to be very cooperative.”

The blast doors slide open and an officer hurries into the room.

“General Kenobi, we have found something else that you may want to see.”

The man opens a projection of what appears to have once been information stored on a bounty puck.

“We ran some face scans and this picture was a 90 percent match. The information adds up.”

The woman in the picture is young, her face serious yet clearly youthful. But what strikes him most is the fact he instantly recognizes her. How could he not? It was her he ran into right after the most drastic turning point in his life, the death of his master. Back then her face was streaked with tears and painted in the same shock he felt when he saw her. He didn’t realize then that she was crying for the dead, supposedly dead Sith lord.

Obi-Wan tears his gaze away from the photo, instead skimming the brief information. The woman appeared to be from Kessel, but the bounty on her head was too considerable for a low-level criminal in the Outer Rim. Then something else catches his eye.

“Tattoos on abdomen, ankle and back… Did you-”

“Yes, the information matches the prisoner.” That leaves little room for doubt.

“This is supposed to be Spectress? The mercenary?”

Anakin’s disbelief is understandable. The name Spectress is well-known enough to have reached the ears of the Republic Commando on multiple occasions, and the face staring back at him from the projection is hardly one that would fit the reputation.

“You must remember, Anakin, this was over a decade ago. You were just a child when this was taken and look where you are today: Much can change in that time.”

“Of course, Master.” His tone has changed, it is more distant now. His padawan, former padawan, dislikes any mention of his young age, but Obi-Wan is too worn out to address this issue at the moment.

“Has she woken up yet?” He instead asks the officer.

“No, Sir, though the sedative should wear off soon. We are unfamiliar with the exact effects of the particular mixture seeing as it does not correspond to Republic standards, but-”

He waves the clone off.

“Notify me when she awakes.”

The man salutes and leaves the room, giving him a chance to look over the other data their scans have provided.

“Bruising on arms and legs, remnants of stab wounds in several places, light sensitivity, tattooed insignia on back… What is the meaning of this?”

“It appears there is some kind of an emblem she is marked with. It is not an entirely uncommon practice in more exclusive guilds, especially in the outer rim…” Cody frowns while he studies his own datapad.

“Do we have an image of this insignia?”

“That’s what’s strange, sir. A scar runs right through the middle, so our algorithms have trouble searching the database. Look,” Cody holds out his datapad for Obi-Wan to take.

The image is indeed striking, but not because of the scar.

“I am familiar with this emblem,” Obi-Wan mumbles, staring at the two overlapping gearwheels and the distinct lines running through them. “I’ve seen it during my time undercover as Rako Hardeen, though I never knew Spectress had anything to do with them.”

“Who are they?” Anakin inquires, tired of being left in the dark.

“It is a guild of contract killers, they call themselves the Concinnity.” Obi-Wan swallows, remembering the stories he heard from other bounty hunters. “They start training when they are still children and they are… ruthless.”

“Well, that would at least explain what somebody like Maul sees in her… and vice-versa, I guess.”

“Do you think she’s still a member, sir? I doubt she would have worked with Jango Fett while in that kind of guild.”

Rex brings up a valid point.

“I suppose we will have to wait until we can ask her ourselves,” Obi-Wan sighs. “But the more I find out about this person, the less i feel like she is going to cooperate with us, to be completely honest.”

“She’ll talk, one way or another.”

Anakin’s willingness to use the force to break mental barriers has been worrying the Jedi master for a longer time now, though he hasn’t brought it up with him yet. It seems like more and more things are starting to be left unsaid between them.

His comlink beeps.

“General Kenobi, the prisoner is conscious. You can start the interrogation whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, I will be right there.”

“Also, sir, she is not… happy.”

He exhales deeply.

“I expected no less.”

____

notes: Could it be... a POV change? Impossible! I've been wanting to write from Obi-Wan's point of view for a while, I feel like it gives another dimension to the conflict between our favorites.

I know I originally said I was going to post this to tumblr yesterday but I Straight Up forgot. My bad.

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul x you #star wars reader insert #swtcw fanfiction #sith

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constilationn · 4 years

Text

Beautifully Broken || Part 11

A/N: Part 11!! sorry for the delay guys but I really hope you like this one!

Rating: T???

Warning: bad words, mentions of previous torture (only a tiny bit tho)

Summary: Here it is, the moment you finally take back your life. in the immortal words of Rachel Platen - this is my fight song, well, your fight song but you get my drift

Part 10 💫

You were half way to the briefing the next morning when Finn caught your arm in the hallway and you punched him in the gut before he had time to blink. “It’s...it’s just me.” He wheezed as you winced, trying to hide the smile that pulled at your lips. “S’not funny!”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, coughing a second later in a pointless attempt to hide it. “I’m sorry! Reflexes.” Finn glared at you as he cleared his throat, walking by your side to the hub of the base. “Hey, at least I’m not shaking every time someone comes near me.”

“Yeah you’re just giving them internal organ damage instead.” He nudged your shoulder playfully and you grinned.

“Seems like I’m back to my old self then.” You laughed, turning the corner past the hangar.

Finn nodded in agreement. “I’ve heard stories,” he admitted as you raised an eyebrow. “You sound like kind of a badass.”

You shrugged, biting down on your bottom lip. “I guess I was.” You pushed through the crowds to the sound of Leia’s voice. “Not anymore.”

“You still are.”

You smiled at him, gratitude dancing in your eyes. He was right, you’d once been the most fearless member of the Resistance, always ready for a fight with an arsenal of sarcastic comments and smirks. You’d been Leia’s pride and joy, you’d been a poster-girl for bravery, for freedom, and to have that all taken from you by Hux and his little crew? A fire long-since forgotten finally ignited in your eyes.

And all of a sudden you knew exactly who you were.

You grinned as Leia cleared her throat and the room fell silent, the last whispers dying down before she spoke. Your gaze landed on Poe, standing next to her with his hands clasped behind his back. He caught your eye and winked, smirk playing on his lips. You shook your head, cheeks dusted red as you focused back on Leia. “We have an opportunity to cause serious damage to the First Order,” she gave Poe a dry smile and he smirked. “Commander Dameron will take a team to scout the Star Killer Base and lower the defences. One they give the word, we’ll send in the air support and destroy the super weapon.”Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. “Once it’s down, everyone gets out. We’re not looking for casualties.”

“How do we lower the defences?” Finn’s voice broke through the excited chatter and you raised an eyebrow in agreement.

“There’s a panel on the north side,” Poe explained, pulling up the schematics for the base. “It’s their only weak spot and, as far as we know, undefended.”

“We’ll have to get there on foot, right?” You looked to Leia for conformation, met with her twinkling eyes and a smile. You nodded to yourself, “Well it’s too risky to fly in, they’ll shoot us out of the sky. Our best bet is to land close by and walk in. We can carry what we need, stay under the radar and...” you trailed off, looking up to find every single pair of eyes trained on you. Your lips curled nervously. “What?”

Poe grinned as the room burst back to life, the crowd dispersing as you pushed past people towards Leia and Poe, Finn by your side. “I told you, you’re a badass.” Finn laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Taking command of a room like that.” He raised an eyebrow and you shoved him so hard that he stumbled into Poe.

Leia raised an eyebrow as you tried to stop laughing, biting down on your fist as your eyes watered. “You’re sure these are the two you want?”

Poe nodded. “Absolutely.”

You grinned over at him as Leia touched your arm. “Come with me.” You glanced over your shoulder as she led you away from Poe and Finn, shaking your head at their raised eyebrows.

“General?” You followed her back through the base towards her quarters, heart pounding with anticipation. No longer did your hands shake with fear, but with excitement.

“Tell me honestly,” she turned, digging through the crate at the end of her bed. “Do you think you’re mission ready?”

No. “Yes.” You nodded feverishly. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Leia turned to the bed, unwrapping the object in her hands carefully. “I want you to take this.” Your brow furrowed as your fingertips grazed the cold metal.

Leia held her lightsaber out towards you.

“I can’t...” You cleared your throat as your voice broke with emotion. “I can’t take this.”

Leia’s eyes softened and she smiled. “I know you feel like you can’t do this,” your gaze fell to the lightsaber as you tried to hide you tears. ”but you can.” She touched your hand gently. “I believe in you.”

You took the lightsaber from her without a second thought.

“Thank you, General.”

💫

“You guys ready?” Finn blew into his hands, glancing around the darkening forest as he tossed your tool bag towards you. Your hand brushed Leia’s lightsaber, tucked safely into the holster strapped to your thigh.

You shouldered your bag with a smirk. “Always.”

“That’s my girl.” Poe’s voice still had a way of making you weak in the knees and he winked at you as you ran your thumb along your bottom lip. Your nerves had your hands shaking and you clasped them together, knuckles white from the effort to appear calm.

Already you couldn’t feel your feet, the snow seeping through the thin soles of your boots as you trudged through the forest. You felt safe with Finn and Poe either side of you but it didn’t stop your breath trembling as you saw the Starkiller base loom over the horizon.

“Is this...” your voice was small, hoarse, as you drew towards the edge of the tree line. “Is this where...” the words hung above the three of you and Poe lowered his head with a tiny nod.

“Yes.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, biting the inside of your cheeks as you gave a firm nod. “Okay.” The snow crunched underfoot as you stepped forward. “Let’s go.”

You reminded yourself it didn’t matter, that you were yourself again. It was all over, the pain and the starvation and the sleepless nights. No one could hurt you anymore, you’d make sure of that.

The three of you struggled through the snow, ducking towards the panel in an attempt to avoid the patrol lights. Snow coated your fingers and numbed your limbs as you fell against the cold metal walls of the base. Finn dug through his bag, pulling a flashlight out as Poe popped the metal lid of the panel off. You squinted, inspecting the wires as Poe took a step back and Finn held the light closer to the panel.

“It’s all you, baby.” Poe’s fingertips brushed your shoulder as you riffled through your bag. Before Poe had taken you under his wing, you were the best technician the Resistance had ever seen. Every mechanical problem they had went through you and you had pilots begging you to look at their ships. You’d learnt from your father years before you’d joined the Resistance and, lucky for them, you’d carried the skills with you.

Your fingers worked quickly, cutting and twisting wires with expert speed as your mind reeled. It was a standard panel and it didn’t take long until you cut the final wire, pressing the incendiary bomb into the panel and pushing Finn and Poe away as it sparked, catching fire instantly and lighting up the side of the base.

“Let’s go! We’ve gotta go!” You pushed Poe back towards the tree line, Finn a few paces behind you as you watched the wall explode.

You looked up, the drone of the Resistance bombers drawing closer to the base until they shot over the trees, the force of the ships arching the branches around you. You skidded to a halt, Finn crashing into you as you tried to steady yourself against a tree. Droplets of blood sizzled in the snow and you looked down to your arm, scratched and crimson.

“You okay?” You barely heard Finn over the explosions behind you, too focused on the Resistance ships hurtling towards the ground.

“I thought we disabled the shields!” Orange fire bloomed across the horizon, smoke curling towards the stars. You glanced around the forest, heart thundering. “Where’s Poe?”

Finn whirled around, hand tight on his blaster. The trees around you shook with explosions, bright lights barrelling towards you and Finn pushed you into the snow, falling flat next to you as you clamped your hands over your head. The ship, your ship, disappeared above the forest and Finn’s mouth fell open. “Did he just...”

“Take our fucking ship?” You seethed, body shaking with rage. “Yes, he did.”

You sat up in the snow, cradling your arm as you leant against a tree for support. You couldn’t believe it, you couldn’t fucking believe it. Poe Dameron the hero, leaving you and Finn to fend for yourselves in a snow covered forest whilst he jumped into action, saving the day once again. You shook your head as Finn slung an arm around your shoulder. “Is this actually happening to us?”

Finn sighed, chuckling softly. “Yeah, but it seems about right.”

“Yeah,” you watched the sky bleed red and orange and yellow. “It does.”

#star wars #star wars fic #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fanfiction #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #series #fanfic #beautifully broken

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legacyofabsolutewalnuts · 3 years

Note

Wanweird for the OC of your choice/

Wanweird - An unhappy fate.

This was...very hard to make a decision about. I have tragic aus for Vits, Montym, and Bel, but they’re all very long, so I chose to go with Dapatica’s canon fate. While not the most emotional perhaps, she dies as a sacrifice for a goal she privately doesn’t believe in, with her wives at her side, and I think that’s about as unhappy as it gets. Most of it is under the cut, as it got...a bit long. Thank you for letting me explore it! Perhaps I’ll post the unhappy aus for the others some day

There was little else to do but take up arms, and take as many of the blasted Skytroopers and Knights out with them as possible. Dapatica had made sure they hadn’t left the base with much, a limited about of supplies, and whatever weapons they could carry. Anything useful had already been dismantled, and while Cimesetli had protested the entire time they’d been loading his ship with anything that could be taken back to Dromund Kaas, he’d gone before the fleet had shown up.

They were going to lose ground, that was inevitable. The point was a stand, and to direct resources away from bigger fronts. They had made enough of a stink to draw a significant portion of the Eternal Empire’s forces away from other fronts. Hopefully, razing their former base of operations would add to the delay once they finally fell.

Sith weren’t supposed to think that way. Victory or death. But victory had long since passed as an option. Death was left. Dapatica had accepted that.

She had wanted to do this alone, but Leo had been right from the start, and alone she couldn’t hold out nearly as long. Cimesetli had taken most of her troops, against orders, but he was only a bounty hunter, outside military discipline, and her troops had been given orders by their Sith and Acina would have no choice to accept the decision she’d made. She had needed him gone long before the fleet showed up. Only one squad had stayed, a barricade created at her back.

Leo and Calica had stayed, no matter how much she’d wanted them to go. They wouldn’t hear leaving her, not if this was to be her last stand. Perhaps it was for the best, at least she could know their loyalty withstood all else, and it would not waver after she was gone. She had been forced to send Etelvina with Cimesetli because of it, nearly needing the Mandalorian to drag her Apprentice back kicking and screaming. He would have done it too, they had always had a good working relationship, and it was a shame to know most of her fellows wouldn’t compensate him well enough to get the best out of him. Men like him were needed in this war, alien or not. But she had worked to hard to leave her legacy in the hands of anyone else, if her wives were to die with her.

It should have gone to Viticalia. She was- had been- nearly a decade younger than Dapatica. Volatile Sith politics aside, Viticalia was supposed to outlive her. She had done what their parents couldn’t do with their family name, and one day, she was supposed to die, and Viticalia would be the one to have apprentices and children and continue the legacy. She had worked hard to get their family name to where Viticalia only had to worry about maintaining it.

And then Viticalia had gone and become the Emporer’s Wrath, above and beyond what Dapatica had ever asked of her sister, and things could have been perfect. The family name could be squandered for generations before the power and titles they’d amassed together were finally lost. But Viticalia would never have allowed her children to be so frivolous with their efforts.

If Etelvina was smart, and she was, cut-throat and cunning, which was why Dapatica had chosen her, she would keep Cimesetli on retainer, and use her Master’s name to her advantage to keep hold of what was now hers, with no relations to fight for what Dapatica was leaving behind.

It all should have gone to Viticalia. Etelvina should have become her Apprentice, on Dapatica’s death. Her sister wasn’t meant to be gone, the opening shot of a war, when she hadn’t known who she was firing at, or even that she was. She had been better than that. Better than a useless sacrifice. Marr be damned, Viticalia should have been one of the ones to come home, whether he did or not. But instead, she’d done her duty. Or so her Major Quinn had said.

Dapatica had almost taken his head off there and then for saying such. Duty meant nothing anymore. He’d lived because he had been in Viticalia’s good graces, and her crew and her ship were all Dapatica had left of her.

If the Force had a will, then duty to it or anything else was only a path of pain. The will of the Force was a crock of bantha shit. If the Force had a will, it should have kept those who could change the galaxy alive. But instead, it had let Viticalia die for duty. It should have only been a tool for good reason, it seemed.

Leo had laid up in a sniper nest, far enough back that she could run for the base, even if her bad leg gave her trouble. It wouldn’t be an escape, it was only so she could activate the defences and make it seem like the base needed to be occupied, forcing the Eternal Empire to follow her. She and Calica both had tried to show her their love as much as possible before they left. It would be the last time. They’d left their coms open.

Calica’s back was to her chest, Dapatica’s arms around her as they waited. It wouldn’t take long now, only a few minutes more before the Skytroopers set down. Calica’s rotary cannon was waiting, and her own lightsabers were a comfortable weight on her hips. She’d taken a page out of Viticalia’s book, loading up with grenades and a blaster of her own. The Force and her lightsabers wouldn’t be enough. Not to take as many of them out as she could. And she intended to take as many of them with her as possible, recompense for her own death, for Leocadia’s, and Calica’s, and Viticalia’s.

Acina would bow to Zakuul eventually. Either she would die fighting them, or live to see Viticalia’s sacrifice mean nothing.

According the Lady Beniko, this distraction would give her the opening to get onto an Eternal Empire station and get the data she would need to plan an assault on Zakuul itself. She had asked Dapatica for her help personally, hoping the information she was getting would allow her to free Viticalia.

Captured, she had said. She was convinced of it. Convinced Viticalia hadn’t been killed. That Viticalia had survived both the ship and killing Zakuul’s Emporer. She was certain they had left Viticalia alive.

She should have been able to feel her sister across galaxies if that was what it took. She had felt no death blow, and Viticalia’s apprentice Jaesa hadn’t felt it either. But she was simply no longer there. It wouldn’t have been surprising if Viticalia had had the power to hide her own death blows from them.

There was nothing left to say between them, and so the comm was silent for now. She’d told her wives of Lana’s opening, but not of her doubts. No, it was better they go to their deaths together at peace, rather having there been any doubt in their minds. They still would have joined her, they were better than that, but it wouldn’t have been fair to them.

Viticalia was gone. It would be pleasant to join her. Pleasant to have her wives at her side, and not have to watch everything they had worked so hard for fall. They would not have to watch their Empire crumble and debase itself.

Sacrifice. It had never been a Sith ideal. Perhaps in a time of war, it was, only phrased differently. A victory of sorts. At least it was not a surrender.

Leo’s voice broke the reverie, and Dapatica dropped a kiss in Calica’s hair before the other woman turned, kissing her once, and lifting her cannon. “Contact. Two clicks. Get ready.”

“Leo-”

“I know, I’ll see you both on the other side. I love you both.”

“Love you too.” Calica echoed it softly, and Dapatica drew herself to her full height, lips pursed, and watching the horizon line. They’d chosen the battlefield, taking the higher ground, and already she could see the approach, troops landing in quick succession.

“I adore you both, and if this is where we meet our ends together, I am glad to have known you both for the time we had. May we meet again on the other side.” She shook herself once, centred, prepared, and ready to rage against the face of death for as long as she could. She let her voice carry. “Men! It’s been an honour. Let’s make them hurt.”

#Dapatica Volcatius #Appearances from other ocs #I think Dapatica's mindset informs a lot of who Viticalia is #and her death nearly broke Viticalia when she was told #ask meme #swtorpadawan #swtor ocs #my ocs #my writing #other ocs are Leocadia and Calica Dap's wives #Cimesetli one of my BH's #and Etelvina one of my SW's respectively

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rainofaugustsith · 4 years

Text

Memory of Healing

Also at Ao3!

Content warning; this fic has references to bruises, cuts, injuries and needles, including self-injury.

The scars and burns are rare…but they happen. Viri is almost never injured directly by her opponents; they usually can’t even catch her. It takes far more cosmic effort to harm her: caves falling on her head. Ancient spirits with nefarious intentions. Force alchemy. Cursed fire. She’s learned to deflect them all, but every now and then, she gets nicked. And when she is, she and Lana can usually heal the nicks themselves. They’re that tightly bound now. It’s just that every now and then, there’s an anomaly they can’t channel away. No big deal. Viri sits casually on the couch in the Alliance’s wound clinic, one ankle crossed neatly over the other. The chrono reads 2:42; these trips always seem to happen in the middle of the night when the base is still and quiet and nobody else is in the medical center. It’s better that way; better that Viri is not seen in the medical center by the daytime Alliance staff. It tends to make them nervous. ”We’re ready for you, Commander.” The aesthetic surgeon droid comes to the door, her metallic voice echoing through the nearly empty room. Viri nods and rises from the couch; Lana follows.

Lana knows the routine; she’s seen it several times now. She extends one hand to take Viri’s clothing from her as she strips out of her boots, socks and trousers and hops onto the examining table. The scar on Viri’s thigh, an artifact from a vicious fight in the Gree Enclave, screams out at her, red and furious.

”Take this away, please,” Viri says, gesturing to her thigh as she reclines on the table. ”Yes, Commander,” the droid says, gathering her tools. “Anesthetic?” ”Yes, please.” Viri always asks to be numbed. Lana understands; there’s no reason to feel the work when she’s already felt so much. Lana drapes Viri’s clothes over one arm and extends the other, offering Viri a hand to hold. As always, Viri grabs it, threading her fingers through Lana’s and leaning into their bond and love. The droid leans over Viri, blocking Lana’s view of the scar. It’s better that way Academically, Lana knows the droid is there to help; emotionally, the moment she sees the needle piercing Viri’s skin she has an urge to rise and cut the miserable thing to scrap for hurting her wife. Protective rage bubbles through the bond and Viri locks eyes with Lana as she senses it, keeping both of them focused elsewhere. ”Jokes?” This is another part of the ritual; Lana will offer Viri a means of distraction. Jokes. Ridiculous anecdotes from their Sith years. A cynical review of the latest reality show on the HoloNet. Viri’s eyes flick down toward the droid at work, and then quickly up to the ceiling again. Her leg jerks slightly, a flicker of pain coursing through her even through the anesthetic. ”Apologies, Commander. You have had another repair here before, and I encountered subcutaneous scar tissue.” ”It’s fine,” Viri sighs. The repairs are layered on each other, but she forgets.

“How many of these have you erased? I’m just curious.” Viri’s lips curve slightly, but the smile does not reach her eyes. “I’ve lost count.”

“The memory stays as an echo, you know,” Lana says. “Your body still remembers.”

”You were reading <I>Essence of Spirit</I> again this morning,” Viri laughs. ”I was. It’s intriguing. And I think it has a point. The pain becomes a part of you.” We already know that, Viri says, shrugging. It’s true; Lana has come to recognize the background level of pain always present in Viri through their bond. ”Still,” Lana says, raising an eyebrow. “They were referring to more.” ”Could you read me?” Viri says, amused. ”I could try,” Lana says, suddenly curious. ”May I?” Viri shrugs. “Of course. But why? I was joking..” ”It would be an interesting experiment,” Lana says. ”Feel free to look. You know I hide nothing from you.”

Lana closes her eyes, taps into the Force, and sweeps her hand over Viri’s right arm. The Mark of Union on Viri’s hand glows purple in her mind; welcoming and secure. However, beneath it, several scars emerge. Calluses and rips on the palm. Surgical incisions on the wrist. Bruises shaped like hands.

”I broke my wrists when I was twelve,” Viri murmurs, seeing along with her. “You know why. They had to be set. The other bruises…you know why those are there, too.” Lana nods grimly as she continues to read. Precise slashes across Viri’s inner forearm come into view in her mind’s eye. ”You cut yourself,” Lana mutters, surprised. ”Correct. It helped for a while. Or I thought it did. Upper Academy.” ”I see.” Burns from Manaan and Iokath. Scars from the cave-in on Quesh. Bites from a carnivorous plant. Bruises from the shackles placed on Viri when she was captured by the Eternal Empire, haloed by an echo of terror. Layers of pain. Muscle aches that lingered for weeks. Lana winces. ”You’re on my lightsaber arm, what did you expect?” Viri chuckles. “Of course it’s sore.” ”I didn’t realize…” But I should have. I feel how much you hurt. I just didn’t realize it had been going on for so long. What I do is not without cost. Viri looks straight ahead. I don’t pay attention to it, lover. You know that. Do you remember the last time you were without pain of any kind? Lana asks seriously, catching her eyes. The last time you kissed me. Our bond tends to make it fade. Viri smiles, and Lana feels her heart swell. …you’re evading the question. When was the last time you were without any pain at all, without my help? Lana presses. I don’t remember. Oh love. I use it. I channel it. I do the best I can. You know that. Love. Lana squeezes her hand again, sending a wave of Force healing around her. Viri closes her eyes again to drink it in; her head tipping back against the table. The aesthetic surgeon droid sits back. Where a jagged scar had crossed Viri’s thigh, there is now shiny, unbroken skin. “I’m done with your leg, Commander. I’ll leave you to get dressed.” ”Thank you. Commander override: wipe memory from 02:30 to present.” Viri repeats a series of complex passcodes. The lights on the medical droid’s chassis blink as her memory wipes. “Hello Commander. Is there anything I can do for you?” ”No thank you. Please return to your duties.” ”As you wish,” the droid leaves the room. Feeling better? Lana asks, watching appreciatively as Viri dresses. Yes. Enjoying the view? Viri winks, wiggling her hips as she pulls on her trousers. I always do, Lana laughs, but a moment later, her smile fades. Viri…you know you don’t have to get these scars removed. I know, Viri shrugs, buttoning her trousers. I want to. I don’t need the souvenirs. I only keep the…most important. And the ones that aren’t bad. Aren’t bad? Lana raises an eyebrow. How… ”Read here,” Viri whispers, taking Lana’s hand and putting it on her face. Lana’s fingers trace the long ragged scar that crosses her cheek, concentrating. Love spills from the scar; the care and attention of a mother’s fingers, suturing her injured daughter’s face. As Lana concentrates she can hear Viri’s mother in her mind: Hold still, baby. Just focus on my voice. “She sang the whole time,” Viri murmurs, leaning into Lana’s touch. “I see why you kept this one.” ”Try here,” Viri says, repositioning Lana’s hand on her bicep. Lana sees the intricate script of the Sith protection incantation on Viri’s tattoo through her fingers; feels Force energy pulsing from the ink. In her mind’s eye, Viri is reassuring herself: This will protect me.

Lana opens her eyes. “I’d like to read the rest of you. This has been…fascinating. Not here. But later.” Viri nods, her eyes full of trust. “Only if I get a turn.” ”Of course.”

“Preview now?” Viri asks, her eyes glowing. She grasps Lana’s left hand in her own and concentrates until her eyes flutter shut.

Pain in the hand. Explosions; shattering. Bones and skin sutured and bandaged. Viri shudders. ”I explained that,” Lana murmurs, picking up on Viri’s consternation. “A walker missile hit me.” Viri nuzzles Lana’s hand as she reads further. Aches from Hoth. Klor’slug bites from Korriban. Needle-sharp teeth piercing skin. A broken finger. A second. ”That one was just a speeder accident. I was learning to pilot and I fell,” Lana explains. Viri kisses her palm, infusing it with Force healing. ”Love, it’s healed, it doesn’t need help now.” Viri shakes her head, letting more healing radiate through the hand as she holds it to her cheek. “Nobody hurts my Lana.” ”Sweet Viri,” Lana murmurs, letting her fingers curl around Viri’s chin. ”Commander? Is there something you need assistance with? What brings you to the clinic today?” The droid reappears at the door. Viri sighs in frustration. “No, you don’t even see us. We’re not in the clinic. Commander override: wipe memory from 0300 to present.” Let’s go. Otherwise we’re going to have to keep purging her memory. Lana tugs on her sleeve. Viri nods and follows her out of the room. As they exit the clinic they wave their hands toward the security cameras, erasing the few seconds where they were visible in the lobby. Viri and Lana walk back to their suite in silence. With her leg healed, Viri’s gait is fluid again; her long legs easily carrying her along. She raises her head to breathe in the night air, her curly hair whipping around her face in the nocturnal breeze. ”Still numb?” Lana taps into their bond, finding a suspiciously pain free spot on Viri’s leg. ”Mhmmm,” Viri mumbles. “It’s strange.”

Strange to be without pain. Sadness pricks through the bond.

”Don’t,” Viri says, entering the first and second sets of codes at the deceptively simple keypad at their front door. “You know how it is.” ”I’ve accepted that our line of work has drawbacks. I still wish it didn’t,” Lana replies, taking Viri’s hand again. I wasn’t kidding. I really do hurt less with you around. Viri’s face is turned; her body still as the biometric security system scans her. Lana closes her eyes as the scanner sweeps across her too, and the door opens slightly to allow them into the atrium. Their HK droids, 51 and 55, silently nod their greetings as Viri and Lana continue through the hallway to the next security checkpoint. More biometric scans. More passwords. All so they can sleep without someone killing them. ”Even on Dromund Kaas it would be like this,” Viri shrugs, leading Lana into their suite. They’ve become accustomed to tuning out the noise of the durasteel door closing heavily behind them. The edge of Viri’s leg, where it meets her prosthetic foot, has begun to ache, and she drops to the sofa to channel healing around it. ”Let me,” Lana whispers, kneeling next to her. “You said I help.” ”Always,” Viri murmurs earnestly, looking into her eyes. “A kiss might do the trick.” Lana runs one finger across the top of Viri’s knee, skirting across the numb spot on her thigh. “Just a kiss?” ”I didn’t say how or where,” Viri smirks. “That leaves plenty of possibilities.” ”Brat.” ”Beloved.” Viri wraps her arms around Lana, settling her on her lap. “Kiss it better.” Lana leans in close, worrying Viri’s bottom lip with her teeth before closing her mouth on Viri’s. Salt. Sugar. Fire. Electricity. Lana hums into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Viri as her pain drops away.

***

#Lana and Viri #Viridana Dragoi #fanfic #fanfiction #Viri is not okay and that's okay

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irrfahrer · 3 years

Note

A peak at what's inside their bag / purse ?

A Peak at What's inside Zivs . . .

Ziv always carries around with herself a backpack that she wears with one sling over her shoulder and chest Boudn to this backpackis AyyAyys transperisteel-container so the Reeksa could keep watch out for danger coming fromZivs back and give warnings or protection. In her backpack Ziv carries:

Evacuate packs of Herbs| Mushrooms | Leafs| Miswāk-Branches | Petals | Roots | Moss| Barks- Ziv always has the indriegents to redo her favorite healingoinments, tonics and salves,to put on bandages and treat poisonings, fevers and wounds. And also to make a pretty good herbstew at any time. Also if you would have teeth that could crack fingerbones like brittle branches, you would take good care of them with Miswāk-wood too.

Barely a pawful Wupiupi- Ziv sells her knowledge and treatments as a Herbal Healer between the other travlers on Spacestations and Hagars where there is not always a Medic with Bacta near. Her savings are ridiculous small.

Broken Lightsaber- Years before she had send to the AgriCorps Ziv and her Clan had travled to Ilum to build their Lightsabers. The blade was of a cyan Lightas typical for Healers. Since the Kybercrystal cracked at a certaine point during the Order 66, Zivs Lightsaber will do nothing but stutter a little when activated since Ziv also took the crystal out. The Makashi-Style Hilt however is taken care of very well and usually Ziv will polish it at least once a week to give it a quick lookover and feed the Brylark wood with her own energy to keep it alive and growing. The Lightsaber is hidden at the very bottom of her bag.

Jar with fat- The fat needed to prepare certaine oinments. Ziv prepares her favorite oinments every morning anew since after one day the fat and water in oinments usually sepperated and make the oinments useless.

Jar of oil-The same as with the fat.

Herbsickle- A simple tool to cut plants. Just because Ziv has proper claws, does not mean she has to be babaric.

Plasticbottle with Alcohol- Of course Zivs only uses the alcohol for her Tinctures. Of course!

Plasticbottle of Vinegarwater- This explains itself. Stay Hydrated. Mixing Vinegar with Water will keep it from fouling and it is working perfectly to clean wounds for it kills bacteria and germs. As a Travler Ziv usually has not always destilled Water near.

AyyAyys Transperisteel-Container- The container is around sixthy centrimetre in lenght and has a capsleform, filled at one side with soil. Ziv had bound it to her Canister and usually the small, curled up Reeksa Sproutling acts as a watchdog in Zivs back. Ziv calls her affectionately AyyAyy.

Mortar+Pounder Set made of wood- Needed to crush Plants.

Dried herb balls + Lighter - Hallucinogens, Narcotics, Painkillers, Neurotoxins, Explosives as in Granademoss, Poisons, in fact many herbs that need to be burned or put into water to knock someone out fast in one way or another. Ziv has them at paw in her Beltpockets and ready to use. Do not fuck with a Botanist. No, really, do not fuck with a Botanist.

Facemask- During her studies in the Agri Corps Ziv had had enough very bad trips and poisonings to learn to always have a facemask at paw.

Small Flimsiplast-Sketchbook+Stylus- When Ziv had been put in the Agri Corps she had teethgrinding obssessive learned her Plantlore the same she had obsessively trained as a young Learner in the Temple. While she has a wide knowledge, she is also aware that there is always something to learn and therefor keeps her sketchbook with own sketches of plants and notes to add to.

Bedroll+Blanket- Just because Ziv is the equivalent of a homeless stranded on spacestations and spaceharbours, does not mean she has to sleep on hard ground. Since Ziv is very comfortable with Temperatures down to -50°, the blanket is not often used for herself.

#headcanon #thanks for the ask dear <3 #irrfahrer #Ziv Odiz' zee

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Huge Faith For A Little Droid

Cal Kestis x Reader with BD-1

BD-1 loving you. He’s basically your child. [source]

Note: This is a rare one for me to write, considering most of my content is heavily between Cal and the Reader. I figured the prompt was adorable and that BD-1 deserves the same amount of love as Cal. It’s kind of a package deal lol 😅 Hope you guys enjoy the fic!

Masterlist

“The next time I’m planning my vacation—it has to be Sullust!”

Your joke got a laugh out of Cal, he doesn’t seem to have a clapback for this one. Through your comlinks, Cere briefed again about the mission: a group of rebel pilots have been stranded there for weeks. She has managed to fish out the confiscated distress signal from the Imperial communications archives. The Empire already established a rig in the planet—similar to what they did to most planets you’ve been to already.

“Any idea what they could be extracting this time?” Cal asked.

“Can’t say for sure. Sullust was a major player in exporting fighter and transport ships, the Empire could be using them to replenish their fleet.”

“Okay, we’ll let you know if we find anything more,”

“You two be careful out there.”

“Always,” you reassured her.

You traversed through the terrain and searched for the Imperial rig. It was a long hike ahead, but it wasn’t easy to miss the gigantic metal towers and heavy-duty equipment plastered on the rock faces. Before getting to the main excavation, there were bases and checkpoints scattered before one could even reach the facility.

With the help of BD-1, he slices the control terminal of the blast doors. You finally managed to quietly infiltrate the first of many bases—in your case, you’ve stepped into a hangar. There were two Stormtroopers standing at the front of the door—but they had their backs turned. Force-pulling each one to yourselves and then piercing your lightsabers through their bodies all in perfect unison, you jumped onto the other unsuspecting troopers.

“Something’s wrong, can you sense it too?” You asked Cal.

“Yeah, we best be prepared for it,”

A sudden buzzing sound made you jump. It was coming from one of the dead Stormtrooper, in his slightly open hand, a comlink was left on. By the time you’ve realized that he’s called reinforcements, they have actually arrived.

More Stormtroopers started flooding through the blast doors—along with two Purge Troopers for good measure.

“Up and above!”

You deflected the blasters of the troopers above you, when they’ve swamped the upper platform, you Force-lifted and hurled some of them off the rails. Cal collected all the enemies around him and lobbed his lightsaber, the weapon sawing down the enemies in a clean, circular sweep. He eventually got too preoccupied with battling the electrohammer Purge Trooper. He didn’t realize that the Purge Trooper has danced into the hallway and practically lured Cal away from you.

Meanwhile, an Imperial security droid has taken advantage on both of your engagements with the other enemies.

Fortunately, BD-1 was able to stop the Imperial security droid from clobbering you on the back of the head, he lightly sprang from his perch on Cal’s back and started short-circuiting the droid. It flailed around at first, clumsily spinning around in the hopes of grappling BD; the Imperial security droid even managed to destroy the blast door terminal in the process—separating you and BD-1 from Cal, who was still engaging the Purge Trooper in the hallway.

“[Y/N]! BD-1!” Cal cried through the sealed blast doors. He had no choice but continue on with the fight.

“NO!” you cried to nothing in particular, but seeing the situation, it’s appropriate that you were referring to both Cal and BD-1.

The Imperial droid finally caught BD-1 before he could actually finish the deed. You turned around after cutting down a Scout Trooper and saw the Imperial droid versus BD-1.

“BD!” you cried.

When you heard BD-1’s metal frame make a crunching noise from the enemy droid’s skinny but powerful grip, you immediately crippled it—severing its legs and then a diagonal cut across its body. It lifelessly fell down to the ground, still having BD-1 in its grip. You knelt down the dead droid and removed its fingers around BD-1.

“BD-1?!”

He gave a weak trill. His lens were cracked, the blue light on his eye was slowly fading, tiny sparks were sputtering out of his circuits and wires—the same wires popped out of the cracks of his legs’ metal plating due to the shattering grip of the security droid. You could only hope that his internal parts weren’t too damaged.

“No… no, no, no…” you gasped erratically.

You gently scooped him up your hands, careful not to let any of his loose parts and limbs fall off. You desperately searched for a workbench. In the spacious hangar, you spotted one across from where you stood. Without a moment’s notice, you sprinted towards it while gently carrying BD.

“Hang on, buddy, I’m going to fix you. I promise!”

“[y/n]? Where are you? Are you all right?” Cal’s voice crackled through your comlink speaker.

You were a stuttering, panicking mess when answering.

“I... I-I’m fine, but BD isn’t. I’m already working on him, I just need spare parts!”

The hangar was all but empty—not counting the bodies of the carnage that ensued minutes ago—until a mechanical beeping made your ears prick up. It was a black astromech droid. You Force-pulled it toward you with great haste, apologizing to it before it could even register what was happening to it. You tore off its metal plating, exposing the wires; digging through its tangled mess of circuits, a few lengths of its wiring seemed to have matched BD-1’s. You carefully tugged it from the roots until you got the full measure of the wires. You gathered whatever you could salvage from the astromech droid and even from the security droid that choked BD-1 to near death.

After collecting what you could from whatever droid on sight—whether working or decommissioned—you put them down on the workbench. There were small but crucial parts left around on the drawers, much to your luck.

“Okay, okay,” you fretted as you tried calming yourself down.

You pulled out your utility belt strewn with tools. This was your first time actually working on BD-1. You’ve seen Cal do it many times over, you only learned from watching afar; fortunately, you’ve had some knowledge in being a mechanic. The soldering iron sparked and sizzled as it welded the wires, carefully weaving the cables that were supposed to go here and there, and for the finishing touch—fitting the new lenses into his sensors. Finally hotwiring him before sealing the metal plating shut, the minute of silence felt like an hour.

Physically, your chest heaved as your heart continue to rise and then sink repeatedly. On the inside, you were fervently praying that the light in his sensors would flicker. It was starting to look bleak, you were losing hope but you were fighting it.

No, you’ll wake! Come on, buddy!

We need you. Cal needs you.

I need you.

So please… wake up, BD-1.

Your knees melt to the ground, your arms doing what little they can to keep you ledged onto the table although your grip was ebbing. Your body limps to the floor, the foot of the workbench supporting your back, a heavy sigh escapes your lungs as you rest the back of your head on the edge of the table.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I couldn’t do it…”

You hugged your legs to your chest, propped your forehead on your knees, burying your face in shame. The sounds around you were suddenly shut out from your ears. Your hair draped the sides of your face, obscuring you from your surroundings. All you just want to do now is just pass out—a pommel to the head or blacking out from overstressing, either way worked for you.

BD-1 is gone. You failed him. You couldn’t fix him.

“Perhaps I’m not a good mechanic after all,” you miserably groaned to yourself.

Without you knowing, the blue light in BD-1’s lens slowly glowed back to life until it stayed on. He was rebooting: his scanners were still at their optimum performance, the antennas weren’t that damaged, and the internal damage level sank below critical level. BD-1 was getting a feel of his newly-repaired legs. He heard you sobbing at the bottom of the workbench.

He tilts his little head, wondering why you were crying, and he realizes that you attempted to fix him and it worked. He didn’t understand what you were sad about. He excitedly scampered down the table and nudged your legs with his little head. You felt the pressing metal against your calf. Pulling yourself together, you craned your head up and saw BD-1 alive and well.

You blinked a thousand times to prove that it wasn’t just the lights playing tricks. You reached for BD-1, hoping that you will touch the real thing. Your fingers felt his metal plating, the cylinder of his left eye, and his antennas.

“BD-1!!!” you exclaimed, the heaviness in your heart quickly dissolving.

He happily hopped onto your knees, nuzzling you on the head like a puppy and you try your best not to crush him a second time in your hug. Seeing him finally alive, discovering that your attempt worked, just washed away all the hopelessness that overtook you mere minutes ago.

You picked him up and let him perch onto your back.

“Come on, buddy, we have to meet up with Cal. You can rest easy along the way,”

He fondly beeps back and tucked his legs as he grabbed tight onto you. Making your way to the platform where you’ve hurled off Stormtroopers a few feet above the ground, a good Jedi flip and a tight grip afforded you to reach the rail of the platform; taking the direction that leads further into the bowels of the corridors, you relied on the Force in search for Cal. He wasn’t replying back on his comlink. However, you could feel that he was near.

These corridors were a labyrinth. As much as possible, you stalked through the hallways avoiding as much trouble as you can, engaging only when necessary; when you notice that you were about to close in on an intersection, your caution doubled—your hand searched for your hilt hanging on the belt hoop of your pants as you stepped closer while hugging the wall.

When you were about to emerge from the corner, you’ve snapped off your hilt from your belt, your thumb hovered about the switch; you counted to three, took a deep breath and stepped out of hiding behind the wall, instantaneously igniting your saber… at Cal.

Cal appeared before you in the exact same stance as you—with lightsaber at the ready—but when he saw that it was you and BD-1, he immediately switched off his weapon and you did the same.

“BD! Oh thank God, you’re okay,”

BD-1 leapt from your shoulder to Cal’s arms. He cradled the little droid tenderly and examined him; while doing so, his little droid chirped, beeped, and trilled so quickly that Cal couldn’t catch most of what BD was conveying. All he could pick up from what BD told him is that you saved him from an Imperial security droid and salvaged parts to save him. Cal found the changes almost unnoticeable.

“Did she now?”

“I… I did what I could,” you shyly replied.

You feel Cal’s body thump against yours, his arms wrapping the small of your back, and BD-1 doing his best to hug you by nuzzling his head against your cheek while perched onto your shoulder.

“BD said he knew he could always count on you,” Cal whispered in your ear. “The same way I could always count on you.”

Your cheeks flushed and your heart skipped a beat at the same time. BD vouched for Cal’s claim, softly whistling in agreement.

“You’re very welcome, BD-1,” you reached to pat his head.

After the intimate group hug, you nodded at BD-1.

“Let’s find those rebel pilots, bud!”

BD-1 happily obliged, watching his little feet scamper their way through the hallways as he gleefully chirps while leading you and Cal to where the stranded pilots were held captive awaiting for rescue.

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triscribe · 4 years

Text

The Difference Between Scavenging and Stealing

The ship came down in a hail of smoke and burning parts.

All motion in Niima Outpost froze, scavengers and dealers alike staring at the Star Destroyer falling to pieces through Jakku’s atmosphere. The massive vessel finally landed with a distant WHOOM, creating a mushrooming cloud from the impact point. It took a few moments, after the sand began to settle, before someone moved and set off a frenzy. Every scavenger raced for their vehicles, grabbing extra ropes and nets as they went.

Having already finished her business for the day and been walking back to her rusty old speeder, ten year old Rey was one of the first to roar out of the outpost. The girl didn’t even stop to think - if she could get to the new wreck before anyone else, she’d be able to gather up the kinds of parts and materials that went for big money, the kinds other ships had already been picked clean of.

Unfortunately, better-maintained speeders managed to over-take her little craft, and the girl grit her teeth as they barreled onwards. Adjusting her course, she aimed to pull in alongside the Destroyer’s stern, rather than heading for the undercarriage docking bays where entry would be easiest.

As soon as she arrived, the kid powered down and hid her speeder, then ran to start climbing the crunched and distorted bulwarks. Sure enough, about halfway up, Rey found a tear in the ship’s plating, just big enough for her to squeeze through.

The inside... was a mess.

Flames still burned up and down certain corridors, and the girl readjusted her face mask, glad that the thick cloth could block more debris than just sand. Working her way inward, she paused occasionally to snatch bits of wiring and electronic components to stuff in her belt pouches, the sorts of things she could use to fix up the big red dune-skimmer half-buried next to her house.

Finally, Rey found a vertical shaft clear of smoke, and started heading downwards, towards the engines. She had to keep pausing to listen to distant taps and pings, checking for the inevitable arrival of other scavengers. Being the first to the most valuable pieces of equipment wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t get out with them before someone bigger got there, looking for the same items.

(Most scavengers didn’t share.)

Rey carried a pipe-staff for the exclusive reason of beating off bullies who thought they could take her stuff, but then she’d be distracted, and someone else could grab the parts and take off.

(It wouldn’t be the first time.)

Eventually, she reached a spot where the shaft wall was warped, blocking it off, and the girl had to climb back up to an exit in order to go find another route to the engines. The corridor she emerged into, though, looked like nothing she’d ever seen in another Star Destroyer.

Piles of tools and welding materials were stacked up alongside one wall, a collection of old stormtrooper armor against the other. A whole bunch of cloth and padding material formed a sleep pallet in one corner, next to a box of parts and a half-assembled holotable. Opposite of those were crates nearly as tall as Rey herself, and she drifted closer to peek inside one.

Ration packs. Old, stamped with the insignia of the Empire, but still sealed - and there were dozens of them.

Breath caught in her throat, it took distant shouting to startle Rey into moving. She dropped her biggest bag to the floor, clambered up to perch on the edge of the crate, and started grabbing up armfuls of ration packs to drop into the canvas. So distracted with the need to gather as much food as possible, it took the girl a minute to notice the shouts were getting closer... and to realize they’d turned into screams.

Gulping, she threw the last pack into her bag before jumping down, tying it closed, and dragging the lot back to the shaft entrance.

Climbing back up was a lot harder with the extra weight, but Rey grit her teeth and kept at it, determined to get her prize out safely before returning to look for more. Screams and cries of pain or anger kept reverberating around the cracked decks of the ship, echoing to the point that she couldn’t tell where they were originating from. But one thing was absolutely clear to the girl: someone had still been living on the Destroyer when it crashed.

And that someone didn’t like scavengers coming for their stuff.

-Star Wars-

When he felt the last of the intruders retreat, the blue-haired man deactivated his weapon with a sigh. “Fantastic way to make a first impression, Bridger, really stupendous.” After a moment, he clapped a hand across his face. “Force, now I’m even starting to sound like that bastard.”

Continuing to grumble complaints, the man strode through the once-again empty corridors, absent gestures here and there dropping loose panels on top of fires to smother them. Soon enough he arrived at the particular stretch he’d turned into his own private hideaway, only to pause. Something felt... off. Like a lingering presence in the air, but even less tangible.

Fingers tightening around his lightsaber, the man moved more cautiously, all senses extended to search for any intruders he might have missed. No one sprung out at him from the shadows, and the turbolift shaft at the far end was empty when he poked his head through the opening to check. It wasn’t until he began to inspect his supplies that the man found definite proof someone had been there.

The bare bottom of one of his ration crates seemed to echo with derisive laughter. He stared for a long while, before finally shutting his eyes... and reaching out through the Force.

In one direction, the intruders he’d scared away gathered nearby, fear and resentment and greed marking their faint signatures. Off to the other side, though, towards the ship’s stern, was a single lifeform, burning so brightly in the Force it was astounding he hadn’t sensed them earlier. It was this lifeform, filled by a hesitant joy overshadowed by the steady need to get to safety, that he’d bet had stolen a quarter of his food supply.

Well. If he’d managed to swipe that many meals in one go as a kid, his emotions would likely be much the same.

Warning whispers prickled at the edge of his mind. The intruders were absorbing reinforcements into their ranks.

He sighed.

Chasing them all off again would, theoretically, be doable, but the same cycle was bound to repeat again and again. There was the option of killing them all instead, as a dark little voice in the back of his mind pointed out, but...

But.

This wasn’t war. This was people trying to scavenge enough to survive.

Another sigh. And then he started to pack up his supplies, still keeping tabs on the brightly shining Force signature in the back of his mind.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind trading some more ration packs in exchange for local intel, and possibly a new place to sleep.

-Star Wars-

For the first time that she could remember, Rey had enough food to feast.

Each pack came with a square of protein and carbohydrate blend, a few sticks of vegetable nutrient, and a water bulb. She scarfed her first meal down to quiet the grumbles of her belly, and then ate a second, more slowly, in order to savor the new tastes and textures.

It was while she sat on top of her hut, gradually draining the second water bulb, that Rey felt one of her warning tickles - like someone not really there had tapped on her shoulder. The girl turned, squinting in the sunset light, to look in the direction of Niima Outpost, and beyond it the new wreck.

A figure approaching her home lifted a hand to wave.

Instantly, Rey rolled off the top of her hut and in through the opening, sliding shut the meager door she’d made out of scrap metal. Then she grabbed up her staff, slammed her back against the barrier, and waited, heart pounding.

Two... five... ten minutes went by, and she didn’t hear anything.

Biting her lip, Rey pushed up onto her toes, straining to peek over the top of her makeshift door, which didn’t quite reach the top of the hut’s opening. A glimpse of dark blue hair made her duck right back down again, but apparently the stranger still managed to spot her.

“You know,” a voice called out, “If you wanted some of my rations, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no.

The person who lived on the new wreck had followed her.

Shoving down her sudden terror, Rey responded in the only way she knew how: “Go away!”

“Not until I have a chance to talk to you,” the stranger replied.

“I’m not giving them back!”

Chuckling. “‘Course not, you’ve probably already split them between at least three different hiding places. Or at least, that’s what I would’ve done, if I’d ever managed to steal that much food when I was your age.”

Scowling, Rey got up on tip-toe again, high enough her brown eyes could meet an amused blue gaze. “I didn’t steal ‘em! I’m a scavenger, not a thief!”

“Uhh, hate to break it to you kid, but the only difference between scavenging and stealing is whether the previous owner of the stuff you take is still alive.” The man gestured to himself. “And since I’m not dead yet, well...”

Rey dropped back down with a huff. “I’m still not giving any of them back! If you didn’t want your stuff taken, you should’ve protected it better!”

“Yeah, I know. I was a little more worried about those friends of yours at the time, though.”

The girl snorted. “I don’t have friends.”

A thoughtful hum reached her ears. “What about family, then?”

Unexpected tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, and Rey held them back by sheer willpower. “They’re coming back for me. Someday. They will.”

The stranger stayed quiet for a while. “I dunno if my family will come for me,” he finally said. “I’ve been lost for so long, I don’t even know if any of them are still alive.”

Something in his voice made Rey pause. Tentatively, she shoved her scrap door over a bit, to be better able to peer outside at the guy sitting in front of her home. His hair was kind of long, with roughly cut bangs, and the longer bits pulled back into a ponytail. Two narrow scars marked one side of his face, and his clothes were grease- and soot-stained and covered in patches. A bunch of work pouches hung from his belt with different odds and ends sticking out, including a weird looking rod that held Rey’s attention for a long moment.

When she glanced back up, the man’s head was tilted to one side, as he stared back. Something nudged her. Like the warnings that tickled at the edge of her mind, but more insistent, encouraging. Taking a deep breath, Rey pushed the door over enough for her to step outside.

One side of the man’s mouth quirked up. “You’re not one to stay scared for long, huh?”

“‘M not scared,” she sniffed. “I’m careful.”

“Hi Careful, I’m Ezra.”

Rey blinked. “What?”

“Heh, sorry, I’ve always wanted to use that joke,” the man apologized with a grin. “But my name is Ezra, Ezra Bridger. What’s yours?”

“...Rey.”

“It’s nice to meet you Rey,” Ezra said, not commenting on her lack of a last name. “So, if we want to move on from the whole scavenging/stealing debate, how about this: you keep all of the rations you swiped and I won’t try to take them back, in exchange for you letting me camp here and sharing some information.”

Face scrunching up, Rey thought about it for a minute. She liked her house because it was hers, far enough away from Niima and the other campsites that no one bothered her. On the other hand, she did feel kinda bad about swiping so much of Ezra’s food when he didn’t even act a little mad about it.

“...what sort of information?”

“Well, for starters, how about telling me what planet this is?”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. “Jakku - you didn’t know that?”

“Nope.” Moving slowly, Ezra reached into one of his belt pouches, and pulled out a pretty gold and blue cube. “Like I said, I’ve been lost for a long time.”

The girl didn’t have much time to think about that, because her attention focused completely on the cube when Ezra let go of it mid-air - and it didn’t fall down. She watched, stunned, as the cube’s components shifted, opened, and started to project a holographic star map. “Whoa.”

Again, one corner of the man’s mouth lifted into a half-grin. “Cool trick, right?”

“How are you doing that?”

“With the Force, all things are possible,” Ezra murmured. He focused on the map as it slowly spun, before pausing on a certain sector. “There we are, Jakku - middle of nowhere and clear across the galaxy from Lothal, greaaat.” Scrubbing a hand across his face, the man sighed.

“Is that where you’re from? Lothal?”

“Mm-hm. Born there, survived there, fought there.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, suddenly looking a lot older and more tired than before. “Fields of grass as far as you can see, lakes as big as oceans, smooth mountains scattered around...”

Rey tried to picture it, despite only vaguely knowing what the words meant. For a moment, something hummed at the forefront of her mind, and she thought she saw some blurs of bright colors, green and blue and brown. But then the moment passed. Rey blinked her eyes clear, and saw Ezra staring at her, one side of his mouth partially turned up in a thoughtful expression. “Have you ever heard of the Force, Rey?”

She frowned. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s- well, it’s a force,” Ezra chuckled, “Something that binds everything in the galaxy together, connecting, flowing, transferring energy. And some people are more deeply connected to it than others, which lets them do things like, well, like this.” He gestured to the cube, still floating in place. “If I’m right, you’ve got a really strong connection.”

Rey blinked at him, then at the cube, then back at Ezra. “I can’t do that.”

“It takes practice, and someone teaching you the basics. But once you take even just one step in learning out how to open yourself up to the Force, a lot of it works on the same principles, the same patterns.”

Her gaze dropped back to the cube, and felt another nudge on her mind. “...can you show me?”

“Sure. Come sit like this - you don’t have to get too close if you don’t want to, but less distance helps.” Chewing at her lower lip, Rey took a few hesitant steps forward, before dropping down to sit on her knees like Ezra, just out of arm’s reach. He grinned. “Okay. Close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my breathing... in, hold, and out, hold... match it with me, alright?”

Rey hummed, eyes shut, focusing on the steady inhales and exhales and copying them.

“That’s good. Now feel, not with your body, but with your mind.”

And Rey... felt.

The same brief warmth she got from the nudges that warned her, guided her, completely surrounded the floating cube. Opposite it, Ezra felt hotter, sharper, with bits of cold around the edges that just made his center seem even brighter. And beyond him, Jakku was lukewarm, with faint light and cold spots and currents of something that moved between it all-

“Not bad, not bad at all.”

Ezra’s sudden words brought Rey back to herself, and she sucked in a startled breath, eyes snapping open. Around them, full night reigned, although there’d still been a bit of light from the sunset left when she had sat down. The man across from her smiled.

“What- was that the Force?” Rey asked.

“Yep. The connection that binds everything together,” he said. “And what makes it possible to be a Jedi.”

Surprised, Rey sat up a little straighter, because that was a word she knew. “Like Luke Skywalker?”

“Uh, who?”

“The last Jedi! The Hero of the Rebellion - he was the one who beat Darth Vader and the Emperor and helped bring back the Republic!”

Ezra stared at her, completely stunned. The hologram cube dropped to the ground. “He- what?”

She nodded rapidly. “Mo’junga tells stories about Skywalker and the Rebellion whenever he’s drunk, which is a lot - the Battle of Yavin, the Battle of Endor, Han Solo and Princess Leia and- and-” Rey trailed off. “...and you don’t know any of those names.”

Ezra’s jaw worked silently for a moment, and he tried to smooth his expression out, but Rey could still feel him, could feel how shaken he was. “I- no. I know Yavin, that was our base, but- I don’t recognize the others. The- the Empire’s really gone? We beat them?”

“Mm-hm. Years ago. Before I was born, anyway.”

After a long minute, something twitched. “Wait,” Ezra mumbled. “Skywalker.” He lifted a hand, and the cube floated back up, lights flashing until a new projection emerged. “-asked me to record some helpful tips for those of you going into battle against the Separatists, or any group of well-armed opponents. Now, keeping your saber moving is key to deflecting the fire of multiple adversaries. Flowing motion, one into the next, into the next and so on. I’ve, made some adjustments to the Form Four techniques that work well against droids and other ranged attackers. Here, I’ll show you-”

“That’s a Jedi,” Rey breathed in awe, as the little blue-tinted figure pulled out an actual lightsaber and started using it to swipe blaster bolts away from his body.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Ezra said, gaze narrowed. “He was a Jedi General in the Clone Wars, before the old Republic became the Empire. He taught a friend of mine - do you know the name Ahsoka Tano?”

Rey shook her head, and Ezra’s frown deepened. “Well. She was a Jedi too. My Master may have died and I might have disappeared, but this ‘Luke’ Skywalker was definitely not the last Jedi with the Rebellion-”

“Wait!” Rey shot to her feet. “You’re a Jedi?!”

The man blinked at her, before grinning. “Well, yeah. Wasn’t that obvious by now?”

“Prove it!” She demanded, pointing at the paused hologram recording. “If you’re really a Jedi, then you’ll have a lightsaber like him, right?”

Ezra’s grin widened. His hand went to the odd cylinder Rey had noticed earlier on his belt, held it up, and pressed a button. A blade of bright green plasma leapt out, humming and sizzling in the night air. Rey stared at it, eyes wide with awe.

“Yes, Rey. I’m a Jedi. And you can be one too.”

---

(Posted to my AO3 account, also under the username Triscribe, but of course my internet’s acting wonky and won’t connect so I can copy the link. Bah.)

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars sequel trilogy #rey #ezra bridger #jedi #jakku #rey of jakku #star wars au #fan fiction

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imagitory · 4 years

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Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker review [SPOILERS]

Hey, everybody! So I just got back from seeing the newest Star Wars and...whew, am I tired!

For those of you who want a spoiler-free review, I’ll just say that there’s a reason people are so split about this movie. In some ways, I could argue that TRoS is trying to be its own stand-alone thing, and it does so by shoving in way too many plot beats and new characters without enough development or even a satisfactory conclusion for them...and yet at the same time, it tries so hard to evoke the original trilogy like The Force Awakens did, whether through iconography, cameos, or other kinds of fanservice. To put it very simply, if you disliked The Last Jedi, you might come out enjoying this more, since this movie and its director clearly shared your view, but even if The Last Jedi is a flawed film, I feel it still ended up having better direction, character arcs, and storytelling than this film did.

For those of you who don’t fear spoilers...journey on.

The Good!

+Just like in the other installments in this new trilogy, there were some great action moments. I liked when Kylo and Rey were fighting over the First Order ship with the Force, pulling it back and forth like they had previously done with Anakin’s lightsaber. Poe’s lightspace jumping in the Millennium Falcon was a cool trick, and I actually really enjoyed the short suspenseful bit with Poe, Finn, Rey, and the droids sneaking around in the wintry planet Kijimi, too.

+The trick at the end where Rey passed Kylo Anakin’s lightsaber through the Force and the two battled side-by-side while in different locations was neat. I might’ve liked to see that trick used differently (see below), but it was still really cool.

+Poe and Finn were acting like SUCH boyfriends during this entire movie. I don’t care how much “NO HOMO” J.J. tried to slap on these guys in the script (and I’ll discuss that in a minute), these two were friggin’ boyfriends and that was canon, end of story.

+I liked that Leia was able to mentor Rey, and Leia’s death was appropriately sad. It felt like I was mourning Carrie all over again, especially since we’re so close to the anniversary of her death.

+It was kind of cool to see Luke’s old X-Wing again. I might’ve had it reappear in a different way, but it was still cool.

+Rey hearing all of the Jedi in her head for the first time when she was facing Palpatine at the end was great. I might’ve pushed it further and made it more visually interesting, but I’ll get to that in the more negative section.

+For all of the rather unnecessary fanservice, there were a few music cues that really worked -- namely, the Imperial March echo when Rey arrived in the old throne room on the Death Star, Leia’s theme upon her death, and the Jedi theme when Poe saw the fleet of reinforcements arriving.

The Not-So-Good...

+The Reylo-ness of it all. *dodges knives* OKAY. LISTEN --

If you’re a Reylo shipper, then good for you. I mean that sincerely. But I’m sorry, I am convinced that this ending could only have been satisfying to you if you were on the Reylo ship from the very start due to your own personal shipping preferences, because there is NOTHING in the films that justifies the powerful emotional bond that these two supposedly share. Rey and Kylo only met two movies ago, and in both movies, Kylo showed no interest in improving himself and being a better person. None. I don’t care if Rey “sensed” goodness in him -- that is a terrible, weak short-cut for a writer to use, to tell us that Kylo is good without showing it to us. We still see him slaughter people en masse in the very first scene of this movie. We still see him trying to force Rey to join him, even if it puts the people she cares about in danger. We still see him hooking up with Palpatine -- FRIGGIN’ PALPATINE -- after he’d only just rid himself of Snoke. I don’t care if Kylo thinks he can get rid of Palpatine like he did with Snoke -- I don’t care if he’s conflicted and worried about Rey -- we the audience see no evidence that Kylo has truly changed his ways and is worth saving. Leia SACRIFICED HER LIFE to try to help him -- for what?? I know she’s his mother, but I’m sorry, Leia: if your husband couldn’t save your son from himself, why would you be able to? Why didn’t you almost dying in The Last Jedi not affect your son more, if he really cared? Why was calling his name all you had to do? Why didn’t you do that before he started killing all these people? Because it wasn’t dramatically convenient? Because he was fighting Rey at that exact moment and the writers needed to find a way to end that action scene that otherwise could’ve ended with either Rey or Kylo dying? And I’m sorry, but this whole storyline resulted in the one thing I’d dreaded more than anything would happen in a story that shipped these two -- Rey became a tool to Kylo’s redemption. Rather than standing apart as someone with no legacy who builds her own through being a good, noble person, she became defined by her familial and romantic relationships more than she was by her actions. I know Rey ended up defeating Palpatine in the end, but most of her screentime still ended up devoted to her “bond” with Kylo Ren and showed how her love brought him back to the Light. Because seriously, screw the love Kylo’s parents showed him, or Luke showed him -- all they did was sacrifice themselves trying to help him while also standing by their morals and never being tempted to fall like Kylo did -- no, only Rey could’ve brought him back to the side of Good.

And before any of you even try to wave the Sith Lord of my Heart, Darth Vader, in my face, as Snoke said in The Last Jedi, Kylo Ren is no Vader. Vader was tethered to the Empire and to the Emperor, thanks to the injuries he sustained on Mustafar that left him trapped inside his mechanical suit -- if he’d left the Empire, he would’ve died, and on top of all that, he’d already lost his entire family and turned everyone he’d ever cared about -- who were all Jedi -- against him by falling to the Dark Side. Vader had been Anakin -- a slave who was bought out of enslavement by the Jedi, who then turned around and taught him to -- to borrow a phrase -- “conceal, don’t feel,” even if it meant turning a blind eye to the death of his wife and unborn child. Kylo Ren turned to the Dark Side because...honestly? WE NEVER GET A GOOD ANSWER. The best I can get from the films is that Kylo Ren was manipulated by Snoke, who went on and on about how powerful Kylo was and how he should use that power to “bring order to the galaxy” and stuff like that, and then one night Luke held a lit lightsaber over his head for a minute. That justifies falling to the Dark Side and slaughtering all the wittle Jedi? No! And yet Kylo never once has to grapple with what he did -- he never has to make amends. He’s just forgiven, like that! And although Vader likewise never got the chance to make amends, his sacrifice means more than Kylo’s because Vader, through his sacrifice, finally learned the true meaning of love after an entire lifetime of knowing so little of it. The only people who had ever loved Anakin either died or left him -- Kylo always had people who were willing to forgive him, and he spat in their faces. Vader had no one, until his son discovered who he was and tried to reach out to him. And when he reached out, Vader didn’t stab him through the chest or immediately brand him with the murder of his evil master -- Vader followed orders and brought Luke before the Emperor, yes, but when Luke was about to die, Vader saved him.

Kylo Ren’s story could not and SHOULD NOT be Vader’s story, so giving him the same ending is completely unjustified and mismatched with the story being told. Even if the story of a girl and a guy saving each other with “the power of love” was somehow equal in emotional resonance to that of a son trying to reconnect with his father and his father sacrificing his life to save him, that story of a guy and a girl was not built up properly, as we never get much backstory about why Kylo fell, much action on his part to acknowledge his mistakes, or rationale for why we should care about him despite what a terrible person he was and still is. He cares about Rey -- great! Does he care about the Resistance? Leia? Luke? Han? Lando? Chewie? ANYBODY excluding himself and Rey? Han as a Force Ghost at one point suggests that Leia will never die as long as they remember what she stood for -- since when is that something KYLO REN ever cared about?! Leia DESPISED the Empire and Darth Vader, and yet Kylo Ren and the First Order have done nothing but wrap themselves up in their rhetoric and iconography!

On that note, though, I will acknowledge that Kylo Ren, as a character, has always given me certain troubling real-world-like vibes, and that may be part of the reason why it really infuriates me that the movie tried to redeem him. Kylo Ren is a privileged young man from a respected, powerful family who embraces and romanticizes the atrocities of a previous generation, resents others (rather appropriately, a young woman and black man with no greatness in their family names) for taking what should be “rightfully his,” and vows to bring things back to when that previous evil institution was in its full glory -- isn’t that exactly what modern alt-right Neo-Nazi types do? Romanticize the Third Reich and the Klan and wrap themselves up in their supposed “glory,” while being nothing but a pale, pathetic, anger-driven imitation? Even if you don’t personally see Kylo the same way I do, I hope you will at least respect that -- given this lens I see the character through -- it makes sense why I dislike any attempt to give this character sympathy.

+ *inhales heavily* ...Rey...is a Palpatine. *groans in aggravation* J.J., ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? Did you not get why Rian Johnson made Rey’s backstory the way he did, or were you just so in-line with anti-TLJ fans that you wanted to spit in his face in film-form? I know a lot of people were pissed off when Rey was determined to be a “nobody” after what felt like hints of a more developed backstory in TFA, but I seriously can’t help but think that those people missed the point. Rey being a nobody and yet being talented in the Force fixed the whole problem brought up by the Midiclorians in the prequel trilogy -- namely, the thought that you can only be born special, because of your genes. With Rey not being a Kenobi, or a Skywalker, or a Palpatine, it says, “Yes -- you don’t need to have been born special. Anyone can tap into the Force, because it is everything, as are we.” This is even why it’s hinted in previous movies (and once or twice in this movie, though it doesn’t go anywhere) that Finn is Force-sensitive -- Finn, a ex-Stormtrooper! But by turning Rey into a Palpatine all along, J.J. has once again made the Force only something that a select few can tap into -- only special people can have the power needed to stand up to evil. Sure, ordinary people like Poe and Finn can blow things up, but only special people like the Skywalkers and the Palpatines can stop the Sith from destroying the entire rebellion. Instead of this being a story about a girl who had no legacy and yet earned the title of heir to the Skywalker legacy purely through her noble heart and selfless deeds, this became a story of two people -- one from a good family and one from an evil family -- having to come together to deal with their family drama and save the galaxy. Maybe some people wanted to see that from the start, but frankly I didn’t, and even if that story could’ve been told well, it was not the story that we were set up to watch, after we saw The Last Jedi. It also irritates me because of how much the film tries to play Rey’s parents SELLING HER ON JAKKU as them “saving her” from Palpatine. I call BULL. Even Luke was only “saved” from Vader by being given to relatives on a backwater planet -- Rey’s parents ABANDONED her. If you thought that Frozen 2 retconning Elsa and Anna’s parents’ attitudes toward Elsa’s magic was problematic, whoa, boy, have a gander at this. (I actually kind of like Agnarr and Iduna as individual characters in Frozen 2, but I actively have to distance Frozen from its sequel because of canon discrepancies like this.) Rey’s parents didn’t need to have a “good reason” for dropping her off on Jakku -- this film even acknowledges that Rey’s real family is the family she found: Finn, Poe, BB-8, Chewie, Leia, and the Resistance. Rey’s parents could’ve been assholes. Many people’s parents are assholes. Rey is not their child anymore: she is a Skywalker, and that’s all that matters.

+Oh yeah, and speaking of The Last Jedi, NOTHING matches up in this. J.J. literally wrote two complete movies and shoved them together in this one in a vain attempt to completely retcon the last film. Poe earning back his position in the rebellion after learning a lesson about not always barreling into danger without thinking? His character arc has vanished and he shows no more talent for strategy or leadership than he did before. Rey only seeing herself when she was looking for her family? Nope, turns out she was a Palpatine all along: the Force was just trolling her, I guess. Kylo accusing Rey of killing Snoke? Doesn’t come up at all. The young boy using the Force to pick up the broom? Never appears. The signal sent across the galaxy asking for help? Poe says half-way through the movie that nobody came, so it may as well have never happened. Rose and Finn? No mention of the kiss on Krait or anything -- they act like they barely know each other, and Rose has almost no screentime. Even Lando’s return, which should’ve been great, happens when he appears on this random India-like desert planet -- why was he there? Why does he no longer live in Cloud City? Wasn’t he its leader? Wouldn’t he have better fit in a planet like Canto Bight, one that was glitzy and kind of seedy, instead of a pastoral place like that? It’s like reading the first six books in the Harry Potter series, only to end on a version of Deathly Hallows where -- surprise! -- Hermione was actually a pureblood witch all along and she’s actually related to the Lestranges and also Hagrid pops up in Godric’s Hollow to save Hermione and Harry from Nagini for no reason at all, plus Ginny is just a side character now and the author seems to want you to think Harry likes Hermione even if Ron and Harry totally have more chemistry but NO HOMO YOU GUYS COME ON.

+Hahaha, on that note, WOW, have I never seen a film more desperate to try to prove to its audience that its two male main characters are not totally boyfriends. Even though J.J. decided to placate angry fanboys by rather unfairly marginalizing Rose Tico (come on, she may not have been written the best in Last Jedi, but you’re not going to fix that by IGNORING HER ALL TOGETHER), he still thought it best to introduce two new female characters, Zorii and Jannah, who both could’ve been very interesting if they’d had their proper amount of screentime and development, but instead only serve to be substitute “love interests” for Poe and Finn. That might sound harsh, but they literally have no other substantial relationships that get explored in this movie outside of the ones with their respective “guy.” It felt like the film was going, “Look -- Poe’s not gay! He’s got history with this chick, and he gives her a look at the end! And look -- Finn’s not gay! He might’ve been trying to confess his feelings to Rey which totally made his not-boyfriend uber jealous BUT THEY’RE NOT GAY YOU GAIS, and he’s doing stuff with this girl, who was also a Stormtrooper!” Sorry, film, but methinks you doth protest too much. (Even Poe’s actor Oscar Isaac apparently thinks so.)

+Another theme from The Last Jedi that I loved and J.J. clearly didn’t is that the dichotomy between “Jedi” and “Sith” doesn’t inherently equate “good” vs. “evil,” and therefore just because the Sith are evil, it doesn’t mean that the Jedi -- who preached detachment from all affectionate emotions and familial ties -- were right. Even the Resistance is flawed. It’s actually something the prequels and the Clone Wars TV show preach too, and it brings so much more grayness to the Star Wars mythos. In The Rise of Skywalker, however, the Jedi and the Resistance are just seen as the good guys, period, end of story. Who cares if it results in your story being shockingly simplistic and oddly shallow, when compared to the rest of the Star Wars universe?

+The treatment of the Stormtroopers in this movie was actually kind of infuriating. We consistently get reminders about how the First Order’s Stormtroopers were child soldiers who were stolen from their homes and brainwashed, as evident by both Finn and Jannah, and yet throughout the entire movie, they still get cut down in the hundreds without care. Even Finn -- an ex-Stormtrooper himself -- shoots them up like they’re NPCs in a video game! For a film trilogy that did something so powerful by showing the humanity underneath the white helmet, we sure got a film that didn’t give a shit about these people unless they had their helmets off.

+Speaking of the First Order, I saw the Hux-as-the-traitor “twist” coming and I hated finding out that I was right. Honestly it could’ve been played very interestingly if Hux maybe tried to overthrow Kylo and take over the First Order himself, therefore showing how Kylo’s fear-stoking and hatred don’t bring out any loyalty in his followers, but it only results in Hux immediately getting axed off and replaced with another First Order officer we’ve never seen in any of the previous films and therefore don’t care about. Why couldn’t we have reused D.J. the hacker from the previous movie as the spy, or better yet, have the “spy” actually be Kylo, leaking information that he thinks might coax Rey to the Dark Side? The last two films built Hux up as an interesting character, but he was tossed out even more unceremoniously than Commodore Norrington was in the Pirates films.

+This problem of “replacing one antagonist with another out of the blue” is replicated on a large scale with the return of Palpatine. This entire film series has been centered on Kylo Ren and the First Order, but all of a sudden, out of nowhere, we’re just expected to turn all of our focus onto Palpatine and the Knights of Ren, both of whom have had no bearing on the story previously. It could’ve been cool to learn more about the Knights of Ren, but we don’t learn anything about them -- we just see them suddenly being there, when they’d never been there previously. As for Palpatine...did we REALLY need him brought back? Really? The First Order was a threat because they’d wrapped themselves up in their romanticized, false view of the Empire -- that was a choice they made. It didn’t have to be because Palpatine was secretly alive all along and was pulling the strings -- people can do things of their own accord, without a grand, evil mastermind coming back from the dead out of nowhere. Kylo Ren finally got out from under Snoke’s shadow in The Last Jedi and I was so excited to see him come into his own as a villain, but instead all he did was skirt around the coat-tails of Palpatine the entire movie, and it was really disappointing. I WANTED a final confrontation between Kylo and Rey in the climax, like the films had been building up to -- instead all we got was a half-baked “redemption” for Kylo where he teams up with Rey to fight somebody else who just wandered into the story out of nowhere. Even Palpatine’s plot didn’t make any sense -- he tells Kylo for the first half of the movie that they need to kill Rey even though Kylo really wants her to turn to the Dark Side instead, only for Palpatine to (I guess) change his mind at the last minute when Rey arrives in his lair, and yet they play it off as him having planned for that to happen all along because he needs Rey to kill him so she can become one with him and all of the other Sith -- look, I know Palpatine’s whole characterization is hinged on him being a criminal mastermind, but all I want is some consistency! How are we supposed to know what the threat is if we don’t know what our villains want?

+“The Force” is used to rationalize a lot in this movie, from where Rey decides to walk to what plot devices our heroes will need later to why our characters do what they do. Even Finn, who in The Force Awakens accented that he made a choice to break away from the First Order because he saw what he was doing was wrong, now apparently believes that the Force decided that he should join up with Poe and Rey...and I just don’t like that, let alone buy it. The Force was never equivalent to “destiny” -- yes, Anakin was the Chosen One, but he only fulfilled it because the Jedi believed in it enough to train him and he fulfilled the prophecy in a way no one could’ve imagined...and even so, the Force doesn’t dictate everything. Everything is part of the Force, and the Force is part of everything -- but it shouldn’t just be a deus-ex-machina that moves the plot along or does whatever the author needs it to do. For instance, why can the Force suddenly heal wounds?? Since when is that something it can do?? If it could do that, and someone largely self-taught like Rey can do it, then why didn’t Jedi Master Anakin or Obi-Wan ever do that? Why didn’t Anakin use some of his life force to save his dying mother? Why didn’t he think to use it on Padme, or why didn’t Obi-Wan use it on Padme? Why didn’t Luke think to use it to save his father? The only reason why the Force can do that now is that the writers needed to justify why Kylo could give up his remaining life force for Rey, but in order to do that, they give the Force an ability it’s never had previously and doesn’t match up with the previous canon.

+If we’re talking about the Force, though, I have to write a separate bullet point accenting this -- WHY. DOESN’T. FINN. USE IT?? The film clearly likes the thought of Finn being Force-sensitive, but it’s too cowardly to just make Finn a Jedi. When Kylo and Rey were fighting over the ship, why didn’t Finn do something to help?? Why didn’t he blast Kylo or, more relevantly to this discussion, show off some of his latent Force talent by helping Rey yank the ship back? Why didn’t Finn use his Force ability to reach out to Rey while she was fighting Kylo, or fighting Palpatine? He could’ve been the one to wield Anakin’s lightsaber and fight side by side with Rey in that final battle, if Kylo had been the villain like he should’ve been. Maybe Finn confronts Commander Hux inside the command post while Rey’s fighting Kylo, and when Rey tries one last time to connect with the Jedi of the past, she’s able to connect to all of the Jedi, living or dead -- including Finn, as he also has been nurturing a talent in the Force! Through their new mental connection, Rey and Finn are able to help each other, while also being surrounded and spurred on by the corporeal, translucent spirits of Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Mace Windu, Ahsoka Tano, and the rest, all appearing and disappearing one after another around Finn and Rey as they fight. Poe should’ve been commanding the troops from above in Luke’s old X-Wing, it being the only ship he could get his hands on (because I’m sorry -- Han gave Rey the Falcon, she should be the one using it, yet this film just stubbornly kept her out of the driver’s seat for some reason), giving them all of the support he could from the air so that the rest of the First Order can’t interfere with the four-way duel between Finn, Rey, Kylo, and Hux. Maybe when the electricity in the ships gets messed up, Poe’s even able to remember something Rey or Finn told him to tap into the Force enough himself to keep himself airborne until he’s able to crash-land safely. While Hux and Kylo fight to destroy their opponents individually, each seeking glory and victory solely for themselves, Rey and Finn fight together as friends, taking lessons from the Jedi that are their mentors but also standing apart from them and being better than them.

+This movie really felt like two stories smashed together because there were way too many plot lines that were dropped like a hot potato not long after they were introduced. Finn having something to tell Rey? No conclusion. 3PO getting his memory wiped? Resolved quickly a few scenes later with little fall-out. Chewie supposedly getting killed? We find out within minutes that he survived. All of the new characters we meet, like Zorii and Jannah? They get one or two short scenes each where we barely get to know them at all. Even the India-inspired planet I mentioned earlier gets blown up because the First Order thinks it’ll upset the Rebellion and get them to come out of hiding, but...this film is the first time we’ve even seen this planet! We barely spent any time on it! This is really the obvious first choice of a planet whose destruction would upset the Rebellion? We don’t even know any of the characters who live on it personally! At least when Alderaan got blown up, Leia’s parents were on it, so we feel sad for Leia’s sake, but we haven’t built up any emotional investment in that planet that was just blown up.

+Along with this movie feeling like it had too much stuff in it, it also felt very, VERY long. The pacing was very bad, with there being no organic rise and fall to the action and the climax really just feeling like a bunch of plot turns stacked haphazardly on top of each other. When I came out of the theater, I even heard a little boy say to his dad, “That was really long,” and I had to agree with him. It’s not even that long compared to other Star Wars movies, but I just felt like I was being yanked around by the arm throughout the entire run-time, so rather than feeling invested in what was happening, I found myself tuning out and wanting the filmmakers to just get to a point.

Overall, I really don’t think I can recommend this movie. Every Star Wars fan should probably see it, and it’s possible that quite a few of you might get more out of it than me if you disliked The Last Jedi and want to see a movie that “sticks it” to that movie for whatever reason...but even if you do, surely you would agree that stories should not be written like this, where one part is completely invalidated by another and there’s no build-up for anything that happens? Stories should not be just something that you’re passively pulled through by the author -- they should engage you: make you feel for the characters, make you think about its themes, make you guess what might happen next. A story doesn’t mean less if you can make educated guesses about where the story might go if you see where it began -- it also doesn’t mean less if it subverts old literary or canon tropes. But this movie didn’t subvert anything -- instead it openly contradicted and retconned just about everything in the last movie, to the point that Rise of Skywalker clearly wanted to be two movies but didn’t have enough development or care put into it that could prompt a real emotional reaction from its audience. In short, it ended up being an overly complicated, watered-down retread of Return of the Jedi with none of the power in its supposedly “bittersweet” ending. The first two installments in this trilogy got me excited for a new take on Star Wars, to the extent that I for the first time actively looked into the fandom surrounding the films instead of just enjoying the films on my own. It’s therefore quite disappointing to me that the trilogy had to end on such a weak, petering note.

Overall Grade: D

#the rise of skywalker #star wars #star wars spoilers #spoilers #opinion #analysis #oh boy here i go #reviews #anti-reylo #anti-kylo ren

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