#VERSE. ( sith. )

[stealingpotatoes]

“Into the Luke-and-Leia-verse”...

Okay now I want more of this 🤣💕🥔

luckily for you i also want more so I'm using you as a very convincing excuse

(commission info // tip jar!)

[wlwanakin]

inbred - ethel cain

[7-wonders]

All the Debts I Owe

Sith!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: A routine Rebellion meeting goes horribly wrong when the Empire discovers the coordinates, but the Force has other plans for you besides death and chaos. Enter none other than the Sith Lord who's become a perennial thorn in your side.

Word count: 3.8k

A note from the author: Hello there! It's been a while since I've actually written anything (like, six months), so I hope this is good! This fic is a part of my Rebel-verse, where reader is a Rebel and Anakin is Darth Vader, just without the crispiness and chopped-off limbs.

(Also, there are a couple of little Easter eggs in here that you'll hopefully pick up on if you've read my other works in this AU. Let me know when you find them!)

I sincerely hope you enjoy, and if you do, I'd love to hear from you! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks make my world go round :)

“...and the cost of fighter fuel will be supplemented by our trade alliance with Endor,” General Kessyk finishes reading from the tablet in front of her, and you have to hold in a sigh of relief when you realize that she’s reached the end of her prepared remarks.

The clock ticking loudly on the wall in the meeting room of the Rebel base on Mandalore has been the only thing keeping you from zoning out during the last half hour of the special session called by General Kessyk. When you joined the Rebel Alliance, you pictured your life to be nonstop action, fighting battles and gathering intelligence in the fight against the Galactic Empire. And sure, that’s been a good chunk of your time as a Rebel. But as you’ve climbed the ranks and slowly earned your way into a leadership position, you’ve come to the unfortunate realization that being in charge of the Rebellion involves a lot more administrative duties than you anticipated.

Including sitting through a boring budget meeting, of all things, to discuss how the Rebellion will be funded for the next half rotation.

Oona, your friend and second in command when your crew is out on a mission, nudges your side and slips a piece of paper into your hand. When you open it and look down to read the message, you have to hold in a burst of laughter. “Should I bring up the General’s shiny new robes and ask where the budget for that came from?” it reads.

“I don’t know what would be the worse reaction, her getting upset at your insubordination or her pulling out a detailed expenditure report,” you scribble quickly and hand it back to her.

Oona shoots you a cheeky grin and starts to write her own response, only for you both to be startled out of your merriment by the general calling your name.

“Yes, General?” you ask, pretending like you’ve been listening the entire time and definitely not forcing yourself to count each tick of the clock to keep from dozing off.

“I was inquiring about the status of your requested budget for the Jedi recruitment mission in the Outer Rim, Commander.” Though the Togruta tries to look stern, you can see the way that her lips just barely twitch as she tries to hide the soft spot she has for your antics. Kessyk has a tough exterior, indeed, but she fiercely loves those under her command, and has to often remind herself that she’s in charge.

“Of course.” You begin to pull up your (hastily completed last night) budget request when your heart seizes in your chest. 

The Force screams danger! at you a split second before the unmistakable sounds of TIE fighters overhead ring in your ears. Red sirens alerting the base of adversaries start screeching, and everybody scrambles to well-rehearsed places to try and decipher what’s going on. You unclip your lightsaber and ignite it, as do a couple of other assembled Force users. It’s second nature at this point to assume command of a crisis situation, so you look to your trusted right-hand woman, already at a blaster cannon.

“Oona, set blasters to fire and send out a distress signal to the fleet!” She nods, and you focus on the next order of business: getting out there and fighting whatever it is that’s come to attack.

Unfortunately, bombs drop before you can even take a step, giving way to screaming and smoke and, eventually, silence.

•••

In the years since he eschewed the Jedi Order and turned to the Dark Side, Darth Vader has gotten very good at compartmentalizing. Restoring peace throughout the galaxy and carrying out the Emperor’s wishes could often be brutal and bloody, so he had to make sure that he wouldn’t crack under the strain of the horrors he both witnessed and carried out. It was a little like turning a switch on and off. Before a mission, the humanity that he held within him, that wish for no more death and destruction, was hidden away, instead replaced entirely by Sith values. He was then able to do what must be done without any hesitation. 

(The aftermath of turning that switch back on and being faced with what he had done was horrific, but he secretly felt as though he deserved it—that it was his penance for all of the pain that he caused.)

There were times when compartmentalizing was easier said than done—killing the younglings all those years ago at the Jedi Temple, for example, had truly tested his newfound ability to do so. But there are other times, such as when intelligence points the Galactic Empire to a meeting of the top forces of the Rebel Alliance, that make it easy to shut a more humane part of him down and focus on the victory ahead. And now, as he stands aboard his destroyer and stares down at the smoldering carnage of the Rebellion’s Mandalore base, victory tastes sweet.

“Lord Vader, I have good news.” Admiral Batch, one of the few admirals not petrified of him, sidles up next to him. “The Rebels were caught completely off-guard, and as a result, we can confirm there have been over 20 casualties of high-ranking members of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Good news indeed,” Vader speaks through the modulator of his mask. “Are there any confirmed names that we can take back to the Emperor?”

“None for certain, until we can get down there and see identities for ourselves. We do know that General Kessyk was in the building, as well as a number of Force-sensitive Rebels.”

The moment that last fact actually registers with Darth Vader is the moment that his carefully constructed cruel facade collapses, allowing the Force to finally come screaming at him and tell him of the major mistake he’s made. How could he have not thought of the possibility that you, his Rebel, would be involved in this meeting? Through both Empire intelligence gatherings and the begrudging revelations from you that your responsibilities had been increasing due to your importance in the Rebellion, he should have made the connection that you were now one of those high-ranking members.

Instead, he allowed his anger and his passion to cloud his thinking until the only thing he could focus on was winning. It’s a move that has brought him pain countless times in the past, and now, it seeks to do so again. Vader has to force himself to remain calm, lest he lose control of his emotions and allow his connection to the Force to wreak havoc on his surroundings. 

He takes a couple of deep breaths before feeling like he can speak in a level tone. “Thank you, Admiral Batch.”

The admiral bows his head in respect. “My lord,” he says, turning and heading back to the command center on the destroyer.

There’s not a moment to spare once the panel to the observation deck seals and leaves him alone. He needs to get down to the surface of Mandalore before any Stormtrooper teams can beat him there and start confirming the dead and injured. Darth Vader hurries back to his chambers, where he sheds his bulky uniform and switches into a set of unassuming robes. Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, he pulls his hood up over his head and proceeds to sneak out of the destroyer and into a cruiser—an easy feat when one has the Force on their side.

The Rebel base, once so well hidden in one of the capital’s abandoned industrial districts, is now completely exposed after the barrage of Empire bombs shelled through its defenses. Rubble and detritus are strewn in every direction, making his path to the coordinates of the meeting room that much more difficult to maneuver. Vader takes great care to stay hidden under any outcroppings of the ceiling still standing, hyperaware of the fact that he could be spotted at any moment.

When he finally reaches the room where the Rebellion’s best and brightest were meeting, he pauses as he takes in the carnage in front of him. It’s nowhere near the first time that he’s stood in a room full of bodies, their injuries and deaths partially (sometimes fully) attributed to him. But it is the first time that he’s been so concerned for the welfare of one of the potential bodies. Vader’s frantic eyes scan the faces of the dead and wounded, both hoping and not to see you among them. If he doesn’t see you, it either means that you’re somewhere safe and far away from here or that you’re buried so far under the wreckage that he’ll never be able to find you. Likewise, if he does see you, he’ll have concrete proof that you’re either alive…

…Or dead.

A pit opens up in his stomach at the mental image he’s unconsciously created, and he forces his eyes to work faster, to take in more and more information until there’s no doubt left for his mind to play with. Finally, in the corner of the room, he sees your face peeking out from behind a crumbling column. He has the briefest moment of deliberation, a ghost whispering in his ear that he’s gotten too wrapped up in this whole situation, persuading him to turn back now, cut his losses, and find something else to focus his attention on. Then there’s a pop and a sizzle, a chunk of ceiling breaking off and hitting a pile of embers across the room, and the ghost disappears.

It feels like Vader teleports with how fast he makes it to you, though that is not a skill that the Force grants. Falling to his knees at your side, his hand shakes as he places two fingers on your neck, terrified of the potential outcome when he tries to find a pulse. After a stressful few moments, he’s relieved to feel your pulse beating steadily under your skin. With the knowledge that you’re firmly alive in mind, he takes a moment to actually look you over. 

You’re covered in blood and soot, making it difficult for him to determine where you’re injured. Your right arm is definitely broken, and it looks like your right ankle is, too. The extent of your injuries can be determined later by a medical droid. What matters now is that you’re alive, and that you’re stable. 

Everything else is secondary.

•••

The first thing you realize upon waking up is that you have no memory of how you came to be in a position where you would need to wake up. The last thing you remember, you were trading notes with Oona to pass the time during a budget meeting. Now you’re here…if only you knew where ‘here’ was.

It’s more difficult for you to open your eyes than it normally is, and when you do finally pry them open, your blurry vision prevents you from discerning where you are. Picking a light source in the distance, you focus on that until the room finally comes into focus and you see that you’re surrounded by white. White walls, white floors, white counters. The logical part of your brain says that it could mean you’re in a medbay. But the logical part of your brain feels…fuzzy, almost. Like there’s a blanket of clouds settled over your consciousness and making silly notions like logic and reason fly somewhere far away

“Am I dead?” you ask yourself.

Somebody laughs at you from across the room, and you look to see none other than Darth Vader, sans mask and cape and all other vestments that he wears as a Sith Lord, strolling towards you. “No, thankfully.”

Blinking rapidly doesn’t get him to disappear in a mirage, but it does serve to dry out your already-unreliable eyes. “Well, now I really think that I might be dead.”

“Not if I had anything to say about it. Which, I did, and it’s why you’re not dead.”

A puff of air leaves your nose—it’s meant to come out as a laugh, but parts of your body seem to not want to cooperate today, so a puff of air is all you manage. The action makes your nose begin to itch fiercely, and as you jerkily lift your hand to alleviate the sensation, you’re stopped at the sight of the blue bacta cast that covers your arm from wrist to elbow.

“Oh.”

“The med droids did it,” he explains sheepishly, as though you might be mad at somebody attempting to heal what must be a significant injury. “Your right ankle is in a cast, too, as are your ribs. The report from the droid earlier said that your injuries are healing at the expected rate, so you should only need to be in them for a few more cycles.”

“What happened?” you mumble.

“What do you remember?” Vader asks.

“There was a meeting, and I was getting called out by Kessyk for not paying attention. Then…” you try to think, but the blanket of clouds presses down on you further and makes everything scatter. “Ugh, I feel funny.”

“Pretty sure you’re on some heavy painkillers right now.” He grabs a tablet from the end of your bed and looks at it. “You’re definitely on some heavy painkillers right now,” he amends.

“How did I get injured enough to need enough drugs to take down a bantha?”

“The Empire received intelligence that some high-ranking members of the Rebellion would be meeting on Mandalore, and the decision was made to carry out a bombing mission. I didn’t even begin to think that you were one of those high-ranking members until after the bombs had been dropped.”

“Wow, you don’t think I’m good enough at my job to be a high-ranking Rebel?” If you had full control over yourself right now, you would be slapping a horrified hand over your mouth and begging yourself to shut up. Instead, you giggle (oh, the horror) at Vader’s panicked expression and bat at his hands with your own uninjured one. “I’m just messing with you. We both know that I’m really good at my job.”

“We do,” he agrees before continuing. “I couldn’t just leave without knowing if you were there, so I commandeered a fighter and went down myself. When I saw you laying there, injured…I wouldn't leave you to whatever your fate might have been if I hadn’t interfered. So I brought you here, to my fortress on Mustafar, to recover.”

A med droid interrupts your conversation when it begins to do a routine round through the medbay and sees that you’re awake. You allow it to poke and prod you, checking your vitals and doing whatever scans it needs, aware the whole time of Vader watching you. His stare is unwavering, closely supervising the droid as though it might rebel against its circuitry and try to harm you instead of heal you. When the droid chirps at him, he glares.

“I am letting you do your job, 21-B,” he huffs.

More chirping, followed by a whistle.

“That’s uncalled for.”

“You can understand it?” you ask, watching the scene in front of you with amusement.

“I’ve been able to understand droids since I was a young boy. For better or for worse.”

When 21-B beeps, even you can tell it's displeased. Vader rolls his eyes and proceeds to argue with the droid a bit longer before turning to you.

“Your temperature is starting to rise a little, and 21-B’s worried it’s an early sign of infection. He wants to give you some medicine to combat that. Is that alright?” You’re a little surprised that Vader is both taking the time to explain the droid’s requests to you and making sure that you consent to the care plan.

You nod, and 21-B begins to fiddle with the IV in your hand before injecting what you assume is the needed medicine into your line. There must be a sedative effect to this medication as well, because your body quickly begins to feel like gravity is no longer going to be able to hold you down anymore. You try to fight the way that your eyes flutter, willing yourself to keep focused on Vader. There are still so many questions you have that need answered!

“Do you know who died?” you ask quietly, using the stores of strength you still have within you to speak.

“Not for certain. There was…a lot of carnage when I came to find you. I couldn’t see who was alive and who wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Although such a revelation certainly warrants a better reaction, one syllable is all that you can muster.

Vader smiles just slightly at your struggle. “Focus on resting, and I’ll see if I can find answers for you, okay?”

You think you mutter an affirmative answer, but unconsciousness pulls at you before you can be sure. 

Though it feels like you merely blink, when you open your eyes once more, the shadows in the medbay are much longer than they were when you last saw them. One glance around the room reveals Darth Vader sitting in a chair at the foot of your bed, watching something on a holocron. When he notices you struggle into a sitting position, he powers it off and tosses it on a counter behind him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Better,” you respond truthfully. You feel a little stronger than you did earlier; your mind is markedly clearer, too.

“Good. The droid said that your temperature returned to normal about an hour ago.”

“That’s good.” 

Even though you should be focused on yourself, asking more questions about your own prognosis, your mind is with your team and your fellow Rebels—or, you fear, what’s left of them.

“Did you…learn any of the names of the injured and dead?” you ask.

Vader nods and takes a deep breath (Does his face lose a little color? you wonder as you watch his expression for any clues). “I did. General Kessyk is dead.”

You’re almost expecting that answer, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And in a normal circumstance, you would hide that hurt until you could break down away from anybody. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. You’re hurt and thankful to be alive and probably still a little high on pain meds, which is why you have to stare intensely down at the cast on your arm to keep the stray tears that hit your blanket from turning into full-on crying in Darth Vader’s presence. To his credit, he is incredibly patient with you, remaining silent and giving you the space to feel your feelings. 

You manage to get yourself under control quicker than expected, sniffling a couple of times before you can meet his eyes again.

“My second in command—my best friend—was there with me.” It’s hard to get the words out, as a selfish part of you wants to not ask, but instead live in this gray area where she’s both alive and not. “Did you hear anything about someone named Oona?”

The control that you had been so proud of yourself for exercising crumbles the moment that you hear him say that Oona’s injured, but alive. Tears that were vanquished mere moments ago return in full force until you’re sobbing.

Not just crying, no. Sobbing. Like, gross, heaving sobs. The type of sobbing that will most definitely leave you feeling embarrassed later for having such an emotional reaction. At the moment, though, sobbing seems like the only way to properly express your feelings. Relief, at Oona being alive. Grief, for your general and likely a number of others who have lost their lives. And something bittersweet—some emotion you can’t truly place—for yourself and the position you’ve found yourself in.

After a few moments of indecision, Vader rises awkwardly from his chair and hovers inches away from you, unsure of what to do.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” you try to apologize in between sobs. “Really, I’m just—”

“Please don’t apologize,” he insists uncomfortably as your breath gets caught in your throat, causing you to almost hyperventilate as you try to remember how to breathe.

Darth Vader is a Sith Lord, and you’re a Force-sensitive Rebel; enemies, that much is true. But first and foremost, you’re both human beings who possess human traits and tendencies. Vader can’t help but sympathize with you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder before he’s even fully aware of the action. Likewise, when your body recognizes another human who’s willing to provide you comfort in a time of need, it acts by taking his hand in your own and beginning to pull him down onto the bed before logic can say otherwise. 

“You don’t want me to hold you,” Vader tries to convince you while he’s climbing onto the bed with you and carefully avoiding your various bacta casts to slide his arms around you, somehow unaware that he’s the one taking the comfort further than just the simple hand-holding and proximity that you initiated. “I–I’m the reason for this. You should be sending me away.”

“Shut up,” you mumble into his chest through hiccuping sobs. 

Already, your breath seems to come a little easier, your tears a little lighter. And the Force, which is always humming around you with something to say, has gone contentedly silent. 

When you find yourself calm enough to dry your eyes and lift your head off of Vader’s chest, you have to fight a sudden bout of shyness to be able to actually look at him. “Sorry for crying on you so much,” you mumble bashfully.

“I promise you, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Vader assures. “If anything, I’m surprised that you aren’t angry at me.”

“How can I be, when I would have done the exact same thing?”

He doesn’t bother to hide his shock. “Really?”

“Yes,” you admit with a laugh. “I absolutely would have bombed a meeting of Empire officials, and then belatedly realized you were probably there and tried to get you out safely against my better judgment.”

“Judgment seems to not be either of our strong suits right now. None of what’s happening to us follows any rationale,” Vader says.

“No,” you agree. “We should be mortal enemies.”

“Absolutely.” Vader tightens his grip around you. “Once we figure out why the Force keeps doing this to us, we’re right back to trying to kill each other without any qualms.”

“So glad we’re on the same page.”

You’re so on the same page, in fact, that neither you nor Vader let go of the other. Better to keep the Force happy, right?

[chillguydraws]

Revenge of the Sithcifica

Wasn't gonna make it for May 4th, so Revenge of the Fifth it is.

https://www.patreon.com/chillguydraws

[cursedbeasts]

Sacrifice your gods before your gods sacrifice you

Commissions

[adhd-coyote]

Here have a feral baby Obi-Wan, specifically from my Visions fic series, because I felt like drawing him

[knight-of-aether]

Fallen Knight, Silent Wrath

Just in time for Revenge of the Sixth, here's my first finished SWTOR art piece, featuring my longsuffering Jedi Knight and Sith Warrior, the best of foils and worst of nemeses. ⚡️

[therightrighthand]

So with the new Ahsoka show hitting the screens, I had that big hungry urge to re-design my old starwars OC (again). A Dark Jedi Witch with an unhinged obsession with Sith alchemy and magic.

-- Find my discord and other sites: linktr.ee/The_red_right_hand Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character  Art © The-Red-Right-Hand

[wanderingjedihistorian]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Jango Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Alternate Universe- Sith, Soulmates, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mand'alor Jango Fett, Inappropriate use of the Force (Star Wars), Force Use during sex, Blow Jobs, Trust, Banter, Snark, Jango Fett Has a Competence Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi Has a Competence Kink Series: Part 5 of Cherished, Part 3 of Sith Obi-Wan Week 2024 Summary: Jango raised a brow. “Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?” Obi-Wan laughed. “Inappropriate use of the Force, you mean? I suppose there are those who would see it that way. I see it as just utilizing all options available to me,” Obi-Wan said blithely.

For the @sithobiwanevent day 5 prompt: Inappropriate use of the Force

[stealingpotatoes]

Not sure if this has been asked or not, but how would canon Luke and Leia react to meeting your au versions of them?

omg I'VE BEEN WANTING TO MAKE AN INTO THE LUKE-AND-LEIA-VERSE FOR AGES thank you for kicking me into doing it

(donation doodles! // tip jar)

[spokewar]

path to the wayseekers: order 66

Boil was choking on laughter. Waxer's pyramid had been reduced to a loose pile of helmets. Wooley was on the floor as Crys loomed over him with a repressed smile and a boot to his chest. Gregor and Trapper were encouraging them to fight. And Cody was watching Obi-Wan while Obi-Wan stared into the gaping chasm of infinite void. word count: 4,200 description: the world is ending and only about five people know why. one of them is also trying to decapitate a corpse.

This was how it happened.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a busy man and more importantly, he wasn't an important one.

He wasn't privy to the investigation his more senior members of the Jedi Council and their trusted seconds had been conducting on Coruscant. He didn't know Count Dooku had betrayed the Confederacy and outed his Sith Master. He didn't feel Mace Windu nearly tear his mind in two while clawing and gnashing through the darkness that smothered all of Coruscant like an oppressing fog. He wasn't aware of the allegations that the good Chancellor Palpatine had took part in—if not orchestrated and funded—every aspect of the war.

He didn't see Grand Master Yoda adorn the battle armor he hadn't used since his own teacher's passing nearly a millennium ago. He didn't watch him tie his belt in loops that mirrored how Mace had learned and later passed to his own padawan in a carefully practiced repetition that stretched across time without care. He (nor anyone else) didn't notice the silent conversation between Commanders Wolffe and Fox as they impossibly spoke through eye contact and terse nods. He wasn't part of the terrifying entourage of Masters Mundi, Yoda, Windu, Ti, and Koon, along with Koon's equally terrifying Wolf Pack, that had swiftly evacuated the senate building and marched to a set of crimson doors which whispered promises of great battle and great death.

This was how it happened.

The 212th Attack Battalion hovered in orbit above Scarif, anxiously awaiting clearance to leave. Their last campaign was a nonviolent one, the only battle had been between a squad of Clone Troopers and several opportunistic carnivorous plants, but they still needed their coordinator on Coruscant to confirm their leave. Though, needed was a stretch of the term. They needed permission for takeoff as much they needed to take military strategy from a politician so aged his skin was slipping off in slivers and rarely left his faux throne.

Without information coming in, the Negotiator neatly folded itself into its own world; one where yelling ceased to exist, ranks thinned, tables were meant to be sat atop of, weapons were traded for cards, moonshine was cleverly brewed, and where training areas transformed into hubs of conversation, reunion, and mourning.

As it was with many things, this world was not one Obi-Wan was privy to and he instead spent his free time on the ship's bridge. Commander Cody stood diligently at side, despite his protests that he be anywhere else. Joining them were six other members of Ghost Company and the ship's navigation crew who had grown to appreciate the sparingly offered silence. Though, as the navigators lacked anywhere to navigate, they all watched as Waxer failed to stack all the Ghosts' helmets together in a pyramid from behind their own (which likely hadn't been removed so they wouldn't fall victim to his art project). They all seemed to be fascinated with how terrible it looked.

Meanwhile, Boil was busy looking disappointed he didn't need to make Waxer's attempts any worse. Wooley was leaning against Crys as Crys tried to lean away from Wooley. Gregor and Trapper were situated on the floor, facing the doorway in a corner which allowed them to keep watch of the entire area. And Obi-Wan was watching Cody while Cody looked like he was aching for something to fuss over.

They were content.

This was how it happened.

Horror was finite.

This came as a surprise to Plo Koon because prior to fighting a Sith Lord, he had felt sure horror was not quantifiable nor with limits. He had faced death before—been at its doorstep—with an enemy's blade to his throat and a hand prying away his face mask, his only way of breathing. Yet death had never felt as absolute as it did in the face of Palpatine, no, Darth Sideous. Death no longer seemed to mean the afterlife, but the lack thereof it. Being in front of a Sith felt like being undone, like his mind was being consumed and his body unwoven as if his veins were flimsy threads holding him together.

The absolute certainty of his death rendered fear irrelevant. Plo Koon had no way of knowing what the other Jedi or Clones were feeling and no time to wonder whether they had yet to find horror's threshold. He hoped they hadn't and right as he hoped, he saw a purple blade slicing through a flash of pale and decaying skin.

Two things then happened at once: two fingers fell to the ground and Sideous spoke into the communicator in his hand. It was a minute detail, but no one saw where the device had come from. Manifested wasn't quite what happened; it just hadn't been there one second and then appeared in the next. As if it had always been there. As if he had pulled it into the palm from the space between microseconds. It didn't make physical sense, but he supposed Sith had no reason to adhere to the laws of physicality.

It was such an odd sight that the spoken words hadn't registered until the air did something equally impossible and snapped.

"Execute Order 66."

This was how it happened.

Boil was choking on laughter. Waxer's pyramid had been reduced to a loose pile of helmets. Wooley was on the floor as Crys loomed over him with a repressed smile and a boot to his chest. Gregor and Trapper were encouraging them to fight. And Cody was watching Obi-Wan while Obi-Wan stared into the gaping chasm of infinite void.

Despite the nature of infinite voids, this one was also a maze and Obi-Wan was hopelessly lost within it. It had appeared so suddenly and nothing about it made sense. There was nothing, yet there were walls which stretched into the unseen ether; there was nothing, yet there chains around his body; there was nothing, yet there was the Force and it was consuming itself and him with it. He didn't find the void's lack of sense surprising, so he tightened the loops on his belt and took off wandering. He walked for a minute or maybe a year and he was having an awful headache deciding if he was too hot or too cold, if he was starving or without a body entirely.

Time rolled off him as water would a slick stone. He wished he had his commander. A map or a definite sense of self wouldn't have hurt either. What did hurt was the sudden roaring around him, in him, so loud it tore his flesh, boiled his blood, and swelled his tongue to the point of suffocating. It was a piercing rumble and in reverse, worse than any animal cry he had ever heard and he was sure if he had ears, they'd be bleeding.

Somehow, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The void didn't exist. There was still laughter and light, but before he could consider where his mind had gone, one of the navigation crew (a pilot by the name of Crasher, Obi-Wan believed) stood from his seat and lunged across the room for him. There was no prompt, no anger, just hands around his throat until the two were ripped apart from each other. Crys had restrained Crasher in a headlock and Cody had Obi-Wan by the arm, his body angled to be just slightly ahead of him with fingers curled tightly around his bicep.

No one spoke—no one could speak—because in the next moment the other bridge members stood and, with an intensity never shown in his direction before, charged. It was as violent as it was uncoordinated, it looked like there wasn't thought behind the movement (and given what Obi-Wan could feel, or rather couldn't, there likely wasn't). Fortunately, some seemed to have enough mind to grab hold of their weapons, unfortunately, those weapons were then pointed at him and Cody.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Cody's entire body shook and was now in front of him as he had seemingly forgotten Obi-Wan held a sword which blocked blaster fire much better than flesh could.

"Good soldiers follow orders." Crasher answered first. The words were clipped, disjointed, and broken. It was less of a phrase and more the sound of a varactly screeching simply because it was in its nature.

The crew raised their guns and Obi-Wan was quick to follow with his saber. Cody stood firm, clearly hesitating at the idea of fighting his brothers. Yet before any of them could act, five shots rang out from Gregor; he had used his previous position to hit every one of them expertly in the back with stun bolts and while everyone knew they wereunconscious, Crys checked their pulses regardless.

"General?" Wooley was back on his feet and flanking Obi-Wan's other side.

"I'm calling this in." Trapper spoke before Obi-Wan could find the words and grabbed his helmet from the pile before anyone could protest or even ask who he was calling. Everyone he should have been notifying was already within ten feet of him.

This was how it happened.

Plo Koon was blocking blaster fire from the Wolf Pack while the rest of the Jedi party continued their fight with Sideous who was laughing like a mad man that had already won and not just lost two of his fingers. The manic joy pressed Koon to stretch his consciousness further into Commander Wolffe, trying to find some semblance of the man he'd been wtaching after for months. It proved to be a fruitless effort because where there should have been a mind, there was only darkness and disorientation. There were heavy chains and clear signs a Sith had already been there and inflicted their damage.

Behind him, Master Mundi was collapsed on the ground and no one was able to feel if he was alive or not.

This was how it happened.

Master Shaak Ti had spent the past two years living out of her element in sterile labs and empty hallways where children bore stoic faces in place of mischievous grins. There was no sun to bask in, no tall grasses to run through, no soil to commune with the planet, and no Jedi she could turn to for guidance. She thought it would be a difficult assignment, but the Clones had quickly proved otherwise. They spent their time teaching each other, first how to be a soldier and then how to be a Jedi. Despite what the public thought (or perhaps in spite of), they knew how to be people. They had secret languages, they had ways of telling jokes and laughing in ways no one would suspect, they had identities, and siblings, and love, and such potential for greatness. It hurt to know greatness would not wait for most of them. So in the time between then and greatness, she learned. She learned their secret ways, she learned to shoot, to repair armor, to set broken bones, and what each tilt of an expressionless helmet truly meant.

She didn't know the Wolf Pack, but she had known who trained them. She knew why they had suddenly started firing at Plo Koon and why their presences in the Force had suddenly blanked as if they'd never existed at all. They weren't there. Their bodies were, but what occupied them were gone. To where, she had no idea, and Shaak Ti turned that ache into a ruthless rain of attacks, each one met with a red blade that had moved far too fast to be possible.

This was how it happened.

Darth Sideous was fighting three Master Jedi and the Grand Master of their entire people and he was winning. The loss of his fingers was inconsequential and since Windu had nearly severed a third from his hand as well, he did him the honor of tearing the rest of it off himself. The sinewy tenons, charred from his lightsaber, making an audible crunch as he did. There was fear and it was delicious.

The only ones not afraid were Yoda and Koon. Yoda who had never known fear and Koon who had just learned the extent of it.

Sideous knew his final battle would be a challenge and he'd always known it would come, just never when, nor where, nor who, nor why. His final battle had just been an ever-looming presence with no care for his accomplishments. Once, he'd thought his final battle had been slaying his Master, but his victory had meant nothing. The universe hadn't even blinked at the power he'd just consumed in a single strike. The ground had shook and people had screamed and wept, but the universe stood unphased.

He suspected, in some sense, Yoda would know the feeling. For people like them—beings of awful power—it was impossible to only look at one person in one place. They instead watched the world on a grand scale, their vision shifting from a time before to a time long after. People came and left so quickly he lost track of if it were the first or second time he'd watched them die. The merging of present and future made attacks easy to defend and plans all too easy to predict. It was his final battle and it should have felt glorious, yet the universe still whispered a wrongness in his ear. It whispered of a time that had come far too soon, yet correct in their linear perception of time.

The question was fleeting, but present: had he been here before? Had this battle already happened and played differently? Or had he witnessed it from a future yet to pass, one where his victory had been more decisive and swiftly won?

The question went unanswered. The universe learned in close to his hear and whispered one last final truth.

This was his final battle.

This was how it happened.

Commander Cody, Obi-Wan, Crys, and Wooley moved through the Negotiator's corridors as if they were a battlefield. Some men shot at them and some men were shot. Their ship was meant to be their safe haven and now it was tainted with their own spilled blood. He wished he had time to create a plan, but a solid quarter of his brothers were gunning down his Jedi and there was no time to think, only act. They ran fast and with purpose, Obi-Wan masking would would have been echoing footsteps with the Force and Wooley stunning anyone who stood in their path.

Cody had noticed it first, most every Clone without a helmet was unaffected by whatever spell had come upon those with. He'd ordered Crys to spread word to keep all helmets off and shut down all communications, internal and external alike (which was no easy task on a ship large enough to house a city).

Their group of three had just made it to the hangar when Crys joined them again, claiming removing the helmets did nothing to reverse the effects, but they seemed amicable to talk so long as their focus was kept on themselves or their brothers. He also confirmed Cody's suspicion about the communication devices. Wooley took this as good news and Obi-Wan didn't seem to have taken it as news at all because he was again blankly staring at something distant and unseen.

"Wooley." Cody spoke, his tone was something dangerous.

'Yes, sir." Wooley responded, his tone was wary of that danger.

"Take the general and go. Don't come back, don't land, and don't tell anyone who you are. We don't know what this is or the extent of it."

"Yes, sir."

"And starting now, don't take orders from me or anyone else."

"Yes, sir?"

Cody didn't like Wooley's hesitancy, but understood it.

Cody was himself now and while he would try to remain himself, there was no promise he would be in the next few hours or even moments. For now, there was one Commander Cody: the one who hadn't hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi. He didn't want that second version of himself, the one who had.

"Take him far away, fix him, he might be able to tell what's going on here."

Wooley, more certain this time, nodded. "Yes, sir."

This was how it happened.

There were two bodies on the floor of the senate building. One was floating in the spaces between life and death and one was actively being decapitated by a Torgruta with a hunting knife.

Plo Koon had very much done something with the Wolf Pack because he had convinced them to stop fighting. Though, it was more as if he had just stopped them entirely because each of his men now wore blank expressions and made no movement except for gentle swaying as their arms were experimentally tugged in either direction.

Mace Windu offered Shaak Ti a hand as she rose from her puddle of gore, looking all the part of the victorious predator. She delicately placed one hand in Mace's as the other tightly gripped the severed head of a Sith Lord.

This was how it happened.

Master Yoda's full unwavering attention was on the Coruscant Guard who had appeared sans half their armor and with a collection of weapons he had never seen in any Clones' possession ever before. He suspected they were contraband they had learned to arm themselves with between duties. It seemed the habit had made them dangerous, more dangerous than Sideous had expected because in one moment he had been standing and aiming to pierce his saber through the side of Plo Koon's head and in the next, he was nearly doubled over with some thick liquid akin to blood pouring from the jagged stump that had once been his elbow as one of the Clones reloaded his weapon behind him. Out of reflex, and before anyone could have stopped it, Sideous had raised his remaining hand and snapped the Clone Trooper's neck, nearly turning his head all the way around.

The Sith's weapon had powered off and fell. It was nearly an inch from the floor by the time Master Yoda had caught it with some strange part of himself insisting this be the blade to defeat the Sith. The kyber inside screamed for it, piercing and rumbling like a broken beast turning inside out. Its misery needed to end and in one final movement, Yoda had turned and plunged the aching saber into the heart of Darth Sideous. He sank it until its hilt hit burning flesh.

His body had hit the floor and Shaak Ti had screamed at it before plunging an unfamiliar knife into his neck.

Everyone then stared at the crumpled body of the Clone who had taken the Sith Lord's arm. His armor had no paint, no marks, and no one had to ask Commander Fox to know he had no name.

This was how it happened.

Obi-Wan floated back into consciousness sometime after midnight to the pleas of Wooley asking for directions. One glance out the window had told him they'd entered the borders of Mandalorian space, which was not his favorite place to be given the last place he'd been was the bridge of his ship.

He asked what happened and Wooley explained.

They had tried to kill him. The last person they'd spoken with was Cody who said not to trust him nor anyone else. They didn't know if every Jedi was in danger or just Obi-Wan himself, but given the fractured bonds inside his mind, he assumed the former. Quinlan, Bant, and Garen's bonds still felt present and glowing, but Siri Tachi's was missing and he felt too weak to go searching for it. It wasn't confirmation she was dead, but it also didn't mean anything good either.

In turn, Obi-Wan explained where his mind had gone. He had been adrift for years, he saw the death of Jedi, Clones, civilians. He watched life grow in impossible places and hope stay alive in the darkest. He felt his heart growing old and skin leathery from sunlight. Lastly, he'd felt his own death and was at peace with it. He explained how he used to be a Seer, how his visions of the future used to haunt him before disappearing for decades. He hadn't expected them to ever return.

Wooley didn't respond so much as just blink at him.

"But I'm sure it's fine." Obi-Wan was quick to soothe, still recognizing Wooley as the youngest of his Ghost Company. "We just need to gather all the Jedi . . . especially the younglings in the temple."

Wooley didn't question why. "We can commandeer a venator cruiser, but getting everyone there will be the hard part. The commander shut down all comms and probably ordered the other battalions the same."

Because, of course, he did. Cody was pragmatic and wouldn't have seen their situation as an isolated one. But he also knew Obi-Wan had a network of his own.

"My clan and I have a plan for sudden blackout situations like these. We will all meditate and coordinate from there. I will be unaware of the goings on out here, so if you have similar contingency plans with your brothers, I suggest you act on them while I am away."

This was how it happened.

All across the galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Quinlan Vos, Bant Eerin, and Garen Muln all burrowed themselves into the Force and met in a shared mind space. Siri Tachi was notably missing and no one mentioned it. They instead discussed the Clones, how to get all the Jedi in one defensible location, and how to keep the public from finding out. Lastly, Quinlan Vos told them that Palpatine was the Sith Lord, Darth Sideous, and Darth Sideous was dead. Collectively, they decided to let that revelation settle a little longer while they said goodbyes and good lucks.

This was how it happened.

Commander Cody stood in front of the brig where no less than fifty of his brothers, and counting, had been secured. When asked why they wanted the general dead, they replied with accusations that Jedi were traitors and the emperor ordered their execution. They seemed confused that Cody hadn't known and even more confused about why they were locked up and not helping.

He had given up trying to explain they were brainwashed hours ago and decided to leave it for the medical professionals to sift through when the dust settled. For now, he would do his part in keeping the Jedi and his brothers safe by keeping as much distance between them as possible. The ship became calm, almost normal, after word had spread that Obi-Wan had escaped. He had omitted Wooley going with him because he knew it would have angered his barely-calmed troops, thinking one of their own had been kidnapped.

Cody had never before wished he had access to the Force, but he would have given anything for the assurance that the two men were still alive. That their ship hadn't been shot down. That Wooley hadn't turned and killed Obi-Wan while racing through space. That if he did, Obi-Wan had fought back and not let himself be killed.

This was how it happened.

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Wooley landed their ship on an uninhabited moon. They were met with Quinlan Vos and a handful of the Coruscanti Guard who seemed uneasy, whether it because it was they were off planet, their boss had been revealed to be a Sith Lord, or because their brothers had fallen insane was yet to be seen.

Obi-Wan and Wooley both guessed it was all three.

Planning sessions usually took hours, but their small group had condensed it to mere minutes. By the end, they agreed that, somehow, Quinlan and his crew would get them a venator class ship. The civilian contractors back at the temple would assist in smuggling the younglings and elderly Jedi away from Coruscant. Wooley and the Guard would return to the 212th, where they would tell Cody the Jedi would be safe, but not how.

They knew the Separatists would take this moment of weakness to attack and for the first time any of them could remember, they decided to let it happen. For the first time, they had to prioritize themselves and all they could do was hope the GAR had taught enough planets enough about defense to hold through the fire. And if they were really lucky, their sudden disappearance would stall any upcoming attacks while their enemy troops searched for them or prepared for an obscenely large ambush.

Next, they agreed the Jedi and the Clones would go to opposite ends of the galaxy.

After collecting all their people, the Jedi woud leave for Ahch-To where they would scatter themselves among the planet's many dense tropical islands, and the Clones would make way for Savareen. It was close enough to Kamino to run carriers to and from and its sparse isolated population wouldn't have the opportunity nor care to inform the Core planets of their new visitors.

No one knew how long their plans would take, how long they would have to spend apart from each other, but they would end the war and save each other. This was how it would happen.

[7-wonders]

Between Wrath and Mercy

Sith!Ankain Skywalker x Rebel!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Finding yourself in a fight with Darth Maul, you quickly realize that you're way out of your depth. Unfortunately, no one's coming to save you. Aha, unless?

Word Count: 2.0k

A note from the author: Remember how I was like, "I'm having a lot of trouble writing the words aren't coming like they used to"? I think this helped to unclog a bit of the writer's block I've had. Maybe I just need to write for a different fandom for a bit. This takes place in my Rebel!reader fic-verse (gender-neutral reader!), but before What You Stand to Lose. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (especially the latter two), and I hope you enjoy!

How do I keep ending up in situations like this? you wonder as you dodge yet another Sith Lord’s lightsaber strike and immediately counter it with your own.

That’s a stupid question, because you know how. You decided to join the Rebel Alliance, to fight for a noble cause, and now your life is pretty consistently put in mortal danger. Still, when a mission to try and convince the head of Crimson Dawn that you were all fighting for the same goal was proposed, you were the first to volunteer. Maybe it’s a desperation to prove yourself as useful that made you do it, or maybe you need to remind yourself that you’re working for something good. Regardless, you had been stupid and self-assured, enough so that General Kessyk had given you a small team to command and sent you on your way to Corellia.

Said small team is now incapacitated, rendered useless almost the moment you had ambushed the Crimson Dawn leader who had turned out to be none other than Darth Maul—a surprise to you all, since Dryden Voss is the public face of the syndicate. This revelation completely turned your game plan on its head, as you’re now left to face his wrath alone.

And he has a lot of wrath.

“Look, if you would just listen for a moment,” you yell at him over the sound of electricity humming, “I think you would see that we all want the same thing!”

“And what thing is that?” Darth Maul snarls, raising his blade above his head and attempting to crash it down on top of you.

You meet it with your own, gritting your teeth under the strain as you attempt to hold him back. “The end of the Galactic Empire!”

He bears down harder in response, and your arms begin to shake. Knowing when to give up some yield is half the success in battle, so you adjust your strategy and drop to your knees, doing a quick roll to get some space in between you. He turns to face you once more, his yellow eyes so filled with hatred that it makes a frightened whimper get stuck in your throat.

“Please, we only came to talk. We can be allies!” you plead.

“What happens after the Empire is defeated? We part on good terms and go our separate ways?” Maul shakes his head, twirling his saber and stalking towards you. “No. At the end of the day, the Sith will always be an enemy. I will always be an enemy.”

“I’m sure that—woah!” He renews his attacks with vigor, clearly done talking. Unfortunately for him, you’re not done. “I’m sure that the Rebel Alliance would be happy to negotiate some sort of treaty.”

“I have had enough of arrogant little Force users thinking that they can change the galaxy with ‘the power of goodness,’” he mocks. “You are not the first to approach me with your misguided ideals.”

Maul kicks the center of your chest and sends you falling to the ground, a position you never want to find yourself in when fighting for your life. Attempting to scramble backward is made extra difficult with the lightsaber in your hand, and it’s only delaying the inevitable as Maul follows you slowly, a predator stalking his prey. With a firm smack, your saber goes flying out of your reach.

He holds his lightsaber to your chest and smirks down at you as it burns a hole through the fabric of your shirt. “But you will be the last.”

You raise both hands up in a last-ditch plea, though you know it’s for naught. This is it. You’ve lost. You’ll become just another name on the long list of lives lost as sacrifices for the fight for a better tomorrow.

Though you’d like to say that a sense of peace comes over you as you stare your impending death in the eyes, that’s not the case. You’re scared out of your mind, actually, and the only thing comforting you is the fact that it’ll be a quick death. With that in mind, you close your eyes and await the inevitable.

But the inevitable never comes. Where you were expecting pain and darkness, there’s simply darkness from screwing your eyes shut. After a couple of long moments, you hesitantly open your eyes. Darth Maul no longer looms over you. Instead, he’s a few feet away, engaged in battle with someone else.

“It was foolish of me to believe that Kenobi could actually finish the job and successfully kill somebody for once,” he spits, twirling his saber in his hand as another red saber clashes with his.

“You said it, not me!”

Belatedly, you realize that you know that cocky, annoying voice. Sure enough, Darth Vader is now Darth Maul’s opponent, and he’s faring much better than you had. His helmet is off, allowing you to see the arrogant grin he’s sporting, and his blond curls fly around his face as he swings his lightsaber through the air.

“Vader?” you call, still feeling like your eyes are deceiving you. 

He looks over at you, his grin somehow getting bigger. “C’mon, get up and help me out!”

You stumble to your feet and call your lightsaber back to your hand using the Force, but remain back. Vader doesn’t need your help, because he’s very clearly winning. You would only be a hindrance if you were to join, so instead, you watch.

Even if you didn’t know that the two Sith lords had been trained for a very long time, their fighting styles would make it obvious. The way that they move, so fluidly and deadly, is an art form. It almost looks like a dance, if a dance could end in somebody’s death.

“Darth Sidious won’t be pleased when he finds out you’re helping out the Rebel Alliance,” Darth Maul taunts, bending over backward to avoid a swing.

Darth Vader curses at the near-miss. “Oh, but I’m not.”

“Then what do you call this?”

He looks over his shoulder and winks at you. “Helping the one particular Rebel that I have a vested interest in.”

“Pathetic!” Darth Maul spits.

Vader’s lightsaber makes contact with the palm of Maul’s hand, and he yells out in pain. He catches his saber with his other hand before it can fall to the ground, but he’s unable to grip it with both hands now. Though he could fight one-handed, against somebody as talented as Darth Vader, he wouldn’t be very successful. The light from his saber disappears as he extinguishes it, giving one curt nod before he backs off.

“This is not the end,” he promises.

“No, I don’t believe it is.”

Though Vader could very easily finish him, there are rules to a battle. When one willingly concedes, the fight is over, no matter how much the other wishes that it wasn’t. You and Vader both watch as Maul makes it to his ship and escapes, flying high above your heads and away from Corellia.

Vader turns his attention to you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms and looking you up and down. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You were the one about to die.”

“I had it under control,” you claim, even though you very much did not have it under control. “And I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That’s not what it looked like to me.” 

His fingers move to the open hole in your shirt left by Maul’s lightsaber above your heart. The skin there is shiny from a light burn—it’s nothing that will hinder you in the long run, but it does sting a bit, especially when Vader lightly touches this wound. You hiss through your teeth, but he doesn’t move.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he notes, his voice soft from concentration.

Your cheeks burn at this because you know there are a couple of reasons for your racing heart, and only one of them is from the exertion of battle. Wiggling your hands up, you get enough of a space that you can lightly push yourself away from Vader.

“What are you—how did you know that I would be here?” you demand, having been under the assumption that everybody had done very well in making sure this was a top-secret mission.

“We received some intel that the Rebel Alliance would be making a rather stupid attempt at reaching out to Crimson Dawn. I was going to just let Maul have at it, but then I thought, ‘What are the odds that my Rebel would be involved in this?’”

“I am not your Rebel.” The way that he looks at you, like you mean something to him, makes your heart clench in a way that you don’t want to consider right now. Onto the next subject, then. “Why did you help me in the first place? You could have let him kill me. You should have let him kill me, actually. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you just want me to join you and go against every one of my morals.”

“I still have morals, Rebel. If you were willing to listen, to be open-minded, I think you’d find that the Dark Side is not evil. Where the Light Side wanted their Jedi to shirk all of their emotions and attachments, the Dark Side encourages those emotions. Anger, sadness, passion…love. Sith believe in a world where we’re all free to feel what we want, to allow that which scares us to be out in the open so that we may overpower it. You can’t tell me that this sounds evil.”

You remain silent, because you don’t know what to think. With how Vader puts it, the Dark Side doesn’t sound all evil. Actions speak louder than words, however, and you’ve seen the terror and devastation that the Empire and the Dark Side have unleashed on the galaxy. You’re not willing to dwell on it right now (or ever, really; just thinking about the possibility of Vader’s words having some validity makes you feel like you’re betraying the Rebel Alliance), so you force it to the back of your mind and refuse to think about it any longer.

“Well, I think my work here is done,” Vader declares with a sigh, clipping his saber back onto his belt.

You look at him in confusion. “Wait, you’re not…going to force me to be your apprentice? I mean, now’s kind of the perfect time.” You don’t want him to do so, but you were sure you knew what his end goal was, since he’s made it clear every other time you’ve encountered him.

“It is,” he agrees. “But I’ve decided that it does no good to have you join me against your will. When the time comes, you’ll give yourself to me—to the Dark Side willingly.”

He sounds so sure of this, like it’s a foregone conclusion. You’re about to argue, to insist once more that you’ll never join him, when you hear groaning behind you.

“Looks like your crew is starting to come to,” Vader notes. “I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t doubt that, but you won’t let him know that. “I sure hope not.”

He laughs, already walking to his own ship. “Make sure to get that burn checked out so that it doesn’t get infected!” he yells to you.

The groaning gets louder before you can tell him to not tell you what to do, and somebody calls your name sluggishly. Your pilot is trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, and the others aren’t far behind him in waking up. You get ready to help, as all good Rebels do—because that’s what you are, someone good and helpful and nothing at all like the Sith Lord that increasingly occupies your thoughts as of late.

You’re not like him, you tell yourself, and you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that you won’t ever be like him.

[reyofluke-ocs]

Revenge of the Fifth -> The Beast is You, and You Are the Beast

Imperial Skywalker Family AU - The family that rules together, stays together.

tagging: @endless-oc-creations@stanshollaand, @foxesandmagic , @hiddenqveendom , @arrthurpendragon ,@cas-verse, @eddiemunscns , @oneirataxia-girl, @forchrissy if anyone wants to be added/removed or I accidentally forgot, please let me know! psd: oblivion-crackships

[adhd-coyote]

Last Line Challenge!! I have been tagged by @brokenphoenix99 @insertmeaningfulusername @aerjnn @loverboy-havocboy and @indira-korr!!

I have unfortunately been very busy with college, so I haven’t had much time for anything. But! Since I took so long responding to this, y’all can have both the last line I wrote AND the last line I drew!

The written line is, to no one’s surprise, from the next part of Visions. I really like the way this one is turning out so far :3

“We don’t take Republic credits here, kid.”

And the last line drawn is also a Visions thing! I’m using Obi-Wan to practice faces and expressions; the last line here was some touching up around his nose/mouth

Gonna tag @advertingpizza @the-starry-seas @whiskygoldwings and @hastalavistabyebye <3 no pressure to any of y’all of course

[feartohate]

trying to imagine what anakin's upbringing would've been like in my sith-born au bc like. it's not like the jedi, where they are still actively raising the younglings and hitting key developmental milestones. there's structure, age-specific socialization- little anakin didn't have that !