#his signature lightsaber form

[findafight]

That's vaapad. Is the first thing Dustin thinks, barely registering that the one dropped into a defensive stance, indigo 'sabre held tightly, is Steve.

Spacer Steve. Cocky, charming, snarky, kind, jaded, force-null Steve. Holding a lightsaber the colour of Illium's sky just past sunset, when it turns from dusk to night, stars flickering on, Steve is furiously stabbing and slashing at Vader in a way few know how to.

Because Vaapad was Master Windu's form, one he partially invented. One that very few had the control and discipline to practice without slipping too far into the Dark. Dustin had only seen Master Windu in exhibition duels, not full combat. It's very different when it's real, Dustin thinks.

Beside Steve, complimenting every move with synchronicity that comes from only the deepest and sacred of trust, is Robin. Robin who is a bit clumsy and doesn't like blasters, who drifts off in her own world sometimes, who's hands flutter whenever they feel. Where his is the cusp of night, Robin's saber is a brilliant sunrise orange, a blur as she pushes into Vader's defenses.

"go!" Steve yells, his focus slipping for a moment enough that Vader knocks his weapon from his hands. Dustin cannot move, cannot feel the tugging of Lucas on his jacket, or Mike shaking his shoulders.

Until they found El, who had barely escaped years of inquisitor conditioning, he had been alone. Had thought himself one of the only Jedi left. He had told Steve and Robin this, and they had looked at each other for a long moment. Steve had said "we are no Jedi, but we will protect you."

But he'd lied. They were Jedi, now facing down a sith.

Robin throws her own 'sabre to Steve even as she pulls his to her hand. They wield the blades as naturally as their own.

"RUN, NOW!"

Steve doesn't look away from Vader, but releases the double grip he has and throws his hand toward them, an invisible shove that pushes them all back to the door. To the shuttle. To safety.

Someone pushes Dustin away from the doors, and he watches as Vader raises his first in tandem with Robin's feet lifting off the ground. Steve is clutching his leg even as he reaches towards her.

The doors close.

Dustin doesn't realize he's screaming until Erica slaps her hands to his cheeks and forces him to look at her. "You need to pull it together. It's not gonna help them if we just get caught now."

He nods. Mike warns them to strap in for the jump to hyperspace. The jolt barely registers over his shaking.

"hey, man. How...uh. how are you doing?" Lucas's voice is softer, max standing behind him, clutching his hand so hard his fingers are squished together.

All he can gasp out is "why didn't they tell me?"

The rest are silent for a moment. It's a betrayal, this secret Robin and Steve kept. Dustin has been alone, for so long. He wanted to be close to his lost culture, to the people that are now few and far between, scattered in the stars and hiding. Why would they deny who they were? Their own People? When they could have taught him so much, revived something thought lost.

Gently, Lucas sits down, pulling Max beside him, and weaves his fingers between Dustin's trembling ones. They sit together for a long time.

Eventually, Lucas swallows loudly.

"I think..." Lucas, Dustin realizes, has been shaking too. They have all watched their friends, people who they love and have spent so much time with, sacrifice themselves to protect them all from the Emperor's guard dog. "I think that they were protecting us, by not saying anything."

"what?"

"Dustin. They're in their twenties. They probably fought in the Clone Wars. I just. I don't think they lied, really, about themselves."

Dustin rears back. "they said they weren't Jedi! That's a lie!"

Erica stirs, from Dustin's other side. He hadn't realized she was holding him.

"maybe it's not to them. Maybe...maybe they think of themselves as people who used to be Jedi. But aren't anymore. Maybe that's how they dealt with the war."

"but..." Dustin has never considered himself anything other than a Jedi, cannot comprehend shrugging it off even in the face of the Empire. "But why?"

Max, who has been silent, sniffs. "Because everything else they said was true." Mike, who retired from the cockpit Will and joined their cuddling hums questioningly.

She sighs. "Steve fell in love during the war, and planned a future raising little babies with whoever it was. Robin had a grand romance that was never meant to be with a politician or something. They've known each other since they were small."

"just now, we know they were doing that while fighting the Separatists." Lucas said.

"exactly. Think about it. I don't know who Steve could have fallen in love with, but... Mike. Didn't your sister have to work with a Jedi Padawan a few years before the Clone Wars? Didn't you say she got...weird? After? Robin was always weird about your last name..."

Mike goes stuff, even as Dustin barely registers anything about his sister, focusing on who Steve could have loved. A horrible, horrible possibility comes to mind that makes too much sense for how sad, heartbroken, confused Steve was about the "break up".

"oh stars." Says Mike. "Robin was the Jedi Nancy fell in love with before she fell for Jonathan. Oh no. She even said the Jedi had an orange 'sabre. Holy kark!"

Dustin sobs. Erica presses her face into his shoulder.

"Steve fell in love with a Clone." Bursts from his lips.

"what?" There's an overlap of voices. Shock, horror, confusion mixed together.

He shrugs. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Max, remember when he told us? About when they decided to be together? He said his--his love" and Dustin doesn't know if he says it as a dirty thing because the Clone troopers killed his family, or because Jedi very rarely had romantic relationships and he was still too young to understand the complexities of them for Jedi, or something else entirely. "Wanted to raise his little brothers. Protect them. Steve wanted...well I guess he must've wanted to be a creche master. They wanted to do it together. In the temple, at home."

Max joins. "He said That they'd spent a long time working together with his Ma, so--oh kriff, his force damned Master! That has to be it, right Dustin? That's like a parent for Jedi right? He...Steve said he watched her die. Watched...watched his lover die."

They are all silent, for a moment.

"do you think...do you think Steve had to kill him?" Mike asks, when only the rumble of hyperspeed fills the space.

Max counters with "Robin said she was on Coruscant when the Republic fell. What do you think she had to do? What she saw?" Dustin knows. Dustin saw the hallways. Saw the men in white armour who they all thought were friends massacre them in their home, led by some sith apprentice.

"I think they did what they had to to keep each other alive." Will says.

No one can argue with that.

Original post

[charmwasjess]

Strap in for the Soresu form III Obi-Wan lightsaber post. This is gonna be a sad one, girlies. We’re getting into Obi-Wan’s Fucking Trauma. 

Qui-Gon’s death changed literally everything about Obi-Wan’s life, right down to the lightsaber form. Still a Padawan himself, he had to watch as an extinct monster from his nightmares* utterly took apart the form he’d learned since he was a child, and then, to complete the destruction, slaughtered the teacher who’d taught him the form and raised him. The devastation of Qui-Gon’s actual death had to be the last in a cascading series of horrors that started with the gut-sinking realization that Qui-Gon was losing. And if all of that weren’t enough, Obi-Wan also loses his own lightsaber in the same duel, a psychological blow to his personhood which we don’t have to guess at the significance of. Obi-Wan tells us the cost of it himself in AotC: this weapon is your life. 

The Duel of the Fates on a sheer physical level is a devastating thing to consider. It’s a grueling, full out running battle, the likes of which we don’t see elsewhere in the saga. The beauty (and pounding musical score) of the fight distracts from the sheer brutality of it. Maul is physically attacking them at every turn; he manages to kick Qui-Gon hard enough to knock all 6’3 of him off his feet; he dumps Obi-Wan into a fall that seems to be several stories high. We don’t see Obi-Wan get back up off the floor with Qui-Gon’s body at the end of the duel, and I’d be surprised if he was physically able to even stand again so after the adrenaline faded and the soreness and exhaustion took over. He just been whirled in a lightsaber blender. 

I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to pick up a lightsaber again after the trauma of that battle - much less, a new, unfamiliar one, not the kyber crystal that had been his since he was a child. The new canon’s emphasis on the spiritual relationship between a Jedi and their crystal makes this detail even more excruciating. The Ataru form itself must have felt broken and unusable. How can you put your trust in a form once you watched it be broken so ruthlessly?

And this is where Obi-Wan is so endlessly beautiful as a character. He goes through this horrifying experience of violent unmaking, and instead of avoiding lightsabers as an understandable trauma response, or picking up an overwhelming power and dominance form like V, he remakes himself into a master of Soresu: a form of simple, complete defense. He doesn’t attempt to become a weapon of attack like Maul did to disintegrate Ataru; he makes himself invincible, untouchable, with a perfect defense. Soresu works the pieces that fell apart for the Jedi in the Duel of the Fates to an advantage. It is a form of ultimate endurance, of playing out your opponent and staying up in a fight until the attacker is exhausted or angry. It preserves and it lasts. It is philosophical. It is considered. It lacks the showy flash of Makashi or Ataru and returns to the basics, even working in some of that battlefield meditation that Qui-Gon so believed in. And in that simple economy, it’s gorgeous and effective. 

I have to wonder: is Soresu, on some level, a form of kinetic self-soothing for a person who faced an incredibly traumatic battle at a young age? Does Obi-Wan use it that way?

All of this is perfectly in keeping with the themes of the character. Obi-Wan’s story remains about life, about hope, about survival. The word he uses to describe the Jedi to Luke in the OT is important to me. “Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice.” Guardians. And what better lightsaber approach for a person who sees his role as one of protection than a form whose signature move is called “The Circle of Shelter?”

*Maul, of course, is a tragedy in his own right, but that’s a different post. 

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

6

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him

Chapter Warnings: mild violence

I was momentarily stunned to see them clash. Yord glanced at me for a second before shouting at me to run again, which I did immediately.

I was terrified of turning around, afraid that the movement might reveal something about my form under the poncho. I assumed Qimir wouldn’t attack me, but the fear of being caught was enough to make my desperate run seem convincing.

I reached the corner of the corridor and saw Yord being thrown forcefully from the other side. Qimir turned toward me before running in my direction.

It was all a ruse, but I was indeed hiding a secret from him. Moreover, it would be a lie to say that Qimir’s mask didn’t scare me, especially when he was coming after me so menacingly.

I descended the first flight of stairs. On this side, there were more levels I had to cross. When I reached the last step, a familiar chirping called me. Sam was waiting for me, hidden behind a pile of stones. As soon as I reached him, he darted across the ground, signaling me to follow him. I wasn’t sure what he planned to do, as he advanced along the hallway away from the other staircases.

Behind me, the sound of footsteps made me realize that Qimir was likely about to catch up, with Yord probably just meters away. If the plan was to work, it was better that Yord didn’t see me with the Sith. After all, I was a pregnant woman, it made no sense for me to attempt to confront him.

I followed Sam through a door. It was one of the small rooms we had converted into a food storage area. I shut the door behind me, staying in the dark. A small window let in some artificial light, but with the thick material of the door and the already dim external sources, it was just a faint strip of light that didn’t even reach the floor.

I peered through the window and saw Qimir searching for me. Without my Force signature on display and with that mask, I doubted he’d even spot me. He turned toward the stairs and, peering for a few seconds, realized I couldn’t have gone that way or he would have surely seen me.

He didn’t have much time to think, though. The moment Yord appeared from the corridor, he heard the sound of his lightsaber approaching. Qimir also turned, and the two began to fight. It was clear that Yord was less trained or skilled than him, you could see it in the reactions to his parries, his rigid strikes. He was definitely at a disadvantage, and it hurt to watch them… On one side was Qimir, that I loved despite everything and for whom I was risking my cover to help us escape. On the other side, even though I had known Yord for less than two days, those few hours together had shown me a kind and caring person, one of the Jedi with a still-pure mindset within the Order.

Just as they passed by the door, I crouched to make sure they didn’t see me through the window. Sam dimmed the blue light of his eye. The sounds of lightsabers and the impacts on the stone were enough to cover my voice when I spoke to Sam.

“Why did you bring me here?” He made a few annoyed noises at not receiving the greeting he expected but then replied.

“The map?” I asked surprised.

He pointed with the light of his eye to a corner with various tools, and I immediately recognized the holomap behind it. I quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into my bag. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Sam. Now go ahead. I need someone to check the doors at the end of the landing area” I peered through the window and saw Sol and Jecki running toward the fight.

Kriff.

The whole plan would be useless if he got himself killed.

I turned to Sam and ordered him to be silent. “I need you to turn off the lights. We have to make a run for the ground floor” He chirped affirmatively, and as soon as he opened the door, I began my run toward the stairs. Fortunately, there was only one extra floor to cover.

Reaching the other side of the first floor, I arrived at the end of the room where the first automatic door opened. Sam approached the control panel, but I stopped him.

“Wait. I need to make sure Qimir makes it. Go to the panel at the end of the corridor and wait for me there” Sam bumped his metal head against my leg, making me hiss. “I know you don’t like it. But… I’ll explain later, okay? I need someone to watch my back. If everything goes as planned, it will be the last time we see him” He responded with a contented chirp, and I sighed.

I watched him pick up speed down the corridor, then I bent over the panel and used one of the tools from my bag to open the cover and cut the electricity wire.

In an instant, all the lights went out. I hurried to turn on the small flashlight attached to my backpack strap and fixed the control panel.

I stood up just as I received a call on the communicator. It was Sol on the other end. “Sabrina, where are you? Qimir has disappeared before our eyes” His tone was urgent, I could hear the sound of running footsteps through the device. “I’ve reached the door. Many cables are broken. I think the droid cut the power. I need to hurry” I looked up and saw Qimir jumping down the stairs. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “If I don’t catch up with him quickly, he might lock me out of the docking area. Hurry up” I ended the communication.

Qimir stopped a few steps away from me, giving a small nod. He didn’t seem to notice the bulge of my belly, so maybe the poncho was working. Or at least for those who didn’t know where to look.

“Let’s hurry before they see us. They’ll assume I’m slower than you, so don’t stick too close to me” I didn’t wait for his reply before turning away and starting to run. My hands were trembling, it was the first time I had seen him in person after five months. Maybe, with a bit of luck, it would be the last.

His presence was now impossible to ignore—his heavy breathing due to the mask, the light steps, the sound of the lightsaber partially lighting the way, and, most of all, the dark aura of his Force surrounding my senses like a warm blanket on a rainy day.

Of course, Jedi had their mark around them, but nothing compared to the reaction you felt in the presence of the dark side—a constant hand on your shoulder in a silent threat. But that was Qimir’s mark; like his physical presence, his Force presence was almost an overwhelming and suffocating figure, as if he had a hand around your neck as a warning. But over the years, I had gotten used to that smell, that warmth. I saw it more as a caress—a light touch on the side… like the first one shared years before, not painful, but sweet… almost caring.

He didn’t say anything until halfway through, when we could hear distant footsteps echoing, indicating that the others had entered the tunnel. Qimir stopped and, using the Force, bent one of the doors we had passed through and another one.

Sure, the doors were small. It wasn’t difficult to breach them once a hole was made with the lightsaber or with some force, but that was the point of the plan—slow them down.

Just as I was meant to slow down Qimir, now he was slowing down the Jedi. Even better, because if I had moved a few more meters away from him, I would have had time to close some doors behind me.

The communicator rang again, but I ignored it. Officially, I was fleeing from an angry Sith; they would understand if I didn’t bother to answer.

I glanced back at Qimir, closing another door before starting to use the Force to make the walls tremble. I stopped abruptly and shouted, “Are you crazy?! You risk making the whole gallery collapse on us!”

He turned around in silence, then let out a clear sigh and stopped. “We need to talk”

“This isn’t the time” I replied weakly before continuing to run. He was irritated, and the risk of him reacting with violence increased. My lightsaber was still at the bottom of my bag, and I cursed myself for not taking it earlier in the storage room. It would take too long to use it now, and moving the backpack risked exposing me to his eyes. Besides… would I really be able to fight him if things went bad?

Until now, I had taken for granted that I could face him and escape if necessary, but I hadn't really considered the idea of seriously aiming a weapon at him. Of hurting him.

I had been taking my feelings for granted, and now that I had him in front of me... the trembling hands, the heart in my throat... I could barely look at his mask.

To imagine his face beneath it, angry.

I took a deep breath before reaching into my pocket where I still kept the device to alert Sam. I could start to see the illuminated room in the distance with the ships ready for escape. I didn’t sense the Jedi, I imagined the jammed doors had been enough to buy us a few minutes.

I pressed the button in my pocket, and in less than a second, the doors in front of me began to close. I ran faster, passing the first two. I was starting to struggle, my feet burned, and my back cried out in agony. "Hey, wait!" Qimir didn’t waste time following me. I passed through the last door, but he was right behind me.

Great.

The plan to not get him on my back had now failed.

Just perfect.

"You could have warned me, kriff" he said behind me before removing his helmet. "We’ve closed all the corridor doors, do we have a few minutes to talk before we leave? We haven’t even decided where to go"

I struggled to respond, short of breath, my body protesting from the exertion, my head pounding.

"Can I know what’s going on with you?" I could hear him take a few steps closer, but with my arm outstretched, I sigh him to wait. Sam, who had been standing by the control console, approached and positioned himself between us, whistling angrily at Qimir.

I pulled myself up, taking a deep breath. My hands continued to tremble, it seemed absurd that I felt so bad. I was a trained woman after all. I didn’t know if my problem was physical or mental at this point.

Qimir was behaving naturally, after all, I was the one hiding a terrible secret, who had run away from him. Would he read the lie in my eyes? Would he notice the swelling of my stomach?

No. I just had to... move.

"We’ll talk when we’re away from here and the Jedi" Just then, the communicator rang again, but I turned it off. Sam, next to me, informed me that they were already more than halfway through the route, given the continuous damage signals from the doors.

I walked toward my ship, but Qimir’s hand tightened firmly around my arm, turning me toward him. "Can we talk just for a second? Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"

I winced in pain; he had grabbed me in the same spot where he’d left bruises the other night. I wriggled free, taking a few steps back, and finally looked him in the face. For the first time in months, face-to-face.

I couldn’t just close my eyes and make him disappear this time.

He looked at me confused, I felt like I was being scrutinized, or maybe I was just paranoid.

"I’m sick, okay? We need to go. Now." He took a few steps toward me. "Do we really need to keep up this act? If it’s about the archived data, we can get our hands on it again and..."

"No!" I snapped, interrupting him.

"You need to..." trust me? No, that phrase no longer made sense. "Listen to me. I’ve seen what they’re doing; it’s better this way. I’ll explain when we’re safe"

Meanwhile, Sam had opened the hatch of my ship, the automatic ramp lowering to the ground. I only had to take a few steps.

Hoping Qimir wouldn’t shoot me immediately from his ship in anger. I couldn’t afford to make him mad.

"Sure. But have you seen your face? You’re red. You’re breathing hard. What, do you want to have a heart attack while traveling through hyperspace?" He moved in my direction, but I took another step back. The instinct to shift the poncho to cover myself better crossed my mind, but the movement would only seem more suspicious, so I restrained myself.

"I’m fine. Sam is with me" He gave an ironic smile, and even in such a moment, I couldn’t help but think how handsome he was.

"Now I feel better. You’re delirious"

With two large strides, he reached me and grabbed my arms again. I flinched from the pain, I struggled. I could have used a Force push, but I risked exposing myself with the shockwave, and it seemed like an overreaction. Maybe I should just... just...

"Stop it, kriff. I’m worried..." but he suddenly stopped.

He looked at me intently, a frown on his face as he tilted his head slightly to the side.

Meanwhile, Sam was warning us of the limited time left.

"Let me go—" I began, trying to keep my tone calm, but he tightened his grip on my arms, and I moaned involuntarily, but he wouldn’t let go. It was as if he was deliberately pressing on the bruises.

"I dreamt of you the other night" He began in a low voice "You were crying and despairing in my arms. You were beautiful." I held my trembling hands on his chest trying to gain a few inches but his grip was firm and he wouldn't let go "I held you to me. Firmly. Like now. If I had been there for real... I would have left you bruised" if possible his tone became even lower, Thumbs pressing hard into my triceps.

"Qimir wait..." I hissed sensing panic forming in my stomach "Are you lying to me darling? You better say it now before I lose my patience. I've been so good to you. I don't deserve it, do I?"

Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, I could have released myself, hit him, even shouted for help if it would have helped to get him off me at this point, but my body refused to react.

I was terrified.

I was a liar. I wasn’t able to fight him. I had lied to everyone but especially to myself.

"Please Qimir..." I whispered with trembling lips, he smiled at me, gentle, but the coldness I felt in my aching bones was a clear warning of how the dark side was stirring around us "This wasn't very nice of you. I thought you loved me. And you hide our son from me?" the grimace as he uttered the last word was one of pain, disappointment, he didn't look angry... but his eyes.

Those dark wells were cold. The hands that gripped me kept squeezing my flesh so hard I was afraid he would break my arms.

"I... can explain. P-please..." Some tears started to slide down my cheeks, my hands trembling uncontrollably as I tried to push him away.

I had to do something. Anything. But I remained paralyzed by fear.

At that moment, the distant sound of lightsabers distracted us, warning us that they were probably at a door or just beyond. It was enough for Sam, who had sneaked up and using one of his small arms, delivered an electric shock along Qimir’s leg, causing him to jerk back and release me suddenly.

"Little—" he lunged a hand toward the droid, but finally freed from his grasp, I gathered the courage to react.

Using the Force, I took advantage of his distraction to push him away from me, his body slamming against the door with such force that it created a crack.

I turned and ran with the last of my strength, tears falling freely, my chest heaving with sobs, Sam speeding ahead of me on the ramp, ready to close the door behind us.

Qimir roared my name in a snarl. I turned just in time to see him getting up. Behind him, the door swung open, and Yord, followed by Sol and Jecki, emerged into the illuminated room with their lightsabers drawn.

I stopped on the ramp, which had started to retract, locking eyes with Yord, and I swore I saw him nod approvingly, glad to see me ready to fly away. Just as the doors were closing, Qimir began to use the Force to push them away from him.

Sam was whistling next to me, urging me to hurry. I took a trembling breath and reached the cockpit, tossing my backpack into a corner and sitting in the pilot's seat. My hands were still shaking, but I managed to activate everything necessary to start the engines. Sam was helping me from the lower panel. I grasped the controls, and with one smooth motion, I flew the ship out of the cavern.

I flew over the temple in a broad arc as I left the planet's atmosphere. As I distanced myself, I noticed another small signal on the scanner, indicating that Qimir had probably managed to leave shortly after me, or maybe it was the Jedi, but at that point, I didn’t care.

I set random coordinates as far as possible and jumped to hyperspace.

The familiar blue light illuminated the cockpit as I finally allowed myself to slump into the seat.

The silence enveloping me was deafening after everything that had happened. There was a constant ringing in my ears, a headache that flooded my senses from my temples to my neck in a steady pounding, my hands almost numb from gripping the controls, and my back throbbing from the sudden physical effort.

Sam approached my leg and with a faint chirp, asked if I was okay.

I sniffed, once, twice, three times before a sob escaped my lips.

And another.

And another one.

My vision blurred with tears as I tried to wipe my cheeks with my sleeve, but to no avail.

I broke into hysterical crying, my arms wrapping around myself, the pain I felt a constant reminder of the physical and emotional torment I had just endured, my short breath giving no peace to my lungs.

I stayed there.

Crying for hours.

[panthera-dei]

Technomancy 101

Hi, friends! I'm back with another witchy FAQ from the past couple weeks. This time from the world of tech magic!

Here are some quick TL;DR technomancy tips for those who may not want to read the long FAQs post beneath the cut:

1. Chest spells (like a jar spell but with a chest filled with in game items that match the intent)

2. Poppet spells using the game characters by giving them items or altering their names/appearances

3. Similar to a chest spell but not necessarily magic per se - using chests or sheds with in-game items as altars and/or offerings

4. Build a shrine / altar / temple with offerings, or leave an item such as a torch in the game world as an offering

5. Burn/bury/destroy ingredients to activate a spell with the desired effect

6. Write an affirmation or a spell on a sign or other in-game item and destroy it to activate as a sigil

7. Build a golem or animal pen or something as a servitor for protection

8. Use some form of sympathetic magic connecting in-game items to IRL items

9. Light sticks, flashlights, plastic lightsabers, and toy sonic screwdrivers make *awesome* wands, especially if they light up and make noise.

10. The possibilities are limited to your imagination!!

(I am choosing Wittgenstein from The Brave Little Toaster movies as my mascot for tech magic, simply because I like him and because I can. Image credit - Fandom Wiki.)

What is technomancy?: Technomancy, techno magic, and tech magic are all terms for a form of magic that utilizes common modern technology, such as smartphones and video games. Technically, “technomancy” could refer specifically to divination with technology; however, in my experience, the term usually has a broader meaning in common usage. I personally tend to use these terms interchangeably, with perhaps a slight preference for technomancy, since I learned that name first.

What are some forms of technomancy?: Common forms of technomancy include digital sigils, emoji spells, shufflemancy, video game spells, and video game altars.

How do I create a digital sigil?: The ways are about as unlimited as creating a physical sigil on paper. You can use a drawing app on a smartphone or tablet, find a digital sigil generator online, use a photo editor on a picture, or even add a string of charged letters to an email signature (just make sure they blend in!).

OK, and what's the deal with emoji spells?: Yes, this is an actual thing (though not a thing that I'm particularly experienced with). They're pretty straightforward. They can be done like a sigil - string emojis together and charge them. Or like an actual spell - put them together and send to cast, or like to charge and send/reblog to cast.

What kind of games can you use for technomancy?: Any of them. Minecraft is a very popular one. So is Stardew Valley. Skyrim and other RPGs are other common choices. As with other forms of magic, the only real limit is your imagination.

What kind of spells can you cast in a game?:

Chest spells - like digital jar spells - are very common.

Poppet spells are another common choice. In games that allow you to create a character, or in games where you can give items to an NPC, you can turn the character into a poppet of someone and give them an item to cast the spell. For example, if I wanted emotional strength, I could create a Skyrim character as a poppet for myself, and have the character drink a strength potion to cast a spell of strength for myself in the real world.

Burying or burning items in games like Minecraft can be done to cast spells that are similar to physical spells that require burning a paper, bay leaf, or other ingredient.

Enchanting! Use the enchanting function in a video game like Skyrim or Minecraft to enchant a physical object. For example, you might choose to connect a physical scarf to a shield in Skyrim, and when you enchant the in-game shield with a damage resistance effect, voila! You now have a fancy enchanted scarf to protect yourself from spiritual attacks.

Customize your avatar to your advantage! In games such as Sky: Children Of The Light, where you can accessorize your character, you can equip different items to cast a different spell on yourself. For example, you might use the Saluting Captain's staff as a cosmetic to cast a spell of protection on yourself, or you could use a particular cape as a spiritual veil.

For deity work & spirit work, consider creating a space in your game (e.g. a chest, shed, home, biome, character, etc.) dedicated to the entities you work with. For example, temples and altars in Minecraft are common. Devotional sheds and chests are popular in Stardew Valley. I’ve named some appropriate Pokemon after an entity or dedicated the critter to them. You can even place a torch or candle in the game world as an offering.

There are lots more out there, too! This list is a starting point, not a limitation. Use your imagination and swap ideas with others, too!

How exactly does all of this work?? How is it possible?!: OK, so the principle behind tech magic is that you're harnessing the energy of multiple sources.

First, the device itself (and if you're using something like a Switch, the cartridge or other physical media). Each of these items has its own materials - electricity, glass and metal, etc. And each of those materials has a magical property that you can use... Glass and metal come from the Earth and have their own correspondences, while electricity is pure energy in itself.

Second, you have the energy of symbolism, or as I like to think of it with a butchered sociology term, symbolic interactionism - i.e., the idea that we create our own reality (or our *perception* of reality) via symbols. In other words, the power of correspondences! A candle is still a candle whether it's physical or digital. Lapis lazuli has the same qualities in this world that it does in a pixelated version. And so forth. So when you use the correspondences in digital spell work, provided that you raise the energy, it can and does have real world consequences. Similar to doing magic in the astral as opposed to the physical world... you are making a conscious decision to connect a digital item to an effect either in the astral and/or physical worlds.

Finally, you're also harnessing the power of belief and the energy of attention, which is where the chaos magic concepts start to come in. The digital worlds are real because you believe they are and you pour parts of your energy and personality into them - and so do *millions* of other people, in many cases. All of that energy is sort of like a reservoir in these games and it's just waiting to be harvested for spell work!

So… This is another subset of chaos magic, then.: Pretty much, yes. I haven't seen it categorized as anything else yet, except for in those cases where technomancy is given its own category.

And what did you mean by “energy of symbolism” again?: Correspondences. Both traditional ones and your own. For example, obsidian corresponds with protection IRL. So if you were making a chest spell in Minecraft for protection, you'd want to consider adding an obsidian block to your spell. Some of this is also stuff that you can brainstorm on your own and explore! Like for example, in the Elder Scrolls series, there are several plants and items that don't exist IRL, such as the corkbulb root - but in the game, that item can be used to make a potion of healing, so for me, it has a healing correspondence. Also, if the game you’re playing has spells already, you can consider how to adapt those spells to affect the real world in a logical, realistic way! Many pop culture magicians have done a great job of turning Pokemon moves into real spells, for example. So feel free to play around (pun intended) and see what works best for you!

How come you only mentioned shufflemancy once in this whole entire post??: That, my friend, needs to be a post for a later date. I assure you, I absolutely can (and probably already have, and probably eventually will) write an entire post about shufflemancy.

How come your formatting is crap?: Because I wrote all of this on a smartphone and pieced it into a post with the mobile app. Bear with me. XD

Where do I learn more and fact check you, smarty-pants?: Tumblr. The answer is usually Tumblr for this kind of thing. Or sometimes Discord. Like pop culture magic, techno magic is simply very new. Some tags to search include tech magic, techno magic, technomancy, video game magic, etc.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 16 ~

When he returns from hunting treasure to find the cave empty of jedi, his scream of rage is enough to make the walls shudder and rain with scree. Maul reaches out in the force, throwing a wide net of energy out with the intent to hunt Kenobi and drag him back here. Retribution would be paid in blood for this-

He finds the jedi's energy signature just a little ways away, stationary. Lambent. The sith is brought up short, confused. Taken aback even.

Was this an escape attempt… or not?

Lashing down on his rage, setting aside judgment for a moment, Maul leaves his pot and box on the shore, and returns to the water to seek the jedi through the force. He swims fast and true for less than a minute, left and right and around…

The dragonfish sith breeches the pocket of his own bedroom cave, and rises up in a quiet rush of shedding water. Kenobi is here? Here? He went wandering, but not to his lightsaber or the surface, but here?

Maul sways his way through the caves and comes up on his own bed. There the jedi lies, buried under makeshift blankets, curled in on himself, shivering.

The sith looks around in disbelief. There on the shelf of his nightstand is his saberstaff, he leans close sniffing… not a trace of skin scent on it. Kenobi had not come looking for a weapon to kill him with then.

The last embers of his rage dowse themselves as he returns his attention to the cold little ball of stewjon.

“Jjjedi,” he whispers thoughtfully, running his claws through salt-crisp hair. “Always leaving behind the heat you need, awake or asleep. What a pathetic thing you are.”

Maul withdraws, considering the situation. Either Kenobi needed to be brought to heat, or heat needed to be brought to Kenobi. He ponders it briefly, but easily decides that he likes the jedi to be in his bed.

He goes, gathers the magma ball from the second prison cave, and returns. It is cooled somewhat, so he slices it in half with his saber like an orange, revealing the cherry red center. The freshly unmasked lava blooms with heat, rapidly forming a new black crushed shell on its surface.

Maul situates one of the halves just so, pointing it's radiant heat toward the bed. Then, he climbs in, finding his way under covers to drag his Kenobi to him. He discovers bare skin, offering him easy access to touch new places. The variety of textures is fascinating.

Predictably, when faced with heat and weight and a living body, the jedi seeks him out like a plant turning to the sun. Limbs unclench and the ball of him eases open. Arms come winding around his back, and a scruffy face presses to his shoulder.

Kenobi sighs with contentment at his presence, and Maul feels… he feels…

The words for this. These too are missing from his memory of before. Or perhaps he never had them.

Darth Maul draws his prisoner close, and waits for him to wake. The other man’s force signature brightens at one point, perhaps touching consciousness, but he drifts back down again without a word.

It is hours before the jedi truly stirs, groaning at the back of his throat as he peers blearily around.

“Kenobi,” Maul says, catching the man's chin in his fingers and drawing that watery gaze toward him.

The jedi blinks a few times, focus slow to resolve. “Where am I?” he asks.

He hums, fingers playing through that ginger beard. Soft. So soft. “Where you are meant to be.”

With a muddled huff, Kenobi turns to look around, not satisfied with his answer. “I remember getting bored and going exploring, and then I found a cave with… things. Art and trinkets… was I dreaming?”

“Mmno,” the sith denies, “you have found my cave, and put yourself in my bed. This is... good.”

The jedi scrubs a hand over his face, and back through his hair. Maul runs a hand down his bare side, then back up again.

“Sorry. I'm… not really parsing anything,” Kenobi replies.

Maul scoffs, “Because you left the heat, again. You are too weak to survive the cold. I have scolded you before but you did not listen. Hear me now: I forbid you from leaving warm places again unless I am there to watch you.”

Kenobi sloughs back down, loose limbed in his hold. “...”

“Jedi,” he says warningly at the silence, leaning in toward the other man's face. “Obey me.”

That tired, watery blue gaze lifts to his. “Mmnnn?”

So unfocused. So soft and pliant. Irresistible.

Maul’s eyes are drawn to chapped pink lips where the lower one is loose and slightly parted from the top. He doesn't question the stray desire to taste the cracked texture of it. The sith presses close, licking those lips, slipping his tongue inside a slack mouth.

“Ah,” Kenobi says softly, letting him take what he wants. His smooth tongue slides against Maul's, reactive to the languid stroking of his.

The dragonfish sith runs his claws gently down the back of his prisoner, careful not to cut unintentionally, until back becomes backside. He cups the handful of curve, squeezes and pulls, drawing their hips closer together.

The jedi turns his head away, hiding in Maul's neck. “Please, I don't…”

“Hnn?” he asks, enthralled with the way Kenobi’s soft belly and scattering of body hair felt against his own smooth stomach.

“Just hold me and let me sleep. I just want to rest,” the man pleads softly.

He tsks, “If you would stay where I put you, your strength would not wane.”

Kenobi sighs gustily, relaxing when Maul's hand returns to petting the pale flesh of him higher up. Straying places that are personal, but not quite so personal. The jedi comes back out of hiding when the trend continues. His eyes look like they struggle to stay open.

“I have gifts for you,” Maul tells him, “To earn your favor.”

“It isn't something that can or should be earned with material things,” Kenobi mumbles.

“Jedi drivel,” he counters. “Nice and necessary things are a fair measure of who to show favor to.”

Unable to help himself, the sith's claw skim just a little lower, teasing the sensitive line of skin between the other man's low back and ass. Kenobi groans, and his hips rock.

“Nng,” the pale man says simply, brows drawing faintly upward in pleasure.

Maul kisses him again, far more gently than he deserves, then settles down. “Sleep, Kenobi. Regain your strength. When you wake I will show you your gifts.”

For once, the witless jedi does as he's told.

To be continued...

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish @obi1-kenobae @milkcioccolato @cyborg0109 @messy-sunbeam @krazykupid

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; vampire blood violence

2023

“Now, remember,” Xavier Marcos Padros instructed. “Señor Leclerc is a very important client of this firm. His family has been with us for nearly 100 years, and we don’t want to cast a poor impression on the newest generation.”

“No, sir.” You agreed, nodding at your boss.

“That is why I want you to personally oversee the meeting.” The lawyer continued. “There is no other paralegal that I trust more with the closure of his documentation. The paperwork has already been signed by his grandfather, and Señor Leclerc just needs a witnessed signature to complete the transfer of estates and power of attorney to his name.”

“Yes, sir.” You bit back an irritated sigh, listening for the third time as your boss explained the situation. As if you haven’t already spent long hours and late nights preparing the Leclerc account paperwork for the all-important transfer and supporting the grandfather’s witnessed signature process. 

“Your work on this family case continues to impress, and I’m confident that you will represent our firm proudly.” He paused to consult his notes. “Now, Señor Leclerc has been arranged for 2100 hrs tomorrow night at his personal request.” He looked back at you unashamedly. “I assume that time won’t be a problem for you.”

Even now, your boss’ haughty words still gnaw at you. Just because the man is a senior partner in one of the world’s most prestigious law firms and you’re fortunate enough to be on his team of paralegals doesn’t mean that you’re not entitled to a life of your own outside of work. All of your clients are wealthy and successful and privileged, and you see no reason why Señor Leclerc should be treated any differently.

But at the end of the day, part of your job is client satisfaction, and your boss won’t hear of you inconveniencing a client, no matter their assets. That’s why you’re still at your desk despite the clock reading 2051 hrs. That’s why you’re still in your pristine business suit and heels while the rest of the building grows dark and empty around you. That’s why the executive conference room table contains the spread of the various official forms for Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, III to sign upon his arrival.

You exhale another sigh as you casually scroll through the newsfeed on your phone, skimming headlines and associated ledes.

DESPITE ALL ODDS, BRANGELINA BACK TOGETHER

Earlier this year saw the return of Bennifer, and now, fans are stunned at the return of Brangelina. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt famously wed in 2014, and Jolie filed for divorce from Pitt just two years later. The divorce proceedings have been anything but amiable, and despite the divorce never being legally finalized, it appears that may no longer be needed…

FAMOUS RAPHAEL, DA VINCI PAINTINGS MISSING SINCE WWII TURN UP IN BELGIAN HOME

Among the scores of artwork lost during the chaos and destruction of WWII, two of the most famous pieces have finally resurfaced after more than 75 years. Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man and da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine were last seen at the Wawel Castle in 1945, at the home of Hans Frank, who Hitler appointed as governor of the General Government in Poland. The Belgian businessman now in possession of these classic masterpieces has come under investigation as authorities seek to understand how the artwork came into his custody. Historians value the Portrait of a Young Man and the Lady with an Ermine at over €500 million and €300 million, respectively…

STAR WARS FANS SPOT LIGHTSABER-LIKE OBJECT ON MARS SURFACE IN NEW NASA PICTURES

New photos released by NASA show an object on the surface of Mars, looking like a lightsaber from the iconic Star Wars series. Despite its appearance, this mysterious item is actually a titanium tube containing a rock sample that rests on the Red Planet’s surface…

You glance at the time, not willing to risk being late, and set your phone down. Smoothing the drape of your suit jacket and matching skirt, your heels echo off the marble as you walk down the empty corridor. The elevator ding breaks the silence, and you glance out over the Monaco skyline as you descend to the front lobby.

With two minutes to spare, you offer a nod in silent greeting to the night guard on duty at the front desk and come to a stop just inside the tall, glass doors. You keep a keen eye on the street for the approach of a dark sedan or SUV, something that won’t be easy to see in the glow of streetlights. But that’s not the vehicle that pulls up to the front kerb.

Actually, you don’t know what kind of vehicle it is, but the vintage bright cherry red sports car is impossible to miss. It screams elegant taste and wicked speed, and with the convertible top down, it puts the driver on full display. His pale skin stands out immediately against the cut of his black suit and as he exits the car, closing the door behind him, it’s a devastating combination. Or, perhaps, it’s just the expertly tailored lines of his suit or the rakish sweep of his brunette hair or the mercurial glow in his green eyes.

You may spend your life catering to the ultra-wealthy and well-dressed, but this man is truly in a league of his own.

Forcing a swallow and hoping your cheeks aren’t too flushed, you step forward to push open the front door. “Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Welcome.”

He nods, offering a polite smile as he steps inside. “Thank you. And thank you for taking this meeting so late.” His crisp dress shoes echo off the marble in tandem with your footsteps. “Xavi’s office has always been gracious to accommodate my chaotic schedule.”

You nod gently even though his words give you pause. Nothing about him looks chaotic, whether in the details of his appearance or his calm, collected demeanor. In fact, he looks crisp and polished, as if his day has just started. Pushing the thought aside, you guide him towards the elevator lobby. “Of course, sir.” You say as you press the ascent button. “We’re always happy to work with our clients to assure their needs are met.”

“An admirable sentiment.” The corner of Leclerc’s mouth lifts as he motions you first into the elevator. “I think you are new to Xavi’s team as we have not met before, no?”

Your cheeks blush full red hot as you realize your breach of etiquette. “Oh, goodness – yes, I… apologies for not introducing myself.” You give your name and extend your hand which he politely accepts. Immediately, the firmness of his grip, the softness of his skin, and the chilly temperature against your own strikes you.

His eyes glitter under the elevator’s overhead lights. “Pleased to meet you. You already know this, but I’m Charles Leclerc, III. Though, Charles or ‘Charles’ is just fine.”

Even after letting go of his hand, the phantom chill still lingers on your skin. It’s not a particularly cool night outside, as evidenced by the open cockpit of his car, and you can’t put your finger on why his skin should be so chilly. 

He must sense your confusion because a small, sheepish smile comes to his handsome face as he rests a hand in his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize if my cold fingers surprised you… I should have warned you before that I’m cold blooded. I never can seem to get warm.”

“Oh no, please,” you say with a reassuring smile despite the heat rushing to your cheeks and the quickening of your heartbeat as the elevator dings. “You don’t need to apologize – I was just wondering if I could offer you some warm tea.” The words roll off your tongue as you step out of the elevator with him close behind. Thinking on your feet is a key part of your job even if it stresses you out.

“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate your concern. And you needn’t worry or be so nervous.” He flashes a hint of a teasing, yet reassuring smirk. “I’m not going to give Xavi a poor report about you this evening.”

Your eyes go wide, and you hate that he’s so perceptive. Pushing open the door to the executive conference room, you exhale a gentle sigh. “Thank you, I… I-I’m sorry that you felt the need to say something. I will work to improve in the future.”

“No need.” He shakes his head shortly. “My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

Is that what it is? Right from his opening comment on chaotic schedules to the chill of his skin, something about him has set you off-balance. You can’t even recall the last time that you forgot to introduce yourself in a business meeting, and yet tonight… tonight is quickly devolving into a night you want to drown with a bottle of wine.

You can’t find an immediate answer, instead turning your attention to the spread of paperwork on the table. “If you’d like to be seated, I have everything arranged for you here.” You watch him move around the table on silent footsteps and fold elegantly into a plush chair as you continue. “I understand that you previously had the opportunity to review the transfer of estates, accounts, and power of attorney paperwork prior to your grandfather signing.”

He nods in confirmation. “Yes, and everything was as expected.”

You nod in return as you motion at the pen resting alongside the first form. “Then, please, feel free to confirm the versions signed by your grandfather align with your understanding prior to signing.”

Stepping back to allow him a modicum of privacy, you fold your hands in front of your jacket and quietly wait. Instead of hideous fluorescent lights, the can ceiling lights emit a soft golden glow that plays handsomely off the tint of his hair and highlights the elegance of his fingers as he traces the words on the paper.

You’ve never met the grandfather – the original Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc – confined as he is in an exclusive care facility, and the paperwork provides few clues about how he amassed his vast fortune. He became a client in 1946 after rising to wealthy prominence and only continued to add to this fortune and collection of estates. His son - Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, II – passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving only his son – the man now seated at the conference table – as the sole heir. But where are the wives and mothers in all of this family business? Are the Leclercs truly so old-fashioned as to only let the men inherit the estates and conduct family business?

Of course, it’s all no business of yours whatsoever. Europe still harbors its pockets of aristocratic thought, and your job isn’t to judge them for it.

Your train of thought derails as you watch Charles reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdraws a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrews the cap. Glancing up at you, he offers another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he says as a gleaming gold fountain tip comes into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

His signature isn’t the neatest that you’ve ever seen. In fact, next to his grandfather’s, it’s downright illegible aside from the leading C and L. For someone who shuns ball point pens in favor of artistry, you’re surprised that his signature is so… unremarkable.

Wetting your top lip, you take a breath. “If I may… are you an artist, sir?”

The corner of his mouth lifts – whether with amusement or a more private sentiment, you can’t tell. “I have certainly studied art,” he says as he continues to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Admittedly, understanding the art of art isn’t something you pride yourself on. You appreciate museums and the history they hold, but you’re not all that familiar with art history or defining characteristics of art over the centuries. Slowly, you nod as he recaps the pen. “It sounds like you would have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he says at length as he rises. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

All at once, you remember the late evening hour. “Of course, sir, please – I don’t mean to keep you any longer than you need.”

“It’s no trouble, and your curiosity is not unwelcome.” A charming smile warms his face. “Actually, it’s flattering that despite this suit you would still consider me to be an artist.”

Your brow furrows as a confused smile slants the corner of your mouth. “Artists come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Just because you’re not starving and dressed in rags doesn’t mean that you couldn’t be an artist.”

“Art is what we make of it, non? As are those who create it.” He steps towards you and the door, offering the clumsiest attempt at a wink you’ve ever seen. “And that is for each of us to decide.”

Maybe it’s the sonorous tone of his voice or the light glinting in his green – or grey? Or hazel? – eyes, but you can’t look away. He’s utterly gorgeous and your body heats up in appreciation of this handsome man standing before you. The scent of cedar, citrus and earth reaches your nose – and fuck, how did you not notice his cologne earlier? It entrances you, and the longer you hold his gaze, the more you feel yourself floating…

Until he blinks away and motions towards the door. “After you.”

Shaking from your stupor, another embarrassed flush stains your cheeks as you move towards the elevator. He’s hardly the first supremely attractive man that you’ve interacted with on this job, but none of them have rendered you so stupid before.

“My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

You brush the memory of his earlier words aside, swallowing your unease as you search for something to say. “Thank you again for coming by this evening.” You finally say, sticking to the safe topic at hand. “I’ll file the paperwork in the morning, and Señor Padros will be in touch if there are any unforeseen complications with the transfer.”

“I have complete faith in Xavi, and you, by extension.” Charles says breezily as you both step into the elevator. “He has served my grandfather well, and no doubt, will continue to serve me well in his stead.”

The odd choice of words strikes you. You don’t consider yourself in the service industry and you’re pretty sure that your boss doesn’t consider himself a servant to the wealthy elite, but maybe it’s just another indicator of how old-school this young man next to you truly is.  

“As always, we appreciate your support and business.” You say on professional reflex, despite the distracting scent of Charles’ cologne that you can’t stop noticing. “I will be sure to pass along your reassurance to Señor Padros.”

“Again, there is no need.” He flashes another reassuring smile as the elevator doors open to the main lobby. “I owe Xavi a visit soon to discuss further matters and I will gladly tell him in person.”

His words beg further questions in your mind but you know better than to ask. Whatever relationship he has with your boss – professional or otherwise – is also certainly none of your business.

Your heels click to a stop near the front door and he pauses beside you. With a bow of his head, he holds your gaze as he speaks. “Thank you again for accommodating such a late meeting. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.” You nod in thanks as he turns for the door. “I hope that you have a good rest of your evening.”

His mouth slants with a wicked grin as he pushes out into the dark night. “Of course. I’m just getting started, after all.”

A shiver crawls down your spine as he saunters up to his red car and sinks down into the plush leather seating. The glass building façade muffles the revving engine, but as he shoots off into the night, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Sighing deep, you offer a good night wave to the front desk guard, focused only on getting your bag and going home. The trip back to your desk and down to the parking garage passes in a familiar blur only broken when the elevator doors ding open. Yellow light from the sodium-vapor lamps paint the concrete surroundings in a hideous, monochromatic glow. Even through the glass doors of the elevator lobby, the ubiquitous buzzing of the light fixtures can still be heard. But it’s the frustrated groans of a tall, slender man carrying a box piled high with file folders and trying to pull the doors open that draws your attention.

“Here,” you say in greeting, offering a friendly smile as you step up to assist with the door handle. “It looks like you’ve got your arms full – literally.”

“Oh, thank you.” The man turns brilliant, blinding blue eyes on you and a megawatt smile around his posh British syllables. “You have no idea just how heavy this box is.”

You hold the door open for him as he steps through, maneuvering the box and his messenger bag through the opening. “You’re welcome. Do you have a big case ahead?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod as the door closes behind you. “Boss needs recommendations by noon tomorrow and I’m so far behind.”

“Ugh,” you groan in commiseration. “I’ve been there, too – it can be so fast-paced sometimes. Who’s your boss?”

“Musconi. He’s not one of the senior partners or anything – not like Padros or Bonnington – but, well, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I’m still learning. I’m George Russell, by the way. I’d offer you my hand, but well…” He shrugs and flashes another handsome smile as he hefts the box in his hands.

“No worries, George.” You say before offering your own name. “Welcome to the firm. I hope you continue to settle in alright.”

“Thank you. Everyone’s been really helpful so far.”

You spot your car ahead and turn to offer him a wave. “Well, if I can help with anything, please let me know; otherwise, have a good evening and see you around, George.”

“Lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” He calls out after you, poorly attempting to offer a wave despite his full arms.

As you start the ignition and drive through the garage, you just catch George rounding a concrete pillar to another car.

You don’t see George open the car’s boot, depositing the box and bag before slamming the top down. You don’t see George reach into the backseat, to the dead body slumped across the backseat like someone sleeping. You don’t see George tuck the borrowed employee badge back into the man’s pocket before sliding into the driver’s seat.

And you definitely don’t hear George make a phone call as he drives off. “Yeah… Leclerc just left, and I’ve made contact.”

1940

“Quel est l’ordre, Lieutenant?”

Charles slows his steps, surveying his assembled platoon of French and Monegasque soldiers as he answers in French. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

Beaufort glares over at Charles. “Stopping here, sir?” He glances around at the splintered remains of the French woodlands, the craters in the earth, and the tree shards that litter everywhere. “I’ll roll over and get a splinter in my ass.”

“Better than up your ass!” Moreau bellows as he laughs at his own jab and a few others join in.

Charles can’t say that he disagrees, but he’s careful to keep the amusement from his face. “Either way, I suggest that you use this last bit of daylight to clear a resting place that won’t result in needing medical aid.”

A low murmur of chuckles and assent rises from his men as they start to settle into the destruction. Other platoons flank them on all sides, making similar encampments as they stretch out among the shattered trees and the growing shadows of twilight that rapidly obscure into darkness.

For days now, they’ve been marching through burned and battered countryside, each ruined village indistinguishable from the next. The Panzers prove relentless in their siege, and the Luftwaffe bombs haven’t helped, either. Charles isn’t a high enough rank to possess a map, but his basic knowledge of the sky from training indicates a steady march in a northwesterly direction.

Fall back to Dunkirk. That’s his command from on high.

He yawns as he continues to survey his men. They number so few now, and the missing faces will haunt the rest of his days. As their commanding officer, he knows every last man in his platoon, but now… only a handful remain. A handful that he is personally responsible for leading out of this hell and into the unknown.

If the Allied Forces are well and truly surrounded, what fresh horrors await them when the enemy finally catches up to them in Dunkirk? Will the British prioritize evacuation of their own troops first? What chance does he stand to ever get back home to Monaco?

But wars are lost on pointless thoughts like that. Thinking so far ahead won’t serve him well in the here and now. He just needs to solve this problem, and then solve the next problem. To stay alive and always keep moving forward.

Someday – when Charles has access to endless alcohol and a real bed – he’ll lose himself to those other dark, destructive musings.

“Merde, that’s an ill wind, isn’t it?” Severin’s voice carries low in the night.

“Sure… like ghosts are riding its wings.” Porcher agrees with a grumble as the sound of a hand slapping thick fabric becomes audible. “But no more of that talk. Between the Jerrys, your ass, and these damnable tree roots, I don’t need any extra help from nightmares for not sleeping.”

Allowing his lips to quirk in the cover of darkness, Charles turns from his men, satisfied that they’re settling in well enough for the night. He slows and steadies his footfalls, not wanting to disturb anyone as he makes his way through the dimly lit landscape.

Moments alone are truly rare, but he can steal a few to relieve himself. Counting his steps to gauge his return, the sounds of men snoring, breathing, talking and coughing fade into the breeze.

True peaceful silence at last.

Charles closes his eyes, indulging it for the space of a breath, before going about his business. His eyes roam skyward, catching glimpses of starlight through the wispy clouds. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the brush strokes to try and capture such splendor on canvas. It makes him long to return to his position at the art institute, to nurture creation instead of destruction. With a sigh, he looks back down to the war-torn ground, righting his uniform and webbing. In truth, it’s better not to dally.

A cigarette is his next order of business. It helps him forget about his toothbrush that went missing during a forward advance some weeks back.

In complete silence, strong, vice-like hands grip his shoulders out of the darkness, throwing Charles off his feet. He hits the ground hard, breath forced from his chest and stealing his voice as plain blooms in the back of his skull. His assailant looms over him, a shapeless shadow that pins him to the ground with effortless ease.

Charles kicks feebly as his vision swims, thrashing to dislodge his attacker and break free from the commanding hold. But the impossibly cold weight above him remains immobile, crushing him into the muddy ground. Surely, this must be another man… but a German soldier? Or possibly a confused Allied soldier?

Icy fingers suddenly claw at the collar of Charles’ uniform, wool and buttons shearing easily as horror creeps into Charles’ rising panic. The dark shadow above him bears down, unbothered by Charles’ desperate attempts to scratch and claw along his back. Twin points of searing pain explode in Charles’ neck as sharp, pointed teeth rip through his skin. A strangled cry rasps in Charles’ throat against the agony as the shape of the attacker’s mouth changes, and he seals his lips to Charles’ skin, supping greedily as he pulls suction.

A new sensation erupts – one of ragged, exquisite pleasure – that mixes with the blinding pain to ebb and flow through his entire body. Charles’ mind overloads at the onslaught as his body grows stiller and more pliant. His pitiful protests become sluggish as a creeping fog eats at the very center of his being. His arms fall to the ground, weakened and motionless as the delicious, terrifying pressure continues on his neck.

And then… only darkness.

Series Main List

[lacontroller1991]

Come Back to Me (Obi-Wan Kenobi x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Star Wars Master List

Author's Note: So I saw one edit on TikTok of Jedi Daddy Kenobi, and then I fell in a rabbit hole and now here we are again. If you guys have any requests, I’ll be open to them, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll write for them as I am a college student, but still if you have some, I’m more than happy to hear what you guys would like!

Warnings: Order 66, Blood, gunshot wound, canon typical violence

Word Count: 1.2k

----------

Obi-Wan treads through the hallway with his lightsaber lit in hand, an uneasy feeling settling in as he looks around and takes in all the various bodies on the floor. “Who could have done something like this?”

Yoda frowns beside him, a heavy feeling in his heart as he extends his hand, trying to feel any sign of life but lowering it when he feels none. “A sith, perhaps.” Yoda knows the truth, Obi-Wan does too, though he won’t admit it. Who had attacked the Jedi temple being the last thing he’s worried about, right now, his sole goal is to find you. Sensing Obi-Wan’s feelings for you, Yoda turns to the taller Jedi with a terse frown. “Find her, you must.” Obi-Wan doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s bolting away from the Grand Master and trying to locate your force signature.

----------

You let out a hiss as you try to apply more pressure to your wound but to no avail as the blood keeps pouring, sweat dripping down your body and onto the floor. When the initial attack had started, you tried defending others, tried fighting for others, but once you saw the familiar black cape of your lover’s former padawan, you tried to make a run for cover. Even though you’re a Jedi, and a talented one at that, you knew that you could never face Anakin; sweet little Anakin.

Not so sweet anymore, you think to yourself bitterly as you tighten the piece of fabric around your shoulder. Although you had managed to escape the former Jedi Knight’s view, you unfortunately hadn’t been that lucky as not even a minute later a blaster shot went straight through your shoulder. After having quickly decapitated your once ally, you make your way to the only safe spot you know, Obi-Wan’s quarters where you rest now, hoping to stay awake long enough to pass the time or for Obi-Wan to find you.

Surprisingly to Obi-Wan, managing to find your force signature had been rather easy. Maybe it’s because of the connection you and him share, maybe it’s because you’ve never been good at hiding it from him or maybe because you’re too weak physically to close it off; but whatever the case, Obi-Wan is glad that he is quickly able to locate you, in his room.

Sliding the door open, his blue eyes immediately land on your form, leaning against his bedpost and clutching your shoulder. “Oh darling.”

----------

His voice causes your head to turn to the door where you find him standing in the doorway, too scared to move. “Hey Kenobi, glad to see you safe,” you manage to comment as he takes your side, looking you over with his brows creased. “I tried to fight them off, but there were so many of them.”

“Shh shh, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” he comments to himself and you don’t know if that’s supposed to be to reassure you or him, but you don’t really protest when he moves your hand out of the way and holds more pressure onto your wound. “Who hurt you?”

“One of the clones. Took me by surprise. But Obi, it’s Anakin. He did all this.” Obi-Wan’s eyes close in grief and betrayal. What had he done in his career, in his life, to cause Anakin to turn to the dark side. Seeming to notice his turmoil, you took his face in your good hand, running a thumb across his dirtied cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

Obi-Wan looks at you with unshed tears in his eyes. It is his fault. He was tasked to train Anakin and failed. He tasked himself with protecting you and once again, failed. “Let me get you to safety.” Being careful to mind your damaged shoulder, Obi-Wan lifts you into his arms with ease and carries you through the door and out to the ship where Yoda waits with Bail and a medical droid. “We need to get her into a bacta tank.” Bail leads Obi-Wan on board the spacecraft before Obi-Wan is setting you on a bed, hand pushing back your hair as he looks down on you with guilt and pity. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I should never have left you alone.” He continues to pet your hair as you shake your head while the droid attends to your wound.

“Obi, you were only doing what was best for our republic. No one could have seen this happening.”

“I should have been there to protect you.” You can tell when Obi-Wan is beating himself up. You can also tell when - even despite his normal cool headedness - that he’s about to do something dumb.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re going to be okay. Okay?” Obi-Wan nods his head, leaning down and resting his forehead against your damp one, both of your force signatures wrapping around each other as a peace settles over you for the moment.

“I have to stop him.” He comments quietly, trying to control his body. If he’s being honest, he’s terrified. He’s terrified to face who he once called his brother. He’s terrified of what his brother had turned into.

“I know you do. Just please, please, come back to me Obi. I already lost so many people, I can’t lose you too.” He nods quietly before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead that he wishes could last an eternity before he breaks apart, looking behind him at Bail and Yoda (who didn’t seem bothered by the display of affection, lest he won’t comment on it right now).

“Take care of her for me?” Bail wordlessly nods as he walks away, leaving the three Jedi and the droid. Turning back to you, Obi-Wan gives your hand one last squeeze as you smile softly up at him. “Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” The two of you chuckle for a moment before silence falls once more. “I love you, Obi-Wan.”

“I love you too.” He gives you one last smile before walking off the ship with Yoda in tow. “I’m not sure I can defeat him, Master.”

Yoda mindlessly taps his cane as he shakes his head. “Defeat him you will, Obi-Wan. Trust in the force.” Obi-Wan nods his head in compliance, thankful for the elder Jedi’s words of encouragement and thankful that he made no comment about the confession Obi-Wan and you shared.

“I don’t know where to look for him.” It’s a half lie. Wherever he finds Padme, Anakin probably isn’t too far.

“Trust in your senses you must.” Obi-Wan nods solemnly, taking one last look at the ship and silently praying to the stars that you’ll be okay by the time he gets back.

“May the force be with you, Master Yoda.”

“May the force be with you, Master Kenobi.”

==========

Author’s Note: Like I said, I haven’t written for Obi Wan in a while so I hope you guys enjoyed!!!

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid​ @himbovillain-anon​ @babblydrabbly​ @fairchildflag​ @infatuatedjanes @a-reader-and-a-writer​ @tavners​

[221bshrlocked]

warm hearts

Pairings: Commander Wolffe x Jedi Fem!Reader

Words: 2816 (It’s a short one. I am just as shocked as you are.)

Warnings: Lots of teasing.

Summary: Wolffe catches you in a moment of vulnerability. Then you allow him to catch you in another one again. 

A/N: It’s yearning hours, and I wanted something soft but hot. Here you go.  You can add yourself to the taglist here if you like.

The sound of the rain hitting the surface of your tent makes you sigh worryingly, and you look through the small opening to see if any of your men are outside. When you don’t see anyone nearby the campsite, you kick the covers off of you and grab the lightsaber from below your pillow. Clipping it to your belt, you exit the tent and wince when the water seeps through your clothes in a matter of minutes. You walk around the various tents pitched up in between the trees quietly, smiling to yourself when you recall the way Sinker and Boost reacted when they saw you pitching them up. It was sad though, how shocked they were that you thought of their comfort before going on the mission with them. As pleasant as it was to see them thank you as they each went into their shelters, you hated that they were surprised by the small action. 

They deserved so much, and to have them offer you gratitude for something so basic made your blood boil. The longer you thought about it, the more irritated you became, and you shut your eyes to focus on that anger in hopes of decreasing it out of fear of having it affect your behavior around them. 

“General, what are you doing out here?” The rough voice of none other than the Commander of the Wolfpack makes you flinch harshly, and you nearly topple over from the rock you’re resting on when you quickly turn around and stare at him. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before the neutral expression he’s always aimed at you takes over once more. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Commander!” You grasp at your chest, and step back onto the large boulder, turning away from Wolffe when you realize the intensity behind his gaze will not decrease any time soon. 

“You didn’t sense me.” You think he means to ask rather than comment on your momentary relapse, but you remember who it is you’re speaking with and remind yourself that the Commander of the 104th was seldom unaware of his syntax. 

“I- I didn’t…I was- am, distracted.” You look into his eyes and blink embarrassingly at him when you see him scrutinizing your every word. 

“And you think it wise to stand out here alone when you’re…compromised.” You know he doesn’t intend to offend you, but his words slice through you like a blazing fire, reminding you once again that he was much more experienced than you were when it came to this context and that he was well-aware of that little detail. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” The more he questions you, the shorter your responses become and Wolffe steps towards you until you’re nearly breathing the same air as him. 

“All the more reason to get back inside, mesh’la.” The shiver running down your spine has nothing to do with the freezing conditions you find yourself in, and everything to do with the hoarse baritone of his voice. You’re not familiar with that term, and the question is forming on your lips, but before you can ask him what that word means, a lightning strike shoots through the skies and makes you flinch, hard. 

The blinding light shines across Wolffe’s features for a brief second, and you swear you see a glint of sheer possessiveness flash through them, but his handsome face hides behind the darkness of the night again. You’re visibly shaking now, and you try to tell him why you found yourself out here when he suddenly pulls away and steps back. You miss the heat his Force signature offered you as soon as he’s no longer within reach, and as you part your lips to kindly ask him to come back to you, he breaks the silence and places his helmet back on his head. 

“Get inside, General.” He’s strict, more so now than he is with the boys on the battlefield. 

It excites you to no end. 

“Is that an o-order, Commander?” You don’t mean for the question to sound so flirtatious, and Wolffe must see through your own thoughts, because he tilts his head to the side and shamelessly moves his head up and down your body, enough for you to know that he’s checking you out. 

“Not unless you want it to be.” 

The silence that follows is deafening, and you don’t dare look away from him as he walks from you and returns to his tent. You’re left questioning the interaction for perhaps too long, only snapping out of your haze as thunder rumbles across the sky and reminds you why you left the comfort of your shelter. You gaze across the campsite again, shutting your eyes to focus on every Force signature thrumming around you. When you’re satisfied with the calm slumber emitting from each of the tents, you take a deep breath and make your way towards the Commander’s tent at the front of the group. 

There’s a voice in the back of your mind reminding you of your place, begging you to think of Wolffe’s as well, but you can’t find it in yourself to care for either of your positions anymore. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long now, the snide and teasing comments falling back and forth between the two of you fueling your nightly dreams ever since you met him, until you could no longer go to sleep without the thought of him making you his. 

You weren’t sure if he was aware of how he came off during all of your interactions, but the last few minutes were all the proof you needed. He wanted you as well, and from the way his Force signature danced as he called you that strange word, he longed for you as desperately as you did him. 

Willing your heart to calm down, you fix your drenched clothes quickly before sliding through the opening in his tent, ceasing to breathe when you look down and see the blaster aimed at your skull. You hold your palms up and stare into Wolffe’s eyes, only breathing again when recognition flashes through his darkened gaze and forces him to lower down his weapon. 

“Never do that again.” He’s stern, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he really was about to shoot you.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” It’s a sad excuse of an apology, and it’s clear that you barely mean it because your eyes are immediately lowering down Wolffe’s form, studying him as if your familiarity went beyond that of a General and a Commander. 

“What are you doing here?” Wolffe practically growls the question, the aggressive hint of possessiveness returning once more and reminding you that you were intruding on him and his space. You try your best to look above his neckline, but you regret it as soon as you notice the way his Force signature begins to sing out to you, as if his mind was pleading for him to reach out and touch you. There’s so much you want to say, but you know that you have no right to use this moment of vulnerability against him. He was rarely afforded any privacy, and now that he had it, you were disrespecting it, the same way others do. 

Opting to stick with the truth, you allow your shoulders to sag as you shut your eyes and confess the rather embarrassing sentiment behind your intrusion. 

“I’m scared.” 

You think he’ll laugh at you, perhaps even remind you that you’re a Jedi General before kicking you out of his tent. But none of that comes, and when he takes too long to respond, you look up and meet his eyes, praying that he can somehow see the longing you have for him. 

“You’re cold.” Only when he says those words do you realize just how freezing you are, and you look down to see your body shivering violently as your hands fist around each other to try and warm up. You don’t know what to do, especially now that Wolffe didn’t bother to comment about the random bit of knowledge you just offered him, and before you can apologize and leave, Wolffe sits up and closes the last bit of space between the two of you. 

He says nothing as he cups your chin and raises your head so he can get a better look at you. This close, you can almost taste his skin on your lips, and as you try to search your mind for any coherent thought, Wolffe quiets you down with a whispered hush, resting his forehead against your own until your body recognizes his touch. When he feels you visibly relax against him, he reaches down and pushes off the robes around your body. You let him remove them with ease, not bothering to ask him what he’s doing as he reaches for your belt and unclips it from around your waist. He sets the belt with your weapon aside gently before moving onto the rest of your clothes. With each article of clothing he removes from your cold body, you feel a flicker of heat course through your muscles, and it’s not until he has you in nothing but your undergarments that you realize why you’re not freezing to death. 

Force. 

He didn’t just want you. 

He craved you. 

Perhaps more so than you yearned for him. 

“What do you want, mesh’la?” His question is confusing to your dazed mind, mostly because you were too busy committing the touch of his hands to memory. He trails his fingers across your arms and shoulders, rubbing his thumb against your pulse and smirking dangerously at you when he finds your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You lean into his hand immediately, finding it extremely difficult to think of any proper response when you can finally know what his touch felt like. 

You’ve dreamt of it for so long, and now that you could feel it, feel him, you couldn’t get enough. You wanted him. You wanted him so kriffing much. 

“You.” 

His smile only deepens at your response, and you swear you feel a dramatic spike in his Force signature then, but you don’t have any time to dwell on it because he slowly moves your hands to his chest so you can feel him beneath your palm as well. 

“What do you want from me?” Wolffe’s gaze is unwavering as ever, and you wish he didn’t have such a hold on you so you can tell him a fraction of the effect he had on you. 

“I- I want you to keep me warm. I want you to keep me in your arms…I want you to- to…” With each word you reveal to him, Wolffe’s chest rumbles with excitement, the sound nearing one you’re sure you would hear from a loth-wolf if you ever grew close to one. He knows that you’re biding time, and you hate that the tighter his grip grows around your skin, the harder it becomes for you to speak your mind. You trip over your words as his thumb makes a pass awfully near the corner of your lips, and before you can think twice of what you’re doing, you’re leaning into his palm and kissing the length of his finger, silently begging him to continue touching you.

“Tell me, my jetti’ika.” Wolffe whispers against your cheek when you remain quiet for too long, and you swear you can hear his thoughts storming around you when he grazes his nails across your damp skin and journeys his touch down your body until he reaches your lower back. Without warning, he squeezes your hips and slips one finger beneath the edge of your panties, reminding you of your nudity. 

“I- ahhh…maker.” You throw your head back and moan for him just as he leans down and nips at your jugular, chuckling to himself when you accidentally dig your nails into his chest as you try to hold onto him. 

“I never imagined you to be so sensitive.” The comment shouldn’t make you this crazed, nor should it force you to clench your thighs tightly so you can relieve the growing, uncomfortable pressure itching for release. But you fall into the sensation with ease, barely managing to whimper his name just as he teases you with his teeth again. 

“Wolffe.”

“You say my name so sweetly, cyar’ika.” He breathes against your neck, no longer caring for how forward he’s being as he roams his hands up and down your body to feel all of you at once. 

“Please.” You beg once more, praying to the Force that he can feel how much you want him to touch you and put you out of your misery by surrendering to his own needs. 

“Please what?” 

You should have known that he wouldn’t make this easy on you, but as he cups your cheek and shakes you in his arms to bring some bit of coherence back into your mind, you are reminded of the way this man seems to bring out the most lust-filled desires out of you with something as simple as a look. 

“Please keep me safe.” It’s the last thing on your mind now, but you’re not surprised that this is the only response your brain manages to muster up. It knew that you can feel safe with him, no matter what he was doing to you. It was fitting to request this of him. 

“Are you compromised, General?” Even though his question is harmless, you get the sense that he didn’t intend it this way. No, he knew well how dangerous such an inquiry could be, especially now that he had you naked and wanton. 

“M-more than you know.” You extend your neck up, chasing his lips so you can finally know what he tastes like. But he leans back away from you, the hand on your cheek descending down until it nestled perfectly across your skin. 

“And who’s fault is that?” He eyes you closely, studying every minute shift in your features to make sure that you’re comfortable with the way he’s familiarizing himself with your body. 

“I think you know.” You slide one hand down his muscular form, groaning deeply when you feel his muscles tense and unflex beneath the extremely tight blacks shielding him from your eyes. 

“I wonder what I can do about that,” you’re not really sure if he’s thinking out loud or purposely talking you into a frenzy, but you find it pleasant regardless, and you lean into his space even further as the hold around your neck grows tighter. 

“W-Wolffe.”

“Lay down, cyar’ika.” The Clone Commander lets go of you, moving around your shuddering form to shut the tent tightly before returning to your side again. 

“Is that an order, Commander?”

“Not unless you want it to be.” Unlike before, when he teasingly threw the remark and was completely sure of himself, you sense a hint of reluctance wash over him now, and you bite into your cheek as you slowly lay down and part your thighs to make room for him. Although you can barely see him, you gasp lightly when he swiftly removes the gloved shirt adorning his chest and discards it to the side. Your toes curl in anticipation, and when he crawls towards you, you suddenly feel like a prey waiting to be devoured by the hungry, loth-wolf who’s been straining to keep to himself for months. Wolffe settles in between your thighs, resting both of his hands on either side of your head to keep his weight off of you as he lowers himself down and slowly rolls his hips against your clothed cunt. 

“If I didn’t know better, sir…I’d say you are waiting for another order.” He chuckles when he hears you whimper beneath him. 

“Please Wolffe.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll keep you safe from the storm.” He nudges your cheek with his nose, inhaling deeply and humming in approval when your scent fills his senses and reminds you of just how similar he is to the being he was named after. You try to kiss him again but a hand shoots to your neck and keeps you still underneath him, body barely managing to move now that you were perfectly sandwiched between his rigged form and the hard ground. 

“But I- I thought you…” You’re tripping over your words again, hands itching to reach for him and hold him as close to you as possible, but you’re not sure that would be the right move, especially now that a silent agreement passed between you and Wolffe, one that tipped the scales of control in his favor. 

“Make no mistake, my jett’ika…you may be safe from the storm, but I never said you’re safe from me.” 

Tagging who showed interest in other Wolffe fics: @mrs-ghuleh @mandoleksiak @verdandis-blog @reaperofmen  @sjva03 @thefact0rygirl @2amandstillawake21 @ktrivia @zombiesnips-blog  @lackofhonor @ner-runi @whore4rex @spaceh0m0 @why-not-movies @yoonloml @where-is-my-mind-tho @okdeedee @clone-simp-99 @cautionhotmess @frogunderarock @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @knightprincess @raccoonsaregay @prozacspice @r2d2staser @marierg @2amandstillawake21​

[sonofthedunes]

to celebrate the one-year anniversary of this blog, i’m finally writing about my favorite dorks again :p yes, it’s luke and andrie time, and here you get a glimpse into a time period i really haven’t touched on. no warnings here, just a bit of swearing. consider this another thank you to all my loyal followers :3 read along under the cut:

it takes two flints to make a fire

Ossus, 8 ABY

She is the wind, softly rustling the leaves. She is the sun, filtering through the branches to this little clearing. She is every creature that crawls and slithers and hops through the undergrowth…she is even the lightsaber gripped in her hand. She must be all of these and more, interwoven with the Force itself, if she is ever to be a Jedi.

So Andrie ignites the glowing cyan blade, fills her lungs—and swings.

Her saber slices through the air, flashing and humming; twirling the hilt, she spins quickly on her right foot, falling into a defensive stance. A step forward, then another…parry, thrust, surging forward and falling back, the occasional grunt of effort escaping as she battles an imaginary opponent. Her arms begin to ache, her sweat trickles down her brow and stings her eyes, but Andrie does not yield. She flows from one form to the next just as she has been taught, and only when she has “disarmed” her foe does she cut off the blade. Red-faced and gasping for breath, she wipes her brow and turns to the blond, black-clad figure seated on the ground nearby. “Well?” she wonders.

Luke studies her a moment, expression neutral, before nodding. “Good,” he replies calmly. “Again.”

Teacher and student lock gazes, until the student heaves an exasperated sigh. “Again? Luke, I’ve already done this five times in a row,” protests Andrie massaging her shoulder. “I really don’t feel like I’m improving.”

“You’ll never improve at all if you don’t practice,” he counters. “And you are making progress, Andrie. You grow stronger in the Force every day.”

Admittedly, she does feel the slightest twinge of pride when he says this. Still… “Won’t do me any good if I drop dead of exhaustion.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Luke admonishes.

“Look who’s talking.” It’s his turn to sigh now, and Andrie seizes her opening: “Can I rest, please? Just for a few minutes? Then I’ll do it again, as many times as you want.” She half-wonders if she should flutter her lashes to persuade him. In the end there’s no need; “all right, come here,” Luke relents, and Andrie gladly trudges over to sit beside him.

It’s a beautiful day, warm and breezy as most days on Ossus tend to be. The grass is fragrant and the sun warms without scorching. Somewhere in the distance a bird trills, its fellow answering. Yes, Luke and Andrie were right to come here—this will be the perfect place for their Jedi temple. Adopting his posture of crossed legs and straight back, she tilts her head toward the azure sky and closes her eyes. “So, am I allowed to be your wife now?” she asks.

“We made those vows in the living Force. They can’t be undone,” he reminds her.

“You know what I mean.”

“…Yeah, I do.” Luke relaxes then, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his arms. “It’s hard to find the balance. It always has been,” he continues. “I don’t want to torture you, but I don’t want to coddle you either. The life of a Jedi can be difficult, often dangerous, and I need to prepare you for that.”

As he speaks, Andrie refocuses on him, resting her elbows on her knees. “You don’t coddle me,” she replies. “You push me to be better, because you believe in me. Even on days when I feel weak and useless, you won’t let me quit.” A tiny smile tugs at her lips. “And I do appreciate it.”

Luke ducks his head and returns her smile—a small remnant of the farm boy she fell in love with all those years ago. “Thanks.” His Force signature reaches out to hers, as warm as the sun overhead and every bit as comforting. They meet and clasp like hands, fitting together in a way wholly unique to them. There’s no other feeling like this in the galaxy, and neither knows what they’d do without it. He sighs again, but now it’s contended. She leans over, cheek brushing against the soft sleeve of his tunic. “They’re proud of you, Luke,” says Andrie. “I know they are.”

Some nights Luke still sees them in his dreams, the ghosts of his father and Obi-Wan and Yoda, just as they appeared on Endor the night the Empire fell. They never speak, but they look upon him with such joy…such love. The glow burns in him even now. His arm encircles his wife, drawing her closer. “I won’t let them down,” he promises, not for the first time. “We’ll rebuild the temple and teach a new generation of Jedi, together.”

Andrie hums happily and reaches up to touch his hand (not caring that her fingers find the leather glove covering his cybernetic). “You’ll be a wonderful teacher, Master.”

“And so will you, Padawan,” he grins. “Once you’ve become a Master yourself—and you will.”

“A mere Knight wouldn’t be good enough for your students, then?”

“I never said that—“

“I got your meaning clearly enough.” He scowls at her, she scrunches up her face, but they can only pretend anger for a heartbeat before sharing a laugh. “Is my break over?” Andrie wants to know. “You’re right, I do need the practice.” She attempts to rise from the ground, only to discover Luke’s arm still firmly around her. Her eyebrows rise at this. “Unless…”

“I thought about it,” he explains, “and you have been working hard this afternoon. A few more minutes of rest won’t hurt.”

Andrie’s surprise quickly gives way to relieved happiness. Tucking her head into Luke’s shoulder, she allows herself to be surrounded by his breathing, his pulse: the wonder of him. “You know…I’ve really grown to like this planet,” she murmurs.

His hand toys with the end of her braided hair, the reddish-gold vivid on the black leather. “So have I,” he agrees. “It sings with the Force, like everything is perfectly in tune.”

Andrie’s reasoning isn’t quite as poetic, but it expresses something they’ve searched for all their lives: “It feels like home.”

Suddenly his arm withdraws, and he guides her upright to look at him. His flesh hand cups her cheek, blue gazing back into blue. “It feels like home,” echoes Luke, the emotion bleeding over into their bond.

Andrie’s heart threatens to burst, her very being energized by the light of the Force, and by her love for him. Loosely draping her own arms around his neck, she touches her forehead to Luke’s and they close their eyes, lost in an eternal moment. The future is never guaranteed, they know this all too well—but their shared path has never seemed clearer. Here, on this planet, what was destroyed will be reborn. They will welcome the orphan, the outcast, the seeker, and mold them into guardians of peace. Even among the constant change and chaos of the galaxy, they will stand fast; evil will not triumph on their watch. This will be a sacred place. A healing place. It will be all the Jedi of the past could have wished and more. They will build it—as husband and wife. As servants of the Force. And if Andrie has to practice lightsaber forms five million times to make it so, she’ll do it.

“I’m sorry I was a bitch earlier,” she softly apologizes, nuzzling him.

“I already forgave you,” he assures her, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Believe me, I know how it feels to be frustrated with your teacher.”

“…At least you’re not making me stand on my head,” she reasons. “Or letting a training remote shoot me in the ass.”

Even with her eyes shut, Andrie just knows Luke is smirking. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“And what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t remind you how far you’ve come?” He snorts and pulls her into his arms; Andrie opens her eyes on Luke’s playfully annoyed face. How much they’ve changed, she thinks, and how much they haven’t.

“I love you,” he says simply, even as he pretends to be piqued.

“I love you too,” she answers, gently caressing his jaw.

“…Sometimes I worry I don’t show you that enough,” he confesses, and Andrie shakes her head.

“You aren’t perfect, but you don’t have to be. You’re you, and that’s enough.” She kisses his mouth, feather-light. “I knew it when you came to our farm, and I know it now.”

He hugs her to his chest. “I never thought I’d be this happy,” he admits, shining in the Force like a crystalline star. “We can do this. We can.”

“Of course we can! After all, I’m learning from the best,” Andrie declares, basking in his presence. His arms tighten around her, and she lays her own hands on his back, making certain he knows he need never doubt her. Him and her, down the line—isn’t that how it’s always been?

There’s plenty of work yet to be done, blood and sweat and tears to be poured out. But they’ll give all they can to make this a reality.

Somehow, Andrie is sure they’ll be just fine.

[high-fantasy-sw]

On the subject of Lightsabers:

I have lightsaber references! All on heroforge obviously, because I cannot draw blades, and with notes that mark their most distinguishing trait. SOme of these are colors, others are blade type, it really just depends on the most interesting thing about the blade. I'll put notes on how they differ from how they look in the AU in the notes, because obviously Heroforge only has so many blade options and they don't all look exactly like I see them in my mind. Enjoy!

The Disaster Trio

Obi has a sword and shield because Soresu is a defensive form. His shield and the crossbar of his sword are both based on the crest of the Jedi Order. In AU Canon, this is more obvious.

Ahsoka has twin daggers because her fighting style is highly acrobatic, and full length swords would make that... rather dangerous; to save space I only put one of the pair. In season 7, Anakin replaces the Kyber Crystals in her original daggers, so they are technically the same daggers but now they burn the same blue as his saber.

Anakin's sword is a dual-handed greatsword, because his form is very aggressive and relies a lot on hacking away at your opponent and physically overpowering them. Also something something dual-edged sword, something something foreshadowing.

Male Jedi

Kit's flame is less a flame and more of watery magic. This is because he is of an aquatic race, and I thought it was cool :D

Yoda has a rapier because his form is very acrobatic and rapiers lend well to that.

Not going to lie, I struggled with Ki-Adi's saber, so I made his really unique in that his blade is darker than the flame that burns by a drastic amount.

MACE okay so. My guy has an executioner sword, because he is the Arbiter Of Justice (tm). Also, these kinds of swords have blunted ends and aren't meant to be used in combat, meaning that for Mace to actually use it as a weapon he needs incredible skill. Which he has. I love Mace Windu :D

Lady Jedi

Shaak's blade is supposed to be wavy like Ahsoka's daggers; wavy blades are a symbol of the Togruta in this AU. However, Heroforge didn't have any good options for this >:(

Barriss's and Luminara's swords have hilts made of Mirialan metalwork- Mirialan metal is fired with special potions that turn it special shades of red and green and gold. It is almost as valued as Mandalorian stained glass in the Galactic Archipelago. If you look closely, the little you can see of Luminara's bracers is also made of Mirialan metalwork.

Grievous's CoLlEcTiOn *cough hack whEEZE*

My favorite is the midnight blue one >:)

I have nothing else to add, I literally just designed sabers I thought looked freaking cool. If you want to make up lore for them, PLEASE do, I'd love to see it :D

Sith

THE DARKSABER okay so it has lightning instead of a flame because I wanted to replicate those crackles that it has. Anyway I think it looks really cool :D Also the serrated edge? *chef's kiss*

Dooku's saber is a rapier because it's the Gentleman's Fire Sword. However it does not look exactly like this in AU canon; I have a Dooku drawing ref in the works and when I post that I can explain it better. Also it is modeled on Yoda's because I really want to play up that Fallen Jedi Angst >:)

Ventress's sickles (much like Ahsoka, I only put one here to save space) is highly based on her Nightsister heritage. Even when she was a Padawan, I think she had that inspiration in her Jedi blade. Their blades are shaped like moons, and even her force signature is tinged with Nightsister Green (because her dark side powers also incorporate Nightsister Magick; if they didn't, they'd be pure blood-red, because it's important to me for Lore Reasons (tm) that while Jedi can have this whole array of colors, Sith all have the same shade of red).

Original Trilogy Bois

Luke's green force signature is tinged with blue because I will always associate Luke Skywalker with blue. Don't ask me why. But Luke is BLUE and I will DIE ON THIS HILL. FIGHT ME.

Vader's saber is based on his greatsword from when he was Anakin, because I think he got attatched to the design. Also because I want that visual motif of "Anakin is still buried in there" because I am a sucker for symbolism and metaphors. But you know that already ;)

I don't have Anakin's original (and by original i mean like his umpteenth) saber, AKA Luke's first saber, because it's basically the same as we saw earlier, and these swords were TIME CONSUMING to render. However, I will note that the very tips of the flames on that saber begin to be tinged with sith red because of the atrocities Anakin committed with it. Someday I'll have a picture of it for you and you'll see what I mean

I don't have Old Obi's either, because again, TIME. CONSUMING. TO. RENDER. But it's basically the same as it was in the Clone Wars, just more corroded because my man was living in the desert.

If I cared enough to make Palpatation's saber (see i call him that because he gives me heart palpitations of rage) it would be here. But I do not. So it is not

(Okay. Yes he has a Saber in this AU I just haven't made it yet because I am Mad At Him)

Tagging: @whyoneartheven @majorproblems77 @anime-obsessed @lilliesandlight

[scottysketches]

wip wednesday

A little snippet of something I'm working on. I can't quite decide whether it'll be in ch4 or ch5 of Don't Dream It's Over, but it will be one of those two, no later. Hopefully, now that I've blocked out what I want to have happen in the remaining chapters I'll be able to get back into the swing of actually - you know - writing it.

-----

As their training sessions progress it becomes clear to Obi-Wan that Korkie’s reflexes, though deceptively quick for a young man with no prior combat experience or training, are far from what they should be for a being sensitive to the Force. Korkie attributes it to the dance lessons he partook in while a student at Sundari’s Royal Academy of Government, and Obi-Wan muses that his son being a dancer makes his willowy frame understandable. But those reflexes need to be faster.

And so he devises a game.

Korkie exhales steadily as he balances on one foot, his eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest and his hands gripping his shoulders. His stamina has vastly improved and with his recovering health and increased weight his muscles are starting to show some signs of healthy definition. Currently, his hair is tied back and away from his face, a tiny ponytail at the back of his head, not too dissimilar to the way Obi-Wan’s hair had looked whilst he had been a padawan. His breeches are slung low on his hips, the black waistband of his undergarments visible and a stark contrast to the sand-coloured trousers he’s wearing.

Obi-Wan makes his way around his son in a wide circle, quietly tossing a small foam ball in the air and catching it in the opposite hand each time. Though she had been wary of allowing Korkie to partake in any form of combat training, Satine watches her lover and their son with keen eyes from the breakfast island. “Repeat after me,” Obi-Wan instructs clearly, and Korkie’s brows furrow slightly as he listens to his father’s words. “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

“There is no emotion,” Korkie calmly repeats, his eyes still closed, “there is peace.”

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.” His son wobbles slightly but regains his balance.

Obi-Wan lets his eyes narrow slightly, continues to move around Korkie, and contemplates his next move. “There is no passion, there is serenity.”

“There is no passion, there is serenity.”

“There is no chaos, there is harmony.”

Korkie echoes the fourth line of the Jedi meditation mantra back to his father. “There is no chaos, there is harmony.”

“There is no death, there is the Force.”

“There is no death,” his son says softly, his furrowed brow relaxing and his Force signature softening, “there is the Force.”

His relaxed manner gives Obi-Wan his opening. Tossing the ball in the air one more time, he grips it tight, winds his arm back and shouts, “Think fast!” as he throws the ball with substantial velocity at his son’s chest.

Korkie yelps as the foam ball makes hard contact with his bare skin, leaving a round pink mark in its place from the impact. He wobbles once more, finally placing his other foot on the ground to right himself and opens his eyes. “Ow! What the hell was that for?!”

Obi-Wan grins, and from behind him he can hear Satine laughing. Summoning the ball back into his hand, he says, “Your reflexes need work. They’re faster than those of someone not as sensitive to the Force as you or I, but you’ve a ways to go until I’ll even consider weapons training with our lightsabers. Until then, we’ll continue using the practice sabers.”

“So your solution to train my reflexes is to brutalise me with a foam ball?” Korkie mutters sarcastically, rolling his head from side to side and working the knots out of his neck, the palm of his hand coming to rest over the spot just under his ribs where the ball had struck him.

[aaeeart]

The "Probe"lem

Prompt: Truth Serum

Summary: Kanan runs into probes during a mission, Ezra helps.

Tags: fluff, humor, friendship, mild hurt/comfort, rescue, team bonding, platonic relationships, canon compliant, one shot

Word count: 1,896

Read it on AO3 📖

Or under the cut ⬇️⬇️⬇️

The dimly lit corridor echoed with the hum of a lightsaber blade and the deflected beeps of small red laser bolts as Kanan Jarrus deflected the attacks of three incessant imperial probe droids with practiced grace. But being blind and fighting opponents without a living signature in the Force, that is to say, relying solely on one's senses, could only get you so far. Especially, Kanan thought, when he couldn't seem to hit the droids however much he tried. He tried reaching for his comms three times now, each resulting in a very near miss by the probes. With a warning shooting through his skull so intensely it felt like a slap from the Force itself, he leapt to the side, slamming his back into the wall just as he sensed the three laser bolts fly in the spot he just vacated. He sighed a shaky breath of relief and raised his saber again as he sensed more attacks.

"Uh, Spectre 6 to all Spectres," Ezra's voice crackled through Kanan's wrist comm, and his heart leaped with excitement. "I see a lot of bucket heads running in the eastern port direction."

"That's our cue, Spectre 6," Hera said. "Let's pack it up, everyone. Confirm all Spectres."

Oh, thank the Force.

Kanan patiently waited for everyone to confirm they heard Hera.

"Spectre 1, confirm," Hera said.

The thought only crossed his mind that he could try to activate the comm with the Force and got the payback in the form of one of the laser bolts grazing the back of his hand. He hissed and banished the thoughts, focusing on the danger all around him again. He had to trust his friends would realize what his silence meant. Hopefully sooner than the troopers closed in.

"Spectre 1 come in!" Hera demanded over the comm, eerie quiet being her only answer. Ezra was running now, following the troopers trying to guess where they were aiming to get in case the commotion was because of his master.

"Spectre 2," Ezra called into his comm. "I'm going after the imps."

"Copy that, Spectre 6. Other Spectres near the port?"

"Negative, Spectre 2." Sabine said. "Spectre 4 and 5 are closer to the Ghost. Should we-"

"No, the Ghost will be faster-..."

Ezra tuned the conversation out as he sensed a familiar presence. Kanan was hyper-focused on something, Ezra could tell. "I think I have him! Stand by!" Ezra barked into the comm.

He picked up the pace, jumping over the flat roofs, and with one fluid leap, he was falling towards the dark space port, using the Force to slow his fall and gracefully landing. "Oof..." Ezra grumbled when a painful pulse spiked through his legs.

He didn't land gracefully.

Frowning into the darkness, he picked a door and dashed through it into the baggage area. The halls were empty, the lights in only the emergency mode, bathing the white halls in an eerie green light. Ezra closed his eyes and focused. Kanan's controlled fear rippled through the Force and gave the padawan direction. Ezra vaulted across the checkpoints, and his legs carried him towards the hall to another terminal. And now he could hear him. And the droids. Indeed he could see his master now, and the four probes levitating around the blind Jedi. Ezra watched for a full five seconds as the man's blue blade swirled around deflecting the laser bolts one by one. And then he noticed Kanan was facing only three of the droids. And the fourth one was levitating a little too close.

"Kanan!" Ezra shouted, igniting his green saber and running towards the droid as fast as he could.

"Ezra," Kanan turned back with a fond smile, only for it to be replaced by tightly gritted teeth as the droid he didn't see coming sent a laser bolt straight to his shoulder.

Kanan grunted and stumbled on his feet, barely deflecting the incoming bolts. Ezra chastised the droid by a really rude name before jumping on it and running his blade through its top.

"Kanan! Look out!" Ezra jumped in front of his master, deflecting more shots while Kanan gratefully let his guard down as he spoke to his wrist comm. "Spectre 1 to Spectre 2, we need a pick-up!"

"On our way, Spectre 1."

"Sword and shield?" Ezra smirked at Kanan deflecting the bolts as he had before, finding it hard to deflect them directly at the spider-like droids.

"I'm the shield then." Kanan retorted, slurring his words, making Ezra look back at him in concern. But he didn't argue as Kanan jumped in his place. Ezra drew his blaster and waited for the right moment.

"Now!" the two Jedi barked in unison, Kanan dropping to the ground, and Ezra shooting three quick bolts right into their glowing red orbs for eyes. "Uh oh." Ezra stammered.

"What?" Kanan struggled to get back on his feet, and Ezra quickly took his flailing arm to pull him up.

"I think the droids are self-destructing." Ezra said in a panicky voice. "And aiming right for us! We need to-!"

Kanan extended both of his arms towards the droids and made a clapping motion, and the droids slammed into each other and fell harmlessly to the ground.

Ezra whistled. "How did you know they wouldn't explode?"

"I didn't." Kanan said, wiping sweat from his forehead and leaning his fists on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Then his hand went to a smoking spot on his shoulder and gripped it with a hiss.

"Oh right!" Ezra took Kanan's hand away and tried to see the damage. "Doesn't look too bad."

"Yeah, Hera will kiss it goodbye with one of those tooka patches." Kanan laughed humorlessly.

"These things are the worst." Ezra mused, looking around for the fallen droid and dropping on his knees next to the remains, tugging at its various appendages. "Probes just carry these with them?" Ezra frowned, finding a syringe with a clear fluid.

"These what?"

"Needles. What is that about?"

"Truth serum most likely. For...."

"Mind probing. Hence the name." Ezra reached for the syringe and tried pulling it out.

"Don't mess with that thing," Kanan warned. "We should get going before the company comes."

"But we should take it with us," Ezra argued, trying to wiggle the vial free. "Could come in handy if we need to-..." Ezra stiffened as he noticed the stormtroopers on each end of the hallway. "You jinxed it!" Ezra complained to his master, while Kanan instead of answering lit his saber.

"Lower your weapons, Jedi scum!" The commander closer to Ezra demanded. "We have you surrounded!"

Ezra frowned, letting go of the syringe, but as he tried to get up, an iron grip on his collar tugged him back down, and a sharp sting in his arm made him yelp and draw his saber, slashing the not-so-dead probe, jerking the needle out. "Dank Farrik!"

Which, in turn, startled the troopers. "FIRE!" yelled the commander, and panic ensued. There were red laser bolts everywhere as the troopers frantically started firing, and the Jedi shielded. Some deflected bolts found their targets, some fired bolts found the opposing troops, and normally Ezra would've liked to have said something about that, but the dizziness settling in his body made it difficult to just focus on staying alive.

"Spectre 1! Spectre 2! Take cover!" Zeb shouted from their comm wrists, and a second later, a colorful explosion went off just behind the commander.

Kanan covered his head on Zeb's request when the explosion went off, and when he reached out with the Force, he could sense some of the troopers stumble about blindly. "Sabine..." Kanan frowned at the dreamy voice saying the name. It sounded like Ezra.

"Kid? What happened?"

Ezra giggled—giggled? "Art, master, art," he spoke.

Kanan's worry deepened. He quickly reached Ezra's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You were messing with the probe!" he barked accusingly.

"Yeah!" Ezra said brightly, swaying on his feet. "You told me not to!" He added as if he was giving Kanan a priceless piece of information.

Suddenly, the commander's voice came through the smoke. "Fire! Fire, you useless good-for-nothing-" To the troopers' credit, they started blasting, but it was impossible not to hear the commander's squeal: "Not on me!" during it all.

Kanan drew his saber, defending both himself and Ezra, who apparently found all the commotion funny. Thankfully, Zeb suddenly charged through the troopers like a solid wall with Sabine right behind him, taking out the more fortunate who avoided Zeb's Bo rifle.

"Come on, you two! Your ride's outside!" Sabine shouted over her shoulder, tossing more grenades at the surrounding troopers, their white armor getting splashed with bright colors.

Kanan turned to Ezra, grabbing him by the shoulder to make him move in the right direction. Only for a brightly colored blinded stormtrooper to slam into his side, making the Jedi lose his balance, in turn slumping into Ezra and taking them both to the ground, knocking off Kanan's mask.

Kanan growled in frustration, ready to jump back up when Ezra placed his hand on top of Kanan's head, completely disconcerting the Jedi. "You know, Kanan," Ezra said in a serious tone. "I always wanted to tell you that you have really nice hair. Like, really nice. How do you manage it?"

Kanan stared for a complete 3 seconds before he gave into a sincere guffaw, even in the midst of battle. "I guess I've just been lucky," he replied, feeling a genuine sense of warmth from Ezra's unexpected compliment.

"Don't dig this thing though," Ezra frowned, moving his hands to Kanan's full beard. "Makes you look like an old fart."

Kanan let out an exasperated sigh, pulling Ezra to his feet. "Remind me to teach you how to resist mind probes," he grumped, dragging the kid after Zeb and Sabine.

"You're just not ready to hear the truth, master!" Ezra chirped. To Kanan's immense relief, Ezra actually drew out his saber and deflected the laser bolts coming their way, giving them not only the space to make their way to the Ghost but Kanan the opportunity to summon his fallen mask.

The four stayed on the open ramp, Sabine and Zeb shooting back at the troopers, Ezra and Kanan deflecting.

"Not what you see every day." Zeb commented.

Kanan looked at his friends in confusion.

"Oh, Sabine gave the bucket heads a paint job." Ezra explained, as they filed in, the ramp closing. "Not her best work." Ezra shrugged.

"Excuse me?" Sabine growled.

"Just saying, imps looked like they were headed to a crazy rave party, how's anyone gonna be able to tell it was us and not them having fun?"

There was a long silence before; "Okay, did he finally lose it?"

"He got hit with a truth serum." Kanan grinned.

Now it was Zeb's turn to smile. "Did he now?"

Ezra frowned and opened his mouth while pointing a finger at Zeb, but before he could say anything, the ship shook, and he lost his balance. Kanan tried to catch him and groaned in pain when Ezra grabbed his shoulder, and now both of them crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"Alright, people," Hera called from the ladder, Chopper on her heels. "Fun's over; let's give our Jedi some space."

End

[tablestoastandtime]

One-Way Ticket Through the Backstage Door

I wanted to write Cal fighting Grievous, so I did that. Mostly an exercise with combat and outsider POVs, but also just a lot of fun to work on. Title bc I listened to Juke Box Hero on repeat while writing it.

Feel free to think this fight would go down differently. This version's for me :p

The holo itself was of middling quality. The edges of the image were hazy and the colours muted, mostly overridden by the primary blue of the tech. The audio was tinny, like the receptors had been reaching outside of their normal range to pick up what they could. Even the file itself ran poorly, like it had been converted from something else to run on this particular console.

None of that was what really mattered about the recording.

No, the most prominent feature was the unknown man's blazing bright amber saber.

There was no Jedi in the Order of his description, none outside of undercover Shadows who would even dress like a worn-out spacer. The scant armour and blaster on his thigh were at odds with the casual ease of his movements as he cut swathes through the squads of droids that tried to pen him into a corner of the Separatist hanger.

And for all their talent at subterfuge, even several years into the Clone Wars few Shadows had the open battle experience to chain together Force abilities and violence like breathing. Plenty of Knights and Masters had built that skillset as the galactic conflict escalated, but if this man had been one of them, then someone would have recognized him. That being said, there was nothing else he could be as the more esoteric Force sects of the galaxy didn’t use lightsabers in the same ways and the evidence of Forms I and IV were unmistakable in his opening footwork. It was possible someone would recognize him, if they got a chance to test his Force Signature, but as it was all the Council had was the holo.

Well, not quite.

All they had was the holo and the remains of a Separatist base and general pulled apart at the seams.

In the recording, a panicked B1 called for reinforcements as the unknown Jedi reduced a contingent of B2s to heaps of sparking slag, deflecting bolts with every flicker of his saber and blitzing from droid to droid in bursts of Force that left the machines reeling. Droidekas auto-deployed from a storage unit on the far wall, but before they could even come to a stop, the insectoid droids froze mid-roll at a blurry twitch of the man's fingers. They shook and shuddered in place, and the Jedi spun his sabre out in a throw that sheared through the metal like flimsiplast. That maneuver left him without a weapon and a bold B1 tried to capitalize on the vulnerability, stepping in close and swinging its blaster at the back of his head -

Only to drop a second later with a hissing hole in the center of its processing unit.

The Jedi fired another four shots from his blaster as he ducked and wove around bolts before his saber returned to his other hand, zigzagging through another half dozen droids. Each bolt found a home in another chassis and then the blaster was away and the other end of the man's saber ignited instead.

He dove into the crowd of durasteel in a whirlwind of push, pull, and shining amber light. Droids flipped into the air, the walls, each other, meeting their ends on a beam of plasma or crashing into the floor with more force than the station's gravity could produce. His sabre danced around his hands, his hips, blades snapping in and out of the hilt on a whim, batting bolts out of the air, splitting some down the middle in a show of frankly concerning efficiency.

It was less a fight and more a salvage operation. A scrapper decommissioning old tech to be reused elsewhere. Thorough, procedural, smooth.

In one gesture, the Jedi yanked half of the remaining droids in tight and cut them down in a superheated spiral and then stopped entirely.

There were more droids yet, another trio of droidekas surrounded by B1s and 2s, but they all stood frozen, juddering. The Jedi surveyed the crowd and twirled his saber, rolling it through the shadow of forms before settling with one blade lit and burning into the durasteel floor. He turned slightly and looked directly at the recorder.

"Come on out Grievous," he called, what was discernible of his tone almost friendly if it weren't for the tension in his shoulders and the careful balance of his weight. "I could keep taking down your troops, but I think we both know this is a waste of time. We're going to do this today, so either you come down here and we talk in this big open room where your long arms might mean something, or I come find whatever closet you're hiding in and deal with you like a baby bane back in a jar."

Behind him, the droids began picking up speed.

The Jedi seemed oblivious, attention drifting somewhere overhead, tracking something through the floors of the complex and spinning his sabre like a reflex. “Yeah, there you are. Let’s have a conversation.”

Another beat, and blasters rose a little higher.

Searing orange-stained blue went round and round, the Jedi bouncing slightly in place. He rolled his shoulders, and the audiceptors caught some kind of clattering noise. It came through garbled and grating, but it sounded vaguely like metal striking metal.

By the looks of it, the primary access elevator for the hangar was back behind the droids and to the left. Instead of paying it any mind, the Jedi stared directly at an otherwise unremarkable section of durasteel plating.

The stasis hold on the droids slackened in increments and the feed shook as if something jostled the recorder. How they managed that with the device lodged firmly along the edge of the ceiling several shiplengths above the hangar floor was-

Suddenly very obvious. With no other warning Grievous dropped from a vent in the roof, hitting the floor in a crouch, two sabers drawn, and diving straight at what should have been the man’s back. Instead stolen blue and green met the previously unlit end of the Jedi’s saber in a two handed strike at his neck.

A parry, pushing the two blades down towards the ground opening Grievous to a Force push that only managed to move him back a few metres, and the Jedi sprang after him in a lunge. Grievous countered the first strike at his chest, the second at his head, and the third that narrowly missed severing his left hand before lashing out in a kick that sent the Jedi flying into a flip, pressing the advantage and slicing to split open his gut and bisect his head before he could land and recover.

At the same time, the droids finally regained full motion and began firing.

Except the Jedi didn’t even try to touch down, twisting mid-air like a lothcat and tearing forward through the maze of burning red, back to a single blade that wove right past Grievous’ guard to score across the plating of his torso. Grievous snarled, one of his secondary limbs snapping out in a backhand blow that caught the Jedi across one scarred cheek, followed closely by a green saber slash that was ducked as the Jedi followed the downward momentum, juking sideways into a half-crouch and then up, using Grievous’ thigh as a springboard to launch himself back into the air and then meteor down in a Force-assisted modification to a traditional Djem-So strike.

Grievous met the blow in a crossed guard, clawed feet digging into the durasteel floor for traction. His secondary arms swept up, now armed and aiming to slice the Jedi in half while his blade was occupied.

Again, the second half of the Jedi’s saber ignited as he disengaged, a spinning block that also served to return several blaster bolts to their senders. This time, Grievous didn’t immediately close the gap. Instead they circled each other, the Jedi still blocking what would in most other combat scenarios classify as suppressing fire with the comfortable ease of a Knight working through katas.

“You know,” the Jedi started, no trace of the earlier levity only plasmacutter focus. “This doesn’t have to be your legacy.”

A rattling scoff. “Your death will be nothing but a footnote in my conquest. I have brought down regimes since I could walk, and your Republic will only be the latest in a long line of victories, Jedi.”

“There is no victory in this war,” the Jedi disagreed with a flourish that dropped the last of the B1s. The droidekas kept firing at the unrelenting shell of the Jedi’s defence. “Only death, including yours. The Confederacy is a sham and there is no place for you in the Empire the Sith seek to build.”

Grievous hissed, air catching in his vocoder in a wave of hollow static. “Fearful lies will not save you or your people. The stars will ring with their screams as I burn your Temple.”

The Jedi’s steps didn’t falter but they did shift, sliding out of the agile balance of Form III into the pointed calculation of Makashi. His wrist curled and one thumb ran along the glinting metal of his hilt.

The circle tightened.

“My people,” his voice was almost too soft for the audiceptors now, but the volume did nothing to hide the danger in his words. “Do what they can in the face of an ungrateful galaxy. They must face many hard truths to have a future, but they will do so alive.”

And then the Jedi flicked his saber in another flourish that would have been standard fare except at the apex of the movement he twisted his hands and the hilt came apart. The first blade swung up and over his head in a wind up straight into a throw, arcing high and devastatingly quick as he raised the other, hand half open to grip a section of the hangar wall, tearing dozens of rivets out in one motion and pistoning several hundred pounds of reinforced duranium at Grievous from the other side.

One arm deflected the blade, sending it careening off towards the remaining B2s, another two carving a hole through the plating and allowing Grievous to sidestep the imminent collision.

Unfortunately, that left him with only one arm free to defend himself as the Jedi closed in, blurring across the space in a second with his remaining blade in an underhanded swing that forced Grievous onto the back foot followed by a jab that seared a hole through a shoulder servo. The backswing neatly parried the immediate retaliation looking to sever the Jedi’s cervical spine, and then the blaster was back in hand in a quickdraw as he fired one, two, three shots into Grievous’ neck before letting it hit the deck to catch the soaring return of his second blade. A flurry of blows centred to the left side where half of Grievous’ arms no longer reacted with the lightning sensitivity needed to match a Jedi waist deep in the Force.

Grievous lost a finger, a palm, an elbow joint, before tipping backwards to catch half of his weight on his remaining hands and using one foot to lever a chunk of molten metal straight at the Jedi’s head. The Force caught the body of the slag, but the Jedi recoiled from the splatter of molten alloy all the same, one breath of pure reflex that left him open to a slash of Grievous’ mutilated hand that tore open the flesh of his exposed forearm.

An audible cry, a stumble, and a bolt finally catching him in the thigh but the blood and burning seemed to give the Jedi back his focus and his grip remained sure as he blocked the much more dangerous follow ups with a saber, high, low, midbody, high again, and then he brought his hilts together, clicking them back into one and using the extra length to buy back some space.

Once more the Jedi disengaged, dripping blood and breath coming visibly controlled.

Bolts still flew through the space and lip curling, the Jedi raised an open hand. The remaining B2s sailed into the air and the droidekas twirled in place like children's’ toys. His fist clenched. Military grade armour and tech crumpled, dropping to the ground with a definitive clang.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, Grievous.” The Jedi stalked closer, weaving in and around the remains of the hangar wall. There was nothing defensive left in his posture, only tooth-sharp intent. “What do you think happens next if the Separatists win the war?”

If Grievous tried to answer, it was lost to rasping, wet coughs. His three remaining sabres stayed in a typical low guard, but the bottom half of his chest plating hung out of place and his left shoulder sparked where the connections had melted away.

Still, there was no disguising the naked hate in his eyes.

“They won’t keep you,” the Jedi said, cold and confident and sliding his hands into a low grip. Two fins at the mouth of his saber’s emitter collapsed down and ignited, the single sizzling blade stretched out behind him well past what a lightsaber ought to be capable of. Its brightness exceeded the recorder’s capabilities, turning the weapon into a long line of searing and colourless blue. “You’re a rabid nexu and say what you will about the Banking Clans, but they know a thing or two about divesting themselves when the time is right. Personally, my money is on an orbital strike if you make that far.”

Grievous screamed back at him, all wrath and ruin and long dried blood, a sound that hurt even through the recording’s poor quality.

Still, Grievous was no fool and had never been above fleeing a fight he was losing. The first step back was an admission of weakness, the second a dead giveaway.

Any window for ending this fight definitively was closing. Rapidly.

The Jedi’s pace stayed a steady prowl. His sabre traced a white-hot path into the smoking floor. “You could surrender now, but we both know you’d never make it to court.”

Grievous pivoted his weight backwards, primed for a leap. The question was, where was he planning to go?

It didn’t matter.

In the same breath Grievous began to uncoil, the Jedi flicked a hand and the Separatist General’s legs began to vibrate beneath him. “No. We’re not quite done here.”

That great saber swung up overhead in motion that belied a massive and illogical weight and left monstrously distorted afterimages across the holo. Trapped as Grievous seemed to be, the Jedi was still far too far away for anything except a dashing strike under normal circumstances.

There was very little normal about these circumstances.

The saber came down. Half of the recording disappeared into a wall of blinded blue, photoreceptors failing as the sound of sabers colliding resumed.

A shout, ragged and furious, threatening death, mutilation, despair.

Another, indignant. Frightened.

There were no sounds of combat then, just a warped noise like industrial welding.

One more cry. Pained. A blaster shot. The hum of active lightsabers went quiet.

For a long stretch, there was nothing but quiet footsteps. Boots on metal. Shifting. Then the noise of the hangar doors and a ship’s engine starting. A takeoff sequence.

The hangar doors had still been open when the Republic forces arrived to investigate the unexpected ping on what was supposed to be an Order-specific comm freq.

According to the timestamps, the holo continued for another fifteen minutes, but there was little more the damaged recorder could discern about the events that followed. Other parts of the facility’s security system provided a little more context, but beyond some slightly clearer images of the unknown Jedi’s face and his systematic destruction of every active droid he could find on site, they had nothing.

There was no sign of where he’d come from beyond the vent he dropped out of in the earliest stamped security holo they could find. He hadn’t left any indication of where he was going. Even the Force impressions he had left behind had been odd, like a child standing in the centre of an antiques store after having been pointedly told not to touch anything. Full of wonder and longing and an absolute certainty they did not belong there.

The Senate was going to have a field day.

[bh-52]

Naruto-Bleach Zanpakuto headcanons

The English translation for Haku's zanpakuto is Snow White.

Zabuza's would also be called Kubikiribōchō.

Kushina's would complement and augment her chakra chains.

Like his signature Raijin no ken, Tobirama's zanpakuto would be a lightsaber.

Madara's would be a katana in base form, and a Gunbai in Bankai form.

Kisame's zanpakuto would have nearly identical powers to Samehada.

Anko's would be as feisty, sassy, spunky and mischievous as her.

Konan's would be origami themed

[lunarmoonanons]

JediDad Chapter 1

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Post order 66 a Jedi and some younglings escape and form a family. Much to the chagrin of the Jedi in question. Now to navigate the galaxy with six kids. All the while dealing with trauma because your best friend murdered a bunch of children.

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Masterlist

Jenzo could always feel his former master through the force. Whenever he meditated he felt this honest to goodness immense connection with the force. He was alright with a saber, but Jenzo excelled with the force. That was one of the few things Jenzo did better than his best friend Anakin did. The force was like a comforting blanket wrapped around his body. He felt affection and caring, knowing he was feeling the force signature of his master Plo Koon. Plo was like a father to him, a welcoming man who valued the younger man with all his heart. Though they always disagreed on one thing; Jenzo refused to take on a Padawan, thinking that they would only slow him down from all the things he could do.

It was not uncommon to find Jenzo meditating in a private room in the temple. If he was not hanging out with Anakin or doing something trivial he was meditating. Trying to connect with the force and his master. He was deep in thought and deep in the state when his life would change forever. He felt it, something happened to Plo and then the connection was gone. He felt his master end abruptly and he was gone.

“Master!” Jenzo cried out and reached forward. As if his hand could grab his father from the brink of death and deliver him to safety. The man he loved like a father was gone. His world was shattered. His grief didn’t wash over him, more so crashed into him and made him stumble. Like a wave crashing on the beach it spread over him, coming crashing again and again.

“You can’t be gone. Not so quick. Not so soon. I still need you.” Jenzo bent forward and rested his forehead on the ground. Wondering if his connecting to his master through the force caused this.

Then he noticed it.

A shift in the force. Some great evil and tragedy was happening. Voices crying out into the force with shock and terror. Betrayal was in the force. Something no one saw coming. Jenzo’s almond shaped eyes widened with terror and he got up quickly and left the room. Hearing commotion and shouts. Blasters going off all over the place. He remained in the shadows and froze at the sight.

Clones. Their loyal soldiers were attacking the temple. Killing any Jedi they saw. Jenzo knew he couldn’t fight them off. He had to run. He had to get out of there. So he remained in the shadows. Not daring to take out his lightsaber. Even if the clones were killing them, he couldn’t make himself pull out his saber to kill them. His master taught him kindness and mercy. Now he had to practice that.

As he ran through the temple, he encountered the odd clone and quickly incapacitated them by knocking them out and using the force to knock them out. He had to be quiet and quick. Not to bring any attention to his person. He had to ignore the shouts of his people as they fought the clones. He ached to run to their aide. Jenzo felt them all die around them. But he had to keep going. His soul dying at every sound of someone falling to a clone.

Soon he had to stop. He needed to compose himself and make a plan. So he slipped into a spare room and quickly closed the door. Resting his forehead against the door. His mind racing and his thoughts going to every secret entrance and hidden passageway of the temple. Wondering if he’d make it there in time before they found it. He heard the sounds of blaster fire and screams but he willed himself to tune them out. He needed a plan. Suddenly he thought of it. A passageway that led to the outer levels. By the time he was out he could get to the streets and find his way onto a shipyard.

Then he stopped. Hearing a small whimper, he turned his head and saw them. Six younglings huddled in the room, terrified and looking at him like he knew what to do. The older two were holding their arms in front of the younger four. He knew they needed him. He was responsible and he hated it. Now he had to at least get them out of the temple.

“Dank Ferrik.” He whispered to himself in frustration, right before he breathed in deep and put a nervous smile on his face. “Kiiiiddddsss. Who wants to go on a trip?”

The Nautolan looked at him nervously before speaking. “Why are the clones attacking us?”

“We are going to get out of here. Alright.” Jenzo tried to reassure them, ignoring the question he had no answer to.

“We have to fight back! We can’t just let them kill our friends and everyone without a fight!” The oldest boy argued.

“We are not going to fight. We are going to run. Follow me and I will get us out of here.” Jenzo argued back. “Now everybody up and let’s go.”

The other kids complied and started toward the door, but the oldest boy stayed back. An angry look on his face. Jenzo knew that look and knew the boy was going to do something stupid if he didn’t do something then and there.

“I can take them. I can-”

“You are not going to do anything! You are coming with us and you are going to live! Do you understand me!” Jenzo grabbed the boy's upper arms and shook him a little. Waiting for him to nod his head, Jenzo let go and shoved him toward the door. “You two older kids stay in the back and make sure no one falls behind.”

With that they left the safety of the room and followed Jenzo toward the secret passageway. The little kids kept pace and followed him. They maneuvered their way around the temple, still finding the occasional clone, letting Jenzo disarm and knock them out. They were so close. Eventually they made it to their destination. Jenzo opened the door and pushed the little kids into the passageway and made sure everyone got in first. He could hear the troopers coming closer. He turned one last time toward the temple and saw a sight that chilled him to his bones.

His best friend. His only friend. Anakin Skywalker running his lightsaber through a child. The man could tell just about anything was responsible for the attack. He was leading the clones in this murder against the Jedi. Anakin looked up from what he had done and saw his friend.They locked eyes and for a moment everything was still. Jenzo couldn’t hear the blaster fire, couldn’t see the body of the child, he only saw his friend. And his friend saw him.

A moment of humanity flashed across Anakin’s face and he mouthed something to his friend.

“Run.”

And Jenzo did. Going into the passageway and finding the kids waiting for him. Their questions about what now went through one ear and out the other. He was shaking and he didn’t know what to do. Then he looked at the kids and brought himself together. Jenzo had to get them out of here. So he directed them down the passageway and toward the outer level. Finally they found the area and Jenzo gathered them to a modest ship. He knew they only needed one that would get them to a shipyard. As soon as the children got on the ship Jenzo was stopped by a voice.

“Stop right there Jedi!” A trooper yelled. He knew this trooper. This was Argo.

“Argo. Argo please. I can’t let you stop us. I have to go. Please don’t try to stop me.” Jenzo tried to reason with him.

“Stop Right There!” Argo raised his blaster higher. Jenzo immediately grabbed his saber and deflected the blasts coming right toward him. A couple bolts shot out before Jenzo deflected one right into Argo’s chest. Dropping the clone to his knees. Jenzo ran forward and grabbed the clone before he fell on his back. Trying to save him and undo what he did. But it was too late. The man died in his arms. Jenzo had killed someone.

Jenzo began apologizing and begging him to wake up. Begging to undo what happened. He was only brought out of it when the oldest boy grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“Come on! Let’s go!” The boy shook him awake and made him stand up.

Jenzo jumped into the small cruiser and ignored the stabbing pain in his side. He flew the cruiser quickly toward the shipyard. Where he knew a ship without an owner was waiting for him. He looked behind them and saw no ships following them. Having gotten out and on a cruiser before they could notice. Or maybe Anakin had something to do with it. He didn’t want to think about it.

When they found a big enough ship, but not too big, Jenzo ushered the kids inside and started the ship up. Flying it into space and waiting for them to be far enough away from the planet before standing up and leaning against a wall.

“Do any of you know how to fly?” He asked and looked at the kids. The oldest girl raised her hand slowly. “Good. Good. You’ll need to fly us to an outer rim planet. Because.. I’ve been shot.”

With that he passed out.

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Hello there,

Here's a story about my Star Wars OC: Jenzo.

Best friend to Anakin Skywalker. Having defended him against the other younglings who made fun of Anakin for being a slave(Which that part is canon read the comics)

Yes its another Jedi who survived order 66. Get over it.

I think if you read then you might like it.

Follow a found family as they navigate their way through the galaxy and form the tightest of bonds.

Plus wookies.

[totes-tubulardude]

Based on my last post about Fives and Ahsoka and caves...

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Ahsoka didn’t know how long she was unconscious, but she didn’t think it was that long. There were rocks still tumbling around her and settling from their initial descent. She twitched all of her limbs to make sure nothing was broken before she attempted to move any further. 

Her montrals were still throbbing and she had a killer headache but other than that she felt relatively ok. Bruised and battered but alive. 

Off to her left she heard a groan. Her montrals must be more kriffed up than she thought because that groan sounded loud, much louder than it should sound. She groaned in response to the assault to her head. 

“That kriffing sucked.” 

Ahsoka curled around her head as Fives’ extremely loud voice seemed to echo through her whole head. However she found herself agreeing. 

“Yeah you could say that.”

Something very big shifted off to her left. It was followed by a load crack and a grunt.

“Kriffing hells.”

There was more shifting. Why did that sound so much louder than it should? 

Ahsoka slowly uncurled herself from her ball and attempted to blink dust our of her eyes. She quickly realized that it was pitch black down here. Sure enough she could hear the sound of rocks piling up on each other above them, likely blocking the hole they had just fallen down. 

“I can’t see a kriffing thing. And my helmet light’s damaged.” Fives complained. “And the ceiling’s pretty low.”

Ahsoka paused at that. It didn’t sound like this was a small room, and her montrals (though they were pretty busted right now) told her the ceiling was a good ways above her. When she checked Fives Force signature, something felt off, like it was twisted strangely.

“How badly is it damaged?” She asked.

“Not that badly, probably just need a good whack.”

Once again the chamber filled with loud shifting. “Are you alright commander?”

Something was definitely not right. 

Ahsoka grabbed one of her lightsabers off her belt and ignited it. She blinked rapidly as he eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Slowly green tinted shapes began to take form in front of her. 

The cavern itself was big, there were high walls around her and the ceiling was probably a good 20 feet above her head. Next she turned to face Fives and promptly froze.

Sitting upright a ways away from her was Fives. Everything about the ARC trooper looked fine except for the fact that he was about 5 times bigger than he should be. His helmet reached over half way up the wall and there was a sizeable dent above him where he had hit his head a few moments ago.

She felt and saw the exact moment that he realized that something was very wrong when he froze as he spotted her on the floor below him. 

For a few moment’s they were both silent. She stared up at his visor while he stared down at her.

Then in unison they both said, “Shab.”

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