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sserpente · 4 years

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A/N: I was writing this while my cat kept attacking me because she wanted to play. I don’t know if it made any impact on the story but I guess we’ll see. 😅

Words: 2154 Warnings: fluff (+ there are NO spoilers for TROS in this Imagine!)

Your lungs were burning, accompanied by a stinging pain in your chest. A broken rib, probably, maybe even two. You had been reckless. No, you had been distracted. Distracted by the man you loved more than yourself.

You were so close to him now—and while your heart knew exactly what it wanted, your mind kept sending shockwaves of adrenaline through your entire body.

Danger. Threat. Flight.

You hadn’t seen Ben’s face since he departed to train as a Jedi with his uncle Luke—and Leia had forbidden you joined the Resistance on any risky missions anywhere near the First Order. You were not Force sensitive, never had been. But they took you in when you had had nothing left and you had given back to them your services and your loyalty—your support to fight for a better world.

Your personal political views remained indifferent as long as you got to live, preferably not in poverty. But the Resistance, back then operating under a different name, of course, had given you something else. Someone else. They had given you Ben—right until Luke’s godforsaken Jedi camp had ripped him from your grasp cruelly, had him drift away from you until he was out of reach both physically and mentally.

He had a new name now, new motivations—and he had done terrible things which shocked you to the very bottom of your heart and yet… yet you could never stop loving him. Perhaps this was the reason you were here now, on the Finalizer, bruised, beaten and defeated.

Your weapons had long been taken from you. You were helpless. And Kylo Ren was your only hope.

“Bring her to my quarters for an interrogation, and keep her restrained. Her strength is not to be underestimated.” The voice you heard behind you was somewhat… distorted, no, modulated—most likely, it belonged to one of the Knights of Ren… did Kylo wear one too, a mask? How would you recognise him if he did? What if this voice, what if it was him… You swallowed thickly. Focus. Interrogation. If you fought back too much, they would pry your mind open like a nut, pushing you straight into the depths of madness.

You didn’t know anything. Nothing about Leia’s plans and not even if they still resided in the same location. You were on your own now. You had left after the destruction of the Jedi camp, when Ben had become someone you did not recognise—yet.

My quarters… you repeated the words in your mind, pure terror spreading in your veins like a nasty disease. Could it be?

The Stormtroopers followed the order immediately. Grabbing you by your upper arms and practically lifting your feet off the ground, they dragged you through the cold and empty hallways almost effortlessly.

You did not resist—you would save your strength for later—for when you truly needed it to fight all the torture they were about to inflict on you.

Handcuffed to almost utter helplessness, you were shoved into some dark living space, discarded like an old piece of furniture; the metal doors sliding shut behind you and darkness swallowing you whole before you could even turn. Idiots.

Standing there in the corner in complete blackness, with your heart in your mouth and the blood singing in your ears, you waited. You knew enough about strangling people. Your restraints posed the perfect tool for that.

But it stayed silent for a while. No footsteps, no voices, nothing. Then, finally, just when you had almost given up and begun to think your captor might have forgotten about you, the metal doors flew open once again.

The small beam of light falling onto the ground of the dark living quarters before the only exit route was cut off again were enough for you to make out a tall silhouette—and attack it.

With a belligerent scream, you stormed forward, aiming for the figure’s neck—but found your limbs paralysed by an invisible Force only the fraction of a second after, before the metal around your wrists could even touch your enemy.

The man in front of you chuckled darkly—a terrifying sound through the voice modulator inside the mask he was wearing. You froze, regardless of what the Force was doing to your body, eyes widening as a suspicion rose within you. This chuckle… it sounded familiar.

As cool as you please, he reached up, gloved hands swiftly fiddling with the clasps of his mask, revealing…

“Ben.” You choked out when your eyes met. You had found him. He was alive. He was safe. He was well. “Ben…” You repeated, voice breaking pathetically. Instantly, the Force released your limbs but you did not move an inch.

“Ben is dead,” he spat.

“What? I see him. I see him right in front of me!” Kylo turned up his mouth, a touch of anger radiating off of him. Once more, you felt the Force on your body, this time wrapping around your neck tightly. He didn’t even blink as he lifted you off your feet and pulled you towards him without lifting a finger, your body—tiny and downright petite compared to his—colliding with his chest and knocking all air from your lungs.

You howled in pain, your stricken ribs complaining upon the harsh impact. Kylo hesitated, a frown decorating his face for no longer than a split second before he seemed to recollect himself.

“Where is the Resistance?” He asked with a tilt of his head, ignoring your prior response coldly. At this point, you were shaking. You longed to jump into his arms and hold him tightly, but feared his reaction. Would he push you away? Laugh at you? Kill you? No, you figured. Ben would never hurt you.

“I… I don’t know. I left them after what happened at… the… the Jedi camp. I’ve been looking for you ever since.” Kylo Ren’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“And now that you’ve found me, what will you do?” He responded coolly, a hint of mockery swinging in his voice. You fell silent. Ben knew you well, he always had. Truth was, you had not had a plan. All you had wanted was to find the man you loved.

“I presume the Resistance still cares about your whereabouts,” he continued then, seemingly unfazed. “What will they do once they learn the First Order has you in its grip?” Kylo Ren stretched out his hand, gloved fingers kneading the thin air as you felt the Force pulling your mind apart like thin threads being torn from a silken fabric—looking for any kind of information about the Resistance which might be useful to him.

You failed to resist, knowing it would make the inevitable pain a lot more bearable. You had not lied. And you had never kept secrets from Ben.

“You really have no idea.” He concluded almost softly, absentmindedly pulling away again. He gnashed his teeth, staring you intently in the eye for a few agonising seconds. You slowly nodded.

Kylo Ren already knew what you did not dare to speak out loud—that you had come to see him regardless of the consequences which might result in the downfall of the Resistance. For just a brief moment, his composed and repellent façade crumbled. Glimpses of cracks proving to you he was unwilling to yield to his true emotions. He clenched his gloved fists, his right eye twitching once.

Without another word, he hurried to put his mask back on, then he stormed outside, illuminating the dark quarters with the artificial light from the vast hallways for a third time.

“Send a message to the Resistance,” you heard his modulated voice say to the Stormtroopers standing guard outside, “Tell General Organa we have one of her… fugitives on board. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s survival in return for the exact coordinates of their remaining ships.”

Your chest was heaving, tears streaming down your face. Grief and relief mixed in your heart, poisoning you with a deadly potion singeing you from the inside out—it was a pain much worse than the physical injuries of your body the two medical droids were treating. Ben must have sent them to his quarters after realising you were hurt. Nothing was broken, yet the contusions felt equally antagonising. The droids had stripped you and more or less forced you down on the black and uncomfortable sofa, with only your sports bra remaining to take care of the dark bruises.

They utterly ignored your heart-breaking sobs rippling through Kylo Ren’s empty quarters. At least, the lights had been switched on by now, allowing you a few curious glances around.

The decoration was sparse. There was a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a double bed with pitch black bed sheets, a dark and tiled hallway leading to a separate refreshing area and a mysterious metal door—you did not need to try for the knob to know it would be locked.

Ben’s signature was all over the room—it felt like his aura lingered despite his absence, reminding you with every passing second of the man you had lost. He could have taken you to General Hux, could have the Stormtroopers take care of accommodating you—and he could have you killed without so much as a simple blink. He had not. You were here. Right here in his quarters where you were safe. Safe from all the threats on board the Finalizer, safe from the proponents of the First Order. Safe from anyone except from him.

Kylo Ren returned, presumably, late at night. He found you curled up on the hard seating furniture, your almost naked back turned to him. He could sense you were still awake. Your thoughts were racing through your mind, one toppling over the next.

Your lips were still shaking—as were your limbs. His quarters were almost unusually chilly, dark and uninviting. Wearing no more than a pair of tight trousers and your sports bra did not exactly help this predicament. Holding your breath, you listened. What was he doing? You could hear the rustling of fabric, bed sheets being pulled back for the owner of the soft mattress to lie down on it and rest and lastly, the sound of a light switch. Once again, you found yourself in complete darkness.

One thing was for sure—Kylo Ren would never admit he was unsure of what to do with you. Killing you was no option. He would never forgive himself. Leaving you with Hux or the Stormtroopers? You were his.

Gnashing his teeth, he ripped his eyes back open all the while listening to your clattering teeth. Were you really his? You loved him, he knew this, he could sense it—always could have. And you were here. Here in his quarters. You could have been killed for just attempting to come here and even that had not stopped you from finding him. For Heaven’s sake—he was the Supreme Leader. If he wished to keep you with him, it would be his decision alone.

“B-Ben.” He suddenly heard you mumble.

Silence. Indignantly, he squeezed his eyes shut. Would sleep come to him tonight? He would need his energy. If his mother still cared about you as much as she had before he left her, tomorrow might result in yet another draining battle.

“Ben.” You said again, louder and more vehemently this time.

Again, he did not respond. You swallowed thickly, biting your lower lip so hard you could taste blood.

“Fine,” you spat. “Kylo.”

As if on cue, he turned in bed, facing you in the utter darkness of his quarters. You had a feeling he could still see every inch of you, his brown eyes boring through you like sharp daggers or the hot blade of his lightsabre.

“What is it?”

“I’m freezing. Please… can you give me a blanket?”

“I don’t have any spare blankets.” His dark voice rumbled through the blackness around you. Fearing that this would be his final word, you took a deep and shaky breath. But then, suddenly, the bed sheets rustled again. “Come.”

What? Did he mean… his bed?

Still trembling, you stood from the uncomfortable sofa, wondering what he would do if you approached him. But Kylo said nothing. Not when you lied down in his warm bed. Not when he covered you with his blanket. Not when he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled your cold body against his warm chest, his heavy breathing brushing hot air against the back of your neck.

“Kylo…” You whispered. He held you even closer in response—there was no need for him to see you to notice how your eyes had filled with salty tears again.

What was he doing? Was he Kylo Ren or was he Ben Solo? But perhaps it did not matter. He was, after all, the man you loved.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

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in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process.

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard.

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode.

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress.

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it.

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned.

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high.

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense.

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done.

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire.

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff.

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront.

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

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cinna-wanroll · 4 years

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Obi and Ahsoka being an iconic duo for however long it takes you to read this

Long hyperspace journeys could stretch on for days, with nothing but the white noise and the whir of the ship’s engines to keep the occupants any company.

But eventually, there reached a point where the giddy anticipation was lost into a stagnant period of waiting.

And so there sat Obi-Wan Kenobi four days into hyperspace, waiting.

He was usually a very patient man, years of training a young, rambunctious Anakin Skywalker had required that much of him. And he was still patient. Yet something inside him was stirring, the nagging doubts not leaving him alone. So while The Negotiator tore through warped space, his window of time to figure things out was closing.

And here it was, his great doubt; how much longer he would be able to save those he was assigned to protect. His ship was hurdling at a speed faster than even light could travel towards a world in turmoil, and he- a mere man- was expected to fix it. The hopes, dreams, and futures dreams of an entire civilization depended on him.

He shivered and wondered how the lives of innocent people could constantly pour across his hands and slip away if he wasn’t careful. The knowledge that he was responsible for them was sometimes too much of a weight to bear alone- another reason why he valued his battalion so much. Their support was always constant, their determination and reassurances making him stronger.

But that still left the question; why was he responsible? His chest tightened as he knew he shouldn’t be, but it wasn’t his place to decide, and he would never leave any being to suffer.

A deep breath calmed his mind as he sat upon his bunk with crossed legs, letting the cool airflow help guide him into a deep state of meditation. He rested his palms against his knees, instantly falling into the stance he’d practiced since he was a boy.

In place of his worry and fear came a tide of clarity that the Force provided- a place where all things had an equal purpose. He smiled softly and sank into that familiar peace, deepening his connection to the Force with every moment.

About five minutes into his practice, the door to his room zipped open without warning, quick footsteps following after. He didn’t get up, but he did open his eyes slowly, consciousness slowly returning to the Jedi master.

He’d expected to see Anakin, perhaps even Cody on a busy day where he forgot to knock, but not Ahsoka. He blinked in surprise as she entered his quarters with a friendly smile.

“Hey master,” she greeted, joining him in his bunk.

He raised an eyebrow, “Padawan Tano,” he nodded as she sat down, “I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten how to knock?”

She blushed slightly, dipping her head in embarrassment, “Apologies master, I didn’t mean any disrespect. It’s just Master Skywalker-”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched into a slight grin as he finished, “Hardly ever follows any basic courtesies, I know.”

She returned his smile shyly, nodding.

“So, what can I do for you, padawan?” He turned to give her his full attention, uncrossing his legs and putting himself into a more relaxed position.

She sighed, laying back on the low bed, “Master Skywalker’s been having me review these stupid holos for hours now-” she brought her hands to the side of her head in exasperation, “and if I see one more blasted star chart I think I might just defect to the CIS.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, “I can’t say I blame you- Master Qui-Gon used to make me study every map of every planet of every system until it felt like I knew the layout of the entire galaxy.”

Ahsoka giggled, sitting up and resting her head on her knees, expecting him to continue the story.

“What’s more- I used to have to write every single report on every mission because the council wouldn’t stop complaining about Qui-Gon’s versions.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, “What? Why?”

He tipped his head slightly, giving her a conspiratorial look, “Something about them being too full of,” he adjusted his tone until it was just slightly more regal sounding, “personal ideals and passionate phrases not appropriate to include in professional documents.”

‘Well,” she shrugged, “that does sound like the council.”

He ignored the slight offense and continued, “Yes, but I gave them all a run for their money. My reports were all no shorter than fifty pages each, detailing every breeze that blew while we traveled,” a mischievous spark lit his eyes as he finished.

“Ah, so that's why it takes you forever during mission debriefs,” Ahsoka grinned, “you developed some bad habits.”

“Hey,” he chided while she laughed, “at least I don’t exaggerate, hmm?”

“What's the fun of an adventure without stories to tell, Master?” She countered, crossing her arms in mock-defense.

“Certainly stories are plenty exciting without all the extra flare you add?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eh, I like to give them my personal touch.”

They both smiled, Ahsoka laying back down and Obi-Wan resting his back against his bedpost.

They fell into a comfortable silence before Obi-Wan confessed, “I’ve been quite bored as well, trapped in here without anyone to talk to. Everyone’s just so-” he searched for the right word.

“Preoccupied? Distant? Distracted? Absent?” Ahsoka filled in for him.

He nodded, surprised, “Precisely. I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining about everyone finally doing what they’re supposed to. But it makes me wonder- should I be taking this more seriously? Do I have a right to stay in my room, waiting aimlessly to arrive? Or should I be doing something?”

She paused before responding, “Well, what can you do?”

He opened his mouth as if he already knew the exact answer to that question before he realized that he didn’t at all.

“I- I’m not quite sure.”

She nodded and sat up, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I think sometimes in war, you have to accept the fact that there isn’t anything you can do at the moment. You can worry and stress, but in the end, it only serves to hurt yourself and those around you than save anyone else.”

He looked over at her, studying Anakin’s young apprentice as though he hadn’t seen her in a while. It made him feel- weird, to see how much she was growing. But a thread of warmth came with it, a sense of pride he hadn’t expected.

“That’s a very wise observation, Ahsoka,” he said finally, nodding to her.

His praise made her perk up a bit and smile, as eager to please as ever, “thank you, Master Kenobi.”

He nodded and returned her look, deciding he wanted to get away from his shadowed room for a bit, “Do you feel like playing a friendly game of sabacc, padawan? I’m sure we've got a deck of cards around here somewhere.”

She got to her feet swiftly, stretching as he followed suit, “Sure! Although, Master- I don’t think there’s such a thing as a,” she held up her hands in air quotes, “friendly game of sabacc. People always have ulterior motives.”

He chuckled as they walked towards the entryway into the corridors beyond his room, “A common-found truth, yes,” he began as they stepped out of the room, “your master has taught you well.”

She shrugged, “There are also some things that have to be learned on one’s own.”

“Oh?” He asked, “And how would you have learned such a thing?”

She grinned and shrugged, “But Master, I thought you said my stories had too much flare.”

“Oh no, now I’m far too intrigued to care. Please elaborate.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you- but only if you beat me.”

He grinned, “You’re on, padawan.”

When they entered the main quarters, they were greeted with an almost eerie silence and empty space, all furniture and objects long since neglected.

“Wow,” Ahsoka mused, “I never thought this room could be so- quiet.”

“Me neither,” Obi-Wan agreed, looking around for a drawer or any sign of a compartment for a deck of cards.

“I know we have a deck,” she added as Kenobi walked over to the small shelf of datapads they kept from previous missions, “I just saw Crys, Wooley, and Kano playing last night.”

“Hmm,” he said, fingers tracing along the backs of each pad carefully, checking to see if anyone had decided to place the deck in between some of the holos like they usually did.

“They might’ve put them in one of the holo chess compartments,” she suggested after he stood back and shook his head.

He sighed, knowing she was probably right, “But I’ve asked them not to put the deck back in there at least five times now.”

Ahsoka shrugged, unbothered, “Maybe they forgot.”

He looked back at her disbelievingly, “Five times?”

She threw her hands up, “I don’t know. Have you met Wooley? I don’t think he ever fully recovered from that concussion.”

He laughed and pressed the holo chess compartment gently, frowning as sure enough, the deck of cards appeared.

“It appears you’re right,” Obi-Wan said, sitting down on one end of the table and unboxing the cards, “sixth time’s the charm.”

She took her place at the opposite end, grinning, “I’m sure they’ll get it this time.”

“Do you know how to shuffle?” He asked, looking up at her.

“Do we have to?” She asked, surprised.

“Yes. It appears they were playing Mahaa’i Shuur- all of the mistresses are next to each other, I haven't looked at the rest of the deck yet.”

“Okay,” she said, reaching her hand out for the deck.

He sat back while she focused on shuffling, watching the cards shift around almost hypnotically.

“Master, you don’t know how to shuffle?”

The question caught him off guard, and he was forced to admit he’d never really thought about it before.

“I suppose not- everyone usually did the shuffling for me,” he ticked each person off on his fingers, “Master Yoda, Qui-Gon, Master Tahl, Bant, Quinlan, Satine, Anakin, the Clones-”

“Hold on,” Ahsoka interrupted, suddenly looking very amused, “you’re telling me you’ve played cards with Master Yoda?”

He nodded while she dealt out two cards for each of them, and the game began.

“Yes, many times. He always used to come to visit me in the crèche quite often, and we’d play cards or watch a holo while the other younglings went out to wrestle or play senators.”

He drew a commander card.

“You two always seemed close,” Ahsoka commented as she took her turn and drew, a slight frown forming on her face, “do you have any idea why?”

“Why what?” He asked distractedly as he drew the queen of the darkness.

“Why he would come to visit you.”

Obi-Wan tipped his head, trying to think, “Actually, now that you mention it, no. He used to come to visit me when I was a small infant, I still have memories of him from the age of three.”

Ahsoka wrinkled her nose and teased, “does that mean Master Yoda used to change your diapers?”

Obi-Wan returned her disgusted expression, “I don’t know, and I have no intention of finding out.”

She laughed, moving part of her hand to one side.

She organizes her cards by value, he realized, narrowing his gaze.

The door to the room opened, letting in two familiar faces as they both continued to draw.

“And that’s why I was-” Anakin stopped mid-sentence as he saw Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, concentrating on their game. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Rex salute.

“General. Commander.”

“Hi,” Ahsoka looked up at him briefly, “we were just talking about how Master Yoda used to change Obi-Wan’s diapers when he was a youngling.”

Obi-Wan’s face reddened, and he stared at his cards, not brave enough to look up.

“We were not.”

Ahsoka shrugged, moving another card to the left of her hand, “I don’t know, sounded that way to me.”

Anakin crossed his arms at Ahsoka, “Yeah, well it sounded to me like I told you to study those holos earlier.”

“I did,” she protested, “but you gave me so many that my head started to swim!”

“Those holos are important,” Anakin persisted, “and that doesn’t excuse why you’re out here playing cards with Obi-Wan instead of doing your meditations.”

Ahsoka sighed, laying down her hand, “Yes, Master.”

“Come now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chided without looking up from his hand, fourteen away from winning, “surely after all those times you used to whine at me about even basic form, you can allow your padawan a break.”

Ahsoka looked up at her master hopefully, who had turned his glower on his old master.

“Fine,” he determined finally, “but as soon as you’re done, you go straight back to those holos, understand?”

Ahsoka smiled gratefully, “Yes, Master.”

Anakin walked up behind her chair, gazing at her hand. Obi-Wan looked up to scrutinize over what Anakin’s expression was like, but to his disappointment his former apprentice’s face belied nothing. He frowned, wondering when Anakin learned to become such a formidable card player.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Senator Amidala was an esteemed and practiced Sabacc player, but he quickly banished the inkling, drawing another card.

The Star, blast.

Rex did the same as Anakin, coming up and watching over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

After a few more rounds, Obi-Wan had almost forgotten he was there. So when he drew a card that let him win within -17 points, the Jedi almost jumped when Rex said, “I’ll bet one of my pistols Kenobi wins.”

He repressed an eye roll, only shaking his head and drawing the idiot, zero points.

“Which one?” Asked Anakin, looking up at Rex.

“Eh, the good one.”

“Hmm- how about, whoever loses the bet gets shiny training duty for a month, and your pistol?”

“Deal.”

Obi-Wan held up the idiot card as though he were comparing it to Anakin, and Rex chuckled softly.

“What?”

“Nothing sir.”

The game continued, with Obi-Wan just -2 points away from winning when Ahsoka slammed her cards down enthusiastically, calling “Idiot's Array!”

Obi-Wan looked over her cards and smiled, setting his hand down, “Well done.”

“Thanks,” she said, high-fiving her master.

“Gah,” Rex exclaimed, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder, “you let me down, general!”

Obi-Wan put up his hands defensively, “Hey, I’m not the one who told you to bet, Captain.”

Anakin walked up to them, grinning like a fool, “Yeah, but now someone has to train all the new shinies for a whole month! Ha, that’s for making me walk around the temple in my bathing suit last weekend.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up, “Wh-”

He was cut off by the beeping of his comm. He gave Anakin a death glare before opening the transmission with a tap, mouthing the words this conversation is not over.

“Yes, Commander?”

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

“Very good Cody. We’ll be right down.”

He cut the transmission and started towards the door, the others following closely behind to the bridge.

Ahsoka did a merry little skip, coming up to walk beside Obi-Wan and Anakin, smirking.

“Looks like I won’t have to do those map studies after all,” she boasted.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to groan- you shouldn’t have said anything, Ahsoka.

His old apprentice smirked right back at the young Togruta, “Don’t worry padawan, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time on the surface for you to do some analyzing.”

She groaned and turned towards the hallway that led to her room, “I’m going to pick up my shoto.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said, cutting off Anakin before he could start to argue, “but be prompt- I expect we’ll be departing within the next ten minutes.”

She met his gaze and nodded happily, before running off to grab her lightsaber.

“Now,” Obi-Wan began, rounding on Anakin, “what is this I hear of you strutting around in your bathing suit around temple grounds last weekend?”

#obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #crys #wooley #star wars #cinna1fic #anakin skywalker #commander cody #master yoda #kano

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ariainstars · 4 years

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Star Wars, the Last 20 Years or Can We Please Try to Stop the Blame Train?

I would like to touch a subject that’s starting to grate on my nerves a little.

Anyone here knows that I disliked The Rise of Skywalker heartily. And I’m not the only person here or elsewhere who tore it to shreds. But I am reading (again) over and over why and how JJ Abrams, Chris Terrio, Kathleen Kennedy and Co. made this mess. Instead of searching for culprits, this time I would like to point out a few things.

I. Star Wars Prequels

Jake Lloyd, Ahmed Best and Hayden Christensen had to endure awful harassment in their time: the audience largely vented their frustration on them because when the prequels hit theatres, they did not get the Star Wars they had wanted. Politics are a dry subject, and young Anakin and the Jedi Council were all too human to be liked by fans who expect coolness in a hero more than everything else; which is probably why Darth Maul is a huge favorite although we hardly learn anything about him and he says almost nothing. Ditto Obi-Wan although he is clearly not suited to train Anakin and it’s him who maims him and leaves him to burn in the lava. (Until I saw the film, I had always assumed Palpatine had tortured Anakin to push him to the Dark Side.)

The prequels’ messages in general were not liked: the Jedi were not perfectly wise and cool wizards, the Old Republic was stagnant, Anakin was a hot-headed, frustrated young man desperate to save his wife and unborn children. The films do not want to excuse what he did; however they portray him not as a monster but as a human being who was under an almost unendurable pressure for years and years until he finally snapped.

These messages may not be “cool”, but they were realistic and most of all, humane. Portraying the Jedi as well as Anakin as powerful, flawless heroes and the old Republic as a just, prosperous and balanced place would have meant undermining a central theme of the original trilogy: the former generation could not have been all that powerful and wise, else the collapse of their world and the failure of their convictions would not have happened in the first place. It is a sore point, but still twenty years later Obi-Wan and Yoda denied that Vader was human and expected Luke to commit patricide.

All of this goes to show that the Jedi’s moral standard was flawed and their attitude not rooted in compassion and pacifism the way they claimed. In the end, what they cared about was winning, no matter the cost. In this, they were no better than the Sith.

~~~more under the cut~~~

II. Star Wars Sequels

J.J. Abrams, Kathleen Kennedy, Bob Iger and company were the ones who introduced the Star Wars sequel trilogy and with it its themes, characters, setting etc. to us in the first place: I think we should give them credit where it’s due. Rian Johnson made a very beautiful second chapter with The Last Jedi, but he did pick up where the others had left.

Kelly Marie Tran made experiences similar to Jake Lloyds or Hayden Christensen’s when The Last Jedi was hit theatres. She was disliked for not being “Star-Wars-y” enough, chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire, and also taking a lot of screen time while many fans were impatiently waiting for some grand scenes from Luke and / or Leia.

That Episode VIII, the central and most important one, was called “The Last Jedi” cannot be overstated. Luke was literally alone with the heavy task of rebuilding a religious order that was gone and destroyed long before he even learned about it, and at the same time he had to patch together his own family and atone for his father’s sins. This is a crushing burden for anyone to carry. It was important both for Rey and for the audience to meet Luke to see that he was a good man, but still just a man.

When Luke spoke openly to Rey about the failure of the Jedi Order, it was the first time he ever spoke about it that we know of; this wisdom he obviously acquired only after his nephew’s fall to the Dark Side. Luke has understood that the ways of the Jedi were wrong; but he does not know a better alternative. Force users are still born all over the galaxy, and they have to learn to use their powers - only how? Again, Luke is not to blame. How is he to know, when the Jedi of the Old Republic had lost sight of Balance in the Force for so long that they didn’t know what it actually meant anymore?

Same goes for Leia, the princess without a realm, who tried to rebuild the Republic after the galaxy had been terrorized by the Empire and devastated by war for many years. She assuredly did her best, but she was only human. That she failed her son is of course shocking, but after the horror she had to endure at the hands of her own father it is not surprising that she would be terrified of her son possibly going the same way. Ben, like Anakin, was crushed under a legacy and responsibility that was by far too heavy for him. The tragedy of his life and the disruption - and in the end, obliteration - of his family was another proof for the failure of the ways of the Jedi.

All of these lessons until now were not learned from. But let’s be honest: how many of us come from dysfunctional families? If we do, was getting away from them enough to heal the wounds of the past? Did we find out what to give our children on their way in life, or did we fail them because we had not elaborated the past enough to make way for a better future? Such problems are very common, and to heal them is complicated and takes time. A “happy ending” e.g. in form of finding a new family is not enough, on the contrary, it can lead to wanting to leave the past behind, leaving wounds unhealed that will fester their way through our lives again, sooner or later. Star Wars always was an allegory of the human mind, even if deeply cloaked in symbolism. The saga also abundantly takes inspiration from the Bible, and I think it’s not coincidentally said there that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.

As fans, we would have wanted to see films that cemented the Jedi as guardians of the galaxy, with the Skywalker family right at the center. Which in itself is impossible because Jedi are supposed to remain unattached, making the mere idea of a Jedi having a family absurd. If the prequels told us that the Jedi were flawed, the sequels tore down the myth of the Skywalker family. And both trilogies showed that you can’t be a Skywalker and / or a Jedi / Force user and have attachments and a happy family of your own at the same time. At least, not until now.

III. Film production

Many fans of old complained because the sequel trilogy implied that the “happy ending” of the original trilogy’s heroes had not been so happy after all and that after having made peace for the galaxy, they had failed to keep it that way. Other viewers however liked the new trilogy and new characters right away and began to root for them. But they, too, jumped on the blame train when the trilogy had ended: expectations were not met, and now director, producers, script writers, cutters etc. are faulted all over again.

The first person coming up with the idea of Han’s and Leia’s only child turning to the Dark Side was Lucas himself. It always was a main theme of the saga that war separates people who actually belong together, like family, couples or close friends; that is not played for mere drama, but because it emphasizes the absurdity of war.

We as the audience do not know how production went - it is very possible that Lucas approved the general storyline, and there is always a whole team on board. It is not easy to purchase such a large and immensely popular franchise; it was to be expected that if things went not the way the audience expected, the Disney studios would be blamed harshly for having “ruined Star Wars”. With the prequels, at least Lucas was still at the helm; it was conceded that maybe he had lost his magic touch with storytelling, but certainly not that he was trying deliberately to ruin his own creation. And the fans who could not praise the Disney studios enough after The Last Jedi came out, now blame them over and over.

The Disney studios have long-term politics to consider and contracts to observe, and we don’t know their contents. We have every right to be disappointed, but I think it’s not fair to blame one or a particular group of persons who are trying their best to satisfy as many viewers as possible. If they simply wanted to satisfy the average dudebro who sees nothing but clichés, two-dimensional characters and Good against Evil - then why did they allow The Last Jedi to be produced in the first place? The studios obviously are aware that there are fans out there who are ready to look deeper in the saga’s themes, who wish to see the Force coming to Balance, who value family, friendship and love over “victory at any cost”, and who do not place the Jedi on some kind of pedestal.

In a sense, The Rise of Skywalker seems like a bow before The Last Jedi: the weakest chapter of the saga followed one of its strongest. Maybe the authors were aware that equaling or even topping what Rian Johnson had created would be next to impossible, so they patched up the open threads of The Force Awakens together with some fan service hoping to be out of the business as quickly as possible.

In retrospect, the infamous podcast with Charles Soule might also be tell-tale: Soule obviously is not elbows-deep in the saga and largely ignores its subtext. Since his The Rise of Kylo Ren comics are quite well-made, I assume that the general storyline did not stem from his own creativity and that he only carried out what he had been advised to do. The production of the whole sequel trilogy may have happened in a similar way. I am not excusing the poor choices of The Rise of Skywalker; merely considering that one or a few persons cannot be blamed in a studio that has thousands of creative minds on board.

I am still hoping for the next trilogy to finally bring Balance to the galaxy, and also into the fandom. Rian Johnson had negotiated the rights for the next trilogy along with The Last Jedi; I assume it is very possible that there was a clause about intellectual property saying that only he would continue Episode VIII’s topics, nobody else. This would at least be an explanation, given the embarrassing, jumbled mess that Episode IX was.

The overall title of the saga assuredly never wanted to inspire the audience to start online wars attacking the studios or the actors or other fans out of the conviction of being entitled to blame someone else’s worldview. The saga’s message is compassion. Both George Lucas and the Disney studios are telling us their story; the idea and the rights do not belong to us. Harping on “whose fault” it allegedly is won’t bring us anywhere; what we can do is make the studios understand that we’re not too stupid not to understand the subtext, the symbolism and metaphysics of the saga beyond the action story. If they listened to the Last Jedi haters, in all fairness they are bound to listen to us, too. 😊

IV. Will Ben’s story continue?

My husband already warned me years ago that Ben most probably wouldn’t survive, or at least not get a happy ending. As Kylo Ren he had already been the head of a criminal organization for six years at the start of The Force Awakens, but all of that perhaps could still have been condoned within the scope of war. It was the very personal and intentional act of patricide, the killing of an unarmed, forgiving man, who turned him into a damned person. And after the deed, Ben was aware of it. He knew there was no way out for him, he had gone too far.

Many members of the audience did not understand that Kylo / Ben is not an out-and-out villain and that this narrative ultimately was about his redemption. Bringing him back to the Resistance after the Exegol battle alive and by Rey’s side would not have been accepted; how was Rey to explain everything when she hardly understood it herself? How would the audience have reacted to the former head of a criminal organization, a patricide, suddenly standing out as a hero? Remember how in Return of the Jedi Luke asked Vader to come away with him. Now suppose Vader had complied? It would have seemed (and been) sheer madness. Nobody would have believed neither father nor son that the terror of the galaxy had had a sudden turn of heart. Nobody knew that he was Luke’s father; Luke himself did not know Anakin’s backstory; nobody knew what had transpired between Luke and Vader so far. Yes, Ben was young and healthy, but he still had terrorized the galaxy for years and killed his own father. He knew himself that he was damned and could not go back to normality, as Vader did.

Rey was coded as the heroine: narratively, the sequel trilogy was her story. Ben couldn’t become the hero, with or without her, at the very last moment. She usurped power like her grandfather in his time, the Skywalker family was obliterated the way the Jedi were, she takes over another mantle (Skywalker) the way Palpatine did (becoming the Emperor). Balance in the Force never was truly in the cards, it was only vaguely hinted at in The Last Jedi by the Force mosaic in the Ahch-To temple. Balance is a complex and difficult subject; it would have been extremely difficult to develop it in the sequel trilogy together with introducing the new characters and giving the old ones closure.

However: if Ben is brought back in the next trilogy, his sacrifice for Rey will have been his atonement. If his role this time is not that of the villain but of the hero, it would reverse Anakin’s path and make clear that he no longer is the same man. Vader was redeemed, not rehabilitated. His grandson might still have the chance to go that way.

- Luke had promised Rey a third lesson, and it happened. He also had promised Ben to “see him around”, which has not taken place yet.

- On Tatooine, Rey watches the twin suns setting, same as Luke before he met the other half of his soul (his twin sister) again.

- The studios had said that the sequels would be “very much like the prequels”; the prequels were a tragedy where the Dark Side (Palpatine) won that was followed by a fairy tale where the Light Side won.

- The Skywalker saga is closed, so if Ben comes back it would be justified by his being a Solo, i.e. the story of his own family and not his grandfather’s.

- Given the parallels with Beauty and the Beast, the Beast died before the broken spell brought him back, making him a wholly new person - his past identity, purged and redeemed.

- George Lucas repeatedly said that the prequels and the classics belong together as one narrative, with Anakin Skywalker at its center. First news of the next trilogy came up with The Last Jedi. Since there are strong parallels between Ben and his grandfather, we may assume that this six-chapter instalment will be his; Anakin also was left for dead but came back with a wholly different role and name.

- When Anakin was reborn as Darth Vader, he “rose” slowly from the ground, clad in his black armor. Ben fell to the ground abruptly and shed his black clothes, disappearing. This could be another clue. (It was also already speculated that Leia’s body dissolved exactly in this moment because she gave her life-force to her son for him to have another chance to live. Both Han and Luke had done what they could to atone for their remorse towards Ben; this might be her turn.)

- Much as I love Luke Skywalker, I can understand that Lucas did not see him as the saga’s protagonist. The overall arch is not so much about Luke’s heroism than about Anakin’s redemption and atonement. It is unusual because we expect the story’s “hero” to be the one who kills the Bad Guy; and indeed Anakin is, because he kills Palpatine in the end, the twist being that technically he is also a villain though not the archvillain.

- Ben had promised Anakin he would finish what he started. Anakin had been meant to bring Balance to the Force, and he had started a family. Until now, Ben did neither.

- If Ben and Rey are a dyad, i.e. one soul in two bodies, then Rey is in urgent need of her soulmate for her future tasks. She has her friends of course, but none of them gets her the way he did.

So, I still see reason to hope for a continuation, and, hopefully, satisfying conclusion of The Last Jedi’s themes.

Film production: on a side note…

In the Nineties, Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale were the directors both of Beauty and the Beast and Atlantis: two more different stories are hardly imaginable with regard to everything - drawing style, setting, characters, development, music etc. This outcome can’t have been only due to the director’s choices, there must have been a wholly different idea behind both films right from the beginning. Just saying.

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gffa · 4 years

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I HAVE STRUGGLED WITH THIS CHARACTER SO MUCH, but I think rereading The Rise of Kylo Ren all at once, as well as the final issue, plus the Age of Resistance - Supreme Leader Snoke and Age of Resistance - Kylo Ren issues (and a bit of the TLJ novelization), have at least somewhat coalesced this character for me. The burning question with Ben Solo has always been: Why? Why did he not tell anyone about Snoke talking to him in this comic? Why didn’t he go to his mother, whom he knew still loved him? Why did he embrace the dark side? None of this had ever really been addressed in the canon itself, it was all down to speculation, but nothing I felt I could connect to what we were actually being given with any real solidity in the canon. And issue #4 definitely still feels a little wobbly to me, but I think it at least strung up some connective tissue for me. In rereading the first issue, I was back to: Why doesn’t Ben go to his mother? If he didn’t attack the school (which I’m not sure how clear it is what he did/didn’t have to do with it, if it truly was Snoke who did it, how much Ben was aware of it, how much of a hand he played in all of this, certainly it makes the timing of the destruction of the Temple INCREDIBLY coincidental if it was Snoke’s plan AND it was the night Luke and Ben fought), if he knows his parents love him (which Age of Resistance - Supreme Leader Snoke [x][x] shows that he does, he literally goes into the same cave as Luke did to show him his fears, the only thing in there is what he brought with him and he sees Luke saying he doesn’t want to fight, which means Ben knows this is true even if he doesn’t want to admit it[x], as well as the TLJ novelization has him knowing that his mother still loves him and he’s angry about it, as well as TFA itself has him not at all surprised that Han’s there to help him and bring him home, even in TLJ he’s snarling about how, oh, is Luke here to save his soul, say Luke forgives him?, which shows that he knows that Luke regrets it and cared about him)--anyway, I’m getting distracted, there’s a lot to go over! If he didn’t attack the school, if he didn’t want this, why did he run from Leia as much as anyone? In rereading the issue, there’s an interesting flashback that’s place right in the middle of the droid asking Ben where he wants to go, where he’s thinking about his mother and he hesitates. I didn’t really pay attention to the timing the first time because it felt like just a cool dramatic moment to show further flashbacks. But looking for the trends I know Soule is capable of and so often puts in his writing, it struck me that the flashback was specifically set on Luke yelling, “Ben, no!” and Luke in the ruins of the Temple and Ben saying, “I didn’t want this!” [x][x][x] Thus, I’m left to conclude that he didn’t go to her because he himself couldn’t face her, couldn’t look at all of this storm inside him and find a way out of it. And I think that’s the thing--in reading this issue all at once, it really jumped out at me that the central theme of this comic was about the path people choose in their lives. That there’s an undercurrent of a legacy to live up to, but that that’s just window dressing for a deeper issue--in that Ben Solo doesn’t know what his path is. On one side, he has a huge legacy to live up--the man he was named for, this larger than life great Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he never even met him, he hates the name he was given, Ben. He hates the name Solo as well, because it’s a made up name, it’s not real, it’s a lie. [x][x] This contradiction is fascinating, because he’s named through two different aspects--one, a legacy, and two, a chosen name. Ben Solo hates the legacy name just as much as he hates the name Han Solo created for himself! So the idea that he’s creating his real persona for himself, when he stops being a Jedi and goes to Snoke, is directly contradicted by how much he hates the chosen name, that he says it’s a lie. As if Kylo Ren isn’t a lie he’s hurtling himself towards, too. Neither of these really seem to be the true problem, for all that they’re genuine things that anger Ben. In the final issue, he does tell Tai, "Even my name isn't a choice. The dark side and the light side both claimed me for their own the moment I was born. Do you know how that feels? Whether it's Luke Skywalker or Snoke, neither one sees me as a person. I'm just a... legacy. Just a set of expectations." The thing is, Ben Solo is not a reliable narrator. He talks one minute about how the light and the dark are warring over him, even Ren comments on how he’s been fighting this every step of the way, you don’t really want to live in the shadow. “I am the shadow,” Ben replies.[x] He is trying so hard to shove himself onto some path, any path that he thinks will soothe him. The most emotional part of the issue (or at least one of them) is Tai’s pleading speech to him, the conversation that’s been threaded throughout the entire issue about how you choose your path. Choice is arguably the most important theme of Star Wars, and we see that very clearly in Tai’s conversations with him. Even in the previous issue, he tells Ben that he keeps himself locked up too tight, he’s not really being himself.[x] Ben’s recounting of who Voe is (the other important foil for Ben’s character in this comic) is woven together with how he thinks she never really learned to be herself, rather than measuring herself again him.[x] Ren, in their very first meeting, says, hey, you know there are other paths, right? [x] On Elphrona, Voe says he must face justice, and Ben shouts back, “You think I’m a murderer, Voe? Is that what you want me to be!?”[x] Tai’s big speech to him in the previous episode is all about, be who you are, which is another way of saying, “Find the path you’re supposed to be on.”[x] Tai’s words to Voe on Elphrona are also, “[Ben] thinks [the Knights of Ren] can help him find his true path.”[x] And of course, all of the above. Paths and choices and being who you truly are, that Ben Solo couldn’t figure out any of these things for himself. That he didn’t really want to be a Jedi (and that’s fine, it’s not the path for everyone) and we see, we see that he could have chosen otherwise, that Tai offers him a chance to actually walk away from all of it and just go help people, we see the hesitation there before Ren kills Tai and Ben makes his choice. Because he may not feel like he had any choices, but Tai showed that he absolutely did. Even when he truly falls into the dark--so completely that a multitude of people feel it, Leia, Snoke, Rey, Palpatine, they all sense it--it’s framed around the idea of, “I’m not anyone special, so I can do what I want.”

All of this coalesced for me into two things, especially once I added in other Ben Solo appearances in canon--this is someone who has no strong sense of self or the path he’s meant to be on, so he just sort of careens wildly from one bad choice to the next, each time hoping that it’ll feel like the right path, rather than doing the really hard work of looking inside himself and not just locking everything up into a little box. And, two, he is further trying to gain that sense of self through others. Even when he’s not fully aware of it, he keeps walking the same paths they do--like on Dagobah, when he goes into the same cave Luke did, to face his inner fears, he’s walking the same path his uncle did.[x] When he’s offered a choice, when Tai asks him to come back, if you want, you can absolutely read that glowy red backdrop as being similar to Anakin’s fight with Obi-Wan on Mustafar. And certainly, given that Soule was the one to write Darth Vader bleeding his kyber crystal, we can draw parallels between that and Kylo Ren bleeding his:

And that’s one of the things that the character keeps coming back to--and it’s a huge theme for Ben Solo, that he’s constantly being compared to Vader, by others and by himself. Sure, part of it is that I assume that’s just how bleeding a kyber crystal goes, but the parallels between Kylo and Vader (and thus between Anakin and Ben) do a lot to highlight the issues between them both, that we see TROKR’s visuals are echoing Dark Lord of the Sith’s scene, as Kylo is very defined by Vader in an out-of-universe meta way. But also within the universe, he keeps comparing himself to Vader and is compared to Vader by others, because that’s kind of the point, that it’s not just too much power in an unstable person (though, that, too) or that they were born evil (no, they weren’t), but that they both couldn’t really look at themselves or the choices set before them, to either actually commit to the path they were on or to find another one. That they both were still loved even after their fall. That they both had people pleading with them to make a better choice. "Leave [the mask]. I said leave it! You cannot hide behind a mask here. You cannot pretend to be Vader in this place,” Snoke says is Age of Resistance - Supreme Leader Snoke [x] “This is where I will succeed. ...where Vader failed,” says Kylo Ren in Age of Resistance - Kylo Ren. [x] “There’s too much Vader in him,” Han says in The Force Awakens. “A new Vader. Now I fear... I was mistaken. Take that ridiculous [mask] off,” Snoke says, not long before Kylo smashes the mask to pieces, in The Last Jedi. It’s contradicted by Kylo’s theme of, “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to.” in TLJ, but it’s pretty par for the course with him, where he careens back and forth between one decision one moment and another the next, that he still has no idea what his true path is meant to be. So much of his character was patterned off of Darth Vader, both in universe and out of universe, it seems only fitting that he, like his grandfather before him, has no real sense of self or the willingness to look within himself to find what that path really is, whether it means actually committing to the Jedi path and understanding yourself and working to let go of your fears, or whether it’s finding a path away from the Jedi. And both of them felt like their power must be used for something. "[We're going to] some planet called Elphrona. All this way to find some old junk Master Luke will lock away in his temple and never use. [....] He's an amazing teacher, very strong. I've learned so much from him... but he never seems to want to let me use any of it."[x] Ultimately, at the end of it, it seems like Ben Solo was someone who didn’t really know what he wanted out of his life and so he kept looking for the thing that would finally make him feel like it was the right path, except he kept looking to those outside himself to figure that out, whether to reject what he thought they were making him into or to use them as a measuring stick to define himself, and the only sliver of it that he ever seemed to find was when he finally stopped trying to force everything to make sense and focused on someone else for what he could do for them, instead of himself.

#ben solo #comics #meta #reading comics: the rise of kylo ren #wednesday spoilers #long post

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greyias · 4 years

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FIC: The Waiting Game

Title: The Waiting Game Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Angsty angst angst Synopsis: The worst part about all of this was the waiting. Theron hated standing on the sidelines as everyone else risked their lives. He needed something to do. Anything to keep him distracted from his own thoughts. Spoilers: So many spoilers. For the end of Onslaught and its epilogue, for 6.1/“The Task at Hand” and for the upcoming storyline in 6.2. Warnings: Considering what’s going on in the world right now, I’m tagging this as “Covid19 related”, as parts of this may be uncomfortably familiar with the current state of events. There’s also a lot about Theron and his very fraught and complicated relationship with Satele in this. So if you’re not a fan of her, or you just think she’s the worst, you should probably skip this. Because I love her and their very complicated dynamic.

Crossposted to AO3

The crash was loud enough to hear from the senior staff meeting room.

It pulled Theron from the datapad he’d gotten lost in, and had him poking his head out the door into the hallway. He managed to just catch sight of Scourge’s dark armor disappearing around the corner as the Sith stormed off. Not that Theron hadn’t gotten used to Sith temper tantrums since coming to live on Odessen, but it still was enough to pique his curiosity.

Stepping out further into the hallway, he could just make out both Kira and his wife talking solemnly at the door that Scourge had stalked away from. Whatever the conversation was, both Jedi were clearly concerned. Grey gave the little astromech at her side an affectionate pat on the head, before she looked up, squinting down the hall until she caught sight of him. They were all far enough away where Theron couldn’t see their expressions clearly or even eavesdrop on what they were talking about, but the tense postures let him know that something was amiss.

As he walked up, he could see the remains of the crates that had splintered upon impact with the wall, and the rows of cracked monitors ringing the room. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked back at both Jedi. “You guys felt like redecorating? Not sure that ‘Warzone Nouveau’ is going to catch on as an aesthetic.”

Kira shot him a look, but he couldn’t quite decipher what it meant. Maybe she didn’t find his joke funny. Of course, he’d gotten that look a lot. Things had been a little awkward since she and Scourge formally joined the Alliance, but Theron hadn’t been able to figure out if they were just having a difficult time adjusting or if something else was going on.

He was saved from pondering on that further by his wife gently laying her hand on his arm. “Let’s take a walk.”

A familiar feeling of dread settled in his gut, and he swallowed before fixing a smile in place. Even if he had a feeling what this was about, he could pretend for a few moments more. They were quiet as they made their way to the elevator, and were about halfway down when he finally decided to break the silence.

“So, are we walking to any particular place?”

“I thought a stroll in the woods might be nice.”

“Are we going on an adventure?” His humor was a little forced, but he was trying for normalcy here. It’d been a while since they had that. About as long as since Kira and Scourge arrived on Odessen.

“Not the same type of adventure as the last time,” she said, a lilt of amusement tinging her voice.

“Pity.” Even if they were alone in the elevator, his voice was just a murmur as he leaned in closer.

He wasn’t really planning on doing anything inappropriate, was just angling on getting a reaction out of her, but the lift’s doors opened up onto the crowded walkway before he could push it any further. He let out a frustrated sigh and straightened up before anyone saw and got any ideas. The last thing he needed was to start rumors about improprieties in the lifts. Not that he really cared about the rumors about himself, but he’d already caused Grey enough trouble with his undercover stint. He didn’t need to give people more reasons to whisper about them.

Even if they were married.

They ambled on out, towards the cantina. He was trying to act casual, normal even, but Grey hadn’t said anything about what that conversation with Kira was about. Or why Scourge felt the need to redecorate the room quite so violently. But Theron had an idea anyway. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because her hand found his and intertwined their fingers together.

When Theron had gone undercover, Grey had still been wearing the armor from her time before her carbonite sleep. Sometimes he’d wondered if she had worn the giant pauldrons, embroidered cape, and heavy gauntlets as some sort of armor against all the change in her life. But since his return, she’d adopted a new outfit. A much simpler garb, a deep blue tunic that was very Jedi in fashion. As silly as it sounded, it felt like some sort of evolution — like she was somehow more comfortable in her skin and her role in a way that she hadn’t been before.

He liked it though, from the way the color of blue set off her eyes, to how the long trailing scarves on the tunic liked to pick up the wind when they stepped outside. The change from the heavy gauntlets to fingerless gloves was also a benefit, and especially nice in moments like these, as he was able to feel the warmth of her fingertips against his.

Of course, he’d also changed things up a little too. The long gray overcoat had long been discarded — the charred hole in the back where he’d been stabbed wasn’t a keepsake he wanted to hold onto. While he hadn’t abandoned his old style completely—his old, faithful red and black jacket was definitely still around—Theron had felt the need to integrate a little bit more variety into his style. Like the lighter coat he was wearing now, with a set of fingerless gloves of his own.

They were a little more comfortable to wear when he was just working around the base, and the tactile feedback of his bare hands was nice. He was of course referring to the fingers intertwined with his. For a few moments at least, the soft reassuring pressure and warmth of her touch chased away the anxiety welling up in the pit of his stomach. Although he supposed the gloves helped with the coding too, and his endless research with the HoloNet and beyond.

The sight of the two of them walking hand-in-hand didn’t raise too many eyebrows at this point. There had been a time where he’d tried to strictly keep the personal side of their relationship behind closed doors — but that had gone out the window a long, long time ago. At this point, Theron was pretty sure that the only person who scoffed at the public displays of affection was Lana, and that was just habit. Well, and maybe Grey’s older brother would make a comment or two about how disgusting and saccharine they were. But the jerk was probably just trying to get a rise out either of them with that sort of thing, because he got bored easily. It was like having a large, very old and very loud toddler as a brother-in-law. Sometimes Theron was thankful that he was an only child.

For now though, he and Grey were content to walk in companionable silence, meandering through the cantina, and out into the woods. It was springtime on Odessen, and it was a nice day. The variations in the season on the planet was still something that Theron was adjusting to, even years later. If he had to pick a favorite, though, it would be spring. The fields beyond the military hangar would fill with these beautiful white flowers, and the sight of them brought to mind his homecoming from Nathema. The frequent rains kept the air humid, especially out here in the forest where there was less sunlight filtering through the canopy to speed up the evaporation. It made the ground smell fresh and new — and it reminded him of life.

These days, he really liked that reminder.

The temperature was still just cool enough where wearing a jacket outside wasn’t uncomfortable and gave him an excuse to draw his wife in a little closer under the guise of sharing warmth. She leaned into the embrace, and was happy to just walk along in ambling steps for a few more moments and let this quiet moment of peace linger.

Then she let out a sigh, long and wearied, and it told him that whatever she was about to say next wasn’t going to be good news. But he’d already suspected that from Scourge’s temper tantrum.

“The quarantine has failed.” Her voice was quiet, ringing with an air of defeat she let show where no one but him could see.

His blood froze in his veins, his own steps slowing to a halt. “What do you mean ‘failed’?”

“The transport with Satele—where the infected were being contained—it’s not responding to our signals, and there was no sign of it at the next scheduled stop.”

That certainly explained the Sithly destruction. Theron couldn’t even blame Scourge, as a thousand conflicted feelings began to well up within himself. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying his best to keep them tied up. Like he was rolling every single thread of worry and anger and anxiety around each other, like it was some nervous ball of string. He wouldn’t let it unwind, he couldn’t. But the news picked at the fraying edge near the end, and if Theron wasn’t careful it could unspool into a mess that he’d have no hope of cleaning up.

The breath he blew out was long, whistling past clenched teeth. He needed to say something, because Grey was staring at him in the way she always did. Full of concern and warmth and understanding — and he loved being on the receiving end of that but also hated it because it just picked at that loose thread more. Her fingers shifted in his, holding him just a little tighter, and he let out another breath, giving her hand a squeeze in return. He swallowed, forcing the rising lump in his throat to go back down where it belonged, and managed to seize that thread of unease before it snagged on something and undid the tattered fabric of his composure.

He was fine. He just needed to focus. That was all. Preferably on the problem at hand.

So that’s what he did. “What’s our next step?”

“Right now Teeseven is heading out with an escort and as many probe droids we can spare. They can scan and sort through the data faster than we can.”

“And there’s no chance of them getting infected,” Theron pointed out sourly.

“That too,” she added with a sigh. “It’s just safer this way.”

She was right. Of course she was. The droids could do the job faster than anyone, cybernetics or no. He just hated being on the sidelines. Doing nothing.

“Do we know… how the ship disappeared?” He hated the hesitation in his voice, in the question itself. Hated the emotion in betrayed, even if he was sharing it with the safest person in the galaxy.

“No.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

He’d had a nightmare last night. Where that ship of the damned had landed in some busy spaceport. Some place like Kuat. Or Nar Shaddaa. Or even Coruscant. And as the passengers of the transport walked out among the unsuspecting, all of the hapless victims fell into line one by one. And at the front of the crowd was someone that looked remarkably like his mother — but was definitely not her. The woman with Satele’s face had sightless, unseeing eyes that glowed with a malevolence. When she spoke, it was not the soft, calm measured tones he’d come to know, but with a deep chilling voice of a long vanquished ghost that Theron had first heard back on Yavin. Then the woman that was not his mother had turned on the unseen watcher and attacked.

Theron had awoken with a start. A fine sheen of sweat soaking through the thin sheet covering him. Somehow he hadn’t made enough noise to stir the woman sleeping next to him, still cocooned in all of the blankets and comforters on the bed. It had taken him a few moments to reorient in the darkness of their bedroom, let the familiar stone walls ground him back in reality. To remind himself that the dream had just been that. He hadn’t wanted to wake his wife to talk about the nightmare, even if he’d lain awake for a long time afterwards. Trying to shake the images from his head.

If someone were to ask him, Theron would tell them that he didn’t believe in ill omens. The timing of the dream with today’s news was just a coincidence. Or it was the product of a stressed mind trying to cope. His subconscious just trying to get him to pay attention to the things he kept pushing to the back of his mind during his waking hours.

In the light of day, he could see more clearly what was wrong with the dream. The last time the ship was seen, everyone on it was in a comatose state. Trapped in both a nightmarish slumber and stasis. The only thing amiss before today was the Force rumblings from Kira and Scourge that some thing was joining the consciousnesses of the infected together. His subconscious had just morphed that into something familiar — something a lot like Ziost. Another thing he didn’t like to think about.

There were a lot of things he didn’t like to think about. Too many mistakes and unpleasant things in his past to dwell on — and getting through the day right now sometimes felt like walking a very winding and narrow path to keep his thoughts focused and productive. Rather than take one of the branching paths into speculation about what was waiting for them when the ship was found.

As much as he tried to stay focused though, his mind still strayed. And he thought about Satele. A lot. He’d thought he’d excised that particular bad habit a long time ago. When he was growing up, he and Ngani Zho had talked about his mother, of course. Zho had never kept her a secret from Theron, and had told his young charge about his favorite student. For the longest time, Theron had this image built up in his head of this perfect, heroic Jedi that he’d someday meet. If he just tried hard enough, focused enough, and applied himself enough, he’d finally be able to wield the Force, and he’d have a chance of meeting the fabled woman that Zho talked about.

Even when both he and Zho had still been foolish enough to think that Theron had a chance at becoming a Jedi, they had never talked about mother and son ever being able to have that type of relationship. It would have been against those strict detachment edicts, as would have Satele taking her flesh and blood on as a Padawan. Even if the Force had deigned to grant him the ability to wield it like the rest of Revan’s bloodline, he probably would have had someone else train him. Maybe someone like Gnost-Dural. But if Theron was being honest with himself, not something he did often, in some of his more carefree moments as a child he’d imagined the two of them fighting side-by-side with lightsabers in hand.

He’d tried to scatter those stupid, childish notions away when he’d left Haashimut. Along with the selfish, immature longing for his mythical heroic mother to come save the teenage runaway when the shadows grew too dark during the night. He told himself that at thirteen he was too old to be wanting his mommy, especially since he’d never even met her. He reminded himself at fourteen too. By fifteen, he’d just about beaten that feeling away with bitterness. And at sixteen, he’d just learned to forget he’d ever even had the want to begin with.

Theron was approaching forty years old now. He was married and mostly happy with his life. There was still a small part of him, a part of him that he liked to pretend didn’t exist — to pretend had never existed — that still wanted his mother. Maybe not the one that he had, but that mythical, heroic figure of his childhood musings. Perhaps it was human nature, he thought, to crave the security and comfort provided by a parent.

A long time ago, before Ziost and Zakuul, before he’d even met the woman at his side, Satele had told her son that she would always be there for him if he needed her. All he had to do was ask. That same part of him he liked to pretend didn’t exist panicked at the thought that he might not have that anymore.

They’d never had a chance at a normal relationship. Not when Theron had been a young boy, dreaming of being that idealized Jedi like his mother before him. Definitely not as a bitter teenager out to prove that the galaxy was wrong about him. Nor even as adults, when they were working towards a common cause. Outside of a professional capacity, almost all of their conversations devolved into arguments — and since Theron was being honest with himself at the moment — a lot, though not all, of those had been started by him. Clinging to that old bitter feeling because the alternative meant opening himself up to being that scared, vulnerable kid again.

But not everything had been bad. They were precious few, but he did have a few pleasant memories with Satele. Most of them had been after Yavin, but before the Ziost incident.

Mostly he remembers taking afternoon tea on Coruscanti terraces, a pleasant breeze teasing the air. He and Satele would take a break between the endless debriefs on the Revanite incident. Even during these moments of downtime, Satele would sit straight, posture perfectly poised as if she’d forgotten how to relax. Theron would sprawl back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table just to see if he could get a reaction out of her. Maybe get her to lecture him on proper decorum. He’d been careful not to kick any of the serving ware, just act like a bit of an uncouth ass.

She hadn’t lectured him though, just let a small smile quirk at the corner of her mouth. As if his attempt to rile her was both transparent and amusing. She would ask him politely about work, careful to keep the subject on something he was comfortable with. As if just the act of having this time together was enough for her, even if they never said anything of substance.

It was funny. He hadn’t realized how much he’d actually enjoyed those quiet moments. At the time he’d just been focused on how awkward it was, trying to navigate the weirdness that was getting to know this stranger who was somehow not so strange. Now when he looked back on it, the awkwardness had faded, and the good stood out more. Time had a funny way of distorting things.

Theron didn’t know what he wanted at the end of all of this. He wasn’t sure if he and Satele could ever really have those quiet moments out on a Coruscant terrace now. Hell, he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to maintain a civil conversation. All he knew, as that when he was faced with the prospect of it, it crystalized in his mind clearly — he didn’t want his mother to die. She would one day, he knew that, by old age if nothing else. But he just wasn’t ready for that eventuality yet — even if they didn’t talk or hug or do any of the things normal families did.

He was just not ready to live in a world where he didn’t have the opportunity to… do something different. And he didn’t want the last things expressed between them to be anger and bitterness. He didn’t want her to leave life thinking that he hated her. Because he didn’t. He just… just…

Without even realizing it, Theron started walking again. His pace brisk as if he could somehow escape the place that his mind had taken him to. Grey’s grip around him tightened but she kept in step with him, despite the fact that his legs were much longer than his and she was practically jogging to keep in stride. She was just there, a quiet, comforting presence at his side. Willing to wait on him to be ready to talk, always so patient and understanding.

He didn’t say anything yet, but slowed his steps a little so she didn’t have to try so hard to keep up even as he lifted his eyes up to the canopy. Counting the branches above as a way to think about something else.

Several years ago, this was the path that Grey had disappeared on when she had tried and failed to get intel from Valkorion for a mission. Where that ghost had stranded her out in the wilds. Where had Satele had found her, taken care of her — brought her to the ship that the former Jedi Grand Master had called home. Grey had eventually told him about all of what had happened, including all of the belongings and keepsakes that had been stowed away. Including some old toys Theron had when he was a child — and a locket with a picture of him after he’d joined the SIS. For a woman who had based so much of her life on not clinging to attachments, Satele apparently had quite a lot of things she was attached to.

He still hadn’t figured that part out. Most people wouldn’t hoard the past possessions of children they didn’t want. Nor steal holos from sealed government files to have a memento of their long-lost son. There was a part of him that wanted to see Satele again so he could demand why she had those. The rational part of him knew it would be a stupid question, because there was really only one logical explanation.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if hearing her say it aloud would make it better or worse. Hearing his mother actually tell him in words that she cared for him — maybe even loved him — would it make it easier or harder to accept whatever her fate was?

And beyond everything to do with Satele, and all of his stupidly complicated family drama, there was the woman at his side. His wife, his partner. One of the few people who was immune to the sickness that had overtaken his mother. The one who supposedly could walk into the heart of the contagion without fear of infection. Theron should have all the faith in the galaxy that she would save the day. Because she had never let him down, not once since they’d met.

Yet the question still hovered. What if? What if she’s not immune? What if whatever had taken over Satele and all those following her took Grey too?

Theron couldn’t lose his wife. He just couldn’t.

He knew that he would lose some unquantifiable part of his life if his mother died, even if he didn’t understand what that would look like until it happened. But he knew what his life would be like without the woman at his side. He’d already lived through that hell for nearly five years. He knew the emptiness of waking up each morning alone. Of the anger and impotent rage that never went away. Of the grief that bled away the brighter, happier moments. How even sleep wasn’t an escape, because then the day would just start over the moment he woke up.

It was why he’d so willingly thrown himself into danger when someone was conspiring to kill her. Better him than her, he’d thought. It was both a selfless and selfish desire. Keep her safe from harm — save himself from the pain again.

When he looked down from the canopy, it took him a moment to realize how far they’d walked. He blinked, breathed, and tried to reorient himself. Reminded himself to not pick at that thread of anxiety and what ifs. To not look too far beyond this moment. The future wasn’t guaranteed, only the present.

“Is there anything that I can do?” he finally asked, deciding not to ruminate on how long they’d probably been walking in silence.

“Right now, the safest thing to do is let Teeseven do his work.”

“So all we can do is wait?”

“It could be a few days. Or weeks. Or months. I can’t give you any certainties.” She let out a sigh. “I know it’s not ideal.”

Of course it wasn’t. Theron wasn’t good at waiting. For all his childhood training, all of the meditation techniques and special education that Zho had given him, he’d never quite been able to cure Theron of his natural impatience. His drive to just do. It was probably written somewhere in his SIS personnel file, hell, Lana had probably scribbled it in every single margin of his Alliance personnel file too. “Impatient.” ”Impulsive.” “Keep away from trains.”

Theron hated standing on the sidelines as everyone else risked their lives. Or in this case, as a bunch of droids did the searching for him. He needed something to do. Anything to keep him distracted from his own thoughts.

He hated this.

The waiting was killing him. Part of him wanted this to just be over. See where the cards fell and then let life get back to normal. He was also dreading the end of the waiting. The moment it ended, it meant that the danger arrived. Whatever this infection was building towards, something in his life was going to change. He could lose his mother. He could lose his wife. He could lose them both.

So the waiting was a blessing. And it was a curse. And right now, it was all he had. All he could do was focus on the present, even as the future came barreling towards them.

“You know, we’re already in the woods,” he said.

“We are.”

“What do you say we get lost here for a while…” Theron let his voice drop low, and watched as a little warmth raced into Grey’s cheeks. “We could have us another adventure.”

She snuggled in closer, laying her head on his shoulder. The proximity lit up a fire in his gut, and for a few moments, it knocked away that fraying thread of unease. In this moment, it was just the two of them.

“You know, I think that sounds like a good way to spend our time.”

And so they walked on, hand in hand. Still waiting. Together.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

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The Girl Next Door (Part 6) - Brothers

Summary: Dean and the reader have their first proper date out and the reader makes a visit to see her brother...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 6,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, discussed past suicide attempt

A/N: Enjoy!

Reader’s POV

“Dean?” you asked when Dean had been driving for nearly half an hour that Sunday night for your date out. He hadn’t given you any hints before he’d left your house that morning, simply told you to wear something comfortable on your feet. “Where are we going?”

“Music festival,” he said with a smile. “They got food, beer, music. You’ll love it. I swear.”

“Thanks,” you said once you got a wristband at the gate and were wandering around with Dean about fifteen minutes later. He was munching on something called a donut burger but you weren’t daring enough to try that one out. You got some fried dough to snack on as you walked around, waiting for the music to start. Something touched your hand and it took a moment to realize it was Dean’s. He kept brushing it up against yours, not looking at you but you let yours bump back twice before he grabbed it and laced your fingers together.

You walked until you found a spot to watch the first act come out, done with your food by then and Dean returning to wrap his arms around you. You smiled, nuzzling back into his chest.

“Warmer?” he asked.

“I don’t remember the last time I got a hug was is all,” you said. You felt him squeeze you again, relaxing his arms as he lazily kept them around you. He moved a little to the music, even if the band playing was only the opener to the opener. After a while though he snuck off and returned with a box of cheesy fries, smiling as you shared them between the switch of bands.

“You know…” he said, popping a fry in his mouth. “This whole not getting hugs thing, totally not cool with me. You should get one at least once a day.”

“Are you volunteering your services?” you teased.

“Naturally,” he said, eating another fry. You rubbed your bare arm as the sun was starting to go down, Dean shrugging out of his flannel. He held it out and it took a moment for you to realize he was giving it to you. It was far too large but it smelled nice and was soft and warm around you. “Not get along with your family?”

“Jack, not so much,” you said, nibbling on a fry. “Our parents aren’t around anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Jack’s...not the most stable of people lately. We agreed that when he was better, I’d give him his half of what they left behind for us but…”

“But Jack didn’t seem so great this morning,” said Dean.

“He hasn’t been great a long time,” you said. “He’s better than he was though which is saying something.”

“Well I hope he gets the help he needs,” said Dean.

“Me too,” you said. Dean reached over and moved a piece of hair the wind had caught and tucked it behind your ear. He let his finger linger over your cheek, pulling it away to get more food. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” he said.

“Sam doing okay?” you asked.

“Mhm. Told me about your jedi mind trick you did on him after I ran out with Avy. Thank you,” he said.

“I was just trying to help,” you said with a shrug.

“You know this music festival is here next weekend too if you’d like to come back,” he said. “Different bands and all that.”

“You think you’re getting a second date, Winchester?” you said. He shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “I’d love to.”

“Perfect,” he said.

You went back over to the stage when the next act came on, Dean’s arms around you again. The music was better this time around and you moved to the beat slowly, Dean following your lead as you stood in place. By the time the main act was up, you were glad Dean had given you his shirt, still toasty warm. You’d have to remember to bring something the next weekend. You nuzzled your cheek against his arm, forgetting where you were for a moment. Dean didn’t say anything though and simply kissed the top of your head.

“Want to head home?” he asked as the last song was ending. You nodded, taking your time to walk back to his car, holding hands once again.

The drive home felt much shorter and soon Dean was walking you to your door, giving your cheek a kiss.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you said, giving one back. His lips twitched up, an ever so subtle tinge of pink on his face. “Dean?”

“Hm?” he hummed, halfway towards turning away. You’d taken off his flannel and were holding it out to him, Dean looking to it and back to you. “S’better on you anyways.”

“I mean obviously but…” you teased.

“Cute,” he said, flashing you a smirk. “See you around, sweetheart.”

“Later, Dean.”

“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” you said, the box slipping from your hand the next morning. It was raining and you’d tried to rush as you tucked them away in your car but you were about five seconds away from losing the entire batch. You went down to your knee in the driveway, feeling it scrape open but you were able to rest it against the ground and get a better grip on the boxes. You winced as you stood up and got the boxes safely away in the back. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Hidy ho, neighbor,” teased Dean, he and Sam popping around the other side of the car, a pair of raincoats on them.

“Hey guys,” you said, slamming the trunk shut. “Taking a walk in the rain?”

“Sammy’s this close to going all Misery on me if I don’t take him out for fresh air every once in while,” said Dean, Sam narrowing his eyes at him.

“The doctors said light physical activity is good for me. Plus I’m not so dizzy anymore,” he said.

“Wait. You’re not dizzy when you’re regularly taking your medicine and resting? Who’d a thought?” teased Dean again.

“Oh come on, Sam. You really weren’t taking your stuff when you were supposed to?” you said. “No wonder you felt like shit.”

“No one ever said the Winchesters weren’t a stubborn bunch. God, Jess used to tell me that all the time,” he said.

“Shocking,” you said, both sets of eyes going down to your knee. “I gotta run and do these deliveries. Summer kid took the day off again.”

“Let’s get that taken care of first?” said Dean, nodding to your cut. You rolled your eyes but waved them onto the porch out of the weather, both of them humming at the smell coming through the open front door. “That smells amazing.”

“Always smells extra good in here on rainy days,” you said, heading back to the kitchen. You stuck a band aid on your knee, both of them cocking their heads from the front door. You groaned and ripped it off, getting a bottle of alcohol and cleaned off the cut in view of them, slapping a bigger bandage on. “You two happy now?”

“For the most part,” said Dean. You popped back outside and locked up the front door, throwing up your hood under the porch. You were slower on your knee, Dean turning to Sam. “Hey, Y/N. Want some company this morning? Free manual labor in it for ya. This one could do for a field trip.”

“Dean. We annoy Y/N enough as it is,” said Sam.

“Well my track record this morning isn’t so great. As long as Sam doesn’t do any lifting, you guys can tag along. Kind of boring is all,” you said.

“I mean, I will take literally any kind of adult interaction I can get,” said Sam.

“Alright then. Hop in.”

“Ah, Sinful Sweets. Best part of my day,” said Teddy, giving you a smile when Dean set down a box of mixed pastries on the counter.

“I always thought the cafe here made their own desserts,” said Dean.

“Eh, we used to. We’re more restaurant now than back then. We still get the avid morning crowd that wants a danish to bring to work though,” he said. Dean hummed and you headed out, getting a tsk from him once you were outside and heading for the car.

“You really sell your stuff in there and let them claim it as their own?” said Dean.

“They’re a consistent customer,” you said with a shrug.

“Doesn’t seem right, with how hard you work and all,” he said.

“I don’t need a big bakery with all the overhead. The way things work now is fine,” you said.

“Alright. Where’s our next stop?” he asked.

“I got a platter of cookies to deliver to the barber shop and then I was probably going to grab lunch at the diner,” you said. “You can join if you’d like. I got...stuff I’d rather do on my own after that though.”

“Maybe Sammy and I’ll go have lunch with the boys at the garage,” said Dean as he smiled at you. “I got a feeling we may be starting to actually annoy you.”

“No. I’m just...busy this afternoon,” you said. “I’ll take the company any other time though, seriously.”

“Well, uh, let’s do this last delivery so we can grab some grub, hm?”

You took a deep breath as you walked into the waiting room two hours later, signing in and barely sitting down before a nurse grabbed you. You followed her back down the hall, entering the room and taking a seat on the couch by Jack. He picked at a thread on the pillow, doing his best to pretend you weren’t there.

“Hey,” you said.

“Did you really have to call them on me? Do you know how much trouble you got me in?” he said, shoving the pillow aside as he glared at you.

“If you had rang my doorbell and politely asked about your share of the inheritance, I wouldn’t have needed to,” you shot back.

“They questioned me if I’m a danger to myself or others,” he said.

“Are you?” you asked.

“No!” he shouted, just in time for a doctor to walk in the room. “Great. Dr. Evil is here.”

“Everything alright in here?” asked Dr. Hank, taking a seat across from you both.

“Peachy,” grumbled Jack.

“Jack. We’re here today to talk about what happened yesterday morning. You showed up at your sister’s home unannounced,” he said.

“Lots of people drop by families houses unannounced all the time,” said Jack.

“You aren’t allowed to do that and you know that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked. You caught the flash of surprise on Jack’s face as the doctor turned his attention on you. “He does kind of have a point. People do that.”

“Yes but we are trying to put structure back in Jack’s life here-”

“Control,” mumbled Jack.

“...Structure in Jack’s life,” said the doctor with what looked like a glare in Jack’s direction. “Your brother has certain rules, as do all our patients, when it comes to day passes.”

“Listen. I get it. I think Jack gets that we aren’t at that point in our relationship to be free to walk in and out of each other’s spaces,” you said, Jack staring at the floor. “But the reason I came here is to understand why you wanted your share of the money right then and there.”

Jack shrugged, the doctor sighing.

“Your sister asked a question, Jack.”

“I’m the older brother,” mumbled Jack.

“Do you need help with something?” you asked. Jack laughed, staring at you.

“Help? I want to go home. I’m tired of doing what other people tell me all day long. You say one little sarcastic thing here you get locked in your room for the day with nothing to do or you get privileges revoked or they make you feel like an idiot. Structure? I’m not even allowed to choose when to go sleep, when to wake up, when I can eat, what I can eat. I have no control over anything in my life and the second I try and get some here, I get in trouble and- ”

“That’s enough Jack,” said Dr. Hank. You looked at Jack, saw the way he was staring at you. You’d seen it before.

The way Sam looked up at Dean in the backyard after the fire. The way Sam looked up at you in Avy’s room on Saturday night. The way Jack had looked at you the night you came to the decision to send him to that facility.

He was asking for your help. Only this time he wanted help with something else.

To leave.

“I will not give you your inheritance,” you said, Jack blank faced. “But I will take you out of here and you can stay with me if you listen to my rules and I mean all of them.”

“I don’t think-”

“Quiet,” you shot at the doctor. “I sent my brother here to get help. It’s been a year. You’re clearly not helping so I’m taking him.”

“He may be a threat to-”

“Jack. Do you want to live? Yes or no?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“You gonna hurt me if I yell at you for breaking a rule?” you asked. He shook his head.

“No. Never,” he said.

“Great. No threat. Now I’m taking him home right now or I’m getting my neighbor’s law firm on the phone. Your choice.”

“Jack,” you said, rubbing your temples as you drove him back to your house. “Yesterday. You don’t want the money do you. You wanted to runaway. That’s what you wanted it for. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled from the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t you say something?” you asked. “I could have done something.”

“Cause you hate me,” he said, staring out the window.

“I don’t hate you,” you said.

“I hate me.”

You pulled over on the highway, Jack frowning at you.

“Our first new rule is you talk to me. You didn’t talk to me, didn’t talk to anyone back then. I’m not going to let that happen again, alright?” you said.

“I’m older. I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around,” he said.

“I don’t care. Besides, you’re only two years older, doofus,” you said. “Second rule. You will go to a therapist we pick out together, daily.”

“Y/N. I didn’t like-”

“Third rule. You don’t have to be scared. Crack a joke or make a comment. You can still be you, Jack. Eat what you want when you want. Stay up late and sleep in. You decide those things. I don’t want some mindless thing running around. I want my brother. I want a happy big brother. That’s all,” you said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t been by to visit since Christmas. That was wrong of me.”

“I did sort of yell at you last time. It’s okay,” he said, running his hands up and down his thighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you said. He froze, swallowing hard. “I forgive you, Jack. Nothing you did was your fault. Let’s go home now, okay? We can run to the store and get you anything you want on the way. Some new clothes, maybe some food you’d like in the house. I got a whole bunch of lemon cookies on the counter. You love those.”

“You can’t possibly forgive me,” he said quietly.

“I’ve had a pretty good reminder lately of how siblings are supposed to treat one another. We’ve been doing a shitty job of it for years. So we go home and we start over,” you said. “Deal?”

“Just don’t send me back there and you got whatever you want.”

“I want you to get a job too, Jack,” you said, getting out of the car a few hours later, bags in hand. “Something part-time right now.”

“A job?” he asked.

“Yes. You need money to buy yourself things you want and I want you back out in the real world, not whatever crap they’ve been shoving down your throat the past year,” you said.

“You could have left me there,” he said, stopping halfway up the driveway.

“Once you settle in, I want us two to talk. Something...something seems really off about that place and with you Jack. I want you to stop taking any medicine they gave you until you see a new doctor. We can look tomorrow,” you said.

“Do we have to?” he groaned.

“Until I’m not afraid that every time I leave the house I’m going to come home and find something horrifying, then yeah, you’re seeing a therapist. I think it’ll be good for you,” you said. “Come on. We’ll order pizza, get you moved in.”

You both watched a soccer ball come rolling up to you a few seconds later, Avy and Dean out in the front yard, Sam laughing from the front porch, probably at Dean for kicking it so hard if you had to guess.

“Nosey neighbor?” asked Jack.

“Those are the Winchesters. I just started dating the one walking over here so play nicer than you did yesterday, please,” you said.

“Hey,” said Dean, nodding when he saw you and Jack standing there. “Sorry about that. I forget my own strength sometimes.”

You giggled, cutting it off when you saw Dean staring at Jack.

“I’m moving in,” blurted out Jack. Dean hummed, giving him a smile. “Until I’m...better. Feeling better. On my own two feet.”

“Alright. Be nice to your sister for me. You ever need somethin’, just come on over. We’re going through our own thing right now but Y/N’s had our backs more than once. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of you, Jack,” said Dean. Jack nodded, Dean doing the same back. “Y/N we uh, wanted to invite you over for dinner. Sammy’s in the mood to cook with some supervision of course. Jack, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Y/N can go. I can get...” he trailed off when he caught your face.

“We’ll be over in a little while if that’s okay?” you asked. Dean smiled and pecked a quick kiss on your lips before he headed back with the ball. “You just can’t stand to go like, four hours without seeing me, can you?”

“Even four hours is too long, sweetheart!” he laughed, kicking the ball back across the yards and over to Avy.

“He’s a dork,” you said, waving Jack with you to the front porch. “We’ll get pizza tomorrow. I promise.”

Half an hour later, Jack had his room settled and knew the ground rules you’d set for him. He would go to therapy every day during the work week and he’d find a part-time job to work at. You’d help him get a car if he decided he wanted one in a little while but for now you were driving him around. His curfew was nine during the week and ten on the weekends unless he was out with you and he most certainly did not want to find out what happened if he lied to you.

“Jack? You ready to go to dinner?” you shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Do I have to?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” you said, leaning against the door to his new room.

“Why? It’s your boyfriend and his family,” he said.

“Because Dean was nice enough to invite you. He would very much like you to feel good again too,” you said. Jack lifted his chin. “No, I didn’t tell him anything specific. Just said you had some stuff going on.”

“What? Don’t want your boyfriend to know your brother tried to off himself?” he said, smirking as he walked down the stairs. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. “That was a joke by the way.”

“I haven’t known Dean very long. I don’t share things like that yet and it’s not really mine to share,” you said as you followed after him.

“You like this guy, huh,” he said. “You seem different from Christmas. Happier.”

“Slowly getting there. The Winchesters...their family has their own problems but they stick together. I figured...maybe we could try that,” you said.

“Y/N,” said Jack with a smile. “What happened...that’s not something I don’t think I can ever get over. I have to live with it.”

“Yeah. You do. But you’re going to live with it. You’re not leaving me too, you got it? Or else I’m going to kick your ghost ass,” you said.

“You always lost when we wrestled,” he said.

“Maybe I just let you win,” you said, grabbing the container off the front table. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

“It’s only three of them,” you said as you locked up after the two of you and cut across the yards. “Sam’s the tall guy in the beanie. Avy’s Sam’s six year old daughter. Dean’s temporarily living with them while Sam’s recovering from a car accident.”

“Must have been pretty serious,” said Jack, pausing at the bottom of their porch.

“It was. Come on, Jackie,” you said, holding out your hand.

“You haven’t called me that in a decade,” he said.

“Better get used to it again,” you said, tugging him up the steps. You rang the doorbell, Avy popping around the corner, giving you a smile. “Hey, cutie. I brought some lemon cookies for dessert.”

“You’re the best neighbor ever,” she said, opening the door for you. You laughed and handed her the container, stepping inside and slipping off your shoes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Jack, taking off his sneakers. “Uh, I’m Jack, Y/N’s brother.”

“Do you make cookies too?” she asked.

“No. Y/N’s the baker,” he said, giving her a smile. She took off for the kitchen, the both of you heading over to it, Dean watching Sam like a hawk from the countertop.

“Dean. There is such a thing as personal space,” said Sam while he worked over the stove.

“I mean, we’re all used to that horrendously ugly mug of yours but if you decide to pass out, I’d rather we not go to the hospital for the third time in a week, hm?” said Dean.

“I loathe you,” said Sam.

“Yup. These guys are definitely brothers,” said Jack. Sam turned away, Dean nudging him that he’d take over. Sam gave him a nod when Dean hopped to the ground and swapped places with him. “I’m Jack. Dean said it was cool if I stopped by.”

“No, no. That’s great. Y/N’s family is plenty welcome,” said Sam. “Dean said you’re moving in?”

“Yeah, for a while,” said Jack, glancing at you. “Until my new warden says I’m allowed to go.”

“I got one of those too,” said Sam, pointing over his shoulder at Dean.

“Maybe we can swap sometime,” said Jack. Sam laughed, Dean narrowing his eyes at Sam when he spun around.

“Hey, meat’s done. Finish making your tacos yourself. We’re hungry,” said Dean, patting Sam’s arm.

“Alright, bossy,” said Sam. Jack raised an eyebrow in your direction but you shook your head. “I had a bit of head trauma. Tonight’s the first night I’ve been allowed to actually cook since it happened. Dean’s a worrier if you couldn’t tell.”

“I think I got that part,” said Jack. Dean rolled his eyes and went over to get a cookie but Avy frowned and shook her head at him.

“Come on, Avy. One?” he asked.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” she said, walking past him, Sam giving her a fist bump along the way.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Avy, you help Uncle Dean with the plates while I whip these up.”

“You got it,” she said. You got a drink for Jack and yourself from the fridge, Dean nodding for everybody to eat outside on the back porch. It took a few trips but eventually everything made it out there.

Jack and Dean were both pretty quiet, mostly listening to Avy talk about her summer camp, Sam asking questions every so often. She got bored quickly though and went over to her swing set, playing on it while Sam kept an eye on her from his seat.

“Medicine?” asked Dean. Sam sighed and stood up, returning after a minute. “Good boy.”

“So, Jack. What do you do for a living?” asked Sam.

“Nothing at the moment. I need a part time job. I’m looking for one,” said Jack quickly.

“You ever work on cars?” asked Dean. Jack shook his head but Dean shrugged. “I work at Hunter’s over on main. Our old boss just retired last week and we could use a guy. As long as you’re not a complete idiot and got a clean driving record, we could-”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” he said. Dean stared at him.

“Eh, we’ll keep you to the basics at first. Pays pretty good, even part time.”

“Yeah, I think that sounds good for you, Jack,” you said.

“Uh, thank you. I appreciate it,” said Jack.

“Great. Now Benny will get off my ass about finding extra help,” teased Dean.

“You know, I really don’t need-” started Sam, Dean cutting him off.

“Sammy,” said Dean. “Enough. You’re not working in the garage.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Sam, staring out at the yard.

“So this is your house Sam?” asked Jack after a moment. Sam hummed, giving Jack a soft smile.

“Yeah. I was a lawyer before all this. My wife and I...our old house had a fire, about four years ago. Avy and I moved in here after that. We crashed at Dean’s for a month or so,” said Sam. “It’s a beautiful neighborhood. S’nice place to recover from stuff in.”

“I hope so,” said Jack. Sam raised an eyebrow, Jack looking to you. “Just tell your friends about me already.”

“If you want to, you can but you don’t have to,” you said.

“I tried to kill myself about a year ago,” said Jack. Sam blinked a few times and nodded, Dean remaining quiet from his corner of the table. “I got in a nasty fight with our parents. I don’t even remember what over. I left their place and went back to mine. Y/N and I didn’t talk so much then. She was off being a med student and the good child and I was...depression runs in our family apparently. Dad had it, kept it quiet. Life seemed...it seemed better if I went away. So I took a bunch of stuff...and I got a text from Y/N saying I better call her because I’d really scared her based on what mom and dad had said when they’d just talked. I thought what had I just done but I could already feel it all...stuff was shutting down. I called for an ambulance and called my parents and I guess they sped over and it was rainy out and…”

“And our parents caused the big pile up on Highway 12 last year,” you said, resting your head in your hand.

“That’s why you left med school,” said Dean.

“I saw so much that night and thought what idiot was speeding in the rain like that,” you said. “Turned out it was our parents and they came in...I had to identify them...and then I find Jack in stall twenty mid-overdose and it’s a miracle he had no permanent damage,” you said, Jack looking down at the table. “I sent him away to get help but when I went there today, I realized I just put him somewhere I wouldn’t have to deal with him. He wasn’t getting help there. Jack, you barely look up when people are talking to you anymore. I bet that place made you feel even shittier about yourself, not better.”

“Jack,” said Sam, putting his hand on the table. “I’m sorry if this is too personal but were you at Bryerwood by any chance? Up north a ways?”

“Actually, yeah,” said Jack, turning his head. “Why?”

“Nothing,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I can’t disclose other cases.”

“That’s lawyer talk for that place is sketchy,” said Dean.

“Jack...if you ever felt...inappropriate things took place there or you experienced them, I’d like to put you in contact with another lawyer at our firm. This may be...a possible class action type of situation,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what those things would have been. I don’t think I could tell the difference right now,” said Jack. You closed your eyes, Dean’s hand sneaking under the table to give your free hand a squeeze.

“Well I’m sure your sister will get your head on right. Hell, she’s been helping me do it and she probably didn’t even notice,” said Dean. You opened your mouth but Jack beat you to it.

“But you’re not nuts,” said Jack.

“You’re not nuts either, Jack,” you said. “You were sad and lonely and I was a workaholic and so were mom and dad and...we screwed up and didn’t help you. Their tough love crap made it impossible to talk to them about what we needed or wanted. I get that. I didn’t even want to be a doctor, Jack. You were brave enough to at least go your own way. I’m sorry none of us helped you and that I basically ignored you the past year.”

“You were going through your own stuff,” said Jack. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one with the messed up head.”

“Can we talk about something else?” you asked. Dean started asking Jack a few things about cars and music. You tuned them out, Sam’s voice piping in every so often. You heard a laugh, one of them belonging to Jack. Something was nudging you and you realized it was Dean poking you in the ribs.

“Want to take a walk? Jack’s going to hang back with Sam and Avy,” said Dean. You stood up with him, glad to get some time alone. You were partway down the block when Dean wrapped his hand around yours. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. That was...sorry. That was way more family drama than you needed to hear,” you said, taking a deep breath. A finger tapped under your chin and you moved your head up, Dean offering a sweet smile to you.

“Hey. You’ve been there for us with our crap. We can be there for you and Jack’s crap too,” he said.

“People aren’t as sweet as you, you know,” you said.

“Yeah they are. Thankfully I got my own sweetie right here,” he said, bumping your hip. You let out a small laugh, Dean walking closer to you. “I think it takes a lot of guts to help out your brother like that.”

“I should have-”

“Should have what? You had trauma that night too from the sounds of it. I’m sure you were trying to do the best thing for him, send him to a place that would help him. You weren’t in the right frame of mind to take care of him. Now...maybe you are,” he said.

“Yesterday morning, I thought he was just pissed off Jack again. He was asking me to get him out of there and I didn’t realize.”

“Jack’s a big boy. He could have spoken up,” said Dean.

“Who knows what they’ve been drilling in his head the past year though. He didn’t used to be so timid. Always a little innocent but...then Sam said-”

“Hey. Jack’s not there anymore and maybe once he starts talking to a good doctor, he’ll want to share some of those things but right now, just focus on the fact that Jack is probably happy tonight for the first time in a long time,” said Dean.

“I don’t know if he even knows what happy is anymore,” you said. Dean shrugged, kicking a rock with his sneaker.

“He’ll learn,” said Dean. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fine,” you said.

“Ah. Well. I’m fine too,” he said. You twitched up your lip, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You know, all that stuff you guys were talking about, it wasn’t your fault either.”

“There were so many things I could have done differently,” you said.

“You know Sammy’s accident? We had a little fight before that,” said Dean. You lifted your head, Dean swinging your hands together. “Avy was already in bed. I called him and bitched him out, told him to get his ass home and stop working so much. Sammy got pissed and I got pissed and he said fine and then got in his car. If I hadn’t of done that...Sammy wouldn’t have been in that accident.”

“But you had no control over that other driver,” you said. “Or that Sam would choose that moment to leave work.”

“Just like you have no control over an argument you weren’t involved in and a brother that never told you how low he felt and parents that decided to speed in the rain and the rest of it. Neither one of us had control. I’ll be honest, I was feeling pretty shitty about that whole thing until I started hanging out with you. So you don’t feel shitty either, alright?”

“Okay,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“Okay then,” he said. “You know...there’s a practice in town that’s a pretty good. Our parents went to him when they had marriage problems.”

“Your parents don’t seem the type,” you said.

“My deep seeded fear of commitment comes from them,” said Dean.

“Yet we’re dating,” you said.

“You must be extra special then,” he said. You cocked your head, Dean darting his eyes down to your lips. “I moved in to take care of my brother, not fall for the girl next door you know.”

“How’s that working out for ya?” you asked.

“Horrible,” he said, pressing his lips to yours. “You taste like sugar. How do you always taste like sugar…”

“Fancy thing called chapstick,” you teased.

“Never heard of it,” he laughed, spinning you around before walking again.

“Dean,” you said, grabbing his arm and wrapping yours around.

“Mhm?”

“I’m very happy I met you,” you said.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn reader insert #au #mechanic!dean #dean winchester x reader

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Star Wars: The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8 Review – The Rescue

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This Star Wars: The Mandalorian review contains spoilers.

The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8

The core of The Mandalorian has always been the connection between Din Djarin and Grogu. After the first live-action Star Wars TV offering proved in its first season that a story about a faceless Mandalorian could have so much heart (something I hope remains true in the many upcoming shows), that connection became even more vital to the storytelling in the second outing. Instead of the twisted family relationships between the Skywalkers, Din and Grogu were a found family dream, propelling the Child into households everywhere. Unfortunately, at the end of season two, Din and the Child’s heartfelt connection doesn’t quite feel as central as it should.

This isn’t the smartest show in the streaming world, but it is still one of the most fun. Din finds the location of Moff Gideon and the captured baby with the help of Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, Bo-Katan Kryze, and her lieutenant Koska Reeves. Their two-pronged rescue mission goes surprisingly well, the squad of Mandalorians and Din himself taking out stormtroopers, dark troopers, and finally, Moff Gideon. But when Din delivers Gideon alive to his allies, it’s clear this is only less than half of the former ISB agent’s plan.

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Gideon tries to turn Din and Bo-Katan against one another, using his knowledge of Mandalorian tradition to initiate a fight. To truly gain the throne, he says, Bo-Katan has to win the darksaber from Din in battle. It’s both a keen portrayal of the nature of power (someone always must be humbled, especially according to an Imperial who thinks of all of the good guys as “savages”) and a classic manipulative villain. Although Gideon’s plan is clear, it doesn’t work. Eucatastrophe appears in the form of Luke Skywalker, who in the best Jedi fashion, breaks all the rules to save the day.

Din’s hard choices — whether to give Grogu to the Jedi, whether to let Bo-Katan kill Moff Gideon, what happens now that she has to, by tradition, take the darksaber from him by force — take a back seat. Instead, the energy of the final minutes is sapped by a cool but uncanny Luke, Mark Hamill’s welcome presence digitally de-aged far enough that he sometimes looks like his sketchy Battlefront avatar. That game keeps ahold of its medal as the best inter-trilogy appearance of Luke, too. Where his dialogue in the game emphasizes his kindness, on the show he’s first a warrior and then a plot device, interchangeable with the general concept of a Jedi.

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Not to say I don’t want to see more Luke, but that bit of fan service sprinkled this episode with sugar when I wanted more substance. Frankly, I didn’t find the CGI appearance too off-putting on its own, although it’s even worse when Luke turns away from the camera toward the end. Luke’s voice doesn’t sound the same anymore, and his eyes don’t have the same spark. I wonder if it would have been better or worse to have cast fan favorite Sebastian Stan or another look-alike. The ambiguity itself speaks volumes.

Luke’s presence is clearly a case of Jedi ex machina, but I was so delighted to see him that I can’t present that as an entirely bad thing. (There’s even a bit of “we called it” pleasure in there.) But as elsewhere in the episode, the build-up goes on a bit too long compared to the payoff. Luke’s dialogue is sparse and lacks emotion. As usual, the music does a lot of work here, diverting from the Star Wars method of leitmotif to give Luke a new, mystical and melancholic introduction.

Even the long-awaited fight between Moff Gideon and Din wass more setup than payoff. Surely some of the time spent reminding us the beskar steel was strong, crafting a meticulous order of operations for how tough various types of metals and glass are, could have been traded for a more dramatic setting than a single hallway. The darksaber fight was cool, with the blade setting the wall on fire and Din using some impressive footwork, but the combat didn’t travel, didn’t tell its own story with acts and beats the way the best Star Wars duels do.

I’m also torn on the fight scenes with the infiltration team. More often than not I ended up wondering whether the cool stunts were going to get the good guys killed, their eagerness to get up close and punch seemingly unnecessary and unsafe when the stormtroopers have blasters. But at the same time, it was great fun to see a team succeed with such competence, the good guys well matched with the bad. It was especially exciting because it’s a team of almost all Mandalorians and all women, armored and weighty. Moments like Cara Dune’s gun jamming reminds us Star Wars is a janky universe, its heroes subject to inconveniences as well as epic stakes.

Star Wars Fans React to The Mandalorian Season 2 Finale

By Kirsten Howard

How The Mandalorian Captures the Spirit of the Star Wars Prequel Era

By Megan Crouse

Like last episode, the relationship between Din and the Child drives the titular Mandalorian’s every action. His love for the baby is the whole reason he puts himself in so much danger, goes to such physically taxing lengths. But they don’t actually interact very much in the end. Even the baby plaintively reaching for Din while handcuffed doesn’t reach the tear-jerking emotions of the scene where Din laughs just seeing Grogu responding to his name. The emotional connection between the two has been well established already, but this is the finale: it shouldn’t coast on the good will from the rest of the season but should make the connection even stronger so it can twist the knife even further later. The very beginning promised some neat characterization between the good guys. There’s a lot to say about the relationship between Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians. The scene where she and Boba meet is delightfully prickly, everyone willing to fight at the drop of a hat. Bo-Katan dismisses Boba as a clone. Boba, perhaps comforted by Din’s quick acceptance , resents her self-proclaimed right to the contested throne. Koska being so willing to fight on her leader’s behalf gave some great heat to the scene. I love the idea that the two groups have such a deep fissure between them since it illustrates exactly what Bo-Katan is trying to unite, how hard that will be, and why not all Mandalorians might agree with her. It’s also just fun, a sort of Chekhov’s gun of that many people in Mandalorian armor being in the same dingy room together.

There was plenty to love in this episode. I gasped out loud when Moff Gideon nearly shot himself, winced when it looked like the dark trooper would smash Din’s helmet in, and felt that old, old love for Star Wars when it became clear the X-wing held no ordinary pilot. Seeing Luke in the flesh was a delight despite the flaws, reminding me of how much I love the central fantasy of Return of the Jedi: a super-powered nice person can save the day on both strength and kindness. Bo-Katan, Fennec, and Cara were wonderfully cool and central, too. Din showing Grogu his face was touching and long-awaited.

But Din letting the Jedi — any Jedi, but especially one he doesn’t know — walk away with the baby feels wrong. Maybe next season, we’ll see a repeat of the show’s beginning: Din having second thoughts and going to retrieve his son again. The tease at the end of the episode suggests a lot more Boba Fett in season three, a not unwelcome prospect due to Temuera Morrison’s good performance and one that might have made filming during the pandemic more feasible. But I’m left lukewarm about this episode. Even as it wowed with individual moments, the arc of “The Rescue” overall drifted too far from Din and Grogu. Surely some of the time devoted to build-up, shiny plot threads, and cameos could have been traded for a little more time with the iconic duo.

The post Star Wars: The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8 Review – The Rescue appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3aldGBy

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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glare-gryphon · 4 years

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Ao3 Meme Thing

Tagged by @fireflyfish! Thanks, fFishy!

Ao3 name: Glare

Fandom: I’ve been involved in the Person of Interest and Arrow fandoms, but I am currently only writing for Star Wars. Primarily Prequels through Early Empire era! Though I do have a couple Sequels era fics as well.

Number of fics: 37 total

Fic you spent the most time on: The Empire of Flames saga, which I co write with Kurenaino and Icse. Please do not ask how much of my day is devoted to discussing this AU. You would be mortified.

Longest fic: Soldier, Poet, King, currently Just over 104k words. While Playing with Fire in the EoF Saga is technically longer in word count, the work is divided up among all of us so I’ve actually written much less.

Shortest fic: My collection of Tumblr Prompts are all short pieces, with a lot of one-shots.

Most Hits: Soldier, Poet, King has the most hits, almost double to the runner up.

Most Kudos: See above.

Most comment threads: Rinse and repeat.

Fave fic you wrote: While still in progress, Darksaber is to date my absolute favorite concept. I don’t give it the attention it deserves, and honestly I don’t think it’s going to be a fan favorite, but if you ever meet me and we talk fic, it is both a promise and a threat that I Will Not Shut Up about it.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: As above, so below. There are some things I’m already dissatisfied with about the writing, but it’s something I'm most likely going to have to just take in stride going forward. Darksaber is probably the biggest challenge I’ve ever set myself in terms of character development and world building, which is saying a lot considering I’m known almost exclusively for my wildly AU concepts. Working within the boundaries set by the Clone Wars canon to move the plot and characters toward the outcome I want was actually an amazingly fun challenge that I’ve never taken on before and I really hope that, when it is complete, you all enjoy it as much as I do.

Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

From the beginning of the next Darksaber chapter, because just talking about it gets me Mad Hype about it.

Anakin wakes to the taste of iron on his tongue. To his heart perched high in his throat and a nameless anxiety weighing heavy on his chest. The air around him is oppressive in its pressure, but when he reaches for it, the Force is calm and still. Varykino is silent around him, but for the now familiar sounds of the Naboo night beyond his open window. Still he can not shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong, like the stillness of a riptide breaking the ocean’s roiling waves. The lingering remains of a nightmare he does not remember, or something more sinister?

Sitting up in his bed, Anakin pushes away the covers that pool at his hips and shifts to rest his feet on the cool tile of the floor. His padawan braid brushes gently against the bare skin of his chest, grounding him in his reality. It is a reminder of his current purpose, both in this place, and in life. This new affair with Padme, asleep in her own room down the hall, has served to complicate things, however.

He’s done a lot of thinking on the matter, since their conversation in the grass so many days ago, now. It’s taken up the space where he used to worry about the war: his place in the grand scheme of things. Padme had begun dropping hints that perhaps, when this mission ends, he should stay with her on Naboo. Insinuating that she will accept him into her inner circle, should he choose to leave his Jedi vows behind. They could pursue this new affair as far as they wish to take it, out of the private, quiet corners of Varykino and into the public eye. There may be some backlash from the Jedi, and Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him, but the offer is still tempting. Surely Obi-Wan would come around with time, knowing that Anakin has made the best decision for his own happiness.

His happiness, Obi-Wan has told him, is not something he should give up lightly.

#gryph rants #the outline for Darksaber is 19 pages long #I actually OUTLINED that's how much I care about it

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

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Project Compass 08

Read Along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: A conversation in Sy Bisti. Thrawn gives Ezra good news.

Next Time: Vah’nya pulls Ezra aside. Ivant gives Ezra some tips on fighting the Grysk.

Shock was a common occurrence among soldiers. Thrawn had seen it in many theatres: space battles with pale faced new ensigns, undercover missions seasoned veterans never fully returned from, ground troops executing an enemy for the first time. Soldiers he could relate to, Chiss or otherwise. Was his presence preferable or soothing? Unlikely. But he knew how to intervene.

Ezra Bridger might be a Jedi, but he was a soldier, too. He'd come of age within the Rebellion's militia-like structure. He adapted well, and Thrawn had not forgotten that he'd infiltrated an Imperial Military Academy, either. Thrawn could deal with talking down soldiers far better than he could deal with Navigators. The question was whether or not his subconscious would register Thrawn as an enemy due to their history.

In Basic, which Thrawn had not spoken for weeks in the other man's presence, he asked, "Is Navigator Un'hee's presence helping or hurting?"

Un'hee shot him a dirty look. He ignored it.

Sitting in the middle of the couch, Ezra's dazed expression didn't change. He licked his lips, swallowed, but no words came.

"Navigator," Thrawn intoned, not gently but hardly rude. "I ask that you leave us."

"I don't want to leave him alone like this." She reached for one of Ezra's hands, and the young man twitched, clenched tightly to his knees.

"I will stay with him," Thrawn said. "I fear your Sight is hurting more than helping."

"I'm being careful," Un'hee argued. "I know how he feels and you know it."

"He also knows how you feel, Navigator Un'hee," The glow of Thrawn's eyes were muted, indicative of his attempt to remain calm, and inspire it in her, too.

"Ivant said he was coming to talk to him," She said, pushing herself up from the cushion to Ezra's left. "After he finished with Admiral Ar'alani."

"I will be sure to expect him, then," Thrawn replied, derailing Un'hee's hope that the threat of Eli Vanto in close quarters would allow her to stay. "Please, Navigator."

Thrawn was not naturally impolite, in fact it was the opposite. But he retained a firm grasp of order, and did not often ask. Un'hee sighed. "If I can help…" She trailed off.

"I will send you a message."

The girl doubted she would receive anything, but still obeyed his request. When the door shut behind her, Thrawn rose. Ezra's eyes followed him without seeing. "I suspect you feel cold," He said. "I will return with a blanket."

The aftermath of a battle tended to hit far harder than the battle itself. The subconscious caught up to the conscious mind, the cocktail of chemicals produced by the neural system of the body dissipated. Thrawn procured two blankets instead of one, taking the top layer of bedding from each of their bunks. Ezra was normally cold.

He considered his datapad for a moment. Then, considering for a moment her surprise, Thrawn balanced it on his lap to send a message to Un'hee.

The door to the suite opened slowly, drawing Thrawn's gaze. The brighter light that spilled in from the hallway was eclipsed by a shadow far larger than that of Un'hee, who he’d been expecting. It had only been a few moments since her confirmation message came through that she’d return with something warm for Ezra to drink, likely caf. Thrawn listened to the first, heavier footfall and was on his feet in a second. Ezra turned his head warily, jolted by the quick motion of the man beside them.

"Captain Ivant," Thrawn greeted, voice hollow. Beside him, Ezra blinked, and attempted to rise, swaying in place. The Commander prepared to keep him down with a hand, but the Captain spoke first.

"At ease," Ivant said in Basic. Despite the darkness in the room, he made no effort to turn up the lights via the touch panel. He smiled at Ezra, much like he so frequently smiled at the younger Navigators, and the young man seemed to sink back down into the cushion. Then, the human’s gaze canted up, meeting Thrawn's. The smile wasn't entirely gone. "Please," He said, directing that familiar drawl and those warm brown eyes at the Chiss.

For a moment, Thrawn could almost pretend there was no bad blood, no uncomfortable tension between them. Then he blinked, and logic won out. "As you wish," Thrawn said tightly. Something in him coiled, making him feel uneasy.

There were three mugs between his two gloved hands. He placed the first before Ezra. Caf, Thrawn realized. Ezra looked down at it slowly, then back up. Ivant tilted his head. "It's way too hot to drink now," He said kindly, hardly expecting Ezra to take it. "Let it cool a while."

The young Jedi’s eyes were hazy and dark, unfocused, but he nodded slightly before a tremor ran down his spine. Ivant didn’t press him on it, nor did he comment when Ezra pulled the blankets wrapped around him closer. Thrawn watched his charge with an appraising eye. Bridger was a special case. He had very little parenting or security in his upbringing. It made people protective of him.

Ezra Bridger also had a big heart and a desire to help. Thrawn clearly felt somewhat indebted to him. Ivant separated the remaining mugs, balanced precariously in the crook of an arm pressed against his side and in his non-dominant hand. Eli moved that one to the dominant hand as to prevent spillage of the last one and held it out to Thrawn.

He eyed it warily, lips thinning. “You did not need to-”

“I did,” Vanto interrupted. His eyebrows went up as he silently appraised the Chiss. “You think he’d talk to me like this without you present?”

Something about that made the discomforting sensation in Thrawn’s core burn. Still, he kept his voice without inflection, true neutral. “He would do as ordered, Captain. As would I.”

Thrawn took the mug and sat. Ivant stepped back, leaning casually against the opposite wall.

It was true. Thrawn is on thin ice, as the humans say. It is an appropriate expression, considering his home world. Thrawn has been on thin ice for a long, long time. Ivant studied him with his brown eyes, pupils dilated to allow him to see as much as possible in the dark. He did feel any embarrassment, there was no heat in his neck, or cheeks, or ears. He was dark in the spectrum that Thrawn could see with his superior biology. He felt lightyears away instead of just outside arms’ reach.

“If I make you that uncomfortable,” The human finally said, his voice lilting with the accent, soft and round, but just as firm, “I’ll leave. The kid can message me when he’s up for talking.”

Thrawn rose sharply, eyes flashing in momentary outrage. Ivant did not back down, stepping forward as well. He held his mug of tea between both hands. “I do not understand,” Thrawn said. He spoke again, but this time in Sy Bisti. Tension made itself known in his forehead. “I do not understand where I stand with you.”

Ivant looked into his mug as though it would hold some secret answer. Then, he lifted his head. He answered in the language he’d been spoken to. “I am your Captain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

The beginnings of a smile passed through his face, smoothed out before it ever became anything more than a quirk of his lips. Mirth. “We are not the same beings we were at the start of all this,” Vanto said. “We have both had to make difficult decisions.”

“I am not proud of what I did, not all of it.”

From where they stood, Vanto looking up at him, Thrawn saw his eyes in totality and unobscured: a deep brown, like Corellian cinnamon and tang bark. He no longer held himself like his lack of height was a disadvantage. His chest was pushed out enough to be open, his stance comfortable but lacking arrogance. He did not yield, his stance did not relent, but something in his eyes eased.

“I know, Thrawn.”

Neither of them looked away. An impossible urge crossed through the Chiss’s logical rationale. A desire to reach for the man in front of him. A desire to make a connection. Thrawn wrapped his unoccupied hand around the warm mug of tea, threading his fingers together lest he be struck by yet another irrational proclivity.

Vanto tilted his head. Thrawn saw the lines beneath his eyes, the way the outer corners of them crinkled when half-smiled, bittersweetly. He wanted to dissect each and every micromovement, each like a brushstroke on an evolving canvas. He wanted to ask questions and analyze Vanto's responses, wanted to sit here and drink tea and pretend this was something it wasn't. That it was fine. That they were something more than allies. That-

The Captain's comm chimed on his belt and the shrill beep in the otherwise silent room made Ezra jerk, the mug of caf sloshing when he kicked the table. It brought the young Jedi back to himself, and with an easy wave of his hand he saved the mug before it went crashing to the floor.

The moment, whatever it had been, whatever it might have been trying to be, was broken.

“Ivant,” Vanto said, pulling the device around him.

“I need you aboard the Strikefast in twenty minutes,” Ar’alani said.

“Make it forty. I’m with the Jedi.”

She tutted, not thrilled about the suggestion. “How does he fare?”

The edge in Vanto’s tone was icy. His Cheunh was flawless, Thrawn realized not for the first time. It sounded like he’d been speaking it for his entire life, not three years, give or take. “Not well. Care to explain to me why I’m debating sending him to medical?”

“Recall your first encounter, Captain,” Ar’alani didn’t sound remotely concerned. “He will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Ivant rolled his eyes, half amused as he recalled wryly, “I remember. I don’t think you let me rinse my mouth out before you debriefed me.”

“I was prepared to do so in that tiny refresher in your quarters,” The Admiral’s voice hid a sardonic sense of humor between her words. “You may have thirty minutes. If you are not in my office within the hour-”

“I’ll be there. Ivant out.” He switched the comm off and turned to the Jedi. He gave a tentative smile, trying to shake off his funk. It would be a few days before he’d be back to normal, but he’d be alright, Ivant knew. Thrawn had dealt with this before. He knew what to do, and he wasn’t Ezra’s only resource aboard the Compass.

Ezra coughed nervously. “Did she really?” He asked slowly, testing each word on his tongue.

“Yes,” Ivant gave him a gentle smirk, a little wry. “I’m better for it. But that’s not what you need. We’re going to talk about it. Your reaction isn’t entirely uncommon.”

“I’ve never,” Ezra looked down at his hands, sucking a drip of caf off his finger. “I think I’d rather face Vader.”

Thrawn’s head swivelled around fast, his response terse. “You jest.”

Ezra did not. “At least I can understand Vader’s motives. They-”

Vanto interrupted their bickering. He had a schedule to keep, “There are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them.” Thrawn exhaled sharply, drawing the Captain’s gaze. “He seeks only to destroy them.”

“Eli-”

Ivant’s eyes narrowed, and the serious dark look was back. He addressed Ezra, “Starting tomorrow, you will meet me in the training facilities on the second level two hours before first shift. I will teach you how to fight a Grysk.” He considered Thrawn. That slightest bit of warmth in his eyes was gone, like their former discussion hadn't happened at all. “You are welcome to join us, if your duties allow.”

Thrawn frowned, eyes curiously blank, even for him. Ezra still hadn’t moved from the huddle of the two blankets wrapped around him. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he still felt shaky and on-edge as he rose. “Yes, Captain,” Ezra said. His voice wasn’t as wobbly as he’d expected.

The Chiss swallowed, then nodded. He did not speak. It earned him a curious, concerned look from Ezra. But Ivant didn't comment on it, didn't rebuke him or draw attention to it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay and speak with you longer," Ivant said in Ezra's direction, but something about that seemed off to him. His voice didn't have that quality to it - like speaking to a student, that parental, teaching tone he used with Ezra and the Navigators. Ezra suspected he was speaking to Thrawn.

But it didn't matter. Ivant was gone in seconds, twelve steps in a purposeful stride, the door hissing shut behind him.

Thrawn lowered himself back onto the cushion beside Ezra. They sipped at their drinks in silence until there were only dregs left, and they'd long since gone cold.

"While you were gone," The Chiss began, "Vah'nya allowed me to see an old colleague I served with in the Empire." He still cradled the mug between his hands, as if not sure what to do with them otherwise. "She defected," He clarified carefully. "She did not go to the Rebellion, though she brought news of the Emperor's product, Stardust."

Ezra turned to look at him. "Do I want to know?" He asked.

"I wouldn't tell you now if I thought it would make things worse," Thrawn reasoned. "But I would tell you. You deserve to know."

Nodding, Ezra looked down at his hands, tangled together while his forearms rested on his knees. "They won?"

"They did. I inquired about your friends, but there was not much information. They did not play a large role in the battle."

"Thanks for trying," Ezra's words were weighted with gratitude. "Seriously," He said, as though Thrawn might not have noticed the first time around. The Chiss had. He simply hadn't finished speaking.

"I was given the impression that the Captain would give you more details. However, I did learn why General Syndulla was not more involved, if you wish-"

"Of course I do!" Ezra turned on the cushion, facing Thrawn's right side. He no longer trembled from his earlier experience, his body tense with anticipation. "Anything," He said desperately.

"She was with child," Thrawn said. "A son."

Ezra flopped back against the couch, staring up at the unimpressive ceiling, tinged gray in the dark. For a moment, he layed in the strange, awkward position he'd thrown himself back in on the remaining free cushions. His breaths came soft but smooth. Deep, and centering.

Thrawn almost wondered if the Jedi had fallen asleep. He'd certainly come upon the young man sleeping in creative and very uncomfortable situations.

"Thank you," Ezra said. "For telling me. And for asking."

"You are welcome," Thrawn said. Then, "Jarrus was the father?"

Ezra propped himself up in his elbows, looking at the side of Thrawn's face. "They were best friends. Partners, in and out of battle," He said as if trying to craft a relatable expression for the Chiss, then added, "They loved each other."

Thrawn turned to look at Ezra, not entirely sure what to say. He was no stranger to the concept of love. It was not far from certain aspects of loyalty, dedication, or devotion. Though he doubted very much that he'd felt it, even in his youth, something in the Commander's gut burned at the unspoken implication in Ezra's words. He thought of Eli Vanto’s cool-dark gaze looking up at him, of I know, Thrawn, of the way he held himself like a man who finally started to understand what he was worth.

He never did get an answer to his question.

#Thranto #Eli Vanto #Mitth'raw'nuruodo #Un'hee #Eli Vanto/Thrawn #SW Fanfiction #My Writing #Star Wars

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violet-sabres · 4 years

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Some quick observations re: TROS and some "reylo"musings (spoilers)

- the editing removed A LOT of emotional pay-offs for so many scenes. The decorations and actors change quickly, a bit randomly - in fact it takes a while before this movie finds its tempo and footing. Something weighty happens and no reflection is allowed even in briefest sketch of a reaction. Next scene. Next scene-

- Poe, Finn, Rose and two new female characters were absolutely robbed. Both by the ungodly pace of this movie (there is much potential for scenes that could mean much much more in the whole storyline. As is, they are discarded as soon as they happen). The bond between Finn and Poe got severed in the beginning with some awkward finnrey moments and strange jealousy (was that what it was???) from Poe. I say either carry out the finnrey thread (which was also beautiful actually, though Finn deserves so much better than how she treats him in TROS...) or finnpoe, something which JJ himself built up. Rose should be given an independent arc with no romance involved, or a love interest of her own.

- Rose's infatuation with Finn is never touched. Rose herself is absolutely erased - she is a statist, providing some dialogue with absolutely no weight behind it. JJ treated her terribly - it was his privilege and responsibility to utilize whatever he got from Johnson as he saw fit; but throwing away her potential only underlines the racist sidelining he did to all characters of colour.

- the heteronormativity I can't understand - Finn and Poe are JJs babies after all (and yeah, I know - shareholders...). Why tease hetero relationships for both and STILL leave even them hanging?? Like, he discarded Rose bc first of all racism, second - Johnson's 'leftovers' I guess? Unacceptable. The lady of Poe's was sketched boldly - but still sketched. Her inclusion wouldn't feel so random if Poe wasn't shown to be this randomly emotional abt her all of a sudden. Why now? It felt a bit forced and this is a shame bc she (and Janah, omg Janah...) is super cool. I'd love to read and see way more about all of them.

- Finn and Janah - wonderful rapport, so much empathy and loyalty, they are wonderful together. I definitely could see them together as well - so many threads to explore! There was so much potential to embed meaningful relationships for Finn into the plot. Janah is one of those that felt quite right but deserved more still. She deserves a story of her own. Not for the first time it is a secondary character of colour who carries so much potential and substance and gets sidelined. I dont mind Kylo content btw - but this series was shown to concentrate on 3 people and a villain. Keep to this proportion or perish I say. They didnt keep them and the movie feels unfairly skewed towards the force dyad of Rey and Ren. Hence, robbed. We were robbed of much of quality content here.

- the implication/suggestion that Finn may be Force sensitive held so much promise. I love Finn and Boyega played him with so much passion and dignity. He grew into leadership without pretense or drama, was competent and knowledgeable about the inner workings of the Fleet and found hope he was struggling for. Honestly the problem here is that his prominence was teased to be greater than the actual time and the weight of scenes he was given. This movie should be longer, scene order less abrupt and random - so the characters that were shown to matter in the first part could matter here as well.

- JEDI FINN please. The potential of it was teased - they should scrap some of the scenes and build those kinds of plot points more thoroughly. Finn's arc should be more - but that doesn't mean Boyega played it any other than magnificently. He got what he was given and made it his. I hate that this still means it was not as much as he and Poe deserved it. Same with Rose.

- galactic generals (*husbands) Poe and Finn. It could be marriage, it should be - Isaac played a man in love. I enjoyed this new romantic angle with the spice smuggler lady as well - but it required more buildup. As it was, it made for an awkward and frankly homophobic ersatz for finnpoe plotline of the first and even second movie. I hate wasting the potential of new characters in the movie, and this is what happened here. Also Poe's smuggling past - no previous setup that felt offensive to many bc of its randomness and no previous grounds in existing media. Felt like unnecessary sensationalism here.

- Rey is complicated here. I didnt like her attitude towards Finn and wished for more appreciation of their own idiosyncracies between them. Finn deserved his love (whether romantic or platonic) to be recognized. It was lacking here.

- I loved the fight scenes, the dialogues with Ren that should begin in TFA if they wished for the romance to be acceptably wet up. Driver is so fucking physical and huge, a bit awkward and very strong. To me it was attractive - but to me Kylo always lacked the threat in him when it came to Rey; I know this isnt so for others and respect that.

- Choreography is super effective here, the body work of Rey and Ren is wonderful.

- lighting, the sith locations were one of my favourites

- the creatures - while in the background, theybwere lovely. They made for lusher world out there.

- Palps was eh. Needed for the ending setup, ultimately fell a bit flat. The twist re his endgame would feel better if the whole scene didnt play this fucking quickly.

- the death (you know whose...) is quick and abrupt, passing fleetingly with no real depth or importance. They are rushing to another scene so quickly they forget that if you love somebody enough to accept them fully, this person's death tends to leave some kind of impression. As it is, Rey is hardly the first character robbed of emotional engagement in TROS.

- sigh. Ren. I love to hate him and hate to enjoy him still. Also feeling like a hypocrite bc would I enjoy him if not for my prefernce for how Driver looks like? Would anyone who I respect a bit more than his most fanatical reylo fans? I have no answer really.

I've never seen a character ripped into shreds from so many angles. For incels and dudebros he is a pussy (a lot of girls I know also mentioned that). He is supposedly not cruel enough, not awesome like Vader, whatever.

For others he is a genocidal criminal, and that he is. You can't sidestep Tuanul or his passivity in front of Star Destroyer wiping out whole planets. He is implicated in this genocide - and that scene where he is supposedly mutely watching it from the distance falls flat if its intention was to show he wasn't entirely behind Hux's agenda. He still never stopped him. So yeah, it is obvious that for many he is absolutely undeserving of any empathy, much less a romance plotline with movie's heroine. Especially when the first scenes setting it up were so messed up.

Now I hate the word reylo and I'd rather choke than call myself that. But I did enjoy their enmity and idk love?? towards each other? It should be plotted more consequently and I believe if JJ didn't muck it in tfa people would be a lot less opposed to the whole villain x heroine thing. Nobody opposes it bc of that - it's the torture bed and it's the "whatever I want" line that made so many recoil. It's the absolute lack of coherence at a time where more self awareness was needed from the director of the very first part in the series.

I believe there is a kind of generational divide on topic of their romance. Youve got gen z "antis" who argue about the abuse (and have a lot of good point more reylos should think hard and long about) - and mostly adult to older women (this includes older milennials also!) who grew up steeped in gothic romanticism that, up to gen z growing up, was a dominant romance paradigm in the West.

Youve got your Wuthering Hills, your Pride and Prejudice and Beauty and the Beast. I hate it. I absolutely abhor it, and the more the reylo fandom hammered their whole relationship from this angle, the more I was distancing myself. I believe the whole genre is steeped in toxic masculinity and yes, you can look at reylo from this angle as well - and I understand that when you saw those scenes from TFA, and didn't feel convinced by entirely paradoxal romance teasers (bc JJ mixed them both in equal measure, and thus killed wide enthusiasm for reylo for good) then what happened in TLJ and TROS must look like the embracing toxic hetero romance in entirety. And to some degree it is - entirely by JJs fault. The other elements that you mightve ignored in tfa suddenly get amplified in tlj, in tros and youre left wondering why the hell Kylo Ren could ever be seen as romanceable?

But the thing is, while the analogy of angry white male pursuing a pure young woman seems fitting, it doesnt work for me here. I also acknowledge that it may be in part bc I'm used to the gothic paradigm, attracted to Driver as Ren and feeling safe and assured that Rey would stay herself despite whatever he wanted from her (and she did in my opinion, she never caved even when she loved him). Kylo is white, and he is aggressive - he is a villain, he tortures and hurts Poe and Finn and plays psychological games with Rey, he shouts a lot and is very physical, which in itself looks threatening.

All those could end up somewhat accepted bc he is a villain - people will accept the consequent villain, or paradoxical one done with self- awareness on side of their creator. JJ was absolutely unaware of what a mess he did I bet - the worst elements that crossed "reylo" off the list for so many people I'd argue were first sown by JJ himself in paradoxical chase of I tease this-now I don't. Here's what I mean.

It was JJ who put Rey on that horizontal torture bed, even when Poe's was upright. It was JJ who had Ren say those gross words abt taking what he wanted. It was also JJ who irreaponsibly and paradoxically played with symbolism normally reserved for gothic princes DESPITE the gross elements he himself planted - the mask going off to reveal a goofy Disney prince, the crouching so as not to scare her, the freaking bridal carry, the humanizing via showing Ren's vulnerability. I actually hated some of those scenes - I loved the face reveal no lie, but what followed was unacceptable. Why style your villain this lush and vulnerable when you're shooting your own foot a few minutes after, with dialogue that had whole groups of young women discard him as trash? Why not polish your villain with more self awareness so that the ground for the romance is understood and cautiously accapted?

So youve got an internally cracked TFA that for some was obviously teasing reylo but for others made it unacceptable forever. This is one hell of a difficult mix to continue with and I believe if JJ was given the 2nd part to work with, perhaps he might be able to somehow work with Ren so that TLJ wouldnt feel like slap to the face to those who saw mostly the worst parts of Ren that JJ himself designed. Perhaps he would also polish the romance teasers or got rid of them altogether, idk. TROS shows that while he was eager to discard anything that Johnson had put into motion, he chose to leave reylo content still. This is really paradoxical to me, today as it was back then.

Now reylo isnt super mainstream - if he got rid of it, it would surely anger a lot of people but also satisfy an equal amount of others. Yet he chose not to and I'd argue it is because he planned for reylo to happen from the beginning, just in a shitty way we first witnessed in the worst scenes of TFA.

I'll also argue another point - if Johnson was given the saga from the beginning, reylo wouldnt be nearly as much hated and regarded as abusive for so many. It is this particular humanization of Kylo that was criticized by so many that would protect the 1st part from that torture bed, and from taking whatever Kylo wanted. As it was, when all this sudden humanity followed JJs paradoxical mess, only opposition could come bc it kind of must - it looked for many as woobifying somebody who was already irredeemable. The irony is that JJ probably never planned for this - maybe he thought he could pull this off, somehow work out the agreement between ugly Kylo and Kylo worthy of Rey. Johnson just put a fat line between TFA and his own vision, and irresponsibly ignored all the ugly heritage that should be better worked on if he ever hoped to rectify JJs paradoxes. He didnt do this and thus the mess.

I dont know if it would ever be possible though. Perhaps theres been a shift in ethics, in aesthetics even, so big that for the gen Z this kind of relationship is unacceptable. I dont see anything bad in this - even if I enjoyed a lot of reylo's potential, there will be better content, better romances done by those kids who despise reylo now as well. Meanwhile I plan to stay on this weird pole stuck deep into my ass between reylo enthusiast and haters bc I cant for shit choose a side fully.

Bc I dont see the abuse this clear cut - but am also unsure how much of it is my cultural baggage, the history of normalizing toxic masculinity etc. I bet it's both to some degree, like with all gothic romance genre, - and that there wouldnt be this whole rift at the heart of tfa without toxic masculinity normalization at all. Without it there would be no torture bed and no threats. And the irony is that Johnson would probably see to that better. But not as good as a woman behind the camera to begin with - if you want a heroine at its heart that is.

Like, you can see JJs initial vision as pretty homogenous - the bed, the words, and ignore all the paradoxical romance symbolism in there. You can also look at it as fractured and absolutely lacking coherence, and fish for the elements youd like to stay in next parts. I welcomed Johnson bc he took the best in Kylo and left JJs mess behind. This is also the very reason youre gonna hate the TLJ if TFA felt coherent for you. Bc you cant ignore that which felt threatening and cruel and very much obvious.

I have no easy recipe at dealing with this saga. I cant throw my weight behind reylo fully, ever, but will cautiously accept the potential it could have should it be more coherently written. I love so much of art and those fics that are in line with my wishes towards how Ren should be done from.the beginning.

When I was considering what to.think abt all that, back in the beginning, I didnt want for Rey to cater to emotional demands and baggage of an aggressive male, and I believe she actually doesnt - time and time again she asserts herself, maybe messily but she has the right to her anger and pain so the messy it has to be. She is shown to hope for him becoming better - and isnt manipulated or groomed to do so, and if loneliness was the only reason to stick to him then any other person would suffice, which isnt the case. She is loyal to the cause to the end and happily carries on despite Ren dying, even if it's clear she loved him. She is her own woman and the magnitude of his emotions, the physicality of his behaviour hardly influence her - she neither cowers before Kylo nor caters to him, ever. I love her for this, actually.

So there you have it, my messy thoughts on both TROS and 'reylo' dynamics. I cant say Im satisfied with both. There could be more, Ren could be fleshed out better in the beginning. The potential of so many characters was left undeveloped. I dont feel satiafaction even with elements I loved abt reylo bc there is no counterpart in other aspects I hoped to see developed. I wanted Rey to have more time with Finn, for Finn to have more time with Poe, for Rose to matter in tros as well. I wanted more of Rey and Leia, and for Ren to have more coherence to his character. Ultimately I got crumbs and some bits unable to be stomached.

Go and watch tros, stay in the place of engaging with this series that feels best to you, closest to your needs abd perceptions. Tros will not satisfy anyone in full, also bc of editing and the pacing - which is terrible. Reylo will either frustrate you or frustrate you for entirely different reasons. Dont take JJs shit, dont take Johnson's. Take from the saga whatever works for you.

I dont think it's possible to fully embrace reylo, without reservations. There are grounds for the so called antis to point out the toxic masculinity and potential for abuse. There are tropes suggesting romance despite this still, all in just TFA. It was a mess from the very beginning and it's normal people took sides.

I'm just glad it's finally over.

#tros spoilers #sw spoilers #return of jedi spoilers #reylo

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crqstalite · 5 years

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pt. 17, into the lion’s den, pt. 6 (mierrio & naji)

bleh this is so ugly and was supposed to be 4k words but i decided to leave kiv and tri for another chapter.

written: 9.26.19. word count: 2,546.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ character song: grrrls, aviva

character file: mierrio revel, darth nox & naji iresso, barsen'thor of the jedi order

the cool but warm air of the alderaanian sunset is rather welcome, mierrio believes. the way her pale skin prickles as her dress brushes the flowers along the path is enough to let a small smile form on her lips. if she'd taken andronikos out here, they'd get lost among the patches and return early in the morning. just as storybook lovers would. she'd always wanted a home in the sprawling landscape of some lush planet, but the fury seemed to be her perpetual home for some reason. didn't keep her from dreaming of finally owning a real piece of property instead of the underbelly her cult kept in her name on nar shaddaa.

ah, dreams for another day when the empire finally crushed the republic under their metaphorical and physical boot. that would be a glorious day.

however, the person beside her isn't andronikos. it's a blonde sith lord who's collected a few flowers in between her delicate hands, stopping to pick up a few every couple of minutes. she's odd, definitely a bottom-of-the-basket sith. most would leave the flowers to look pretty among the immaculate bushes, but she stops even though the thorny bushes leave clear white scratch marks on her wrists and forearms. mankael is clearly still very young, her skin still shining and free of corruption. the only way to tell she was sith was the way her eyes glowed an unnatural yellow. even the way she carried herself across the dance floor with her soldier of an escort cried out that she was much stiffer than she should be. "mankael?" mierrio speaks up, as the aforementioned sith turned toward her in a nearly frantic motion, "have you ever been to sith court before?"

"i can not say i have, my lord." mankael responds, as she lowers her gaze from her to the bottom of her pitch black gown. it doesn't fit properly, the straps hanging much too tight and in turn, her meager breasts not receiving all the attention they could've. (sith lord or not, mierrio still had a good eye for fashion, and the men at court were looking rather nice this time around. mankael would be what they considered a snatch. especially because of her childish nature and willingness to follow.) "this is all new to me."

"you didn't attend the year prior?" she turns an eyebrow up, plucking her own blood red flower from the bushes. it prickles her fingertips as she considers threading it through her hair. why wouldn't she attend sith court? it was the best reason to get unnecessarily drunk and dress up. given not all women enjoyed that (most were bloodthirsty and would've rather enjoyed a good duel -she was sure there'd be one the wrath would participate in, later during the week- or fighting the killiks beyond thul's walls), but it still seemed odd. almost all sith packed in for a good couple of nights. her own apprentice excluded, but she had her own mission on balmorra (aka mierrio wanted to get rid of the insufferable girl for the next couple of days, and spend some well-earned time with her husband). why wouldn't a self-sufficient sith lord come? "why is that?"

mankael hesitates before responding, a solid minute between the question and answer. "it sounds silly, but i didn't wish to attend last year." she fiddles with the flowers stems, her hands visibly shaking now that she looks closer. her skin is a few shades darker than her own, as if she spends a lot of time in more natural sunlight. and maybe the fact she hasn't truly embraced the dark side as others have. "i had other priorities to attend to..."

mierrio makes a noise that she hopes is more accepting than guttaral. "who's apprentice were you? i haven't met your master yet, have i?"

"i was trained under master x'ire." she says quietly, picking more flowers out of the verdant green bushes. she's beginning to radiate much more nervous energy than is most likely required for this question (mierrio's rather proud of herself that she knows how to sense emotion now, she finally learned how to from now lord ezridivia; unwillingly, yes, but done well, absolutely), and that makes mierrio just a tad suspicious. why is she nervous to ask such a basic question? if she asked the same thing to the wrath, especially next to her husband (for some odd reason; the man was always following her around at gatherings with that look that said he didn't approve of her or her opinions. fuck him, he could think whatever he wanted to, he just had to remember his place), they'd both be offended.

"x'ire? the pale zabrak i met inside?" mankael nods as mierrio chuckles delicately, "what a pansy! a nervous man inside and out!" she was only partially sure of that, mostly because unlike the insufferable darth amarillis (quinn, she had the audacity to hyphen her name. either take the the man's last name or don't at all.), she did not have the ability to sense things like anxiety or even light and dark sided alignment yet. yet. zash had screwed her over by teaching her next to nothing, but she was a fast learner. or at least she liked to consider herself one. mierrio only called x'ire a pansy to see the girl's reaction. chaos and mayhem was what she enjoyed, and feeding off that energy was a wonderfully powerful feeling.

"my master is far from nervous, my lord. he's rather deadly, especially on the battlefield." her voice grows a bit louder as the wind plays with the hems of their skirts and her blonde hair goes flying around her shoulders. she doesn't even seem a bit angry, looking away from her to the mountaintops dusted with white snow. "w-who was your master?" she asks as she shivers, though the warm gusts continue to blow around them.

"darth zash." mierrio grimaces just at the thought of the ancient woman, or spirit she figures. was zash even really female? it'd never been a question she asked, or even wondered before now. "i despised the hag, and now i have her rank and offices on dromound kaas."

"wow. it's a real dog eat dog world out here, huh?" mankael says wistfully. this wasn't at all what mierrio had expected. any real sith would've gone on a tangent about why their master was nothing to be laughed at, or even joke alongside her when she'd spoken about zash. no reaction from mankael, as if she wasn't even paying attention with the handful of flowers in her delicate hands.

"you speak as if you haven't experienced it yourself yet. i step over those i need to, to ascend to power i have to eat the other dogs." mierrio responds, standing firmly in front of the other woman (in her brand new heeled boots, she's taller than mankael is). looking the woman up and down and the other woman wrings her hands out in front of her in the meager bouquet, she's beginning to feel as if something is very, very wrong right now. why does she keep speaking as if she's acting sith, rather than speaking from experience? even trying to go through her memories of her time at the academy, she still doesn't remember mankael's blonde hair. where had she met her? was it important? (it probably wasn't, to be completely honest. but mierrio would've remembered most of the acolytes she'd come in with and we're trained around the same time as her. given she didn't remember the skinny, frail failure of a redhead that'd been in her group, but that was to be expected after so many years)

had she met her?

"ah, i stay firmly out of the politics of the council, is all." she quickly counters, putting up her hands in the universal please don't get any closer, i'm not making a personal attack on you gesture. her eyes continue wandering anywhere away from mierrio. "they don't fascinate me enough to really get involved." she cuts herself off, as if she's about to continue her sentence but chose at the last minute not too. "the sun's beginning to dip, we should really go inside, my lord." she hurriedly scrunches up her fist to fit all the flowers within it, and quickly steps back. her shivering is getting stronger, even though the sun beams down on them from where it's beginning to rest beneath the mountains. it's not cold, and it's not atypically warm for alderaan either. chances are, this sith wasn't from tatooine.

the lack of corruption makes sense now too. the lack of scars on her face and the childish presence she felt lining the girl's entire aura. narrowing her eyes, she adjusts one of the straps on her dress and wonders if the others noticed as well. there isn't any real mark for any sort of faker to be without, but is this a spy for thul? no, she wouldn't be force sensitive then. but if...

it hits her as she sees her walking away, the black fabric billowing in the wind around her feet. not only is there already a lord o'vare that she knows (and killed years prior; the women was banking on usurping her from her chair on the council. she and khem quickly dealt with her when she came for her and using her as an example, no one else has attempted it again), but also that this woman she'd seen before. a lack of scars and babyish face contorted into one of anger and hate was what she'd seen on the....the..the word alluded her at the moment. but clearly, this woman was not a sith. she wasn't, and mierrio had left herself vulnerable at her expense.

lightning crackled from her fingertips as she shoots a volt of magenta lightning at the girl. not enough to shock her entire system and leave her paralyzed, but enough to at least leave her shaking. it hits her target, and she stops, a shriek erupting from the woman as her limbs shiver at odd angles, mierrio growing ever closer. her hair stands up on end before she stops, the girl clearly breathing hard had dropped all her flowers around her as she tentatively turns her head over her left shoulder, her eyes wide. "m-my lord?" she questions, innocent as if she hasn't just attempted to trick a darth on the council.

"the game is over, barsen'thor." mierrio responds, finally the title graces her mind as the girl's eyes widen at the realization darth nox has just made about her. mierrio's face breaks into a dark grin as the other falls back on the ground, scurrying backwards as lightning crackles in between her finger tips. "i was told about you, you know. before our little...say scuffle on taris. you remember your good friend, darth nox? you remember me, don't you iresso?" she probably looks as intimidating as she believes she does, in heeled boots and the lavender tulle dress trailing behind her. the sun is truly beginning to set, and the cold will set in soon. "should i leave you for the cold to claim? or should i end you here and now?"

now she's shaking for a reason completely outside of the lightning that's probably still flowing through her system. fear. oh mierrio loved instilling fear in those she trapped, and naji was no different. fear radiated off her in waves, and it only made mierrio chuckle behind a pale, manicured hand. she'd called her master a pansy, but the way the woman quaked, she figured she was more coward than her master was. it was funny, the jedi had named this poor excuse of a master to be their warden.

she'd been told extensively about the barsen'thor of the order before her excursion to taris, a trip only made to undermine her mission there and eliminate her completely if it was possible (mierrio herself despised the trip to the rakghoul infested planet, but as always, andronikos found a way to entertain her while they were there; her top was apparently on backwards when they returned, as talos so skillfully pointed out). full name being naji iresso, married to a certain lieutenant felix iresso (it'd taken her too long to figure irex fess was the same man) and traveling with the current jedi battlemaster, master kiveqil delux. sadly for naji (a horrid name choice. who would name a child that?), the sith weren't always in the dark about their opponents.

a burn is beginning to form on her right forearm and is beginning to show around her neck where she must've accidentally aimed for when she had her back towards her. mierrio, obviously doesn't feel too bad about it. her dress' strap is beginning to fall as she crunches into herself, her amber eyes unable to focus properly. "ah, my darling iresso. what to do, what to do?" she pauses, pacing around the jedi girl, "do what you did to my husband when we met last? do what you attempted to do to me? you got here rather easily, those aren't your real eyes. that isn't your accent or name either. so what is your real purpose here?" mierrio asks, just barely lifting her skirt to pull out her double-bladed saber hilt from where it rested on the inside of her calf. naji looks absolutely terrified, her blonde curls messily falling around her shoulders as she bumps into the wall behind her. mierrio has blocked her in from running much further away from her. the imposter had been found out. "who are you here for, naji?"

she doesn't respond, in fact she instead stands so quickly and bolts back towards the thul palace before mierrio is even aware of what's happened. she'd dashed away with a certain ability she must've learned while with the order. mierrio smirks, sith hadn't gone without learning certain movement based abilities either. igniting her saber as she runs, she eventually turns a corner that leads with the flowers she's dropping as she runs, and the flimsy shoes she'd been wearing are thrown off in a corner when she eventually reaches the balcony where'd they'd begun their walk through the garden at, slowing the extremely fast ability she'd just used. breathing hard, she can't even find through the dark attire where the woman had gone in the crowd.

"nox. stop acting like a child and running about." the wrath is infuriatingly reminding her off as mierrio disignites her weapon. the captain is still on her arm, as they both stand near the balcony, presumably disgustingly enjoying the sunset together (the wrath is prude, even mierrio knows that. and, she also happens to know the captain is years upon years older than her. fascinating blackmail for another time.) "whatever it is, it can't be serious."

"stay out of my way, wrath." mierrio growls, shoving it down her dress' front for the time being and also wading into the crowd. if she can catch up, she can dispose of the lost time with an execution for the sith populace.

she would not let her get away, not without an explanation. or her head on a platter. that worked always.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #star wars #oc #original character #mierrio revel #naji iresso #female jedi consular #female sith inquisitor #swtor fanfiction #bloodlines #into the lion's den

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swshadowcouncil · 5 years

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“Predictable” Is Not A Four-Letter Word

Well, looks like it’s that time again. That’s right: it’s time to talk about our good friend, Subverted Expectations™.(WARNING: Game of Thrones spoilers below the jump)

Hey, who’s super excited for the upcoming Benioff and Weiss Star Wars trilogy now?

I’m alluding, of course, to the latest episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones, in which, after an 8-season-long journey learning to own her own power, master her fate, lead armies, free slaves, and reclaim her family’s place on the Iron Throne, Daenerys Targaryen evidently got just a wee bit too much girl power and decided to become…bad? I guess? Boy, who could have foretold such a stunning subversion of expectations?

(I mean, a woman gaining power, being gradually resented by the men around her for her ascent, and eventually being viewed as a megalomaniacal villainess who needs to be taken down a peg is kind of the opposite of a subversion, it’s actually pretty much what happens to most women in power, fictional, or non-fictional, but I digress)

Fan response, needless to say, has been…mixed. Generally, folks seem to be unhappy with this course of events, given that, aside from some allusions to “Targaryen Madness” throughout the series, the buildup to Dany’s heel turn has been widely seen as rushed and somewhat arbitrary. True, she’s suffered a lot in the past few episodes, but the series has also put quite a lot of effort into making Dany a sympathetic character. Complicated, yes, and flawed, as most GoT protagonists are, but still heroic and generally good. Even as a conqueror, she holds her armies to a code of conduct, shows sympathy to the downtrodden, and overall seems to want to be a good, ethical ruler even after she’s taken the Iron Throne. So, uh….what gives?

Those of us who were Star Wars fans during the release and aftermath of The Last Jedi will recognize this feeling all too well. And, much like with TLJ, the backlash itself spawned a backlash. “Actually,” declared the internet masses, “It’s good that Rian Johnson subverted our expectations. To follow through on what Abrams set up would have been obvious and boring. The whole point of storytelling is to be unexpected!” But if this is the case, why did so many people walk away from TLJ, or this past episode of GoT, feeling so unsatisfied? And why, for god’s sake, do we find ourselves constantly having this argument any time a new piece of media comes to an end?

The internet certainly provides many examples of the attitude that objection to an incongruous shock ending is somehow weak, entitled, emotional, and juvenile. There’s a sense that true fans of a franchise are tough enough to absorb an unsatisfying ending, that they actually find satisfaction from the dissatisfaction, and that to want an ending that ties up loose ends and closes character arcs (dare I say, even happily, at times) is to want one’s hand held, or to be incapable of handling nuance or bittersweetness. “Life isn’t always happy!” the internet masses cry. “Life doesn’t always make sense! Life is disappointing too! Deal with it!” But stories aren’t vegetables we’re supposed to choke down before we can leave the dinner table. The purpose of storytelling, for adults, at least, is not just to condescendingly remind the viewer that bad things happen sometimes, and force them to suck it up. Which, of course, isn’t to say that all endings have to be neat and happy, either��there are stories with dark endings that are deeply satisfying (Breaking Bad) and ones with happy endings that are deeply unsatisfying (How I Met Your Mother). There are even stories with subtle, unclear endings that still feel logical and satisfying to many viewers, albeit not all. The ending of The Sopranos, for instance was famously controversial for its ambiguity, but even this ending was tied to themes and concepts planted earlier in the series, and several perfectly cogent arguments have been written to explain this quite persuasively.

But what satisfying endings tend to have in common, that unsatisfying ones don’t, is a feeling of appropriateness and completeness. Most fans who hated the finale of How I Met Your Mother did so not because they resented that it was “happy,” but because they felt it was a 180-degree turn from the arcs of all the characters and storylines up until the last few minutes of the last episode. Conversely, people didn’t love Breaking Bad’s ending because it was “difficult” or “dark,” they loved it because it was a believable, complete, fitting ending to the story that had come before (funny enough, I would wager that more people guessed the ending of Breaking Bad than guessed the ending of How I Met Your Mother, though that’s neither here nor there). But in the current cultural environment, a person can gain quite a bit of attention for boasting that unlike those blubbering fake fans, they LIKED that this ending didn’t conclude the arcs that had built for years, didn’t pick up dropped plot threads, didn’t allow protagonists to learn anything or achieve their goals, and so on and so forth. That they, by virtue of some unspecified quality, didn’t NEED an ending like that in order to enjoy what they were watching. Do I believe people who say this? Well, maybe. Human opinions are varied, and I don’t allege some conspiracy where everyone secretly hates the same things I hate. Nonetheless, I often find a degree of disingenuousness in these statements. A good ending can be obvious, unexpected, happy, sad, or even ambiguous–but more often than not, what makes it good is that it is satisfying. And loving an ending because it is unsatisfying, because it gives the audience nothing it wants, runs counter to this instinct, like it or not.

To use one example of a satisfying ending (albeit not a true ending, since it comes in the middle installment of a trilogy), Darth Vader’s revelation that he is Luke Skywalker’s father has gone down as one of the greatest plot twists in cinema history. Indeed, if you didn’t know that a mystery like this was building, you’d never think to put the pieces together–the ominous references to Luke having “too much of his father in him” or having “much anger…like his father,” the Chekhov’s gun of Anakin’s murder that goes unaddressed throughout A New Hope, and so on. But this twist is somewhat unique in that much of the buildup to it was done retroactively. During the writing of A New Hope, there was no plan for Vader to be Luke’s father–instead, the decision was the result of looking back at what the story had built, and following it to a coherent, unexpected, yet somehow totally natural conclusion that set up compelling stakes for the subsequent chapter. That is why the Vader twist works–it wasn’t chosen purely so the audience couldn’t guess the ending of the film, it was chosen because that was a compelling direction for the story to go, because it complicated and heightened the stakes, and because it deepened the existing text through unexpected means. In other words, arguably the greatest movie twist in history wasn’t great just because it was hard to guess, it was great because of the emotional impact of looking backwards and realizing how well it fit into the framework that was already in place despite the twist being unexpected. The surprise on its own is only a surprise; the surprise filling in the blanks of the story so effectively is what makes it sublime.

So why, then, do we find ourselves sucked into a maelstrom of hot takes every time we say we dislike a shock-value ending? And why does this trend seem to have gotten so much worse in recent years?

Well, it should come as a surprise to nobody that fandom culture to begin with is notorious for the ways in which elitism, gatekeeping, and all-around dick-measuring feature in its social interactions. Anybody who’s spent time in a major fandom has undoubtedly encountered this bizarre form of competitiveness, whether it’s being quizzed by strangers on their knowledge of canon or listening to boasts of “I was into it before it was cool” that would make a Brooklyn vinyl store owner blush. What has changed in recent years is the increased integration of the larger internet into these fandoms, shifting fan discussions from the confines of in-person hangouts or small online chat rooms, into massive public forums such as Tumblr and Reddit. Suddenly, said dick-measuring is not only happening for a far larger audience (including the general public, not just hardcore fans), but likes, reblogs, gold, and upvotes actually give fans a metric by which they can “win” or “lose” these competitions, further incentivizing them as a go-to mode of interaction among fans.

Now, with longform franchises, such as Star Wars, Marvel, and Game of Thrones, this who-is-the-nerdiest-of-them-all dynamic runs headlong into another common form of fan interaction; that is, speculation. When fans of a certain TV show or film series gather together, it’s only logical that one of the main topics of discussion is what they think might happen to their favorite characters next. These two dynamics in conjunction with one another form a fertile breeding ground for the almost gladiatorial style of fan speculation we see in most major forums nowadays. One person theorizes about a certain future plot line and receives a shower of upvotes, likes, favorites, and so on. Another comes back with a biting critique, and is given even more praise. Eventually, what might otherwise be a simple discussion becomes an outright competition, complete with points and ranking systems to keep track of who is “winning.”

This paradigm, in turn, incentivizes a very specific style of speculation. If I begin telling you a story about a girl named Cinderella who lives with her wicked stepmother and two wicked stepsisters, who asks to go to the prince’s ball, and leaves a shoe behind on the steps of the palace, your inevitable prediction that the story will end with a shoe fitting and a royal wedding may be correct, but it’s hardly cause for bragging. Of course you could predict how the story would end, because the ending was obvious. However, if I gave subtle clues in my story that the ending would go a different way, and you were the only one to predict that in this version, Cinderella was actually a vampire the whole time, and the story would end with her turning all the other characters into vampires, you could get praise for your attention to detail and ability to pick up on clues others had missed in this (absolutely bonkers) adaptation of Cinderella. Those of us who have followed the Star Wars online fandom since the release of The Force Awakens will recognize this pattern of behavior, especially in the areas of Snoke’s identity and Rey’s parentage. Though most agreed immediately on the heels of TFA that Rey was heavily implied to be Luke Skywalker’s daughter (or possibly Han and Leia’s), it only took a few weeks for the tide to shift to increasingly fantastical theories. First, the relatively mundane theories that she was a Palpatine or a Kenobi, then the slightly more perplexing suggestions that she was a Lars or Naberrie, and eventually theories that she was an immaculately conceived Force baby, or a clone, or a reincarnation of Padme Amidala.

The simplest explanation for this progression is just that people get bored of talking about obvious theories and want to mix things up with more unusual “what if” scenarios. But it’s hard to ignore the way that the competitive nature of social media fandom fosters this paradigm as well. Like someone betting on horse races, the lower the odds, the higher the reward and the sweeter the victory. Guessing that Rey is Luke Skywalker’s daughter, immediately after The Force Awakens, would be like guessing that the story of Cinderella ends with a wedding–yes, you’re likely right, but so is any schlub off the street who watched the movie once and made an idle guess. However, if you guess that Rey is the reincarnation of Padme Amidala, conceived through the Force, and you’re right, you may well be treated as some sort of prophet. Cue the showers of fake internet points.

I should be clear here–I don’t think there is anything wrong with wanting to guess the right answer to a mystery, or come up with a particularly clever solution to a problem that nobody else has thought of before. To the contrary, these are very normal human desires, ones that anyone who follows my writing knows that I myself engage in. The problem is, again, that this incentive to up the stakes of speculation with increasingly nonsensical, out-of-left-field proposals, purely to outdo others, makes it so that cohesive storytelling without shock value is stigmatized in fandom discussions. Which, of course, makes it harder to call content out for being unsatisfying without being accused of being childish, unsophisticated, or foolish. And so, we wind up in a self-perpetuating cycle. When we set up a paradigm where guessing the plot of a story is a competition, any predictable, reasonable, ho-hum answer becomes “too easy.” We expect content creators to structure their stories to make our guessing games harder, because after all, what’s the point of consuming media if the sweetness of “victory” is undercut by a simple, obvious answer? And if setting up these unexpected endings comes at the expense of a satisfying story, the response from many fans is “so be it.”

Which brings us to an even more pressing issue: the actual impact this discourse has on media itself. Content creators are praised by this subset of fans for creating endings that viewers didn’t expect, because, as established, this style of writing enriches the “game” that they play with one another in various forums. Consequently, fans begin to assume it is in longform media writers’ best interest to structure stories this way–to build a story that seems as though it will go one way, only to pull a U-turn at the last minute just to ensure nobody guessed the ending. Fan discourse, in other words, is normalizing bait-and-switching as a core pillar of storytelling, rather than one of many techniques writers can use to build a compelling story. And, as more people who came of age in the internet era grow up to become content creators themselves, I fear that this recent spate of shock-value media is going to become more of a trend than an aberration. Much has been said about the internet creating political echo chambers, but so too can it create artistic ones–and without dissenting opinions at the table, those reverberations will only get stronger.

So, am I advocating that people fearlessly defend “predictable” storytelling in its common connotation of “boring” and “unoriginal?” Of course not. But even if a story isn’t predictable, an audience member with a keen eye, a good instinct, and some time and attention, should in theory be able to predict it. It shows that the writer has put thought into foreshadowing, thematic congruence, consistency of character and motivation, and overall cohesion. Great, surprising endings are not created by building false decoys of these things. Instead, they’re created by rendering them subtly, slipping them in under the audience’s nose so they’re not aware of a surprise building; or sprinkling in deceptively contradicting information so the audience has to struggle to reconcile these conflicts in their minds. To expand upon a metaphor from our own HypersonicHarpist, a good storyteller–like a good magician–may disguise what they are doing with sleight of hand and misdirection, but ultimately they don’t stop mid-act, set down the hat and wand, and then pull a rabbit out of a nearby air duct vent instead. Put quite simply, we are hard-wired to want stories that leave us feeling satisfied. And the beauty is, we all have different ideas of what that looks like–that’s where good, productive discussion comes in.

But when we let disingenuous, performative internet groupthink make us doubt our instincts that something is amiss, for fear of appearing uncultured or childish, we do ourselves and our media a disservice. Bad-faith criticisms of “predictable” story arcs have poisoned fan discourse to the point where even genuine appreciation for certain shocking endings are drowned out in the cacophony of hot takes. And until more people begin to honestly admit it when they don’t see the Emperor’s new clothes, discussions on media will remain that way. As fans in the age of the internet, we have unprecedented voice and access to content creators, and more tools at our disposal to create content ourselves than any generation before us. Now more than ever, the way we talk about media guides media. It’s up to each of us to make sure we have a voice in that conversation.

#daenerys #daenerys targaryen #gameofthrones #jaime lannister #got #got spoilers #tros #star wars tros #subversion #longread #analysis

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nicolemagolan · 5 years

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Books I Read In May 2019

I read way more than I anticipated this month! It was greeeaaaaaaaaat 🎶 In between assignments and writing, I was picking up books be it novels or comics or non-fiction, and on my travels I was listening to audiobooks. On the whole, the books I read were pretty good -- some exciting new releases and some older books I was discovering for the first time. Keep reading for my individual reviews!

Star Wars: Revan (The Old Republic) by Drew Karpyshyn

4/5 stars

“There is no sun, no dawn; just the perpetual gloom of night. The only illumination comes from jagged forks of lightning, carving a wicked path through angry clouds. In their savage wake thunder shreds the sky, unleashing a torrent of hard, cold rain. The storm is coming, and there is no escape.”

Revan is a Star Wars character I am aware of, but know next to nothing about. I've never played the Knights of the Old Republic games, and despite how fans praise them, I don't think I ever will. But I still wanted to get a taste of the story, and I sought it out in book form. This book didn't seem to be written as an introduction to him, but I enjoyed it none the less. I am curious as to where this fits into the continuity of the games (is it a retelling of the game's story? Is it a prequel or sequel or somewhere in-between? I have no clue).

Revan is Jedi hailed as the savior of the Republic. He's suffering memory loss, and plagued by dreams of his fragmented past. The book flicks between his POV, going on a journey to recover his memories, and Darth Scurge, a Sith trying to move up in the ranks. I found his POV pretty dull at first -- I wanted to get to know Revan -- but I loved the way the two became interwoven.

Despite Revan not knowing what happened to him, I still got a good sense of his character; although I found the eventual reveal of his past lacking and confusing. It mostly just left me going...huh? And the book ends somewhat open ended. I have no idea on what medium the story continues -- I would love to know what happens next! The one glaring flaw was the way Bastilla was completely sidelined. She is another character I have heard about in the fandom, and I was looking forward to seeing her in action. But she's just Revan's loving wife.

I listened to this on audio and loved the experience. As always, this Star Wars production has great narration, music, and sound effects. Very immersive. It's a shame that the new canon books haven't delved into sith territory like this -- it's extremely interesting. Definitely recommend this to any hardcore fans who want a deeper look into the sith/jedi wars. Plus cool Mandalorian stuff.

SHE: A Journey of Faith, Hope and Love With Women of The Bible by Jen Gibbs

3/5 stars

I have to say I really enjoyed my time reading SHE. Making myself a cup of tea, settling down in a comfy chair, and cracking open the pages became a little afternoon ritual. It was like sitting down with a friend and chatting about Jesus. The book is well researched, well written, and easy to read. It has a good structure; each section breaks down the topic (faith, hope, then love), and goes on to discuss how it is displayed through the women of the Bible, and finally relates it to the author's own walk with God. This grounds a lot of the bigger concepts and makes it relatable to our modern lives. I think in the right hands this could be a very impactful book. Personally, I would have liked it to go deeper into the Word as there were some aspects that felt skimmed over. Though I still recommend it to anyone interested in knowing a bit more about the women of the Bible, and to understand how God sees women.

100 Days of Sunlight by Abbie Emmons

4/5

*clears throat* THIS IS THE MOST ADORABLE BOOK I'VE EVER READ Read my full review on Eating Fiction!

All Our Wrong Todays by Elan Mastai

3/5 stars

All Our Wrong Todays has a strong voice and compelling plot. The time travel element is well-balanced with a contemporary vibe. I loved the time travel element, naturally, which consisted of parallel worlds and paradoxes. But the romantic subplot was unbearable. The main character was a horrible person in general -- something that was addressed in the story and he had a decent arc and development. But his treatment towards the love interest (who was a bit of an idiot, really) and just women in general was awful. So I am giving this a well-rounded 3 stars.

So You Created a Wormhole by Phil Hornshaw and Nick Hurwitch

DNF (Did Not Finish)

I like the concept of this book: it's written as if it is an actual guide to time travelling, and the book has been purposefully brought into the readers hands by a future self. There are a lot of fun elements, but I found this book repetitive and the humor and grating. It was telling me things I already know (e.g. how the time travel in Back to The Future works) and I just got bored.

Truly Devious by Maureen Johnson

3/5 stars

It should be illegal for first books in series to end with cliff hangers. Truly Devious is a murder mystery with an immersive boarding school setting, and distinct characters with decent arcs. The mystery is intriguing and provides plenty of threads to pull at.

But the ENDING. It was abrupt -- the kind of cliffhanger that’s supposed to make you want the next book immediately, I suppose. But all it did was leave me confused. The big “plot twist” it ended on was bizarre and had nothing to do with the MURDER we had spent the whole book trying to solve.

It made the whole thing feel -- almost -- like a waste of time. But...I enjoyed it enough that I am going to pick up the sequel. I want to know who the murderer is, dammit!

The Walking Dead, Issue #190: Storm The Gates by Robert Kirkman, Charlie Adlard (Cover Art), Dave Stewart (Cover Art), Stefano Gaudiano (Artist), Cliff Rathburn (Artist)

4/5 stars

This sloooooow build up of the Commonwealth arc finally feels like it's going to pay off. And I'm here for it! I was on the verge of dropping this series, but I'm glad I stuck with it because this issue was action packed and I actually began to feel like the characters might be in danger. (That plot armor wearing thin, perhaps?) Still some newer characters I couldn't care less about, but I appreciate seeing some returning faces and I remembered that, hey, these used to be some of my favourite characters of all time, and maybe I do want to know what happens to them in this screwed-up world. I inhaled this entire issue in a very short span of time. Loved the cliffhanger, and was left excited to find out what went down in the next issue.

The Walking Dead, Issue #191: The Last Stand by Robert Kirkman, Cliff Rathburn (Illustrator), Charlie Adlard (Illustrator), Stefano Gaudiano (Illustrator), Dave Stewart (Illustrator)

5/5 stars

THE WALKING DEAD IS BACK, BABY! Wow. A Walking Dead issue hasn't made me gasp like this one did in FOREVER. This series is about to be reinvented and I am SO READY FOR IT. STEP UP CARL, STEP UP!!!!!! There were brilliant, impactful moments in this issue that will no doubt become iconic for the series. And some more quiet, touching moments between characters. Can't wait for the next issue. If that ending turns out to be a fake-out I'm gonna be so frustrated! But then...even if it is a fake-out, bravo to Kirkman and co for getting me back on board. I'm on this ship until it sinks!

Time Travel: A Writer’s Guide to the Real Science of Plausible Time Travel by Paul J. Nahin

4/5 stars

This book is a great tool for writers, like myself, who are attempting to write time travel SF. It delves into the history of time travel within the fictional realms, across mediums. And it briefly looks at the real-world context of time travel.

It explains, clearly and concisely, what you need to craft a good time travel story, and it breaks down the many forms of travelling through time. I’m glad I stumbled upon it at the library! I like to think my future self, having mastered the art of time travel, planted it in my path.

That’s all folks! Hopefully June will be another good reading month. I’ve started a new sci-fi audiobook that I’m loving so far. See you next month!

#reading wrap up #books #booklr #bookworm #book review #amreading #reading #star wars #revan #100 days of sunlight #all our wrong todays #truly devious #ya #twd #twd comics #twdc #time travel

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