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myevilmouse · 4 years

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2020 Fic Year In Review

This disaster year was my second of writing fanfic for the Star Wars fandom, focused as always on my handsome Jedi and charismatic Grand Admiral. Here’s the same thing I did last year: basically share the idea of the fic I wanted to write and the result of what came out of that idea.

Because I don’t outline or plan, it is often as much a surprise to me as to my readers as to where the story winds up. But I enjoy the magic that is surrendering to the muse / autonomous typing hands, so I doubt that will change anytime soon.

Context: 2020 began with the fic whining circle’s discussion of the sad dearth of blowjobs for Luke Skywalker in fandom. We resolved to remedy this with the creation of the Luke Deserves All The Blowjobs Challenge, our 12-month mission to provide our man with 12 blowjobs, detailed lovingly for your (and his) pleasure. We all agreed to contribute and so my first offering was:

1. Anomaly

Idea: In 2019, I participated in the Star Wars Rare Pairs Fic Exchange. Shanlyrical had requested the pairing of Guri/Luke, which I’d never considered. I didn’t get assigned that one (I got assigned Thrawn/Original Art Forger), but the idea stayed with me. The blowjob challenge was the perfect opportunity.

Result: A one-shot I am quite proud of, written from droid POV attempting to seduce our Jedi (who is quite difficult to seduce damn his perfect ass), full of technical and cyborgian terminology. Since shanlyrical had put the ship in my brain, it was gifted to her.

2. Comfortable

Idea: Write an “old married Skywalkers” smutfic for a Valentine’s Day gift to my Luke/Mara cohorts.

Result: A rather florid one-shot that is overstuffed with choice adjectives and bursting at the seams with love for my Jedi’s happy ever after.

3. The Problem With Prophecy

Idea: Write a Thrawn/Pryce fic for the Thryce Discord’s Valentine’s Day. The prompts shifted, from “blind date” to “soulmates” or maybe vice versa as a theme. I had already started it when the prompt changed so made them both work.

Result: Another “how they got together fic” (of which I seem to write many for Thryce) that was a lot of fun to write, with a little contemplation about free will vs destiny in there.

4. Proxy

Idea: The Luke Deserves All The Blowjobs Challenge needed more fic, and no one wrote that Asajj Ventress/Luke pairing I had requested for SW rarepairs 2019… *cracks knuckles* If you want something done, gotta do it yourself!

Result: This was an interesting challenge. Whilst I typically attempt to create scenarios for Luke to bang all the ladies that are SOMEWHAT realistic, I decided the only way to make this happen was to assume whatever plot was required to set this up had already occurred, so it starts *cough* right before the action, so to speak. I also sort of low-key ship Ventress/Kenobi (what is that called? Ventrobi?) so operated throughout with the idea that since she couldn’t have Obi-Wan, she was settling for another Jedi as a plaything. Since I used only pronouns for Ventress in the fic, I suppose the reader could imagine any wicked woman or Nightsister or whomever on the other end of Luke’s cock, but in my brain it’s Asajj and she is a lucky woman (and Luke is a lucky man). Anyway, it was probably one of my least popular fics this year but I still like it!

5. Thranto 400 Works Celebration Ficlet (Ch 3: Everything To Lose)

Idea: @jessko-fic asked me to contribute to this collection to commemorate the Thrawn/Vanto ship hitting 400 works on AO3. Me: Slash?!?!

Result: I don’t write slash in general because I just…don’t really enjoy it, doesn’t float my boat or melt my butter, although so often I wish that weren’t the case. I have read a lot of Thranto thanks to Jess’s evil influence though, and thought I could tackle this ship. I wanted to write something exactly 400 words for the 400 works thing, and the result was a little “missing scene” that I hope was true to the spirit of the collection while also slotting into Thrawn and Eli’s storyline.

6. Creativity

Idea: For The May The Fourth fic exchange, try to hit my giftee’s likes and stuff as many MacGyver-inspired easter eggs as possible into the story.

Result: 14 “original series” MacGyver-isms crammed into this thing, including winks and nods to names and dates, and plenty of Luke and Mara banter to accompany the mission. One of my most researched fics this year and one of the most fun to write! And my giftee loved it, which is the best result possible.

7. Physical Graffiti

Idea: Agreed to a one-on-one fic exchange with @jessko-fic, since we never get matched in “regular” exchanges. She requested Luke x Sabine, which tied in perfectly to my never-ending goal of Luke x All The Ladies.

Result: A (hopefully) sexy multi-chapter that required a lot of research on timelines to get them together for this “missing scene” and Mandalorian stuff. My septuagenarian mom has proclaimed it’s her favorite of any of my stories, so I call it a success. O_O Yes, she reads my fic.

8. Strangers When We Meet

Idea: Write a reader-insert fic for @enmudecer. I love setting challenges for myself, and writing a smutty reader insert was something entirely new to tackle.

Result: I think reader inserts sometimes get a bad name but they can be a lot of fun. I avoided the (y/n) convention because I find it pulls me out of the story, tried hard to keep it gender neutral, and hopefully everyone who reads it can feel like they just banged Luke Skywalker 😉 Also I have a long-standing goal of writing songfic, and while I didn’t do it here, at least the title is from a Bowie song that seemed appropriate. So not just my first reader-insert, my first song-titled-fic!

9. Infectious

Idea: The Thryce Discord, and in particular @handsofthrawn, had been asking/lobbying me for ages about writing a quarantine fic since the world was in lockdown.

Result: Well, this is what I achieved this year, when I look back at what I accomplished. My longest fic ever, and a particularly ambitious premise of getting from an awkward, miserable (and hopefully realistic) fuck-or-die scenario to a happy ever after for my evil OTP. I unashamedly love this story and I’m so happy and grateful to the readers who loved it with me—their comments and kudos gave me life when the stress of reality made me want to curl into a defensive little ball and hide for the rest of the year.

10. Evilmousetober 2020

Idea: I couldn’t choose what X-tober prompts to use for my October drabbles this year, so I used whatever felt right that day.

Result: A compilation of my tumblr drabbles from various October prompts.

11. Dis Manibus

Idea: I am not going to write this fic. I am not going to write this fic. Crack and ridonc and no way is there any conceivable way it would work. And then I wrote it. The basic concept as my muse nagged me was to write the “nightmare comfort” trope with Luke and Pryce. WHY?! I HAVE NO IDEA I DON’T CONTROL THIS BITCH. Anyway, the idea wouldn’t go away.

Result: This fic is the perfect exhibit of how I never know what the heck is going to happen when I start writing. Everything was a surprise to me, including the Thryce element to what was SUPPOSED to be a Luke/Pryce fic. Also I didn’t get the smut I wanted. *curses* But I like it anyway and it worked, timing-wise, for Halloween-y themes.

12. Alone Time

Idea: After swearing not to write fic for the rest of the year, @contentment-of-cats put out her Merry Chissmas bingo card and my ambitious ass decided to try to knock every single prompt out with a one-shot.

Result: Thrawn jerking off in the shower and thinking verrrrrry naughty things. I apologize for nothing.

So in 2019 I wrote 26 fics and this year only got to about 12…but fanfic is for fun, and we all needed fun this year. I enjoyed writing for you and I hope you enjoyed reading my output. I look forward to providing more smexy silly and strange fic for you in 2021. <3

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Someone Left to Save (9)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m trying to come up with ways on how to write and publish like I normally would. Good thing I have a few spare tech I can use!

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Additional tags (also TW): Destructive habits, Depressed! Cal

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 | Previous: Part 8 | Next: Part 10 | Masterlist

9 of ?

The forgers at the Imperial armory fashioned your mask with a hybrid of square and triangular accents. Meanwhile, you donned the ash-gray ensemble that goes underneath your armor plates. In the set, you’re granted a pair of pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves to go with the calves of your pants, and a breastplate with a red stripe along at the hem. They all fitted like a glove.

The piece de resistance is all that’s left.

You watched the Imperial armor technician weld and solder the helmet until it morphed into their ideal, desired shape. Sparks flew, shimmered to light the room, and then die out almost instantly. Bit by bit, you’re starting to see his artistic vision realized.

“I do not discriminate. Newcomer or otherwise, I put a lot of attention to detail in all of my crafts,” the technician thought out loud, perhaps sensing your curiosity and worry that it might not look as good as the others.

“I’m sure you do, considering how many we are right now,”

“It doesn’t matter to me whether there’s dozens of you. I can make one unlike the other—always.”

He harrumphed a scoffing laugh as a response, taking pride in his declaration before continuing.

The armor technician has finished the shaping phase, next he lets it sit for a minutes before cooling it with vapor. You watched the whole process with great intent and curiosity, at the same time, it’s as though you’re watching your new face being created right in front of your very eyes.

He gingerly took the helmet in both of his hands, cradling it with an esteemed carefulness—treating it with royalty and high regard, for crafting an Inquisitor’s mask was a heavy yet rewarding task to complete. This particular forger was an expert crafter, he hand-designed and sculpted most if not all Inquisitors’ helmets and masks. Feeling the weight of yours in his hands, he carefully stepped away from his smelter and toward you; like a monarch’s crown, he presented it to you and inched it closer for you to take it.

“Twelfth Sister,” addressed the armorer.

The gloss of the duraplast once cooled distorted your reflection on its convex surface. A part of you doesn’t recognize this face, the other acknowledges it but doesn’t accept the reality—at least not yet.

From the armorer’s hand to yours, the helmet rests in its rightful owner’s grasp. You hoist it to the top of your head and then lowered it once you’ve aligned it. One moment, your eyes were shrouded by black, and then the next thing you know you’re seeing red—literally—through the visor of your helmet, though you see things as clearly as you’d normally do.

“It’s a perfect fit,” you said blankly, although the comment delighted the armorer very much.

He bowed and returned to the front of his smelter, he’d afford small glimpses of you getting used to the helmet. From your end, there were functions that you’re new to—such as infrared scanning—and there were buttons disguised as accents on the side of the mask that respond to these features.

“Interesting,” you mouthed to yourself, not caring whether the armorer heard it or not.

You tried breathing through the mask, fortunately for you, this won’t hinder the strenuousness of your fighting style—let alone movements in general—as well as catching your breath. For a moment, it’s as though the same world was unraveled before you with brand new eyes—ones that stopped fighting the hatred and used it as strength, rage that blinds yet helps you see with great clarity, the intoxication to power was a permanent leech on your skin and you relished it.

Now completely outfitted in your Inquisitor’s garbs, you make your exit out of the armorer’s chamber and head out to join your “brothers and sisters” in conference. Being the newest, therefore the lowest in rank, the crew and Stormtroopers have mixed feelings about you—though you could care less.

They looked at you with curious yet skeptical eyes as you strode past them. You arrived in the conference hall, heads turned to the door at the sound of the sharp, metallic buzz and then revealed you standing on the other side.

“Ah, the newbie, right on time!” the male Twi’lek Inquisitor chirped, his pointed porcelain white teeth standing out of his glistening, obsidian-black skin.

You stepped in, took that one gap in the line and seemed to have closed the circle surrounding the holotable. You didn’t miss much of the briefing, though they picked up where they left, you intently studied all the holographs that are flashed on the table: battle tactics, ship routes, and person profiles. You listened to the Second Brother explain everything down to the last detail; you saw what kind of person he is when the two of you aren’t swinging your sabers at each other’s neck, trying to kill one another.

The next part of his presentation included a whole collection of head shots. He explains that they are the current, surviving Jedi across the galaxy. The images of unnamed faces encircled the holotable and slowly rotated for each and every one to see. Below their portraits are short, bulleted write-ups of the latest reports about them: be it last known locations, current agendas, potential accomplices, and recent activities.

After the one you’re looking at, the next one made you quiver in your armor—you can spot that splash of red hair, a naïve freckled face, that boyish charm and a scrapper’s roguishness from a parsec away.

Cal’s head shot rotated and froze right in front of you; blank, jade eyes blending in with the fluorescent blue of the holograph as it stared through your helmet’s visor.

The most crucial part of your past life stares back at you.

The male Twi’lek, namely the Fourth Brother, noticed you in the corner of his eye, sensed your uneasiness and discovered your intrepidity replaced with a sudden, dramatic loss of self-confidence. The Second Brother continued his exposition.

“According to our latest intel, these are the Jedi currently in hiding. Some of them are so bold enough to join factions, such as the traitor—the former admiral Jax Beneb who made with a faction in Ulfin,”

“This one, Cal Kestis, joined them not too long ago. He travels with the Mantis crew comprised of its pilot, a Lateron named Greez Dritus, the right-hand and former Jedi Cere Junda, and… er… a witch. We don’t know the latter’s background, we can only confirm she’s Dathomirian.”

“She’s called a Nightsister,” you corrected the Second Brother.

“He and his crew got themselves involved with the uprising in Ulfin,” the Fifth Brother continued.

“Until the Imperial fortification was bombed—no thanks to Twelfth Sister right here.” The Seventh Sister finished with a voice of chagrin and sarcasm.

There were soft gasps and quiet murmurs amongst the other Inquisitors who apparently had no prior knowledge.

“In my defense, I wasn’t one of you that time,” you dryly chuckled before adding. “Took a few good voltages before you broke me, eh Seventh Sister?”

Feeling outclassed, Seventh Sister rolled her eyes and avoided eye contact from you. The sight of her furrowed eyebrows and the crease on the side of her nose warranted a satisfied, mischievous smirk. You bobbed your head at an angle while the next head shot proceeded, and then Cal’s image rotated to the female red-skinned humanoid with cropped brown hair on your left—this one is known as the Eighth Sister.

Second Brother continued with his plan, catching everyone’s attention by clearing his throat and getting back to the objective at hand. The point was to fan out to selected planets and systems where the Jedi stragglers ought to be and hunt them down—which is their original prerogative ever since the Inquisitorius was formed. Before anyone else could call it, you pressed a button which prompted the ring of head shots to spin wildly until the picture of Cal glows right in front of you.

“I’ll find him, along with Cere Junda,”

“Pheh! Hey, who says you get to have first dibs?!” the Eighth Sister screeched.

“Do you know them like I do?” you raised your voice against her and you were met with a stifled silence due to the lack of a good answer. “You’d be more productive in recovering junk parts salvaged by Jawas than finding the Mantis crew and the Jedi boy!”

The same silence hung around the holotable. You seem to have a knack in making anyone who spoke against you to hold their tongues. It seems everyone was waiting for you to elaborate on your rationale.

“I know the pilot’s flying tactics as well as Cere Junda’s technical tinkering that go hand-in-hand. The Nightsister is not to be underestimated lest you won’t be meeting her good side; and her powers exceed urban legend—she can cloak a ship like a normal cloaking device would, she can raise the dead, she can bury you alive six feet under without even touching a hair on you. That’s how potent her magick is. The boy, on the other hand, I know the most—his fighting, his emotions. Point is: I’m the best chance in finding them.”

You glanced left and right, searching for an objecting reaction from the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, and then looked straight into Second Brother’s eyes.

“And you can’t deny that, Second Brother. So do the two right beside you.”

The rest of the Inquisitors turn to the Second Brother for his reply, he gave in and he cannot deny that cold, hard fact—that you were once in connivance with these people. And so, you’re granted with your chosen targets; the others followed suit in selecting which Jedi to go after.

—–

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat again. It has become a frequent occurrence, an unwanted habit that he’s trying so hard to kill.

The weeks turned into months, he’s honestly lost count that he had to ask someone else.

They’ve moved on from Jax Beneb’s rebel faction and went off-world. At first, it was difficult convincing the boy that they had to go and leave the planet, as there’s nothing coming back to him as much as he hoped, and whatever he’s waiting for is just dead air. He had developed a destructive habit of drowning himself in trances—he’s practically returned to where he was before: where he loses control in meditation, doing so has distorted his subconscious vision; he eats only once a day—sometimes not at all—and locks himself up in his room. BD-1 is his only companion through and through, but not even the tiny droid can get a word out of the Jedi boy.

The bracelet, your bracelet, is now worn around his wrist; but in the first time he’s secured it on his arm, the leather cord felt like it was burning and searing through his skin, but when others would take a look at it there’s nothing out of the ordinary. The metal pendant, with the scorch marks obscuring the finish, felt like a red-hot branding iron on his arm, his hand twitched and jerked, yet he couldn’t bring himself to swat away or rip the trinket off.

He hated the pain, but it was the only comfort he knew of remembering you by.

A self-imposed penance.

He blames himself for not coming sooner to get you out.

“[Y/N] would hate to see you like this, Cal,” Merrin started to scold.

There was nothing the Nightsister got out of the Jedi.

When he looked at her straight in the eye, she flinched; and then she got a closer look of the sorry state he’s in—there were dark circles around his eyes, the swelling and the redness of the lining of his eyes suggested restless nights whiled away with crying, untreated cuts and bruises spotted his knuckles and the damning evidence is the small yet noticeable streaks of blood on the gray walls.

“Merrin, I can’t crawl out of the grave that I’ve dug for myself,” Cal shuddered, his voice muffled as his mouth was blocked by his knees folded and drawn to his chest. “I know she’s still here. And I’m talking like the sentimental kind, no, I really know. You have to believe me. You all must think I’m crazy.”

“You don’t see or hear any of us saying so,”

“I know, I just… I don’t know if I’m imagining overthinking it but I just feel like you guys are only humoring me,”

“I don’t do that kind of thing, Cal, it’s not in my nature,” Merrin shook her head. “But I miss [Y/N] too. More than you’d like to know.”

Cal sighed and didn’t speak further. Merrin dismissed herself out of his bedroom and reminded him that Cere had left a plate of dinner for him before closing the door. When he was left alone again, he hung his head low and ran his fingers through his loose, unkempt hair.

He had been alone for most of his life, but this was a different kind of loneliness—one that he isn’t entirely used to. The emptiness, the silence, and the depression bore an alien, coldly terrifying air that hung heavily around his bedroom. The engine hum drowned out his sobbing as he tucks himself away in bed, deliberately forgetting his meal outside.

Cere feels all of that grim emotion pooling inside that room, she wonders how much of those feelings will she pick up if she opens that door—could she take it? Will she be overwhelmed? These were the questions she asked herself.

“Give him some more time. I don’t think he needs us right now, Cere,” Greez glumly said, stopping her in her tracks in any attempt of consoling Cal.

Cal could not sleep—another problem he’s dealing with. He lies with his back flat on the bed, tears trickle down his temples and pools on his pillow just below his ears, he feels like he’s nestled in his deathbed. He can close his eyes, but he cannot catch a wink of sleep. Sometimes, he mistakes dreaming for meditation—of the other way around.

As the meeting pronounced adjourned, they scrambled out of the conference hall while you’re left alone. Arms crossed with one another, you stared at the set of head shots you projected on the table—Cal and Cere. Even though you know them so well, you wondered what kind of information the spies have written about them in their reports.

Your eyes trailed to the write-ups for each profile.

CAL KESTIS

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

Potential accomplices: Cere Junda, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

CERE JUNDA

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

Potential accomplices: Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

You sighed as you finished reading through the facts of their profiles. You turn away from the holotable and stand in front of the mirror that oversees the operations happening outside the Fortress in Mons Golotha. It’s originally a spice mine owned by a crime syndicate who capitalized in the illegal spice trade, but since the occupation and establishment of the Fortress Inquisitorius, the propriety was handed over to the Empire.

Through the window you watch the moving specks that are the people slaving away to harvest the raw, unprocessed spice, loading them into crates and then into freighters. But the turmoil of these pitiful workers weren’t your focus, you’re channeling it to finding Cal’s connection in the Force and through the Force. The storm in your mind has calmed for a time, allowing you to think and meditate clearly; even in the darkness, you see a light at the end of the path. You pursue it, as you run towards it like an excited, curious child you utter his name.

Cal…

His eyes shot up, he was on the verge of falling asleep already until he heard his name in the distance. He sat up, surveyed the bedroom and found nothing. He shrugged it off as nothing and decided to lie back down… but the voice called again.

Cal...

Now this time, he recognizes the voice. He bolted up.

“[Y/N]?!” he gasped.

Where are you?

“Where are you?”

You didn’t answer, one question led to another.

I need to find you. Tell me where you are.

“I… I’m in—”

“So, Twelfth Sister! How’s the hunt coming along?”

The boisterous Fourth Brother interrupted you and deprived you of the most vital part of your plan. He barges right into your personal space; before he could utter another word, you grabbed him in a chokehold using the Force and slammed him against the window wall. The impact was so hard that a crack appeared right behind his head almost like an icy halo.

The grit of your teeth hissed out the words, “What. Do you. Want?”

He gurgled his words but turned out into frothy noises, you saw him tap for submission on the glass and his ankles buckling.

“What is it that you have to say that is so important that you had to interrupt me and my meditation!?”

“I…. Guhhkk! Wanted to ask if… aagghhk! You plan to go alone!”

You released the Twi’lek, he fell to his knees coughing and clutching his neck.

“I work alone. Go.”

You turn away and wait for the Fourth Brother to leave your sight. Despite calling each other brother and sister, there was no filial connection amongst one another; simply put, it was only tolerance and putting up with each other’s bull. You, on the other hand, hate everyone. Some of them may have not played a part on your turning, but you can’t help but remain hostile towards them—the Eighth Sister deduced that it’s a normal feeling when you’re the fledgling of the Inquisitorius.

You leave the room and make for the hangar to your TIE Fighter.

Meanwhile, Cal was met again with silence and the ecstasy he felt in hearing your voice—even just in his head—died with his melting smile. He sighed and slipped under his sheets again, his heart ached as he coaxed himself to sleep.

Another long night awaits.

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