#i know that clone who did not fit the standard could be killed off by kaminoans so vau's request worries me a bit about his mental state

[cienie-isengardu]

Walon Vau about Delta Squad [from Republic Commando loading screen]

[brushstrokesapocalyptic]

it’s time for the “overanalyzing one-off lines” show!

so the very first thing magnus says when he sees pit in chapter 2 of kid icarus: uprising is as follows:

“Well, I didn’t expect to see an angel here. Hope this doesn’t mean I’ve kicked the bucket.”

now, i’m not sure if you’re aware, but that’s a really weird thing for someone to say, and it’s even more weird that no one comments on it. pit and palutena go on talking about unrelated things, as if that’s a totally normal and expected thing for magnus to say.

now, if you’re like me, you probably also didn’t really react to this line the first few times you saw it. it’s the second chapter, kiu has a lot of slightly-odd lines which turn out to be foreshadowing. me, personally? my first thought was “oh, i guess angels are probably associated with escorting the dead to the afterlife,“ and then i moved on.

they’re not, though. that’s what reapers do. and there’s no way humans have these two races mixed up. just fucking look at them.

do they look anything alike to you??? no. they don’t. which raises the question of why, exactly, magnus said that.

now, we don’t know a lot about angels as a whole. pit (and by extension dark pit) is emphatically not the gold standard of angeldom. we can assume he looks fairly ordinary for an angel, seeing as no one has trouble identifying him as such. beyond that, though, a lot of what we know about angels comes from what pit isn’t. for starters, he can’t fly. and there’s something else, too, but i’ll get to that later.

before that, though, i’m gonna go through the various unsubstantiated comments made by people with a dubious level of authority on the subject. (incidentally, i sourced these screenshots from the wiki— much more convenient than trying to dig through youtube for every single random conversation.)

without any further ado! let’s get into it!

Angels as Messengers

Gaol: Aw, Palutena’s little messenger boy. And Magnus, it’s always a pleasure. (src)

in the specific context of overanalyzing magnus’s first line, this is an important sentence to pick out. magnus and gaol are both humans, both with presumably a fairly similar history as mercenaries up until gaol got stuffed in a suit of armor. but while magnus makes a weird comment about death, gaol calls pit a messenger.

and pit agrees with her!

Viridi: I wish I had an angel to do my bidding. It’s like having an intern.

Pit: I’m not an intern. I’m a messenger of the gods!

Viridi: Poor Pit. Don't you know that the definition of angel is "errand spirit"? (src)

this particular conversation is the most insight we get into angels as a whole, i think. viridi thinks of angels as like divine interns, there to do little tasks for gods, and palutena doesn’t exactly disagree with her. pit says they’re specifically messengers, which lines up with biblical mythology. i could see the traditional role of angels in the world of KI being exactly that, showing up to tell the humans what the gods have to say because the gods themselves are too busy being petty jerks to do it themselves.

The Angel’s Code of Conduct

Magnus: You go in fully dressed? Don't you at least want to change into a...swimming tunic or something?

Pit: Oh, no no no! The angel's code of conduct says that we must always be ready for duty.

Magnus: I guess you wouldn't be an angel if you didn't do things by the book. (src)

Pit: Hey! You know the angel's code of conduct! I need to be prepared at all times! (src)

another random little thing is the angel’s code of conduct. without a larger sample size, we can’t know if it’s a real thing or just an excuse to save on laundry, but apparently it’s against the rules to not be on call at all times. in pit’s case, the duty he has to be ready for is doing palutena’s dirty work, but it can easily mean just about anything— including, of course, being a messenger.

No Warrior

Chariot Master: But you are no warrior, angel. Tell me, why do you fight?

Pit: I fight for Lady Palutena. And I fight for the people under her protection!

Chariot Master: That's not reason enough for an angel. (src)

remember how i said there was something else weird about pit? the chariot master seems to think angels aren’t very prone to battle— or perhaps even that they’re actively opposed to it. this lines up well with the idea that they’re supposed to be messengers, peaceful go-betweens for gods and mortals. this does not line up well with pit, the adorable weapon of mass destruction.

and it also does absolutely nothing to explain the question driving the whole existence of this post.

you know what does kinda lean towards an explanation?

No Other Angels

Pit: Do all gods have their own angels, like you have me?

Palutena: No, I don't think that's necessarily the case. (src)

i said before that the Intern Pit conversation had the most illuminating information on angels. this is what i was actually referring to. on its own, it’s pretty innocuous, but it’s just as weird as the magnus line. shouldn’t pit know about other angels, seeing as he is one himself? but he doesn’t know if there are other angels.

the only angels we ever see are him and his clone. no one ever directly references the existence of other angels, they only make general statements about what angels as a whole are like— statements which clearly don’t apply to pit, meaning they’re not just extrapolating based on the one angel that definitely does exist.

the one time someone does comment on the hypothetical existence of other angels, palutena gives a vague answer to the tune of “no,” the topic is changed, and no one brings it up again.

let’s go over everything i’ve established about angels up to this point. they can fly, they’re peaceful messengers of the gods, and pit is the only one that seems to exist as of the start of KIU.

it should be pretty obvious at this point what answer i’m dancing around, if it wasn’t obvious from the start. pit is the only angel around because all the other ones are dead. the reason why magnus said what he did is that his thought process went something like this:

See an angel.

Think “Aren’t angels extinct? Is that a ghost? Am I a ghost? I sure hope not.“

Make a quip about that.

Move on with his life, because he isn’t dead and evidently neither is this guy.

i’m not gonna pretend i went into this post with the intent of any other conclusion to that mystery. anyone who’s bothered glancing over a plot summary for the original kid icarus can draw that conclusion. it’s certainly what i did, reinforced by fics by people who had the same thought!

the truth, however, is that this was all a trick to get you to read my analysis of the theoretical nature of angels as a race. now that you’re invested, i’m going to dramatically throw aside my cape and reveal my TRUE FORM: telling people that fandom consensus is wrong, and my ideas are cooler and better than everyone else’s and you should all throw roses at my feet and bow before your king.

(or just, y’know, take it as the subjective analysis that it is. whatever floats your boat.)

Hot Takes

the original kid icarus does not actually tell you about angels going extinct. here’s the wiki article with the full text of the backstory, just for convenience, so you know what i’m on about for the rest of this post.

so, the part of the story that i think gets misinterpreted is this part about palutena’s army.

Medusa led a surprise attack on Palutena's army which could barely fend off the attack. Palutena's army suffered major losses and was heavily defeated in the final battle.

specifically, i think a lot of people interpret said army as having been made up at least partly of angels. sure, in the actual game it consists entirely of centurions, but you have to take old NES games with a grain of salt. i know i don’t buy for a second that pit was part of palutena’s guard before the original game (he was just too goddamn young), there’s nothing wrong with reinterpreting things.

recall everything i established about angels already, though. this is the hot official lore, from the game everyone knows and loves. angels are messengers, and if the chariot master is to be believed, never warriors. pit is an outlier. palutena’s army consists of centurions, not angels. if medusa wiped them out, it wasn’t because they were fighting for palutena.

(and honestly, i don’t think angels are necessarily associated with palutena exclusively. sure, she’s got the wing imagery, and she’s got the one known surviving angel working for her, at least up until pittoo is born. but angels are messengers of the gods, not messengers of palutena. again, pit is an outlier.)

which all brings us to the real question of this post.

what the FUCK happened to all the other angels? why is there only pit? why does magnus act surprised to see a messenger of the gods, and make a quip about being dead, if not because angels are otherwise extinct?! WHO KILLED THEM, AND WHY?!

thus concludes the “over analyzing one-off lines“ show. see you next, uh, maybe at some point if i feel like it!

(also another thought i had but couldn’t find room to fit it in properly: the gods don’t really act like angels are all extinct, but i feel like that can be explained through the sheer scale of a god’s lifespan. if we assume they were wiped out sometime around the original kid icarus (even if not as palutena’s army) then that’s a whole twenty-five years. that’s a long time for us humans, but for a god, that might as well be last tuesday. “yeah, i know what angels are like. sure wish i could have one. too bad palutena’s got a monopoly on the one single angel that medusa didn’t manage to wreck.”)

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Guiltrip

So, my week has been hell. In addition to working night and day on final essays for my classes, I've been really busy at work lately, and the second COVID vaccine shot really took a lot out of me this week. And that's not even getting into the bureaucratic nonsense that comes with applying for the MTEL which is slowly making me wonder if I actually want to teach in the first place.

But, despite all that, there was a single light of hope this week that almost made it all worth it.

STAR WARS: THE BAD BATCH, BABY!

OH MY GOD, THIS SHOW IS AMAZING! I ALWAYS LOVED THE CLONE-CENTRIC EPISODES OF THE CLONE WARS, AND NOW WE GET AN ENTIRE SHOW ABOUT AN ELITE TEAM OF THEM? KICKASS! AND IT TAKES PLACE AFTER ORDER 66 WITH GRAND MOFF TARKIN AS THE MAIN VILLAIN? SWEET MOTHER OF GEORGE LUCAS, I CAN'T WAIT! I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT THEY TRADED IN THE COOL SNIPER CLONE FOR SOME LITTLE GIRL CLONE, I ALREADY WANT TO SEE MORE THAN THE TWO EPISODES WE GOT SO FAR! GOD, I LOVE THIS SHOW!

Oh yeah, there was also a new episode of Miraculous Ladybug that aired on the same day too, I guess. It was pretty good. Hell of a lot better than the past three episodes I've sat through.

Let's get into the fifth (chronologically the eleventh) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Guiltrip

We start off in the middle of class where we see Marinette looking at Adrien lovingly.

Because the writers are still trying to push the Love Square on us as if they were trying to sell us some death sticks. And yes, expect a few Star Wars jokes in this review. This episode did premiere on May 4th after all.

Rose suddenly gets a headache, and asks to go to the nurse, saying that “Miss Dora” is back. While walking there with Marinette, she explains that it's a code name she gives when her head hurts and can tell Miss Bustier without letting everyone know. She probably felt a name like “Maya Grain” would just give it away.

At lunch, Juleka gets a text that really upsets her, so Marinette tries to cheer her up. Keyword being “tries”.

Okay, yes, this is referencing the previous scene, where Rose refers to a certain snack at the nurse's office she eats to recover her health whenever “Miss Dora” visits called “Mr. Coffee”, but it's just bad timing. I get Marinette has a habit of not reading the room, but why did she have to use the term “Miss Dora” when she knows what it's being used for? Sure, she doesn't know that Juleka knows, but did she really have to say “Miss Dora”? She couldn't have used any other name instead? It's like making a chemotherapy joke when you just found out someone close to you has cancer. Even putting the context aside, what is this joke's punchline supposed to be? That “Miss Dora” will visit Juleka if she eats her lunch? Even by the humor standards of this show, the joke fails spectacularly.

Marinette bumps into Adrien, and although she stutters a little with a little exaggerated body movement, she does manage to take things seriously so she can have an actual conversation with Adrien about Juleka, who wants to be alone. She explains that the text she got was from Rose, who was sent to the hospital because of her sickness, and the entire class finds out because Marinette texted everyone to come to check on Juleka.

Goddamn it, Marinette. I usually defend you for getting screwed over by the writing, but you really aren't on your A game today.

Juleka explains that Rose got this sickness when she was little, which naturally worried everyone else. To make things worse, Juleka also says Rose made her swear to not tell anyone about her to worry her. Everyone else swears to not let Rose know that they know, and the act of support is actually enough to drive away an Akuma targeted at Juleka.

Unfortunately, nobody ever said anything about being overly affectionate to Rose, so everyone in the class tries to do things for Rose like carry her bags, giving her a pillow to sit on in school, helping her take notes, letting her cut in line at lunch, and giving her apples.

All of this makes Juleka remorsefully tell Rose that she told everyone else, which worries her because she hates all the special treatment, so she goes to tell them all about her illness. While they seem to accept her, the next time she sneezes, they overreact like, uh... how can I make this joke in a tasteful way?

Rose says she's had enough with all the treatment, which makes Juleka feel guilty. In the bathroom, she gets akumatized into Reflekta (yet again) with a Sentimonster named Guiltrip. And then Reflekta immediately gets sucked into the Sentimonster, which will cause it to go out of control. Nice job, Shadowmoth.

While it might not look like much, this is easily my favorite Sentimonster by far. Granted, that's not saying much, given all we've gotten so far for Sentimonsters is bootleg Mothra, sentient candy, a robotic doll, a frog with a body count, yet another evil doppelganger, and an eye, but my point still stands. Rather than actually confront the heroes, it's basically a portal to another world where it can trap people in bubbles that represent their regrets and despair, and turn them into copies of Reflekta.

It's a really strong metaphor which reminds me of the villains from Kamen Rider Wizard, who tried to drive their victims to despair in order to turn them into monsters. Ironically, that show's main villain is also some asshole in white who was risking countless lives just to save someone close to him. In general, the area inside of Guiltrip is visually stunning, and easily the highlight of the episode. It's just so surreal, and it really sets the tone the episode's going for.

Ladybug and Cat Noir arrive on the scene, and also get sucked into the portal, seeing some of the victims before they also start to fall into despair. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but this is one of the few times where Angstdrien Depreste is thematically appropriate. Cat Noir points out that if they had simply defeated Shadowmoth by now, none of this would be happening, which is a good point. He even attempts to kill himself using his Cataclysm, but unlike RWBY, they don't try to glorify it.

This also leads to Rose managing to fight off Guiltrip's powers with her optimistic personality (so I guess you could say she's A New Hope for the heroes), inspiring Ladybug to compliment Cat Noir. While I'd normally be pissed that this is yet another way to boost his ego, it does fit in with the episode's theme of positive thinking. Well, with the exception of one line where she points out what her time as Ladybug would be like without Cat Noir...

BEING A SUPERHERO IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. Yes, there are certain benefits to being a superhero, but it is not a fun game you play when lives are on the line. Why are the writers so dedicated to validate Cat Noir's beliefs that being a hero is just a fun extracurricular activity? Has there ever been a superhero who shares a similar mentality and isn't treated like a complete jackass?

So Ladybug and Cat Noir break free of the bubbles, and after summoning her Lucky Charm, a pickaxe, Ladybug realizes she needs more positivity to break free from Guiltrip. As such, she pulls out the Pig Miraculous and gives it to Rose, who transforms into Pigella. Funny how she forgot her little headache condition when she bangs her head like a death metal singer while transforming.

The design is... wait, she's not wearing a skin-tight jumpsuit? She's actually wearing something different?

Yeah, I really like the Pigella design. There's a good mix of pink and white, and the skirt really brings the whole thing together. It really reflects Rose's optimistic and bubbly personality.

So the three heroes find Reflekta, who has been consumed by tons of bubbles. Pigella uses her superpower, Gift, to show Reflekta what her heart wants the most right now. So it's basically a more specific version of the Fox Miraculous? In fact, what do pigs have to do with optimism?

Whatever reason, it works, which helps Reflekta to break free of Guiltrip's influence, letting Ladybug de-evilize her. But because we need to have a fight scene in this episode, the Reflekta clones start to attack the heroes, but Ladybug uses the pickaxe to climb out of Guiltrip and purify the Amok.

So Rose hands the Pig Miraculous back to Ladybug, and the episode ends with everyone treating Rose normally in class, realizing she isn't as delicate as she thinks she is.

So yeah, I really like this episode. Aside from a few stupid things Marinette said this episode, I honestly don't have a lot of problems with the episode here.

I also really like the lesson this episode is going for. It doesn't shame Rose for rejecting the help, and it doesn't shame the class for being to overprotective of Rose either. It tries to find a middle ground, which is an important lesson to learn, not just for dealing with a loved one who has an illness, but for disabled people and other kinds of situations where someone has a disadvantage. Even as much as I ragged on Marinette for the text, it's clear that she isn't the only one to blame. In fact, nobody really gets blamed for anything this episode. It's more of a misunderstanding, and both sides find a balance on how to treat Rose.

It's overall a really good episode, and the second best one so far this season. And you know what? This episode taught me the importance of staying positive, so with that in mind, maybe I shouldn't be dreading “Queen Banana” when it comes out this week.

Wait, what? It got pushed back two weeks? Oh, THANK GOD! Now I feel like dancing. And I know exactly what song to dance to...

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe pt 4: Awake

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here, part three here)

tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia, suicidal implications, mentioned disordered eating, horde typical cult mentality (it's only a little sad I'm just being cautious)

Time seemed to stretch out like the empty space between stars. The chaos of the healing tent continued to ebb and flow but the clone did not move from his cot.

While he was much more comfortable now that his head was no longer swathed in gore-soaked bandages, he was still more drained than he could ever remember being. He felt dizzy and tired, and his covered left eye throbbed unceasingly. Sometimes it hurt so much that the clone found himself wishing that it had been simply ripped out rather than left in it's socket to ache.

In the long hours he saw other patients come and go, wheeled in and out on gurneys by teal robed apprentices. The sickest and most injured were removed, while patients with grisly hastily-treated wounds were brought in. The clone assumed that the new ones were being pulled straight off of the battlefield or from emergency camps. It must have been some time since the battle had ended but the clone knew that all cleanups took time.

He was relieved to find that clones and Etherians were both being brought in, and that his brothers seemed to be treated fairly so far.

The clone wondered what his brothers were doing, spread throughout Etheria, cut off from the hivemind. He wondered how many thousands were now wandering the planet, maybe they were seeking each other out in the same way that he had sought The Breather. 

Far into space ships filled with countless brothers must have been traveling without direction, lost and purposeless. The clone hoped that they were responding to the crisis better than he was, he hoped that they were able to communicate effectively even without the comforting network of the hivemind, that they felt a similar need to survive and preserve the lives of their brothers. 

He hoped that if they felt the same will to live as him they were less helpless to act upon it.

The clone rolled over with a sigh, facing towards the canvas wall of the tent when he could no longer bear to look upon the injured and their healers.  

Everything had become overwhelming. 

The voices of the injured, the sound of the wind on the walls of the tent, even the continuous rasping of The Breather seemed cacophonous and the noises rang sharply inside his aching head. His left eye throbbed in its socket and the ever looming tide of panic once more rose within him.

Since the fall of Prime the clone had been hanging onto his composure as though it were a lifeline, knowing that if he gave in to fear then he risked losing what little control that he had over his own fate, but now the truth set in. He had no control. He was stuck, too weak to even sit up from the cot where he lay. 

He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he’d awoken in the tent, but the clone did know that aside from the water earlier he’d had no sustenance. Oral ingestion was not the clones’ usual method of sustaining themselves, but it was utilized on ground campaigns with some frequency and the clone had eaten before although he was not fond of the sensation. Now as his body felt as though it were crying out he wondered if he could even tolerate solid food if it was offered. 

For all that Prime had gifted them with sharp canines and strong molars their systems needed time to acclimate to solids, and even on ground campaigns it was standard practice to process food before consumption. Very few of them had ever ingested anything that they would have needed to chew.

Maybe he, The Breather, and all of their brothers were going to starve to death here on Etheria.

Maybe that's what Prime would have wanted.

The clone tried to curl in on himself but his limbs would not cooperate. He was dimly aware of his breaths growing shorter and his shoulders starting to shake, but it was if the sensations belonged to someone else. It was as if he was feeling an echo through the hivemind.

But the hivemind was dead.

All of them were dead.

He was crying again, short choked sobs rocked his frame as tears once again wet the bandages on his face. This time he could see, and the tears were not of relief.

The clone could see carnage and pain and chaos, he could see his brothers torn apart, but he could not feel them. He was weak and disfigured and alone, and he could hardly breathe from crying.

The clone did not wail, he did not scream or curse, but he wept. He wept and could not stop.

~~~

He did not know how long he lay there, lost within himself, a slave to his own fear, but by the time that a hand met his back and jostled the clone out of his misery it seemed that it had been an eternity. The clone stilled.

His tears had dried up but he felt yet more exhausted than before. The clone found that he was furious with himself. He had given in. He had lost control. Something soured deep within his chest at the thought that he had curled up and cried, and in his negligence failed to keep watch over his friend beside him. His self-appointed task was the one thing that he had been able to do since his injury and now his attention had lapsed. How could he be so selfish?

He ignored the hand on his shoulder for a moment longer to listen for The Breather. He listened and listened, but the steady rasp failed to make itself known. 

The space beside him yielded only silence.

As quickly as he could the clone rolled himself over, the ensuing pain from his sudden movement lost in a spike of terror that overrode all else.

As he turned the clone was met by the concerned face of The Breather; awake and reaching towards the clone across the void. The familiar face was drawn but alert, his green eyes open as he propped himself up on his elbow. 

"Oh!" The clone half choked as he tried to speak. He felt his heart stutter along with his voice as terror turned to shock. The Breather said nothing but his eyes were wide, surprised by the clone's sudden movement. They both held their breath as they took each other in.

"You're awake." 

His friend nodded, continuing to stare silently at the clone from his own cot. 

"Yes," The Breather eventually croaked, his eyes never leaving the other clone's. "Was I unconscious for long?" 

The clone sniffed and quickly wiped his face, wincing as his clumsy hand made contact with the pulverized flesh beneath his bandages. He took a long breath and tried not to look pathetic.

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly. As he pulled himself together he felt once again like a dutiful agent of Horde Prime; one who was communicating pertinent mission details to a fellow soldier. The feeling was comforting but fleeting. 

His friend was wheezing again.

"I have been awake intermittently for at least a day and a half" He continued, not letting his eye leave The Breather's face. "In that time you have slept beside me without waking." 

For a moment The Breather seemed to draw into himself, his eyes grew distant. The clone waited, his friend had been silent for so long that it seemed no struggle to wait now. Even if he never spoke again the clone felt that he would be content to know that The Breather was alive and awake. 

Eventually the other clone bowed his head, before pulling himself into a curled position on the cot. He was still in the propped half-sitting position but he lay facing the clone, he looked as drained as the clone felt. 

"The hivemind is gone." He said eventually, a dull finality to his tone. "If we are cut off from the hivemind, why are we still alive?"

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly.

"It's so quiet!" His friend whispered, looking anguished as his hands rubbed roughly against his ears. The clone felt his own twitch in response and found himself pushing aside a shock of pain as his cut left ear pulled against its stitches. 

“It is, it is.” The clone agreed. He kept his tone even, afraid to startle his friend. “But we are alive.”

“Why are we alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was strange to listen to his friend after he had been silent for so long, and stranger still to hear his own thoughts reflected back to him. Those thoughts did not hum through the hivemind, but were carried by the rasping voice of his new friend. “But we are. We are alive and if we want to remain so then we must be calm and not alarm the Etherians.”

“The Etherians!” His friend scoffed. “Why should we care what the Etherians think? Why should we care if they kill us, if Prime is not here why should we remain?”

A wave of frustration overtook the clone as he watched his companion lose his composure. He did not know if the fury stemmed from the behavior of his friend or his own thoughts and he didn’t find that he cared enough to dwell on it. If this emotional outburst continued it would surely draw attention to both of them, and after worrying so much about keeping The Breather alive it was unthinkable to imagine him throwing both of their lives away for nothing. 

Prime was dead.

Why should he care what Prime wanted? Prime couldn’t control him from beyond the grave, couldn’t help or guide him. Horde Prime was useless to him now. 

“We are still here.” The clone said gravely, feeling his brow crease sternly although the expression was obscured by the white bandages that bound his head. “Even if Prime is gone we are still here. I have decided to keep myself alive, and if I can I’d like to keep you alive as well.” 

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” And it was as simple as that. 

His friend looked as though he was going to continue to argue but as he inhaled the breath seemed to get stuck in his throat, pulling the other clone into a fit of sharp forceful coughs. His shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around his bandaged chest clutching at some unseen wound.

Startled, the clone reached out, running his fingers across his companion’s heaving shoulder. He hadn't expected this. This intensity of emotion. 

Really he hadn't expected anything. He'd been living moment to moment when not wallowing in despair, and the idea of what would happen once The Breather awoke had barely crossed his mind. He'd wondered if his companion would be disgusted by him, but he hadn't stopped to consider anything else. Now his new friend was before him, awake, upset, and in the midst of a coughing fit that seemed as though it was going to go on forever, and the clone had no idea what to do.

It hurt—the not knowing, the helplessness—in a way that he had never felt before. The sharp ache in his chest was entirely new. His whole life had always followed a set path, he had always followed orders and obeyed the word of Horde Prime, and where had it gotten him?

His companion's coughing eventually weakened, quieting to painful sounding gasps. The clone watched on, unable to do more than stroke his arm in long slow movements. He hoped that it was calming. He hoped that it meant something. 

A moment of inspiration struck him as the gasps turned to wheezing. The clone reached for the half-full cup of water that he had abandoned on the small folding table that Dawn had left behind after re-wrapping his bandages. He didn't give himself time to hesitate before grabbing the cup and offering it to his companion. He pressed the cool ceramic against his shoulder and waited until his friend’s attention turned. 

"Wet your throat." The clone said, when his friend finally looked at him. "Slowly. It will help.”

He was still dizzy, still exhausted, but the clone needed to comfort the other however he could. Although he could not feel the echoes of his companion’s terror through the hivemind he could see it on his face and hear it in his voice, and like a phantom pain it hurt to watch. 

With slow hesitant movements his friend reached for the cup, and he guided it into his hands, mindful of the bandaged fingers. Reaching his arm as far as he could stretch the clone supported the vessel, providing stability to his companion’s shaky hands. And his friend drank, slowly. 

As he sipped on the water his breathing slowed. While his breaths were still short and pained, the terror in his eyes cleared bit by bit. The clone watched as his friend took in their surroundings, his bright green eyes flitting from palace to place, from the patients on their cots to the healers in their white and teal robes. His gaze lingered on the sunlight glittering through the curtained door of the healing tent, and the clone glanced after him, only looking away as his head throbbed from the light. His bad eye was pulsing with his heartbeat and though the clone did his best to ignore it the ever constant discomfort followed him. 

Eventually his friend lowered the cup and looked at him gravely.

“You said that you wanted to keep me alive. Why?” 

“Because you were here.” The clone said. 

It had all seemed so simple before, but now his clumsy words could not give justice to his motives. The feelings were so bright and pure, his desire to survive hummed through his core the way that the Words of Horde Prime should have. It was like distilled light, like hunger. Simple and organic and so suddenly obvious, despite the fact that mere days ago he would have gladly sacrificed himself for Prime and watched his brothers die in droves. 

“I couldn’t be alone, and you were here.”

His friend’s hands tightened on the ceramic cup, and he looked down. He didn’t understand.The clone felt his heart sink.

But then something in his friend’s posture shifted. He seemed softer, somehow.

“Thank you.” He said. While his friend still wouldn’t look at him, the clone felt his heart lighten at his friend’s words. He hadn’t done anything for acknowledgement—praise was more alien to him than the Etherian Healers that surrounded them—but it was a relief to hear something positive. 

His arm was getting sore, stretched out to support the cup, and he nudged it upwards, encouraging his companion to take another sip. His friend obliged, carefully. The clone suspected that the ease with which he took the water was due to the fact that he had eaten and drank orally before, he wondered if the other clone was a ground soldier like he was. 

Earlier—While he lay blind on the cot— he had heard the sounds of other brothers choking and coughing, likely a response to their need for hydration and nutrients coming in conflict with a lack of amniotic fluid within the healers’ tent. The clone supposed that it was lucky that he and his friend were more practiced at swallowing than some. His first few times had taken some perseverance. 

His friend finished the water, and passed the cup back to him, and the clone pondered over what they would need to do next. 

So far his strategy had been to lay as quietly as possible and not draw attention to themselves, but that plan could only be viable for so long. The clone could tell already that he needed nutrients, as well as further medical care. From what he had observed from Dawn and Mendus the bandages that stretched across his face covered carnage that was far from healed.

At some point while he had been unconscious someone had tended to his friend, but the clone had no idea what kind of injuries hid beneath The Breather’s bandages. Something was hurt inside of him, that much the clone could tell. His breaths wheezed with each inhale and they were short as though the very act of breathing pained his friend. There were also bandages wrapped around the other clone’s foot and hand.

He placed the cup back onto Dawn’s table.

Dawn.

She and Mendus had been kind to him despite the fact that he was their captive, they had changed his bandages and treated his wounds. If he wanted to have his injuries seen to, and to ensure the health of his friend, then they would be helpful allies. He was hopeful that they would at least. 

Laying back he let out a long breath. His arm dangled over the side of the cot as he closed his eye and let his head rest against the cot. He would need to make contact with Dawn again, she would be their best chance at moving forward. If he managed to get more information about their fates from her then the clone would be able to plan properly. He wondered what they were going to do now. 

He had always been a soldier, maybe he would conquer in the name of Etheria. While the clone had no loyalty to them if it meant his continued survival he thought he could do it. The very thought felt like a sin, as though he were being disloyal to Horde Prime, but Horde Prime was dead. If he planned on being loyal to the dead then he might as well have died along with him.

Maybe he would be afforded some leniency if he volunteered his service. The clone was not sure how useful he would be now—his left eye was almost certainly permanently damaged if not entirely ruined—but once he regained his strength his limbs would be as strong as ever. If the clone proved that he was useful he might be able to protect his companion in some way. Perhaps they would receive better nutrition  or shelter than those who resisted. 

“I wish I could tell what you were thinking.” His friend murmured. “Without the hivemind I might as well try to feel the mind of a stone.” 

“I was just… just wondering.” The clone replied, unsure of how to voice his thoughts. 

“Wondering?”

“Wondering how to keep us safe.” It felt silly. Just days ago he would have been understood entirely. Silently. It was the sort of thing that they had known about one another intuitively; and they had all been so similar, so devoted to Horde Prime, that they were as many extensions of one person. One Little Brother. 

Now he was one. Himself. The clone wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he decided that now wasn’t the time to be upset about such things. It wasn’t as though any of them had any choice. Now if he was to make himself understood then he would have to explain his thoughts. 

A hand reached over to brush against his fingers, instinctively he caught it and held. 

For a moment they lay in silence their hands clasped together in the voice between their cots, contemplative but trapped within their own minds. 

“I am going to keep us safe.” He vowed, his one good eye staring intently at the canvas ceiling of the tent. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. We will find a way to survive this.”

“Okay.”

*****

I cry when I'm hungry too lol

“companion’s” etymology breaks down into “one with whom you break bread” I like that a lot

I’m adding the “disordered eating” tag because the way that the clones have learned to consume nutrients is inherently disordered. They had no choices and have only experienced eating as we know it (orally) due to necessity, although I do believe that sipping water was practiced amongst the Horde if only due to its practicality. This story is not about Hordak, but I do headcanon that in his case this cultural disorder segued into a more traditional eating disorder

[yukipri]

Bad Batch end of season thoughts/ramble, bc it's been a week and I just wanna get it all off my chest...

(end of season spoilers and very disorganized rambling)

First off, I do want to say that I enjoyed watching the show. It fulfilled its primary purpose: entertainment. It was nice having something to look forward to every week, and even though it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it was fun. The animation was gorgeous, I liked all the references and tie ins. I will likely watch it again, and will watch season 2. This is by no means meant to be a hate post.

That being said, it is critical so please just skip if you're not into that!

The thing is...it takes very, Very little for me to love a clone. He doesn't need lines, or a face, or even a name, and the default is that I will love him. He can even be a little bastard, like Slick, and it's fine. I always want to know more about them, and wish they had more screen time and time in general to develop their characters. So given that we were getting 16 (20 eps total if we count TCW S7 pilot arc) centered around these guys, I was expecting to absolutely adore them by the end.

And I wanted to love the Bad Batch, I wanted to love them so damn much, and I tried. But I think one of the reasons why they never fully clicked for me was that their thing seems to be "we're unique, we never fit in, we're outsiders in our own home, among the people who are supposed to be our own family, and so we've found our home with each other."

Which! That's usually a wonderful message, and not a particularly rare or unique one either for stories! I usually dig these kinds of stories!

The problem here is the extremely unique situation of the clones. They are literally created to be identical, brain washed to be uniform. They must conform, or are killed off by their creators, and their conformity isn't a choice in the slightest, but one of fear and necessity.

Their uniformity is something that they are also entirely aware of--it's unavoidable, they're clones. Once out in the real galaxy, they all strive to find and establish unique identities for themselves, struggling against a galaxy that just wants them to be faceless products. It's a shared struggle, and all they have are each other, and their brotherhood is sacred as a result. Shunning unique identity is the opposite of who a clone is--it's what they all want.

So on one hand, it's understandable that the Batch stuck out (when all others who would have also stuck out were culled, when individuality isn't allowed). It's understandable that they would have yearned for the brotherhood shared by the other clones, and when they couldn't have it, they stuck closer to each other. It's even understandable that they would feel bitter, having experienced bullying at the hands of the other clones (but isn't it also understandable that the other clones would feel bitter that the Batch gets special treatment, when their own brothers with less-than-beneficial mutations were taken by the Kaminoans to never return?).

And so we have this batch of clones, who the Kaminoans call "mutated," but also specify that their mutations are "desirable" (implying what happens to mutations that are undesirable...). They have their own unique unit, in which they're able to improvise and act freely with seemingly little to no oversight, so long as they complete their mission. No Jedi to obey, no nat-born officers who look down on them. In fact, they look so different from standard clone troopers that most of the galaxy probably don't even know they are clones. They have their own ship (personalized), they have their own possessions (which we don't really see any other clones have), they have their own barracks (probably also very unique), and they even have access to superior weapons and armor (most of the Batch, minus Echo, seem to be wearing modified Katarn-class armor which is supposed to be for Commandos. we KNOW it holds up better than standard trooper armor).

So I'm sure they had some unpleasant experiences growing up, and I do get it. But at least at "present" end of clone wars, they honestly seem to be living infinitely better than all other clones? They still need to follow orders but they have more freedom, and perhaps most importantly, they have clear uniqueness that is denied almost all other clones. And yes, some of the clones on Kamino bully them, but we've seen NONE of the "regular" clones that we know to be particularly nasty to them, and in fact it's Crosshair who starts it by calling them "Regs."

And how does the Batch respond to this situation? By acting superior. It's Crosshair who says and it believes this firmly, and I do feel that the others are likely mostly influenced by this, but it's also true that Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech don't really deny this either. They don't like the "regs," they do act like they're "better." Poor Echo, who they repeatedly seem to forget is in the room, and who they call "machine" and such...yikes yo

So I guess the point is, I just really struggled to feel sympathetic towards them, and was already on a kinda eh about their premise. They're marketed as "the special clone squad"--and yet they're not nice to the clones I love. I thought that wasn't great, but also hoped that the series would work towards them understanding the other clones better, and I love character development so that woulda been fine--but, nothing. A glance from Hunter at Howzer. Extended camaraderie from Gregor, who I feel they mostly just tolerate for the mission, other than Echo who genuinely cares.

And on top of feeling not feeling particularly sympathetic towards what I saw as a pretty privileged group of clones, the Batch seems to place primary blame of their woes on the "regs" themselves, who again, honestly seem far worse off! There isn't blame directed at the people who demanded the conformity from the other clones in the first place, that made it so the Batch couldn't fit in. The Batch was modified due to the Kaminoans (and implied specifically Nala Se). She's the reason why they don't fit in. And the Kaminoans are also why the other clones have to be so uniform, why they must fight to be people and not products.

Bitterness and pettiness can be fine in characters. But it's frustrating to see in a group supposed to be competent and elite, especially when those feelings have consequences. Sure, it sucks when someone throws a food tray at you. You can throw food back. It's not an equal reaction to feel no remorse when you shoot that guy dead in a blaster fight, when for all other clones, having to kill another clone is one of the most horrible, tragic things that one can do (thanks, Umbara).

Fives was the only clone to actually point a blaster at Nala Se.

We know Omega has deeply personal history with Nala Se. She was Nala Se's personal medical assistant. We see her cry when she takes off her head ornament that matches Nala Se. We know that being back in the lab gives Omega complicated, and probably not entirely positive feelings. But we barely learn more about this relationship, other than these glimpses.

And I get the feeling that to Omega at least, Nala Se wasn't all terrible. If Omega grew up with mostly only Nala Se for company, she had to have gotten her sheltered outlook on life, and her willingness to help others from somewhere. Nala Se intentionally let Omega go, to be "safe."

I think Omega's adorable, and I do like her. But I wasn't able to fully love her to the extent I wanted to, because there was always the fear that she was involved in the creation and implantation of the chips. She knows about them, she would have been positioned to do so. I want to think she would never, and I was hoping the show would reassure us of that, but it never did. We don't actually know how Omega feels about Nala Se, or even the chips and their presence in other clones. Instead, all we know is that Omega doesn't like "regs."

And again, "they call me lab scrubber," and "I helped put (or am complicit in putting) mind control devices in their heads," are kinda, unequal. Again I hope it's not the case. But it definitely kept me feeling uneasy throughout the show.

It really boils down to I don't trust or forgive Nala Se, and the Batch's lack of stance against her and the other Kaminoans, and clear distaste for their other clone brothers, really puts them in a situation that makes it difficult for me to take their side entirely.

And then gosh, Hunter. During Crosshair's whole "you never came back for me," spiel, I couldn't help but think he's kinda right. He had 15 episodes. Sure, it's difficult to get Crosshair back. But they could have done something. They could have done research. We could have had scenes of them wondering where Crosshair is, discussions on how best to find him, even if that discussion ended in, "but we can't risk it right now." They could have grilled Omega for information on the chips, which they really shoulda done either way, but especially since that knowledge is important to understanding what (they thought had) happened to Crosshair. Instead, they just ran every time Crosshair showed up. The show could have done better to show that they cared, and were trying, instead of just, y'know, doing chores for Cid. One, "I kinda miss him," doesn't really count as working on getting him back, at least in my books.

The sole exception to all of this, of course, is Echo. Who really, he works with the Batch fine, he's a former ARC and can more than keep up. Skillset-wise, he fits in well enough. But this season really made me wonder why he's with them at all. Crosshair's revelation and true feelings at the end of the season were no surprise to me, as they're consistent with what we've seen of him from TCW S7. But for Echo, a former "reg" to have to work with someone like Crosshair...even if Crosshair thought Echo was "different" enough to accept him, those are his brothers that Crosshair thinks he's so superior to, and has no issue speaking disdainfully about.

The increasing tension between Echo and Hunter, Echo's interest in helping Rex, in helping other clones, in doing something...I do hope they reach a point where Echo demands they go help, or he's leaving.

They gave Crosshair a chance, despite the fact that his choices were willing. I really hope Echo can convince the Batch to help save the other clones who don't have a choice. Because even if the Batch doesn't consider them their brothers, they're certainly Echo's. They matter just as much as Crosshair, and I really hope season 2 shows it narratively.

To conclude, again I'm interested in seeing what happens next, and I want answers about Omega and Nala Se. I find it interesting that they tied the facility where they took Nala Se in with the scientist dude collecting data on Grogu in the Mandalorian and those cloning labs. All of this is interesting, but at the same time I feel like it's trying to build up to Snoke/Palpatine stuff in the sequels which...I don't care nearly as much about, but who knows, could be neat ^ ^;

I'm okay with, and have made peace with the fact that the Bad Batch probably isn't the "clones-centric" show I wanted, and that they'll continue their own story, and probably continue to not care much about other clones in upcoming seasons. That's unfortunate, but alright. I'm interested enough in their story too.

But at the same time...I can't help but think man, if they have the time and budget to do a season 2, after seeing what was (or wasn't) accomplished in season 1...I wish they'd also make a Rex/Cody/Wolffe/"regular clones" show, because in the end, if you're going to do a "clones show"....that's who I want to see most.

If you got to the end, thank you for reading, and being an ear to my ranting ^ ^; Again this is literally just getting this off my chest. If this take isn't one you agree with, please just ignore. For people who did fall in love with the Batch, I'm happy for you, and regret that it just couldn't happen for me. But, I'm hoping that S2 will change my mind, but we'll just have to see! ^ ^;

[nibeul]

Saberstaffs: A Guide for People Creating Jedi/Sith OCs

I posted this on Instagram a while ago but I figured I should post it here too! This is basically my analysis of saberstaffs paired with some history and extra info. I’m by no means an expert, just a SW weapons nerd who enjoys rambling about things, bonus if people find it helpful :) most of the general info is backed by the wookiee for anyone curious to give it a look

The History

Saberstaffs are rare among the Order, and while a decent amount of it has to do with how hard it is to master, its origins also play a part in this fact. Originally known as the “Sith Lightsaber”, saberstaffs were created by the Old Sith Empire (as the name suggests), serving as weapons of aggression with the ability to easily overwhelm and overpower. The design had been pretty much unheard of until it was wielded by Exar Kun during the Great Sith War, the fallen Jedi having modified his original lightsaber using schematics from Sith Holocrons he had found. It was forgotten shortly after, trading off from hand to hand before eventually making its way to the Order for safe keeping (this is obviously a very simple explanation since I don’t want to dwell on it too much). The design became popularized among the Sith during the Jedi Civil War, and was even wielded by some skilled Jedi, though the Council frowned upon its use as the staff was a weapon of aggression purely designed to kill more effectively than the standard saber. The Order’s prejudice against the weapon remained a constant even into the waning days of the Republic, and as a result, very few Jedi utilized it. By the time the Invasion of Naboo rolled around, they’d faded into almost complete obscurity, so you can imagine the surprise of Qui Gon and Obi Wan when Maul pulled one out.

Schematics

The original saber staffs were much more complicated than the ones seen during the Clone Wars, consisting of a singular lightsaber mechanism that had two emitters, Exar Kun’s modified staff fitting this design. The more modern staffs, such as Maul’s, were made up of two, standard lightsabers that were melded together at the pommel in order to form one, elongated hilt. I’m actually not sure what the exact reasoning for the simplification was since the original was more effective, though I assume it has to do with the loss of the original holocrons and a change in wielding styles as the years progressed. The Council was right though in the fact that they were made for better effectiveness in combat; two ends meant faster attacks, and rapid assaults could be dealt out by the wielding with minimum movement. On the flipside, it was also good for defense—specifically in dueling, I’ll get to combat against blasters later—because it covered more area with less effort. There was also a psychological impact that comes with most unorthodox weapons, as tracking two blades is obviously a lot harder than one, and either end was often thought of as separate weapons instead of one.

Of course, there were still weaknesses, and with great killing power came debilitating flaws if put in the wrong hands. Wielding a staff without training was fatal in most cases, and it was likely that an inexperienced user would slash or bisect themselves trying to utilize one. A prime example of this comes from Antos Wyrick who accidentally impaled both himself and his daughter when trying to kill her. The minimum movement needed also came at a cost when it came to attacking and parrying because it’s impossible to simply adjust positions, as someone using a standard blade might. The sun djem contact mark could be employed by an opponent with little experience, and due to the length of the hilt, it’s hard to defend against. The best comparison to a saberstaff in terms of modern weapons would be the quarterstaff, though it’s not completely adequate because there’s only so much area for the user to put their hands whereas a quarterstaff, you have the entire length. The weight is also different as the weight of any lightsaber is condensed at the hilt while a quarterstaff’s weight would be evenly spread throughout it. Because the user’s hands have to be positioned at the general center of the weapon at all times (the hilt), power that would be possible with a quarterstaff is lost with the saberstaff.

Wielding Styles/Forms

Next, we have a breakdown of wielding styles, and to do this I’m going to be using Maul and Krell.

Maul

There’s apparently some controversy over what lightsaber Form Maul uses, though based on what I’ve seen from the show and the movie, I think that Juyo is the closest form to compare his fighting style too. Maul’s lightsaber is an extension of his body; he was raised for one thing, and that was to kill Jedi. He is, in the simplest sense, a killing machine, and his fighting style is reflective of that, martial arts interwoven with his strikes and parries, etc. etc. Maul, while obviously capable of defense, is a very aggressive, offensive fighter, and this is abundantly clear in his duels against Ahsoka, Obi Wan, Qui Gon… I’m sure there are videos floating around for each of the duels, I recommend giving them a rewatch if you’re curious. His power comes from his hips, and he relies on straight up striking power and prowess in combat in order to overwhelm his opponents. His style is pretty similar to how one would wield a quarterstaff, which is incredibly effective when it comes to melee combat against one or multiple opponents, but an open battlefield is a different story.

The biggest problem for Maul’s fighting style when applied to an open battlefield is the lack of maneuverability and the uncovered area that makes up the hilt of the staff. In a lightsaber duel, he has full coverage of his body since the blades are pretty one dimensional (I’m not sure if that’s the right word to use, but I’m using it anyways) while against blasters, there’s more open, uncovered area that he’s not going to be able to defend. I don’t recall seeing a lot of blaster vs lightsaber action with Maul, not when it came to his staff anyways, so it’s hard to determine what he’s capable of when it comes to that. I’m just applying what I’ve seen to a hypothetical situation—the bottomline is that Maul is likely a more effective duelist than anything else, and his use of the saberstaff plays into that strength.

Krell

Krell—who I know you all love—uses Jar’kai and I want to say hints of Form V based on his aggressive way of fighting while also on the defensive against dozens of clones. We unfortunately didn’t see a lot of fighting from Krell until he was slaughtering the 501st and 212th, so I don’t have a whole lot to work with here, but I do know that he used the Force in tandem with his staffs which was something that was made easier by the fact that he had four arms. Unlike Maul, Krell doesn’t face the problem of lack of coverage when it comes to fighting on the battlefield—because of his anatomy, he’s able to fully rotate the blades in a manner that covers him entirely, though something important to note about that is the change in power. The power from his strikes come almost entirely from his arms, which is clearest when he’s fighting the clones up in the tower. He’s able to cut through men without putting a huge focus on power, 1) because he’s already naturally strong and 2) because of the reach of his lightsabers. He’s outnumbered, but his sheer combative prowess with his lightsabers allows him to keep an edge during the entirety of the fight until he’s ultimately taken down by Tup.

I think the most important thing to note about Krell is that he constantly makes space, which is a tactic commonly used by staff users specifically (it’s also used when handling other weapons of course, though that’s when it comes to multiple opponents; with a staff, you constantly want space so you can strike from afar). He makes space to prevent himself from getting overrun even when severely outnumbered, and this tactic allows him to employ the deadliness of his lightsabers on an open battlefield, whereas Maul would have more trouble doing so thanks to the differences in their fighting style. Because I haven’t seen Krell in a duel, it’s hard to say how he would combat someone else with a melee weapon, though I want to say it’s likely similar to Grievous’s way of fighting. The sheer amount of blades he holds makes it easy to overwhelm an opponent, and because of his stature, he doesn’t have a need for extreme power behind each swing, which allows better maneuverability (as we see when he’s spinning his lightsabers).

General Pros and Cons

So, I’ll just finish this off with the main pros and cons after breaking everything down and giving my input.

Strengths:

• Offensive and defensive capabilities

• Faster attack rate

• Bigger surface area for deflecting/parrying

• Unorthodox/Uncommon

Weaknesses:

• Hard to store

• Exposed hilt

• Dangerous to user

• Often requires both hands to wield

In general, staffs are best for characters who are older with more than a couple years of training under their belt due to how hard it is to master and the dangers of inexperience. These characters tend to be heavily combat focused since the staff was pretty much made for killing. However, this is just a general breakdown I did for fun, so don’t let that stop you from giving your characters whatever weapons you see fit :)

[newswcanonprompts]

Padawan Lineage from Dooku to Tano going forward to the Empire and have to work together to get back to their times

Buckle up folks, ‘cause this is a long one

time-travel au where 18 yr old Padawan Dooku, 16 year old Padawan Jinn, 13 year old Padawan Kenobi, 9 year old Padawan Skywalker, and 4 year old Initiate Tano (who Skywalker ran into in a hallway and latched onto him when the force rippled) end up getting launched forward in time together to a time between Ep. 3 and 4 in an abandoned temple and have to work together to get back to their own times while avoiding them empire and coming up with a plan to end the sith in their times

TINY FOUND FAMILY???

Look i just want a story about this lineage that matches that one picture of all of them together in like that library

I also want that

oh no now i'm THINKING about that

AND THEY LAND IN A DESERTED TEMPLE

BUT THE EMPIRE IS WATCHING

AND THEY NEED TO GET HOME

AND THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED

Qui-Gon is def wondering how his Master got deaged.

This is after Obi-Wan became his padawan

And Vader KNOWS that he can’t kill any of them

VERY VERY TALL DOOKU PUSHING ALL THE KIDS BEHIND HIM BECAUSE OF DANGER

They're all padawans except Ahsoka

VADER REDEMPTION THROUGH NOT ACTUALLY BEING ALLOWED TO KILL THESE KIDS

He has to help them get home

Even though he really wants kenobi dead

Bc then the timeline will get completely derailed. And it may actually rip a hole in the space-time continuum

Vader has poor impulse control and lots of self-loathing

He might just do it anyway

He may also want to kill himself to put himself out of his misery

but ahsoka is there and he just...can't

Vader knows he can't kill his younger self. And Tiny!Ahsoka gives him all the feels in his otherwise cold, dead heart.

Even though he really wants kenobi dead

Imagine Dooku, Qui and Ani's reaction to Vader being like. Unnecessarily mean to Obi. Even meaner than he is the rest of them.

When they find out Vader is Ani...and Obi-Wan put him in the suit

Qui-Gon: "Is this what makes you feel big and powerful? Pushing around a 13 year old? This is what you need to feel worthy?"

Little Ani asking: "What happened that was so bad I decided to give myself another chain?"

Tiny Obi-Wan, hugging Tiny Ani: "I'd never hurt you, I promise I won't, not ever, I'll keep you safe forever--"

LINEAGE FEELS

Ani: "I won't do it. I promise. I won't chain myself again. I won't hurt you. I promise. I promise. I promise."

Kinda want them all to go back to their timelines with a plan to derail the sith's plans. Like the sith have been planning this for 1000 years they're going to need time to derail all that. So when Qui-Gon goes back things are different because Dooku remembers him and has been doing his part. When Obi-Wan goes back, it's the same thing with Qui-Gon. When Anakin and Ahsoka go back, it's the same and Dooku hasn't fallen. That could be a whole nother sequel.

And then the sith had to adjust their plans to fit their actions and everything is so DIFFERENT

A favorite trope of mine, rarely used in fandom: someone choking back tears of their own while they comfort a crying child.

This, but Dooku and Ashoka

The snark between those two

Also, Obi-Wan learns he was never sent to Bandomeer and that whole mission happened differently because Qui-Gon took him without him being sent to AgriCorps first. Anakin has memories of slavery but now he also has memories of growing up in the Temple because Qui-Gon and Anakin knew to find him.

You're all,,,, giving me,,,, so many feelings

Also, Obi-Wan learns he was never sent to Bandomeer and that whole mission happened differently because Qui-Gon took him without him being sent to AgriCorps first. Anakin has memories of slavery but now he also has memories of growing up in the Temple because Qui-Gon and Anakin knew to find him.

Oh this is a whole crap ton of complicated emotions for them

I want protective "i have to be the protector/defender of these kids" young Dooku, with "I have to follow the will of the force while protecting these kids even though i just want to lean on this young version of my master" young Qui-Gon, with "idk what I'm doing and i want to curl up with my master, but these two little kids need me to be brave" young Obi-Wan, with "recently freed slave not sure who to trust only dealt with grieving Obi-Wan and Jedi who don't want him but needs to protect ahsoka" young Ani who also just wants someone to hug him, with young "recently brought to the temple but too young to really understand what's going on and is just scared" little Ahsoka.

Oh, and the longer after they return, the more their original timeline memories start to feel like someone else's life!

The five desperately try to live on the run for a bit, but they have no way of getting off coruscant easily and are kinda slumming it in the tomb of the temple for a good week or so trying to get news or figure out what happened

In Legends the temple was a light-side nexus turned dark by the death of so many force sensitive younglings. In disney the temple is ontop of a sith shrine.

Either way

It's a bad place for young force sensitives to squat.

Dooku, looking for information: Hello, my siblings and I-- Guy: You all don't look like siblings. Dooku: Different father's. Anyway-- Guy: pointed look at Ashoka Dooku: Are you going to sit here and debate our family dynamics or are you going to answer my question?

One of the two oldest just straight up refuse to put Ashoka down most of the time

She would run off if they did or get trampled or lost or something terrible. In that same vein, Anakin refuses to let go of Obi-Wan's hand

Dooku: This is my younger brother, my little brother, my kid brother, and our sister (she's adopted) and we would like some help.

Dooku: This is my younger brother, my little brother, my kid brother, and our sister (she's adopted) and we would like some help.

Clone Trooper: as you are Jedi, we are instead going to shoot at you

She would run off if they did or get trampled or lost or something terrible. In that same vein, Anakin refuses to let go of Obi-Wan's hand

oh my gosh imagine how much that would mean to little 13 year old Obi-Wan

SOMEONE CHOSE HIM.

It wouldn't necessarily be obvious, if enough time has passed. The haircut wasn't completely standard and, with hiding, they probably ditched their robes or disguised themselves with 'borrowed' clothes

Dooku, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Anakin have to cut off their braids to escape the troopers

They wrap them around their wrists like bracelets

They all cry when it happens

Ahsoka goes around and hugs each one when it happens

Cue comforting cuddle pile

I mean Sheev did his best to erase Jedi culture, so the braid=Jedi apprentice thing probably isn't something very many people know.

Dooku finding out he became a Sith Lord who was killed by Anakin. Qui-Gon learning how he died. Anakin learning he killed Dooku and then became a Sith. Obi-Wan (and maybe Ahsoka though how much she understands is debatable) learning they probably died in a massacre

I mean Sheev did his best to erase Jedi culture, so the braid=Jedi apprentice thing probably isn't something very many people know.

But it may be something the clones are taught to know to keep an eye out for

Are there many clones left at this point?

Mostly stormtroopers now?

Important question: do they have their sabers with them?

Still stormtroopers and then the inquisitors who would know

Prolly Dooku, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have lightsabers. Anakin just joined the Jedi and Ahsoka is too young

Anakin and Qui-Gon's death being so fresh....

Prolly Dooku, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Anakin just joined the Jedi and Ahsoka is too young

I don't think the stormtroopers would know, the inquisitors probably would

[heywejustheretohavefum]

Attachment - Chapter Two

- yes I know that my writings shit but that has never stopped me before so why would it now -

word count : 1.8k

warnings : swearing, canon-like violence

You had been meditating since before sunrise, finding peace in the faint buzz of the city. After spending most of your life on a nowhere planet, you found the unfamiliarity of your surroundings strangely comforting. The sun finally begins to peek through the skyscrapers and bastes your delicate (s/t) skin in it’s warm rays. Pleasantly, the Force hums around you as you let your mind drift into its throngs. Lost to the world, you bask in the Force for Maker knows how long until you’re brought out of your meditative state by a metal hand on your shoulder. Assuming it was a Sepratist droid, you twist around, grabbing the attacker’s arm and swiftly bringing it behind their back with a harsh tug. Only when a very human grunt of pain comes out of your assailant do you realize that it was just your master.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, releasing Master Skywalker’s arm out of your strong grasp. “I-I thought-I mean I didn’t know it was y-”

You were cut off by a hearty laugh from Anakin, his gorgeous blue eyes sparkling in amusement. “You’re good, (n/n). Just be sure to fight like that against Grievous today and we’ll be sure to win!”

“Thanks, master…” you pause, realizing what your teacher just said. “Wait, what?! General Grievous! Today?”

Anakin laughs at your shock before settling down and beginning to explain. “Our most recent intelligence suggests General Grievous and his fleet is within three parcecs of Coruscant. The Counsel and the Senate are worried about what they could be doing so deep in Republic territory, and as the closest General, it’s my job to chase him away. With any luck, we will hopefully be able to capture the bastard before he can escape our grasp again.”

“So why do you need me, master?” You ask him as you walk into the hanger to board a ship headed towards the oversized clanker’s fleet. From a nearby supply room, you grab a small blaster to tuck into the hidden pocket in your pants leg.

“Well, while our fleet will be distracting Grievous, we will secretly fly in and dock in his ship in order to capture him. The Counsel thinks you’re ready for such a daring mission.”

You notice how he says the Counsel thinks you’re ready and you wonder if he disagrees with them. Judging by his annoyed and upset tone, you’d guess he does. Obi-Wan walks by, diverting your attention from the angsty Jedi Knight. “Master Kenobi! I take it you’re coming too?” You ask. Clone troopers march behind him in their white battle armor, loading the ships with blasters and explosives.

“Yes, I’ll be in charge of the diversion, desperately trying to keep Anakin out of trouble - as always,” he responds. You laugh at his joke, which makes your master scowl as he finishes helping load some cargo onto a ship. Anakin catches himself doing so, and quickly stops, wondering why he’s being so hostile toward your happiness. Your happiness is caused by Obi-Wan, yes, but still is your happiness.

“Let’s go (y/n), my ship should be fueled up,” Anakin rushes to pull you away from his former master, grabbing you by the arm as you wave a quick goodbye to the bearded Jedi. He continues to pull you until you reach his yellow starfighter on the other side of the hanger - and you choose not to comment on how he abruptly and rudely ended your conversation with Master Kenobi.

“Wait a second master, this ship only seats one,” you tell him.

“Then I guess you’ll have to sit on my lap, won’t you?”

一

Flying through hyperspace, Anakin can step back and truly appreciate his situation. You, sitting on his lap, begrudgingly cuddled into his chest in order to give him room to reach around you and fly the ship. Despite the dangerous mission you are both hurtling towards at literal light speed, Anakin feels completely relaxed by your warmth and scent. Oh yes, your scent. Though he knows you must use the standard issue soap every Jedi uses, you smell different than that. Like warmth - like the sunlight he found you meditating in this morning.

Neither of you had talked for a while. You’re still mentally trying to prepare for what is sure to be an exhilarating first mission, and your master is basking in the wonder of the moment. He still has yet to understand why being around you gives him such a rush (different than how he had felt with Padmé, greater than it had ever been), but for now he won’t contemplate it. For now, Anakin will just enjoy the feeling of your breath against his skin, of your heartbeat in time with his own and his face pressed into your sweet smelling hair. And you won’t know of the rush you give him.

So enraptured by your presence, Anakin doesn’t feel the ship jump out of hyperspace jerkily. You do, however, and you also notice the large wing of the Sepratist ship growing ever closer as he does nothing to slow the ship down. “Look out!” You shout, snapping your master out of his daydream just in time for him to pull back on the controls and stop the small starship from smashing into bits. “Kriff, Anakin, what the hell was that!?” Your elbow comes around to jab him for almost killing the both of you.

After a quick, half-assed apology, Anakin docks the ship, connecting it to the ‘Good’ General’s ship in order to gain access. He frowns as he feels your comforting weight leave his lap; you slip out of the cockpit and into the halls of the ship, giving a hand to your master as he does the same. Together, you make your way through the ship towards the bridge, carefully avoiding droid patrols as you go.

Now at the bridge, you find the doors to it sealed. You share a look with your master, and you both pierce through it with your lightsabers, each cutting a half circle until your lightsabers again meet at the bottom. Master Skywalker moves the cut circle out of the door with the Force, and you slip through the hole, blocking the barrage of blaster fire with your verdant saber.

Your master runs in after you, and goes straight to Grievous who spun two lightsabers. Deciding you focus on the droids to keep them occupied and away from your master, you start cutting swaths of the smaller ones down. The Force warns you of something coming from behind, and you swing around just in time to block a black pole sparking purple energy from both ends. Jumping onto a control panel behind you, you launch yourself over the black droid’s head, swinging around mid-air to slice the droid in two.

With three more of the strange black droids in the room, all of which were far too close to Anakin for comfort, you slide under Grievous’ legs to get to another one which was about to strike your master before you cut it clean in half. Back on your feet, you twirl to narrowly avoid their sparking sticks and you use the opportunity to kick one of them back into the control paneling before chopping the other one in two.

With them dealt with, you swing at the general, who’s second pair of arms come out in time to meet your saber with two of his own; the force of the swing knocking it out of your hand. Anakin, distracted by your situation momentarily, loses his own lightsaber as General Grievous prepares to kill both of you.

“And now, I will rid the galaxy of two more pathetic Jedi,” he laughs, before he sputters off into a coughing fit.

“Wait!” You say, trying to think on your feet. “Before you kill my master...could I get my revenge on him?”

“What?” Grievous turns to you, his monstrous eyes staring questioningly at your own.

“You heard me,” you double down, “the Jedi have been nothing but cruel to me my entire life, and Skywalker’s been the worst of all.” You spat, glaring at Anakin. “I-I’m not asking you to let me kill him, no. You deserve that honor. J-just let me kick him around a bit. Let me hurt him like he hurt me.”

Grievous narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. You pray that this would work, and wouldn’t just make Master Skywalker think you hate him on his last moment in this galaxy. The droid-man moves the lightsaber away from your head, giving you the go ahead to go over to your master. As gently as you could get away with, you kick his chest, sending him to the floor. Again, you kick him, this time squarely in his side. Slowly blocking the view of the metal man in a way that would be interpreted as accidental, you kick your master again, waiting and hoping he’d understand.

And he did. At first Anakin was destroyed by your confession to hating him. He looked up at you, eyes watering, but your eyes - the gorgeous (e/c) hued eyes that he had come to adore staring into - were trained on General Grievous ganguly figure. But then, when you looked at him, he found there was no resentment in your eyes. Just desperation. And with your first kick, he understood. The unfamiliar feeling of metal against his ribs made him remember how you tucked a small blaster into your pants.

Grabbing it, he shoots at Grievous from the floor, forcing him to block the shot which gives you an opening to summon your emerald saber and ferociously slash at him; his bottom left arm falls to the ground with a useless thud. As cowardly as ever, Grievous turns to scuttle away on all five of his remaining limbs, and you give chase, leaving Anakin to pull both his lightsaber and the one from Grievous’ discarded arm.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re locked, saber to saber with Grievous. His hidden pair of arms unfurl and Anakin knows you won’t see them coming until too late. He charges towards Grievous, and manages to block one of his sabers from slashing down into you, but not the other.

Anakin’s heart stops as you fall back, your tunic ripped open and your chest spilling blood. He doesn’t notice Grievous slip away, or the way the ship shakes dangerously. He can only see you, the way your chest heaves as your shirt grows damp with blood, the way you cringe in pain as you frantically try to control your breathing. “Ani,” your voice is rough and jagged with pain. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s sh-shallow enough. Just go after Grievous, I’ll be fine.”

Your master refuses, seeming to think your injury is much more serious than it is, and he frantically lifts you up and begins running back to his ship, abandoning the mission for Grievous.

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Shenanigans

More Obi-Wan x Padawan!Reader !!! Because @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol has enabled me and I am now overflowing with ideas (literally, its ridiculous XD)

So! Without further ado, this is during the war, towards the beginning so I picture reader being 12-13ish? Due to the newness of the war, she is very excited about the idea of battle scars and battle trophies (As young children are)

Tags if y’all want them? @princessxkenobi @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @obaby-wan @maybege

Masterlist

You were running. Well not running per se but you were definitely not walking. Master Kenobi was somewhere around here but you’d be darned if you let him make you bathe.

Ok so maybe it was a little juvenile.

But it was your first battle trophy! Certainly none of the clones blamed you, they kept the scuffs on their armor, why were you any different?

Maybe because you were covered in oil, not scuff marks but. Semantics.

You round a corner just catching sight of the brown robe as it whisks away and you lunge backward.

“No General, I’ve certainly never seen Commander Cody teaching the Commander any moves like that, have you Boil?” You can hear the voice of one of your favorite troopers, Waxer, (who always brings you candy) who is no doubt being grilled by your Master. You’re hoping his lie is about to get a lot more convincing because you can feel the suspicion of your Master from here.

“You’ve never seen him teaching her to kick droids?”

Ah. This must be the tail end of conversation then if he’s getting directly to the point. Drat. Maybe there’s enough time to go the other way, maybe you can still get to the air duct if you go around, it’ll take longer though.

“…Well I don’t know about Waxer Sir” Boil cuts in, “but I haven’t seen anything like that, why? Did you, see? The Commander, kicking droids? I certainly didn’t, did you? Waxer? I feel like we would have seen—”

You take advantage of the terrible attempt at a lie and make to sprint across the open hallway, all you have to do is make it two more steps---

The shout of your name from your Master almost makes you stop but not nearly enough for him to take off after you before you sprint away.

You turn another corner in an effort to lose him but apparently too late as he wraps you up and makes to carry you away.

“NO! NO I WILL NOT I EARNED THIS!! ITS MINE AND I LIKE IT!!”

You’re proud that though your shout echoes off the wall, none of the clones stare, if anything they hide smiles.

Benevolent as always, your Master responds in the calmest of tones. “We are due to report to the council.”

Oh.

“I think there’s still time you may be able to wash at least your face—”

“General!”

“CODY!” Comes your exhuberant yell. “Tell Master Kenobi I don’t need to wash! I did that move just like you taught me and it---- Um.”

Cody now looks incredibly pained.

Your Master sighs. Well, might as well plunge on.

“I did it just like you said, nailed him right in the circuits! I caught the edge of his oil line with my saber though, even though you told me to be careful, I forgot just like you said I shouldn’t, and yeah!” You gesture to your clothes the best you can from you place under your Masters’ arm. “Now I’m just like you!”

You think Cody’s eyes might soften as they flick up to meet your Master’s, but if they do it’s nearly gone by the time they make it back to you.

“I wouldn’t report to the council without a compulsory wipe down at least Commander, its standard procedure.”

You huff. Surely an exception could be made.

“However General, the council has already called the bridge, I was a man short to fetch you so I came myself.”

Now it’s your Masters turn to huff (and you don’t smile gleefully, not at all).

“Very well then.”

He at least has the decency to set you down before you go in. Though you make the conscious effort not to fix your robes in any way. Art must be preserved, Master Nu always said so.

He greets Master Windu and Master Yoda and then both of their gazes settle on you. You straighten up proudly puffing out your chest to better showcase the stain.

“I see you have yet another Padawan who has a deep appreciation for mechanics, Master Kenobi?”

“Oh no Master Windu!” You cut in tactlessly “This is from a battle droid! I killed it with my bare hands! Erm, well, feet, but they weren’t bare, but my hands aren’t either because of my vambraces I guess and—”

Your Master places both hands on your shoulders and gently moves you to lean against his front. “My Padawan did an excellent job displacing the Sepratists today. The Republic is lucky to have her.”

You turn to look up at him, nearly shocked by the praise and his eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments before he winks and returns his attention to the briefing that Commander Cody has already begun to give. If he squeezes your shoulders and sends a warm ‘as am I’ through your bond, neither one of you mention it. Cody winks at you too, later, when everyone’s discussing silly things like supply lines and cargo, unless the cargo is rations, then its interesting.

The call ends (finally) and the troops have their orders, Master Kenobi keeping a firm hold on your shoulders as you move to leave.

“You will not, sleep like that Young One, I insist you at least change your robes.”

You’re about to respond, turn to him indignantly but he speaks again before you can.

“After all, we can’t frame them if you’re still wearing them.”

You stop short as his hands fall from your shoulders, frame them?

“Master?”

Cody pauses at the door frame and your Master pauses beside him before turning back to you.

“Well, it’s against Republic law to put a living individual on display as a trophy, you’d have to change.”

“Battle trophies are against the rules of the GAR, General” You think Cody meant it to be a statement but it sounds an awful lot like a question, like he’s not really sure that is the rule.

“Well, perhaps so, but I certainly don’t know of anyone in our company doing anything like that, do you? Commander? Why? Have you, seen someone with--?”

Commander Cody cuts in, almost as if he and your Master are having a whole other conversation at the same time that you don’t know about. “No General, I’ve never seen anything like that. Not in all my time as a trooper. Certainly not since I started working with the Jetii.” You think there’s a funny look in Commander Cody’s eyes, like he has a joke with your master.

General Kenobi nods, “Well everything seems to be in order then, I believe we are due for meditation my young Padawan, Commander Cody, would you like to join us for tea?”

Cody does, like he has every night you’ve been on the negotiator for the last month. Even if you’ve only known him three months he seems to fit in well. You like him. And Master Kenobi does too.

Which you don’t plan to do anything about. Thank you very much for asking.

Other than just, nudge, maybe.

[countessofbiscuit]

If you're taking potential prompts...Fox and Riyo discuss tattoos in their respective cultures? Maybe while one gets a new design or a touch-up?

Fox didn’t set the Republic military standards, but he sure as heck has to exemplify them. So it’s my headcanon that he doesn’t have any tats until Riyo’s affection works on him and/or the shittiness of the rest of his life strips his uptight grain. But I like to think this still fits the bill! Thanks for the prompt : )

- - - - - 

Inked

2k. Teen. Also on Ao3.

- - - - - 

The Senate concourse never slept, but most of the Dome’s regulars had long since made for their beds when Fox spotted Senator Riyo Chuchi waiting for the Annex hovertram. She stood alone on the platform, arms wrapped snugly around herself and engrossed in the floor's marbling. The hour was far from social, but Fox had both an apology to make and thanks to offer. And there was no time like the present.

“Good evening, Senator Chuchi,” he greeted from a polite distance. Natborns, especially politicians haloed round by ego, took personal space seriously; brothers wouldn’t give both ears unless someone were right on top of them and they still might not pay any heed.

She straightened up, almost startled. But then — a diplomatic smile. “Commander Fox. Is everything alright?”

Species and biographic profiles popped across his display. Fox blinked them away.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the disturbance. I wanted to apologize for not addressing you properly the other day, when you kindly held the lift for me.” For him, the discomfited idiot, who couldn’t bring himself to enter the public turbolift he'd subversively called when faced with a mere Senate guard and a pretty woman. “And to thank you — for that, and for not giving me away to Senator Robb.”

They’d only just been formally introduced yesterday by the Security Committee Chair — and Senator Chuchi had not let on that Fox had recently broken a Dome directive. Ignorance or indulgence, it mattered little. The effect on the fresh-off-the-transport commander was the same: he was very grateful.

“Oh! Of course. You’re most welcome,” Senator Chuchi answered mechanically. Diplomatically. Stalling for understanding with a squint behind her smile.

“My database wasn’t synced to my input feeds yet,” Fox clarified. He’d been plagued by a deep need to reassure her that he took professionalism seriously. That he wasn’t chronically cavalier with protocol. “I didn’t know who you were, at first. But I’ve modded the software, so I —”

The tram approached. But it was Senator Chuchi’s blue hand on Fox's gauntlet that really stopped his thoughts short at the brainstem. She was very petite and looked about as warm as a silk petal in a breeze; but Fox’s skin prickled strangely under the plastoid.

And she wasn’t cutting him off: she was holding him in place. When the tram doors parted, she did not let go. Senator Chuchi meant to keep him with her. Closely. As no one else was around — especially as no one else was around, Fox had no argument against overstepping another rule if the Senator condoned it.

The tram was reserved for senators whatever time of day; when Dome-bound platforms were busy, and certainly when a vote was called, no mere aide, intern, attaché or privileged tourist could expect passage. The tram droid would spot you at fifty paces, bleat and wail with flashing lights, shame you into the permacrete. Clones were just supposed to walk — or, in Fox’s case, bike.

“Truly, you’re very considerate,” Senator Chuchi replied once they were onboard. “But I didn’t notice. I forget that my face doesn’t always give me away.”

It certainly gave her away as being very beautiful. Fox killed his display entirely. He even indulged the idea of removing his helmet, the better to appreciate her. But that would be quite forward: she hadn’t asked and the Guard had a lids-on policy handed down by the executive office.

Fox cocked his helmet in silent encouragement.

“Chuchi tattoos.” She touched two fingers to her cheek. “Obvious to Pantorans.”

Fox cast his mind back to cultural modules. He remembered certain trivia and understood that this was a situation which called for small talk. “I've read about Pantoran ink. Is there really aurodium in yours?” he asked in a carefully modulated voice, though there was no one to overhear.

“Yes. It’s still common practice for — among certain families. Impossible for the layman to tell, however.”

Fox mentally calculated about twenty seconds until arrival. The time begged another question. “Did it hurt?”

“The first time. But everything is unbearable to a child. They were filled out when I came of age and it wasn’t so bad.”

“Who did yours?” Fox found his questions coming as naturally as her answers. This wasn't so bad. Not at all.

“Someone my Grandmama knew. They decide these things. And they keep the rakes.”

“Rakes?”

“The tattooing tool. Usually the bone — well, it’s … it’s customary to keep an ulna and radius of one’s mother to be fashioned into rakes, and then into button hooks or hair pins once they’re worn down.”

Wasn’t the oddest natborn tradition he’d ever heard. And just the other day Stone reported that a detachment of MPs had cut their teeth over Ohma-D’un breaking up a brawl about some cursed finger of Jango’s. A few units claimed to possess one. Everyone deferred to Geonosis vets, and really, what was the harm? Well, until they came to blows over it. “Huh.”

“Do you have any?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

“Tattoos?”

Thankfully, the hovertram was slowing into the station. It allowed Fox a transitory moment to consider why she’d care and to gather his conflicted thoughts on the subject as they disembarked.

Strictly speaking, tattoos were against regs, at least for clones. The RCMJ prohibited any bodily ornamentation that might bring discredit upon the galaxy’s preeminent military, but culturally significant tattoos and jewellery were permissible for natborns — the unspoken being that clones didn’t have a culture to claim.

“No, I don’t have any. It’s, uhh … not allowed in the Guard.” Not that Fox hadn’t seen some. Even before deployment — back before it was his problem to punish — the occasional itch to differentiate, to distinguish, had defied the longnecks’ surveillance, at least until the next quality control inspection.

Some experiments with filched hypos and med-markers had lasted longer than others. Stars and heavens help the bastards who’d inked themselves and paid for it in sweat and blood and punishment tours, only for the artistry to fade. Or for the shine to quickly wear off their youthful love of Coruscanti opera or the Galactic Senate. Or for the limb get plain blown off.

“Oh. On what grounds?” she asked.

In the main, Fox liked the RMCJ: it accorded a comforting set of guardrails, standards, and norms in a new and overwhelming operating environment. But he sensed a rebuke of the hard facts of life forming in the good Senator’s mind.

No point clouding the issue for her sensibilities; the regs only referenced what the Military Creation Act made plain in Section 3: all of clonedom, from marshal commanders to the lowest and last trooper on the production line, belonged to her federal government. Down to the dermis.

“Defacement of Republic property,” Fox offered as he followed her onto the Annex slideramp, since she hadn’t dismissed him yet.

Senator Chuchi did indeed frown up at him. “Does it really say that?”

“Yes. In the uniform code.” In a number of articles, actually — like the ones about mistreatment of service property and punishments for desertion. “There’s a certain leniency out in the field, I gather,” Fox added lightly, though privately he marvelled how any officer could sufficiently shake that feeling of a cold finger hovering behind their ear and get inked; would he even recognize himself without observational stress? “But it’d be nice to have it codified — or, err, uncodified.”

While he’d made it widely and painfully understood that facial tattoos would be burned off before they could be flagged as culturally insensitive, Fox wasn’t wholly a rule-bound, stuffed suit of armor. He was slightly more practical than purist. The Guard’s plates needed to be uniform and finer than dinnerware, sure; but so long as you were fit to fight, what happened under your blacks was between you, your sergeant, and your capacity to endure barracking.

Fox chose not to see a lot of things and liked to figure what natborns couldn’t see couldn’t hurt them.

Problem was, natborns liked to see fucking everything, especially politicians curious about how fully organic their new army was. Inspect, his shebs — bother, interrupt, and gawp at, more like. Guard Central off the Executive Thoroughfare was hardly incognito and not necessarily off-limits if you could nab some natborn logistics lieutenant with the most basic clearance.

It was only a matter of time before a guardsman got his favorite dancing girl slapped across his back in glorious color and some peeping bureaucrat kicked up a stink about a gross lack of standards in the locker room. Fox could do nothing about General Tiaan or other top brass, but at least they trumpeted a few hours before their arrival to ensure the proper pomp and ceremony — and they didn’t care about the showers.

Senator Chuchi had gone quiet as they reached the main Annex lobby. Fox’s neck dampened to think he’d lowered her spirits or given her cause to regret his company.

He also believed guilt helped no one. She didn’t seem pompous or presumptuous, just unfailingly polite. Maybe he had a chance to make a real ally. “If I may request a favor, ma’am,” he ventured, steepling his hands at his navel like he’d seen the Chancellor do when putting forth a sensitive proposition. “For my own ... err, family.”

This time Senator Chuchi arrested Fox with both hands on his gauntlets. He couldn’t have moved if Corrie’s axis pitched. “Certainly,” she said. “I like to think I’m a public servant. And not only for Pantorans.”

Fox had been primed to make a short speech about clone personhood and the need for senatorial sympathy. He was damn tired, though. And moonstruck. Enough to make him chuckle and ask instead, “If you could maybe … I don’t know, discreetly put it round that it’s gauche for politicians to drop into the barracks unexpected? The men don’t get a lot of privacy and the shower block’s the closest thing to a spiritual retreat they’ve got.”

Senator Chuchi’s bright eyes widened, his display registering a sharp increase in her pulse and temperature. “Of course. You have my word. I’ll see if can carefully address this matter of … discretion. And I’m sorry you had to ask.” Her knuckles paled as she squeezed his armor; he felt nothing but her sincerity.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Fox was so flustered, he nearly invited her to drop by his block anytime, which would’ve been the height, depth, and breadth of stupidity. Instead he said something else that was only marginally short on sense. “It’s very late. May I escort you home?”

“That’s kind of you, Commander. But my driver will be here now.” Her driver — of course: she was as rich as Koros, she possessed a smile literally finer than gold, and she wasn’t touching him anymore. Fox bowed his head low — a head that had almost outgrown his helmet in a moment of unprofessional conceit.

He had to walk back down the Thoroughfare to fetch his bike. As he did, Fox wondered what might bring him to patronize that closet in the barracks he wasn’t supposed to know about. What he’d ask for, if he ever forgot his station enough to ask. What could ever stir his heart so much, that he’d wish to mark the spot.

Hypos and hypotheticals: Fox, senior commander and paragon of the Guard, didn’t have time or liberty for either. He tried to forget all about it.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Mercenary Chapter 7

Maul x reader

Word Count: 1849

Summary: So Qi’ra exists, and you’re not happy about it.

“Dryden Vos is coming tomorrow to introduce us to his new pet,” Maul informed you as soon as he came storming out of the room that housed his holocom.

Earlier that morning, it had been the incessant ringing of that exact holocom that woke the two of you from a peaceful slumber. It was housed in the room immediately next to your bedroom so no one would be able to eavesdrop without having to go through your private quarters. And no one would live through trying to do that. So already, neither of you was in a good mood.

“Why is his pet our problem?” you complained from your place still lounging on the (admittedly luxurious) bed. Making the bedroom as nice as possible was your top priority after security after returning to the fortress on Dathomir. You were not blind enough to miss the way Maul’s eyes trailed up your form, clearly liking the sight of you lying partially exposed on the blood red, satin sheets.

“Apparently, he sees a future for her. He’s been training her in combat, and she’s proven to be quite bloodthirsty.”

“She’s using him,” you deadpanned. “I know her type. She’ll use him for power until she gets the chance to get rid of him; then she’ll kill him.”

“Which is precisely what I said, but he argued that I haven’t met her so I couldn’t know that. According to him, she is a ‘dancer’ while fighting.”

You giggled a little at the way he rolled his eyes while quoting Dryden. “That doesn’t mean she’s not going to kill him one day.”

“If Dryden is that fooled by her, he deserves his fate. We do not have room in this organization for such idiotic behavior.”

“He wouldn’t be the first to have his brain sucked out through his dick by a woman.”

The zabrak raised a brow. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yes, I’ve been fucking you for years just to take your place at the head of an organization that I helped you build.”

“Except you fell for my sparkling personality in the process, and hoped that I’d never find out about your original plan, right?”

“Oh, exactly,” you grinned. “Come here,” you demanded, reaching a hand out towards him.

Entertaining you, he offered one of his hands to you as he stepped forward. “Yes?”

“Tell me, did he realize that you were wearing a bathrobe?”

Maul snorted. “No, he believes that I wear dramatic cloaks like he does.”

“If I recall correctly, you used to wear things like that,” you teased.

“That was a long time ago.”

“So was the last time you laid with me.”

“Now, that is a lie considering that I left you less than twenty minutes ago.”

“See? Forever.”

~

The next day saw you and Maul in the central area of the fortress, dressed to impress while waiting for Dryden’s ridiculous ship to arrive. Maul was wearing his usual attire: black clothes fit for combat at any moment, lightsaber hanging from his belt. You were in full armor for the first time since you reclaimed the fortress two months prior. Beskar pieces decorated your right shoulder and left thigh--raided from a Mandalorian settlement long ago--while strong, flexible leathers guarded everywhere else. You prioritized mobility with your armor given your fighting style, so full metal like the Mandalorians wouldn’t do. A staff was strapped across your back along with a sniper rifle, a knife at your calf, and a blaster at your hip. This was to be a show of power to an extent; the object of the presentation showing Qi’ra who was truly in charge.

Every other guard was in standard armor derived from a mixture of old Nightbrother and Mandalorian in looks. The people that worked directly under Maul in the fortress were the most trusted in the entirety of Crimson Dawn, and they were sworn to secrecy about the nature of your relationship with him. Neither Dryden or Qi’ra would be seeing any sort of attachment that could be seen as a weakness today.

“Relax,” Maul muttered under his breath after you shifted for the too-many-ith time. “You’re a professional.”

“Yes, but she isn’t. I don’t like the idea of someone like her claiming the same position I hold; makes it seem less . . .” You couldn’t come up with the word.

“She is the bed-warmer and bodyguard to a figurehead. I would hardly call that the same as your position.”

“There are those that would disagree,” you grumbled.

Finally, the door opened, revealing Dryden Vos and an admittedly beautiful woman you assumed to be Qi’ra. She was dressed to impress, that was sure, in a simple yet stunning dark blue dress that looked completely impractical for any sort of combat. Apparently, she assumed that since they were going to visit Dryden’s boss, protection would be insured. Your eyes narrowed when you noticed how her dark eyes trailed over your lover’s frame.

Foolish. Never trust people you haven’t met, and then still don’t trust them.

“Dryden,” Maul greeted cooly, “and Qi’ra, I assume?”

“That she is, a true marvel wouldn’t you say?” Dryden grinned, clearly proud of his second-in-command.

“Beautiful, I’ll give her that,” you decided. You didn’t miss the way Dryden’s facial markings flushed with his anger, but even he wasn’t bold enough to speak out against you. “Matches the rest of your collection.”

“Excuse me, who are you?” You had to respect the level of control she displayed over her facial expressions. “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing about either of you.”

“Such caution is the reason any of us are alive,” Maul spoke up, glancing at you over his shoulder. The warning in his gaze was clear: ‘calm down.’

“Darling, this is Lord Maul, the true head of Crimson Dawn. I run the face and keep everything clear with the other Syndicates; he provides the backing we need.” You gritted your teeth at Dryden’s overinflation of his job. “This is his bodyguard, Y/N. She’s been in the position for at least as long as I’ve known him. You’ll probably never see him without her.”

“That’s how bodyguards work,” you muttered.

“And she’s worked for me since the Clone Wars,” Maul informed both of the guests. “You’d do well to respect her, and better to get her to train you. Dryden has mentioned that you’ve been training with him.”

“That would be lovely,” Qi’ra said respectfully. “Perhaps while we are here?”

“That is unlikely,” Maul replied. “Your visit was so short-notice that we couldn’t adjust our schedule accordingly. We are leaving in the morning on a business venture.”

You resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. We don’t have any such plans . . .

“You will stay for dinner, rest here for the night, and be on your way shortly before us.”

“We would love to,” Dryden lied.

Truth be told he and Maul rarely saw eye-to-eye, and it showed at that dinner. While Maul enjoyed decadence in certain areas, Dryden was far too greedy to get along with the zabrak. Dinner was a far more simple affair than any of the parties you had seen on the First Light, you never attended, but you saw the footage for various reasons. The silence was tense. The long table was covered in just enough food for all four of you. You were at Maul’s left hand like always while he was at the head of the table; Dryden was on the end opposite with Qi’ra on his right side.

Telling, was all you could think. If he’s already that comfortable with her, he might be worse off than I thought . . .

Conversation was stilted, but you were hardly surprised. Maul was rarely conversational with other people, so Dryden and Qi’ra entertained themselves by flirting among themselves. As soon as the dinner was over, you and Maul retired to the training room for your nightly sparring session. Feeling particularly malicious, you invited them to watch. The better to show them proof of your prowess.

Once the fight started all thoughts of the onlookers went out the window. The fights were always all-out; neither of you pulled punches, never had. The only thing you were cognizant of was keeping the usual level of flirting through the floor. And based off the split-second glance of Qi’ra’s face you managed to catch while falling, she clearly didn’t expect the zabrak to pull such a cheap move as headbutting you with one of his horns. Dryden apparently wasn’t going full-tilt with her training . . .

By the time you ended the fight (you lost) and called it a night, you were both sporting bloody injuries in various places on top of new bruises. You and Maul escorted the other two to their separate rooms and left them for the night.

“I don’t trust her,” you muttered as you two walked to your rooms.

“You said as much to the idea of her, my dear,” he replied simply. “I didn’t expect you to change your opinion.”

“She’s a presumptuous little snake, and don’t think I missed the way she eyed you up the second she saw you.”

“She would not be stupid enough to try it yet.”

“Yet being the operative word.” You reached the bedroom door. “Goodnight, sir,” you said formally. 

Maul’s brows furrowed, but fortunately he was smart enough to catch on quickly. There’s someone watching, he realized. He now sensed Qi’ra’s presence in the Force far too closely to be her in her room. He was mildly impressed that you noticed when he did not; granted it wasn’t that surprising since he was generally distracted when you were around. “Goodnight. Be ready in the morning.”

Qi’ra frowned. She snuck out of her room as soon as your voices sounded like they’d rounded a corner, hoping to gain more information on the pair of you. Unfortunately, all she learned was your distaste for her was genuine and accurate. She lingered long enough to see if you would do anything after he retired, but you simply crossed your arms and waited. A hard life if she remains here all night. Her exhaustion may be my advantage, was what she thought as she slunk back to her room.

As soon as you heard her door shut in the quiet of the hallway, you snapped your fingers. Instantly, another guard took your place. “Keep an eye out for uninvited eyes,” you ordered quietly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then you could finally retire.

Upon entering the bedroom, you were greeted by the sight of your lover lying nude among the freshly changed, black silk sheets. Already, he was dozing, giving you ample time to enjoy the site of him relaxed and beautiful in a way he rarely was. As quietly as you could, you stripped down yourself and crawled onto the bed with him. He roused enough to share a sleepy kiss when you pulled the sheet over both of your bodies, but otherwise remained asleep. While you were not content with the whole guests situation, you were more than content with your position and quickly drifted off yourself.

[fanwright]

Out of the ATLA characters, who would be best to use as a template for a Star Wars clone army? Would you use only one for the template or multiple characters? If you use more than one, for what purpose would you assign their clones?

So this made me think quite a bit, and its harder to answer than expected.

On one hand, my first instinct is to select any of the main characters. All of them have qualities of some kind that can be seen as highly coveted in a clone template for the Grand Army of the Republic. However, there are some significant down sides to each main character being used as a single template for an entire clone army. 

I actually had a very long winded response to this going through all the main characters and pointing out why one wasn’t suited while the other was, but at some point I realized that... almost none of them are truly ideal for being a candidate for a clone template. Shocking, I know, but I did say almost none of them. Now, this doesn’t mean that any of them can’t be a good individual soldier or officer or star ship captain or whatever you want them to be. As soldiers in their own right they would be good. I dare say some of them would be heroes, even legends. 

But I wasn’t looking for heroes or legends. I was looking for someone who could just be a soldier. I was looking for someone who I felt was of fairly decent character, mentally stable, who could follow an order regardless of whether or not it was the right call, accomplish a task regardless of whether or not it was mission critical or trivial, and one who I felt could tolerate military life without many complaints and just... do it. In short, I was looking for someone who I thought could fit the role of a standard clone trooper. Someone who wasn’t out to be a hero or a legend, nor compelled to be a villain.

And that someone turned out to be Suki.

And in my opinion she’s actually kind of the only real choice out of the main cast of characters we see. And this doesn’t necessarily stem from the fact that we see her in a kind-of-military role already through her association with the Kyoshi Warriors, though I will admit it helped a little in making the choice. 

Think about.

I consider Suki one of the main characters in the show, but she has this aura about her, for lack of a better word. A kind of aura that lends well to being the “every-woman” of any given situation that needs something to be done. She’s not really out to be a hero, though she possesses that capacity, nor is she out to be a villain, though I can see her doing more questionable things without any complaints or scruples, if need be.

She’s one of the only characters we see consistently see in some kind of uniformed role. More importantly the uniform is not meant as a disguise or for some other ulterior motive. When she puts on the uniform, she wears it to be a part of something, to do something required of her. When we first saw her in her first episode, I am willing to bet we were all sold on her being a Kyoshi Warrior. How she trained and how she believed in the tenants of her organization. When we saw her again in the show, this time at Full Moon Bay as a guard taking in tickets, again it wasn't as a disguise. She even said she did it just to assist people there, even if it was just doing something as mundane as punching in holes for tickets. On a regular basis, As if it was her job.

And in a way... she kinda is like a clone trooper. 

Clones have been noted to perform a variety of roles despite coming from the same template. And while many were of course trained in those specific roles, the character and personality of the template itself is a factor in how each clone adapted to their role. Now, it is noted that the genome provided by Jango Fett had to be tailored and modified so that the standard trooper could follow orders more obediently, diluting Jango Fett’s more independent and volatile tendencies  while keeping the qualities that made him ideal as being the candidate. The Republic needed a soldier that was tailored and trained to follow orders obediently, one that could “get the job done”. Guaranteed.

With Suki, you potentially have a candidate that is similar. And this is where we get to the darker side of the clones, one where it got me thinking “Okay, who can we change up just enough to have their personality remain intact when their genome structure is tampered with, to the point where they are bred to be a good trooper?” Again, to me, Suki is the only real candidate. Why? Think about what would happen if you spliced up Zuko or Azula or Sokka enough to have them be bred as the genetic version of an ideal soldier. In my opinion, it means taking away what makes them truly unique. To me, that meant diluting Azula’s sense of ambition, sharp wit, and intense independence, possibly screwing with  her mentality even more and making her seem almost lobotomized. That meant making Zuko less emotionally unstable and less angry, but also turning him into a literal drone in a way, completely obedient to whoever commands him. That meant diluting Sokka’s sense of humor and a bit of his creativeness just to control him, as well as smashing his moral compass to the point where he would be a serious asshole. You gain all their fighting qualities and what makes them good on the battlefield, but you loose what makes their characters unique if you have the Kaminoians have their way. And you know what perfectionists they are. Anything they don’t like, they’ll splice it out or dilute it.

With Suki, you don’t loose that much, as terrible or surprising as that might be to hear. If I was a Kaminoian cloner, I’d look at her and think “Hm. This one seems ideal. She has a sense of independence and seems to have a moral compass, but I can work with that. Not too much genetic tailoring to change that. With her template we will have a clone that can follow orders obediently, regardless of morality. She seems to come from a warrior caste with a strong sense of team work and cooperation. It seems to have been instilled in her at a very young age. This can work to our advantage in making a satisfactory product for the Galactic Republic. It helps that she is a proficient warrior as well. Her training has prepared her physically and mentally. Our clones will be able to benefit from this if we can tailor the genome correctly.” I do not believe much of her personality will be changed through this process, though she will come off as being a bit more “darker” or perhaps more amoral. Still, after giving it some thought, these changes wouldn’t be as severe if the cloners were to tamper with the others’ genomes. Hell, the Kaminoians would probably reject of a few of them outright for not being suitable candidates. 

Now, there is also the issue of Order 66 and the Sith being involved in (or rather hijacking) the Clone Project. If I’m getting the information correctly, Master Sifo-Dyas, foreseeing a war that would engulf the Republic, wanted to commission a clone army for its defense. To my knowledge no clone template was decided on by Sifo-Dyas before the Pyke Syndicate killed him. He did contact the Kaminoians though and from what I understand they were merely just waiting on a candidate to start cloning with. Count Dooku was the one who paid Jango Fett to be the template for the clone army and at the behest of Dooku, the control chips embedded inside each clone were intended for them to forcefully comply with Order 66, which was not their intended purpose when Sifo-Dyas proposed the plan. 

Now, with Suki, I still think there is a way to recruit her and gain her genetic template for a project like this. It involves a bit of crafty manipulation by the Sith. Perhaps someone comes up to her and offers the opportunity up in a noble way. “We have selected you as the candidate for a military project that will ensure the safety of all those in the Republic.You are the galaxy’s best warrior, short of a Jedi.” Perhaps Suki would feel a great sense of honor or pride in being selected, even taking pride in training the clones (As a contrast, Jango Fett was paid to be the template after consideration from the Sith since he was considered the best bounty hunter in his trade. He took no pride in the clones he trained and merely saw it as a job.) The Sith finds ways to manipulate and get what they want. I believe putting on a noble face to do so wouldn’t be out of the question.

So yeah. Suki would be my candidate for the clone template for a Grand Army of the Republic. That’s if I had to choose only one character.

If I had to choose multiple candidates though, thats where we get to have some fun! If that was the case, then other characters would be viable as candidates for clone templates.

We can get something like the Bad Batch, or Clone Force 99, from the Clone Wars show, but on a massive scale and with more templates instead of splicing up the single one.

Anyway, that’s my answer for now.

[thecorteztwins]

These are all scenes from my longass ALT-MARAUDERS FIC PITCH and you don’t need to read the whole pitch because it’s huge and a fic in itself, but basically what’s going on is Xavier ordered Miss Sinister, Madelyne Pryor, Pyro, Haven, and the Shaws to work together as a crack team accomplishing bringing “home” mutants like the Marauders but probably also other stuff too. I don’t really care what their mission is though because it’s about their relationships. Also it looks like ALICE is now the adopted team baby, at least for Madelyne and Haven (maybe Pyro too, I like to think he looks out for her) sorry I don’t make the rules OH WAIT I DO AND I SAY SHE’S TEAM BABY honestly she really fits the theme/the team, given her history? So I’m down for it. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes since you showed interest in it and since it’s got YA BOY PYRO and @hexiva since you asked about it too, though no obligation to read it, or to read all of ‘em! I feel like you might like “Scientists” though, Hex. CONTENTS A Box Full of Darkness - Sebastian/Haven Canvas - Madelyne/Alice Scientists - Claudine/Haven Like An Old Married Couple -  Group Parties, Pleas, and Promises - Pyro/Shinobi Sea & Sky - Madelyne/Haven Awkward - Pyro/Sebastian Stories - Madelyne/Pyro Out of the Frying Pan - Sebastian/Shinobi Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream - Pyro

*** A BOX FULL OF DARKNESS "Do you care at all for poetry, Mr. Shaw?” The ship had a small sitting room that also served as a library, shelves lining three of its walls. The wood, the carpet, the small chair, the atmosphere, all made one forget that one was at sea, and not in fact in the nook of some old college’s study. One had to wonder who had chosen the books. ”No, Ms. Dastoor, I can’t say it has ever appealed to me. Most of the arts do not, particularly the ones that are not visual in nature. I do not see the point of endless stanzas and pentameters to say in metaphor and allegory what could be said much more clearly and succinct in a single sentence of plain simple prose.” ”Then I hope you shall forgive me for sharing a bit---it reminded me of you, you see.” There was one in her hand. ”Ah, what was it? Something from the Decadent movement? Or perhaps some pretencious Bohemian lampooning the upper class from which he came himself? Dare I hope for Ozymandias, perhaps, and will it be Smith’s or Shelley’s?” He was smirking slightly. Perhaps he thought he was being funny. Or it might just be his face. ”You seem to know much about the subject despite a disinterest in it. I rather admire that you took the time to learn,” and she did sound genuinely approving, encouraging, “But, no---Mary Oliver, someone much more recent, and much more recently deceased. I am paraphrasing her here so that my meaning, my reason for seeing you in this, is not confused: Someone once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” He smiled wryly, “Is that how you see me, Ms. Dastoor, a box full of darkness?” “No,” she said, her gaze rising back up from the open pages to meet his, her large dark eyes unreadable as they drank him in, boxes of darkness in themselves, “And I do not agree that evil and suffering---if we must use ‘darkness’ to mean those things, which I also do not agree with, but is what I believe Ms. Oliver may have meant--is ever a gift, no matter what we may get out of it through our own power to come back from it...but I believe you see it this way, do you not?” There was no accusation in her tone, no disapproval. There seldom was. She was only asking, only observing. At least, Sebastian thought, that was what she wanted to seem like. He always suspected her motives were more, and that she was simply trying to disguise the fact she was trying to needle him, rather than making it pointedly obvious as, say, Emma, might. Coward---but then, he knew that of her. “Perhaps in less poetic terms, yes. I’m a practical man, Ms. Dastoor. I used to work in a steel mill. I saw how heat and pressure forged the worthless in the valuable, how the smelting process pulled the precious iron from the rest of the ore and shaped it through force into something useful. The same can be said of people---and I do indeed say it. You have heard me. Is that the darkness of which you speak?” ”The steel you speak of and the shapes it was forced into were valuable and useful...by the definitions of what the humans shaping it needed and wanted. But ore and iron and metal and stone, all these have no intrinsic value, or lack there of. There is no objective difference in the value between steel and granite, glass or diamond, gold or plastic. Thus, too, I believe that when it comes to people, you are deciding what is valuable according only to your standards. But is there objective worth to your perception of strength over your perception of weakness, beyond what is merely your perception?” And yet again, her voice was calm, not accusing, merely observing and asking. Sebastian returned, just as calm, if slightly smug, “Is there objective value in your perception of kindness and morality, Ms. Dastoor, beyond that it is merely your perception?” “I believe it has practical applications, but I have also never claimed an objective standpoint in our discussions, have I? Whereas you have, if I am recalling corrective,” Again, there was nothing aggressive in her tone. She was polite as could be. “I have and I do, but if I am to have it be put to a test of authenticity, I must require you to subject your own beliefs to the same scrutiny. It is not fair for the burden of proof to only fall on my shoulders.” Still also calm, still slightly smirking in his turning around on her. “That is quite true. I apologize,” she relented, ”But, to my original point---while I may disagree with Ms. Oliver’s sentiment, is it not one that appeals to you, one that you share?” Sebastian, too, relented with his smirk becoming a smile, “Yes.” The smile widened, knowing and amused,

“And despite your claim of not sharing the poem’s sentiments, I believe you see me as your box of darkness---and you are excavating me in search of some gift.” He put one hand in his suit pocket and began to depart, though he turned once, the smirk returned, and said, “Do let me know if you find it.” *** CANVAS “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Alice, interrupting Madelyne’s angry rant, “I’m not real.” Madelyne Pryor had just explosively dragged the girl away from Claudine, insisting that the child shouldn’t have to see that...that...MONSTER...at any point on the voyage home. And if Haven hadn’t stopped her, she’d have ensured that Alice wouldn’t have a chance to, by KILLING the other woman, whom Madelyne now realized was aptly named “Miss Sinister” for fare more than her looks. She might still do it... But first--- “Don’t give me that!” Madelyne suddenly rounded on the girl she had just been comforting, been supporting, been swearing she’d never have to see her abuser---that was what it was to breed and clone someone just for the sake of their violation, abuse, beyond abuse!---again. But Alice had hit a nerve. And for the same reason Madelyne Pryor had so much empathy for her, she now had ire too. Madelyne’s snapping did, at least, stop Alice from crying. She’d been about to start, but the shock of Madelyne’s sudden change halted her in mid-tear. “You’re made of real flesh and blood, right?” Madelyne demanded rhetorically, “And you have thoughts and feelings right? Well you're real! The flesh being shared doesn't make it less real, just not unique. So you’re no less real than someone’s identical twin. And even they’re not really copies, because they have different personalities. So the only way you could be a copy---which you’re not---is if you had the first Alice’s same genes AND same thoughts and personality and everything! And you don’t, right” “Um,” Alice sniffled, a little afraid to correct the woman, who was so fierce whether she was defending Alice or berating her (or at least, it seemed like that was what she was doing...Alice wasn’t sure), “Actually...actually...I get all the memories of the previous Alices, so...so....I am a copy, actually...” “Oh,” Madelyne felt her argument just get ripped out from under like a trick rug someone had pulled. Her empathy came flooding back from the girl...and shame for shouting at her. Especially since she knew who she had REALLY been shouting at. “Well...” Shit, what did she do now? She’d just as good as told the girl she WAS a copy! How did she salvage this now? Come on Maddie, she told herself, What did you need somebody to say to you when you found out? “Listen, Alice,” she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, firmly but gently. Her tone matched. “Yeah, you’re a copy. So am I. But we’re still real people, for all the reasons I said. No one gets to treat use like Claudine---or Colcord---treated you. No one should, anyway. It DOES matter. Being a clone, a copy, it doesn’t make you less alive. And so what if you’re a copy? You’re still YOU. You become more and more your own person with every moment you’re alive. Think of it like...like...” A Xerox. It was what she had compared herself to when she’d told Jean what she was. A Xerox that lost a lot in translation. What memories she’d had were either lies manufactured by Sinister...or worse, remnants from Jean that had bled into her mind when the Phoenix brought her to life. “Think of it like a Xerox machine, okay?” she said, more gentle than ever now, voice soft, and little tears of her own welling up, “When it first comes off the copy machine, yeah, it’s a duplicate...but then you can draw on it. You can write on it. You can crumple it up or throw it in the bin, or you can paint over it until it’s something new entirely on the paper. It’s up to you. It won’t stay a duplicate for long though. Either you can change it...or someone else will. But it’ll happen either way. And you know what?” Madelyne put a hand on Alice’s face, looking into her eyes, “I bet you can paint a real masterpiece.” *** SCIENTISTS “Are you alright, Claudine?” Madelyne had whisked Alice off. Haven had been going to do that originally, but since Madelyne had stepped in, Haven would leave it to her. She didn’t need to be the hero every time, and Madelyne...Madelyne had much in common with Alice. She might be better for Alice. And Alice might be good for her. But Haven’s next concern after Alice and Madelyne was Claudine. Claudine was the victimizer, yes. She had done awful things to Alice, to the Alices before her, to the other children. She had also been a victim too, and no one else here had pity for her now that they knew what she’d been besides that. No one else but Haven. “No moral outrage, Radha?” Claudine smirked slightly. She’d retreated to her lab, and it was hard to tell if she’d been expecting Haven to follow or not. “Of course,” said Haven calmly, “It horrifies and revolts me that those girls were bred only to be used as their hosts, their entire personalities, their souls, displaced for yours. Horrifies and disgusts me. Just as it horrifies and disgusts me, on just as deep a level, that the same was going to happen you if you did not escape in such a way.” “So because I was in danger of something terrible happening, you can excuse what I did?” Claudine sounded curious, mocking somehow, tapping one red-pink nail against a porcelain cheek. “Not excuses,” said Haven still calmly, “But I understand. And I still care if you were hurt just now.” “It’s more than that, isn’t it though?” said Claudine, still sounding amused, “You want to see if I’m wracked with guilt or not, if I hate myself. You want to see if I’m remorseful or tortured like you, like you want me to be maybe. Like you hope I am because it proves I must have some good in me, and you can comfort me and feel good about that. And if I’m not remorseful at all, you want to see why that is, if it’s because of Sinister or if it’s just me. And then if it’s just me...you want to figure me out too. Like you do with dear Sebastian.” Haven blinked, her sole sign of surprise, “That’s quite a lot of conjecture, Claudine. But...you are not incorrect, no. We do like to divide things neatly into victims who could do nothing, who had no power, and the victimizers who are wholly monsters...but that’s not wholly true, is it? Sometimes, the victims can do something. And sometimes, the only thing they can do is a monstrous thing. They’re caught in a Catch 22---either they don’t do the one thing they can, and thus will feel they are to blame for what happened. Or they do it, and they must live with the guilt. I can’t tell you if you were right or wrong Claudine, because---” “---sometimes there is no right or wrong, because the entire situation was wrong, and that’s not your fault.” Claudine finished, “I’ve heard how you talk with the kiddies, Haven. Like those little ones we pulled out of the fight pit. Or the one who pushed his friend forward at the flesh market so he’d get taken instead. You’re just oh so understanding, aren’t you? Seeing things from all sides.” “I would hope so. I certainly try to be. But, I admit, I’m not seeing something right now...why do you say that with what sounds, to me, as a mocking tone? Am I misinterpreting you, Claudine?” “A bit. I’m not mocking you, really I’m not---but I am teasing a little. It’s just so funny, you know?” Claudine’s index finger was next to her smiling mouth, “How you’re always thinking, always watching, and how I’m the only one who notices. What do you think the others would think, if they knew?” “I’m afraid I’m still not understanding you, Claudine. Would you mind helping me by putting it a bit plainer?” “Ever so polite. Come on now, Haven---as well as you know people, you must know they don’t like being put under a microscope. Everyone likes the IDEA of someone who “gets” them, who knows just what they’re feeling and what they need without them ever needing to open up all their vulnerable little insides like clams willfully tearing themselves out of their shells...but when it actually comes along, they don’t like it. Especially if it doesn’t feel earned, or specific to them. Because when they say they want that, they’re thinking of a partner, a lover, one single person who knows them that well because they’ve been with them that long, and love them, just them, that much. But telepaths like me, we get all that without having to see them as special at all. We don’t have to love them or spend time with them to KNOW them. We don’t have to open ourselves up in exchange. That’s why people don’t like us. And that’s---” She stepped close to Haven and bobbed her fingertip just above the other woman’s nose, “---why they wouldn’t like you. Oh yeah, you’re great when you’re sensitive and empathetic and all that, when you just know when someone needs a cup of tea or a shoulder to cry on...but it’s only to a point. Underneath all that soft silk and sweet words, you’re a lot like me---a scientist. We see the data. We gather it. We examine it. We analyze, we classify, we theorize. People call Xavier creepy these days but I think he’s just finally being honest.” She picked up Haven’s right hand, and raised it up, Haven allowing her. “So,” Claudine met her eyes, still smiling, “When are you going to be honest too?” Haven smiled back, with kind sincerity as always, “May I be honest now, Claudine?” “Of course.” Haven put her other hand on top of Claudine’s, sandwiching the unnaturally pale paw between her two soft brown ones, “Everything you say is accurate. But it’s also a deflection. You could have told me that you just did not wish to talk about Alice, you know. I would not have pried or pushed you. You know I never do.” Claudine laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who had just been proven completely correct. *** LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE “We’re going to need you to go undercover for this mission,” Xavier explained to the team, “It’s been decided that Sebastian and Haven will do best in this environment. Naturally, you will be outfitted with image inducers, and provided with all the false documentation required.” He slid a folder across the table to them, explaining, “You will be posing as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. King.” “King. I’m sure you thought that was very clever, Charles,” said Sebastian, picking the folder up and perusing it, “And I see our first names are...Abraham and Lakshmi. Is that a reference to something?” “Lakshmi is the goddess of which Radha is an aspect,” Xavier explained, “And Abraham...well, that just sounds slightly like Hiram, your middle name, or so I thought. I thought it might help the pair of you remember your identities, without being obvious to others.” “Well, thank you Charles. It’s good to know you put a man on the Quiet Council of whom your opinion is so low you think I can’t remember two names for a single night,” said Shaw, getting up and taking the folder with him, without excusing himself. The rest of the team follow suite, save Haven, who of course said the politest of goodbyes and thanked him for arranging the false identities. clever, and our first names “We’re leaving in the next five hours, so there’s hardly any time to prepare,” Sebastian said, plainly speaking to Haven even though he was looking ahead, not at her, “Ms. Dastoor, come with me so that we may discuss the details of our ruse.” Pyro watched the pair like a hawk as they went in a different direction from the rest of the crew. “Jealous, Pyro?” Claudine quipped, “I confess, I didn’t think Sebastian was your type...then again, he does have a certain resemblance to Dom I suppose...” Pyro was in no mood to play, however. “If he touches her I’m a-toast him from the inside out, see if his stinking GUTS are fireproof!” he proclaimed, a small jet of flame emanating from his wrist-shooter for emphasis. “Husband and wife...what’s Xavier thinking?! And she’ll be all alone with him and have to keep up the act if he does anything!” “Don’t sweat it,” Shinobi assured, “ I know my dad. She’s like ten years too old for him to be interested.” Pyro looked confused, “Isn’t she YOUNGER than him?” “Yeah,” said Shinobi. A look of disgust came over Pyro’s face. “Don’t look shocked,” Madelyne told him, “Don’t forget, he dated someone under ten once.” And that garnered...about the expressions you’d expect. Even from Claudine. “Me, you idiots! I was making a joke!” Madelyne clarified, seeing their shock and horror on their faces, “I’m technically like twelve years old max! God, you people...”  

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Haven’s conversation in the former’s ship office was not far off. “With all that covered...” Sebastian finished as the last of their act was hashed out, “I have to bring us to what will likely be the most difficult part of this for you. Ms. Dastoor, I am not sure what the norms are for married couples in public in your country, but at some point in the evening...I will most likely put my arm around your shoulders.” “I understand,” said Haven, with the solemn gravity required for such a thing. “There will hopefully be no need for anything else, but if dancing occurs, there is a chance that a hand on your waist will be required as well. Can you allow and “act natural” this without displaying any discomfort?” "This will be tolerable if need be, Mr. Shaw, though not preferable. Will your hand be on mine, outside of potential dancing?” Sebastian cracked a smile, amused, “Husbands and wives don’t hold hands, Ms. Dastoor. I’m shocked you’ve never noticed that. It’s far too intimate for a married couple.” “I’m afraid you lost me, Mr. Shaw. Too intimate for a married couple? Is this a Western peculiarity?” “Men don’t slap their wives bottoms, Ms. Dastoor, “Sebastian explained, “They slap the bottoms of waitresses and flight attendants when their wives aren’t there. Does that help illustrate it better? “Yes, I think I see, Mr. Shaw.” “We probably haven’t had sex in the last 25, 35 years. At least not with each other.” “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” “ Our marriage bed is as dry as the Sah—” “Thank you, Mr Shaw.”           It was the first time that Sebastian had ever heard Haven cut him, or anyone, off. He would have taken offense from someone else, but he actually liked this, and smiled. He found it amusing he’d managed to get under her skin enough to prompt such a, for her, dramatic reaction. He’d have to make a note of this. *** PARTIES, PLEAS, AND PROMISES These Krakoa portals were truly a godsend. For many mutants, that was because the X-Men and other agents of Krakoa could now come to them easily and bring them to a safe place. For others it was because it enabled them to keep contact with their family and friends while also not having to leave what they felt was at last a place they could belong. But for Pyro and Shinobi...it meant bar-hopping from Manhattan to Moscow to Mexico! to Bulgaria to Bangkok to Taiwan to Timbuktu! In Manhattan, a cute guy with a nose piercing bought them beers and guided them through the city with his friends, boyfriends, and cousins til 5 AM when the guy’s cousin decided she really wanted spahgetti, so they all went to her house in the Harlem projects where she made them some and then they watched 90s hip hop music videos together. They stayed til 10 AM, then hopped a portal to Mexico, and went to a resort strip, where they got piss drunk again by doing shots with a guy covered in tattoos who might have also been involved with the cartels---Shinobi said he knew him from his dad’s black market business---and then Pyro got in a fight with the bouncer while Shinobi snorted molly in the bathroom stall. Got drunk again in Shanghai, fell off the bouncy dance floor, made friends with some Ukrainian tourists and went back to their hotel, walked in on an orgy, and when in Rome... Next thing they knew, they were in downtown Tokyko, drunk again, running on foot from the Japanese police, each of them holding a marijuana plant in a pot, laughing uncontrollably. Shinobi grabbed Pyro’s hand and they phased through a wall, only to fall down through thin air into an underground parking garage. Their potted pot plants shattered as they hit the concrete, and this just made them laugh more despite their own bruised tailbones as they lay there between a couple of cars. Eventually, when the giggles ran out, Shinobi slurred, “Man, I’m so glad...so glad our last night is awesome.” “Wha?” Pyro said, not sure he’d gotten that right. He was pretty boozy right now, after all, “What’d you mean, last night?

"Well, I, uh,” Shin said, obviously uncomfortable, “I decided...if I can’t hang out w’you anymore...gonna make the last time a good time.”

”Wh--” Pyro started, then his expression soured, “It’s yer dad, isn’t it?”

No answer.

”I knew it! He told you...tol’ you you couldn’t...be mates with me no more...that it?”

Shinobi mumbled.

”Listen Shin...forget him! You a grow...grown man! Y’don’t have to do what that old douchebag says! He’s just a...just a cunt, a right cunt, y’know? Fucking cunt...” Pyro wobbled back and forth, so vehement was he in his support.

”Well, we’re workin together now...” Shinobi said weakly.

”Yer workin WITH him though not for him! And why’re you even doing that? C’mon, he he wasn’t any good to you why should you do anything for him?”

Shinobi looked shocked, then angry, demanding, “How d’you know that?!” "Pfft, I’m not as thick as your old man thinks, you know! I can pick up a hint or two! Especially when it’s you telling me.” Shinobi looked shocked again, and Pyro, still swaying in place, clapped him on the back and explained, “Ah, I don’t expect you to remember but you’ve said a few things when you were as full as the back of a plumber's ute.Don’t worry, weren’t nothing too personal, no specifics, so don’t look so scared alright?” Pyro knew how it was to want to keep some things private, things that hurt, and even drunk he was trying to be sensitive to that, sensitive as someone like him could be. He continued, “And anyway, would have still guessed. He’s such a right bastard to everyone, can’t imagine him being some warm old papa bear behind closed doors. “He’s---” Shinobi started, about to tell Pyro about just how horrible his father was, and then remembered how ‘sympathetic’ Warren had been, and instead went back on the defensive, “Well it’s none of your business!” Pyro shrugged, not deterred, “Sure it’s not but I’m a journalist, so what do I care? It’s been my job to go where I’m not wanted. And you can do what you want, Shinobi me mate, but you can’t expect ol’ St. John to just keep his trap shut on anything, you know that. Calls it likes I see it, me. Thought you liked that.” There was a sobering silence between the pair for a moment, sitting on their butts in the silent garage while the noise of the Tokyo nightlife sang beyond the concrete walls of what they were missing. “Don’t...don’t tell him I said anything,” Shinobi said at last. Pyro promised him he would not. For he heard the plea in his new pal’s voice. *** SEA AND SKY (Context: Happens just after THIS) “Haven?” Madelyne arrived to the rescue, praying she wasn’t too late. She’d thought she was when she saw the wreckage, but she also saw Haven within it. And she wasn’t lying there like a body, she was sitting up, kneeling over...something. “Haven, thank god! Are you injured? Stay right there, I’ll come over and help---oh dear lord.” As Madelyne had begun to move forward, she’d seen what Haven was kneeling over, its half-charred head in her lap. “Is he---” “Yes,” said Haven, calmly, sadly, distantly. Madelyne didn’t ask how; it was obvious, the explosion killed him. She’d thought his powers would protect him from that kind of thing; it must have been specialized to combat that. Freaking Pierce. She didn’t bother to question how Haven was alive, but if she had, she’d assume maybe it was something also designed only to kill humans and Haven had been in a safe place during the explosion and then found Sebastian’s remains after. Something like that. “Alright, come on,” she said gently but firmly, taking Haven by the arm, trying to pull her up, “There’s nothing you can do for him now. He’ll be reborn on Krakoa by the time we go back to pick him up anyway. Wait, what are you doing? Haven, put that down, that’s disgusting!” Haven was carrying the...torso. She was tenderly cradling the great hunk of lifeless meat, needlessly supporting the neck and head as one would for an infant. The sight out Madelyne in mind of a bizarre Pieta scene. Madonna of the Charnel House.             “Haven, he’s dead!” “I know, Madelyne, I know. But isn’t it...wrong to just leave a body here? I know he will have a new one on Krakoa, but it still feels obscene to leave the old one unburied, unconsecrated, uncared for.” “Haven...” Madelyne started, not sure what to say. And she thought of something she never had before. What had happened to her body? Her first one? The original? The one that died at the end of Inferno? She’d come back first as a being of pure psychic energy disguised in a human form, a very solid ghost, essentially. That was all she was for a long time, walking and talking and fucking, all while TECHNICALLY still being dead. It was only recently that she had really become flesh and blood again, Jean Grey’s DNA spliced by Arkea into the body of a woman named Ana Cortes, altering the physical appearance of the young Columbian into that of the redhead and allowing Madelyne Pryor’s consciousness to take up residence in it...meaning Madelyne was still, as ever, occupying a body that wasn’t really her own. And her first hadn’t been her own either, just a copy of Jean’s, but she wondered now, what had been done with it? Knowing the X-men, they gave her a perfectly proper funeral. Maybe they even cried. But she wished, perverse as it seemed, that they had thrown her out with the garbage, had the HONESTY to treat her in death as they ultimately had in life, than PRETEND that they really saw her as a loss. She knew they didn’t. Even the ones who knew her FIRST, Rogue and Psylocke and Longshot, who had met her BEFORE they met Jean, even they had wanted that witch instead of her at the end.... “Yeah, okay, just...just put it somewhere it won’t...rot,” she said uneasily, “And we’ll call Sebastian when he...when he wakes up. See what he wants to do with it.” It should be, Madelyne felt, his choice, and Haven agreed. When he did get the call, his reply was firstly being rather disgusted they had kept it, and then, without any emotion, said they should just thrown the “damn thing” overboard. “Funeral at sea then,” said Madelyne as she turned off the phone, “You want to do the honors, Haven? Since it was your idea.” Not like anyone else wanted to be a part of it. Well, except Shinobi, who had suggested launching it like a cannonball and then having Pyro set it aflame in the sky.  They thought they were funny. “Would you mind helping me terribly, Madelyne?” Have asked, “I’d rather lower it down gently, and if your telekinesis could that, I would appreciate it...but I also understand if you don’t wish to touch something so gruesome, even psychically.” “I’m not squeamish,” Madelyne smirked. As she performed the task, she noticed Haven was silent. “You’re not gonna...say a few words, or anything?” “Mr. Shaw has told he isn’t religious, so I don’t think he would want it. And he isn’t...well, he isn’t dead. So what does one say, really?” “Hell if I know,” said Madelyne, “It’s funny---I’ve been dead a lot, you’d think I would be an expert on it.” As she began levitating the chunk of meat that once house Sebastian Shaw’s mind and soul, if he had the latter, she continued, “I never even thought about what should be done with my body...which isn’t really even mine now actually, don’t ask...I guess cremation is most appropriate. Fire, you know. It’s kind of my thing, whether I like it or not.” “I’ve always wanted a sky burial, myself,” said Haven. “I’ve never heard of that,” Madelyne sounded very interested. The word ‘sky’ had piqued her interest as a former pilot. “It’s a practice among my mother’s people, the Zoroastrians, as well as many other people, such as Tibetans. The body is placed on a mountaintop to be decomposed naturally by the elements and the animals. In Ancient Zoroastrianism specifically, it was placed on the Dakhma, the Tower of Silence, to be desiccated by the sun and consumed by birds of prey. I realize this sounds ghastly to a Western point of view, but--” “No, no, I get it. You’re just...going back to nature, becoming a part of everything else again, right? That sounds like your kind of thing.” Haven smiled at her, “It is.” Below, the body gently broke the surface of the waves, and Madelyne released her hold, allowing it to sink. “I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing here. Just with fishes instead of birds. Me though...that’s not for me. I don’t want to be a part of everything. Not when I’ve fought so hard...to just be ME.” *** AWKWARD “Hey! You got a problem with me, fuck knuckle?!” Calmly, Sebastian turned his head in the direction of the insult just hollered at him from the the far end of the deck, “Why, several, Mr. Allerdyce. Though most of them stem from the back you quite clearly have a problem with ME.” The Australian was drunk, but Sebastian knew from experience that the scrawny little bastard didn’t need THAT to be rude and belligerent, in particuliar rude and belligerent to Sebastian. Sebastian could ALMOST appreciate the balls on him, if only he could back them up. But without his fire to intimidate---and it could not intimate Sebastian---he really was just like one of those irritating little rat dogs peeking from ladies’ purses to bark challenges at true canines. “You’re damn right I do!” Pyro returned, “For starters, you’re---” And then continued with a really rather impressive listing of all his opinions on just what made Sebastian Hiram Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club---er, Trading Company---just such unbearable company. Sebastian listened in a detached, blaise manner, quite unruffled by the display of uncouth unruliness, and ready to simply throw the fool overboard should he come close enough to grab. “And on top o’ all that, yer a homophobe to boot!” What. Sebastian blinked. Nothing else had surprised him in the entire rambling rant, but this? This he had not seen coming. “Come again, young man?” “You heard me! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always tryin’ t’get between me and your son! You don’t want him catchin’ the gay any worse than he’s got, eh?” Sebastian stared at him for another moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned away, and put his fist up to his lips, as though stifling a cough, “Excuse me.” Did that fucker just laugh?! Pyro wondered. “Excuse my boot up yer arse, you old dicknob! Listen, it’s 2020, and you can’t get away with---” He is laughing! He was indeed. Pyro had not been prepared for this. “Hey...hey what’s so damn funny, huh?!” “Nothing, nothing,” Sebastian waved a hand, but it was clear from his voice he was still trying VERY hard not to laugh again, “Please, do go on about my bigotry. After all, I’m very conservative when it comes to sexual practices, as I’m sure you know.” Something begin to click in Pyro’s intoxicated mind. Something that suggested...he might have made a mistake here. And an admittedly pretty hilarious one. “Oh god yer in the fucking Hellfire Club, “ he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course you don’t care about that...” “Well, it was funny though,” Sebastian said, and the bastard was actually SMILING, “Thank you, Mr. Allerdyce, I haven’t been that tickled all week. But, no, I know about my son’s egalitarian predilections with regards to sex and gender----he inherited them from me, after all.” Oh. Oh god. Of all the things Pyro HAD NEVER WANTED TO KNOW OR IMAGINE. A moment ago, Sebastian had been planning to throw Pyro overboard. But now? Now Pyro was considering just doing it to HIMSELF. *** STORIES       “And then I got to Cambodia and let me tell you---food is great. People say don’t ask what’s in it but me, I got to ask---it’s my job, see---and yeah, they eat things ‘Mericans never would, or most Aussies, but I say, why’re we judging? We eat pigs and those’re way more intelligent than spiders or half-hatched duck eggs, seems we’re the savages for that, y’know? Not that I’m givin’ up pork any time soon but you know what I’m saying?” Pyro and Madelyne were sitting on the ship’s edge, watching the sun go down over the water, sharing a few beers, talking about what they’d done before all this. “You don’t look like you ever ate pork in your life, string bean,” replied Madelyne, “ But yeah. You say Cambodia? What part?” “ Senmonorom, capital of Mondulkiri Province.” “No kidding! I dropped cargo off there once!” Madelyne exclaimed, “When I was a pilot! Spent the whole rest of the day there since I had the time. Couldn’t understand a word but I loved the---oh no, hahaha, I loved the food!” “Ha! I’m sure it was just noodles you got, love.” “Mmm...pretty crunchy noodles, then...” She paused, and looked pensieve, more serious, “It’s crazy. I can really remember the texture. Not the taste though. He must not have known what it tasted like.” “He?” Pyro asked. Madelyne was suddenly sober in more ways than one, as she explained, looking away, “I never went to Cambodia. I never flew that plane. That cargo never existed, and neither did whatever I ate.” “Well, y’don’t need to lie to me get me to like you, Madelyne.” “No, you don’t understand---they’re not lies. I mean, they are, but---they’re not to me, I---but they are---I hate them, but I forget that they’re not---” She was clutching her hair now, and  looked distressed. “Whoa, whoa, hey there mate, what’s the matter?” Pyro placed a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down, something he wasn’t great at even for himself, “Listen, Maddie...I been through some crazy shit. And I heard crazier on Krakoa from people. We mutants...or, people who are, I dunno, mutant-adjacent like you...we live weird lives. You don’t GOTTA tell me but I’ll believe you.” Madelyne took a  deep inhale, “It’s not that. I know you’ll believe me. It’s just...I never really talked to anyone about it, you know?” Pyro was uncomfortable now. He braced himself. He didn’t like going deep, he wanted everything to just be fun and casual. But he wasn’t going to run away or brush it off either. He owed his friends better than that; when he’d been on his last legs with the Legacy Virus, his friend Avalanche had been everything. He knew their value. Madelyne, too, needed to amp herself up for this. “So you know I’m a clone, right? Of Jean Grey?” “It’s come up, yeah.” “I was grown to full adulthood in a...in a vat, basically. But Sinister---the man who did it---didn’t want me to KNOW what I was. Would spoil the plans he had for me and...for me and Scott. So he gave me some false memories. Mostly I had “amnesia” but I could remember being a pilot. To explain the memories of flight and fire that I got from Jean----what memories don’t come from him, are from her. Well, the Phoenix actually...it’s complicated.” “Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s rough, buddy,” oh god he sounded like an idiot, “ But in my book, you still went to Cambodia.” He was answered with an eyebrow quirk from his friend, and so he elaborated, “Look, I’m a journalist, and I’m a writer, and I...I write stories. Even when it was something true, I’m still making a story about it. And when I make it up entirely, it’s as real a story as when I wrote the one about the real event. Ah fuck, I can’t talk, can write a damn novel but I fuck up all the words when I try to SAY it...look, Maddie, what I’m saying is,” He put a hand on her shoulder, “When I met you, it wasn’t who you are now, or who you were when you came out of that vat. It was some human bird running with the X-Men in Dallas. Yeah, I noticed you looked a hell of a lot like Jean and I thought that was who you were the whole time. Then I saw the broadcast they made, where you talked to your husband---shit, wait, he married you and Jean, what the fuck---telling him to find your baby---oh fuck I’m just realizing why you’re so mad at him, holy hell--before you gave up your life to save the world. That’s who I remember. And your memories, real or fake, well they’re a part of you, they’re your stories. Stories...they make us who we are. And even if they were made up, who you are, what you did, isn’t. You’re a story, yeah. So are we all. Fuck I’m really mangling this but you know what I--- oh.” Madelyne was hugging him. Holy shit. Well, he must have done something right, then. Damned if he knew what, though, he thought he’d fucked it up royally with that Trump-level rambling. And when she released him, she looked up at his shocked face, and said, “St. John?” “Y-yeah?” “Eat some damn pork. You really ARE a string bean.” *** OUT OF THE FRYING PAN Sebastian Shaw was indeed generally immune to explosions. And also to fire. He simply absorbed the thermal energy, rendering it harmless to him, if annoying. Afact that a certain Australian had exploited mercilessly. But Pyro was not here now, and so he could not stop the blaze that Shinobi was trapped in, that Sebastian had escaped but Shinobi had not yet. He’s not out yet, Sebastian thought nervously as he watched the blaze, waiting, Must be unconscious, must have hit his head, the fool, idiot boy, told him to stay in super dense form, stupid stupid stupid child He’d burn to death, if smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. He would die, and be reborn on Krakoa. It would be fine. And the suffering, the death, would serve him right, for being so foolish as not to listen to his father, to do the sensible thing and stay dense, why had he let himself get caught there? If you were weak enough to die, you deserved it, deserved it for KEEPS. Sebastian could say that, and admit it applied to him too. He would not DENY the second chance given to him by Krakoa, but nor would he pretend that Emma didn’t earn his death by virtue of being ABLE to do it. If you could do it, if you did do it, then it was within your rights to do it, was how Shaw saw things. Right of power was the only right that mattered, and you did no favors by RESCUING someone, you only prolonged their weakness. Any moment now, he thought, Any moment...if he’s going to make it out, it will have to be soon. There was a horrible cracking as a wood beam crashed down into the flames. The building was coming down. And Sebastian Shaw’s feet were suddenly moving. But was it by his deliberate decision? Or his own accord? He didn’t know. He sprinted into the structure, careful not to let his body bash through what supports remained---it might not hurt him but it would crush Shinobi if the boy was still alive---heedless of the fire, though the smoke stung his eyes, and he knew he was not immune to the effects of breathing it. If he was going to do this foolish, stupid, NEEDLESS thing, he had best do it fast. He scanned the room through the gray haze, and caught a glimpse of purple obscured by some rubble. He tossed it aside, digging through it like a terrier on the scent of a rabbit, until he found his boy, unmoving but still breathing, and hauled him from the wreckage. His body hair sizzling against his heat-proof skin, the sweat turning to steam the moment it left his brow, he gathered the limp form of his son into his arms, and ran from the flames, this time not caring about the beams he knocked aside, ran right through as though they were as intangible as Shinobi could be. When they were out, and a safe distance away from the blaze, Sebastian laid his son down, and waited for him to wake up. As soon as Shinobi did, as soon as his eyes opened, and he began to speak, and to realize what had happened, to start to express his shock at the fact his father had just saved his life at risk to his own... Sebastian’s fist landed against the boy’s ashy face. And again. And again. Until Shinobi was dead. He left the battered corpse where it was, and begin making his way to find the other Marauders, and tell them they needed to head back to Krakoa when most convinient, that Shinobi had died and would be waiting there. And when they arrived and picked him up, Sebastian knew he would have the good sense to say nothing to anyone. And he’d have a talk with him about the importance of handling oneself in such future situations. He really did try with the boy, dammit, but there was just no teacher like experience, he supposed. And painful experience worked best. *** NIGHTMARE DRESSED AS A DAYDREAM

"Look it’s the Marauder!” everyone cried out in awe and admiration as Pyro entered the party. His grim, stoic expression, his majestic stride, were in contrast to the lascivious frivolity around him of the swimsuit-clad crowd, but this difference only made the girls come swarming to him faster. He accepted their fawning adulation, but only cooly, as it was just his due. He was, after all, the handsomest, most power, Supreme Mutant, and this was all normal and natural. It was only when he began passionately lip-locking with Jean Grey on the hood with Jean Grey that-- Wait, what? This was wrong. This was so wrong. It had to be a dream, but even then it was WRONG. He’d never had a dream of this kind about a woman in his life, let alone Jean Grey. And if he was going to, why would it be JEAN? That felt extra wrong, given that he was pals with Madelyne now, was this some kind of weird-- “GET OFF ME!” cried a man’s voice, and Pyro broke away from the embrace, looking up. Some several dozen feet away, Fabian Cortez struggling with an amorous Avalanche, who seemed to have been engaged with the same activity with the redheaded ‘Supreme Mutant’ as Pyro just had with Marvel Girl...and Dom was wearing the same outfit Jean was. “Oy, what in the--” Pyro started to demand, when suddenly a huge head ---Mr. Sinister’s head, specifically-- erupted from the ground. It was bedecked by yet more scantily clad girls, with a throne on top it in which sat Claudine, being accosted by them, and she looked as confused as Pyro and Fabian were, confused and horrified. Then the rain began, endless rain, and Pyro was all alone, all alone in the mud as the rain came down, rain and pain, so much pain, coming from parts of his body he’d never had in his life, his womb, his-- “All right, that’s quite enough of that!” the voice of Emma Frost echoed throughout all of existence, and the lights came back on in the world again as Pyro woke up. “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered, as he realized what had happened. There was a baby telepath in the latest batch of rescues, and the little bugger had gotten their dreams all mish-mashed together. Happened more than once before. Grunting, he turned over, and went back to sleep...though a little uneasy this time. He wondered, who had that last part come from?

[kcaruth]

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order Review

Before the dark times, before the mouse empire, LucasArts published several fun, memorable Star Wars video games, from Star Wars: Bounty Hunter to The Force Unleashed series. After Disney’s acquisition of LucasArts in 2012, the Mouse House stopped all internal developments at LucasArts and laid off most of its staff in 2013. Signaling its turn to the dark side, Disney awarded EA (voted worst company in America multiple times) a multi-year license to create Star Wars video games.

EA rebooted the Star Wars Battlefront series (2005′s Star Wars: Battlefront II has to be one of my most played video games) and released the new Star Wars Battlefront in November 2015. Critics acknowledged the game’s great graphics and visuals, but it quickly became apparent that the game lacked content. The hero and villain rosters were very limited, and the game only included content from the original trilogy, not the prequels.

Then came EA’s disastrous Star Wars Battlefront II, the repercussions of which shook the gaming world. Released in November 2017, Battlefront II had some promise. It was the first game since the Disney takeover to feature a single-player story mode that was canon to the film series. The game also contained content from the prequel, original, and sequel trilogies. Additionally, EA greatly expanded the hero and villain rosters. However, EA showed it true colors with the game’s loot boxes, which could award players significant gameplay advantages if they purchased them with real money. Essentially, the game turned into a pay to win system, thereby making players who did not purchase loot boxes feel so disadvantaged that Battlefront II virtually became pay to play.

Although Visceral Games, the studio behind the Dead Space series, was developing a single-player Star Wars game, even getting to the point in the development process where they could tease everyone with in-game footage, EA canceled the game and shut down the studio. Not counting the Lego Star Wars games and mobile games, EA’s Battlefront games were the only new Stars Wars video games on the market, an astonishing reality compared to the rate at which LucasArts used to produce games for the franchise.

Eventually, EA finally came to its senses and assigned a single-player action-adventure Star Wars game to Respawn Entertainment, the studio behind the Titanfall series. Former Santa Monica Studio employee Stig Asmussen served as game director, and heavy-hitting talent like writer Chris Avellone, perhaps best known for his work on Fallout: New Vegas, joined the project. Finally, Respawn released Jedi: Fallen Order in November 2019 to much critical acclaim.

Now, with that long-winded background introduction establishing the recent state of Star Wars video gaming out of the way, let’s get into the real reason why everyone is here. What did I think of Jedi: Fallen Order? I am usually well behind on newer video game releases, but our current state of affairs with the global pandemic has afforded me a bit more time to dust off my controller. Having just beaten Fallen Order earlier this week, I have plenty to say about the game. (I even made a pros and cons list! Can you tell I have also been spending my time watching the misadventures of Leslie Knope and company in Parks and Rec?)

At its core, Star Wars is about family, friendship, and good versus evil, so let’s start by talking about this game’s characters and plot. (Don’t worry; I won’t spoil anything from the story.) Fallen Order nails the spirit of Star Wars. Set five years after Revenge of the Sith, players control Cal Kestis, a Padawan forced to keep a low profile after the Jedi Purge. Cal lives on the planet Bracca, where he works as a scrapper salvaging ships from the Clone Wars. Kudos to the game here. I stopped a couple of times just to admire the visuals of Bracca. It was definitely a “wow moment” seeing TIE fighters shriek by overhead and watching a Separatist ship descend from the atmosphere. One day, Cal taps into the Force for the first time since Emperor Palpatine’s Order 66 to save a friend from certain death from a workplace accident. Unfortunately, an Imperial probe droid records the incident, alerting the Empire of a Jedi fugitive. Two Inquisitors quickly arrive on the scene to track down the Jedi. Introduced in the animated series Star Wars Rebels, the menacing Inquisitors are an evil organization of Force-sensitive beings, some of them former Jedi, who have been tortured and turned to the dark side by Darth Vader and the Empire or otherwise willingly joined the organization out of hunger for power. They are tasked with hunting down surviving Jedi in hiding and others exhibiting Force potential. Somehow, Cal has survived this long even though he still carries around his lightsaber with him everywhere! When the Inquisitors corner him, he literally just pulls it out of his pocket! How has no one ever noticed it before? Did none of the Imperial probe droids floating around the planet ever take a snapshot of the weapon? Plot holes aside, two new characters, Greez and Cere, rescue Cal from certain doom at the hands of the Second and Ninth Sisters and ferry him off world.

Cere is a former Jedi who held the role of Seeker in the Order. A Seeker located infants with Force abilities who could be taken to Coruscant and trained in the Jedi arts (think the good version of the Inquisitors). Greez is a starship pilot with a bad gambling habit, a green thumb, and an insatiable appetite. Cal finds a small droid named BD-1, who reveals a message from Jedi Master Eno Cordova, detailing the existence of a hidden Jedi Holocron containing a list of Force-sensitive children across the galaxy. In the wrong hands, this list could lead to the children’s demise. Cal and Cere want to use the list to rebuild the Jedi Order. Thus begins the race between the Empire and our crew of ragtag misfits to secure the Holocron.

Overall, the story is good, great even for recent Star Wars standards. It fits the Star Wars cannon very well, and I loved the nods to the Clone Wars, mentions of obscure characters, and the foreshadowing of future events. Some moments elicit chuckles from the appropriate Star Wars humor, while others go to some truly dark places. The way the game tackles Order 66 earns it extremely high marks from me. The developers need to be applauded for bringing in new and relatively unknown planets that we have not really had the chance to explore before. There is no Hoth, Jakuu, or the like to be seen here, thankfully. Star Wars is a big galaxy; it is about time we saw different parts of it. We have spent more than enough time on Tatooine. The planets we do visit feel alive. Each one has a different color palette, climate, weather pattern (although the developers may have been a little heavy-handed on the fog in a few of the locations), and, of course, flora and fauna.

Cal fights everything from annoying rat creatures to ram-like slugs, from giant venus fly traps to trampoline spring-plants. Players can even collect plant specimens on different planets and plant them in Greez’s terrarium, which was a nice little way to take a piece of each planet with you on your journey. Oh, and the spiders. Cal has to kill tons and tons of spiders. Again, this is Star Wars! There is a whole galaxy at your disposal full of creatures that look like whatever your imagination can dream up, and the best we get is different species of spiders? That is probably nitpicking, but it felt like it was worth pointing out.

When it comes to the Empire, however, the variety is fantastic. Of course, the run-of-the-mill standard stormtroopers are here, but there are also variations like shock baton-wielding scout troopers, flame troopers, and the dangerous Purge troopers, essentially the special forces of the Inquisitors. The chatter between the troopers is great. Before they spot him, Cal can overhear them talking about their notorious accuracy, the planet’s hostile wildlife, or even mundane topics like food rations. Once Cal starts fighting them, they often taunt him, full of confidence in their abilities, but then they come to the realization that they are facing off against a Jedi. The confidence in their voices gradually turns to panicked fear as Cal slices through their numbers. By the time Cal gets to the last trooper standing, that trooper will regularly plead for his life or confess how scared he is. Every once in a while, the Empire will even throw AT-ST walkers at Cal, which are a fun enough challenge, though the strategy to defeat them becomes clear within a minute or two, and players are never forced to change up their tactics. I do love that after Cal destroys the walker, the trooper will crawl out of the wreckage and start shooting at him. Nice touch!

With all that said, the story is not perfect. In fact, once or twice it just feels dumb. For example, Cal goes on this grand mission seeking out an important leader in hiding, and when he finally encounters him, they exchange maybe one full sentence before the leader gifts Cal a rebreather so that he can swim underwater. You are telling me I conquered various obstacles and enemies, traversing across multiple planets all to get...a rebreather? This whole section could have been cut out and streamlined so that the storyline goes directly to the main setpiece of this planet I am talking about. Have one of Cal’s crewmates give him a rebreather and send him on his way instead. Regardless, at least the back and forth traversal gives players another chance to board the ship, ascend from the planet, and blast off into hyperspace. Seeing that never got old.

Respawn and its writers did a great job with these characters, including one of the Inquisitors (the other one is just kind of...meh). I enjoyed getting to know my crew, but I wish they had a little more to do in the game. In reality, they just stay on the ship 95 percent of the time while you are out running around on your mission (not that I entirely blame them...it is a cool ship). The conversations between these characters were usually good, but sometimes Cal would not mention huge, seemingly significant events or people he ran into to his crew! For a cinematic franchise like Star Wars, this game could have used a couple more cutscenes. The game often feeds the plot or a character’s mindset to players by making them idly stand near a crewmate and tapping R3 a handful of times to get them to cough up a couple of lines of dialogue.

As is to be expected from a Star Wars product, the game’s music is terrific. Gordy Haab and Stephen Barton composed the score and recorded with the London Symphony Orchestra and the Bach Choir of London. Mongolian folk metal band The Hu also wrote and recorded a song that is featured during a couple of prominent portions of the game. The song lyrics were written in Mongolian and then translated into a fictional Star Wars alien language. The music compliments and elevates the game’s setpieces, with one standout part reminding me of Thor: Ragnarok. A couple of times, the game goes full John Williams to really make some moments hit home, and boy does it work! Hats off to Respawn for putting in this much effort in regards to the music for the game.

Getting into the gameplay, Fallen Order is an amalgamation of several other games. Dark Souls, Zelda, Uncharted, Metroid, Castlevania, Sekiro, heck even Sonic...they are all here in some form or fashion. Unfortunately for Fallen Order, it does not elevate the features it borrows from those games. The biggest reason? The bugs. Oh my goodness the bugs. How can a blockbuster release like this have so many bugs? Maybe it had something to do with EA or Disney wanting to push the final product out before the release of The Rise of Skywalker the next month, but the amount of bugs in this game are simply unacceptable. While none of them led to a complete game crash, I definitely caught myself grumbling, “I hate this game,” with my frustration levels constantly reaching the scorching temperature of Mustafarian lava, especially considering Fallen Order’s inexcusably long load times. Seriously, the load times after dying are so long that I had enough time to run to the bathroom, heat something up in the microwave, or make a cup of tea (to help relax me from this rage-inducing game) before the game finished loading. How can I lift off from a planet and travel through hyperspace faster than the game can respawn me after dying? It is not just dying, by the way. The game developers think they cleverly hid load times behind elevator rides, but that did not work either! At least throw in some elevator music or comm chatter if you are going to make me stand there for so long!

One time, I fell through the level to my death while walking on what was 100 percent solid ground. Speaking of solid ground, or should I say the lack thereof, enemies continued to fight me while clearly hovering in thin air when they should obviously be plummeting to their death. Woe is me if I tried to reach them, though, because my Jedi character must not have that ability, leading to, that is right, more death falls for me as the enemy looked on from his invisible sliver of ground above. If I was lucky enough to have an enemy remain in my relative vicinity and not stand off a ledge, that enemy had a chance of pinning and glitching Cal against a wall, leaving me trapped until I died from the beating. The enemy who kills Cal glows gold until players shave off a piece of that enemies health, which is great, but that means players cannot see that enemy flash red when he uses an unblockable attack. How could Respawn not notice this error when it is such an important component of the combat? For all the aggressive enemies with magical glitching powers, there were also those that would have a change of heart mid-combat and go pacifistic on me. I found this especially common in the later game and on one planet in particular with ranged enemies. They would fire at me, I would block their shot back at them and injure them, and then they would just stand there staring at me. It was really bizarre and made me uneasy turning my back on them to explore the area. I also experienced my health and Force bars completely disappearing from the screen. The first couple of times it happened, I thought it was intentional and meant that Cal could not die for that sequence of the game. Wrong! So much for thinking I was momentarily invincible with unlimited Force powers. This bug was especially crippling during big boss fights, as you can imagine. Respawn throws in some quick time events once in a while where players have to press the correct button in a very short amount of time. For the most part, I did not mind these, but one exception got my blood boiling. Cal is fighting a giant creature and ends up free falling. The game requires Cal to land in a very, very precise spot and pull of a quick time event. I cannot count the number of times I fell to my death during this part because of how finicky the game was being. Cal conveniently stumbles across every single icy or muddy slide in the galaxy during his travels, a way for the game developers to disguise a way to get players from point A to point B quickly, but these slides are also quite particular with when players jump and where they land. Another good portion of my deaths came from Cal not making a jump on one of these slides when he clearly had the distance or him seemingly landing and making the jump only for him to glitch and then fall backwards into a never-ending dark chasm. The game developers may have thought players would enjoy these slides, but I came to dread them.

The worst game bugs by far, however, dealt with frame rates and level textures. Not contained to one section or even one planet, unfortunately, garbage frame rates wreak more havoc across the galaxy than the treacherous Empire. I am telling you the frame rate is absolutely abysmal in this game. I can forgive a drop in frame rate if it happens a couple of times, but it is like it is a built-in gameplay feature of Fallen Order. It was maddening! How can Respawn expect me to properly block or dodge if the game cannot even keep up with my movements or camera adjustments? Texture pop ins and clipping were also recurring issues. One time, I noticed a soldier’s helmet load in late. Another time, a Wookie’s fur took a while to fill up the character model. (By the way, the Wookies in this game look horrendous.) Sometimes, it would get so bad that the game would just pause completely so that it could load in the content of the area. I honestly thought the game had crashed and was about to reboot the console before everything stuttered back into place and Cal got moving again.

I have done a lot of ranting about the game’s flaws the last few paragraphs, so let me get back to some things I did like. The combat works well. I cannot begin to tell you how satisfying and occasionally outright hilarious it is to Force push a trooper off a ledge, especially when he is standing there trying to intimidate you. I had so much fun simply blocking stormtroopers’ laser bolts right back at them. Best of all, I started taking every opportunity I had to pull enemies toward me, especially ones perched up on higher vantage points, and stab them straight through with my lightsaber. The lightsaber boss fights were a highlight of the game. Players feel the weight of every strike and every struggle when the blades cross.

In addition to Cal’s lightsaber, he also has his Force powers at his disposal. He starts out with Force slow and gradually adds other abilities, such as push and pull, as the game progresses. Players may question how Cal, a Jedi, can struggle with a squadron of stormtroopers or the local wildlife, or they may ask why he does not start with all of his Force abilities, but it all makes sense when you consider that Cal has to rebuild his connection to the Force. He has not used it since he was a child, after all. It makes sense that this amateur padawan who did not complete his training runs into a tough time in combat. When Cal does unlock new Force abilities, the game cleverly flashes back to show Cal’s master teaching him that ability during his training before Order 66.

Players can further bolster their Force, survival, and lightsaber abilities through a skill tree. Skill points accumulated from defeating enemies grant players access to increased health, stronger stim potency, increased lightsaber damage, and mass push, to name a few skills. Even later on in the game when most of your Force abilities have been unlocked and Cal has found a couple of fun new gadgets, the game still feels balanced. Cal never feels overpowered like Starkiller in The Force Unleashed games. Even when they are maxed out, his Force push and pull do not appear to have much of an effect on bosses. At most, they will briefly stagger them, whereas when they do it to Cal, he will comically tumble over like Palpatine when Yoda Force pushed him across his desk in Revenge of the Sith.

I will argue that a couple of Force abilities become outdated later in the game. At one point, I forgot I even had Force slow because I had not used it in a while. I only remembered it while I was trying to solve a small puzzle to escape from an area and had exhausted all other options. Can you blame me for always wanting to Force push enemies off a cliff instead of slowing them down?

I appreciate that the game developers allow players to adjust the difficulty at any time. I started out at a higher difficulty and found myself dying before I even left the first world, Bracca. However, I persisted. That is, until I faced off against Oggdo Bogdo and his trash hitboxes. Players can stumble upon Oggdo Bogdo very early in the game. Oggdo Bogdo, a carnivorous amphibian creature, is a boss variation of the more common lookalikes of him. There is a similar optional alpha creature boss encounter on most planets Cal visits. No matter how hard I tried or how many different strategies I employed, Oggdo Bogdo proved to be too tough for me, and after waiting through countless death loads and having to run back over to Oggdo Bogdo’s location time and time again, I decided to lower the game’s difficulty, allowing me to finally slay this ugly creature.

Like Sekiro’s sculptor’s idols or the bonfires in Dark Souls, Fallen Order relies on meditation circles as its save points. Cal can rest to full health and restore his Force meter as well as restock health stims. Meditation circles also allow players to access the skill tree and spend skill points. These meditation circles implement a good risk versus reward system. If players choose to rest at a meditation circles, all of the enemies he or she has defeated since the last rest will respawn. I regularly found myself weighing the pros and cons of my situation, questioning if I should heal and get more stims or push on so that I did not put more enemies in my path.

While I am on the subject of these meditation circle save points, I have to point out that Fallen Order does not have fast travel. Instead, it encourages players to backtrack and explore previously inaccessible areas that they can now open with their newly unlocked abilities. This was fine for a while, but I quickly grew tired of it when I noticed how much of the backtracking had me slowly climbing, traversing across narrow walkways that Cal has to carefully balance on, or shimmying over narrow cliff edges. This is padding by exploration. While the vine and rope swinging was fun, especially with Force pull, I stopped enjoying climbing up a conveniently placed arrangement of vines and the like by the halfway point of the game, if not earlier. I will admit that I believe Fallen Order contains just the right amount of playtime, but this stuff had it teetering on the too long side. This is compounded by one important world that players have to visit multiple times that feels too big. The developers’ creativity and excitement got a little out of hand here. Just pull up the map of that world to see how unwieldy it is. When I completed the story on a planet like this, I felt exhausted rather than triumphant. Why can’t I hail my crew to come pick me up in the ship where I am rather than having to run across the entire planet again to get back to the landing pad, fighting the same enemies I already cleared out a couple of hours ago? The game developers do provide a few shortcuts that players can open, but the amount of time they end up saving is negligible in some cases.

I was disappointed that there is no real endgame content. Sure, players can continue to explore or fight enemies for the heck of it, but the developers could have done so much more. After players unlock every ability in the skill tree, the skill points they collect after that become meaningless. I will confess that I chose to rush past enemies to get to my next destination rather than waste time or energy fighting them for the 50th time after I had filled out my skill tree. Why not unlock fast travel after players beat the story? How about adding in a fighting arena where players can test their maxed out skill set against waves of enemies? Heck, let the players unlock dark side Force abilites like Force lightning or Force choke after they complete the story so that whatever they do then is not canon. I would have continued to gather skill points for that!

Now I mentioned Cal’s droid companion BD-1 earlier, but BD-1 deserves a special shout-out. BD-1 is spunky and lovable. Not only does BD-1 shoot Cal stims to heal him, the droid also provides hints for puzzles, scans enemies to suggest tactics to take them down, plays recordings that push the story along, and helps Cal navigate the worlds by hacking locked doors or carrying him across zip lines. Additionally, BD-1 projects the holomap of each planet, which is vital to keeping track of where Cal is in relation to the ship or his destination. The holomap itself is decent. Color coding helps players see what is inaccessible and what is unlockable, but for the bigger worlds with multiple levels it can be quite a burden to scroll across. Not to knock BD-1, but I grew impatient waiting for the droid’s animation that it goes through every single time Cal finds a hidden chest. Cal opens up the chest, BD-1 jumps in and rumbles around, and then jumps back out with whatever was inside it, all while Cal repeats the same lines of dialogue, like “Woah, buddy!” or “Careful now.” or “What did you find in there?” There are 107 chests in the game. Let that sink in.

These chests are one of the rewards for exploration. They contain items that players can use to customize Cal, his lightsaber, BD-1, or the ship. While this is motivation enough at the beginning of the game, this customization serves no purpose beyond cosmetics. It comes down to which poncho or paint job players find more aesthetically pleasing. I love that the game developers let players change lightsaber colors, but I wish these different ponchos and lightsaber parts had some sort of effect on the gameplay, such as restoring more of Cal’s Force meter or refilling a small amount of health after defeating an enemy.

Force echoes serve as another reward for exploring. Cal uncovers lore from past events by reaching out through these Force echoes. They rounded out the worlds nicely and added to the feeling that they were lived in, real places in the galaxy. The final element of exploration is BD-1′s scans. While you are running around, BD-1 will occasionally crawl down off Cal’s back and scramble over to something the droid wants to scan. These unlock data entries on the planet, its flora and fauna, the Empire, or other characters. This is all fine and dandy, but the level of exploration the game developers expect players to do with all of the backtracking involved needs to reward me with more than just basic lore, especially when some of the entries feel like the writers did not even try when they wrote them. Is an entry on a storage crate telling me that the Empire stored materials in it really worth stopping to scan? I think not. Instead, the game developers could have really motivated me to explore more by throwing in a few interesting side quests or fun Easter eggs. Maybe players could stumble upon active Imperial transmissions and overhear characters like Tarkin or Thrawn. Maybe players could find an abandoned Imperial camp and watch Imperial or Rebel propaganda over a holofeed that was left on. They could have even hidden a squadron of battle droids that were forgotten from the Clone Wars. So many possibilities!

Jedi: Fallen Order is far from a perfect game and has so much unrealized potential, but I would not trade away my time with it. For every flaw, I can point to a positive, and vice versa. At the end of the day, I got to be a Jedi, and that is good enough for me.

[knightotoc]

I can't really rank the SW movies, but I can sort of put them in categories. I wrote a bit about each one because I've never seen a list in an order like mine, though if you're asking me to be rational that is something I know I cannot do.

(This is really long)

1. The ones I love the most: 

Attack of the Clones

🍐 favorite characters, favorite planets

🍐 my soul is anchored to early naughts high-key cheesy emo, à la Raimi Spider-Mans

🍐 most Jedi per square inch

🍐 it's pretty and it kicks ass

🍐 the romance is the A-plot for ONCE

🍐 AND it's a "dark middle chapter" that pulls no fucking punches, the whole Tatooine sequence is just hnnnnggrhhh BRUTAL

🍐 the only "dark middle chapter" in which the person explaining the Jedi way (Anakin) doesn't believe in it and the person listening (Padme) doesn't want to join but just cares about him

🍐 morally ambiguous organized religion/monasticism/chivalry are interesting and personally important subjects to me, a Catholic feminist who majored in Medieval Studies

🍐 the hinge between two time periods I love, "Obi Wan trains Anakin" and "the Clone Wars"

🍐 sets up both Clone Wars shows and both KotORs

Return of the Jedi

🐻 SO much fun, SO much imagination

🐻 like RotS, both the silliest and the most tragic in its trilogy (and imo it pulls it off)

🐻 the ending -- Luke tossing his lightsaber, Palpatine killing him, Anakin saving him -- I just -- gahhhh that's what it's all about, dude😭😭😭 It makes me love the Jedi SO MUCH!

🐻 Luke's plan to rescue Han is as bonkers as Dooku's plan to begin the war and I'm obsessed

🐻 Leia's hair down and Luke in black👌

The Last Jedi

🍸 absolute masterpiece of tragedy and hope

🍸 it's so SMART and has this wisdom that brings me so much comfort facing personal failures and societal horrors

🍸 "That's how we win -- not by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love" -- Rose the Queen of Themes

🍸 the cave scene in which Luke summarizes the prequels and Rey summarizes the original trilogy is so validating

🍸 "Where's Han?" [cut to Kylo]

🍸 all the transitions but that one ^^^^ especially

🍸 best visions in the movies (Rey's mirrors and Luke's twin suns)

🍸 Yoda is the best ghost and wisest teacher as he deserves😭

🍸 Leia Vader parallels are my biggest weakness

Revenge of the Sith

🔥 I can't handle this one

🔥 it's straight up Camelot and Lancelot is my favorite invention in all of fiction, and here he is as an evil space wizard

🔥 I literally can't listen to this soundtrack and drive because I get too sad

🔥 they hate each other SO MUCH ahhgggg, NO other characters come close to this level of emotion

🔥 the Matthew Stover novelization is even more beautiful

🔥 this meta-level tragedy, the dramatic irony of a guy who has been evil since 1977, a name similar to the Greek goddess of inevitability, the swirling destiny of his "prophecy" and his doom, but still I'm like "DON'T DO IT ANI" as if he ever had a chance

🔥 they play the fucking ANH medals theme at the end of the credits and it blows my mind. Absolutely brilliant

🔥 can you believe that only RotS and TLJ have shirtless scenes in them

2. The ones I also really love:

The Phantom Menace

😈 best soundtrack. All the prequels have the most thoughtful and interesting music in my opinion, but I could go on forever about TPM's.

😈 my favorite musical piece in all of SW is the Baby Anakin theme. It's so terribly sad; it sounds to me like rivers and waterfalls. They use it several times in AotC, too. The end of the melody transitions into the Imperial March😭

😈 Duel of the Fates is the actual star of the movie, of course; the words are a Sanskrit translation of a medieval Welsh poem. Ask me about how the lyrics apply to the fates of Qui-Gon, Maul, and Obi-Wan because I've FIGURED IT OUT

😈 also the cleverest piece in SW is Augie's Municipal Band, the parade theme, which is the Emperor's theme from RotJ in major key and sped up

😈 speaking of Palpatine, this is his best movie and I've basically sold my soul to him so👏👏👏we stan

😈 I've probably thought and written the most about this movie and the time periods around it, the training of Maul and Anakin. If you can believe it😅

Empire Strikes Back

☁️ it's the best one

☁️ the "dark middle chapter" that sets the standard for AotC and TLJ

☁️ "Luminous beings are we"😭

☁️ Bespin Leia is the best look in the movies

☁️ "The evil lord Darth Vader, OBSESSED with finding young Skywalker"😂 Ani has a reason to live again, oh no

A New Hope

🤖 the only one you need

🤖 an actual piece of magic on Earth

🤖 Old Obi-Wan is heartache personified

🤖 bow down to Tarkin

🤖 best droid movie

Solo

🎲 the other kissy movie

🎲 SO much fun; John Powell puts so much energy and excitement in his music

🎲 how does this random movie have the best character designs after AotC

🎲 GIRL DROID!!!

🎲 really different point of view on the central theme of family

🎲 that cameo tho

🎲 where's my sequel

Rogue One

🌠 the most visually beautiful SW movie; it fits into the tradition of beautiful 70s sci-fi movies like 2001 and Star Trek TMP, which focus on the hugeness and wonder of outer space

🌠 can Cassian and Rose please overthrow the government

🌠 I have a real theater poster of this one in my room :D (I also have one of TLJ)

🌠 does so right by Vader

🌠 makes the Rebellion more complicated, just like the prequels did to the Jedi Order

3. The ones I don't like:

The Force Awakens

The Rise of Skywalker

I want to like them, especially TFA, but I find it difficult. I feel like they lack confidence as stories, and they don't take things like death and faith very seriously. Many planets explode, but they are grieved even less than Alderaan is in ANH. And if you just pray hard enough, God will help you out. It bothers me that THAT was the culmination of Rey's spiritual journey, versus the more relatable and dramatic endings for the male Jedi protagonists Luke, Anakin, and Ezra.

I have rewatched TFA a few times and I like parts of it, like the scavenging setting in the beginning and how handsome everyone is. Some of Maz's lines justify the borrowed plot in an interesting way. And I've thought of some headcanons to make TRoS more okay, because they did so wrong by Palpatine but not necessarily by "the Sith" as a Borg-like force of evil that, I guess, consumed him. So despite JJ's best efforts, I'm trying to make this work.

[emperorsfoot]

Well, I updated. 

It’s garbage. But I wrote the chapter, like, three times and this was by far the best version. You guys will come to realize that I’m not actually a good author. 

...

Horde Prime was rarely bothered with every little signal sent from every little unit in his army. The cloning crèches produced 45-thousand units per batch. Four batches every Standard Imperial Year, meant 180-thousand units a year. Personal signals from almost 200-thousand soldiers were mostly ignored.

Horde Prime only listened to communications from four signals.

The four clones he observed to be competent, resourceful, and clever enough to be useful in command positions. The four he personally promoted to his cabinet.

So, when he received a signal from one he stripped from his cabinet, banished to the front lines, and was presumed dead, Prime paid attention. From the Adarion system. A single yellow star, orbited by three planets: Preternia, Infinita, and Eternia. Eternia was the world where Prime sent 66694-42-003:Hordak. To try and put down another uprising by that ever-annoying thorn, Randor, the self-proclaimed ‘King of Eternia’.

66694-42-003 never returned from that deployment and Horde Prime assumed him killed in action.

But here was a signal from that same KIA brother. Proof that he did not die in service to the great Horde Empire, as he was supposed to. And a distress signal no less, begging for aid, proof that Horde Prime was right to strip him of his rank and powers. He was weak. Useless. And now, a liability.

A mistake had been made here, and mistakes must be corrected.

Horde Prime analyzed the message personally.

It was encrypted with an older code. One that was in use during the height of 66694-42-003’s cabinetcy, when Prime allowed him to be ‘Lord Hordak’. It made sense that 66694-42-003 would be using it. Removed so long from the Empire and his Brother, he wouldn’t know the more recent –more secure- encryptions.

But that also meant that others could intercept the signal and decode it for themselves. After all, the reason they changed and updated their encryptions were to prevent a hostile faction from ever being able to break through their communications.

If 66694-42-003’s message held any value beyond just the desperate call for help from a defective clone, Prime wanted to be the first to know.

It was a short message. Cut off abruptly before a full debrief could be given. Apparently 66694-42-003 was inexplicably pulled into a shadow dimension from which he could not return on his own. He needed Prime to open a portal from his end and free 66694-42-003. Pathetic. There was also some pathetic attempt to appeal to Prime by attempting to conquer the world in the shadow dimension, but his progress was blocked by hostile natives with inexplicable powers, blah, blah, blah. Please send reinforcements. The natives had a champion with a magical sword that-

That that was where the message was cut off. The signal lost. Whatever ‘portal’ he was sending the transmission through snapped shut.

Prime sat up straight.

‘A champion with a magical sword that-‘

A champion with a magical sword.

A champion.

Singular.

One.

Prime had gone up against champions with magical swords before. Two of them. Not one. One of them, he managed to defeat. Defeat and take the sword for himself. The other one… got away…

It was absurd to believe that defective and weak 66694-42-003 found the one that got away. Completely and utterly absurd.

But the message did come from the Adarion System, the same solar system they came from. The same solar system… Zed died in…

‘You said you could heal him!’

‘Anillis-! I’m sorry! He was too far gone.’

He tried to raze that system. But he was new at this back then. Inexperienced and angry. Clumsy.

He managed to get He-Ro, and He-Ro’s sword. But, Mar- the other one –got away.

Not just got away, but managed to take one of the planets from the Adarion System with her. The fourth planet –the name escaped him at the moment but he remembered it being there, then not being there anymore.

It was utterly absurd to think that Hordak found the one that got away.

But the location was correct, and the description seemed to fit.

Prime could not ignore this.

If there was even the slightest chance that it led him to the one who got away.

Tapping a button on the arm of his throne, Prime opened a paged the bridge of the Velvet Glove. “Change course.” He commanded. “Take us to the Adarion System.”

“Yes, Sir!” Came the answering voice almost immediately. Then, more hesitantly. “Which planet, Your Grace? Eternia?”

Eternia was the metaphorical ‘problem child’ of the Adarion System. It seemed like twice every generation there was a new rebellion that had to be put down. First Hiss, then Miro, then Randor, then Randor again, and then… the defector Randor’s brother seduced to their side…

Prime stood from his throne. Descending the stairs he retreated into his Inner Sanctum. His own private chambers above the Velvet Glove.

Eternia was a frequent problem in the Adarion System, but 66694-42-003’s signal had not come from Eternia. It came from empty space. Between Eternia and Infinita, in the darkness where Etheria used to be.

The one that got away…

Crossing the dimly lit room, Prime gentle, almost affectionately caressed the side of a tank. Not the same as the industrial vitrine used in his cloning crèches. This one was smaller, narrower, and did now bow out like the cloning tanks. This thank was not meant to grow a clone, but rather preserve a body. Prime kept it draped with a sheet. Most days he could not bear to look at it. But he never had it removed either. He could not bear to part with… what was inside.

Through a gap in the fabric, the tip of a red wing could just barely be seen.

Prime passed by this tank and continued on to the far wall. Considering the span of his unnaturally long life, Prime had not collected or kept many mementoes. Neither trophies or keepsakes. He kept the body in the tank, and he still strummed his baliset from time to time. But aside from those, his Inner Sanctum was markedly bare of personal items.

He did, however, keep one trophy.

The Sword.

More accurately, a Sword.

One of two.

Pulled from the cold, dead, hand of Gray. A Prince of Eternia and the one Chosen to wield the Sword of Power as He-Ro. Killed on the field of battle by Anillis Kur. But he was not the one Anillis wanted. He wanted the one that got away.

The one that promised him she could save his son’s life. Heal all ailments and return Zed to the level of health he enjoyed before they left Revena. But she lied. She didn’t. The Sword did not heal him. Zed died. And when satisfaction was demanded, it was not She-Ra, but He-Ro that faced him in the open field. The other, choosing to flee, and take her planet with her.

Prime didn’t just lose his son. He lost his vengeance.

But not this time.

66694-42-003:Hordak found her. Found her and left a signal for Prime to follow back to coordinates. Where Etheria used to be. And instructions on how to get to her. How to cut through the fabric of space and reality. Into the shadow dimension she cowered in.

Cut through.

With the blade of steel and light of a legendary Sword.

Prime lifted the Sword of Power off the wall. Hefting it in his hands. Revenanti were very strong in proportion to their size. Every other race he came across was surprised and impressed by the deceptive physical strength of him and his clones. But the Sword always felt heavy in his hands. Heavier than its size would imply. Heavy as if its weight came from more than just the hammered metal of a blade and a gilded and Runestone fitted hilt.

It was the Power of this sword that allowed Prime to prolong his life.

Now it was going to lead Prime to its twin. To the one that got away.

…

Nobody really knew what to think when the night sky suddenly lit up with light. So bright it outshone Eternia’s two moons. Cutting across the sky. A blade of light.

The first panic stricken thought was that it was some kind of Horde attack. That the Empire had grown weary of constantly putting down rebellion and decided to just destroy the planet and be done with it.

But Horde Prime did not believe in superweapons. He preferred massive armies with lots of moving pieces. Small parts that could be easily replaced. If some lucky rebel made a shot down a superweapon’s exhaust port, the whole thing blew. But if some lucky rebel managed to kill a cabinet Lord, then he could just be replaced.

So, the blade of light could not be a Horde attack.

Some realized this faster than others.

Some realized it had to be something else. Something more.

The Lord of Snake Mountain saw the light and looked deeper. Looked for a source. After all, light had to come from somewhere, and this was not the light of Adarion, Eternia’s sun. Nor was it the sun’s light reflected off either of the moons. This was its own. Coming from a source that was not a star.

And inside that light, was a signal.

Encrypted, obviously. Not everyone would pick it up. Even if they did, they wouldn’t understand it. It was a Horde encryption, but an older one. Not in use anymore. So, not an official Imperial transmission.

A distress signal.

A cry for help.

Except clone troopers did not ask for help. Help was for the weak.

But the identification stamp on the message gave him pause. The Lord of Snake Mountain re-running the decryption program and double checking his results in the Imperial issued datapad his late partner left with him. Both the second pass with the decryption and the secondary datapad confirmed the ID was correct –at least, not faked, or a mistranslation. Former cabinet Lord Hordak, serial number 66694-42-003.

Running a palm over the smooth dome of his head, the Lord of Snake Mountain stared at those last three digits. Zero-Zero-Three. Hordak.

Hode’s Zero-Zero-Three.

He only met the clone twice. Briefly each time.

The first not long after Hode was killed. As highly as the older clone spoke of his younger brother, the Lord of Snake Mountain hoped to find a new ally. Hode’s protégé and heir. At least, that was what Hode lead him to believe. But what he met was just another clone trooper. A tool of Prime’s. There was the shadow of an intelligent mind capable of independent thought. But only a shadow.

They crossed paths again after Hordak had been deposed from the cabinet. Stripped of his rank and name, returned back to only his serial number. Sent to the front lines of another one of Randor’s ill-fated revolts. He hoped to find Zero-Zero-Three of a different opinion then. Prime cast him out and sent him away. Surely the clone must have realized how little the Emperor cared for him, or any of his brothers. Prime called his clones ‘little brother’, but they weren’t much more than dolls to him. Playthings that could be thrown away the moment they were broken.

Zero-Zero-Three did make his way to Snake Mountain, and the Lord did hope that Hode’s favorite might join him. Imp was certainly glad to see him.

But they never got the chance to exchange words. Inexplicably, for reasons the Lord of Snake Mountain was still trying to find explanation for, Zero-Zero-Three was teleported away. A blade of light cutting through the very fabric of space and time and pulling Zero-Zero-Three, along with Imp, through the rift.

He had hoped Zero-Zero-Three had learned his lesson. That Prime could not be trusted. That Prime had to be removed.

But here he was, calling for his big Brother. Begging Prime to come get him. Take him back. Look, I conquered this world for you. Please come pick me up. And send reinforcements. The natives are making things difficult for me. They have this champion with a magical sword-

The Lord of Snake mountain was glad the message cut off there. When he was a younger man, he would have jumped up and been ready to rush off at the mere mention of a magical sword. But that was years ago. He was older now. Older and jaded. He made his grab for a magical sword, and in the process, lost his face.

His face, his identity, and his partner.

‘But- the sword-!’

‘But your life, Keldor!’

He wasn’t ‘Keldor’ anymore. Now he was the Lord of Snake Mountain, the Lord of Destruction, Revenant of Hate… Skeletor.

Skeletor lacked the means of opening a portal and answering Zero-Zero-Three’s call. Only a Sword could open a portal and Skeletor did not have a Sword.

But Prime did.

Horde Prime could open a portal and bring Zero-Zero-Three back.

If only Prime cared about Zero-Zero-Three enough to do that. But Prime cared about nothing and no one. He would not answer Zero-Zero-Three’s call.

It was a moot issue.

Nothing would ever come of it.

…

The Velvet Glove came out of hyperspace just within the Adarion System.

Prime hated this place.

Any time any action was required in this despicable spit of space, he always found someone else to send. Hode. Or Hordak. Or, literally, anyone else.

But he could not send anyone else for this. This required the Sword, and Prime was not going to let the Sword out of his sight.

The Lycra Pant and Leather Vest appeared half a moment after the Velvet Glove, materializing from out of hyperspace. Prime had to come here to use the Sword, but that didn’t mean he planned to be the one to go down to the planet –a planet he hated- that’s what the clones were for.

Standing on the bridge of the Velvet Glove, Prime watched Infinita, and Eternia pass by the main viewport. Neither planet was their destination. Their heading placed them in an empty space inside Adarion’s circumstellar habitable zone. Few knew it, Prime never included it in official Imperial records, but –originally- this system did not have three planets, but four. The fourth one vanished along with its guardian. But Prime still remembered its coordinates, its orbit within the system’s sphere of gravity.

The bridge crew surreptitiously shot each other confused or uneasy glances. Those that worked closely with the Emperor –his private staff, his cabinet, and his bridge crew- knew that their Brother was prone to bouts of temper and impulses made in anger.

But this did not seem like that.

Moving the Velvet Glove and her complement of soldiers, along with the Lycra Pant with all her batwings and pilots, and the Leather Vest full of drop-ships and troops, to an empty bit of finite space where there was nothing there. Ignoring three other planets within the system, one of which was an almost never-ending source of work for the military. This was erratic and irrational. But not an episode of temper.

In fact, Prime seemed very calm and collected. Deceptively so. Quiet.

Holding non-standard issue sword in one hand.

“Cut the engines.” He commanded suddenly. “Bring us to a stop here.”

His bouts and fits might make his staff and crew wary, but they were not incompetent. There was no hesitation. Even if they didn’t understand it, they were sure their Brother had his reasons for this erratic behavior. The main bridge pilot decelerated, switching to forward thruster to compensate for the direction of their motion in the zero-gravity space, and bringing the Velvet Glove to a full stop. The communications officer sent a signal to both the Lycra Pant and the Leather Vest to do the same.

Within moments, the whole fleet came to a full stop in the middle of nowhere.

Empty space floated in front of them.

“Charge the hyperdrive.” Was Prime’s next order.

He lifted the Sword he held and crossed the space to a segment of the main command console. Forward, center.

It was strange that Prime would move the fleet somewhere else immediately after bringing them to a full stop in the middle of nowhere. But when the Emperor commanded, they obeyed.

“The new coordinates, Your Grace?” Asked the navigator.

“No new coordinates.” Prime informed them. “Charge up the hyperdrive and funnel the dilithium into the forward canon.”

The bridge crew of the Velvet Glove, Horde Prime’s hand chosen group of clones than ran his ship, never hesitated. But Horde Prime had never ordered them to funnel hot, active, charged dilithium from an active hyperdrive, into the ship’s weapons.

“Your… Grace…?”

Prime turned to the one that had spoken. Glowing eyes blazing a silent warning. How dare they question a direct order from him. He was more than their Big Brother. He was their creator. He made them in his own image. Gave them the gift of sentience so that they could better serve him. This job was to serve. Not to question.

The one that spoke swallowed a lump of nerves. “Y-yes, Your Grace.”

Together, the Chief Engineer and Science Officer overrode the safeties and emergency shut-offs that prevented any leakage in the hyperdrive core. Engines and pistons groaning under the pressure and strain they were being put under. A choir of stressed equipment and hardware. Every console and screen on the command bridge lit up with alerts and warnings that the core was open, the hyperdrive was compromised, the dilithium was leaking, the forward cannon was being flooded by charged photons that could bend spacetime.

Prime inserted the Sword into a slot on the console.

All new alerts lit up across the screens.

“Fire the forward canon along the trajectory of these coordinates.” He commanded.

Uneasy as it made all of them, there was no hesitation again. Their Brother gave an order and he already made it clear that he did not appreciate his orders being questioned.

The canon fire streaked across the empty space in front of the Velvet Glove. An energy and particle beam that was usually red in color was stained an uneasy mottle orange and yellow. Prime giggled the Sword in its slot, aligning it better with the non-Imperial tech rigged into the console. The stone of the hilt of the sword glowed, and the beam outside changed color again. Shifting from orange and yellow, to sickly green, then blue, then white.

In space, if a beam did not impact with anything solid, it just kept going. Shooting through space until it finally did collide with something.

But this one didn’t.

It cut through the empty space, like cutting through fabric. Edges of darkness fraying like threads and peeling back, curling away from the cut like an overly tight knit. A tattered tare opening up in empty space. And through the tare was darkness. No stars. No planets. No light. Save one sphere. Orbited by several smaller moons. A planet. One single planet floating in otherwise empty despondent darkness.

It had been centuries since Prime saw it last. But it was an image that was burned into the back of his mind. A place synonymous with the loss of this son.

Etheria.

Somewhere on that world was the one that got away.

“Ground the dilithium.” Prime ordered. “Stabilize the rift. I want it to remain open.”

The Chief Engineer and Science Officer had to do some quick calculating and jerryrigging to fulfill their Brother’s command. But when the forward canon was shut down, the rift remained open.

Everyone paused a moment. Staring at it.

Did- did Horde Prime just break the universe and creature a portal to another world?

“Open a hailing channel to the Leather Vest.” He commanded. “Red Hord is to take his ship and his forces to that planet, retrieve unit 66694-42-003, and if he finds an alien female that wields a legendary blade of light, bring her to me. I want her alive. I want her sword. And if there is anyone on that rock she cares about, I want them too.”

Alive. So that he could kill them in front of her. So that She-Ra could know what it felt like to hold her most cherished person in her arms as the life drained out of them, and realize that there was nothing she could do. That the universe was cruel, and cold, and she was helpless. Hopeless.