#sith inquisitor sort of

[pileofsith]

Nameless Part Nine - Alien Page 7/8

Introduction to Tion Medon (the erstewhile Port Administrator to Utapau), and to a young crayon art and mammal facts enthusiast. Note: text in angle brackets is speech in Utapaun language.

🡨 Previous Next 🡪

Part I Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 Part II Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 Part III Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 Part IV Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 Part V Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 Part VI Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 Part VII Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 Part VIII Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 Part IX Navigation: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

[antianakin]

I understand people liked Ahsoka by season five and all, but would it not have been more interesting to have had Ahsoka BE the bomber, like maybe she intentionally planned it so she was off planet and therefore free of suspicion when it happened.

Have her just... go dark. Both because of the war and its impact on the Jedi and the corruption in the Jedi, but also because she learned at the heels of Anakin Skywalker and he's taught her all of his worst habits. He's taught her attachment, and selfishness, and impatience, and mistrust, and arrogance.

The entire bombing isn't even ABOUT the Jedi or sending a message, it's to frame Anakin for the whole thing so that she can get him to come with her afterwards, but Anakin's a little better at proving his own innocence than Ahsoka was, so he manages to get out of it on his own and Ahsoka gets exposed and has to run.

Ahsoka also underestimates how attached he is to the idea of being a Jedi, and to Padme on Coruscant, so she's taken by surprise when he refuses. And maybe she even calls him out for staying with the Jedi even when he doesn't agree with them, even when he's powerful enough that he could "do more" to win the war quicker, even when he's thought about leaving before but he's too cowardly to do so. Anakin's there like "How could you do this, Ahsoka, how could you betray everyone you know, everyone who cares about you?" and she can come back with "Because this is what you made me, this is what you taught me." And Anakin would reject that, refuse to see the truth in it, because of course he would. He would NEVER be anything but a hero, obviously.

It feels more interesting and compelling than the framing narrative and I feel like it leaves more for Ahsoka to do and room for her to grow as a separate character later on if they wanted to keep following her.

I don't HATE the trajectory she's been on prior to this, but it also feels like she's ended up a little static for years now, stuck in limbo with nowhere to go. At least if they'd thrown her down into the pits in TCW, she'd have an obvious path up from there to explore.

[diazuk-legacy]

Remembering that I had this one sketch from two years ago and just couldn’t be bothered to finished it.

[chaoticspacefam]

Is it socially acceptable to throw a goat at Satele Shan, Yes or Yes?

"It is ALWAYS socially acceptable to throw things at that bitch. Make sure you aim for her head >:)))"

Alright, Kas, settle down, we know you hate her!

(For the record, Aria agrees, and seems to be forgetting the time she tried to fight Satele on Tython and got her shit absolutely wrecked 💀🤣)

[menaceborn]

actually, might add an AU where i change the events of phantom menace slightly so that maul still kills qui-gon, but he never fights obi-wan (maybe qui-gon told obi-wan to leave naboo with anakin to get him to safety? idk, it's an AU so the details aren't hugely important tbh) which, in the big scheme of things, doesn't change much except maul would still be allied with palps and carrying out his orders and so on

[killikhive]

the inquisitor balmorra story involves less actual genetic fuckery than I think it should tbh. this serum's only meant for colicoids? I think the inquisitor should be able to be like "okay what if I had colicoid dna then"

is it absurd? yes. but I think taket does suggest this because. listen. shes got scientific curiosity in her but she doesn't have much actual background education. it's just the right combination for her to suggest something absolutely batshit and I think it'd be fun if it Sort of Works. or at least is one of those things where it doesn't actually change how the serum works but just fucks with her DNA a bit and might contribute to the whole mess with what is mostly the forcewalking sickness.

get to the mother machine and it's like "what the fuck did you DO?"

[gffa]

One thing that caught my attention while watching The Phantom Menace in the theater, a movie I didn't expect to find anything new with after how many times I've seen it and analyzed it, was that Sidious mentions multiple times that he has to change his plans to fit the new circumstances. It got me to thinking about how Palpatine gets credit for his carefully crafted plans, but often times not for how flexible he is in changing them on the fly, especially in time travel fics where someone destroys one of his plans and that's the end of it. Which, I'm not advocating against, I love a good Take That Wrinkled Walnut The Fuck Down However You Gotta Do It fic and I don't want them to change! But in canon Palpatine makes note of things he's not expecting, like:

When Valorum sends the Jedi as ambassadors, it's not part of Sidious' plan: DAULTAY DOFINE: This scheme of yours has failed, Lord Sidious. The blockade is finished. We dare not go against the Jedi. DARTH SIDIOUS: Viceroy, I don't want this stunted slime in my sight again! This turn of events is unfortunate. We must accelerate our plans. Begin landing your troops. NUTE GUNRAY: My lord, is that… legal? DARTH SIDIOUS: I will make it legal. NUTE GUNRAY: And the Jedi? DARTH SIDIOUS: The Chancellor should never have brought them into this. Kill them immediately!

On the Trade Federation ship, after Queen Amidala has disappeared from Naboo, Palpatine originally planned that she would be forced to sign the treaty, and then brings in Maul to deal with this. DARTH SIDIOUS: And Queen Amidala, has she signed the treaty? NUTE GUNRAY: She has disappeared, My Lord. One Naboo cruiser got pat the blockade. DARTH SIDIOUS: I want that treaty signed. NUTE GUNRAY: My Lord, it's impossible to locate the ship. It's out of our range. DARTH SIDIOUS: Not for a Sith. This is my apprentice. Darth Maul. He will find your lost ship.

On Naboo, after Padme allies with the Gungans: NUTE GUNRAY: We've sent out patrols. We've already located their starship in the swamp....It won't be long, My Lord. DARTH SIDIOUS: This is an unexpected move for her. It's too aggressive. Lord Maul, be mindful. MAUL: Yes, my Master. DARTH SIDIOUS: Be patient... Let them make the first move.

Palpatine's plans aren't static, they adapt and change with the events that happen, just as the other characters react to new information and head in new directions for it, so too does Palpatine and I think it's interesting to note that part of what makes him such a good villain is that he has an outline for what he wants to do, he sets up the dominoes of what he needs, but even when they don't fall precisely into place, he generally gets what he wants. He originally intended that Padme would sign the treaty, the Jedi wouldn't be involved, and that would lead to a vote of No Confidence to oust Valorum, using the sympathy for Naboo as a way to boost himself into the position. But he didn't really need her to sign it and still managed to use the sympathy for Naboo to get elected, it ultimately didn't matter what happened to the planet, so long as it was in danger while he needed it to be, he could use it either way. Nor, honestly, do I think he ever planned for Anakin Skywalker's existence, he had no idea they would find such a boy on Tatooine or how useful he was going to be, that was another way he changed his plans once the opportunity arose. Or a lot of his plots in TCW--he has Cad Bane steal the list of Force-sensitive children and kidnap them, bringing them to Mustafar for some sort of program to use them probably not too unlike how he uses the Inquisitors later. That plan is foiled by the Jedi, the babies are returned to their families, and Sidious' plans fall through, but that doesn't really change the outcome. tl:dr: I don't think Palpatine gets enough credit as a villain whose plans shift and change along with the new events that happen, just as much as the heroes' plans shift and change when new things happen. Yeah, he's a great villain because he creates an impossible trap for people, but also because the thing about him is that he's incredibly charming and charismatic and he knows an opportunity when he sees one, that any one given plan might fall through, but it's not necessary to his overall plot.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

the way i need enemies to lovers smut with cal where reader is a sith lord and gets hurt but cal being the good man that he is, takes her back to his place and things happen yk 😰

i love this so much and I hope it's alright that I changed the prompt a teensy bit. instead of being sith, reader is just a darkside-user more generally. also gender neutral. thank you so much for the request!

Balance (Cal Kestis x reader)

Summary: You encounter Cal Kestis a few too many times, and you can't explain the way that the Force seems to be conspiring to put you two together in a room.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors DNI; gn!reader; inappropriate use of the Force; reader is a darkside user and honestly doesn't know how fucked they are; semi-graphic injuries; porn with plot; toxic relationship lowkey; blowjob; mutual masturbation (sort of); penetrative sex; unprotected sex (pls be safe irl y'all); if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 12,765 my hand slipped

The first time you encounter Cal Kestis, you nearly kill him.

You’d heard the rumors, of course, whispered with bright eyes and furtive expressions in shithole Outer Rim cantinas of a flame-headed being cutting down Inquisitors and Imperials. When you first overheard a snippet of the tall tale, you’d nearly choked on your cheap spotchka. Right, you remember thinking, a fiery figure opposing the Empire. Did they run out of good gossip today? 

Most rumors have at least a kernel of truth at their centers, and you figured it was the same with this one. And besides, you are indifferent to the Empire, at best; you’ve been avoiding their attention as much as you can, but you suspect that the thick cloak of the darkside you wear like a mantle has kept most of the Inquisitorius oblivious. They’re looking for Jedi, who cannot resist continuing to do good in a galaxy rotted to its core, and you stopped being a Jedi long before the Empire rose to power. They probably pay no mind to one lone figure who straddles the line of light and dark, temptation and virtue. 

But that doesn’t mean Jedi pay no mind to you. Most of them, you can avoid; you fight when necessary. Currently, you’re thinking a fight might just be necessary. You’re on some planet you’ve already forgotten the name of, densely populated and urban. You stand with one foot propped on the edge of a rooftop, neon lights glimmering on wet permacrete. Rain drizzles in a fine mist. You gaze placidly across the gap to the next building—to the flame-headed being. Without even needing to try, you feel his Force signature: he burns in the Force, even as he tries to hide it. His coppery hair ruffles in the slight breeze, stubble darkening his face. 

With a steadying breath, you tilt your head to one side. “Got a name, friend?”

“Not one you need to know,” he calls back. His posture is loose, casual, but you sense the whipcord tension in his Force aura; he’s on the alert. 

As he probably should be. 

“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” You offer him a disarming smile. “Seems only fair, right? Equitable partnership.” 

He snorts. “There’s no partnership.” 

“Fine,” you huff. You tell him your name anyways, and he mouths it silently, but none of that tension dissipates. You take the moment to appraise him a little more closely: lean body, self-assured slant of his shoulders, faded burn scar cut across his face. Heat licks up your spine.

“Cal,” he eventually says. “Cal Kestis.”

You smile wide at his honeyed voice. “Nice to meet you, Cal Kestis. Mind moving out of the way so I can continue on my merry way?” 

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s no trace of regret in that gorgeous voice, only immense exhaustion. 

Your saber hilt twitches against your back as your hand flexes nearly out of habit. Taking another deep, cleansing breath, you shrug as if his answer means nothing. The dark tide of the Force surges through your body, tingling in your fingertips, sharpening the smoggy night air into fine detail. “Well, can’t say I didn’t ask nicely.” 

And then you leap, going from a dead standstill to a flurry of action in the space of a heartbeat. As your unstable crimson blade screeches to life, bathing the rooftops in flickering light, an answering snap-hiss echoes around you. Blue beam clashes with red, showering sparks over both of you. 

Oh, he’s strong, and for some reason that makes your skin flush. You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile and shove. He staggers back, feet slipping for a moment in the gravel surface of the rooftop, before he recovers. 

“I’ll give you this one chance to stand down,” he says, voice thick and low and oh how it makes you shiver. His eyes glint in the blue light of his saber. 

“Funny,” you snap, “I was just going to say the same to you.” 

A frown tugs at his mouth. Lowering into a defensive stance, his eyes never leave yours as you languidly swing your saber in a half circle around you, content to draw this out. You’ve killed your number of Jedi in the name of self-preservation—necessary sacrifices to ensure the continued balance of Light and Dark—but there’s something about the way his green eyes harden into sharp gems the longer you twirl your blade, the casual power in his veined forearms, the absolutely pure gold energy he radiates in the Force. 

With an aggravated shake of your head, you press the attack. Overhead, backhand, thrust, thrust, parry—you and Cal settle into a dangerous dance. Bright light bursts where your sabers connect, sparks skittering across the gravel. For anyone watching nearby, the pair of you probably look like blurs of red and blue light—another light fixture among this technicolor urban landscape. 

But for anyone skilled in the Force, the radiance of your sabers dims in comparison to the pillars of energy you both become. One golden and bright as a thousand suns, shot through with faint tendrils of inky blackness; one glowing in shadow, a black hole ringed by its event horizon, smears of golden light. 

Both the light and the dark are present in this fight, and you smile grimly. In all things, balance, as your master used to say. 

The memory is a distraction, and Cal manages to break through your guard and punch your nose. Searing pressure spikes through your head, warmth dribbling down your face. 

You merely grin at him with blood-covered lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Kestis.” 

And again the two of you become a flurry of attacks, parries, counterattacks, feints. In the distance, the low drone of a police siren reverberates off the tall glass buildings of the downtown area. You’ve been spotted. Time to end this now. 

You make a show of appearing to be tiring, breathing coming in heavy gasps, your saber still meeting Cal’s in time to stop him from separating your limbs from your body, but just a fraction slower than what you’d begun with. And you give ground. Just a half step at first, and then several steps. Cal seizes the opportunity to push you back, force you into submission, gain the upperhand—

Not knowing he’d lost this fight the moment he’d placed himself in your path. 

The Force is with you. In the Force, your arms seem to glow with terrible, purple-black ultraviolet power as you surrender yourself to its currents. There is no longer you and your saber; your saber is you. There is no longer you and Cal Kestis; there is you and the last piece of yourself that you’re willing to atrophy. Veins of golden Light criss-cross under your darkly shining skin—and as you stand firm once again with your back to the low roof edge, you will those golden veins to flush, to swell. You’re going to triumph here, and it’ll be with the approval of the full Force.

Cal’s face gleams with sweat, his brow furrowed, delicious mouth curved down in a frown. You lick your lips. 

“Yield, Kestis,” you say. One last chance. 

He just grunts, and in a blur of motion, separates the hilt of his saber. Another beam of blue snaps to life. Fear flares in you for a moment—but the Force remains with you, and you let the emotion siphon into your cracked, bleeding kyber. Plasma spits off the sides of your blade as you block attack after attack after attack; you’re an infinite well of patience—but that siren is getting closer, and you know that time, unlike your patience, is of the essence. 

In a flash of inspiration, you reverse your grip on your hilt mid-parry, then swipe the angry blade out and up. A cry of pain, and one of the blue sabers retracts as the hilt clatters to the gravel. Cal stumbles back, cradling his left arm to his chest, his remaining saber held in front of him. 

You can’t help the surge of pleasure at besting your opponent, even temporarily. As you twirl your saber again, a spotlight suddenly beams down on the two of you. With a grimace, you swing the saber down towards the soft juncture of Cal’s neck where it meets his shoulder—

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of the calm, resigned look in his eyes. Your blade hovers mere centimeters off his skin. 

Amid the roar of hovercraft, the police siren, and the rushing of blood in your ears, he murmurs your name.

“Kark it all,” you spit. Gathering the Force within you, you shove him back. A shout of surprise, a flash of blue, and then he’s tumbling over the edge of the building. You retract your blade and dash in the opposite direction without a second thought. 

Your master had always been honest with you about how little he, or anyone, truly knew about the mysteries of the Force. During your years as a padawan, you spent countless hours in meditation chambers deep below the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, feeling the constant ebb and flow of the Force around you. The first time he brought you there, your master explained in hushed tones how the temple had been built millennia ago over an old Sith temple. The Force resided in a nexus point there; streams of energy flowed from all over the galaxy and converged—and then diverged—from the temple. 

Sitting in meditation now, you breathe deeply and steadily as the memory crests over you. 

“But, Master,” you asked, “if the temple used to be a Sith stronghold, doesn’t that mean the dark side of the Force is strong here, too?” 

His kind, patient eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is right, my Padawan. In all things, there must be balance. Light and dark only exist because of each other.”

A frown tugged at your lips at that, and you cocked your head to the side. “But aren’t we supposed to resist the darkness?” 

“Yes,” he said. “The darkness is an overbalance—an overabundance—of emotions, passions, fears. The Sith, and all who use the dark side, manipulate the Force to their will, instead of letting their emotions, like the Force, flow through them.” 

Something about that didn’t feel right. “But—” 

Your master held up one hand, forestalling the line of questioning you were about to launch into. He stepped through a large, arched doorway into a dim, echoing room. “Come, Padawan. Perhaps meditating will provide the answers you seek.” 

You inhale slowly and open your eyes, squinting against the bright blue glare of the hyperspace lane. No matter how long or how hard you meditated under the temple, you grew no closer to an answer than by asking your master. Despite your frustration, you kept returning to the chambers below the Great Hall. The Force there was...comforting. Balanced. And yet, so infuriating in its mystery. You could feel both the light and the dark, and neither were good or bad. The Force just...was. Perhaps it was the long hours you spent in the tunnels and vast echoic chambers there that you developed your keen sense for the composition of the Force.

Standing, you groan softly at the ache in your knees. As you settle back into the thinly padded pilot’s seat, you massage at the joints, wondering just when you’d gotten old. 

Probably when that droid shot through your master’s heart on Geonosis, and you’d physically felt the Force tip off-balance half a galaxy away, deep in meditation on Coruscant. The memory is painful, and digs its festering claws into your heart yet again. 

The Council hadn’t even needed to tell you your master had perished in the opening salvo of the Clone Wars. The morning after his funeral, with both his and your sabers in your pack, you’d fled the temple.

The old fool, you think, slashing the memory of him from your awareness.

By now, you’re used to the pit of emotions yawning in your very essence. You hold onto your fears, your angers, your anxieties—but also your loves, your passions, your desires. Without even really thinking about it, you reach for the loose compartment that holds your master’s saber. Its duranium-plated hilt is slowly corroding, matching the slow degradation of yourself. The blade jumps to life with a snap-hiss. The green glow it casts is almost sickly, the blade bright, but thin and tremulous. It’s been weak since he died.

As you stare, eyes burning, into the flickering core of your master’s blade, you reach into the Force for the kyber at its heart. No matter how many times you brush against the crystal with your mind, you’re never prepared. A screech, unending and agonized and fearful, rends through your consciousness. For a moment, the green sputters, crimson taking its place. 

You drop the saber, gasping. The hilt clatters to the floor and blade retracts, and you’re left again in the pressing silence of hyperspace.

In all things, balance, drift the words through you once again. Green against crimson. Crimson for blue. You think about Cal Kestis, his blinding presence; you think of your vacuous silhouette; and you take all the rage you can muster and twist it into your own heart like a dagger. The joists of your ship groan in response.

The second time you meet Cal Kestis, you almost wish you’d killed him all those years ago.

Just a few months after that first encounter on rain-slicked rooftops, you caught wind of a rumor that the flame-headed being attacked the Fortress Inquisitorius itself. This time, you didn’t discount the story, having witnessed first hand—for however short a time—the Force-empowered determination of that single human being. None of the rumors about Cal Kestis surprise you anymore. 

But you routinely have to curse his name as the Inquisitors have now turned their attention beyond just Jedi. The cloak of the darkness is no longer enough on its own to hide you from the long gaze of the Empire. You’ve taken to hiding out on barely populated Outer Rim worlds, hanging around long enough to establish some kind of routine, before the gentle ripples of the Force lapping against your subconscious grow into towering, dangerous waves. And then you hop back in your ship, barely more than scrap welded to a hyperdrive, and scuttle off to the next system. 

Which is where you find yourself now. Koboh could be promising. As you crouch at the edge of an exposed cliff, you study the cosmic anomaly that orbits the planet. The Abyss. You’re not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it creates a strong enough disturbance in the Force that you’re hopeful it will mask your own signature. And, you admit to yourself as your gaze lowers to the breathtaking landscape spread out below you, you’ve hidden in worse places the last few years. Koboh seems promising, indeed.

You spend a few days studying the locals, trying to get a feel for how life works here. For the most part, everyone here seems like they’re from off-world—which is good, because it means you won’t stand out for very long as a newcomer. Everyone here is a newcomer. And everyone here is more concerned, it seems, with the things that lie in the dirt than in the world aboveground. All the better for you. 

Concealing your saber hilt against your back like always, you make sure your ship, bucket of bolts that it is, is well-hidden enough to dissuade any potential scrappers. Tucked high on an outcropping, you hope most folks won’t care too much to check out the shiny metal bits not covered by plant matter. Not when it’s several dozen feet above solid ground. 

And you make sure you look as uninteresting as possible. With your saber out of view, you could pass for a refugee without issue. Force knows you’ve been weeks without a proper shower; you can feel the dirt and grime on every inch of your skin. Your clothing, usually neat and tucked in, is dusty, torn, and stained with dried blood. 

Yes, you’ll fit in nicely here. 

As you pass beneath a metallic archway decorated with a massive horned skull, you reach out in the Force, making sure that none of the town’s inhabitants can get the drop on you. You bypass squat, square buildings that are probably homes of some of the folks here. None seem of interest. Instead, your gaze is trained on the larger, multi-story building near the center of town. As you draw nearer, you realize the sign above the door reads, “Saloon.” Perfect. 

The door opens to admit you into a hallway; at the end, you wait in front of another door for a moment while a mechanical eye studies you. Chattering in a deep, unintelligible voice, the eye withdraws, and the second door whooshes open to reveal the barroom. 

No one turns as you descend the few steps to the floor. Crates and clutter stock most of the booths along the side wall, a few folks talking quietly at smaller tables or sitting alone and nursing a drink. Quiet, staticky radio music plays over the speakers. 

Behind the bar is a tall, four-armed droid who skids to a halt where you lean against the counter.

“You’re a new face,” the droid says. “Name’s Monk. What can I get you?” 

You quirk an eyebrow and give the droid, Monk, an alias, your sixth one in as many months. Then you say, “Got any spotchka?” 

“Indeed I do,” Monk says. “Shall I start a tab?” 

“I’ll pay up front,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Monk gives you the cost as he pours the glowing blue liquid into a clean glass, and you slide the credits across the counter. The alcohol’s familiar burn slides down your throat as you lean your back against the bar. Over the rim of your glass, you study the other patrons here at the saloon. Dusty, tired figures, the lot of them. In the Force, they are marginal, giving off only nominal signatures, no different than most other living beings. Most of them aren’t important enough to even warrant a clear affiliation with light or dark; they just are. Your upper lip quirks in a grimace.

Extending your awareness out farther, you’re not sure what you’re searching for, but you suppose you’ll know it when you find it. The hilt of your saber digs uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignore it, using the pain to sharpen your focus. You sense more townsfolk going to and fro outside the saloon, but none of them of any more note than those inside.

Something in you itches. Frowning, you lower the glass of spotchka and try to focus in on that feeling. It’s under your skin, out of reach, just behind your spine, but if you just push a little farther—

You gasp, cringing away from the sudden supernova that blinds your awareness in the Force. Cal Kestis. It has to be Cal. No one else burns quite like him. 

You yank your Force signature back into your body, hoping he didn’t feel you like you felt him. Figuring you only have moments to get out, you make a split-second decision between the several other doors leading away from this main room. Spotchka glass still in hand, you dart for the nearest door, and it slides open to reveal a staircase that winds upward. You take the steps two at a time. At the landing, you hiss at the sight of a second-floor loft. Stairs seem to continue along the other side, continuing to wind upward, but before you can run for them, a familiar voice drifts up from below. 

“Hey, Monk, good to see you,” says Cal Kestis. 

Your body flushes with warmth. Kriff. 

Monk says something you can’t quite make out. 

“Another newcomer?” Cal says. “I’ll make sure to say hi when I see them.” 

Grimacing, you creep across the floor toward the second staircase. Your foot just touches the bottom step when a voice behind you calls your name—your real name, not the alias you gave the droid. 

You sigh, chin falling toward your chest. “Cal Kestis.” 

“How did you find me?” 

His green gaze burns into you almost as hot as his Force signature. You roll your eyes; typical Jedi, thinking the world revolves around him.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say. “I’m...laying low.” 

He crosses his arms across his chest, and you’re distracted for a moment by the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want to, Jedi,” you bite out. “I’ll go find my own desolate planet.” 

“Can’t let you do that,” he says, following behind you as you climb the stairs. 

“I’d love to see you stop me.” 

You feel the disturbance in the Force and brace for it. His attempt to yank you back down the stairs fails as you push against it—but you can’t push past it. Equally matched. Balanced. 

With a growl, you spin on your heel and point an accusing finger at Cal. “Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” 

His eyes narrow at you as you stand there, chest heaving with emotion, both of you crackling with energy in the Force. You down the rest of your spotchka and shatter the glass on the ground. Cal doesn’t flinch. The longer you stand there, the hotter your face flushes. Ignoring the impulse to shudder, you don’t miss the way his green eyes study your face, your posture, your signature. 

“I know you,” he finally says. “From the temple.” 

You snort in derision. “Good for you, kid.” 

“I was still a youngling when the Clone Wars started,” he says. “I...understand what it’s like to lose your master.” 

Your vision pulses black for a moment, and on instinct you reach out with a clawed hand. Cal’s eyes widen in fear as his hands fly to his throat, grabbing at the invisible hand you squeeze there.

“Don’t. Ever. Presume to know anything about me,” you hiss. “You know nothing, Cal Kestis.” 

“You’re—right—” he chokes out. “I’m—sorry—”

You shove, the Force exploding through your palm as he slams into the opposite wall. Sputtering, he coughs, rubbing at his throat. 

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.” You spit the title like a curse—like the curse that it is—and turn to take the staircase up and out. The door at the top admits you to the open-air roof, the cosmic explosion of the Abyss looming overhead. 

You step over the edge of the roof, calling on the Force to cushion your descent. At the bottom, you ignore the flabbergasted expressions on a few of the locals as you stalk off. Past the saloon, past the stables, through the shallow river—you’re not sure how far you walk, but it’s dark by the time that you realize you’re lost. 

“Kriff,” you sigh. 

Thankfully, whether by luck or by the sheer force of presence of your Force signature, you’ve not been bothered by any of the (frankly terrifying) wildlife on this planet. Tentatively, you reach out, but you find nothing but a few docile Nekkos and, farther off, a dozing bilemaw. 

In the dim light provided by the Abyss and the Shattered Moon hanging heavy in the sky, you determine that a shallow cliff alcove nearby will be as good a place as any to rest until morning. Settling under the rocky overhang, you exhale a shaky breath. 

It’s been a long time since you let your emotions take control like that. You allow yourself to feel them, even to use them to your advantage—but you rarely lose control. Not recently, anyways. 

You bare your teeth at the thought of Cal Kestis. He’s by far only the latest in a string of former Jedi you’ve encountered, but none of them, even the ones who you remember from your years as a padawan, created this amount of turmoil in you. So why him? 

Should probably just ask him myself, huh, you muse, hearing a twig snap nearby. You don’t need to look into the Force to know who it is. 

“Who’s following who now?” you call. 

With a familiar hum, a blue blade sings as it springs to life, illuminating the alcove you’re hunkered in, as well as Cal’s lean figure. You’re too exhausted to be angry at this point, but a different kind of heat licks up your spine as you push up onto your feet. The warmth settles between your thighs, throbbing uncomfortably as he raises the saber overhead, his arm muscles flexing. 

“Had to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone,” he says, halting just a few feet away. 

“No one out here to hurt,” you say. “What are you really doing here, Kestis?” 

He hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet, eyes not meeting yours. Squinting, you extend a tendril of awareness toward him—past the burnished gold aura, past the shell of Jedi honor he projects like a shield, until you brush against one of those tiny black cracks in his signature. He stiffens, shifts his stance into a defensive half-crouch. There is darkness in him. 

And there is lightness in you, sighs a voice that sounds very much like your master’s. 

You ignore it. 

“Well?” you prompt. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says. 

You snort. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” Sinking back into a meditative pose, you let your eyes slide shut and effectively shut out all things Cal Kestis.

At least, that’s what you try to do. The karking idiot seems to have decided that you’re not a threat—a poor miscalculation on his part—as his saber retracts and you hear the sounds of someone settling into a meditative trance next to you. Peeking one eye open, you glance over to find him sat back on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, his face blank and serene. He’s beautiful like this, you think. 

“I could kill you right now, you know,” you say, letting your eye fall shut again. 

“You won’t,” he says, sounding so matter-of-fact that you’re almost convinced that you really wouldn’t. 

Then you shake your head. “Don’t be so certain.” 

“You didn’t kill me five years ago. You won’t kill me now.” 

Gnawing at your cheek, you find you have no response for that. 

The third time you face Cal Kestis, you want to hate him. 

Koboh proves to be big enough for two powerful Force users. You keep to the wilderness, and he sticks to the town. For the most part, anyway. You occasionally catch a glimpse of copper hair as he explores the planet, following all the inane rumors of the locals. Why he even lowers himself to their level, you’ll never understand. 

And besides, Koboh has turned out to be a perfect place to continue your search for answers about the Force. You’ve never wanted to stop knowing, never stopped asking “But why?” The Abyss above is a physical presence most days, nearly oppressive in its crushing weight. It absolutely deafens you in the Force whenever you try to reach for it, painful screeching assaulting your senses. There’s something behind the noise, though, but it’s too far, too deep, for you to reach it. 

You haven’t seen Cal in a while now. And you’re fine with that. You’d watched his ship take off in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, and it still hasn’t returned. 

Shrugging, you decide that today is as good a day as any to do some exploring of your own. You’ve watched Cal enough to know that there are hidden vaults on this planet, and from what you’ve been able to tell, they’re old. Maybe they’ll have some answers. 

The sunrise peeks over the craggy cliffside, casting a gentle pink hue over the world, still hushed in its predawn slumber. Dew collects on your pant legs as you pass through a small clearing of scrubby bushes. A couple dozen feet up the hill glints a hint of gold. None of the Koboh prospectors would have left this alone unless it were for a reason, you figure. Maybe this is one of the vaults. 

Resting a palm gently on its surface, the gold is cool to the touch. Glyphs in Basic and other languages spiral around the circular door-like structure. When you examine it through the Force, you feel the mechanism that keeps it locked, but no matter how much you push, pull, yank, shove, the door remains sealed. 

“Dank farrik,” you curse. “How does Cal do it?” 

“Very carefully,” a familiar warm voice says from behind you. 

You barely glance over your shoulder, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught unawares, but somehow unsurprised he’s managed to find you. You should have known that even thinking of his absence would cause it to revert. 

“Very funny,” you say. “What secrets are you hiding, Jedi?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sith,” he says. 

As he sidles up alongside you, you glare at him. “I’m not a Sith.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “Red saber, strong in the dark side, angry all the time.” 

Huffing, you roll your eyes. His hair is longer than it has been since you first met him, and there’s another scar, pink and shiny, on his upper bicep, like he’d been cut with a vibroblade. As you study him, you also realize he looks...older. More tired. More weary. 

“You look like bantha fodder,” you say helpfully. 

He hums noncommittally. “Do you want into the vault or not?” 

“You’re gonna let me in?” you say, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

With a half-shrug, he says, “I’ve already explored this one. Nothing left in it for you to gain, except maybe some manners.” 

He reveals a small, handheld device that, when he raises it toward the golden door, blips. The door expands open, revealing a turbolift in the center of the floor. 

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, not moving from your spot. Suspicion bubbles in the back of your mind. 

Cal pockets the device and gestures for you to go ahead, giving you a sardonic two-finger salute. “It’s in my nature.” 

With that, he takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and trudges back downhill, tucking his fiery hair behind his ears. 

The vault teaches you something, alright, but it isn’t manners like Cal hoped. Even two century-old tech and warbled messages from a Jedi named Santari Khri cannot lift the veil of jade that rests over your eyes. The Order has always been faulty. The Order has always been weak. Your master was always fated to die, and you to wander, adrift. You grind your teeth in anger. Is that all that exists for you? For anyone? To live and die at the whim of some cosmic, unknowable power? 

The vault also reminds you of your mortality. As you work yourself into a silent rage about the unfairness of the galaxy, at the cruel and nonsensical nature of the Force, you miscalculate the distance between two crumbling stone platforms. With a Force-assisted leap, your arms windmill as you keep yourself balanced, but your feet only just manage to catch the edge of the platform. You wobble, anger bursting into fear, as the stone grates against itself before your stomach is in your throat as you plummet straight down. 

The rush of frigid air steals the scream from your lungs. Try as you might, the Force refuses to help you grasp onto the quickly receding lip of this chasm. 

And then pain rockets up your legs in jagged, arcing lines from your heels to your hips, and you collapse. 

It’s only by sheer willpower that you don’t black out. Grit your teeth. Take a deep breath. Curse until the pain abates. 

You take stock of your body. Your legs are on fire, and any attempt to move them sends a fresh wave of lava licking up your nerve endings. Otherwise, you wipe away blood from scrapes on your palms and tenderly poke at the bruises already forming on your ribs. Around you, myriad rocks and small boulders litter the cracked, moist ground. Mist clings to the spaces in between. When you look up, the ledge you fell from is completely obscured. 

“No Jedi wisdom for me, Santari Khri?” you croak as you gently shift into an upright position. Your teeth squeak from clenching your jaw against the pain, but you manage to prop yourself up with your back against a sizable rock. 

The mist deadens your words. Instead of an echo, it’s like the words get clipped short before they can fully materialize in the air. The back of your neck pricks. But, studying your surroundings once more, there is nothing for you to do but meditate. Perhaps, for once, the Force will provide.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you sit in meditation, methodically stretching your awareness to its limits, trying to snag onto any signature in the Force that might help you out of this predicament. Your butt goes completely numb, as do your legs—a fact you feel should incite panic in your already-tight chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. By the time that you’re ready to give up searching, your throat tickles with dryness and your stomach begins to feel empty. 

But just as you heave a sigh, rising out of the meditative trance, the Force tugs on your awareness. Furrowing your brow, you concentrate: up, up up up, and to the left. Something steadily growing closer. Something bright, and familiar, and warm. 

Cal. 

For once, you’re grateful for his annoyingly Jedi-like qualities. You track his presence through the Force, unable to do more than monitor as he seems to approach your location with frustrating slowness. 

“Come on,” you mutter, mouth thick. “I’m here. Come find me like you always do.” 

After what feels like another small eternity, you finally open your eyes and peer up through the opaque mist. Above, you swear you hear boots crunching on loose rock, and the distant bwee-boop of a droid. 

“Down here,” you half call, half croak. The words don’t seem to make it past your throat. 

For a terrible moment, you think Cal is going to search the seemingly empty vault and, not finding you within, leave. You can’t tell, through either his footsteps or his Force signature, what he’s doing up there. At the last moment, a burst of panic seizing your limbs, you lean forward with a groan and retrieve your saber, still miraculously tucked into your waistband. 

The spitting crimson blade is a comfort as it screeches to life in the oppressive space.

A voice calls your name, cautious. 

“Here!” you shout, voice cracking painfully in an effort to be heard. 

Blue flame bursts to life somewhere above—much farther above than you initially thought—and you nearly sob in relief. 

“Watch your eyes,” Cal shouts down, and you have only a moment to register what he means before you duck, retracting your blade. The unmistakable sound of saber scoring through rock reaches you, heated pebbles showering down on your covered head, and then the sound of two soft leather-clad feet touching down beside you. 

Wary, you raise your head. Cal crouches next to you, his face painted with a cautious kind of concern. 

“You came back?” You don’t mean to make it a question, but the softness in his eyes, the gentleness with which he ghosts his hands over your many injuries, makes you reconsider your previous anger toward him. At least, for a moment. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “it’s in my nature.” 

“Legs are the worst of it,” you say, gesturing weakly to your two limbs stretched in front of you. Both are angry shades of blotchy red and purple, but no bone peeks out from within your skin at the very least. 

Cal casts a questioning look up at you, his palms hovering over your legs. You give a small nod, and he lowers his hands until they make feather-light contact with your skin. Even as careful as he’s being, pain erupts all over again when he brushes over your shin, and you squirm, cursing. 

“Probably fractured the bones,” he says. “Need to get you back to town.” 

You groan. “Unless you plan on carrying me out of here, Kestis, I’m not in any shape to make it all the way back.” 

He studies your face for a moment, really studies it, and you can’t help the way your lips part at the intensity in his gaze. Despite the aching pain in your legs, you can’t suppress the heat blooming up your neck into your cheeks the longer his eyes roam your face. Surely he can sense the way your Force aura grows more agitated. 

Whatever he’s searching for on your face, he seems to find it. Shrugging his shoulders, the curious little BD unit you’ve noticed with Cal peeks its white-and-red head up. With a boop?, Cal jerks his chin at you.

The droid slides down Cal’s back and trots up to you. Tilting its head, the mismatched eyes whir and toggle as the droid seems to study you with the same scrutiny as Cal just had.

“What—”

In the blink of an eye—faster, even—a flash of green light dazzles you, followed by the sharp pain of an injection. But that doesn’t even matter, as a blissful, cool relief spreads immediately from the injection site through the rest of your body. The ache in your legs subsides to a dull throb, and you find that you can finally move the limbs without wanting to vomit. 

“Stim,” Cal explains. He rises to his feet, and holds a hand out. “Come on. It’ll wear off soon.” 

His hand is warm, achingly so, when he grasps yours and tugs you to your feet. Grimacing at the wave of nausea that sweeps over you, you cling to his hand until it passes. 

He’s studying the sheer rockface to either side. “I may be carrying you out of here either way. Come on. Hop up.” 

He turns to retrieve your saber where you dropped the hilt—he stiffens for just a moment, so quick you think you imagine it, before he hands the hilt back to you. And then he remains facing away from you. You realize, with a deep-seated groan, that he’s removed the jacket he was wearing earlier, when he let you into the vault. His shoulders are bare and so strong and pretty and freckled and— 

His soft question of your name breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Tentatively, you hook your arms over top of his broad shoulders, trying to ignore the way his skin feels against yours, and he crouches so you can more easily clamber onto his back like a pack. 

“BD, up,” Cal orders, and you squirm as the droid clambers up your back to rest with one foot on your shoulder and the other on Cal’s. 

Even with the stim working through your system much like coolant in your ship’s engine, and even with Cal doing all he can to keep you steady on his back as he Force-propels himself up the vertical rockfaces of this cavern, you bite into your cheek hard enough for it to bleed to keep yourself from yelping in pain. It’s bad enough that he had to save you from a slow death in this Force-forsaken vault; he doesn’t need to know the fire that licks up your nerve endings with every jostle. 

You shuffle off his back as soon as you’re able. A grimace contorts your features as you stumble a few steps, but you wave away Cal’s steadying hands.

“I’m fine,” you grit out. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” he says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you’re more exhausted than you are angry. “You didn’t have to come back for me.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, gesturing for you to step onto the turbolift first, “I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Ha,” you bark out. Your stomach lurches as the turbolift shudders into its ascent. “Of course I owe you, Kestis. It’s all about balance.” 

“Balance,” he says, his voice strangely hollow and contemplative. “You murdered Rexan Binette and Sarela Webb and the others for balance?” 

The names of the Jedi you killed reverberate off the curved walls of the lift chamber. Breathing through your nose, you avoid his gaze—and then shake your head at yourself, angry. Why should you be ashamed? It was them or you. 

The lift comes to a smooth halt at the top, and you’re somehow unsurprised to find that it appears to be dawn again. Your eyes find Cal’s green ones. They look nearly black in the early morning haze. His expression bares all of his emotions: hurt, suspicion, concern, worry. But he doesn’t seem...afraid. Not of you, anyways, and instead of filling you with rage, that realization makes you deflate. 

“The galaxy changed,” you say, voice flat. “You change with it, or you die.” 

He fixes you with his stare for a moment more, and then shakes his head and begins the long walk back downhill without a word. Heaving a sigh, you follow him. You can’t repay the debt you now owe him if you die from an infected wound. You tell yourself that the heat bubbling in your chest is hate, hate that you’re now bound to this life debt, hate that of all people you’re in debt to Cal Kestis. But hate has never felt so soft.

The final time that you and Cal Kestis cross paths, you remember why hatred is easier. 

It’s only a few weeks after when you’ve fully healed thanks to Cal’s quick intervention, the extra stores of bacta that you had the good foresight to stash in your ship years ago, and perhaps a nudge from the Force. You’ve retreated to your ramshackle abode in the wilderness; thankfully, the worst you have to deal with upon returning is a stray Bogling. No matter how hard you try to shoo the pesky creature away from your hut, it comes back again. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grumble, watching the Bogling scratch at the dirt out front of your hut. It chitters as it works to burrow its den. 

Cal has disappeared again, which works just fine for you. It’s easier to attune to the Force when he’s gone. When you’re not distracted by his burnished radiance, his soothing calmness, his serene meditation posture, his hair that looks as soft as the Bogling’s fur, his...him.

Genuinely, who the kriff does Cal Kestis think he is? Where does he get the right to continue to do good in the galaxy when all the galaxy wants is to kill him? To kill everyone like him? How does he continue fighting? 

For that matter, how do you continue fighting? The sudden self-introspection is jarring. You squint a glare up at the Abyss, the technicolor explosion hanging heavy in the sky, as if it personally arranged your fated entanglement with the Jedi. As if it asked the question of your purpose, not your own conscience.

You have to squint in part because, in the Force, the Abyss is blinding. Stare too long and you’ll be blinking away spots from your vision for hours afterward. As your eyes start to water, you shake your head and bring your gaze back to terra firma. Kark it all, you think, bitter. You continue fighting because you have to. Because you have to know the answer. You have to understand the balance. 

In the Force, you’ve watched for years as the streaks of light in your otherwise void-like existence pulse and contract. Here, underneath the staggering presence of the Abyss, the galactic, even cosmic, struggle between Light and Dark, splashes across your own skin, a microcosm. It makes you angry all over again, as you study the vapors of golden lightness drift around you. The anger is good. The anger makes the darkness pulse and surge and rise; the anger makes you more focused. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to hang onto the anger. 

And then you don’t have to try at all. In your peripheral awareness, the Bogling has scurried in fright into your small hut as the sound of footsteps—many, many footsteps—echoes off the surrounding cliff walls. Your lips curl back in a snarl at being interrupted. Saber hilt smacking into your palm with a familiar weight, the unsteady red blade fills your small clearing with a threatening hum. 

Around the corner comes a full squad of Imperials. For a moment, you have to blink, to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. But no. The hard white duraplast armor gleams in the midday sun, the mixed group of scout- and Stormtroopers advancing as one giant, grotesque organism. And at its midst, in the nucleus, are two black-clad figures wielding crackling electrostaffs. 

Purge Troopers. 

How dare they. How dare they come to your planet—and you hesitate only a moment over the possessiveness in your anger—and only another moment more when you find that you include Cal’s place on Koboh in that possession. This is your planet, together. The Light, and the Dark. 

In all things, balance. 

“Enemy located,” crackles the voice of one of the troopers. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, which. 

As the white-clad troopers fan out in a loose semicircle, blasters and batons raised at half-ready, the two Purge troopers continue a few paces forward. They’re nearly identical, all the way down to the way that they settle their weight on their right feet, perfectly unbalanced. 

“You won’t get away,” the one to your left calls, his voice imperious and cold. “Not this time. You’ll be coming with us.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” you call back, feigning disinterest. Through the Force, you mentally draw the battle map, the path of carnage and rage and blood you’ll wreak through the ten troopers in front of you. 

“There are ten of us,” the other Purge Trooper says, voice cocky and self-assured. The battle map in your mind halts, then reasserts itself with a new pattern. One that places Mr. Cocky and Arrogant at the top of your assault. 

You snort. “Glad to know the Empire is teaching its troopers basic math. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

You twirl your saber in a half circle around your body, a familiar ritual, a reset button to remind you to keep your head clear. As blasters raise to full height, you take a deep, centering breath, and close your eyes.

A silence takes over your ears, your mind, your very being. You are one with the Force; the Force is with you. Despite all your issues with the cosmic Force, you know it will not fail you now. You don’t hear the order to fire, you don’t hear the clicks of triggers, you don’t hear the scream of blaster bolts. You don’t need to. Guided by the Force, void-like and in command, your arms—your saber—jumps into place. 

Four blaster bolts pelt your way. Four blaster bolts ricochet and catch their originators in the chest. Four troopers fall. 

You open your eyes, lips tugging back over your teeth in a mockery of a smile. Sound returns to you just as one of the scout troopers, shaken, stumbles back with a cry: “St-Stormtrooper KIA!” 

You enact your battle map. 

Gathering the Force to yourself, you push off the ground and shoot forward with a Force assist, your saber swinging up and cleaving back down at the critical juncture between the cocky Purge Trooper’s neck and shoulder. The glowing plasma sinks easily through duraplast, fabric, and flesh alike; the trooper’s groan of pain gurgles as your blade cuts through his lungs. Now there are five. 

You whirl, saber moving nearly of its own accord to intercept each blow that the remaining troopers rain upon you. It’s nearly child’s play to parry their attacks, send them staggering off-balance. In a crucial moment where all your opponents hesitate to move forward again, you bare your teeth. Reaching out with a clawed hand, you grip the throat of one of the troopers, lift him bodily with the Force, then yank down as hard as you can. There’s a satisfying crack when he hits the ground.

You’re doing fine. You’re going to triumph here; the Force has willed it so. The fear of the remaining troopers is palpable and you draw on it, siphoning it into yourself, into your cracked and screaming kyber crystal. With a leaping slash, two trooper heads bounce away.

The remaining two troopers look at each other. You don’t need the Force to smell the fear rolling off of the scout trooper in waves, and you fix him with a feral grin. 

“No more quips?” you ask, voice harsh. 

He drops his baton and runs.

“Just you and me,” the Purge Trooper observes. 

“How very astute of you,” you say. “Your friend was the smart one. You can still run; I’ll let you go. For now.” 

“Not a chance.” The buzzing electrostaff twirls through the air as the Trooper lowers into a defensive crouch. “Surrender.” 

“Not a chance,” you echo, matching his stance. “Now, why don’t—”

A voice, familiar and warm and distracting, shouts your name from above. Like a fool, you hesitate, turning. There’s a glimpse of coppery hair, a blue flame, and golden radiance. You growl at the interruption—

And cry out as the electrostaff comes down across your upper back, singeing into your clothing, biting into your skin. 

You drop to your knees, vision blurry. Stupid. That was stupid. 

The Purge Trooper immediately raises the staff for another strike, but before it can make contact with the back of your neck, a rush of energy steamrolls over you and shoves the trooper fifteen feet back. His heels dig into the soft dirt. 

“Jedi!” If the trooper is surprised to see Cal Kestis coming to the rescue of the likes of you, you can’t hear it in his voice. “Guess this is my lucky day.” 

“Don’t count on it,” you wheeze. Grunting in pain, you shove to your feet and reset, saber singing in the air, the smell of ozone stinging your nose. 

Your name again, gentler this time, and closer. This time, you don’t turn, instead waiting for him to come to you. And he does, just like you knew he would. In the corner of your eye, Cal Kestis and his supernova signature provide something like...comfort. Heat bubbles and sputters in your chest at his closeness. This feeling is hate, you reassure yourself. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice pitched low. 

“I’ve had worse,” you say. “You here to help, or to mock?” 

He fully faces you, and you sense more than see his eyes rake over your profile. With a shake of his head, his copper hair flowing nearly to his shoulders, he raises his saber, point-first, toward the Purge Trooper. With a satisfied smile, you swing your saber in lazy circles. Finally. 

The two of you attack at the same time, nudged along by the Force. Together, you flank the trooper, whose training seems to have prepared him for a moment such as this. But for all the training this trooper has, you and Cal have more. You and Cal have more to fight for. More to lose. More to gain. 

Cal’s blur of a blue saber slashes through the air, at every turn blocking the trooper’s pressing attack, forcing the Imp to recalibrate. And when he attempts to do so, tries to even catch his breath, you’re there, the Force driving your swings harder. You know the blows that land on the staffs jar the Imp’s wrists all the way to his shoulders. You know he’s going to falter. You know he’s going to die. 

When the fear once again rises from this trooper, you smile. 

Overconfident, you twirl, blade seeming to bend as it whirls through the air. It will connect with the trooper at his waist.

It does—but his staff connects with you once again at your own waist, and this time it bites into your flesh and holds. 

“No!” Cal’s shout is harsh and angry. With a final flash of blue, the Purge Trooper slumps sideways, body collapsing into the dirt. The momentum yanks the electrostaff out of your side. 

You drop your saber hilt to press against the bleeding wound, hands shaking. Kark, this hurts. Why does it hurt so bad? Cal’s face, with wide, scared green eyes, appears in your field of vision. 

A spark of anger temporarily distracts you from the pain in your side and along your back. “Kestis,” you grind out. “I had it under control.” 

“It’s in my nature,” he says, like that explains everything. You suppose it does. Your anger abandons you, and you stagger forward, into his embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you as he ducks under your arm, taking your weight. “C’mon, we’ll get inside and I’ll patch you up.” 

“Got any more of those stims?” you ask, words slurring a little. You glance down at your side and blink dumbly at the amount of red staining your clothes. 

“A few more,” Cal says. “They’re yours. Just need to get you inside.” 

The several dozen feet to your hut pass in a blur and in a blink—you’re not sure which. Maybe it’s both. But you sigh as you settle down into the familiar comfort of your small cot. In the corner, you’re dimly aware of the Bogling cowering below the small kitchen table. Critter is cute, you suppose. Maybe it can stay. 

You’re delirious. That has to be it. You’d never willingly take in a stray. 

BD hops up on the cot next to you and, at Cal’s nod, ejects a glowing green stim canister. Cal catches it and then plunges the small needle into your side, just above the gash there. Cool relief tingles through you, and you smile at him. 

“That feels good,” you mumble. 

“I’m glad,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “You got medical supplies?” 

You gesture vaguely to the screened-off back corner, your ’fresher. “If I do, s’in there.”

BD stays with you while Cal rummages through your meager supplies, the little droid’s head tilted to the side as though studying you. You blink at him. 

Bwoop-beep? the droid chimes. 

“I don’t speak Binary, sorry,” you say. 

Cal chuckles, returning with a handful of supplies. “He’s wondering if you’re feeling okay.” 

You feel okay enough to feel annoyed at the question, and you shoo the little droid off your bed. When you return your attention to Cal, he’s hesitating, a roll of gauze, bottle of alcohol, and a needle in his hands. 

“What,” you ask, flatly. 

“Need to take your shirt off to clean the wound properly,” he says, and if you knew him better, you might think he sounds nervous. Embarrassed, even. 

But you don’t know him that well, and so you ignore his tone of voice. “Fine.” 

You struggle for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, hissing as the movement pulls at the wound in your side. Once it’s off, you throw it toward the ’fresher. 

Cal still hesitates, his eyes everywhere but on you. Another surge of annoyance flares in you, and you snatch the medical supplies out of his hands. 

“I’d really like to not bleed out here, Kestis,” you admonish. He at least has the sense to look abashed at that, and assists you in cleaning out the wound, stitching it shut, and wrapping you in gauze to keep pressure on it. You don’t let out a single curse, hiss, or groan the entire time, making the inside of your mouth bleed with how hard you bite down. 

“You okay?” he asks once you’re bandaged up. 

“What do you think?” you retort. “M’gonna sleep. You can go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he says. He withdraws, but remains in your small hut, slinging himself into the hand-hewn wooden chair at your dining table. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Why?” You can’t help the way the question sounds equal parts frustrated and incredulous.

“Just sleep, Sith,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, and for once, you have none.

When you wake, it’s still light outside. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze and left to dry out, your head not much better. With a soft groan, you roll onto your side and peer into the half-lit room. 

Cal’s already watching you. His gaze meets yours and pierces you, pinning you to the small cot tucked against the wall. Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you study his features. The dark scar across his face. The lean lines of his torso and muscles. The strand of fiery hair that curls over his forehead and teases his chin. Despite the lingering shards of pain in your side, heat flickers in your core.

“Why did you really come here, Cal?” you ask, voice low, the stillness around you demanding to remain unbroken. “Why did you come back for me at all? You know the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I can’t be worth saving.” 

He is quiet as he contemplates your question, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. Silence stretches between you, slow and languid, and you nearly hold your breath waiting for his response. 

Eventually he gives a half shrug. “There was a time when I believed everyone is worth saving. Since the Empire, things have...been different. I’m not so sure everyone deserves to be saved.” 

“So why come back?” 

His eyes are soft when they find yours again. You want to be angry, want to latch onto the residual pain in your body and sharpen it into a vibroblade, hurl it outward from yourself and hope it hurts him as much as you’ve been hurt. In your gut, the darkness stirs, but in your heart, the light whispers patience. 

“I see too much of myself in you to not come back for you,” he says, so quiet you nearly don’t process the words. 

But when his confession does register, you blink in surprise. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. 

“We couldn’t be more opposite, Kestis,” you say. “Do you know what you look like, in the Force?” 

When he remains silent, shifting in the wooden chair uncomfortably, you push yourself up into a sitting position. A sigh sloughs out of your throat. 

“You’re the most...beautiful thing I’ve seen,” you say, hesitating only briefly over the words. “You shine. You’re a beacon of light. Stars, Cal, you’re practically a star yourself.” 

His lips part in surprise, and you can’t ignore the way your core twists at the expression. “But—”

You raise a hand. “There’s darkness there, sure, but you are the light, Kestis. And sure, there may be light in me, but believe me, I’m a void. The void. You’ll never carry the sins that blacken my soul.” 

His toned chest rises and falls with his rapid, shallow breaths. When he swallows, you watch the way his throat bobs, the muscles that strain at his neck, the tightening of his hands into fists. Without even needing to look, you can feel the way his Force signature roils with confusion and surprise. You’ve caught him off-guard, yet again. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he whispers. 

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?” 

“In the Force,” he says. “Show me.”

“I’ve never—” 

“I have a gift.” He grimaces. “Psychometry. It might not work. But I want to see.” 

Ah. You understand how he knew the names of the Jedi you murdered, and glance at your saber hilt resting on the table near him. How much has he seen? 

Apparently, not enough. 

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Fine. C’mere.” 

The cot groans under the added weight, not meant for two people, but it holds. You adjust yourself to sit with your legs crossed, your knees touching Cal’s as he mirrors your posture. A slight twinge tugs at your ribs as you move. Cal’s eyes soften again as you grimace. 

“Don’t,” you grit out. “Save your pity.” 

“It’s not—” He huffs. “Whatever.” 

Glaring up at him through your eyelashes, you nevertheless rest your hands palm-up, fingers outstretched toward him. Cal gently rests his hands over yours. His skin is heated, electric where it touches yours. The thought crosses your mind, fleetingly, what your odds would be if you decided to finally end it here and now; the thought disappears as soon as his calloused fingers wrap around your forearms. 

“Like this?” he murmurs. 

“Feels right,” you reply in the same tone. “Here goes nothing, yeah?” 

You inhale a deep, centering breath, and allow yourself to sink into the currents of the Force. For a moment you have to squint as Cal’s truest form explodes across your perception. This close, you’re surprised he doesn’t radiate any extra heat. You’re also surprised at the imperfections you find in his signature, the small nicks in the otherwise flawless, gleaming golden skin. You have to restrain yourself from leaning forward to examine him even closer. The desire to know him, to pick him apart and put him back together, rushes through you, pulsing in your fingertips. 

When you feel adjusted to his presence, this close, this intoxicating, you squeeze his hands. Focusing on the places where the two of you connect—your palms, your knees, your signatures—you will your unique sight to bleed into his awareness. 

Judging from the way he stiffens and gasps, you figure it worked. Your combined abilities and strength in the Force, overlapping just this once, let him see the world like you do.

“You’re so...” He trails off, voice strained. “Empty.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” You squeeze his hands again. “Do you underst— oh.”

You nearly choke as the Force nudges against your mind. For a moment, you’re no longer in your hut, but instead on an unfamiliar ship, palms pressed against a stranger’s—no, not a stranger—her name drifts to you. Merrin. You’re comparing palm sizes with her, and her hands are nearly as big as yours—as Cal’s. 

You rip away from Cal Kestis and the illusion breaks. 

Heat burns up your neck to your face. “What the kriffing hell was that?” 

“What did you see?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes. He reaches for you, and you lean away, glaring. 

You don’t even know why you’re angry. Any emotions you’ve felt for Cal have been ones you can explain: anger, frustration, begrudging respect, competitiveness, hatred. You recognize his attractiveness, and you don’t deny the effect his presence has on your baser desires—but the nearly painful flare of possessiveness pulsing in you right now is foreign. Inexplicable. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you eventually mutter. “Did you see?” 

“I saw you,” he says. Tentatively, he skims his fingertips over your leg, up to your knee. When you don’t retreat, he gently snags your hand and threads your fingers together. “I’m sorry.” 

You bare your teeth and tug your hand away—or try to. His fingers tighten around yours, holding you in place. “I told you before, Kestis. I don’t need your pity.” 

“Then don’t see it as pity,” he says. “See it as an understanding. A mutual experience.” 

Sucking on your teeth, your jaw clenches for a moment before you sigh. “Fine. Who’s Merrin?” 

“An old friend,” Cal says, a little too quickly. “She’s... She went her own way a while ago.” 

Something like triumph glows in you. “Good.” 

He fixes you with a confused look, a crease forming between his brows. “Wha—” 

You cut him off, surging forward to press your lips greedily against his. The impulse to be closer to him, impossibly close, is overwhelming in this moment. His palm is warm and steady and grounding against yours. He grunts against you, going absolutely still. 

When you pull away, not moving more than a few inches away, you meet the shock in his gaze with a sense of pride. His eyes flit between yours, searching. You drag your eyes down to his lips, parted and damp and so fucking pink.

His other hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you forward into another kiss. 

You groan into his mouth. His lips are warm and soft and sweet against yours, moving slowly, uncertain. You tilt your head, nudging his nose with your own. With your free hand, you grip at his shirt and claw your way into his lap. You need more. More of him, more of his warmth, more of his touch, more more moremoremore. 

He breathes your name against your lips, and you shush him gently. His body is hard and lean beneath yours, his touch hesitant. Fingers still intertwined, you guide his hand to your waist. Without the barrier of your shirt, his touch burns, scorching you from the outside in. His fingers splay across your skin, trailing molten desire in their wake. Heat pulses in your core.

“Kriff,” you sigh, “please.” 

“Didn’t think you had manners,” he quips, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck. 

You reach up and tug on his fiery hair, earning a low groan. “Rude.” 

He chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. A shiver dances up your spine, a quiet sigh passing your lips. When he bites down there, you moan. 

“Kestis,” you pant. 

“Shh,” he soothes. The hand on your waist trails down to your hip and squeezes in time with another bite to your skin. With another groan, you rock your hips down into him. A grin curls your mouth up in pleasure at the feeling of his half-hard cock beneath you. 

“Off,” you order, tugging on his shirt. 

He breaks away from you long enough to yank the offending article up and over his head. Your palms smooth over the rippling muscles beneath his pale, freckled skin of his stomach, and he shudders. Brushing your thumb over a blaster scar under his ribs, you press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask. 

“I’ve had worse,” he says. 

“Show me.” 

His green eyes are dark, nearly black, when he meets your gaze with a questioning look. In response, you skim a featherlight trail over his torso, lingering at the scars that mar his otherwise perfect skin—mirrors, you realize, of the imperfections of his golden aura. 

When you trace the pink scar that bisects his face, he shivers. His hand catches your wrist, halting your movement. 

“That one,” he whispers, voice pained. “That was the worst.” 

You recognize, this close, the telltale signs of a saber wound. He’s lucky to have survived that, you realize. 

Kriff. You press your mouth to his once again, wrapping your legs around his torso. His body fits against yours, hard planes to soft edges, and you groan in unison. His kiss is still tentative, but he moves against you without hesitation when you deepen the kiss, your tongue licking across his bottom lip. His tongue is hot against yours. Spit slicking your lips, you groan into his open mouth. 

Fuck, you need more. Pulling at his hair, you urge his head to tip back, exposing the pale column of his throat. You lick a stripe down his skin, tasting his natural saltiness, delighting in the way his cock hardens against your clothed core. 

“Want you,” you mumble against his collarbone. 

He hums. “I’m yours.”

That possessive flare from before practically obliterates any coherent thoughts your brain was still capable of producing. Growling, you push him onto his back, shuffling down, kissing and licking and biting at his skin as you fumble with his pants. The buttons come undone; his hips raise to help you shuck the clothing off. His cock bobs as it comes free of the confines. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan. “Been holding out on me, Kestis.” 

“If I’d known—” His voice cracks. “If I’d known all you needed was to be fucked, we coulda done this sooner.” 

Tingles spark through your core hearing him curse—hearing him talk about something as base and dirty as fucking you. Stars, the heat in your core is nearly unbearable. 

You need to taste him. 

Wrapping your fingers around his heavy cock, you smear a droplet of precum over his flushed head. His body jerks in response, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, a smirk playing at his lips. Without warning, you envelope him in your mouth. Cal cries out, hips jerking up. You moan in satisfaction around him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink your mouth further down onto his length, before sucking, tongue teasing the underside of his head. One hand cupping his balls, you relax your throat and take him deep. The curls at the base tickle your nose. 

“Oh stars,” he breathes. “You’re so good at that. F-Fuck.” 

You hum, settling into a rhythm. His hand, broad and strong and warm, rests on top of your head—not pushing, just there, feeling you. His chest heaving, you can’t help but admire the flush rising to his cheeks, painting him in sin. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, coating the parts of him you can’t reach. Your eyes never leave his. 

Snaking your free hand down your body, you moan at the pleasure that zings through you at the momentary relief of touching yourself. 

“No.” Cal’s voice is strangled, strained. He flicks two shaky fingers, and your hand is yanked out from beneath your body by the Force. 

An obscene pop echoes in your hut as you pull your mouth away from his weeping cock. “Either touch me, or I’ll do it myself,” you growl. 

“Then c-come here,” he stutters. 

Shimmying out of your pants, you discard the garments to the floor without a second thought and climb your way up his body. His hands skim your sides, his touch barely there, as your mouth reconnects with his. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of his mouth, his touch, his cock. He feels too good. 

You hiss when his hand brushes against your aching sex. He breaks the kiss long enough for his eyes to find yours, a silent question there as his fingers find purchase at your core. 

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. When he moves his hand against you, your vision blurs and you press your forehead to his. 

“Stars, Kestis, just like that,” you hiss. 

He rubs his nose against yours. “Let me take care of you.” 

His touch is electric. Your body jerks against him when his fingers move just right, applying just the right amount of pressure. Heat and tension build in your belly, growing more and more taut by the second. Your legs shake on either side of his hips. 

“Cal,” you whine. “Gonna cum.” 

His touch retreats, and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“You’re g-gonna cum on my cock,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. The sweetness of the action contrasts with the filth of his words, and your stomach lurches. 

“Fuck, yes, okay.” You spit in your hand and reach down to make sure you’re ready for him.

He slicks his own palm with spit and jerks his cock once, twice, getting himself prepped. With his hand at his base, steadying his length, you slowly sink onto him. He splits you open inch by inch, the delicious burn of him in your core drawing a pitiful moan from your chest. When he bottoms out, you twitch in his lap, chest heaving. 

“T-Take me so well,” he murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over your face. “Stars, you feel so- so good.” 

You whine. “Cal.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

The pet name seems to surprise him as much as it does you. The heat that’s been simmering in your chest for months now, since the first time you encountered him, dulls into something...softer. More muted. More pliant. 

Eyes locked together, you test the waters and raise your hips a fraction. Moans tumble from both of you at the friction, and that’s all you need. Rolling your hips, you work his cock, drawing the most delicious noises from him. He caresses your face, smooths a hand over your back, kisses you sweetly. You find just the right angle where his cock brushes against that bundle of nerves deep inside, and you shudder. 

“Cal, I—” 

“Yes,” he groans. “Don’t stop.” 

You don’t. You drag your hips frantically against his, chasing the sparks bursting in your core with each thrust. His touch turns harsh as you ride him; your hips will surely bear bruises tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. You moan at the thought. Mine. Mine mine mine mine. 

Rutting against that raw piece of heaven in your core, you’re blind to everything else. Your injury forgotten, the empty void that yawns in your soul, your frustration with Cal Kestis: all of it is irrelevant right now. All that matters is that you keep fucking Cal. All that matters is the way his cock feels sliding in and out of you, dragging against your walls. All that matters is the way he moans your name like a prayer. 

“Need you t-to cum,” he orders, words faltering as you clench around his cock. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice hoarse. The tension in your belly draws hot and tight, ready to snap. 

Cal finally thrusts up to meet you when you bounce down, and you scream. That taut cord in your belly releases, snapping in two, and you see white. Pleasure explodes through you; every nerve lit on fire, tears dew in your eyes from the intensity. You claw at Cal’s chest, searching for purchase as he absolutely rails into you, chasing his own release. 

Through it all, he babbles. “J-Just like that, baby. Cum all over this cock. Fuck, you’re g-gonna make me— I— fuck, ngh, I’m—” 

He stills as he cums, his cock pulsing against your walls, and you jerk at the sensation, oversensitive. 

Your eyes flutter as you look down at him in the gathering darkness. His skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat. As his cock softens inside of you, letting some of his cum drip out, you groan softly. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper. 

He swallows visibly, and nods. “I know.” 

You capture his lips in another kiss, one he returns with a fervor. Stars, you almost wish you really did hate him. This would be so much easier. 

“What now?” he asks, thumb brushing over your tender hips. 

You shrug. “Same time next week?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Very funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

He hums. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

All of the heat of the last few minutes dissipates immediately, and ice knifes your insides. You push away from him finally, his cum dripping down your inner thigh as you stand, bend to retrieve your clothes, tug them on. 

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” 

“What do you want me to say, Kestis?” 

He sighs as he reaches for his own clothes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“You should have left when I told you to,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you stare out the single window of your home at the rapidly falling dark. 

“Yeah, maybe.” His hand is warm and familiar where he rests it on your shoulder. “You could...come with me.” 

You narrow your eyes. “And have to live by your Jedi code? No thanks.” 

“No code,” he says, quiet, contemplative. “Just the fight.” 

“Just the fight,” you echo. When he nods, something you sense more than see, you sigh. “I could...tag along. Just this once.” 

“Of course,” he says. His lips press against your temple. “Just this once.” 

Swallowing against the strange metallic taste rising to your mouth, you blink and summon the Force. You’re grateful for Cal’s grounding presence behind you. Your signature is...muddied. Marbled black and gold. When you glance down at his hand on your skin, you find that his aura is the same as yours. Mixed. Confused. 

Balanced.

Yes, you think. Hating him would have been easier.

[incorrectskywalkers]

Fallen Order AU where Cere is killed and Cal is taken by Darth Vader with the intention of making him an Inquisitor. But when Cal’s psychometric abilities are revealed, Vader has a different plan in mind, one that causes certain truths and revelations to come to light. Cal didn’t know what he was getting into when he showed Vader what he saw through those echoes, but he really didn’t sign up to accompany said Sith Lord while he went through a midlife crisis.

Essentially, Vader finds out the truth about how Palpatine lied to him and how Padmé really died and also the fact that he has twins out there somewhere and decides “fuck palpatine” and drags a bewildered Cal - who becomes his unofficial apprentice of sorts - with him as he plots a way to take the emperor down and also, find his kids.

Also a Darth Vader redemption of sorts. He’s still a pretty shitty guy at the start and his whole reason for wanting to kill the Emperor is solely to avenge Padmé. He also has some murderous intent towards Obi-Wan for hiding his children from him and also, leaving him to burn. He’s in the mindset of believing that he wasn’t at fault and blames others for everything that happened, including his actions. But gets a hard wakeup call from Cal when he shows him just how shitty things are and what the Empire, what he has done and finally thinks “oh, I’m the problem” and from then on his slow redemption starts as he sets out on attempting to repair the damage done as he starts back on the rocky path towards the light. He also trains Cal, who at first goes “fuck that and fuck you” but eventually the two become a duo. Like Vader and Starkiller if Vader was going through a crisis, stumbling through a path of redemption and Starkiller was his tired, annoyed, unofficial apprentice who was unwillingly dragged along for the ride.

[raphaellight]

The mindset of Light Side in Star Wars

This frame is possibly the clearest image of how Jedi win their fights.

But lets start from the beggining.

Recently it hit me how little of the actual force is in the Original trilogy of Star Wars. Let's see first movie:

Ben firstly makes his iconic "These aren't the droids you are looking for"

Luke stops the bolts while covering eyes

Vader chokes snarky admiral

Ben feels the destruction of Alderran

Ben's body dissappears

Luke shots down the death star

No flashy effects. No jumping, no pushing people around. Up until a finale, it seems Force is nothing special, trickery of sort, something to overlook. Until it proves Vader right: "The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force." and destroys the said Death Star, exploiting the very weakness that, althought the weakness in theory (planted intentionally according to new canon) shouldn't really be an issue, as it required miracle to work. And Force brought the miracle.

That's how Luke destroyed the Death Star, marking his first highlight of his road to become the Greatest Jedi in the Galaxy. But how would Sith come about destroying the Death Star?

Well, I say, if there was another Sith in the Galaxy, that dude would probably gather resorces and slaves and build his own Death Star, but bigger and deadlier. Or looked around Sith teaching and spells to become strong enough to crush it with his mind. Because that's how Sith mind works. "Unlimited POWER!!!" is their goal. When they see someone opposing them, they thing how to overpower them.

The Dark Side is "easier, quicker, more tempting". Because it's natural. Because Luke does exacly that, when he trains. He focuses on his strenght. Because his goal is to defeat the powerfull Empire. So he needs to become powerfull himself. And that is an invitation for dark side to enter the mind. The same way it entered the mind of his father.

Anakin wanted to gather enough power to save those he loves. And because he was also wronged by Jedi enough times not to trust them with his pet parrot if he had one, he was open to other advice. Don't get me wrong, power is sometimes an answer. But it should never be a goal.

That's the mindset Luke enters his fight with Vader. And he can't do a crap. The Dark Lord is to powerfull to overcome with strenght.

Jedi don't do that. Jedi deals with issues. Jedi helps others out. And in the process they learn and make friends. That's what Jedi wins with. Patience, wisdom and allies, not with power.

Every greatest victory of Jedi over Sith or any other villain is about Jedi bringing the miracules to life. Jedi always win when dark seems the darkest. Because that's when pride of villains comes full circle. Small things left behind gather together, teaching of mentors, friends and happy coincidences combined create the victory for good guys.

When Obi-Wan cut's Maul with a sword Sith forgot was lying there.

When He cuts his former apprentice legs off, because Anakin couldn't accept, that even he isn't all-powerfull.

When Ezra brings Purgils to fight, the one thing all-knowing, genius strategist had no way of predicting.

When Luke managed to break thru the mask of hate, inspiring his father to do the right thing in the most crucial moment in Star Wars history.

When on Endor, army of Empire fall under the invasion of literall teddy bears.

When Kanan, with no fear to cloud his mind, focused on simple tast of defeating Inquisitor, realised the sword that striked so much fear for how inventive it seemed, turned out to be extremely vulnerable.

Jedi don't gather strenght. And Jedi story is definitelly not about gathering the power of spirits or whatever to enhance the hero into overpowering the villain in the final showdown. Jedi win by performing small miracles here and there, patiently waiting for evil to dig it's own grave and then giving it just a little push with help of friends they made on their way.

That is the story of The Jedi, the greatest heroes Galaxy Far Away ever saw.

[seth-shitposts]

Kanan & Dimal

CW// descriptions of dissociation, reference to the grand inquisitor’s suicide attempt, reference to order 66 & everything that followed. Portrayals of slight dermatillomania [i think that’s all the relevant pieces]

UNEDITED AND UNFORMATTED BECAUSE MY INTERNET IS A BITCH

——

Backstory+Context:

What I’m adding in is that he had become a temple guard almost immediately after his knighting, that he and the council had thought and agreed it to be a good idea. His connection to the force is atypical, much different from most Jedi. He doesn’t connect in the same way, and it’s far easier for him to be detached. The line of thought for putting him as a temple guard was that it would be highlighting his strength, since a key element of a guard is choosing to forego all attachment and dedicate to the title.

There was a single oversight on all sides, one that would lead to his obsession and therefore his fall. He hadn’t built a strong sense of self. [It’s one thing to have had a sense of self and then choose to let it go in favor of committing to something higher than yourself. It’s another thing entirely to have not had that foundation before hand.] Because he didn’t go through building that in a secure way, it left him liable for insecurities down the line. There’s a lot he didn’t know about himself and he didn’t know how to figure out, or even be aware of it. One of the major things having been why the force had chosen him, because he didn’t have the same innate empathy that Jedi have. It started as a curiosity to learn more about the force and how it works, to go deeper than the base line of understanding. The answer had to be somewhere. He attempted several times over the course of a few years to learn more about the sith as well, but he was declined from those deep dives.

Through his search, he found a series of journals written by one of the founders of the Jedi Order, but only random volumes. He really resonated with this author; they had written a description of their connection to the force that matched his own, and *that* is something he’s never found before. He thought that maybe this author would have written more not just about their struggles, but how they preserved through them, because he had access to the final volume, which painted an ending where they had worked through their struggles, and now would help build the future that their friends are envisioning to help everyone across the galaxy (thus, beginning what becomes The Jedi Order). All of the other volumes were restricted. The harder he tried to gain access, the more obsessed over it he became, which only led to a more firm decline, resulting in him beginning to have doubts.

(Long story short, Palpatine had planted thoughts similarly to as he had with Anakin and swayed his unsureness of himself to a full betrayal of the order)

———

+[Following the events of s1 finale]+

It draws him back to consciousness at a slow pull before thrusting him back in all at once- the sound of life that surrounds him. A breeze that ruffles through leaves and rustles grass, chirps and clicks of different species of insects, hums and songs of avians as their wings flap in time with a heart beat, constant trickling of water.

It’s all soft… no, it’s separated. Far away. Like his head is trapped in a bubble, but the moment the bubble pops, as does the separated gentleness.

And then it’s all so deafening to his sensitive ears, it reminds him not to allow himself to be so vulnerable and ill informed of unknown surroundings in such a vastly open space.

Alarmed and with lightning shooting through his veins, he rushes to sit up, trying to gather his bearings.

Surrounding him are thick forestry. A quick twist to peek behind him gives him two different pieces of information. One being the sight of some ruin, something older than his knowledge as the only thing that still stands is a stone arch of sorts with scribbled writings. The second vital detail is the fire that shoots halfway up his back.

Fire…

Wincing, he tries to shift his lower back away from the blazing pain. As he does, he realizes he’s moving farther into some pool of water his legs are soaking in. The water is the home of some type of strange colored algae that glows with unique flowering floating on it. It takes him a moment to look to his legs through the clearness of the water. Burns that… look like they had rapidly healed.

He withdraws his limbs from the water to inspect them, and the moment he does, the algae no longer glows.

Picking at the healed scarring gently, he tries to piece together…

The last thing I remember… Speaking to Kanan Jarrus, right before I…

Curling his lip, he glares at the flesh on his bones. I threw myself into an exploding… How in the entirely blasted galaxy did I survive that? How did I wind up on… this…

The last person he had seen before his vision was over taken by flames trying to swallow him whole, forcing him to succumb to the burning inferno of pain enveloping him.

Kanan Jarrus.

He shakes his head in disgust. Fucking nobility of a Jedi, their need to save and spare everyone. No matter the monster.

It had been the last choice that would have been my own. And now…

He can’t very well just return to the inquisitorius, not after the string of failures he’s just weaved for himself. That last one being just a beautiful ribbon to wrap it up. And not going back isn’t going to grant him any safety from what will begin to hunt him. He’s still blood in the water. He can’t wait for the sharks to find him.

It’s pathetic, having run to death with open arms and failing even a task as simple as that. Simple in comparison to what the alternative was. And now… And now there has to be another escape. There’s always…

Dragging his nails across his scalp, he rattles his recollection, but every thought is so, so far away.

Distance…

Separation.

Can’t be tracked with no trail to follow. He doesn’t like it, but it will buy him time until there’s something better; an opportunity.

Until then, a decision has been made. Throw distance between himself and the force.

——

+[Soon after Kallus agrees to help]+

Kallus holds out an indie commlink, “I’ll gather equipment and resources, and once I’m available to meet up with you, I will contact you through this. If you ever have an emergency, contact me. Just to be safe, don’t use-“

The spy halts suddenly, staring up at him, seemingly trying to think.

He can feels his brow twitch from being stared at. “What?”

“Forgive me, I just realized I have never learned your name.”

Growling, he snatches the commlink from Kallus’s open hand. “You don’t need it.”

He can hear that Kallus has some kind of bite back on the tip of his tongue, but thinks better of it, and swallows the bitter words with a second thought. If he’s being honest, he would rather Kallus bite back at him than…

Straightening his shoulders, he places the commlink in one of his most secure pockets, tucking it close to his chest.

——

+[One of the first sessions; probably the first session, ngl.]+

“So,” Smirking, he levels with Kallus, about to enjoy when the moment when realization strikes this blond that he is in way over his head. “Tell me about how exactly you plan on helping me become a Jedi Knight again, Agent Kallus.”

Rolling his eyes, Kallus organizes stolen imperial equipment. “We’ll start with you telling me about the Jedi.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you were a Jedi Knight yourself, so wouldn’t you know the basic principles best?”

Tearing his gaze away from the rebel spy, he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly finding the wall much more interesting.

“Look, I’m going to need you to be the least bit cooperative if I’m going to be of ay substan-“

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Kallus stops what he’s doing entirely. “What exactly?”

“The principles. Anything, really.” He masks his frustration with an amused smile, turning back to Kallus, hoping to irritate him, with the reality of the situation.

“How do you not remember? What do you mean? What, did you just eviscerate your understanding of your enemy when you decided to leave your station in the empire?”

He isn’t getting he satisfaction he thought he would from this, and he can’t tell if that’s more or less frustrating than the truth he’s having to swallow and now spill. “No,” the syllable is released through gritted teeth. “It’s not that I chose not to remember. It’s that I can’t remember.” Just another blaring fact of his own short comings.

“Elaborate.” Kallus is withholding his own frustration. Withholding it, but still choosing to patiently listen.

“Best I can explain is that after choosing to close myself off from the force, I also shut myself out from the dark side of it. It was shell shocking. For the first time I could breathe properly without having realized before that…” He takes in a sharp breath. “Long story short, my memories are a ‘mess’. Some are twisted versions of the truth and I have no way of figuring it out on my own. I have more gaps than I do recollection.”

He watches as Kallus turns away from him, slowly dragging his fingers through his hair as he tries to process this unexpected challenge. Still feeling bitter at his admission, he waits to see this man who had once not been able to apply the definition ‘quit’ throw in the towel. He had missed it the first go round. He wants to see it for himself.

“Change in steps,” Kallus swiftly strides back to the speeder, “we’re starting from scratch.”

Eyes narrowing as they follow the ex-imperial, he tries to grapple the words just given to him as if it’s a silly little errand. “What?”

“We are going to outline a series of expeditions to find the pieces we need to start with.” Grabbing the most tattered and slapped-together datapad to exist, Kallus begins to break through firewalls to cross reference imperial databanks with ones that existed before the empire itself, to find any trace of a location that may have been overlooked where they could find more information about the Jedi.

Trying to wrap his head around Kallus’s words, he’s reeling as irritation claws its way up his spine. “Would be great, but one of the first orders I had been given as grand inquisitor was to carry out and oversee the destruction of anything relating to the Jedi. There’s nothing-“

“There’s always something. There’s always ones that got away. Ones never found to begin with.” Kallus skims over the lines rapidly. “Don’t be so eager to give up. If you want to turn me in so bad, know that I won’t go down without a fight, but same applies here.” He pulls out an empty datapad and scribbles some locations on it. “I said I would help. Just because you chose to hide some details doesn’t mean I’m done here.”

He can’t tell if he’s more annoyed or further intrigued. Sliding a couple fingers across his jawline, he considers his options.

While he, personally, would see the value in handing over someone like Kallus, nestled so deep in the empire, he’s well aware that the spy wouldn’t get him nearly as far as he would need him to. Going back is still wildly out of the question. The middle ground action, leaving altogether, would just leave him back at where he had been. Aimless, unable to focus. Some could settle for that, and maybe he could too, but…

Maybe entertaining the notion a bit longer will be worth the effort. As the one who had been in charge of overseeing the destruction of the Jedi’s existence, he can remember that he hadn’t entirely agreed with the decision. He had thought the command was purely out of a place of emotion rather than reason. Even if the Jedi had been wrong and mislead, from a scholar standpoint, it would have been smarter to keep their archives, to teach why they thought how they did and show how it would have been misinformed.

But at the time… Had it been another moment where he was thinking through that false clarity? The lense of the dark, had it led him to choosing anger over reason? Or did that come later? Why had he gone through something he didn’t agree with? Or did he actually believe it to be a good idea at the time?

The face of the man who gave him the orders still escapes his memory. Why can’t he remember the face that he followed at the cost of everything? What was he looking to gain? What did he lose?

“Hey,” Kallus’s voice is soft, gentle. “You won’t have to go looking through these places by yourself. I’ll slip away when I have the chance. I’ll also try getting in touch with my informant again. They may have intel that could help.”

He blinks down at the human whose harsh features and guarded demeanor has momentarily shifted to make room for assurance.

“Seeing as how no other option is appealing, you’re still the most interesting choice.” He smirks teasingly, “Regardless of how annoying you get.”

Returning to his usual rigid posture, Kallus rolls his eyes, “I get that frequently, thank you.”

“You really don’t give up, do you? Is chasing ghosts something you’ve just always done?”

“Seems so. We’ll leave for the nearest location in half an hour.”

———

+[After much training and progression and work put into slowly dedicating to this task.]+

+Context for this next part:

Through [redacted], an informant, Kallus is told he has to make the decision to either continue missions with the former grand inquisitor on their own, attempting to gather an understanding of the Jedi that is doomed to be lacking and incomplete, or make contact with Kanan Jarrus and gain his trust when Kallus has yet to have much experience or credibility as fulcrum, having only been given the mantle shortly ago.

Initially, Kanan (rightfully) believes that they have lured him out as a trap and that they are both still loyal to the empire. Only after a lot of convincing is it that Kanan is willing to even hear them out.

-I am still working the timeline out and locking it down, but this would take place not long after the season 2 finale, Kanan being more on edge and untrusting than ever.

Kallus had believed it wise to bring peace offerings a an attempt to be heard out. Kallus instructed the former inquisitor to retrieve and bring a Jedi artifact while Kallus brought intel.

The former inquisitor had still been undecided on whether he would want or even ask for help from the Jedi knight. It wasn’t until Kanan addressed him directly, asking what his intentions are to be. A bitter response sat on the tip of his tongue, but he caught a glance of Kallus, who’s eyes were still on the Jedi.

Thinking on how far Kallus has put himself out for him, how the spy time and time again met him where he was to figure things out with him, and now how Kallus has chosen to pursue the superior aid directly from the knight at the expense of his own plans and compromising his own position- all because he has faith in him.

He resists the urge to lash his tongue at Kanan and admits to wanting to understand the full picture, learn and preserve the truth.

Eventually, Kallus has to leave and it is just him and Kanan. Kanan is still untrusting. (Again, rightfully)

+++

“I have no reason to trust you. Either of you. Not after everything.”

Pulse still racing, Kanan keeps distance from him, facing harshly in his direction.

Curious. If he’s so against me surviving as a perceived threat, why would he have gone through the effort of keeping me alive? He decides to view this as a trial, a test. Prove himself. Show that he’s taking this seriously, that the sacrifices Kallus chose to make won’t be wasted, that he won’t be left back where he began.

“You’re right. You have no reason to take either of us at our word. Nothing I do or say will take back what has been done. It does not make what I’m pursuing any less true. It’s taken a lot for me to get where I am as I am here today.” He makes sure to keep the distance between them Kanan holds, hands clasped behind his back. “I will be honest, at first I had no intent on taking this seriously, but then Kallus took the time to show me that what I had previously thought to be true were only lies to get me to side my loyalty to the empire. I’m still unsure of many things. I desire nothing more than to stand by the truth. Kallus started me back on that devotion. The only thing I am asking of you is to remind me of who the Jedi were and what they stood for.”

“Why?” The tension in Kanan… shifts. Still present, but different. “You were there, weren’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, he tries to find the right words to string together. This doesn’t get easier for him to digest each time he explains it. He runs the tip of his tongue along his sharpened teeth before he speaks, the slight motion reminding him of his body. “My recollection of the Jedi, my perception of them, had become… twisted as I fell. Overtime, memories shredded until there were few left. As an inquisitor, as a servant of the dark side, I had been under a false belief that I had a clear mind. It wasn’t until I finally distanced myself from the force entirely that I realized that not to be true. And now most days I cannot differentiate between what memories are real, what’s true, or not.”

“Still, why should I help you?” It feels as though the Jedi knight is cutting his eyes at him, holding what is a more than reasonable grudge and distrust towards him.

“Because I am asking for it.” Despite trying to appear calm, he can feel his ire rising like a heat traveling up his spine, setting every cell of skin on fire on its way up. This would be simpler if he just out right says he does not wish to help me. Instead, we’re playing this game.

“What gives you the right to ask? After how many of our people fell at your hands? After the betrayal you committed?” Kanan’s voice slowly rises in volume, adding fuel to the flames in the former inquisitor’s body. “And you just forgot? You forgot?!”

“My inability to remember detail does not negate the damage I’ve done, do not confuse my desire to understand what happened and inability to remember as a cowardly attempt to evade accountability for everything I’ve done, Kanan Jarrus,” he meets Kanan’s spit of fire with the same level of heat. “If you were to be so against rising above and helping me understand where I went wrong and would rather I have died, then why in this blasted galaxy didn’t you let me?!” He can no longer smother the sneer on his lips, a growl almost becoming audible from his vocal cords.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play ignorant with me! You know what I’m talking about! Back on that star destroyer, when you had bested me in a fight and I made my choice! My way out! When I succumbed to the flames, you and your crew dragged me off that ship and abandoned me on an uninhabited planet!” He glares, the scab of it being ripped open raw right when he had thought it was finally healed.

“I don’t know what you are imaging,” Kanan seethes, the words hissing out from gritting teeth, “I had other priorities than making a futile attempt to save someone who had very clearly made their choice!”

The words wash over his body as though he had been thrown into a lake of ice. His voice loses its rage, “What?” There is no lie, no deceit in the knight’s features. “Then… How did- that doesn’t make- That’s impossible, I shouldn’t have survived- Much less unharmed- healed even-“ Dragging his nail along the ridges on his skull, he can feel his back hit a wall. The walls spin and blur in the background. The foundation that he had scrapped together since waking up in that algae filled pool shatters beneath his very feet. Not because Kanan hadn’t chosen to save him, that what he would have expected- hell, it’s what he would have done himself; but its the fact that now, no he doesn’t have any iota of a clue.

As improbable as it was, Kanan being the one to have pulled him from the fire, it was the only answer that had been viably possible; so much so that he latched onto it. Believed it. Been convinced.

But now? His thoughts are spiraling every which way, wrecking his brain for anything, but there’s no feasible way he should have survived, especially nearly unscathed aside from scarring of the burns he had endured that should have been much more detrimental.

Boots step into his line of vision, dragging him out of his mind slowly. “You’re… serious. About all of this?”

Realizing not until now, he had slid to the ground against the wall.

It’s a fight, trying to get back into his body enough to meet the Jedi’s face. He has to force his eyes to focus on the other’s features. Guarded, but curious, almost open. Something distinctively empathetic. Despite who it is Kanan is talking to.

“Jarrus, I’m always serious.” He screws his eyes shut after pain washes over them from the force he had behind them to manually focus them. His vision blurs in and out when he opens them once more. “I need to see the full picture. I’m sick of only having pieces. I want the truth, nothing more. Nothing less. So I can make informed decisions about what is just.”

Through the blurred vision, he’s able to make out that Kanan offers out a hand.

He only stares at it for a long moment. Not sure if he’s waiting for it to come into focus, if it’s his turn to be distrustful, or if he just isn’t able to get his body to cooperate.

“If you’re willing to be receptive, then I might be willing to help.”

He finds his hand setting into Kanan’s offer. Not without immense effort from himself.

———

+[The second meetup between Kanan and Him?]+

+Contextual notes for this scene: Kanan and the former inquisitor are in a Jedi temple, thus far they have pulled against the grain and become lost in the temple. At this moment, they are in the middle of an argument.

“I may have said that I could help, but you still have yet to prove that you are trustworthy,” the Jedi Knight pushes the words out through gritted teeth, body tense and on edge.

It’s been taking everything in him not to inflame and agitate this man’s every blaring fault and flaw; physical and psychological.

Remember why you’re committing to this. Remember the balance. Let go of that which is fleeting. Return to the pursuit of unbiased truth. Let go of that whic-

“Hey! Don’t ignore me just because I can’t see you!”

Whatever happened to Kanan Jarrus has no just changed his physical abilities, but also his mentality. “You’re lashing out, I am trying to ground myself. It is not a easy process for me. Whatever happened to having nothing to fear? You are currently laying out all this fear in open and it’s the worst temptation.” Remember what Kallus taught you.

“That right there does not make me any more enthused to help you.”

“Then don’t. I will find my way out of this temple. And I’ll find my own way to the light.” His own words are just as guarded and defensive as Kanan’s.

“You’re well aware that’s not an option, you cannot leave on your own-“

A painfully wide grin cuts across his face with a breathless chuckle, “Actually, Kanan Jarrus, I don’t. I told you already, my memory is as about as reliable as your sight. And what’s better is when I cut myself off from the dark, it’s false sense of clarity is not the only thing that left me. My patience has warn thin. I always had an extraordinarily high amount of that, if I remember even that much. But you are cutting it shorter.” He pauses, breath halting in his lungs before he releases after a moment. “You have no reason to trust me, I do not belittle that nor whatever it is you are personally dealing with. I would give you my honesty, but you do not trust it.”

“I don’t know your intentions, I don’t know your allegiances, and I don’t know your values. And you expect me to be willing to trust you? After everything? That you suddenly grew a conscious?” Shaking his head, Kanan sneers. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

He brings his palms up, open hands, open mind, willing mind. “You’re right, I haven’t ‘suddenly grown’ what you would call a conscious. I never had one- even before my fall, and being honest with you, I probably never will.” He uses every bit of will power he can muster to relax the tension within him then turns to face Kanan.

“Figures,” Kanan scoffs, shaking his head as he turns away from him. “Why did I even-“

Taking the extra effort to humble his own tone, he tries to will out every bit of gentleness he’s capable of producing. “If I may continue. Please.” He keeps his voice calm and even.

The knight still looks displeased, but holds his tongue as he turns back to face him.

“I’m not sure why I never had that innate ability, the one to be empathetic, but that doesn’t mean I’m disqualified from the light. I can built skills. I can dedicate myself. More than anything, I want to pursue the truth. It’s been a rough pill for me to swallow that for too long I have confused my perception for it. My perception is but a limited lense of the full picture. What I believe to be truth may not be what is real or what is true. I think, I have been lied to and misled. But I have nothing else to compare to. It’s a battle just for me to stay grounded at all.” He sighs, cutting himself off. “I find that I don’t know…”

A darker hand slides on top of one of his pale palms. He blinks rapidly, trying to force his eyesight to focus back in. He can make out the notable details of Kanan’s face. He’s noticeably calmer.

“I make no promises, nor obligations. But as long as you are making progress, I’ll see what I can help with. You’re right, you’ve lost patience and you’re fighting for real clarity, but you’re willing to be open, to relearn. If you really are after the truth, I will give that to you.” Sighing, Kanan steps back. “I myself have… been more on edge. I’m more guarded than ever now.”

“It’s hard for you to tell if you’re being reasonably cautious or cynically guarded?” He studies Kanan.

“Yeah.”

He watches as the tension Kanan holds does not lessen. He tries to think of someway he could lessen that stress of distrust from the Jedi, maybe finally make some headway. It’s very appearing that the man worries that he is only using this exchange as a way to get the knight to lower his gaurd, get him closer to his crew before springing a trap.

“I have a deal to offer you, something to set your mind at ease?”

Scoffing, Kanan shakes his head, “What could you possibly-“

“You’ll have my word. No harm will befall you or your crew. As long as you tell not a soul about Kallus’s change in allegiance. You will pretend you know nothing.”

Kanan looks taken aback, almost skeptic. “Tell me why.”

He rolls his eyes, “You know full and well that you need to be very clear about your questions while i lack my proximity to the force, Jarrus.”

“Why should I trust that Kallus’s position as a rebel spy- whether he really is or not- holds any importance to you?”

“Because Kallus has risked much more than a shiny little status to help me, to reveal himself to you. I also don’t like owing people, regardless of whether I consider them a friend or not. And at this moment, everything I am working on, everything I’m cultivating to be is owed to him. If it’s a future I owe him, it’s a future I will secure for him.”

———

+[This either will take place at the end of them in the Jedi temple, or during a third or final meet.]+

+The two have just finished a session where the former inquisitor spoke of what events he thinks he can remember before becoming The Grand Inquisitor. It will be snippets from the first set of notes on this post.

+Kanan pieces together that he needs to carve out an identity for himself. That before he can commit himself, he has to at least know himself, or the cycle will only repeat.

“Figure out who I am?” He has been avoiding dwelling on that line of thoughts. It’s visceral, the reaction to not allow himself to. The very thought makes him sick to his stomach and threatens for the planet to swallow him whole. “How- I can’t-“

“You can, but you don’t have too all at once. One piece at a time.”

“Where would I even begin?”

“A name is a start.” Kanan smiles genuinely, almost as a light hearted tease.

“I can’t remember my-“

“It doesn’t have to be what your name once was. You can chose anything.” Kanan rubs his chin after a short pause, “To make it easier to narrow options down, is there anyone in your past that resonated with you? Or something that holds meaning to you?”

He pauses, pieces of the journal series floating in his thoughts. “Maybe, but I cannot remember their full name. Just a couple syllables.”

“That would be as good a start as any. It can be yours, unique to you, inn that light.”

He nods slow, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. He takes a deep breath, Kanan listening intently and patiently.

“My name will be Dimal.”

[inquisitor-apologist]

hi I would personally LOVE to read thousands of essays on your thoughts about the inquisitors, so if you feel comfy posting them just know they will be received with gratitude :)

Alright, I’ve got a 4-hour car ride, so nothing but time.

The first thing that I’d say is absolutely essential to my understanding of/obsession with the Inquisitorius is that they’re expendable. Both in-text and out-of-text, they’re disposable and that is absolutely essential to their whole existence.

On the Doylist level, the Rebels team created them/reincorporated them to canon to be the replaceable early series antagonists. They're there to build the characters up to face the real threats of Maul’s temptation to the dark and Thrawn’s existential threat to the Rebel cause. The rest of the Star Wars media that shows them only reinforces this.

In Kenobi, they're there in the background, to set up Reva (who is, in the show, functionally not an Inquisitor) and Vader, in J:FO they're scary bad guys meant to be defeated and killed for Cal's growth (though, notably, J:FO is one of the only pieces of Inquisitor media that views them as victims worthy of empathy), and, while I haven't read (all of) the Vader comics, they're in the Vader comics, not in their own stories.

On the Watsonian level, they’re a sort of… buffer between the true power of the Sith and the public. They’re the one attacking the regular Force-sensitives and taking babies (someone much more qualified than me could probably talk a LOT about the very interesting ways the Jedi, Empire, and Inquisition (like, come on) parallel and draw from Judaism and historical antisemitism) and they’re the ones the Rebellion direct their anger about the Jedi Purge at. It’s easy for the two masterminds and main perpetrators to hide behind the atrocities of a dozen faceless subordinates.

This is really clearly shown in Kenobi, where the Inquisitors are dismissed as “Jedi who turned to the dark side. Now, they hunt their own kind”. They’re not seen as victims who’ve been forced into self-destructive monsters, but as the perpetrators of their own genocide, personas that they readily claim. I mean, Reva is literally a survivor of the Temple Massacre who was turned into one of the Inquisitors that Obi-Wan dismisses as traitors. They’re very convenient, effective, scapegoats.

That’s honestly a very underrated part of Palpatine’s genius; one of his most important traits is his ability to manipulate the media. By creating the Inquisitors and delegating most of the work of completing the Purge to them, he distances both himself and Vader from any public outcry against the actions of the Inquisitorius (and, to some extent, their own actions), allowing Vader to be seen as a more legitimate military officer and extension of the Emperor’s will, which is itself legitimized by that distance.

The lines between the Emperor, Vader, and the Inquisitors are also very important. There's a very clear distinction between the Sith and the Inquisitors in of autonomy, which is the second thing that defines my view of the Inquisitors. The Inquisitors are largely pawns for Palpatine’s ends, manipulated and indoctrinated kids, and as such there’s kind of a spectrum of the Empire’s Force-sensitive hierarchy between Sidious, Vader, and the Inquisitors.

Sidious is the first extreme, where he chose everything; he Fell on purpose, became a Sith on purpose, consolidated power and killed the Jedi on purpose, became Emperor on purpose. And then there’s Vader, who very much chose to Fall, kill the Jedi, and become a Sith, but he was manipulated and pushed to it by Sidious. He chose, but Sidious kind of underlies all those choices, driving him to them. Lastly, the Inquisitors chose nothing; they were hunted and persecuted by Vader and the Sith, then tortured and indoctrinated to serve Sidious, brainwashed into continuing to serve. It’s really a gradient of autonomy, if you think about it; Sidious is the only Dark Sider afforded full choice, both by the narrative and in-universe.

The Inquisitors are, fundamentally, kids ripped from their family and people, tortured and indoctrinated into self-loathing and anger. They don’t get names; they’re told they were born wrong and tortured until they believe it, then pressed into service, because, while they might have been born wrong, they were also born useful.

This is why I kind of hate the idea of Inquisitors who choose to join, and one of the reasons I’m not particularly inclined to read the new Inquisitor book (also it apparently implies that the tortured inquisitors were actually just. Force-brainwashed??). One of the most interesting and most fundamental things about them is that they are victims of horrific genocide coerced into becoming their own oppressors. If you take that away, you make them so much less interesting—they turn into stock evil traitors.

The protagonist of the new Inquisitor book is, from what I’ve gathered, a jerk who was already half-fallen in the Clone Wars and who seized the chance to gain more power with the Empire. That’s just diet Vader, and I, personally, have seen too much of both real Vader and diet vaders, so I’m not interested.

So, uh, @stellanslashgeode, you asked me for my thoughts on Iskat Akaris, here they are. Sorry it’s probably not what you wanted.

So, like, there’s my opinion on the fandom-and-canon obsession with Inquisitors who chose the Empire. We literally haven’t seen pretty much anything about how the normal inquisitors join, can we focus on the actually interesting stuff? The Inquisitors' lack of autonomy, their lack of choice, is a huge part of what fascinates me so much about them, because it's very unique. Let's not take that away.

Another piece of why I think the Inquisitors are so interesting is how their abuse at the hands of the Empire shapes them, though this part has more speculation than the stuff above due to lack of clear information.

In canon, we know that inquisitors go through fucking hellish initiation criteria (“Isolation! Torture! Mutilation!”), stuff that absolutely breaks them until they no longer believe that the Empire can be stopped at all (“You can’t stop the Empire!” “She said something about becoming an Inquisitor… like it’s inevitable”). We also know that, however it happens, it's very fast and effective. The Vader Comics are set just months after Order 66, and there's already at least ten fully initiated Inquisitors.

Unfortunately, we never directly see the exact initiation protocols the Inquisitors are subject to, but we do get quick glimpses, like in the flashbacks from J:FO, and with Reva in Kenobi. Right now, I want to look at what those flashbacks from J:FO, together with the dialogue above, tells us about what exactly happens to Inquisitors.

In the flashback, we see Trilla, strapped to the torture chair that Cere's in later in the flashback, being subjected to Star Wars' favorite kind of torture, weird electricity chairs. I'm going to call them shockseats, just to distinguish them from real-life electric chairs. We transition from the torture to some time later, when Second Sister has been fully turned, wearing the Inquisitor uniform and everything.

That, annoyingly enough, is all we get to work with. It's basically the "Being tortured makes you evil" trope, but Ninth Sister's dialogue gives it some nuance. She says "Isolation! Torture! Mutilation!", and, well, we just saw the torture part, and I'm guessing the mutilation is the whole thing in the comics where Vader teaches the Inquisitors by cutting their limbs off, so that leaves isolation, which I think is probably a very significant part of the process.

Based on the vault vision and the Fortress Inquisitorius section in J:FO, most of the Fortress's prison has a kind-of panopticon feel, with see-through energy shields, guards everywhere, and several prisoners in one cell, so I'm guessing there are probably some deeper isolation cells. The isolation is probably where most of the indoctrination happens, because we never hear anyone saying anything during the torture scenes.

This is mostly headcanon from the scraps we get, but I'd say initiation probably goes something like this: 1. a survivor is captured 2. They're taken to Nur, and tortured on the way there (per Rebels) 3 The timeline here is annoyingly unclear but I think the ‘isolation’/indoctrination comes before the rest? 4. They're tortured in an attempt to get them to turn to the Dark Side 5. They're somehow fully initiated into the Inquisitorius with their full title and uniform 6. They're trained ('mutilation') 7. They're a full Inquisitor

obv I have headcanons (ie a full-on not-really canon-compliant system that I think works better than the disjointed 'being tortured makes you evil' bits we have now, but I'm trying to stay as canon-compliant here as possible) but I think this is about what we get in canon, and it’s kind of necessary to have a vague idea about what probably happens in order to understand them, and dang is this very important to basically their entire self-concepts.

In Kenobi, Third Sister is hated by all the others, probably for not going through what they did. We see throughout the show that she’s just as good, or better, than most of them, but because she wasn’t tortured (or, at least, not to the same extent), the rest despise her. She does the exact same things we've consistently seen all the other Inquisitor's do, but she's punished and derided for it. In J:FO, Second Sister goes out and threatens civilians in order to draw Cal out, and everyone’s fine with it, but when Reva does it, everyone hates her.

There’s no rational reason; she does exactly what they do , what she’s been taught to do, but she’s treated differently. The only reason for this, in-universe, is that she’s the only Inquisitor we know of that wasn’t brought in for being a Jedi—she explicitly hides that she was one. The rest of the Inquisitors clearly do hate each other, but it’s on a different level with her, because they do not see her as one of them. She wasn’t a Jedi, and thus she didn’t go through the same things they did. There seems to be a sort-of trauma-induced bond between the other Inquisitors. They hate each other, but they all see each other as Inquisitors, largely the same as them. They don’t share that with Reva because whatever happened to them didn’t happen to her, to the same extent.

Connecting to my earlier point about Inquisitors who chose to join, I think that that's WAY more interesting than a bunch of jerk coworkers who just decided to be evil.

These people were family in the Jedi, and then their whole family died as they watched and heard and felt it in their brains, and they were chased and hunted and tortured until they broke and brought back together, warped and different and told to call each other siblings—and at this point, aren’t they? They were raised together in the bowels of Nur, subjected to the same horror and misery; they’ve been through everything together, in the worst way possible, constantly competing and fighting and killing for anything they can get. Who else could understand them in any meaningful way?

I'm getting off-topic, but the physical abuse and torture of the Inquisitors seems fundamental to their identity, even if we don't know exactly what it entailed. 

So, with the isolation and indoctrination, I think it's fair to say that there's probably quite a lot of mental abuse there. The Dark Side, in itself, is pretty horrible mental health-wise (the Jedi actively use cognitive behavioral therapy just to prevent the possibility of the Dark) and being literally tortured and forced into it must be like. so much worse. Plus, isolation has been shown to be really fucking awful for your brain and the Inquisitor’s utter hopelessness (they literally do not believe that the Empire can be stopped and are really angry at anyone who tries) kind of seems like the whole being unable to believe that things can be better and getting angry at people who try to help part of depression? 

Basically I don’t really know enough about mental health to say definitively, but I’m guessing a core part of Inquisitor Initiation is like. Insane mental abuse to get them to crack.

This last bit is less supported, and I know even less about it, so I’m going to keep this real brief, but I think there’s a possibility of some sexual abuse as well? This is a pretty big thing in fanon with the Grand Inquisitor, and then there’s all the creepy pervy stuff with Seventh Sister that she did not learn from the Jedi, but that’s as much as I’ll say for that because I know nothing about this kind of thing.

So, those are really the three things that define the Inquisitors to me: their expendability, lack of autonomy, and how their abuse defines them. I could write more on this, but this post took a fucking month already, so I’ll stick to those points.

[antianakin]

So the Ahsoka show happened, right? It was certainly...a show of all time. Clearly more profit-driven than not, like most media is. But from a writing perceptive, there was a lot of stuff in Ahsoka's character they could have explored, and the direction they took was to basically like ignore Ahsoka's past and the nuances of her character entirely to cater to a wider audience while also failing to make the wider audience care about anything either.

But anyways, I'm interested to know what concepts about like Ahsoka and like her character you would want to see. If there was a Ahsoka show catered to you specifically. Like what arcs, what explorations of her past, what characters that are important to her would make a return? I'm just curious to see how different people on here that are super into Star Wars stuff have like different interpretations of what they would want her character to go.

Oh yeah, I have a lot of thoughts on this, buckle up.

I personally feel like the best thing to do with Ahsoka is really make her DARK. She doesn't have to go full Sith or even Inquisitor or anything but I want her to be genuinely DARK to the point of selfishness and even almost cruelty. I want to see how Anakin's relationship TRULY impacted her in a negative way because I don't think that's something we've really seen much of before (Reva didn't HAVE a relationship with him before, Luke ultimately chooses to love Anakin and it 'saves' him, Obi-Wan still loves Anakin and can remember the positives despite all the negatives, Padme dies too early to really explore that).

Because here's the thing: I want Anakin to have RUINED her, I want him to have BROKEN her. The Jedi assign her to Anakin because they believe the best of him, but what we SEE is Anakin passing on more of Palpatine's Sith manipulations than the Jedi's own teachings, something that SHOULD have an interesting impact on Ahsoka down the line, having been under the guidance of the "bad father" during a formative time in her life and then very abruptly having what's left of her support system destroyed by that very person, leaving her abandoned and alone and incapable of relying on or trusting anybody.

Ahsoka is also in SUCH an interesting position post-Wrong Jedi arc as a Padawan who never finished their training but who had left the Jedi BEFORE Order 66 happened. Unlike characters like Cal or Kanan, she can't just go right back to who she was before the Jedi died, because she WASN'T A JEDI before Order 66. She'd left. So her path back to BEING a Jedi, if that's the journey you wanted to send her on, should look different than theirs. It isn't just a matter of deciding to take on the title again for her. She has to learn to let go of what happened in the Wrong Jedi arc, forgive those she feels have wronged her, and figure out how to trust HERSELF again before she can even start down the path of figuring out what it means to her to be a Jedi and how to reclaim that identity in a world where she can never rejoin the Order she left behind.

So the combination of both this very unique journey and the fairly unique way that her relationship with Anakin should've impacted her towards leaning into her own darkness would ideally create an obvious arc for Ahsoka to go on towards letting go of her fears, her pain, her grief, and coming back to being a Jedi UNLIKE Anakin. There should be a LOT more irony coming from Anakin telling her that she'd never make it as Obi-Wan's Padawan but that she might just make it as his because the truth is that she DOESN'T make it as Anakin's Padawan, that being Anakin's Padawan is what causes her NOT to make it as a Jedi, and only by letting go of Anakin and his teachings is she capable of reclaiming the Jedi she should've become.

And I think Rebels season 4 set us up fairly nicely to explore that by having her sort-of pushed to the brink with the revelation of Anakin's betrayal and then Ezra coming in to save her at the last second forcing her to live with that truth and everything it can (and could) mean. If we were going to get an Ahsoka show, THAT was the place to start it. Show us how Ahsoka gets off of Malachor, where she goes afterwards, what she was DOING during the time of the Original Trilogy that kept her from participating in those events, and let us SEE her actually deal with knowing who Anakin has chosen to be in the immediate aftermath of her confrontation with him, when she should be at her WORST.

Ahsoka was good before, still kind, compassionate, and she does help Ezra in the WBW with letting go of Kanan, but when she's left alone in the darkness of Malachor, it's harder to hold on to that, harder to remember how to let go of her own grief. And it starts to twist her, just a little, just enough, and when she gets out, she's not QUITE herself anymore and it's something she has to figure out how to heal from, both literally and figuratively.

In terms of structure, I'd have probably done a two season thing, with the first season being all about Anakin and letting go of him and coming back to being a Jedi in the immediate aftermath of Malachor and pre-ROTJ. This is where Ahsoka should be at her darkest, most vitriolic, most selfish, most cruel. Make her REALLY struggle, none of the quarter-assed slightly annoyed bullshit that the Ahsoka show actually gave her. Let her be genuinely WRONG and awful to people, REALLY highlight that Sith manipulation shit she learned from Anakin, LET HER TRULY HIT ROCK BOTTOM.

Look at the way Obi-Wan acts in the beginning of the Kenobi show, the way he abandons helping people like his co-worker and Nari, the cruel words he says to Nari about the Jedi, the really downtrodden attitude he has, the refusal to help Bail save Leia initially, his defeatism. He's BARELY the Obi-Wan we all knew and he has to WORK his way back to being that person again. In comparison, Ahsoka in the Ahsoka show says like... two slightly strict things to Sabine when Sabine is acting like a reckless brat and... that's about it. She's not honestly THAT FAR OFF from her Rebels personality, so I don't buy anything afterwards that's supposed to be about Ahsoka CHANGING for the better afterwards. I don't buy that Ahsoka needed some sort of Force intervention to make her "choose to live," I don't buy that Ahsoka's relationship with Sabine was because of HER distance, I don't buy that Ahsoka is genuinely fucked up all that much by Anakin's betryaal. I just don't.

And Ahsoka is a character who has consistently been shown to be rude, unfair, insensitive, reckless, mistrustful, and impatient. She WAS compassionate and kind before, yes, and that's where she would need to get back to, but she had a TON of traits that could easily be exaggerated to show how badly this was all affecting her that would make her rise back to being a Jedi feel all the more earned. Give her a couple of side characters (NEW characters, NO pre-established cameo characters who were clearly supposed to be the main characters of their OWN stories or who would pull focus from Ahsoka) to go on this journey with her that she has to learn to connect to and who help pull her out of the darkness somehow.

If you HAD to bring in a pre-established character here, this is where I'd bring in Barriss Offee and let Ahsoka sort-of learn to forgive Barriss for what she did in the Wrong Jedi arc as Barriss learns to redeem herself for her own choices. Barriss works as a proxy for Anakin and someone Ahsoka can be rude to without it immediately seeming unbelievable that that person would stick around; Barriss might be willing to just let Ahsoka take her anger out on her because she knows she's sort-of earned it. Ultimately Barriss would need to stand up for herself and the two of them sort-of work their way back out of their respective pits TOGETHER. The problem with using Barriss is that everything about Barriss's actions in the Wrong Jedi arc were wildly racist and badly set up and so this is something I wouldn't trust a lot of people to handle WELL, even though I think it would be a very relevant way to manage Ahsoka's journey through her darkness and back towards her identity as a Jedi.

The second season would be more about the war and her feelings on having spent the majority of her life fighting as a soldier and what that means for the kind of Jedi she's become and what she has to give to the galaxy and potentially to a padawan of her own, all set post-ROTJ. This time, she teams up with another random Force sensitive person (again, a NEW character, NO ONE pre-established) who wants Ahsoka to be their Jedi master and Ahsoka struggles with taking on this responsibility and whether she even CAN. And a nice ending could be Ahsoka showing up to Luke's school to finally meet him for the first time, now that she's able to stand in front of him without shame and without seeing someone else when she looks at him. (We're ignoring the Sequels here for this one because I Do Not Give A Fuck about the Sequels and what they did to Luke and the Jedi was horrible anyway, so we're choosing to ignore the Council's decision this time.)

If I was going to bring in a pre-established character for THIS season, it would be Rex. Rex is a really great symbol for the soldier she had to become and the war that took a large part of both of their lives from them. But Rex also symbolizes that not all of that was BAD, some of it led to good things, like her relationship with the clones. There's always light to be found in darkness, if you're willing to look for it. This would also be a great place to really flesh out that dynamic in a way that I don't think ANY of the shows really have.

Only after ALL OF THIS has been done do you get to go into the Rebels sequel show with Sabine to search for Ezra, now that Ahsoka's journey is done and she can just be support for someone else's story. (And at NO POINT in this would Sabine end up a fucking Force sensitive person or be apprenticed to Ahsoka as a Jedi of ANY KIND. Also this is my AU so this Sabine isn't a fucking selfish brat so Thrawn doesn't get released just so Sabine can have Ezra back or whatever.)

[anidaladefencelawyer]

Does Hindsight Make Anidala Indefensible? An analysis and a rebuttal(Part 1)

Follow up to this post

So I have stumbled onto an argument from a Jedi uncritical, one of the bigger ones whom have left the fandom months ago due to politics I will not talk about but I find quite disagreeable. This person claims that “If you step back look at the Star Wars universe as a whole, Anakin and Padme's relationship becomes near indefensible”. This is in part, they claim, because of the atrocities that Anakin set in motion--the turning on the Jedi by their "brothers" the Clones(which arguably is overblown by the fandom how close both groups are), the subsequent genocide of the Jedi, the subjagation of multiple worlds, the genocide of multiple species and the enslavement of multiple more, the total obliteration of Alderaan, and the rampant totalitarianism that all stemmed from his choice of personal love/possessiveness over the greater good.

While Anakin may have enabled such atrocities to happen with his bad life choices, and as Vader, was definitely complicit in them and deserves to be held accountable, can it really be blamed on his relationship with Padme? Was it all "everything was going out fine and Palpatine could easily be stopped...but Anakin decided his posessive desires was more important than the livelihood of billions of beings and plunged the galaxy into fascist tyranny?"

To answer that question we will need to ask ourselves the question: Was this chain of events likely even without Anakin? In order to prove this we need to envision a scenario where Anakin never falls in love with Padme and hypothesize from there.

If I can prove that Anakin and Padme falling in love has no bearing on either the Empire or Anakin's fall, then the answer would be that yes, the chain of events was likely without Anakin. And that ultimately, the galaxy would have suffered greatly with or without Padme and Anakin being together.

We will consider two scenarios, or “timelines”, feel free to call them by any name. Both scenarios branch from an alternative where Anakin still becomes a Jedi, but either never meets Padme or dosen't fall for her.

Timeline 1-Anakin dosen't fall for Padme and dosen't fall:

So let's think of an alternate timeline. Let's say that everything went the way Jedi uncriticals think it should. Anakin never falls in love with Padme(maybe he never saw Padme in her disguise in episode I but Qui-Gon finds him anyways and he is taken with them after winning the race) AND manages to let go of his mother. The war would likely unfold the same(except maybe Anakin isn't too hung up over Ahsoka leaving-assuming it happens-because he can "let go" more). And let's assume Palpatine has less of a hold onto Anakin. I could maybe see this Anakin spare Dooku. So far so good, it seems Dooku could be captured and brought to trial where he will blow the lid on everything...right.

...wrong. Palpatine likely has a contingency in place if Dooku is captured. Perhaps Grievous "disposes" of Dooku while they are escaping the Invisible Hand, perhaps some sort of deadly gas is filtered into his cell while awaiting trial, or perhaps the Jedi keep Dooku as prisoner, but Palpatine's infiltrators in the temple like the future Grand Inquisitor sneaks in and kills him; he could be in a easy position to do so given his role as a temple guard. So the lead with Dooku runs cold. Anakin maybe is made a master earlier and accepts more eagerly his mission to spy on the chancellor this time. However, without any "attachments" in his life, Palpatine won't openly confess that he's the sith lord and Anakin would be kept in the dark much longer. The Jedi are still spread thin in the Outer Rim sieges, likely Obi-Wan would still go to Utapau...I could maybe see this version of Anakin get assigned to Utapau too if Palpatine feels that he's onto him.

This branches out into three scenarios, and I will explore how each plays out, but note that none of these are particularly good for the galaxy at large:

Scenario 1: Eventually a while after Anakin is sent to Utapau, Windu would move to arrest the chancellor anyways and assuming Palpatine comes out on top(I know there is argument that Windu was stronger, but I think this is possible because he might fight harder against the Masters knowing Anakin won’t turn). As a result, the Empire still forms, Order 66 is declared except with Anakin also as a target, Jedi genocide still happens and the Empire would soon carry out the same atrocities it did in canon, and Death Star is still built, Geonosians still wiped out, and likely death star will be tested on a world with billions. Palpatine would likely take precaution to avoid Yoda and go off world ASAP so there will be no "hail mary" pass for the Jedi(and as we see later on, the hail mary pass would have its own problems).

Scenario 2: Alternatively Windu comes out on top, Sidious is defeated while Anakin and Obi-Wan kill Grievous on Utapau...galaxy is at peace...right? WRONG. Most likely the Jedi will seize the senate and install someone from the delegation like Bail or a more career-oriented Padme into power....except the majority of the senate, dominated by Palpatine loyalists would view this as a coup. While out of universe the Jedi could appear justified in preventing the autocratic consolidation of power, in universe, everyone has drank Palpatine's kool-aid. Hell Padme says so how liberty died with thunderous applause in ROTS itself.

What follows is that the Senate likely invokes Order 65 and gets rid of the pro-democracy chancellor, likely installing Tarkin, Amedda or, if we set this in the legends timeline or some sort of hybrid timeline, one of Palpatine's co-conspirators in legends like Sate Pestage or Ishin-Il-Raz into power. Some sort of Order 66 is declared since Palpatine's inner circle were mostly in on the conspiracy to start an empire(or alternatively there is a dead man's switch/order embedded in the chips if Palpatine would fall; in Legends this is a moot point anyways since Clones would act with full agency and there was no chips there), Clones still turn on the Jedi and Jedi genocide happens anyways.

End result is that Empire still forms and given how a lot of Palpatine's accomplices were coreist human supremacists and the tendency of Core worlds to drift towards said mentalities, most of the species and civilizations wiped out by the Empire would still be enslaved or wiped out by the empire. Death Star is still built, still tested on a world with a population in the billions, and Geonosians still wiped out as a species to cover it up. Potentially this version of the Empire might actually be more durable than Palpatine's Empire, driven by a fascist "ideology" over Palpatine's whims, and better indoctrinate the more fanatical elements of the population, whom, already having anti-Jedi sentiments, would view Palpatine as a martyr killed by the Jedi and eat it all up. Galaxy is doomed to even longer oppression despite Windu's good intentions.

Scenario 3: Palpatine wins against the Masters, excecutes Order 66, Jedi Order gets decimated. Anakin, Obi-Wan and Yoda manage to regroup on Coruscant and kill Palpatine and install a member of the delegation as chancellor.....except nothing changes and scenario 2 plays out with the Senate turning on the Jedi, except with the Jedi even more decimated to face the rising Empire carried fourth by Palpatine's loyalists because this is after Order 66.

So it's clear that an Anakin that never fell would not be able to stop the Empire, and the Jedi's actions might actually stop Palpatine but cause the galaxy to fall into a longer darkness.

And of course, Timeline 1 assumes the best case scenario for the Jedi regarding Anakin. Which begs the question....What if Anakin still falls anyways? This is something that needs to be considered.

Timeline 2-Anakin doesn't fall for Padme but falls to the Dark Side anyways:

Contrary to what Jedi uncriticals think, Anakin's possessiveness is not tied to a pure obsession with Padme, but rather his failure to accept loss and death as part of life and how the Jedi never really gave him room to process it all. His first jump down the dark side would be the slaughter of the Tusken Raiders in canon/legends over the loss of his mother.

This means that without Padme, Anakin is still due for some sort of reckoning with the Dark Side through his mother's imminent death. Perhaps he still sneaks off to find his mother, she dies and he still carries out his massacre. Perhaps he is prevented from doing so, but he feels her death through the force and is emotionally devastated and in both cases he's not gonna learn to "let go" and is not gonna resent the Jedi for not letting him save her.

This puts him in a good position to be further groomed by Palpatine, who would stoke his "failure" to save his mother or even go to tatooine to save her and scapegoat the Jedi. Likely Ahsoka would still be assigned to Anakin to test if he can let go and eventually she would get framed. He would develop a fatherly or big brother style attachment to Ahsoka as a friend/daughter figure/sister figure and she would still leave and devastate him. And this would still come on top of the Rako Hardeen incident with Obi-Wan. So potentially Palpatine has quite a bit to work with even without Padme. He could lure him in with the idea that the dark side would offer him the means to protect those he loves, perhaps using some other Sith lord with a strong attachment bond with someone regardless of the context.

While this draws on legends and infers a hybrid canon, I can see, in an alternate version of the Opera House, Palpatine tempting Anakin with with the legend of Darth Revan(or alternatively a revisionist and distorted version of the story that omits his redemption) and how he acted against Jedi directives to fight the Mandalorians, or even Darth Vectivus, who supposedly moreso used his powers to protect his family and those closest to him over contributing to the grand plan(or arguably more likely had the appearance of moral decency; apparently that was the implication in legends--however don't expect this alternative version of Palpatine to tell this alternative single version of Anakin that!)

But anyways the distrust with the council would still be there, this version of Anakin would be still goaded into killing Dooku. He would likely still turn and from here on out with Palpatine claiming that he needs to use the dark side to protect those that he loves, things would get even worse. Potentially, whereas canon!Vader beat himself up mentally for the rest of his life for losing Padme, this version of Vader would be far more irredeemable and subsumed into the dark side. Obi-Wan might not find Vader on Mustafar to put a stop to him and Ahsoka would still crash land onto that moon with Rex and could not get to him early on to get him to see reason.

Assuming that Palpatine dosen't engineer Ahsoka or Kenobi's death himself, it is highly likely that if they were to meet again, this version of Vader might actually dispose of Obi-Wan or Ahsoka--perhaps Palpatine could spread rumors that his friends betrayed him and didn't deserve him. Without any love for Padme or Luke to save him, this Vader one day kills Palpatine in order to become the Sith Master and rules the Empire as an irredeemable power-mad tyrant until he is killed by his own apprentice. Or even worse, Palpatine bodyjacks him with essence transfer and rules for eternity.

Suppose Obi-Wan and Yoda, not knowing Vader is on Mustafar, kill Palpatine and manage to wait out on Coruscant enough to kill Vader as well....that still means that the Senate will declare any chancellor they install as illegitimate and commit to the empire anyways under a Palpatine loyalist.

Summary/Observations:

So overall the conclusion is that Anakin and Padme's relationship actually did not have that much of a bearing on a 1000 year old evil plan that Palpatine carried through to its fruition. If Anakin did not fall, it is likely that either Palpatine still wins, or Palpatine loses but the Empire still wins. A lot of the systemic issues in the Republic existed independent of Anakin, Padme, and even Palpatine.

It also fails to understand the root cause of Anakin's possessiveness was not because he was supposedly "obsessed" over one woman in his life but because of his inability to deal with loss, in part because the easy to read into implication that the Jedi barred all communications from Shmi(which was confirmed in legends canon) and refused to hold up their end of the bargain. Without Padme, that distrust would still be there, and he could easily project his possessiveness into Ahsoka or even Obi-Wan, and there is plenty of means for Palpatine to manipulate for his ends.

Do I believe the fall of the republic was inherently inevitable? No.

But was it also tied purely to Anakin’s choices, the actions of the Jedi during one pivotal event, and specifically the choice of loving one specific woman? Also No.

And as you can see, this is just part 1 of my analysis. In part 2 of my analysis I will further critique the implications of the Jedi uncritical fan perspective on Anakin’s fall and frankly some of the disturbing implications therein.

[chaoticspacefam]

“So, are we getting married or what?” “That depends...you dig up another ancient Sith warblade from somewhere?” “As long as you don’t ask where I got it from.”

[hurricanek8art]

Okay, I don't know what's going on with Tumblr and everything has been absolute chaos with my life the past few months, so y'know what, screw it. I think I'm actually brave enough to share some of my art. At least it won't just be sitting on my tablet that way.

This is my Sith Inquisitor turned Force-sensitive Outcast from SWTOR, Roodaka Greatstorm-Kallig. I haven't really plotted everything out with her regarding her story, but she's not my Outlander. She leaves the Empire right after Ziost, after losing all of the family she'd used her Dark Council connections to find and save from slavery, and Lana recruits her to help Sana-Rae run the Enclave about two years before the Outlander (my Knight Aja Verdona) is rescued. She's prickly and petty and spiteful but I love her dearly. And because I've never posted art before, art process and a little bit of character lore ramble under the cut, I guess?

I usually work with lined art/sketches that are admittedly very messy, but when I did the first one back in May I was experimenting with actually rendering/painting, and I saw a fashion post thing that looked like something Roo would wear, so I was mostly just playing around, it's not a solid outfit design for her. It's janky and wonky and oh Lord please don't look closely at the anatomy or face it is not up to my usual standards, but I was so proud of myself for the lighting on this one, as well as how I managed to render the muscle. Like, the lighting! I have no idea what I'm doing but I think it looks so flipping good! And I was happy with how the crackly lightsaber blade turned out—it is supposed to be Aloysius Kallig's lightsaber, meaning it's at least over a thousand years old, right? It should be a little janky with age!

The second one is supposed to be post Fallen Empire, after she's left the Sith and become sort of a wandering Force-user—think Ahsoka as of, well... Ahsoka, but more on the side of Ventress if she'd survived TCW (don't get me started on that choice 🙄🙄🙄). I came into it knowing a little more of what I was doing, but I kinda got in over my head and gave up on the 100% lineless thing, you can definitely tell with the sword/clothes. 🥴 The second piece has been sitting unfinished in my WIP folder for months, so I just said screw it, finished up some details and called it because I am SO PROUD of her face and hands (I DREW A GOOD HAND WITHOUT LINEART WHO AM I?!?!) and how I rendered her skin, I don't want it to live in WIP purgatory forever. You can actually tell that's muscle! And a neck!

I'm proud of how her tattoos turned out, too. I played around with Cham Syndulla's tattoo pattern, turning it at different angles. It felt like a good way to root her in Twi'lek culture despite the Kallig bloodline having been separated from it for so long. She gets the first one to cover up a slave tattoo, and the rest after Ziost to further reclaim her identity and culture, leaving the Sith behind.

I have no idea how to close this post. Um... thanks for reading all this, if you have? I've never posted art before, I'm kinda terrified. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣