#taking in the fact that a galactic war just broke out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

landothemuppet · 3 years

Text

Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this !

N/A: First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

______

As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of the last two weeks of August.

This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

"Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

“My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

"Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

"What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

"What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

"You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

"Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

“I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

"Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

"Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

"Do you want to bet, knothead?"

He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

"Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

"Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

The first one: He was Spider-Man.

It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

"What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

"What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

"But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

"Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

"Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

"Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

“Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

"You..you should rest ..."

You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

"Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

"But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

"Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

"Y/N?"

You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

"I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

“There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

"I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

"Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fic

125 notes · View notes

the-phantom-ender · 3 years

Text

An Exploration Into Minecraft and Language.

I’m breaking this into sections and doing this literally just because I did a bunch of early human language stuff as review and I need a way to. Make my brain stop thinking about history. But I’ll start with canon knowledge first and slowly break into less official stuff from there!

Everything’s under the cut, because this got very long.

Early Language:

Pictograms are written languages where an image represents a thing and specifically just that thing, an expansion on pictogram languages are ideogram languages, in which an image represents multiple things. Likely the most well known pictogram/ideogram language (as it evolved as the need to say more did) was Hieroglyphics. Hieroglyphs were modeled after specific things but eventually grew to have many different meanings.

What’s the reason for the history lesson, I hear you asking? There’s evidence of a pictogram/ideogram language in Minecraft, of course! Chiseled sandstone (both normal and red) have images on them that highly seem to imply that there’s language and meaning behind them! Sandstone has a creeper face (which as well as being obviously a nod to creepers, could also mean explosions, as these blocks are found in Desert Temples), and red sandstone has a depiction of the wither (it wasn’t uncommon to have drawings of god-figures in pictograms so there’s a chance that withers were a deity of sorts).

There’s also chiseled stone bricks, but that’s a much more abstract shape. Perhaps it’s meant to symbolize an eye, though, and therefore the end, as stone bricks are often found in Strongholds, but that’s much more speculative. Chiseled stone bricks themselves also naturally generate in Jungle Temples. Chiseled polished blackstone seems to have a face on it of sorts (resembling the nose of a Piglin, most notably), and chiseled nether brick resembles that of a skeleton skull.

The only two major minecraft structures that don’t seem to have chiseled variants with symbols on them are the End City (purpur) and the Ocean Monument (prismarine). Ocean Monuments aren’t easily livable spaces, so it makes sense that language wouldn’t be a major factor, though. For the End, however, perhaps the lack of a symbol block is because there was already written language.

(above is a chart with all blocks mentioned in this section, listing their names, the symbols that appear on them, where they generate, and what they may represent)

Development of Language:

Here we get into full written alphabets. There are several types of alphabet, but “true” alphabets are those with distinct characters for both consonants and vowels. The most widely used modern day true alphabet is the Latin/Roman alphabet. Minecraft items in general adhere to the language the player is playing, so for the sake of things, the language you speak doesn’t play a factor here.

As many people know, there’s actually a true alphabet present in the game! That is, of course, Standard Galactic! There’s no official words tied to it, but it is the script used in the enchanting table and various other smaller details in the game! Now one thing to note about the Galactic in the enchantment table is that if you actually take the time to sit down and translate the words present, they don’t translate exactly. Most of the time, they will be a word similar to the enchantment, but not the same. Sometimes it’s just entirely gibberish.

(above is a chart of the Standard Galactic Alphabet, with the scripts corresponding Latin letters)

What this means is that, talking about translation wise, Galactic and English (or whatever language you play in) don’t translate directly into each other. So it isn’t simply just English words but different letters. At least not exactly. Perhaps this is the language Villagers speak, as they can and do trade enchanted books and items.

What people may not know, however, is that there’s actually another script present in Minecraft! Or… at least kind of. There’s six letters of a different script present in the game. And unlike Standard Galactic, it doesn’t appear in any other sources, so we will likely never know how it works in its entirety. What we do know, though, is that there are symbols on the End Crystals! And, digging into those textures, we can translate a word out from them by messing with them a bit! That word is… Mojang. It’s probably meant to just be an easter egg used to fill space, that one.

(above is a visualization of how the symbols present on End Crystals can translate into the word Mojang)

That being said, though, lore-wise, it can have a bigger impact! Remember how I said that End Cities are lacking in a pictogram? This can serve as an explanation! Perhaps the Enderman developed with language, even as far as having wide-spread Galactic (as there are enchanted books and armor in End City structures), but upon entering the end, after many years, they broke away from the standard script. Development of a new written alphabet and even more different languages is certainly possible, it’s happened plenty in the real world. Isolation creates new advancements. So the Enderman create the language present on the crystals at some point, eventually.

Additional Concepts and Less Canon Tidbits:

Here we get into wild speculation and fun ideas that don’t really hold any weight! If you don’t want that, that’s entirely fair!

Obviously, Villagers have what is technically the most advanced society economically. They trade for goods, have various jobs and artisans, and have an item that they value costs at (emeralds). They also have the most concrete communities, having villages, obviously. Villagers also have domesticated animals! Both in the sense of farm animals and also cats.

There’s also Pillagers- which I haven’t mentioned much here. They have giant mansions which seem a lot like manors. They don’t do trade, but they’re skilled fighters and have trained war animals, as well as people who have specific combat styles. They’re plenty advanced, especially because they have potions and therefore understand medicine at least to some degree, but much more war-oriented.

Piglins are essentially wandering tribes. They don’t trade, they barter, most of their structures are in ruins and the structures they do have are very heavily guarded because they contain riches. The Piglins seem to follow animals that they use (hoglins), but are also seemingly in the process of domesticating them. They also don’t seem to have much more in the way of language than pictograms (though there is Galactic present and they do seem to understand enchanting and brewing to an extent). Piglins seem to be midway in advancement, really.

Enderman are… complicated. Because yes, they do have written language and they do have cities and communities and means of transportation, they don’t exactly… interact. They don’t trade. They’re technologically advanced beyond any other groups in the game, but they are mostly isolated. So they’ve advanced entirely alone, building off only themselves.

There are also Nether Fortresses but that’s… complicated. Those tied exclusively to these structures are Wither Skeletons and Blazes. These are very different creatures, however. There’s also the fact that Blazes spawn almost exclusively from spawners. It’s hard to tell if Wither Skeletons or Blazes are the proper inhabitants of the area, but it could be both. Wither Skeletons likely originated from traditional Skeletons adapting to the environment of the nether. They’re undead and therefore it isn’t impossible that they may have, at least in the past, known how to build structures. Eventually losing that ability as the Nether degraded them.

Nether Fortresses provide no trade but there are chests that can contain loot! And some of that loot suggests a knowledge of places outside of the Nether (horse armor, most notably). Wither Skeletons/Skeletons generally may have also descended from people fearing a god figure called the “Wither” and therefore, the blackened skeletons were made out to be part of what would summon the creature. So they were kept in the Nether to avoid something like that reaching the Overworld.

There’s also… Ocean Monuments. I have no idea with those. Elder Guardians are likely a figure that’s revered. Giant structures were built for them to appease them or something of the sort. They might be told to keep the seas at peace or something of the sort. Not an active civilization, however. A structure built to pay respect to something powerful.

There’s probably plenty of things I blanked on mentioning, but yeah! This has been fun! I don’t know why this is my definition of fun.

#phantoms membrane #minecraft #mineblr #minecraft theory #minecraft analysis #minecraft language #aaaaa i dont know what to tag this #please reblog it though!#i spent. quite literally all day on this ;^^#like i had fun but also!!!! it was a lot of work!!

62 notes · View notes

thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Of Humans and Demons

It had been quite a while since I’ve came out with a story. In this, we have the explanation of what is happening in two of the galaxies concerning the shenanigans bringing them all together, as well as the more supernatural side of all of them. As usual, I do not own anything except Thomas Drake and his universe. Enjoy the story.

“Speak softly and carry a big stick.” -Theodore Roosevelt

Empyrean Iris Galaxy

Rundi Homeworld, Seat of the Galactic Assembly

“Nervous?”

“Actually, no. Not really.”

“Figures. First human to make contact with extraterrestrial life, now the first person to meet the newcomers from these new galaxies. Nothing fazes you,” Admiral Kelly sighed. Admiral Vir, dressed in an immaculately pressed grey uniform, grinned.

“They said space was the final frontier. As it turns out, we’ve got eight new galaxies out there. Life just got a lot more complicated. But, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. More fun! More exploring!” said Vir.

“It takes all kinds, I suppose. But you have to deal with briefing the Assembly,” replied Kelly. “And deal with their possible reactions to the fact that they might not be the top dogs anymore,” she added as an afterthought.

“True,” sighed Vir. “The worst part of the job, by far.” A younger human officer stepped into the small, well lit room outside the main council chambers and turned to the Admirals.

“Admiral Vir, sir. The Assembly is ready.” He clutched his hands together, nervous to be in the presence of a living legend.

“Thank you,” replied Vir politely. He strode forward, only to pause briefly and look back at Kelly with a grin. “Oh, by the way, Star Wars is real.”

“Wait...what?”

He walked into the council chambers, radiating an aura of careful calmness. He looked to the seats where the various delegates from all the different species in the galaxy sat, looking slightly wistfully at the human section, wishing he could be there instead of standing alone at the head of the council. But, like he had said earlier, it went with the job, and he was the only person to make contact with the denizens of the other galaxies. He reached the speaker’s podium, and, after the usual useless bureaucratic formalities were made, began.

“Esteemed members of the Galactic Assembly, I am sure you have noticed that we are no longer the only populated galaxy within this universe. Approximately a month ago, an extreme anomaly caused nine different galaxies, including our own, from nine separate universes to co-exist in one singular universe. I come before you today, having met with people from each of the galaxies to brief you on the various governments from these other galaxies, what they are like, and what you should expect.” He paused for a moment. Perhaps he had used the word ‘galaxy’ too much in that speech? No. He had to be extremely specific, even at the risk of sounding redundant. “It should be noted that, interestingly enough, humans exist in all of these realities.” That drew a round of nervous murmerings. Humans were one of the newest additions to the Assembly, and were by far one of the more powerful and dangerous member races. Come to think of it, I might be lucky if they don’t start a riot over this, he mused.

“It should also be noted that, coincidentally, several of these new realities share similarities with old human stories. Should you wish to know more, the appropriate media has been forwarded to you.”

“Now, on to the main briefing.” Several delegates leaned forward in their seats expectantly. Notepads, recording devices, or computers were taken from their holding places. Adam cleared his throat. “This is what we have deemed Galaxy One…”

And so the briefing went on. He told them of the people he’d met, gave them the anatomical reports on new species of aliens. And, most importantly, he told them of their counterparts. Told them of both the good and the worrying.

The Galactic Empire: a fracturing, militaristic pro-human superpower that used to rule Galaxy 1.

The New Republic: a pro-democratic group that opposed and overthrew the Empire from Galaxy 1.

The United Federation of Planets: a peaceful yet technologically powerful group where all species were equal in Galaxy 3.

The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation: a massive, privately funded mega-corporation that effectively ruled Earth and humanity in Galaxy 7.

The Covenant: a theocratic coalition of aliens dedicated to activating a series of devastating WMD’s in the belief that it would cause their ascension in Galaxy 4.

The Imperium of Man: a theocratic, xenophobic, militaristic pro-human superpower fighting an endless war against all comers in Galaxy 6.

The list went on, and on, and on. As each different government was mentioned, a map of their territories, capabilities, species, and symbol flashed on a centrally located holographic projector.

“Now, the next part is this. We have received word from the Citadel Council, the reigning government in what we have dubbed Galaxy 5, asking us to come to their capital for peaceful negotiations. They seem to be extremely similar to our own government, in the sense that they are a galaxy-spanning federation including multiple species. While I am no diplomat; that would be your area of expertise, the information we have gathered has led us to believe that this government in particular, and two others are the most similar to us and would be the best to ally with.” The room filled with hushed murmurings. The Drev delegate spoke up.

“And what is to stop all you humans from ending up like this? Or this?” He tapped a button, and the six-spoked circle of the Galactic Empire and the double-headed golden eagle of the Imperium of Man flashed to life on the console. “As there are humans in all of these galaxies, you could band together and wipe the rest of us out. What’s to stop you?” Vir paused for a moment.

“Because, being human is all about individuality. We have no collective. Our societies change all the time throughout history. It is often not a story of unity. In the end, a human is whatever it wants to be. The humans of this new reality are probably just as different to each other as all the other species are. And, because we are an individualistic species, the chances of us uniting under one banner to conquer not only one but nine different galaxies is not going to happen.” He looked out at all the different delegates, all the different aliens he had come to appreciate over so long. “One other thing. Most humans have a great sense of right and wrong. Something that many of you have come to appreciate over the time we’ve been in the Assembly, I’m sure. We know that to take your land, to kill your people, is wrong. And, as I said before, humans are different. There are evil and bad humans in this reality; there always have been good ones as well. The same still applies. While some of these humans will want to take from you everything, humans like me will always be there to fight by your side against tyranny.” The room broke into applause. Sometimes good speeches weren't about grandiose words. Sometimes they were simply there to get a point across. And Admiral Adam Vir was a master at that type of speaking.

He sighed to himself. No bad. There wouldn’t be any riots. Probably. Hopefully. He went on with his briefing, pausing slightly to wonder if similar things were happening in the other galaxies...

“I want one simple thing: money. I will tell you what I want; everyone knows what I want. But the people you call saviors, the ones who you think will deliver you and raise you up, they want something else. They want complete and utter control over every aspect of your life. And when you naive fools put them into power, in a short time you will miss my kind. But I will be dead, and you will be damned, because you never thought through the consequences of your actions.” -Martin Crossgrow

Aboard the Apocalypse

Thomas Drake sat in his quarters. The room was an odd combination of styles, with austere and sleek metal plating contrasting with the rustic stonework of a large electric fireplace and the handsome woodwork of the furniture. He sat before a large video screen, barely the width of a piece of paper. His black hair was immaculate, as always, and his deep blue eyes stared from underneath a brow furrowed with concentration. His fingers flew across a holographic keyboard, inputting the correct security procedures. A mesh of invisible, interlocking and ever-changing computer algorithms flashed across the screen. Good. Even if someone were to try and break into his ship’s computers, they would not find records of what he was doing. They could not. He pressed a few more keys, then waited.

Waited for one person. His...sponsor. For lack of a better word. The head of the most powerful corporation in his galaxy. The head of the Guild of Merchants, the corporate oligarchy that ruled the space in between the Galactic Federation and the Empire of Prosium. Ultra-capitalists to a somewhat disturbing extent, it was they who controlled most of the galaxy’s comperce, built most of the products, and of course, paid the most.

A series of chimes, repeating the same notes, sounded. They sounded faster, quicker, humming together, until one long, high, note sang out. The computer screen flashed from black with lines of green coding to reveal a face.

It was that of a man, skin pale from never seeing the warm kiss of a sun, pale from never leaving building complexes. It was old, with receding white hair and skin starting to sag, but the face and the eyes did not betray this age. They burned with energy, arrogance and contempt. Not the misplaced arrogance and perceived invincibility of youth, or the kind energy of an honest worker. No. These eyes shone with an arrogance of age and assurity, the arrogance of a man who knew with absolute certainty he was better and more powerful than anyone else. These eyes now turned to Thomas Drake, and took on a new expression. That of a superior looking on at a trusted subordinate.

“Captain Drake. How are you?” spoke the calm voice of Martin Crossgrow.

“I’m doing well, Mr. Crossgrow,” replied Drake.

“Wonderful. Now, what do you have for me?”

“Information. As per usual. Stocks, governments, companies...entities. In some cases.” Crossgrow gave an appreciative nod.

“Excellent. Your usual fee will be transferred to your account when the information reaches me.”

“Good. I wanted to warn you, though. In some of these new realities, there are...things. Things of...supernatural power. I’m getting you as much information as I can on them, so as to be better prepared if and when confronted.” At this, Crossgrow laughed, a low, dry, chuckle.

“I’m not afraid of the supernatural. If it does exist in these new galaxies, then there are people who will know how to fight it in those galaxies. And every man has a price. So if the time comes, I merely must pay that price. It’s simple.” Drake said nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple. But he also knew that disagreeing with the head of the most powerful corporation in the galaxy, and his highest paying employer, was not a wise decision.

“If that’s how you play it, then that’s how you play it. But I think I need more information. Places, organizations with knowledge, information. That’s what I must find.” Crossgrow made a harrumph noise in his throat.

“Well, in the meantime, tell me about the financial side to these new places.”

“Of course. The biggest threat to the Guild is probably the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. Monopoly. Rules humanity in one of these other galaxies. Produces quite powerful and interesting war machines. I’ve got the schematics for one type.” This elicited a laugh.

“I’m reasonably sure that you stole that from one of your...what do you call them…” he paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers in realization. “Ah, Scoundrels! Didn’t you?” Drake shrugged.

“Of course. It’s being sent to you as we speak. I’ve also got…” he trailed off as he tapped several buttons on his wrist computer. “Schematics for…” He looked up and grinned. “Chainsaw swords, plasma swords, rechargeable laser weaponry, jetpack boots, laser weapons that run off of explosive gasses, contractible body armor, high-quality medical gel that heals wounds almost instantly, cybernetic super-soldier armor, three types of personal shields, teleporters, omnitools, so-called ‘phaser weaponry’, two types of power armor, and the blood readouts from biotics, pariahs, and SPARTANs.” He held up a hand to forestall Crossgrow’s confused look at the last three items on the list. “It’s all described in the report.”

“Ah, very good. Very good, indeed, Captain Drake.” A slightly amused look crossed Crossgrow’s face. “Although, won’t your compatriots be upset if they knew you were selling their secrets?” Drake smiled in response.

“If they ever found out.” HIs smile grew wider, and both he and Crossgrow repeated the mantra in perfect synchronization. “Besides, that’s just. Good. Business.”

“Forget everything you think you know.” -Karl Mordo, upon Dr. Strange’s arrival in Kamar-Taj

Marvel Galaxy

Earth

The New York Sanctum

Doctor Steven Strange was a wizard. Not “wizard” in the sense that he was extremely good at something, like “technological wizard” or “engineering wizard”, but a literal magic wizard. Once upon a time, he had been a prestigious surgeon, but that had all ended in the fires of a car crash. He had traveled the world, trying to heal his broken body, and stumbled on a place that taught actual, real, magic.

Through a strange series of events, he had mastered these “mystical arts” and become the head of Earth’s sorcerers. It was his job to defend the planet and all its inhabitants from any and all magic or extra-dimensional threats. This, of course, was now a particular problem, seeing as eight different realities from different dimensions now existed in the same material universe as his reality did. Now he had eight new galaxies to take care of, and possible threats from all of them to fight.

Wonderful.

He sighed to himself. Might as well get started. Get it done with. Hopefully he didn’t get eaten. He breathed in, breathed out, his mind calm, tranquil. His heavy red cloak billowed around him, lifting him in the air as he took a cross-legged position. One more deep breath. He drew upon his power, and allowed his mind to roam. Not freely, of course. Silently. His metal defenses were high. No entities, no beings, could tune onto the small signature he emitted. It took practice, hours upon hours of it, combined with an innate talent to disguise one’s mental signature so.

He floated, his mind calm. Thoughts, emotions, feelings… Interesting. They all flitted through his brain, caressing the edges of his mind. Nothing for now. He roamed higher. Opened his mind to beyond his Earth, beyond his reality...and was immediately assaulted, battered, his mind tossed around like a cork upon an ocean. Travesty, glory, tragedy, celebration, hatred, hope, love, rage… He wanted to scream. He did not. He merely steeled his mental defenses, clamping down on the sanity of his own brain.

He saw...darkness crashing against light. An eternal battle, observed by one. Something larger at play. Something he did not, could not comprehend. Time began, the beginning played out, a universe expanded. Light. Beginning. Emotion. Differences. It reminded him of the principle of yin-yang, but on a much larger scale. Strange watched the universe, as millions of stars were born and died. The light encompassed everything. Shadows, tendrils of darkness, battled it, fought it, sometimes snuffed it out. The light won when it came forward, burning away the darkness, but if the light failed, gave up, the darkness crept forward to take its place. The light was passive, in a way, upholding the rules with a code of honor. The dark was not. It surged, striking forward, defying the rules and logic itself. Interesting. Strange got the feeling that there was something more here at play, something he didn’t know yet. But it wasn’t a threat. Yet. It could wait. He moved to the next galaxy, the next reality that had been entwined with his.

Next. His mind reached out once more. Now this place...this one was interesting.

It has power. Not separated from the real world, not some ancient deities having eldritch chess games. No. This one had...something different. An energy field, created from the energy of all living things, surrounding them, binding them, letting some get a taste of its power. Most interesting indeed. He went further.

A field. A field of ghosts. Roughly divided in two. On one side, strength, power, hate, rage, passion. On the other, peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony. Two different sides, two different users and practitioners of this energy field. Different individuals. No gods. No demons. Only mortals. But powerful ones. Two in particular stood out. Both on the side of passion. A void, a hungry, hungry void encompassing an individual of massive power. Another, a crackling nimbus of darkness and selfishness. They did nothing. But should they break free from this field of ghosts...the consequences...hmmm. What was this place, even? A place of the dead? Reflections of the living?

Strange whirled around as he felt a presence behind him. Another shade. But not milling on the field with the others. This one stood alone. It was of both sides...but neither. Light and dark swirled within the figure in perfect harmony. It walked forward, towards him. Strange could sense it was, or once was, a human. It wore stylized armor and a mask under a black, heavy, hooded robe. It inclined its head in greeting to Strange.

“What...what are you, exactly?” asked Strange. The robed figure started out on the field of ghosts.

“I was once like you, sorcerer.” The voice was whispery, swirling, ghostly. Beneath Strange could hear the faint trace of the voice of a dead man. “A man with a destiny.”

“Why are you not with the others?” said Strange. The figure gave the phantom impression of a laugh, then a sigh.

“I do not walk in the light, for it robs me of the stars. I do not walk in the dark, for it robs me of my surroundings. I walk in the twilight, and while both are dulled, I can see the entire picture and walk in balance.” He turned towards Strange. “Some say it is between light and dark. It is not. You must have balance. You must have harmony between the two. There is a war coming, sorcerer. A war that you must win. Your power will be with you. Always. Remember that.” The ghost faded into oblivion, and the vision of the field ended. Odd. The vision was something to meditate on for another day. After he had the complete picture.

Next one. This one had a parallel universe. A shadowy reflection of the real world, ruled by...something. The ruler wasn’t human, wasn’t demon or god, it was...something else. A creature of the shadows. Formed by them. Made by them. This reality was odd, yes, but it had no place in the real world. It could not come to nor affect the realm he was sworn to protect. No threats here. Next.

No magic here. Science. More than anything else. Fine. Good, actually. Less work for him to do. He was about to turn and leave, when he felt a presence. Something different. An ancient being. Strange blinked, and suddenly found himself in a blank white room. What?

Staring at him, lounging in a comfortable white chair with a drink in hand, was a man (no, being, he corrected himself) wearing a ridiculous, outlandish, garb of an old school extremely wealthy Renaissance priest. Okay. That was a new one. Personally, he much preferred the man from the other galaxy with his armor and heavy robe. Whatever. He was getting sidetracked. The being grinned at him.

“Surprised?” it asked. Strange recovered quickly.

“No,” he replied. The being laughed uproariously.

“He he, yes you are!” It sipped its drink. “It is so rare to get guests!” He turned suddenly, looking around at things that were not there. “Hmm. My time is short. There is much work to be done in little time. The gods of humanity are outnumbered. A war is coming. Heh. I see someone already told you that. Yes. There are forces teaming up. The darkness is spreading.” The being leaned closer. “I usually am not so straight forward, but it is doubtful you’ll see me again, so I must tell you these things now. Anyway, be prepared. Have fun. Try not to die. That would be bad.” The being snapped its fingers, and the room disappeared, leaving Strange hovering over the universe once more. He shook his head. Usually massively powerful beings did not make odd jokes while inviting him for drinks. More things to remember, more things to meditate on. He had to move on.

In two other universes, nothing. No semblance of any sort of magic or higher beings. Good. Nothing to worry about there. Next.

No magic here. Nothing. But..something was off. The souls of the dead were...missing. Nothing here. Odd. No matter. No gods, no demons, no other eldritch beings. Fine. Mysteries could be solved on other days. He had more important things to do.

He turned his gaze to the last galaxy. Felt as his mind and spirit floated forward. Immediately, he recognized this galaxy as two dimensions in one. Strange. But today was a day for oddness. Warily, he crept forward, mentally entering the new galaxy.

Emotion. Hate. Rage. BLOOD. Apathy. Stagnation. ROT. Movement. Hope. CHANGE. Lust. Pain. EXCESS. So much. Too much. Conflicting ideas. Dead uncountable, screaming in torment from a sea of souls. A Great Game, a chess match between beings he didn’t even want to know existed. And endless war, for billions of years, between factions so powerful he felt as if he were a single grain of sand in an hourglass, a person of such small importance that he could do nothing to change the future that would doom everything.

He screamed as these emotions, as the chaos of this place engulfed him, clawed at him, threatened to drown him. He tried to break free, used all of his power to try and get as far away from this place as he could, away from the madness. He gritted his teeth and focused, focused harder than he ever had, focused harder than the time after the wreck where he could not get his hands from shaking. He felt as if he were trapped, unable to run as if in a terrible nightmare. He could feel as creatures, demonic inhabitants of this realm started to notice his presence, started to turn their hungry stares towards him as he struggled even harder, looking for any salvation.

A light. Faint, in the darkness. He rushed towards it, the souls of the damned clawing at his cloak, the demons closing in with the force of an unstoppable tide. He felt as if he were on a treadmill, unable to go anywhere, stuck in one spot, pursuers closing in. He felt their hot, foul breath on his back, felt their horrible talons and teeth…

Then, nothing. He spun. Nothing. No pursuers. No demons. He fell to his knees, breath coming in gasps. After he caught his breath, he came to his feet and looked at his surroundings. He was still in the sea of souls. Still in this odd, horrible dimension. But, this part was different. A blinding, golden light shot up as if from nowhere, keeping the darkness and terror at bay. What? How? He walked forward, surroundings bare, the great golden light making sure that no demons tread here. As he walked, he felt...something.

A single voice, screaming through the void. A soul slit, in utter agony, bruised, beaten, but unbowed. Strange felt the voice, using his powers to attune himself to it. It had been in pain for...millennia now. Pain was a constant companion. But it would not give into the pain. Never.

Strange looked forward. The beam was being produced by something...no. Wrong. Someone. He shuddered involuntarily. The sheer power required to produce such a thing, let alone to sustain it… No wonder the voice was in pain. Strange looked around again. He had seen enough. Knew enough. Time to go back. He leapt up, leaving this place, still keeping the light in sight...

When suddenly a being of unfathomable power and incalculable malevolence turned it’s gaze towards him. He shied away from it. Now was not the time to trifle with such a thing.

Time, space, and reality warped around him. Every color, yet no color swirled. The being came into focus in front of him. It was ever-changing, morphing from one form to the next with no pretext. He hid his eyes. To stare at it would be to go mad. It studied him. Looked at him with amusement, like a child studying insects under a microscope. Then, it spoke. Its voice was the worst thing Strange had ever heard. Constantly changing, echoing like a nightmare into the void around him.

“The Anathema's pathetic light cannot protect you for long, sorcerer.” Strange winched, and shielded his face even more.

“What are you?” he asked in response. The being laughed. Strange screamed. The laugh echoed around him, promising the bending of time and reality as he knew them.

“Do not ask which creature screams in the night. Do not question who waits for you in the shadow. It is my cry that wakes you in the night, and my body that crouches in the shadow. I am Tzeetch, and you are the puppet that dances to my tune…” Strange pulled back. This was out of his league. He made a motion, and activated his one, final, failsafe. The locket around his neck opened, and a stone within glowed green. The being, Tzeetch, grimaced, hissed, and launched at the same time.

“Oh, ho! Your pathetic trinket cannot keep you safe for long. Every time you use your power, every time anyone bends the laws of nature to their own whims, I will be waiting. Know that I will be watching you and guiding your fate, mortal.” Strange said nothing. He could do nothing against such a being. “Now, go pack to where you came from.” With a great, ringing, clap, Strange opened his eyes. He found himself back in New York. His cloak let him down with a thud on the hardwood floor. He winced, then stood. A meeting had to be called. He just hoped superheroes would be enough to stop whatever came next.

[Author’s note: For the curious, Tzeetch is pronounced zeen-ch]

I hope you liked it. While I didn’t want to give you the names of any of the people in Strange’s visions, preferring instead for you to guess for yourselves, the line “I am Tzeentch and you are the puppet that dances to my tune” was just too good to pass up. I also do hope that you could follow at least some of my ramblings there, but, if you couldn’t, feel free to ask me any questions you may have, along with any comments, criticisms, requests, or concerns. Wherever you are, I hope you have a great day.

#writing #my writing #fiction #crossover #crossover story #ulitmate crossover #fanfic #magnificent scoundrels

108 notes · View notes

unlucky-rubber-ducky · 4 years

Text

Nightmares

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

1300 words

Summary/warnings: Really rather sad, nightmares, mentions of earth but no actual death. Super cheesy. It’s late. Sappy ending. Super rushed.

A/N: Hello! I was just kind of messing around with this one. It’s not perfect but it’s always fun to write nightmares. School has also been wild, so I hope you can forgive the long periods of time between posting. A final ‘also’, please always feel free to request something! Thank you so much for reading!

You had never heard the temple so… silent. It was so silent. No masters quietly chiding their padawans, no younglings giggling as they made their way to their next class, no knights celebrating a successful mission. Nothing. Silence.

Jedi lined the halls, creating a path and watching you as you walked by. You soon recognized the twists and turns were leading you to the council chambers, and the dread that had been creeping up on you fell like a rock in your stomach.

You could see the door to the council at the end of the hallway, and you were screaming at your legs to stop, to turn around, to slow down- anything to delay whatever was going to happen once you entered that room. As you neared, you recognized the two figures standing guard at the door.

In Anakin’s eyes there was a fury you had only seen on the battlefield, directed at droids and enemy soldiers. But now the blazing fire was focused on you, and you were sure that if he could get away with it, you would be lying dead on the floor. His padawan stood next to him, deep disappointment and almost loathing in her eyes- ice, to contrast her master’s fire.

“What have you done?”

For a moment you didn’t recognize the voice that echoed through the silent halls of the temple. It sounded more vindictive than anything you had ever encountered, and you wondered how that much hatred could be stored in a person.

“You will suffer.” Oh. You knew that voice. You spoke with it every day. “Greatly.”

The door whooshed open, and you were stepping into the council chambers.

You refused to meet any eyes, instead focusing on the singular empty chair. The chair usually filled by the one man you wished was present.

“Knight (Y/n). You have been charged with treason against the Galactic Republic, and the murder of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. How do you plead?”

If you hadn’t fallen in love with him he would still be alive. If you had never started this tryst he would still be alive. If you had loved him enough to leave he would still be alive. His death is your fault. You knew this could only end in tragedy.

You took a breath.

“Guilty.”

You gasped as you sat up. You tried to control your breathing, but tears quickly began rolling down your face. Soon you were sobbing, the terrible, guilty feeling in your chest refusing to accept that it was just a dream. Before your brain could catch up you were already out the door, darting the short distance from your quarters to Obi-Wan’s. You had to make sure he was alright. That he didn’t hate you. You didn’t even consider the fact that knocking on someone’s door at one in the morning wasn’t exactly couth.

Of course, that all came rushing back when he opened the door with a confused, sleepy expression and no shirt.

“I-I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have-”

“Were you crying?”

“I…” You tried to calm yourself as another wave of tears made their way down your face. Maker, why had you done this to yourself? It wasn’t like this was the first dream you had ever had, since the Clone Wars started it was only one of many- why was it this one that sent you crying and knocking on Obi-wan’s door? “I’m fine. I apologize for waking you, Obi-Wan.”

Before you could turn away, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his quarters. You protested as he sat you on the end of his bed, moving towards the kitchenette to get you a glass of water. You accepted with a watery smile.

“Now, darling, would you like to talk about why you were crying or watch a cheesy holodrama?” He smiled when you laughed just a little. “Ahsoka tells me the best ones play after midnight.”

His heart broke when you looked up at him from the cup in your hands. You looked so… lost. So sad and lost and desperate for comfort that you refused to ask for.

“Um, could we watch something? Or you can go back to bed, and I can leave, I just don’t want to be alone but I could probably go bother-”

“I promise that you are welcome here. Let’s see what’s on.”

You ended up settling on a reality show titled ‘The Real Smugglers of the Outer Rim’, it was dumb and required quite literally no critical thinking skills, which was exactly what you were looking for. His bed was small enough that your legs were pressed together, and you were painfully aware that Obi-Wan had yet to put a shirt on.

“I had a nightmare.”

“I understand. What took place?”

“I…” What could you say? I dreamt that my very real love for you somehow got you killed? That would be a lot to deal with. “I dreamt that you had died.”

You heard him take in a breath.

“I didn’t realize my death would distress you so.”

You turned to look at him, startled just a little when you met his eye.

“Obi-Wan. You’re not dumb.” His face went through multiple emotions in the span of seconds, and you turned your whole body to face him, suddenly itching to run away. Obi-Wan wasn’t dumb. He knew what you were telling him. In your own emotionally-repressed-Jedi-way, you were admitting feelings that you truly shouldn’t be admitting.

Your heart dropped for the second time that night. This was your dream. This was his downfall. Your downfall. How could you have walked into the exact situation your dream had just warned you about?

You jumped off of the bed, ripping yourself away from Obi-Wan, who looked even more startled than you. You couldn’t exactly blame him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just… I really shouldn’t have come. This was terrible. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you sleep. I can’t… I’m sorry for putting that on you.”

“Do you have… feelings for me, darling?”

“I- I don’t think-”

“Please.”

Oh, Maker. Your eyes filled with tears yet again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Please sit back down.” You tentatively sat on the edge of the bed, staying as far away from Obi-Wan as you could. “You likely know I… return your feelings, yes?”

You weren’t sure your heart could take any more.

“I honestly had no clue.”

“Oh.” Obi-wan blushed. “Anakin said it was obvious.”

“Obi-Wan.” His expression was serious again. “In my dream you died because I let myself care for you.”

“My dear, I…” He slowly raised his hands to cup your face, giving you every chance to back away. “I would much sooner die because you cared, than die knowing I could have loved you.” You placed your hands over his, pressing your face closer to his calloused hands. “Plus, not every dream is a vision from the future.”

You shared a soft smile. Obi-Wan was the first to break eye contact, glancing down at your lips in a silent question. You answered by leaning in and pressing your lips to his. You felt him smile into the kiss, and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“Of course you can, precious one.”

You moved to lay next to him in your previous position, but he easily pulled you up and on top of him. You giggled and rested your head on his chest, calm for the first time since you first woke up. You traced the light freckles that were dotted on his skin, almost in disbelief that the night had turned out this way.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

He began running his fingers through your hair.

“I promise, my love.”

#obi-wan #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x y/n #obi-wan x you #x reader #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfiction #obi wan #obi wan x reader #obi wan fluff #obi-wan fluff #obi-wan reader insert #obi wan reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert

83 notes · View notes

glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 8

Day 8 of Whumptober, part 8 of the oof!au. Not sure how today is going to work because.... tumblr is formatting everything wrong and this is very long. I didn’t want to post over on ao3 until the whole thing was complete, but I might have to for tomorrow (which is over 5k for the “rescue” prompt and that’s SO LONG). ANYWAY, maybe they’ll fix whatever they broke today.

General info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Please read the warnings.

WARNINGS: Mind control trauma, mind controlled into hurting people, references to past torture and past non-con, brain trauma, references to suicide, off-screen loss of a limb.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS

Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

The Kaminoans bred Cody for war. They’d forged him into a weapon and then they trained him, taught him how to fight and how to win. He’d been stubborn and determined, even among his brothers, and they’d valued those qualities. He learned strategy. How to handle himself. How to handle his men. How to handle a war.

And he’d excelled at it. His men had taken on armies and won. They’d come within a breath of winning a galactic war and had that victory soured. He’d lost a fight he’d never had a chance to prepare for, lost everything, all at once.

He didn’t know, exactly, what had happened on Utapau. One moment his body had listened to him and the next it just… hadn’t. It felt like dreaming, in a way. Or a nightmare. He could see the world. He could feel the things his body touched. He could hear his own voice.

But he couldn’t control any of it, could not stop himself from ordering his General shot down, no matter how he fought and struggled and--

And the most he could do, raging inside his own head, was file a form stating that General Kenobi had died, falling into the waste-water pit. After all, no nat-born would have been able to survive that fall.

Not according to the training he’d received on Kamino.

He’d watched his hand hesitate, on Utapau, watched his fingers twitch a different direction on the pad, and fought. In the end, the report went out that Obi-Wan had died. And Cody, scratching and tearing at the walls inside his own head, counted that as a victory, refusing even to allow himself to consider the alternative, in case the thing that had stolen his body heard the thoughts, somehow.

Nothing much else felt like a victory for years. He lost track of time. Lost track of himself. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop the things his body did. He killed people, people begging for their lives. Children.

Jedi.

People he’d fought beside.

His friends.

He couldn’t stop it.

It was a relief, of a sorts, when Vader - the man who had been Anakin Skywalker - reassigned him to Mustafar. There were no people to kill on Mustafar. In fact, there was little to do. He and his brothers just… lived there. It was strange to see so many members of the 212th.

They’d kept them apart, after they were trapped inside their own heads. Split up battalions and companies. Put them in blank white helmets that made it impossible to know the man standing beside you.

But on Mustafar, he found his men. Not many of them. Nothing close to their full complement. He knew many of them had died in pointless battles and… in other ways. He walked by troopers slumped sideways in their bunks, a blaster still in their hands. Maintenance accidents, the forms said, when they were filed.

He’d watched troopers step into the line of friendly fire, or walk off the edge of tall paths, plunging hundreds of feet with no attempt to stop themselves.

On Mustafar, it jarred something in his mind each time he looked over and recognized one of his men, memories clattering through his head of battles fought together, victories hard won.

It was a constant reminder that he’d failed them. He’d been their Commander. He was supposed to look after them. But-- But he couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything to help them, even as Vader put him into position as supervisor of the base.

Cody’s body ran the base, in Vader’s absence. Designed security and set up duty rosters for his brothers. He wondered, sometimes, why Vader hadn’t put Rex in such a position. He wondered if, perhaps, Rex had not died, when they were all trapped inside their minds, and wished, more than anything, that he’d been that lucky.

He and his brothers slept and ate and trained, for, as near as Cody could determine, no reason.

And then Vader found Obi-Wan.

And Cody, who had gotten too tired to fight, somewhere in the last three years, stirred inside his head and started screaming, again.

The Kaminoans had bred Cody to make war. He warred with the thing that lived in his head, the thing that used his voice and his body, the thing that wasn’t him. He fought every order Skywalker gave him, after the bounty hunters dragged Obi-Wan from their ship and dropped him on the ground.

It felt like throwing himself at the side of a wall, over and over and over again. Trying to break through stone with nothing but his will alone. But he found ways. Little things he could do. Muscle movements, trained into his memory, below whatever level the control operated.

He could twitch a finger, if he focused. The code he’d created with Obi-Wan was as automatic as speech, once upon a time. Wrestling enough control of his body to communicate anything sensible felt almost impossible.

But Cody hadn’t been trained to give up. And he’d never learned how. He managed, watching Skywalker wreak his terrible atrocities across Obi-Wan’s body, to tear and pull at the wall. To haul on it, determined that he should either break it or force it to finally break him utterly, to grant him death, if nothing else.

And, when he wasn’t throwing himself at the wall inside his head, he planned. He couldn’t stop his body from carrying out minor tasks. Couldn’t stop it. But he could turn his thoughts elsewhere. He could turn all his focus onto exactly what he’d do, when he got control of himself back.

Skywalker had set him up as commanding officer. Cody built plans and refined them and waited.

And he managed, at least, to say “no,” when Skywalker made him hurt Obi-Wan, made him--

Cody remembered, in stunning detail, the very first time he’d wanted to kiss Obi-Wan. They’d been standing on the edge of a cliff on Trillol II, looking out across a sea that was, as far as he could see, endless. The wind rising off it had buffeted them both. Purple sea birds spun through the air above them.

There had been Separatist ships out on the water, far away but coming closer. The ships were the reason they were up on that bluff, but Cody had forgotten to care about them, for a moment, looking across at Obi-Wan, his hair tangling in the wind, the water close to the shore the exact color of his eyes, and--

And Cody had wanted to kiss him, then. Suddenly and achingly. He hadn’t. They needed to get back to the lines and - and it wouldn’t have been appropriate, anyway, to kiss his commanding officer. His General. But Obi-Wan had blinked, stopped in the middle of talking, and looked over at him, eyes getting wider, and--

Cody had assumed, really, that Obi-Wan knew exactly how he felt from the time they stood on that cliff. They hadn’t done anything about it. The middle of a war was hardly the place and their ranks stood between them, and--and they just hadn’t. But they’d both known.

And then Skywalker ordered him to - to beat Obi-Wan, to hold him down and rape him and-- Cody wished, more than anything, beating at the inside of his own head, trying to tear himself to pieces, if just to make the nightmare stop - that Obi-Wan would just - just give Skywalker what he wanted, spare himself--

Cody knew he wouldn’t. Even felt a swell of fierce pride that Obi-Wan wouldn’t allow Skywalker to win, but it was a sour, awful kind of resistance. Cody would never be able to unfeel the way Obi-Wan had struggled, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, shaking all over, shocky. Never be able to unhear the crack in his voice, the way he’d tried to get Cody to stop, and Force, all Cody had wanted to do was stop, make it stop, never--

He used to dream about kissing Obi-Wan, out under a wide-open sky, slow and sweet. He used to imagine Obi-Wan smiling against his mouth, eyes crinkling in the corners with easy joy. He used to imagine what it might be like to do more than that, to press together skin to skin, to find out how their bodies might fit together, all imaginings, because Cody had never touched anyone that way, never wanted to touch anyone but Obi-Wan, and--

Cody was light-headed by the time it was over. That had been happening more and more often. The harder he fought, the worse he felt afterwards. His head hurt, terribly, and his vision swam. He tasted something strange, down the back of his throat. Salty. Too thin to be blood.

Skywalker told him to go get cleaned up and he could not resist the order, but he swayed sideways, in the hall, shoulder bumping into the wall, and for a moment, for just a moment, he managed to reach for his blaster.

He had it halfway to his head - because he’d never do that again, never again, never - before the thing in his head took over again.

It passed, the fleeting taste of control, but it made him redouble his efforts. It could be done. He could talk to Obi-Wan, at least a little. He could make himself move, if he just fought hard enough.

No one had ever accused Cody of not fighting hard enough.

Cody fought, desperately as Skywalker got Obi-Wan to kneel, got him to beg, and-- and Cody knew his General. He’d always known what it would take to break Obi-Wan. Known it would be his brothers on the floor, finding what peace they could in death.

They’d - they’d all hurt Obi-Wan. Sometimes directly. Betrayed him. Tried to kill him. Cody had thrashed inside his head on Utapau, as they tried to murder their General, and he hadn’t been strong enough to fight it.

None of them had. They’d been weak, when Obi-Wan needed them, weak over and over again, and--

And he still fell to his knees for them. Cody had watched him take abuse after abuse, every violation Skywalker could come up with. Watched him bounce back with a smirk and a sharp comment, indomitable.

Obi-Wan only begged for them. For their lives. After they’d failed him and hurt him and--and watched. After Cody had - had taken everything from him, violated him, ruined whatever they might have had, once, and it didn’t matter that Obi-Wan had said it wasn’t him, it--

Cody should have been stronger. Fought harder. He should have been able to stop himself from pulling the trigger, should have been able to turn the blaster on Skywalker, should have never left Obi-Wan in a position where he had to beg, where he had to let Skywalker fist fingers in his hair and abuse him again, making him choke, and--

Something salty ran down Cody’s throat. He could feel hot wetness in his ears, moving down the side of his neck.

They were supposed to look after each other. He was supposed to protect his General, his Obi-Wan, but--

But more of his brothers were pulling Obi-Wan out of the room, Obi-Wan calling out for him, concern in his voice, even still. And, somewhere in Cody’s head, something gave in a hot, dizzying rush.

Cody swayed on his feet and then went to one knee, panting, breath ragged and heart beating off-rhythm. He said, “Ah,” and the shock of hearing something he intended to come out of his mouth slipping free cut through the dizziness in his head like a vibroblade through butter.

Liquid flooded his mouth and he spat it out, because it tasted awful. He expected, vaguely, for it to be blood. It was clear. Mostly. Like saliva, tinged pink. There was blood, too, dripping down from his face. His thoughts were a tangled, confusing jumble. He couldn’t make them stay still.

His head hurt. His vision swam in front of him, the room getting blurry. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and nausea punched up through him. He retched, which only made his head hurt worse, and decided to accept the state of his vision, for the moment.

Something was, obviously, very wrong with him.

He barked a sharp laugh. The sound buzzed in his ears, oddly. Something had been very wrong with him for a long time. Maybe something was right with him, finally. He pushed to his feet, the world reeling around, and almost fell when he took a step.

He gritted his teeth, striking out for the door. He needed to get to Obi-Wan. But that might, he realized, require a trip to the medbay first. If he made it that far. His chest hurt, sudden and sharp, a deep, terrible kind of pain.

He ignored it, pushing past several of his brothers, who were still standing, stock still, expressions frozen, eyes red, blood under their noses and by their ears. “With me,” he ordered them, voice steady and his, grabbing Bones and dragging him into motion, forcing them all to move, taking another step and another.

Obi-Wan had begged, for them. For him. After everything.

Cody dragged in a breath and then another, forcing his brothers onward, his legs holding him up all the way to the medbay, where they tried to fall out from under him. Obi-Wan had begged. For him. Fought for him. After all he’d done. All his failures.

Cody wasn’t going to fail him again. Ever. He grabbed a droid, panting, and slurred, as it blustered in confusion, “Lord Vader. Wants. Me alive. And them.” They had orders to keep him alive, he knew. Skywalker wanted him there to keep hurting Obi-Wan. And they wouldn’t question his orders about the rest of his brothers.

Skywalker had, after all, left him with so many responsibilities.

Maybe, he thought, swaying, he could use that to his advantage. He was going to need every advantage he could get, to bring this entire place down on Skywalker’s head. All of the plans he’d nurtured over the past months were already screaming in his head, one after another.

And then the blackness came up and swallowed him.

Cody woke up staring at the ceiling in the medbay. For a jerking, awful moment he thought he couldn’t move, thought he was trapped in his own head again, and he lurched up. It was shocking to have his body respond to what he wanted it to do.

Chimes started, all around him. Medical sensors. He blinked, disoriented, looking down at the little wires coming off of his body, his head and chest. There was an I.V. in his arm. He shuddered, reaching for the sensors on his head and pulling them off of his skin, even as a droid hurried up.

“You are not recovered,” it said.

He dropped the sensors and stood, reveling in the ability to control his body, to make his legs take his weight, even if he still felt dizzy and unbalanced. He was… in the area of the medbay designated for trooper use. Two of his brothers lay in the beds beside him, similarly wired up. Cody frowned at them. They’d both been in the room when he’d broken the thing in his head. “I’m recovered enough,” he said, looking around for his blacks and his blaster.

He felt… very still, inside. Battlefield calm. He’d taken enemy strongholds before. And, this one, he had played a role in designing. His mouth twitched up in the corners. Skywalker, for whatever reason - to hurt Obi-Wan - had left Cody in charge of ever so much. He was going to pay for that mistake.

“2224,” the droid protested, as Cody took a moment to slide the I.V. free, putting pressure over the puncture. “You do not understand. You suffered a major malfunction, along with several other troopers. You must--”

“What kind of malfunction?” he asked, grabbing a pair of neatly folded blacks and pulling a shirt on. “How many others? These two?”

The droid made a little whirring sound. Cody wondered if it were surprised. Wondered if he’d need to destroy it, before it raised some kind of alarm. He was not, he recognized, acting in an approved manner.

The droid said, after a moment, apparently writing his change in behavior off as some organic nonsense, “A massive aneurysm in your frontal lobe. Six of you were affected.” Cody took that information in, yanking his pants up his legs. Six of his brothers. He’d bet all the credits in the galaxy they’d been in Vader’s little torture chamber. That they’d watched Obi-Wan beg for their lives. That it had… snapped something in them, too. “These two survived.”

Their General was going through hell. And he’d put himself through worse for them. He--

“Only these two?” he asked, and there was his armor, right where he’d known it would be, ready for him to step back into, to make himself a cog in the Empire’s awful machine once more. He was never going to wear it again, once he got Obi-Wan and his brothers out of here.

“Yes,” the droid said, “2224, you are not recovered,” it continued, as Cody buckled his armor into place.

“I’m ready to return to duty,” he said, a phrase he’d heard himself utter against his will, so many times over the last three years. Duty - Skywalker’s twisted idea of duty - had been all that mattered.

He’d never forgotten where his duty actually lay. And he finally - finally - had a chance to do all the things he’d wanted to do for the last three years. He snapped his chest piece into place and gripped his blaster, the grip cool and familiar against his palm, full of sweet promise and potential.

He knew, based on reports read while he’d been trapped in his head, that a blaster bolt was unlikely to kill Skywalker. Not while he was in that suit. It had all kinds of defenses and protections. People had shot him before, apparently. It hadn’t even slowed him down. He’d just carved them to pieces with a red lightsaber.

As much as Cody liked the thought, walking up to him, placing the barrel against his head, and pulling the trigger probably wouldn’t do anything. That was fine. Cody knew how to work around an enemy’s defenses. He’d had time to plan. He’d requisitioned an EMP device weeks ago, managing that much control. He was going to bring this entire base down on Skywalker. Make him pay for everything he’d done.

“Wake them up,” he told the droid, working on his vambraces, the movements close to automatic.

“I’m not sure they’re--”

“Wake them up,” Cody repeated, flat and hard, and the droid made an unhappy little noise, but complied. Cody knew his brothers. Knew they’d want to be awake for what was to come. It was a relief, he found, that Bones had been one of the ones to fight his way free. He shot the droid in its central processor, a moment later, unable to risk the security breach it represented.

He was in charge of reporting all lost materiels and investigating the reasons for their loss. One droid going missing would be very easy to explain.

And Cody was going to need a medic he trusted. He watched his brothers struggle their way awake, watched the horror and disgust roll over their expressions as memory settled and they regained control of their own faces.

Bones curled sideways, got his head over the side of the bed, and retched. Crys jerked to sitting, looked around, and gasped, “Kriffing--Commander? Is this--is this another dream?”

“No,” Cody said, flat and hard, nothing soft left in him. “You’re awake. We’re awake.”

Bone looked up, wiping his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

And Cody told them. Told them everything, watching their eyes get wider as determination settled across their features. He looked at Bones when he finished, and said, “Not all of us survived breaking free. And too many of us are still controlled.”

Bones nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You want full autopsies?” he asked, and Cody could see them falling into their jobs, the tasks in front of them. Grabbing onto something to focus on, the same as he was.

As long as there was something to do, a next step to take, he didn’t have to think about what he’d done. He didn’t have to remember Obi-Wan’s eyes, looking up at him, or the sound of his voice, begging, or--

Something in their brains was controlling them. Somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but he intended to find out. Victory could only be obtained once you knew your enemy, after all. “Start with the brain,” Cody said, gut cold and heart beating steadily. “I want a full report by the time I get back. Crys, you’re with me.”

Crys nodded, swinging off the bed and pulling on armor. It took only moments before they were moving out of the trooper’s area, into the medbay proper and Cody jerked to a halt, because--because Obi-Wan was floating in one of the base’s few bacta tanks. His hair floated in the fluid, longer than he’d ever liked it to be. There were healing wounds, all across his skin. And-- and his left arm ended, abruptly, above the elbow. Skywalker had, had started carving pieces off of him, and--

Cody took a halting step towards the tank, rasping out, “Force.”

“Sir,” Crys said, his voice cracking, and Cody swallowed the bile that rose up into his mouth. They’d laid in the medbay. They’d been so weak, he’d allowed Obi-Wan to be subjected to - to whatever Skywalker had done to him. “Sir, we’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Kill him? Get the General out of here?”

Cody hands curled into fists. He stared at Obi-Wan, floating in the bacta, and he could still hear, in his head, the way Obi-Wan had begged for their lives. His life. He turned away, shoulders a rigid line, and said, “Yes. We are.”

He had some time to implement his plan, evidently. He could not move, not with Obi-Wan floating in the bacta, recovering from injuries that hurt to even imagine. He needed to take stock. To find out how many of his brothers Skywalker had murdered while he’d been unconscious. To learn how Skywalker was making them dance to his whims, and to find a better way to free his brothers than waiting for them to give themselves an aneurysm.

And then he needed to get Obi-Wan out of this place, make him safe. And he needed, so badly he could almost taste it, to put Skywalker out of his misery. He’d die. One way or the other. For everything he’d done.

The Kaminoans had bred Cody for war. He planned to wage it.

93 notes · View notes

yelena-bellova · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: Under New Management

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n and Poe await an update on Leia and attend a meeting with the rest of the Resistance. Afterwards, Y/n takes the opportunity to have an important conversation with Poe.

Warnings: light angst

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I didn’t spell check this one too much because I was happy with how it turned out and if I evaluate too much, I’ll end up hating it lol. I’m trying not to overthink my writing anymore, easier said than done. Hopefully you enjoy!

—————

She was going to be alright.

Most likely.

Possibly.

The medics couldn’t give me a definitive answer as to whether Mom would live or not. She was a fighter, they’d said, and her pulse and oxygen levels were stable. However, none of them had ever dealt with a patent having been sucked into the vacuum of space so they were basically guessing. Coma patients could go either way, they’d told me sadly. I was frustrated, but understanding and thankful for their honesty with me. Mom was placed in med bay quarters and was to be heavily monitored.

We sat at either end of her bed, Poe near her feet and me holding her hand and studying her peaceful face. The medics had left, assuring me that if they detected her levels changing so much as one number, they’d come running. Her skin had finally warmed up, the ice crystals on her face had disappeared. She looked so normal, as if she was simply taking a nap. What I’d have given for the situation to be as normal as that and waking her up as easy as calling her name…

Poe and I sat in a tense silence until the beeps of our communicators broke it, a message alerting us that a meeting was to be held. Attendance was mandatory.

I drew a breath slowly, trying to collect my thoughts and calm my ever racing pulse. I could practically hear my mother’s voice telling me to go do my job and not worry about her. She would be right, war didn’t wait for illness and truth be told, I wanted to go do my part. The Resistance was in shambles currently and the desire to help piece it back together was almost overwhelming. By no means did my drive lessen the difficulty of leaving Mom alone and comatose.

I rolled my head to look over at Poe, “We have to go.” He sighed and rubbed his face harshly, it was just as hard for him to leave her, “Yeah…We come right back after though.”

We rose from our seats and I laid a featherlight kiss to Mom’s forehead, squeezing her hand one last time before hesitantly walking away. Poe took my hand into his and pressed his lips to it as we left her room, I was beyond grateful for his steady presence during all of this. But the lingering cloud of guilt still hung over my head that I hadn’t told him yet about my secret. Now that he had noticed when I’d sensed the bridge’s destruction, he was inevitably going to have questions. At some point amidst the chaos that had suddenly overtaken our lives, I’d find a time to tell him.

We retained an appearance of professionalism once we reached the second bridge, dropping our hands and going to stand with our respective groups. It felt wrong not having him sit with me and the other commanders, I watched him bite back a sad smile as he mixed among the other pilots. Commander D’Acy looked more prepared than I was capable of as I approached her, “I can deliver the news about your mother if you’d like,” she offered, the two of us standing off to the side of the room, “Is there any news?” “No, unfortunately,” I answered, “But I’ll give the news with you. She would kill me if I left my duties to others.” D’Acy nodded and we walked together to the center of the room, silence fell as we took our places. I awkwardly stepped forward, I wasn’t used to commanding the attention of a room. I was sent on missions, some like Jakku and some diplomatic, I even helped with battle strategies. But I wasn’t typically addressing crowds, it felt strange to have everyone’s eyes on me.

I took a deep breath, “General Organa…Leia,” my voice almost faltered, but I squared my shoulders and pictured my mother standing tall, “Is unconscious but she’s recovering. That’s the only information I have and unfortunately, it’s the only piece of good news I can give.” I turned to D’Acy for confirmation, even though I already knew what I was about to say to be true.

“Admiral Ackbar, all of our leadership,” I paused, trying to find the strength to finish, “They’re all gone.” Groans and gasps left everyone’s lips, this part of leading was one I could quickly learn to hate. I didn’t like disappointing people and my stomach twisted as I took in everyone’s faces. Poe, though distressed, gave me a small nod of encouragement to keep going,

“Leia was the sole survivor of the bridge by some miracle,” I continued, omitting the aspect of the Force, “If she were standing here with us, she would say to save your sorrow for after the fight. Right now, we have to live by those words, as hard as that may be…Commander D’Acy?” I traded places with her, taking a seat and waiting for her announcement.

“The chain of command is clear as to who should take General Organa’s place,” D’Acy began, my eyes flickered to Poe who I noticed sat up straighter at her words. I also took note of the fact that I had as well, why was that? I had always assumed that my mother would put me in command should something happen to her, it felt wrong to think of someone else doing it.

“Vice Admiral Holdo of the cruiser Ninka,” D’Acy announced, Poe looked just as unknowingly disappointed as I suspected I did.

I’d met Holdo several times over my years in the Resistance, I’d never had a fully formed opinion on her. She was reserved yet held a commanding presence, but I’d always gotten the impression that she didn’t care for me. Our leadership styles differed greatly, she carried an air of superiority that I made sure never to. The few times that Dad had come up in passing conversation, her expression had always changed to one of distaste. Maybe she held the fact that my father was a smuggler against me, I was never sure. It didn’t matter, she was now my superior. Mom had chosen her and not me.

Holdo stepped forward as D’Acy came to sit next to me and the room awaited her words.

“Thank you, Commanders,” she nodded in our direction, “Four hundred of us on three ships. We’re the very last of the Resistance. But we’re not alone. In every corner of the galaxy, the downtrodden and oppressed know our symbol, and they put their hope in it. We are the spark that will light the fire that will restore the Republic. That spark, this Resistance, must survive. That is our mission. Now, to your stations, and may the Force be with us.” She knew how to give a speech, I’d give her that. My mother’s influence was audible in her words, but the lack of layout of a plan worried me. Were we all just supposed to go back to business as usual? Ignoring the fact that there was a fleet of Star Destroyers on our tail? None of it felt right.

The crowd begin to disperse, doing exactly what they’d been told. D’Acy and I stood to leave but not before she placed a hand on my arm,

“Please update us if anything changes on your mother.”

“Of course,” I nodded. I turned around to go find Poe, but rather than join him I saw him in pursuit of Holdo. No doubt he was thinking the same things I was, but Poe took action while I debated internally. Still, it couldn’t hurt to see where Holdo’s head was at. I climbed the steps and made my way towards them, as soon as I was close it seemed the conversation was already ending. The last words I caught from Holdo were “stick to your post and follow my orders.” As she gracefully walked away, Poe was left dumbstruck in her wake. I chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, “She didn’t fall for the Dameron charm?” “You won’t do any better,” he replied lowly.

“Oh, don’t worry, I already know she doesn’t like me,” I said quietly before heading in Holdo’s direction. It was unlikely I’d get anything out of her that Poe hadn’t. but maybe I could approach her differently. I was Leia’s daughter, I’d grown up in Galactic Senate meetings, diplomacy was one of my skills.

“Vice Admiral,” I called, Holdo turned to face me, “That was a wonderful speech, very inspiring. I was wondering what our plan of action was regarding putting distance between us and the Star Destroyers.”

“I appreciate your concern, Commander Solo,” she smiled politely, “At the moment I’m advising everyone to stick to their posts and let us handle things.”

“Well, yes, I agree. As a Commander, this is my post and I’m supposed to help handle things.”

“Your job for the time being is to stay with your mother,” Holdo placed her hands on my arms patronizingly, “We can handle everything from here and if you’re needed, we will find you.”

There it was. I was supposed to stay out of the way while the adults handled the situation. I’d earned respect among my co-workers and proved that though young, I knew what I was doing. But Holdo and I had never consistently worked together. She saw me as a young, naive woman put in a position she couldn’t handle.

“With all due respect, Vice Admiral,” I smiled, trying to hide my growing frustration, “While I will be checking in on my mother regularly, I also want to do my job. And right now my job is to help us get out of range of those Destroyers. So if there’s a plan in place, I’d like to be made aware of it.”

“Commander Solo, I understand your frustration with the situation. But I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your boyfriend, Captain Dameron…Stick to your post and follow my orders.” With that, she went on her way leaving me in the same position I’d found Poe in. If there was a plan, I clearly was not going to be let in on it.

—————

Mom hadn’t changed in the short time I’d been away. Though I’d returned with the hope that I’d find her awake and ready to take charge.

I was pacing the room anxiously, playing back my conversation with Holdo and trying to map out the conversation I was about to have. Poe would inevitably end up here and I couldn’t put off telling him about my powers any longer. I couldn’t hold back the painful details or make it sound simpler than it actually was, he was getting the messy truth about the secret I’d kept from him.

“Hey," he greeted at the door, having changed into his fatigues, “Any change?” “Mmm mmm,” I hummed, “Which isn’t a bad thing but…” “Obviously not what we want.” I shook my head and sighed, “Holdo’s just as fun as I remember.” Poe bristled at the memory of his interaction with the Vice Admiral and placed his hands on his hips, “Yeah, don’t think for a second that I’m letting that one go. What’d she say to you?” “Stick to my post and follow her orders. I’ll be commed if they need me, otherwise I’m supposed to stay here at my mother’s bedside. She also definitely holds the fact that we’re together against me.” He groaned in disgust and ran a hand through his hair. How Poe managed to look so wildly attractive in the worst circumstances befuddled me, but it was a welcome distraction. I’d always loved how he looked in that dark brown leather jacket…

“Okay, so Holdo may not have a plan,” he started, gesturing towards the door, “But what about us?”

I turned to Mom, wishing more than anything that she was awake. I needed her guidance and the Resistance needed her leadership.

“We’ll come up with something but right now,” I walked towards Poe and took his hand, “I need to tell you something.”

His expression changed to one of concern, he quickly took my other hand, “Is something wrong?” “No, and yes, but mostly no. It depends on how you look at it but,” I stopped and tried to give a small smile, “I’ll let you decide whether it’s good or bad.” I led him to our seats next to my mother and sat close enough that our knees pressed together. Poe’s hands immediately rested on mine as he leaned forward, I inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled before laying my hands on top of his,

“You know me, you know my story, you know my life hasn’t been…easy,” I began nervously, “With all I’ve told you, you’ve never once judged me or treated me differently.” “Right,” Poe chimed in, his eyes never leaving mine, “I love every part of you.”

I smiled at his words and dragged my eyes down to our hands, “I guess I’m asking you to love one more part.”

I stood up slowly and positioned myself a few feet away from him before reaching into my jacket. I unhooked my lightsaber and held it up, flipping the switch and watching the weapon come to life. Poe’s eyes went wide, his jaw fell slack and he twisted his body to face me. It took a lot to stun Poe into silence but this was easily the most shocked I’d ever seen him. Rightfully so, I’d just dropped a bomb on him.

After finally blinking a few times, he began to stammer out a response, “Y-Yeah, okay, that’s uh, that’s something worth mentioning.” I sighed, at least he wasn’t freaking out yet. Involuntarily I rocked the saber slightly from side to side, Poe’s eyes followed the blue blade in wonder. I didn’t know if he’d ever seen one in person but the way he was reacting to it made me think he’d only heard stories.

“How long have you been a…had this…” he fumbled, “How long?” I deactivated the lightsaber and hooked it back inside my jacket, “Since I was a child.” Poe’s eyes blew open again and his brows raised, “You kept it a secret for that long?” I once again took my seat across from him, “I discovered I had the Force when I was a kid, only one other person knew in my family and…” I fiddled with a loose thread on my jacket, “And it wasn’t my mom or dad.” “I got it,” Poe said softly, his fingers coming to brush over my knee comfortingly.

I forced myself to keep going, “I kept it a secret through my life because I was scared of what I could do. Imagine being eight years old and knowing you have this power, I was terrified of myself for the longest time. Eventually, once I was older, I began practicing using the Force. Just stupid stuff like moving pens. It felt…good. Like I’d been denying a part of myself by not using the gift I had.”

My pulse began to pick up as I sorted through the more tragic parts of my story, “I, uh,” I cleared my throat to try and dislodge the lump forming, “My lightsaber came from a confrontation I had, with him. I knew he was in trouble and I took the Falcon to go rescue him,” I focused my eyes on my lap, “I was too late.” Poe was tearfully listening to my every word, he was hunched over with his hands clutching my legs. It grounded me in a way that kept me able to recount my tale to him. He was my rock. “Ever since then, I’ve been training on my own,” I continued more steadily, “Mostly in the forest back on D’Qar or in my room. Things changed on Takodana. I used my saber during the fight to protect Finn, him and my dad saw and the secret was no more. Afterwards, Dad had words for me that I’ll spend the rest of my life grateful for. He’s the reason that I decided to stop being so afraid of my powers.”

We were both smiling at that point, me from the warm memories and Poe probably simply because I was.

“Everything came to a head at Starkiller,” a chill ran down my back, “After my father was killed…Ren and I fought each other and he tried to get me to join him. I was so angry, I wanted to kill him for all the wrong reasons. If he’s going to die, it should be to save the galaxy not because of a personal vendetta. My dad, for all his shortcomings, was not a vengeful person and neither am I.”

I bit my lip and turned my gaze to Mom, “I thought I’d kept my secret hidden from her but turns out, she knew all along. I don’t know why I was so surprised, of course she knew…”

Poe laughed and I followed immediately after, slipping my fingers through the cracks between his. He squeezed my palms and smiled proudly,

“You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he complimented, staring into my y/e/c eyes with so much love, “I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you.”

“So you’re not, I don’t know, scared?” I asked, scrunching my face slightly out of fear of what he could say.

Poe chortled and moved his hands to my cheeks, pulling me in for a soft kiss. I could feel the warmth and tenderness in the motion, it was sweeter than the recent ones we’d been enjoying. When we pulled away, he rubbed his thumb slowly over the skin, “I could never be scared of you, sweetheart.” Relief flooded my body, I’d never felt so unconditionally loved in my life by anyone other than my parents. With how little I’d thought of myself since I discovered my powers, I’d fallen into the belief that everyone else would feel the same way. Poe was destroying every lie I’d told myself with each second that he stared at me with adoration on his face.

“I do have one question,” Poe leaned back in his seat, “If it’s not a secret anymore, are you gonna stop hiding your lightsaber?” “Huh,” I chuckled, “I hadn’t even thought about that.” “What’re you waiting for?” Poe crossed his arms and lightly bumped his boot against my shin, “I want everybody to know I’m in love with a badass Jedi.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” I was quick to end that assumption. Though I was embracing my gift, I wasn’t ready to take that definitive step yet.

“Whatever you say, Master,” Poe jested followed by a charming wink.

I smirked at him before getting up from my seat, Poe had a point. There really was no reason to hide it anymore, it would probably feel great even. I unhooked the lightsaber from my jacket, letting it weigh in my hand for a few seconds as I gazed fondly at it. The more at ease I became with my powers, the more I grew to love the weapon I’d once feared. Taking a quick glance at Poe who was grinning proudly, I attached the saber to my holster for anyone and everyone to see. It felt right. Poe rose to come stand in front of me,

“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my hands on his chest.

His hands found their new familiar spot on my waist, “For what?” “Being you.” Poe leaned down and nuzzled his nose against mine, “I’m not me without you.” I wanted the moment to last longer, we needed it. Peace in the type of circumstances we were in was rare and fleeting and I knew it would have to end soon. The First Order was chasing us, my mother still lay unconscious and there was questionable leadership guiding us, but at least I had Poe. With him, I was fairly certain we could figure our way out of anything.

“Poe, Y/n,” a voice interrupted our lovely silence.

We broke apart to see an urgent Finn in the doorway with a black-haired woman standing behind him.

“What’s going on?” Poe asked.

“This is Rose,” Finn gestured to her, Rose held up a hand in greeting, “We think we may have figured out a way to escape from the Destroyers.”

————

A/N: *sigh* Everyone deserves a boyfriend as supportive as Poe. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know if you’d like to be added to either of the taglists ☺️

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert @seninjakitey @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet @leilei-draws @eternal-fandoms @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @imaginecrushes @eternallyvenus @thescarletknight2014 @simplybarnes @captain-america5 @breyasficletblog @caseymcflurry @stumbleonmywords @april-14-blog @i-ievu @ultrunning @desperatelytryingtosavemyself @caswinchester2000 @meraki-loki @lovinnholland @wishing4wishes @fruitloopzzz

Star Wars Permanent Taglist: @paintballkid711 @katrynec @caswinchester2000

#poe dameron series #poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine

160 notes · View notes

gailynovelry · 4 years

Text

WIP List Tag

Thanks to @albatris for the tag!

Rules: Share a list of the stories you’re currently working on, regardless of whether or not you have introduced them to writeblr before. I’m going to apologize to you beforehand because all of these are going to long. They are also queer. I do not apologize for that.

Heralds of Rhimn: A YA Dark Fantasy and my oldest project. The first book in the series is Shadow Herald;

“Few gods remain on the world of Rhimn, and the ones that do use special servants known as Heralds as pawns in the conflict between themselves. And not every Herald is happy with their role…

As Navaeli the Shadow Herald comes clashing with the dual threats of the Irongardhe knights and her own vengeful goddess, she finds romance in a handsome hooligan girl and friendship in a young feyrie thief — and with them, the courage to fight back against the injustices of her world.

But can Navaeli break free from the chains of her duty, or will she be the first casualty in the oncoming war between the gods?“

In essence, Navaeli is a dark messiah lesbian who Does Not Want To Be A Protagonist Please, Crislie is a love interest who decides to put her brawling problem to work protecting Navaeli, and Meparik is baby, but baby with many issues. In the time you’ve taken to read these character descriptions, he has probably already stolen your wallet.

The series as a whole involves some good wlw rapid-yearning-to-mutually-protective-girlfriends, REVOLUTION, a new take on fairies and a big ol’ middle-fingered subversion to the Oppressed Mage trope, and eventually some good ol’ fashioned god-killing.

The first book is going to come out May 20th this year! I have made a pretty cover for it, and also for the sequel! I am very proud of this!

Mindhive: A NA dystopia and the first project I’ve written where my characters are explicitly allowed to say “fuck.” They very much need to use this word, given the world I’ve built for them to inhabit.

“Dead-broke and dead-set on paying off his student loans before he’s forty, Nathaniel Emersin signed up as a paid test subject for ReGene, a genetics company with a mysterious new invention that they promise will change the world; the Worker Bee Implant.

But Nathaniel has one little secret that didn’t make it onto paper…

He’s also been hired by ReGene’s rival company, Future Body, to sabotage the trial and steal the mysterious new technology that ReGene’s been working on.”

Complications arise due to the presence of a very amicable security AI and the fact that Nathaniel gets attached to the two other lab rats he gets assigned to for the trial. And by “attached” I mean “develops mutual deep crushes on both Lucine and Avery, has a few cover-compromising panic attacks over it, and eventually reveals to them that he’s being hired to be a secret agent guy doing secret agent things.”

So he sort of decides to run away with his new girlfriend and datemate to an activist group who could a) remove the implant possibly and b) sue ReGene?

Needless to say, ReGene nor Future Body are happy with this turn of events, and decide that they should probably stop him before they experience consequences for the human experimentation and corporate sabotage.

Also, they take the AI with them. His name is Vertigo and he would like for someone to explain to him what a Vocaloid is.

Galactic Empress: This story is me indulging in my very specific need to write a royalty space opera political thriller. It is very high up on the Maslow’s chart of needs for me. It showed up one day and did not leave my brain.

“After the unresolved assassination of her mother, sweet but politically-savvy Princess Glissandrah Ayamarak — known better as Gliss — ascends to Galactic Empress earlier than she’d ever wanted to.

With her mother’s murderer still at large, Glissandrah turns to outsiders to protect her while she figures out just what game is being played in the Galactic Quorum. And it turns out that turning three hardened mercenaries into loyal royal bodyguards is harder than she first thought… but when anyone inside the Quorum could be after the crown, what other choice does she have?”

The hot and slightly controversial bodyguard team in question consists of Li-ah-li, a polite and slightly tired space furry, Yuukmi, a plantperson gunslinger with a space blaster in each of xer four hands, and Jennifer, a gruff human mercenary with a protective streak for her two alien comrades. This story is also polyamorous!

The Ghosts of Grimmigkeit Manor: I literally started working on this one again yesterday; it’s a reworking of a VERY old fully-OC pokemon fanfiction I wrote when I was fourteen, which has been subsequently lost to time. The genre is uhhhhhh paranormal shenanigans with semi-mystery vibes and a strong dose of snark. Probably NA.

The story follows three protagonists. Firstly is Eustace, a coroner who is doing a terrible job of divorcing himself from his family’s slightly goth business and reputation. Secondly is his triplet sister Alison, who is currently being The Responsible One running the family business of selling funeral caskets and who maybe should stop breaking the maids’ hearts in her free time. Thirdly is Dirk, the other triplet, who looks up to Eustace quite a bit and would really like it if his siblings got along more and maybe relaxed enough to let him leave the manor to go to college?

Anyway, during Eustace’s yearly Christmas visit to the family manor, it turns out that Eustace and Dirk can both see ghosts! This phases Eustace significantly more than Dirk, since Dirk has schizophrenia and didn’t realize at first that the ghosts were separate from his usual hallucinations.

The story at large involves family secrets, intimidating and quirky relatives, a murder that happened a quarter of a century ago, and this one really terrible ghost who needs to STOP MAKING THE WALLS BLEED BLOOD and who maybe is the triplets’ father. They have to figure out how to yeet him into the afterlife so that he stops causing problems.

Also, a different and more chill ghost owes Uncle Freddie money.

Misc: I have a dozen other ideas that I float around but Deliberately Wait To Work On because my stories are stews and they need some time to simmer in the crock pot that is my brain. Among these are a mermaid/selkie wlw romance, a mlm post-apoc ??? story, and various wlw Eragon ripoffs where there’s dragons being ridden and cool things happening.

#writeblr #tag games #WIP summary #lgbtq fiction #trying to clear these out #i've been busy whoops #Heralds of Rhimn #Galactic Empress #Mindhive #Ghosts of Grimmigkeit #this is good practice for summarizing!#i need more work on that

16 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Summary: Anakin time travels back to Dooku’s Padawan days and doesn’t know how to deal with the infuriating bastard. AN: I blame my discord. Read on AO3

Anakin tried to think of what words of wisdom Obi-Wan would bestow upon him. Probably something about patience and following the Force and how to not consequently fuck up the next sixty years of history, but Obi-Wan also never had to deal with a young Padawan Dooku eyeing him critically, like he was trying to figure out what made Anakin tick.

Anakin was kind of torn between wanting to rip his throat or... something else Anakin didn’t quite know how to define. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. Dooku was the Sith Lord who had cut off his arm, get a grip Anakin.

Except this Dooku really wasn’t. He was just Yoda’s Padawan, even if likely not for much longer given that Anakin’s only friend in this timeline, Initiate Qui-Gon Jinn was already ten years old. Yes, Anakin knew that it was a little pathetic that his best and only friend was a child half his size – Anakin had hardly recognized him when he’d first stumbled upon Qui-Gon. The boy was so small, it was bizarre. But it wasn’t like Anakin had many people he could interact with as long as he wasn’t totally caught up on the Republic’s current history. Master Yoda had strictly forbidden Anakin from revealing anything about the future to any member of the Jedi Order who was not on the Council.

Or Padawan Dooku, in whose lap Anakin had literally dropped when Darth Tyrannus’ weird Sith magic had torn Anakin from his own time, stranding him permanently in the past.

Sighing, Anakin attempted to ignore Dooku staring at him intensely. It was bad enough that he had private tutoring with the younger man – okay, it was just a couple months, but Anakin privately liked to hold it over his head – now he also followed Anakin just about everywhere but the fresher.

He fell back into the first position of Djem So. He couldn’t let his lightsaber skills get rusty just because he wasn’t fighting in a galactic war anymore. That was another thing that unsettled Anakin. No more sleeping in his tiny cabin on the Resolute, no more cramming Ahsoka’s mandatory lessons into the few breaks they had, no more droid armies, no more Separatists, no more Sith Lords.

Well, the latter two weren’t entirely true. The Senate had been broken long before Anakin had been born. Now that he paid attention to it, he could already see many of the issues that would cause it to split. He just hoped that the Council and him could do something against it. It was too bad the Chancellor wasn’t in office already. He was probably just a little kid right now, even younger than Anakin and the current Chancellor was by far not as charismatic as Palpatine had been.

He certainly was of no interest to the Sith either, no matter where they were hiding right now. Anakin had never managed to figure out the identity of Tyrannus’ Master and the baby Sith currently still checking him out definitely couldn’t tell him.

“Can I help you somehow?” Anakin asked, hoping he managed to keep all annoyance out of his voice.

He dropped out of his stance and turned to Dooku. The Padawan was sitting on one of the benches, working on a paper or another, maybe his final thesis. Anakin had never had to write one to become a Knight. For one, there was no time during the war, and on the other hand, he had already done that when he was fourteen and gotten really passionate about Nubian hyperdrives.

“No, not at all. I merely admire your execution of Form IV. You are very well practiced.”

Dooku sounded honest enough, but Anakin still felt like it was a backhanded compliment.

“Thanks,” Anakin replied. “Was that everything?”

Dooku raised a brow, the perfect picture of innocence, but Anakin knew better. He had fought a far more experienced version of the man in front of him and learned to call his bluffs. This Dooku was not really a threat. He was just there, constantly in the corner of Anakin’s vision and being a Force-damned distraction.

“I’m not the one asking questions here.”

No, but if he was there any longer, Anakin was going to shut him up in some other way.

“Just- get over here. You can go study in your room or whatever, no need to be in the training halls at three in the morning unless you want to spar.”

Dooku grinned cockily and got up from his seat, his lightsaber already in hand. It looked very different from the blade Anakin remembered defending against. Its blue color still startled him as well, but somehow it suited this young Dooku. He stepped onto the mats and Anakin resumed a position opposite to his opponent. They both bowed as it was tradition, then ignited their lightsabers. For a moment neither moved, then they both jumped into the battle. Dooku’s Ataru still caught Anakin off-guard, but his Makashi less so. He wasn’t a proficient Master of Form II yet, but that one at least Anakin was more than familiar with. The two of them exchanged blows with more Force than strictly necessary for a training spar, bringing emotions into it that should not be there. Anakin was pissed off because Dooku wouldn’t leave him alone, but he had no idea what he had done to cause Dooku to fight so viciously.

Then Anakin finally saw an opening and took it. He slammed is leg into the back of Dooku’s knee, causing him to stumble. With another Force-push, Anakin made him fall flat on his back. He rushed towards his opponent and held his blade to his neck.

“Yield,” Anakin ordered, but Dooku did not, at least not immediately.

Instead he was once more studying Anakin like he could see a possible weakness.

“Yield,” Anakin said again and finally Dooku replied with a “Solah.”

Anakin turned off his ‘saber and he should get up, step away from his defeated training partner, but for some reason he couldn’t get himself to do so, looking into Dooku’s troubled brown eyes.

“What is your kriffing problem with me?” Anakin finally asked, Dooku still pinned beneath him.

Apparently, that was all it took as for once the Padawan didn’t keep his thoughts hidden behind a mask of feigned politeness and sarcasm.

“My problem with you, Skywalker, is that you are poaching my future Padawan!”

Anakin blinked. Dooku must be joking. All the backhand comments and the challenges and it was for this?

“I’m not trying to steal Qui-Gon from you, you git!”

Dooku didn’t try to get up, but he did cross his arms in defiance.

“That’s not what it looks like from here, offering him extra tutoring and spending every free minute with him-“

“Who else am I supposed to talk to?” Anakin snarled. “I’m stuck here! My Master won’t even be born for another thirty years, my Padawan for another twenty and my-“

Anakin closed up. He shouldn’t think about them, all he had lost. He’d been doing so well but of course Darth Tyrannus in the making had to goad him. “All my friends, my family, are gone and if I ever see them again, they won’t be mine. I only know a handful of people in this time and Qui-Gon just happens to be one of them!”

Honestly, it was almost a little embarrassing to admit, but once Anakin had realized who the short blond Initiate was, he had almost started crying. The rooms in the Temple were still the same, as were the robes and the traditions and the lessons, but it wasn’t his home. All his people were gone and the Jedi that lived during these times were mostly strangers, a few long-lived ones such as Master Yoda being the exception. But they weren’t exactly people Anakin had been close with.

“You knew him in the future,” Dooku said slowly.

He didn’t look frustrated anymore, more interested suddenly as if he were seeing Anakin with new eyes.

Anakin nodded once, sharply. “He saved my life.”

“He’ll be a great Jedi then,” Dooku concluded, sounding utterly pleased.

“The very best,” Anakin confirmed.

Dooku then began to smile in earnest, kind and happy in a way Anakin had never seen before, hadn’t thought him capable of, to be honest. The whole thing threw Anakin off completely. Seriously, what was going on with this Dooku?

“What of his Master?”

He became a Sith Lord and joined the people that had killed his apprentice and then continued trying to kill his grand-Padawans, but no big deal.

“He’s a git,” Anakin said instead. “Super arrogant, terrible footwork, can’t even block a simple kick.”

Dooku snorted. “At least he’s not as bad as his sparring partner?”

“What?”

“Careless,” Dooku replied and tugged at Anakin’s collar, pulling him down.

It took Anakin perhaps a moment too long to realize that Dooku was kissing him, but he considered it fair given that just moments before the other had been attempting to beat the life out of him. The kiss was by no means spectacular, but Dooku was warm beneath Anakin’s hands and when they broke apart for air, Anakin had no troubles diving in for a second kiss, all rationality thrown out of the speeder as he pushed his tongue inside Dooku’s mouth and hurried to get his hands beneath the other’s robes.

“Not a word to anybody,” Dooku said as flipped them around, stripping Anakin out of his tabard.

Anakin only rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

He could deal with the fallout of this once he had his rationality back and was not, in fact, about to let Padawan Dooku fuck him. That was a problem for tomorrow-Anakin, right-now-Anakin was a little busy taking off his clothes.

#Anakin Skywalker #count dooku #qui gon jinn #mentioned at least #star wars #fanfic #im begging you don't examine this to closely

102 notes · View notes

odysseywritings · 3 years

Text

The Right Leader

A woman with dark brown hair and brown skin looked out the window in a white dome of a building overlooking the sunset-glazed green hills. Her name was Mary Rauda-Gold of the Union HQ for Earth. An ambitious, careful public servant, she earned trust from even initial naysayers. Her experience in community, business, and political spheres turned her to a qualified, eager role as the leader of the Earth Front.

She researched former presidents carefully before First Contact and after. Rauda-Gold had no special interest to bribe her, or a family in the public sphere to fear blackmail for. A rare human who achieved a bucket list full of chances early on in life. A ravenous student for history, she came into the presidency asking a question. Can one be a good leader and a good person to so many people? The books detailing the “greats” with their disconnect to the very people who elected them bombarded her with numbing dilemmas on human and alien issues alike.

Early on, she made a promise to avoid mistakes of President Grayson, whose committed attempts to be openly aggressive while privately appeasing aliens set course for turbulent relations between human and alien. This led to the first aliens invading Earth, the jellyfish-like Rizen, to learn important resources for acquiring and populated areas for destruction and enslavement.

For three decades, Earth had been the sole territory of one race. But the vastness of riches made it appealing to more. Thus, the scramble for Earth intensified as more uprooted flora and drained water. Not only the Rizen, but the cycloptic Corax, the cyborg Teknos, the coral-like Brantius, and others plundered Earth with the doctrine being that all aliens mustn't attack each other in the name of peace.

Fearing for the future of the planet, the fragmented states communicated as much as possible. This unity was a temporary yet urgent coalition of democratic leaders, autocrats, religious leaders, and researchers banded together to come up with ways to gain independence. No single leader engineered a clear path for victory, and the struggle for a constant idea made people weary and frustrated. In the midst of voices, the loudest prevailed.

The urgent Long’s voice resonated with the crowd. Tiptoeing the wire that could lead to falling down the side of warmongering populism or tepid reforms, she raised enough fervor to unify people into tangible goals. Spy networks to spread fabricated war plans of one alien race against another. Technology taken from the slain aliens, initially unobtainable from their aerial superiority, could be learned and used against the original wielders. Within a short duration, covert attempts at fighting the invaders soon gave way to a snowball effect of more procured technology that included spacecraft. It was still lopsided, and the humans’ wit and knowledge of their home took years for momentum to fully hit the aliens’ mother planets.

A string of news carried across the stars as sympathetic aliens protested the wars and demanded Earth remain free. Opinions from the politicians carried the stench of condescension, saying humans could not rule themselves and needed assistance. But time soured that notion, with using mother planets’ money and lives to continue a hated invasion. Not long until then were other aliens combating each other for more dominance over Earth regions.

As extraterrestrial grips loosened and more technology scattered, Long and others could now engage in more significant guerrilla warfare. The snowball caused an avalanche of further embarrassment to the aliens. More were pulling out, focusing on the more dangerous alien adversaries. A galactic war broke out that involved weaponry that saw nuclear missiles being used as often as bullets. The destruction caused an alien race to force humanity to serve on their side. Long refused.

The Old World of space untangled as civilizations older than Earth’s fell in shambles. In the interim, rebellious aliens appeared on the surface to assist humans in recreating their technology. They were pessimistic of humanity, but its resolve in defying total subjugation gave them hope in toppling their imperialistic leaders.

Long succumbed to disease, but her legacy emboldened many despite her ruthlessness toward humans she thought were collaborating with invaders, real or imagined. The next successor in that region, was the soft and meticulous Slavik. Far from charismatic like Long, his calmness and stability sent a plan of continued technological learning and creation that was difficult to argue against aside from the most hawkish people or collaborators. Willing to be more trusting of alien rebels allowed him to gain more info on how they think and act, making it easier to predict further combat incursions.

This acceleration to a new space race was often narrow minded, and Slavik took other matters with apathy and relegated it to staff advisors. Still, he was honest about his goals and was wary of becoming aggressors on earth or in space. He was concerned about protection and elf-reliance, and that boosted their capabilities as aliens continued slaughtering each over for so long that Earth was forgotten about.

As a the tech boom led to force fields, anti-craft weaponry, spacecraft, and peacetime aids such as machines and medicines to repair tissues, the relative security of Earth led to various social concerns rising for people who had time to breathe and think. The foreigners who stayed and aided humans were treated with growing disdain as their efforts were taken for granted in post-war highs. Tensions bubbled as accusations of aliens taking up resources, not working hard enough to earn their stay, or dismantling the societies grew.

Various leaders like President Dickson used these tensions to distract from other matters as he benefited from rising power. Others like the dovish Jacobs made amends and wanted to pursue good relations with the now war-torn alien civilizations, yet his efforts did not go far enough to make lasting benefits due to making sure the remaining alien superpower would not see him as weak or naive.

What followed were a series of leaders who drifted further away from goodwill policies and proper rebuilding of Earth to focus on more weaponry and acquisition of other worlds for resources, whether or not they were inhabited. Now the conquerors, humans were split between two futures. Security out of supremacy? Freedom out of trust?

At the height of Earth’s dominance, the Union’s people elected Rauda-Gold. She promised to be firm in national and human interests, standing strong against numerous foes internally and externally. Born in a generation used to surplus, relative galactic safety, and harboring no knowledge of alien oppression, she listened to reasonable qualms without strong bias. Her values were for humanity and earth, with the rest being flexible.

Rauda-Gold steadily relinquished control of planets with native inhabitants to the detriment of the national interests of the already rich. The goodwill took years to fully settle, but it was a start toward a transparent galaxy. A rusting minority segment of the planet Teknos were given medical supplies and aid during a brutal civil war, but she denied arming them to avoid a full fledged involvement. As the Teknos government continued its atrocities, Rauda-Gold cut off trade with a grain that was only mass produced in Earth. With the civil war dwindling resources, the government called for a ceasefire and to discuss with the minority in earnest.

The most perilous occasion was when the Rizen, that old enemy of humanity, invaded planet after planet. Medicine, technology, and weaponry spread to Rizen opposition. Frozen assets and embargoes were mere dents in the war machine oiled by the lie of a former glory. She would not risk human or alien lives unless she herself would fight, yet her age and symbolic importance would make her role limited lest she be captured as a hostage. She communicated as much as possible to troops through camera drones, but it never felt close enough to being there and getting a sense of the trouble. As more atrocities continued, including the gaseous bombs that filled cities afar and at home, people clamored for war each day. She waited and talked to advisors, no matter how much time she spent grieving in private.

She would not create a draft and only allowed a strictly volunteer service to fight. With the utmost protection, the soldiers helped beat back the tide of the Rizen until they were beaten down and succumbed to treaty settling. Still, lives were lost. A fact that would haunt her even if the galaxy was spared further bloodshed. Rauda-Gold did all she could to pay for veterans and their families the same way she did with victims of natural calamities.

Earth’s respect soared, and the withdrawal of colonies led to the planet being self-reliant with a boost in trade from allied planets. The federation of planets were motivated, or goaded for some weaker tyrannical leaders, to endorse a stronger policy of life-form rights. She wanted to be inspiring like Long, prosperous like Slavik, and focused on honest peace like Jacobs. Aware of their shortcomings and their environments, Rauda-Gold knew she would be compared and dissected in the future by historians of all species.

But the issue of war always stabbed at her. At what point does a war become just? The idea of a pacifist president split by an idea of a savior president. The bloodless leader replaced by the hero leader. She planned to resign after her term ended, yet she had more time to make peace with such a choice and image. She contributed to diplomacy more than before, and made sure to rebuild bombed houses with her own hands. Rauda-Gold felt the charred substance of steel and wood and alien materials. All reminders of what a perfect leadership could have avoided. But such desires must be tempered by the environments they dwell in. New generations of alien and human children can breathe and enjoy life in a galaxy more principled against war. Yet she fears her action may inspire future leaders to ignore all that and lionize her war efforts as something to be achieved wholesale without nuance or care. An ongoing fear she must mete out as the twilight of her shining dream dims.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #standalone story #sci-fi #a mix of history and hypothesis #might not go anywhere just think it's like a twilight zone episode

9 notes · View notes

gffa · 5 years

Photo

JEDI PADAWANS IN CANON: Surprisingly, we actually have very little about how the Jedi culture works in canon, though, we have the broad strokes of it, enough that I think you can get an idea of the general arc of things! This post will be based on canon, of course, as Canon and Legends are basically separate continuities, so stuff like “the Jedi age out at 13 if no one picks them as a Master” has never been evidenced in canon. I also have TAKING A CLOSER LOOK AT THE JEDI IN CANON, a meta work on AO3 that’s been about collecting together and organizing everything I can find on the Jedi of canon, but let’s talk specifically about the path to becoming a Jedi Padawan! THE PATH OF A YOUNGLING TO A JEDI: YOUNGLING/INITIATE: - The Jedi younglings are adopted generally in the age range of about three years old, give or take. It’s evidenced by Wee Dunn (the little Rodian boy that Cad Bane kidnapped) that there’s an adjustment period with the biological family (if the family wishes it), given that his bio-mom says, “Master Ropal said the day would come for him to go to the Temple, but not for some time.” - The terms “Youngling” and “Initiate” seem relatively interchangeable? - In Dooku: Jedi Lost, Dooku says: “Like most of the Order, I was brought to the Temple by a Seeker, a Jedi who was tasked to scour the galaxy for Force-sensitive infants.” - “On arrival at the Temple, Initiates are sorted into clans, an arbitrary grouping in many ways, but one that is supposed to foster an atmosphere of trust and kinship.“ This seems to work pretty well, indicated by how even the very serious Dooku is like, “[....] by us and every other Initiate that likes to gossip by the light of a glow lantern late at night.” to show the lighter hearted aspects of the pile of younglings gossping at night. (Dooku: Jedi Lost) - Not a ton is known about their time in the creche (which is indeed called the creche, according to M&A -- “[Qui-Gon]’d spent his last night in the younglings’ crèche laughing with his friends, imagining all the adventures he would have, and practicing with his lightsaber in the sparring room until Master Yaddle ordered him to bed.“) or what that means to their Jedi Path, other than that, at some point, they go on The Gathering to get their kyber crystal from Ilum, if they can pass the test of looking inward, facing their fears, and hearing the song of the crystal meant specifically for them. This sacred ritual doesn’t seem to be tied to doing it with their Master, as The Clone Wars and the Age of the Republic comic show that they go in groups and are supervised by another Jedi (Ahsoka in the case of “The Gathering”, with Yoda there on Ilum, Huyang watching over the groups in both TCW and the comic), as well as the group of younglings (Katooni, Petro, Byph, Ganodi, and Gungi) are seen practicing with their lightsabers in Master Sinube’s class while Anakin and Barriss have their fight across the Temple roof. - We see Yoda instructing the younglings in Attack of the Clones, but it’s unclear if they’re using their own lightsabers or training sabers (which the Temple has, according to Star Wars: Lightsabers - A Guide To Weapons of The Force. (I’m presuming that they’re training sabers, they look too young to be ready for The Gathering, but canon hasn’t specified either way.) - We do get some broad strokes of the kind of schooling they have while they’re younglings: - Jedi younglings (at least the diurnal ones) wake at dawn to meditate on the three pillars–the Force, Knowledge, and Self-Discipline. Then they go to the refectory for lunch, where Dooku always likes to sit next to Sifo-Dyas. - Qui-Gon says, “Qui-Gon whispered, 'The dark side?' He knew it was a thing all beings carried within them, a part of himself he would learn to guard against—the crèche masters had taught him all that.” (Master & Apprentice) showing that the creche masters also taught them while they were there. - They have group classes together, where we see teachers giving lessons on how to meditate or other philosophy lessons or how to connect to the Force (this is backed up by a lot of Kanan’s early teachings to Ezra, what he starts with as the foundations/basics), which presumably Padawans can still be part of, given that Qui-Gon still goes to classes after becoming Dooku’s Padawan. [x] - They have regular classes and some of what we know are: Levitation classes, Force-Sculpting classes, Galactic History classes, Jedi History classes, Animal Kinship/Beast Control, and Unarmed Combat. (”The duties of a Padawan varied greatly. Certain kinds of instruction were universal—meditation, lightsaber training—and were studied both in groups at the Temple and privately with one’s Master. But those Masters ranged widely in talents and temperament, which meant that the assignments they gave were diverse, too.” --Master & Apprentice) - They have class field trips of some sort--Obi-Wan has a class of younglings (that Caleb is part of) on a field trip to teach them about the Jedi Beacon. While this seems to be within the Temple itself, we saw in Dooku: Jedi Lost that several younglings went with the Jedi to a Celebration Festival as part of a group who would do demonstrations for people, too. - They’re given homework (Qui-Gon works on his while lounging in Dooku’s quarters) and have class projects (”Obi-Wan could scan nearly the entire lower level of the Jedi Archives. Jocasta Nu sat at her desk, patiently reviewing some file or other; a handful of younglings struggled through a dense historical holo, probably for a class project”) -- Master & Apprentice. - Whatever Katooni and the others are doing in the beginning of “The Gathering” with the dance-style moves is unclear, whether it’s a class that Master Sinube is teaching or if it’s a ceremony of some kind that relates to the upcoming Gathering, who knows! But it’s clearly important and overlaid with the announcer saying, “The trials are hard. Tests must be passed. But none is as important as The Gathering. It is then that a Jedi’s path will truly begin….” (Though, this could be in reference to the trials they’re about to face on Ilum which are hard, rather than that the dance class is a trial, it’s never stated either way.) [x] PADAWANS: - There doesn’t seem to be anything on how Padawans are chosen as a usual path! In Dooku: Jedi Lost, there’s a ceremonial lightsaber tournament, but the wording never quite directly says that it’s specifically for Master to choose their Apprentices, as well as in Kanan: The Last Padawan, Depa directly asks young Caleb herself. In The Clone Wars movie, Anakin is assigned Ahsoka, which doesn’t seem to surprise either Obi-Wan (who may have planned this) or Anakin in the sense of “wait, they don’t just assign Padawans!”, only that she was being assigned to him. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s partnership seems to be a bit of both: “Don’t you see, Obi-Wan? They knew you’d rebel against any Master you worked with. So they made sure you wound up with a Jedi who almost never followed the rules.” (Master & Apprentice) This seems to indicate that it happened in a myriad of ways, whether a Master took notice of a youngling at the tournament or bonded with them in another way or the Council decided to assign a pairing. - When a youngling becomes a Padawan, there seems to be some conversations between the crechemasters and the new Master: “Obi-Wan said, 'You know, I never had problems with that as a youngling. Being independent, I mean. I broke rules right and left. They even called me rebellious. Probably the Masters were surprised anyone was willing to take me on as an apprentice.’ In fact, Qui-Gon had been warned about this very thing. He’d long since assumed that the crèche masters’ concern was overcautious.” (Master and Apprentice) - There’s no set age when a Youngling becomes a Padawan. - Dooku was 16 years old when Yoda chose him to be a Padawan, Sifo-Dyas was 16 when Lene Kostana chose him. For a brief while, Dooku didn’t think he would be chosen this year and would have to wait awhile longer, as well as another 16 year old Initiate wasn’t ready and did wind up having to wait another year. (Dooku: Jedi Lost) - Obi-Wan was chosen at 13 and Qui-Gon at 12, but both were considered young for it. (Master & Apprentice) - Caleb Dume was chosen at 13, but was also considered to be surprisingly young for it. (Kanan: The Last Padawan) - Ahsoka was assigned at 14, but Anakin expressed surprise that she was even “old enough to be a Padawan!?” (The Clone Wars movie) - Teaching seems to be a communal thing with the Jedi. While their Master is the final authority (in as much as anyone is an authority over someone else--Ahsoka argues and doesn’t really get that much pushback on how Master Skywalker isn’t the one who should decide when she risks her life, that’s her choice), we see Ahsoka is taught by Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Plo Koon, Aayla Secura, Luminara Unduli, Tera Sinube, and Jocasta Nu. In The Citadel arc in TCW, Ahsoka says that Master Plo assigned her to the team, which Anakin doesn’t object to as being impossible because she’s his Padawan. Further, we also see communal teaching elements in Dooku: Jedi Lost when Lene is a frequent teacher to Dooku after he becomes Yoda’s Padawan. JEDI KNIGHTS: - While we never see any official Knighting ceremonies in the time of the Jedi Order, there are two examples post-Jedi Purge that use similar enough rituals that it’s a reasonably safe bet they were used by the Order as well: - In Rebels “Shroud of Darkness”, when Kanan and Ezra and Ahsoka enter the Lothal Jedi Temple, he has to face a vision of the Grand Inquisitor revealing that he was once a Temple Guard. In facing him, Kanan passes the test, which was Yoda directing the vision (via behind the scenes commentary by Henry Gilroy) to give Kanan a trial, which he then uses the vision to gently sweep the lightsaber over Kanan and has the vision say, “By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, Kanan Jarrus, you may rise. [....] It means you are what I once was. A Knight of the Jedi Order.” [x] - In Jedi: Fallen Order, Cere Junda (once a Jedi Knight herself) tells Cal to kneel and makes the same gesture, sweeping the lightsaber over him, and says: "By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, Cal Kestis. Rise, Jedi Knight." [x] THAT’S IT, THAT’S PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT THE JEDI PADAWAN PATH. There’s really no one set way of doing things--“Every master trains their Padawan in their own way.“ (Jedi: Fallen Order)--but you can see the shape of how things are approached within the Jedi Culture!

#jedi order #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #kanan jarrus #ahsoka tano #count dooku #qui gon jinn #meta #long post

786 notes · View notes