#the sith bending the force to their will

[write-it-right-2]

Picture the force as an ocean. the surface - the ‘light’ side - is calm, is easy to navigate. as you sink deeper and deeper, it gets darker, it is harder to navigate, and the pressure means it is harder to even hold on to your mind, your identity. you need something to guide you. you need a tether, or many tethers, or a full submarine or other habitat to protect you. It is not inherently safe at the surface - waves still crash, and great destruction can still happen, but the deeper and deeper you get, the more dangerous it becomes. 

What if you filled yourself with all your anger, all your hate, what if you used pure will and pain to bend the waters around you, the nuclear equivalent of force use? These waters could drown you, you need something - so what will you use?

What if you did not go alone? You could bond yourself to others, allow the tension of this descent be spread amongst many - but if you go too deep, put too much pressure on those lines, or if you were at max tension and then one line snaps - you go spiraling off. All of that tension ricochets back onto you, suddenly in deep waters you are drowning. In that case, it’s easy to see why you might say it is just safer to never try and tie at all, when a break can ruin the whole network, when the tension could tear the whole thing down. More powerful, but more fragile.

The only thing left is to learn how to swim. But - more importantly, to let the waters flow around you, over you, to stay calm as they bob and weave. Panic is one of the greatest killers of drowning people. Don’t make waves, it’s such an easy visual - but how quickly does the meaning become lost? How soon do you end up applying it to everything else? When do you realizes you are still everywhere, everywhere in your life, except for these waters of your mind, the only place you are unseen, and the only place you are roiling. 

Go back. The waters could move around you. What does that mean? How does the water move around you? Forcing yourself perfectly still in water causes more ripples than moving along with it. You need to let the water move you, just a little. You are in the water. You are the water. Do not fear the water, it is not easy to move against but it will not hurt you, not now, not to move with it.

What if you are already deeper? What if by your very nature, you could never reach that place on the very surface, not without support, not without ties. What if you are told to ‘let the waters move around you, and move you with them’ and they do not see that you swim in deep water, you are not near the surface and you do not know how to reach it. The waters could tear you apart with one wrong move, you can feel it, and this doesn’t work right - why doesn’t it? The metaphor breaks down here. I’m not sure why. The problem is not the power - it is something else, it is letting the water move through versus trying to force it to move as you wish, but neither quite work.

Stop. Go back. No, further, we talked about going together. It is not safe to tie a few - you could be pulled back so easily, the tension snaps and it hits everyone - but what if you had more? How many could you have? 

It is something about will. It is about how much will you have behind your actions. How easily could you be led off this path?  There is genuine importance in being able to let go, to not bash your head against a single wall for all eternity, to not pick every hill as a hill worthy of dying on. You can not die for every hill. It is so dangerous to put all of yourself behind an idea, and the more of yourself, the more power it has. You must have some method of measure. How do you teach children what hills are worthy of dying for? You try to teach them to be good, to be kind, but when it is so easy to find yourself burning down hills for the sake of your beliefs, when a single missfire can burn down worlds, do you not end up teaching caution, before all else? Do you not end up saying to temper those flames, to never let them burn so high as to truly change the world, because every single one has the power to change the entire universe. And you know it. And you have no idea how to teach them to change it for the better. Who even are you, to try and determine that?

So what if? What if, by your nature, you are told you are going to change the entire universe. But the people you are raised by do not know how to teach you. You need to know how to stay yourself, how to stay true to your ideals, how to remember love, and compassion. Hope, and kindness. But they have spent all their time teaching themselves how not to turn the world over themselves, too scared, for such very good reasons, but they have forgotten, and they no longer know the things they would need to teach you. You need to know safety exists. All they can teach you is that you have to make it yourself.

To go in small groups, they have learned, is so much more dangerous than to go alone, or in pairs that can still divide. They still have these remnants of connection, but they are trying so hard to leave them behind. What they have forgotten is that many hands, working together, will do so much more than one person ever can. Many hands, working together, and protecting each other. In a desperate bid to not drown, tangled in snapping webs, they have banned them altogether, not understanding that it is by the very construction of these webs that we learn these things, of hope, of faith, love, and kindness, and compassion, and a belief that holds these, without reward, without payment, simply because it is, as all important. They understand what it means to care. But scared, so understandably scared of these deep waters, they no longer sink, they no longer let the water run through them, they no longer act.

[autumnalhalcyon]

so as far as im concerned nothing past kotet exists to me

[new-california-veteran]

Okay I'm gonna break this down real simple like.

The Light Side of The Force is The Force in balance.

The Dark Side is a corruption of The Force. An infection.

The Jedi serve The Force. They are subservient to it.

The Sith subvert The Force. They bend it to their will in an unnatural way.

The Light Side is peace. It is acknowledging your negative emotions without being consumed by them, and living in harmony with The Force.

The Dark Side is suffering. It is succumbing to your negative emotions and being consumed by them.

The Jedi defend life.

The Sith exert their will on those weaker than themselves.

Light = Jedi = Good

Dark = Sith = Evil

Hope this helps.

Also the grey Jedi aren't a thing and the concept is stupid.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆.˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕍𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕪 ⋆.˚

𐙚Yandere! Qimir X Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He steals you in summer. Castaway on a planet with no name. But the way his eyes shine under the hot sun has your heart beating out of your chest.

⁀➷ Does this count as "That's that me, espresso"?

🪐 Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Stockholm syndrome, blood, and gore.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Espresso by Sabrina Carpender

Dark Vacay by CAS

The heat licks at your neck dangerously. The scathing red glow cleaves through flesh, through bone.

Warm, warm, warm.

The sort of swelter befitting rampant volcanos and rebirthing suns.  

The man, no, the Sith has you pinned to his chest. His force,a dark pulsating thing, coiling through your body, keeping you rooted.

Sol's voice echoes through the canopy. Sending ripples through the blood-matted forest floor. "Release her." His saber is drawn, pointed.

Blue vs red.

Hot vs cold.

"Give me the relic." The voice lacks emotion, empathy. It demands, it takes. There is no room for formalities here, no chivalry you've long believed in. This monster deals only in dark. Taking and taking. "And I won't hurt her".

You try to push him away, to fight. Your force against his, clawing at the dark ether around you, hunting for an aperture, a splinter anything to infiltrate. But he is resilient, strong the way most volcanos are.

Impenetrable.

You moan against the tightening noose. He demands and you must obey. Such a dark thing can even make your master bow, make him give up the ancient blood-red relic. "You have your relic, now release my pupil." Behind you the monster chuckles, an airy noise overflowing with malice, "I said I wouldn't hurt her, not that I'd give her back."

The lights dull. Neon fading into a fuzzy mess of colors too tangled to decipher. Voices weave bending to the blaring buzz echoing from within. The world grows darker, you try to clutch onto something, anything. The cool colors of saber light, the soothing tone of your master's voice. The monster's dark cadence. But it's no use, the darkness prevails, pulling you under its crushing waves, burying you in a sea of nihil.

The world is dim upon resurgence. The air tastes of salt, fresh and dry upon the throat. The earth you lay in is warm, not like the smoldering heat of a bloodborne saber, but the warmth you imagine a mother's embrace to hold. Soft in every way that counts.

The place is alien and abandoned. No family, no monsters. Just rock upon rock and makeshift furniture to further the illusion of a makeshift home. The pounding upon your temples has yet to cease, you wonder if the outlines of a bruise have yet to bloom.

Slowly, you emerge from the cocoon of worn blankets. Bare feet scraping across the jagged floor. You feel the monster's presence linger, his essence strong within this place. You remember the dragon dens you used to read about in fairy tales. The gold-adorned caves where little princesses were forced to dwell.

It's funny you should feel like one now.

There are clothes sprawled across the floor. Vanilla ice cream in shade and shape, they feel too pure to have been chosen by a man like him. Too pure to have been tainted by the darkness of his fingertips. It's only now that the dress glares back that you notice your bareness, Jedi robes stripped and discarded.

That fiend...

You feel skinned, alone. No saber to grasp, no golden drapes. Nothing to paint you as Jedi. It's with reluctance that you lace yourself into the sweet dress, with utter reluctance that you step out onto the beach of rocks awaiting outside.

You spot the man,

the sith.

Qimir

His name reverberates within your head. You lick each letter, rolling them across your tongue and drinking in their condensation. "Qi-mi-rr" the name shouldn't taste of exotic fruits blended and bled. It shouldn't taste like fruit cocktails and coconut cubes but it does.

It does and it's disgustingly delicious.

He walks with the steady strout of a man who knows he is the most dangerous thing on this beach, on this island, on this entire planet. A volcano among mountains.

You follow behind bare feet on smooth rocks. Fumbling across the beach.

Chasing shadows. Chasing monsters.

He sheds his robes like skin, peeling away sabbath vestments to reveal cutis. Tanned and scarred, marred flesh risen like volcano veins cascading across his spine.

You shouldn't admit how desperately your fingers ache to trace the tragic thing. You glid your nails across the notched igneous rocks. Dreaming its soft flesh, his soft flesh beneath your touch. He would shutter under your fingertips as you pull apart his secrets. Nibbling on them like picnic cookies.

He's stripped bare, soft skin caught in the dim sun. His open wounds glisten under soft gold rays. You skate away from the sight, that forbidden sun-drenched sight. Eyes averted and hidden behind the rocks, twice locked, to avoid a rogue glance.

He is nothing if not haunting, forbidden in every way.

Odd how the memory of his bare ankles is what lingers. Carved too steep and too deep in a way that looks too marble. They merge into long robust legs. You can't help but imagine the sculpture of his thighs after, the thing at the end of those perplexing ankles. They too must be strong, carved to define each muscle. You imagine being trapped between them, their forceful push against your meaker body as his ankles intertwine with yours.

"You can open your eyes now."

You taste his darkness in your mouth again. Potent tropical fruits laced with sea salt. He couldn't have known you were trailing after him, you'd been quiet, silent like a whisper.

"It's improper to strip out in the open. What would you have done if someone should have come upon you?"

He treads in the water like a pearl unearthed. Shimmering alongside the blue-green of the lagoon. "You came upon me and nothing happened."

"That's because I had the good graces to avert my gaze from such a sight."

"I'd prefer if you'd look."

He pours water over his face, sparkly droplets cascading down sharp cheekbones. Eyes wide with an odd groggy wonder. The sky and the sea and him ethereally in between. He shouldn't look so magical. Some water nymph playing spike ball with the sun. Drinking in the clouds and blue. Before diving back down into his aquatic galaxy.

"Join me"

"I'd rather impale myself"  

he's treading closer, water shielding his body like liquid lapis lazuli. "I wonder what your lips will taste like blue?" and it's the first time you've ever thought of your order's regalia as something so macabre.

His eyes are half-lidded, licking over your body like a melting Sunday. Or maybe he actually is, you can feel something wet and sinister sliding across your body. Slipping over and under the dress, sucking at pulse points. Anticipating soft vanilla.

You want to rip out his tongue and harbor in your mouth. You want to devour him as if he were ice cream on a summer day. Butterscotch cone with drizzled caramel and star sprinkles. Your teeth ache desperately for just one small bite.

He's standing, growing into a full man, no longer just a boy nymph memorized by soft whites and bright blues. The water droplet clutch greedy to taut muscles, refusing to leave such a Promethean thing.

The wet thing freezes. Running water to ice cube. His force evaporates from you, you bask in the mist of him. Before the shadow roots behind you impenetrable all over again. Qimir steps closer and you close your eyes on instinct. Stepping back, following the flow of sand in breeze.

Such sights are not for us to love.

It tips you off balance, You can't see Qimir but you can feel him. He's closer and closer. That's why you're stalking back. But the plasmic thing behind you nicks your ankle. Lurching you back. In the blink of an eye and the start of a scream, you're suspended in mid-air. Floating above the sands, save in the gossamer of his black mist.

"Careful" Qimir jests

And you crack your eye open just enough to see his outstretched hand.

"I want to take a shower"

"The lagoone is over there" he throws over his shoulder all so causally. like spelling out sea cemetary.

the warmth of the cave is suffocating. Lacing through your body making it breakout into little pearls of hidrosis. You roll over, watching Qimir, solder the cracks of his helmet. The rampant sparks cast him in a galactic white halo. Some intangible creature from the far reaches of the universe.

You wonder back to the incident by the lagoon.

You wonder if his tongue, his real tongue, would feel cool against your flaring skin. Muscle-bound ice cube rolling across your arms, your chest, drinking in your essence in half kisses and open-lipped moans. Sucking tenderly on the veins of your neck.

But shouldn't the tongues of monsters be spiked? cutting deep in search of blood?

Qimir swats the sweat from his temples. Pulling up the back of his shirt in an effort to fight the humidity. His scars transcend so low. Rivers weaving through him, overflowing with treasured secrets. You suck in the force through your lips drinking in its cold confidence. Marching up to stand behind him, only half admiring the rugged skin below the sandy shirt.

"Ahem" Spine straight, head held high. Your stance is practiced, sculpted in the confidence that the order demands. Lightside in every way.

Jedi, Jedi, Jedi

"I know it is futile to ask a treasonous sith like you to abide by the laws of common decency. But I'd ask that you do not come to spy on me while I bathe" Your hands ball into firsts. Glaring death and shark teeth at his blemished back.

He leaves the workbench with all the grace of a crushing tide. Elegance carved from salt rocks and years of walking through stars and shadows. But this time you refuse to step back. There is no dishabille to fear, no sand lines that may be passed.

But he doesn't confront you. He doesn't bask in his rage and stands proudly in front of you. No, instead he paces, or rather almost floats. He's in front of you one minute and behind you the next. The eerieness of it all only comes from the feeling of entombment. He is your cage, your coffin. Burying you under the sand with his precious secrets and red relics. Your nerve beats out of you in little droplets.

Qimir's fingers lace with your own, his hot breath fans the shell of your ear, "How can I make such promises when you act so cute" his voice is coconut shavings upon white sand. You aren't even sure he spoke. " I thought Sith only dealt in absolutes?" his laughter cuts like fractured seashells. Cutting through heartstrings. You want to hear it again and again until you've memorized its melody. "That's what we want the Jedi to believe."

His teeth graze the nape of your neck. That's the last straw, gravity crushes your nerve, and you take off running.

The pearls that shine within his sockets are entirely too dark. You shouldn't be thinking such this as you disrode. But the glimmer of pure drown isn't a worldly sight, it's something unplaceable.

Sith can not be trusted, even if, until mere days ago they had been things of fairytales like dragons and sea monsters. Mystical monsters used to frighten little padwans into finishing their plates. But the stories are true now, they've ripped open the holobooks and sprouted from the screen. Your fingers flex, feeling the weight of his hand in yours.

The monsters are real...

You keep your undergarments on as you descend with the sparkling tides. Qimir may appear at any moment. And you wish to confront a Sith in a Jedi's skin, or what little is left of it.

You're sinking into the watermelon greens and crystal blues, sinking into him... because even so far from the grotto his presence haunts your thoughts still.

"You wouldn't mind if I invite myself in?" The water laps at his feet, he's standing over the liquid threshold.

"What are you doing here?! I told you not to come."

he shrugs and you can't help but notice the definition of his muscles. "It's hot in the cave. Plus you don't own the beach."

He pulls the shirt over his head.

You scream for him to stop.

But this time as he pulls the waistband down you notice something underneath.

Swim trunks.

Bell-bottomed and shaped like a nebula, but only midnight in hue. The cuffs glimmer with red intricacies, patterns from a different time, a different solar system. Each stitch tells some tale of horror or history. Sith things that you'd rather not know. But why engrave them into a swimsuit? Why paint a tapestry on something so jejune?

He treads through the water, deadset on you. And again in every step, you notice a mettle valor that can only come from having killed and kissed your greatest fears.

The rocks are slippery beneath your feet, running, swimming, gliding whatever gets you further from him. But the rocks form barricades of their own. Igneous confines housing prey and beast.

"I meant it when I said you were cute." He has you pinned to the mineral mountains, eyes prying you open, studying your inner workings like a gutted bot. "So fragile so malleable..." You feel his power rolled over your neck.

You didn't expect the kiss. The taste of coconut shavings and caramel. Your heart hammers as he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer. Your lungs burn, filled with salt water and dark force energy.

But suffocating is a small price to pay when he parts your lips and pushes iced star fruits in your mouth.

That night Qimir had tried to feed you soup. Boiled fish and herbs in a cauldron that looks, entirely witch. But the refusal comes not from the perturbation of poison or the primal mistrust shared between star-crossed enemies.

No the refusal comes because you simply do not like fish.

"Just try a spoonful, it's from a rare breed. Considered a luxury on most planets". His entreaties fall on deaf ears, outvoiced by the stubbornness of a crashing tide. You retire hungry, and maybe it's hunger that stirs you in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's the heartbeat echoing from his mask.

He called it cortosis. But it looks more terror than diamond.

You sink to your knees in front of the haunted heirloom, cradling it gently within your palms. The iron flavor upon lips makes you part them, tongue fleshed tracing every welded scar. Sucking in the solder and crystal and every other poison.

You want to be a part of it, to pry open your ribcage and shove the empyrean taj within.

Let its darkness mingle with your blood. You want to feel it's royalty in the marrow of your bones.

In the morning you do not speak about the pulsating thing within. But the mask stares at you as you eat mint and bread from Qimir's hand.

It knows...

It knows things you can never admit.

You'd been planning on narrowly avoiding him. Tiptoeing across the cave to evade stirring him. But the plans die when first light breeches the aperture.

Qimir's gone.

And in his place, he's left yet another raiment.

The dress is summer and doll. Bowed in the back and studded.

Bar'biee in every way.

The hysterically placed designs parody the crisscross of twilight roses and all their thrones. Checkered in shades of obsidian and ink.

But the black of your dress doesn't quite match the ebony of his robes.

It simply plays testament to your ripeness. You're starting to feel like his little doll.

He lies on a beach towel overlooking the sea. So ordinary it makes you choke. Beach ball in the corner by his feet, waiting to be played with.

Fearless.

You wonder just who he had to kill to reach this hubris?

You float down the little exclaves toes barely touching the ground.

He's adorned the rocky beach with a comically large parasol too dark to even have a name. Another towel, a picnic basket, and little coconut cups with straws. Despite his black tainted sunglasses, he knows you're watching him. Caught in the bosom of this haunted shore. Awaiting your capturer's orders.

"You can sit if you want." again he's saying words without realizing how crushing they truly are. Their full weight pulling your bones until they slip from skin.

Might as well have said shark attack and death at sea.

But you obey because despite everything, the towel looks nice and so does the drink.

"The sun doesn't come out very often. But I figured we could at least enjoy it today."

"Thanks," you mutter chewing on the pink straw. You shift your limbs rigidly. Plastic doll coming to life. Pushing tense bones straight as you rest your uneasy head. The waves hum in your ear and you swear you hear the rocks buzze like star songs.

"Why did you bring me here? Why not kill me."

"Well, you're not really any use to me dead" He offers you a melon slice.

"So I'm bait." Qimir sighs, your query exhausting. He simply sips from his own drink. You notice the jounce of his throat with each gulp. How you'd love to ring to those bones, feel them crack between your fingers.

He turns to you, lips a breath away. He hasn't kissed you since that day in the lagoon. But you wish him too so very much.

This isn't the Jedi way...

What?

Qimir's fingers trace over your thighs and hips. Finally, they land heavily on your shoulders, pushing you into the rocks with zeal. He blocks the sun and you can't help but think he's lovelier than any red goliath in the macrocosm.

Qimir's teeth gnaw at your throat, kissing the blood and smearing it with his tongue. Traling open-mouth kisses to the plinth of your neck.

Your nails, rasp curiously at his back, tracing scars, tracing cortosis veins.

His fingers dig into your ribs, painting it in seastars. Kissing starlights and pearls in your bones. His body is hot, scolding. And you wonder if the minerals he surrounds himself with were all nursed in the womb of a violent volcano.

The result of destructive habits is knife bites called kisses and a heart that's finally exploded.

When he pulls off, he poises himself on his knees before falling back to his side, searching for something in the basket. You stare, dress distorted, and breath hitched. You taste the exotic fruit blend again. Burning, caramel, and coconut that linger across your body.

"Hey, can you put this on me?" reality blurs back in, he's dangling a yellow bottle in front of you. "What" he shouldn't have this ease with you. He shouldn't be playing make-believe lovers on the beach with the girl he kidnapped.

But he does.

And you play along too.

"it's sunscreen, believe it or not, I burn easily."

"No"

"please"

"N-"

You don't control your hand as it pours the cream onto his chest. He touches you with such familiarity, the force on this planet is just an extension of him. But you shy away at the thought of running your fingers across his muscle bound chest. What is the force if not a child's toy? If not another doll.

He notices the shyness. Or rather reads it from the air. His force pokes at your arms, laughing at the discomfort. Before you know it he's harbored between your thighs. Large hands holding your wrist.

Firm yet delicate.

He moves your hand over his chest, charting every bump and muscle. Coating the blocker over his skin. It feels like piecing together armor. Preparing him for a battle you've never been invited to.

You don't want this.

Well not quite.

You want to feel his body jolt under your touch and hear the sweet little quips he offers to lighten the mood. You want to capture the fleeting moment where he bites his lip and preserve it for eternity.

But more than anything you want to peel away his armor, his flesh, and bury yourself beneath. Become another one of his secrets and staying inside him. Safe and warm forever.

"Qimir"

He makes pomegranate soup that night. As he nestles your body over his lap. Kissing the half-healed bruise on your forehead. He brings the spoon to your lips and gently nudges your mind to let him in. You part your lips, welcoming him in with the shyness you've been raised on. Blushing little bride-doll.

Legacy. You realize when the seeds erupt inside your mouth.

He's feeding you his secrets, his bequest. Boiling you like the fish and the fruit. And birthing you anew.

You sleep with your head buried in the crux of his neck. Listening to the lullaby of his tattered heart, singing psalms of conquest.

That night you dream of a river red. You blame it on Qimir, the pomegranate seeds were too maroon in color and flavor.

From the crimson water the helmet surfaces. Bobbing in the waves, beckoning you. You cup your hands inside the river, guzzling down the water and licking your fingers after. You let the red kiss your lips and fill your lungs choking you by essence alone. You want to die drinking from the bloodlust. Die in front of his helmet.

So maybe he can call it love.

Or Devotion.

Or anything else equally sweet.

The river doesn't taste like pomegranates, or fruit cocktails, or iced coconut.

It tastes of salty iron, volcanic diamonds and Qimir's lips.

You plunge into the red...

He's thinking about you again. You know it from the moment you awake. His voice is loud inside your head. Reverberating from wall to wall until it is the only thing you hear.

This time the garments are waterproof. Swimwear. Two pieces in black, just black. And adorned with red trees on the seams.

Right, because you beat me in the forest.

Clever.

He has left bangles too, jagged and bruised purple with veins of white. cortosis. Accompanied by a golden necklace that looks like a beating heart, ripped freshly from someone's chest.

"You look beautiful," he remarks after you've dressed in his colors. When did he come in? You need to get better at hearing the man born from shadows. The man who's walking between worlds unseen, unheard his entire life.

He pulls you close, nails picking at the soft flesh of your tummy. Scratching skin and leaving red crescents. He kneels and licks and bites, claiming this new chart of unmarked skin.

This has always been about possession, domination, damnation. "Qimir" you moan and it feels so wrong and so right. Like saber to the heart.

Oh force, how far you've fallen.

Qimir laces his fingers with yours pulling you outside the cave. The sun shimmers off his lopsided smile and he really does glow brighter than every star in the known cosmos.

The lagoon is red.

It shouldn't be red.

"You killed them" Since when have such dire words spilled so easily from your lips? Sol, Jacki, Yord. Are they in this pool? shimmering translucent awaiting a vengeance you do not think you can deliver?

"Yes...But not your Jedi, not yet. These were just some self-pious knights who got in my way."

He brings his arm up showing you a fresh saber cut, before pulling you into the water. It's so warm boiling, lava meets water. You think your skin will peel off.

But you stand your ground. Force directing your every breath. Spine straight head high. Darkside in every way

Sith, sith, sith

You grasp at his forearm, pulling it to your lips. Your tongue finds the slit in the skin and dives it. Mapping out the muscles and drinking in the red.

Exotic fruits bled and blended.

"I think I'm finally getting through to you," Qimir says, brown pearls glazed over with pride. "My sweet little acolyte."

You giggle at the term. It tastes so bitter, like a raw espresso before dawn.

"Oh, master" you moan. As you pull him under the red waters. Lips and legs entwined.

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[samui-desu]

"Since kyber crystals are naturally attuned to the light side of the Force, those who serve the dark side must follow a different path. First, they must seize a pure crystal from the lightsaber of a Jedi they have vanquished in combat—for the saber of a Sith is not given. It is taken. Then, they must infuse that crystal with their pain, anger, and hatred, bending it to their will. This corrupts the crystal, aligning it with the dark side and making it bleed with unbridled crimson power. The bleeding process can yield unpredictable results. Some crystals shatter, making their energies unstable and unpredictable. Others resist their realignment, refusing to be bent toward the darkness. Once a crystal has been properly bled, the primal power it releases becomes not only a deadly instrument in the hands of a Sith Lord, but a symbol of their true strength in the dark side." Darth Sidious

[twoduelsabers]

a new dawn, part two

part one

summary -> after qimir saves your from death by the hand of the jedi, you follow him to his ship. but that doesn't mean you trust him- there's too much you don't know- yet.

content warnings -> canon typical violence, nsfw, fingering

a/n: got many (haha manny) requests to do a part two, so i deliver🫡

the quiet hum of the hyperspace filled the cockpit.

"you're a sith."

she stated, breaking the silence.

on the other side of the commlink, qimir scoffed.

"that's what a jedi like you would call me, yes."

she clenched her fists, remembering the events from just minutes ago.

"i'm no jedi." the words came out harsh, almost disgusted. the same way they treated her. "not anymore."

qimir smirked to himself. he sensed the raw emotions within her, and could easily bend her to his will. make her powerful.

"good." he responded.

the rest of the journey passed in silence. the whole ordeal was odd enough that she didn't know where- or when- to ask about his past. what was he, exactly? he saved her- something unlikely for a sith. and his eyes weren't... she sensed he wasn't consumed by darkness entirely- it was within him, but he was the one in control. it intrigued her.

sometime after, the exhaustion got the best of her, and she closed her eyes.

"we're here."

the simple sentence woke her up from a nap, and she realised they had exited the hyperspace. before her, appeared a blue planet, majority of it covered by the ocean. she forrowed her brows. she didn't recognise the planet, even though she was taught about the whole habitable galaxy in the temple.

"where are we?"

qimir steered the ship down, into the atmosphere.

"somewhere the jedi won't find us."

he replied, vaguely. every single thing he said so far was vague. and she was determined to change that, because after all, she allowed a complete stranger, a sith, to fly her out to a remote location.

her gaze scanned the surroundings, stopping on a lonely rocky island. was that...where he lived? on a rock? he set the ship down on a comfortably flat set of stones.

she focused, and reached into the force trying to sense any potential danger.

"you done?"

he asked, already out of the ship.

so he could feel her in the force. too easily for her liking.

soon she was standing next to him.

"follow me."

she did, her every step careful. soon enough they were on the island and her weary gaze watched his back- why would he put himself in such a vulnerable position...? something shimmered under the surface- she knew he was planing something, but the realisation hit too late.

his crimson blade raised to strike, his face covered by the helmet she didn't notice he was carrying.

she cursed under her breath. of course- why did she trust him? she should have known better, maybe she should have surrendered herself to the jedi-

but 'what if's' weren't the priority right now. she raised her saber to defend herself. he pressed, and her arms hurt. he was too strong.

blow after blow, she realised she didn't stand a chance, and when he used the force to push her back, sending her flat on the rocks, she knew it was over.

his lightsaber pointed inches away from her heaving chest.

qimir tilted his head.

"you fight like a jedi." he scoffed. "you're predictable. weak. pathetic."

"maybe that's why you were always alone. why they threw you away. why she threw you away..."

that hit a nerve.

she jumped off of the ground with a scream, calling her lightsaber, and moving to offense immediately. she kicked his stomach. went for his arms- she missed, obviously, but she was a better match now.

a few blurred moments passed, and she found herself pressed against a rock, with his lightsaber near her throat.

he betrayed her. like the jedi. she wanted to kick him, hurt him, kill him-

"hmm. that's better." qimir's modulated voice echoed on the shore. after a moment, he withdrew his saber, putting it back on his belt.

he took off his helmet.

she was ready to fight back again, but something was stopping her.

"did you think I was going to kill you?" he mocked. "and what would that be good for?"

"well, you attacked me!" she snapped.

qimir's demeanor was calm and collected.

"you have potential. you should be trained."

"by you?" she huffed.

he looked at her for a moment.

"i can teach you what the jedi couldn't. have you seen yourself?" he gestured to the lightsaber she was still holding up. "how much better you were when you let your fear, your anger lead you?"

she hesitated. qimir wasn't wrong- her movements were significantly faster and more percise than usual.

"what is it that you want from me? why did you save me?"

she asked, weary.

qimir was silent for a second. when he heard his old master's name from the jedi that tried to kill her- he just couldn't, couldn't let that happend. not the way it happened to him.

"i want the power of two."

came the answer.

a power of two?

she didn't know what he referred to, but something in his voice was so persuasive. and it wasn't like she had any other options anyways.

he seemed to notice that she was giving in.

"come with me."

qimir turned around, and pressed forward as if nothing happened. she jogged to keep up, this time walking by his side. soon, they were standing in front of a...cave?

"you live in a cave?" she asked, assessing it skeptically.

she thought she saw him roll his eyes, but the strands falling over his face made it difficult to tell.

"come inside."

he tilted his head towards the entrance, and stepped in.

she entered after, and realised it was perfectly terraformed into a hideout, a house even. a bed, a table, storage crates, even a pool? she supposed it was the natural forming of the island.

but she still wasn't convinced. everything in her screamed this is wrong, they way the jedi made her think. her carefully built up walls were slowly breaking down, the more time she spent with him.

qimir was so alluring.

and he was well aware of that.

"as you experienced before..." his voice was lower, every word spoken carefully. "below the surface of consciousness, lay powerful emotions."

he stepped closer. not close enough to invade her personal space- she could move away at any moment, if she wanted to.

"anger, fear, loss..." he continued. his gaze was intense. but she didn't back away. "...desire."

qimir's dark eyes were captivating, as well as his jawline, cheekbones, lips...

she took in a sharp breath. a jedi wasn't supposed to-

"you're not a jedi anymore." came his velvet voice.

he was once again, reading her mind.

"you don't have to deprive yourself of what you want now."

his palm came up to her cheek, and to her own surprise, she gave in to his touch. he seemed pleased. she realised that they're close to one another, and that she was too distracted before to notice when he approached her.

but qimir didn't move an inch from where he stood now. he didn't move his hand either, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"take what you want."

qimir said, as if he was teaching her- because this was, in fact, her first lesson. and from the way she was looking at his lips, he knew that he broke the ice.

what convinced him of that further, was her mouth against his.

his hand moved from her cheek to cradle the back of her neck, and the other one was set on her waist. he could feel her want- desire, that had been forbidden to her for so long.

"good."

he pulled away, staring down at her- parted lips and flushed cheeks, as if she was embarrassed of herself.

and she was. it felt right, he felt right, but at the same time, it didn't. she was conditioned to never, ever succumb to her desires.

"tell me," qimir's smooth voice cut through whatever of the self restraint she had left. "what you want me to do."

the only things she knew about him, was his name, that he was a sith, and vernestra's fallen padawan.

she was these things now too, wasn't she?

yet, her fingers were tracing his jawline, as he stared into her eyes.

"i-..." the words got stuck in her throat. qimir smirked. "touch me."

her voice was breathless, almost inaudible, but he was on it in seconds.

her back was pressed against the cold, stone wall. his arms were fiddling with the front of her robes. and his lips kissing her throat.

his palm rested on her stomach, barely above the waistband of her trousers. he stopped there, knowing well what she wanted, yet awaiting further instructions.

"g-go on."

she managed to stammer, and felt qimir smile against her neck. his hand slipped past the waistband, and then past her underwear. she let out a shaky breath. her hands came up to his hair, tugging his head up from her neck, so she could kiss him.

she moaned into his mouth the second his fingers moved between her legs, rubbing gentle circles. the cold stone behind her back disappeared, and she could only feel the warmness of qimir's body.

qimir went slow, pushing one finger into her first. she couldn't stop her hips from bucking forward involuntarily, and he let out a soft chuckle against her mouth.

his movements were deliberate and percise, leaving her gasping in his arms. after a moment he added a second finger, slowing down a little, to let her adjust- but she whined a plea, and he obliged, speeding up again.

it felt so good, too good. she was sure he was using the force somehow. her moans mixed with his whispers in her ear, ones that she wouldn't dare to repeat out loud.

and when he curled his fingers, she could swear she saw the force itself. she whimpered his name, his arms supporting her weight, her legs a little shaky.

in that moment, she knew there was no going back. she would never give up the things she just experienced- both physically, and emotionally.

qimir knew that.

and when the next weak and breathless word left her mouth, he smiled.

"master..."

her gaze was hazy, when she looked up. but no longer lost.

"acolyte."

a/n: i am so normal about this...

reblog chat reblog ^^

masterlist

[evilminji]

Waaaaait a fuckin second >.>

You know the Agricorps? Where Obi-Wan almost went?

Where generations of JEDI YOUNGLINGS who "aged out" may have gone, along with the OTHER Corps? Such as the Explorer corps? Who are probably off in Force knows where, poking at rocks, going "hmmmm, yes, it appears..... I am HELLA fuckin lost."???

THEY? Are not "jedi" as far as most people think of them.

JEDI are the whooshy swooshy dudes with the lightsabers, right? The KNIGHTS! Fancy robes and live in the temple.

J'onn, who is a farmer, that got assigned by... somebody? SOMEBODY after it all went to SHIT around here? Yeah, J'ONN isn't a JEDI! What the fuck are you talking about? He grows space yams.

Buuuuut you're wrong! Ain't'cha? J'onn sure fuckin IS a Jedi. He went to Jedi school. Grew up in the temple. Probably looks up one day, in the middle of the fields, as the force tells him "take the fucking jedi logo off your overalls NOW" and?

Whooop! Naked J'onn! Oh dear, lost his overalls in the compost heap. Unfortunate.

Time to gather the kids he's technically not allowed to have but no one ever checks on them so screw the rules! Honey! We gotta leave! Yeah, all of us!

Cause like???

Look me in the eyes. Look me in the FUCKING EYES. (o.o) (as I stare creepily into your soooul~) and tell me Papadapaline would even fuckin REMEMBER the Corps.

Sure, eventually, he might. If he finds the crumbled note he threw somewhere. But they're not "important" right? Not like the KNIGHTS. The WARRIORS, in his eyes.

Because? He is a SITH.

And the Sith value POWER.

Not education. Not agriculture. Exploration or hyperlane maintenance.

And HEALING? Medicine? Psssshhhhh. Only in so far as they can twist it! What use is the Corps to him? They are NOBODIES.

Buuuut? Funny thing about nobodies? They tend to be the most dangerous sort of all. The tiny spark. The well placed word. That one form filled JUST were you hoped it would not be. The Force LOVES nobodies. They are the butterflies that blow galaxies apart. Bend and reshape destinies. Steal somebody's stapler.

They are not Jedi, they are Corpsmen.

Order 66 wouldn't effect THEM.

@spidori @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @mayfay

[fastlikealambo]

Does The Wolf Apologize? || Qimir x Black!Fem Reader 

Summary: You’ve come back from a mission and The Sith is pleased. The lines between acolyte and master have been blurring between you two ever since he revealed his face but for tonight he will show you just how pleased he is.

Trigger Warnings: PinV, Consenting Force Choking, just fucking.

18+ minors dni.

TEASER CAUSE I DIDN’T WANNA LEAVE YALL WITH NOTHING TONIGHT

Please REBLOG my work if you can, I'm not sure what tags are best as this is a new character!

The head of the jedi was heavier in your hands than the saber on your belt.

You were bone tired, smelled of mud, and had blood under your fingernails but that didn't stop you from depositing the head at his feet.

 “Well done, you have pleased me.” He said, voice deep and automated beneath the helmet but you fell to one knee nonetheless, holding the lightsaber out in front for him to take. 

  “I have given you each and every saber you have asked for without question nor hestitation. Now I wish, no, I need my own, I’m ready.” You said quietly but firmly, standing up on shaky legs and began to remove your dirty coat and bag.  

  “You’re hurt.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

A click and a small woosh of air signaled that the helmet was off and even now, you dared not to turn around despite knowing the visage behind your back.

 Before you could remove the rest of your bloody clothing, you felt a tug in the Force, sliding you across the room to outstretched hands.

   “Forgive me, I’m tired, I don’t know what I’m saying.” You said softly as he gripped each side of your shirt and ripped it, exposing your bloody and burned back. 

  “What have I said about apologizing?” He asked,bending you over the counter to inspect your injuries. The pain was gone so quickly you moaned in relief, earning a chuckle from your mentor as he kept you bent over. 

 “Mice apologize, sheep apologize, we do not.” You recited. 

He pulled your pants to your ankles, healing the cuts and bruises there before looking up at you.

“How did it feel when you took the jedi’s head?” He asked, head cocked to the side, thumb absentmindedly rubbing up your thigh while he checked to see if he had missed any wounds.

“It felt safe, like no one could hurt me ever again, it felt powerful.” You muttered.He stood to his full height,calloused fingers tilted your chin to look into his eyes.

“And do you want power?”

  “I’m your equal. My training as your acolyte is over, you and I both know that, but my life, living freely by your side, has just begun. I want power and freedom but whether I do it without or without you depends on you. I pleased you?”

 “Yes.”

“Then prove it.” 

With a flick of his hand, the sith sent you flying through the air, landing on top of the table, legs open. He took his time striding over to you, cape thrown to the side.

  “You still have so much to learn.” He said,slowly climbing on top of the table, your hips lifting without your control but with your consent into position.  

 “My next lesson is to make you whimper, do you understand me?” He asked, his hand slowly closing into a fist and air escaped your lungs. 

“I understand.”

On their own, your underwear slid from your legs and his cock slid in you. In complete control of your airway and your pussy, the sith smiled.

“Then let’s begin as equals.”

need to fix the ending so the rest will be posted tomorrow!

[granolawriting]

To break you

pairing: sith!Anakin x princess!Reader

Summary: a suitless darth vader find your home planet to be a threat to the galactic empire. and as he takes you into his custody, he gives you an answer; to wed him, or to die. and as your decision looms over you, he makes it his goal to break you before the wedding day.

word count: 4.2k

content warning: NSFW WARNING!, dark!anakin, there is no fluff he is just using you, spanking, name calling (slut, toy), condesending pet names (my doll, princess), hair pulling, nipple play, kind of public p in v, he cums in you, no aftercare, master anakin kink, sadism/masochism, stockholm syndrome pretty much, cocky and evil vaderkin, forced submission kind of, kind of dubcon but you do enjoy it

masterlist

A/N: hello!!! this is super diffrent than what I usually write, and I would want to put a content warning that this is pretty dark, but the people want and I deliver! This was a request by this anon, so thank you for the request :) Make sure if you like my work to check out my requests/comissions or my ko-fi!!!

“Kneel.” 

The hiss of a door that centered your prison was met by a brooding anakin. Well above 6 feet, drenched in black from head to toe did the heaviness of his boots only add greater loom of intimidation to engulf the room as he stood before you. Commanding you. 

Darth Vader. He is who stood before you. Who caged you in this prison and moreover, destroyed everything you knew in mere hours. Scenes flash before you of what once was your home, one where you reigned comfortable leadership. A princess of a far off planet, known for well intended democracy and a desire for unity within its people. You were happy, especially under the old republic's rule. Even knowing who vader was, be it briefly, before he became the man before you. 

Anakin skywalker. That's who really stood before you. No grimace upon a face, no merciless killings could ever shake him from being that person. The curve of his jaw in a scowl was the same one that greeted you all those years ago on your home planet-- sharing a single dinner together as he and his master asked for direction on a mission they were set upon. You knew what a smile looked like along his face, what a laugh may sound like from the cords deep within his throat. And as the man stands before you now, towering over you with no semblance of that boy surviving within him the scar on his face remains. The curl of his hair, the shape of his nose. It was all him, it was anakin. 

Your knees instinctively met the cold metal of the floor of your cell. Bowing before him with great fervor, fear enveloping every sense in your body. 

Looking up, you are met with Anakin as he looks down upon you. A face you couldn't read only exacerbated your fear as he looked at you with selfish intent. 

He kneels, shoes flat upon the ground as knees bend together to get a closer look at you. Still towering over you does he stay, studying you, every muscle on your face every inch your eyes move. A gloved hand reaches out to grab you, flinching ever so slightly as you feel the cool leather grip onto your jaw. He moves you, taking you in, you move with him and submit yourself to his touch. 

Standing up once more, a smirk grows upon a dark face. 

“Let me ask you, shall I wed you, or kill you?” 

your heart drops. It feels as though it stops beating as his eyes bore into you, taking in every lick of petrification that coats your face at the sight of his question. You knew deep in your mind there was nothing you could say to sway his decision, nothing you could argue or beg to urge one or the other; it was merely a matter of watching how you would react. The sadistic joy he felt in seeing you take in your options, the only two left for you in a life once bearing endless ones. Tears well in the sides of your eyes as you break eye contact with him, sobbing into the floor beneath you as wet tears hit the cool metal of the prison floor and a laugh emits from him. A sickening smile coats his face as he gathers great joy from your faltering. A once high princess, kind and polite, now bearing shackles at his feet. He found no greater joy. 

“You can stop the melodrama now, princess, is it? Are you even able to form a single sentence? Come on now, beg for my mercy.” 

You didn’t know what would be more merciful, to be ended or to be saved-- both with their pros and cons. But as you stare at the metal vaguely mirroring your reflection, you see your own face through muddled shapes. The look in your eyes, you were reminded of your humanity. Above all else, you didn't want to die. It wasn't your time yet. 

“Please, please master. Let me wed you, I beg you not to kill me. I will do whatever you please master Vader just, don't let me die.”

You double down, almost curling up as tears fall from your face and horror shocks you to your core at what you’ve just done. Begged for, even. To wed the man who killed your family, slaughtered them like animals. Use them as an example, the death of your home planet serving as a reminder of the power of the empire over any semblance of the old republic order. 

A small sucking of teeth exits Anakin as he paces back and forth, slow heavy stomping of boots echoing in the chamber, armed guards flanking either side of him. You can sense a smirk on his face, a sadistic smile growing on him as you kneel before him in pain and powerlessness. He gets drunk off the power he has over you, the way he can make you submit. He decides, it’s a fair thing to not give away. Not to mention the undeniable beauty you held, though that was only a bonus to him as such a beautiful face contorted to his favorite expression. 

“So be it then. By 3 days time we shall be wed.” 

He faces the guards stationed at the door. 

“Please send for someone to clean her up, and fix her a room for just the night. By the next, I shall have made arrangements for her cohabitation with me for after the wedding.” 

“Right away sir.” 

… 

You stare blank at the woman that looks at you within the mirror, studying her, questioning her likeness to you. It had been a single day since Anakin had taken you as his bride. And as the maids outside the steel door of your bathroom chattered about laced detailing and color coordinated floral arrangement, you were sick to your stomach in anguish over the dealings he’s made since. He reveled in the stir, the attention that was put on you-- the spotlight. He knew you hated it, and were humiliated by the mere implication. But as he sent maids to your room in and out as the day went on, asking your opinion on certain design choices and cuts of dress, he made you intimately tied to the process at hand. 

You knew anakin hated being in the spotlight, almost as much as you did. But he would do about anything to break you. 

…

Hiss 

Heavy feet invite themselves into your temporary home. 

“Hello lord vader.” 

You stand almost at attention, previously mulling over small books lying around to distract yourself from what glared ahead of you, standing up as his presence enters the confines of your room to face him with full alertness. 

“Please, princess. You are to be my wife aren’t you? No need for such formality. Anakin, will do. Master, anakin.” 

He seemed to enjoy it when you called him master, even as his old name still held in its following address it still set a dynamic of extreme power to tower over you and him. He got off on it, owning you. 

“Hello, master anakin. What can I do for you?” 

Though his demand for formalities was adhered to in their most basic sense, you still felt no comfort in portraying anything but robotic response to what he demanded of you, to try and cater to him as emotionless as you could. 

“Oh well, I was just stopping in to see what you were doing. Did you enjoy the wedding preparation earlier today?” 

He knew you didn't, and a smirk upon a dark face proved it. He wanted to get a reaction out of you, toy with you. 

“It was alright. Though, I don't understand why go through all of the hassle. I have no real say in the matter.” 

Anakin fakes a sense of hurt as you make such a claim; 

“No real say? Why could you say that? I tried to make every little part of the process down to your liking. It’s going to be quite large, after all. I even invited the remaining survivors from your planet, our own special guests to lie front seat to such a momentous occasion. Should you not be thanking me for such consideration?” 

your throat goes dry, and small balls form unconsciously within your fists. He was set on humiliating you, letting the people you swore to protect watch as you wed their captor, their murderer. Composed of women and children assumably, the next generation of your world strapped in to watch the death of what they once knew in a cacophony of sound and extravagance. 

Anakin watches as your expression grows dark-- he has gotten a reaction out of your stoned face. A sadistic grin grows upon his face. He steps closer to you.

“Oh my doll, no need to look so angry. It doesn't suit such a pretty face now does it? Come on, can you show me a smile, some gratitude for everything I've done for you? This wasn't cheap, you know.” 

A leathered hand outstretched to meet your chin, lifting it up as it faced inward to your chest as means to lock eyes with the ground, and not his eyes. Slowly, a heavy hand pulls your chin up to face him, as he bends his head low to greet your eyes while he towers over you. He awaits your response with eagerness. 

“Th.. thank you master Anakin. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

It falls out of your mouth through gritted teeth, rage stuffed deep inside of you as you watch him grow joyful at the sight of your repression and submission. His smile grows even larger at the sight of it. 

“Good girl, now-” 

He takes a heavy stride over to the lace and flower samples littered all over your room. He held his arms loosely to his back as he paced. 

“I've taken the liberty of choosing your dress, as well as the floral arrangements. I just wanted you to take a glimpse of all the options I had planned out for you, all the things I picked out with you in mind hm? I'm sure it was stressful, but what wedding isn't mmm? We will make sure to get you fitted tomorrow. And,” 

He now looks back over at you. 

“That shall also be the day I move you into my personal chambers.” 

your heart sinks once more. 

“Now, I know that it isn't your planet's code of ethics to bed someone before they tie the knot; however we are no longer on your planet are we? The repairs and modifications have been finished early, and I find no means to wait. After all, I would like to know what I have to look forward to in days to come.” 

Hooded eyes and lustful darkness overtake him as he takes in your body, its shape, and you feel utterly naked. He meant to test you out, before the wedding. Take what was never his thought in the process, please himself with the attraction he found to your body. You were just a toy to him, and by his means of taunting did he make that ever so clear. 

… 

White lace coated every inch of your body in extravagant pattern and stitching, a dress perfectly fitted to your body did it look utterly beautiful. Though as you gazed upon yourself in the mirror behind the curtain where you were to dress you felt nothing but despair. To look so beautiful, so wonderful, in the wake of such a nightmare was something you could only go numb to the feeling of. It was not one you would have chosen, the fit too tight for your usual formal attire, though he knew that well. This dress was out of your comfort zone, revealing, and above all else it was not who you were. Beautiful nonetheless, he wished to remind you that it is no longer you that exists within your body, it is his bride. 

“Come out for me, my doll, I wish to see the bride.” 

A coo coats the voice of taunt that Anakin relays to you at the wake of his impatience to see you in the dress he picked out for you. And thus slowly you emerge from curtained blockers to expose yourself to him. 

He goes speechless for a moment, taking in your frame as you stand there feeling naked-- his eyes undressing every part of you that was accentuated, exposed. 

“Maids, leave us for a moment. I shall call for you when you’re needed.” 

You feel a sickening fear pool within your stomach, anything that he wished to have you utterly alone for was nothing to feel good about. 

The hiss of the door signifying their exit left you trapped, utterly alone as Anakin was yet to voice reaction or concern with your attire. 

“Do a spin for me princess.” 

He is sat upon a cushioned chair, a leg crossed and back relaxed as he watches you, taking you in as you silently follow his command. 

Though as you finish a slow spin, he gets up to approach you, a loom of sadism follows his aura. 

“You look irresistible, you know that? I knew this dress would flatter you, your curves, however I could have never imagined it to look like this. You always wear such stuffy, loose clothing when you’re given the chance. No means to flaunt what is so desirable about you.” 

He outstretches hands to place on your waist, the touch of them sending shock up your spine as his touch feels so foreign to you. Any touch does, really. 

“Aww, what's that? Don’t tell me no one’s touched you like this before. Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” 

Fuck. 

“Uh.. no. no master anakin. This is uh, my first ever relationship, if you will.” 

A selfish and downright evil grin unabashedly covers his face at the sound of such things. That not only did he take you as his bride, but he took your first relationship. You were pure, starved of affection.

“Tch, what a shame that is. I would think boys would line up for a piece of you, princess.” 

His eyes trail down your body as his hands slowly move upward to your breasts, his hands softly cupping them as yellow eyes flick up back to your own to watch a reaction. Maintaining eye contact with you as he begins to massage them, slowly toying with them as you bite back any sort of unconscious response your body would have to such a foreign feeling. 

“Aw, come on now my doll, no need to hold back with me hm? No one has ever touched you like this before have they, I know it must feel nice. Look me in my eyes.” 

The thin fabric along your breast allows friction to your nipples that accentuates the feeling of his touch upon you. You’re not supposed to like it, but there's something irresistible about the feeling he gives you-- something you can't control. 

His fingers move to the center of your breast, moving small circles around your nipples as he watches your face for reaction, searching for the contortion of your eyebrows and the closing of your eyes at the feeling of his friction. He wanted to break you, make you grow desperate for his touch. He got off seeing you melt in his hands, an untouched body waiting to be used by him. 

A small moan escapes your mouth unconsciously as you’re unable to hold it in anymore, the feeling of him massaging you feels less like a violation and more like pleasure as the minutes pass, and as that happens a pool of slick begins to grow between your thighs as you keep eye contact with him, dark yellow eyes loom over your as brown waves softly fall to the front of his face, the tan of his skin growing more desirable as contrasted with the pink of his lips. As he made you so vulnerable for him in this position, the undeniable attraction that resided within his merciless body became evermore apparent. 

At the sound of your approval of his touch he slowly lets off of it, leaving you feeling bare and needy for more. 

“That's it, good girl. Now take that dress off.” 

“What?” 

“I don't wish to repeat myself again-- take that dress off.” 

“Y…yes master anakin.” 

Every inch of your body is screaming with sensitivity at the sight of such an exposing display. Anakin watched as the hairs stood up on your body, slowly as you disrobed yourself. The slipping of arms out of lace detailed sleeves sent shivers up your spine as the embarrassment of being watched overtook you. Slowly unzipping the back of your dress, allowing your body to shake loose it's tight curves on you and fall upon the floor with an airy landing, you stand before him in just what you wore beneath. Laced white underwear, matched with a laced white bra. 

Anakin circles you, once more with hands held behind his back as he studies your body, remaining perfectly still do you allow him all he needs to be able to take in everything you are. 

“I made a good decision deciding to wed you. Beneath those rags you wore I couldn't quite tell but now, now I know it was the right choice princess.” 

You watch as his eyes grow dark, hooded with lust as a smirk overtakes him. His fingers slowly make their way to your waist, feeling a hard leathered hand on one side and a calloused fingers on another as he makes his way up your naked body, sliding upward as he grips onto your breasts and watches the way they fall into his hand. His free hand snakes to the back of your bra, unclasping it as he watches them fall out of their hold. 

“Bend over. On that table for me.” 

He motions to a nearby table sized at around your waist. 

“Yes, master.” 

Eagerness seeps from your voice as his touch upon you grows more and more desired. The feeling of his attraction to your body becomes what weakens your knees as the sight of the unknown grows more enticing. Perhaps it was his brainwashing finally working, the desire to please him becoming genuine priority for you, or perhaps it was primal attraction to being used. Being his doll. 

You do as you're told, and as your exposed chest and stomach are pressed against the cool metal of the table, you feel as the cold air within the room hits the wet spot in now exposed underwear and makes you feel exposed. 

Anakin's hands reach out to feel your ass, toying with it in his hands with a heavy grip-- spreading it apart before slipping off thin underwear that kept him from seeing you entirely. You felt the slick of your excitement drip down the side of your exposed thigh as your underwear dragged along your legs to fall onto the floor. 

“Oh doll, is this all because of me? And here I was thinking you didn't like this. What a little tease, pretending like you don't want me while hiding this from me the whole time. What a slut.” 

A hand slaps an exposed cheek. The sting seeps into your nerves with masochistic pleasure, you weakly hold back a whimper. 

“Does this slut like being spanked around? You said you’ve never been with anyone but you still loved to be fucking used.” 

He slaps you again. 

“Spread your legs for me.” 

You obliged, and as the cool air hits your exposed fold you hear the drop of heavy fabric from behind you. You turn your head to see him, though heavy hand shoves your head back into the metal table; 

“I didn't say you could look at me, did I? Be a good toy and let me do what I wish without distraction.” 

You feel his cock touch your entrance and your breath hitches. Slowly he coats it with your slick as he feeds it in and out of your folds, feeling his tip hit a sensitive clit made your hips buck at the feeling. 

After small strokes along your clit he brings himself back to your entrance, penetrating you for the first time with little regard for how it may hurt for you. Not going too fast, but keeping a steady pace as he shoved himself deep into your cervix and making you yelp at the pain. 

“T..too big… please master..” 

A hand grips onto your hair, pulling you back so he can curve his body over yours, and whisper within your ear; 

“Keep your fucking whining for me baby, I love hearing how much it hurts.” 

And with that he keeps pumping into you, using your hair and waist to hold himself as he uses your hole like it's just a toy. Feeling him pulse inside of you at every sound of cried and yelps for how he slaps into you, echoing in the room sounds of moaning and grunts, wordless begging to go slow and the sound of him fucking into you. 

Though soon the pain turned into unimaginable pleasure, and your desperate attempts to make him slow down were exchanged for the feeling of your hips riding out his thrusts to amplify their intensity inside of you. 

“Feels…sogood.. Master..” 

“Yeah, my pretty toy finally likes my cock inside her hm?” 

He taunts you, teases you the whole time he’s inside of you. Fucking you in and out he calls you his toy, his slut, everything that you are he owns and is but an object to him. His words make a fire burn inside your stomach, white hot does it blaze as he goes faster inside of you with no sign of stopping. 

“God.. Anakin, master I, i'm.,.” 

You can't put together the words to say it, every word interrupted by a moan of desperation as you try and think while your body is completely enveloped by the feeling of him, completely ruined at the way he used you. You were his, and his alone you realized. 

“Are you going to cum? Cum for me you fucking slut, let it swallow my cock.” 

He increases his speed, your body falling up and down the top of the table as he rocks you back and forth with his intensity, and after only a few more strokes you feel your body convulsing over his cock. Legs growing weak and shaking and they’re barely able to hold themselves up anymore do you feel him keep pumping into you through your orgasm, his cock pulsing inside of you as your walls tighten around it. 

“God, fuck good girl, you’re so fucking tight for me i'm-” 

As your orgasm dies his begins, feeling liquid shoot deep inside of you for what seemed like an eternity, his cock warmed inside your pussy as he rode out the pulses of his seed in slow strokes in and out of you. Watching as he finally exited you and pools of his finish slowly seeped out of you and onto the floor. 

Before you could even properly adjust yourself, you heard as Anakin reapplied his fallen clothes and was headed for the door. 

“I will call for the maids to come clean you up.” 

… 

The day of the wedding had arrived shortly after, and you watched as the trumpets began to blair with a cacophony of sound to signify your descent upon the path to the rest of your life. Anakin stood at attention far at the end of white coated floors littered with different flowers, surrounded by the high emperors of the galactic empire as well as the front row full of your own people. You felt numb, broken. There was no fear left inside of you as you descended the rows, clad in beautiful white lace as the onlookers watched in awe. You felt nothing, watching Anakin at the end of the walk flanked by groomsmen he cared nothing about, and you soon to be flanked by bridesmaid you knew nothing of. Only a sick smile coated his face as he was drenched in black robes once more, watching you approach him with grace.

The ceremony began, a large beckoning exclamation filled the room as the looks of horror upon your peoples faces made you only avert your gaze. 

“You may kiss the bride.” 

Anakin's lips met yours, it was the first time he was to have kissed you. And the first of many he would use to remind you of your place, his hands folded to hold yours did you feel strings upon his fingers that held onto you like a marionette to a puppet. 

You watched as he let up from your lips, a cacophony of cheers erupts from the crowd as the only thing you can focus on is him, the whisper he lets out that only you can hear. 

“Til death do us part, my doll.” 

[thesassypadawan]

Feel The Force (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: It’s May the Fourth and what better way to spend it than with your big dork of a boyfriend, the dark lord himself, Hayden! Even though you two aren’t able to see each other all that much during the day…you still manage to squeeze in some quality time to ‘feel the force’.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Bad puns, public sex, up against the wall, and, as always… Hayden’s big, fat dick.

Notes: May The Fourth Be With You! 🖤❤️

- It was May the Fourth, one of your absolute favorite holidays!

- What better way to celebrate it than at a con. Rocking your FemObi cosplay. Surrounded by fellow nerds, who are just as passionate about the franchise as you are. And, of course, with your big dork of a boyfriend, the original moody teen from Tatooine, Hayden.

- Despite not being able to see each other all that much during the event. You two still manage to squeeze in some quality time here and there. Which typically involves Hay showing how ‘wizard’ he thinks the most recent addition to your costume is. A pair of black booty shorts with ‘I Only Date Sith Lords’ printed perfectly across one of your cheeks.

- As the day goes on though, your ‘negotiation talks’ become more and more ‘aggressive’. And, soon enough, he’s dragging you off to a somewhat deserted hallway in the con center. Begging you to let him show you his ‘lightsaber skills’.

- “Hay, we’re going to get caught,” you giggle. Shrugging off your cloak and handing it to him, just like he asked.

- Quickly he pulls it on, flashing you one of those damn smiles. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to muffle all those cute sounds of yours. Think you manage that?”

- Biting your bottom lip, you nod excitedly. Tugging impatiently at the cloak, wrapping it around you both.

- “That’s, my good little padawan,” he chuckles. Backing you against the wall, shrugging down a bit to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Big hands resting on your hips; squeezing and kneading them gently.

- Moaning softly, your fingers get to work. Frantically unbuttoning and unzipping, pushing his jeans just far enough to free his rock-hard cock. “Someone’s eager for the fun to begin.”

- “Can’t help it,” he groans. Yanking at and helping you slip out of those wonderful shorts. That are hurriedly stuffed into his hoodie pocket, most likely not to be returned until the end of con. “Want more.”

- “Ah uh, you know you shouldn’t,” you tease. Leg hiking up onto his hip, the other balancing precariously on your tiptoes. While your hand fumbles to shift your panties off to the side.

- Still having to crouch a bit, Hayden lines himself up. Fat head prodding at your soaked entrance, he growls low in your ear. “Oh well, I was never the jedi I should be.” Before thrusting forward, burying himself inside your tight pussy.

- You press your face in his neck, trying to cover up your sobs from feeling that familiar burning ache. Teeth nipping at his shoulder as he starts pounding up into you, splitting you open so deliciously.

- For as much of a hot mess as you’re becoming, he’s fairing no better. Panting above you with every pump of his impressive length, hand firmly gripping your thigh. “W-when I’m around you…m-my mind is no longer my own. It’s al-always a muddle…can only t-think of you.”

- Those words, coupled with his long fingers desperately circling your clit; aid in speeding your release along. Making you clench hard around him, head tipping back while you mewl out loudly. “Kriff! Gonna…gonna…”

- Bending, he leans his forehead against yours. His blue eyes blown wide with lust; lips curled in a smirk. “You grow too aggressive. Be mindful.”

- Picking up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You barely manage to gasp out, “I…I lo-love you,” before the pleasure overtakes you. Tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, whole body clamping down on him. While you completely and totally go crashing over the edge.

- “I know,” he grunts. Bucking into you one last time, reaching his peak too. Filling you with rope after rope of hot, sticky cum.

- Mouths melding to stifle the noise coming from both of you. Bodies trembling against one another, riding out your aftershocks together. Utterly oblivious to the slow, steady stream of con attendees filtering out of the nearby panel room.

- It isn’t until you pull your head back that you notice how packed the hallway has become. Letting out a small squeak of surprise, you tense up. Walls giving an involuntary flutter, fists scrambling to pull the cloak around you two tighter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

- Hayden on the other hand… Realizing your predicament, a smug look crosses his face. Cock twitching in interest, hardening again. Hips start to rock as he leans in more, muttering. “Relax. Just feel the force overflowing inside of you…trickling down your leg, onto the floor.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[ddejavvu]

pairing: darth vader x reader

summary: vader's prosthetic limbs are strong

cw: power imbalance, smut, toxic relationship (it's literally darth vader), manhandling, mentions of bruising, everything is consensual but it probably shouldn't be, don't like don't read.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Vader's prosthetic limbs are strong. They're, by design, inhuman, and their fixture uses them to their fullest potential. You have permanent sore spots on your biceps from being hauled around by the dark lord, he puts you wherever he pleases.

"Stay here." He orders, his hand clamped tightly around your arm as he muscles you into one of the in-progress death star's many confinement cells, cold and gray, "It is not safe to roam while my master is here."

And when he retrieves you upon Palpatine's departure, he wakes you with that same rough hand on your arm, hauling you up off of the sleeping shelf and hustling you down the hall, carrying all of your weight with that one singular hand while your tired limbs frenzy to catch up.

there have been several times where you thought he was going to crush your jaw. simply shatter the bone, disfigure your face as he pinches it between unforgiving metal digits.

"Where have you been?" He asks, holding your chin in his prosthetic hand, "You were meant to be inside your quarters by 1800 hours."

When you don't answer right away his fingers tighten around your face and you squirm, wondering if you'll have a bruise there tomorrow; a stinging pool of blood just beneath the skin that your lover managed to coax out.

He crushes your face the way he uses the Force to crush others' throats; you get the honor of physical contact.

He tightens and tightens and tightens until you think your teeth might crumble where they're smashed together, then you let out a muffled whimper to let him know you're ready to speak. Only then are you permitted to open your mouth, and you admit, "I went down to the lower levels."

Much like his once-home planet of Coruscant, the lower levels on the Death Star are nowhere Vader wants you.

"I have told you to stay away from there," He chides, sealing your mouth with his bruising grip once more, nearly chopping your tongue apart where it gets momentarily caught between your teeth, "There are things down there beyond your comprehension; Sith artefacts that could melt your feeble mind from the inside out - far less forgiving than I am. The next time you venture down to the lower levels will be your last, no matter if the artefacts kill you, or I do."

though his torso is still flesh and blood, his arms are all prosthetic. it means that while his hips are stationary beneath yours, his inhumanly strong arms are lifting you effortlessly off of his thighs and slamming you back down over his cock. He takes you on his throne, spread out like the lord he is; but only your body moves. He is stationed firmly in his seat, and you are the one that must writhe above him in hopes of your own pleasure. But you tire easily, and he's such a generous man. When the time comes for him to intervene he cements his metal hands on your sides, lifting and lowering in a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars for the force he uses.

He will deposit you in your quarters after you're fucked out and too tired to be useful anymore. You need sleep, so he hoists your body into his arms and you happily go limp in his grasp. He carts you down the sterile, desolate halls of his battle station and uses the Force to open the door to your sleeping chambers, bending at the waist to lay you down on the bed. Dark Lords do not tuck their subjects into bed, but he stands and looms over you until you tug the blanket over yourself.

"I will return at 1800 hours." He reports, cape billowing around his ankles as he strides towards the door, "I would like you to stay here until then. Do not disobey me."

[david-talks-sw]

I got a good feeling about "The Acolyte"

Not even kidding. Like, I've spoken before about why I'm wary of it.

George Lucas' Star Wars is something that intentionally has black and white morality, rather than shades of gray. Those movies are meant for kids and projecting a "gray" morality onto them then proclaiming it was George's vision all along is doing so in bad faith.

The narrative of the Prequels doesn't frame the Prequel Jedi in as negative a light as Leslye Headland, Dave Filoni, etc etc do.

See here for more details, but bottom line: yeah, a show that has a darksider as the underdog is bound to demonize the Jedi (who are the actual underdogs in the Prequels), and obviously that rubs me the wrong way.

BUT.

The trailer looks fucking cool. It really really does.

And more importantly? I've done some research... and Leslye Headland is ticking a lot of good boxes, in my book.

1. The Acolyte won't be a 10-hour movie.

I've criticized Disney Plus shows before, explaining that a big source for most of their issues is that these series are being structured as "long movies" rather than, y'know, actual shows.

But in this interview with Collider, Headland addresses that: it'll be a series. Not a long movie that you need to watch across four weeks.

Thank God. You have no idea how much that comforts me. Finally a showrunner who's, y'know, actually running a show.

And this goes hand in hand with what she told IGN, here, about how she's going about building suspense.

Yes! Exactly! That's how it's supposed to be!

Like, compare this to Baylan Skoll's storyline in Ahsoka.

In no possible way was that emotionally-fulfilling. For 8 episodes we had no idea what he was after, and the season ended where we still don't know. What does he want? What is he after? Your guess is as good as mine, it's something Mortis-related.

So yeah. Maybe getting the Emmy-nominated trained screenwriter on board to run this was a good idea.

2. Maybe the Jedi will not be as demonized as I originally thought.

Don't get me wrong. 80% of what she says about the Jedi makes me cringe. It's the typical fan's interpretation and y'all know I disagree with that interpretation.

It's painful to see her refer to the Jedi as an institution (not how the Prequels' narrative frames them) and to see her frame "Balance" in the "oh there's so many of them and just two Sith, that means the Force is out of balance" meaning... but at least she acknowledges the Jedi are a benevolent institution.

They're not an "elitist force hiding in their ivory tower" as others have described the Jedi.

Moreover, there'll be a variety of Jedi POVs, many personalities.

Yord Fandar, is described as a strictly by-the-book Jedi Knight and guardian from the Jedi Temple, is an overachiever and a rule follower.

The question now becomes: will the narrative frame him as "your typical Jedi" or is it just this one guy? I'm hoping it's the latter.

I also like how her reasoning goes re: Jedi drawing their lightsabers.

Which explains the hand-to-hand combat seen in the trailer.

This teenager is coming at Carrie-Ann Moss with a dagger, of course the Jedi won't draw her saber.

3. She's a fan of Star Wars... but a screenwriter first.

You can tell in the interviews she's a fan. She's using words like "BBY" and "EU" casually. In the above-linked interviews she's bringing up the Nightsisters, Timothy Zahn, The Clone Wars, she mentions she has a tattoo of Ralph McQuarrie's concept art of Leia, the High Republic books, etc.

She's done her homework. She's a fan.

But the vibe I'm getting from these interviews is that she's weaving in these various lore-elements in a more organic way, rather than in the "fan-servicey" way Dave Filoni has been doing in his shows.

The references and Easter Eggs will be there, but the narrative won't bend over itself just so you can get it. Crafting a good story comes first, and Andor is a beautiful illustration of why this is true.

Which is why I was never bothered about one of the writers never having watched Star Wars before getting the job. You need those fresh eyes when you're tackling something of this scale.

That makes sense to me. Maybe it's because of my own screenwriting experience, but yeah. That out-of-the box perspective is precious.

And like, obviously, that writer watched the films eventually, but for some reason everyone who bitched about Headland omitted that detail and opted for a more bad faith interpretation.

Hm. Wonder why.

Maybe it's the same reason that months ago this clipped audio circulated socials without context, in which she debates whether Star Wars only came from George Lucas and only Lucas is the key.

The FULL context of that interview reveals that she's actually:

debating the "autheur director" myth and positing that it was achieved by a collective of excellent filmmakers and craftspeople that George was skilled and smart enough to recruit...

the studios now think it's a simple as hiring one guy and throwing money at him, because they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. See Napoleon (2023) for example.

Yes, she also does a jab to the Prequels, which speaks to the generation of fans she's a part of... but overall she's giving Lucas props whilst also stating an ideological difference, that's it!

George is a proponent of the "autheur" theory, Leslye isn't.

However, guess what, in like half the talks George gave post-selling Star Wars? He's giving shoutouts to everyone who helped make the first film, even remembering their names.

So I'm not even sure he'd vehemently disagree with Leslye, in fact they'd prolly have a conversation about it and immediately bitch about how stupid studio executives are :D

But that's not as incendiary, is it? Again, the more I do the research, the more it feels like the reason most of these influencers are hating on her is purely sexist.

I mean, on IGN she's even acknowledging that she does plan on taking stock of fan reactions for Season 2.

It's not a guarantee that she'll incorporate the feedback, but at least that's more consideration than, say, JJ Abrams or Rian Johnson gave the fandom.

She's even bringing the moral ambiguity that the Gray Jedi-loving edge-lords love so much.

"No, she's a woke feminist! Anything she does is evil! Eww, girls!"

🙄

Needless to say... I'm gonna give it a shot.

I think it's gonna be a good show, I think it's gonna be a solid story.

I'm crossing my fingers that they won't as biased against the Jedi as it seems they'll be. Even if they are... if it's still an enjoyable experience, I'll gloss over it.

As @gffa states in this post:

Worst case? It's not a story from George. I can dismiss it from my headcanon without a moment's hesitation :D

[blackkatmagic]

Barriss Offee!

There are scrolls on bloodbending hidden deep in Archives, in the back areas restricted to senior padawans and above, where Madam Nu carefully monitors any withdrawals or changes to the catalogue.

Barriss hadn’t expected to actually find any, even knowing that the Jedi have studied plenty of other Sith bending variations. Something about this one just feels…different.

She stares down at the scroll, at the carefully-laid sketches of positions and stances, hand motions and foot placements. Some ancient Jedi wrote everything down so that the Order could combat the ability in the future, could recognize it. Not so that they could use it.

Barriss wants to use it, though. That’s the only reason that she’s here.

She hasn’t decided yet. Not really. But—the thought is there, tucked away in the back of her mind. The war is going badly, and so many millions of people are dead. So many millions of clones are dead. Barriss is a Healer, and she’s always wanted to be a Healer, but this isn't something she can fix by treating wounded, by patching up soldiers who end up on a pyre twelve hours later. Something needs to change, and the war needs to stop, and the how is getting harder and harder to care about.

Bloodbending will help. The Sith used to use it because its control makes it impossible for a target to use the Force. If Barriss has to do something drastic, the Jedi will try to stop her, so she needs a way to just…make sure they can't.

It doesn’t have to be permanent. She’s not going to kill Jedi. Just…keep them out of the way.

“Commander Offee?” a voice says in surprise, so sudden that it makes Barriss startle. She whirls around, heart in her throat, and freezes at the sight of clone armor, painted with blue like teardrops, battered in a way she hast seen before.

“Tup,” she says, startled, and takes a step forward with one hand already raised, the water pouch at her waist uncorking itself with a snap. “Are you all right? You look like you got dragged through a swamp.”

Tup smiles, maybe a little sheepish, putting a hand up to rub at his armor. “Umbara,” he says in explanation. “Does that count as a swamp?”

“With Master Kolar and Commander Faie to lead you through it? I would think so.” Barriss hesitates, then carefully tucks the scrolls under her arm and reaches out, water flowing up to cover her hand. When she brushes one of the deep scratches on Tup's cheek, the water shimmers, and Tup closes his eyes, leaning into the touch in a way that makes Barriss’s chest feel tight.

“I missed this,” Tup says, and he sounds…tired. Exhausted, like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Your healing. It’s—” He stops short, eyes flying open, and jerks back with red flushing his cheeks. “Sorry, Commander! I just meant—”

Barriss smiles, not able to help it. “It’s all right, Tup,” she says, pitched gentle. “Master Luminara is out with Master Gallia tonight, so I was a little lonely. Would you like to come back to our rooms and keep me company? I already made food.”

The relief Tup feels is heady and bright, and his smile almost matches it. “If I won't get in the way, sir. You're sure?” His gaze flickers down, to the worn old scrolls, and he hesitates. “If you were planning to study, I can just go back to the barracks.”

Barriss’s heart turns over, drops even as it accelerates. The wash of emotion is something like shame, or maybe terror, and she turns, shoves them back into their slot on the shelf before Tup can see the contents. Adrenaline makes her feel shaky, like she’s been caught, and it flickers for an instant, an image of horror on Tup's face if he found out. They met in the aftermath of a bad mission, with a Sith ghost who still had a trace of her old power, and Tup had been so scared of that ability.

Bloodbending is useful, but—if Tup finds out, Barriss can imagine his reaction, and it makes shame twist tight in her stomach.

“Just distracting myself,” she says quickly, turning back. “Master Luminara didn’t leave me any preparation work for the next mission, so I was just poking around in here. Shall we go?”

Tup smiles, and—it’s probably only because he’s so tired that Barriss gets away with the lie. “If you're sure, Commander. I was dreaming about those cakes you made the whole time we were deployed. I think I stayed alive just for those.”

There’s a knot in Barriss’s throat, but she still manages to smile. The traditional Mirialan sweets were a last-minute gift, something she was able to bring Tup right before he was released from medical. A small thing, but—

I stayed alive just for those.

One life, just a little bit brighter, even with the war raging. That’s something. It has to be.

“I’ll make a whole batch just for you,” she promises, and takes Tup's arm to lead him out of the Archives, leaving the bloodbending scrolls behind. At least for now.

[furious-blueberry0]

A gentle reminder that the "Balance of the Force" is not about the Light side and Dark side being equal.

It's about the Cosmic Force and the Living Force interacting with each other and giving life to the universe without being interrupted by people using them to bring destruction and death (something the Sith do).

The Jedi were not wrong to think that the prophecy was about destroying the Sith, because it is them who disturb the balance.

So, the dear Anakin, did not fulfill the prophecy by killing all the Jedi, leaving an "equal number of dark force users and light force users", he fulffilled it when he killed Palpatine and then died, eradicating all the Sith.

So no, the balance was not restored with the death of the Jedi, like i saw many claim, but with the death of the Sith, the selfish individuals who only bringed destruction and pain to the galaxy, who liked to bend the will of the Force to their liking, while completely ignoring the balance.

[wolfwrenweek]

What is WolfWren Week? Five days in November (Nov 6-10) dedicated to the relationship between Sabine Wren and Shin Hati from Ahsoka. Check out our About and Rules for more info. A detailed explanation of our daily themes can be found on our Prompts page and down below! Don't forget to tag your works with #wolfwrenweek and #wolfwrenweek2023 ♡

The below themes are intended to be used as inspiration for fandom creators participating in WolfWren Week. Each day has a unique motif and a corresponding collection of related prompts to pick from. You are welcome to use one or more prompts from within the same category for your creations.

NOV 6 devouring heavenly bodies | a day for possessive love. Biting, Blood, Scars, Wounds, Obsession, Jealousy, Rivalry, The Hunt, Murder

NOV 7 intricate rituals | a day for sacred acts. Courting, Body Worship, Sparring/Dueling, Makeup and Hair, Tattoos and Piercings, Collars and Restraints, Armor, Mandalorian Culture

NOV 8 between two lungs | a day for tender intimacy. Belonging, Domesticity, Cuddling, Dancing, Firsts, New Beginning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Only One Bed, Confessions, Force Bond, Found Family, Promise

NOV 9 howl of affection | a day for the spoken word. “Are you blushing?”, “Who did this to you?”, “Going somewhere?”, “Wait!”, “Who’s that?”, “Let me help you.”, “I hate you.” — “I know.”, “I can help you.”, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

NOV 10 dreams and madness | a day for bending reality. Sith AU, Flower Shop & Tattoo Artist AU, Clone Wars AU, Role Reversal AU, Band/Musician AU, Modern Day AU, Medieval AU, Soulmate AU, Imperial Academy AU, Time Travel AU, Padawans AU, Werewolf AU

While you are encouraged to use the prompts shared as inspiration, they are not mandatory. If you have a concept for something you really want to make that does not fit any of these, you are still welcome to participate during the event week!

[lovelybucky1]

Join Me (Darth Vader x Reader)

warnings: dark themes, gender neutral! reader, unburnt vader (still wears the suit), violence, weapons, mentions of death, corruption, manipulation, sexual tension, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

This is humiliating. A Jedi, a warrior of your status, should not be sprawled across the floor in front of your sworn enemy. The two stormtroopers that brought you to Darth Vader’s chamber stand above you, looking down at where you landed when they threw you. You’re not sure how Vader’s forces managed to capture you so quickly. You have a feeling your fate will be similar to those of the remaining Jedi that have attempted to face Lord Vader: a cruel and brutal death.

Nevertheless, you lay on your stomach, hands cuffed with force-blocking bonds behind your back, and your legs rest uselessly behind you. You strain your neck to keep your head up, not wanting to give your captors to see you in such a state of defeat.

The Dark Lord looms over you from this high-backed throne. The room is dark with a fully black interior, but somehow his suit stands out from the void that seemingly engulfs you.

“Leave us,” Vader commands the storm troopers, his modulated voice bone chilling in the otherwise silent room. The stormtroopers turn and walk out of the chamber, their boots clicking loudly on the smooth tile floor.

As soon as you heard the heavy doors shut, the reality of your situation set in. You’re alone without a weapon or the use of the force with the most brutal Sith lord in the galaxy. You were helpless, and the only thing you can do is pray Vader will be merciful and kill you quickly.

“Your thoughts are loud, Jedi,” he says, sitting motionless on his throne.

You stare back into the black voids of his helmet’s eyes. You know the mask must be to hide some hideous deformity, but even the slightest bit of expression in the dark lord’s face would bring you some comfort.

You refuse to speak to him, but it clearly doesn’t matter since he can hear your thoughts, despite you trying to keep your walls up.

“I can feel your fear.”

Your brows furrow as you continue to look up at him from your position on the ground. You don’t mean to make your fear so obvious, but you can’t help it. You’re at the mercy of a monster who has killed many of your fellow Jedi, wiped out planets, and has disrupted peace in the entire galaxy.

“But it is not just fear, is it, Jedi?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting your choice of words.

“Hatred,” he says plainly.

This time you stay silent. You don’t feel hatred. Are you angry with Darth Vader for ruining the lives of you and your friends? Yes. Are you angry at the empire for oppressing beings across the galaxy? Of course. Do you resent this war and wish you could live a regular life? Sure, everyone does. Do you wish the Jedi order wasn’t so restrictive? Occasionally. But none of what you feel is hate.

“You’re wrong,” you hiss.

“You don’t hate me?” Vader has the audacity to ask.

“Hate is not the Jedi way,” you respond.

Silently, Vader rises from his throne and descends the stairs. His black boots echo throughout the chamber as Vader approaches you. The feeling of dread grows even colder in your stomach, and you begin to shake as he nears.

Vader stops an arm’s length in front of you, and from your position, all you can see is the top of his heavy boots and the thick material of his pants. Outside of your vision, Vader reaches for you. He bends to bury his gloved hand in your hair and tugs, pulling you up from the ground. You yelp at the grip on your hair, and you scramble to get your knees underneath you to take some of the tension off of your scalp.

Now you kneel before Darth Vader, and he has just proved that it requires little effort to move you. You look up at him with newfound anger that stems from the humiliation of being manhandled. Your eyes are glassy with tears, not from emotion, but as an involuntary response from the pulling of your hair.

“Cowardice is not the Jedi way, either,” Vader says.

His hand is still tight in your hair, though there is much less pain. You shake your head, trying to get him to let go, but his hold is unwavering.

“I’m not a coward,” you hiss. You wish you could access the force; you would throw this sick bastard across the room and- no, that’s not the Jedi way.

“Yet you tremble before me.”

You narrow your eyes as you look at him, feeling intimidated by the lack of emotion but you keep your gaze steady.

“I don’t hate, Vader.”

The dark helmet tilts to the side, just barely. That is the only sign of emotion, of life, that he has given this whole time.

“No?” he asks. “Even after everyone you hold dear perished at the hands of my army? Can your heart remain pure after suffering so much loss? Pain leads to anger, and anger leads to hate. I feel more pain in you than any of your fellow soldiers combined.”

You wish desperately that you were able to grasp the force to block Vader from your mind, but without it, every aspect of your mind is exposed to him.

“There’s no part of you that wants revenge? To kill me after you heard the symphony of your fellow younglings screaming? To destroy the empire for all of the pain it’s brought you?”

Fresh tears now stream down your face, this time from the painful memories Vader is forcing you to relive. You want to break free from these cuffs, you want to fight back, but you’re trapped. You do the only thing you can think to do to show your defiance, even as you weep on your knees. You tilt your chin up as much as you can and spit, landing it on the cheek of Vader’s helmet.

It feels as if time froze as soon as the wad of spit made contact. Vader stood completely still, not even breathing for unnaturally long, as you were forced to stay just as still as he was.

Slowly, Vader reaches up with his free hand and grasps the underside of his helmet. Your spit has run down the front of the mask and his gloves glisten as he pushes up the helmet. Vader slowly reveals the face underneath, and to your surprise, he is not hideous. In fact, he’s handsome.

Behind the emotionless helmet, Vader is a young man with chestnut hair, smooth skin save for a scar over his eye, and piercing bronze eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you look at the Sith lord, suddenly feeling conflicting emotions as the face of evil was just humanized.

Vader drops his helmet on the tile floor next to you, and the loud bang echoes through the chamber, making you flinch.

“You’re surprised,” Vader says, now in a non-altered voice. His voice is smooth, completely unlike his deep, robotic voice you knew.

“This is not what I was expecting,” you say, voice sounding weak to your own ears.

“My appearance?” he asks.

“Your mercy.”

Vader raises his eyebrows. “You will not get mercy from me.”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” you respond.

You’re not sure why you’re speaking to him this way. He is the same man who killed millions, some of those your brothers in arms, and many more innocent lives. He is the same ruthless, evil monster as he was with the mask on, yet he seems much less intimidating like this.

“I have no use for a Jedi corpse. I want you alive.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him, tears slowly stopping.

“Alive for what?”

“You have great power, little one,” he says, gaze intense.

Vader releases his grip on your hair, but remains close. The features of his suit feel out of place without the helmet. The control panel lead you to believe he was more machine than man, but from what you can see, Vader is just as human as you are.

“I was like you once,” Vader says, speaking again after your lack of response.

“We are nothing alike,” you bite.

“Ambitious, emotional, powerful… All things the Jedi order attempts to train out of their young, but a certain few, like you and I, knew better. You didn’t let them crush your spirit and turn you into a docile, supposed peacekeeper like the rest of them.”

Vader started off calm, but as he continued denouncing the Jedi teachings, his tone became more bitter and resentful.

“I have no complaints about my teachings,” you say, lifting your chin in defiance.

“You never had thoughts that your master told you were inappropriate? Things that felt perfectly natural, but somehow were wrong?” This time, Vader’s question is not rhetorical.

“I mean… I guess.”

“And weren’t you just a little bit angry that your feelings were dismissed so quickly without even an ounce of explanation as to why?”

“Because emotions and attachments aren’t the Jedi way.”

“But you were a child. No child can put aside their emotions for some ‘greater good’ that they have never seen nor could begin to understand.”

Vader pauses his sermon to crouch down, now meeting you at your eye level. His gaze is heavy, and you don’t want to show weakness by looking away, but you find it difficult to hold his eyes.

“I lived a life of pain, just as you have. I was born a slave, and only freed to be taken in by the Jedi, where my bonds were even tighter. I led thousands of men to their death in an unwinnable war, my mother was murdered by savage creatures, and my only love died as a result of the Jedi’s foolish restrictions.”

You swallow the thick lump in your throat so you can attempt to speak. Vader being vulnerable with you like this makes you feel uncomfortable, like you need to jump up and run as far as possible. He is a monster, not a grieving man. He’s not like you.

“You’re tired of hurting, aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t want to respond, you don’t want to give him what he desires, but you can’t help yourself. The pain is suffocating and you desperately wish to escape it.

“Yes,” you confess breathily.

Vader looks at you for a moment. He doesn’t smile thankfully, because you would find that even more unnerving. No, he looks at you with pity like you’re a hurt animal.

“I can make your pain go away.” You perk up at that. You know he must be lying, the Sith are known for their silver tongues that tell you exactly what you want to hear, but the idea of a life free from suffering intrigues you. “I can help you access great power that will rid you of anguish.”

Vader shifts so he is kneeling in front of you, mirroring your position save for the cuffs holding your hands. He places his gloved hands on your shoulders and holds them tightly. You lean into the strong, warm touch, feeling conflicted as you regard his offer.

“I was like you once, little one. Broken, scared, forced into weakness by the Jedi. But then I was shown a new path; one of great power and purpose. Now I hurt no more.”

This all feels too good to be true. You want to believe what Vader says is true, that he can take away your pain and make you as powerful as you have always wanted to be, but your master’s voice rings in the back of your mind. Don’t give into temptation. The Sith lie, manipulate, and go to great lengths to corrupt the light. Evil is stronger than good, but great power leads you down a path of destruction.

“I will not hear these lies any longer, Vader,” you say, finally regaining your compassion.

Vader blinks for a moment, seemingly surprised at your change of tone.

“I tell nothing but the truth. I can save you.”

“I am loyal to the Jedi order.”

Vader sighs, jaw tensing, and he rises to his feet, again looming over you.

“I was being merciful as you requested, and gave you some semblance of a choice, but you will join me.”

“I would rather die than join you!” you yell.

Vader’s chin tilts just slightly. He uses the force to bring the remote that controls your cuffs to him, then unlocks them. You look up at him, confused and hesitant when your bonds fall away.

“You would die for your precious order?” he asks.

“Without question,” you say firmly as you rise to your feet, kicking the cuffs aside.

Vader reaches down to his hip and pushes his cape back, revealing two lightsabers. One is yours, and the other must be his. He tosses your lightsaber to you and you catch it with ease, immediately activating the blade and holding it between you and the Sith lord.

He activates his own lightsaber, the red blade illuminating his face and mixing with the blue of yours, casting a mix of purple light through the dark room.

“What are you waiting for, Jedi?” he asks.

Without further hesitations, you run towards Vader and swing your lightsaber at his torso, but he blocks it with ease. You take a few more swings, each from different angles, but they all are deflected. Surprisingly, Vader does not take any offensive maneuvers and only blocks each of your attacks. You move forward and slowly back Vader against the wall, almost cornering him, and you find yourself growing increasingly frustrated with his lack of engagement in the battle.

“Fight back, you coward!” you yell as you being your saber slashing down.

“Is that truly what you want?” Vader asks, pushing against your lightsaber with his.

“Unlike you,” you grunt, “I don’t take pleasure in an opponent who does not attempt to fight.”

There is a ghost of a smirk on Vader’s lips as he pushes you off of him with his saber. You stumble back, but quickly regain your footing and advance on him again. This time, however, Vader attacks. A whirlwind of red light swings around your head, and you instinctively block his attempted jab.

Vader’s fighting style is fast, acrobatic, and unlike anything you’ve faced in training or battle. His slices come quick, and combined with the distractions of his jumps and spins, it makes it difficult to battle him.

You swing your saber at his neck, but he ducks his head just in time to dodge getting his head cut off. While Vader is low to the ground, he sweeps his saber at your ankles, but you managed to jump, kicking him in the shoulder in the process.

He stumbles back and fails to catch himself. He sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of him as you run towards him. He is surprisingly skilled at fight from the ground, but he doesn’t expect a kick to the hand instead of a stab with your saber. His lightsaber falls from his hand and clatters across the floor. Before he could get to it, you pick it up.

Now with two sabers and a defenseless Vader, you have the upper hand. He moves to stand, but you trap his head between crossed blades while he’s on his knees. You pause, staring down at the Sith lord as your chest heaves with exertion. Vader does not look afraid, nor angry. He looks pleased.

“You want to kill me,” Vader speaks, showing no signs of the battle that just occurred.

“I sure would like to,” you say between panting breaths.

“Then do it.” You’re shocked. You have the most feared man in the galaxy on his knees in a compromising position, and he’s telling you to kill him. “Kill me, Jedi. I feel your anger, your pain, your hatred. Succumb to your desires; kill me and free the galaxy.”

Your hand twitch. You want to kill Vader, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed by the morality that was ingrained into you as a child.

“Kill me!” Vader shouts.

You don’t notice that you’re crying until hot tears drip down amd absorb into the front of your robe. You hate that you’re showing such weakness in front of Vader, but you can’t help yourself.

“You’re weak,” Vader says as he rises to his feet, unfazed by the weapons at his neck. “You’re a coward. A pathetic excuse for a soldier.”

Vader wrenches both sabers out of your hands and throws yours across the room. He stalks towards you, lightsaber at his side while he insults you. You walk backwards as he comes closer, not wanting to let him near to kill you.

“You didn’t even have the strength to do what you knew needed to be done. You could have saved the galaxy, but you were too scared to take a life,” Vader seeths.

You take another step back, but instead of your foot landing on the tile, you trip on Vader’s discarded helmet, rolling your ankle and falling to the floor. You cry out in pain and attempt to get up, but you cannot find the strength as Vader steps closer.

His boot kicks his helmet out of the way with a loud bang what makes you whimper in fear. Your palms scrabble against the floor to slide back, making you look even more pathetic than you surely already do. To your horror, directly behind you is the chamber wall. You have no where to go, no weapon, barely any strength, and Vader has the high ground.

“Look at you, helpless little Jedi,” Vader muses. “Why don’t you call on the force to help you? Or is it not strong enough to beat me?”

Your blood feels ice cold in your veins as Vader stares down at you. You know you should attempt to fight, to die honorary, but you don’t want to suffer.

“Just kill me,” you choke out.

“I told you, I have no use for your corpse. You will join me.”

“I won’t,” you say, voice weak.

With an aggravated grunt, Vader throws his lightsaber across the room, then grips the collar of your robe with both hands to haul you to your feet. He presses your back against the wall and you flinch, preparing for him to hit you. Instead, he places both palms on either side of your head. For a moment, nothing happens. You are just about to aks him what he’s doing to you when you’re hit with a flood of euphoria.

A hot, almost burning sensation fills your body and warms the ice in your veins. Your limbs go limp and you would have collapsed to the floor if Vader wasn’t holding you. A small moan leaves your lips as you feel a sense of newfound strength in your body, something that you have never felt in all of your years training with the force.

“What-” you trail off, finding it difficult to construct a sentence in this state.

“Do you feel the power, little one?” Vader says, voice low since he is so close.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“All of this could be yours. You could feel this all the time. You will never hurt again.”

You want it. This pleasure, this fullness, this contentment you haven’t felt since you were young. In this moment, all reason escapes you as you bask in the warms that Vader is providing.

Then, in a flash, everything is cold once again. Vader lets go of you and you side down the wall in a crumple. You whimper as you try to move, but you’re weak and tired once again.

“Please,” you croak, looking up at Vader.

“That’s the power of the dark side. Too bad you’re too devoted to your code to reach your full potential,” Vader says before turning on his toe, cape swishing through the air as he walks away from you.

You can’t let him leave. You had a taste of what you’ve always wanted and you can’t deny it any longer. You want to be powerful, free, and maybe for the first time in a long time, happy.

“Wait!” Vader pauses mid-step but does not turn to face you. “I… I want it.”

Anxiety builds inside you as Vader remains motionless. Just as you’re about to plead with him, he turns around.

“What do you want?”

“Power,” you whisper like it’s a shameful secret.

Vader begins to walk towards you, the same stalking action, yet you feel less scared this time.

“Will you abandon your affilation with the Jedi?” he asks.

You hesitate to answer. You know it’s wrong, you took a vow, but you had spent your life doing selfless acts. Maybe it’s time to be selfish for once.

“Yes.”

Vader grins. It’s not a kind smile, far from it. It’s sharp, predatory, and makes your skin crawl.

“You shall be my apprentice,” Vader says, extending a hand to help you from the ground. When you reach your feet, Vader holds you close by your waist. It’s almost intimate, the distance between your faces, but you feel as if it’s more of a display of dominance than anything. “I will train you to use the dark side, and I’ll help you break all of those habits the Jedi ingrained in you.”

“I want to feel it again,” you confess.

“And you will, little one, in due time. I can only give you so much; it is your duty to harness it yourself.”

You sigh and nod your head. “I understand… master.”

It feels foreign in your mouth, to call someone else, a Sith lord, master, but the word makes Vader grin again.

“The dark side will give you great strength. It may be frightening at first, to unlock your full potential, but I guarantee you will become just as powerful as I. Together, we will rule the galaxy.”

Your heart skips at that. Thinking that the entire galaxy would be yours to do what you please with, the power that would come with that. It was every shameful dream come true.

“I vow to follow you, Master Vader. I want to learn to be as powerful as you.”

Vader’s grip on your waist tightens and he tugs you just a bit closer. Your chest is pressed against the hard, cold metal of the panel on his chest, and you feel so small in his embrace.

“Why don’t we start with our first lesson,” Vader suggests.

“What is it?” you ask curiously, eager to get even a taste of that heat once again.

“I want you to learn to indulge in all of those desires you have spent your life denying,” he says, voice low and gravely. You furrow your brows, confused. “I sense your lust, little one. I do not think it shameful; Sith must access their passion.”

You nod in understanding, but remain still, uncertain what to do.

“Allow me to show you,” Vader says.

His hands press your body against his and he leans his head down. His eyes are closed and his lips move to cover yours. You whimper in surprise, but you allow yourself to stay pliant. He kisses you, gently at first, but it quickly turns heated. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you part them to allow him access. He devours you, kissing you like he’s claiming you as his own and in a way, he is.

You two finally part after what feels like an eternity. You’re breathless, but Vader seams unfazed, except for his eyes, which are more black than amber now. His lips shine with spit, and you’re certain yours look the same.

“I sense great potential in you, my apprentice,” Vader says with a sharp grin.

In the back of your mind, you’re ashamed that you succumbed to the dark, allowed yourself to be corrupted. But at the same time, Lord Vader can show you things you weren’t even permitted to dream of with the Jedi.

“Thank you, Master. I will not disappoint you.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. A former Jedi turned apprentice to the face of evil in the galaxy.

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