#traitor inquisitorius

[animatedjen]

hey Jen how's Traitor Inquisito— I'm making my own cutscenes help

#listen i had after effects open for a work project and was playing with the tracking / rotoscoping tools #overall the edit is still STRUGGLING but we're getting there #story is mostly finished and filming is about 80% done #never ever let me use mods for a Survivor video ever again #project updates #jedi survivor #cal kestis #traitor inquisitorius

[aaeeart]

I feel guilty about this one :')

Wanna read something evil? Read the fanfic under the cut!

New addition from the Inquisitor Kanan AU, this one is from Fortress Inquisitorius and will have some unsettling stuff (Fallen Order and Rebels were mean to captured Jedi and so am I), like you know, torture. Just fyi if you don't approve, don't read 😄 I'm posting these excerpts randomly so far - no reading order yet, take it or leave it >:)

But for some quick info, you know what this is, the jedi gets snatched, Empire is mean, the jedi is sad.

Kanan flinched awake, a dream in his head quickly dissipating leaving behind confusion and a gradual understanding. He was in a dimly lit cell in an uncomfortable interrogation chair he had occupied since his arrival at Fortress Inquisitorius. Still bound from his chest to legs, still just as much hopeless as he has been before he finally fell asleep.

His gaze fixed on the opposing wall, his features contorting as he struggled to control the tightness in his facial muscles that lingered from the fading dream. Though the specifics eluded him, he could recall the Ghost and his crew engaged in conversation, a stark contrast to his current reality. The dream had offered a temporary respite, only to further accentuate his misery upon waking.

Lost in his thoughts of the elusive fantasy, Kanan became aware of another presence only when the purge trooper made a sharp movement to his right. The trooper stood by the red barrier, assuming a stance that suggested he was surely due to be changing shifts soon.

A mischievous grin formed on Kanan’s face as he spoke, his voice laced with mockery and a touch of wonder.

„You know,“ he taunted, relishing in the opportunity to undermine the trooper’s intimidating facade, „I’ve encountered more fearsome guards at a droid spa. Straight backs and all that, you know?“ The trooper’s shoulder twitched in response to the prisoner’s remark, prompting him to adopt a more rigid and militaristic pose. Kanan chuckled inwardly, thoroughly amused by the trooper’s reaction. „Honestly, they'll have anyone guarding important people these days, wouldn’t you agree?“

Seething with anger, the trooper clenched his fist, but before he could formulate a retort, an urgent beeping emanated from his wrist com. The trooper’s helmet crackled with a distorted voice demanding his presence elsewhere. Casting a – Kanan imagined a resentful glare on his undoubtedly ugly face – at the jedi, the trooper reached for his belt pocket and deactivated the red barrier with his key card, leaving Kanan alone once more.

In the ensuing solitude, Kanan took a deep breath, attuning his senses to the surrounding environment. Though meditation proved challenging within these confines, it still offered a means to gather strength and fortify his resolve. As he struggled to calm his racing thoughts, a traitorous voice whispered in his mind, sowing seeds of doubt and despair.

"Hera didn't come for you," the voice insidiously murmured. Kanan bit his lip, determined to silence the treacherous inner dialogue. "They left you," the voice persisted, its relentless persistence threatening to erode his resolve. Frowning, Kanan pushed back against the voice, "I'm at peace with my choice." he whispered to himself and let the bubbling anger cool off. "They're safe. They're alive."

The truth of his words resonated within him. He knew deep down that he would feel it if something had befallen his crew. Besides, the Grand Inquisitor would undoubtedly relish in taunting him with such information. The Inquisitor rarely left the moon anymore, especially not since a few days ago, when apparently Lord Vader himself gave his dark side puppets the order to break their new toy.

It turned out a new jedi came to Lothal. Ahsoka Tano. The realization brought a mix of glee and apprehension. Ahsoka was a legend among the padawans, Kanan recalled, the student of Anakin Skywalker.

He supposed it only made sense she survived the Purge. She left the jedi order near the end of the war.

"Fulcrum," the Grand Inquisitor had revealed during a previous encounter, his words still reverberating in Kanan's memory. "She is the one you've been receiving orders from." The revelation had shocked Kanan.

He spent so much time thinking he was the sole survivor and yet...

"You really didn't know," the Grand Inquisitor chuckled. "How dissapointing. And how inconsiderate of your captain, don't you think?"

Kanan felt a little betrayed at the thought. Did Hera know Fulcrum was a jedi? The Inquisitor picked up on the hesitation in a split second and tried his best to exploit it.

But he left the cell as frustrated by his failure to make Kanan succumb to his emotions as he did any other day, while Kanan, if he ignored the fact he wasn't escaping any time soon, or that his body felt like it could crumble to dust with each blow, slash or surge of electricity, he felt victorious as he smiled each time the Inquisitor lost patience and left.

Ever since Ahsoka's appearance however, his situation had deteriorated. Before, Kanan had endured each painful day with the belief that death would soon claim him due to his perceived uselessness. Now, he found himself staring into an abyss of uncertainty. He was not to be killed; he was to be broken, molded into one of the Inquisitors. Kanan understood the reason behind this decision—his connection to his crew and their association with Ahsoka made him the perfect bait.

"There is no hope," the small voice persisted, its insidious tone causing Kanan to sigh heavily. He raised his gaze toward the ceiling, fighting against the frog in his throat. The sounds outside his cell abruptly captured his attention, diverting his focus from the haunting voice within.

It couldn't be... Stretching out with his senses, Kanan sought the familiar Force signature amidst the suffocating darkness, but..

Ezra's voice, filled with determination and defiance, echoed through the corridor.

"No," Kanan whispered in disbelief and lost focus as thick fog of panic overwhelmed his senses.

No. No no no.

"You will take me to Kanan Jarrus." Ezra's voice commanded sharply.

"That won't work on us, kid." A cold answer from a trooper.

Then an amused laugh from the Grand Inquisitor. "You will see your master soon enough."

The heavy doors swung open, revealing the Grand Inquisitor and the troopers. Ezra's eyes widened as he spotted Kanan, his voice filled with relief. "Kanan!"

The Grand Inquisitor's sly smile twisted into a mocking grin. "Ah, Kanan Jarrus, our heroic Jedi master. Your padawan has been quite resourceful, breaking into our secured facilities to find you."

Meeting Ezra's gaze, Kanan saw relief flooding the young boy's face, mingled with a sense of urgency.

A surge of pride and concern welled up within Kanan. Ezra's gone to such lengths to save him? Doubts flitted through his mind, but the profound connection and familiarity that flowed between them dispelled any skepticism as their eyes locked in a steadfast gaze.

Fear consumed Kanan's being as desperation laced his voice. "What are you doing here?" he pleaded, struggling against the restraints that held him in place.

Ezra made to move towards Kanan, but the two Purge Troopers grasped his arms and held him back.

The Grand Inquisitor's voice dripped with sadistic satisfaction as he walked closer to Ezra. "Unfortunately, Kanan, your apprentice's bravery comes at a price," He paused and extended his hand towards one of the troopers and the armored soldier placed his electric baton in it.

Kanan growled urgently, his body contorting in a futile attempt to break free from the restraints, but he only managed to bruise himself.

The Inquisitor smiled and activated the baton. He spoke to Ezra. "It looks like your master doesn't wish to save you, boy."

"No!" Kanan yelled when the dark sider raised his hand. With a swift motion, he struck the boy, causing him to stagger and cry out in pain. In that moment, Kanan's crumbling walls collapsed, his heart overriding his logic with a single desperate goal.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left within him, Kanan broke free from the chair, and hurled the Grand Inquisitor together with the Purge Troopers aside as he rushed toward Ezra. But as Kanan reached out to embrace the boy, his arms closed around empty air.

The illusion shattered before his eyes, leaving only a haunting void.

The Grand Inquisitor's laughter echoed through the cell.

Realization washed over Kanan like a chilling wave. He had been played. The weight of his failure settled upon his shoulders, crushing his spirit and extinguishing the fight within him.

Before Kanan could react, the Grand Inquisitor exerted a powerful Force push, slamming him against the cold floor, rendering him motionless once again. The Inquisitor knelt beside him, his gaze burning with sadistic pleasure.  

"Come now, Kanan," the Inquisitor taunted, his voice filled with malice. "Where's that charming smile of yours?" Kanan fought to calm his rapid breathing, his lips trembling into a thin line. The metallic scent of the cell invaded his nostrils as the Inquisitor continued to press him down.

He lost. He did exactly what the Inquisitor wanted and expected. He suddenly noticed how cold he felt, as if he just emerged from an icy pond…

In a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, Kanan flinched as the Inquisitor activated his crimson lightsaber, bringing it dangerously close to his face. Heat emanated from the blade, uncomfortably close to Kanan's skin.

A hand landed on the side of Kanan's head, tugging at his hair, still tied in a ponytail. The grip tightened, digging into his skin as the Inquisitor forced his head up, drawing it nearer to the blade.

Leaning forward, the Grand Inquisitor hissed into Kanan's ear, his voice laced with triumph. "You see, Kanan," he whispered, relishing in his victory. "You are not special. Everyone breaks within the walls of Fortress Inquisitorius, and you are no exception. You're just like the rest of us."

He let him go and the two imposing Purge Troopers forcibly lifted Kanan from the ground, dragging him back to the interrogation chair, strapping him in once again.

The Grand Inquisitor approached Kanan, his eyes burning with a sadistic fire. "Use the dark side, Kanan," he demanded, his voice dripping with malice. "Free yourself and embrace the power that awaits you."

Kanan clenched his jaw, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve and loathing. "No," he declared, the simple word filled with defiance.

The Grand Inquisitor's face twisted into a cruel smile. He retrieved the electro baton and pressed it against Kanan's chest. Agonizing pain coursed through his body and he screamed and the longer the pain lasted, the more did the scream sounded like an agonized wail followed unwittingly by tears. From the pain or for the shame of how easily he let himself be tricked, for himself...

The Inquisitor removed the baton.

Kanan took a long desperate breath, shaking from exhaustion. The Grand Inquisitor gripped Kanan's chin, his grip tightening with every word. "You are a fool, Kanan Jarrus," he sneered and forced the jedi to look him in the eye. "You will break, just like all the others, it's only a matter of time. And when you do, I will revel in your defeat."

He let him go, tossing the baton aside, waving his hand towards the electric torture device connected to the chair itself.

The excruciating pain wracked Kanan's body, his screams reverberating through the walls of the fortress.

TBC...

#star wars #star wars fanart #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #swr fanart #artists on tumblr #art #digital art #fanart #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #swr fanfic #kanan jarrus fanfiction #tw torture #tw psychological torture #tw electrocution #dark side #i need to write or draw something light-hearted after this this was exhausting :') #inquisitor!kanan au

[inquisitor-apologist]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#posting this with no editing/revision fuck it we ball #else I’ll never get this out #star wars #sw rebels #rebels #star wars rebels #is this the original post tag #kenobi series #kenobi show #star wars jfo #jfo #sw jfo #sw jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order #vader comics #a little bit #but I’ll not maintag rise of the red blade and iskat akaris #inquisitorius #inquisitors sw #inquisitorius sw #sw meta #i think I’m using that tag right? #meta #reva sevander

[starqueensthings]

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The Repercussions: “Arrest those traitors.”

ragu slurpers: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @sev-on-kamino @freesia-writes @secondaryrealm @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @jediknightjana @drafthorsemath @littlemissmanga @moonlightwarriorqueen @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @vithepotato @rabbitstu99

#damnit crosshair #the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #starqueensedits #starqueensgifs #captain howzer #howzer bad batch #bad batch howzer #tbb howzer #howzer tbb #queued

[ahsoka-its-all-of-us]

*chanting* Kallus headcanons 👀

He’s quite acrobatic, capable of doing a full split and kicks right up to his nose. It’s a useful combat skill 👀💦

Jovan taught him his upper-level Coruscanti accent. He picked it up quite fast, and there he found out that he was actually quite good at faking accents and acting in general. During their Academy time, him and Jovan would often amuse each other by imitating their superiors; Jovan’s imitations were mediocre at best, but Kallus’s were eerily similar to the real deal.

Ever since Onderon he has suffered from PTSD, which only got worse after Lasan. He has suppressed this through rigorous training and occasionally Imperial combat drugs meant to focus the mind, but once he joins the Rebellion he truly has to deal with it, and it’s not easy.

He hates Saw Gerrera. Has since Onderon, and, having seen the way Saw works both through his ISB investigation and the Alliance contact, this doesn’t change when he switches sides.

In a stroke of naivety born from having no other option but to look the other way, he has rationalised a lot of bad things the Empire did for himself. He told himself that the Wookiees sent to Kessel were prisoners with a task sentence instead of slaves, and that Minister Tua died because she was a traitor and the shuttle had been meant to explode when the rebels had been on it as well.

Similarly, he unwittingly made the Empire a tad less cruel than it was. When Lord Vader tasked him with burning down Tarkintown, he chose to interpret that as burning down the village and capturing/relocating the civilians. Vader most likely meant for him to burn down the entire thing with the people still in it.

He was shocked to his core when he found out the true way the Empire came into being. Even during his time as Fulcrum, a part of him still believed in the Empire, still believed in the originally intended system and only distanced himself from the execution of it. To find out that the Empire was built on deceit and lies from the very beginning rattled his entire worldview, finally making his devoted belief fully crumble.

Thrawn doesn’t actually outrank him, and he doesn’t outrank Thrawn. Imperial Navy and ISB ranks aren’t fully compatible, and which of them is in charge depends on context. Recognising a brilliant tactician and not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, Kallus was mostly submissive to the Chiss. Also a lot of their interactions happened on places were Thrawn was naturally in command; his personal flagship the Chimaera, or the factory where his secret TIE Defender program was being developed.

He can fly reasonably well, but he prefers physical combat over sky or space battles. He wants to be able to look his opponent in the eye. This is actually partly the reason why his ISB helmet doesn’t have a visor.

He has been trained to withstand Jedi mindtricks by the Inquisitorius. These trainings were brutal, and have left him resenting the Inquisitors. He can put that feeling aside for professionalism, but a small part of him is pleased whenever an Inquisitor gets called out on their (lack of) results.

#jenny’s headcanons #Star Wars #alexsandr kallus #jovan #jovallus #saw gerrera #mitth'raw'nuruodo #Darth vader

[sprout-fics]

A poorly disguised Jedi, an Imperial Traitor, and a force sensitive princess of Alderaan trying to sneak out of Fortress Inquisitorius with nothing more than a trench coat:

#owk series #owk spoilers #obi wan kenobi series #star wars kenobi #obi wan kenobi spoilers

[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

Lying, fearful, see no evil, megaphone, scissors, and paperclip for Shiri.

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying? Younger Shiri? Not really. Older Shiri has to be. There’s ways for the people who know her to pick up on it, though (avoiding eye contact, excessive gesturing, etc) so she usually just opts for skirting around the truth. It’s easier to make that sound convincing than making something up on the spot would.

😨 FEARFUL - when scared, do they go into "flight" or "fight"? Nearly always fight, but it does depend on the situation. If she’s the only one at stake, she’s not above just making a run for it.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people? There’s definitely a more selfish part of her that she tries her best to not show in public. Interestingly, the Inquisitorius era is the opposite, showing the more empathetic side of her (what’s left of it, anyway) is just asking for trouble.

📣 MEGAPHONE - how loud are they? what do they speak like? got a voice claim? I’d say she speaks pretty loudly - most of the time, anyway. Depends on what she’s saying. And her accent is in a strange zone somewhere between French and British

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact. She used to be scared of flying. It died down, after a bit, but it definitely stemmed from the fact that her first experience of a spaceship was directly after she got taken from her home.

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people? The simple answer is that she can’t let go of people. Even some of her friends in the Order, although she sees them as traitors there’s a tiny part of her that misses them and regrets not trying to turn them. Yeah, she definitely has attachment issues.

#thanks for the ask!

[tarisilmarwen]

Whumptober 2022 - “Cycle Broken“

(We pretty much all knew I was going to do a “Reva kidnaps baby Luke” fic at some point right?

Bit fixfic-ish because the Speed of Plot in the last episode annoyed the crap out of me, along with multiple characters just shrugging off lightsaber wounds to the gut.

Prompts used:

No. 4 Dead On Your Feet: Hidden Injury/Waking Up Disoriented/Can't Pass Out

No. 8 Everything Hurts And I'm Dying: Stomach Pain/Head Trauma/Back From The Dead

No. 30 Note To Self: Don't Get Kidnapped: Manhandled/Hair Grabbing/"Please don't touch me"

Alt. 2 Whimpering)

---

Reva clenched the broken holoprojector in tight fingers, concentrating on the surging cold inside her instead of the burning fire of her wound. She pushed the blackness back, resisted death for what seemed like an eternity. Muttered, furious words spilled from her mouth as she pressed her face into the sand.

"That little lying farm rat," she hissed. "I knew it. I knew he was hiding something!"

Lars and Kenobi were evidently working together, and Kenobi and Organa as well. A neat little conspiracy of traitors that were hiding... what, exactly? A pair of children? Force Sensitive, obviously, but what made these two so special that a lowly Tatooine moisture farmer would team up with an Imperial senator and a fugitive former Jedi master and war general?

Reva recalled Leia's stubborn resistance to the mind probe, how the girl had seemed to pull Reva's own thickly-buried insecurities out into the open as if her own shields didn't exist, as if her mind was laid bare before her. Little Organa was strong in the Force, and she didn't know it.

No one had ever matched her telepathic skill, countered her Force discernment. That was her gift, the one talent that kept her as precariously high-rank in the Inquisitorius as she was.

The talent that had allowed her to immediately recognize the powerful Dark-stained Force signature of her Sith Lord master the moment she was first brought into his presence.

Her fading consciousness flared back again, the reminder of her purpose, her sole reason for continuing to stubbornly live and fight and claw against the others for a position just a little bit closer to him rearing through her on a wave of tingling Dark rage.

The vigor pulsing through her brought her wound back to the forefront of her attention, and Reva cried out pitifully as she shifted and made it stab sharply, a knife of burning heat.

The pain was horrible and familiar, taking her back to that night in the Jedi Temple, her mind flashing over and over with the fall of the blue saber, the sting of agony as she was cut down.

Her teeth gripped together, outrage screaming inside her head.

Bastard had stabbed her in the same damn spot, it felt like.

Her anger became an inferno inside her, flowing from her wound, through her chest, to her head. Reva clung to the feeling, embracing it, soaking in it, letting the cold fill her.

With a wretched scream she forced herself to her feet, shaking legs aching as the muscles stretched, the wound in her side almost splitting her open with pain.

Her head spun dizzily for a moment once she'd managed to straighten up. Clutching to the swell of Dark Side power storming inside her, she shook her head and staggered forward, step by agonizing step.

Sand scuffed under her boots, displacing. She couldn't even lift her feet properly, toes scraping the dirt each time she stepped forward. The pain from her lightsaber wound made her nauseous, the vile burning scent of charred flesh wafting to her nose.

Her throat tightened. She kept moving.

Every step was horrendous. She teetered and staggered, ankles wobbling and shaking and barely holding her up. Finally she made it out of the hanger, only to despair as she came to the long, empty hallways of the base. Even the Stormtroopers were gone by now, their dead retrieved, insurgents catalogued and recorded, bodies left to rot.

How long had she been lying there on the floor?

Reva swallowed down the sudden swell of loneliness that threatened to drown her, reaching again for the cold fury that had been all that was keeping her going.

Even it started to fail her as she stumbled through hall after hall, trying to find the exit.

Remember, she told herself furiously, making herself relive the memories again. Skywalker marching in at the forefront of a cadre of Clone Troopers. The younglings turning their faces up in guarded hope. The cold impassive expression beneath the hood, alien on the general's normally grinning, cavalier face. The raising of his lightsaber. The thud! as it struck small bodies. Her playmates' horrible screams.

The cold pulsed inside her like a dull heartbeat. She clutched one hand tight against her wound as she went, the pain swelling up with every movement, sometimes close to overwhelming.

When she glanced up she found herself in another chamber. Larger, lined with abandoned equipment. Cables ran down the walls, and the sand was slightly more swept.

Reva grabbed out weakly for one of the cables, leaning against the wall and heaving for breath.

With effort, she slid along the cables.

Keep going, keep going, urged the voice inside her head but now all she could think about was the wide empty rock plain outside, devoid of even scraggly plants, no other dwellings or settlements or facilities nearby for miles. How could she even drag herself out of the base, much less across that lonely distance?

How much longer could she sustain herself through the sheer power of her hate? She knew the one they called The Shadow, the former Darth Maul, had somehow been able to survive for a decade, clinging stubbornly to life through the Dark Side, never letting go for a second. But Maul had been trained by Sidious himself.

She was just a broken child wielding the Dark Side like an inelegant club, pitiful and weak. A fact that the target of her hatred had shown her himself, with such casual indifference.

Reva was so absorbed in her self-pitying thoughts that she didn't notice the body that came out of the open doorway to her left until she nearly ran into it.

The man she'd almost collided with yanked back, startled, fear in his eyes. He was plain-clothed, and unarmored. One of the insurgents? Reva's mind spun. How had the Stormtroopers missed him? Had he hidden somewhere and been overlooked? Returned from an errand offworld or elsewhere on the planet?

Or had he, like her, played dead among the corpses of his companions, waiting underneath them as their bodies grew cold, in desperate hope of sneaking away once the slaughter had moved on?

Reva wanted to snarl at him, raise her fist and choke him with her power, demand he give her a ship and a medkit and force him to help her off this miserable rock. But the anger never reached her face.

Instead, what she did was crumple, barely hanging on with her hand to the cable, eyes glinting and lower lip holding back trembles.

"Help me," she whispered pathetically, feeling her extremities numb.

She let go of the cable. Her knees hit the dirt and blackness swelled up around her head as she fell forward, collapsing.

The cold pulse in her chest stuttered and slowed.

***

Life flickered back into her.

Her essence in the Force, thin and dissipating, began pulling back.

Awareness slowly moved over the surface of her thoughts, until it gripped them with a sudden firmness.

She jerked, her eyes snapping open. Seeing only darkness she panicked for a moment, thrashing her limbs in the void. Her arms and legs moved slowly, as if through thick water. Her side burned, pain spiking with her agitated movement. Something metal was jammed in her mouth. Reva almost screamed, until her gasping inhale brought a cool and steadying breath of air down her throat.

Reva stopped thrashing, going still, curiously sucking in another mouthful through the tube. A breathing apparatus. She was... floating?

Floating. In a tank.

The bacta tank in the chamber, the realization came to her.

Confusion at once set in, and she treaded in place as she tried to wrap her head around her new circumstances. The bacta swirled around her, tingling in her side as it worked to knit her back together. Bubbles escaped around the edges of her mouthpiece, drifting up to the tank surface above. Her armor had been removed, but thankfully her undershirt and pants had been left in place, arms and feet bare as she bobbed in the tank.

Bewildered, Reva just floated there for a long moment, a thousand questions screaming through her head but feeling... soothed by the gentle slosh of the liquid around her. It was calming.

Almost peaceful.

Lulled by the rushing roar in her ears, Reva almost let her eyes fall closed, taking in the stillness, almost let herself fall into that warmth and quiet and light—

Cold jolted her, and she yanked away from the warmth as if it stung, eyes opening wide again.

With a growl she stabbed her hands through the bacta, sending her down until her feet touched the bottom and then pushing up harshly, rising fast until she broke the surface.

Reva slung an arm over the rim, fumbling for the breathing apparatus before pulling it from her mouth and dropping it. She panted, the air in the chamber much hotter and staler than the clean sterile air in the rebreather.

As her sides heaved, she raised her eyes, scanning the platform.

The man from before was standing there, looking up anxiously towards her.

Reva flattened her eyes into a glare, suspicious and wary. She watched him, posture tense, but he just stayed where he was, silent, eyes full of concern.

She almost startled when he spoke.

"You were gone for a minute there," he told her. "I was worried you wouldn't make it."

Reva scowled firmly towards the floor. She made no move to get out yet, and silence fell once again.

For a long minute there was just the slosh of the bacta in the tank, the drip drip as droplets fell from her hair, the steady hum of the equipment and their quiet breaths, echoing slightly off the empty walls.

The man shifted.

"Do... you need any help getting out?" he asked.

Reva's scowl deepened and she clenched her teeth.

"No," she grit.

With a surge of effort she pushed up. Once her navel was level with the rim she slung one leg out of the tank. Rotating, she clambered the rest of the way out of the tank, hanging for a moment before dropping heavily to her haunches.

Her damp clothes stuck to her skin like clingwrap, water running down her back, dripping through her hair. Sitting in place, she stewed in resentment at this man, this stranger, seeing her in this vulnerable state.

She wanted her armor back.

Her hands clutched around her knees, face flaming. The man was approaching slowly. At a glare from her he stopped, holding up his hands.

"Easy. I'm not gonna hurt you," he promised.

"Why did you help me?" Reva demanded sharply.

The man looked like he wasn't entirely certain himself, a hesitation in his eyes. "It's... what a Jedi would do," he finally stumbled.

Reva snorted quietly. The earnest sincerity in his words, his tone... she could tell even without scanning him that he genuinely believed that.

"Yeah, that's what they're supposed to do," she muttered bitterly. Now that she'd stopped shivering the familiar cold of the Dark was drawing her back, settling back into her bones. Her anger festered, cooler now that she could afford not to draw on it to survive, though beginning to flicker hotter.

Anakin flashed though her mind yet again, the sting of betrayal, of outrage, curling up around her heart, hardening her features.

He thought she wasn't even worth killing did he?

He would regret that.

Glaring eyes turned up towards the Rebel insurgent. Her fist clenched firmly against her chest.

"I need a ship," she told him.

***

It took her a week, in the beat-up old freighter provided to her, to return to Tatooine. She kept the holonet tuned to the Imperial news channels the whole time, used her still-unrevoked access codes to get back into the system on a spare datapad, straining for news.

She had been furiously disappointed to learn that Obi-Wan had survived his encounter with Vader, and had disappeared off Imperial radar again.

Even more infuriatingly, Vader had survived also.

I knew you couldn't kill him, Reva thought angrily. You're weak, Kenobi. You loved him too much.

She kept the broken holoprojector with Senator Organa's message close at hand, replaying it over and over again. It was clear to her now that she couldn't kill Vader, not directly—though not for a lack of trying. She couldn't kill Obi-wan, either. She didn't have the skill.

But she could hurt him. If he was conspiring with that moisture farmer to hide a Force Sensitive child... if that child was anywhere near as strong in the Force as Leia...

She could take him. Snatch him right out from under Kenobi's watchful gaze. Train him. Teach him to be stronger than her, to carry out her mission in her stead. And then turn him on Vader.

She imagined the devastated horror on Obi-Wan's face and let that pleasant thought loop through her mind, ignoring the nagging voice that told her she had no patience to teach, the persistent ache in her half-healed wound, the gentle tug of the Light whispering to call her back, niggle on her conscience.

She hid the freighter on the outskirts of Anchorhead. For the first couple days, she didn't even venture out to leave the ship, meditating for long hours, changing the bandages on her wound—healing well thanks to the bacta—and fighting against her impatience.

When she could stand waiting no longer she began making trips into town. It was torturous, having to be careful, having to keep low profile and to the shadows, keep conversations short and brief and vague. All she wanted to do was blaze right in, lightsaber swinging.

But her stomach still panged with pain and she was not too keen to repeat her near-death experience on Jabiim.

Eventually, she found someone who knew the approximate location of the Lars' farm. Under cover of night she flew the freighter as close as she could without being detected, hiding the ship in the ridgeline.

And then there was more waiting.

Agitation strained at her. She watched the homestead for hours, stiff-kneed.

The first time she caught a glimpse of the boy she almost gasped.

Radiant in the Force, like a yellow sun beaming out warmth and light. Reva's mind reeled. How had Kenobi hid this? How had any Inquisitor set foot on this planet without immediately pinging to the boy's signature? Was it just her?

He was... dazzling.

The light pulsing within the boy felt so comfortably familiar. Like quiet hallways and a thousand minds in tune with hers. It felt like home.

She wanted... to touch it.

Reva shook herself out of her fascination, turning from the edge of the ridge and looking away for several deliberate moments. She could still feel the boy, his presence tugging on her and with effort she blocked it out.

When she turned back with narrowed, determined eyes and renewed resolve, she gnashed teeth across the distance at Owen. At the audacity of a Forceblind nobody to have resisted her enhanced mind scanning through sheer stubborn will.

No more lies, Owen, she thought furiously, nails digging into the rock. I know what you're hiding.

***

Obi-Wan had been twitchy and agitated for several days now. There was a discordant noise in the Force, some kind of premonition or warning.

For what, he couldn't say, but he had told Owen nonetheless. The man had scoffed and rebuffed him at first. It wasn't until little Luke had chimed in, mentioned his own odd feeling of being watched, that Owen promised to keep an eye out.

"Tuskans are probably prowling the hills again," he'd grunted, and that was the end of the conversation.

Still unsettled, it took a long time for Obi-Wan to wind down that evening. He meditated for an hour longer than normal, trying to let go of his anxiety, trying to find some peace inside himself. When he felt like he was calm enough, he pulled the blanket over his shoulders and drifted off to sleep.

Only to be woken in the middle of the night by the Force screaming.

Obi-Wan sat straight up, breath caught in his throat, danger senses sounding an alarm. He didn't even have time to get his bearings before he saw it.

The homestead under darkness. A shadow creeping in. Moonlight catching the face under the hood for just a flash, long enough for him to identify Reva. She was at the wall of one of the sunken rooms, lightsaber in hand.

She hesitated for just a moment before stabbing the saber through the stone.

Obi-Wan emerged from the vision with dread pooling all the way through him.

"Oh no," he whispered in horror.

***

Luke's terrified scream was shrill and frightening, and woke both of them immediately.

"Luke!" Beru gasped, already out of bed, flinging herself towards the door.

Owen grabbed the blaster rifle next to the bed, throwing the strap over his shoulder and priming it as he ran. Ten short steps across the compound to Luke's bedroom and then he froze in the doorway.

A hooded figure stood by a gaping hole in the wall, the edges still burning, a frantic, kicking Luke slung over her shoulder. She turned towards him and he recognized her with a jolt.

That woman. The Inquisitor.

Owen's throat locked with terror. Beru was still moving forward and he wanted to call out to her, warn her, but all he could do was reach a hand for her.

The Inquisitor gave a cruel smirk and extended a palm. Beru jerked back as if bouncing off a solid barrier. Owen felt a solid push knocking him in the chin. He stumbled over the threshold, tripping, falling on his back.

As he scrambled up he saw the back of her cloak vanishing through the hole.

"No!" he yelled, cold parental fear gripping his heart. "Fight her, Luke! Get away!"

"Owen!" the boy wailed from outside somewhere, and he and Beru hurried to find their feet.

***

Reva pelted with all speed across the wide empty sand-covered plain. The boy's screams rang in her ear; his failing limbs hit with dull thumps across her head and back.

She tightened her grip on his waist, panting, looking anxiously forward towards the ridgeline in the distance. All she had to do was make it to the ship...

Pop!

A shot from behind hit her shoulder. Pain flared in her muscles.

Reva cried out, faltering, dropping to her knees and toppling over. She scrabbled to clutch the spot, the burning flesh scent sharp in her nose, choking.

The boy wiggled free of her hold while she was still trying to reach the new wound. Reva snarled, and tangled her arm in the boy's legs, tripping him, grabbing firm hold of an ankle and dragging him back.

His scratching hands and toes flung sand everywhere. "No!" he shrieked, fighting her as she pulled on him. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Lemme go!"

With clenched teeth, Reva jabbed fingers into the boy's hair and yanked his head back, making him gasp with pain. Her other hand snaked around his neck, just firm enough to be threatening.

"Listen to me!" she hissed in his ear, tone warning and serious. "You wanna live? You stop struggling. Understand?"

She got only a frightened sob in reply, but the boy was obediently limp when she tossed him back over her shoulder, only wiggling a bit discontently.

Reva got back up and resumed her frantic flight across the sand, steps and heart pounding, ignoring the stabs of agony from her shoulder, the streaking red laser bolts that flew wide of her from someone firing behind.

Run. Just run, she told herself, heaving in breath.

***

Obi-Wan pulled the eopie up short, dismounted, and ran.

His pulse drummed loud in his ears and chest as he pumped his arms and legs.

He knew where to look, he knew exactly where she'd be, knew from his own secret watchings where she would be hiding.

As he got closer, he could start to sense the rivulets of fear. From Luke, as expected, and even more distantly Beru and Owen's frantic terrified worry.

But also, oddly, from Reva.

Obi-Wan didn't have time to wonder about that. His saber bounced at his hip, cloak swished around his pounding legs.

The back end of the ridge line came into view.

***

Reva hissed as she peeled back the torn cloth around her shoulder. Owen had pegged her right between her collar and shoulder blade, a clean shot straight through. Rather impressive, she had to begrudgingly admit to herself.

Slapping a bacta patch over it was a simple enough matter, but the pain festered, the burnt smell tickling on her mind and threatening to pull her back, back to when she watched their crèchemaster fall, multiple blaster shots pumping though her, back to the horrible scent of death all around her as she lay terrified on the floor hoping the clone troopers wouldn't come back to check.

Her anger coiled inside her, but frayed, fragmented with distraction. Reva clutched both hands on the edge of the table, struggling for composure. Breathing heavily.

A small whimper sounded behind her.

"Shut up!" she snapped. She shot a glare behind her at the boy, still sitting where she'd deposited him on a loose cargo crate, scrawny thin wrists latched behind him in binders that were just a smidge too large on him. His watery blue eyes looked up at her in fear, tears trailing down his red little cheeks into the edge of the cloth she'd tied in his mouth when his blubbering became too much for her.

Reva's arms stiffened, his pitiful expression wrenching at something at her. She looked away, hastily putting items back in the medkit. The light inside the boy was as unwavering as ever, glowing softly, grating on her mind. It scalded her, like the heat of a lightsaber held too close to her skin.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the latches. She reached for the Dark Side, but it evaded her, illusive behind her distracted mind spinning in circles, circling thoughts repeating, He's ten. He's ten. I was ten. He's my age.

Her eyes squeezed closed, her lip trembling.

He's Anakin's.

She knew those eyes. Sky-blue like an endless horizon. No wonder Obi-Wan had worked so hard to hide him. It was all he had left of him.

The poetry of it all was perfect... her revenge should be all the sweeter...

But he was so young. So small and so afraid.

Like she had been.

She could see his face even now against her closed eyelids, timid and terrified. It hurt to look at him.

Reva clenched fingers over her ears, screwing her face, screaming close-mouthed.

"Stop it!" she yelled out, to everything and nothing.

She had to do it. She had to. It was the only way... the only way she'd be at peace, that they'd be at peace, that justice would be done for her dead friends, her dead playmates.

The boy hitched behind her, frightened, his fear spiking through the Force. Reva felt heat under her eyes and held back from crying.

"Reva!" a voice called from outside the ship.

Obi-Wan.

Snapping towards the lowered hatch ramp, Reva whirled, lightsaber flaring to life. The red blade bounced an eerie glow off the walls of the hold.

"Don't you dare, Kenobi!" she shouted down at him. "Don't you put one foot on that ramp!"

She couldn't see him, but she could picture him as a cool blue presence in the Force, hands up, approaching carefully.

"Come outside, Reva," he urged, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Talk to me."

Her jaw clenched. She squeezed the hilt in her fingers, the ridges digging into her palm. "I have nothing to say to you!" she spat.

"Please..." he said again, words full of persuasion.

Reva hesitated. Her lightsaber wavered. It didn't sound like Kenobi wanted to fight, which she would have expected, would have thought he'd blaze in with his lightsaber flaring and fight her tooth and nail for the boy back. But all he was doing was standing out there. Waiting for her.

Well, she thought darkly, in grim humor, maybe I can kill him while I'm at it.

Straightening, she let the startled tension ease out of her shoulders. She pointed a stern finger back at her captive.

"You stay put," she warned him.

He nodded, sniffling pitifully.

Carefully, Reva made her way down the ramp, lightsaber forward. As she thought, Obi-Wan was standing at a distance, his hands up plaintively.

Reva studied him, a confused wrinkle appearing between her brows. His light seemed... steadier. Stronger. The carefully contained turmoil she had sensed in him before was gone.

He took a step closer.

Immediately she stiffened and raised her saber between them. "Don't!" she warned harshly. "You come any closer and I swear I'll kill the boy in front of you!"

There was a steel glint in Obi-Wan's eyes as he said calmly, "You won't do that, Reva."

"Why not?" she snapped, hands tightening on her saber.

The Jedi Master's hands lowered just a fraction. "If the aim was to kill him, you would have already done so. You don't want to kill him." His voice turned quieter, more gentle. "I don't think you want to hurt him at all," he discerned.

Reva's heart and head screeched in outrage and denial of Obi-Wan's statement. Saber out stiffly, expression furiously wrathful, she shouted, "Why shouldn't I?!" Her glare scorched from her eyes. "He's Skywalker's son! That's why you're here, isn't it? Protecting the spawn of that monster!"

A deep sorrow passed over Obi-Wan's face.

It seemed to take a moment for him to respond.

"Anakin is dead. Vader is all that remains," came the leaden pronouncement, the Jedi's voice breaking a bit on the words. Obi-Wan paused significantly. "But Luke is innocent." Soft blue eyes full of compassion and pity landed on her. "Like you were," he finished softly.

Reva inhaled shakily, a gasping half-sob, the pointed red blade trembling along with her hands.

Obi-Wan risked taking a step. Reva tensed like a cornered animal but couldn't stop her eyes from welling up, couldn't help the pitiful urge inside her that wanted to throw herself against Obi-Wan's chest and take comfort in the embrace of someone who might actually understand.

The man's kind gaze was unwavering.

"And neither of you deserves this," he almost whispered.

The voice in her head shrieking at her to lunge, slay Kenobi and take her revenge, was slowly drowned out by her rising sorrow and grief. Third Sister, Inquisitor of the Empire, began to fade as Reva Sevander, a broken child too young to have had everything ripped away from her, came to the fore, called out for her not to inflict the same fate on another youngling, another innocent.

She could still feel him shining in the Force behind her. Her resolve weakened. She knew what she would have to do to darken that light, turn the boy to the Dark Side. Obi-Wan's words asked her plaintively, Could she do it?

Could she inflict that same pain on someone like her?

Reva wavered, stayed tense, thoughts spiraling.

...An eternity passed and then she broke.

No.

Reva's shaking hands lowered her lightsaber, the blade extinguishing. She dropped it on the ground and followed after it onto her knees, eyes squeezing closed with a sob, the tears dropping at last.

She couldn't.

She heaved in breath, sides shuddering as she wept, the tears unceasing as they fell down her cheeks. Reva reached up pitifully, trying to wipe them.

They kept coming.

Obi-Wan lowered his hands and closed the distance, stepping softly across the dry gravel. Reva's turmoil was so loud in her head she almost didn't hear him.

I can't do it I can't do it I'm—She hiccuped for air.—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I couldn't—

She clutched arms around herself, opening up to all the sorrow she'd bottled over the years, letting it spill out.

Cloth rustled. Hands placed calmly on her shoulders.

Reva pressed into Obi-Wan's collar, gasping.

"I'm sorry!" she repeated. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

A soft shushing. Sleeves wrapped around her, his arms steady.

"I—I failed them..." she choked.

"No Reva," he whispered soothingly. "You have given them peace."

That set off another round of wailing sobs, her heart pouring out to the rocks and the stars and the steady blue presence around her as the Light found a crack to slip in and begin healing.

***

Luke shifted nervously on the cargo crate, wringing his hands in the binders again. He wasn't at all sure what was going on outside, but it was loud and frightening and he wanted to run away. He thought if he pulled against the cuffs just hard enough he might be able to get a hand free but then he didn't know what that scary lady was going to do to him. Was she still out there?

He strained his ears. It sounded like someone was crying. The sound continued for a long time, enough for Luke to get fidgety.

When it finally faded he heard bootsteps coming up the ramp.

Luke jolted and tensed up, trying to curl his legs in front of his body protectively, staring towards the ramp with fear that deflated at once when he saw who it was.

Old Ben Kenobi.

He looked tired, but he was smiling, and Luke felt his heart lift. The man was here to rescue him, surely!

Luke sat up straight. Ben walked over, first picking the gag out of Luke's mouth, unwinding it and pulling it free.

"Are you hurt, Luke?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. "No sir."

Ben nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Can you turn a bit for me?"

Luke obediently complied, angling his wrists for Ben to reach. With a bit of fiddling the binders came free, and Luke let out a breath of relief as the strain vanished.

"I'm... sorry about my friend," Ben was saying and Luke listened with some confusion as he flexed his shoulders and wrists. "She lost her whole family recently and... she's been very lonely."

Luke blinked towards the bottom of the ramp. Was he talking about the scary lady?

"So she tried to take you and... force you to be her new family," Ben continued explaining. One calloused hand was placed on Luke's shoulder. "But she's realized now that was wrong and she's very sorry. You won't see her again." Probing eyes met his. "Do you understand?" Ben asked him.

Well, Luke was still confused but there was ring in Ben's words that felt right, felt true. So he replied, "I... think so?"

Ben smiled comfortingly, and Luke felt warm. "Come on," the man urged, "let's get you home."

***

Reva had mostly collected herself by the time Obi-Wan returned down the ramp, the boy by his side. Red puffy eyes slid dully towards the pair.

The boy flinched and shied into Obi-Wan's side when he saw her.

"It's all right," Obi-Wan whispered, rubbing the boy's arm. "She won't hurt you."

Reva managed a grim half-smile that she hoped was reassuring.

Curiously, the boy peeked out from behind Obi-Wan, tilting his head at her. Reva wondered what she might look like to boy's underdeveloped senses. Calmer, perhaps? Perhaps some of the peace Obi-Wan had somehow been able to find was in her now.

She certainly felt... better.

Another inhale passed shakily through her, as she struggled not to cry again. She looked down at her gloved hands. She knew she should stand up eventually, get back on the ship, maybe return it, maybe go somewhere else.

But her limbs wouldn't move. They stayed in place, numb. A fire had gone out of her.

What am I supposed to do now? she asked herself.

A shift of gravel at her side made her look up. The boy—Skywalker's son—looked at her, compassion in the eyes that were so much like his father's.

"I'm sorry about your family," he told her, and it felt so genuine and honest.

Reva felt her eyes brimming again. "Thank you," she whispered.

And the Obi-Wan was urging him to come along, and the boy trotted obediently at the Jedi Master's side. Reva watched them go, fading into the pre-dawn, watched them make their way through the narrow path that led down to the plain below.

And as she looked up towards the horizon, at the suns beginning to peek yellow in the sky, she lifted her head and felt, for the first time in years, unbridled and warm.

And free.

---

@whumptober

#whumptober2022 #star wars #obi-wan #reva sevander #Luke Skywalker #kenobi #owen lars #whump #fanfiction #prompt fics

[piratekenway]

The dark side recedes, but it’s still there, easy to touch as always. If he reached for it, it would come to him, like a lover that always knew he’d come crawling back. It would be easy.

He sits down near the doorway, and pushes it away. Tries to just—empty his mind and sink into the Force, the way he half-remembers Jaro Tapal teaching him so long ago, but it’s no use. Weak and broken, more of a scrapper than an Inquisitor or a Jedi. No wonder you let your friend die. Second Sister had taunted him with those words, and rage still rises inside him when he thinks of her, and how—how casually she killed Prauf. Like she was just taking away a toy Cal was happily playing with.

The worst of it is, he’d been just as casual too, when he’d been with the Inquisitorius. He’d been that person, hunting down traitors to the Empire, and breaking their spirits with a lie and a trick, killing their loved ones in front of them the way she did. Still is, on some level—it’s why he’d stuck to blocking and rolling and dodging blaster fire, back on the train. He’d known how easy it would be, to simply brute-force a path through the Stormtroopers on the train.

But all he could think of then was Prauf sticking up for him, Prauf telling him he could be more than a scrapper, Prauf standing up to Second Sister despite the fact that he was probably scared shitless doing so. Prauf thought he could be better. Cal cannot let him and his memory down.

Still—he’s not sure if he can use that lightsaber again. Certainly he could. But the kyber crystal inside it still weeps inside his head whenever he touches it, an unhealed wound within the Force and within his heart. If he takes it up, it would be so easy to fall again. So easy to let everyone on this ship down. So easy to fail Prauf, and Master Tapal with him.

“Credit for your thoughts, Cal?”

#star wars #jedi fallen order #sw jfo #cal kestis #cere junda #star wars jedi fallen order #jfo fanfic

[nightiingaled]

Collection of Verse Hub Posts.

All Main verses follow straight from the bio and headcanons, they will not usually have a hub post. Links will be added as hub posts are created. This post will be edited over time - please check back.

AKIO.

Main: Overwatch            

ANUBIS.

Main: Undercity

Apex Legends

TBA: Overwatch?

ELISIEL.

Main: Mythos

KEISUKE.

Main: BNHA

TBA: Modern Hero? Marvel/DC? The Boys?

KILLIAN.

Main: The Tomorrow People

Mythos / Modern

LUCHE.

Main: Normal

Traitor Route

MEL.

Main: Mythos

TTP

Highschool AU

Genpact AU

Overwatch AU

Modern Verse AU

MIYOKO.

Main: BNHA

TBA: Modern Hero? Marvel/DC? The boys?

PROTEUS.

Main: Mythos

RAVID.

Main: Star Wars

Undercity

Overwatch

Apex Legends

Inquisitorius AU

TBA: Modern Verse

TBA: Genpact

TAE-MI.

Main: Overwatch

Undercity

THANATOS.

Main: Mythos

ZAER.

Main: Original / Star Wars

#verses. #inventory. #this is mostly for me to find these links later #but also can be used by yall #i think i'll link it somewhere #i just dont know where yet #long post for ts

[starpeace]

Thoughts on Kota…… aka can you write a brief synopsis about him?

omg of course

kota’s a clone wars era jedi. he’s charming, energetic, straightforward, down-to-earth. he insists on making friends with everyone he works with. he takes zero interest in being a classic philosophical intellectual jedi; he’s pretty sure all he needs to know how to do is swing a lightsaber, and that if you just follow the code and do what the council says, everything will work out. he takes to being a jedi general like a duck to water. he’s just very good at it, maybe too good at it. after his master dies early in the war, his connection to the light deterioriates.

eventually he nearly gets removed from the army for the way he kills the separatist who killed his master. palpatine intervenes, supposedly because throwing out likeable personable and most importantly victorious generals during wartime is not a great propaganda move. in reality, it’s because he thinks kota will make great test material for the inquisitorius program. kota falls to the dark side not long after order 66, believing his beloved padawan to be dead, the clone commander he’s in love with to have betrayed him, and the jedi council to be traitors who got them all killed. but he’s a pretty botched first attempt at an inquisitor. not much left of the brilliant general he used to be. and maybe a little bit too much left of that jedi spark

#i tried to slim down the lore i got it down to two paragraphs okay #anyway hes my Most Beloved and i welcome any questions abt him always #kotayim sanga #<- theres art in his tag for anyone whos unfamiliar!

[animatedjen]

Testing stuff for Traitor Inquisitorius Pt2

#star wars jedi survivor #jedi survivor #jedi survivor mod #traitor inquisitorius #cal kestis #inquisitor!cal #inquisitor cal kestis #star wars #photomode

[gffa]

"He issued Order 66 and most of the Jedi died that very day.  Not just full Knights either.  Padwans, younglings.  That was the Purge.  Order 66 stil stands.  Jedi are to be killed on sight.  Even people who MIGHT be Jedi.  People like me." “But their boss... he was worst than any of them.  And he’s still out there.  The monster of monsters.  Pure, true evil.” I AM SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS. Because this isn’t new, but it’s hitting me all over again, how brutal this genocide of an entire people was, how it’s not just the eradication of them, but true erasure of them.  Luke doesn’t even know what the Purge specifically was, he knew the Jedi existed, but by this point we’ve also seen the Empire’s decades long attempts to rewrite history, that we’ve seen a ton of examples of how they make Force museums “disappear”, they kill anyone who talks about the Jedi or the Force, first they branded them traitors, then made it so you’re not even allowed to talk about them, you can’t stop and think or discuss how maybe erasing the entire people of them could have been done differently, even in Jedi: Fallen Order, just Prauf expressing the idea “I don’t believe all of them could have been traitors” is enough to cause tension and that’s only five years out from Revenge of the Sith. By this point in time, twenty years later, the full scale propaganda attack against the Jedi has erased almost everything of them, all that’s left are the handful of people who managed to hide.  Both Jedi and people who could have been Jedi. This is what genocide looks like.  Not just murdering the Masters and the Knights, but the children, too.  Hunting down Eeth Koth, who had left the Jedi Order, who had started a biological family, who had changed religions, who swore he was done with all of it, wasn’t enough to save him.  Darth Vader still murdered him for being a Jedi and stole his newborn child to take away and make into their own creation.  We saw it in Rebels with the Empire trying to steal Pypey, just because the baby was Force-sensitive. This is what genocide looks like, that it’s not actually about what they did or didn’t do, it’s about being part of that group, it’s about destroying everything they built, it’s about chasing down the remnants of those people or even people who could find the remnants of the Jedi. And that last line--”The monster of monsters.  Pure, true evil.”  The haunting specter of evil for these people who have already suffered so much, imagine knowing that he’s out there, that he’s unstoppable, that he’s stronger than any of you, that you know nothing about him, only that he wants to and will kill you if he finds you, the sheer amount of terror that has to put into people who already have no support structure around them, who have to live in constant fear of the mundanity of people turning them in for reward money and live in constant fear of Vader or the Inquisitorius finding them. Just because they were born with the potential to be Jedi.

#anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #jedi order #meta #comics #reading comics: star wars ongoing #reading comics: star wars vol. 2 #wednesday spoilers

[redrobinhoods]

seconds and years | comms and consequences

AO3 Link | 2,100 words (approx) | Prologue, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Wolffe's call to Fox does not go unnoticed as Fox and Riyo decide that they are done hiding.

Seeley glanced back to see Wolffe reentering the room. “Well, find out.” He barked at his own comm as he offered Wolffe his helmet. “They’ve got access to everything.”

“Good job holding the fort down.” Wolffe grimaced before putting on his helmet when Seeley had lowered his comm.

“This had better be a pen test.”

“Most likely.” Wolffe leaned on the terminal before Seeley. “It’s a Corrie Guard technique and I can count the number of unaccounted for Corries on one hand, neither of which did any form of security.”

“Which Corries?”

“Two commanders and a sergeant. Posts were never updated after, you know.”

Seeley did know, he knew very well as one of those commanders, but he’d never told Wolffe which battalion he had served in and it was far too late for that. “Yeah.” He turned his attention back to the terminal before Wolffe pressed the topic. “Whoever this is, they’re taking their sweet time.”

“Pen test. Guess we failed.” Wolffe smacked the top of Seeley’s helmet before walking over to the security terminals. “Tapes are good. We par?”

“We are not par, Wolffe. This is serious.”

“What, you think they’re going to come after you or something? You and I, we mean nothing to the Empire.” Wolffe turned around, leaning against the terminals as his helmet cocked to the side. “They’ve taken everything from us and what do we get for it? We get to guard and protect some meaningless facility out on the edge of the Outer Rim.”

Seeley bit back a rise of fear from the memory of another clone with a similar rage. “That’s almost treason, Wolffe.”

“Well, you do seem to attract traitors.” Wolffe’s helmet jerked up sharply. “Why don’t you leave? You don’t belong to them.”

“I still have two years left.” Seeley shook his head. “I committed for five years; I’ve served three, I owe two.”

“Contracts, fascinating.” Wolffe growled bitterly. “Well, I hope you’re looking forward to two more years of this planet. If the big bad purge troopers don’t come for you first.”

“I rather hope they do. I wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.” He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth and turned his helmet from Wolffe back to the terminals.

Wolffe didn’t let the moment sink in. “Don’t be stupid. We’d be cellmates.”

Seeley let out a light chuckle. “We’re not already?”

“Now see, that’s the positive attitude I’m looking for around here.” Wolffe paused as Seeley’s comm chimed.

Seeley read the message before him. “Point of origin, Mustafar. Likely Imperial in origin, waiting on confirmation from command.”

“I thought the Inquisitorius was based out of Nur?”

“I don’t see why they can’t have multiple bases, Wolffe. Any Corries end up on Mustafar?” He would have never admitted to missing any of the men he had commanded, and he would have never expected to a year ago, but, after a year of near isolation, he would have given almost anything to see just one of them.

“None. But I don’t expect the detailers to keep good track of them. I don’t suppose you were around long enough to hear the Corrie jokes?”

“I was, actually.” He’d been the punchline of some of them.

Wolffe’s helmet turned to face the wall. “My sparring partner from Kamino was their first commanding officer. He was…” Wolffe waved his hand as he fought for words. “He was good. My two closest friends from Kamino became Corries, actually.”

Seeley was glad for his helmet at the tension rising in the room as Wolffe fell silent once more.

“One of them used to say that the Coruscant Guard was cursed. I think he was right. I lost them both to the Guard, and another friend. For having nothing to do, they really knew how to cause trouble.” He gave a weak laugh. “And I was on the front lines, and I’m still here.” His helmet turned back to face Seeley. “Life’s funny, isn’t it?”

“I’d say cruel.”

“Of course you would. You would’ve been a good Corrie, you have an underdeveloped sense of trench humor.”

“Thank you?”

Wolffe gave another weak laugh and walked back across the room to stand behind Seeley again. “I’ve digressed too much. Let’s just watch our new friend, shall we?”

---

Forty-Seven sat with shaking hands at the comm numbers displayed before him, the only external call not made from a comm center at the facility. If he’d waited five minutes more before starting the breach, he’d have missed it entirely, swept up in the facility comm log.

“Fuck.” He breathed, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth, fighting back an emotion he could no longer identify at the sight of the familiar comm number.

He’d have to report it.

Maybe it was nothing, a full comm center forcing the commander to make an official call on his personal comm. But a glance to the side told him that the comm centers were nearly empty.

Twenty-Two would be sent after Wolffe.

As for the other number, Forty-Seven was relieved to find that he didn’t recognize it. Neither Imperial nor Republic, it could be any number of beings in the galaxy. It would be far, far easier to force a confession from Wolffe than it would be to track this comm down. That is, if Vader let Twenty-Two take him alive.

Forty-Seven reached for his own comm. “My Lord, I’ve found something.”

---

When Riyo entered the house, she was surprised when she found herself immediately swept up into the arms of the man she loved as he spun her around with ease. “What’s gotten into you?”

Fox stopped, still holding her in his arms. “You’ll never guess who I just talked to.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Wolffe.”

“Wolffe?” Panic rose in her for a moment before she met Fox’s calm gaze.

“He didn’t know it was me.” He assured her. “Thire gave him our comm number.”

“Fox.” Her face broke into a smile at the pure delight on Fox’s face.

“How did it go?” He asked as he set her down.

She held out her grease-covered arms, revealing the stack of credits in her hand. “It went well. Just a standard belt replacement, you know.”

“No, I don’t. But I will.”

“So, Wolffe.” She set the credits on the table before moving to the kitchen sink, lathering up her hands and arms with soapy water. “What is he up to?”

“We didn’t talk about that, but,” Fox walked over to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, “I ran a trace on his comm. Chiron.”

“I wasn’t aware of any Republic or Empire bases on Chiron, they remained a neutral territory in the war.”

“Neither was I. But when did the Empire care about neutrality?”

Riyo dried her hands before wrapping her arms over Fox’s. “Never, in my experience. You think they’re hiding something?”

“Weapons testing, maybe. But I’m curious now.”

Riyo sighed, letting her head fall back against Fox’s chest so that she could look up at him. “How curious?”

“Curious enough to settle our Iego argument.”

“You want to go there.”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“But it’s Wolffe.”

Fox sighed. “It’s Wolffe.”

Riyo gently pried Fox’s hands off of her waist so that she could turn around to face him. “If you feel that you need to do this, I’ll follow. I’d follow you to the end of the galaxy if need be, you know that. If you love him, and you trust him, we’ll go to Chiron. And if there’s anything illicit going on there, we’ll document it and I can ensure that it gets into the hands of the right beings.”

Fox nodded slowly. “Let me think on it.”

But the look in his eyes already told her that the decision had been made.

---

Forty-Seven fixed his eyes on Vader’s feet as he knelt before him, waiting for the Sith Lord’s verdict. The light emanating from the lava outside reflected off his boots, casting a red glow around the place where he stood.

When his knees began to ache, Forty-Seven spoke. “Shall I call Twenty-Two, My Lord?”

“No.”

Forty-Seven bent his head further, trying to find a comfortable position with his helmet weighing down on his neck. When the door to Vader’s office slid open, he didn’t move to see who had entered. He heard the sound of another being kneeling and watched as the edge of Vader’s cape moved as he turned towards the new arrival.

“My Lord.” The inquisitor said.

Forty-Seven watched as Vader stepped away from them, turning back towards the window, before rising as Vader addressed them, tilting his helmet to take in the black armored togruta rising in turn as Vader spoke.

“Commander Wolffe has not been in favor with the Empire. We would hate to lose a loyal commander, but we cannot have a traitor in the ranks. As we speak, a shuttle is being prepared. You will report in fifteen minutes for departure to Chiron.”

“And what are we to do with this commander, My Lord?” The Third Sister asked, her grey-striped montrals swinging as she tilted her head.

“Bring him to me, alive.” Vader turned from the window to face them. “If a traitor, he may be vital to quashing a rising resistance. If not, I have other uses for him.”

Forty-Seven forced down any opposition he may have had to that suggestion. “Shall I continue to monitor his comm?”

“If the opportunity arises. You will be commanding this operation.” Vader crossed the short distance to Forty-Seven to tilt his head up to meet his visored gaze. “Forty-Seven is my personal commander, any word from him is a word from me.”

“I will not fail you, Lord Vader.” He meant it, feeling a rise of pride in his chest at the man’s trust. Vader had chosen him, trusted him to take on this mission. Trusted him enough to let him leave. Forty-Seven would bring in Wolffe.

---

“I feel like I’m forgetting something.” Riyo laughed as she took in the packed bags before them.

“Me.” Fox wrapped his arms around Riyo’s waist and rest his chin on the top of her head. “You’ve triple-checked everything, Ri.”

“But I have yet to quadruple check it, Fox!” She teased, closing her eyes as she wrapped her arms over his. “It’s not funny if it’s your toothbrush we forget.”

“I’ll just use yours.”

“Gross.”

“Fine, fine. Guess I’ll keep my tongue to myself from now on.”

“Oh, how ever will I survive.” She laughed as she untangled herself from his arms. “I’m checking the bathroom again.”

He caught her arm. “No, you’re not. We’re going to miss the transport.” Underneath the soft gloves he wore she could feel the press of his old armor, hidden under his loose clothing. “We still have plenty of credits, Ri. As long as we’ve each got a blaster and a change of underwear, we’ll be fine.”

“Fine, fine, I give in.” She hiked her bag onto her shoulder. “I can’t believe we’re doing this while your face is practically naked.”

Fox scrunched up his mouth as he reached for his own bag. “C’mon, how many clones have you seen with a beard?”

“One too many. At least your beard isn’t greying yet. Then the ‘silver fox’ jokes will really be funny.” She called out behind her as she made her way through the quiet house, waiting for Fox to secure the front door behind them before making her way down the steps. “Can you imagine what the boys would say, seeing you in this state?”

“They wouldn’t say anything until they had sat me down and shaved me clean.” Fox said as he tossed his bag into the back of the speeder and climbed into the passenger seat.

Riyo sat down in the driver’s seat. “What’s Wolffe going to say?”

“He’ll cry. Later he’ll say it’s because the beard is so atrocious, but…” Fox trailed off in thought.

“Hard exterior, soft underneath?”

“Oh, no. Hard exterior with harder interior encasing a tiny sliver of softness.” Fox chuckled. “But he’s still human, as far as we were ever allowed to be human. I know he’s missed me.” He reached over across the console to rest a hand on Riyo’s thigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiled as she took one hand off the wheel to squeeze his. She had been expecting a rush of nerves to hit her as they left, but speeding through the trees with Fox to go track down his brother, everything felt right.

#foxiyo #commander wolffe #commander fox #riyo chuchi #original character #my fics #seconds and years fic

[disregardcanon]

a few thoughts on structuring the imperial inquisitorius since i’ve been in that headspace. if you’re unfamiliar with maslow’s hierarchy of needs, you might want to pull one up for your viewing pleasure along with this. it gets referenced a lot

1. inquisitor training is in 3 stages: fully a prisoner, recruit, and then full-fledged inquisitor

2. the first stage is pretty heavily just torture and isolation, but with some smatterings of propaganda thrown in along with the “hey just give in and you can like, eat food, see people, and stop getting tortured to death”. the propaganda about the empire being Good TM almost never sticks in this stage, but it’s important to sew those seeds at the beginning because it still starts to take root in the person’s brain. 

the main propaganda tool here that IS effective is that one that ninth sister tells cal: you can’t stop the empire. this is what’s repeated every time that someone is tortured and then locked back away indefinitely. 

prisoners almost always eventually give into this thinking because the torture and only getting the bare minimum of food and water to not die, combined with an imprisonment and no hope of escape eventually does that to a person. 

3. the way to get out of this stage is to agree to become an inquisitor. however, to become a recruit, the member has to bleed their kyber crystal. if they did not come to the inquisitors with a kyber crystal because they lost their saber or they were never a jedi to begin with, they’re required to bleed a crystal from the inquisitorious’s supply. 

now, bleeding your kyber crystal is pretty much permanent. it can be “purified” like ahsoka did, but it is never going to return to the color that it started as. 

there is also no canon information about this, but i imagine that there’s a spiritual connection between kyber crystals and their wielders, so bleeding a crystal really hurts. for sith who bleed OTHER people’s crystals, this is a form of torture... but for those forced to bleed their own, it feels the same. it’s just self-inflicted. 

this is important because it’s 1. a physical reminder of your status as an inquisitor that has painful memories, always linking your identity to the pain of your becoming and 2. a painful pledging ritual that makes you feel like you’ve chosen this path and severed your ties to the jedi too irreversibly to be accepted back. 

4. the second stage is much more intermittent torture, the kind that’s masquerading as discipline and slow integration into a group dynamic. if the prisoner phase is about depriving them of all of maslow’s hierarchy, this one’s about giving the recruits the first level and flirting with giving you the second and third. 

the second level “safety” needs will never be fully realized, the way that it never is for people in abusive relationships, but they will be made to feel like there’s a reason for each violation and a predictable pattern. there will also be hints of the third level “belongingness and love needs” being fulfilled. 

the recruit is half initiated into the group, kind of like pledges in a fraternity that are actually getting hazed to hell and back. they have the hints of being a full member of the group and are made to believe that there’s at least a little bit of community that they can get.

 they have a specific trainer assigned who’s supposed to mold their skills (we aren’t making the corpse of the jedi order into a terrible undead creature no sir), make them nostalgic for the jedi order and easier to mold, and guide their indoctrination. 

most of the recruits get through by parroting the rhetoric with little actual investment beyond I Would Like to Get Tortured Less Please or maybe I Would Like To Be Able To Hurt People the Way I Have Been Hurt along with some hope that maybe there’s a little bit of a place in the world for them at the end of it, but a few are the sort who take the punch bowl and slurp down the koolaid because that’s the only way for them to go through with this. 

it’s one way to meet those needs for belonging and not feeling like a shit person, so there’s that. 

5. for the “final trial” recruits are forced to kill someone who the others have determined would best prove their loyalty. for recruits without direct ties to someone, this is frequently a targeted or vulnerable group that the full inquisitors have determined this individual is most sympathetic towards. 

the other inquisitors always bring a charge against the victim (jedi, traitor, etc etc) but for everyone who isn’t drinking the koolaid, it’s just a clear leveraging of power- if you want to survive this, then you will destroy every bit of your soul for us. this is the life that you’re choosing, and you will choose it every day. 

dance, fucker, dance

6. the inquisitor initiation ritual is mainly pillaged from the jedi knighting ritual with some darker twists. this is partially as a bit of gallows humor, partially to make integration easier for the members while also reminding them that they will never be that again, and partially because all the founders were jedi and it’s hard for people to come up with ideas that are completely alien to their own culture. 

the future inquisitor in full uniform on bended knee, 

“by the right of the inquisitorius, by the will of the emperor, rise inquisitor title”

7. the number system is like chairs in a middle school band. at the time of initiation, the inquisitor becomes the lowest number brother/sister. there is a certain duration of time that they have to spend at the bottom of the ladder before they’re able to challenge a higher ranking inquisitor for their position. it’s considered gauche to challenge more than two inquisitors above you and is not normally done unless someone is cocky because it WILL get you singled out among the members as a cocky asshole that no one wants to work with. 

if the challenger wins, they steal the number and knock the other one down to the one that they held. this makes things confusing because titles change, but it’s productive because it 1. allows for upward mobility 2. ensures that members keep up their skills because losing loses you income, privileges, and respect among the organization while winning BRINGS those things 3. helps keep members from growing too close to one another. a certain degree of isolation is desirable in a hierarchy like this. and of course it dangles the possibility of meeting some of those esteem needs in maslow’s hierarchy in front of them. 

there is some hesitant collaboration between inquisitors because they are all cautiously and reluctantly trying to fulfill those belonging needs (and most of them have accepted that this is just what they are now) but it’s difficult for any of them to do much beyond nervously wish they could be friends because the atmosphere is too dangerous and uncertain to do anything more in. 

part of the way that they keep inquisitors in line is just meeting the base of the pyramid and then dangling the psychological needs (both belonging and esteem) in front of them like lucy from the peanuts with a football. 

8. the grand inquisitor is in charge, but whoever holds that title is outside of the hierarchy. they cannot be challenged and have their position stolen because that would be like challenging the drum major for the role of drum major. doesn’t work like that, babe

9. i’m going back and forth about whether i want the numbers to start with first or second. on one hand, having a first makes sense and i sometimes would want one. on the other hand, trilla suduri seems very high ranking and skilled, and having someone above her seems strange, plus having “second sister/brother” be the grand inquisitor’s “second” in command seems like a fitting naming system. 

#nobody expects the imperial inquisition #inquisitorius #trilla suduri #grand inquisitor #sw meta #sw headcanons #the inquisitors are fascinating

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (9)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

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

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

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

Also in AO3

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

9 of ?

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

The piece de resistance is all that’s left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twelfth Sister,” addressed the armorer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—–

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

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

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

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

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

A self-imposed penance.

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

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

There was nothing the Nightsister got out of the Jedi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAL KESTIS

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

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

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

CERE JUNDA

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

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

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

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

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

Cal…

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

Cal...

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

“[Y/N]?!” he gasped.

Where are you?

“Where are you?”

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

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

“I… I’m in—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I work alone. Go.”

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

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

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

Another long night awaits.

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