we queens, we mothers

[peacedies-blog]

[tryhowandwhy]

Tell me where it hurts, she’d say. Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where. But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

[peacedies-blog]

a  visible  breath  imparts  upon  skywalker,  shaking  his  shoulders momentarily.  the  ship  remains  steady,  despite  the  personal  distress  to  his  body,  fingers  cinching  tighter  around  the  controls.  they  were  alive,  they  were  safe – if  only  he’d  known.  he  would  have  abandoned  imperial  ideals  ..  years  ago.  he  is  still  too  young  to  settle  into  the  listless  acceptance  of  age  and  wear,  not  yet  as  cored  as  his  master  would  have  him  believe.  he  knows  they  would  not  be  babies,  now –  it’s  nearly  been  ten  years  since  order  sixty-six,  and  they’d  be  young  children – but  he  hadn’t  known  them as  children,  only  as  growing  bodies  in  padme’s  soft,  swollen  belly.  trying  to  picture  them,  now,  is  tantalizing  and  cruel.  did  they  look  like  her,  heart-shaped  and  a  dark-light  contrast?  or  were  they  like  him,  tan  on  a  mess  of  curls?  perhaps  it  was  a  graceful  blend  of  the  both  of  them.  maybe  he’d  find  out.  maybe  he’d  –  finally  see  them.  anakin  didn’t  expect  trust  from  anyone,  not  immediately,  especially  after  they  learned  of  the  truth  of  his  identity.  it  would  affirm  past  betrayals,  and  the  atrocities  he’s  committed  since .. he  does  not  expect  fondness.  he  can  only  hope  that  he  can  earn  it  by  assisting  the  rebellion  and  proving  his  loyalty.  anakin  can  feel  the  insurgent  of  memory  coasting  padme’s  mind,  and  it  bleeds  into  his,  too,  soft  images  of  her  distended  belly,  his  hands  splaying  over  the  surface,  or  occasionally  he’d  lean  to  press  the  shell  of  his  ear  to  her  skin.  he  swallows  his  saliva  between  the  forced  rush  of  a  breath,  jaw  clenching.  years  were  stolen  from  him  by  deceit.  he  would  never  have  them  back.  the  anger  swells  and  lashes  in  him,  hot  like  fire.   palpatine  would  suffer.  that  much,  he  knew  with  certainty.  anakin  wanted  to  be  the  one  to  make  it  happen.  

‘  i  know,  ‘    he  finally  returns,  mouth  pressing into  a  hard  line  beneath  the  dark  pane  of  his  mask.  skywalker  feels  the  gravitational  pull  tugging  at  the  hull  of  the  ship,  easing  them  further  toward  the  surface.  padme  cannot  see  his  shame,  but  perhaps  she  can  feel  it –  the  way  it  coils  inside  of  him,  tight,  wires  crossed.  he  feels  a  great  deal  of  guilt  and  self-hatred,  loathing  for  the  man  he  was,  is,  for  being  so  foolish  as  to  simply  believe  his  master’s  words,  refusing  to  ever  extend  his  force  sensitivity  into  the  galaxy  to  search  for  their  faint  signatures.  if  he’d  known…  everything  may  have  played  out  infinitely  different.  he  would  have  slaughtered  his  children’s  keepers  and  taken  them  back,  unless  he  would  find  padme,  and  know  the  truth,  and  then,  perhaps… the  rebellion  may  have  had  him  for  years  by  now.  to  take  his  mind  away  from  the  subject,  anakin  diverts  to  strategic  planning–or  inquiry,  rather.  ‘  how  are  things  coming?  imperial  communications  tend  to  be  more  stable  than  what  i  remember  of  the  republic,  so  i  don’t  expect  you  to  experience  much,  if  any,  interruption.  connection  may  be  more  difficult.  ‘  talk  of  imperial  strengths  and  weaknesses  would,  in full,  come  later–he  could  offer  any  and  everything,  what  he  knew,  or  remembered,  how  imperial  targeting  systems  paled  in  comparison  to  the  rebellion,  the  weakest points  of  tie  fighters  and  interceptors,  and  the  larger,  more  formidable  ships,  too.  how  the  clone  portion  of  the  army  was  dying  out  because  of  age  or  death  in  combat,  making  them  less  equipped  to  respond  to  the  rebellion,  how  swiftly  imperial  repertoire  overheats  or  how  incapable  half  of  the  men  were. 

they  were  good  killers,  but  without  leadership,  they  faltered.  they  didn’t  have  the  same  autonomy  of  the  rebellion.  everything  was  ruled  by  fear.  love  and  loyalty,  too,  but  anakin  supposes  that  stemmed  from  fear  as  well–fear  that  lord  vader  would  find  you  a  detriment  to  the  army  and  safety  of  others  in  that  army,  or  that  he’d  merely  be  upset  with  you  and  smother  you  to  death,  or,  if  merciful,  snap  the  spinal  column  first. it  was  far  reaching,  encompassing  the  entire  imperial  force.  perhaps  the  few  unaffected  by  fear  were  only  tarkin  and  the  emperor,  or  the  especially  ambitious  whom  sought  the  empire  to  rise  through  rank.   anakin  feels  the  anxiety  clotting  through  his  chest,  working  down  to  every  extremity.  though  he  maintains  easy  composure,  it  spirals  through  him.  he  can  only  imagine  his  padawan,  now  –  tall,  pointed  montrals,  trained,  narrow  and  lean.  ahsoka  was  a  fast  learner,  and  a  formidable  girl.  when  she  learned  the  truth  of  his  identity,  would  she  cry?  scream?  would  she  froth  with  rage,  or  collapse  with  sorrow?  and  obi-wan,  too,  anakin  can  already  feel  what  will  happen,  or,  at  least,  what  he  thinks.  there  will  be  pain,  and  tears,  and  joy,  too,  that  his  padawan  had  returned  to  the  light,  and  his  friend  had  survived,  and  readily  changed.  and  there  will  be  fear,  and  suspicion, and  devastation.  but  it  will  be  better  than  not  having  him  at  all.   ‘  is…  obi-wan  at  this  base?  or  somewhere  else?  ‘ 

 it’s  half  an  additional  sense  that’s  resurged  in  her,  an  intrinsic  knowledge  of  a  man  she’s  loved  since  he  strode  back  into  her  life  at  nineteen  ---  as  instinctual  and  easy  as  sight  or  taste  is  ANAKIN,  and  she  hasn’t  the  insight  to  say  whether  it’s  the  currents  of  the  force  or  only  the  disruptions  to  his  pattern  of  breath,  the  slightest  movements  of  his  fingers,  the  hold  of  his  shoulders,  or  something  else  entirely.    but  whatever  the  font  of  her  knowledge,  SHE  KNOWS  HIS  HEART,  she  does  ---  knows  it  as  it  wavers  as  thoughts  of  their  children  stir  in  his  mind,  as  he  dares  to  imagine  ---  knows  it  as  it  clenches,  recedes  from  the  happy  aura  of  the  memories  she’d  felt  him  dip  into.    anger  comes  easier  to  him  than  anything,  A  CONSTANT  FRIEND,  but  not  quite  enough  to  entirely  muffle  the  guilt.

 “ I’VE  GOT  IT. ”    the  base’s  signal  has,  at  last,  presented  itself  to  her,  fuzzy  through  the  planet’s  haze  but  enough  to  make  contact.    she  occupies  her  left  hand  with  stabilizing  efforts,  the  ship  rumbling  softly  AS  THEY  BREAK  THE  ATMOSPHERE;  with  her  right  she  engages  communications,  leans  in  to  speak.    “ hailing  outpost  fives.    this  is  padmé  naberrie  of  the  ALLIANCE  TO  RESTORE  THE  REPUBLIC.    transmitting  authorization  now. ”    she  needs  both  hands  now,  to  key  in  the  series  of  verification  codes  which  grow  lengthier  with  each  passing  day,  each  close  call  —  two  personally  selected  passcodes,  twenty  digits  changed  regularly,  a  traced  pattern.    “ on  approach  in  a  commandeered  imperial  transport.    NO  HOSTILES  ABOARD  or  in  pursuit.    requesting  landing  instructions  and  that  alderaan  command  be  notified  of  my  arrival. ”    she  doesn’t  want  to  worry  bail,  who,  if  he’s  yet  to  receive  word  of  her  capture,  certainly  will  soon.    IF  HE’S  LEFT  UNAWARE  OF  HER  ESCAPE  TO  SAFETY,  he’ll  have  to  go  through  the  gauntlet  of  plans  they’ve  set  in  place  should  anything  befall  her  ---  he’ll  lock  down  her  pass  codes,  and  that’ll  take  ages  to  sort  out  ---  he’ll  MOVE  THE  TWINS  TO  A  LOCATION  NONE  BUT  HE  AND  OBI-WAN  KNOW,  for  their  protection,  should  her  will  crack,  and  that’s  longer  before  she  sees  her  children  again,  longer  before  anakin  can  ---  and  knowing  bail  he’s  likely  to  mount  some  fool  rescue  attempt  on  her  behalf,  and  they’ll  lose  ships,  pilots,  GOOD  FIGHTERS  AND  GOOD  MEN  WITH  THEM.    they’re  eternally  short  on  both.

 it’s  a  long,  tense  moment  after  she  concludes  the  transmission  before  a  response  is  granted,  IT’S  AN  UNEXPECTED  HONOR,  COMMANDER  NABERRIE  ---  YOU  ARE  CLEARED  TO  LAND,  and  docking  instructions  sent  directly  to  her  console.    she  swipes  across  the  dash,  sends  them  over  to  anakin.

 the  worst  of  the  reentry  is  well  behind  them,  and  she  feels  brave  enough  to  rise  from  her  chair,  slide  out  from  the  copilot’s  space.    she’s  spent  more  than  enough  time  aboard  starships  to  keep  her  balance,  and  no  pilot’s  skills  match  anakin’s.    she  moves  to  stand  behind  his  seat,  RESTS  BOTH  OF  HER  HANDS  ON  THE  CURVE  OF  HIS  SHOULDER  ---  one  just  above  the  blade,  the  other  at  the  peak  of  his  upper  arm.    under  the  thick  exoskeleton  of  his  suit  he  is  stable,  but  under  his  skin  she’s  sure  fear  ripples,  and  uncertainty.    is  she  terrible  for  TAKING  COMFORT  IN  THAT?    she  felt  not  a  hint  of  doubt  from  darth  vader,  not  a  second  of  hesitation  or  reluctance,  not  a  single  stray  emotion  to  mark  him  as  human.    the  anxiety  which  spikes  is  all  anakin’s,  all  too  familiar.    IT  VIBRATES  BEHIND  THE  DISTORTED  CADENCE  OF  HIS  VOICE.  ricochets  in  his  throat  ---  wouldn’t  you  know  if  he  was?  she  wants  to  ask,  a  furrow  pressed  into  her  brow.    even  beyond  general  awareness  of  presences  of  the  force,  she’s  well  acquainted  with  THE  POWERFUL  THREADS  which  run  between  OBI-WAN,  ANAKIN,  AND  AHSOKA,  the  ties  that  bind.    it  saved  them  a  fair  number  of  times,  when  they  dared  to  sneak  moments  together  in  less  than  absolute  privacy  ---  OBI-WAN’S  COMING,  and  by  the  time  he  rounded  the  corner  they’d  be  a  safe  distance  apart,  their  hands  kept  to  themselves  ( but  he  knew  anyway,  didn’t  he,  says  he  always  knew ).    ahsoka  used  to  be  able  to  lead  her  straight  to  her  master,  no  matter  where  he  was  in  the  temple,  when  padmé  requested  as  much  ---  no,  senator,  i  haven’t  seen  him  today,  but  I  CAN  FIND  HIM  FOR  YOU.    these  days  all  of  fulcrum’s  movements  are  kept  extremely  confidential,  but  obi-wan  always  knows  she’s  on  her  way  back  before  she’s  even  broken  atmo.    did  he  lose  that,  when  he  DONNED  THE  HELM  AND  MANTLE  OF  VADER  ---  was  that  burned  away?    is  that  why  he’s  never  located  obi-wan  in  his  hiding,  why  he  never  discovered  ahsoka  as  she  darted  through  the  looming  shadow  he  cast  ---  why  he  never  found  her,  never  felt  the  soft  and  gleaming  fluctuations  of  THEIR  CHILDREN’S  LIVES?    or  did  he  never  look?    against  the  pull  of  her  curiosity,  she  refrains  from  returning  his  query  with  one,  or  a  dozen,  of  her  own,  and  shakes  her  head  instead.    “ obi-wan  is  on  alderaan.    WITH  THE  CHILDREN. ”

[batdeity]

Visit Original Link

[peacedies-blog]

batdeity:

I Was Lost Without You

Mass Effect 3 Collector’s Edition OST

[abomasnow]

i will not apologize for being devastatingly beautiful

[peacedies-blog]

spacehated replied to your post:  we don’t all have the luxury of deciding when we...

IM YELLING SHES YELLING HES FRIGHTENED

shes calmly speaking

thats way scarier

[peacedies-blog]

‘ we don’t all have the luxury of deciding when we want to care about something. ‘

 luxury  is,  in  a  dozen  ways  or  more,  a  word  to  aptly  describe  the  life  she’s  led.    insofar  as  material  wealth  is  concerned  SHE  HAS  WANTED  FOR  NOTHING  ALL  HER  LIFE  ---  wandered  away  her  childhood  in  ornate  homes  with  ceilings  miles  above  her  head,  offered  her  prayers  to  her  goddesses  before  carved  idols  tucked  into  altars  in  the  comfort  of  her  home.    she  is  accustomed  to  rich  foods,  simmersilk  nightgowns,  cool  breezes  and  safety.    SHE  WAS  NEVER  UNAWARE  OF  IT,  in  youth,  that  she  possessed  comforts  that  most  did  not.    through  her  queenship,  through  her  marriage,  she  has  been  a  creature  built  from  rare  privilege,  ceramic  luxuries,  and  SHE’S  KNOWN ---  and  she  could  turn  that  to  indifference  so  easily,  as  so  many  do,  live  in  cultured  cushioning,  but  gods,  WHEN  HAS  SHE  EVER?    devoting  her  life  to  the  republic,  to  selfless  pursuit  of  right,  nestling  each  inch  of  her  love  in  anakin’s  breast  ---  DECIDING  WHEN  SHE  WANTS  TO  CARE,  how  dare  he ---

 “ excuse  me? ”    she  straightens  her  spine,  stands  rigid,  dons  a  coldness  to  her  face  which  she  usually  RESERVES  FOR  THE  LIKES  OF  SEPARATIST  AGENTS  AND  SITH  LORDS,  adopts  a  biting  tone.    how  dare  you,  she’d  like  to  refute,  how  dare  you  insinuate  that  i  could  be  so  low  as  to  LOVE  ONLY  WHEN  IT  SUITS  ME  ---  that  man  is  my  husband,  i  am  all  filled  with  promises  to  him,  how  dare  you  call  my  love  conditional.    THE  LUXURY  OF  DECIDING  WHEN  TO  CARE  ---  if  there  was  ever  a  decision  she  made  it  and  sealed  it  in  the  lake  country  with  his  hands  in  hers,  made  it  for  every  day  to  come.    but  IN  THOSE  WORDS  ARE  SECRETS,  things  not  to  be  shared,  so  she  resigns  herself  to  unexplained  indignation.    “ you  don’t  know  what  you’re  talking  about. ”    the  words  are  sharp,  chilled.    “ i  care  about  anakin  ---  a  great  deal,  and  i  have  for  a  long  time.    i’m  not  sure  WHAT  METRIC  YOU’D  LIKE  TO  JUDGE  ME  BY,  what  you  think  i  ought  to  be  doing  for  him  that  i’m  not  --- ” 

 she  stops  herself,  draws  a  breath.    DOES  HER  PRIDE  MATTER  MORE  to  her  than  ANAKIN’S  HEALTH?    “ i  care  about  him. ”    i  love  him.    “ very  much.    if  you’d  like  to  stop  accusing  me  and  explain  --- ”    is  something  happening  to  him,  IS  SOMETHING  WRONG,  IS  HE  HURTING,  wouldn’t  she  know?    

rogue one  |  accepting.

[forcewith]

ROGUE ONE: A STAR WARS STORY SENTENCE MEME

possible spoilers.

‘ whatever i do, i do it to protect you. ‘

‘ you’re confusing peace with terror. ‘

‘ have to start somewhere. ‘

‘ you will never win. ‘

‘ come. we have a long ride ahead of us. ‘

‘ is that ___ ? he/she/they look a little different than i imagined.’

‘ what part of ‘urgent message’ do you guys not understand ? ‘

‘ you want to get out of here ? ‘

‘ congratulations. you are being rescued. ‘

‘ i like to think he/she’s/they’re dead. it makes things easier. ‘

‘ i’ve never had the luxury of political opinions. ‘

‘ what we need is someone who can get us through the door without being killed. ‘

‘ that is a bad idea. i think so, and so does ___. ‘

‘ you find him/her/them, you kill him/her/them. then and there. ‘

‘ why does he/she/they get a ___ and i don’t ? ‘

‘ i find that answer vague and unconvincing. ‘

‘ trust goes both ways. ‘

‘ i will not fail. ‘

‘ yes, i’m speaking to you. ‘

‘ for that answer, you must pay. ‘

‘ we’re not here to make friends. ‘

‘ tell me you have a back-up plan. ‘

‘ there are a lot of explosions for two people blending in. ‘

‘ quiet ! ‘

‘ and there’s a fresh one if you mouth off again. ‘

‘ let them pass in peace. ‘

‘ is your foot alright ? ‘

‘ you almost shot me ! ‘

‘ there is more than one sort of prison, ___. i sense you carry yours wherever you go. ‘

‘ not a day goes by where i don’t think of you. ‘

‘ did they send you – ? did you come here to kill me ? ‘

‘ all it’s ever brought me is pain. ‘

‘ i will run no longer, but you must save yourself. ‘

‘ it’s beautiful. ‘

‘ i’m not very optimistic about our odds. ‘

‘ i believe i owe you an apology, ___. your work exceeds all expectations. ‘

‘ we stand here amidst my achievement, not yours ! ‘

‘ does he/she/they look like a killer ? ‘

‘i don’t need luck, i have you. ‘

‘ i have so much to tell you. ‘

‘ you lied to me. ‘

‘ you’re in shock. ‘

‘ you’re in shock, and looking for someplace to put it. i’ve seen it before.’

‘ i had every chance to pull the trigger. but did i ? ‘

‘ i had orders. orders that i disobeyed. but you wouldn’t understand that. ‘

‘ we don’t all have the luxury of deciding when we want to care about something. ‘

‘ you’re not the only one who lost everything. some of us just decided to do something about it. ‘

‘ be careful not to choke on your aspirations, ___. ‘

‘ what chance do we have ? the question is, what choice ? ‘

‘ the time to fight is now. ‘

‘ every time i walked away from something i wanted to forget, i told myself it was for a cause i believed in. ‘

‘ i couldn’t face myself if i gave up now. ‘

‘ ___, i’ll be there for you. ‘

‘ ___ said i had to. ‘

‘ not used to people sticking around when things go bad. ‘

‘ welcome home. ‘

‘ one fighter with a sharp stick and nothing left to lose can take the day. ‘

‘ make ten men feel like a hundred. ‘

‘ good luck, little sister/brother. ‘

‘ i’ve got a bad feeling about this – ‘

‘ light it up. ‘

‘ why does nobody ever tell me anything, ___ ? ‘

‘ here. you wanted one, right ? ‘

‘ your behavior, ___, is continually unexpected. ‘

‘ ___ ! come back ! please ! ‘

‘ ___, don’t go. don’t go. i’m here. i’m here. ‘

‘ it’s okay. it’s okay. ‘

‘ this is for you, ___. ‘

‘ do you think anybody’s listening ? ‘

‘ you may fire when ready. ‘

‘ ___ would have been proud of you. ‘

[daydreamzy-deactivated20200626]

I want to be known as someone who’s full of love and radiates light

[peacedies-blog]

‘  alright.  do  what  you  have  to.  ‘  anakin  knows how  it  works –  in  retrospect,  he’s  the  deadliest  foe  they  might  have,  as  a  former  jedi,  deep  in  the  republic,  trusted  and  admired.  there  were  secrets  shielded  from  the  republic  that  only  the  order  knew,  or,  only  himself,  his  master,  and  his  padawan.  such  as,  that,  perhaps  the  reason  the  balance  in  the  force  had  skewed  was  because  of  the  death  of  the  father  and  his  children,  and  the  weight,  in  turn,  crashed  upon  skywalker’s  shoulders  in  entirety.  or  perhaps  he  was  simply  too  weak  to  resist  temptation  and  the  saccharine  dark.  he  realizes  that,  now  that  he’s  relinquishing  his  grip  on  imperial  influence.  if  this  makes  him  an  enemy  of  the  empire,  then  that’s  fine.  he’s  with  her,  and  he’s  with  obi-wan,  and  he’s  with  ahsoka  – now,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  if  it  takes  leaps  and  bounds  to  get  to  the  neutral  point  they  need  to  reach,  padme  is  well  equipped  to  handle  and  achieve,  where  skywalker  is  not.  his  political  capability  is  adequate,  but  it  does  not  compare  to  padme  amidala.  he  is  vividly  aware  of  that.  she’d  been  raised  in  it,  breathed  it  in,  held  politics   in   her  hand.  anakin  skywalker  was  raised  on  a  desert  planet  under  the  bonds  of  slavery.  he  is  sure  her  early  life  was  grueling,  as  his  was,  but  the  difference  is  staggering – political  responsibility  is  stressful  and  puts  pressure  on  a  young  mind,  but  anakin  thinks  he’d  have  taken  it  over  abuse  and  slavery.  he  flinches,  trying  to  expel  the  memories  and  thoughts  from  his  mind.  it  was  an  unhappy  part  of  his  life,  and  he  did  not  want to  relive  it,  and  all  the  wounds  it  brought  with  it.  

though  he  pilots  with  ease,  as  if  he  were  born  to  fly,  his  mind  is  occupied  –  not  with  the  flight,  but  with  what  had  just  transgressed.  he’d  witnessed,  with  his  own  eyes,  the  truth  of  mustafar,  and – chancellor  palpatine  was  a  liar  whom  concealed  the  reality  of  padme’s  falsified  demise,  led  him  to  believe  that  he’d  killed  her,  turned  him  against  his  loved  ones  (  whispered  that  obi-wan  was  plotting  against  the  republic,  but — most  importantly,  that  he  was  plotting  against  anakin,  that  he  had  every  intention  of  taking  padme  and  disappearing  without  him,  that  she  was  readily  complicit  in  conspiring  with  him  ).  palpatine  was  supposed  to  be  his  friend.  anakin  had  felt  nothing  but  trust  and  admiration  in  his  presence.  never  once  had  he  pushed  him  aside,  or  turned  his  head  to  his  wants  or  needs.  he  always  had  time  for  anakin,  and  it’d  established  a  paternal  bond  with  the  boy.  it  was  gone,  and  he  was  a  liar,  and  anakin  detests  deceit,  particularly  when  it  merits  the  loss  of  the  two  people  that’d  meant  the  absolute  most  to  him.  he  fades  out  of  the  situation,  even  as  he  handles  the  ship  with  grace,  warping  through  the edges  of  rims  and  finding  himself  in  the  malastare  star  system  before  he  knows  it.  a  turbulent  bump  puts  him  back  into  his  mechanized  body,  and  his  breathing  pattern  momentarily  stalls  before  resuming  it’s  rhythm.  he  wants  to  be  free  of  it  as  soon  as  possible,  free  of  his  helm  and  suit,  free  of  the  heavy  weighs  bogging  his  heels  down  and  collapsing  on  his  breastbone.  padme  hasn’t  seen  his  body  yet,  only  his  face –  what  has  obi-wan  told  her?  that  he  gave  him  a  swift  death?  or  was  he  vague,  as  he  usually  is –  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  i’m  sorry,  padme.  skywalker  still  holds  a  mite  of  resentment  for  his  treatment,  as  it  all  aches  in  his  limbs,  chest,  skin.  it  would’ve  been  grace  for  obi-wan  to  strike  him  down,  but – he’s  glad  he  didn’t,  now.  his  body  is  shallow  and  sunken  beneath  the  suit,  gnarled  and  burned,  ribs  pressing  into  mutilated  skin.  he  is  terrified  of  the  prospect  of  any  of  them  realizing  how  weak  he  is.

‘  padme,  ‘  he  murmurs,  easing  the  ship  out  of  lightspeed.  their  destination  was  approaching,  and  speeding  into  orbit  would  be  a  bad  idea.  hyperspace  was  meant  for  speed,  but  the  gravitational  pull  of  a  moon  or  planet  was  not.  the  query  that  continued  to  pursue  him,  most  relentlessly,  finally  rolls  from  his  tongue  with  force.  ‘  our  …  babies.  ‘  he  doesn’t  wait  to  feel  a  change  in  her,  doesn’t  want  to  feel  how  the  force  might  jump  or  tighten  with  static.  ‘  are  they  alive?  ‘  it’s  the  furthest  he  wants  to  go,  for  now.  an  explanation  isn’t  required.  he  only  wants  to  hear  it  from  her,  yes,  anakin,  they’re  alive,  or,  a  solemn  shake  of  the  head,  no.   he  will  not  think  of  them  until  given  confirmation,  will  not  attempt  to  mentally  create  images  of  his  children  until  he  knows  he  has  them.  the  rage  and  contempt  he  might  feel,  if  they’re  gone,  would  be  too  much.  it  would  be  his  fault.  he  hurt  her,  and  it’s  beyond  possible  that  he  may  have  ended  them  in  her  womb.  he’d  wanted  them  more  than  anything  in  his  life,  and  does  not  think  he  can  endure  their  loss  before  he’s  ever  even  met  them.  

 it’s  a  strange  feeling,  to  lapse  again  into  comfortable  silence  with  him.    they  used  to  talk  too  much,  in  the  RARE  PRIVATE  HOURS  THEY  HAD  TOGETHER,  so  afraid  to  waste  a  single  second  of  that  precious  time,  but  the  better  evenings  were  the  ones  when  they  avoided  that  trap,  simply  lounged  in  the  comfort  of  each  others’  presence.    her  small  body  nestled  into  the  curves  and  empty  spaces  of  his,  the  hard  jut  of  his  collar  against  the  soft  plush  of  her  cheek.    HIS  HAND  TRACING  OVER  THE  ROUND  EXTENSION  OF  HER  BELLY,  hoping  to  feel  someone  stirring  within,  a  sharp  kick  that  might  prompt  a  moment’s  conversation  ---  oh,  she’s  a  fighter!    it  could  be  a  boy,  anakin.    no,  no,  trust  me,  that  one’s  my  girl  ---  before  they’d  drift  back  into  warm  silence  and  love.    no  sound  but  HER  BREATH  AND  HIS  BREATH  and  the  DISTANT  HUM  OF  CORUSCANT  TRAFFIC.    she’d  never  thought  to  taste  an  echo  of  that  feeling  again,  but  as  he  directs  the  ship  smoothly  through  hyperspace  it’s  there,  half  there,  like  a  ringing  in  her  ears.    the  sense  of  him  around  her  in  the  silence  is  so  thick  that  with  her  eyes  on  the  ships  controls,  she  half  expects  that  should  she  look  up  she’d  be  met  with  the  sight  of  a  ghost  of  ten  years  past,  cocky  smile  and  tan,  freckled  skin  and  no  scarring  but  one  thin  line  dividing  his  brow,  HIS  EYES  ALIGHT,  HIS  HAIR  TOUSLED  AND  PEPPERED  WITH  HALF  A  DOZEN  TINY  BRAIDS.

 outside  of  the  window  the  blur  of  hyperspeed  fades,  replaced  by  dark  space  and  the  murky  orb  of  their  destination,  and  she  bends  once  again  over  her  console.    she’s  sure  she  has  the  frequency  right  ---  she  suspects  they’re  still  a  mite  too  far  for  the  base’s  signal,  weak  by  design,  to  appear  on  her  radar.    as  she  waits  to  enter  orbit  SHE  CHANCES  A  GLANCE  AT  HIM,  and  though  the  mask  which  covers  him  is  as  dark  and  unchanging  as  ever,  hides  whatever  his  face  may  reveal,  she  can  see  anxiety  in  the  grip  he  has  on  the  controls.    she  knows  his  body  better  than  anyone,  and  the  language  that  entails.    it  occurs  to  her,  then,  in  full  force,  exactly  what  she’s  doing,  bringing  the  man  who  BROUGHT  THE  ORDER  AND  THE  REPUBLIC  TO  A  SINGLE  SHARED  SWIFT  END  to  the  doorstep  of  the  alliance,  bringing  him  to  face  those  who  had  once  loved  him.    obi-wan,  on  alderaan,  with  her  children  under  his  watchful  eye  ---  she’ll  have  to  let  him  and  sabé  know  ahead  of  time  what’s  happened,  what’s  happening,  just  as  surely  as  she  will  bail.    she’ll  have  to  warn  them  before  she  brings  him  within  a  star  system  of  his  children.    she  thinks  she  can  imagine  how  sabé  will  feel,  padmé,  YOU’VE  THE  BRIGHTEST  MIND  I’VE  EVER  KNOWN,  don’t  tell  me  you’ve  gone  and  lost  it  now  ---  but  obi-wan,  obi-wan  who  knew  him,  obi-wan  who  loved  him,  YOU  DO,  YOU  DO  LOVE  HIM.    she  doesn’t  fancy  an  ignited  lightsaber  and  a  command  of  padmé,  take  the  children  and  run  should  she  arrive  in  the  halls  of  the  palace  of  alderaan  with  DARTH  VADER  WALKING  AT  HER  SIDE  without  alerting  obi-wan,  but  for  as  vivid  as  that  image  is  in  her  mind  she  can’t  begin  to  guess  how  he’ll  react  to  this  news.    joy  at  the  return  of  a  lost  love  ---  skepticism,  doubt,  mistrust?    a  taste  of  the  anger  he’s  forbid  himself  for  so  many  long  years?    would  he  try  to  stop  her  from  letting  him  see  the  children?    and  ahsoka  ---  DOES  SHE  KNOW?    SHE  CAN’T  POSSIBLY.    few  in  the  rebellion  carry  as  strong  a  hatred  for  vader,  for  the  destruction  of  the  jedi,  as  ahsoka  does,  ahsoka  who  had  already  long  lost  her  love  for  the  order  but  who  felt  such  love  for  its  members.    how  many  times  has  she  mumbled  a  wrathful  wish  to  wreak  vengeance  for  their  lives  ---  for  katooni,  ganodi,  petro,  byph,  gungi,  zatt.    for  every  youngling  and  padawan,  for  master  plo,  for  anakin,  FOR  ANAKIN,  FOR  ANAKIN.    in  so  many  ways  they  are  so  alike,  and  she  has  never  known  anakin’s  anger  to  simply  dissipate  ---  but  with  love  it  can  lay  dormant,  and  ahsoka  loves  him.    would  she  swallow  it?    padmé  is  a  creature  of  forgiveness,  more  than  either  of  them;  not  unconditional,  but  she  seeks  to  understand,  and  with  THE  PRESS  OF  HIS  MIND  INTO  HERS  through  the  force,  how  could  she  not?

 he  breaks  the  silence,  speaks  her  name  with  soft  hesitance,  and  at  the  question  he  puts  to  her  she  CAN  FEEL  HER  CHEST  TIGHTEN.    concealing  the  twins’  existence  from  the  two  great  figureheads  of  the  empire  has  been  her  single  greatest  concern  for  these  years,  has  rested  at  the  head  of  every  strategy  she’s  laid  out,  every  action  she’s  taken,  every  action  she  has  not.    their  faces  swim  in  her  mind,  LUKE’S  TANGLED  CURLS,  LEIA’S  WIDE  AND  WONDERING  EYES.    the  emperor  can  never  know  of  them.    vader  can  never  discover  them.    “ YES. ”    it’s  only  a  breath,  hoarse  as  any  confession.    “ they’re  alive.    they’re  safe. ”    she  affords  herself  a  pause  before  she  makes  that  second  claim,  a  moment  to  search  for  them  amid  the  stars.    much  too  far  off  for  her  to  feel  their  signatures  with  any  clarity,  but  they  rest  always  at  the  back  of  her  mind,  and  SHE’D  KNOW  IF  ANYTHING  WAS  WRONG,  she’s  sure.    safe  and  content,  in  obi-wan’s  care,  in  bail’s,  in  sabé’s.    “ they  haven’t  been  babies  for  quite  a  while,  ani. ”

[peacedies-blog]

tagged by @stardies​ m’boy

1. Your Nickname: my real name is madi, which is short for madeleine. as a writer i also go by astra and in swrp i’ve somehow become corgi. so hi. im corgi.

2. Your eye colour: green-brown hazel. pretty dark.

3. Your hair colour: naturally dark brown. i’ve been dying it red for the last 3 years and i recently cut most of the dyed part off, but the ends are still red.

4. One fact about you: gayyyyyyyyyy

5. Favourite colour:  blue.

6. Favourite place: paris?? i’m a cliche but i’m also actually french so

7. Favourite celebrity:  dan avidan!! is he famous enough to count? also diego luna.

8. Favourite animal: dog dog dog dog dog

9. Favourite song:  up the wolves - the mountain goats

10. Favourite book: the other typist - suzanne rindell 

tagging: @astramajestic @awakesforce @chromedarmour @forcecall

[dreamsoffools]

✯ 

[peacedies-blog]

bail?  bail  organa—?  it  doesn’t  stir  anything  particularly  wary  in  skywalker’s  chest,  not  the  anxiety  he  knows  he’ll  feel  if  ahsoka  or  obi-wan  happen  to  be  present  ( the  fear  that’ll  rupture  in  him  as  he’d  remove  his  helmet  and  let  obi-wan’s  sorrow  brush  against  him   in  the  force,  the  way  his  brow  would  knit  and  that  old  melancholy  would  bleed  in  him,  or  the  tight  knots  that  might  curl  in  anakin’s  stomach  if  his  padawan  called  him  ani,  grown  into  herself  ).  bail,  however,  was  a  prominent  figure,  capable  and  collected–the  hassle  he  must’ve  made  him,  as  darth  vader  of  the  sith,  has  to  be  tremendous.  lord  vader  had  loved  nothing  more  than  skewing  politicians  and  ripping  out  the  foundations  of  peace,  here  and  there  across  the  galaxy.  he’d  MET  bail,  he  knew  bail.  will  it  come  as  a  shock  when  darth  vader’s  identity  is  revealed?  will  padme  let  him  tell  them  who  he  is,  will  it  be  an   intelligent  strategic  move?  he  supposes  he  had  time  to  ask  her,  from  here  to  there.  he  decides  not  to  comment  on  the  offered  name.  as  the  coordinates  flicker  across  the  visor  of  the  targeting  system,  anakin  gently  propels  the  transport  across  the  open  bay  and  through  the  exit,  pulling  into  open  space.  it  strikes  him,  then,  that  he’s  really  leaving,  all  of  it,  and  the  urge  to  cry  out  is  intense–not  in  fear,  or  regret,  but,  plainly,  joy.  there  is  slavery  here,  about  anakin’s  neck,  wrists,  feet.  it  simply  has  never  left  him.  to  feel  a  link  cracking  and  clattering,  one  at  a  time,  it’s  liberating.  he’ll  never  again  have  to  bend  to  tarkin  at  palpatine’s  command.  he’ll  never  again  have  to  endure  the  ache  of  a  severed  extremity  in  punishment.  he’ll  never  again  have  to  leap  to  a  command  because  his  master  orders  it  of  him.  

he  breathes  out,   departing  briefly  from  the  regulated  pattern,  the  solid  anchor  of  padme’s  hand  helping  to  keep  his  emotions  as  carefully  culled  as  possible.  the  ship  veers  under  his  touch.  imperial  targeting  systems  weren’t  as  adequate  as  alliance,  but  what  it  lacked  in  specifications,  it  compensated  for  in  brute  strength  and  speed.  a  tie  fighter  could  circle  an  x-wing  and  butt  into  it,  if  it  had  to.  the  transporter  is  clunky  in  comparison,  but  more  reliable.  padme’s  instruction,  and  information,  has  already  sunk  into  him.  ‘  it’s  acidic,  then,  i  imagine.  obi-wan  and  i –  ‘  he  frowns  beneath  the  black  of  his  mask,  pleased,  for  once,  that  she  can’t  see  his  face.   ‘ –  encountered  similar  troubles  elsewhere  when  i  was  a  general.  i  understand.  i’ll  be  careful.  ‘   before,  he  may  have  made  a  jape,  tongue  against  his  teeth,  humming  in  his  throat.  he  has  no  mirth  to  offer,  now,  for  the  moment.  he  wonders  what  it  will  take  to  make  him  laugh  again.  padme  is  a  start.  ‘  an  imperial  ship  invading  your  airways  on  your  hidden  base  will  look  …  hostile.  it  would  be  wise  for  us  to  transfer  into  a  speeder,  or ..  you  will  have  to  speak  with  someone  there  over  a  commlink  …  bail,  you  said …  to  inform  them  of  the  situation.  they  can  have  this  ship  and  take  it  apart,  if  they  wish.  ‘  it  would  give  them  an  opportunity  to  learn  about  imperial  craft,  and  it’s  weak  points.  lord  vader  had  never  truly  cared  for  many  outlets  of  the  empire,  including  it’s  fleet –  there  were  fatal  flaws  the  rebels  could  exploit  quite  easily.  they  could  reproduce  the  transport  models,  too,  and  covertly  fly  into  imperial  airspaces  to  launch  whatever  sort  of  assault  they  wanted.  queries  linger  yet  at  the  back  of  anakin’s  throat,  is  obi-wan  there,  is  ahsoka  there,  our  old  friends,  did  anyone  survive  order  66,  what  about  rex,   and,  with  most  finality,  padme,  our  babies,  are  they  alive?   ‘  it’s  your  jurisdiction –  i  do  as  you  ask.  ‘  

he  glances  at  her  as  she  settles  into  the  copilot’s  seat.  her  job,  there,  on  this  transporter,  would  be  primarily  to  handle  the  weaponry  and  assist  in  leveling  the  ship,  should  it  shake  with  turbulence.  in  the  republic,  he  hadn’t  often  a  copilot.  the  ships  were  small,  just  to  fit  obi-wan,  ahsoka,  and  himself,  or  if  they  were  larger,  he  wasn’t  the  one  flying.  still,  it  feels  good  to  be  into  open  space  again,  even  if  he  can’t  physically  feel  everything  as  intensely  as  he  used  to.  the  ship  comfortably  glides,  and  anakin  displays  prowess  he  oft  restrained  in  his  jedi  days.  he  merely  follows  the  best  course  available,  twisting  the  steer  in  his  palms.  it’s  too  easy,  almost  too  comfortable.  skywalker  was  accustomed  to  piloting  during  chase,  and  narrowly  slipping  a  ship  through  a  gap  in  two  structural  walls.  now,  he’s  taking  his  wife  back  to  her  base,  to  join  her.  everything  he’d  allowed  himself  to  be  taught  is  going  to  slip  away,  back  into  the  nothing…  and  he  can  be  himself.  he  can  be  anakin  skywalker.  how  foolish  he’d  been,  how  blinded,  I  WILL  NOT  LET  YOU  TAKE  HER  FROM  ME,  obi-wan  was  never  trying  to.  the  gravity  of  reality  hits  him,  seeping  deep  into  his  stomach  and  chest.  the  force  squeezes  in  agitated  tides.  he  is  still  trying  to  find  an  anomaly,  a  reason  to  believe  this  isn’t  true,  some  crack  in  the  illusion,  but  he  can  find  none.  it’s  real.  padme  amidala  is  alive,  and  she…  loves  him  still.  she  does,  doesn’t  she?  he’d  felt  it  in  her  mind,  a  raw  mess  of  nerves,  pulsing  and  real.  she  loved  him.  he  loves  her.  and  everything  will  be  fine.  (  even  if  he  looks  like  this–monstrous  and  mechanical.  )   ‘  i  assume  the  medical  bay  on  your  base  is  pressurized.  ‘  

 he  has  no  strong  reaction  to  the  revelation,  but  she  hopes  he’d  be  at  least  a  little  bit  surprised  to  discover  just  how  many  of  the  commanders  of  the  ALLIANCE  TO  RESTORE  THE  REPUBLIC  are  well--known  members  of  the  IMPERIAL  SENATE.    though  he  shouldn’t  be  ---  the  infrastructure  of  the  republic  was  carried  over  into  the  empire,  formed  its  foundation,  and  the  people  who  made  up  that  base  came  along  with  it.    of  course  there  would  be  those  who  would  recognize  the  corrupt  nature  of  what  the  government  they  swore  to  serve  had  become  ---  there  were  those  who  began  to  recognize  it  beforehand.    SHE  WAS  AMONG  THEM.    bail  organa  and  mon  mothma  are  only  two.    many  more  remained  silent  in  public  spheres  as  imperial  strength  grew  to  avoid  being  weeded  out  as  traitors  and  conspirators,  to  hold  their  power  that  they  may  do  something  with  it,  voiced  their  dissent  only  underground.    dozens  FEIGN  LOVE  FOR  THE  EMPIRE  by  day  and  PLOT  ITS  DEMISE  by  night.    if  she  had  had  her  way,  she  would  have  likely  been  among  them,  but  as  fate  or  the  force  or  the  supreme  chancellor  would  have  it,  her  path  veered  down  a  different  line.

 there  is  no  point  to  glancing  over  her  shoulder  ---  there  is  nothing  to  view  behind  her  but  the  empty  back  of  the  transporter,  but  she  can’t  help  herself.    a  part  of  her  expects  the  ship  to  stall,  grounded.    another,  slightly  more  fantastical  part  expects  PALPATINE  TO  MATERIALIZE  IN  THE  GAPING  SPACE  BEHIND  THEM,  drag  anakin  to  his  side,  pull  the  life  from  her  body.    yet  another  expects  anakin  to  stop  the  ship  himself,  no,  you  are  a  betrayer,  i  am  DARTH  VADER  ---  the  smallest  part,  in  her  defense,  in  his,  but  present.    it’s  not  until  they’ve  left  the  hangar  that  a  held  breath  falls  heavy  from  her  mouth.    freedom,  there  it  is,  FOR  HIM,  for  her  with  him  ---  freedom,  it  looks  like  the  star--speckled  darkness  of  an  empty  sky.

 he  pilots,  in  his  element,  and  she  leans  forward  in  her  seat,  sweeps  her  hair  all  over  one  shoulder  to  keep  it  well  out  of  the  way  as  she  inspects  the  panel  of  her  jurisdiction.    it’s  not  complicated  ---  FAR  LESS  COMPLICATED  THAN  THE  NABOO  SHIPS  she  was  trained  in.    weapons  array,  stabilizers,  piloting  assists,  shields,  communications.    anakin  offers  it,  and  she  smiles.    “ we’ve  been  trying  to  get  our  hands  on  imperial  technology.    i  know  a  few  mechanics  who’d  kill  me  if  i  let  this  BUCKET  OF  BOLTS  slip  through  my  fingers.    i  should  be  able  to  hail  the  base  from  orbit,  make  sure  they  know  we’re  friendly.    i  don’t  know  who  i’ll  be  speaking  to.    the  EXACT  DETAILS  OF  REBEL  ASSIGNMENTS  are  kept  need  to  know.    i  doubt  any  high  ranking  members  will  be  present,  it’s  little  more  than  a  surveillance  station,  but  they’ll  know  my  name,  and  MY  AUTHORIZATION  CODES  ARE  UP  TO  DATE. ”    she  draws  a  hand  across  the  display,  raises  the  transport’s  shields,  begins  to  work  at  tuning  their  comms.    it  always  takes  her  a  little  fiddling  to  get  the  frequencies  right.    “ i  want  to  speak  ---  at  the  very  least,  to  bail  and  mon  before  we  decide  on  how  to  go  forward.    bail  i  know  is  home,  on  alderaan,  and  mon  would  either  be  on  chandrila  or  AT  THE  HEADQUARTERS  WE’VE  ESTABLISHED. ”    on  yavin  4.    she  leaves  that  out,  for  the  moment.    it’s  not  yet  relevant,  and  silence  has  become  more  comfortable.    this  is  the  most  she’s  verbally  shared  about  the  rebellion  ---  PERHAPS  EVER,  WITH  ANYONE.    “ to  reach  them  i  need  to  go  on  deeply  encoded  frequencies.    base--to--base  transmissions  only.    once  we’ve  arrived  i’ll  be  able  to  set  up  an  uplink. ”

 she  does  intend  to  tell  them.    secrets  are  not  for  they  three,  not  among  them,  and  how  would  she  hide  this?    what  lie  ought  she  spin?    she  isn’t  particularly  looking  forward  to  the  CONVERSATION  SHE’LL  HAVE  TO  HAVE  WITH  BAIL,  and  even  less  so  the  explanation  she’ll  have  to  provide  mon,  but  that  small  dread  is  unimaginably  less  than  a  thought  which  had  crossed  her  mind  not  long  ago,  before  he  saw  through  her,  before  she  pulled  him  back,  how  will  i  explain  this  to  your  son.    she  tucks  her  slipping  hair  tighter  behind  her  ear.    MY  HUSBAND  IS  ALIVE.    DARTH  VADER  IS  WITH  US  NOW,  DARTH  VADER  IS  ANAKIN  SKYWALKER,  MY  HUSBAND  IS  ANAKIN  SKYWALKER,  ANAKIN  SKYWALKER  IS  ALIVE.    MY  CHILDREN  HAVE  A  FATHER.    HE  IS  NOT  THE  EVIL  HE  HAS  DONE.    I  LOVE  HIM  STILL.    for  a  speech  of  hers  it’s  fairly  formless.    it  needs  work.  

[haticesultanas]

[peacedies-blog]

CLONEVIRATE.

REX ISN’T DENSE OR UNOBSERVANT;      he is very aware of the relationship between his general and the naboo senator, yet has NEVER SAID A WORD implying he knows.    IT WILL STAY THAT WAY.    still, in the woman’s presence, he feels some sort of responsibility towards protecting her. for skywalker’s sake. they did interact briefly during the    BLUE SHADOW VIRUS    incident. he means to greet her again.    ❛ MA’AM. ❜    a curt dip of his head, the glimpse of a smile on his lips momentarily. ❛                                  you look much better than the last time we met, ma’am. glad you’ve healed from the virus. ❜

     ✶ — @peacedies

 he  barely  dares  to  smile,  military  man  through  and  through  ---  but  she  returns  the  minimal  gesture  with  one  WARM  AND  GENUINE,  kind  as  anything,  spreading  across  her  face.    she  regrets  that  she’s  had  few  opportunities  to  come  to  know  a  great  many  of  the  troopers  as  the  individuals  they  are.    but  she  has,  at  least,  with  rex,  and  feels  a  great  deal  of  affection  for  him.  “ thank  you,  captain. ”    she  offers  a  respectful  nod  of  her  own.    “ AND  YOU  AS  WELL.    i  doubt  the  republic  would  keep  for  long  if  we  were  to  lose  you. ”

[peacedies-blog]

STARDIES.

the  sensation  of  her  furling  digits,  alive,  connecting  with  the  sense  receptors  beneath  the  leather,  dotted  through  the  synthetic  material  and  cold  steel,  hums  up  his  arm  and  into  the  phantom  extremities.  he  stalls,  but  only  for  a  moment,  giving  the  arc  of  her  wrists  the  softest  of  squeezes–it’s  less  a  constriction,  and  more  a  slight  change  in  pressure,  as  he  doesn’t  want  to  hurt  her.  he’s  never  been  able  to  entirely  judge  his  strength  after  receiving  a  prosthetic  for  his  first  lost  limb.  less,  now,  that  they  were  all  fake. i’m  with  you,  she  says,  and  for,  perhaps,  the  first  time,  anakin  believes  it  wholeheartedly  without  even  a  sctintilla  of  doubt.  it  will  come  later,  he’s  sure–everything  good  and  pure  in  his  life  has  always  fallen  victim  to  something.  his  mother,  raiders,  bleeding  into  his  palms,  ani,  i,  his  master’s  trust  snapped  like  bone,  i  loved  you,  padme  at  his  feet,  ANAKIN,  STOP,  STOP  NOW,  COME  BACK;  he  feels  a  buzzing  in  his  skull,  and  elects  to  ignore  it  instead  of  indulging  it.  he  says  naught,  freeing  a  hand  to  simply wave  at  the  pressurized  locks  holding  the  heavy  hangar  bay  door  in  place.  it  grumbles  as  it  slowly  slides  into  it’s  housing  compartments,  mechanisms  thrumming  through  the  floor.  ‘  okay.  ‘  the  hangar  bay  is  usually  lingering  with  life,  a  droid  working  on  repairs,  a  pilot  inspecting  his  ship  to  make  a  report,  or  the  occasional  flying  lesson.  once,  even  grand  general  tagge.   today,  the  general  populace  is  removed,  which  is  lucky  for  the  both  of  them.  there’s  a  seminar  in  the  auditorium  typically  used  for  strategic  planning,  and  attendance  was  mandatory  for  an  entire  corps,  which  left  thin  guard.  the  sight  of  the  interceptors  and  fighters,  open  parked  and  tethered,  makes  him  feel  light. skywalker  had  always  felt  free  in  open  airspace,  steering  grip  under  his  hand.  he  imagines  it  will  come  back  to  him–especially  with  padme  beside  him.  nothing  still  quite  feels  real,  or  solidified.  he  is  terrified  her  visage  will  shatter,  and  the  illusion  will  break,  and  he  will  realize  it  had  been  a  punishment  for  some  disobedience.  if  it  will  slip  away  from  him,  destined  to  be  but  a  dream,  so  be  it–he  will  cherish  every  minute  with  his  beloved  until  then. 

skywalker  contemplates  using  his  own  ship.  it’d  make  a  display–but  was  it  what  he  wanted?  too  conspicuous.  they  needed  normality  and  blandness,  not  flash.  the  absence  of  the  ship  would  indicate  that  lord  vader  had  simply  disappeared,  which  would  give  them  less  time  to  formulate  a  plan.  the  truth  of  lord  vader’s  identity  as  anakin  skywalker  was  known  only  to  a  handful  of  individuals — the  emperor,  and  obi-wan,  and  darth  maul,  yes …  but  beyond  that,  even  tarkin  did  not  grasp  the  whole  of  his  former,  current,  self.  presenting  skywalker  as  a  victim  of  the  empires  machinations,  freed,  vader  dead  at   the  feet   of  the  republic,  the  rebel  alliance..  well,  it  would  do  them  good.  the  empire  was  large  and  encompassing,  but  it  did  not  have  the  fire  of  the  rebel  alliance.  he  disengages  the  parking  tether  on  a  delta  class  dx-9  transporter  with  the  invisible  grasp  of  the  force.  everything  is  so  pliant  under  his  touch,  breaking  and  spreading  and  opening.  the  ship  is  larger  than  an  interceptor,  used  for  primarily  moving  troopers  and  serving  as  a  gunship  with  sizable  weapons,  but  the  interceptor  isn’t  comfortably  large  enough  for  the  both  of  them,  and  the  transporter  will  survive  a  battle,  if  they  encounter  resistance  and  suspicion.  the  shuttle’s   door,  meant  to  release  troopers,  slides  open  when  skywalker  wills  it.  he  releases  padme  then,  ducking  his  head  as  he  stepped  up  the  ramping,  slipping  into  the  pilots  seat  after  passing  through  the  boarding  carriage. anakin  waits  until  he  hears  the  soft  patter  of  her  feet  before  engaging  the  door,  closing  it  behind  her.  he  lays  his  hand  over  the  steering  mechanisms,  feeling  them  under  his  palm,  as  synthetic  as  they  were.   the  grip  is  solid,  maneuverable.  he  prods  a  finger  into  a  priming  button,  flipping  corresponding  levers,  ticking   them  into  place.  the  engine  shakes  and  rumbles  to  life.  

this  is  a  lie.  sheev  will  punish  you.  intrusive  thought  presses  at  his  mind.  it  didn’t  matter,  not  really.   he’d  wanted  the  relief  of  death  for  some  time,  now.  it’d  started  at  the  five  year  mark,  anguish  and  lament  coiling  inside  of  him,  settling,  coagulating  into  something  solid  and  cold. the  anger  is  still  there,  it  may  never  dissipate,  but  sorrow  climbs  mountains  over  it,  shadowing  it.  his  hand  passes  to  the  navigation  system,  perched,  hovering  over  the  corresponding  levers.  he  locates  the  malastare  system  in  the  ship’s  databanks,  and  tips  his  head  to  make  eye-contact  with  padme  –  or,  as  best  as  he  can,  through  the  dark  crimson  of  the  mask’s  lense  –  awaiting  further  instruction.  it  feels  odd,  to  take  orders,  even  if  they  are  this  mundane   –  he’s  become  acclimated  to  his  position  as  lord  vader,  making  the  universe  shake  in  fear  and  bend  beneath  his  strength.  but  it  isn’t  unfamiliar,  being  a  subordinate.  he  was  a  padawan,  and  an  apprentice;  forgetting  discipline  and   submission  would  make  him  inadequate.  it  was  as  important  as  rule.  

 he  tightens  his  hold  now,  and  it  does  not  send  a  shock  of  fear  through  her  ---  it  is  NOT  VIOLENT,  BUT  SOFT,  how  a  lover  squeezes  the  hand  of  the  loved.    SHE  HAS  HIM.    SHE  HAS  HIM.    SHE’S  BRINGING  HIM  HOME.    she  retracts  her  fingers,  relaxes  her  hands  again,  rests  them  more  comfortably  in  his  grasp.    for  the  moment  he  leads,  and  she  lets  him,  follows  him  into  the  hangar  bay,  to  the  ship  of  his  choosing.    at  last,  HE  FREES  HER  HANDS,  and  only  then  does  she  indulge  to  rub  softly  at  her  wrists,  still  reddened  from  her  cuffs.

 he  has  to  duck  to  enter  ---  she  does  not.    the  degree  to  which  she  is  absolutely  dwarfed  by  him  has  reached  the  realm  of  absurdity.    the  door  slides  shut  behind  her  as  he  settles  into  his  seat  in  the  cockpit,  and  then  stops,  waits,  LOOKS  UP  TO  HER  EXPECTANTLY.    she  leans  past  him  to  reach  the  ship’s  controls,  pauses  with  her  hand  hovering  above  the  dash  for  a  moment  as  she  gets  her  bearings,  acclimates  herself.    she’s  not  incredibly  familiar  with  the  workings  of  imperial  systems,  but  A  TRANSPORT  SHIP  IS  A  TRANSPORT  SHIP.    quickly,  she  keys  in  the  base’s  coordinates.    it’s  a  small  moon,  one  out  of  seven  orbiting  its  mother  planet,  incorrectly  believed  to  be  inhabited  and  correctly  believed  to  be  uninhabitable.    the  air  stings,  the  ground  bubbles;  it’s  been  a  spectacular  investment,  constructing  a  facility  to  withstand  and  provide  protection  from  the  hostile  elements,  but  the  inhospitable  nature  deters  passers-by  and  wandering  eyes,  and  the  looming  gaseous  clouds  mask  their  transmissions.    WORTH  THE  EXPENSE  TO  PROTECT  THEIR  SECRECY,  mon  noted.    worth  the  expense  for  a  firm  foothold  in  the  mid--rim.  

 “ we  use  hidden  frequencies.    i  know  them.    i’ll  hail  them  as  we  make  our  approach  and  we’ll  be  given  landing  instructions.    they  AREN’T  EXPECTING  ME,  but  --- ”    but  it  should  be  fine.    change  of  plans  on  short  to  no  notice  is  the  norm  in  the  rebellion.    most  of  said  changes  tend  to  INVOLVE  VADER  IN  QUITE  A  DIFFERENT  ASPECT,  though  ---  but  she  brushes  it  off.    it’ll  go  fine.    “ the  base  is  entirely  underground.    we  can’t  land  until  they  open  the  overhead  hangar  doors  to  let  us  in.    THE  ATMOSPHERE  ---  you  could  probably  survive  it,  but  i  can’t. ”    she  is  entirely,  vividly  aware  of  what  she  does,  what  she’s  doing,  pressing  another  opportunity  to  kill  her  into  his  hands,  practically  gift--wrapped.    he  could  take  it.    he  could  let  her  lead  him  straight  to  the  hidden  rebels,  let  her  walk  him  in  the  front  door  ---  and  RELEASE  THE  TRANSPORTER’S  DOORS  before  the  room  has  been  purged,  LET  TOXIN  INTO  HER  LUNGS.    tear  open  the  facility  and  watch  her  allies  choke,  or  kill  them  all  himself,  he’s  more  than  capable.    rip  intel  from  their  computers  and  carry  it  back  to  the  empire.    SHE  KNOWS.    she  does  not  walk  into  this  blindly,  not  unaware,  but  UNDETERRED.    she  has  always  kept  faith  in  him.

 her  hand  has  come  to  rest  on  his  shoulder  again  ---  not  for  comfort,  originally,  but  to  brace  herself  as  she  leaned  to  input  the  coordinates,  to  hold  herself  upright  and  steady.    now  that  she  stands  straight  and  stable,  she  ELECTS  NOT  TO  REMOVE  IT,  but  holds  contact,  holds  that  anchoring  assurance  of  her  presence,  her  tangibility.    “ once  we’re  there,  i  can  make  contact  with  --- ”    and  here  she  halts.    in  a  way,  every  step  she  has  taken  has  been  a  point  of  no  return,  but  this  one  she  can  feel.    what  she  SHOULD  NOT  SAY  and  what  she  SHOULD  SAY  ring  the  same  in  her  head.    she  has  become  so  used  to  secrets,  she  has  good reason  to  be  ---  and  hasn’t  she  sworn  to  herself  never  to  STAND  BEFORE  DARTH  VADER  and  give  a  name  to  the  rebellion?    she  could  get  out  of  this,  simply  say  my  allies  ---  or  ahsoka,  obi-wan,  shift  the  topic  of  conversation  to  known  quantities,  dangers  to  the  empire  he  has  likely  already  guessed  the  identities  of.    but  IT  FEELS  LIKE  A  LIE.    “ with  bail.    and  we’ll  figure  out  our  next  move  from  there. ”    there.    it’s  done,  and  if  she’s  doomed  him  ---  she’ll  likely  die  before  she  ever  knows.    it’s  done.    HOW  LONG  IS  IT  GOING  TO  TAKE  FOR  US  TO  BE  HONEST  WITH  EACH  OTHER?    she  has  confessed  nothing  to  darth  vader. 

 her  hand  does  not  depart  his  shoulder  all  at  once,  but  glides  gently  down  his  arm  until  she’s  moved  to  where  she  cannot  easily  reach.    she  settles  into  the  copilot’s  chair,  inspects  the  display  before  her  with  lifted  hands,  ready  fingers  ---  she’d  RECEIVED  TRAINING  IN  FLIGHT  DURING  HER  QUEENSHIP,  and  has  since  made  sure  to  keep  her  knowledge  refreshed  and  up  to  date.    it  can  by  no  means  rival  anakin’s  expertise,  but  she’s  sure  she  can  puzzle  this  out  without  great  difficulty.    but  ---  first,  she  reaches  up  to  address  the  uncomfortable  tug  at  her  scalp  of  her  failing  buns,  undoes  them  swiftly,  SHAKES  HER  RUMBLED  HAIR  DOWN  AROUND  HER  SHOULDERS.    pins  are  pocketed  ---  adequate  lockpicks  should  this  all  have  gone  another  way,  she  is  nothing  if  not  prepared  ---  and  she  looks  to  him,  offers  a  firm  assenting  nod.    let’s  go.

[peacedies-blog]

  ani–the  nickname  floats  out  of  her,  encompassing  him,  making  him  feel  oddly  warm,  a  kind  of  heat  that  doesn’t  make  him  shy  away,  for  once.  when  he  was  a  boy,  he’d  loathed  the  nickname,  for  the  body  dysphoria  it  brought  with  it  was  too  much  to  comprehend.  as  he  grew  into  himself,  up  and  out,  strong  and  flourishing,  the  unease  slipped  out  of  him,  never  to  be  found  again,  and  it  became  solid  endearment  rather  than  some  unintentional  jibe  toward  his  identity.  one  step  at  a  time–he  was  always  either  thinking  too  far,  or  too  little,  tossing  himself  from  a  moving  speeder  or  trying  to  figure  out  grievous’  course  of  action  before  they’d  even  located  him.  he  isn’t  that  boy.  maybe  he  never  will  be  again,  but  padme  can  recover  what’s  left  of  him,  maybe.  just  MAYBE.  reconstructing  something  similar  wouldn’t  be  as  arduous  and  difficult  as  he  assumes.  perhaps  he’ll  grow  and …  become  the  man  he  was  meant.  not  a  jedi,  nor  a  sith.  somewhere  in-between.   ‘  not  necessarily.  they  will  not  question  my  order.  if  i  ordered  you  completely  free,  there  would  be  no  objection.  ‘   he  returns,  taking  the  pane  of  his  mask  from  her  delicate  hands.  he’s reluctant,  himself,  to  return  it  to  his  face,  freed  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time–taking  the  moniker  back  feels  as  if  he’s  adopting  the  darkness  unto  him  once  more,  letting  it  thud  against  his  steel  heart,  to  be  consumed  by  the  prospect  of  power.  but  it’s  different.  padme’s  here.  he  cannot  let  it  happen  again.  it  won’t.  the  needle  points,  thin  and  curled,  slip  into  his  flesh,  prodding  at  nerves  and  skin  to  adapt  to  damaged  organs  and  bodily  functions.  his  eyesight  clarifies  with  the  mask,  carefully  set  in  place  against  the  scorched  arc  of  his  skull,  fastened  with  straps  and  receptors  for  the  locks  on  his  helm.  he  gingerly  accepts  his  helm,  thereafter,  tentatively  settling  it  over  the  crest  of  his  mask  and  head,  locks  engaging  to  keep  it  in  place.  the  regulated  breathing  pattern  returns,  steady,  loud,  voice  modulator  settled  into  his  throat.  he  straightens  his  back,  tipping  his  head,  the  mantle  of  darth  vader  laying  over  his  flesh.

it  sits  wrong  with  him,  now,  though.  it’s  different.  it’s  not  an  echoing  boom  of  terror,  of  eldritch  blackness. it’s  a  skin  he  wants  to  scratch,  to  violently  rip  away,   to  cast  the  steel  from  his  breastbone,  to  burn  it  to  pooling  molten  onyx.   but  he  must  retain  his  image,  lest  their  getaway  be  foiled  by  wavering  confidence  or  a  watchful  eye.  parting  from  a  close  proximity  with  her,  real  and  fragile,  is  upsetting,  but  he  assures  himself  that  it  won’t  be  tortuously  long.   ‘  follow  my  lead.  ‘  typically,  it  would  be  anakin  following  padme’s  lead.  the  exchange  is  unfamiliar,  but  he  readily  takes  her  wrists,  gentle,  guiding  them  behind  her  back.  he  clasps  his  fingers  around  the  soft  curvature,  delicate  under  his  firm  grasp.  he  feels  her  body  heat,  for  the  first  time  in  a  very  long  time,  and  it  makes  him  feel  peculiar.  not  wrong,  not  bad,  but  strange.  skywalker   carefully  walks  her  through  the  automatic,  pressurized  door,  hearing  it  slam  shut  behind  him.  there  is  nothing  to  bring  with  him –  only  his  lightsaber,  as  spoiled  and  evil  as  it  is.  it  will  keep  them  safe,  crimson  and  sharp.  the  confidence  of  lord  vader  returns,  and  the  beast  lunges  in  him,  longing  for  it’s  freedom.  he  marches  her forward,  bumping  his  ribcage  into  her  occasionally  in  a  false  assertion  of  dominance.  his  boots  clack  against  the  floor,  loud  and  heavy.  my  lord?  echoes  a  passing  trooper,  curiosity  bubbling  into  his  inflection.  not  a  clone,  thankfully.  a  clone  might  recognize  senator  amidala  from  his  time  in  service,  before  he  executed  order  sixty-six  alongside  vader,  might  see  through  the  charade,  or  dare  to  question  him.  vader  cranes  his  neck,  boring  into  the  subordinate.   

‘  THIS  ONE  REQUIRES  FURTHER  PERSUASION.  SHE  WAS  CRAFTY  ENOUGH  TO  ESCAPE  HER  BONDS,  BUT  IT  IS  NOTHING  TO  WORRY  OVER.  RETURN  TO  YOUR  POST  IMMEDIATELY.  ‘   there’s  a   hurried  blubber  of  yes,  sir,  as  the  trooper  collects  himself,  fleeing  across  the  open  room.  anakin  sighs  beneath  the  black  of  his  mask,  gently  nudging  her  to  indicate  movement.  every  step  is  from  memory,  fluid  and  strong,  no  hint  of  betrayal  slithering  under  his  skin,  nothing  to  give  the  impression  he  was  anything  but  the  lord  of  the  sith.  but  skywalker  has  given  up  the  dark,  even  if  he  continues  to  wear  his  falsified  angers  so  very  well.   ‘  to  the  left.  down  the  hall  is  the  hangar  bay.  we  will  take  my  interceptor  and  pass  into  a  republic  fighter  once  out  of   imperial  airspace,  as  to  not  alert  your  allies.  i  can  still  fly.  i  only  need  you  to  direct  me  to  wherever  you  wish  to  take  me.  ‘  he  was  trusting  her,  placing  his  life  in  her  hands,  not  for  the  first  time,  and  certainly,  hopefully,  not  the  last.

 the  click  of  the  locks,  the  hiss  of  the  modulator  kicking  into  action,  and  A  SLIVER  OF  UNEASE  WORMS  its  way  into  her  gut.    it’s  not  as  though  she’s  ever  regarded  the  sight  of  darth  vader  with  fondness,  but  she  feels  a  hate  now  towards  the  dark  helmet  far  more  PERSONAL  than  any  which  PRECEDED  IT,  for  binding  him  within  himself,  for  all  it  has  concealed  from  her,  and  all  that  it  still  might.    behind  the  reddened  panes,  his  irises  could  slip  back  to  gold  and  she  would  not  know.    she  will  not  be  ruled  by  fear,  she  will  not  be  ruled  by  ---  but  can  she  be  blamed  for  caution?    HE  SAID  YOU  KILLED  YOUNGLINGS.    she  hates  it,  hates  to  watch  him  disappear  behind  the  mask  once  more;  but  he  hasn’t,  he  has  not  receded  with  the  tide.    IT’S  ONLY  A  THING,  ONLY  STEEL,  ONLY  WIRING,  and  it  will  not  take  him  from  her,  not  again.

 it’s  anakin.    it’s  anakin.    he’s  coming  home  with  you.    shiraya,  how  many  times  a  day  has  she  WISHED  HIM  BACK  TO  LIFE?    how  many  times  has  she  seen  him  ---  in  her  sleep,  in  the  graceful  curve  of  humming  blue  weapons  as  obi-wan  showed  luke  the  most  basic  of  movements,  his  feet  like  a  dancer’s  as  he  demonstrated  first,  and  then  his  hands  over  luke’s  over  the  hilt,  kneeling  behind  him  with  his  arms  wrapped  around,  doing  the  motions  with  him.    DID  HE  DO  AS  MUCH  FOR  ANI?    was  he  as  quick  a  study  as  his  son?    no,  no,  luke,  keep  the  point  of  it  well  away  from  your  sister,  that’s  a  good  boy.    in  leia,  she  saw  him  in  leia  every  day,  from  the  way  she’d  tilt  her  little  chin  up  to  the  MULTILINGUAL  SWEARS  SHE  SEEMED  TO  PICK  UP  FROM  THIN  AIR  ( she  suspects  sabé )  to  her  stubbornness,  her  insistence,  the  absurd  degree  of  convincing  it  took  just  to  get  her  to  practice  with  anakin’s  saber  ---  padmé’s  saber,  he’d  gifted  it  with  his  heart,  THIS  WEAPON  IS  MY  LIFE,  YOU  ARE  MY  LIFE  ---  her  eloquence  and  confidence,  luke  can  have  that  one,  i  want  to  make  my  own.    uncle  ben,  how  do  i  make  my  own?

 ahsoka  has  promised  to  take  her  to  the  caves,  the  ones  the  empire  has  not  found,  the  ones  she  visited  herself  to  craft  the  dual  sabers  she  wields  now.    we’ll  get  you  a  kyber  crystal.    WHITE,  LIKE  MINE,  would  you  like  that?    and  she  missed  him,  she  missed  him  desperately  enough  that  she  could  halfway  feel  him  beside  her,  leaning  back  against  the  wall,  his  arms  across  his  chest  ---  a  LOPSIDED  SMILE  PRESSING  DEEP  INTO  HIS  CHEEK  at  the  sight  of  them,  his  grown--up  padawan,  his  daughter.    how  often  has  she  wished  for  him  back,  for  that  impossible  thing  which  she  now  finds  quite  within  her  grasp,  held  like  WATER  IN  HER  CUPPED  HANDS?    it’s  anakin.    it’s  anakin.    he’s  coming  home.    the  thought,  the  repetition,  brings  some  ease  back  to  her  lungs.    she  breathes  deep,  tries  not  to  stiffen  her  spine  at  the  grating  wheeze  of  each  gulp  of  air  he  draws,  releases,  inhale,  exhale.

 she  rises  with  him  ---  he  speaks  again  WITH  THE  MODIFIED  CADENCE  OF  VADER,  but  behind  the  machinery  the  voice  is  anakin’s,  softer,  recognizable,  hers.    his  handling  of  her  only  serves  to  affirm  that,  the  way  he  draws  her  hands  back  with  such  care,  as  though  afraid  to  pull  too  hard,  afraid  to  hurt.    she  crosses  her  wrists  willingly  ---  her  frame  is  small  enough,  and  his  hands  wide  enough,  for  him  to  hold  her  there  one--handed  quite  easily.    the  LEATHER  OF  THE  GLOVE  is  COLD  AND  HARSH,  and  she  is  sure  that  if  he  wanted  to  he  could  grip  tight  enough  that  she  could  not  break  free  ---  but  he  does  not,  clasps  only  tight  enough  that  his  hold  will  not  slip,  and  somehow  THAT  MAKES  THE  FRIGHTENING  KNOWLEDGE  A  THING  OF  COMFORT.    he  could  restrain  her,  imprison  her.    he  could  kill  her.    he  won’t.

 he  marches  them  forward,  and  she  keeps  her  head  down,  but  by  no  means  hung.    her  lips  are  pressed  firm,  her  eyes  ablaze  ---  SPEAKING  WITH  HER  SILENCE,  DEFIANT  IN  HER  COMPLIANCE.    it’s  an  easy  role  to  play.    she’s  always  known  she  may  one  day  have  to.    she  lifts  her  gaze  only  at  the  approaching  steps,  MY  LORD?    as  anakin  replies  she  sinks  further  into  character  ---  THIS  ONE  REQUIRES  FURTHER  PERSUASION,  yes,  she  does.    crafty,  yes,  she  is,  terror  woman  of  the  rebellion,  and  she  locks  eyes  with  the  stormtrooper  daringly,  as  best  she  can  through  his  mask,  and  does  not  return  her  gaze  to  the  ground  until  he  has  broken  their  little  stalemate  and  turned  away.    IT’S  A  GOOD  DISTRACTION,  anyway,  the  charade,  good  to  keep  her  mind  off  the  booming  sound  of  vader  behind  her.    anakin  puts  on  a  good  show,  but  that’s  all  it  is,  that’s  all  it  is,  his  grip  on  her  wrists  has  not  tightened.    he  LOWERS  HIS  VOICE  TO  HER  again  as  they  push  onward;    though  his  fingers  encircle  her  wrists  still  she  has  some  room  to  move,  and  she  uses  it,  turns  her  hand  upward  TO  CURL  HER  FINGERS  AROUND  HIS  GLOVED  APPENDAGE  as  best  she  can.    “ i’m  with  you. ”    it’s  soft,  brief,  and  contains  multitudes.    “ we  have  a  small  outpost  in  the  malastare  system.    i’ll  give  you  the  coordinates. ”