Hi, I hope you’re doing great!! I had a fun (oops it’s actually kinda angsty) question. How do you think things would have gone had Luke been the one to die instead of Mara Jade in ‘sacrifice?’ How do you think Mara (and Ben, Leia, Han, Jaima) would’ve reacted? Thanks!
Aaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm, NOT WELL LOL.
If you thought Luke decapitating Lumiya in what he thought was retaliation for Mara’s death, just imagine Mara on the vengeance warpath for her man.
Side note: neither one of them should have died in this scenario, it’s pure plot contrivance stupidity, both of them are smarter than that - not to mention how soundly Luke kicked Jacen’s ass later on while barely lifting a finger. BUT, for the hypothesis’ sake...
I mean, I don’t think there’s a lot to say beyond it would have been absolutely devastating and possibly destroyed the Skywalker-Solo family, or come close to it, once everybody figured out it was Jacen who killed his own uncle. I don’t want to make it sound like killing Mara was secondary or less awful in any way, but it’s pretty damn heinous when family members kill their own blood. I could easily see Han and Leia disowning Jacen over it.
Ben Skywalker was skewed to have a closer relationship with his mother than his father, but it would have still been a traumatizing loss, especially if he had unreconciled feelings toward Luke that he’d never get a chance to talk out.
I think it would have left Mara a wreck. She’s resilient as hell and I’m not saying she couldn’t pull out of the tailspin eventually, but she and Luke anchored each other, and it would have not only been an intense struggle for her not to give in to hate and bloodlust in seeking revenge, but to also likely fall back into the abyss of guilt and self-recrimination that she had to grapple with in the wake of the Emperor’s death. If it was a true flip-flop scenario where Luke went off and got his ass killed alone, while Mara would surely resent him for doing that, she’d also be blaming herself in a million ways for not having gone with him, not being there to fight alongside him and possibly prevent his death, etc. I think it’d be a steep, dark drop for her, and she’d need a lot of support to climb back out - which could be difficult to come by because all the other members of the SkySolo clan would be grieving and hurting at the same time.
It would also be a huge blow to the Jedi Order, because even though Luke should have stepped away by the end of the NJO series, they were still leaning heavily on him (or he kept interfering, I don’t really remember the distinction after all these years of not rereading this drivel). This would either potentially splinter them or serve as a silver lining by forcing them to finally suck it up and organize themselves without him.
If you haven’t heard the song “light” by “sleeping at last,” you should give it a listen because there are MEGA Luke and Vader/Anakin vibes and it’s so sad and bittersweet
Hi, hope you’re doing okay! Sending lots of love and positivity! For the prompts, Luke gets Injured during a Jedi mission or something and anakin goes into overprotective dad mode?
(Thanks!)
“Dad, it’s just a sprain.”
“The Doctor said to stay off of it,” Anakin says, as he settles a pillow under his son’s ankle. “So you’re staying off of it. Got it?”
I agree. I remember reading somewhere that he is a very reserved and quiet person who hates having cameras on him. It’s pretty amazing that he can do a complete 360 with his personality and play mercuito so well, when he seems so different from the character!
ACTING. (Also, it always seems to be the case that people are attracted to playing opposites. Actors who are typecast as villains tending to be sweet people, etc.)
I feel like nobody knows me well enough to do this, but imma try anyway. ;) “Heeeey!”
Hiii, so nice to see you here! :3
1. First impression: person posts RetJ things, must follow person. Wow, this content is GOOD. And such nice drabbles, wow again!
2.Truth is: all of the above still stands xD I don’t know you as well as I do some other people in the fandom yet, but you seem to be a great person, and I really enjoy what you’re posting. I like your sense of humour, and the Hogwarts headcanons were awesome! Besides, I am eternally grateful for that Mercutio and Escalus prompt you sent me. ^^
3. Howold do you look: duh, this is a pointless question, really. How do I tell how old you look like if I don’t know what you look like in the first place? xD
4. Haveyou ever made me laugh: oh yes!
5. Haveyou ever made me mad: absolutely not.
6. Bestfeature: I don’t know much about you, but, as I’ve said in question 2, I love your sense of humour. Besides, you’re a RetJ fan! xD
7. HaveI ever had a crush on you: I have a crush on your RetJ Hogwarts AU, that’s for sure! (And let me tell you: I love the title of your blog ^^)
8. You’re my: fellow RetJ fan and a source of inspiration and enjoyment. I’m really glad I know you!
@demigod756 “Mercutio and Escalus with some kind of hurt/comfort and angst”.
You will also find it here on my AO3 page with more notes.
Can be read as a standalone piece or as the prequel to my other prompt fill “Shelter” (hey @team-mom-wannabe you wanted a backstory? Here it is!)
Swearing through gritted teeth and pressing his hand to the wound — not that it was helping any, since it was deep and the bleeding was obviously internal — Bartolomeo couldn't help but feel glad that Valentine had been too busy with his studies to make it to the restaurant for a “Scaligathering”, as Mercutio had dubbed their small family outing.
At least the youngest of his boys was safe and away from trouble.
The eldest, however, was at his side, all huge eyes and shaking hands, staring down at him in fear. The youth had dashed to his help as soon as he saw trouble — but the attacker was faster. One moment, uncle and nephew were walking along the well-lit street, engrossed in conversation – now that Mercutio had moved out, they had much to discuss whenever they met – and the next moment, Escalus was sprawled on the wet pavement, clutching at his side where an angry, agonizing pain was pooling like melted iron. The assailant had instantly fled into the maze of narrow alleys, mercifully having caused no harm to Mercutio – apparently, Escalus had been his only target.
"I would think... my position as judge... called for hiring a sniper, not a brute with a shank," Bartolomeo tried to smile at the panicked boy who was kneeling beside him, but gave up the attempt as soon as he felt a coppery, metallic tang in his mouth.
The situation was not looking good at all.
But if there was one thing Escalus was not planning to do… then it was dying and leaving his nephew alone, shocked and frightened. He owed it to his sister, if not to the boy himself. If he had to die, if that wound was going to be the cause of his death — so be it, but the least he could — and had to — do was stay alive and conscious until they got to the hospital and make sure Mercutio was alright. He knew his nephew better than anyone else did, Valentine and Tybalt, Mercutio’s partner, left aside; and was well aware that behind his brave and bright trickster façade, the boy was vulnerable – much like himself. Very few things could strip off the protective layers and strike home… but watching someone close to you unexpectedly die in the street was definitely part of the list. And Escalus did not want to think what it would do to his nephew.
Blacking out right there in the empty street was not an option.
“M-maybe they can’t afford a sniper,” Mercutio chuckled nervously, pulling his uncle’s hand away from his side and rucking up his shirt to take a look. The wound looked deceptively small and innocuous, but neither the uncle nor the nephew were misled by its seeming harmlessness and the lack of visible bleeding.
Escalus tried to pull himself up, but the movement caused the sharp pain in his side to flare up with renewed force, and Bartolomeo fell back down, biting on his lip to stifle his groan as best as he could to avoid frightening the youth even further.
The burning sensation of red-hot iron in his stomach was all-consuming, and the blood loss left him dizzy and disoriented; but Escalus pushed through the haze that was threatening to swallow him and focused on his nephew’s pale, worried face above him.
“Hey, you’re going to be okay, do you hear me? I’ve got you, just let me call the ambulance,” Mercutio’s lips quivered as he spoke, but he was otherwise keeping his panic in check. Desperately trying to smile, he dug out his mobile from the pocket of his jeans and hurriedly dialed the emergency number. Bartolomeo nodded.
“It’s not… that bad,” whom was he trying to fool? “But a… an ambulance is a… good… idea,” he tasted blood on his tongue again and instantly knew he was not getting out of this one – at least not easily. But certainly he could endure until the hospital, could he not?.. Keep it together, Escalus, damn you!..
A wave of nausea hit him, and the coppery tang in his mouth mixed with sour bitterness. His eyes teared up, his throat was burning; violent coughs wracked his entire body, jostling the wound and magnifying the pain until it became almost unbearable. Bartolomeo tried to inhale but failed, choking on blood and bile, there was not enough air, he was going to suffocate…
…but then there were firm hands on his shoulders, and he was being pulled up and pressed against something warm and solid, and the rhythmical sound of a familiar voice was guiding him to calm down and breathe in – breathe out – breathe in – breathe out…
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, just relax and breathe, breathe now, here we go, here we go...” chanted Mercutio, and though it was evident from the strain in his voice that the boy was scared, he still was holding up well. His words were helping, too – soon enough Bartolomeo’s lungs and throat began to obey him once more, bringing back the much-needed control over his injured body. He kept breathing steadily, slowly, following the monotonous rhythm of Mercutio’s voice.
The youth kept speaking – partly because of the calming effect it seemed to have on the wounded man, partly because he had to keep his own growing panic at bay. Incessant talking and chattering was what Mercutio had always been good it, so he clung to it as his best chance to keep his composure. “The ambulance is on the way, and I called Paris, too, thought he should know, he says he will come directly, I only hope he won’t tell Val anything, but well, Paris is not stupid, he won’t… Hey, you with me?” he unconsciously grabbed Bartolomeo’s hand, squeezing it, shaking it slightly. “Uncle! Hey! Don’t you dare faint on me!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” groaned the elder Scaliger, pretending to be disgruntled but squeezing back. “You and Valentine never let me rest quietly even in my own home, what chances do I have here in the street? Besides…” his speech was slurred, and his skin felt cold and clammy – a bad sign – but he stubbornly continued, “besides, this doesn’t really look… like my favourite couch, right?”
Mercutio chuckled gratefully at his feeble attempt at humour, and Bartolomeo felt him shift. His own body was sore, the pain still coiled in his side, deep and dangerous, hot and heavy but slowly morphing into a numbing weariness… he blinked, and his nephew’s face swam into his field of vision, blocking the bright street lamp, unruly curls falling forward and almost brushing against Bartolomeo’s own forehead. It was getting dark, and the light of the lantern above them was creating a bright halo around the youth’s head. Bartolomeo smiled at his own sentimental thought – angelic attributes definitely were at odds with Mercutio’s trickster image, yet at that moment the halo seemed somehow… fitting.
“Stay with me,” whispered Mercutio, starting at him intently. “You hear me?”
The siren of the ambulance howled faintly in the distance.
“Stay with me.”
Mercutio’s eyes, shaded by his long hair, were dark and bright at the same time. Was the boy crying?.. Escalus smiled again and reached up to clasp his nephew’s shoulder reassuringly.
“I am not going anywhere. Hey…” the siren was growing louder, closer. “No need to worry Valentine for now. You will…”
“I will inform Val myself later, don’t worry,” Mercutio nodded, smiling through tears. “Paris is about as gentle as a brick to the teeth, I know, with that eternal formality of his.”
“He’s my employee; of course he is formal with you. Besides, haven’t you yourself just used ‘inform’ instead of ‘tell’ not a moment ago?” teased Bartolomeo, pushing through the grey haze of nothingness once more. “Pot and kettle…”
“Uncle! Are you saying I sound like an office rat?” Mercutio’s indignation would have sounded almost convincing if not for the tears in his voice. “I’ll have you know that I am nothing of the kind!”
Escalus chuckled, genuinely amused.
“Now you sound bookish, nephew mine. I…”
But he did not get to finish the thought, because the pain came back all of a sudden, and then he was coughing violently again, his whole body convulsing, and then there was a siren, and another siren, and people, and many voices, and one of them seemed familiar – was that Paris? Good, he would take care of everything – and about the boys, too – and then the coughing finally subsided, and he was being picked up and placed on the stretcher and carried somewhere – to the ambulance, you old fool, where else? – and Mercutio was at his side again, huge dark eyes full of tears, and Paris was next to him, as stern and thin-lipped as ever, and he was pulling Mercutio away, saying something insistently – but Mercutio wasn’t having it.
“Promise me you’ll be okay!” and Bartolomeo felt nephew’s cold fingers grasp his hand, the panic in his voice now painfully obvious. “Promise me! You’ve got to be okay! Uncle, please, you must promise!..”
Forcing his eyes open – when had he closed them? – Escalus looked into his nephew’s fear-stricken face and smiled.
He couldn’t make such a promise, because there was a strong possibility it would end up broken; for all he knew, his wound could turn out to be very much deadly. But his nephew was asking him to stay alive, his nephew needed him, needed his comfort and reassurance – and Escalus could not deny him that.
“I promise.”
And as the doors of the ambulance slammed shut and the world around him began to descend into a whirlpool of pain and darkness, Bartolomeo della Scala closed his eyes with a peaceful sigh, secure in the knowledge that he would open them once again.
