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If Vader dad-joked his way through the Star Wars series

Feigned Death: Rumors of Padmé Amidala’s Survival

Anyone on that planet will tell you how they grieved at Padmé Amidala’s funeral. Some know the truth. Few will admit it. She did not die in childbirth, but she knew that to protect her children that the whole galaxy had to believe that she died.

Upon her internment, she fled, hid in the outer rims and lived out of reach, in great heartbreak, out of reach of her family, her children, out of reach of him sensing her.  She lived a long life, some say even had more children and went on to help others in need, but never fulfilled, always a void, sad.

Strong rumors even spread that she made a few daring visits to her young daughter on Alderaan (fuzzy accounts exist that she visited her son on Tatooine) but that it became much too dangerous, and she had said a final goodbye to Leia at such a young age that the child would probably just hold the memory as images, nothing certain, an impression of her beauty, her heart, her longing, her pain.

“What does it matter if my grandmother had more children? They would not be strong with the Force unless she had met another Jedi as strong with the Force as my grandfather.” Ben mused.

“Wouldn’t it matter to you that you have more family out there? This stranger pushed. “Perhaps they aren’t strong with the Force, but perhaps there are more ways to be powerful in this galaxy. Perhaps they would have stories from your grandmother about your grandfather.”

She hadn’t decided if it was wise or not to hint at these stories passed down amongst her people from the descendants of the Amidalas, but it was too late to take back what she had just implied. And her intention was to remain silent no matter what his next words were because she felt like that she had just revealed the location of Padme’s descendants although she didn’t even know where that was. 

She questioned herself on why she felt the need to share all this with him, only knowing him for these few months, but she also knew the answer to the questions that she posed to herself about why she felt so compelled to share details with just him.

Archives of the Last Jedi Academy (continued, pt. 4)

The Recovery

The medical droid gave her clearance to start her Jedi hand-to-hand training again…with the younglings. There was no contact in the sessions just technique drills. Everything was muscle memory, but the muscles on the left were so contracted and stiff. 

After 3 months of this humiliation, she was cleared for one-on-one training with a Jedi guard. Then after that was able to rejoin her age group, not at the level she had been, but at least she wasn’t the tallest one in the room. Impatient about returning to where she left off, she pushed her training; every move was exaggerated exertion, every punch harder, every kick stronger, every saber spar pushing the limits. Hesitancy disappeared from thought, which released the flow of the Force.    

Master Luke granted her permission to use the training hall for practice in the early morning. The room took on a new persona when she was in it alone, no droids or assessors in the upper galley looking down on her; it was just her, the space all to herself for her to recapture her ability. Her moves were second nature but the muscles still screamed out from disuse. However, by the end of the first hour, balance had returned, the ability to sustain positions became not quite easy, but natural, places where she was supposed to be. Every time she felt the inadequacy of the recovering parts and the synthetic bone in her thigh, she thought of him and her strikes strengthened. Since his clumsiness put her in the infirmary, not once had he come to see how she was doing, perhaps maybe even apologize. 

The next day, she wanted to start practice earlier. A violet mist lingered among the piercing cold scarlet dawn, hovering over the plaza between buildings, trailing behind her as she entered through the viewing galley of training hall. Expecting the silence to preface her practice, a voice below called out.

“This space is occupied. You must leave.” Down below, Ben and a Jedi temple guard were face to face, as she turned to hurry out, she heard their sabers ignite and lock. Stopping and looking down, she expected to see the clumsy moves that had disappointed her perception of him and injured her before leaving, and as she peeked down, Ben and the guard looked back at her. Her eyes grew wide and she backed up, running out of there and back into the violet mist.  

Well after her actual granted time before returning for her practice, she returned to the hall.  He was still there, alone, standing in the middle of the mat, eyes closed, hands linked behind his back, surprising her as she set up her space.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting this morning.” She called down. If this had been before her injury when she held him on that Skywalker pedestal, she might be afraid that she had made him angry. But since the accident and his failure to even check on her recovery, she wasn’t very fond of him anymore, saddened that the grandson of a warrior so revered in her culture had been such a disappointment.

“Apprentices should not overstep their bounds. You should be aware how unusual it is for you to have been given special permission to use this room and be more cautious when entering before your unprecedented granted time.”

At least an apology or a pale attempt feign regret might could have been attempted, she thought. Whatever his cultural traditions, certainly it was appropriate for a person to do if they had injured another person so grievously. But then, it hadn’t been a comfortable situation when they had interacted before then. He had intruded on her work in the archives, and read her thoughts on the page but not a lot was said between them. And after experiencing the disconnect happening in his body that caused her injury, she thought that perhaps he just didn’t know how to coordinate himself enough to interact with her. 

She also wanted to tell him not to forget that he was an apprentice, too. But, although she kept the words from being vocalized, he read her thoughts and glared at her. After slight embarrassment by her sass came irritation; he should remember his place, too; the special privilege everyone knew he had as Master Luke’s nephew, as Darth Vader’s grandson was seen by some as unfair, that every padawan was entitled to just as rigorous a training as he was.

“I know you know that,’ She began after being certain he captured those thoughts. “All of us here have every right to expand our training; we all have a unique descendancy, gifts from our ancestors that deserve attention to enhance our ways with the Force.” 

“I am the descendant of the “chosen one.” He responded and stepped towards her.  

“The chosen one from a certain point of view.” She vocalized, and stepped towards him. “Now, can I have my given time in this room?” He stared for a moment, and she smirked, carefully examining his face and the dark eyes that had looked on her crafted thoughts with intrigue a few weeks ago, to tell him she wasn’t intimidated, nor impressed by his legacy, but she knew he’d know that was a lie. Her eyes traced over his features and felt his muscles tense. Then she blushed as he read a thought of hers that she didn’t expect and couldn’t stop. 

“Go.” She turned away and finished setting up her space. He smirked back at her and turned and walked out.  She had to struggle to keep her eyes off of him as he left. Her heart was beating so fast that she didn’t think she could calm down and practice. Covering her eyes with her hands at this last tender thought of his, she treaded upon a fine line between sobbing and laughing from embarrassment and was able to fall upon the latter.

After walking out, he reentered the viewing galley and watched her. He felt immense guilt for injuring her as she struggled with the positions on her left side and tears came to her eyes when her injury did not allow her to complete a sequence.  Unable to balance in a routine the hologram deemed simple she threw down her saber then punched the wall and shouted. She looked up to the ceiling and sighed, and he backed against the wall of the viewing gallery.

© Sheila Wright and Squire of the Knights of Ren, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sheila Wright and Squire of the Knights of Ren with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Flailing, Failing My Muse

And just like that it’s gone. The thoughts the inspiration the desire the motivation to write my thoughts to reminisce to put in motion the first step in one of many big big plans is gone. The loud music in the car bringing me to tears the compulsion to jot it down to get one step closer to the goal is gone.  I just want to lay in bed and watch another episode of Star Trek the Next Generation, one I’ve seen many times before and just be satisfied with someone else’s writing, someone else’s ideas, someone else’s desires, someone else’s thoughts I wish. I think of them as my friends, as a group of people, the kinds of people I wish I had in my life but don’t. 

My social life is Facebook. I wish for a group of people wanting to take me out for my birthday or a group that wouldn’t miss coming over to my house for a birthday party for me. But I am not a good friend to anyone so do not deserve such.  I’d like to write a short story about one student night at Rock City. Those nights in Nottingham were some of the most fun nights of my life. I was the person I had dreamed of being, and I liked what that place and my friends who went with me brought out in me. 

I try not to dwell on the fact that I live in this “suburbland” vortex I swore to leave and never return to. It’s not a bad place but not the place I want to be. I don’t reject it because the here and now is what I have and must embrace it. But I need it to be temporary. 

I think about all I want to accomplish and juggle and how I’ve taken the first step towards many of those goals but never go back to take the second. It’s just like my writing. One step, never to return. Never to do anything about it. I’m tired and I imagine, “Oh, I’ll go to bed now and wake up early and work on some things. But I won’t. I have this conversation with myself over and over and over and over again but end up back here.  

If only this might help someone or be of slight amusement it might be worth something...it’s just the cycle I keep on full force. I need inspiration I tell myself, I need time, I need this, no I just need to work on it but I don’t. I make slight progress but nothing, nothing significant. I’m stuck here because I choose to be, and that is depressing. But I don’t want to let myself get depressed but I don’t want to delude myself. 

What is it? It is in the late nights I think, but I’m so exhausted, I’m not thinking well, I just want to shut down, but then I lie in bed and wallow in the what if and what I want to do and then I don’t get enough sleep before I’m woken up and need to attend to the requirements of the day. 

Wasted wasted wasted decade doing nothing to get to where I want to be. 

Dreaming only dreaming, believing it was enough to just want something badly and not doing anything about it. 

Now I scramble between desires and make no significant progress. Not uninspired but lazy. Unfocused on the lack of result instead of focusing on what I am doing. Now I feel like I want to lie down and stare at an electronic device and just daydream about how great I can be. I’m so tired of having this conversation with myself and even more tired about writing about this conversation with myself, but I’m stuck. I’m stuck and will seek some exotic trigger to get all this inspiration organized into a plan of action and, possibly find one, and repeat this all over again.

(425): He’s very cute and has a totally sit-able face.

@venamis never ceases to AMAZE!!! Please go follow him! ♡♡♡ @Regrann from @venamis - 🔥🔥💀💀💀🔥🔥 #revengeofthefifth #artist #elihyder #darthvader #anakinskywalker #thedarkside #darkside #sith #sithlord #episodeiii #revengeofthesith #viii #skywalker #snoke #darthplagueis #vader #theempire #thefirstorder #starwarsart #marvelcomics #lucasfilm #kyloren #haydenchristensen #starwarsfan #comicartist #starwarsday #lukeskywalker #theforceawakens #lightsaber #starwars

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Inheritance.

I just realized you asked about my daily routine on Starkiller, and I drew the Finalizer.  BUT IT’S BASICALLY THE SAME, HONESTLY, just the windows look different.

Love my kiddo! Happy Mom's Day!