They Call Her Exile

✖ — a repressed memory 

     He bends low on his knees until his eyes are level with her own, hazy and bloodshot but focused on him entirely. He likes to see it in their face, the moment they succumb to a fate they know they can’t evade. Break, break, break. His lips barely brush her ear, feathery light as he idly rolls her lightsaber back and forth between his hands. ❛   Ready to die, Jedi?   ❜  

      Skin, clammy and slick, shining with sweat and blood. Blood that stains her hair crimson, glistens in the white florescent light that permeates the otherwise sterile room. And she’s SMILING at him, after all that he’s done to her, all that he’s said. Smiling in that sad sympathetic way like he’s the one to be pitied, like he’s the one bound and bleeding and barely clinging to life on the cold floor. Break, break, break. It’s his anthem, his silent prayer that’s progressed to a plea beyond desperation. He’s not even sure it’s internal anymore, if it’s just a quiet resolution or seeping soundly between his lips. At this point he hardly thinks it matters. She’s close. He can feel it. A small sliver of life still clings to this world, but it will undoubtedly be snuffed out and stifled with the rest of them. 

      And then she touches him. Not in any physical capacity; he can feel her very essence piercing through every pore, every crevice of his being, and then he is her. Her and the dozens of other Jedi he’s maimed, and bent and broken, and he cries out at the pain he’s inflicted, at the gaping black mark mark he’s left upon the world. In that moment he thinks he understands her, thinks he might LOVE her, would do anything for her. 

So he kills her. Seizes her throat between his fingers until she goes quiet and limp beneath his touch. 

He said loudly ‘I am not dying’ and I said ‘for me you are.’

                – Doubt isn’t a feeling he’s ever been foreign to, and the familiar sensation crawls and writhes beneath his skin like a worm. The notion isn’t new to him. Sometimes he wonders if his presence had been one of convenience; a decent pilot, a decent shot, an asset yes, but he liked to entertain the idea that maybe The Exile had kept him around for more than just his smart mouthed wisecracking. Liked to think he’d been a confidant, a pupil. Damn it all, a FRIEND. 

uwaah!! thank you so much ! ! /cries bc someone likes my art/ revan is a very important character to me as playing kotor was pretty much my gateway drug to the world of EU and the lore of the old republic, and since i’ve played it oh so long ago i have yet to emerge from that abyss. i love mass effect and dragon age but to me revan is the ultimate bioware protag. drawing them is really fun and i’m glad i’m not the only one enjoying my revan stuff! 

lmao, i told myself i’d be dedicating this blog to more formal works but legit all of the content i’ve really posted here so far has been revan… it’s great, tbh. 

have a revan as thanks!

“it’ll grow back.”

idk if you read the KOTOR comics, but Malak was a reoccurring character!! and he had hair in the beginning!! and he looked good in it!! then mandalorians captured and shaved him when they were torturing and experimenting on him, those bastards. i always headcanoned that revan cut their hair short soon after Malak got back from Flashpoint and they joked they’d grow their hair out again after the war was over. they never did, though.