SKYWALKER.

❛ i have. ❜

he exhales again, warm mist clings to his lips.

someone once asked him if he’s ever been happy. on kamino, he answered. back when i was a child, that’s the only time i was happy. it always rained there, you know? but my father was there too. and he’d tell me how much he loves me, how badly he wanted me to be, how proud of me he was, even though i was just a boy. he told me the galaxy will know my name and he’ll be there to witness it, he will hear my name echo on every planet, every star. but it wasn’t just pride, it was a simple reassurance. in every cell he gave me, there was a reassurance of being loved. the galaxy didn’t want me to exist, but my father did. 

his head sways lightly, side to side, a soft friction between layers of metal and skin. 

❛ but i could have been happy a long time ago. if only i’d let you. ❜

what he has now, he had many years ago. but he didn’t realize it. trapped inside his armor, boba would only give luke pieces of him like a bait, something to keep him by his side. only enough to make him stay. never more. sometimes, he’d slip. sometimes he’d pull off his helmet, sit by luke and tell him stories, legends of his own hunts with mute trophies sneering at them from the walls of his ship. he’d let him in and the next morning, he’d regret every single word he said.

a hunter who keeps looking back is a slow hunter. one that will never catch his prey. so he had to let them both of them go. it’s just business. it’s not personal. years came by and boba realized he was wrong. it was personal. luke slipped his warm fingers in-between the cold plates, left soft impressions in his battered skin. like footsteps in the sand. he’d touch them, move burnt fingertips over his ribs and feel like something’s missing. someone’s missing. 

sloppy, he’d think. sitting on his bed, all alone. got trapped, he’d think, hand still clutching to his side. exposed. did he leave some of his armorplates by luke’s bed? maybe they’re still there, gathering dust. sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. trapped. slowed down. forget. kill that feeling. no distractions. get up, get armored. go hunt. leave those plates. luke can have them as a trophy. 

and that was his problem. viewing every relationship in terms of unfair exchange, a bad trade. vulnerability and softness, every touch meant giving something up. pushing a gun into the other’s hand. he’s too old for that now. so he removes his main crutch, his biggest shield– just to show how much he can give up now. because he’s wiser now, he’s more than just a fleshed shadow of a man who died before the empire even came to be. he breaks away the touch, both hands lift to clasp at both sides of his helmet. he lifts it up, takes it off. moves slow enough to let his eyes get used to natural sunlight and leave the artificial glow of his HUD behind. he walks into the trap himself, because he knows it is not what he thought it to be. 

❛ i’m not gonna leave without letting you see me. my face. ❜

not my father’s, say his eyes. it’s my face, i realize that now.

shouldn’t he have promised the same?  just here, dreading sound and movement that hadn’t sprung from the island itself. watch the growing, day by day, breath bated for the interruption. too long, and too far a distance between himself and the man left behind. ( the man they all knew better, who wouldn’t have just vanished without reason; wouldn’t have hid somewhere unfindable to anyone but— ) just here, someone who would have to know him even better than that. he could count the names on one hand. and still. still, the irony isn’t lost on him. harsh words had become practical here, a defense built at the back of his mind for all those imagined conversations. this was scripted. this was bitterness long-boiling, self-fulfilling towards himself. don’t let the question linger on. answer it with the easy lie: take that armor with you, and there’s no place for it here. lie and lie because the lie is preserved. 

and always, in the end, he couldn’t go through with it. a lie has to be delivered, and luke’s breathlessness was just the truth undercutting. nothing exposed that hadn’t already been seen. so not imagined; here in flesh and bone and shadow underfoot, and this much is deserved. this, if not that happiness spoken of. his head turns before eyes can be drawn away, though they fall to steady ground regardless. and if humor can be found anywhere in the vertigo— ‘now you give me too much credit.’ 

maybe it’s laughter too quiet for an angry shore, and maybe ( definitely ) the alternative still goes considered. happiness was one more promise never kept. not because he saw the gleaming on the horizon, but because no promises were made to begin with. this was deliberate. even then, in gratitude overflowing as those precious glimpses were offered, the truth of this. he holds his breath as he meets those eyes again. 

here, the gratitude. it tugs at the corners, a smile resuming — or had it stayed since then, like the peace offering intended? had it stayed, at least, in memory? 

fingers curl into a fist only to punctuate, gently, his words against that metal. thank you against a heartbeat, somewhere deep. but in the turning away, in the returning — always returning — truth spoke for him in the silence too. now it speaks louder, with a purpose that paints it final. 

               one day, the familiar  could become a harsh reality. Couldn’t it? Find him back on Tatooine, running headlong into the unknown with a confidence he hadn’t earned. Thirteen years old and already giving friends a reason to lose their faith in him, losing themselves in the Wastes. Even now, hindsight hasn’t allowed this to become a happy memory. Marstrap could have killed him for the brilliantly reckless idea that brought them there, hiding from the heat and the sandswirl and the snapping jaws of that krayt — and this isn’t a new story. She’s heard it before. That’s why it’s only a flash in the periphery, not the voice of an uncle ( like his uncle’s had been, surely ) chiding low about responsibility. Why, when I was your age .  .  .

No. For now the laughter, the smirked ‘I see.’ For now a hand ruffling hair. ‘You’re a real menace.’

❛ If you do not wish to let me down, then all you have to do is trust in the Force. It will guide and help you, ❜ however, the issue of training proved a pesky one. After all, he had been brought up as a Jedi. His Padawan, Anakin, had been old to begin at only nine. Yet he had to respect Owen’s wishes to not interfere in Luke’s life as he grew up. The Force had finally brought the two of them together; late was better than never. Now was finally the time to begin.

❛ Traditionally - back in the days of the Jedi Order - it would take years before one was considered a Jedi. Now… well, I suppose we will have to make use of whatever time we have, ❜ there was, of course, much more to a Jedi than mere training. Slowly getting to his feet, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel every one of his aging years. ❛ Tell me, Luke, what do you think makes a Jedi? What do you think you need to learn? ❜

It was a test, albeit subtle. 

               trust in the force.  And what had Ben said about that? That it fills, that it ties. He could imagine the wind sweeping across the wasteland, through dunes and canyons until dust clouds emerged furious. An endless ripple, Luke would assume, starting from something as small as wings beating, a tattered carpet hung up and pelted clean. But a storm is still a storm, and the desert isn’t forgiving to those who get caught in its midst. ( This he could trust. )

001. there is peace. there is harmony. 002. details foraged from every face, in crooked grins and teary-eyed laughter. 003. there is no chaos, there is no death. 004. there are two suns over tatooine. then, now, tomorrow. 005. there is the force. it’s on the horizon.

lightgave hm not to be dramatic leia but id literally rather die

“ You don’t have to face him, not on your own ” She shook her head, she couldn’t allow it to happen. She had been beside Vader, she had seen what he was capable off, just the very thought of her brother facing him alone made her shiver. No, even if Luke was a Jedi, even if he would be alright, she couldn’t let it happen, not if he planned to go alone and leave her behind to worry about him.

“ Listen to me, we have been apart from each other for so many years, we have gone through much sorrow, Luke and I don’t think my soul can handle any more, I can’t bear the thought of losing you, I always wanted a brother, someone I could care for and protect and now that I have that, I won’t let you put yourself at risk. ” Her head was leaned against his chest while she held onto him in a tight hug, she was stubborn, he knew it too, perhaps he would listen, just this once. “ Please, Luke, Don’t leave me ”

               she asks for the impossible.  No surprise in this cold realization, though — no surprises left when they themselves have been brought together by the impossible. Growing slow and uncertain out of the sands of Tatooine, carved out carefully from the marble halls of Alderaan, and here: the story’s ending having taken a wrong turn. ( Not wrong. Indefinite. Unlikely. ) ‘I am. I’m listening.’ Though the words catch; another thought is shoved back as arms stiffen in the hesitation.

She wasn’t there. This isn’t a truth held with disdain. Regret doesn’t paint his childhood with all the darks of this one inevitable night. But there beyond the yellow dunes, she couldn’t hear the voice of their father calling out like an omen. She didn’t step around the unmarked graves, fearing the tall shadow cast by the dead. She’s here. For the better, whispering kindness. And he can’t even repay it.

@lightgave / continued

he listens with rapt attention, not the boy he might’ve been before that would’ve hung off his every word like it was gospel but poe still believed the older man would have some wisdom for him. something to say that might help him make up his mind, something to push him into forgiveness or convince him that his anger is allowed to remain. that hatred won’t cloud his mind and make him cruel. “ i don’t want to forgive him. “ he doesn’t say a name, hopes that his intent is clear, hopes that he won’t have to say a name. there are no physical scars on poe from the man in question but the ones on his mind have not even begun to heal, maybe in time they will or maybe he’ll carry this anger forever.

he was a good man, always had been, kind and just and forgiving when he needed to be. but this? this he couldn’t forgive. it wasn’t just what had happened to him it was the destruction and pain wrecked on the entire galaxy. the lives of innocent people lost. the children taken from their homes. that poe could never forgive. looking back at skywalker with steely eyes he nods, more confident in his emotions after that. “ some people don’t deserve it, some people have done too many terrible things. “

               dameron is clever.  Always has been, forever driven by that instinct — one life becoming the fable of another. The confusion is as inevitable as the clinging of light, then; it’s a noble confusion never meant to be named. Luke bows his head into a nod anyway, reassurance in the form of a growing smile. ‘You wouldn’t want to make the wrong choice.’ Here is the acknowledgement of the thought, not the meditation. Sometimes this is enough. ( Sometimes it should be said from someone else, clear and tangible. ) ‘I don’t think you will.’ And this is between them. A given, etched out with all but a wink and a nudge. Instead, that smile fades. ‘You know there should be a purpose to it. Why forgive what you aren’t prepared to?’ This is not a question to be answered, though the pause is deliberate. Search your feelings, reach out, advice that becomes more necessary with age. With wisdom. The paradox.

hopeful hazel eyes glanced downward at his words, brows pulled TAUT together as emotions shifted.  a thousand different thoughts flashed in her mind, memories of trials, tribulations, & triumphs; there were failures too, plenty of them ( some cost her days of hunger ).  but each day on that wasteland had given her STRENGTH, and it took leaving her past behind to see it.   she shifted, weight balanced on one foot then the other, gaze traveling back up to meet her master’s eyes.  ❝  how can my strength be my weakness? ❞  the words were quiet & soft, yet full of curiosity.  she was there to learn, after all.  and what better way to learn than ask the hard questions?