#spectredeux

      What is a god?

      Most species define such a being as a powerful entity, a great spirit which played a part in creating the universe––known and unknown––and, on many worlds, a saviour with the power to direct the fate of all individuals to whom its followers pray for favour to be shown to them. The beliefs of one species surrounding their god differ from all others in ways from the most subtle to the most obvious, whether they worship one god or several, but every religion in the galaxy’s recorded history has always been built on the same basic tenets. Belief. Worship. Faith. And throughout the millennia these have endured, despite the undeniable fact that the existence of gods and goddesses has never been proven. It is almost admirable, how so many could draw such strength from what was arguably the most abstract of concepts in the face of reality.

      For Mitth’raw’nuruodo, the supposed existence of such all-powerful beings is something he could not, would not, accept. So when the captain asks him this question, her green eyes alight with that defiance and strength which flows through her veins like wildfire, he is unsure if he should accept it as an undue compliment or more of a sarcastic insult.

      There is something else that the lack of proof to support faith in a god shows, a point made by those who some would call realists and others would call cynics in the endless debates surrounding the topic. The only things that can be said to have begun as frequently as new religions throughout history are wars and their associated atrocities, many of which affected the lives of untold billions and shaped the future of the galaxy––not necessarily always for the better. If the gods and goddesses that so many pray to for good fortune and peace were real and just, then how could they have allow their supposed creation to become so filled with injustice and hate and bloodshed? Had making a universe with untold wonders and a myriad of countless beings capable of greatness not been enough? Does divinity breed such power that, whether out of boredom or corruption, the great creators decide to play games with the lives of their followers, destroying and harming so many of those souls in such brutally senseless ways?

      The Chiss had their gods, a pantheon of spirits, with particular rankings and classes of the people praying to a particular member of those great overseers and protectors of life. Members of the Aristocra prayed for wisdom to guide their families and the people, the Syndics prayed for success in their diplomatic dealings, and the warriors prayed that they would either live through the next battle or have a place in whatever life awaited them should they fall, but that they fight with honour no matter what. Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo had prayed when necessary, more for the sense of solidarity with his people than any great conviction in their beliefs. He had put his faith in logic, in facts, in reality. Things he could understand without any doubts and influence to ensure victory was achieved in all scenarios, those of war and otherwise.

      Any chance of him finding true belief in gods was lost the day he prayed to the divine so that they might save his brother, only for his pleas to fall on deaf ears. To this day, in the rare moments he spends pondering over deities and spirits, he wonders why they did not heed him as they had supposedly heeded so many others throughout the years. But mostly, he just misses Thrass.

      So when this woman calls him ‘god’, the sentiment in her tone making it sound almost like a curse, he initially wants to do nothing but deny it. For if anyone prayed to him, he would listen; he would not allow others to suffer such heartbreak as he had felt, despite his efforts to change reality and his appeals to the gods of fantasy and belief. But as Admiral Thrawn considers the term some more, he starts to wonder if there is any truth to it. If, at times, he might be seen as a god.

      If in the midst of battle, as he stands on the bridge of his ship looking out at the enemy, giving orders on how to attack their forces defend his, he is a god of the little universe comprised of his ships and the enemy’s. If, as the conflict turns in his favour, those of the forces he is facing start to see him as the ruler of their fate. If they pray to him, pray that he will let them survive, that they will have a chance to fight another day. If, as he stares out at fire and debris and bodies and blackness with nothing but a cold, crimson stare and speaks in a voice that betrays no emotion, he is just as callous and cruel and uncaring and unforgiving as whatever almighty maker breathed life into the universe then abandoned it as a child discards a toy it’s grown tired of.

      “No, Captain.” And despite the soft tone the phrase is uttered in it’s still a shock when he realises he’s speaking it aloud. Still, his expression remains as stony and calm as ever as his hands grip her tight, pulling her to him so he can almost crush her form with his, blue lips ghosting over green flesh as he leans in closer. Am I your god, Hera Syndulla? Do you pray for hope that your rebellion survives? Do you pray for absolution from the sins you commit with me here? Do you pray for the strength to know if it is right to continue or end this, or that I will make that decision for you? His lips trail from her mouth and along her jaw to her ear cones, and down her neck. “I am no god.” I have committed too many of my own sins to claim that status. And the one thing that saves me from becoming such a monster as those great creators on the battlefield is that I care for the lives that are lost and can be potentially saved. I care, and should divinity ever be proven to exist, that alone will be enough to defeat them as I have defeated all the evils I’ve ever faced. His lips slide back up and come close enough so that she hears his faintest of whispers.

i’m gonna start calling u kiki tbh

               HER STEPS ARE NEARLY SOUNDLESS  upon the metallic walkway, but she supposes that someone so accustomed to the creaks & groans of a ship would be able to detect even the slightest hint of change in the air. She knows that Hera is aware of her approach -- she can feel in the Force as she lets it flow through her softly like water over rocks, a quiet stream of light & of peace. It is difficult to let that override the squirming in her gut, it is difficult to let go of her pride, but she does, as she was taught. 

     She doesn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.  

     “Captain,”  she begins, a more formal calling of attention to herself, hands folding before her as her face assumes a thoughtful & somewhat concerned expression.  “I want to offer my apologies for earlier.”

     She had been given an instruction, as a temporary member of the crew & an actor in this mission, & for a split second she had hesitated. The duties of the rebellion & the mantle of rebel were still new to her, they were things she was trying to understand & accept. The hesitation had been the relic of the time she had spend on her own, wandering in a haze of hurt, hatred, & confusion. She isn’t in the habit of trusting people straight away. It had been merely a flicker, & had done no damage, but she knows that Hera had noticed. It is now up to her to explain herself & to make amends.

     “She told me to trust you, and I do,”  she continues, no need to elaborate on who she is,  “but I’m still getting used to ... all of this.”  Her father had once taught her the importance of respecting a captain on board their ship - no matter what. Remembering that lesson now requires her to confess her shortcomings.  

      He had scarcely believed it when he’d caught sight of that shape darting between the cruisers locked in battle, a distraction which only demanded more of his attention when the helmsman confirmed its identification. Not to the extent that he lost sight of the rest of the battle, however. And when an opportunity presented itself once victory was assured, the assistance of a well-placed Interdictor allowed the Chimeara to position itself to catch the freighter in a tractor beam. Now the admiral stood in the hangar before the ship that had plagued and eluded him so many years before, awaiting the stormtroopers that had boarded to come forth with a prisoner he knew they’d find.

mylene is good she's doing great she became very famous and never had to compromise her morals and never had anything bad happen to her behind closed doors and she and zeke managed to make things work without any heartbreak and they're both very successful and very happy together and netflix can suck my ass