Corner of joy

I started this month of February with a caption dedicated to Kanan, and his take on leaving a blurry and messy existence for Hera, an untamed rebel with a sexy voice.

Now it is the time for her point of view on this very tall, flirty, handsome "almost Jedi", who will end up loving her more than his own life.

~

Kanan had gravitated toward a dangerous calling on Gorse, because to him it wasn’t dangerous. And it was a solitary trade, so he secretly could call on his prodigious talents if danger struck. She suspected that described all the odd jobs he’d taken on in his life. It was the strategy of someone trained in a certain discipline, and yet forbidden from practicing it.

That, his nomadic nature, and his lack of family ties all added up.

Kanan probably wasn’t yet a Jedi when the massacre came. She doubted he even had a lightsaber—all he had in the galaxy was one bag of clothing, and if he’d hidden it in there, she would never go looking for it. Hera wondered how young Jedi became apprenticed. She didn’t know, and such information was harder to come by now than just about anything else.

Where had he been, when the great betrayal had happened? Who had he been with? Had someone warned him?

And did that someone yet exist?

Kanan might tell her, someday. Or he might not. She was all right with that.

The Emperor had disenfranchised souls across the galaxy, people from all walks of life. A reluctant near-Jedi was just one more of their countless number. Many people would be required for a rebellion to work, all contributing their unique talents. All would be equally important, in their own ways.

He obviously liked her starship, she could see as he walked around it. That was good.

He was also smitten with her, she could tell—and she was all right with that, too.

~

[Photo: absolutely incredible meiloorun and Loth cats themed shirt by @tinymangojunior. Best compulsive buy I did in a while. Mostly because I was unsure since I never wear shirts, and definitely not so colorful. But this is absolutely wonderful, and I feel so happy in it! Thank you!]

So, I am

On Feb. 24th 2021, I wrote my "Thrawn is not a villain" manifesto.

I could not predict that those simple words would lead me to a time of change, kindness, and friendship. Nor the pride to be, somehow, remembered in a corner of the collective mind as the one that tries, one endless caption at a time, to show why he is not, and why it is so important.

In last year's post, I attempted to address the first point.

And, yet, I feel I barely started expressing why words like "villain" or "ruthless" ("having no pity or compassion for others") stab my soul like sharp daggers.

Thrawn is not just an imaginary character that I enjoy.

It is like someone ultimately understood and is able to describe who a certain kind of human thinks, behaves, and is.

And, finally, there I am.

Seen. Existing.

And it is not because I am particularly brilliant. Simply, never before a character that processed reality as I do was not a rude, horrible sentient being, which was the classical narrative, the usual “Sherlock package”.

Mr. Zahn took Holmes and his neurodivergence, and removed conceit and vanity. Thrawn is, at the same time, logical but kind, calm but full of emotion. His way of approaching situations and problems is systematic, but this does not make him a robot nor an insensible moron. He is endlessly patient, he adores teaching, he loves curious people, the company of his friends.

And cheese triangles.

He shares with many of us his inability to read hypocrisy. His tendency to be misunderstood.

And, with *me*, a feeling of intrinsic unworthiness underneath the almost almighty sense of self.

He can deal with disappointment, solitude, and pain better than anyone else.

Handling the worst scenarios, the most upsetting outcomes.

Never acting for his own good.

But because, fundamentally, he believes that his existence has no reason without that.

Without protecting, sacrificing, being the one making the harder choices.

Being useful.

And if he is a villain unworthy of happiness.

So I am.

My Patience Tank

"According to Star Wars reference books, the population of the Death Star was 1.7 million military personnel, 400,000 maintenance droids, and 250,000 civilians/ associated contractors and catering staff."

[Source: Wikipedia]

~

This is a flash post.

I normally take several hours or even days to write and edit a caption.

But this is forming spontaneously.

Probably because the reserve of my patience is running out from my tank at an alarming pace and way faster than I love to admit.

Unfortunately, it is so long and my time is so limited today that you will need to follow its conclusion in the comments.

This photo was destined to accompany a very lengthy and heartfelt caption about "one of the worst days of Thrawn's life."

But I will eventually need to find something else for that post because I need this *now*.

And, I'm sure about it, this caption will seem completely unrelated to the Seventh Fleet logo depicted.

So, for not being totally cryptic here, I would just say that I'm pretty done with the rhetoric that "you cannot dismiss Thrawn as not a villain because he killed civilians."

[And, yes, my "not a villain" manifesto celebration IS scheduled for tomorrow, but whatever. I woke up badly, ok?]

~

So imagine that your name is Parsh.

For the last 17 years, you worked for T'chah&Associated, a Coruscant-based food contactor that serves meals on Imperial installations.

You share your duties with a mix of droids and other human personnel, most of them greasy civilians from Mid and Outer rims.

Pretty decent people too, if you must say.

You started young -needed the money, you know?- but, at 33, you are now a sous-chef and fridge coordinator.

The job stinks sometimes -even literally- but pays well, and allows you to see more Galaxy than your brother Tash, who is still working as a caregiver in your hometown village on Daghee, would ever imagine.

You don't know exactly what this massive planet-like base is destined for, but you don't care much when you have 1.7 million army and navy souls to feed, and a quarter of a million starving civilians like you.

Yes, yes, you don't cook for them all, alright. But, you know. It's a lot of folks.

~

Your name is Jeremiah.

You work as a supply officer in sub level A-42, together with 714 Imperials like yourself.

You enlisted at 17, just after high school. You truly didn't have the money for a civilian university, and the Empire was offering free and good education. And a stable job too.

The day you graduated, your dad was so proud that you saw him cry. Yes, a little. It was the first time in your life that you saw him tearing up, that massive man. A life spent as a metallurgy expert in a Corellian shipyard suddenly worthy to witness the Ensign rank tag on the tunic of an Imperial officer son.

And now you work on the DS-1 Orbital Battle Station, the most advanced base in the history of the Empire.

Not bad, right? Not bad at all.

~

Following his Force-enhanced instincts, Luke, without second thoughts, remorse, or the blink of an eye, decided to disintegrate Parsh and Jeremiah into space dust.

Actually, he commented that succeeding in that specific shot was like to bulls-eye *womp rats* with his T-16 skyhopper on Tatooine.

He meant the dimension of the target, of course, but lovely analogy anyway, isn't it?

Your life.

Your brother's life.

Your son's life.

"Use the Force, Luke."

["Blow up all these people YAY"]

Is Luke a villain too?

~

For the sake of clarity, I state again here that I hate the Empire. I do not and definitely will never consider the two sides as "equivalent." But the reality, even a fictional one, is a little more shaded than a duo-tonal "villains and heroes."

[Photo: card and hand sanitizer holders by @trickortrinkets]

Yin and yang

"We require the assistance of a Guardian.”

Chirrut Îmwe dropped his chin against his chest and smiled, but said nothing. Silvanie Phest’s voice was a comfort to him, a reminder of better days. [] Then the Empire came to Jedha. [] The Disciples of the Whills who had worshipped so diligently for so long had been cast out, and the Guardians who had watched over them with the same vigilance alongside them. Now, as far as Chirrut knew, all that remained of those who had tended the Temple of the Kyber in NiJedha—in the Holy City—were a paltry handful of Disciples of whom Silvanie Phest was one, and two Guardians of the Whills with nothing left to guard and who were too stubborn to abandon their home.

Or, if you were to listen to Baze Malbus tell it, one blind Guardian and his long-suffering friend. []

“No,” Baze said.

The word was, in so many ways, the perfect embodiment of who Baze Malbus had become, as blunt and as hard as the man himself. No was the word that seemed to define Baze Malbus these days, all the more so since the Imperial occupation had begun. No, and in that word Baze Malbus was saying many things; no, he would not accept this, whatever this might be, from Imperial rule to the existence of a Jedi in the Holy City to the suffering the Empire had inflicted upon all those around them. No, ultimately—and to Chirrut’s profound sadness—to a faith in the Force.

“Please, Guardians—”

“Guardian,” Baze said. “One. Him.”

Chirrut’s smile turned to a grin as he felt Baze jerk a thumb in his direction. []

Chirrut rose all at once, tilting the contents of the alms bowl into one palm, then tucking the bowl itself away within his robes with the other. He reached out, found Silvanie’s six-fingered hand with a touch, turned his palm to empty what money he had gathered into hers.

“For food and water,” he said. He reached back for his walking stick. “We will come.”

“I won’t,” Baze lied.

Chirrut grinned.

~

Chirrut Îmwe and Baze Malbus.

Companions, partners, friends.

Utterly adorable in their endearing skirmishes.

Complementary, interconnected.

Yin and yang, perfect balance.

Soulmates.

Bound together as an indivisible whole.

The Force is with me

So exceedingly rare

Thrawn loves.

His crews, his found family, his people.

He is fascinated, attracted by curious minds.

Witty souls that offer him new perspectives, a fresh look over reality.

Translating for him subtexts and nuances.

Translating for him hypocrisy, greed, perfidiousness.

And read him.

His apparent quirkiness, his inability to understand uninquisitive attitudes.

Letting him be himself.

A sarcastic joke, a silent and pondering walk, a round of Tactica eating cheese triangles, or a liberating spar.

"So exceedingly rare."

Is this mental attraction physical too?

Perhaps. Or perhaps not.

Either way, not the point.

Sexual interest would not add or remove a crumb from the depth of his feelings.

From the selflessness of his affection.

His commitment to allow his friends to find and follow their own path, comforted to know that they grace the universe with their skills, their viewpoints.

And their presence.

Odd caption, for this specific image?

No, not really.

Look, I do understand lustful passions, I just did a post about the dangers of failing to acknowledge our deepest impulses.

But love does not have a hierarchy, a billboard top 10.

I am done with trying to explain the level of attachment, care, connection, intimacy that one can feel *WITH* or *WITHOUT* a carnal desire or a romantic bond.

An exhausting fight against "just friends" or "exclusively physical".

In one way or another, succumbing to the need to cage love into boxes, in which if there is either romance or sex, then, just then, you can "elevate" a relationship or a sentiment. Or, contrariwise, pretending that attraction and friendship cannot coexist, assuming either one as a lesser fondness.

The urge to label, catalogize, add and subtract, mastering definitions and incompatibilities.

Precisely the type of social subtexts and nuances that Thrawn would fail to understand.

And, ultimately, ignore.

[Photo: a stunning commissioned artwork that @mortallwarlock incredibly did for me]

Desires

Elzar suspected they were both thinking about the same thing. Shared moments as Padawans, tolerated and understood and even common— but things to be left behind once one ascended to become an adult in the Order.

They hadn’t discussed those moments, not in a very long time, and never with more than an oblique reference, but they were never very far away from the other’s mind, especially when they were together. []

Avar stopped. [] She held out her hand. []

The look she gave him was like that sea he found inside himself, the Force, deep and endless and impossible to fully comprehend.

You could drown in it.

“We are Jedi,” he said.

“We are,” she replied.

~

He leapt from the bed, screwing up his face as he realized he was naked. Ashla’s Light, how could he have been so stupid? []

He pulled the jerkin over his head, recalling the touch of her lips on the reception balcony, the sudden yearning that had enveloped him as she had pulled him closer, their bodies crushing together. He had no real memory of getting back to her apartment, crashing through the door, their hands exploring, caressing, pulling at the many layers the Order insisted its Jedi wear… for very good reason, it seemed. []

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. []

He pulled his pants over one leg and hopped to the bedside table where his chrono lay. A glance at the digital readout brought another stream of expletives, most just as unworthy of a Jedi as the act he had enjoyed last night… acts, plural… Samera’s velvet skin so soft, her breath so warm against his neck.

“Not helping,” he told himself.

~

Listen, I know how this will end.

Remorse, despair, even glances to the dark side, and yadda yadda.

Framed in this mental construction that romantic love —Avar, ethereal, unreachable, forbidden— is *always* intrinsically superior to all the one-night stands in the galaxy.

But, really? Can we, for a second, stop and admit that sex is, for many, a part of life?

That, even if it is blatantly true that not everyone experiences a physical attraction, it might exist, and simply ignoring it does not make it less real?

That forced restraint is perhaps not the solution, but acknowledging and balancing one's true desires is?

Let her go

“I am going to do this. And then I am going to find out who each of you really is. And the Empire will destroy everyone important to you.”

Kanan glared.

“You’re a little late on that one.”

Valentine's Day.

And I am here to speak about courage.

About finding the audacity to let ourselves love.

To respond to the fear of being exposed, brittle, like a porcelain figurine.

Feeling this all. And, still, going all-in.

Caleb Dume lost everything.

The temple that he called home, his Master, his fellow padawans, his clone friends, his life.

"Everyone important to you."

And it is easy.

To anesthetize, to detach.

Feel nothing. Risk nothing.

Unattached. Alone.

When your heart becomes, once more, a dartboard, better if it's made of cork.

You know, for convenience.

Another spin of the wheel?

Another love?

Someone who can still leave you?

Break your soul into pieces?

"Fear, grief, anger, that's how they see me. That's how I see myself."

And, so.

Jealousy, possession.

Obsession.

Stuck in recursive gotos that lead you to madness.

Like Anakin.

Like many people nowadays.

But not everyone replies to fear with anger.

Or confuses love with mania.

And the problem is not fear. Or attachment.

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."

[This is Mandela, though, not The Bendu]

And so, Kanan Jarrus replied with courage.

With balance.

Willing "to attach to others". Sabine, Ezra, Zeb.

Willing to love HER.

Knowing, better than anyone, that she would never stop fighting.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

And, yet, be there. Be ready.

To let her go.

Are you?

[Photo: on-topic, a meditating Kanan and an arguing Hera made by @fantasypinstress on a design by @junkofzeart. Background: awesome piece by @vyllaart]

A crumb of joy

Breaking his loneliness

“You’ve never been to Csilla, have you?” []

“No,” Thrawn said, gazing out the viewport. []

Ziara peered at his profile. There was a tightness around his eyes and lips. “You seem worried.”

“Worried?”

“The state of seeing large nighthunters lurking in your future,” Ziara said. “You know you have nothing to be concerned about, right? The liner owners can squawk all they want, but the fact remains that you saved eight thousand people who otherwise would be compressed mush right now.”

“I imagine anything resembling mush would have long since dissipated into tendrils of shredded organic molecules within the atmospheric currents.”

“Oh, I like that one,” Ziara said. “Okay if I borrow it?”

“You’re welcome to it.” Thrawn nodded at the planet. “No, I was just thinking. I’ve been in trouble before, but I’ve never been called to such a high-level hearing.”

“Because all the other questionable things you did were essentially military,” Ziara reminded him. “This one is essentially civilian." []

The hearing, as Ziara had predicted, was short and perfunctory. [] With one crucial exception. For whatever reason, for whatever obscure political favor someone owed someone else, Thrawn’s patrol ship—his very first command—was taken away from him.

“I’m so sorry,” Ziara commiserated as she and Thrawn rode their tunnel car back to the city. “I never expected the fleet to do that.”

“It’s all right,” Thrawn said. His voice was calm, but Ziara could hear the disappointment beneath it. “Considering how many millions I cost the Boadil, neither of us should be surprised by their vindictiveness.”

“You didn’t cost anyone anything,” Ziara ground out. []

“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “But you don’t need to be angry on my behalf. Together we saved eight thousand lives. That’s what’s important.”

Ziara nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”

~

I adore this exchange.

How relaxed they are with each other when not in formal situations.

How she can read his sadness.

The emotions that are concealed to an uncaring eye.

And how he allows her to break his loneliness.

To reach him. To see him.

[Photo: my precious charm by @_art_and_chaos_]

Defenders

Thrawn, in his turn, strongly opposed the Death Star project favored by Vader, Grand Moff Tarkin, and Palpatine himself, pushing instead for his own prized TIE Defender project on Lothal. So far Thrawn’s opposition had not reached the level of open resistance, but the Emperor knew it was only a matter of time. Vader knew that, as well. []

Thrawn had given his oath of loyalty to the Empire.

But that loyalty had never been fully tested.

~

A Dark Lord of the Sith never gasped in surprise. But if Vader had been anything else, he would have. Certainly The Jedi would have reacted as he was jammed back into his seat. Only in Vader’s prototype TIE Advanced x1 had he ever felt such power in a fighter before, or the incredible balance between speed and nimbleness. A laser burst blazed straight at him—

It sizzled into nothingness, its only effect being a brief wave of luminosity flickering around the edge of the Defender’s shield.

And with that, Vader knew they had won.

~

“And now, Lord Vader, you may prepare for your attack. The enemy believe themselves superior to Imperial forces. Let us prove them wrong.”

“We shall,” Vader promised. “Defender Squadron: Form up on me.”

And so the children were safe. Force-sensitive Chiss children, alive and well.

Mentally, Vader shook his head. [] He realized now that he had nothing to fear. Thrawn’s loyalties would always be split between the Empire and his own people, a fact the Emperor undoubtedly knew.

~

I wanted to do a mini-series about the TIE Defenders for months.

[Interesting name choice, don't you think?]

Mostly because many people see Thrawn's strong investment in the project as the ultimate sign of his "villainy" or his "controversial" ethical stand.

[Kriffing inheritance from the "Rebels" character misreading]

Well.

On this random afternoon, I ask you.

If you knew that a weapon of *planet* destruction was being built —turning indiscriminately into dust soldiers and kids, rebels and farmers — wouldn't you feel *pretty* strong about pushing a course of action able to surgically hit the war opponent, with a minimum loss of life?

And it is not even Thursday.

[Yet]

A warrior drink

The slow death of our souls

Kenobi just looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. []

“Yes, I know what war does to you,” Kenobi said at last. He didn’t ask Anakin to go on, although he must have felt his pain from time to time in the Force. But it was more than the war. Kenobi never asked for any details about what had happened on Tatooine, and whether that was from tact or disinterest, Anakin didn’t know. []

You don’t know what it is to love, Master. Or to lose. You didn’t even know your own mother.

Anakin hadn’t yet settled on a consistent view of his former Master—and he still called him Master, and thought of him as such. [] Sometimes he felt Kenobi was stability and safety; sometimes he thought he was an overbearing older brother who held him back and even competed with him.

He’d told Padmé that. She’d been taken aback by it.

And he didn’t want to take me as a Padawan, did he? He only did it out of duty.

Anakin often found himself ambushed by thoughts he didn’t want. It was even worse sometimes than the recurring memory of the Tusken village, because he only had to face its ghosts, but it was harder to handle his sporadic resentments and doubts about a Master he cared for and respected.

“I’ve got some maintenance to do,” Anakin said, grabbing a battered comlink from the makeshift console. “I’ll be back soon.”

It was his hint that he wanted some space. Kenobi never asked why. Usually, it was to find privacy to comm Padmé or to compose a message to her that he could send when he next got a chance. It was hard to be apart. It was even harder to keep their relationship secret.

No attachments. I know. But I can’t live that way, Master.

~

Back again on the "misinterpretation of silence and its disastrous consequences".

And, once more, "sacrificing" a Satine pin (by @herashideout) for a post about it.

But that precious lock of hair in her hand seemed so perfect for this excerpt.

You don’t know what it is to love, Master. Or to lose.

But, didn't he?

Satine dying in his arms.

Didn't he, truly?

"I loved you always, I always will"

Failing to acknowledge our feelings does not make the truth any less real.

Self-inflicted lies just lead to regret.

And the slow death of our souls.

Extraordinary

“It’s okay,” Ar’alani said again. “People yell at each other all the time. It doesn’t mean they don’t care for each other.” []

“But I told her I hated her,” Che’ri sobbed. [] “I just wanted some graph markers. So I could draw. But she said she didn’t have any, and couldn’t get any before she left, and I said Ab’begh has them and that she was a terrible momish—” She covered her face again, and the sobbing resumed.

Ar’alani patted her shoulder gently, feeling like a fresh recruit on her first training mission. She would take a battle against multiple enemies any day over trying to soothe a terrified child. “Listen to me,” she said, wincing at the command tone of her voice. “Listen to me,” she tried again, this time trying for gentleness. “This isn’t like books or vids. This is real life. Just because someone goes off on a mission right after they’ve had a fight doesn’t mean they’re going to die. [] Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll draw you a hot bath—Thalias said you like those—and while you’re soaking I’ll make whatever you want to eat. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Che’ri said.

“Okay,” Ar’alani repeated. “I’ll go start the bath while you figure out what you want.”

Che’ri nodded. “Admiral Ar’alani… Thalias said you’ve done a lot of things with Captain Thrawn.”

“I’ve had my fair share of experience with him,” Ar’alani said, smiling wryly. “And Thalias’s right. Being with Thrawn is one of the safest places she can be.”

“Can you tell me about some of the stories?” Che’ri asked hesitantly. “She gave me some, but they’re all official and stiff and I… don’t read very well. Thalias likes to read but I can’t…” Without warning, the body-racking sobs were back. Ar’alani closed her eyes and let out a silent sigh.

This was going to be a long, long night.

~

Stars, this woman.

This Admiral.

Words fail me, once again.

We often associate leadership with ruthlessness or hardship.

But Ar'alani is bold, sarcastic, utterly fun.

Kindhearted with Ch'eri, patient with Thrawn, hilarious with Wutroow.

Ultimately.

Extraordinary.

[Photo: wonderful art and print by @portraitsbyalan]

Let’s go somewhere

A nightmare had begun for everyone, years earlier, and it continued in almost every way that mattered. The galaxy hadn’t awoken from it yet, and maybe it never would. But Kanan had always been about going to perdition in style, and Ghost was a great way to get there.

Particularly with the company.

She was watching him as he admired the starship. Hera had hidden it well, constantly looking away or fiddling with some part—but Kanan was well trained in knowing when female eyes were on him. Things had changed there, too. Hera had been mildly curious about him before, but the events on Forager had definitely influenced her attitude toward him. That, or he had somehow gotten a lot more attractive.

Either reason was fine. Any excuse to be in her company was a good one, as long as she didn’t push the matter. Hera knew one little thing about his past now, which was one more than he knew about hers. He hoped she’d figure out it had no bearing on who he was. If delivering pinpricks to the Empire was what gave her a thrill, he could certainly help her without getting into all that. []

He’d sought answers in dangerous jobs and travel, in cantinas and carousing. Hera was a new and very different answer: as good a way to spend his time as any.

The people who had taught Kanan as a child had left him with a handful of skills and some parting advice. Nothing more. That had been their total legacy. Heeding their instructions was all he owed them. He would continue to avoid Coruscant, to avoid detection. He didn’t understand what he needed to “stay strong” for, but he’d continue to defend himself against anyone who challenged him.

And the Force? Well, it might be with him, or it might not. Kanan would get by, either way. He always had.

He slapped the underside of the Ghost and winked as he made for the ramp.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

~

February.

The time to speak about them.

About him.

Unapologetically bold, unbelievably blunt.

Still, more handsome than he has any right to be.

[Yes, this is my favorite sentence about him, and I'll keep using it]

[Photo: this custom Funko pop by @kb_graves is mind-blowing. The details are perfect. I might have teared up a little when I opened the box]