A/N: Suitless Vader/original female character story
Timelines have been slightly altered the Age of the Empire started in 22 BBY rather than 19 BBY. The Clone Wars never happened and you'll find out why. Differences are placed for a reason and breaks from canon (not an error). Let's just say Anakins fall was alot sooner. This book is slower paced than Equilibrium.
Slow burn.
This IS a layered story. If you trust me you'll revel in the journey along the way. Though you may not come away unscathed... 😉
Votes/Reviews are nearly as amazing as Grogu (00)
WARNING
DARK THEMES
VIOLENCE (can get graphic)
SEXUAL CONTENT (not explicit)
VERBAL/PSYCHOLOGICAL
ABUSE
SWEARING
RATED M
(This IS Star Wars after all. Vader is no Angel and he isn't here. That isn't to say there won't be some light hearted moments to break up the intensity. Read at your own risk).
If interested this is also posted on Wattpad and A03 with visuals
A long time ago in a galaxy far far away...
STAR WARS
ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ ɪɪ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴠɪᴄᴇ
ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ, ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇʟᴇɴᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ ɢʀɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇɴꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ʜᴏʟᴅ.
ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ, ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʀᴋᴀɴɪꜱ ꜱᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ, ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ʟᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ꜱᴜʙᴊᴜɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴛʜ ꜱɪᴅɪᴏᴜꜱ.
ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴘᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ɴᴏᴡ ʀᴇɪɢɴ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ, ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɪʀᴏɴ ꜰɪꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇʟᴇɴᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴇɴꜰᴏʀᴄᴇʀ,ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴅᴀʀᴛʜ ᴠᴀᴅᴇʀ.
ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴏᴜᴛᴇʀ ʀɪᴍ, ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴄᴏʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴛ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴀᴛᴏᴏɪɴᴇ, ᴀ ʟᴏɴᴇ ꜱʟᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏɪʟꜱ ᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇʟᴇꜱꜱʟʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ʏᴏᴋᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴄɪʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴛᴏʏᴅᴀʀɪᴀɴ ᴛᴀꜱᴋᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ...
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｡˚⭑. ⭒⋆｡
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【Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ：
ＯｕｔｅｒＲｉｍ
Ｔｅｒｒｉｔｏｒｉｅ ｓ
Ａｒｋａｎｉｓ ｓｅｃｔｏｒ
Ｔａｔｏｏｉｎｅ: Ｍｏｓ
Ｅｓｐａ】
20 B B Y══════
TATOOINE: LOCATED ON THE OUTER RIM, ORBITING BINARY G-TYPE STARS; twin suns Tatoo I and II. Home to the largest, apex predator: the Krayt dragon, it was an arid, cloudless planet with little source of vegetation. Dunes, rocky outcroppings of glaring canyons spread across the silicate surface. Combing the plains by sandcrawlers, Jawas scavenged and swindled scraps with locals. Hostile nomads inhabited the deserts as the Sand People, or Tusken Raiders.
With cities swept into the sandstorms, the blistered heat caused rainfall to come but once a decade. Leaving moisture farmers bred for the rural areas cultivating the sustenance from the bowels. The trade off from a menial living.
Hailed from their homeworld: Nal Hutta, slug-like sentients or the Hutts, reigned as Tatooine's crime lords; a cartel syndicate that controlled the bulk of agricultural goods, to imports and spaceports. Their dealings with piracy generated much of their wealth, the colonization under their control rampant havens for sporadic criminals to smugglers.
Located near the Dune Sea their funded retail business for junk dealings took place in the main spaceport of: Mos Espa, a local breeding ground of impoverished slavers. It was ideal for a blue, smarmy Toydarian who reaped the benefits. Cheap labor meant minuscule pay and him, good business.
For over many orbiting suns had it been Ayen's [Aye-n] life.
Attentive hazel eyes zeroed in on the red wire clenched between her thumb and forefinger. If she could just get the wire to connect to the monocular photoreceptor, the pit droid could be salvaged.
With her tongue crooked, it prickled, left with the tang of carbon as a bitter aftertaste. By the stars, only from the adomed edifices alone had the sun not scorched her skin to leather. And thus, her concentration remained affixed as a bead of sweat rolled down her brow, crusted in sand and oily residue.
It was the trade off from heaving scrap heavier than her waif frame. If she lost another day's ration just to sate his temper... He'd threaten to sell her off. His pride could never admit how valued of an asset she was. Evidentially he'd gamble the earnings away at the annual Boonta Eve Classic Podrace.
"Almost got it..."
She felt the wire hook into the small cavity. Her soot-covered fingers slowly retracted as the receptor toggled once then, twice. The mechanics sparked with an audible thrum.
She grinned, Yes!
The alloy casing fell back with an audible snap, the faded print Serv... O...Droid Inc visible as she ran a tattered rag through the greased fingerprints, the excess rubbed into hewn russet pants.
"Kark... finally." She bent down and tapped the nose—the sensor.
The droid automatically folded.
For a moment she imagined a pair of paternal figures glimpsing from the cosmos with pride. Barely could she remember them, now. Under her longstanding servitude to Watto had such visual details faded from recollection. Even recalling their voice was like lost echoes in a distant chamber. Nevertheless, she felt a deep sense of gratitude for her lineage. Gifted with her valuable skills had enabled her to secure a steady source of food and shelter. Even if it meant having to reside in close quarters at Slave Quarters Row with antagonistic vagabonds.
Propping the droid upon the main table illuminated to bring forth customers, she departed for the sand blasted steps that led to the outside junkyard. The acrid stench of rust assaulted her senses from the granule winds, dusted sediment instantly cleaving to her like second skin. The azure Toydarian she spotted flitting around a decrepit pile of ion engines.
Those glassy eyes swiveled to hers immediately. "What took you so long?! Coona tee-tocky malia?!" Using the favored Huttese dialect, he layered her with insults. "I got some selling to do stupid! Me dwana no bata wermo!"
One brow rose at the Toydarian. The remnants of hard labor glazed her forehead. "Oh no, Watto. E chuta Watto. I just saved your arse. Mee ju do arse."
She matched his dubious squint with a glare.
"You're lucky I'm in a generous mood. U're gusha mee'm noleeya do sunqu kuq." His wings beat behind him in tandem with his temper. A data pad protruded from a belt strap looped across his pot belly to a pocket welding torch dangling off the side.
She scoffed. "Since when? Huy kamata?" Urged to retaliate, her eyes fell across the ratted pouch tied to his holster.
Wishful thinking. Specific slaves' keycodes kept there included her's. If the chip weren't implanted under a thick fold of skin, she would've long abandoned the barren planet.
Yet it was here she remained, the last of the slaves Watto held claim to. The others had been sold off as paid debts to the Hutts long ago. Elders she hadn't been partial to as it was no secret the sentient had a gambling addiction. Soon, Watto would have to forfeit ownership. It churned her gut, Jabbas's grip, akin to a noose about to constrict. The Hutts were known for their carnal pleasures, explicitly Jabba Desilijic Tiure. Ayen worked extra laborious hours to bring in the peggats since imperial credits were difficult to come by as a slave. Anything to prevent becoming a dancing commodity. Her dignity was far too important. She'd raptly detonate her chip before such barbarity.
With an exhale she couldn't help but loose her frustration in Basic, "I just spent three hours working on your non-expendable pit droid, Watto." She crossed her arms. "You can't afford the loss after the last race."
His trunk-like nose wriggled with a snort. "Cheeky poodoo. You should be flying my podracer then, eh?" He extended his three-fingered hand rubbing one finger against the two. "Making me all the money."
Her brow rose. "Except I don't fly; you know this. I'm a tech, not a pilot."
"Ah!" Watto waved one hand in the air dismissive. "Peedunkel! Girl be the death of me." His webbed feet skirted around as his bulbous head shook in aggravation, aviating back into the junkshop.
"I heard that," she muttered under her breath with a roll of her eyes. Least she wasn't in for a lashing this time, their banter quite common.
Escaping the brutal heat of the twin Tatooine suns, Ayen reluctantly trailed behind him to the register. Inspecting the pit droid, there was a satisfied tilt of his stubbled chin as Watto grunted, "Ah, good work, Sebulba will be pleased. Eh... sweep the floor mats and clean your workstation, girl."
It meant she was finished for the standard cycle. Secretly she had no desire to face that cheating Dug with his next in kin, Setur. The Dugs had never played fair in a podrace, their ill tempers far from desirable.
Worse than a Rodian's.
Watto had told her a few stories since she'd never been allowed to attend Boonta Eve Classic. Grabbing the broom tucked in the corner, she swept the electrostatic mats free of the fine, carpeted grains from earliers dust storm. Damned sand. It got everywhere and coated everything. There was no escaping it. Just as there was no escaping this life.
Or her boss's whip should she fail her tasks.
Although he was known for treating his slaves a little more humane, she had the scars to prove the mercurial mood swings. He could be cruel under immense pressure and given his ire. Often nights she'd go home with various wounds to mend under a rationed vaporator. Following incessant hours of meddling with copper wires and shrapnel.
Using an iron brush she swept the slab of alloy she'd fused into a work desk, dust particles flouncing into the air. Before placing her welding goggles into a tin, she polished the lenses as a prep to maintain a 'well oiled' work space.
In the background Watto fluttered about.
Counting his totals he'd readied the shisha to smoke as he did in the eve. Oh stars help her if that ever busted. Faintly, she heard him whisk into the back of the store grumbling to himself. The sentient was experiencing a shortage.
Not in the least, surprising.
She couldn't help but snort. "Short on oil there Watto?" She smirked, leaning back in the rickety chair with ease, bracing a knee while the mladong bracelets clunked against the counter. The bands served as a reminder of her place in the world, evoking a frown.
Apart from haggling and bargaining in the markets, she kept to herself. On a feral planet borne of harsh weather and hostile creatures abound, survival was primary. Only the wise endured, while the foolish inevitably perished.
"Still short tempered and irrational over the least trivial matters."
A cool breeze brushed against the nape of her neck. Her heart practically jumped into her throat as her head snapped around. With a startling thwack one foot fell against the ground whilst greeted by a hooded, cloaked figure.
Instantly she straightened from the slackened posture to her feet. "Kriff!— I didn't hear any customers come in. My apologies sir."
Hopefully Watto hadn't, lest she received an earful. She hadn't spotted him yet—mercifully. Yet as her eyes darted to the hooded figure, the relief dissipated.
Looming over her by nearly a head taller they crossed their arms against a thick, weathered cloak. With their intimidating stance she trained her sights on a fixed point: a shoulder. It was considered a hostile tactic to look directly in the eye of an opponent or buyer. Lest she receive a lashing or worse.
Idiot, they're waiting for you to speak, say something! "Ah—" she stuttered, " I think Watto went into the back. I can grab him for you or—"
"No." The voice had a smooth baritone; an overt dominance unmistakably male.
Oh, oh no, was this the hangman?
Jabba was no doubt, pleased, as a criminal that profited off many tricks of the trade. Although the Hutts species were asexual she could picture the near future: a life spent in a chain-link bikini until decrepit age left her enslaved, to the last of her technical prowess.
"Whatever Jabba wants I'll double it. A ship fixed or a broken droid? Done. But I refuse to go to that slimy cretin; I'd rather fight a Krayt Dragon."
"While that can be arranged," he shrugged indifferently, "I have no business with the Hutts. I'm here to collect on a debt Watto owes me, personally."
Oh?
"On you."
Anger boiled to the surface even before he'd pointedly uttered the last of his words. Had Watto bet on her? That sentients skull had to be thicker than an eeopie.
"That sleazy, son of a— Incredible! Inkabunga!" She swore a string of colorful words as her face flushed. "He had the bantha balls to bet on me? Betrayer scum! Cheeskar nok!" Quickly remembering herself, she took a deep breath. The sheer embarrassment had flushed a freckled complexion, scalding the tips of her ears. "I... does that mean I'm leaving? Do I need to collect my things...?"
It was unnerving, the silence. Only as she anticipated to be punished for her tongue, did he finally nod.
Phew.
As she spun around to rummage through her desk drawer, swiftly did she collect her tool belt, lucky goggles, and a piece of cloth her thumb grazed; vestiges from an infant afghan. It was just as she was stuffing last essentials into the threadbare bag—
Did the temperature plummet.
A foreboding chill latticed to her bones as she exhaled. Suddenly her breath floated before her like a spectral apparition as hairs on the back of her neck, tuned to the presence behind her.
"Watto." The voice cracked like a whip, his authority blatant. It made her jump as a rustle of wings became audible. "Why am I left to wait when my orders were more than... concise."
"Y-Yes of course." The Toydarian seemingly re-entered the room with a stumbling beat of his wings, uncommon for the brute creature.
Following, came several distinct clicks.
A shrill alarm wailed through the weighted atmosphere before— silence. "The switch has been disabled. The chip will uh, not detonate. The girl can... go."
The bitterness in Watto's voice made her fingers vigorously clench unto her bag. Bone-white knuckles shone. Sensing a pair of eyes burning into her backside she didn't dare intercede. Thus a shiver rippled down her spine as his hooded shadow stealthily moved across the walled enclave. As his silhouette closed in on the sentient, the air in her lungs suddenly constricted. Seizing her breaths her pulse contracted with a painful throb.
"Under the circumstances," he began, eerily towering over the creature with a glacial tone, "I'm feeling very unmerciful. Does the name Shmi Skywalker jog your... memories?"
She felt her eyes widen as a shadowy arm rose into the air, the voice callous as Hoths ice. Though what came next would forever impale her memory.
"Wait, An—Ack!—"
Wattos shrill reply severed as a thick, guttural gargle lanced the air. The horrid retching curdled her insides, her eyes clenching shut following a sickening crunch. "Mee jewz ju."
A strangled gasp clawed up from her lungs as if a pressure was relinquished, heart beating like a rabid spice spider. The brutal slap of reality bearing witness to a live murder punctured her gut, before a gloved hand extended out to her.
Gloved fingers slightly crooked up in invitation. Sensing this was not up for questioning, she shakily grasped hold of the hand, the leather cool against her sweaty palm as she was lifted to her feet, now facing him.
"Avert your gaze," he warned before he turned from her.
Unintentionally her eye glimpsed a mangled appendage just out of vision. As if he'd sensed the very action he whirled around in fury, his broad form blockading the morbid display. "Look at me," he snapped.
Steadily, she peered up beneath amber lashes, her fear refracting off eyes that lit like a struck match beneath his hood.
If looks could scorch, Whoa.
Encountering various species from dozens of off-world planets with Tatooine a docking epicenter, never had she'd witnessed eyes this magnitude. More fiery than a Zabrak it was quite startling.
She bit back a hard swallow, "Are, are you—"
"If I was going to kill you," he cut in, in a low voice on a razors edge of patience as if expecting this, "already would you have been dispatched, with it."
"...Right."
It was all she could say, his disgust potent by the slaughter of his hand.
A hand.
Garnered from years of pilots and travelers' gossip it wasn't the Jedi who exhumed such a lethal ability. But the Sith. Was she owned by a kriffing Sith?
Of all the nine Corellian hells!
"Do you know who I am?"
His voice, cool as the deserts night winds, encircled her wrists with the abrupt implore.
Sith... spit, what did she say? Bracing herself lest the confession cost her she ushered quietly, "A Sith."
"Hhm... not my insinuation." There was a mixture of annoyance yet a hint of curiosity. "I'll rephrase: what is the extent of your knowledge?"
"Of...?"
"The galaxy."
"That... the galaxy has been under a Galactic Empire." She saw the stormtroopers constantly patrolling the perimeters, had seen the blood-red banners for the Emperor. It was common knowledge their presence in Mos Espa. Even more so in Anchorhead. "... There was a Jedi revolt that betrayed the Republic. On Coruscant years ago. They were exterminated but the sympathizers formed a Rebellion?" Fek I sound quite the impaired. "Really, it's not much I—"
"Do you have any loyalties to these rebels?" His tone had adopted a frigid edge now.
She was quick to answer, "No...? Honestly I'm not well versed in politics, I've led a pretty antisocial life up until... now."
"Would you pledge yourself to the Empire's cause?"
"Yes, I worked my hands to the bone for this gambler."
A pregnant silence settled, enough to worry her lip from frayed nerves, alone.
Then, "Hold your wrists out." His voice had softened a degree.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked up into his magnanimous gaze with a swallow. The darkness had receded yet those eyes blazed like a fiery inferno, threatening to consume anything within his path.
He let go and hovered over the manacles she extended in haste. With a jolt, they began to vibrate and quake. In mere seconds an audible clack resounded. Like the gaping maw of a Sarlacc, it snapped open and clattered to the grounds in a plume of sand.
The resonant finality left her stunned.
Hesitant, crusted fingers, found the ivory flesh absent of sunlight over a period of servitude. The skin though smooth, rank from disuse, unmarred of the raised scars that pocked her arms. She couldn't recall a memory without the symbiosis of the cuffs. The simple action evoked a deep-rooted liberation that left a quiet reverence. Faint tendons and a web of blue veins, visibly shone as she twisted her wrist.
Tears pricked the corners with a breathless whisper of, "Thanks".
A cool breath caressed her lips causing her head to snap up. Only to realize the distance had been closed between them. The distinct woven threads in his cloak became decipherable. Eyes borne of an inner flame. Powerless as if held in a trance-like state, her chin was tilted up with a crook of his finger.
"Disloyalty will spell your death. If you think of tempting your fate, it will be under my hand which is not so forgiving. And death... shall evade until I say so." The delicate tone belied the intensity of his words and left no doubt as to the depth of his conviction.
Unable to deny he meant every word, the promise nearly choked her speech. "O-Of course, sir."
"Hm, that address will be rectified. Under my jurisdiction your fixed attention, as you're not a slave." There was an undercurrent of disgust as he practically spat the words.
Before a reply could be given he released his hold, leaving her free to rub her wrists as he backed away. The incline of his shoulders became erect—as if at attention. "I'll excuse your lack of authority just this once. But I expect you to address me as, Lord Vader, once we board my ship."
"Right... L...Lord Vader." She winced, the syllables foreign in her native tongue that lilted with an inflection. His declaration made it clear he wouldn't accept anything less. It was imperative she practice, lest she become a target of his ire and bear the repercussions.
"We'll practice on the way." He scooped an object swiftly up from the counter before gesturing to the door with one rigid arm.
Immediately she started for the stairs before he swept in behind her. Under the blaring suns his long cloak billowed out into the winds like a phantom as he took his place with domineering, sure steps.
It left her struggling to keep pace.
As they traversed through town, the spices percolating the air freed unbidden memories from this wretched hovel. Sentients skirted out of this alpha male's presence with their carts as a flurry of faces paled or lost color. A few banthas whinnied nearly topping a rickshaw their discontent kicking up the stench of excrement that littered the streets. With a perceptive eye, as they made their way towards a large starship congealed in the distance, an importance exhumed from this man. Any being that was swallowed in his shadow quickly bowed out in fear.
"Are there provisions needed from your quarters?"
"No, I've nothing of value there other than... food."
"Very well."
Whoever this man was he was a staple in the galaxy. Now, he had her under the same iron fist. Having only an inkling of his plans for her, there was no question that he was her new Master and she, the novice.