#and have a pale pink lightsaber | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literallyjustanerd · 7 months

Text

Chapter 4! It's exactly 5000 words! It's Codywan fluff and angst! It's got a clone OC cameo!

Cody divider by @freesia-writes with gorgeous helmet art by @lornaka

Summary: Brothers, reunited at last. As Cody and Rex fill in the blanks of their time spent separated, memories from before the end of the war float closer than ever to the surface. Memories of his general. And though he's overjoyed to be with Rex again, all is not well, in a way Cody can't quite understand. Will he be ready, when everything that has been hidden comes to light?

Words: 5000

Read it on AO3 or below! Hope you enjoy. Any and all comments are loved and appreciated and metaphorically printed out and pinned up with heart magnets on the little fridge in my mind :)

Obi-Wan moves like a ribbon through wind. Fluid and graceful, slick and sharp. Beautiful and devastating. The bright Kashyyyk sun turns his tunic translucent and sets his silhouette aflame as Cody watches and awes from below. It would be a death sentence to anyone else, yet Obi-Wan makes a dance of it. He’s an artist, each gleaming blue brushstroke leaving trails of elegant carnage in its wake. Around Cody the men cheer, an orchestra raising an accompaniment to their general's display. He loses grip on his saber when a droid knocks him forward, sends it plunging to the bottom of the canyon where his men had been cornered. Cody doesn’t fret, he has no need: it doesn’t slow his general in the slightest. Droidekas are airborne, then minced to scrap metal on the rock face with a regal wave of Obi-Wan’s hand. SBDs explode into blue and orange starbursts. They’re all but ignored by their destroyer, as though their purpose is merely to provide the gust of wind that artfully ruffles Obi-Wan’s auburn hair. He’s a poet. He’s a cyclone. He’s a force of nature. He’s Obi-Wan .

The last droid falls, tumbling gracelessly from the cliff face above. Obi-Wan descends after it to the whoops and hollers of the 212th. With impossible lightness and an ethereal calm, he meets ground, mere feet away from Cody. Close enough that Cody can see how his pale cheeks have pinked with exertion. It’s the only hint that he has expended any effort at all, and somehow it only makes him look more radiant. His breath still eluding him, Cody steps forward and presents Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to him like it’s an offering at an altar. Fingers brush with a jolt of electricity, and he isn’t ready for the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes when their gazes meet: he’s looking into a mirror, seeing his own awe and adulation reflected back at him. Obi-Wan looks at him like he’s the rising sun, like he’s the one defying odds, gravity, and logic. The smile on his face as he takes the saber lights a fire in Cody’s chest, his next words fuel to the flame.

“Wherever would I be without you?”

“Your message… I couldn’t believe it. Thought I’d–” Rex chokes on the last word, his smile trembling, fighting to stay on his lips. He breathes a slow breath, and finally, the giddy haze around them begins to lift. “When I heard you’d gone AWOL, I thought it was just another Empire cover-up. I… I thought they’d killed you.” Cody reaches forward again to grip Rex’s forearm. Their foreheads collide with a comforting bloom of pain, a few more seconds lost to silence as Rex’s words sink in. Cody means to speak again, he does. But he can’t seem to find enough air in his lungs for any of the things he wants to say, nor does he think his ears could stand to hear the answers to his questions. Seldom has he ever felt so weak, and the feeling grits on him, sandpaper against his skin. He shudders to imagine what his men would think of him, had they ever seen him in such a state. A man reborn, stripped of his rank, his identity taken with it. For the first time in Cody’s life, he feels nothing like a Marshal Commander. As disquieting as it is, as untethered and formless as it makes him feel, it does little to dull his joy at the familiar face before him. He may not be Marshal Commander anymore, but for the present moment, at least, he thinks he can settle for being a brother.

Cody and Rex stay on the floor of the transport, gripping tight to each other for longer than Cody cares to count. They’re both breathless through tears and laughter, their embrace so vigorous it’s almost violent. Cody doesn’t care: Rex could break his ribs and Cody wouldn’t blame him one bit. It’s a small eternity before either of them can speak. When they do, it’s both of them at once, their words tripping over boyish giggles, jostling and shoving each other playfully, like children.

“Where’d you get this bucket of bolts?”

“–missed you so kriffing much–”

“You looked like a maniac back there!”

“–can’t believe it’s really you –”

“You actually found me, you really–”

Both of them join for the final refrain:

“You’re here. ”

Rex stands, reaches a hand out to help Cody off the floor, then leads him down the short hall to the cockpit, all the while speaking with another clone through the comm, arranging a rendezvous point somewhere in a system Cody isn’t familiar with. At Rex’s order, the ship’s other crewmates clear the cockpit. Thoughtful of him, Cody thinks, to give them both some time alone. Once he shakes this strange feeling from his bones he imagines he and Rex will be up half the night catching up. He takes the co-pilot’s seat as his brother sets the navicomputer, watching him work. Pale, shallow shadows roam across Rex’s face from the console lights, dipping into and deepening the lines on his brow and around his jaw, his mouth pulled to one side in focus. Once their course is laid, he releases a breath, and his shoulders lax somewhat into the worn seat behind him. Only then can Cody, too, let his aching limbs go.

Eventually, Rex breaks the silence, laying his words out careful and slow in a way that pricks Cody's ears.

“Cody,” he says, low, “brother, I have to ask.” Cody’s back straightens. “Your inhibitor chip. Do you still have it?”

Memories lurch into his mind, sick and burrowing like Geonosian brain worms. Rex’s grief and panic after Fives’ death. The frantic searching for what it could all mean. Feeling it all the while deep in his bones, knowing there was something big, dark and snarling waiting for all of them just out of sight. The incoming transmission on Utapau that day, and the phantom words that had haunted him, hunted him in every quiet moment since.

Execute Order 66.

Good soldiers follow orders.

In the end, all he can do is nod. Rex stands abruptly, hand moving to the commlink on his vambrace. Beneath him, the storm-grey durasteel presses just slightly colder through his threadbare trousers.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Rex says, though Cody can’t be sure whether it’s directed at him or himself. His brother is a restless nexu pacing the length of the hold, turning sharply on his heel as he keys in a comm frequency. Each swift switchback coils Cody’s guts tighter, wringing a nauseating tension into his limbs.

“I have a medical freighter on standby. We’ll get it removed.”

The questions begin.

It shouldn’t surprise him to learn just how vast the network is that Rex has built. He had read all The Empire’s reports on Rex’s activities, scoured them obsessively in fact, but in reality they barely scraped the surface of Rex’s operations. It seemed he had contacts everywhere, from covert agents lurking in the Coruscant underbelly to runaways-turned-pirates skirting the outer rims, Even on Nal Hutta, which, as it turned out, was the only reason Rex had been able to find Cody at all.

“Sent some men down to the bazaar where we traced your message. Had to bribe a saloon keeper to let us review their security holos, but we saw you leave with the scrapper crew,” he says. Cody nods along. Is it jealousy he feels at such a well-planned, coordinated team effort? “From there, we got in contact with a few clones in the scrapper guild, and managed to work out which crew it was and where you were headed.”

All those brothers. All living outside The Empire’s control. Just scraping by, yes, and by no means deluded enough to consider themselves safe, but out there nonetheless. Free, in a certain sense, certainly more so than they'd ever been under The Empire or The Republic. And all of them, even the ones not directly fighting, not only knew Rex, but respected his orders, trusted his advice, deferred to his command. A familiar pride swells in his chest when he hears Rex speak about it, the kind only a big brother can feel.

It takes hours, or that’s how it feels to Cody: he hasn’t bothered to check the chrono. Rex tells him of their clone rebellion: Echo, Riyo Chuchi, all the missing or presumed dead clones that still have some fight left.

“It’s not easy going,” he admits, as though it bears saying aloud. “But we’ve managed to save a few. We’re getting stronger. Slowly.” Cody is struck dumb when Rex asks for inside information: the Kamino plot, the supposed pension plan, the rumoured clone decomissionings. The wounds of their recent past are even fresher than Cody thought, it seems: the salt of Rex’s questions stings more than he expects. He can’t bear not to be honest, though: he has no new information to share on the subjects, and in fact seems to know less than Rex himself. He had been kept even further in the dark than he’d known, moving hands passing him by in the dark corners his eyes had never adjusted to. A pawn in a game played just to kill time, to keep him busy while The Empire tightened their grip. Marshal Commander in name only, placated and too occupied with his own demons to question what was happening just out of view. The sharp breath punched from his lungs seems to fill the whole cockpit, the space around him shrinking to cage him in. The pains in his head have returned, to corral his thoughts away from where he tries to reach. Rex’s eyes are on him, he can feel it.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he breathes. Cody doesn't reply.

When his throat has turned scratchy from talking past the threat of tears, the river finally runs dry, and the questions stop, at least for the moment. Their journey is still far from over, and Cody suspects there will soon be more to talk about, once they have wrapped their minds around all they have covered so far, but for now there is peace. In the interim, Rex works a datapad at his side, brow furrowed over whatever report he’s reading. It's almost rhythmic, the way he keeps sparing glances in Cody’s direction. Every few minutes, attention shifting from the console, his head tilts over his shoulder to look surreptitiously over at his brother. Checking that Cody is still there, like they used to do before a drill test as cadets. A flicker of comfort warms Cody’s chest, fighting off the frost from deep within. It's a much-needed solace to know that Rex has felt Cody's absence just as keenly as Cody has felt Rex’s. It soothes Cody's mind, still aching from the sheer volume of information he's taken in over he and Rex's last few hours together. It’s hard not to ruminate, more on the subjects they didn’t cover than the ones they did, the unspoken questions that seem to take up more space the longer they’re left unsaid, their weight pressing on Cody’s chest as minutes scrape by.

He presses his fingers into his ribs, hard. It doesn’t do enough to hold him together, tendons and sinew unspooling themselves at his nape, in his stomach, through his feet. He answers each of Rex’s questions as plainly as he knows how, despite the growing fear of what Rex will think burrowing deeper into his brain. Each sordid detail laid bare in the harsh, blinding sun of his own words. Every order he followed with unblinking obedience, every awful act overlooked with play-pretend loyalty.

“I wanted to leave. I wanted to stop, I didn’t want to do any of it.”

He speaks of the bitter jealousy that spurned him every time another brother came up missing on the morning ledger, even as he personally recited the warrants for their capture. The jealousy, sometimes, even of the brothers whose obituaries he had read.

“I just couldn’t stop it. Whenever I tried, I– I didn't know where else to–"

Just when he feels he will lose his words altogether, Rex’s hand alights on his shoulder, cool water on a raw burn.

“I understand, brother. I know ,” he says. “We all do.”

When they finally lurch out of hyperspace, it knocks the question clean out of Cody’s lungs.

“What about the Jedi?” he blurts, and Rex’s hands freeze on the console. Both, Cody imagines, from the question itself and from hearing his brother sound so uncharacteristically fragile. His sigh is an answer of its own, in a way. Rex’s thoughts seem to press down on him until they drive a deep crease in his brow. Without the haloed light of hyperspace, the shadows have sharpened into a harsher relief, leaving jagged shapes carved into his face. His expression is resigned: he had been waiting for Cody to ask.

“We’ve… heard of surviving Jedi,” he says carefully. “But they’re few and far between. Most are just rumours. We’ve got almost no reliable intel on anything solid.”

“But there are some reliable reports?”

A long pause follows. Cody gets the sense that Rex is debating with himself, whether or not to answer. Who is he protecting?

“Commander Tano was with you on Mandalore,” Cody presses, “wasn’t she?”

Rex nods, shakily.

“I read the reports. The venator crash… they said it killed everyone. Before they knew you were alive, your name was on that list. How–”

As weak as the shuddering breath is from beside him, it’s enough to cut Cody off. He hangs in the silence that follows, suddenly scared to even move.

“It was all Ahsoka,” he utters. His eyes won’t meet Cody’s. “Without her…”

It’s slow. It’s agonising. It’s like being frozen in carbonite piece by agonising piece . But Rex tells him everything. Every gut-wrenching detail of escaping the crash. And all the brothers who didn’t.

“She’s out there,” Rex finally says, once the storm lets up. “She’s… not ready. Can��t join the fight, not yet. She needs time.” His voice catches, quavering on his last words, and it sends a sharp sting into the corners of Cody’s eyes, too.

“She’s just a kid.”

Seconds pass. Rex allows Cody time to try and voice the question it seems they both know comes next. It remains unsaid, but Rex answers nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, brother. We haven’t heard anything of General Kenobi.” Cody bobs his head in a nod. With searching eyes and analytical intent, Rex watches his reaction, measuring, gauging. Cody shrinks under the attention, unsure what Rex is looking to find and fearing every possible answer.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I wouldn’t have expected it.” What he had hoped , on the other hand…

“And General Skywalker?” Cody says, suddenly as desperate to be off the topic as he had been to address it. Rex’s mouth twitches, head shaking.

“I used to hope…” He sighs. “The reports all had holes in them. Thought it might mean he’d made it out.” He turns his gaze out the windshield. “But if he had survived, he wouldn’t be hiding. He’d still be fighting with us. I’m sure of it.”

Kashyyyk sings at night. An orchestra of warbling birds, howling pack animals and croaking insects. Even the wind through the forest behind lays a low, haunting melody over the velvet-soft undergrowth. It’s nothing like the stifling soundlessness of Kamino, or the driving, demanding mechanical rhythm of Coruscant. Cody leans forward, knee drawn up, to poke at the fire, embers curling triumphantly upward. Obi-Wan sits beside him, legs folded neatly into his usual meditation stance. On haphazardly scattered bedrolls, their men surround them, sleeping sound. Peace, rare and precious. Especially for Cody.

“Beautiful night.” Obi-Wan keeps his voice hushed, pitched low and gravelly. Cody turns to him. The flickering of the fire throws dappled light over Obi-Wan, glints of light and shadow showering him like golden flower petals.

“It is.”

A particularly mournful bird call sounds from somewhere behind them.

“After the war I should like to return here,” Obi-Wan muses, “and explore it freely. There is so much history in this place. It's a shame to have to see it in such unrest." His words are poignant, he knows, but Cody can’t take in anything beyond the first three.

“Do you think about that often?” he asks, skirting his gaze around Obi-Wan. “About… after?”

Obi-Wan shifts, sighs, leans back on his hands to tip his head to the stars. There’s a faraway look on his face, the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes growing like spring seedlings when he smiles. One of his tabards is slipping free from his shoulder, leaving a pale collarbone uncovered to the night. He does not adjust it.

“I have already picked every old text and scroll I will study, when I finally have the time,” he says in answer. “Perhaps eventually, I will even take on another padawan. But first, I will travel. Until I find somewhere quiet and peaceful to rest.” He pauses a beat before half-heartedly adding, “Should the council allow it, of course.” Cody ponders the words, turns them over in his head like a puzzle, but still he can’t make them fit quite right in his head. The life Obi-Wan speaks of is beautiful. It’s all Cody would want for him. But he’s still trying to cut holes in his own reality to make those words fit when Obi-Wan speaks again.

“And yourself, Commander?” Struck dumb, Cody can only blink. Obi-Wan straightens beside him and tilts his head. “What do you want for yourself, once the war is over?”

And what can he do but be honest, when he turns to meet those dizzying blue eyes?

“I imagine you in a cosy little place,” Obi-Wan tells him, shifting his legs and turning to face Cody fully. His cloak and tunic sway with him, leaves in a gentle breeze. “Somewhere peaceful and green. Somewhere you can make entirely your own. Your whole life, you have given everything you have to your men. It’s one of your most admirable qualities,” and oh, Cody is not ready for what Obi-Wan’s smile does to his chest, how his words reach through his ribs and wring his heartstrings to breaking, “but I wish to see you take care of yourself, too. I want for you to build yourself a home. And I believe I know you well enough to know that somewhere within you, you wish for the same. ”

“I’ve never considered it,” he says, tacking an awkward “sir” to the end. “I’m a soldier. We all are. We don’t know any other way. Without this war… none of us have a purpose.”

With the look that Obi-Wan gives him, Cody may as well have shot his general in the heart. Obi-Wan's mouth falls ajar, but he stifles his instinctual reply and seems to ponder Cody’s answer deeply.

“One’s greater purpose is rarely just to be all that their creator intended,” he says finally, speaking the words like a prayer into the night. “You are more than this war, all of you. You have given so much for The Republic, but that is not your worth. You deserve more, you should want for more than this.”

Insides twisting and pulse stuttering in his fingertips, Cody tries to speak, to give the answer he knows Obi-Wan is waiting for. The fire lends him tendrils of gentle warmth, but its comfort, and Obi-Wan’s raw, solemn sincerity are formidable opponents. When it becomes clear that words are beyond him, Obi-Wan continues in his place. Ever eloquent, ever earnest, ever considerate. Cody’s brow pinches with a soft, tender, beautiful kind of pain.

What was it he had said next?

The stars blur when Cody looks up at them, blinking back the mist that gathers in his gaze. His pulse beats like battle drums as he takes a breath, steels his nerves, and meets Obi-Wan’s eye with the resolve of something more than a soldier.

“Do you imagine yourself there, too?”

The simple, sweet curve of Obi-Wan’s lip tears Cody into shreds, burns him to ash and pieces him back together in an instant. He sighs, soft and perfect, and leans in close. Around them, Kashyyyk’s gentle hymn reaches a soaring crescendo as Obi-Wan presses a lingering, reverent kiss to the scar below Cody’s eye.

Cody strains to finish the memory, until the now-familiar pain lances through the back of his skull. He flinches with it, lurching in his seat and drawing in a sharp breath, defences already worn down. A quick movement in the corner of his vision draws his attention, and when he looks toward it, his heart plummets through his feet. Rex’s eyes bore into Cody, wide, alert and searching. Rex tries to cover it up, to disguise it, but Cody had already seen: Rex’s hand had twitched toward his blaster. The curtain is pulled back, and the truth looms bright and terrifying behind it.

Emptying the cockpit. Treating him so carefully. The reluctance to speak of the Jedi. The constant, furtive glances in his direction. They hadn’t been for Cody’s comfort.

Cody almost throws up on the spot.

Rex is scared of him.

He’s crushed by the weight of a dozen atmospheres as he realises fully just what his brother has been through, why he was so insistent on removing his chip as soon as possible. The rest of the journey, he can barely bring himself to breathe, determined to make himself as still and quiet as possible, desperate to keep from making things worse than they already were. He will get his chip removed, and everything will be okay. He won’t ever again have to see his brother look at him like an active landmine or a rancor set to charge.

They reach their rendezvous not a moment too soon.

Cody is brought on board, walking two steps behind Rex, nearly tripping on his feet. The waiting ship is as jerry-rigged and cobbled-together as its crew, and its medical bay is no different: all the supplies look stolen or salvaged, a far cry from the cold, pristine sterility Cody is used to seeing from medical bays. Needless to say, he’s apprehensive at the thought of surrendering his brain to the subpar equipment. But it’s easily overshadowed. For Rex. And for himself, as well. In truth, he’s been just as afraid of his mind as Rex for months now, and the thought of an end to the torment is enough to lure him through the seven Sith hells and back again. Rex explains the procedure as he half-listens, and as he’s positioning himself on the table, the doors hiss open and a medic enters. Much to Cody’s surprise, the clone’s scars and tattoos are familiar.

“...Lieutenant Finch?”

The clone above him meets his eye, then lifts his fingers to a lazy salute, grazing the winding serpent tattoo coiled at his hairline.

“Commander,” he says blithely. There’s a dry smile in his voice that just barely reaches his lips.

“You two know each other?” Rex’s voice rises, confused, from behind.

“I was decanted to the 212th,” Finch explains over his shoulder, foregoing eye contact and instead booting up and programming the surgical droid. “You know, before–”

“Before you deserted,” Cody finishes. Finch snaps his fingers into a point in Cody’s direction, giving a single, curt nod.

Breathe. In.

Tension ekes into the room, like static electricity before a storm. Cody can feel Rex’s eyes on him. He can imagine how his brother’s mind turns, mapping out every direction this could go. Possibilities like trails of water carving a fractured, splintering path through dust. It was years ago, early in his career, but Cody can remember clear as day how he had felt when he’d received the report of the lieutenant’s desertion. All that hurt and righteous anger. The confusion as strong as the scorn at how one of his own could leave their ranks. He had felt so personally betrayed, as though the desertion was a black mark over his own head. In a way, he supposes, it was: never before had he been forced to confront the possibility that he and his brothers might disagree with their programming, were capable of taking their fate into their own hands. He’d blamed Finch for the fury that followed in himself. In retrospect, he’s not so sure that that is who, or what , he was really angry at. Cody lays his head back flat on the table. A sharp breath leaves him in what could almost be mistaken for a laugh.

“Guess you were smarter than all of us in the end, huh?” is all he says.

There is no response from any of them, each listening in their own silent reverie as water trickles past them down an unfamiliar path.

A few minutes later, Finch has finished setting up for the procedure. Rex grips Cody’s arm tight before he goes under, tells him it’s going to be alright. As darkness seeps in from the edges of his vision and Rex’s voice grows distant and muddled, Cody tries to believe him.

Breathe. Out.

Black. Thick, coddling, a woollen blanket muffling all his senses. Space, empty. Cavernous. The implication of an echo. No sound. Toes edge toward a precipice. Nothing, nothing, nothing, all the way down. A perfect nothing. A mollifying nothing. A final nothing. Toes over. Falling. Peace, relief, absolution. Mercy. Silence, finally, gods almighty, silence. Light on the horizon. It’s over. Rest. It’s done. Limbs move fluid, unchained. Unbound for the first time, feather-light and rejoicing. More light, bigger, brighter. Then colour. Shape. Then sound. Voice.

Cody’s eyes open in small, seeking movements, attuned to absence. To beautiful, exultant, glorious absence. For the first time since Order 66, perhaps for the first time since the moment he’d been lifted from his incubation tube, Cody’s mind is utterly and completely clear, empty. Quiet. He wallows in it, drinking in the fleeting euphoria. A split second later, he hears it. Words unburied, memory unshrouded.

“Cody, my love… I can’t imagine myself anywhere else.”

To break that vow.

It’s only the first drop of the storm that follows, a single blade of grass in an endless, sprawling meadow. A million more memories follow in its wake: a private moment stolen together while working late, a surreptitious glance shared across the war room. A warm hand in his, holding tight but always gentle. His fingers smoothing through autumn-coloured hair. Tender words and hushed laughter. A single beam of light through a window, a single perfect morning. Waking slow, tangled in sun-warmed sheets, with the whole galaxy held sound in his arms. A whispered promise, a vow sealed with his lips against the gentle, curving valley between neck and shoulder.

His arm, heavy as stone, raising a blaster. To follow orders.

Great, flowered vines grow from the cracks in Cody’s psyche, probing, pushing at his mind. Too big, many for how small he has become.

His skull splits open. A sob tears itself from his throat, rattling his chest.

With graceless limbs he pitches himself upward, only to be held down by firm hands. He tries to cry out, but all that comes is the barest whimper.

“I fired at him. I tried to– Rex, brother, I– Maker, I ordered it all .”

He feels the embrace moments before his flagging senses catch up, vision plunged into darkness when he buries his face in Rex’s shoulder.

“Breathe, vod.” He obeys without thought or question. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

The sight of Rex still there, still by his side, barely disguising his concern, sets a fresh, raging flood over his mind, dragging more memories like driftwood to the surface. Every traitorous thought he’d ever had before the end of the war. Every restrained conversation he’d had with his brothers, with Rex especially, over what would become of them after the war. Every time they questioned The Republic, the Chancellor, the Jedi Council. Endless, circular debates always coming to the same dead end. Wanting to escape. Not wanting to abandon their men. The chilling, horrible dread in his bones touching down on Utapau, the foreboding feeling that it was already too late.

It’s a long while before Cody regains enough sense to sit and speak. Rex does not leave his side for a moment. He’s given a ration bar and a mug of caf. It’s bitter and burned. He drinks it to the last drop. Finally, mercifully, the silence begins to feel less like oppression and more like peace, as the pounding pressure in his head abates. His mouth quirks in a dry smirk when he finally raises his voice.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who took it that badly.”

Rex’s laugh is a balm to every wound he’s ever suffered, deep, full-chested and free. Leaning forward, he slaps Cody’s back, his shoulders hanging loose, at ease.

“You took it like a champ,” he chuckles. Cody wants to sing, to jump and cry for joy like a child. He has his brother back. But still, lurking behind his relief, the rest of his revelations threaten to drag him back under.

“Come on.” Rex stands and holds a hand out to him, his smile softer now but still stubbornly bright. As though he can read Cody’s mind, he says, “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about. We’ll get to it, I promise. But you need to rest.”

The doors glide open, and Cody doesn’t hesitate before stepping back into the world as himself once more.

“We’ve got our next heading. I’ll fill you in later,” Rex says, walking in step at his side. “For now, I think some of the boys have a game of sabacc going. It'll be a good way to introduce you.”

He cracks a wide, teasing grin in Cody’s direction.

“You still a filthy cheat?”

#dear fellow traveler #codywan #codywan fic #codywan fanfic #sw tcw #sw tcw fanfic #commander cody #clone commander cody #captain rex #drabble

21 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

The Last Of A Dying Breed

You are the sun and I am just the planets spinning around you

Summary: Elain and Lucien are considered a pair at the Jedi Temple. There isn't one without the other. When the Empire attempts to purge the Jedi, however, the two find them separated and desperate to get back to each other.

What they're willing to do in order to keep the other safe will test every vow they've ever made.

Read on AO3

Part 1: An Only Child Of The Universe

Prologue:

Lucien Vanserra was surrounded by ice.

It would be giving in to temptation to reach for one of the stalactites—or were they stalagmites—and break one off in his hand. To brandish it about like the lightsaber he was supposed to built just as soon as he left the ice world of Illum with his new kyber crystal in hand. This was his first off-world mission, the first time he’d left the temple and his excitement was getting the best of him.

Beside him, Elain Archeron reached for his hand. Lacing gloved fingers through his own, he felt her soothing presence in the force. She didn’t take her eyes off the master in front of them, brown eyes wide with the same giddy excitement he felt. Jedi weren’t supposed to feel attachment, and yet Lucien considered Elain his best friend. He squeezed a reassurance, centering his emotions. It was a treacherous walk through slippery, narrow paths that tumbled toward the planets molten core and all the younglings had been cautioned to be careful.

Every year someone stumbled off the path and Lucien suspected it might have been him, had Elain not been matching him step for step.

Looking over, Lucien wondered which master had taken the time to curl her hair. A pretty, pale pink bow had been tied at the back of her head. Elain was something of a pet among a few of the female Jedi, who had fawned over her every moment she was around. Lucien understood well—Elain was cute. He’d always thought so.

He supposed he wasn’t supposed to notice such things.

He’d have to have been blind not to.

Lucien was bad at following rules which had become something of a joke among the masters who might one day take him as a padawan. Lucien was trying, of course. He wanted to be stoic, wanted to be thoughtful and the kind of Jedi who considered all their options. And maybe, he reasoned, he’d grown into those things with more training.

For now, Lucien was just impulsive. It was Elain who was, as the other masters said, his better half. Elain and Lucien—everyone spoke of them that way. You couldn’t have one without the other. Elain and Lucien had a striking amount of things in common. They were good at reading other people in the force, were particularly skilled at planting suggestions in the minds of those more weak-willed, and excelled in outdoor environments in which the flora and fauna were a hazard.

Elain and Lucien also both happened to know members of their family, which was considered a rarity. Both of her sisters were force sensitive. Nesta Archeron was already a padawan, and Feyre Archeron would be picking a crystal in another year or two. The sisters were so striking it was impossible not to notice. And though they ran in different circles, the girls knew they were related, and acted like it.

Lucien also knew his family—his half-brother, Eris, was a junior senator in the galactic republic. He’d just been elected, and his presence had taken Lucien by surprise. Vanserra was a pretty unusual last name. To find he hailed from mid-rim planetary royalty might have gone to his head has his brother not been so…well…difficult. Eris checked in on occasion, sporting the same auburn hair as Lucien’s. Lucien’s skin was darker, but the resemblance was obvious to anyone who happened to see them in the same room. Eris had offered to bring letters from his mother and Lucien had declined—he wasn’t supposed to be attached to her, and didn’t want to jeopardize his place in the temple.

The experience united Elain and Lucien, cementing the strange, swirling bond between them. He knew she felt it—a golden cord pulled taut, with their very souls at the opposite ends. Neither of them acknowledged it, but Lucien knew she felt him just as clearly as he felt her.

Elain sensed him even when distance separated them, as he did. Knowing they were connected in this way made Lucien feel safe about the future. Different paths and different masters might pull them apart, but only temporarily.

Just ahead, the Jedi Master Thesan was carefully explaining the history of the Jedi. Lucien had this speech committed to memory because Elain had dragged him to the library months ago to watch old holovids of previous excursions. Thesan hadn’t deviated from his script and beside Lucien, Elain silently mouthed along with shining, hopeful eyes.

He squeezed her hand again. Elain looked over at him, a smile blooming over her face. The fur lined hood of her cape had fallen back, allowing curls to spill down the shoulders of her beige robes. Lucien had begun to grow his own hair out after seeing a man on the street of Coruscant with his coloring and hair that fell down his back. That man had braided half off the crown of his head and Lucien had been so fascinated, he’d immediately stopped going for regular trims. It curled obnoxiously against the nape of his neck, irritating him even as he gazed on the face of his best friend.

Excited? she mouthed. He nodded in agreement, unable to hide it on his own face. He felt Master Thesans sharp disapproval in the force, and when he looked toward the front of the group, found the man’s eyes narrowed fully on him.

Troublemaker, he swore they said.

Lucien grinned unrepentantly in response.

Elain tugged at his hand and that was enough to keep him in line. Elain kept them solidly in the middle of the group, never releasing his hand. They were supposed to let the force guide them to their crystal. Lucien could feel the pull, so different from the one pleasant pulse anchoring him to Elain. They ventured deeper into the caves, taking careful steps against the ice before branching into different groups.

Lucien had expected Elain to break away. Finding a crystal was supposed to be a solitary endeavor. Something personal between a force user and the saber they would one day build. He stepped to the left just as she did. They turned at the same fork. Even when Elain dropped his hand, her breath a cloud of fog in front of her face, the two never separated.

“This way,” she whispered, ducking through a particularly narrow spot in the walls. Lucien knew they should have alerted one of the masters that they were venturing so deep, but to do so meant potentially losing sight of Elain. Chest and back pressed to the cold stone, Lucien shimmied after her.

Glittering kyber shone on every surface of the small alcove. Lucien and Elain exhaled as one, stepping forward as though they were being dragged. There, at the very back wall, was a protrusion holding two crystals. Lucien’s heart pounded as his fingers curled around one of the white crystals while Elain took the other.

Prying gently, they took their twins into their respective palms so they could admire their new acquisition.

“I kept having nightmares I would arrive and nothing would call to me. That Master Thesan would put me on a transport back home,” Elain breathed, as if there had ever been a possibility.

“Do you want to mediate over them?” he asked, eyeing the cool, damp ground warily. Elain nodded, her cheeks bright and flushed.

“I think mine will be green,” she said, sitting carefully while Lucien plunked beside her. He was hoping for blue, though he kept that to himself. He felt Elain take a breath beside him, her lashes fluttering shut. Lucien joined her, focusing on his breathing before he reached out in the force. He held his crystal in his hand, pouring his own goodness into it.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

He repeated this in his mind over and over, giving himself over to the warmth of the light. Lucien felt peace—he felt whole, bathed in the force. He’d forgotten the cold, had forgotten his excitement, his fears. He’d forgotten even Elain, seated so close their elbows brushed. The crystal hummed and Lucien exhaled his gratitude to the world before allowing himself to look.

There was no blue, no green—not even the rare purple. Yellow, instead, glowed in his palm.

Beside him, Elain held an identical match. Wide-eyed, Elain looked at him questioningly. Lucien couldn’t answer, though he knew one things for certain.

The force had brought them together.

The force would keep them safe.

Fifteen Years Later:

ELAIN:

Elain Archeron had been hiding on Kashyyyk for a year. It wasn’t where she’d crashed landed when her clone troops had betrayed her and her master—she’d hitched a ride when her last world became overrun. The Empire was everywhere, and here was no exception. The Wookies allowed her to live among them so long as she helped fight to keep their planet from being overrun. Elain did her best to hide what she was, but she suspected her time was running out. She needed to figure a way off.

A way to him.

Elain had always had a strange connection to Lucien Vanserra. She couldn’t explain it and therefore had never tired. It was like explaining why she had a heart or why her hair was brown. It merely was, and so was he. Lucien was half of Elain’s soul, and she was certain if he ever died, Elain would have felt it. She would know. Pulling on the cord rippled through the force and so Elain didn’t touch it, but she could feel his presence and she knew he, too, was trying to get to her.

He’d survived the purge somehow, just as she had. Perhaps his master had sacrificed themselves, as Elain had. Or perhaps Lucien had merely leaned into his better skills and managed to go undetected. Five years of living on the run had made her desperate to talk to anyone from her former life. She would have given anything to have seen the unique shade of brown that comprised his eyes, or the easy way he smiled.

She wanted to sit behind him and braid his thick, auburn hair while they discussed whatever holovid he’d seen or how obnoxious his brother was. Elain wanted to talk to him of her own sisters, who she assumed had not survived. They’d never been close and in the wake of tragedy, Elain regretted that.

She’d assumed they would have time.

Elain hovered in one of the large trees that made up the Wookie homeland, looking for a small cruiser she could steal and pilot without much trouble. Only the Empire was allowed on and off the planet—though partisans often found a way through the blockade and gave the Empire hell. Elain didn’t want that sort of attention. She was trying to make her way further into the interior, where she might leave a message for Lucien, along with any other survivors.

Elain spotted her mark abandoned in the overrun jungle. It looked worn—misused and unlikely to be missed anytime soon. By the time someone came looking, she’d be far away in a hyperspace lane and the tracker would be firmly disabled. Elain was desperate to be out of the humidity–and the constant threat of being discovered.

She was careful as she lowered herself to the lush underbrush. More than once, Elain had been caught in the webbing of one of the massive spiders that populated this place and had only managed to free herself at the last second. With freedom so close at hand, Elain was unwilling to lose to the local wildlife.

Again.

It seemed almost deceptively easy getting to the craft. Elain had become so used to patrols that she expected to see someone nearby. The craft seemed nicer upon closer inspection. The black paint was new, though scratched silver in some places. Elain risked reaching out with the force, just to see if there was anyone inside.

Empty.

A warning tug in her gut reminded her of why she was risking herself at all. Lucien had felt her as he occasionally did, and seized on the opportunity to remind her of him, too. As if Elain ever stopped. She pulled in response, hoping he could feel how badly she wanted to see him. The connection between them wasn’t useful, and too late, she wished one of them had asked for guidance on it. Perhaps it would have allowed them to speak.

She missed him desperately.

One last pull—as if Lucien couldn’t resist—and then nothing. His momentary presence soothed Elain enough to convince her to look for the safety latch. Elain tugged, overriding the system for the ramp so she could quietly board. Elain took note of the darkened, sanitized interior. Beneath her feet was a hold she didn’t bother investigating, given she hadn’t detected any other lifeforms. There were two very small bunks, hidden by little doors in the wall, and then the cockpit itself.

It took very little to bring the craft online. Elain disabled the tracker—a handy trick she’d learned when she’d been hiding out as a scrapper—and then began maneuvering herself into the atmosphere. There was one terrifying moment when she realized she didn’t have an authorization code, but when no one came over the comm requesting it, she supposed that was only for entry, and not exit.

Or perhaps they recognized the ship's transmission and didn’t need anything further. Elain knew better than to press her good luck. The darkness of space filled her viewport. Elain punched in her coordinates, maneuvered into a hyperspace lane before leaving Kashyyyk far behind her. Exhaling her relief that everything had gone so smoothly, she reclined in the leather seat to look upward at the ship. The once white of the stars and planets around her faded into brilliant blue, illuminating the ship brilliantly.

Someone had painted the top of the ship. Brilliant hues of violets and yellows depicted a once familiar scene of Coruscant.

Elain’s body went taut with hope. She recognized those artful brushstrokes—and the girl who had loved the night sky.

The sound of steps just beneath her drew Elain from the memories of her younger sister. It had been too easy.

Because it was a trap. The hatch beneath the floor opened, revealing the braided hair of Nesta Archeron. Not as Elain had once known her—Nesta’s sharp features seemed to be edged like a razor, and a ring of gold haloed her once silvery blue eyes. She was dressed in form fitting black, a silver hilted saber hanging from the belt along her hips.

Just behind was Feyre, her hair pulled in a long braid draped over her shoulder. Like Nesta, her eyes had that same shade of Sith gold—Elain had only ever heard of it. She’d never seen it. Feyre’s outfit was less efficient, with panels of inky black fabric that fell around her waist and concealed her weapon. Her top, fitted just as closely as Nesta’s, dipped in the front just enough to reveal unblemished skin.

“You’ve been hard to find,” Nesta said with some accusation.

Elain didn’t know what to say.

Feyre cocked her head. “How did you survive?”

She didn’t want to think about that, either. Elain was frozen, drinking in the sight of her very much living sisters. A beat of silence passed, and then Elain asked, “What happened to you two?”

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a glance. “The same thing that happened to you,” Nesta finally said dismissively.

“When you spend enough time being hunted, you start biting back,” Feyre added with a grin so at odds with her soft, pretty features.

“The Empire found you?”

Though, that didn’t make sense. They would have been executed.

Nesta scoffed. “The force sensitives they do make use of are undertrained and stupid. The worst of what the Jedi once had to offer.”

“We made our own path,” Feyre agreed, cocking her head to the side. “One that allows us to be strong. We were weak before. Easily cut down, too blinded by lofty principles to see what was right under our noses.”

“And you’re what, now?”

“Strong,” they said in unison, as though they’d rehearsed this moment. Elain knew there would be no finding Lucien. Not with her sisters standing before her, their hands outstretched. She had a million questions. How had they survived the purge? Where had they been hiding?

“How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t hard for anyone who cared,” Feyre said easily, unaware of how her words were a knife to Elain’s already battered heart.

“You’re not Jedi anymore.”

I wasn’t a question, and still Nesta laughed, as though Elain had asked something embarrassingly simple.

“Of course we’re not. The Jedi were weak. Foolish. We’re more powerful than we ever were as simple Jedi.”

Elain’s hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t…I don’t want whatever this is…” she whispered.

“Just come with us,” Feyre said smoothly. “See for yourself.”

Elain should have known there would be no refusing them. She was tempted to open herself to the force and truly feel whatever had become of her sisters. They didn’t seem full Sith, given the haloed gold rings framing the pretty blue of their eyes. Perhaps they’d merely flirted with the dark side if that was even possible.

Nesta slid past Elain to reset the coordinates. The journey was short and silent. Nesta took over piloting as she’d always been so good at that, while Elain and Feyre stared at each other awkwardly. Elain tried making small talk, but her sisters clearly weren’t interested in divulging information. How had they found each other? They’d just barely gotten along in the temple and now…and now they kept exchanging a knowing glance.

They shared a secret.

Elain recognized the planet they hovered over the moment they descended from hyperspace. It was supposed be mere myth. A place that never saw daylight, that was shrouded in endless, beautiful night.

Velaris.

It wasn’t a terrible place to hide, and Elain could understand why Nesta and Feyre might have come. If the Empire was unaware, two terrified women could hunker down and plan their next moves. Was it the planet that had infected them? Elain found herself trembling by the time they landed. Cold seemed to seep through the vents, and for someone wearing a tank top and loose pants to combat the heat and humidity of Kashyyyk, she was woefully undressed for Velaris.

The landing pad opened with a hiss of air, bringing with it to large, masculine forms.

Elain knew right then she wasn’t leaving this place the way she’d come. The moment that first man stepped on the metal ramp, his boots so heavy the material seemed to groan beneath his presence, Elain was well aware her time was up. She opened herself then, allowing herself to feel the hateful cold of the darkside—of her sisters, who walked ahead to greet these men with easy smiles, and of the men themselves who looked like long forgotten warriors.

“Is this her?”

“Yes, Rhysand,” Feyre agreed, her eyes sparkling as she drank him in. He assessed her, noting the fear that was rolling off Elain in waves.

“Take her to Az.” Concern flashed over Nesta’s face despite the near feral grin on the large man's face beside her. “Is that necessary?”

Elain didn’t move, even when Rhysand put stun cuffs around her wrists and began to lead her out of the ship. Cold air blasted around her, though she seemed to be the only one who felt it.

“She’s hoping for an escape,” Rhysand said, cocking his head like he could hear the desperate slant of her thoughts. “She’s looking for…for Lucien.”

Both Nesta and Feyre crinkled their noses with disgust.

“Who is Lucien, darling?” Rhysand all but purred. Elain stepped into the cold night, heart pounding in her throat. She wasn’t going to tell him. She wouldn’t damn Lucien to whatever was waiting for her.

“He was another Jedi. Dead, if I had to guess,” Nesta said dismissively.

A whole city stretched before Elain. Darksiders, if she had to guess. Sprawled at the base of snow peaked mountains, Elain wondered what these people had done to conceal their homeworld from the rest of the galaxy.

Feyre jogged next to Rhysand, the same soft worry gracing her lovely face. “Are you sure Nesta and I—”

“No,” he said with a voice as rich as the night around them. “I know you sense it—the light? She needs to taste the darkness.”

“He can be…”

“He’s effective,” Rhysand said, dismissing Feyre entirely. Elain might have begged her sisters to stop this had Feyre not silently agreed with Rhysand. Had Nesta not made up the rear of their party, one hand on her saber and the other tucked into the arm of the man behind her.

She was marched to the top of the winding hill, where an expansive, sprawling, moonstone palace lay. She knew she wasn’t going into the nice interior.

She was led down into an even colder, damper dungeon where Az—Azriel—waited. He was just like the other two, with his brown skin and his dark hair and those gold rimmed eyes. He smiled when he saw her.

“Have you brought me a gift? Three sisters…and three brothers,” he murmured, causing Elain to draw back in fear. Somewhere in the galaxy, Lucien could feel the horror sliding through Elain. A metal door hissed open, revealing what could only be described as a torture chamber. She turned to look back at her sisters, both of whom must have experienced this very same thing, once.

“Give in,” Feyre urged as Rhysand pushed Elain forward.

“We’ll see you soon,” Nesta added. “As a family, like we always should have been.”

Family.

Elain forgot all about that the moment that door shut behind her.

LUCIEN:

[one year later]

Lucien Vanserra woke to the same dream. Elain, sitting in the temple garden. Her fingers were caked with dirt and when she felt him coming, she turned so her body was haloed by the golden light of Coruscant. She’d smile, the warmth of the force radiating from her, and he’d help her to her feet so he could hug her.

I missed you. She always whispered it right into his ear.

Where are you? Lucien would ask in response. But she never said. Lucien would jerk awake to the ship he was traveling in, his heart racing and his body racked with cold. Lucien knew Elain was still alive the way he knew he was alive. He could feel her heart still beating in his chest, even if Elain herself had gone wholly dark.

For a period of three months, Lucien had felt nothing but Elain and whatever agony was coursing through her. It had changed the bond between them and sometimes he swore he could see her, chained by the wrists in a dark dungeon while torture droids and a dark haired man brutalized her. He’d tried to talk to her, but the vision always faded too quickly for Lucien to do more than watch her for a few seconds, often pleading for someone to help her.

Lucien had tried. Force, but how Lucien had tried. A year ago, he’d been certain Elain was hiding on Kashyyyk. The Wookies thought so, too. He’d scoured the planet looking for her—no one had seen her since. Lucien tried not to give into his fears, but sometimes he wondered if the Empire hadn’t found her. Had the recognized her potential and begun twisting her into one of the terrible Inquisitorius force they employed? Lucien couldn’t imagine Elain like that…and yet he’d begun to hunt them, trying to draw her out.

If she were one of them, surely she’d realize he was tracking her. Lucien hadn’t changed that much. He was still too showy, too impulsive, too spontaneous. They knew his name and had pinned him up on posters and projected him across the holonet.

Lucien Vanserra, dangerous fugitive.

He’d once been a Jedi.

Now he was little more than an outlaw, traveling with a partisan fighter and a moody Zabrak warrior, trying to find the friend he’d lost during the purge.

Lucien pushed open the curtain on his bunk on the Firebird, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was headed to Illum after he’d gotten a tip the second sister had been here. Lucien had never seen her and part of him hoped she might be Elain. He kept telling himself he didn’t care if she had been twisted to the dark side. The three of them had a plan for that—assuming Elain hadn’t just gone deep underground, Lucien had set up the hold of their ship to contain someone dark and dangerous long enough for them to get her to one of his brothers' many estates in the galaxy. Eris would hardly miss one, and Lucien could seduce Elain back to the light with lush gardens and sunlight and a reminder that life didn’t need to be filled with so much pain.

He washed his face and dressed, clipping his saber to his belt before sauntering the long length of the ship where Jurian was already waiting.

“Did you sleep at all?” Lucien asked, noting the deep purple smudges against the hollows of Jurian’s yellow eyes. The Zabrak warrior ran a hand over his jaw, touching the stubble that lay stark against the red of his skin.

“A little,” Jurian admitted, looking over at Lucien as he rubbed one of the short horns protruding from his head. “I keep thinking about our last run in with the Empire…”

“It won't be like that,” Lucien assured him with an easy smile. They’d nearly been captured before Lucien had managed to kill the Fourth Brother—a death that still weighed heavily on him. “I know the kyber caves like the back of my hand.”

That wasn’t entirely true, either. Lucien had only been once as a youngling. Still, he assumed he would always have the advantage over anyone unfamiliar with the lightside of the force and that included a former Jedi now bathed in darkness.

They’d be there by noon. Lucien had a good feeling about Illum, just as he had when he’d been a boy. That was where he’d gotten his kyber crystal—a unique yellow that he shared with Elain. Lucien’s leg began to bounce. It was a nervous habit his master had tried so hard to drill out of him once. Jedi were supposed to be calm and serene. Lucien was none of those things.

He was barely a Jedi, in truth. He’d just become a Jedi Knight a mere week before the purge and sometimes, when he considered all the things he’d done to survive, he thought his master would be disappointed with him. He’d certainly broken many of the tenants, specifically around chaos and serenity.

He liked to think Master Tamlin would understand.

He’d never know. Tamlin had died that day when the clone troopers had turned on them. They’d been scaling a reactor when a blaster bolt sent Tamlin falling to his death, and left Lucien, a man of only nineteen, to battle his way through the rest of the Venator. He’d sustained injuries—the scars down his face, a shot to his shoulder, and another in his thigh. He’d had to lick his wounds alone, lest he give himself away, which had resulted in scarring that gave him a distinctive appearance. Vassa appeared, pulling Lucien from his thoughts. Her bouncy red hair was damp from the ‘fresher, and she had two bowls of something balanced in each hand.

“Trade me,” she told Jurian. Jurian glanced sideways at her, but did as she said while taking the food from her hands. Jurian was the pilot, but Vassa was captain. “Eat,” she added when Jurian sat just behind them in the nav chair, eyeing whatever she’d mixed together warily.

“We need to make a supply run after this,” Lucien said despondently. The bowl was unflavored oats, cooked for so long they were mushy and otherwise unappealing. Vassa grimaced, though she nodded all the same.

“We could use fuel. Somewhere discreet.”

“And one of the canons is still hot after our last run-in with the Empire,” Jurian added.

Lucien sighed. “Better call Eris.”

No one spoke as Lucien pulled out his comm and dialed the number to his brother. Eris was such a strange figure, even to Lucien. He supported the Empire and condemned the Jedi in one breath, and turned around and gave Lucien money, aid, and whatever else he asked for without question or demand. His brother, the Jedi.

He had to step away to take the call. He didn’t want Jurian and Vassa to overhear or have to explain whatever Eris might say. Eris could be cruel and was often cunning. More than once, Lucien wondered if Eris didn’t keep Lucien close to have leverage should he ever get caught in some other crime.

Pardon me, and I’ll take you to the Jedi.

Still, Lucien would take his chances.

“Where are you?” Eris asked by way of greeting. Lucien ignored that question entirely.

“Can we dock for supplies in Kalarba?”

There was a pause. “You’ll need a code.”

“Is there a blockade?”

“No, but Wena Havid keeps track of everyone coming and going. He wants more than being Governor of a backwater Midrim world, you know.”

Lucien didn’t, and truly didn’t care about the squabbling of politicians. “So send me one.”

Another pause. “When are you going to be done with this?”

Lucien rubbed at his face again. “Done with what, Eris? Being hunted across the galaxy? Being, possibly, one of the very last of my kind? Being—”

“I mean,” Eris interrupted, clearly irritated, “done with all the running. Pick an estate and settle down. Find a nice girl, start a family. I can ease the pressure off you…fuck, Lucien, I could probably fake your death and erase you from galactic memory. Aren’t you tired?”

Eris had no idea. Eris, with all his privilege and wealth, didn’t understand that some things were more important than his personal safety or being tired. Lucien couldn’t settle until he knew what had happened to Elain—until he had her back.

“Not yet. Can we go to Kalarba or not?”

Eris sighed. “When?”

“A few days?”

“I’ll send the code through an encrypted channel.”

And that was that. Eris ended the call and Lucien went back to the cockpit. Jurian had managed to choke down the breakfast Lucien had abandoned in the common eating area—he’d try again at dinner.

“Well?”

“Illum first, and then we’ll lay low for a while on Kalarba.”

Vassa and Jurian exchanged a look. “Any particular reason?”

He looked at his hands. “It's a difficult planet to escape from, Empire aside.”

He’d seen the Kalabarian estate once when he’d still lived in the temple. It was vast and palatial, built atop a mountain with its own private landing pad. Far from the nearest city and if someone did manage to escape, they had miles and miles of difficult, rocky terrain to traverse, followed by an expansive ocean with dangerous currents to swim, before they made it to civilization.

He wouldn’t have to keep Elain in chains. Lucien still thought of those visions of her, suspended from irons so her tiptoes skimmed over the ground.

He shook his head. They knew what he was after. Who he was looking for. “Let’s just get this over with.” If they failed, they could at least regroup somewhere comfortable.

Jurian and Vassa squabbled over who would get the biggest bed in the estate. Lucien was thankful for the debate, though he knew Vassa would get it regardless of whatever argument Jurian put forward. She always did. Jurian always yielded in the end, and Vassa always slept in the lord's chambers because Lucien had no interest in such things.

Everyone was tense by the time Illum came into view. Lucien helped Jurian navigate as close to the old Jedi temple as he could before they settled against ice and snow. The force thrummed in his veins, and Lucien swore the bond in his chest was vibrating for the first time in a year.

She was here.

“You know the drill,” he reminded them, grabbing his fur lined cape from a hook by the door. He hooked his saber to the belt slung low over his hips before running a hand down the dark tunic on his chest. “If anything goes wrong and you can’t wait, leave me behind.”

They never had, no matter how close the call, and Lucien knew without needing the Force that they never would.

“Be safe,” Vassa murmured.

“May the Force be with you,” Jurian added. Lucien nodded.

“I’ll need it.”

The ramp lowered and Lucien jogged out. Cold, dry air slammed into his chest, momentarily robbing him of breath. Lucien tried his best to center himself, focusing only on the humming in the force. He wasn’t alone here—he could sense others, though their presence made him uneasy. She was here, Lucien knew she was. He could feel her with each step towards those caves. Her presence was a song, was light, was the air he’d been breathing ever since he had memory.

All he had to do was go to her. After nearly ten miserably long years, he was going to see her again.

Illum loomed large in his memory. Lucien had spent too much time reflecting on the past, even when he knew he shouldn’t, and Illum was one of the places he always went back to in his mind. He could still feel Elain’s gloved hand in his own, could remember the way she’d smiled, how they’d slipped away together to find their crystals. And everyone had always known, though they hadn’t been there, that Elain and Lucien had blades with the same core.

Lucien slid through the icy rock, sucking in a breath as he shimmied into the caves. Time had not been kind to the once magnificent temple. Windows that had once created heat were now shattered, which had allowed wind and snow and ice to overtake the carefully carved pathways. Statues were cracked and toppled, and everything was far darker than he remembered. Perhaps he had romanticized this place as a boy.

Perhaps Illum was a metaphor for the Jedi. For himself.

Lucien didn’t dwell on either thought as he walked, following the sound of a man’s voice echoing around him. Another voice—softer, familiar, Elain—filled his senses.

“You let them choose you,” she was saying softly.

“That’s bullshit,” the man responded. Lucien was agile, even in the face of ice threatening to send him sprawl to his ass. He crept through the narrow passages until he saw her. She was far from their alcove, which for some reason filled him with relief.

Lucien came close enough he could have brought the whole cave down on the two of them. Close enough to see her for the first time. The man blocked his view, holding a crystal in a broad, scarred hand with a frown.

“I don’t think it matters which one I choose,” he finally said, clutching the crystal in his hand. Lucien wondered who this person was and how she’d met him. He stepped aside and there she was. Dressed in the black so dark it made her seem exhausted and washed out, and still Elain was beautiful. Her clothes were form fitting, her hair half braided off her face, just like his was. His eyes dragged to her saber, hanging from her belt. He would have recognized that silver hilt anywhere—a strip of orange leather was tied around it.

His bore a piece of pink.

She wasn’t looking at him, her full lips pressed in a thin line of disapproval. She didn’t like this man, whoever he was. Lucien guessed if he needed a kyber crystal, his own blade was wrecked. He’d seen that band of gold rimming her brown eyes. It was the mark of the Sith, and yet she wasn’t wholly consumed. Not an Inquisitor, either, as far as he could tell.

She could be saved.

All he had to do was separate them. Lucien had enough gas to knock out an army in his utility pouch. He’d carry her out, he decided. He took a step toward her, loud enough both her and her companion paused, their heads turning. They hadn’t seen him, still, though they knew they weren’t alone. Elain’s fingers curled around her blade and Lucien smiled.

They were evenly matched in combat. He’d trained against her, and vice versa. He knew her like he knew himself. He flipped on his blade with a soft snap-hiss, allowing the yellow light to flood the cavern.

He saw her eyes widen and too late, she reached in her chest for the first time in a year. Lucien grinned, stepping through the arched entrance and truly looking at her for the first time since they’d said goodbye on Coruscant.

He cocked his head with exaggeration. “You’re hard to track down,” he said casually, his eyes wholly on her. “I lost track of you on Kashyyyk. Where have you been hiding?”

She didn’t react. “You found me.”

There was no relief, no joy. Lucien had to pretend that didn’t wound him. “Visiting old haunts?”

The man between them suddenly smiled. “Lucien,” he breathed, looking at her as though a question he’d had for quite a while had finally been answered. Elain didn’t respond to him, either.

Lucien was experiencing a wholly new emotion.

Jealousy.

Elain was his friend. It didn’t matter if there were other people in her life and yet for some reason, it did.

Lucien turned his blade to that man’s face. “I’ll count to ten,” he bluffed. “And then I’m going to stop asking questions.”

Elain’s blade hummed to life behind him, but Lucien had guessed right. This man did not have a working saber, and would not be a problem so long as he could separate them.

Elain looked over at him, her face illuminated gold. “Meet me at the ship.”

“Sure,” the man agreed, taking off before anything else could be exchanged. His dark laughter filled the cavern, causing Elain to wince.

“Looks like we have a lot to catch up on,” Lucien commented lightly. Elain’s eyes narrowed.

“There is nothing left to say. Go back to wherever you’ve been.”

He almost scoffed. His heart pounded in his chest. “I admit, I imagined our reunion differently.”

“Did you? I haven’t imagined it at all,” she said in response. It was meant to hurt him and worst of all, it worked.

“Is that why your friend knew my name?” Lucien asked her, creeping closer. She didn’t need a blade to slice him to ribbons and Lucien ought to have prepared himself better for dark side Elain. “Because you never think about me?”

She didn’t respond to that. Her eyes darted to the cave top overhead and Lucien knew his time was up. If he wanted to get her out, he couldn’t let her bring the top crashing over him. He ripped first, flipping off his blade so he could shield himself. Elain yelped before vanishing into the rubble. It wasn’t meant to kill, or even injure. He only needed to stun her long enough to incapacitate here.

Lucien shoved aside the rubble, the canister of gas in his hand. Elain reached for her saber but Lucien was just a moment faster. A smile slid over her face and Elain laughed, like she thought the whole thing was funny.

“A better man would have quit,” she said, her words heavy and slurred.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” he said, gently prying the blade from her hand to clip to his own belt. “Whatever you had to do to survive, I forgive you.”

“I wonder what you’ll do,” she whispered, eyes sliding out of focus. “Before all this is over, I wonder what you’ll do, Lucien.”

He hoisted her in his arms.

Lucien wondered the same.

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #evil elain ish #sith!elain #jedi!lucien #this fic is a fever dream to me

70 notes · View notes

foreverchangingfandomsao3 · 2 years

Text

The 212th had been waiting for a long time to get a General. Wolffe had gotten his General already, a Kel Dor called Koon. Jet had General Mundi. Bly had General Secura, and Monnk had General Fisto. Ponds had General Windu (Cody didn't envy him). Even Rex had a General for kriff's sake. Skywalker. Rex could be found complaining and lauding him in equal amounts when they were drinking. Skywalker even came with a Jedi Commander called Tano.

The 212th had no General at all.

There were only a few Jedi left that could possibly be assigned as Generals. Krell, Vos, Swan, Kenobi, Vebb.

The names whittled down as fighting began. Swan and Vebb were the first to be assigned. Vos disappeared from the list without reason, definitely not attached to a battalion. Krell seemed to go where he was needed, and Kenobi was never assigned.

Cody looked him up.

High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, member of the Jedi Council. His list of missions was impressive. Truly impressive, but many were without details, redacted by request. His skills listed diplomacy, the ability to speak multiple languages and military strategy.

No mention of his fighting skills, although he must have some. He knew from Rex that Kenobi had been Skywalker's Master, and they sparred every time his General was on Coruscant.

Kenobi seemed to be involved in conducting the war from the Temple, and mostly over holo. There were vids of him too. Negotiating with a Hutt in Huttese, conversing with a Twi'lek about medical supplies for the Venators, more of him talking to various species and Jedis, with only one video that appeared to be the man in action. All but the last vid were shot from behind, showing only the man's respectful posture and the red hair.

Cody tapped on the last vid, watching it play out. The quality wasn't the best, looking as if it was shot from afar, but it was zoomed in. There was no sound, but he could see a younger version of Rex's General led to a pole in cuffs, passing by a man that must be Kenobi, already with his arms chained above his head, hands limp, long auburn hair, pale skin and blue eyes. His lips were moving, then his head lifted, eyes directed upwards under raised brows. Cody could have sworn he said 'good job' before looking forward with a look akin to frustration. Cody watched him avoid sharp claws from a creature he'd never seen, and deflect bolts with a lightsaber, cutting down droids.

So he could fight. Not only could he fight, but he also seemed formidable with a lightsaber.

Whichever battalion received him would be in good hands. If they assigned him to one. The war had been in progress for months, yet he was kept safe within the walls of the Jedi Temple.

---

"Cody," Obi-Wan interrupted. "Your faces make little difference to me, and short of shocking pink hair, it's nearly impossible for me to tell anyone apart by sight."

"I don't understand."

"Ah, I hoped you had been told."

"Sir?"

"I'm blind as the proverbial Shyrack, Commander. My eyes do not function as they should."

"I-uh-wh-..." Cody tried to stammer out some kind of understanding, but couldn't. He took a deep breath. "No, sir. I was not informed."

A snort of laughter from the ginger. "Surprisingly, my dear. I'd worked that much out."

"Are you going to need a guide?"

"Around the battlefield? It wouldn't make me a particularly effective General now, would it?"

#Show it some love please #It's my birthday and I spent a while on it #Blind Obi Wan Kenobi #Obi Wan Kenobi #Eventual Codywan #They've literally just met #Codywan fic

88 notes · View notes

littleladymab · 1 year

Text

[Star Wars: Rebels] with sparks of what i used to know

despite all the time i've been spending on tumblr lately i had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA that @skybridgerweek was even a thing but between that and reading heir to the empire for book club i was struck by the sudden need to work on the ezra and luke sequel to "far from the world that i made" aka my Rebels S5/Search for Ezra fic I wrote for the SWBB this year.

We're going to pretend this is for "Day 6 - The Force".

Please enjoy 10k of Ezra and Luke meeting for the first time, and if you want more of them, (unofficial) sequels are a first kiss here and some snuggles/cuddles here

(you can now follow the series on AO3 if you're interested in learning when the final (planned) fic is uploaded)

There is a flower that Ezra keeps with him, tucked safely away into whatever pouch or pocket he can slip it into. It is still just as blue as the day it was given to him — months ago now, on an alien ship as they left the orbit of a planet that tried to devour him.

Ezra has not heard from Un’hee or Vah’nya since then. Which is fine. He thinks it's fine. It’s hard to tell if it’s fine, because sometimes he still has nightmares of an endless swirling blue tunnel of an endless gray landscape of a flash of glowing red eyes that he has spent so long fearing that he jerks awake covered in sweat and a scream jammed in his throat.

What are the things around him that he can use to ground himself?

Bed. Pillows. Sheets that smell like the detergent that Hera uses and fills him with a sense of home.

A toy of Jacen’s, misshapen in the shadows, that resolves itself into an X-wing as Ezra swings his legs out of bed.

His clothes from the day before, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair instead of being put away properly.

His lightsaber on the table beside his bed.

The pale blue flower beside his lightsaber.

Ezra dresses in the clothes from the day before instead of putting them away and finishes the ritual of getting ready by tucking the flower away into a pocket and clipping his lightsaber to his belt.

The chrono by his door says that it’s still an hour before dawn which means it's a 50/50 chance that Hera will be away. Her sleep habits are almost as bad as his, but she’s had a war and a child to mess up that schedule.

He just has the things that aren’t real haunting him if he lets himself drift too far.

Instead of running the risk of crossing paths with Hera and having to answer questions or, worse still, given space and a cup of caf in the silence of the pre-dawn kitchen as she looks at him and understands without him having to say anything, Ezra goes out the window.

He’ll send her a message to let her know where he is. Once he gets to the city, the white spires of it gleaming like a third moon risen from the ocean and plains. From the heart of Lothal itself.

Ezra ignores the speeders tucked against the side of the porch and instead takes off at a light jog. They’re not that far from the edges of the city anyway, and Ezra feels brittle with starlight and filled with electricity that won’t let him sit still.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened, and it won’t be the last. At least he feels pulled towards the city this time. He can remember who he is in the city, surrounded by all the bits and pieces of his childhood and his life and his after life. Everything that made him who he is worked into the dirt of this place under boots and claws. The blood sweat and tears used to bind the buildings together.

Sometimes, Ezra doesn’t know who he is. A boy lost to time, parents gone Master gone future gone. But he will come to the city and lose himself in front of the painting Sabine made and try to remember where he ends and where he begins.

Home is not just a place, he thinks, remembering what he told that planet that doesn’t exist. Not really, despite the flower in his pocket. Home is the people I have made it with.

The first hints of pale pink-blue dawn caress the upper spires as Ezra wends his way through the city streets. He won’t stay that long, he tells himself. He will wait for the city to fully wake, then he’ll message Sabine — see if she wants to get caf. Or maybe Jai.

Or maybe he would call Hera, ask her what was on the grocery list and he would buy the groceries as an apology for leaving without telling her he felt like he was breaking because she would know, more than most people she would know. They share that loss.

But first he will take a moment to wake with the city. He will stand in the ruins of the old assembly hall, just as empty and hollowed out; and as the sun rises, he will feel himself fill with the warmth of who he is, who he is supposed to be, the person people remember.

The person he remembers.

It is there, with the early morning light spilling in through the mouth of the hall, it is then, not quite sure if he will ever be himself again, that Ezra Bridger meets Luke Skywalker and his lightsaber remembers how to sing.

[[read the rest on ao3]]

#star wars #rebels #i'm not gonna go through the whole rigmarole of tagging this #just take it #skybridger #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings #verse: the scars that we're made of #i will throw links into the parent post because i don't care anymore #10pm is a great time to post a fic

21 notes · View notes

cabezadeperro · 2 years

Text

enemies part of enemies to lovers calboba

704w. written for @carverly, based on this post. post-jfo, post boba trying and failing to hunt cal down.

---

Fett’s ship is hard to miss. Cal’s steps falter, and Merrin turns to look at him, head tilted and dark eyes reflecting the sweet-sour pink of the streetstall’s lights. She pauses with her spoon half-way to her mouth, and then leaves it on the bowl with a splatter of soup. Cal shakes his head at her, but she just frowns.

Sometimes he wonders what it is that she sees. She’s Force sensitive, like all Dathomirian Zabraks, but her connection’s unlike anything Cal’s ever seen or felt. Her mind reaching out to his feels like getting caught in a spiderweb. He strengthens his shields and when she purses her lips, annoyed, he jostles her with his shoulder lightly.

“It’s rude to peek without permission,” he tells her. Merrin folds her arms.

“Don’t patronise me,” she replies, but the spiderweb-feeling stops. She picks up her spoon again, and Cal turns to look at the ship’s hull. It shines orange under the flickering hangar lights, and it’s still warm—it’s wreathed in hissing, cloudy rainwater.

Cal closes his eyes. It’s been a while, and Fett’s beskar makes it harder, and he might not be in the area at all, he might have left, but.

The burn scar on his shoulder and neck is still tender. Fett in that alley, with his big Trandoshan friend, and then—the fight, the chase. Cal’s own saber, hot in his hand; the smell of burning fabric, of burning flesh.

He left him there, gasping and shaking on the ground of the alley, helmet off and in his lap and the sun on his face. Cal had been half-sure he had left him there to die.

He lets his grief and his hurt and the thorny, complicated feeling of relief move through him, and when Merrin places her shoulder against his arm, he leans on her. She doesn’t ask, and Cal wishes she did. He wants to tell someone: I am glad I did not kill him. I am glad he survived.

Fett will try again. Of this, Cal’s sure.

“I need to ask you a favour,” he tells Merrin when they’re making their way back to the Mantis, on the spaceport on the other side of town.

Merrin pauses and tilts her head to look at him from under her cowl. Her face is a pale slash of skin under her cloak, ghostly white in the dark. She says nothing: she waits, quiet and patient, watching him.

“I need you to watch my back,” he continues. He clears his throat and looks away, but doesn’t miss the way her interest sharpens and focuses on him.

“Of course,” she replies after a beat. “Always, Cal.”

Fett’s waiting for him when they make it back to the hangar. He’s wearing his armour, and there’s a rifle—an ugly, black thing—held tightly against his torso, one gloved finger caressing the trigger. The air thrums with danger. Merrin leaves his side and fades back into the shadows, and Cal crosses the tarmac, poncho over his head, hyperaware of the way the hilt of his lightsaber feels against the small of his back.

He’ll have to be very fast. He breathes in and then lets it out again, finding his centre.

“Back to finish the job?” Fett’s voice breaks the silence. Cal stops a few metres from him: the turrets of the ship follow him.

“I was here to ask you the same thing,” Cal replies, and doesn’t miss the way Fett’s fingers shift on his rifle.

“Where’s your friend?”

“She’s close.”

Fett tilts his head. “Scared?” he says, his tone mocking. Cal carefully keeps his face blank.

“I don’t trust you,” he tells Fett.

“Good. You shouldn’t,” he replies. After a beat, he lowers his rifle, and Cal feels more than sees the way the ship’s weapon systems turn off. “I am not here for you today.”

Cal wants to sigh in relief: he doesn’t.

He wants many things.

Dry clothes; a proper place to rest; his master, alive and well; the Empire gone. Boba Fett, back in that first shitty motel room, warm and easy and desperate.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Cal says.

Fett pauses.

“Next time,” he replies, “you should try harder.”

He means it.

#calboba #kesett #maría writes #cal kestis #boba fett #circus geefts

46 notes · View notes

panther-os · 1 year

Photo

I’ve been messing around on HeroForge and decided to see how many Star Wars species that aren’t explicitly said to be genetically incompatible I could fit into one character within the constraints of the program. Backstory and image description below:

Gryss D'Vere (grihs d’ vayr) is a young nonbinary Jedi Knight charged with the protection of Ilum during the Clone Wars. They are a bilateral amputee (both arms). They are mixed Sephi, Togruta, Kyuzo, and Zabrak. They were left on the doorstep of the Coruscant temple as an infant and have never known life outside the Jedi order. They have asthma and carry an inhaler, among other health concerns due to their mixed biology. They are stronger, faster, and more agile than baseline humans and have stronger senses. They wield aqua green lightsabers styled after Kyuzo petar, unique for their dual-sided, short, curved blades. They have orange-brown skin that turns grey where it is thin (such as their eyelids, lips, palms, and the tips of their ears) along with white facial markings, slitted yellow-green eyes, five light brown horns (three on their forehead and one on the side of their head in their hair above each ear), and pointed ears. They wear their long dark brown hair in a bun with two braids dyed blue-green leading into the bun from their temples. Their prosthetic arms are copper-colored with visible black leather padding. They wear a form-fitting sleeveless black jumpsuit under grey Jedi robes and hooded cape. They also wear dark brown boots and a wide belt with pouches. The boots and belt have copper buckles and other embellishments, and there are copper greaves strapped over the boots. Gryss is standing ready to fight on snowy ground interspersed with large, pale rocks and clusters of blue, green, purple, and pink crystals. [/end ID]

I have no idea what I’m going to do with this character.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars oc #my oc #jedi oc #clone wars oc #/incoherent noises/

3 notes · View notes

alilrainboo2030 · 2 months

Text

GENERAL

Name/Aliases: Willow White, My love, (Her Boyfriend Ben-zí Black) Ghost (Colorful Children's) Witch (Stranger's) My Angel (Dearment or her Family)

Age: 19

Birthday: April 17

Gender: Female ♀️

Place of Birth: Seoul

Species: Neon Human

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Nationality: Korean

Country: South Korea

Ethnicity: Southeast Asian

Color: White “FFFFFF”

Language: Korean/English

Object/Weapon: Deadly Lightsaber and some Powerful Luminous Glasses. Some other Business things.

Personality Type: ENTJ

Alignment: Evil (Secondary Antagonist)

Food/Drink: Milk, Sushi, Eggs, Parsnips, Coconut juice, Vanilla flavors that cames with Cookies, and Cakes

Body Type: Hourglass

Occupation: Co Worker

Weakness: Dark

Status: Active

Element/Power: Light

Animals: Snow Leopard, Swan, Cobra, Budgett Frog, Sailfish, and Jellyfish.

Emblem Shape: Bullet (Inverted Half Capsule)

Emotion: Concern

Super Abilities: Teleport, Levitate, Running, Infecting, Speeding, Spinning, Flashing, Throw, Shooting, and Backflip or Frontflip.

Height: 5”9”

Weight: 60-73=Kg

EXTRAS

Like: Suffering People, Losing their colors. Sabotaging, Saving her Rejects, Winning, and Aggressive Animals.

Dislike: Rejections, Failing, Betrayal, Lying, Losing life, and Dumbest People.

Crime: Possessing, Curse, Ambushing, Fraud, Traumatizing People, People Endangerment, Theifs, and Kidnapping.

Hobbies: Weapons, Technology, Supernatural, Accessories Stuffs,

Club/Group: The Monochromers

Spouse: Woo-Yi White (Her Mom Princess) Wei-Mun (Her Queen Grandmother) Winnie White (Her princess younger sister) Wun-yo White (Her prince youngest brother) William White (Her King Grandfather) Weo-Jun White (Her Dad Prince)

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Physical Strength: 1.24xBW

Friends/Allies: Ben-zi Black, and Gavin and Grant Gray.

Enemies/Rivals: Rafael Red, Brody Blue, Yandel Yellow, Priscilla Purple, Cindy Cyan, Gaku Green, Oscar Orange, and Penny Pink.

Love Interest/Crush: Ben-zi Black

Flower Sign: Oriental Lilium

Gemstone Sign: Diamond/Pearl

Zodiac: Aries

VOICE SOUNDED TONE:

Mature, Bright, and Sharp.

APPEARANCE:

Willow White is likely an angelic-like occult. Willow wears a lightest gray- like white renaissance coat like a bullet-shaped buttons and her sleeves have flounced in the end of her wrist. And her skirt has extra flounce layers with some frilly lace beneath around her feet. She wears white short boots with her lightest-gray like white feet protectors on her. She wears light gray jet pants but her belt is gray with her Bullet-Cutted shaped like Diamond. She wears a white pearl jewelry with a shape-like bullet on her necklace, and earrings. But now her DNA is completely White. Including her eyes are bullet-shaped pupils, her long hair, blood, fingers and toenails, body waste, her mouth, flesh, except for her pale skin color. She also wears light-gray like white lips and eyeshadow.

DESCRIPTION:

In the olden days, Willow White had a normal life. Willow was 9 years old when she was never a villain. She is a good girl, and start daydreaming about interacting with colorful neon people while she's resting in her royal room. Willow Is a princess in Seoul in South Korea. She was now 11 years old and she's been thinking about interacting with people. When she felt like in a new place for a vacation. The colorful people are so mean to her because she is rejected for her white color. She was bullied, harassed, and being used by someone. Later, she went home. After she returned home, Willow explained everything to her whole kingdom family and her family got so upset. People are starting to get revenge on people. Willow White is so furious of herself but no violence. In the 2 second later, something seems a bit interesting to her. She sees that unique box that looks strange to open. And once she opened it, It is a Bullet-shaped cut diamond that looked so expensive and beautiful. And something rises up, the floating shapeshifter appears. Her name is Bulletté. Willow and her shapeshifter started to have a plan on each other for getting revenge on her colorful enemies. As Willow turn 16 years old, Her parents started agreeing along with their realms. This was the time that the places will start being the strictest and deadly if the colorful tourists won't respect their world. This is where her bad story ends here.

PERSONALITY:

Strict, Intelligent, Short-Tempered, Serious, Careless, Honesty, Protective, and Well-being.

TRIVIA/STORY:

In 2021, I started giving ideas but brainstorming for Willow White's element. Despite the element, I was inspired after the Ice element power from the artist Caramelangel714's. But not likely the light powers from Skylanders. But I officially decided to draw Willow White as a villain for her design whenever she was made up by me.

GALLERY:

N/A Soon

#anime #cartoon #illustration #digital art #original artwork #originalcharacter #neonwondercrew #oc reference #villain oc #neonwondercrewvillian #original character #original art

1 note · View note

shiftynightshade · 3 years

Text

Cody shifted as General Kenobi gestured to the holo-map, a frown accompanying the crease in-between his eyebrows. The general was discussing tactics and strategies with the dreadful Wilffur Tarkin, and the two were debating over the better battle plan.

(It was arguing really, one-sided as it was.)

‘Well’ Cody mused. ‘Which strategy will allow more Vod’e to walk away alive.’

Tarkin was infamous in the GAR, ruthless in all his plans, and he certainly didn’t care about how many brothers died, and if all of them died but the battle was won, all those deaths were overlooked by everyone.

Except the Jedi.

The Jedi treated them like people, sentient beings with thoughts and feeling, not flesh droids. Called them by their names rather than their numbers, mourned them and loved them.

And Cody’s general, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator, was the best of them all.

Tarkins’ oily voice was cold and snide as he leered at Kenobi through the hologram.

“Well, General Kenobi” He spat out their Jedi’s title, which evidently didn’t go unnoticed, if nearly every brother on the bridge bristling in offense was any indication. “It seems that we are yet to meet at a compromise, I shall call at a later date to discuss this again.” With a harsh flick the call was cut.

Under his bucket Cody frowned. He hated the way Tarkin talked or looked at his Jedi. Obi-wan had turned around, a scowl in place of his normal charming smile, and Cody longed to run his thumb over those soft pink lips and kiss them sweetly.

The sudden beeping of the comms nearly made Cody jump. Nearly. Though judging by Waxer and Boils snickering, his brothers still noticed. Fuck.

“Kenobi?” Helixes’ drawl trickled through. “The Jedi healers arrived sir.”

Obi-wan nodded, even if Helix couldn’t see it. “Bring them to the bridge, thank you Helix.” Cody sighed internally, whether it was from relief or anticipation, he wasn’t sure yet. The senate had finally caved and ordered for a Jedi healer to be stationed with major and heavy-hitting battalions to assist and to make sure that those Jedi didn’t get themselves killed or captured as more and more cases of force exhaustion and force coma’s quickly rose among the Jedi.

Cody could still remember Pond’s terrified voice trickling through their comms, his breathing laboured and speech borderline hysterical. Sobbing about how during one of Windu’s worse bouts of force exhaustion and headaches, caused by there being too many shatterpoints had left them vulnerable.

Ponds was clutching his generals lightsaber in both fists, hands trembling and obviously trying to not think about what Dooku and Ventress could’ve been doing to his riduur, and he had refused to let go of the lightsaber until they had finally located and retrieved Windu two months later, the master of the order in a force induced coma and still temple bound.

Cody repressed a shudder. The sheer brokenness in Ponds eyes as he stared at the Korrun’s battered body floating lifelessly in the bacta tank, then later spending every day religiously by his side while holding his hand gently, not caring of the days going by as he sat his protective vigil by the comatose Jedi’s side.

Cody pursed his lips. It’s probably for the better.

Obi-wan’s expression morphed into slight confusion, even if it’ was only a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Cody removed his bucket to rest it on his hip and opened his mouth. “Sir?” He was going to say more, but he was cut off by the door to the bridge opening and a scream of “OBI!” echoing in the room. A blur of cream and blue robes and pinkish red skin rushing past him which quickly turned into a hug like tackle, the blur turning out to be a red-pink Calamari woman in a combined set of cream and blue robes, her shout having quickly drawn the attention of everyone on the bridge.

Obi-wan had looked up at the shout, surprise then joy spreading across is face as the calamari latched onto him like a barnacle from Kamino’s oceans.

Cody felt his eyebrows rise, in curiosity, and when Obi-wan hugged the vibrating stranger back just as tightly, he was pretty sure they were going to fly off his head.

Obi-wan smiled warmly, and for one in a long time, it met his eyes.

“Bant! I didn’t expect you to be assigned to u!”

Head against Obi-wan’s chest, the side of the temple where ears on a human would be rested right over his hears. Crys cleared his throat.

“I’m going to guess that you two know each other?”

Obi-wan gave a rare, but blindingly radiant smile. The two shifted so his and Bant’s arms were wrapped around each other’s shoulders a position Cody was familiar with. It was one of kinship and a way to acknowledge siblings.

Bant giggled. “Obi’s my Clanmate and brother in everything but blood.” Cody blinked.

“Clanmate..?” He ventured. “Is that like the vode’s batchmates?”

For a ridiculous moment Cody thought that would’ve been confused about the concept of batchmates, but her large eyes sparkled and she smiled.

“Exactly! There’s a few differences obviously, but the concept is same!”

Cody gave a small smile at the praise, ignoring Cry’s imploring look.

Suddenly Obi-wan straightened. “Everyone, this is Bant Eerin, she’ll be serving alongside our medics for an unprecedented amount of time.” A shiny whose name Cody has yet to learn raised their hand.

Obi-wan nodded at the shiny. “Yes..?” the prompt for their name went unsaid. They shifted on the spot. “Ace sir.” He tapped his fingers against his yet to be painted armour. “If you don’t mind me asking, but what’s different about clanmates?”

Bant smiled. “Great question Ace! Clanmates are like a Jedi initiates family until they are picked by a master, and then they join that lineage’s family.”

She bumped her shoulder against Obi-wan’s with a small grin. “It’s up to an individual whether or not they still consider their clanmates family or not.”

She fiddled with a necklace, the rope and pendant barely noticeable under her robes. “Sometimes a Jedi will switch masters, whether because they requested a change or something happens to the master, then you will be considered apart of two different lineages.”

Obi-wan grinned and nodded. “Does that answer your questions Ace?”

The clone nodded bashfully, a small smile and a soft blush making its way onto his face.

Crys leaned against a console with his arms crossed, but swiftly raised a hand. Obi-wan nodded over at him. “Yes Crys?”

Crys stared at the two Jedi with thinly veiled curiosity, and on the excited shifting from the rest of the Vod’e, they were just as excited to learn.

“What did General Eerin mean by if a Jetti shiny requests a new master?” They all knew what ‘if something happened to the master’ meant. Too incapacitated to teach and raise, or dead.

Bant’s eyes grew sad, while Obi-wan closed his eyes. “If,” Bant began, a mix of grief and anger swirling in her eyes. “-A padawan requests a new master, an investigation is launched immediately for why they want a change.”

Obi-wan took over. “There has been only a few cases of abuse, but they still exist, some instances a master had declining physical or mental health. And both have agreed that it would be safer and more beneficial for both to part ways.”

Obi-wan grew quiet. “And there has only been a handful of time where the master has fallen to the darkside.”

The bridge grew quiet at that. Cody hadn’t seen a Jedi that had fallen outside of Dooku, but he’s heard stories, tales of how they became a shell of their former selves. He shuddered at the idea of an ad’ika happened to be with them…

And Cody dreaded the idea of his general falling. Pale skin splashed with the blood of innocents, Jedi and Vod’e alike, warm blue-green eyes taken over by a cold, molten gold that boiled with rage and hate. His blue lightsaber, usually a blazing symbol of hope and safety, instead replaced with red, a symbol of fear and darkness.

Cody let out a breath. He and the rest f his brothers would rather be cut down or eat their own blasters than fight against their general.

“-Ways Bant, do you need any directions or do you want to go straight to the med-bay?”

Cody jerked out of his head, eternally grateful that he had put his bucket back on.

Bant and Obi-Wan had turned to face each other. Bant smirked. “Are you saying you’re willing to go to med-bay with me?” The bridges occupants collectively held their breaths.

Bant hummed. “Sixty-six seconds Obi, better start running.” Cody watched in amusement as a few clones cheered or yelled out “go general!” as he dashed down the hall, and Cody managed to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan kicking a vent covering open and leaping into the vents just as the covering fell back into place.

Sixty-six seconds later and Bant stood from where she was sitting and cleared her throat. “Alright, boys!”

She grinned. “Who wants to help me hunt down a rogue patient?”

Cody grinned as Crossbones cheered from his spot next to Crys.

#obi-wan #mace windu #codywan #cody #crys #helix #bant eerin #ponds #wilhuff tarkin

216 notes · View notes

knightprincess · 3 years

Text

Heart & Soul (Crosshair x Fem Reader)

Words: 4.7k (yeah sorry long one) Warning: 18+ Mature content, sexual content, unprotected sex, P in V. praise, teasing.

If there was one thing Crosshair hated, it was the uncomfortable feeling he got when been denied or teased in any sexual manner. He'd lost count how many times (Y/N) in particular had teased him, it always being in a way he couldn't complain about. Mainly her choice of nightwear. A random tank top paired with loose fitting mini shorts. There was just something about those shorts, his body never failed to react, sometimes to the point he struggled to get his words out without stuttering. His brothers too had noticed his reaction, if they weren't teasing him about it, they were normally staring after (Y/N) with desire shinning brightly in their honey eyes. Wrecker never failing to make a loud comment, loud enough for any stranger passing by to hear. Hunter would always stop what he was doing, often times forgetting what he'd been doing and suddenly make an excuse up to go to the refresher. Tech and Echo on the other hand were the most normal, bidding (Y/N) good morning, asking her how her night was, Tech always with a cup of caf waiting for her.

Many of times had Crosshair found himself imagining what he would do if the pair of them were alone, the many scenarios playing out. Nearly all of them having something to do with (Y/N)'s pleasure filled moans filling the quiet ship. Yet to the snipers frustration, the chance had never arisen. The only time it had was when (Y/N) had been severely injured and knocked unconscious during a mission, he'd stayed by her side, holding her hand. Refused to leave until she woke. He'd stayed with her after that too, her admission of feeling safe with him and her simple question of asking him to stay had him all to eager to share her bunk.

That event had kicked started their close bound. If there was ever a moment where Crosshair needed medical attention, he'd only ever allow (Y/N) to attend to his injuries. He'd also be the one to watch holo-films with her, just as he'd shared his secrets with her and vice versa, she'd also been the one he told of his hatred for Kamino and the reason for it, about his scarring training. (Y/N), had somehow made it a little better, knowing she was listening helped a lot, never once had she judged him for his past but instead accepted him for who he was. Yet despite that she seemed to deny him the acknowledgment of being teased by her. It wasn't just the shorts but other things too, the way she would sway his hips a little more when she knew he was watching, the comments to escape her perfect lips every now and again, even the way he would press up against him in the tight spaces of the ship.

Often in those moments had Crosshair's mind played tricks on him. There being times he swore she whispered something to him, or when he felt her gentle touch burnt through his armor, yet never once could he confirm it in anyway. Yet still his body had reacted, goosebumps raising in the area she touched with her softly burning touch, the hair on the back of his neck would raise as he'd find his chest tightening and words becoming stuck in his throat. His member would twitch and begin to throb, almost begging to be touched and paid attention to.

The nights after these chastise interactions, his mind filled with seductive encounters with (Y/N), his short soundless sleep being filled with vivid dreams, his mind tricked him into believing they were a secret reality, those dreams eventually turning into pinning wishes of his heart. Those wishes he was sure would be unfulfilled. The same ones he refused to utter a single word about, not even to (Y/N). Instead he suffered in silence until he could escape to the refresher unnoticed and jerk himself off. Those moments always being to the thought of (Y/N) in her loose fitting black night shorts, although he would occasional wonder if it was wrong of him to satisfy himself while thinking of her. Just as he found himself hoping no one heard his soft moans of her name when passing by the refresher door.

It wasn't until a special stake out mission did the unfulfilled hopes and fantasies really begin torment Crosshair. The small Inn the team found themselves in, not having enough rooms for all of them to be alone. Instead pairing would happen. Tech and Echo had voiced their acceptance of being room mates for a few nights, not finding anything out of the ordinary since the pair often fell asleep in the cockpit. Crosshair on the other hand had quickly been paired with (Y/N), Hunter resigning himself to the fate of sleepless nights, knowing Wrecker could snore loudly and often moved around in his sleep. The occasional time he'd have imaginary arguments with someone.

Each pairing heading to their rooms moments later, all with the hope of having a bed to themselves. Echo and Tech had the luck of the draw, both wasting no time in stretching out over the beds with Tech setting up his equipment moments after entering the double room. Hunter and Wrecker also had beds to themselves, Wrecker almost breaking his with his eagerness to try out the bouncy mattress, a few comments escaping about how fun the stake out mission would be. Crosshair and (Y/N) on the other hand weren't as lucky. The room housing a single double bed, if anything it appeared to be the honeymoon suite. Both looking to the other with uncertainty before returning their gaze to the room before them. The roomy bed pushed up against the back wall, ottomans at the end of it, a single door leading to the on-suite bathroom, another double door leading to a spacious balcony, one with a breath taking view. The pair had stood in the open door way for what seemed like forever, neither speaking a word as they both tried to work out a solution to what could only be described as the awkward situation.

"Congratulations" come a unknown voice from behind the pair. The duo looking around quickly. Crosshair's hand on the weapon holstered to his hip, the other reaching for (Y/N) as if to protect her from the intruding voice. (Y/N)'s hand reaching for her lightsaber, as if on instinct, yet both falling into confusion upon seeing a middle aged woman peering at them, a bright smile on her lips as her eyes washed over the pair. Yet letting a sigh escape her lips upon seeing their confusion reigning down on her. "On your wedding. Only wedded couples stay in this suite" added the woman, dressed in simple garments, it being likely she helped run the inn and unaware of them just staying for a mission. Just as it was unlikely anyone knew about the ongoing war on the backwater planet they found themselves on.

"Oh erm ...." (Y/N) had began, her cheeks turning a pale shade of pink. One of Crosshair's hand finding its way to the back of his neck in an awkward manner, clearly as lost for words as (Y/N) was. The surprise of the assumption knocking them both off guard, to the point they were unsure what they were to do now. In a rare moment, Crosshair had been pleased for Hunter's sudden appearance, his honey eyes begging for help in the situation. Although it was clear Hunter found amusement at the scene he found himself walking into.

"It was a secret wedding. Only a few of us in attendance" spoke Hunter in response, his smokey voice barely above a whisper as if it was a secret only the middle aged woman could know. Crosshair could only throw Hunter a highlighted I hated you look, (Y/N)'s glare accompanying it, both unsure how that played into the stake out mission but couldn't object without making it obvious something was amiss. Crosshair soon reached for his stash of toothpicks, his eyes growing wide as he recalled something from days before hand, although he'd believed it was a vivid dream he'd began to wonder if it held truth to it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Crosshair had been sat on his bunk, when news of the stake out had been delivered by one of the many Jedi General's, the republic having decided the group of five and (Y/N) were the best for job. Maybe it was there unparalleled success rate or their abilities to improvise when the time arose, or the fact they weren't so obviously identified as clones as others had been and (Y/N) was often mistaken for a Senator rather than a Jedi Knight. Although Tech had stated that was from her well known undercover op a few months prior to the war beginning.

A joke had been made about how to blend in further. Echo throwing in (Y/N) marrying one of them would be a good diversion, Tech agreeing quickly despite the laugh to escape (Y/N) as she believed it to be a joke of some sort. Hunter had thrown forward the idea of (Y/N) using her Senator persona, with the rest of them being her security, although that would mean her giving them her lightsabers, something they all knew she was unsure about. Crosshair on the other hand had been close to (Y/N), sat opposite her in the tight confinement of the Marauder, he could see how unsure she was about being the center of it all. Especially after her last uncover op had resulted in injury for several of them after a fire fight had broken out.

Crosshair had been lost in thought while looking at (Y/N) with softness, he'd not heard Wrecker agreeing with the marriage idea and volunteering the sniper for the role. Using Crosshair's calm and collective nature as reason for his recommendation. (Y/N) getting up with a sigh and snapped Crosshair out of his thoughts, not a single word passed her lips as she climbed up into her quiet spot above the bunks, it being clear she wanted time alone to think over everything, where as Crosshair turned his attention to his brothers, quickly understanding he had missed something important.

"The stake out mission, will require a believable distraction for being there. (Y/N) unfortunately will have to bare the brunt of the stress" started Tech, finding himself overwhelmed with guilt over his agreement to the idea, just as Echo found himself the same for submitting the idea in the first place. "The distraction will be (Y/N)'s honeymoon" carefully spoke Tech, as if fearing how his younger brother would react. He watched as the others did, as the different emotions passed over the snipers features, confusion, uncertainty, anger and concern. A unspoken question on his lips of wondering if there was a better way.

"(Y/N) just said decided among us and tell her after" excitedly spoke Wrecker, as if the idea of marrying a Jedi Knight was the best thing he'd heard in a while. Although he stopped upon noticing the glare Crosshair shot in his direction. "We were going on which one of us would be best. Since none of us are really keen on the idea either" calmly proclaimed the human bulldozer, as if attempting to calm Crosshair's murderous glare and redirection the attention elsewhere. Even now the glare Crosshair had mastered terrified Wrecker, far beyond what the war had thrust far thrown at them.

"I'll do it" muttered Crosshair, unsure what had come over him, he'd felt the need to protect her and correct what had been deemed an injustice done against her. Plus deep down he knew he held a secret love for her, not just lust but pure adoration too. She brought out his soft side, showed no judgment towards him, instead only care and acceptance, the least he could do now was this to help her through the mission and bare some of the burden weight.

Crosshair had climbed up to her hideout seconds later, joining her in the tight space above. Lying next to her. He knew she had turned the cramped area into a little room for herself, a couple of pillows and blankets one side, the other (Y/N) laid across the floor with a book in her hands, although it was clear she wasn't reading it, instead staring at the printed words as if they held the means of her escape from what troubled her.

"Come to tell me who the unlucky one is?" quietly whispered (Y/N) her voice unenthusiastic as she listened as Wrecker pulled down his bunk and the remaining three make excuses to leave the area and uncomfortable silence. Crosshair merely hummed in response, tucking his arms behind his head as he looked up to the drawing taped above, softness returning to him as he realized the drawing were portraits on him and his brothers. Each portraying them in the midst of something. Hunter seemingly lost in thought as he span his vibroblade between his fingers, Tech captured talking of something, Echo as he watched the colors of hyperspace, Wrecker while holding his Tooka doll, Lula. The one of himself depicting him doing his normal rifle cleaning routine, he did after every mission. Yet as Crosshair strained his memory, he couldn't ever recall seeing (Y/N) around during any of the moments depicted, as if she had drawing them from pure memory rather than being there with them.

"That would be yours truly" admitted Crosshair, reaching out one of his hands to gently take the book from her hands, instead reaching for the holopad close by. Pulling her close upon retrieving it, his mind focusing on comforting her and accepting the burden they would both be sharing. He wasn't sure why he place a soft kiss to her hair line, but felt the need to do so. The pair finding comfort in each other as they decided on a film to watch, Crosshair feeling a little more confident the longer (Y/N) stayed in her position, her head against his shoulder, one of her arms stretch across his chest.

The pair having fallen asleep like it. Tech having noticed Crosshair hadn't come down so checked on the duo, moving a blanket from the opposite side and draping it over the pair, before returning to the cockpit, where Echo had already nodded off. Hunter and Wrecker too had fallen for the lure of sleep. The next day would bring the short wedding, nothing too special, although Tech had began to question whether it would be valid or not in the minds of the pair and those to witness it.

The following morning the little ceremony took place. (Y/N) in her Jedi robes, her lightsabers attached to her belt, Crosshair donning his normal armor, rifle attached to his pack with other weapons on his personnel. The group stood next to the Marauder. Hunter, Tech, Echo and Wrecker stood by as witnesses. Crosshair and (Y/N) facing each other, as they had done many times in the past, although not with the meaning this time had.

"Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome. Mahi me'dinui an. Mhi" spoke both (Y/N) and Crosshair in unison. The pair of them being serious. Yet as quick as that it was done.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As if a wave hit Crosshair, he seemed unsure how he'd forgotten it, was there a mind trick being played on him or did both he and (Y/N) suffer some injury during the trip to get to the backwater planet. Yet he didn't voice his thoughts, neither did (Y/N) stood next to him as if she was in some sort of trance. Without a second thoughts Crosshair slipped the bag from her shoulder, gently picking her up moments later, as if to play the role he'd just remembered, a playful scream and laugh escaping (Y/N). One of her arms hooking around the back of his neck, the other reaching up for his free shoulder.

"Please tell me you have those shorts" whispered Crosshair, wondering if he'd be blessed with such a sight. He'd never admit those tiny black shorts turned him on. (Y/N) merely nodded her head in response, already being able to guess where this was going. His lustful looks and terrible excuses hadn't gone unnoticed by her. Nor had his jealous looks when they'd all find themselves at 79's. Crosshair never failed to scare some poor soul away or intimidate them into leaving, most of the time without uttering a single word. Most clones learnt quickly Crosshair wasn't to be messed with, especially over something that was his or someone he cared about, other patrons had also learnt the same lesson through a few fights.

"Hmm. Maybe I can use them to motivate you into doing a good job" commented (Y/N), hearing Crosshair chuckle as he carefully dropped her on the bed, the yelp to escape her only serving to make Crosshair chuckle a little louder than before. The sniper soon sat beside her on the bed, both suddenly becoming lost in the view from the balcony doors. Crosshair found himself wondering what was so important about the planet they were on, why they would need a cover for being in a place so far out of the way, he was surprised both the republic and separatists even remembered it. Even he couldn't remember the name of the planet, even when Tech had spoken it several times.

"A reward for a job well done ....." whispered Crosshair, breaking the silence between them, gathering the necessary things, needed for the mission, (Y/N) looked to him, sensing there were words left unsaid. "ner kar'ta bal runi I have a few other ideas too" admitted the sniper before their conversation was interupted. Both walking from the room moments later, Crosshair with a stronger feeling to protect the woman he gained the right to call "His Jedi"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Upon returning to the suite that night. (Y/N) went to the shower as she had stated she would before hand. Washing away the mixture of mud, blood and anything else dirtying her. She made sure to clean up after herself, if only to ensure Crosshair could shower in peace too. Before leaving the fair sized bathroom, she dressed in the loose fitting black shorts and a figure hugging black tank top. Wrapping her hair in a towel to ensure it didn't drip water everywhere. Upon entering the main suite, she found Crosshair effortless cleaning his rifle, although she knew he had already done that, so had likely been doing it to pass the time.

"All yours" softly spoke (Y/N), causing Crosshair to jump slightly, it being so clear he'd been lost in his thoughts, although he soon stood and turned towards her, his breath getting stuck in his throat upon his eyes landing on her. The top she wore leaving little to the imagination, the fabric hugging all her curves and showing her erected nipples clearly. Yet soon enough Crosshair snapped himself out of it, sending himself to the bathroom. The moment he stepped under the warm water of the shower, he felt his tense muscles relax, yet his wonder got wilder. Questions floated through his head as he washed away the boggy mud sticking to his skin and rinsed his short hair back to the natural silver color. He wondered what would happen between himself and (Y/N) now. By Mandalorian rule they were technically married, he a clone and she a Jedi, a pairing not too uncommon since the war had began.

As the sniper stepped from the shower, he felt his confidence rise as the nippy crisp air bit at his exposed skin. Although he barely noticed as he wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, using another to catch the water droplets making their escape down the back of his neck and face. The same towel becoming useful again moments later as he cleared the steam from the mirror before him. Just seconds later leaving the bathroom to find (Y/N) on one of the chairs in the corner of the room, holopad in hand as she read over something.

Once again Crosshair felt his confidence rise, just as he wanted to see where things would go from here. (Y/N) had worn those shorts as she said she would if he did a good job. Yet once again he noticed she wasn't actually reading what was one her holopad. She was a fast reader, her knew that, so knew she would have likely turned the page by now. The sniper wasted little time getting to her, sitting on the stool before her, resting her bare feet on his toweled lap, hearing her hum as if she had been waiting for him to return. Without really thinking began to run his fingers up and down her calf, soft strokes as if he was teasing her in ways different to how she often teased him.

He soon moved up her body, connecting their lips within seconds, his hands trailing down her arms and body. Her own arms swinging around the back of his neck, as if to pull him closer to her. The kiss seeming so right to them both, Crosshair feeling as if the missing part of him, had been found. Where as (Y/N), felt the love she knew had been missing from her life, the passion she had only dreamed of one day experiencing for herself. The too soon parted, if only to catch their breath. Their heads resting together as they looked into the others eyes, as if looking for any sign of rejection or regret, both pleased to find nothing of the sort.

"Ner kar'taylir darasuum, maybe we should take this to the bed" whispered Crosshair. Seeing her agreement as she placed the forgotten holopad to the side, standing up moments later. (Y/N) allowing him to lead her to the bed, his instruction to lay on her back something she did without question, not being surprised when he pulled the rim of her top down, exposing her breasts to the cold air surrounding them. Although his hands soon found them, his lips following shortly after. Crosshair's free hand soon began to move lower, reaching beneath the hem of her black sorts, although he stopped in surprise to realize she wore no underwear beneath the shorts. His eyes growing darker with lust as he looked to her, continuing on with play with her nipples and finding her sensitive spot hidden beneath the shorts.

The moment contact being made, (Y/N), softly moaned, it sounding so sweet to Crosshair as he continued to play with her. Running his long fingers through her folds, hearing her moan every time. The sound only serving to get him excited too. He didn't stop (Y/N) when her hands reached for the towel hung around his waist, gently undoing it, finally pay him attention. Her hands soft as she pushed him over, connecting their lips once he was on his back, her hand finding its way to his member, wrapping around him as she began to pump. Crosshair's only response was to hold back his own moan as his hands found her breasts again. Pulling her top up and over her head moments later. If only to gain better access to her.

"Want me to take the shorts off too" teased (Y/N), seeing the way his honey eyes darkened further. Yet before she could reached for the hem of her shorts, Crosshair's hands found his wrists. In a blink of an eye their position changed again. Once again he was back on top of her. His lips finding hers as his hands found his own member. His patients showing through as he continued to play with her, his own games in mind and desires. Just as he wanted to pleasure her in a way she hadn't been before.

"No" responded Crosshair after what felt like hours passed. "I want to take you, while you're wearing them" added the sniper, swiftly pushing the shorts to the side, enough to give him access to her core. With a silent request and (Y/N) nodding in response, he soon began to run his member through her wet folds, hearing her moan further. "All this wetness for me. whatever did I do to earn such a reward" whispered Crosshair, as his lips found her jaw, not wishing to stifle her quiet moans. He soon lined himself up with her entrance, looking to (Y/N) once more before slowly pushing himself in, feeling how tight her walls were around him, it taking all his strength not to come right there and then. "Fuck you're tight" whispered Crosshair, placing his hands beside her head to stabilize himself. His other hand resting on her cheek once he was completely sheathed inside her. Allowing her time to adjust to his size.

Upon (Y/N) nodding, he began to move, pulling almost all the way back out before thrusting back into her. Feeling her legs wrap around his waist, she soon pulled his lips back to hers, feeling each and every thrust he made into her. Her moans growing louder although stifled by Crosshair's lips on hers. Their tongues fighting for dominance all the while. Crosshair soon began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, obeying her request he goes faster, soon finding her sweet spot. His self given order to hit it as much as he could, thrust giving her the maximum amount of pleasure he possibly could. Without warning he soon pulled out, positioning her on her hands and knees, sliding back in without much effort. Keeping up with the same pace as before. Hearing (Y/N) moan even more than before, as she felt him go even deeper than before.

"Sing for me cyar'ika" spoke Crosshair breathlessly, gently moving his hands from her hips to her shoulders, pulling her up to rest against him. Her head against his shoulder as he went deeper inside her. Her lips against his ear as she moaned his name with pleasure. His hands finding their way back to her breasts once he was sure she wouldn't fall, giving them the attention they deserved. "Good girl" praised Crosshair, his own lips finding her neck as he gently began to nibble and suck, determined to leave a mark that would mark her as his own.

"Cross" moaned (Y/N), feeling as her stomach began to knot, knowing she was close to her climax. "I'm gonna come" moan (Y/N), as she screamed out moments later. Crosshair not letting up on his pace, riding her through her high. Switching positions again when she was had come back down. This time allowing her to straddle him. Pushing her shorts to the side again, as he re-entered her, the sound of their moans ringing out and mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Although Crosshair soon sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist, her lips finding his neck as he had done with her earlier. Stifling her moans as she nibbled and sucked on his neck, leaving a mark that would be visible there for days.

In a last whim, Crosshair flipped them again, back to the original position, although not pulling out this time. His thrusts becoming sloppy as he reached his own end, yet determination in his eyes to get her to climax again before he did. "You going to come for me again Cyar'ika?" asked Crosshair breathlessly, seeing her nod beneath him, he soon reached for her sensitive spot, rubbing in circles to bring her to her climax sooner. Hearing her moans grow louder again as she began to beg for her end. The pair soon coming at the same time. Crosshair deep inside her, collapsing on her moments later, pulling out, using what remained of his strength to do so. His lips once again finding (Y/N)'s as he brushed some of her hair from her forehead, stuck there by the layer of sweat to coat them both.

His arms soon wound around her waist again, (Y/N) finding the energy to reach for the blanket to cover them both. Snuggling closer to him upon doing so. Both trying to catch their breath, while trying to avoid the lure of sleep. The day tiring both of them out, although neither could argue with how it ended.

"Ner Mesh'la" whispered Crosshair before dozing off, his arms still around (Y/N), his head resting against hers, a rare soft smile on his lips. (Y/N) following along shortly after, her last thoughts on how the rest of the scout mission was going to play out. But also being thankful, she had Crosshair with her.

#crosshair x reader #crosshair #CT-9904 #reader #x reader #jedi reader #star wars #the bad batch #crosshair x jedi reader

23 notes · View notes

amiedala · 3 years

Text

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 2: We Have a Problem

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content

SUMMARY: Nova swallows. “Din—”

“This,” he starts, resting one gloved hand against her cheek, “is what Mandalorians are made for. We’ve got this.” When Nova tries to interrupt, he gives her a swift shake of his head. “Go. Be a Jedi.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday!! i hope you love this chapter (and that you'll forgive that it's only about 9,000 words, i've had a hectic week)! this chapter was such a joy to write, and i hope you enjoy reading it just as much. more notes, as always, at the end!

When Nova wakes up, the bed is empty.

She rubs sleep from the edges of her eyes, digging her thumb lightly on the ridge between her eyebrows, trying to chase the groggy feeling away. Din’s not here, and his armor is gone, and Grogu’s crib is missing, too. Slowly, she makes her way into the fresher, pulling on the silver knob until water starts running down from the shower, filling the room with steam.

It’s so much more lavish than the one back on the Crest, and certainly years better than the old, stubborn one on Kicker, but the amount of space in here feels like almost too much. “Soap,” Nova mutters to herself, not even aware that she’s speaking until the word slips out of her mouth. At least the kind the two of them use, the bar that smells like crisp air and starlight, is sitting on the dish right to her left. She takes her time lathering up her hands, dragging suds in circles down her aching body, trying not to notice how roomy and empty it is in here without Din.

This whole placeis so empty without Din. The palace is huge, a Mandalorian fortress, and even though it’s outfitted with the absolute best technology and beskar that exists in the galaxy, there’s something eerie about it. Like most of it is standing empty, ornate and gilded for a reason no one can speak aloud. Nova knows the palace has more functionality than it seems, that the tunnels that run into the training stadium and the holding cells have purpose, but the fortress is over-fortified for a planet that barely has anyone left. She felt the same way when she went back to the base on Yavin, she reasons with herself as she wrestles the stubborn nozzle back into place, stepping into the fluffy towel hanging just outside, but at least the emptiness of the building made sense. The Alliance had accomplished almost everything they needed to, and a giant, communal space wasn’t practical after the fall of the Empire. It stood both as a testament to what the Rebels had accomplished and as a reassurance that anyone could come back and fight the good fight. Castles and temples and bases across the galaxy had all fallen into a state of disuse, Nova bargains, looking at her reflection in the foggy mirror. This wasn’t abnormal.

Except it was. Mandalore was a ghost town. Din was the ruler of a world that had long since fallen, and she was royalty in a place that barely had anyone left. And the way that this place operated was just as eerie and strange—she always had fresh towels, clothes were laid out in her closet, they both had feasts made to feed dozens more people than the two of them—but Nova had no idea where they all came from. She’s only seen Bo-Katan at intervals—usually in the late night, when her voice carries all the way up the stairs after she and Din have argued in the war room—and the two other Mandalorians that seemed to be attached at her hip are even scarcer than Bo-Katan is. There’s not many Mandalorians left, Nova knows this, but the way this entire place could fit thousands more people than just a handful makes everything seem heavier, somehow, or sadder.

Nova looks at herself in the mirror. Most of the reflection is still fogged up, and she drags a hand through it to reveal her face. She studies herself, focusing primarily on her pink, chewed-on bottom lip. There’s something wild in her eyes, something deeper than her everyday fears and worries. She knows that every day that slips by the closer the First Order—whoever the hell they are—gets to wounding Mandalore and the surviving Alliance. But with her heart in one place and her body in another, everything in Nova’s body feels like wire snapped taut, like if she moves the wrong way she’ll fracture off into pieces. Slowly, she blinks away the intensity of her gaze, brushing her long fingers over the spot where she knows her scar is reflected. The skin always looks raised after she showers, an angry rash of a still-festering wound. It’s easy to forget when Nova’s thinking about anything else, but any time her mind drifts away from whatever she’s focusing on, she feels the impact of it. It wasn’t just a flesh wound, after all, the lightsaber that Jacterr dragged through her stomach was meant to kill. And it’s still somewhat of a miracle that she survived it.

The very tips of her fingers ghost over the old wound, and Nova tries her best not to wince at the touch, the burning way it still sears when she touches it wrong or she’s wearing something that brushes uncomfortably against it. If Din were standing behind her in the mirror, he wouldn’t even have to touch it—or her—to take Nova’s pain away. But Din’s not here, he’s downstairs in the war room trying to lead a planet he never even wanted, and Nova scrunches her face up sourly in the mirror, attempting to chase away the inner, selfish longing for being back out alone together in the crush of space.

But even if it were just the three of them—Novalise, Din, and Grogu—there were always threats just a half-step behind them. Space was cold, foreboding, and no matter how warm the light and company was on the Razor Crest or on Kicker, the very real threat of being behind enemy lines they couldn’t ever seem to find was constant. It was eternal. But there’s something nostalgic about missing the consistent chase of it all, something that kicked Nova’s fight-or-flight response into high gear, something that neither of them feel here on Mandalore. No matter how rich and long the history is here, it’s also suspiciously empty, and Nova knows that everyone here, regardless of how skilled they are as warriors, is a conspicuous target.

The bedsheets are still all tangled as Nova exists the fresher, piling her wet hair on the top of her head as she wrestles the towel around herself, shivering a little in the vastness of their suite. In the wardrobe are hundreds of outfits—gorgeous dresses, ornate jewels, top-of-the-line everyday wear—but all of them have a distance to them. Nothing in these drawers feel like hers. Nova rustles through the shirts and trousers, all in varying neutrals or that strange shade of pale Mandalorian blue, looking for something functional, comfortable, and most importantly, inconspicuous. It was going to be a harrowing trek back to Ahch-To to return her baby and borrowed lightsaber to Luke Skywalker, and Nova didn’t want her reputation of Novalise Djarin, wife to the reigning Mand’alor, to be announced and heralded across the journey from the Outer Rim to the Unknown Regions. She just wanted to be Nova—human, mother, and Jedi.

Maybe. Maybea Jedi.

That part was still a lingering question mark, one that hung over her head more than it excited her. For years, growing up, Nova excused her Force sensitivity away as just something more that she was tapped into, something deeper, something divine. It was hers and hers alone, because the Jedi were mostly legends and myths, with only the current story of the famous Luke Skywalker told in whispers from people in the Alliance. Now, though, she knows it’s real, her ability to use the Force. She knows since she met Luke Skywalker, went head-to-head with the incredible Ahsoka Tano, and became a mother to Grogu. It’s beyond just what’s in her blood—beyond lineage and beyond chemistry—it’s something ancient and pulsing. Something that’s hers.

Nova sighs, picking the most functional clothes in her wardrobe—deep tan trousers with a pocket deep enough to hold the lightsaber, a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged her curves but didn’t irritate her scar, and a shawl in that shimmering Mandalorian blue. She pressed a thumb to her necklace, the one that Din offered to her alongside his heart, biting down on her lip. It was long past sunrise, because the hazy blue atmosphere was full of color, and as she opened up one of the gigantic windows, a gentle breeze wafted into the suite from the outside. Mandalore smelled like dust and loneliness, she decided, which wasn’t entirely fair, but it holds her at arm’s length. Nova looks back at the rumpled bedsheets, eyes glazing over the clothes hanging in her open wardrobe, trying to find a sign that she belongs here, that she’s more than just a figurehead, that this role that she married into has significance deeper than looking pretty on an unyielding throne.

It doesn’t come. She exhales, tears starting to well up at the edges of her eyes, and she sits on the edge of the bed. It smells like Din—cleanness, metal, woodsmoke, cinnamon—and even though it’s far more comfortable than any of the makeshift ones they crafted on the starships they used to call home, it feels empty in the same way that this room does, that this planet does.

“You’re being selfish,” Nova chastises herself quietly, her whisper coming out much louder than intended, filling up the hollow air of their gigantic bedroom. This was what she wanted. This was what she wheedled both of them into, this small little slice of a life beyond killing and running. But so much of this planet felt empty, like everything holy here had long since left. There were only dozens of people that still inhabited Mandalore, and it was a ghost of itself in a cruel, unfair way.

Ironically, Nova muses, walking back over to the open window, letting the breeze tousle and dry the long, thick waves of her hair, Mandalore, the home to a legion of warriors, was the least confrontational place that she’d been in years. And the kicker is, after over a decade of running, all she’s itching to do is get back out there in the stars. She looks upward, wistfully, trying to catch any of them through the hazy, foggy, blue sky, but she can’t. So she turns back towards the mirror, grabbing fistfuls of thick hair, pinning just the top layer away from her face. She adjusts the shawl in the mirror, marveling at the shimmering strands that catch delicately in the light, and right before she’s ready to walk out the door, the lightsaber starts burning a hole in the door.

She gasps, wrenching it off its hook. The blade isn’t even ignited, and when she grabs it, it pulses in her hands, once, twice, and then the air is pierced with a vibrant green light. Nova stares at it, inspecting it from every angle. It was just a vision—a realistic one, at that—but now that she’s holding the weapon in her hand, the fear that raced through her just a second ago has evaporated. The fact that she’s holding a lightsaber is sacred enough, but the knowledge that it’s Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber feels like it’s beyond something holy. It holds her there until Nova lets the blade slide back into the sheath, dropping it into her pocket. It still feels like it burns, even though that’s not possible, and she ignores it as she makes her way out of the ornate door and down the marble steps to the war room to her husband and their baby.

It's still jarring to see Din without his helmet on in a public space. Like Nova’s walking into a trap of some kind, or that she’s breaking a divine rule. It was different when she was the only person allowed to see his face, to map across his features as a vow, but now that the rules have changed, she doesn’t quite know how to act when she looks at him. He’s alone in the war room when she pushes open the door, a heat rising in her cheeks when she catches light of the beskar throne, vivid memories at how indescribably soiled it was from their desecrating tryst the night before. The holotable is lit up, glittering out in that deep, vivid blue, maps of the galaxy intercut with Alliance bases and safe houses, Din staring up at it like he’s looking for a sign of the Maker. His gaze is intense, electric.

“Hi,” Nova chances, softly, and she hears the baby babbling from the corner as she strides across the luminous room, sidling up to Din as he continues staring, his armored body cold to the touch. Quickly, he kisses her temple, and Nova’s tummy flips over as he holds her there, even though he’s done this a thousand times, even though this is far from new.

“Hi,” Din echoes, leaning forward against the rim of the holotable, squinting intently at something that Nova can’t quite sort out. “How did you sleep?”

She bites her lip, trying to decide if it’s worth lying, but before she can come up with a suitable one, the kind that can cover up all of the crushing loneliness she feels in a bedroom that doesn’t seem to belong to them, Din’s gaze is on her face, thumb hooking her chin upwards so that Nova doesn’t have a choice but to meet his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and even though his voice is gentle, she knows the intent of his command.

“Not great,” Nova whispers, the sound getting caught on the way out of the hollow of her mouth. “I missed you. I—I hate waking up without you.”

Din cocks his head to the side, eyebrows knitted together, as if he’s trying to pick out the exact right thing to say. Nova watches the expression of frustration reflect across his face, and has to hide an endearing smile as she revels in getting to see Din’s mind working in real time. “Novalise,” he says, finally, and heart does a little flip. It sounds like he’s chastising her, but that’s not Din’s typical modus operandi, and she blinks up at him, waiting for the rest of what he has to say. “Why did we come here?” he asks, finally, and his voice is so quiet, so filled with a plea she hasn’t heard in weeks, that it makes her wince.

“What?” she manages, reaching out one hand to Din’s reflective hip, trying to anchor his armored body against her own. “What do you mean?”

Din sighs, long and heavy. He’s pondering. It isn’t a noise of annoyance, or a noise of frustration, just his typical exhale when he’s trying to puzzle something out in his head. “Why did you want me to rule Mandalore?”

Nova presses her lips together, trying to come up with an answer adequate enough to placate the both of them. “Because,” she whispers, finally, “you’re the type of leader that makes people want to follow you everywhere. Because we were tired of running, and we wanted to fight back. And also,” she tacks on, trying to get Din to echo her smile, “because Bo-Katan wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Din’s expression is complicated, worried. Nova watches as his gaze drifts back up to what’s being reflected on the holotable, and she can track the places where attacks from the Order have cropped up in the time that’s lapsed since they’ve lived here. The galaxy is still largely intact, most planets benefitting from the defeat of the Empire, but Nova can see the clusters of danger, the places where the First Order found a weak point and applied enough pressure to fracture them entirely. Coupled with the jailbreak in one of the Mid Rim sectors, out of Cara’s jurisdiction, there’s at least ten attacks in the last three weeks. Nova is a staunch believer that everything happens for a reason, that there’s no such thing as coincidences, but a handful of malicious acts could be classified as one. More than three signified something else. Over seven is a definite indication of a pattern.

“You want to be back out there,” Nova breathes, searching for a confirmation on Din’s face. “You want to fight. Hand-to-hand, not from behind a holotable in this room.”

Din looks over at her, his expression clouded, and when he catches sight of the reflected fire in Nova’s eyes, he grabs at the curve of her cheek again, locking his eyes on hers. “You want to be back out there.”

Nova presses her lips together in a thin line, trying her absolute hardest not to give it away.

“You’re a horrible liar, Novalise Djarin,” Din says, shaking his head. “Awful. Worse than I am. Worse than the kid is, and that’s saying a lot.”

Nova sighs, leaning into his touch. “I know. You’re right. It’s driving me up the wall to be here, trying to rule a planet that barely has anything left, when I know that war is coming.”

“Why do you think I’m always in here?” Din asks, pointing up at the virtual starry sky splayed across the room from the holotable. “I don’t sit in the throne. I don’t try to rule. I stand in front of this table for hours, plotting for the inevitable battle that’s going to come, fighting back every single urge to just get back in the stars, chase the enemy down, and start blasting.”

Nova smiles slyly up at him, and when Din’s gaze drifts back over to hers, he does a double take.

“What?”

“I’ve made a Rebel out of you, Din Djarin,” she grins, gently flapping her palm against his cheek. He rolls his eyes, huffing out of his nose, and she just smiles, knowing that his proverbial feathers aren’t really ruffled, but basking in the idea of it anyway.

“Nova,” he continues, voice low and urgent, “so why aren’t we out there?”

The smile fades off her face. There’s something desperate in his eyes, something deeper than the level way he asks the question. She stares, trying to come up with an answer that will keep both of them here, committed and driven, but as she searches Din’s expression, she knows that she’s going to fall short.

Before Nova can come up with anything, though, there’s a sharp rapping at the door, and both of them break apart, Din swiftly pulling his helmet back over his head. He’s already shown his face to Mandalore, and the Creed that he followed for nearly his entire life has fallen to pieces, but Nova knows the security it provides, and she smiles gently at him, watching his gorgeous features disappear underneath the beskar.

“We have a problem,” Bo-Katan announces, her voice cutting straight through the luminosity of the holotable.

“Don’t we always,” Nova murmurs, but the expression on Bo-Katan’s face wipes every inch of humor off of her own. “What’s wrong?”

Bo-Katan sighs, running a hand uncharacteristically through her short red hair. “We are under attack,” she deadpans, looking upward through the clear dome, pointing as ships come out of the fog.

Alarms starting blaring from somewhere, and Nova darts over to Grogu, clinging him tight against her chest. “Who—”

“Nova,” Din says, evenly, tossing her shawl through the open air, “you need to take the kid and get back to Luke.”

She stares at him in disbelief as Bo-Katan pulls her helmet back over her head. “No,” Nova starts, “we need to stay and fight, you might need our help—”

“We don’t,” Bo-Katan interrupts, but there’s no fire in her voice. She’s busted open the small armory in the corner, hurling weapons at Din without giving him a second glance. “It’s not the Order. Or Empire leftovers. There’s no TIE fighters. Whoever they are, they’re not after you or the kid.” She turns around, finally, striding over to Nova. “Besides,” she says, rather sourly, “I already called for backup.”

Nova lifts one eyebrow. Before she can say anything, though, she’s interrupted by the infamous shape of Slave I entering the atmosphere, and she winks at Bo-Katan, who’s still hidden behind her mask, but Nova would bet every credit she’d ever owned that Bo-Katan is emphatically rolling her eyes.

Din presses his forehead against the baby’s, and Nova only gets a flash of his expression before his helmet’s back on. He’s tense, trying his hardest to let Grogu disappear from his watchful eye for the second time. “Go out through the amphitheater,” he whispers to Nova, his voice gruff. Under the beskar, he’s electric, like he was praying for a conflict to let the lightning out. “Don’t take off until we get out there and preoccupy them so that no one follows you back to Ahch-To.”

Nova swallows. “Din—”

She links her hand in his, squeezing once, and then she’s holding the crib open for Grogu, knitting the shawl around her head, a makeshift hood obscuring her telltale dark hair. She nods, just once, and when Din’s hand leaves her grip, she runs with the baby, heart pounding in her chest, heading back into the stars.

Space is cold and quiet. It always is when Novalise is out here alone, but this time, it seems like the silence and the chill penetrates even the warm hull of Kicker. The baby is sleeping in the copilot’s chair, and Nova coasts through the stars, popping in and out of warp periodically to check that they’re not being followed.

Her hand goes to her necklace, fingertips tracing over the outline of the Rebel symbol and the perfect star notched in the back of the beskar. She doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it until she pulls her thumb away and it’s embossed with the image of it. Kicker is being uncharacteristically obedient, coasting through the Outer Rim with determination, and Nova almost misses the distraction that the constant wailing and failing that Kicker used to give her, because with Grogu asleep and Din back on Mandalore, she’s bored out of her mind.

Nova sighs, stretching her legs out as far as they’ll go, the toes of her boots scraping quietly against the dashboard. They’re old and worn, with so many scuffs that she’s long forgotten what they were supposed to look like, and the sole of one is threatening to pop off any day now, but she’s had these boots since she was in the Alliance as a teenager. Before her parents died. Before she was subject to Jacterr’s awful hand. Before Din walked into her life and made her believe in something more, something deeper.

As quietly as she can, she eases out of the pilot’s seat, leaning over the navigational system to ensure that she’s following the right coordinates. Wedge had given her the location of the general area that Luke was located in the Unknown Regions, but Luke had given her explicit—albeit confusing—directions when he promised he’d see her again soon. Nova settles against the floor of Kicker, where the one window outside of the cockpit that’s directed towards the sky is located, and lays down in the nest of blankets and pillows she used to call her bed.

Being out here feels colder, somehow. More distant. Nova watches as the sky moves through warp, billions of tiny stars shooting and reaching across the galaxy as she and the baby make their way to Luke Skywalker. She pulls the lightsaber off her belt, squinting at it in the low light. She doesn’t try to ignite it, doesn’t call forth the green blade, she just studies it. Across the handle are grooves for grip, and the alloy of the metal is so different than the beskar she’s surrounded her life with. Nova tries to hold onto it like Luke does, effortlessly and easily, and even though it feels like she’s been made for this her whole life, there’s something in the way. A distance between the pulsing and beckoning, maybe.

Before she can ruminate any longer on the disconnect, though, her comm blinks, and Nova shoots upward, pressing her wrist to her mouth. “Hello?” she calls out, wincing as her voice echoes around Kicker, but the baby doesn’t even interrupt in his snoring.

“It’s me,” Din breathes, and all the coldness and distance between Nova and the stars evaporate. “We’re safe. The second Fett showed up, the ships retreated.”

Nova exhales slowly, fluttering her eyelashes closed. “Who was it?”

“Pirates,” Din says, immediately, and she furrows her eyebrows.

“Pirates,” Nova repeats skeptically. “On Mandalore?”

“We ran into some…unsavory groups of people back on Morak. Before the refinery explosion. Apparently, they tracked us down and wanted to ransack Mandalore for what it has left. They didn’t get very far,” Din continues, sighing. “Boba and Fennec fought them off, and Bo-Katan has been itching to fight someone since I won the Darksaber out from under her nose. We’re fine. Mandalore is fine.”

Nova looks up at the stars again, watching how they shoot by out the front of Kicker, trying to put her finger on the off feeling of Din’s face. “They weren’t part of the First Order?” she asks, her voice low. “Or working for them?”

Din exhales, long and slow. “No,” he answers, finally. “They’ve been quiet, Nova. Almost—”

“Too quiet,” she interrupts softly, eyes landing on the baby. Grogu is already the cutest thing in the galaxy, but when he’s asleep, and tiny little snores come out of his mouth, he makes anything else evaporate. Now, though, with the silent looming threat of the Order that was so eager to kill every Rebel and capture Nova and her power for their own, she’s just trying to memorize his features, one at a time, permanently etching them into the back of her mind. There’s a weight in her chest that Nova has been ignoring for a week, ever since Grogu was allowed to accompany them to Mandalore—her time with him is limited. Even if Luke allows visits—which she thinks he will—it will be far too dangerous to keep following the same path from the Outer Rim to the Unknown Regions, especially considering Nova’s telltale Alliance ship, regardless of the new paint job and the beskar additions, and with the attack today, Mandalore is far from safe.

“Where are you?”

Nova sighs, leaning over the nav system. It’s blinking with the bright assurance that Kicker has crossed, quite unceremoniously, over into the Unknown Regions. She relays that to Din, eyes roaming the seemingly empty sky.

“That was fast.”

“Yeah,” Nova agrees, chewing on her bottom lip. “The new thrusters Bo-Katan put into Kicker are no joke.”

Din offers up a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “What are you wearing?” he asks, finally, and his voice is back somewhere low and dangerous like it was the night before.

“You saw me leave,” Nova answers, giggling, sinking down the wall until she’s hugging her knees against her chest on the floor. “Are you meaning to tell me you didn’t take stock in what I was wearing when you were staring at me? I’m offended.”

“Watch it,” Din volleys back, but this time, she can hear the smile in his voice. “I was just wondering if the ship has gotten you out of any of those clothes.”

“Ah,” Nova allows, her own tone dipping conspiratorially, “I see. However, it is quite difficult to get out of my clothes without you itching to take them off.”

“You’re good at getting out of things.”

“True.”

“I’m good at getting into them,” Din whispers, and Nova laughs, leaning her bead back against the hull.

“I am certainly not arguing with that,” Nova allows. “You know—”

But then, in Kicker’s typical fashion, the ship starts screaming. Nova’s sigh is low and frustrated, a small echo of the ones that Din’s let forth in the past.

“Go,” Din says, amusedly. “Take care of the kid.”

“You know I will,” Nova promises, and the light on the comm blinks off. She sighs, hauling herself to her feet, her head already aching from the indomitable screeching sound that pours out of Kicker the second something goes haywire. It’s startled the baby, and she strokes a single finger over the top of his fuzzy, wrinkled head before she sits down in the pilot’s seat, flipping switches and moving toggles back and forth. “What is it, Kick?” she murmurs, long waves of hair falling in the way as she leans down, squinting at the motherboard hidden underneath the metal sheath.

It turns out, that Kicker was actually screaming for a veryb good reason, this time around—after a very shoddy, embarrassing crash landing on Ahch-To, Nova discovers a fuel leak on hidden underneath the ship.

“Dank ferrik,” she seethes, and Grogu babbles. She turns on him, pointing a finger. “Not a word to your daddy about all the swearing. You promise?”

Grogu just tilts his head to the side and smiles gleefully. Nova squints at him, matching his quirked expression, pointing a long brown finger through the air like a threat.

“You are,” she continues, softening as Grogu toddles across the green, mossy earth of Ahch-To towards her, “a little war criminal. I hope you know that. Just because you typically use your powers for good doesn’t mean that I don’t notice that you don’t fight fair.”

Grogu babbles. Nova laughs. When she hoists him off the ground and notches him safely against her hip, she turns again to inspect the fuel gauge underneath Kicker’s patchwork underbelly, she nearly crashes into Luke Skywalker.

“Maker above,” she gasps, hand immediately slapping over her mouth. “You scared me. I’m used to stealthy, but you didn’t even make a sound.”

Luke Skywalker smiles serenely at her, like it’s nothing. “Hello, Nova.”

“Hi,” she echoes, faintly, and Grogu reaches out for Luke. Belatedly, Nova hands her baby over to him, hands shooting to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “I have your lightsaber,” she adds, rather dazed, handing the thing out to him. He looks down at it, and there’s something complicated that flashes behind his expression.

“Have you used it?” he asks, and Nova slowly shakes her head. Luke starts moving, up the impossibly tall stone steps that look like they’re as ancient as this mountain is, like they were built into the bluffs of the sea. He’s much more agile than she is, and easily more used to this walk, but Nova tries to keep herself in pace without heaving air into her lungs. “I would have thought you might have used it on one of your missions from the Alliance.”

Nova stops for a half-step to catch her breath, and Luke stops without even looking back at her. “Well,” she starts, running her tongue over her teeth, “I haven’t really…had any missions.”

There’s a strange smile on Luke’s face when her gaze finds his eyes again. “Rebel activities and royalty still don’t exactly go hand in hand, I assume.”

She squints, nodding. “I don’t like being a diplomat,” she allows, even though she’s well aware that to Luke Skywalker, she probably sounds like a whiny brat, but he laughs. He opens his mouth and laughs out loud, in this gorgeous sea air, sounding as gleeful as Wedge always talked about him.

“You sound like my sister.”

Nova’s heart does a tiny backflip, and she sits up straighter. “Your sister?”

“General Leia Organa,” Luke grins, before turning back into the steps and moving nimbly up them. “She was a princess, too, for a while. She preferred action to negotiating. Still does. That’s why she’s holding rank up in the Alliance, even now. Well,” Luke stops, moving his sandy hair back and forth like he’s trying to measure something, “she’s taken to calling it the Rebellion.”

Nova smiles, trying her best to keep up with Luke’s pace. “The Rebellion. I like that—”

“Don’t,” Luke says, jabbing a long finger in her face so quickly that Nova nearly misses the next step and takes a tumble all the way back down the mountain. “Don’t let her title win, Wedge and I will never hear the end of it. Besides, I like the sound of ‘The Rebel Alliance’. It makes it feel like we’re all in this together.”

Nova laughs. He does, too. For a second, just a second, they’re giggling like the kids they never really got to be, like the galaxy isn’t facing impending danger, like they aren’t two of the known four surviving members of the Jedi left. It’s cold on Ahch-To, foggy and biting, but the landscape here is so lavish and so green, that she can pretend, just for a moment, that they’re back on Yavin. The Alliance hasn’t gone anywhere, there’s no First Order, and her parents are still alive, just around the corner. “I like being in it together,” she manages, finally, hoping that Luke won’t notice the tears under her voice. His expression is kind, gentle, and when he returns to the winding hike to the top of the hill, Nova follows him. Eventually, the ground levels out a bit more, and she stands on the top of the flattest rock, looking around at the entirety of the island. There’s something magical about this place, something that holds as much holiness as the throne room on Mandalore does.

“What made you come here?” she asks, and her voice is so quiet that the howling wind could have easily whisked it away. Luke seems to genuinely parse over Nova’s question, and he gently hands Grogu back to be swaddled up in her arms. The shawl that she draped over her head for the getaway off Mandalore is barely still knotted around her neck, and Nova wraps it closer to herself, pulling Grogu and his gentle warmth as close to her chest as she can. “Why leave the Outer Rim after the war was won?”

Luke has a strange expression on his face, and Nova’s gaze drops, suddenly worried she’d said something to offend him. “We did win the war,” he answers, finally, his voice far away. “But I also lost my father to it. I lost my old mentor. I lost my aunt and uncle. Leia—and Han, really—were the only family that I had left, but being around them was difficult because they had each other, and soon after, they had Ben. My nephew.”

Nova nods, chewing on her tongue. “It was hard to stay?” she asks, genuinely wondering. She knew that feeling. It’s what left her without the Alliance for the first time after her parents died, moorless and heartbroken.

“Exactly,” Luke offers, beckoning her closer to get out of the whipping wind. They’re half shrouded by the giant outcropping of boulders that rest atop the mountain, and she leans against the support of it for strength, trying to catch her breath. “It was hard to stay. Not because I didn’t love them, not because I didn’t love the Alliance, but because it felt like…everyone found peace except for me. It was a lot of loss, and it was incredibly…complicated. I knew someone who looks a lot like your son,” he continues, the ghost of a sad smile on his lips, “and he was the only other Jedi I ever knew up close. I had Ben—Obi-Wan—but until the last few days of his life, he wasn’t a Jedi. He was just a sad man who lived out in the desert, trying to make life better for me than his ever was.” Luke pauses, staring at the lightsaber in his hands. “I came here, to the Unknown Regions, to Ahch-To, to try to put the history of the Jedi together, and to recruit every new one that I’ve found.”

“That’s a great goal,” Nova answers, stroking her finger against Grogu’s fuzzy green head as he babbles in agreement.

“Would you like to see what I’ve gathered so far?” Luke asks.

Without even a second of hesitation, Nova nods. “Yes,” she echoes, and he points toward the biggest stone at the top of the mountain, where a tall, dark room has been hollowed out.

“Novalise,” Luke says conspiratorially, “welcome to my life’s work. Oh, yeah, and my humble abode.”

It’s not what she’s expecting. Any of it. There’s years’ worth of research here, old texts, folders, things that aren’t in languages she even recognizes. She’s speechless, turning around, eyes jumping, trying to take it all in.

“Wow,” Nova manages, finally, after she’s sure she’s turned all the way around a few times. “This is…”

“I know,” Luke adds, softly, and he looks down at the lightsaber in his hands. “There aren’t many Jedi left, Nova. You should come here and train. Your skills are…of the old world. You’re strong. You have a good heart. I would be honored to teach you.”

Nova looks back at Luke, holding on tighter to Grogu, who looks up at her and smiles. She knows, instantly, what he’s thinking—he wants his mom here, learning how to be Jedi side by side—and she has to keep her own feelings guarded because she doesn’t want to reveal to him how badly she wants the same thing. Again, she chews on her lower lip, thumbnail hovering beneath teeth and tongue. She promised herself she’d stop chewing on her nails what feels like a million miles ago, but right now, all she wants is to stay here, to learn. Din could be happy here, too, she thinks wistfully. He might be bored, but it’s only a small island on this whole planet. She and Grogu could train together, become Jedi together. It was perfect, she muses, blinking back the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

Except it wasn’t. Ahch-To is a safe haven, but Nova’s job is to keep it that way. She’s seen how ruthless and intense the First Order are, and there’s not a single doubt in her mind that they would follow her here and desecrate this place, leave such a holy site in ruins. She swallows again, trying to conjure up the strength to say no, but from the look on Luke Skywalker’s face, he already knows.

“I’ll be here,” he offers, quietly, and Grogu touches his tiny palm to the small crescent of Nova’s exposed skin underneath the warmth of her blue shawl. “If you decide the galaxy would be better protected if you had training.”

“I want to,” she interjects, her voice low and pleading, like she’s the one begging for it. “Maker, you have no idea how badly I want to. I could be happy here. I—I want you to teach me how to become a Jedi, but—”

Luke’s gaze shifts to the ring on her left hand. The stone sparkles in the low light, the tiny crystal sunk into the beskar. It’s so tiny, but it’s there, and there’s something both sad and fond behind his smile. “You have bigger things to handle first.”

Nova swallows, nodding gently. “But—if I were to become a Jedi—”

Luke holds out his hands, one gloved, one bare. Grogu hops eagerly into his arms. “Like I said, I’ll be here. Grogu will be safe with me. My nephew will be joining us soon. And my sister,” he adds on, his voice suddenly a bit more electric, “my sister is Force sensitive, too. I have a feeling that you might run into her at some point, considering—”

“The Alliance,” Nova grins, nodding. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her we aren’t changing the name.”

Luke chuckles. The sound is so jarring, so much closer to the boy Wedge always talks about knowing, and Nova’s heart aches. He’s only a handful of years older than she is, and for a moment, she lets herself imagine what it would have been like growing up alongside Luke and Leia on the base at Yavin. If she’d be in Jedi training. If anything about her life would be there same. “If anyone could,” he agrees. “I have something for you. You can have him back for a second.”

Instead of picking Grogu back up, Nova sinks down onto the cold earth inside Luke’s makeshift home, trying to fold her body tiny enough so that she’s face-to-face with her kid. His eyes are huge, reflected and starry and sad, but she can see the hint of joy of being here, of training alongside someone who cares, someone who will protect him until Grogu is old enough to fully protect himself.

“Hi bug,” she whispers, sticking out her palm for his tiny fist to hold onto. “This isn’t goodbye, you know. I’ll be back for you. Your dad and I will come visit any chance we get. You go and be good for Master Luke, okay? No eating his frogs. No hide and seek. I’ll be checking.”

Grogu babbles, the mischievous light in his eyes sparking up just for a second, and then he moves closer, falling into Nova’s warm hug.

“I love you,” she whispers, and he presses his fuzzy forehead into hers. They stay like that for a second, swaying, an unspoken promise. She can hear his little voice in her head—no words, nothing concrete—but a reminder through the power of the Force that he loves her, too.

Luke steps back into the narrow slice of light Novalise and Grogu are standing in, holding something out in his bare hand. “This is for you.”

Nova stands, squinting at the thing Luke’s holding out. It takes a second for her to recognize it in the darkness, but when she does, she inhales a sucking gasp. “I can’t take this,” she protests halfheartedly as he presses it into her open palm. “I’m not a Jedi yet, I—”

“Ben Kenobi gave this to me before I was a Jedi,” Luke interrupts, his voice gentle but urgent. “You will be a powerful Jedi too one day, Novalise Djarin. I know it. He knows it.” Luke’s gaze shifts over to Grogu. “And you know it,” he continues, tapping a long finger against her heart. “Just take care of this, okay?”

“Luke—”

“Take it,” he enunciates. “Go home to your husband and the people that need you. I know Wedge loves having you around.”

Nova tilts her head at him, quietly hooking the gifted lightsaber onto her belt loop. “I know why you’re out here,” she says, carefully, “but there are people who need you, too. And people who love having you around.”

Luke doesn’t say anything, but there’s a ghost of something that looks an awful lot like hope behind his conflicted eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Nova presses a quick kiss to the most prominent wrinkle in Grogu’s forehead, pressing her thumb into both her old Rebel necklace and the signet that matches Din’s. She reaches her hand out to shake Luke’s, but he grins at her and pulls her into a quick, strong embrace. He smells like the ocean, and still, somehow, of Tatooine. Luke and Grogu watch as Nova slowly descends the stone steps jutting out of the cliffside, so much easier to get down than heave up. When she’s back at Kicker, she checks the makeshift patch on the underbelly of the ship, which seems to be holding up okay enough to get back to Mandalore relatively unscathed.

“May the Force be with you,” she calls up to Luke and Grogu, waving her hand frantically.

“May the Force be with you,” Luke echoes. For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the ocean hurling itself onto the gorgeous, green mainland, and as she climbs the gangplank, she hears Luke call out again. “Novalise.”

She sticks her head back out, shawl flapping in the wind. “Yes?”

Even from all the way down here, she can see the smile on Luke’s face. “That’s the Skywalker family lightsaber. Don’t lose it.”

She nods, feeling the weight of it on her hip as Kicker groans to life. She’s crying by the time she lifts off the surface of Ahch-To, her heart both heavy and light, sunken and buoyed. Space is dark, and she hops immediately into warp, heading back to Mandalore, back to the place she’s slowly learning to call home.

Mandalore, as usual, is quiet. It’s dusk, the foggy azure of the sky descending and swallowing up most of the planet, and when she lands in the designated parking bay, she checks the patch holding steadfast on Kicker’s underbelly, knowing that her beloved trash heap of a ship will need to go back into the more capable hands of the local mechanic. When she looks straight up, even through the dark, she can still see the faintest smattering of stars.

“Nova.”

She whirls around, hand on her belt. Din’s standing there, fully armored, just out of reach. “You scared me,” she chastises, closing the distance between the two of them. His beskar is cold, but his hands immediately encircle around her waist. “Has the threat passed?”

Din sighs, long and heavy. Her heart pounds as she listens to the timbre of it through the modulator, remembering all the time that she spent trying to dissect his breathing before he took the helmet for her and let Nova make him moan instead.

“There’s always another one,” he says, darkly, and she nods, tilting her head to the side. “I missed you, cyar’ika. Mandalore is cold and quiet without you.”

She wants to come up with a snappy retort, but the honesty and exhaustion in his voice pulls Nova down to his same level. She steps in closer, just letting Din hold her there, satisfied in the small comfort that she’s still his anchor. “Space is cold and quiet without you,” she offers, cheek pressed up against the beskar.

Din looks up. She can tell it even without looking at him, the way that his muscles shift underneath the beskar she’s still pressed up against. “I’d give anything to be back out there,” he whispers, finally, his voice low and complicated.

Nova’s heart flutters once, twice, and then she has an idea. “Din,”

“No,” he answers, immediate, helmet tipping down again to focus on her face. “We can’t, it’s too dangerous—”

“We can,” she enunciates, squinting her eyes at him, trying to put on the best Sabacc face she has, which isn’t much, because as Din is always reminding her, Nova is a terrible liar. “Twenty minutes. Nothing is happening. The palace is quiet. Boba Fett sent the pirates packing, remember? We won’t even leave Mandalore’s gravitational pull. We’ll only be just outside the atmosphere. We—”

“Stop it,” Din says, but there’s no fire in his voice.

“Come on,” Nova wheedles, well aware that she’s being reckless, a terrible influence. “Come on, come out with me into the stars. I’ll make it worth your while, you know,” she teases, raising one dark eyebrow playfully. When she hears Din sigh again under the mask, she knows she’s convinced him.

“Bo-Katan will not be happy that we left,” Din protests, but now he’s dragging Nova up the gangplank. She hides her smile in the shoulder of her shawl.

“Well,” Nova counters, spinning out and around while still holding Din’s gloved hand, spiraling down into the familiar comfort of the pilot’s seat, “it’s a good thing you’re Mand’alor, not her.”

Getting back into the stars with Din feels completely different than it did when Nova traversed the Outer Rim alone earlier. The silence isn’t crushing. It’s comfortable and easy, and when they’re finally safely out of Mandalore’s atmosphere, Nova pulls Kicker into a slow coast, heart still galloping in her chest. No matter how many times they’ve fucked, the little anticipatory period that comes before anything still feels like the first time. Quietly, Nova spins around in the pilot’s chair, expecting Din to still be seated behind her so she can climb over and straddle his lap.

But he’s not. Somehow, he’s the second person whose stealth has completely surprised her today, and Din’s no longer in the copilot’s chair. He’s standing over her, in full beskar regalis, visor of the helmet tilted downwards. All she can see reflected in the surface is the slow dance of the stars out of Kicker’s front window, and she swallows. Din steps forward, close enough to shift Nova’s legs apart, hands gently reaching forward to grab either side of her face. For a second, he doesn’t move. Nova’s breath hitches in her throat, desire sparking up a low flame in her pelvis. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Din fucked her on the throne, promising that Mandalore was theirs to desecrate, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Everything in her body is on fire, electric.

“I missed the stars,” Din murmurs, his gloved finger ghosting over her plump bottom lip, lingering enough to reveal her teeth. Nova shivers.

“Me too,” she whispers, not daring to take her eyes off of the helmet. She can see the bulge growing in his pants peripherally, but she’s determined to stay here, frozen in this position, until Din begs for her mouth, her touch, her warmth.

“More than anything,” he continues, voice rumbling low and deep, his hand traveling down the marks he left on her neck—the pulse points, the light imprints of hickeys in between—and Nova swallows, the air going starry and unhabitable, “I missed making you scream my name out here with no one to hear you.”

“Oh,” Nova gasps as Din slowly kneels down, parting her legs like an ocean. Faintly, somewhere in the distance of her logical mind, something is telling her to make sure Din doesn’t tear these trousers off her body, because they’re light and comfortable and didn’t keep the dampness of Ahch-To trapped against her skin, but as he hooks his fingers around the waistband, any protest fly out the window into the starry darkness. “What—fuck, what happened to fucking me in front of an audience?”

“I don’t want that tonight,” Din whispers, immediately. He lifts the helmet just enough to reveal his mouth, and as his hands are pulling Nova’s pants down to her ankles, his tongue writes a symphony on the soft, smooth skin of her inner thighs. “I want to be the only one to worship you.”

Nova gasps again, heart fluttering in her throat, barely even registering that Din’s pulling down her panties until the heat from his hands travels up, notching perfectly between her thighs. She slumps in the chair, everything in her electric and alive. It feels like years since Din’s spent longer than a few seconds down here, the warmth and wetness of his mouth lapping up her every orgasm. She pulls the helmet clean off by accident, but she doesn’t burn in embarrassment when it makes a loud, clattering noise against the metal hull of Kicker’s floor. She just tangles her hands in Din’s hair, knotting her long fingers in his curls, pulling him in closer and closer, teetering on the edge from just his touch.

“Are you going to cum for me, Queen of Mandalore?” Din rumbles against her flesh, tongue immediately sliding back in between her folds after the last word comes out of his mouth.

“No,” Nova manages, yanking gently at Din’s hair. Immediately, his mouth comes off of her, even though she didn’t say a word. She stares into his brown eyes, gorgeous and full of lust and darkness. “I’m not the Queen of Mandalore out here.”

“Then what are you?” Din asks, pressing his wet lips against her inner thigh. He adjusts his grip on her thigh, and she exhales, a staccato beat, complicated with how badly she wants his touch.

“Your wife,” she manages, “so devour me like I belong to you, Din Djarin.”

There’s something deeper in his eyes, a flash of something guttural and animalistic. His mouth is back on her pussy so fast that it knocks the wind straight out of Nova’s mouth, and she gasps, her moans loud and unencumbered. When he adds the pumping of two fingers, entering her like it’s nothing, like he owns every single inch of his body, Nova’s on the edge again. And then, without warning, he’s pushing her over it, again and again and again. Everything in her is both electrified and exhausted. The stars outside the window are spinning, she’s panting like she’s in Tatooine’s heat, and blood is rushing so powerfully in her ears that she can’t hear anything else. Nothing in the galaxy exists except for her and Din.

It takes a moment for her to realize, dazed and satisfied, that Din’s mouth has left her. “Hey,” she manages, her voice sounding disconnected and warbled, nothing like it’s coming out of her whole mouth, “where’d you go, it’s your turn—”

“Nova,” Din interrupts, his hands coming out of nowhere and bracing against both of her cheeks, instantly anchoring her in the moment, “your comm is blinking.”

“My—comm,” she repeats, head still feeling underwater with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and she blinks the stars out of her eyes long enough to look at the thing on her wrist, her vision slowly returning back into focus. Her eyebrows furrow down the middle, and Din tilts her head, still standing on his knees like she’s about to knight him. She swallows, pressing the button. “Hello?”

“Your shields aren’t up,” an annoyed voice relays through the comm, slightly muffled. “You’re Order bait out there.”

Nova rolls her eyes. “Bo-Katan, we just went for—”

“Alone time,” Bo-Katan interrupts iciliy, but the current in her voice immediately makes Nova realize she’s not annoyed with them for sneaking away, she’s panicked for something else. “We have a problem.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Bo-Katan,” Din interjects, gathering the panties tangled at Nova’s waist and gesturing her to lift her hips up so he can slide them back over her thighs. “What pirates entered Mandalore now?”

“Not pirates,” she snaps. “Not Mandalore, either.”

Nova rolls her eyes at Din, exhausted. As she sits up, pulling her trousers back over her thick thighs, the mountains of her hipbones, she cracks her neck to the left. The wetness of Ahch-To’s atmosphere sunk into her bones, and now that the warmth of Din’s mouth has evaporated, she’s suddenly freezing again. She nimbly picks up her discarded azure shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders, her neck, dipping the pooled fabric up over her head. Her hair is wild, hanging in her face, running out of the shawl like water. “Bo-Katan,” Nova chances, trying her best to not sound sour because of the very unwelcome interruption, “can you please tell us what exactly is wrong?”

“Rebel girl,” a voice filters through, and Nova sits straight up, startled. The shock of Wedge’s voice is one thing, but hearing it through the same frequency—and, most likely, location—as Bo-Katan’s makes her heart start hammering for a very different reason. Din and Nova exchange glances—his skeptical, hers frightened—and Nova waits with bated breath for Wedge to continue speaking. His voice is low, full of foreboding, when it crackles across the comm again. “We have,” Wedge says, sighing heavily, punctuating the silence with his voice, full and intentional, “a problem.”

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!! (and if you’ve already asked me and you’re not on it, please message me again!!!)

if you would like to be taken off the taglist or put on it, send me a message/ask/comment!! <3

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! we're about to dive headfirst back into where SM left off with the Order, ruling Mandalore, and the Rebels, and biiiiiiiig things are coming ;) hope this one tides you over until next week!

as always, i'll be here, on tumblr (amiedala), and on tiktok (padmeamydala) for even more Dinova/SD content, so come hang out! <3

CHAPTER 3 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 18TH AT 7:30 PM EST!!!

xoxo, amelie

47 notes · View notes

grandninjamasterren · 3 years

Text

The Shadow Arsenal Fiasco

The humid air clung to Kye'lin's skin. The poisoned sky stained a beautiful pink across pale skin, giving Kye'lin an almost healthy glow. Kye'lin glanced at Vector, who nodded supportively, setting a killik larvae on the agent's shoulder. The little bug gave a pleased little clicking and crawled into Kye'lin's shirt pocket. Kye'lin took Vector's hand, gave it a quick squeeze and a kiss for courage, before just as quickly pulling out his holocomm.

"Legate, checking in." Kye'lin said softly.

"It's good to hear your voice again, Legate," Saber said, smiling. Wheel speaks next, but Kye'lin cannot read the lips of a droid and Wheel isn't signing.

"You sure you're up for this, Legate?" Ardun said-signed. Kye'lin's fingers brush up against snow white hair, touch scarred skin moments later.

"I will be able to finish the mission," Kye'lin hesitates then tags on, "Until further notice, my pronouns are she and they." Ardun raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. Kye'lin wrinkles her nose at him and he smiles. Hunter shrugs, calls them cute and Ardun tells both of them to knock it off.

The plan is set and carried out; Kye'lin and Vector sneak through the facility, when she lowers the containment field, she calls Ardun.

"Good work, Legate. Stay there and defend the controls-" Kye'lin's eyes narrow and their jaw sets- they have never liked confronting Ardun, but really?

"With all due respect, sir," they say, soft and low and dangerous, "I'm your best agent; you need me down there." Ardun sighes, and Kye'lin's blood goes cold– they know what he's going to say before he even gets the words out. He doesn't sign it, he doesn't have to.

"Keyword: Onomatophobia; stay put and defend the control room. I'm sorry, Legate, this is goodbye." Nothing could contain the rage she felt, save for the cool, dry voice echoing from around her. Watcher X sits in a chair, mocking her, his non-voice the only thing she can hear.

"I want to be free," they say, "No more codes, no more controls."

"Then free you shall be." And the protocols are reset, code word changed (iconoclasm– quite fitting, she thinks privately) and interface locked down.

Kye'lin collapses.

When her eyes flutter open, the first thing she sees is Vector's cutely concerned face looming over her. She presses a light kiss to his nose and stands.

"I'm okay," they say with their hands and not their voice. Vector tilts his head, nods. Kye'lin gently pets the little bug in their pocket as they make their decision.

"You know those holocalls I've been getting? Those people are our new targets."

Saber and Wheel are found, excuses are made, and Kye'lin leaves them alone with only a twinge of guilt. Ardun Kothe is the real prize, standing with his back to Kye'lin. It would be so easy for her to just shoot him in the back, but she hesitates, she hesitates and he turns and the moment is gone.

"Kye'lin," he says-signs, exasperated, "I thought I told you to–" Ardun cuts himself off, "I see. You're free aren't you?" Kye'lin scowls at the naked regret on the man's face.

"Why," Kye'lin asks, swallowing back her tears, "We could have worked together; You didn't even give me a chance..."

"Before I was an SIS agent, there was a Jedi Knight who couldn't live up to the code," Ardun says, drawing a lightsaber,

"That Jedi couldn't live in this world of shadows," ignited, his blade shines brilliant blue,"But maybe he can save it." Ardun's blade is pointed right at Kye'lin's heart but she doesn't flinch, easily draws her blaster rifle.

"I thought so," they practically purr, "You never did much to hide it." Ardun laughs, scoffs.

"Call it my secret pride."

A lightsaber is a lightsaber, and the force is the force, no matter who wields it; Ardun Kothe is no Darth Jadus, and he falls, injured to the ground. Kye'lin kicks the laser sword away from its owner.

"You fight good, Cipher," Ardun wheezes, "What I did to you was unforgivable; I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway– I don't expect any mercy." Kye'lin can't bring themself to kill him, so they push past him.

"Turn away, Ardun," She says, fighting back tears– another stab of pain won't undo her, "I'm not going to kill you." Ardun looks up, startled, sensing no deception.

"No," he agreed, "You're not. But why– it doesn't matter. For what it's worth, Kye'lin, I hope we never meet again." He leaves and the holoprojector starts up, startling Kye'lin when she turns to see Hunter.

He taunts them, eyeing their body as he does so, tells them of the air strike that was called in. Panic, tempered by training takes over, and Kye'lin grabs Vector's hand, dragging him after her.

Somehow they escape.

Curled up on one of the lounge chairs with a cup of Hoth chocolate, kolto smeared over wounds, and Lokin clucking disapproval at every movement, Kye'lin relaxes and she begins to cry. Salty tears drip down her face, plink into her mug as she stares emptily into it. It isn't until now that she realizes how much tension she was under.

The comm chimes lightly. Kye'lin wipes her face with her sleeve, sets aside the cooling mug and moves to answer it. In the face of Keeper's concern, Kye'lin almost begins to cry again, even so, they can't stop their voice from breaking as they ask,

"Can I come home?"

#star wars #swtor #swtor imperial agent #my oc #ardun kothe #vector hyllus #shara jenn #writing #fanfic #kye'lin changes pronouns as they damn well please #silent snowfall

23 notes · View notes

inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

a long journey home (also on ao3) DinLuke Kink Week #1 Touch-Starved Pairing: DinLuke TW: NSFW

Luke stumbled as they both moved up the boarding ramp back onto the Promise, his usual grace abandoning him for a second, but that was long enough for Din to reach out for him. Beneath his grip, beneath the heavy swaths of black fabric that clung to the Jedi, Din could feel the hard jut of his elbow press into his palm for only a second before they were steady once more.

Luke grinned, a thing of such beauty that Din’s heart almost stuttered to a stop in his chest, before he moved further into the depths of the ship. A low hum filled the air as the machinery powered on, lights flickering before they held leaving dancing imprints on his visor whenever he blinked. It reminded him of the glowing trails of light from the lightsaber the Jedi wielded, deadly and beautiful all at the same time.

The darksaber hung heavy on Din’s belt, and he pressed his hand to it for a moment, running his fingers over the embossed lines that ran around the hilt. He couldn’t feel the slight change in texture through his gloves, but he had studied the weapon for long enough in the empty silence left behind by Grogu to know it well.

Din knew exactly where Luke would be as he shook off the lingering discomfort. Grogu was safe with Boba, possibly safer than he would be with Din himself, in the depths of his heavily fortified Tatooine palace while Luke and Din attended to this bounty.

“Is it strange to say that I’ve missed this?” Luke called, and Din turned just enough to watch him out of the corner of his eye.

The readout had been damaged during the bounty — a lucky shot that had been deflected by his beskar but had still sent spider cracks over his field of vision — so would need to be repaired when he was alone. Even so, Luke was clear to him. He would be able to see the other man by his warmth, by the scent of ozone and growing things that clung to him, and by his laugh if Din had no eyes to perceive him.

But what he saw took his breath away.

Luke had already taken off his dark cloak, the fabric lying pooled on the seat next to him like a discarded shadow, exposing the bronze curve of his arms. From this distance, Din could make out a few of the darker freckles that were spread out like a constellation over his skin. He still had his gloves on, but, as Din watched, he tilted his head back — exposing the hard line of his throat — and bit down on the edge of the leather, slowly drawing it away from his hand.

“I’ll get us on our way,” Din said, turning away abruptly. He felt hollowed out, a cold sweat clinging to his skull despite the heat of the day, the air dry enough to plunder every last bit of moisture.

“Sounds good!” Luke called, shifting with a bitten-back grunt of effort to cross his legs beneath him, settling into the now-familiar pose for his meditation.

Din allowed himself, just for a moment, to picture walking over to the Jedi. It would barely take a moment, barely more effort than a thought. Luke wouldn’t move out of his meditative position, merely raise his face to him, eyes still closed. What would the smile be like that would cross his face? A barely-there curl of his lips or something bright and explosive?

Kedalbe was more than what it seemed, a gesture of trust more than Din could express with words.

Grogu knew to reach for him now, pressing his forehead to Din’s helmet on every meeting and parting. He had felt Luke’s eyes on him like a weight every time, more than simple curiosity, but he had never found the words to ask him why. The idea that Luke might care for him felt like an impossibility, and finding out it wasn’t true would break him in a way that almost nothing had before.

Din shook off those lingering thoughts, and made his way into the cockpit, refusing to turn around when he thought he felt the weight of Luke’s gaze settle on his back.

⁂

Din sighed, feeling the final lines of tension shift from his shoulders as the ship finally settled into autopilot. He tipped his head back against the edge of the seat, feeling the cooler air bite at the line of exposed skin around the top of his throat. He shivered, the motion slipping down his spine and causing his jaw to clench.

“Hope I’m not intruding?” Luke’s voice rang out, hesitant, in a way his footsteps hadn’t, and Din couldn’t hold back the flinch, his head shooting up and shoulders curling to hide away even that scrap of skin.

The Jedi had seen his face before, when he was broken and nothing but his son mattered, and even he was leaving him, but this felt different.

If Luke was going to see his face again, it would be deliberate.

“No,” Din answered, cheeks flushing at the notion that he may have let the question sit unanswered for too long.

Luke swung himself into the passenger seat easily, avoiding the copilot seat without Din needing to mention it. His hands were now bare and Din caught the strange glint of metal as the cockpit lights reflected on his prosthetic. Luke pressed them against the back of the seat, smoothing over the material.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Luke said after a few minutes of silence, “I won’t deny that I have wanted to spend more time with you. And to do more than just that.”

Din turned, helpless to do anything else, and met Luke’s gaze, his blue eyes steady and unwavering. There was a low heat burning in them, and Din felt that same burn begin to kindle in his stomach.

He couldn’t deny being attracted to the Jedi, but it was more than that. Din may not be a Mandalorian in the same way Boba was, or even in the same way he himself had been, but he still held the values. He loved Luke for his skill in battle, for the way he tried to help even when he was scraped thin and exhausted, but most importantly, Din loved him because Grogu did. He watched the Jedi take care of his son with the same focused determination, and Din loved him even more for that.

Luke settled back in the chair, curling in it sideways, falling out of Din’s line of sight for only a moment before returning with a grin that was devilious in every inch. Deliberately, he raised one leg that was thrown over the arm, leaning forward to start undoing his laces.

“I will never ask you to take your armour off,” Luke said, tugging another section free of the fastening, Din’s eyes locked to every movement, every inch of tanned skin that was exposed. “But you don’t need to take it off for me to ride you.”

Din felt his thoughts grind to the halt, the entire universe ceasing to exist.

“Unless, I’ve overstepped?” Luke’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, turning the pale pink skin an off-white colour. “I don’t—”

“Come here.” Din’s vocoder transmitted the cracks in his voice perfectly, the neediness clear as day, but Luke only grinned, his cheeks a burning brilliant pink like the sunrise.

He stumbled once more as he made his way over the short few steps, shedding the remains of his clothes as he went, only wearing a pair of dark shorts when he finally settled onto Din’s lap.

Din thought he was used to the way his beskar muted everything. Each touch was translated to nothing but pressure through the heavy weight of his armour, but he had forgotten the warmth of another person pressed against him, the feeling of bare skin that wasn’t his own beneath his hands. He had peeled off his gloves with barely a second thought, pressing his hands into the dip of Luke’s waist, the thunk of the metal hitting the floor almost masked by Luke’s groan — high and gasping — with his head thrown back and hips canting forward.

Din moved his hands, catching the motion at his peak and pulling Luke closer, trapping him next to the cold beskar as his groan broke into a whine. He was trembling in Din’s grip, chest heaving with every frantic breath but he didn’t pull away. Luke’s hands pressed and twitched against Din’s shoulders, fingers scratching against his armour helplessly, metal and flesh alike.

“Sorry,” Luke managed to get out, curling himself back forwards with a jerk, still trembling enough to send a tremor rattling through Din. “It’s been a while.”

He didn’t move forward the bare few inches that would let him press his forehead to Din’s, his eyes bright with desire. It was the same spark Din had seen ignite in him before battle, a sort of delighted determination and it was all focused on Din now.

It was a heady sensation as he breathlessly studied the fragmented vision before him, Luke’s eyes so brilliantly blue, the pupils blown wide and dark. It had been so long for Din since those distant fumbles pressed against one wall or another in the covert, always just hidden from sight and barely progressing past the slide of a hand, just shy of too painful.

Now, he had the man he loved on his lap, almost naked and pressing against him, squirming in need.

Din’s groan crackled through his helmet’s speakers, a fire burning through his belly and his cock hardened fully in an instant, pressing against the curve of his armour. He ignored the pressing need, focusing instead on the slope of Luke’s ribs. His thumbs pressed over the man’s skin, feeling the heat radiate from him.

One hand remained holding Luke close, stopping him from grinding against the unyielding curve of Din’s armour even as Din’s cock pulsed with every beat of his heart, as the other slid up his chest. The callouses on Din’s fingers and palm caught on every slight change on Luke’s skin, every touch burning him as if he was trying to grasp a supernova. As his hand moved from the softness of the faint hair on Luke’s belly, to the smooth divots of his scars, to the mere edges of the lightning burns that coiled over his shoulder and down his arm, Luke never stopped moving. He pressed himself impossibly closer, somehow never drawing back to do so.

“Easy,” Din gasped, turning his head to press his helmet into the crook of Luke’s neck, feeling the groan vibrate through him rather than hear it, the sound of his heartbeat too loud in his ears. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke went slack as if his strings had been cut, his heels digging into the back of Din’s greaves — barely more than a slight change in pressure — as he gasped in tiny punched-out noises, his mouth bitten red and inviting.

“Okay,” Luke gasped after a moment, seeming to reign himself in as a level of composure settled over his shoulders. He pushed himself back, his hands resting on Din’s shoulders, and Din let him, feeling the distance cool between them. “How do your fastenings work?”

One hand pressed against Din’s codpiece, and he felt his hips rise towards the touch despite himself. It had been so long since he had touched anyone, but how long had it been for the Jedi, closed away from everyone else?

“Long flight back to Tatooine,” Din said, reaching down to tug Luke’s hand away and oh, the shiver that passed through the other man, the metal of his prosthetic hand so warm in Din’s grasp. “You first. I can wait.”

Luke remained so still, his eyelashes casting spidery shadows in the reflected starlight as he blinked in mute surprise. Din tilted his head to one side, trying to imprint the fragmented image onto his soul.

When Luke began to move once again, it was slow jerks of his hips, almost disbelieving as he stared down at Din as if he was the most wonderful person in the world. Pink settled across his cheeks, revealing the faint freckles, and Din groaned, the sound distorted and almost unrecognisable through his helmet speakers, but it seemed to urge Luke on.

His hips worked faster, every movement graceful and desperate at the same time, gaze locked onto Din’s. Sweat pooled on Din’s chest, every breath coming ragged and gasped, as all he could do was watch Luke move. His cock was so hard, the faint pressure never fully settling, but it was enough to move him closer to the edge, the knot in his belly tightening.

Din’s teeth ached to bite down onto the exposed curve of Luke’s neck as the man gasped, throwing his head back, skin glistening and burning beneath his hands. Next time, he thought, then stopped. He wanted there to be a next time, and a time after that. He never wanted to let the other man go again.

Luke laughed, the sound low and gasping, his nose crinkling as he grinned. “I’m not doing a good enough job if you’re still thinking this much.”

Din flushed, mouth falling open as he searched for the words to say, but Luke stole his thoughts, leaning to press a kiss to the side of his helmet, shuffling forwards on his knees until—

“Found it,” Luke murmured, the slight scratch of his fingers moving over the back of Din’s helmet reverberating through his skull as he looped his arms around his neck, their hips flush and began to move once more.

Din’s head thunked back against the seat, his hips surging up to meet Luke’s, the pressure constant yet fluctuating, driving him ever closer to the edge. Forcing himself back upwards to watch Luke, eyes wide and his teeth sinking into his lower lip, Din raised his hands, feeling the shift of muscles in Luke’s back and dragged his hands down — his blunt nails catching slightly with every swell of Luke’s hips — to grab hold of his hips once more and pull him closer.

It was that touch that sent Luke over the edge, spilling with a howl and Din followed barely a second later, his hips twitching and rolling through the aftershocks. Luke curled onto him, his forehead pressed to the cool metal on Din’s shoulder, back heaving with every breath.

“Long flight, you said?” Luke asked, his voice hoarse as he raised himself to allow Din to see him: sweat-soaked and grinning. “This is going to be fun.”

#dinluke kink week day 1 #dinluke #the mandalorian #star wars #my writing #fanfic #lemon

27 notes · View notes