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incorrectpizza · 7 months

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Hah. So. The one-shot I posted the first day of @sabezraweek? It's uh. Not a one-shot anymore. Behold, the sequel, in which Sabine discovers a record of Ezra's time on Peridea:

Story also down below for anyone who wants to read here.

Ezra’s pod is small, but as Sabine explores it, it almost feels cavernous. There’s things everywhere.

A stockpile of dried and cured foods that the Noti taught him to preserve. Weapons he made from whatever he could salvage: stormtrooper blasters and rifles, wood, a strange metal that the Noti used that never grew cold , even on the rare days when the weather grew sour. And there are books. Made from some sort of animal skin, if her hunch is correct. Stitched together with thin, sinewy thread, pages surprisingly sturdy.

The first one she finds, sitting on a ledge next to the pod’s tiny, Noti-sized second bed, is a book of Noti bedtime stories.

“Youongling’s Fables, A Collection of Noti stories as transcribed by Ezra Bridger.”

There’s a total of three charming little tales, each one accompanied by a symbol - some small splash of color signaling the beginning of a new story. Sabine studies them carefully. One is a simple green circle with uneven splotches throughout - a planet? Another, a silhouette of a Howler, deep navy blue, just a hint brighter and more saturated than Ezra’s hair. The third, though, catches her breath. It’s a Jedi symbol. She reads this story first.

It’s about the first Jedi to meet the Noti - not Ezra, but some old man in the distant past. The man died protecting the Noti from The Great Mother, a corrupted Force being the Jedi sentenced to ten thousand years of captivity in the mountains. Did this have anything to do with Baylan’s search? His quest for power? Sabine wonders, setting aside the book. She’ll show it to Ahsoka when she gets back from the hunt.

On Ezra’s little workbench, she finds three more books: all blank, waiting for words to fill them. Near the hatch, alongside a few odd “pots” and “pans,” she finds a “cookbook.” It has a dozen recipes, from “Noti Stew DO NOT EAT” to “Peridean Loth-Pie” to “Actually Edible Noti Soup.” She chuckles a bit and makes a mental note to show Ahsoka this one, too. Maybe they can find something that they can stomach once their ration bars are finished.

And then, as she’s straightening up the other side of the sleeping quarters, she finds two books sitting by Ezra’s bed. The first one she picks up is a “journal.” Each entry is printed in small Aurebesh - so small Sabine puts on her helmet to magnify the words. Ezra must’ve learned quickly that books are harder to make than they look, Sabine muses.

The first page proclaims the book “Jedi Padawan Ezra Bridger’s Journal of A Galaxy Far, Far Away, Volume Five. Noti Nomadic Village, Peridea. Approximately 10 years after the Liberation of Lothal.”

Each page has multiple entries, almost but not quite daily. Most are mundane, ordinary. Sabine reads every single word of every single entry.

“Day 3,547. Jynt and I came up with a new way to attach the ropes to the pods today. Moving them is going to be a lot easier now.” Always ingenious.

“Day 3,574. I discovered a new species today. A little purple and orange caterpillar. I hereby dub it Sabineus Wrennius .” Sabine laughs and flips the page.

“Day 3,631. I got to scare two night troopers today.” Still a prankster.

“Day 3,650. I really want to go home.” Sabine closes her eyes and sighs. He’s home now, she knows. She should be happy. And yet-

She wishes he were with her. Here. Or home. She misses him deeply, and it’s only been seventeen cycles. She finishes the book, which breaks off mid-entry.

“Day 3,674. Nothing excitin-”

Was that when he heard my Howler in the distance? Sensed me in the Force? Or was he interrupted on another day and just never bothered to finish?

She closes the book, vowing to ask him one day about that last entry.

Then she opens the second book, the one tucked underneath. It’s tied shut with a thick cord.

She unties it and flips it open. The first page declares in bold orange letters “PROPERTY OF EZRA BRIDGER.”

“Do not look unless you are Ezra.”

Then, underneath, in small scrawl she can hardly read: “Or Sabine.”

Or Sabine? She furrows her brow, wondering what could be so important that Ezra didn’t want anyone reading it, and why she was the exception. Gently, her fingers grasp the edge of the page.

It’s full of… starbirds?

A dozen of her symbols lie in front of her. Some sketches, others paintings. Their colors vary brilliantly, from blue to purple to green to (yes, of course ) orange. She flips the page again. More starbirds. But not just starbirds. This page also has a Jedi symbol, more crude than the one Sabine had found earlier, and an Imperial crest - crossed out with red, of course.

As the pages go on, there’s less and less starbirds and more other symbols. Kanan’s Jaig-eyed mask. The patterns from Hera’s lekku. Zeb’s Bo-Rifle. Her helmet.

His drawings grow more detailed, more artistic as the book goes on until, by the middle, he’s got a definite, recognizable style. In the second half, he grows brave enough to try sketching them, their little family, as he remembered them. Hera and Kanan holding hands. Zeb scowling. Sabine flying around Mandalore, broad smile as she shows off her jetpack. Chopper arguing with AP-5. There are a few details off here and there - in one group sketch, her hair is too long and Ezra himself is not wearing orange, an unforgivable creative liberty, especially considering just how shockingly accurate and real the painting looks.

It’s the very last image of the book, though, that nearly takes Sabine’s breath away. It’s them, hugging, foreheads pressed together in a keldabe kiss. The background - he painted a background? - has some vague, abstract Noti pods. The Ghost hangs in the sky, and Sabine thinks she might even spot Ahsoka’s ship on the ground. In the distance, a white Loth-Wolf looks on. Her fingers hover, desperate to trace the lines, but not wanting to risk damaging the precious painting. Underneath, there’s a title.

Someday Soon .

The next page has no art. Just words.

Sabine, I hope you never have to read this. I hope I’m here when you come. But just in case, I want to thank you. For always being there for me. For teaching me about life, and art, and how to be a good friend. I couldn’t have made it this long without you. Even more than I ever realized, I love you.

Sabine hurriedly shuts the book before her tears can mar the pages.

#star wars #star wars rebels #sabine wren #ezra bridger #sabezra #i miiiiiight make this a series #series title ideas would be greatly appreciated bc my titles suck lol #there will at the very least be a reunion fic set after this and hair colors #maaaaaybe more although that's unlikely

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kittystargen3 · 2 years

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Summary: A time traveling Grandmaster, to the Prequel Era, trying to fix the mistakes the Jedi made, and get rid of a certain Sith too. Only Time Travel is not that easy, as Yoda will soon learn.

Today I published a new chapter to Time Travel: To the Past Yoda Goes. This chapter features the Initiate Trials Anakin will take to become a Padawan. Below is a small selection. Click one of my links above to read more.

Chapter 48 - Initiate Trials

"The Trial will be in Three parts. The first portion will test your knowledge of the Force and the code we live by as Jedi." Master Windu said to the classroom full of initiates. "You may take the trials as many times as you like, though you should know that this written portion will be different each time you take it."

Anakin scoffed at the idea. He did not intend to take these Trials any more times than he had to.

"A passing score, anything above sixty percent, is theoretically all you need. Although, higher scores do tend to attract more Masters. So I understand wanting to try again in the future," Mace went on.

Anakin felt relieved that he didn't have to worry about that part.

"Remember, I will be your master no matter what." Obi-Wan had reassured him that morning. "Just try your best, and…"

"And if you score higher than Aayla did, he can brag to Quinlan Vos next time he comes over." Siri added with a smirk.

"Bragging is not the Jedi way," Obi-Wan lectured delusively. Then he turned back to Anakin and said in a more serious voice, "Still, you've studied hard, try your best, and no matter what, I'll be proud."

Anakin knew by now that a Padawan’s scores on the Trials were a source of Pride for their Master. Thus the Accomplished Masters had only the best students. Anakin wanted to make Obi-Wan proud. He’d already gone to the archives to look up this Aayla’s old score, as every Initiate’s Trial scores were considered public knowledge. “Eighty-Five percent. You can do this,” He whispered to himself as Mace handed out the test.

In order to avoid cheating, the written portion of the trial was on Flimsy, and in addition to Master Windu, Master Billaba and two older Padawans were observing the room. Any use of the Force, whatsoever, was forbidden until the bell rang and they handed in their test forms.

Anakin took a deep breath. He looked down at the Aurebesh writing in front of him. Reading had been one of the first skills the Jedi had taught him. He remembered he wasn’t a big fan of the many spelling drills Yaddle had made him do, including the one where they made labels for everything in her classroom. In the end Yaddle had praised him, saying her room had never been more organized. She told him to do the same to a room in his and Obi-Wan’s quarters as homework. Did Obi-Wan’s eyes grow big when he picked his mechanical workbench as the thing to label! Still, it was useful, both for allowing Anakin to have a quick way to locate the exact bolt cutters he needs, and for his learning to read as well as his peers.

Anakin picked up the pen and started to fill in answers. ‘ Aurek, Jedi are protectors. That’s an easy one! A Jedi is not to value possessions more than the lives he or she is sent out to protect. Cresh, that was Master Gormo’s quote. Besh, Cresh, Dorn.’

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sisterofleatherfrog · 3 years

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Star Wars Kinktober day- 3

Prompt: Under-clothes bondage

Fives x Sub! OC (AFAB)

Orla is another one of my OC’s that I sometimes play around with in my fandom daydreams. She’s very tall (think around 6’10), and her appearance is non-human (I’ll definitely have to elaborate on that in art form later), and she is Five’s big-titty goth gf. She has some self-confidence/worth issues, but Fives is literally so goddamn smitten.

Some art as a sorry for missing day 4!

Tags: Bondage, collar, bf chooses gf’s clothes and dresses her, pre negotiated kink, safewords, cunnilingus, dirty talk, daddy kink

Words: 2440

🖤💜🖤

“Fives? Do- do you, could you help me?” Orla asked, a tremble present in her voice. They’d planned this outing the previous week, going out to a beer garden to have lunch and meet with a few of Five’s brothers and their significant others. She’d made friends with a few of the troopers and their partners and was definitely looking forward to having a few drinks with them. That wasn’t all though, after confirming the date and time Orla had got to thinking. They’d been playing around with a lot of things recently in the bedroom; the collection of ropes, binders, among other things in their special little place was a testament to that. They had yet to try and bring it out of the bedroom, but it had been teasing Orla’s mind all week, and maybe…

Footsteps came up to the ajar bedroom door and it swung as it opened, her lover’s head peaked in. “What’s the matter Meshla? The dress zipper stu-” Fives abruptly stopped as he saw her, kneeling nude in the middle of the bedroom with a several meter length of red rope before her. The door lightly knocked the wall as he came fully into the room and looked down at her from a few paces with no little interest in his eyes. “What’s all this then,?”

He didn’t sound like he was upset in any way and Orla felt confident in explaining: “Well, remember us speaking of trying more adventurous things?” Fives nodded, eyes shining with that impish edge she knew so well as they roved her lush body. She bit her lip, “I must confess I’ve been thinking more on it since these plans were made, and maybe… Could you tie me up, daddy? I want to be your good little slut wherever we go together.” She lowered her head, but still her eyes stayed on Fives where he looked down on her.

For a moment he was quiet, seemingly stunned as everything, her nudity, the use of THAT word, and the begging all came together to short-circuit his mind. Before she could start to regret her decision though, he drew in a shaky breath and drew a hand down his face until the wide grin on his face was revealed to her. He shifted his weight, the movement catching her eye and bringing it down to his crotch where he was beginning to stir. “Shit meshla,” he breathed. “Do you mean it? Do you really want to do this with me?”

Orla nodded, a desperation that surprised her causing heat to lick throughout her abdomen and fill her head. Fives came and knelt before her, now looking up to her dark eyes, partially shadowed by her coal black hair. “I need your words Orla, I need to know you really want this and aren’t doing something just to please me. Maker, do I want you like this, but not at the expense of you being miserable.” The corner of his mouth lifted, revealing one perfect dimple. “I want this to be good for you too.”

A different warmth suffused her, she knew he loved her, and the amount of care he always gave her made her feel like a princess. Leaning her head down into a keldabe with him, she smiled before moving her lips to brush over his tattoo and down to his ear. “I want this, daddy, I truly do. I want to be extra good for you.” Orla punctuated her words by sliding a hand over his thigh and up to cup the bulge at his crotch. Fives groaned and grabbed the both of her wrists to stop her hands from wandering any further.

“You win this one, and you’re the best girlfriend ever!” He punctuated his sentence with a quick smooch before dragging her to stand with him. “Turn around meshla and lift your hair, let's see about getting you into this.” He started by placing the rope around the back of her neck, making sure that even halves were on either side of her neck and going down her front. Coming around he gently but confidently gripped it, already knowing the alignment of loops and knots he had to do. Within the valley between her breasts he made one knot and left a kiss on her left breast, below he made another and gave her right breast the same treatment. Just above her belly button he made one more knot, then dropped to his knees and started to trail kisses down from there, taking a moment to dip his tongue into her belly button and making Orla giggle, before he went lower and transformed it into a gasp. Five’s tongue followed the curve of her lower abdomen, trailed along her upper thigh, before he pulled back, his right hand taking its place before moving in and parting her labia with two strong, skilled fingers.

Fives looked into her intently, studying the configuration of sensitive flesh at her apex for a moment before coming forward to kiss her lips, making out with her slit as his tongue made love to her clit. She gasped down at him, hand coming to clutch at his shoulders and the top of his head, whatever she could reach to steady herself. He was- “Oh, Fives, right there love!” He moved deeper into her heat if that was even possible, both hands having moved to her ass cheeks to pull her closer. His lips were locked around her clit, alternating and simultaneously sucking and licking with that tongue of his, that said such alternatingly inflammatory and jesting words, skilled and silver now on her. Often he would move, delve into her, kiss along her thighs and tease, build her up to a wholly satisfying end. This was something else though, a hunger both desperate and wild, focused on one goal alone, tracing along that lone and narrow path with a single minded purpose. He went on, groaning into her and holding her still as she shivered writhed, her size making no difference in his ability to hold her right where he wanted with his strength.

Orla’s breath was escaping her in gasps and high whines, keening her need to him and she was drawn further and further up that path by him, his desperation infecting her as well. Oh he wasn’t taking his time at all, but she was adoring this direct and needy side to him. Her legs were turning to rubber and Five’s hands slid into the curve below her ass to hold her even more firmly, surely leaving marks that would be seen there later. He kept licking and laving, latched on so firmly it was as if he was feeding from her all the while she fed off the pleasure she got from him, creating a self-sustaining organism in a perpetual state of bliss and ecstasy. She felt him tying a new knot and keened into the otherwise quiet air of the room, her head tilting back and chest arching as she felt it winding ever tighter within her womb. Tighter and tighter, lick by suck, she was on the edge and just had to stretch a little further-

With a wild cry she fell, the knot unwound with a blinding intensity and she shook as her cunt clenched over nothing again and again. Fives kept at her throughout her orgasm, firmly pressing his tongue to her as she danced against it in order to carry her down. When she was passing pleasure and entering into the territory of too much, Orla put a hand on his head and gently urged it away from her and he released with an obscene pop sound. He gazed up at her, eyebrows drawn down into an expression of yearning and his eyes shining as bright as her slick on his chin. The sight was enough to draw an honest whimper from her.

“There, there meshla, you’re alright,” he cooed, now rubbing her legs and sides in order to sooth her. “You did so well, coming for me like that all wet and sweet. I was so happy when you told me how much you wanted to try something public that I just couldn’t help myself. I love you so, so much my beautiful Orla. ‘Want you to always feel good.” He rambled against her lower stomach as he rested his forehead there, praise spilling out of him like water from a too full cup. They stayed like that for a little while until she felt like she had more control over her body, the shivering and shaking dying down with her leveling breath. Finally he lifted himself and stood, hands coming to rest against her lower back as he delicately pressed her to him. “Are you good? I didn’t mean to be too much, especially before we got somewhere to be.”

Orla smiled widely, “It wasn’t too much Fives, in fact it was very much appreciated.”

He smiled back, “Well that’s good, I’d hate to have to tell the boys we had to cancel because the pussy was just too good.”

She snorted, “Oh I’m sure you would, lover.” Suddenly feeling a little shy, she continued, “Now, can you please help me finish getting ready? I don’t think I can do all these knots and twists myself.”

He reached up to cup her cheek and draw her down for a quick kiss, “Oh meshla I’d be more than happy to assist. Though, after that, and this being your first time trying this, how about we put some panties on you so the rope won’t rub as much?”

This man- “What pair should I wear then daddy?” always so considerate of her.

His grin was downright feral as he looked at her before taking her hand and leading her over to her wardrobe and pulling out the proper drawer, said drawer full of a rainbow of lace, cotton, satin, and mesh. Orla loved fun panties and Fives took full advantage of that, loving whenever she would ask him to choose for her so that he could picture what lay under her clothes all day. She was partial to a few pairs, but he most always chose the pair he plucked from the bunch now, a royal and baby blue number dyed in a marble pattern with ‘Want some?’ written across the ass in aurebesh. He ducked down and she again steadied herself with his shoulders as he now lifted each of her legs to fit into the slip of fabric, before drawing them up to her hips and smoothing the hems.

Then, after checking with her once again, he returned to the previously forgotten rope and from the last left knot, drew the tailings down to her apex. Twisting the ropes together some so that they’d sit between her labia, he drew them between her spread legs and went to her back to draw it up to the initial loop at the back of her neck. Pulling so it was snug but not tight, he brought both halves to come out to her hands, “Hold onto these for me love.” She complied and he came back around the front of her, taking a moment to admire what he’d done already. “Oh, yeah, it’s all coming together.” Orla snorted and lightly slapped his chest, he raised an eyebrow, “Is that the sort of game you want to play right now?”

“Maybe later.” She teasingly promised and he grinned back at her, now looping the rope from under her arms and between the first and second knot, the rope turning back on each side to return behind her back the way it had come. He followed and looped each side around the lengths that ran up her spine before indicating she should hold the rope again. He did the same process between the second and third knot and around her back before bringing up what was left of the rope and tying it off on the third knot. He stepped back then, eyes roaming up and down the planes and curves of her body, now decorated with blue and tied off with red, like a present just for him. He looked for a long, long while.

“You know what to do if this gets to be too much and you want to stop, right?”

She nodded seriously, “Five taps to your thigh, or say ‘Zillo’.”

He smiled like the sun, “Now how are we going to cover all this up?”

“Oh I really don’t know daddy, maybe you could help me with that too?”

“Orla, I have no idea what I did to deserve you but I love you so much, and I mean that with my whole ass.” He confessed with all seriousness.

Laughing again, she pressed against him and leaned down to kiss his wonderful mouth. Breaking apart again they went to inspect her clothes hanging in the closet. He reached in and pulled out a black dress with a halter top and flowy skirt that would fall about halfway down her thighs. He grinned, “Feeling like being a little risky today as well by any chance?”

“Yes please my love!” Slipping it over her head, Fives did up the three clips that secured the neck. Leaving the last bit up to her, Orla found a top to layer over it to better obscure the bondage beneath, and finished it up with a traditional self-tying corset from her people, quickly done up by pulling the two cords to either side of her and tying them in front. Meanwhile, Fives had quickly gone to change his shirt and give his face a wipe, both having been soaked by her earlier. Returning in a casual purple button up with red stitching along the collar, he looked like a treasure to be found in her people’s queen's harem.

“Looking good lover.” She told him as she bent to pull on her boots, the three inch platforms bringing her height to a full foot above his own.

“Quacta, stifling.” he simply responded.

Walking towards the door he asked, “Are we all ready to go meshla?” he turned and she

smiled shyly again, feeling a blush turning the purple shades in her skin darker.

“Maybe not quite?” she intoned, moving back to the closet she opened it and pushed aside a few of his shirts to reveal a certain rack of jewelry, consisting of leather collars, some with rings on them, others otherwise decorative. “Which one do you think I should wear out today, daddy?”

In the end, they were a little late getting to the beer gardens.

🖤💜🖤

Oh I really liked writing this one. I know so far all my works have been coming out early in the morning the day after they’re supposed to be posted but I am going to try and fix that! Like the Tup and Aurelie work on the 1st, I feel like this one may come back with a part 2 because I’m really vibing with these two (and I hope y’all are too just as much as I am).

Kinktober works

Masterlist

#sisterofleatherfrogwrites #kinktober #kinktober 2021 #star wars #the clone wars #sw #tcw #sw tcw #fives #ct-5555 #arc trooper fives #fives x oc #fives is my favourite smart dumbass

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famouskittychild · 3 years

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Cheeky Mandos - ...and we're off

(Sorry I had a terrible writer’s block in the past 6-ish weeks - I went from reading fanfiction and being inspired by other’s visions to “I’ll never be able to write anything like these and I’m useless” in a single day :( I’m getting back into the groove finally, so I’m hoping to post more soon.)

There will be 18+ content (in the coming chapters soon) so if you are a minor, please don't read further.

Also the characters will be quite open and relaxed about things like gender, attraction, sexual activities, relationships etc, so if you prefer your Din (and their partner) possessive and/or monogamous , this won’t be a good read for you!

***

This pairing is Din Djarin x gn reader / tall reader. I’m short (and cis and woman). There’s so many short (and female) reader stuff out there, I wanted to write for people on the other end of the “why is your height not normal” / "definitely female" spectrum. If I make mistakes or you have advice, or ideas you'd like to see, please tell me!

Word count: 4267

Summary: You’re an armourer and some shiny guy just showed up.

First full piece/chapter/course! In which people seem to catch things. Thoughts? Viruses? Dropped facts? Who knows!?? Also contains a dilettante’s attempt at space electronics and some barely-canon-reminiscent Mando world-building. Still no spiciness sorry, marinating is a long process :P

Rating: T for some mentions of heavier topics.

CW: Mentions of mandalorian history, playing somewhat loose with canon lore (as in, my SW knowledge is patchy. sorry.)

Author’s note: I tried to find more info but it seems like the mandalorian alphabet doesn’t have names for the individual letters so I used aurebesh (also I liked the little Dorn(e) meta in there). And sorry for the bad puns. They’ll keep coming.

Prologue

One - ...and we're off

***

You aren’t worried about taking a stranger on board, you’ve done that plenty of times before. You hope he’s willing to put in the effort himself, too, just as he promised at the assembly.

The stranger leaves behind his ship, saying a friend will come to pick it up together with whoever might want to join the cause. You spot him from the cockpit as he walks over with a repulsor pallet in tow. He stops for a moment when your droids surge past him, busy at their pre-flight tasks, before moving on towards the ramp.

All his baggage is a satchel at his hip and a small bag on his shoulder, and two large crates of weaponry. You put him up in the spare cabin, the one that had been Sal’ee’s, your former apprentice, before she went on to be a journeyman. He stands in the middle of the room, staring at the two cots on opposite sides of the room, the lockers, the fresher in the corner.

“All mine? Where will you sleep?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice.

“Over there” you show him, pointing at the cabin opposite from his. It’s much more lived in, some of the blankets and trinkets and pillows visible through it’s open door. “There’s a third cabin that I mostly use for storage but has more fold-up bunks in case I need to transport more people. That’s rare though.”

“Ohh.” He nods, then turns to look around his room again. “Okay. I thought all of these rooms were cargo space.”

You smile, and quickly think through your to-do list. You’ll have to rearrange your schedule somewhat but it’s not that big of a bother.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the ship.” Before he gets lost in its cavernous interiors, you might add - but you don’t. If his reaction to a separate cabin and his current ship - an old ARC170 - is any indication, he must be used to very cramped quarters.

***

Your trusty Brick, a beat-up YV 929, is armed to the teeth and ugly, just as you like it. The ship is a scavenged one, gutted from most of its original factory issue armaments, engines, and even wiring. It was perfect for your former master when she found it at a scrap heap: she wanted to rebuild it herself, deliberately piecemeal; panels sourced form here, engines from there, concealments added. She modified the inner workings of the engines so that the power lines could be redirected to a concealed forge.

That forge is your pride and the main reason you haven’t settled at a permanent place yourself. When your master retired from travelling, the ship passed to you, and you continued her mission of offering your knowledge and expertise to those of your people who otherwise had no access to an armourer.

…

The next standard month is spent with adjusting, both for yourself after getting used travelling alone again since Sal’ee left, and for the stranger who found himself a passenger on someone else’s ship. Apparently he used to live a very similar life to yours, with the exception that he was a hunter not a craftsman.

You travel together, share meals, research the places you are directed to. He joins in the effort that is maintaining the ship. Still - he is very taciturn at the beginning, keeping his words to the bare minimum. The first few days it feels as if you are still on your own aside of your droids. By the middle of the month, he progresses from short answers, through sharing information, to willingly starting to tell stories; but you know that chatting will never be his defining feature.

His armour seems to fill the spaces of the Brick’s corridors. You feel as if it’s not him who has the presence, but that set of glinting, perfectly made handwork of an armourer you already admire. Some of the pieces were sourced elsewhere, you can tell by the different shapes and designs; they seem haphazard and mismatched compared to the rest. Most of the set is the work of a single person. On those, there’s not a single uneven line, a broken curve, an edge at the wrong place. The angle of the panes of the metal, the ridges, the simplicity and elegance of them all - you have to hold yourself back from touching them, to admire them. You would give a lot to hold those pieces in your hand, to study them, to analyse them with your eyes and hands and with your tools.

You’re a master, yes. But so much knowledge was lost. So many masters gone, with their knowledge and their workshops. Apprentices became heads of Forges in the absence of the more skilled. The survivors still to this day have to piece together half-remembered lessons and forgotten details, experiment with techniques that were known before but the methods got lost as decades of civil war and occupation and murder kept eroding your heritage.

Sometimes a set of armour comes along that is just made in a way you never had an opportunity to learn. Often the person who forged them is long gone. Not the stranger’s armourer though. As far you can tell, she’s alive. Or at least was, when he last saw her. Not too long ago; though your usual method for guessing forging dates is mostly useless as it is based on the condition of the suit’s paintwork. Which he doesn’t have, so you can only guess from the small amount of scratches. You try to ask once, but whilst he’s forthcoming with general stories, he doesn’t go into details.

It’s a common theme with him. He talks about people and planets and events, and leaves out a lot - and you don’t even notice it first. Only when you try to glean information about his armour do you realize how well he fuzzes over those facts and nuances. It’s only up to the peculiarities of Basic and its use of gendered pronouns that you know his Armourer is a woman, or at least he considers them so. He doesn’t even tells you his own name, and when you ask your Elder in one of your communications, she tells you he didn’t gave it to them either. You keep introducing him as a friend, and that is the end of it for a while.

***

The visits to this first few coverts with him are… interesting. You can see him fidgeting from the corner of your eye. He always follows half a step behind and off to a side, as if not wanting to be in your way. He keeps quiet and doesn’t mix much, and around small children and droids, he is positively withdrawn. He only comes alive when he talks about his mission.

You had learned early on during your apprenticeship that keeping the helmet on is a safe bet when meeting with unfamiliar mandalorians. That led to later getting in contact with his type of believers too, despite their notorious secrecy even from the rest of the People. When you tell the stranger about that, he immediately showers you with questions, but you can’t give an answer to most of them. You never met with anyone from his particular covert, or heard of it. No name, no description seems familiar. It’s painful to watch his shoulders slump after daring to hope.

During the course of the month spent travelling, he gradually comes to be more social. He starts to stand and walk beside you. He doesn’t withdraw to the background anymore; he can actually be quite chatty if approached the right way. Droids still make him stop, though he warms up to kids in his own way. He’s good with them, at least in your opinion, though you know some would still call him aloof and distant. He isn’t a cuddler, nor does he crouch down to ask cutesy questions. He juts sits nearby them, and in that way of children having a good sense about adults, they know he’s trustworthy. They go up to him to chatter, to hand him a toy to hold, to ask him to fix a latch on their boots; than they go back to play.

He teaches you too, inadvertently at first during everyday conversations and later by his own volition, about his Way. About his Creed. It keeps throwing you off how much it differs from most that you had met before. Not even meeting briefly with people who followed the same Way as him could prepare you for the details that he does share. The degree of strictness, the loyalty, the barest bones Old Tradition beliefs and their willingness to follow them is very rare amongst the People as far as you can tell. Their devotion earns your respect.

At other times, your jaw hangs open and you can’t believe you are talking to an adult roughly around the same age as yourself, who by his own admission had spent three decades living as a follower of the Creed - not knowing about things children are thought through plays and songtime. His ignorance is so staggering, your admiration towards his unknown Armourer wavers. How could she keep so many things hidden from them? Why not talk about your own history? Your greats? Your artefacts?

About the many other who would call them vod’e, siblings?

You are an armourer, a craftsman, a person who makes a living by making things with your hand. You’re not a leader, or a scholar, or someone who decides what to tell your people. You do have a status within the community, but that is a status of service. From what the stranger says, their Armourer was a leader in every aspect: elder and lorekeeper and moral guide and more. All in one. It is something you can see developing from the old songs and histories amongst groups who take tradition more literally.

You are good at observing people, even at copying their habits to make them feel more comfortable with you, but less good at determining their underlying motives. The reason you think of him as “the stranger” even after travelling with him is because it’s so hard to figure out what drives him. There’s a melancholy to him that overrides the more typical mandalorian fight-readiness or aggression. You see how he gazes off to the distance sometimes, turning his head to the side and freezing. How he keeps to himself when he can. But you can’t tell why. Grief? Regrets? Determination to change? Planning something greater and being preoccupied with that?

He doesn’t pick fights to test you. He spars with you when you invite him to, he helps when you ask, and often even without it. He’s polite and considerate; he keeps conversation to practicalities and interesting stories, and doesn’t bother you with anecdotes or insistent questions about trivialities or your private life. He even does the dishes.

He’s deadly boring in his reliableness.

You are used to being on your toes around people all the time. When you meet a new group, it’s all unknown people. With ones you had already visited, the problem is having to remember them. They remember you of course, the ‘wandering armourer’; and surely you remember them too.

What is worse, when people stay the same but you don’t remember them, or when they change and you just can’t place them?

He becomes a good excuse after you’ve been to several coverts together. It’s interesting to notice how your dynamics change even further once you two get into a comfortable routine. You start to retreat to your forge and tools, and let him take all the attention. And he doesn’t just talk about his mission anymore, or lets little ones play around him whilst he’s quiet. He converses with people about news, about their children, about weaponry. You have more time to focus on your work.

Sometimes, people ask you what do you think of his mission. You tell them that you will follow what your clan decides, and that’s mostly true. It is something people don’t often debate, at least.

He quickly becomes a part of your everyday life. You are content with your usually solitary travels. You know that your family, your clan and your friends wait for you at home. They message you and you can find the time that suits you to message back. You don’t miss the constant hubbub of the covert most of the time. But now that you have someone that is not a droid, someone who is your equal in every aspect, on board again, it’s not even lonely anymore.

***

“So what’s up with you and droids?” you ask one day, after you got back from a covert and are safely in hyperspace to the next destination. You tinker with your astromech’s navigational systems. Poor 2-T keeps bumping into walls and crates. Again.

The stranger looks at you and your droid, than over at Mouse who for a change isn’t zooming around at foot level.

“Bad memories.”

“Gunk sat on you?” You tease. You hope it’s just something silly and not him having some sort of snobbish organics-are-better philosophy. He is quiet, and you focus on your work. He’ll talk if he wants to, that much you know already about him.

Inside the body of your astromech, a rivet from stars knows where is stuck between two circuit boards and blocks the access to a short-circuited piece of wire.

“Kriff. Toots, this will take a while, sweetie. Can’t access that kriffing panel.” He chirps back something and you read the translation on the small display. “No, it’s not that. My hand can’t fit in that small space. Let me find those pliers… should be in that other drawer somewhere.”

You search in the chest of tools, and despite your usually good organization, you can’t find them amongst the droids’ tools where their place is.

“Let me help.” The stranger’s voice beside you makes you jump. He can be awfully quiet. “Sorry. I think I might’ve put them back into the wrong drawer. I used them the other day when I fine-tuned that scope.”

He points at another drawer, where you keep your fine electronics stuff. No wonder he mixed them up. He stands beside Tootee a bit awkwardly until you find the tool.

“Here! No problem by the way. “ You turn back to him and to the droid, than have an idea. “Do you mind a bit more help? You can say no if you don’t want to work with the droid, I’ll understand.”

He doesn’t object yet, so you go back to 2-T and show the stranger the area you’re working on. You see him lean closer in your peripheral vision.

“That’s where I need to get that burned piece of wire out and install a new one, but first, I need to get that rivet out of the way.” You point at the root of the problem, than explain your plan, pointing out each part in turn. ”If you could hold those using this, than I could get here, remove this, with that tool, than have to get those bundles out of the way too, so than that wire there could come out. Easy.”

You look up at him, and his helmet is way closer than you expected. You can almost see your reflection in that black visor as it stares back at you for a second, and you almost apologize again, when the stranger starts to speak.

“Just have to hold the wires to the casing, or pull them like…” he moves his hand in the air, showing what he means.

“Hold them to that panel, there, with the pliers, so I have room to access the rest.”

He thinks for a moment, than he starts to tug one of his gloves off.

“You don’t need to take that off, just hold the pliers” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, I can fit my hand in there, I’m pretty sure. If not we can try it with the tool.”

You realize that this is the first time you see his skin. Than it occurs to you that he might very well misunderstand this whole situation. You just asked him to hang his hand inches from yours in an enclosed space; inside a droid nonetheless, just after you basically told him you noticed he has a problem with them. It would be so easy to get caught up in there, to touch his hand, and hush it up as coincidence. Especially now that he took his glove off as well. He might even think that it was a careful plan of yours: have an area to work with were your slightly larger hands don’t fit but his might.

Your fingertips already tingle from knowing you can’t make mistakes. Which means you’ll probably do. He reaches between the panels and gets to the part where you got stuck. He wiggles his fingers a bit and scrapes around.

“Ha, found some wires. Are these the ones you need out of the way?”

You peer down into the quagmire of electronics, trying to find the best angle to see everything.

“Yes, those are the ones. Just hold them like that.” You try to focus on what you are doing, but after those earlier thoughts, your hands are jittery. You somehow manage to remove the obstructing rivet, than find the burned out part and replace it without accident, the stranger patiently holding things out of your way. You direct him here and there, occasionally stumbling as it’s a lot of instructions, or at least a lot of “could you please” and “thank you”. It gets particularly awkward when you stumble over the lack of name spectacularly.

“Could you pull those the other way, so they aren't that taut, please? Thank you, you. I mean thank you.”

“Din. Din Djarin.” Your head snaps up while the rest of your body freezes. “I should have told you my name sooner, but I’m so used to not telling it… and it just became more awkward to bring it up as time passed. I apologize.”

You close your mouth that of course was hanging open in surprise, than shake your head.

“I thought at first that I missed it when you said it so I was ashamed that I didn’t remember.” That did happen before, and it was one of your greatest worries about meeting new people. “I actually asked my elder. Sent her a comm. So when she told me you went nameless, I didn’t wanted to demand it.”

He doesn't answer right away. His voice is softer when he speaks a bit later.

“Thank you. For being considerate.”

You smile and try to wave it off. Which results in your hand slipping and pawing at his, still motionless and stuck in the inside of the astromech.

“Oh shucks, I’m sorry… didn’t meant to.” You withdraw your hand quickly, and start to look for your tools to cover your mistake.

He doesn’t seem bothered, luckily. You calm down, reminding yourself not to behave like you drank one too many glasses of your cousin Ree’s home-made tihaar, and finish the repair.

“You can let those go now, I’ll finish from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, any time.”

He sits back on a nearby crate and watches you work for a while, ignoring Mouse zooming around the room. You’re surprised a bit: you didn't expected him to stick around. And than he starts to ask about 2-T. How long you had him, is he temperamental, can you install a vocoder on astromechs, and why not. His tone is somewhat cautious, his voice stiff, like someone asking about a dangerous predator. You remember how you asked him about his distance with droids, but don’t want to push that question. He already told you his name today.

…

By the time you finish with the rest of the repairs, clean Tootee up and tidy around your workplace, interrupted by having to leave hyperspace and land at a spaceport, it’s the middle of the night in local time. You planned to have a nap and search out the local covert just before dawn.

You go to the galley to have a bite before turning in, and the stranger - Din, you remember, although his last name is less clear - is cleaning up some dishes. There’s another bowl in the middle of the small table, covered by a plate.

“That’s for you, if you’d like to have it. Used up the last of that spice mix we got” he tells you as you enter. You sit down and stretch your legs out one side. As you take the plate off from the steaming bowl, you think about how nice it is to find warm food on the table and not having to cook your own all the time.

“Thank you.” You pull the bowl close and take the spoon that he put beside it. You swirl the soup - it looks very good: clear broth with lots of veggies and other fillers in it - and gather your thoughts. “So ummm… I want to ask something before it gets awkward again.“

He finishes piling the bowls and cups and sits down on the seat opposite. You blurt the question out before you might change your mind.

“What was your name again? Din, that was clear, but the rest… sorry but it sounded something like “jarring”?”

He chuckles, and it’s a clear sound even with a vocoder, no snort or sigh to distort it.

“It’s Djarin. Dorn-jenth-aurek-resh-isk-nern. Djarin.” You nod, a bit embarrassed, and he continues. “Don’t worry, you aren't the first to ask. Probably not the last either.”

“Thanks for being patient. I’m not the best with names, to be honest.”

He tilts his head.

“Is that why you are always so focused when someone introduces themselves? I can ask them to repeat their names for me too if you want to, than both of us can try to remember them.”

You blink at him.

“That’d be…” Unnecessary, and don’t bother, and it’s not your job, you think - but stop yourself. That would actually help. No shame in accepting it. ”That would be nice. Thanks.” You are good at a few things, like making things with your own two hands. Not gaping when something surprises you, or remembering faces or names, any names, not just people? Nah.

You tuck into your soup, and the two of you sit in companionable silence. You wander if Djarin sits there because he wants to, or if he’s waiting for more questions from you. You asked a lot from him during the last few hours, and he was really kind with all his help and telling you his name and not being bothered when you misremembered it.

You are halfway done with your meal when he stirs. He leans forward with his lower arms on the table, and takes a deep breath. You wonder what his question will be - you commit to answer whatever it might be. He deserves that after today.

“So you asked earlier about me and… droids, right?”

Your hand with the spoon stops in the air. You weren’t expecting this question, at all.

“Yes…” You want to say he didn’t have to answer. But you already told him that. You’re sure he remembers that too - since he brought the topic up again. “Yes, I did.”

He shuffles on his seat a bit, and looks out to the side like he sometimes does. You lower your spoon and eat, letting him gather his thoughts.

“When I was a kid… I don’t know how old you were then, but during the war. The Clone wars.” You nod, understanding what he’s getting at, and he continues. “We were… the place I lived came under attack. Some separatist battle droids. Mandalorians saved me.”

You swallow your soup. That was the shortest possible description of someone having their entire life and probably everyone they knew ripped away from them and finding a new way of life for the decades to come.

“I’m sorry” you say, because really, what else is there to say. He nods, and gazes off again. Than he shrugs his shoulders, as if he wants to shake the weight of the past from them.

He gets up, and walks around the table on his way out. He stops beside you for a moment and hesitates, and you almost turn towards him to ask what he needs when you feel him squeeze your shoulder. Than he straightens and steps away.

It’s warm where he squeezed it, and you remember how long ago it was that someone touched you.

You need to talk to your friends asap, and hug at least some of them. He turns back from the door.

“Get some sleep before dawn, all right? Have to be sharp to remember all those new names.” You don’t see him wink but you’d bet he does behind his visor. You scrunch your nose at him and pout before smiling, and he dips out of the galley.

Your hand is still hovering in the air, holding the spoon, while you listen to his footsteps getting more distant as he walks down the corridor to his cabin.

It’s just your luck that you don’t need your wits the next place. It’s only two people with the same, simple name and you met both of them before.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x tall reader #din djarin x gn!reader #post season 2 #mandalorian oc #armourer oc #cheeky mandos #my writing

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mneiai · 4 years

Text

Everything So Far About My Stewjoni-as-actual-sithspawn verse

Below the cut is all of my “canon” so far, some of it may be changed as I get other ideas.

CW non-consensual body modification, dubiously consensual body modification, body horror, monsters, violence, cannibalism

History:

The Stewjoni were a sentient race of predatory non-humans who preyed on, among other beings/animals, the Sith race. They were particularly attracted to prey that used or was in some way connected to the Darkside of the Force. When the Dark Jedi who would become the modern Sith integrated with Sith culture, they were told of them as a warning. They, of course, took it upon themselves to study and change the Stewjoni to suit their needs.

Sith alchemists twisted the Stewjoni into more dangerous beings with a preference for preying on Force users in general. Previously solely pack hunters, they developed them into more solo hunters due to their rarity. The Sith would set them loose to hunt their rivals or Jedi knowing that those enemies would almost certainly die in terror and that there was no means of surviving once the Stewjoni had started to feed.

Centuries later, the Taungs took over Stewjon and were immediately fascinated with the natives. They saw them as demigods of battle and war and favored them above most other races, which continued to some extent among their Mandalorian descendants until near the fall of the Mandalorian Empire, when the Stewjoni made a deal with the Republic for neutrality in the war (where they were particularly devastating against the Jedi forces) in exchange for Republic-supported isolation.

The Republic placed the Stewjoni into a difficult legal classification–the system is sovereign and has all of the rights that any Republic system would, but the people had already been classified as biological weapons and that never changed. Many of the original Republic worlds still have laws making it illegal for Stewjoni to enter and that anyone who assists in such an endeavor are seen as trafficking bioweapons.

Appearance:

(some pictures as a basic reference can be found here)

Stewjoni are vaguely human looking. They have two arms, two legs, one head, and walk upright on those two legs. The Sith alchemists mixed them with a variety of other beings and humans were a part of that–their faces, with eyes and mouths closed, look like attractive human faces and their bodies, if other features were to be removed, like muscular human bodies.

Their eyes are a coppery-gold color, scaled, with multiple small pupils. They are capable of seeing a multitude more colors than humans, which assists them in hunting in many environments where the slightest change in appearance can be useful.

Their skin, which looks pale to human eyes but in fact is extremely colorful to eyes capable of seeing greater ranges, is smooth and elastic, having more give and far more resilience than human flesh. Natural bruising is unusual and they are unlikely to receive casual wounds like papercuts.

Their ears are long and pointed, the ridges and grooves of the pinna more complicated to allow for more details at more frequency ranges than human ears.

Their teeth are sharp, and more plentiful than human teeth. But the most notable aspect of their mouth are retractable barbs which can inject paralytic venom and detach easily in case it doesn’t act quickly enough to prevent the prey from pulling away.

They have long, pale-colored claws made for fighting and killing, but also with great utility for climbing and digging. They are incredibly sharp and sturdy. Their hands, for the most part, look otherwise human, though their feet are more dexterous, capable of gripping and holding things in limited ways.

Along their backs, from shoulder to hips, are a long crest of spines which are normally at least three colors. The spines are more defensive in purpose than offensive, though as the Stewjoni are intelligent they have been known to utilize them as such if necessary. The spines utilize the same venom as the barbs and are a paralytic, though introduce much larger amounts of venom and can be lethal very quickly. They are also designed to detach and stay within an attacker, doing more damage to them and needing to be cut out. The spines are also sensitive to changes in the air/water and vibrations, so that they have more warning if someone is attacking from behind.

Their organs are fewer and more streamlined, having been designed specifically to be significantly more efficient. While they can consume nearly any food source, they can also sustain themselves on pure Force (or life) energy taken from their prey.

Their blood utilizes copper, instead of iron, and is blue in color, though they do not experience many negative effects of imbalances.

Procreation etc

The Stewjoni need three members of their race to procreate–one lays eggs within the womb of another, which are then fertilized by a third. While their young are born live, they are still called “clutches” because of the egg laying process.

Stewjoni embryos cannibalize each other in the womb and generally only one or two survive to be birthed. All children with at least one shared parent are considered siblings.

Raising children is a communal effort and they are often kept closely with anyone in a similar age group. They are very sheltered for the first ten or so years of their lives, though they are trained to hunt in tightly controlled sessions as soon as they can walk and call to their prey in the Force.

Culturally, they do not have genders. Their language is genderless and it is not uncommon for individuals to be born capable of taking more than one role in the breeding process. They often choose pronouns at random when speaking languages that require gendered ones and may refer to having two mothers and a father or two fathers and a mother if pressed.

The Force/Feeding

The Sith race believed that the Stewjoni were direct children of the Force, shaped and brought into being to challenge and improve the Sith so that they might better serve.

They are largely not traditional Force users, though they all are capable of “singing” in the Force, a means of attracting their prey to them by mesmerizing them, that has led to myths throughout the galaxy of them being what the Alderaanians call ‘Sirens.’ The Sith described encountering a Stewjoni like hearing the sweetest songs, tasting the most delicious flavors, feeling the most extreme of pleasures. There were stories of suicide-by-Stewjoni in early Sith histories.

When the alchemists twisted them to look more attractive to humans and near-humans, they were working to increase their effectiveness as perceived sources of pleasure within their prey. (Other legends built up around them are comparable to real world legends of succubi and incubi, and, as was somewhat my inspiration for this, what’s known as the baobhan sith.)

The Stewjoni themselves are incapable of the depth of “Dark” emotions necessary to utilize the Darkside, though Stewjon is a Dark nexus in the Force and Darksiders in particular are attracted to the Stewjoni.

When a Stewjoni is also a traditional type of Force sensitive, they were previously given to the Sith, to be trained as they were, and then after were given over to the Mandalorian tribes that had strong Force training. After the fall of the Mandalorian Empire, such Force sensitive Stewjoni were largely kept untrained.

Lifespans

Stewjoni live, on average, 300 standard years, though arguably could live indefinitely if they can continue feeding regularly off of other sentient beings. They grow quickly, nearly human standard, but once fully grown their aging slows to a crawl and the cell damage that causes aging is often reversed by their feeding (and many injuries are also healed).

Obi-Wan

Obi-Wan Kenobi (a name an approximation of the written Stewjoni language translated into the Aurebesh and then pronounced in Basic) was born in a rare clutch of three. All three were Force sensitive and his two clutchmates died within the first few years of their lives from their own abilities. Obi-Wan lasted for nearly three years before he, too, nearly succumbed to the complications of being an untrained Force user.

In an unprecedented move, the Jedi were contacted and given Obi-Wan with promises that he would be able to visit as needed. It was agreed that he would go through a variety of medical procedures in order to look more human, both to protect him from slavers and to allow him more freedom of movement.

His ears and teeth were made to resemble human ones. His eyes had permanent lenses surgically placed inside of them. His spines were surgically removed so they wouldn’t grow back. His vocal chords were augmented to be able to better manage the range of human sounds. His nails chemically treated so they would be weaker and, if probably trimmed, appear virtually like human nails. He was given tattoos that resemble the visible parts of human circulatory systems and fake organs placed in his abdomen so general scans would make him appear near-human at first glance.

#bioweapon stewjoni #sithspawn #stewjoni headcanons

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dreaminghour · 3 years

Text

Star Wars OC Ship Week

Eyaf is a lilac Twi'lek Jedi. She first appeared in The Calling. You can also read about Master Eyaf meeting youngling Obi-Wan. Or about youngling Eyaf meeting Padawan Qui-Gon.

Last I did, and which I enjoyed so much I recorded a podfic for it, was Master Eyaf talking to Padawan Obi-Wan when he's not doing so well.

Day 4: Action/Adventure (EC & OC... it's complicated)

“I like your hair,” she said, tugging on a long strand. “Do you remember the first rule?”

“No touching,” he repeated. His face was flushed as well, she noticed, now that she’d turned to face him again.

“But is it all right if I kiss you?” She settled on his knees which he’d parted slightly as she’d continued to dance.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She leaned in slowly and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and beneath her hands she could feel his chest rising and falling.

4091 words / original character & qui-gon jinn / bittersweet / mature audiences: vulgarity, allusions to sex and violence

An Unexpected Dance

When Eyaf was the one drawing attention on a job, she avoided connecting to the Force. She left it as a soft lull at the back of her mind, like hearing the distant roar of the tide coming in, reassured that if she absolutely had to, she could pull from that source.

When she was on the floor of the Hips & Whips between sets, she knew it was risky to rely on her Force sensitivity on the slight chance someone could sense her doing it. Eyaf caught the hand reaching to grope her instinctively.

“No touching!” She flashed her fangs as she smiled at the patron, just bordering on predatory. She didn’t want to get a complaint.

“Masha!”

Eyaf turned to Kirest, the floor manager, who looked sternly between her and the Correllian. She'd gotten good at responding to her alias.

“Any problems here?” he asked.

“No, sir.” She looked back to the table of rougher-than-usual spacefarers and winked as she continued: “Just answered some questions about the establishment rules.”

That seemed to realign his concern. Kirest was fairly short for a Human, but could glare with the best of them. She might not have given him her real name when she began working here four months ago, but she knew he had her back.

She tilted her head back as she walked on, her lilac lekku swaying, well aware that her outfit was as much an advertisement for the establishment as the flashing neon signs in the window which stated “Dancers! All types!” in cursive Aurebesh and two other galactic scripts.

The wall was still stained from where an older sign, the silhouette of a Twi’lek woman with conspicuously suggestive anatomy had previously hung. “Former management,” she’d been told when she’d been hired.

Eyaf had been raised in the Créche of the Jedi Temple, so she had been spared most of the stereotypes of Twi’lek women growing up. But she had become aware of them during her teenage years, once she’d begun striking out on missions as a Padawan. Master Ibban had never condescended to her, in general, it didn’t seem to be a particularly Jedi trait to shy away from the harsh realities of the galaxy. Though he had instilled in Eyaf several idealisms about how the galaxy should be.

Ibban would probably have something to say about Masha, she thought, and quickly brushed that thought aside.

She couldn’t use the Force without giving herself away, but she’d studied closely with her Master who had not been as reliant on the Force as other Jedi. He’d encouraged her to use all her abilities, to blend in among the general population and use her other talents in order to do what needed to be done. She could draw on the meditation techniques she’d been taught, she could do real damage with her bare fists. Months ago, she’d left her lightsaber in a safehouse, blocks away from her fake apartment.

She was graceful, she’d have told her former Master. So she became a dancer.

Dancers at Hips & Whips were well paid and taken care of. Too bad it was the secret front for Hutt smugglers. She’d never had believed it herself if she’d been merely shown in through the front door, but months of observation and playing just-dumb-enough had made it pretty clear. The beings who danced and the clients who paid were not as vital to the business as the spooks who came in through the backdoor and never seemed interested in the near nudity going on in the greenroom at all hours.

Eyaf took a leisurely stroll around the floor and picked up a few glasses. Technically there were bussers for that, but it didn’t hurt to remind the clientele who was working, she’d been told. Better for her mission as well. If she lingered, she could keep an eye on who came around from the backdoor and got sloppy. She’d gleaned quite a bit since working here, but not enough to take back to the liaison she’d been assigned to track down Beroo the Hutt. No one had seen head or tail of him for almost a year.

“That’s what the Hutt told me.”

She whipped her head around and nearly smacked a drink off a waitresses tray with one of her lek. It was as though someone had been listening to her thoughts. The Geonosian waitress clicked at her in irritation.

“Ah, sorry,” she said, ducking her head a bit and wincing.

Playing up her natural emotions was always the hardest part. She was concentrating so hard on how long it was reasonable to be abashed that she didn’t immediately notice someone staring at her. She turned, readying a solicitous smile when she met familiar eyes and her expression froze.

“Eya—” Qui-Gon gulped when he realized she was indeed who he’d thought.

She felt him reach out with the Force, the equivalent of a handshake, and she rebuffed him. If he said her name he would potentially do damage to her cover story, let alone his. If she used the Force with so many eyes on her, someone would ask questions about Masha.

Masha would never judge a client’s outfit if it was clean and the credit was good. Eyaf thought Qui-Gon’s outfit was ridiculous. It was like something you could buy from Jawas who’d just looted a laundry line. If it wasn’t tunic and robes, he still couldn’t dress.

You could take the boy out of the Temple, but apparently couldn’t take the Jedi out of the boy.

“Eyyy,” he tried again. “You there, what’s your name?”

She felt her face go pale. Did he have any idea what he was doing?

“Masha,” she said, trying very hard to remember that flirtatious tone she had long-ago perfected, even though it was her old friend doing the soliciting.

“Masha, how much would it be for the night?”

Oh shit. He really didn’t know what he was doing.

“You mean for a dance, handsome?”

“Yes?”

Fucking hell.

“A private dance?” she suggested.

“Uh. Yes.”

That got a chuckle from the Wookie sitting beside him. “Don’t let her fleece ya,” the Wookie growled, leaning in as though in confidence, but it wasn’t said quietly enough for Eyaf to misunderstand.

Her floor manager was allowed to scowl at that. Masha couldn’t because it was bad for business, and Eyaf wouldn’t have deigned that remark with even a cool look. It was testament to Qui-Gon’s adaptability that he picked up his hat and smiled easily at his companion.

“Hopefully I won’t see you womp rats again too soon.” He winked.

Eyaf resisted the urge to punch him, even as she looped her arm through his and recited the rules which Masha was supposed to remind every client of.

“So I know you already know this,” she spoke in that half-quiet, lilting voice which carried just far enough to catch the ears of those not otherwise engaged. “But while you can give me permission to touch you, you can’t touch me. Understand?”

“Uh, yeah.” Qui-Gon sounded like a water-farmer fresh off the dunes, but he wasn’t actually looking at her when he responded, glancing just over her shoulder.

She ran over the rest as quickly as she dared, ending with: “Asking me to take my clothes off is extra.”

He did look at her then, and he seemed mildly concerned.

“Not all the dancers strip, sir,” she said, trying to affect that same lightness in her tone.

“But you do,” he said, it wasn't really a question.

“I haven’t had any complaints yet.” She caught the eye of an off-duty Urabellion officer and fluttered her eyelashes before turning back to Qui-Gon.

She was sure he knew how public their journey across the club floor was. He had to. She knew he wasn’t stupid. This was part of their cover, too. ‘Dancer takes inexperienced yokel into a dark corner.’ They had parts to play here.

She let him lead her into one of the smaller booths and drew the curtain once he had sat down. Immediately Qui-Gon seemed to relax and become a bit more like himself, but when he met her eyes she shook her head. This easily transitioned into a move which she and the other Twi’lek dancers did to make their lekku sway in a languorous movement. It was awkward, much easier for the beings with long-hair, but it was popular and had the desired effect on clientele — usually.

“What are you doing?” Qui-Gon asked, stiffening as she sidled up to him and reached out a hand to touch him.

“May I touch you?” she asked.

“What are you doing?” he seemed to be getting uncharacteristically stern with her.

“May I touch you?” she repeated.

She couldn’t get away with using the Force while being watched, so she hoped he could understand her meaning when she made a modified gesture to indicate the holocams which were placed inside all the dance booths.

“I’m dancing,” she said. She spoke in that soft sigh of a voice which was meant to put a client at ease, and she hoped it had a similar effect on Qui-Gon. “You might enjoy it more if I was allowed to touch you. You did ask for a private dance after all.”

Neither of them commented on the fact that he had accidentally asked for something very different at first, and that she was the one who had suggested the dance.

“Yes,” he sighed. “You can touch me.”

“Lovely.” She grinned wolfishly and straddled his hips.

They didn’t speak for several tense moments. Her usual dance routine involved quite a bit more physical contact. She wasn’t worried with Qui-Gon, she trusted him, knew that he would never do anything to her that she hadn’t asked him for. There were few at the Temple that she knew who had as much control over themselves as Qui-Gon.

The majority of the time he didn’t seem to take anything seriously, but because she’d seen him grow from impetuous teenager into rebellious youth and into the man she knew now, she could tell better than most when he was being serious and just pretending to laugh something off. It was more often than other Jedi might have suspected. It was his style. She appreciated that about him. It had actually been on her mind as she’d been curating the persona of Masha.

“You know my name, handsome, what’s yours?” She dipped her hips in a circuitous motion and spoke softly, not hiding from the person listening to make sure she wasn’t being hurt, or that something profitable was being kept away from the backdoor. It was faux-intimacy for clients.

“Uh. Kreg.”

“Akreg?” She put one hand on his shoulder and dipped lower with her hips, barely brushing his thighs.

“Kreg.” He cleared his throat. “My parents were Revisionists.”

“Oh,” she smiled, liking how his conservative backstory overlapped with appearances. “Your friends showing you a good time?”

He scowled a bit at that. “Masha—”

Eyaf could tell from his tone that he wanted to tell her something. She tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear and leaned in to whisper: “They’re listening.”

“I know,” he replied, still scowling the barest amount. “I won’t touch you.”

“Good,” she smiled, and even though it made her queasy, she asked: “You ever been with a Twi’lek before?”

“Uh…”

It wasn’t a pleasant look on his face, and Eyaf was quickly tiring of this version of role-playing they’d stumbled into. But this was her routine, so she laughed as she always did, no matter what the client answered. “I meant for a dance.”

“Right.” He was flushed a little at the neck.

She knew that looking the way she did, moving against him the way she was, that a physiological reaction was not out of the question. It didn’t mean anything, and she wasn’t just saying that. The body had reactions that the mind would want no part of. A man who was known for having control over himself at all times might feel some measure of shame at that. She didn’t know what to do for him.

She twirled and danced with her back to him, hearing the music that was piped in to give each little area privacy, but she could also hear just beyond the curtains anyway. She knew that some of the dancers were more lax with the rules than they should be. Not that any of them would sleep with a client. At least not on the premises where the rules applied.

She’d been counting the minutes since they’d set foot into the curtained space. Most private dances last fifteen minutes at least, and if she was unlucky, someone would be listening that whole time. Most of the time however, once things turned slightly more intense, when the client was well and truly involved with the dancer, the managers would relax enough to let the dancers work.

“I like your hair,” she said, tugging on a long strand. “Do you remember the first rule?”

“No touching,” he repeated. His face was flushed as well, she noticed, now that she’d turned to face him again.

“But is it all right if I kiss you?” She settled on his knees which he’d parted slightly as she’d continued to dance.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She leaned in slowly and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and beneath her hands she could feel his chest rising and falling.

Qui-Gon wasn’t celibate like some Jedi, had in fact been praised to a nearly-nauseating degree by a courtesan he’d had the honor of working with once, not that he had said anything. As far as she knew, he had never been terribly inclined toward any particular beings. He had not ever had any interest in her, either, which had made spending so much time in close proximity to him easier when they’d both been young Knights. The physiological reaction to her costume, her dance playlist, this place, was not an indication of anything. She would never have kissed a client like that. Instead she was softer, she kept her distance and pressed her lips to his ear to tug on his earlobe with her teeth eliciting a shiver from him.

“What are you doing here?” she spoke as quietly as she dared.

He let out a ragged breath, and she could see him gripping the chair cushion tightly.

“I followed an assassin to the backdoor, but didn’t think they’d let me barge in as I was.”

She giggled, a bit more playfully than probably appropriate, but she still had a role to play. “That explains the clothes.”

He remembered himself just as he was opening his mouth to reply. “Oh. I guess you see guys like me all the time.”

She leaned in again to nuzzle at his neck, her arms looping over his shoulders, and she leaned into him more, her breasts pressing against his chest.

“What does the assassin want?” she asked.

“They’ve got a grudge with Beroo apparently. You’re aware that…” he pulled his head back slightly to look her in the eye and she nodded.

“Not here,” she said happily, as though speaking about anything else.

“I think that means they’re out for revenge.” He did not match her smile.

Something cold splashed on her that even the close air of their little oasis couldn’t keep from chilling her blood.

“What will they do?” Eyaf asked.

“Go after his assets.” His voice was barely above a breath and he leaned in, just slightly, as though he was going to kiss her himself. “They’re wanted for arson and are an incendiary specialist.”

“The backdoor let them in?” she asked.

He nodded, the barest movement. “Not without some trouble. There was disagreement. Maybe an old code.”

“An accomplice could easily help hide a device to blow this place,” she said. “We should evacuate if I can’t find it. Can you take care of the guests?”

“If you take care of the dancers.” He pressed closer, speaking into her ear directly. “I’ll wait for your word.”

“I’m due for a break,” she said, a little more loudly, disentangling herself. “But I’d love to dance for you again, Kreg. Will you be around for a while?”

“If I got to see you dance again, Masha, I’d stay all night.” The words were cheerful, but he looked much paler than he had while she’d been dancing.

“I’ll be back,” Eyaf said, and just as Masha would, she ran her fingers along his face.

There was something going on in his expression, but she didn’t have time to think about it. The assassin could have been in and gone already thirty minutes ago. She nodded at Kirest, who was glaring holes into Qui-Gon’s back.

“I just need to piss,” she said with a grimace. “He said he wants another dance when I’m back.”

“Oh!” Kirest raised his eyebrows. “I know you’re good, Masha, but still. Nice job.” He nodded and moved on to check on a dancer coming out of another booth.

All noise was swallowed as soon as Eyaf stepped across the boundary into the backrooms. She spent most of her time in the green room, but as far as she knew, she’d seen the entirety of the back area. There weren’t any rooms that were technically off limits to the dancers or any of the other staff, but it was always better to have a reason to be somewhere. Like anyplace one worked, shirking was not a good look.

The backdoor was attended by a Quarren with a scarred eye, who was busy watching a holodrama with his good eye as Eyaf walked past him. He didn’t even look at her. In the kitchen, she found some mail sitting on the table beside a box of donuts from the corner-bakery. She snagged one and moved on to the next room. A holo-screen was playing the main theme of the drama she’d just heard on the Quarren’s device, but the couches were empty. The only ones in the green room were the Twi’lek Twins who were just applying each other’s makeup. Eyaf didn’t like to spend much time with them if she could help it. Despite the fact that they were also keeping a secret (they were not in fact siblings) she didn’t find any comfort in their presence. They didn’t know she was keeping a secret as well, after all. She also found the steaming mug of kaf that signalled that one of the Humans had come in as well. Riz was one of her favorite co-workers, his jokes and his stories about his toddler were some of the highlights of her nights. She had to make sure he got out if there was a bomb. They all deserved to live long lives as far as she was concerned.

She found Riz coming out of the showers, something off with his expression, and when she saw the other backdoor manager, a Thisspiasian, come out of the refresher after him with a smirk, she felt a quiver of disgust. That was something about money, then. She moved on. She liked Riz, but he didn’t know her from Prime Jedi. All she could do was see if there was a bomb and make sure he got out with everyone else if there was.

She came back through the kitchen, and paused. She looked at the little stack of flimsi-letters, nothing unusual there, and then looked at the package sitting beside them. As far as she knew, that courier didn’t work in this part of the city. No one else was around but still she hesitated to reach out through the Force, instead lifting the package to listen for the tell-tale buzz of a carbo-tikar bomb. Her heart clenched into a fist and her skin seemed to contract in on itself, making her dance-loosened muscles begin to cramp. But she heard nothing. She didn’t have time for this. After another beat, she took a deeper look, closing her eyes to feel the contents within, ghostly sensations rippling across her fingers as she touched them like smoke. It was a memory stick.

Her thoughts whirred for a moment, because what if this was a lead that she could not afford to let slip away? But she remembered that a known arsonist had been in these rooms, and if she didn’t find what they had left behind, more than a lead might be lost.

She hadn’t dropped her connection to the Force, and that’s why she could smell the faintest trace of chemicals that were unfamiliar to her, carried on the air which had followed Riz and the Thisspiasian out of the refresher. She went back, and actually went inside this time. The room was empty, but steam clung to the walls and mirrors, the white tile making the air seem misty still.

The smell was stronger. Her gaze honed in on the garbage pail beside one of the toilets. It was smoke.

Without thinking about it, she dropped to her knees and suffocated the chemical fire in an instant with her power. Her head went light for a moment, but she drew from the Force and then stood, barely a waver in her step. As she turned, she was Riz in the doorway looking at her in concern.

Had he seen her?

“Oh, honey,” he said, snagging a wet towel. He handed it to her.

At her look of confusion, he gestured to the corner she’d just been kneeling in.

“To wipe your mouth,” he said. He smiled. “I know this work isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. So if you ever need to talk, just know that I’m here for you.”

He left her alone at that, and briefly she wondered what he’d come back into the room for. He’d assumed, what? That she’d been throwing up? That she’d been spitting something out? The steam warmth of the room had dissipated. She needed to find Qui-Gon.

She saw the shaving kit beside the sink and snagged it. On her way back to the Green Room, she saw that the package on the kitchen table was gone. When she handed the shaving kit to Riz, she didn’t see evidence of the package, but she had closed herself off from the Force again, and was sliding her best ‘Carefree Masha’ impression back into place.

“Thanks,” he said, and she kissed him on the forehead, a silent thank you in return.

Out on the floor, the thumping music rose to a crescendo the chorus of a hot new hit pulsing against her temples — the party goes off like a carbo-tikar bomb — and she smiled as she caught Qui-Gon’s eye.

“Oh, good! You’re still here, Kreg!” She reached out for him, catching the lapel of his vest, even as the others at the table seemed to stiffen at her approach. Without the Force her best guess was jealousy rather than suspicion. “Still want another dance?”

“How about you dance for all of us, little lady? You’re wasting it on this one. He’s fresh out of the tank.”

Eyaf didn’t spare the other one a glance.

“Is that what you want?” Eyaf asked.

“That might be best,” Qui-Gon said. “No hard feelings, but I have an early shift tomorrow.”

He seemed genuinely worried about her, and still rebuffing the sense that he was reaching out to her, she could only plaster on that fake smile and shrug.

“No hard feelings, but you owe me. You said you wanted to see me dance all night.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he said, suddenly sounding more like himself. She hid a moment of confusion. “I’m not sure this is my kind of place. As long as you’re OK?”

Yes, the threat was neutralized — but she couldn’t say that.

“I’ll get over it,” she winked, and pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling the rough skin where he’d done a bad job shaving. “But I’ll hear about it if you buy a dance from someone else.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Qui-Gon said with an aw-shucks bob of his head, putting the ugly hat back on. “See you around.”

She didn’t watch to see if he looked back, instead turning to the others still at the table.

It twisted in her gut to not have closure, to know if things were all right, that he had given her money. All she could do was hope to see him again soon in clear air.

#star wars oc ship week #starwarsocshipweek2021 #qui gon jinn #prompt fill #fanfiction #my oc #eya'fiwu

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mistflyer1102 · 3 years

Text

negotiate

Summary: Plans are always changing.

-----------------------

It was the first time in the war that their paths crossed while they were on separate missions.

“I was beginning to wonder why General Zey tacked on that extraction order, two minutes after we started heading to the extraction point after our quietest mission so far in this war, without an explanation,” Fi said as he accepted his portion of fried meat from Darman, who was listening as he kept an eye on their small campfire in the copse of trees they were using for cover. “Not even Sarge knew why, just ‘extract Jedi Knight present’,” he added, leaning forward as Etain Tur-Mukan, missing the cloak she usually wore, gave a little shrug of her shoulder, ducking her head slightly with the familiar little smile that Darman knew she wore when embarrassed. “This place isn’t exactly known for its tourist destinations, is that what brought you out here?” Fi asked, grinning. “Or was it the stellar reviews of the local safaris?”

She shook her head. “Assignment not related to the war, actually. Master Nu, the head of the Archives, caught wind of old Jedi texts being put up for sale since the previous owner passed away recently,” she said, gingerly and slowly lifting her satchel, and setting it down in front of them. “I happened to be closest to here, and available, so Master Zey asked me to ‘swing by’ to pick them up.” She huffed as she opened the satchel, and Darman blinked when she pulled out a book, with paper instead of flimsi. “It was a trap of course, the actual sale, that is. I haven’t had a chance to tell Master Zey, the comm got wrecked,” she said as she opened the book carefully. Darman leaned in for a closer look as she laid it out on her lap.

Fi leaned in as well. “Must have been pretty important, what does it say?” he commented, studying the open pages.

Etain snorted. “Master Nu, she’s a noncombatant, but she apparently asked the Council ‘nicely’, which usually means she most likely kept pressing them until Master Windu said yes. She used to serve on the Council, actually,” she added, brow furrowing for a moment as she seemed to recall something. She then seemed to move on, her brow smoothing out as she carefully turned one of the pages. “I don’t know what the books say. I can’t tell if it is in the local language or another dialect, but it isn’t Aurebesh,” she said as she folded the book closed and tucked it back into her satchel.

Fi snorted. “So General Zey and the Jedi Council found time in the middle of a war to--hey!”

Darman looked up to see a weefil rat, a mammal native to the region, already dragging Fi’s helmet towards the bushes, presumably to its burrow. It began to run when Fi scrambled to his feet to give chase. Darman grinned as the weefil rat disappeared into the bushes, Fi close behind. He could hear the whole slew of cursing, and he shook his head with a grin as he offered a portion of fried meat to Etain. She shook her head, brow still furrowed as she looked back across the darkened fields. He frowned slightly, straightening. “Etain? What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice down as he reached for his DC-17. Niner and Atin, he knew, were on their turns for lookout and patrol duty, but that didn’t mean he could lower his guard.

She blinked, and then shook her head. “Nothing, nothing that will be a threat to you and the rest of the squad,” she said, turning back to face him. He could see dark lines underneath her eyes, more pronounced than he remembered from the last time he saw her.

“What sort of threat?” he asked, leaning forward slightly to hear her better.

She shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Remember how I said there was trouble at the auction?” When he nodded, she said, “At first, it was going smoothly. I won the bidding war, and was paying for the books when two bounty hunters appeared. I’m still not sure if they want me or the books, but whatever the case, it took me a while to first escape, then shake them while I was still in town. It was during that escape, actually, that my comlink got crushed when I fell through a roof. Landed on an empty warehouse floor, that hurt a lot more than I thought it would,” she said, wincing as she brushed her side.

Darman frowned. “Are you sure nothing was broken?”

She nodded, grimacing slightly. “I don’t think I would have made it as far as I have with broken bones. The hunters have animals with them...vornskrs, I think they’re called. Have you heard of them before?” she asked, looking at him.

“Only in the databanks, but haven’t met them in reality yet.” Darman paused, trying to recall what the Kaminoan databanks had said about them. “They’re predators, but they’re not native to here, are they? I didn’t think people kept them as pets,” he said, swallowing when he remembered one factoid that stood out in his memory. “They’re unusual because they’re attuned to the Force, aren’t they?”

“And nocturnal. Which is why I said I couldn’t stay long when I found you, the hunters have three vornskrs between the two of them. I guess maybe they can be hunting animals, not pets, but I’m not planning to stop and ask the bounty hunters which category that their vornskrs fall into. I ended up stealing a speeder just to get out of town, I ditched it in the river a ways back,” she replied, gesturing in a vague direction where Darman remembered the river to be. She shook her head with a faint smile. “Before now, I had only read about vornskrs in class. The holos don’t ever tell you about the teeth,” she said, shuddering as she moved the satchel strap around her body again.

Darman nodded as he listened, mentally running through the last few hours in his head, from General Zey’s orders to Etain’s arrival, then calculated the estimated time of travel from the campsite to the nearest town. “Okay, General Zey’s last minute change in objectives makes more sense now. We were enroute to the extraction point when Niner got the orders to extract a Jedi Knight before departing this system. So stay with us, we’ll be reaching the extraction point tomorrow, you should stay with us. Safety in numbers, remember?” he said, arching a brow when she made an impatient noise in her throat.

“I know, but I’m a kriffing beacon for three carnivores and two pissed-off bounty hunters. I can’t compromise the squad’s safety either,” she said, lowering her voice as she gestured to the fields behind her. “I don’t even know what they want, me or the books.”

“But you’re also injured, you’re going to be moving slow even if you push yourself. I saw the way you limped into the campsite a few hours ago,” Darman pointed out, keeping his voice down as well. He let out a slow exhale, thinking: he could still see that little furrow in her brow that he knew meant she was going to keep arguing with him. “All right, how about this. I’ll give you the coordinates to the extraction point, you meet with us there. If you think they’re after the books, I can take them with us. That way, in the highly unlikely event of capture, then at least you know the books made it off-system,” he suggested, tilting his head as he watched her shoulders sag. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

She gestured to the satchel. “We’re in a war, and here we are guarding books,” she muttered under her breath. She was quiet, staring at the ground for a few moments, and then began to wiggle out of the strap again, breath hitching as she grimaced. “Make sure they get to Master Zey if I don’t make it,” she said, handing the satchel to Darman, who draped the strap around his shoulder. “There are five books in there, I tore my cloak up to make padding for them.”

He nodded. “And you will be there, don’t make me come chasing after you,” he said, grinning when she grinned despite herself at the mock warning. He pulled his datapad out, and then handed it to her so she could see the coordinates for the extraction point. He did glance over his shoulder when he heard a faint crash followed by Fi swearing, and then turned back to face her.

Etain offered him a salute. “Do you want me to talk to Niner about the change in plans?” she offered as she took the datapad to study the screen.

Darman shook his head. “I’ll tell him.”

She nodded, brow furrowing as she switched to one of the maps. “All right, what time should I meet you there?” she asked as she handed the datapad back to him.

“Transport arrives at 1300 standard. Be careful.” He took the datapad, and then looked at her. “Do you want pain medication before you leave?” he asked, watching as she winced while slowly standing up.

She swallowed, and then shook her head. “I’ll try to time my arrival so that I get there at the same time as the transport. I don’t know where the vornskrs are right now, I’m trying not to reach out in case that...I don’t know, makes my location more obvious to them, but it’s a hindrance in that I can’t detect how close they are,” she admitted, brushing dirt off her trousers.

“Just be careful, and call if you need backup,” Darman said, standing up as well.

She nodded, letting out a small sigh. She hesitated, and then said, “You too. Be careful.”

He nodded, leaned forward to brush his forehead against hers, and then stood back as he watched her walk into the surrounding darkness outside the copse of trees.

#darman skirata #etain tur-mukan #darman/etain #republic commando #star wars

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greenygreenland · 4 years

Text

If I Were You: Fives x Reader

-for reasons that make it easier for me, this takes place in the US in 2020, so yeah, COVID is a thing -it’s been a while since I’ve written any Star Wars one-shots. I’ve been so busy working on Wannabe lol Summary: You and Fives dream about each other, but you’ve never actually met face to face. You are from a different reality than his where Star Wars is fictional. You believe he’s real, but only can prove it to yourself when he appears in your world. Fives learns about how stressful life off the battlefield can be.

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence, stressing over grades, punishment by parents (more like implied. I won’t write it out, so it’s vaguely stated.)

You sat on a crate, watching the flames lick at the air as Fives smiled to himself. You liked having dreams like this, where you both comfortably sat by the fire, chatting about your contrasting lives. You used to believe Star Wars was a fictional world, until you had dreams about Fives. He was always so real in your mind anyway, and this only made you want to believe in his existence more.

“I have a big test tomorrow, but I don’t think I’m going to do so well.” you mumbled with a sigh. “It makes me feel bad that I’m struggling with this while you struggle with an actual issue.” Fives shook his head, shrugging a little as if it explained everything. “But I was bred for this, for war I mean. If I weren’t a soldier, I don’t know what I’d be.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine myself sitting in a classroom all day learning about geometry and algebra. There are some boys who like that stuff in the 212th, but it seems like a waste to me.”

You nodded in agreement. “Exactly. School is only good for producing data-rich kids who lack experience, especially when they start working and finding jobs.”

“That’s how I felt when I was first deployed. No matter how much training you get, or how much you learn, experience is the best teacher. And like Rex always says--”

“--experience outranks everything.” you said in unison. Fives smiles, and he looks rather happy that you know that. But of course you do, in your world he’s only a fictional character. A person created by some movie producer or director or something (he didn’t remember). It gave him a mixed a feeling, a doubt of his very existence. Was he purely fictional? A fragment of someone’s own imagination?

But then you told him something he swore to never forget: Just because it’s happening inside your head doesn’t mean it isn’t real. The world works in mysterious ways. Maybe we were meant to meet.

And so he hung onto that, always looking forward to when he fell asleep and talked to you. You always looked forward to your dreams too, allowing yourself to forget all of your responsibilities and problems. You never had anything to worry about around Fives, and having him by your side made you feel safe.

“I wish we could meet for real.” You didn’t mean to say that out loud and instinctively looked to meet Fives’s gaze. He nodded in agreement, resting his arms on his knees. “Me too, but if we do I’d rather you not see how horrific the Clone Wars has been.”

“I wish the Clone Wars could have ended differently.”

Fives looks uncertain of your answer, and he wonders if he should ask what the outcome of the War is. He wants to, but deep inside, he knows he shouldn’t.

---------------

You awake in your bed, rubbing at your eyes as your alarm goes off. You turn it off, glancing at the time groggily. 6:00. A sigh leaves your lips and you roll out of bed. There’s movement in your sheets. You freeze, taking note of how human-like the form was. “It’s too early for this sleep paralysis demons, stop--” you rip off the sheets as fast as you can, “--oh...” You trail off, eyes wide in bewilderment. There’s a familiar man in your bed, except, he isn’t a man at all.

He looks to be around your age, and more youthful with the slightest hint of baby fat around his cheeks. He’s cleanly shaven, with a tattoo on his right temple of the aurebesh number 5. You stare at him for a moment, admiring how young, he looks. He's suddenly rolling in your bed, mumbling in his sleep before he jolts up, eyes wide and awake. He’s worried, maybe even a little scared at how unfamiliar the surroundings are. He’s already in ARC trooper mode, scanning his surroundings and reaching for his nonexistent blaster.

“Where...” You met his gaze, swallowing hard as if it’d help ground you.

“Fives.” Your voice is almost a whisper. “How did you get here?” You couldn’t believe your eyes. He was alive, in your bed, real. He shakes his head and sits up in your bed, eyeing his ‘civiie’ clothes uncomfortably. “Uh...these aren’t mine.” he dumbly states. You have the urge to snort. “Of course they aren’t yours Fives.” A long sigh escapes your lips and you eye the time on your phone. “I don’t have time to figure out how you got here. I have school and need to go in fifteen minutes.”

“Out of all the days I somehow show up, it’s on a school day?” Fives remarks. You pick through your closet, frantically pulling out a pair of clothes and shutting yourself in so Fives doesn’t see. “I have a big test, it’s first block and I’ve gotta walk to school.” You pull on your shirt and trousers, emerging from the closet with a frown. “I can’t be late, but I can’t just leave you here.”

“Should I, I don’t know, go with you?”

“You’re not enrolled in school,” you reach for a brush and Fives can only stare in awe as you run it through your locks. “I’m not sure what to--” You pause, placing your brush down with a sigh. “Oh right.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh right?”

“Global pandemic. I have online school. On the bright side, my parents are away. They’ve been quarantined in another state for work reasons.” Fives suddenly feels very dumb. He recalled you talking about ‘COVID-19 ‘ and how it’s a bit like the Blue Shadow Virus. “School doesn’t start until another two hours, so why is my alarm on for six o’clock?” You power on your phone, switching through the alarms and disabling the ones you don’t need with a shake of your head. Fives is mesmerized. He likes how thin the device is, and how it fits in your sweater pocket like a piece of flimsi.

You crawl around him, cuddling into your bed as he simply watches. “You’re going back to sleep?” You nod, placing your phone on its charger and closing your eyes. “We’ll figure out how you got here soon enough, and it’s not like there’s anything better to do.” Fives stares at your bed uncertainly. Was it really okay? You were a girl, after all, and this was your room. You beckon him over, and that’s when he decides to lie down.

Sleeping in a bed couldn’t hurt anyway. And besides, he’s known you for a long time (how long, he’s unsure). He can’t help but note how humongous your bed is compared to the ones in the barracks on the Resolute. It’s so soft, and he feels like he’s laying down on clouds.

“I’m jealous. Your bed’s really big and comfy. The boys would kill to sleep on something like this.” You smile, throwing your thick blankets on top of Fives. He’s about to say something, but you’re already asleep. It appals him how fast you’d done so, and again, he’s just the tiniest bit jealous. But that soon goes away as he relaxes into the soft blankets, savouring the warmth and comfort they provided.

He doesn’t dream, and neither do you.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm blaring, and it takes you every single bit of strength left in your body to slide it off. “Urgh.” You flop down and Fives lazily turns to face you. He opens his eyes, blinking the sleep away with a yawn. “Your bed is amazing.” You grin, climbing out of bed as Fives cuddles into your sheets. “I know, right?”

You open your laptop and log into Google classroom. Zoom awaits you, and it’s the first thing you open along with your quiz work. You sigh, begrudgingly turning on your camera as it starts.

“Good morning everyone.” your teacher says with a smile. “How is everyone doing today?” It’s awkwardly silent for a few moments before someone quietly says ‘good’. You wait for someone else to respond, but it’s silent again. Fives glances over at your computer. He silently crawls out of bed, carefully folding your blankets and ducking out of the camera’s view.

“I guess everyone’s still asleep.” your teacher says with a chuckle. “The Zoom is open if you have any questions on the quiz. I’m not going to keep you here, so if you’d like, you can leave and get to work. You have until the end of the period.” You nod and exit out of the Zoom. Opening up the quiz, you scan over its contents. Your face begins to twist as you read through the problems, your stomach churning with unbelievable doubt.

You were going to fail even though you spent all night studying.

“What even is this?” You scroll through the doc with a scowl, eyeing the equations and problems as if it were the scum of the Earth (which it was). “I’m going to fail. Wonderful.” Despite that, you get to work anyway, scribbling random numbers on a scrap piece of paper. Fives takes a seat on the chair next to you, curiously watching you work through the problems.

“I thought you didn’t know how to do that.”

“I don’t, but I’m trying to see if I can find the answers on the multiple choice questions through trial and error. If I get it wrong, then consider this test flunked.” Fives takes one glance at the paper you’re writing on and immediately regrets it. The equations look like a foreign language to him, with numbers and letters he wasn’t even sure could be possible. “That’s definitely not something they teach us on Kamino.” he says. “And stars am I glad for that.”

You frown, scribbling out an equation with a groan. “I hate this!” Fives wishes he could help, but he doesn’t know how. Math isn’t something he’s done besides the basics of addition and subtraction. He knew decimals too, and a little bit about fractions, but that was all. It wasn’t enough to help you figure out how to use the equation x = x0 + v0t.

“I feel really bad for you.” he muttered. You snorted. “I feel bad for me too.”

Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty. Thirty. Forty. Forty-five....

“Done.” You typed in the last number and submitted the doc, running a hand through your hair as you did so. “I hate this class, but it’s required. Who even needs to know all this stuff anyway?” Fives doesn’t know how to respond, so he watches as you stress over your test. He had his own experiences of tests, but they were for ARC training, or drills he had to remember to keep himself alive on the battlefield.

Like you said, this stuff was useless if you didn’t need it.

The next three class flew by incredibly slowly. Fives didn’t have anything to do, so he watched you go about your day like it were a documentary. In a way, he found it interesting how simple yet complex your life was. You had six hours of school (which used to be seven before the pandemic), one lunch break around noon, and the rest of the day to finish assignments or relax.

He envied how leisurely it was compared to his own life. You had free time to roam around the house or the neighbourhood once you were done, and a whole fridge full of flavourful foods he’s never even had once. Although your life was still stressful, it was lived in the bliss of never knowing the horrors of war.

“Okay, it’s lunch time.” you broke in with a relieved sigh. “Let’s go downstairs.” You opened the door. In Fives’s eyes, your house was a complete dream. “Wow. You have a nice house.” You smiled, leading him down the stairs. “It’s better than a barracks, that’s what. In most peoples’ eyes, my house is normal. It’s not too shabby, but not something you’d find in the town over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rich town. They’re known for the private schools--which are schools that cost money to be enrolled in. I go to a public school, but there’s really not much difference in the curriculums so it doesn’t matter to me. Save money, live better, Walmart.” Fives didn’t ask what a ‘Walmart’ is. As soon as you paused in front of the kitchen, he knew his jaw had hit the floor.

There was a smug look in your eyes as you pulled a box of cereal out of the cabinet. “How about we eat a little bit of everything?” You tossed him the cereal box and he read the title. “That way you can experience it all.” Fives stared at the cereal box with furrowed brows. “’Kix’?”

“I know right? Same name as your Kix.”

Fives wasn’t a big fan of the cereal, but the candy you gave him? Force was that amazing.

You both sat at the kitchen table, candy and chocolate wrappers everywhere. You’d clean up later, what mattered now was spending time with Fives before you figured out a way to get him home. “Isn’t it, I don’t know, lonely here?” he inquired. You fiddled with a candy wrapper, mindlessly scanning over it s ingredients. “I’m not sure. My parents are always away so I don’t see them much. I don’t have many friends and I don’t text them. I don’t really think I can say I’m lonely because I don’t know how it would feel to be lonely when I’m used to it.”

Fives mulled over your lengthy answer thoughtfully. He thought about all his brothers, both the alive and fallen. He couldn’t imagine ever being separated from them, especially since he was around them 24/7. “Well for me,” he began, “I think I’d be lonely in such a big house. You know that I grew up around brothers, guess it’s all I’ve ever known. I’m never alone. I have my brothers.”

You felt an equal sense of connection between yourself and Fives. Both of you did come from different worlds, but you understood not understanding something because that was what you were used to. You couldn’t imagine ever having people around while Fives couldn’t imagine being on his own. Slowly, you gathered the candy wrappers, depositing them in the rubbish bin before glancing at the clock. “I have two more classes.” Your voice was quiet. “You can hang around here if you want, I’ll be upstairs.”

Fives winced to himself when you disappeared. He had hit a sore spot.

Three days later, 14:20, Friday

“Done, done, and done. Happy Friday to you and happy Friday to me.” you mumbled to yourself with a sigh. You thanked whatever was out there for no homework and shrank into your chair. There was a ‘ping!’ from your phone and you checked your email.

First Period Quiz: Marked

You frowned, tapping on the email anyway. Suddenly, you froze, eyes wide over the score displayed on the screen.

25/100%

You failed. Well, of course you failed! You didn’t know a single thing on the stupid quiz anyway. A long sigh escaped your lips and you tossed your phone on your bed. You rested your head in your hands, heaving out deep breaths to steady out the shock. There were footsteps outside your door, and you didn’t need to see a face to know who it was.

“What happened?”

“That test this morning? Yeah, I failed. I studied all night, but it was useless anyway.” Fives didn’t miss the tremble in your voice. After being around so many brothers with trauma, he could identify that tone of voice in a heartbeat. Over these past three days, he learned a lot about you, and he knew you’d done the same. He found out that school was more important than anything to you. He surmised it was because of the pressure your parents put on your shoulders rather than something you chose to dedicate your heart to. He also found out your favourite colour was (f/c) and that you liked to (activity) and (activity).

On the contrary, you only learned about Fives’s habits and a few new things he liked to do or eat. He knew it was because he was, well, a fictional character in your world, but that was something he refused to dwell on (it’d give him an existential crisis).

He took a seat by your side, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. You sniffled, and it was then that Fives knew he had to do something--fast.

Tests weren’t something he personally cried about, but he had seen a few shinies do it in the past. “Hey, hey...” His voice was soft, gentle, like a warm breeze. “It’s okay. Can’t you, I don’t know, do a make-up test?” You shook your head sullenly. “No. My teacher doesn’t allow it.”

“Oh.” He paused, rubbing circles on your back. “Well it’s not the end of the world, right? There will probably be more opportunities that can raise your grade.”

“But I already have a ninety in that class!” You held back a few tears and raised your head. You couldn’t let Fives see you cry over something so pathetic. “I’m going to have an eighty-nine, and I can’t afford to do that! My mum wants me to go to Harvard, my dad wants me to go to MIT... Those are all IV League schools, the top of the top, and I can’t get there if I can’t keep my grades up. I--I just--I wish--”

There’s another wave of tears that build up in your eyes and you bury your head in your arms. You heave out a shaky sigh as Fives scoots closer to you in support. You appreciate his presence, but you’re not sure he can really do anything to help you. He’s a soldier after all, not a professor from a university. He’s build differently, made differently, trained differently while you’re you. A teenager. A nobody who tries her best but can’t succeed.

“My parents are going to be so mad at me. They’re going to...they’ll...” You know they won’t be home for at least another month, but that realisation is enough for the tears to burst and for you to start loudly sobbing. That test was the last to be submitted for the term, so even if you did try to persuade your teacher to allow you to do test-corrections, she would say no. You were going to have to accept a big, fat B on your report card.

Fives doesn’t know what to say, but he knows that if Echo were here, he’d know exactly what to do. But Fives wasn’t Echo. He wasn’t good with words of comfort or really anything off the battlefield. He didn’t know this type of pain like you did. And so he asks the only thing he really can: “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

You just want a shoulder to lean on, someone to physically be there for you after having no one for so many years. So Fives holds you, and you’ve never felt safer in his arms. He rocks you back and forth, hums a little song you know to be in Mando’a. What really matters is that he’s there, and that he has your back. No matter how different you both were, it was clear that pain could take shape in various forms. Some on larger scales than others.

Fives knew that if he was you, he’d feel the same pain too.

PT 2

#clone trooper fives #The Clone Wars #Clone Troopers #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars the clone wars x reader #arc trooper fives

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kill-the-feels · 4 years

Text

convenient

a/n: hey y’all!! i’m back at it again, this time with a whole new series! i don’t have a name for it yet or a banner, but it’s going to feature kix and a special friend! (and on that note, i tried hard to keep this authentic because the clones have to get their tats from somewhere, right? why not close to their favorite bar?)

word count: 1.2k

Having a tattoo shop right behind a bar isn’t a bad setup. You get plenty of customers spilling out of the bar and coming in, and 79’s, the clone bar, is always bumping, with different clone troops coming in on leave or right before they ship back out.

You’ve been here a few standard years too, which means you’ve seen the rise of 79’s, and with it, the clones.

Prior to the GAR’s finest, there were plenty of other people who came to this district of Coruscant for a good time. You’ve gotten pretty good at pegging the types.

The young ones, new to being on their own and here either as a way to show independence or on a dare. The older ones, finally filling a bucket list. The veterans, who often make a whole party of it.

And then there’s the drunk ones.

These are common enough - even before 79’s can into being, the building was a seedy little bar run by a man wanted in no less than three star systems - and they often come in groups. Like the ones standing in front of you.

There are three clones, one of which is sporting a swanky number five tattoo on his temple. You vaguely remember him - he gave himself the tattoo while still a cadet, then came to you to have it touched up. You also remember the one standing beside him.

They both came in to get matching tattoos in a nice, hidden location while under the influence of the good stuff.

The one in the front is new though, sporting an intricate buzz cut and red star indicating he’s a medic. You don’t get a lot of these. Medics tend to have good heads on their shoulders, and the few that do come in are often acting on sentimentality and decidedly not drunkeness.

“What’ll be tonight, boys?” you ask. “Matching tats for the lot of you?” The medic is quick to shake his head.

“Just me.” You point to a binder you have, full of flimsi with designs on them. Most people prefer the digital method of keeping their artwork. You’re different, though. It’s just hard to beat the feel of flimsi, and there is something so satisfying about being able to feel the work under your fingertips.

The medic flips through one of the binders, lips pursed. He closes it, then opens the next one. His movements are slow and methodical. Detailed.

“What ‘bout that one?” the tattooed five one asks. You’re wracking your brain, trying to come up with a name.

“Absolutely not, Fives. I’m not that drunk.” Of course it’s Fives. The number is right there. You sneak a peek at the one he’s suggested and bite your lip to keep from laughing. It’s a very tasteful pin-up of everyone’s favorite senator.

“This one?” The other clone is quieter, but seems to be attempting to be more helpful. You can see the design he’s chosen, and have to agree. It is decent; a droid head with two blasters behind it. But the medic twists his lips, clearly not on board with it. You have to agree with it. It’s not his style.

“If I sketched up one, could you do it?” the medic asks, glancing up at you. He has nice eyes, you decide. Kind. You shrug.

“Probably. Depends on the complexity and size.” You point at an empty spot on the flimsi.

“Draw it there and call me over when you’re done.” It doesn’t take him long. He presents it to you, and you study it. The words are written in Aurebesh.

“A good droid is a dead droid.” It’s a clever line.

“I like it,” you say. “Where do you want it?” You’re pretty sure you know where - his buzz has a nice, empty rectangle cut through it - but you have to be sure.

And sure enough, he points at his head.

When the clones first started coming to your shop, you were surprised by the sheer amount who wanted stuff on their face. It had to hurt. But then you realized that they were almost never out of their armor, while they did remove their helmets with some regularity.

It’s the only place artwork can easily be seen on a semi-regular basis.

(Sometimes, though, you still have a hard time understanding their choices. Like that one who came in, wanting the entire Republic symbol tattooed big and bold on his face.)

“This will hurt a little,” you warn him. He nods.

“S’okay. They gave me lots of liquid courage.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of the other two clones, who are sitting in an unceremonious heap by the door, dozing on each other. He crinkles his nose in distaste.

“Too bad they can’t hold their liquor very well.”

You snort.

“Just sit down there-” you point at the chair all your customers sit in - “and I’ll get it all ready.”

Your shop, conveniently located as it is, doesn’t have the best and newest stuff when it comes to tools. You do your best to set aside credits as often as you can for upgrades, but you’re a one person team.

(You’re looking at a new tool which numbs the skin as it works, but it’s eons more than you can afford right now.)

You start close to his temple, outlining it in non-permanent color before you move on to the permanent stuff.

To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch when you go in with the gun. Your tongue comes to a rest between your teeth as you concentrate on getting it just right. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, you could almost swear he’s relaxed. Gently, you tilt his head up just a little, making sure you have it nice and even. He has a nice bit of scruff on his jaw, adding to the rugged and dangerous look he seems to be going for with the tattoo and buzz combo. You fill in the lines of the letters, then step back, admiring your work.

The medic does too, and you can see the beginning of a smile forming. Something tells you he doesn’t smile often. You take it as a compliment.

“How much?” he asks, digging in a compartment on his belt.

“It’s on the house,” you say. You’re not sure why you do. You never just give things away for free, especially not custom pieces like this.

He looks up at you, surprise on his features.

“Are you sure?” You nod.

“Sure. Just make sure you come back.” He looks at you for a moment, then nods in response. Bending to shake the other two awake, he glances back over his shoulder at you again.

He doesn’t look confused, but there is something else there.

Huh.

#clone medic kix x reader #kix x you #kix x reader #clone wars #star wars #reader insert #i started reading a book about a doctor and was like ok time to love kix #so here we go #i've got more planned for these two #and yes reader will learn his name and he will be back #also echo and fives have matching ass tattoos pass it on #also i tried really hard to make this fit within the confines of star wars #but forgive me if i misstepped

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

Note

Hope that all them “coffee dates” and “study snacks” helped make your semester easier to bare through and didn’t distract you from your studies too much. 😉 🤣

MAN. i miss coffee dates...

coffee date - did anything unintentionally amusing or entertaining come out of your area's restrictions or response to COVID?

Ummmmm. That’s a good question lol. I think there was a lot of cute things for kids when we first went into lockdown. Like, people decorating their houses or putting stuffed animals in windows for kids to spot while they were walking.

Also just. Gov Cuomo talking about his daily life. Like. He’s not my Gov but watching him on tv was just funny.

study snack - what kind of learning feeds your brain when you have free time?

Learning about Star Wars. I do a lot of research about worlds and characters. I also taught myself how to write in Aurebesh for fun.

I learned way too much about the Victorian era this semester for fic purposes. It as a lot of fun.

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trepidatious · 4 years

Text

( natalia dyer & alexandra daddario ) bopping along to vanilla twilight by owl city is vienna schuyler , the twenty-one year old cisfemale thrown back to their sports journalism days with none of her memories . voted most likely to break into area 51 , vienna was known for being passionate & bashful , go figures you’d always find them on the ice rink , but grew up to be tranquil & withdrawn . ✎ kaya , 22 , she/her , pst .

P A R A L L E L S

mia thermapolis ( princess diaries ) , hyuuga hinata ( naruto ) , casey carlyle ( ice princess ) , amy antsler ( booksmart ) , nadine franklin ( the edge of seventeen )

T R O P E S

shrinking violet , grew a spine , adorkable , homeschooled kid , geek , she is all grown up , extreme doormat , the confidant , eyes always averted , nice girl , shy finger twiddling

1 9 8 8 - 2 0 1 0

born in albany, new york to philip and danielle schuyler, the schuyler twins had been the center of their parents’ world from the moment they took their very first breath. they never had to want for anything and their childhood was often spent in upstate new york, visiting a family cabin during the holidays. it was those winter adventures that inspired vienna to pick up her first pair of skates, wanting to join the teens who’d she see skating across a frozen lake. at first she stumbled through, barely being able to keep herself upright, but by the end of the holidays she had mastered how to glide across the frozen landscape. after that it was only a matter of time before she started begging for lessons which inevitably lead to small competitions and private coaching.

after developing a familiar routine on and off the ice, her parents getting transferred to bellevue, washington caused the schuyler family to move across the country and a seed of doubt to be placed in vienna’s head. while at first apprehensive that her ice skating career would never get to see the light of day, her nerves were quick to dissipate once she joined a local rink and continued her budding career as a skater. homeschooled so she could have time for her private coaching, vienna never got to socialize with others her age, often sticking to the sidelines and offering shy smiles to her fellow competitors. instead her downtime was spent alone, although sometimes in the company of her twin, as she binged movie franchises from star wars to lord of the rings.

by the time she was a freshmen in high school, most of her summers were spent in san diego for a weekend, attending comic con whenever the dates didn’t coincide with her skating life. socially inept with no skills other than skating, vienna’s parents made it a point for her to attend a university like them, not believing that their daughter’s skating career would be enough to keep her afloat despite the success of her international junior career. vienna found herself reluctantly agreeing, being too timid to argue and chose to join rvu knowing her old coach from new york had moved down to california.

a wallflower entering university, attempting to make friends and being in a school setting had felt like a rug being pulled right from under her. in her classes she was hardly acknowledged, only having her presence known whenever she was paired up for a group project. without the private tutor she was used to having her whole life, class settings were often spent with her lost in thought, filling her mind with daydreams of the future and random thoughts about whatever film she had watched the night prior. even when confronted outside of class, she’d often have a soft tone with whoever she was talking to, her eyes cast down as if she was only a few minutes away from stuttering. when you did notice her, it wasn’t uncommon to find a beginning of a blush forming on her face, a nervous smile becoming her default expression whenever interacting with someone.

stretched thin with her studies and unable to qualify for the 2009 u.s. nationals championship, it was common knowledge within the skating community that vienna would still continue training during the current cycle of competitions instead of participating. skipping most of the major international competitions, she instead put her energy and skills into having a set of polished routines ready for the 2011 circuit. but with her degree being in sports broadcasting, espn had invited her to be a co-commentator for the 2009 world championships held in los angeles. with the conversation being about a topic she knew like the back of her hand, her commentary came fluidly and her usually bashful nature was nowhere to be seen as she observed the performances before her. with that attempt successful, it was no surprise that she was invited to vancouver to once again commentate on the competition.

2 0 1 0 - 2 0 2 0

graduating from rom valley university in 2010, she became a paid intern at espn, attending different competitions whenever she wasn’t competing in them. the internship only lasted a year, with her putting her broadcast career on pause to focus full-time on the 2014 olympic circuit. the next few years passed by in a breeze with her getting silver at the 2013 u.s. nationals and sixth place in the world championship, earning the united states a third spot in the olympics. during the 2014 u.s. championships, vienna placed first in the short and free programs, winning the national title and securing a spot on the u.s. olympic team. the rest of her career followed similarly, with her once again competing and placing in world’s as well as winning a bronze team medal in the 2018 olympics.

before the throwback to 2010 happened, vienna had taken another pause in her competitive career, having suffered a stress fracture that put her out of commission. however, as a now internationally decorated medalist, she found herself returning to her broadcast roots, once again commentating at the different competitions and being interviewed on numerous talk shows. throughout her years post-graduation, she had kept in touch with a few people but for the most has kept to herself, preferring her own company over any amount of people. now able to turn on her charisma in situations non-related to skating, she had found herself content with where she was in life, with her days of smiling bashfully at the ground long gone, instead being replaced with confidence.

Q U I C K F A C T S

unfortunately she’s one of the few who DOES NOT remember anything after 2010

all the self-growth and confidence she developed post-graduation??? long gone and home girl doesn’t even realize it sdfghj

definitely still a bashful mess who is avoiding eye contact whenever possible but hey, she’s definitely approachable and currently lacks the ability to be rude to anyone

doesn’t realize the whole marvel cinematic universe becomes as big and major as it is now so if anyone spoils anything she’d either think they’re an oracle of sorts or a secret writer for the mcu

she’s the biggest nerd and fan girl like i saw a few actors/oscar winners on the taken list and if any of your muses were a part of a marvel, lord of the rings, star wars, etc ( if it was at comic con then consider her a fan tbh ) she would have lost her shit being like “i went to school with this person omg” or “my friend is the scarlet witch!!!”

knows random facts about the stars and outer space and probably used to tweet at nasa a lot

her favorite barbie movie is the rapunzel one solely bc homegirl is staring and singing about the stars sdfghjk

probably asked her acting friends to be an extra in whatever movie they’re in

she says it as a joke but one of those “ get me in the movie. jk.... unless ????”

believes aliens are real and probably talked about it in 2010 and in 2020

like her theories about area 51??? and the government???? she could talk about them for days tbh

avoids drugs like the plague. will not even be anywhere where there’s weed smoke bc she’s scared it’ll pop up on her drug test bc she’s a paranoid dumb lil bean

probably doesn’t really drink that often but when she does it’s tito’s vodka

big nerd who speaks sindarin, can read aurebesh, and can somewhat speak togruta despite the limited amount of words that are known

named after the billy joel song and proud of it

ANYWAYS PLS PLOT WITH ME !!!!! my discord is medieval 4loko gang#5402 but feel free to hmu on here <3

i have a stats page here and wc page here !!!

but also come check out her pinterest board here

#again:intro #honestly?? i hate this #but what can u do dfghjk

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notbecauseofvictories · 5 years

Note

Rey?

Let’s say the captain, sweeping his spyglassover the hills, after all this time, found us.

There’s a world in which Han Solo makes planetfall on Jakku. Mostly because he hasn’t been there in a decade and a half and is curious—wants to know what’s left behind, in the wake of war. (Not that every port or planet he’s ever docked at isn’t a study of the wake of war. From Coruscant to the Outer Rim, there’s no part of the galaxy that isn’t a study in the leavings of war. If not the Rebellion then the Separatist, and if not the Separatist then the Jedi-Sith, and if not—

Well. He grew up in the slums of Corellia, he remembers how wars came and went and you were still poor, still angry, still hopeless. Never let it be kriffing forgot.)

Anyway. Han Solo and Chewbacca come to Jakku, and there’s a skinny, defiant girl in the marketplace, arguing she should have four portions, Unkar, come on. Her chin is a spade, and she’s too thin, too brown, too hungry. Han has always liked hungry. He liked it when it was some wide-eyed farmboy wanting to get off Tatooine and he liked it when it was that kid’s sister, trying to shape the galaxy by force of will and a blaster. Han liked it when it was his kid, following at Han’s heels and saying why how what is why tell me tell me.

The girl in the marketplace’s eyes go very wide, when Han lays down his (well. Leia’s) credit chip beside her beat-up, three generations-old hyperdrive. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Han drawls, and watches the non-human sentient behind the counter splutter.

Afterwards, once he’s cajoled the sentient—Unkar, the girl says, like it’s a curse—into gift what’s owed, the girl hunches her shoulders in. “I’m sorry,” she says, clutching the measly dehydrated portions like Han might try to actually take them away from her. “I don’t have credits, I can’t—”

“Come work for us,” Chewie growls, which saves Han the indignity of offering no, whatever you want, you can clean out our cupboards, take that too. The girl flinches, but nothing else; she must have been here a while, if that’s her only reaction.

“It’s honest work,” Han adds, as gently as he dares—the tone he used to use to talk Ben down from whatever nightmare he’d been having, with all its blood and screaming. “Just transpo, loading and unloading. You’re tough; if you can read Aurebesh, then you’re already leagues ahead of whoever else we might get.”

The girl looks at them, each in turn. “My family is coming back for me,” she says. “I’m sorry, I have to wait for them.”

Han does convince her to come back to the ship, and she wolfs down their shitty rations like someone not used to having food around, who never learned to be precious about it. Han suspects that might be true. She insists on helping Chewie with a particularly tricky rewiring that Han had been putting off, and it’s nice, Han thinks, slipping a couple extra ration-packs into her sack when she’s not looking.

They watch from the gangway as the the girl hops onto her skimmer and vanishes into the dunes. She looks very small, set against the horizon.“So I should power-down the ship for the night,” Chewie growls suddenly. “Since we’re obviously staying.”

Han is too old to get offended when Chewie guesses what he’s thinking about; he does anyway, at least for the look of it. “You—don’t know that! I could be thinking that we’re better off, without some scrap-of-nothing kid on board.”

“Is that a no?”

Han sighs. (She had been so small.) “No.”

“You’re a soft touch, Solo,” Chewie growls fondly.

“Eh,” Han says with a half-hearted shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s too old not to know that about himself. “You like that about me, remember?”

She makes a soft, startled noise when she sees them there the next afternoon—Han fussing with a datapad and Chewie sunning himself on the ship like a lizard. She’s on foot this time, dragging a net full of engine parts behind her through the sand. “You’re still here,” she says, approaching Han warily. “Why are you still here?”

“Ceren junction’s broken,” Han lies cheerfully.

The girl narrows her eyes. “I was down in the maintenance bay yesterday, it’s fine.”

“Nope. Broken. Broken beyond all repair. Chewie and I are thinking of settling down here, actually, since we can’t leave. What do you think, is Jakku a good place to spend your retirement?”

She looks at him like he’s a crazy person, which is fair. “I told you, I have to wait for my family,” she says more slowly, like he might not have heard her the first time.

“Oh, I heard you the first time, kid.”

She gives him another suspicious look, and then huffs, goes on dragging her net of engine parts over to the knot of tents around Unkar’s place. From where he’s lying in the sun, Chewie mumbles something that sounds like an insult; Han chooses to ignore it.

It’s a couple hours later when she comes back their way, her net is empty. Han’s got a fire going by then—easier than using up their fuel to heat the ship—and she edges up to it like a wild animal. Her face has odd shadows in the firelight. “How’d you do?” Han finally asks.

“Good. A portion and a half.”

Han still feeds her from their rations anyway, shows her how to cook them over the fire so they’re warm through, and taste less like pasteboard. He falls asleep there in the sand, to the sound of Chewie’s voice, telling her lies about that time on Mephisto—

The next day, she actually says good morning to them both, and then promptly makes a face like there’s something in her throat. Han grins, and almost convinces himself it’s unrelated.

That evening, they all three of them sit by the fire, and Han composes a transmit in his head. Dear Leia, there’s a girl in the desert, and sometimes by firelight, she looks just like you. You’d tell me if you had a daughter, right?

(He knows the girl isn’t Leia’s. Not because of some abiding faith in her fidelity—Han’s pretty sure that fathier’s out of the gate—but because Leia’s been walked away from too many times to ever leave anyone behind.)

The girl falls asleep with her head on Han’s shoulder, and Han has Chewie carry her to his bunk. Asleep, she looks even more like Leia, the durasteel princess Han knew on Yavin who wanted to charge into everything with blasters blazing. (Han wonders if he’s always going to be this homesick for a time that’s gone, people who are only shadows now.) “Come on,” Chewie growls lowly, and with a sigh, Han follows. He takes his place in the cockpit, editing his imaginary transmission until he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, the girl is gone, but someone has laid a blanket over him in the night. It’s from his bunk.

Her story comes out in bits and pieces—though there’s not really much of a story to tell, it turns out. An orphan, waiting for her parents to return. Left to raise herself, in the sandy wastes of the war. She likes mechanical things, running flight sims on an old sim-drive she found. “My favorite is the Death Star run, from the Civil War Mod!” she says, and Han chokes on a mouthful of rehydrated protein. Chewie is laughing as he pounds on Han’s back.

It turns out she does know who he is, has since the beginning. She looks a little shy saying so, and Han shakes his head. “I don’t even know your name,” he says plaintively, and the girl shrugs. Goes on eating.

Once that comes out, she has a hundred questions. What’s Luke Skywalker like? Was the Death Star really that big? Did he really make the shot? Did Senator Organa really kill Jabba the Hutt? What was the Rebellion like? What was Darth Vader like? Her ideas of what happened a little stranger than Han expects, but then, she has grown up on a dirtball Outer Rim trading post; stories didn’t make it out that far unless they were stranger, wilder than the rest.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m like?” Han complains after the fifth question about Luke Skywalker and his lightsaber, and his stunning victories and his Jedi-ness.

The girl blinks, and then smiles a little quizzically at Han. “Why? I have you.”

“If we don’t get a move on, this shipment will be late,” Chewie growls softly on the seventeenth day. Rey is amusing herself with the datapad by the fire, playing some sim that Han honestly forgot he had loaded onto it. She’s still young, and the thought of her alone and small against the horizon makes him want to do something drastic, like kidnap her.

“I know,” Han says. “I know.”

(When he tells her they have to leave, she doesn’t cry–-crying is a luxury in the desert, Luke told him once. But her hands spasm tightly into fists, and she turns away; Han suspects so he won’t see her eyes.

His hand is shaking when he reaches out and touches one of her fists. “Come with,” he says, and for a second it’s awful, too-open, raw; he’d meant to make it gruff and offer her a job, if you wanted one, Chewie likes you—

Her shoulders hitch. Under his fingers, her fist opens.)

“My name is Rey,” the girl from Jakku says, as she straps herself into the co-pilot’s seat. Chewie doesn’t even grumble, just makes a low churring sound as he pets her hair, and then goes off to see to the engines.

“Good to know,” Han answers pointedly. “Push the thrusters—no, not like that, what are you, trying to kill us all?”

When they get into hyperspace, that blank expanse of nothingness and horrible beauty, Rey draws in a sharp breath. “Oh,” she whispers, leaning so close to the transparisteel of the window that her nose leaves a faint smudge. So do her fingers, where she presses them against the glass.

“Welcome to the galaxy, kid,” Han tells Rey. “We hope you like it here.”

#star wars #the warry stars #adherents of the repeated meme #salazarastark #long post for ts

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crepeycrepeyspacewizard · 7 years

Note

Father's Day prompt- 'Galaxy's #1 Dad' mug

[Wow this got out of hand! Nonny please accept 2,008 words of kid fic. BB is the nonbinary child of Hux & Hux in Modern Emperors while JakJak is the dimension hopping monster son of Kylux from Laeti Vescimur Nos Subacturis & To Sleep, Perchance.]

JakJak liked this world. It was simple. Just humans, low tech, and - apart from the language - it was easy to navigate.

The language made no sense. He’d heard people speaking multiple tongues here while the trade language seemed to be Basic. But the writing didn’t tally up.

For example, his friend BB spoke Basic, though they called it English. They kept trying to teach him the letters, but the nature of his travel made it hard to follow. He didn’t always find himself here sequentially. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he moved between universes at all.

Once, a few years ago to him but three months in the future for them, BB had shown him some weirdly two dimensional holos that they thought would explain matters. But the ‘movies’ had just confused him. He didn’t travel at 88 miles an hour. Nor was he a human-looking droid. He just went and there he was, nothing more to it.

He’d work it all out one day he knew, but right now he was more interested in learning about the places he visited and the things he saw.

Today they were out with the babysitter, not on any particular mission just ‘out of the house before they drove them out of their mind’.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing with a hand that was mostly human right now.

BB rolled their eyes. They were the only child of the local rulers - two copies of his own father offset by a few years - and they never seemed to take his questions seriously.

“It’s a book shop.” They said, then continued when his expression didn’t change- “where you buy books. And all kinds of silly things because people don’t buy books any more.”

“What’s a book?”

Pinching the bridge of the nose and wearily closing golden eyelashes was such a father gesture that JakJak actually feared he’d get reprimanded. BB had insisted they weren’t a clone, but at times like this JakJak really didn’t believe them.

“Paper, with writing on it. To record and dis-trib-ute knowledge.”

“You sound just like father,” JakJak said. “Wow. I can’t believe you still have those, I’ve never seen one in real life. Papa has one but he’s says it’s full of ancient Sith secrets so we’re not allowed to see. I thought you had datapads?”

“Yes, but some people still like paper.”

“Huh.” JakJak crinkled his brow. “Why is the window all full of blue cards and balloons?”

“Oh.” They looked at the signs. “It must be Father’s Day soon. Dad says I ‘shouldn’t fill the house with junk’ but I know for a fact he’s kept every macaroni and paste picture I’ve made in my entire life, and I’m pretty sure he still has the travel mug Dad had made the year I was born. So I’ll still get something.”

JakJak could feel his frown deepening as it always did when BB talked about their fathers as singular ‘Dad’. It was hard to follow which one they meant, though the few times he’d seen them he hadn’t been able to tell them apart either.

Except that one time at a picnic when they’d taken their shirts off to play some sport or other. JakJak had been surprised to see that one of them had almost the exact same shoulder scars as his own father, though he lacked the ones one his belly and back.

That had been disorientating. JakJak was used to seeing copies of his father in every universe, but until then he’d thought only his father and Papa Carolus had those scars. He’d wondered how many others had them too, but he’d yet to work out an unwierd way to ask.

“Your fathers set up a day just so that people would buy them gifts?” He asked, mildly appalled. “I thought Empire Day was bad, but at least that wasn’t father’s idea.”

BB shoved him none too gently. He had the strength to resist but that usually worried people, so he let himself fall into the wall instead.

“What?! No!” They cried. “It’s like a hundred year old holiday or something! People had been celebrating Mother’s Day for years and they decided to make a Father’s Day to balance it out. So everyone buys their parents gifts. Well. Not everyone. Some people have awful parents… Dad gets a lot of work on those holidays.”

For some reason BB’s fathers still laboured under the misapprehension that their child didn’t know they were assassins. Of course JakJak’s Papa Kylo killed people all the time, but he was the Emperor’s Lord Protector. For some reason that seemed more honourable than assassination.

JakJak didn’t say that though. Last time he’d said that outloud BB had pushed him into the Puget Sound. He hadn’t liked that.

“Oh. Okay.” That seemed safe.

“Hah! Look at this!” BB called excitedly from the window. “You should get two of these! Oh, I might get two for Dad too.”

He really hadn’t understood the sentence but JakJak dutifully peered at the object indicated by BB’s finger. It was a white mug with incomprehensible local scrawl across the side.

“Uh, what does it say?”

BB sighed and looked ready to tell him off when they suddenly stopped mid-breathe. “Oh. If you can’t read it then they won’t be able to either, will they?”

JakJak shook his head.

“I wonder if they sell any kits?” They said thoughtfully.

JakJak liked sitting at the table in Dex’ apartment. There was cookie jar in the shape of a cat in the middle, and Dex never complained about him eating them all. Or about serving him raw meat. That was nice. A lot of people didn’t like to handle it.

He liked this Dex. This Dex laughed a lot more than his own. But then this Dex still had their Mitaka. In his universe Papa Kylo had killed Mitaka by accident long before JakJak was even born. That was a strange thing to think about. It made his chest feel funny, so he stopped.

BB had spread paper all over the surface of the table and arranged the four mugs so they could show him how to use the kit.

“Write on the surface with the pens. If you go wrong wipe it off with the alcohol wipes. When we’re done Dex can put them in the oven to cure before Dad gets here to pick me up, when you have to go home.”

“Ok.” He nodded and picked up a purple coloured pen. “What should I write?”

“The mug I saw said ‘Galaxy’s Number 1 Dad’.” BB said, writing the words on the paper as they spoke. “I thought that was funny since you said your father was Galactic Emperor.”

At the sink Dex snorted but didn’t turn around. JakJak put his tongue out at them anyway. It was a very long tongue, and forked today, so he felt it made his point.

Writing on the shiny surface took a lot of concentration and it was only when he’d finished that JakJak realised he still had his tongue sticking out between his teeth. BB didn’t notice- they were too busy staring at his writing with their mouth open.

“That’s Basic?!” They asked, apparently stunned but something as simple as writing.

JakJak laughed. “No, the letters are called Aurebesh.”

“Oh my god, that’s what Dad writes in when he wants to make notes no one can read!”

The last part was a conspiratorial whisper, like it was some kind of secret Dex shouldn’t know about. JakJak didn’t really understand why.

“Can you show me how do it?” Now that would be easy.

The Emperor kept a clear desk. It was a point of pride. It was also a point of keeping his Force damned sanity in the face of a horribly complicated galaxy.

Which made the pair of white cylinders sitting in the middle of the desk a source of irritation.

Who the pfassk had dared to leave… oh.

They were mugs. Very primitive stoneware mugs, exactly the opposite of the opulence that surrounded them.

A child had written on them.

He picked up the closest mug.

One side read- ‘GALAxY’s #1 fATHeR’ while the other bore the words ‘JAkJAK LoVEs YoU’.

Hux stared at it in confusion.

The other was the same but read ‘PApA’ instead of father. No, not the same. The writing was raised. It seemed like multiple layers of paint had been applied so fingers could detect the words.

With slightly trembling hands Hux carried them gingerly through the palace, opening doors with his elbows, until he reached the nursery.

Alia was standing on a box next to JakJak’s crib and clinging to her blind father’s robes as the pair watched the infant sleep. He was almost a month old but it didn’t look like the novelty would wear off anytime soon.

“Kylo?” He whispered, desperate not to wake the child he’d only persuaded to sleep an hour ago. “I found these in my office. Any idea what it means?”

Kylo studied them for a moment, borrowing Hux’ eyes to see what his fingers and the Force couldn’t show him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it means we’re the best fathers in the Galaxy?” He said with a grin.

The stare Hux gave him should have caused him to combust on the spot, but he just let his grin widen.

“Who left them there?! I know it wasn’t Alia, her handwriting is much better than this!”

Without looking away from the baby their daughter gave a prim, “thank you!”

“The clue is on the mug, Bren. JakJak did this.”

“He’s only 27 days old!”

“And he saved me from Snoke a month after he was conceived!” Kylo snapped back. In his crib JakJak stirred. Kylo reduced his volume as he continued, “this is just the way he is. We always knew he was different. We should expect… different things.”

Yes, perhaps they should. But in the scheme of things, time travelling just to make sure they knew they were loved should not count as a cause for concern.

The bed shook at the sudden assault.

“We’re being boarded, all hands to battlestations!” A sleepy voice said from under its pillow.

“Dad!” BB squealed when the other man-shaped lump in the bed reared up to envelope her in the sheets.

“I’ve captured the interloper Lieutenant General Hair Dye, what shall I do with…”

There was more screaming as the other figure sat up and hurled its pillow at the first. “Lieutenant General Hair Dye! How dare you?!”

“DAD!!”

“I apologise, let us make peace and defeat the invader... with tickling!!”

“DAAAAD nooooooo….”

“What do you think Auren? No mercy?”

“Of course!”

It was another ten minutes, and one of their fathers literally falling out of the bed, before BB admitted defeat.

“I surrender! Also, your coffee is going cold!” That, at least, was enough to force Auren to accept the surrender while the coffee would still be drinkable.

BB sat on Eamon’s knee to watch as Auren reached for his own mug. He turned white when he saw the text, which was impressive for a man as pale as a Hux.

“Auren? Are you okay?” Eamon asked, concerned.

Auren’s weaker left hand was shaking and threatened to spill the beverage on the sheets.

“Did you write this, BB?”

They nodded. “Yes, Dad, I made one for both of you.”

Eamon glanced at the mug on his side of the bed. The writing on that one was in English, not the angular but oddly familiar text on Auren’s mug.

There was silence for a moment as Auren seemed to weigh his options. Finally he put the mug carefully back in its place and turned to hug them both.

“One day you’re going to tell me where you learned that, okay?”

BB didn’t entirely understand, but they knew enough to take the out when it was offered. “Of course, Dad, but I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

“No, no I think I will.”

#kylux #huxcest #kylo ren #general hux #JakJak Hux-Ren #BB Hux #Alia Hux #To Sleep Perchance #Modern Emperors #Auren Hux #Eamon Hux #families #babies #fluff #merciless fluff #Nonny #C2SW Replies

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charity-angel · 7 years

Text

Brothers (4/?)

[Part 1] [Part 3]

[Read on AO3]

There is a cut in this post

It took Padmé a month to get back to him.

“Master Jedi,” she said. Her words were formal but her tone warm. It was early morning there: her hair was done, but her face was still unmade.

“Your majesty,” Obi-Wan replied, keeping his face straight and his voice even. “How are you?”

“I am well, thank you, and my planet is rebuilding. And you? How are you and your fellow saviours of Naboo?”

He sat heavily in the desk chair, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Master Qui-Gon is recovering slowly. He’s not on his feet yet, but he can sit up without assistance, and he stays awake for six consecutive hours now. And Anakin… He’s adjusting. He’s catching up, but he’s frustrated. He wants to be like everyone else – to be able to keep up with the initiates and other padawans.”

Padmé clasped her hands and leaned forwards, toward the holo pick-up. “He will catch up, won’t he?”

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan assured her. “He learns quickly. But it’s not fast enough for his own expectations, and I wonder…”

“What?”

“I wonder if he would be better off with someone else fostering him,” he confessed. “An actual master. I’m…” He tugged on his braid. “I’m still a padawan.”

“That, Master Jedi, is a technicality,” Padmé pointed out. “You and I both know that you are not ‘still’ anything. You’re just a new parent. My mother told horror stories to put my sister and I off having children – we were horrific little shits, and we didn’t have the excuse of Anakin’s start in life. You’ll adapt. It will get easier. And if you Jedi have a manual for raising padawans, it won’t cover everything. It won’t even be close, or so my mother assures me. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

He laughed weakly. “Master Qui-Gon said something similar. That he’s pretty sure that any master would find Anakin a challenging padawan because of his background – probably more so, because at least I have Anakin’s trust.”

Padmé smiled beatifically at him. “You see. If he still trusts you after a month, you’re clearly not doing too bad a job. And I have some news that is guaranteed to cheer him up.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan suddenly straightened, which made Padmé laugh at him. “What?”

“His mother arrived here late last night. She is safe and well, if not somewhat baffled by her change in fortune.”

“That is truly excellent news,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll let Anakin know when he returns from his classes. Would it be possible for me to comm you in…” he glanced at the chrono “… two and a half hours?”

Padmé gave a serene smile. “For this, anything is possible. I suppose, however, it would be too disruptive to pull Anakin out of school for a visit here?”

Obi-Wan pulled a face. “It… That, and I don’t want to leave Qui-Gon. He’s improving, but…”

“It is just as well that I have arranged a state visit to Coruscant for next week then,” she informed him, dropping into those slightly more formal tones that were laced with teasing. “Our new senator is due to take up his post, and it would be prudent for me to visit our new Chancellor too. After all, I have not formally congratulated him on his office, and he is Naboo. It seems impolite for such an oversight to continue further.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, making his face go bland, like Qui-Gon did when he was negotiating. “That would be a dreadful breach of etiquette. Would Miss Skywalker be part of your retinue?”

“If she so wishes,” Padmé said. “I will not force her, although I suspect she will be there with me, one way or another. I do suspect that she will entirely hate being my honoured guest: that would bring far too much attention to her.”

Obi-Wan had never met Shmi Skywalker, but he imagined that Padmé was right – having spent a lifetime in slavery, having to give up food so that her son could eat, suddenly being elevated to the ‘honoured guest’ of the Queen of Naboo would be a bit overwhelming.

“I am certain you will find a way,” he said. “Anakin will be so pleased to see her. He misses her.”

She sighed. “I know how he feels. My position demands a lot of me; I haven’t seen my parents or my sister for months. I talked to them just after the battle, to make sure they were okay, but…”

“I often felt like that when Master Qui-Gon and I were on an extended mission – we would be away from the Temple for months, and I wouldn’t hear from my friends. Even when we got back, there was the possibility that they would be away themselves. I didn’t see Garen for a year when we were seventeen, and we only managed to communicate in the occasional vid message. Master Qui-Gon used to nag at me to hurry up whenever we were rushing out and I needed to leave a message, then he would tell me that he used to do the same when he was a padawan, because friends are worth making time for. I imagine that family are the same.”

Padmé’s expression flickered to something Obi-Wan was familiar with – the confused/horrified/pitying realisation of one outside the Order that Jedi didn’t have families of their own – and then to a soft smile.

“Your wisdom cannot be faulted, Master Jedi,” she told him, the shining of her eyes apparent even in the holo. “I should make time for my family, even if it is just messages. They have always been there for me, and will continue to be once my tenure as queen is over.”

“Indeed, your majesty.”

Padmé laughed and reached forward, her hand making a peculiar flicking motion. Oh! She had tried to nudge his holographic self!

“And you say you’re ‘just a padawan’, oh wise one,” she scolded him, giggling.

Obi-Wan gave in to a chuckle. “And you, your majesty, just tried to nudge a hologram.”

She made a little noise of distress. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that.”

“My silence is yours, my friend.”

Padmé straightened her face admirably. “Naboo thanks you for it.”

.oOo.

Anakin, predictably, was extremely excited by the fact that his mother was free, and spent a long time talking to her, telling her how he was spending his time at the Temple, how much he had learned. Obi-Wan slipped out after five minutes to fetch his and Anakin’s lunches, realising that this was going to take some time.

Anakin was still in full flow when he returned.

“…but it’s okay, because Obi-Wan is taking care of me and he’s a totally awesome big brother.”

He stepped back and composed himself. He thought of Anakin as his brother, as much as he understood the concept – as much as any Jedi did – but he didn’t realise that it was reciprocated.

Although the slightly insane edge had been taken off, he was still smiling as he put a sandwich and some milk down in front of Anakin.

“… all kinds of things. I can read Aurebesh loads better, and I can find tons of planets on the galactic map. Thanks, Obi-Wan.” He picked up the sandwich and took a huge bite.

“Oh, Mom, this is Obi-Wan…” he began, before being simultaneously scolded by his mother and Obi-Wan, who then exchanged rueful glances.

Shmi Skywalker was not what he had expected at all: given Qui-Gon’s claims that Anakin was the mythical Chosen One, fathered by the Force alone, he had expected Anakin to essentially be a young (male) clone of his mother, but he was anything but. They must have made an extremely striking pair together.

(Honestly, it lent credence to Obi-Wan’s alternative theory, that Anakin was just freakishly Force sensitive – not only did he and his mother look nothing alike, but no-one had been able to explain how a woman gave birth to a son without a father. A daughter might have been believable, but plucking a Y chromosome out of thin air was pushing incredulity, even for the Force.)

She was giving him an embarrassed, exasperated kind of smile. “I apologise for my son,” she said. “I swear I raised him with better manners than that.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head, stifling a smile. “He had not yet embarrassed you in public, Ms Skywalker.”

Shmi looked startled by something, but covered it swiftly. “I shall thank the Force for small mercies. My name is Shmi, Master Jedi.”

“I am but a padawan learner, Shmi,” Obi-Wan corrected, “the same as your son. My name is Obi-Wan.”

Anakin swallowed swiftly. “You’re only a padawan because you’re refusing to be knighted,” he piped up. “Everyone knows it.”

There was laughter in the background at the Naboo end, and Shmi covered her mouth to hide her smile.

“He’s right,” Padmé’s voice said, from a distance. She was clearly sitting out of range of the pickup for the holocam, but close enough to have heard Anakin’s proclamation. “Obi-Wan is technically a Jedi Knight, if not yet officially.”

Shmi snickered. “I should scold Anakin, but if he is right then… I always taught him to be truthful whenever it was safe.”

Obi-Wan was in too good a mood to let the fact they were ganging up on him rattle him. “My master will knight me when he capable of standing on his own two feet for long enough to complete the ceremony,” he informed them serenely. “Until then, he can revel in the fact that he is rebelling against the Council by having more than one Padawan simultaneously.”

.oOo.

That afternoon’s practice went surprisingly well, all things considered. Obi-Wan had assumed that Anakin would be distracted by thoughts of his mother, but instead he seemed more settled. He was excited about the idea of seeing her, certainly, but there was a kind of quietude that had been lacking. Meditation went like a dream, and their sparring session went so well that Obi-Wan ended up having to throw in some Ataru moves to keep Anakin on his toes. That in itself just made Anakin blink and adapt.

“That was excellent, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said at the end, when he stopped cheating and let Anakin beat him fair and square. “I think tomorrow we should start looking at some other forms.”

“Can we do Ataru, like you and Master Qui-Gon use?” Anakin asked, beaming as he towelled the sweat from his back.

Obi-Wan considered it. “Normally one studies Makashi after mastering Shii-Cho, but I will ask Master Qui-Gon if we can skip it. I honestly doubt it would suit you anyway.”

Anakin was clearly pleased, but he wasn’t smug about his achievements today, nor did he ask about a trip to Ilum, as Obi-Wan had been convinced he would. All in all, he was shockingly relaxed.

“Mom’s safe,” Anakin said, out of the blue as they were preparing to go to evening meal, back in their quarters. His shrewd eyes were studying Obi-Wan carefully – a slightly disconcerting expression on his young brother padawan. “I know she’s with Padmé, not back on Tatooine.”

He left it at that, leaving Obi-Wan confused and pondering over it. He resolved to speak to Qui-Gon about it once Ani was asleep.

Unfortunately, because he excited himself all over again telling Qui-Gon about the good news, it took a long time for Anakin to settle, and Qui-Gon had dozed off by the time Obi-Wan was able to return to the Halls. He roused before Obi-Wan could tiptoe away.

“Get your rest, Master,” he said softly from the doorway as Qui-Gon blinked sleepily at the bright light in his room.

Qui-Gon gave him a rueful look. “It looks like I probably should while I have the chance.”

Obi-Wan crossed the small room and slumped into the seat with a loud sigh.

“He had been somewhat excitable this afternoon,” he admitted. “Although he was much more calm earlier, while we were training. It’s almost like he stopped trying to spar, and just listened to the Force.”

Qui-Gon’s moustache twitched; a sure-fire sign that he was trying not to laugh. Obi-Wan wished he had the energy left to appreciate the joke.

“Oh, I know: ‘Do or do not’. I’ve never seen such a stark example of it.

“He suggested that it’s to do with his mother,” he added, deciding that he was going to bother his master with this after all. “Because he knows she’s free. Do you think that perhaps he was pushing himself so hard so that he would be able to return to Tatooine? To rescue his mother?”

Qui-Gon gave him a calculating look.

“Wouldn’t you?” he asked after a short pause. “If I were stuck there, trapped?”

“I…” Obi-Wan stopped and considered it carefully, rather than giving the dutiful response about obeying the rule of the Council. Then something occurred to him; a nudge from the depths of his memory.

“I did exactly that, eleven years ago.”

“You did indeed. And I am still extremely grateful.”

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling more at ease now with the situation. “Yes, I understand. I felt much better once you were home safely.”

“Anakin is just more exuberant in his relief than you are,” Qui-Gon said, smiling outright now.

“Speaking of exuberance,” Obi-Wan said, “do I have your permission to begin training Ani in Ataru? I think he is better suited to it than Makashi.”

Qui-Gon stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I can’t see why not. If he has a sufficient grasp of Shii-Cho to defeat you, then he is more than ready to move on. And I agree that he seems ill-suited to a discipline as conservative as Makashi.”

He sighed deeply. “At this rate, I will have little to do by the time I am free of this infernal place.”

Obi-Wan gave him a stern look. “You could have seen a mind healer about your experiences on Simpla-12.”

Qui-Gon waved a dismissive hand. “We were always too busy for that.”

“You’re not too busy now,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “How many holodramas can you watch without seriously endangering your mental health?”

Qui-Gon’s expression tightened, almost slightly fearful. “I made a mistake and watched a couple of those serials that the broadcast networks show during the day.”

“Oh dear.”

“I have read instead,” Qui-Gon said. “Did you know that there have been novels published about the Jedi Order? They’re wildly inaccurate and all the more entertaining for it.”

Obi-Wan smothered a grin. “I think I know the ones you mean. Garen likes to read the most ridiculous sections aloud. The tragic thing is that he has read every single novel from start to finish: apparently the stories themselves are entertaining.”

“They’re reasonable,” Qui-Gon allowed. “I think some of our mission reports would be more compelling through.”

Now there was an amusing idea. “Perhaps you should write some of the less politically sensitive ones into a format that would appeal to the masses? That would certainly occupy your time.”

Qui-Gon swatted at him, laughing.

“While I do get a certain amount of pleasure from irritating the Council, I have no desire to incite them to actually throw me out of the Order.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Also, you’re an appalling writer,” he pointed out. “You gave me the job of writing the reports eleven years ago.”

“Oh, that’s because your reports make the Council twitch. Occasionally I feel sorry for whoever has to read them.”

Obi-Wan knew this. He was well aware that the Council, while initially glad that Qui-Gon had ceded that particular responsibility to his padawan, it was a short-lived feeling. Obi-Wan gained a certain perverse pleasure in writing incredibly verbose, in-depth reports in the full knowledge that someone on the Council had to read the whole thing.

“Mandalore was a fun one to submit.” Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon’s eyes, and they both sniggered at the memory of Obi-Wan dropping a thick, filthy book of actual paper leaves into Master Windu’s unsuspecting hands, and Master Yoda’s cackled reassurance that they would not be asked to submit a formal digital report considering how long they had been gone for, and the lengths that Obi-Wan had clearly gone to in order to provide them with any documentation of their year-long absence from the Temple.

It wasn’t the first report that Obi-Wan had submitted with certain, potentially salient pieces of information missing, but it was the one and only time he had done to protect himself. It wasn’t just himself, though: Satine would have been mightily unimpressed had he included absolutely everything that had happened. And, had that information gotten out, it would significantly hamper her efforts to bring peace to her world.

New Apsolon had been the first. Obi-Wan had realised that perhaps it wasn’t in Qui-Gon’s best interests for Obi-Wan to disclose exactly what he suspected. Master Windu knew that there were things missing or glossed over (having been there himself for the latter half of the mission), but he never questioned it. Perhaps he too had decided that there was little point dredging up things like that when one half of the potential couple had perished.

“I read that one,” Qui-Gon admitted, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present. “It got scanned into the archives. It was certainly a different style to your usual.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It had to be. But just think, once you’re back in the field, you’ll have to write all your own reports again.”

Qui-Gon grinned. “Maybe I’ll get you to train Anakin to do it.”

Obi-Wan wagged a finger at him, but it was somewhat lacking in energy. “He’s got other things to be learning right now. Written methods of torturing the Council can wait. Especially since we really need to keep them on side right now about him.”

“Good point,” Qui-Gon conceded. “Maybe I’ll just have to go back to having everyone sigh at mine instead.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, summoning the energy to rise from the seat. Keeping up with Anakin was catching up with him, and he felt almost as tired as Qui-Gon looked. “I’ll see you in the morning. Behave yourself.”

[Part 5]

#star wars #brothers #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padmé amidala #shmi skywalker #qui-gon jinn #qui-gon lives au #obi-wan enjoys torturing the council as much as his master #he's just sneakier about it

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