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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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Auntie Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

Chapter 2: Legacy

In which they run into a familiar face.

Chapter specific warnings: references to Order 66 and slave chips, and all that entails; references to past, off-screen suicide by unnamed characters; references to canon genocides

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“I’m a human espresso.”

Soka looks down from where she’s been scanning the spaceport for a sign of where and how to get a ride to the next planet. She can’t afford to purchase a major leg of the trip, just a few systems in exchange for labor or… well, they’ve already stowed away a few times. They’ll be doing it again.

“What?” Rex prompts.

Leia looks up at him, and then at Soka. She frowns a little harder. It’s unfairly adorable. “I was already small and strong and bitter, like caff. Now I’m smaller, and still strong, and even more bitter, so I’m espresso.”

Soka purses her lips and looks back up, trying very hard not to laugh at the little girl. She feels… lightheaded. She’s too tired.

“Can’t say you look very strong to me, Princess,” Rex says.

“Strong in the Force,” Leia corrects, and then mutters under breath, “apparently.”

Cute. Soka can’t focus on that. She needs to find a—

“The Gamorreans,” she spots. She has a good feeling, or at least one that isn’t wholly terrible. “Bet they need a mechanic. With me, kids.”

“I’m not a kid!” Leia protests, far from the first time.

“I’m older than you!” Rex adds, though he at least is laughing through it.

“Yes, and?”

In exchange for Sokari fixing a chronic issue with their fuel lines, the Gamorreans take them as far as… well, it’s a barely-named planetoid, rife with crime and danger, that’s not even halfway to Eriadu. It’s still closer than they were two days ago.

Sokari gets to work, trying to find another ship to barter with. Another craft to stow away on. Another way out.

There isn’t one.

It’s not that there aren’t more ships going in and out. There are. They just… are mostly smugglers, slave traders, or Trade Federation.

She’s not betting her safety on the fripping feds.

(Besides, she can’t avoid their security with the kids in tow. Not without more tech, or at least a good night’s sleep.)

A day passes, and she gets them a hotel room. When morning comes, they have a tail, and she has to squirrel them away on a rooftop for the better part of six hours to lose it.

Slavers. They’re getting pinged as an easy target.

Fuck.

She doesn’t bother with paying the next night. She breaks in through a window, shoves the kids to shower and bed, and then stands guard until dawn, too jittery to sleep. The Force will carry her for a little while longer. She can do this.

They don’t have a tail, when she drags them back out, just as the weak sunlight is filtering past the clouds at the horizon. Her skin crawls with it, though, and she pulls them along crowded thoroughfares and past richer part of the ports, where there is at least a veneer or respectability. She bares her teeth and flashes her beskar whenever she can. Leia even lets herself be carried to make it harder for someone to snatch her.

Rex has a blaster in one hand and the leather of Soka’s belt in the other. It’ll be enough to give her warning to draw her blades if she really has to.

(Someone tries to pickpocket the sabers, but Ahsoka Tano learned that lesson in the dim, dank Coruscant undercity at age fourteen. It hasn’t happened since. It certainly won’t be happening again.)

“Auntie Soka?” Leia whispers, dragging her attention from the slightly-too-interested Twi’lek with the Pyke tattoo half-hidden under his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

…shit.

She glances at Rex. He grimaces. He must be hungry too, then.

Soka thinks inwards. She is… also hungry. Shit.

Her focus is slipping.

She can’t keep this up forever.

“I think that one’s safe,” Leia says, tugging on Soka’s pauldron and pointing once she’s gotten attention.

It’s a pub. It’s not any cleaner or grimier than any other.

Leia’s strong in the Force, though, stronger than Soka ever was. If she has a hunch…

They have enough money left for a warm meal. They need it. She’ll figure something out for passage.

(She can’t let them down, she can’t she can’t she can’t.)

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go see if they let kids in.”

There is someone at the door that is, ostensibly, meant to keep out minors.

He doesn’t.

Soka does not grab a table before she grabs food. She refuses to leave the little ones anywhere without her, even if it’s just a few feet away, grabbing a plate of mashed tubers and braised nerfmeat.

(They don’t have anything raw, but she’ll… figure something out. She can work with cooked or grilled or whatever. Maybe fish?)

Her eyes are drooping, and she eats with them closed. She’s too damn tired to do otherwise, but her other senses are wide aware.

Someone reaches for Leia’s hand, radiating ill intent, and Soka stabs the dinner knife into the table just millimeters from their skin.

The person yanks their hand back, and observes. They feel awful and oily, and she’s sure they’re trying to decide if they can get away with another try from a different angle.

She opens her eyes a sliver, pulls the chewed bone from her mouth, and drawls, “Copaani mirshmure'cye?”[1]

The rodian’s eyes are hard to track in terms of where they point, but she knows they’ve just realized her armor isn’t for show. Sure, it could be faked, and it’s not like learning Mando’a is impossible for the layperson… but she’s already made her claim with the knife. She might not be Mandalorian. She also might be. They know better than to risk it.

Probably.

They sneer and wander off, and Soka closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.

She needs to sleep. She needs to sleep, or she’s going to lose her kids to some asshole that actually is the slightest bit competent.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

It’s not… unexpected, entirely. It’s not the most expected, but it’s not a huge surprise. This planetoid is a ‘hive of scum and villainy,’ as some would say. It’s the norm to see pit fighters and slavers and yes, even bounty hunters.

So, really, it’s not a surprise that Sokari spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil; she’d spent too many years as a friend of Bo-Katan’s, dropping in and out of each other’s lives to share a drink and mourn all that they’ve lost, to not know at least a few major clans and factions. It’s a mythosaur skull, something she knows is associated with the True Mandalorians. The Haat’ade, a name that had rankled at Death Watch for all that the intent had been ‘Mandalorians striving for truth and honor’ and not ‘the real Mandalorians.’ [2]

She considers it. She’s too tired to really think it through, but… they’re more likely to help than some, probably. She thinks… hells, she can’t remember what year the Galidraan incident was. If it’s before, then she might be in luck; the Haat’ade were decent people overall, she thinks. At the very least, they’re enemies of Death Watch, which is… usually a good sign. Soka herself was an enemy of Death Watch. So was Maul, for a bit, but… it’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge as Soka does, right?

And Mandalorians like kids and Sokari hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! It’s fine.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. The two of them are sitting on the same bench, across from Soka in the booth. Why did she think that was a good idea? “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, only barely managing to keep it quiet. Sokari’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed.

Sokari angles herself between Fett and Rex, and prays that he doesn’t see them.

Sokari is usually able to ensure she keeps awareness of potential enemies.

Sokari is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma.

She doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Later, Sokari will tell herself that he’s killed Jedi with his bare hands, and that’s why he can sneak up on her. She will say that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones. She’ll tell herself that it’s all in the new forms of anxiety she’s got, ones that are markedly different from those she’d been struggling against just a few weeks earlier.

What Sokari wants to say is ‘that’s kind of a long story,’ or ‘maybe he’s a cousin,’ or ‘kriff off, I don’t know you,’ or maybe even just ‘he’s a clone.”

What Sokari actually does is burst into tears. This is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture, through genocide, through actual death and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

Yet, she is.

She is sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms—oh Force, he’s so small, when did he even get around the booth table to her side, where’s Leia—around her, and she can feel it as both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

She has to stop crying. She has to stop, what the hell is wrong with her?

She’s not this tired. She can’t be this tired, to be crying just because Fett showed up and—and—

Why can’t she stop?

(Her breathing evens out, but the tears do not end. There’s a cup of water set in front of her. She doesn’t know who ordered it, but Rex is nudging her to drink.)

(She wants Master Kenobi’s tea.)

“So… I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Soka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Sokari just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You—you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then… whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Sokari lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. He looks genuinely uncomfortable. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think the breakdown was normal either.” [3]

Well, kriff you too, Sokari thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Sokari watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There are a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re a little dim. Sokari decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s seemingly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on after you get some sleep,” Fett decides, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’ll let you stay on my ship; there’s some spare bunks and you’re all pretty small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. He looks unimpressed with Rex’s aggression. “We can negotiate from there.”

Sokari takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we… share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Sokari says, and then just… hesitates. She doesn’t want to. “Fett…”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children. I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and neutral. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Sokari says. She feels heavy and boneless and so, so, so tired. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

She thinks. She hopes. She can’t discount what he agreed to with Kamino.

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Sokari lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Sokari says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m… I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

(Continue on AO3)

#phoenix files #auntie 'soka and little leia (and rex)#uncle ben and little luke #star wars #the clone wars #sw legends #sw rebels #time travel #jango fett #ahsoka tano #captain rex #leia organa

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shadowmaat · 3 years ago

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Cmdr. Fox Week Day 6: Caring

Look, Fox deserves all the fluff and I am here to provide it. @loving-fox-hours

The Care and Feeding of Commander Fox

Fox was on a routine and thankfully uneventful patrol of the halls of the Senate when he noticed someone coming towards him. They were short, bipedal, covered in marbled grey fur, and had six arms, two sets of which were currently crossed over their chest. They were also wearing a purple tooka romper, so he hazarded a guess that they were a juvenile.

He stopped as the presumed juvenile stomped up to him, thrust all six arms in the air, and made a buzzing clicky sound. Fox didn't need a translator to figure out that command.

"Are you lost?" He bent to pick up the young harch- for that's what they had to be, especially with the six red eyes- and settled them against his hip.

A derisive clicking and a firm shake of the head. So either they weren't lost or refused to admit it. He sent a message off to Sergeant Rattle, letting her know what he'd found. If a frantic parent or guardian called in looking for a missing youngling, Rattle could reassure them and let him know where to go.

"I'm Commander Fox," he said, in case the armor wasn't enough indication he was a Safe Grownup. "Do you want me to take you back to your guardian?" he asked, checking the hallway just in case this turned out to be a short exercise.

Another headshake and the harch mashed their face against his chestplate, making a keening sound that made his teeth hurt.

"Right, no guardian, then," he said. What the frip was a harchling doing running around the Senate, anyway? Last he'd heard Secundus Ando was still firmly Separatist, so they wouldn't have a senator here.

"How about something to eat?"

This, at least, got a pleased warble, although they kept their face pressed into his chest. The upper set of arms hooked around his neck, the middle set had tiny claws hooked around the edge of his armor plate, and the last set clung to the arm that was holding them.

"I'm afraid the Guard mess isn't very exciting," he said as he made a turn to head in that direction. "Our rations are geared for humans, but they should be safe for you as well."

He was pulling up everything he could about harch dietary habits, which seemed to go heavy on liquid proteins and meat rather than live bugs as he'd been half afraid would be the case.

A bubbling hiss as the harch shook their head and pointed one three-fingered hand in the other direction. Towards the visitors cafe. Fox snorted.

"Sorry, kid, but if you're with me, it's the Guard mess or nothing. We aren't allowed in the places real people go. Might offend them with our stench."

He said it like a joke, but it was true enough. Rich folk like the Senators and their guests hated being confronted by commoners, and by their reckoning clones were a step down from that. Or several.

The harchling made a show of sniffing him, still pointing the way to the cafe. When it was clear Fox wasn't going to obey their simple instruction, they started to wriggle.

Fox had done his share of creche-work back on Kamino and had even volunteered a time or two at the Jedi Temple, but none of it compared struggling with an eight-limbed mini-tyrant intent on getting what they wanted. They started an oscillating whine and were starting to draw unwanted attention.

He flipped on his internal comm. "Rattle, what in the Storms-cursed hells is taking so long?"

"Oh! Commander!" Rattle sounded surprised. "Uh, is everything alright? I mean, no one's reported any missing children yet, but you'll be the first to know, sir!"

Fox grunted as he took a well-placed foot, or possibly fist, to the stomach.

"But there is, uh, news!"

Rattle sounded odd, but Fox was too busy struggling to hold on to figure it out. He'd stopped walking and was seriously debating how much trouble he'd be in if he just dropped the kid.

"Turns out there's a celebrity visiting today! You know Bivi? Silken queen of the pop charts? She's here to be thanked for-"

"Why the frip weren't we told?" Fox snarled. He turned and started heading in the direction the harchling demanded. Hells, for all he knew, they were saying that's where their caretaker was.

"Funny thing about that," Rattle started.

"Never mind! Just- see if we can get some of the Guard in her detail. Shadow 'em if you have to, but I don't want any reports to say we snubbed some fancy-damned superstar." He didn't quite sneer the last word, but it was close.

"Yessir," Rattle said. "If I hear anything more, I'll let you know!"

There was that weird note in her voice again, but before he could ask her about it, the comm disconnected. He glanced down at the harchling, who'd gone docile again once they saw he was heading in the right direction.

"Fine, kid," he said, switching to his outer comm again. "We'll do it your way, but I hope you're okay with eating alone."

He wasn't honestly sure either of them would be allowed in since he couldn't provide a name or sponsor for the harchling, but if their guardian or caretaker was indeed in there at least it'd solve half his problems. Then he could concentrate on the nightmare of some ditzy singer running loose without a Guard presence.

Sure enough, as they approached the entrance to the cafe a silvery protocol droid stepped into the doorway.

"I beg your pardon, Sir and Mx," it said, "but the Freedom Cafe is off limits to non-members."

Disdain dripped from its tone. If it had more of a nose it definitely would have been looking down it at them.

"Do you see who you're looking for?" Fox asked.

The harchling turned a bit to face the droid and began to talk. It was full of whistles and clicks, and when they finally stopped, the lights in the droid's eyes actually blinked as it took a step back, bowing.

"My most profound apologies, Your Ladyship! Of course you and your Noble Guardian are most welcome!"

It bowed again, moving aside and gesturing for them to enter.

"If there's anything Your Ladyship requires, please, don't hesitate to ask!"

Fox looked down at the harchling, who gave him a squinty-eyed look in return. How something with six eyes, fur, and mandibles could radiate smugness like that was beyond him, but there was no doubt that's exactly what they- what she- was doing.

"Your Ladyship, huh?" He moved past the droid, taking a quick look around the room as he made his way to the serving line. "Something you want to tell me?"

She chirped at him, her tone inquisitive, and all her eyes wide in an unconvincing display of innocence. He huffed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

For a species that was supposed to prefer a liquid diet, the harchling seemed happy enough to stock up on steak and shellfish. After some argument he convinced her to take some vegetables as well, then she returned the favor by insisting he pick food for himself.

There were a few visiting dignitaries sitting on the far side of the room as well as a gaggle of aides making a mess and swapping horror stories about their senators. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He'd set the harchling down so he could carry both their trays and she strutted along behind him as if she owned the place. Knowing his luck, she probably did.

He picked a quiet table shielded by plants with a nice view of the air traffic outside and set the trays down. Her Ladyship climbed into a chair on her own and stared at him until he sat.

It was a good thing that there was no one here to see him being ordered around by a toddler. He'd been in far more humiliating situations and unlike other times he wasn't afraid to tell her "no," but, well, sometimes it was easier to just go along with whatever was happening and younglings were one of his biggest weaknesses. At least the ones who weren't malicious demonspawn like their parents.

Fox pulled his helmet off and set it on the empty chair beside him. He still had his wrist comm if there was an emergency and Rattle kept "dropping" his calls as if it wasn't blatant she was doing it. The squad channel was full of the usual chatter, so while he was suspicious, he wasn't worried something was wrong.

He ate his burger and "truffle fries," savoring every bite and trying not to think about how much worse rations were going to taste after this. He also did his best to ignore the unpleasant crunching sounds from his companion. Apparently harch could eat shellfish whole.

He accepted what pieces she offered him and caught every attempt she made to hide her vegetables, making sure she ate all of it.

It was the best meal he'd had in his entire life, and he hoped that whoever she was- or whoever her parent might be- that they wouldn't find a way to reverse the charge to his account instead.

While he was brooding over how to get her back where she belonged, she gabbled at a passing serving droid, who sped off only to return with a couple of plates sporting enormous slices of chocolate cake.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said.

The harchling pointed her fork at him and whistle-clicked at him, waiting. He could refuse; he'd been more than reasonably accommodating and even a clone had to draw a line somewhere, but... it was chocolate cake. With at least two inches of chocolate frosting and a dollop of what was undoubtedly real whipped cream slowly melting over it.

He picked up his fork and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and he closed his eyes to savor the moment. He heard a chirp and the clatter of a fork on china that meant his tiny abductor had joined him.

"What is the point of all this?" He asked between bites. "You're clearly more capable than you pretend and if you really needed help it sounds like the droids here can actually understand you."

The harchling tilted her head, making an inquiring chirp. There was frosting smeared around her mandibles.

Fox gave her a level look. "Just because I'm a clone doesn't mean I'm an idiot, miss." He sent a silent prayer to the Great Seas that he wasn't setting himself up for a reprimand by talking back.

The harchling put down her fork and reached across the table toward him, taking his free hand in both of her upper ones and stroking it. She crooned softly, which wasn't much of an answer but did feel like an apology.

One of her middle hands came up, clutching a small stuffed toy, and pushed it across the table. He put down his own fork to pick up the toy, which looked like a well-loved yellow harch.

"I don't understand," he said, checking to see if it had a name or ID on it.

The harchling brought her middle hands together and tilted her head against them, closing her eyes.

Fox's mind reeled. "You... want me to take a nap?" He couldn't quite believe it. He'd had a lot of strange days in the Guard, but this was borderline surreal.

The harchling opened her eyes and nodded, but before he could respond there was a commotion at the door.

He was up and shielding the harchling before he'd made a conscious choice to move. Cam droids hovered in the air and he recognized a couple of reporters backing into the room, peppering someone with questions.

Then the "someone" stepped in and he felt his stomach drop.

It was another harch. They had ghostly white fur that glittered under the flashbulbs and startling blue eyes. They were wearing a shimmering black dress and carefully-fitted matching boots.

The harchling behind him gave a piercing whistle and hopped to his shoulder and he struggled to secure her, heart hammering wildly as all attention focused on him.

Several camdroids buzzed over and Kilsa Rumano, whom he'd had the misfortune to encounter several times already, looked like she'd just been handed a leading headline. She probably had. He could imagine the headline: Clone Commander Kidnaps Child.

The white harch, however, tossed two sets of arms theatrically in the air. "Ferra, my niblet! There you are!"

The crowd around them parted as the harch glided across the room in their direction, trailing reporters, attendants, and- yes- two guardsmen in her wake. It must be Bivi, the singer Rattle had warned him about. He was completely fripped.

"I see you found a dashing Guard Captain to watch over you," Bivi continued. "Well done!"

"Not just any Commander, mum," Ferra said in perfect Basic. "This is Commander Fox!"

Fox's neck wrenched painfully as he twisted his head to stare down at her. She grinned up at him, mandibles wagging.

"You..." He couldn't form words. At least not ones that were safe to say in current company.

She reached up to pat his cheek, leaving little smears of frosting.

"Commander Fox." The clicks in Bivi's voice almost sounded like purring. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

The next bit of time passed in a blur of praise from Bivi, questions from the reporters, and commentary from Ferra, who was acting as if he'd saved her from certain death.

It turned out that Bivi was in the Senate to accept a special thank you from the Chancellor for some charity fund she'd apparently organized for the clones. That really must have stuck in his craw, Fox thought. She'd wanted to meet whatever troopers she could find- including the Guard- but had been told they were all "too busy." Hence sending Ferra out to find one.

Ferra was the equivalent of around seven, but very mature for her age, and knew how to use that to her advantage. She decided he seemed overworked and endeavored to treat him the best way that she could.

The "plight" of the clones was mentioned to the eagerly listening reporters, and Bivi had some harsh criticisms of the Senate- and Palpatine in particular- that Fox knew would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was a little overwhelmed at that point.

The shaking shoulders of the two guardsmen in the back of the room and the flowery apology from Rattle told him that Ferra wasn't the only one who'd set him up for this.

Bivi had piles of merchandise for him to distribute among the Guard and any other interested brothers. She also handed him a stack of tickets for her show later that evening, and as she handed them to him one of her clawed fingers tapped against an off-colored card mixed in with the tickets.

Ferra gave him a chocolaty kiss on the cheek and thanked him for his help, mumbling an apology for tricking him. Her mother kissed him as well, thanked him, and whispered in his ear that more help was always available as long as he knew where to look.

It took awhile to get everyone herded back out into the hall and for once Fox was grateful for the snobbishness of the cafe droids, who were not above mildly electrocuting reporters to get them out of the way.

Since Bivi and her entourage were on their way out Fox corralled the two guardsmen, Divot and Banger, into helping him carry their gifted haul back to the office.

"Breathe one word and you're both on Sewer Inspection for a month," he growled.

They saluted, but he could tell they were still laughing behind their helmets. Good help was hard to find. Between them and the traitorous Rattle, the sewers were going to be safer than ever.

Once safely locked in his office, he inspected the concert tickets. In among the front-row tickets was a slip of paper with a string of numbers and a four digit code.

Just in case the Chancellor forgets to pass this along.

- Bivi

It was the Support Our Troops account she'd been raising money for. Fox didn't dare take a look, not yet.

In among the t-shirts, bags, branded glowsticks, and other Bivi-related paraphernalia were some encrypted comms, datapads, and some top-of-the-line jammers. Fox breathed out slowly, wondering exactly what he was getting into with this. Maybe it was time to comm Cody. Chances were he was the intended recipient anyway. After all, why would a famous pop star care about him in particular? He never made the holonews like Cody did.

He reached up to touch the spot where she'd kissed him and his fingers came away Corrie Crimson. Kriff. He checked his reflection in a datapad and saw two odd marks on his cheeks; one larger crimson one and a smaller black one. Kriff kriff kriff. Maybe he'd wind up on the holonews after all. Or at least, most definitely, the tabloids.

Sewer Inspection duty wasn't severe enough. He'd need to think up something worse.

#jedimindfic #CommanderFoxWeek2021 #Commander Fox #long fic #apparently I have a weakness for Fox + younglings

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sl-walker · 3 years ago

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Today in Lines I Loved Writing

Tagged by @b-radley66! Tagging @whymylife-cordelia, @shadowmaat and @btwxsixesandsevens! Show us a scene or passage you loved writing and maybe tell us why you loved writing it. And feel free to tag others.

In retrospect, the decision to stop at one last bar was probably not a good one.

Shiv and Tally were less pickled than some of their brothers -- they were practically carrying the Triple R Trio now -- but they still weren't quick enough to stop Tango from wandering into one more place, drawn by the rocket ships glowing in neon in the windows, steps reeling some. Shiv opened his mouth to try to call to Tango, but then Rabbit moaned and he had to deposit the kid in an alley to make use of the compost container, and the next thing he knew, half the squad was missing and the voices from inside that bar were getting loud.

"Kriff," he murmured, head spinning some, but still steady enough on his feet. "Here, Rabbit, c'mon. Just--"

He didn't want to leave Rabbit alone, but he also didn't want to drag him into a hostile situation, so he leaned the kid against the front facade of the building -- which only had high up, narrow windows, presumably so no one could be thrown through any larger ones -- and then glanced around again before slipping inside the building.

"--frippin' Republic military--"

"--better than stinkin' dolls, on an assembly line--"

"--least we're not a buncha shitworm cowards hidin' behind closed borders--"

"Uh-- economic oppression?" Misty tried, looking around at the extremely hostile faces of a bunch of dockworkers. "We're all screwed by the same people? No?"

Shiv might have actually started laughing at that, even as he grabbed ahold of Brody -- by far the most belligerent of their squad -- to try to drag him back outside. Tango just looked thoroughly confused, wavering on his feet; Tally had moved to try to get hands on Rancor, who was likewise reeling and confused. Raze was-- frip, Raze was already at the bar and somehow managed to go completely ignored, chatting at the tender in a friendly way that seemed to disarm the man. Smarty and Castle were bristling some.

One of the bar-goers started crowding Tango, who seemed more baffled than angry about it, and said, mockingly, "Get outta here. You cut-outs are all gonna be dead within the month anyway, we don't--"

A red-and-black fist came out of seemingly no where, and the meaty thudding sound it made when it hit that guy in the mouth silenced the entire bar.

Someone asked, whispering, "What the frip is that?"

Maul squared his shoulders -- outsized by pretty much everyone around him -- put himself between the crowd and the majority of his squad and said, "That is their lieutenant. Would anyone else like to threaten my squad?"

Despite everything, Shiv found himself grinning broadly. Brody quit trying to throw himself into the fight. Tango-- unsurprisingly looked like he was in love.

And even though an unbroken glass bottle clipped him in the head within the next ten seconds, and several chairs were broken; even though fists were flying and so was the occasional tooth, Shiv was still grinning when CorSec showed up.

He only stopped briefly and cursed internally when the beautiful zeltron was one of the arresting officers.

Why I loved writing it: Shiv’s always a delightful voice. I also just got a kick out of the buildup to action, too. Misty trying to follow along on Tally’s tirade from a previous bar. And I loved the payoff. Maul had been quiet that whole time, staying sober (for multiple reasons) and at the end of it was there and ready to throw a fist in defense of his squad.

It was a fun scene in a fun chapter to write.

#shiv #maul #blackbirds: year one #witness me

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frippp · 7 months ago

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For refrance heres the few times theyve had to travel, frip looks calm but i can assure you he did not shut up even after calm meds!! Also the right hand one is when i had to carry her all the way back from the vets and she was not happy

Im sitting next to this black cat on the train, im impressed how very calm they are. There just chilling in their carrier, if that was frip he would be SCREAMING and CRYING

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ironhoshi · 4 years ago

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8- “I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

Pairing is up to you but I would love something with Quinlan! He doesn't even have to be in the pairing xD

Hello, hi, yes. I did not forget~! I love writing Quinlan and had fun with this one. Trigger warnings for some mild blood- ya know, canon typical violence!

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

His teeth were extra slick, something he knew because he kept running his tongue over them. They were all there, somehow, but he was definitely tasting something metallic. The fripping gangsters really hadn’t held back in punching him in the face. Quinlan filtered the pain in temples away, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about the most likely broken nose. The constant pinching pain was making it hard to breathe through his nose. The fight would have gone a lot faster if he had been able to use his lightsaber. Sometimes, he mused, being undercover was not that great. His padawan was probably going to be livid.

He rolled his shoulders to ease some of the tension. The stiffness didn’t exactly want to leave. Yeah, that was about right for his luck lately.

He had used his call to contact someone other than his padawan- he’d be hearing about that later. His gaze flickered to the chipped polish on his nails. Well, that was just great. His perfect undercover look was falling apart. He had actually liked that lacquer. Cal had been all smiles when he had presented his find.

Black with flecks of gold.

“Great,” he breathed out before letting himself collapse the small table. No one had interrogated him yet for his part in the destruction of a cantina, but he wasn’t sure how long that would hold out. Then he felt it and his groan deepened. The familiar blossom of nearness in the training bond.

That bastard had snagged Cal on the way.

Smart tactic. Dirty tactic.

The door slid open and he didn’t even glance up. Just the feeling of displeasure that invaded the room was enough to tell him that his way out of this had arrived.

“What am I going to do with you?” His lips twitched and he winced. The cut on his upper lip was threatening to split.

“Why’d you bring-” “Our kid is waiting in the speeder. Now just shut up and behave for a moment, I had to promise a few favors to get you out of this.” Quinlan blinked in surprise. So the undercover of it all was still going on? He shifted enough to glance at his savior. Oh, yeah, that was a most unpleased look. Though... he grinned hard as he took in the sight of his man in civilian clothing. His lip protested and he got a snort of displeased affection as a reward. The cuff securing him to the table was removed without a word.

His eyes only widened when the order to move was signed at him. He gave a mock salute before he could stop himself and then he found himself being dragged out of the chair by the upper arm. Someone was in a mood! They walked quickly through the station house and no one really seemed to bother to watch them go. Ah, the fine work of the enforcers in the lower levels! He felt a flash of guilt. That wasn’t fair, they were overwhelmed by the various gangs trying to move in and prey on the vulnerable. The war was, perhaps, harder on the lower levels. Those on the higher levels had top-notch protection and didn’t have to worry about power, water, or food rations. Go a mere twenty levels down and things changed hard and fast.

The world below the surface was designed to eat the weak.

He hated it.

The garish neon lights promising dancing girls nearly blinded him when they stepped out of the station house. The hand on his arm only tightened. “F-” “Not a word,” came the order. He pressed his lips together into a thin line and let his rescuer drag him over to a clearly rented speeder. Cal sat in the backseat, an oversized poncho on, and a look of worry on his young face. Oh, well, now he felt a little bad! “You know what to do?” The question wasn’t for him. Cal nodded and scooched further to the side in the backseat. Quinlan was hardly surprised when he was pretty much shoved into the back with his padawan. He grinned and Cal didn’t. His young student merely sighed before going about opening up a medkit. The speeder rumbled to life and he had to brace himself as it screamed out into the flow of traffic.

“I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé,” Fox finally yelled over the sound of the wind.

Quinlan wanted to laugh or say something smart, but he didn’t get the chance. Cal struck, fingers grabbing his nose and wrenching. Pain erupted and then quickly vanished. He opened his mouth to protest and found himself gagging at the overpowering flavor of bacta. Tricky kid! He really had taught him so well, he was proud. The bacta pop started to get to work instantly, even if it did invade his sinuses. He held still while Cal carefully placed a bacta patch over his now set nose.

“He pulled me out of class. Master Windu wants a word when we get back, oh and Master Kenobi said something about you being a horrible influence.” Quin snorted before he could stop himself. Bacta raced up his nose and made it tingle. His eyes watered and he quickly waved a hand in front of his face to try and stop the sensation.

“You are such a moron, Vos,” Fox called from the driver’s seat. “You are lucky it was my day off! I wouldn’t have been able to go save you if I was at work. What were you even thinking? Taking on the Blacksun and the Haxion Brood at the same time? You started a turf war!” He flashed his padawan a sheepish smile and was honestly relieved when Cal smiled back. Brightness in this dark planet.

“When we get back to my place, I swear, I am going to make you write five reports on this incident-” Wait? No! He hated paperwork! The look of horror on his face must have been intense because Cal, the traitor, started laughing. The sound like was light exploding and Fox swore faintly. “You are both going to be the death of me. I swear.”

“Don’t be like that, Foxy,” he said around his bacta pop. “We keep your life interesting. Besides, I got some intel that will help reclaim level 1313!”

#prompts #prompt #writing prompt #star wars #cal kestis #quinlan vos #commander fox #I accidentally made a new au #pls stop me #star wars fan fic #I really should write more quinlan stuff #HOPE YOU LIKED THIS!!!!

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metataxy · 3 years ago

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Maul, post Order 66 Story, Timeskip

A mad Jedi tried to collect all the Force Sensitive younglings he knew of before the Empire could get to them. Maul, having stolen one of the Jedi’s apprentices and his itinerary, has just crashed on Lothal, where some of the locals recovered them from the crashsite ;)

This is set in the same timeline my other Maul post-Order 66 nonsense, but there’s a bit of a timeskip. If you haven’t read the earlier bits, they’re linked here: Part 1, 2, 3 , 4, 5 . Not posting to AO3 until I figure out what’s happening.

Warnings: Loss of mobility devices

A touch to his face roused him from his sleep, and he flung out a wave of Force reflexively.

A woman shrieked.

He flung himself up—or tried to. He overbalanced and rolled off the cot where he lay and onto the floor and flailed helplessly for a few moments before he realized what was wrong.

His legs were gone.

His chest tightened.

A brown-skinned woman was sprawled against the opposite wall, a heap of broken crockery about her. She stumbled up with a groan. “Looks like you’re awake, Master Jedi,” she murmured wryly in a heavily accented Basic, blue eyes winking from under her headscarf. A call came from the entryway, and she answered it in a throaty language Maul didn’t recognize. She turned back to Maul. “Just one of our hosts. Morad Sumar. You’ll meet him later—he’s in and out of the house right now since it’s planting season. Do you need help getting back into bed, Master Jedi?”

Master Jedi??? Did he need help…? He gritted his teeth. “No.” That, at least, he could do for himself. He dragged himself up on his arms, which were weaker than he remembered, and awkwardly propelled himself back into the bed with the help of the Force.

He had thought himself beyond the endless indignities of disability after Talzin restored his legs.

Someone, likely this stranger, had seen to his bodily needs while he slept and bandaged his wounds.

“Is there a refresher?” he asked.

“Can you—” the woman started, and then thought better of it. “Yes, it’s just through that door. Do you need help?”

“I’ll manage,” he grumbled. “Where is this place?”

“Just a moment,” the woman murmured apologetically. “Could you please tell me your name, where you think you are, and the year?”

Maul blinked.

“I do not have a head injury.”

She smiled a little. “I’m really sorry, but my aunt’s a nurse who worked in civilian aid during the Wars, and she told me to never believe a Jedi who said they weren’t injured.”

He glowered at her.

“You do not need to ask these questions,” he strongly suggested.

“I definitely do,” she grinned, and stang, his caretaker (captor?) would have to be strong-willed enough to ignore that.

He laid back in defeat. “Master Tal Zin,” he lied, “Lothal, and I have no idea what dating system the fripping Empire uses now. Where is my apprentice?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” retorted the woman affably.

“Three. My padawan?”

“Out feeding the chickens with the farmhand,” she said brightly. “She hasn’t said anything since they brought you here. What’s her name, by the way?”

“Metane. Where is here, and who are ‘they’?”

“Oh,” the woman said apologetically, crawling closer and sitting cross-legged by his bunk. “See, there’s a group of us concerned about what happens to folks in Imperial care. My aunt works in the hospital, and when the Imperials take an interest in someone there, sometimes they just go missing. Kids even. My best friend’s brother-in-law’s cousin knew someone who worked in law enforcement, and he said people were getting grabbed off the street just for petty theft and shipped offplanet. So when we saw those Imperial fighters firing on you, and then found you with a lightsaber…” she shrugged. “We knew we had to get you out of there. You’re on Morad Sumar’s farmstead. No one’s around for klicks, so you should be safe.”

Excellent. Just excellent. He could hear Sidious laughing all the way from Coruscant. He was legless and bedridden on a backwater planet, on a farm, days away from any real civilization, and dependent on a rube he couldn’t even Force-suggest for his basic needs.

Whatever Noll had expected to be on this planet had better be worth it.

“Is anyone else here?”

“Besides me? Morad, the owner, but his primary farmstead is closer to the city, so he only gets out here about once a tenday. Mirada, his wife—she’s upstairs cooking and taking care of my baby right now. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me, and the farmhand, Delga—he’s an Aqualish. I can’t really understand a lot of what he says, but we work it out.”

“And you are?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she babbled, and thrust out a hand. “Mira Bridger.” He shook it, nonplussed. “Morad’s letting me stay here while my husband tries to find us a place to live in the city—rents have gone skyhigh since the Empire moved in, and I just lost my job, so they offered to let me stay here and help out until Ephraim,” the husband, presumably, “finds us somewhere to live. I’d be with him, but,” she shrugs shyly, “he’s bunking in the hostels, and those aren’t the greatest place for a woman, let alone a newborn.”

“Mira?! Escach doth-ch laol min nouwin kylich morech to?”

“She’s asking what you eat,” she told him, grinning. “Well?”

“Meat, mostly.”

Mira’s face crumpled unhappily. “That might be a bit difficult—we don’t have any meat.”

Oh, by the Mother—

In the Force, he could tell she was telling the truth. She was even unhappy about it, and he hadn’t even threatened her.

“Blood. Eggs or insects will also suffice,” he admitted reluctantly. “I can digest some grains or vegetables, if they’ve been cooked long enough.”

Her face lightened. “Oh, excellent. We have eggs, and plenty of mealworms and locusts. I’ll just go up and help her prepare. Holler if you need anything!”

She sprang up, her short caftan fluttering out around her knees, and sprinted off. Through the open door, he could hear the clatter of pots and pans, a screaming infant, and the sound of women gossiping—the latter unmistakable no matter what the language.

He sighed irritably, shut his eyes, and considered the innumerable ways he would have killed Kain Noll if the man weren’t already dead.

This had better be worth it.

He might have dozed off again, when Mira stomped back into his bedroom with two plates of something smelling heavily of spices, and a bundle tight against her chest. She handed him the first with a spoon and settled herself at the foot of his bed with the second. Maul dipped his spoon into the sweet-hot melange of minced locust, mashed fruit and boiled grains, and stopped suddenly.

A pair of blue eyes watched him from the sling about Mira’s chest. He reached out in the Force, and was met with a wordless outpouring of curiosity-and-affection-and-want?

Oh.

Oh, this was worth it.

The baby smiled gummily at him and began to fuss, pulling his arms out and gurgling enthusiastically.

“No, Ezra, let Master Tal eat his lunch in peace, he just woke up—” she smiled at him, a little embarrassed, as the infant began to cry because Maul was too far away. More out of incredulity than anything, Maul sent a wave of assurance back, and a bond slipped into place.

Maul nearly dropped his bowl.

The baby quieted, and Mira patted his back affectionately. “He likes meeting new people,” she explained, unnecessarily.

They ate and she babbled on about nonsense—how the baby had just rolled over that morning and he simply wouldn’t sleep through the night, so she was getting used to resting in three hour intervals, and how he looked so much like her, the husband swore she’d just cloned herself and swapped out an X chromosome. And Maul tolerated it all and finished his bowl, and at the end, she took it, and, “Oh, would you mind holding Ezra a bit while Mirada and I wash up the dishes?”

He’d scarcely agreed when she’d plopped the baby into his arms and flounced back to the kitchens.

The baby blinked up at him with wide blue eyes, and yawned, then nuzzled up into Maul’s chest, projecting contentment, and promptly went to sleep.

Maul stared down, for once, bewildered.

This was not the way a Sensitive infant should react in the presence of a Sith.

It wasn’t even the way a Sensitive child should react.

After his Rites, every Sensitive child who had so much as brushed up against his shields had pulled back in confusion and fear. Crying was the common response. Running away was also not unexpected. Sidious had chosen Maul for reacting with the exceptional rage and defiance he, in turn, had seen in Metane.

This sudden rapport was entirely out of his knowledge or experience.

Leaning back against the wall, he awkwardly cradled the tiny human, and decided.

He was keeping him.

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

Notes:

1. For all the war in Star Wars, I feel this franchise has a somewhat limited treatment of disability, particuarly with amputees. Not an expert, but it seems like the fact technology and/or the Force can restore functionality precludes some of the lived experiences of actual disabled people from being portrayed in this franchise. To my knowledge, existing prosthetics for hands are pretty limited in terms of fine motor skills. I think prosthetics for legs are somewhat better because there isn’t that need for fine control (?), but I should probably do a bit of research on exactly what athletes with amputations experience for Maul. If you know anything about prosthetics, drop me a line :)

2. Gods, Maul is such a b***hy old man. The timeskip is half because my brain objects to writing in linear order and partly because he’s so bloody depressing. Yes, Maul, I’m making you somewhat dependent on a bubbly twenty-something year old Mira Bridger who wants NOTHING MORE than to feed you curry and conscript you as her live-in nanny, deal with it!

#Darth Maul #Star Wars #post order 66 #Star Wars Rebels #ezra bridger #mira bridger

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aces-to-apples · 3 years ago

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Oh man oh man, for the writing prompt: 5 + 17 for either ObiMaul or MaulRex?

5. Enemies to lovers + 17. Sex then love Well now if that aint the most quintessential maulrex experience......

(Warnings for violence and implied sexual content ig? And also past Jessex and unrequited JesseMaul and however you warn for thinking of someone else while banging.)

Ahsoka leaves; Maul comes back. That's what it comes down to in the end.

It isn't abandonment—they agree that it will be safer for them both if they split up—but deep in Rex's heart, it feels like being abandoned. It feels like his only vod left in the galaxy is leaving him, walking away without marching, and part of him resents her for it. It isn't fair, but there it is.

And then Maul, again, alone, without weapons, without even his melodic hissing trying to turn Rex's mind inside-out. He sits next to Rex in the dingy cantina and says, "Lady Tano has left you?" As if it's a question; as if he's surprised.

"Why are you here," Rex mutters, slurs, three sheets to the wind because Ahsoka is gone and his vode are gone and his general is gone and everything is kriffing gone.

Maul hesitates, is the thing.

Not for effect, not to be dramatic or to manipulate. He sounds kriffing careful as he begins, "The lieutenant, Jesse—"

But he doesn't get farther than that because Jesse is dead, they're all kriffing dead, and Rex does his ARC Trooper best to put Maul's head through the damned wall. He gets a few good smashes in before he hits the wall himself, held a few inches off the ground by an immovable band around his torso, pinning him.

Rex wishes, viciously, that Maul was Human or an Iridonian hybrid, so he could see the spectacular bruising blooming all over Maul's face. He knows his own strength, he knows the damage he's done, even hidden by ink and blood.

"I know the lieutenant is dead," Maul snarls as the cantina quickly clears out, and he sounds—angry. Angry in the way that Rex feels; angry in the way that hides grief. "He wasn't meant to. I didn't want him to."

And isn't that a kriffing laugh, since Maul is the one who killed him.

Maul's fierce expression wavers.

"Jesse was already gone," he says, softly, looking tired and wrung out. And maybe that's what gets Rex to slump down, to give up fighting. Probably is, in fact. That even Maul is tired of being angry. "His body may have been moving, but he was Jesse no longer. That I can promise you, Commander."

Rex looks blearily up at him, on the floor now and when did that happen, and laughs. It sounds watery. But it's funny, Maul making him promises and talking about Jesse as if he knew him, as if he cared.

"Didn't you hear?" he says, laugh turning into a hiccup. "I got demoted."

The cold fire in Maul's eyes warms slightly, and between one long blink and the next, Rex is on his feet, a warm around his shoulders, gripping firmly at one of his elbows. Damned if he knows which one. "Captain suits you better," Maul's soft voice murmurs into his ear, warm breath tickling and making him shiver. "Come now, Rex. Jesse wouldn't want this for you..."

Part of him balks at that. Half-dragged out of the cantina and towards a ship, Rex can still summon up some offense.

"How the—the frip would you know what Jesse would want."

It's too loud, echoing around the little shuttle.

Maul slings him down on a cot and looks down at him, head tilted to the side. He looks... curious, maybe? And still so damnably soft. "Because he loved you very dearly, Rex. Now go to sleep."

“Kark you,” Rex tries to say, tries to snarl, but Maul is walking away and even just a shuttle cot is making him well up. Because it smells like a barracks cot. Because it smells like home.

He presses his face to the pillow and doesn’t bother—pretending, he supposes.

Doesn’t bother pretending to be strong, pretending to be okay. Just lets whatever happens next... happen.

Cried out, half-suffocated, and mostly asleep, a body warm and cold slips in behind him. Chilled legs pressing up against his, warm arm wraps around his chest.

It isn’t a vod.

Rex pretends anyway.

It’s funny, is the thing. Because he’s pretty sure Maul pretends too. Sometimes, at least.

When he’s not being disturbingly intense whenever Rex crawls on top of him or presses him down—and Maul always lets him, is the thing, always goes with it, never says no—then he’ll sometimes close his eyes, press his head back and let Rex use him. He doesn’t say Rex, or Captain, and that’s how Rex knows.

It’s odd to think about, so he usually doesn’t.

(Somehow, they both lost Jesse. If he thinks about that, he’ll have to break things. And breaking things might turn into breaking people. Rex doesn’t want to break people. Not even Maul.)

It takes almost two years, before he realizes.

Ironically, it’s because they both end up saying Jesse. And part of Rex wants to scream, wants to bite and scratch and curse. Instead, he kisses Maul over and over, whispering Jesse all the while, until he’s ready to go again. Maul does the same, touching him with fervor Jesse and Rex and Jesse falling from his lips.

After, Rex realizes that he hasn’t commed Ahsoka in months. Hasn’t even looked for her. He wonders when that happened, and why, then looks over at Maul, covered in bites and bruises, even thought he can’t see them.

And, oh.

It’s because all his vode are gone, but Maul—is here.

#ask meme #answered asks #maulrex #captainsith #jessex #jessemaul #star wars #the clone wars #sw fic #by apples #letsgetempirical #darth maul #captain rex #jesse is with them in spirit

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