#ive never seen star wars at all. i just needed a excuse to draw these 2 having a light saber figbt

[night-error]

Its May the 4th. Which is StarWars day.

Despite never watching StarWars heres a funny little doodle

Live Cube reaction:

[kermodeiiii]

Forgive Your Heart

Chapter 1: The Encounter

Summary: Nevarro was never a place for surprises after you had come accustomed to it's unyielding atmosphere of danger, however a small green child just might change your view on this planet.

A/n: I've seen so many fics that often either poorly portray chubby bodies or just make the readers thin and dainty and so I'm taking matters into my own hands. :)

I have watched all of the Mandalorian but not many Star Wars movies so excuse me if I use improper lingo but I will do my best to research things I'm not sure of.

Masterlist

Nevarro was a shithole. That was known not only throughout the planet but throughout the outer rim, it was where they needed your help the most, that's why you’re here. Being a medic was never going to be easy no matter what planet you decided to work on, but Nevarro was another level of filth. The bounties, the bounty hunters, thieves, scammers etc. were all on Nevaro, you cursed your kind and giving heart, you wanted to give what you could see people thrive in this decrepit place. Constant blaster shot cases and near dead bounties were never uncommon at your Medcenter, it’s practically what kept the lights on in the place, and being the head medic of your station made the atmosphere much more daunting.

Snapping out of your daze and drawing your attention to a shouting patient, and making your way over to see what the fuss was about. He was yelling on and on about someone getting away that ‘I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!’ and ‘He’ll never get off this planet alive!’ a male bounty hunter from the looks of it, various weapons and ammunition hanging off his struggling body to get off the gurney one of your Medics was pinning him down on. As you slightly jogged alongside the gurney making your way to the operating table, you put your hand on the man's shoulder pushing him against the gurney making his head jerk your way. You needed to stay calm.

“Sir, we need you to take some deep breaths and calm down so we can do our job.”

“To hell with your job! That bastard’s gonna die! Today!”

When you tried to speak again the man tried and failed to knock you and your medic to the ground, you yelled for assistance from passing medics asking them to get and IV started while you held his arm down as well as getting 20mg of morphine to try and calm the man down. You pinned down his arm with the help of the other medics, he writhed under your grasp as the IV was inserted into his arm, the morphine quickly made its way through his body helping calm his nerves and lessen his pain. As you entered the operating room you were greeted by the head medic of the trauma unit.

“I’ll take care of this, you’ve done plenty already by drugging my patient.”

“Hey, if i hadn-”

You were cut off by the operating door before you could finish your defense, your fists balled tightly at your sides as you walked down the hallway leading back to the medic station. You noticed something odd, it looked like a burlap sack you’d take with you to the market. You made your way closer and noticed the sack sprouted two long green ears, was this someone's kid? Once you had reached the child you knelt down with an outstretched hand and spoke in a soft voice.

“Are you lost hun? Do you need help finding your parents?”

Two massive black eyes stared back at you when the child turned around, you had never seen anyone like him, he only stared at you and looked down at the ends of his robe that draped on the ground. The hallway was getting busier as you stayed there in the middle of it, you gently scooped up the kid and made your way to the side of the hallway out of everyone's way. He gripped your lab coat and whined out, something clicked in you, vaguely you could hear a voice in your head. Hurt. You looked at the child and he stared back at you once again, you noticed he only held your jacket with one of his clawed hands, carefully you took his small hand in yours and examined it. A simple cut, something that could’ve been fixed at his home with a med patch, maybe he thought it was a bigger cut than it is?

“Let’s get this taken care of, yeah? You wanna choose a cool med patch?”

You began listing all the cool patterns of kids' med patches to him, rocket ships, rainbows, camouflage, glitter etc. Entering the supply closet with the little green child in your arms you dug out the med patches you had listed and held them out for him to choose from, you’d have to cut them down to his size of course, he was so tiny you couldn’t help but feel a bit protective over him even if it had been only two minutes since you met him. His big eye scanned over the patches his eyes landed on a patch that had droids in a pattern with a blue background. He pointed at the same patch and looked up at you with a little grin, another vague voice ran through your head, Him. You let a warm smile grace your features, handing the patch to him to hold and putting the rest away, you make your way into a vacant examination room and shut the door. Setting the child on the cot and turning around to pull the scissors out of your pocket to cut the patch to fit his tiny hand. Moving across the cot to sit on the rolling stool, you held out your hand silently asking for permission to see the cut, he placed his hand back into yours. You placed the patch onto his hand and let out a disappointed sigh.

“Hang on, I have to cut it a bit smaller buddy, your hands are so small I have to make sure it fits properly. ”

Taking the patch back you once again cut off slivers so it would fit his small hand, you took off the plastic backing of the patch and firmly placed the sticky side against his skin. You ran your hand around the border of it to ensure it was secure on his hand. He looked up at you and cooed, that voice made its way in your head, Kind. You gave his head a simple pat and rubbed his cheek as you stood.

“How about you stay here for a bit ok? I’ll see if I can find your parents.”

He gripped the bottom portion of your lab coat and looked up at you, he seemed agitated Dangerous. The voice was a bit louder this time you could feel anxiety in the voice, was he doing this? Does he know he can? You set your hand on his head once more, smiling down at him and pulling the blanket on the cot closer to him, making a small nest for him to comfortably lay in. He still held your wrist, not wanting you to leave, but you still can’t tell if he’s scared for you or for himself.

“It’ll be ok, I promise sugar. I’ll be back in a few minutes. How about that?”

Slowly he let your wrist go, as you made your way out of the room you mentioned again you'd be right back and closed the door. You quickly made your way back to your computer at the medic station, searching through files and profiles of all patients and employees. You had searched for nearly 10 minutes before rolling away from the desk and running your hands over your face with a defeated sigh. You raked your hands through your hair and scanned the people coming and going through the hallways, your eyes landed on an armor clad figure, the T shaped visor already pointed at you. A Mandalorian? He made his way over to you, parting the crowd with little effort. You stood and made your way around the desk to meet the beskar clad man, you had a feeling in your gut but couldn’t tell if it was to run or to trust him. His body language was clearly agitated, balled fists at his sides, looking through the crowd almost frantically. He tilted his head down to meet your gaze.

“Can I help you with something?”

“WheR- s K-d”

“Excuse me?”

He hit the side of his helmet harshly, seeming to fix some malfunction with his hardware. At the same time the Mandalorian grabbed your collar and held you close to him by your lab coat, his stature was intimidating but you never let that faze you. You held your ground and kept your stare even and brows furrowed, his fist tightened noticing your lack of fear.

“I said, where's the kid?”

[sunfish999]

if y’all ever wanted to know anything about me... i tried

hm I’m bored (i say this as i should be doing geometry homework

1. read: probably the paladin prophecy, or the finisher (just books i’ve read like 500 times, idk about understanding but--) watch: the vampire diaries? (idk i watched the entire series in 7th grade wygonnad) or aquamarine movie? listen to: XYLO, LUME, more specifically Need Nothing by Verite 

2. bro i have no idea who they are actually but I’ve seen like 2 fanfic writers who write exactly like me and seem to think exactly like me i love that. also a reg writer? uh probably mark frost? i aspire to write like f scott fitzgerald but it never gonna happen hun (cos i wanna major in physics not literature lmao)

3. holy fuck lets pick like 3 fandoms, aight? uh first lets go w my hero academia? tokoyami ofc? next... percy jackson bich-- nico LMAO no maybe bianca? hm HARRY POTTER -- ginny prolly although i dont want to date harry (oops) The maze runner? tommy actually ;; naruto? fucKINH ROCK LEE BABE uhhhsdfhh star wars is anakin and voltron is lance (or pidge actually) i should stop buuuut yeao ok

4. i think my name is fine but i aint gonna share it here (also kinda wish my nickname was charly though thats all im gonna say ALSO yes laurel is a faux name yes 

5. human being because i do nothing. lol but yes i think that who i am as a person should be based off my actions, for it is how i act that shows other people who i am, not ‘who i am inside’ dont make fucking excuses for your actions people 

6. yea i believe in 1 god and i was raised as a catholic christian but i am accepting of all religions and views

7. i mean kinda??? idk im very polish and so i eat lotta polish food (gr8 stuff right there) but im just american so yea 

8. muscial artists, well bitch i only started actively listening to lots of music (aka spotify) like last year but i listened to ari grande when i was young ofc but i dont rlly feel connected to her. maybe like, adele? probably her yea 

9. yes i am a visual artist (preferred medium is watercolor) i looooove singing although i suck so i just do it for fun, i played the french horn for 2 years (also suck so not really lol) um i also write for fun and im good at writing informative essays (my school is big in the english program lol) i was also in 3 plays but i dislike theatre so no. also i like clothes i am a fashion artist wow

10. tf? idk? i have like 3 mottos: “if you want something done right, do it yourself” “the answer to existence is not why we are here, but how we affected others during our time here” “jack at all trades, master at none, better than a master at one “ “you don’t have to speak to be present” “consider how hard it is to change yourself and realize what little chance you have in trying to change others” “do the scary thing first, and get scared afterwards” “the very fact that you're actively looking for ways to become kinder, and attempting to understand your flaws and change them for the better is fair proof that you as a person, are kind.” OK YEA MAYBE I HAVE A CREED SO WHAT 

11. ideal day lol art, reading, and binge watching tv in bed while eating. otherwise spending the day meditating in a forest in spring where its warm but not too warm and just not speaking the entire day 

12. both. i have 3 cats and 2 dogs. love all of them dearly though i’d consider myself a human puppy vs a human kitty (im not a furry calm tf down)

13. outdoors, if you mean nature. if you just mean social activity, then indoors 

14. as i said before, i like singing even though i suck, in grade school i learned the ukelele, piano, and french horn. i remember none of that now 

15. influential books my ass. LETS GO: 1. into the wild (krakauer) 2. Fahrenheit 451 (cant remember author name but its fucking iconic and a classic and it made me think) 3. just gonna go an put harry potter because that shit changed my life 4. the hobbit? idk, iconic 5. i wanna read more literature-y books soon but whatever, i feel like i should say the great gatsby but honestly with writing my essay and everything i just dont give a shit anymore

16. ok i feel like if my parents werent as strict when i was younger id have less depression and be less stressed but then i would also care less about my grades and being kind and i like that about myself sooooo 

17. lol this is EXACTLY me guys because its fucking anonymous as hell because i know none of you (except for like 2 mutuals but ive never met them irl but they’re cool) i dont trust my friends. or family, for that matter

18. my patronus is a wolf thanks for asking; and my power animal: symbolizes instinct, intelligence, and an appetite for freedom. embody personal power and balance between self-control and animal instincts. a guide to inspire you to live more freely

19. im a gryffindor, i took the pottermore test twice and got it both times, also, i took it doing the opposite and got slytherin, so i aint them (but i love slytherin sooo)

20. fuck are you serious? honestly hogwarts would be awesome as hell but probably middle earth because it still got the magic but it gorgeous as hell 

21. yea i’d probably say i love easily since i like barely talk to my crushes and yet i think i really really like them because GODDAMN 

22. school. daydreaming. eating. phone. drawing. 

23. i feel like once i move out for college i’d like em a heck of a lot more, so probably like at least once a month? when i’m older? like at least once every 2 months? i love my extended fam though

24. oh fuck my friend from school and i fucking liked chinchillas when we were little, we always text each other the same thing at the same time, i always know what shes thinking and what the basis for her actions is. shes the bff that doesnt always act like it all the time 

25. fuck yes 

26. pansexual and PROUD but still in the closet except for the whole internet and 3 friends 

27. ok honestly i feel like i dress kinda like a basic girl just more minimalistic and modest but i kinda totally want the gays to recognize me and also i fucking want those patterned polos because hell to the yes. and also i want bangs but i do sports and i feel like id look ugly because everyone says they would (waiting til college, naturally) otherwise love my freckles and real dark eyes

28. honestly, probably like a 2-3. i don’t care SO much about what people think, but i’m fucking annoyed by really dumb things super easily. i’m just really good at hiding it so no one ever knows 

29. why music wtf OK: 1. need nothing - verite, 2. lover like me - off bloom 3. strapped - FOOL 

30. why the FUCK all my quotes are in my creed bitch lemme search :

“growing up is giving up” 

thanks for listening to my TED ED talk aaaaand i hope you know me a bit better and i hope i didn’t accidentally give away too much info and someone will come kill me ok BYE 

[niallismymuse]

part iv: might never make it out

story page | part v 

          Healing from his traumatic experience proved to be boring. Often, Niall ached to do something, anything, to end the monotony. He wanted to go to another reef and heal it, discover the range of his powers. He wanted to explore the oceans, maybe even see the corpse of the Titanic. But…he also wanted to do these things with Rose.

           Something about the storm and their subsequent conversation had exhausted her. She slept longer than Niall had thought was possible. He didn’t dare disturb her, though. If she needed her rest, he wasn’t going to complain or begrudge her of it.

           However, it did leave him with no one to talk to.

          This was how Niall found himself swimming through the underwater palace alone, simply gazing about. He didn’t have much interest in heading up towards the surface any longer. He didn’t have much motivation to steal away in the night and head towards land to listen for any news reports. That was partly because he had no idea where he was, and where he would go to hear any news reports. It was mostly a selfish want anyway – he wanted to know about his ‘death’. If he was still being searched for.

           He did realize that that kind of thinking was detrimental to healing, but occasionally, he couldn’t help it.

           At any rate, Niall was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize anyone was nearby.

           “Hey,” a bright, tinkling voice called, and Niall flinched visibly, swiveling towards the voice. A pretty woman, a little older than himself, was floating by the abalone entranceway to the court room, where Triton would sometimes gather the sirens to check in (there were no guards today, which meant that Triton wasn’t here. Niall didn’t even know what he looked like; he hadn’t met the sea lord yet). Her hair was blonde, and twisted into a neat braid. Her eyes were startling – bright, attention-drawing. She looked…well, she looked a lot like Alannah, which wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable with.

           And her tail…her tail was a deep, shocking blue, darker than his own tail of green. Different from Rose and Jeremy as well. He wondered what the shade meant, and if it was too rude to ask.

           The stranger giggled, before swimming closer to him, halting only a few feet away. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare at people? Especially their tails?”

           Right. That answered that question, then. Niall shook his head, his cheeks turning a bit red. “I-I’m sorry. I just don’t know what all of the colors mean,” he told her, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck. “’M name’s Niall.”

           The woman considered him, her head tilted to the side. “My name is Gertie. Nice to meet you,” she offered her hand to him, and he hesitantly shook it. “And blue means that I killed myself, Niall.”

           It felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the water. Niall released her hand and stared at her, at a loss of words. It wasn’t every day that the person in front of you freely admitted she had killed herself. “Er…please, don’t take this the wrong way, but how? To become a siren, you have to die in the sea.”

           Thankfully, Gertie took his perplexed state as inoffensive, and had no issue chatting about it. If anything, she seemed happy to talk to him. “Well, you see Niall, I drowned myself.” At his shocked and mildly uncomfortable look, she waved her hand. “Oh, don’t be like that. It was hundreds of years ago.”

           Niall swallowed harshly. Jesus. It seemed that everyone here was incredibly old. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, and Gertie laughed softly.

           “You’re cute, all unaware,” she giggled, batting her eyes at him. Niall blinked. Was she…flirting with him? Niall used to be a huge flirt himself, actually, though some would call him friendly instead. But since dying, he hadn’t felt the urge to; nor had he seen anyone he wanted to flirt with. He just wanted to hang out with Rose. When Niall didn’t respond, she sighed and continued to chat. “Well, I’ll just let you know what all of these colors mean. Now, as you’ve probably noticed, there’s not terribly many of us sirens here. There are more out in the ocean, but some of us group here. So I’m sure you’ve mostly seen green tails like yourself, am I right?”

           Niall nodded, and she continued. “Green tends to mean that your death was accidental. The depth of the shade correlates with how broken your heart was.” It made sense. Niall looked down at his own tail and swished it, watching the muscles move. His wasn’t terribly dark, though it was definitely darker than others. “Blue, like mine, means the death was a suicide. And, as you can see, my tail is fairly dark. I was experiencing some awful heartache.” Gertie smiled bitterly to herself, gazing down at the shimmering scales. “It’s a wonderful reminder of my previous life.”

           She seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment, but Niall pressed on, even if it was rude. “And red is…when you’re murdered, right?”

           Gertie started, but then nodded her head. “Yes, it is. I know Rose is the one who found you,” she smiled softly to herself. “She’s a nice girl. I tried to help her out a bit when she first was found, but she preferred Jeremy instead.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Usually the bond between those that are saved and those that do the saving is strong.”

           That also made sense. It explained why Niall felt a constant pull to Rose, why he wanted to be with her and talk to her all the time. Though it did not explain why he felt he would do just about anything she asked. Why he missed her so terribly while she slept.

           Even now, with another person in front of him, he would rather be with Rose, even if it was simply watching her sleep. He made a face and shook his head, before realizing Gertie was watching him with a small smile. “Thanks for the information,” he stated, before offering her a small smile in return. An idea suddenly struck him, and he realized he had to leave. “I’ve…got to go.” He added, giving her a wave before swimming off. He knew that Rose had been murdered – she told him that. But her tail…her tail was such a dark, deep red. Jeremy’s was closer to pink, it was so light.

           Who had broken Rose’s heart so deeply?

           Rushing away from Gertie proved to do nothing for him. Rose was still sleeping, and when Niall poked his head through the curtain to check on her, she was breathing deeply and peacefully. He retreated back to his own room to wait. It was all he could do. So Niall remained at vigil, waiting for her to wake.

           It was another day before Rose woke up. Niall was almost asleep himself when he heard the curtain over his doorway swish, and his eyes flew open instantly. He was met with a smile on Rose’s face, those brown eyes of hers twinkling. “Hey,” she said.

           “Hi,” Niall replied, grinning. He couldn’t help it. He had missed her terribly. It was boring without Rose, and he had questions. “I wasn’t sure you were going to wake up.” Rose rolled her eyes playfully and swam inside, sitting on the bed beside him.

           “Of course I was going to wake up. I wasn’t in a coma or anything, silly. I was resting.”

           “You just needed your beauty sleep and didn’t want to bother with me.” They both laughed, and Niall smiled fondly at her. She still looked sleepy, her eyes a little glazed over still. Her hair was messy and a bit unkempt, but he found it endearing. It told him that instead of really waking up, her first priority was to see him, and that made Niall feel all warm inside.

           “Listen. I’ve been thinking about things while you were sleeping, and I have some questions.” Niall started, looking at her. Rose blinked slowly and then nodded her head, gesturing for him to continue. ”You told me you were murdered. But you didn’t say how and you never…you never told me who broke your heart.”

           It was silent for a few minutes. Niall didn’t push it, instead letting Rose think and decide on what she wanted to say, if anything at all. Finally, her shoulders dropped, and he heard her exhale. “You know that my mum died in World War I, when we were bombed.” Niall nodded, and she continued, her voice a bit shaky. “My papa…he was devastated. She was his shining star, his saving grace. Everything he did, he did to make her happy.” Rose smiled tremulously, her eyes distant. More than 89 years away from him.

           “Papa decided to remarry, and he met another widow with two children, a boy and a girl. But she was snobbish, and wanted the best of everything. He didn’t have enough money so…he sent me to America to work for an old friend of his.” Her smile became sad. “He gave me up, and I had never felt more betrayed in my entire life. He broke my heart. I died on the trip overseas.”

           Niall could hardly wrap his head around her story. He couldn’t imagine either of his parents sending him to a distant country to make money for their new spouse. And he couldn’t think of an excuse for the difference in the times, either. “You were murdered,” he pressed on, despite his head spinning. “Who killed you?”

           Rose took in a shuddering breath, and Niall noticed her hands were shaking. Hesitantly, he set his hands over hers on her lap, watching for her reaction. She didn’t react, so he assumed it was okay. She was growing more comfortable around him; that was plain to see. “I told you my papa didn’t have a lot of money. He sent me on an ancient, rickety ship that was captained by a very old superstitious man. I was the only young woman on board, and he told me the second I set foot on the ship that he thought women caused bad luck for voyages. I should have turned back and left, Niall, the instant he said that to me.”

           She was rocking back and forth now, and all Niall could feel was disgust and horror. Rose was a gentle flower, different from her namesake: beautiful, but without the thorns. He couldn’t imagine her harming a fly. He was sure she was crying, but he couldn’t see the tears in the water. Niall did the only thing he could think to do – he tucked her close and hugged her. Rose stilled for a minute, maybe aghast at the close contact, but then hugged him back with an almost reckless abandon. Her arms went around his neck and he could feel the stirrings of her breath pushing water against his neck. It made him shiver. His skin was tingling from the close proximity.

           Rose tried to calm herself, and it took a few minutes. She pulled away from the hug, but left her hands on his shoulders. Her brown eyes gazed into Niall’s blue ones. “About halfway through the trip, a terrible storm struck the sea. The captain blamed me for it, because I was a woman; I had brought Poseidon’s wrath upon his ship, and the sea god demanded a sacrifice. He…he tied my feet to cinder blocks and threw me into the ocean, Niall. And I screamed and screamed as I hit the water. I don’t…I don’t even know if my papa learned what happened to me.”

           Her body began to shake again, and Niall held her tightly and rode it out with her. It was all he could do. His mind was whirling, and he felt a surge of anger – at the captain who killed her, Rose’s father, and that she wound up here, forced to live with the trauma. She was too pure of a soul to have a past like this. It wasn’t right.

           “Hey…I’m here for you.” Niall whispered into her ear as she cried, her body trembling against his. “I am so sorry, Rose. I am so sorry that this happened to you. You are too good to deserve this.” An idea popped into his head – he had forgotten what Rose had told him when they first met. “We’re going to get that second chance, together. We’ll become human again. You told me it was possible.”

           That got her attention, and she let out a shaky laugh before rubbing at her face. “I also said it had never happened before.”

           “Oh. Right. Who told you it was possible, then?”

           “Triton.”

           Niall thought about that. Triton was in the position to know things. “Did he say anything else?” he asked her, wracking his brain. It wasn’t a lot to go off of.

           Rose shook her head. “No, he didn’t. Maybe next time he comes, we can ask him.”

           Niall nodded his head, and then grabbed her hand, lacing their hands together. “Whatever it is, we’re going to find out together. I’m not going to lose you now, Rose. You deserve better.”

           Rose smiled at that, before glancing down at their interlocked fingers and dipping her chin once.

           “Together.”

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter Twenty-One- Immortals

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Immortals

16 ATC. Yavin IV.

Back at camp, Nine stops by her tent first.

She desperately wants a shower. She’s got enough of an excuse for one after a day’s work in the field, tired and sore and dirty from prowling through the ruins, but more to the point she needs to refocus and cool down before the evening’s meeting. Stripping out of her armor, robe wrapped around her body and feet slipped into bathing shoes- barefoot won’t work here, not with the rough stone underfoot, and she’d normally just wrap up in a towel but given the number of soldiers between her tent and the showers that seems an exceptionally bad plan unless one likes wolf-whistles- she pads across the Imperial half of the encampment toward her destination.

They’re only field showers, of course: sun-heated water rationed out in minute-long portions, the interface flatly refusing any attempts at overrides and beeping rudely when she tries to adjust the timer up to a more reasonable three minutes.

Oh, well.

She hangs her towel from the hook in the narrow cubicle and strips down before hitting the panel and letting the water, barely lukewarm despite the solar tank, run over her skin. In the cubicle beside hers someone’s singing an old military cadence, off-key and in a bass voice loud enough to set the thin wall vibrating; after two verses, the song cuts off with a grumble and a muttered curse.

(For a moment she remembers the Academy, remembers her school days.

Privacy was a privilege to be earned there, open dormitories with their beds in long uncurtained rows until their fourth year and communal showers divided by gender until lower sixth. It was meant to break them of bad habits when they were still young enough to take the breaking without question, strip down their individuality to make them malleable- little boy-and-girl-shaped dolls to be fit into molds to make diplomats and ambassadors and Minders and Fixers as the needs of the Empire required. It worked, most of the time.

When it didn’t, one of two things could happen. Sometimes the pressure made one fragile, brittle, prone to shatter with too much force applied; those were the empty beds, the cadets there one day and gone the next. They’d all shake their heads at those, when they were old enough to understand what went home really meant, that it meant failure- weak, they’d say, pathetic.

Children could be very cruel. That, too, was molded into them.

The other thing that could happen was subtler. Sometimes one template never quite suited, never quite fit, a sly, slippery sort of resistance that made the instructors shake their heads even as they smiled behind their hands. Only one thing to do with a cadet like that-

The ones like that, the ones like her- they went to the field.)

The water cuts off with a harsh chime and she sighs, grabs her towel to blot the water from her skin. Good enough.

Back in her tent, hair piled in a damp coil atop her head and changed into training clothes, simple black drawstring trousers and a short-sleeved shirt- she's past caring about proper dress for the meetings; none of the rest of them are stuck outdoors all day in leather and kinetic plating- she lays her armor out to air on her cot with a few sprays of cleanser for good measure.

Vector’d have seen to her gear, normally, one of so many tasks he’d taken on without complaint. Despite her protests, though, he’d been commandeered for logistics nearly as soon as they’d touched down and she’s barely seen him since. The rest of her crew stayed shipboard; Kaliyo, still wary of prolonged contact with the Empire after the last time they’d tried to arrest her, chose to remain behind; Lokin was still rebuilding the infirmary; SCORPIO would have raised far too many questions and Raina- well. If either the Jedi or the Sith got scent of her-

Best to stay away. It left her short-handed, though.

Where is everyone? She thought she’d have been summoned to conference by now, but the others seem to be occupied elsewhere: Theron and Satele are nowhere to be found and Darth Marr’s clearly in his tent given the guards posted outside; when she approaches, Lana’s alone at the War Table, two datapads in front of her and maps and diagrams from three different projectors hovering in the air around her head.

Lana waves distractedly, still focused on one of the maps. “Hello, Cipher. I'll take your report when it's ready. I've got the map all ready to integrate the new data.”

“In a little while, hm? I thought I'd work on it while I eat.”

“Best do it now. Something's got both Darth Marr and Grand Master Shan in a temper today- I feel it in the air, too, but if they know what it is they haven't seen fit to share.” Her hand skates along the holos, pulling tiny renderings of soldiers from one screen to another. “Theron ran in late for some meeting she’d scheduled and I thought she'd drag him off by his ear. I'd be careful if I was you.”

“Slavedrivers, all of you,” she grumbles, suppressing a smile. Not that Satele could ever find out why he’d been late, of course, but oh, to be a fly on that wall if she did- the look on her smug Jedi face would be delicious. “If I didn't know better, I’d think you were ordering me around, Lord Beniko.”

She, predictably, wrinkles her forehead. “Of course I'm not. It's only that-”

“I know. You Force-users run things, after all. The rest of us are just your little soldiers.” She reaches up, moving one of the groupings along the projected map to the center of the Imperial Guard facility. “We’ll need those there, to begin with, but I'll get the data processing. After I get some food.”

“I don’t run-“ Lana says, then sighs. After a moment she pushes away from the table, letting the projections fade. “Oh, hang this. I’m starving. Come on.”

(And in that moment I realized the Lana I knew had been replaced with some kind of clone. Quite a good likeness, but the work ethic- she waves a hand, mouth tilting wryly- totally unrealistic.

I can relax, Lana grumbles. Sometimes.)

***

They sit and watch the soldiers spar as they eat.

After the first awkward day the mood in camp’s a little lighter, a mixed group of scouts and infantry from both sides swapping fighting techniques in the ring beside the common area. Datapad on the table beside her as the day’s analysis compiles, she drains the last of her caf, eyeing one of their scouts critically as a Republic soldier gets him in a chokehold.

“He’ll never get him off balance that way. That ‘pub’s built like a wampa.” Setting her cup down, she mutters at Lana. “If that’s how they train, no wonder we’ve lost a squad already.”

Lana, mouth full, tilts her head in agreement as the scout tries another angle and ends up face-down on the cobblestones. Oh, honestly. She stands, striding to the middle of the ring.

“Look,” she says- the scout rolls onto his back, staring up at her. He’s just a pup, really, no more than twenty by her assessment and probably younger- “you’re doing that all wrong.”

“Don’t think he asked you, lady.” Stars, the man’s enormous. If he was half again his opponent’s weight he must be double hers. “Unless you think you can do better?”

Lana starts to stand up, opens her mouth to intervene; she waves her off, then holds up one finger to silence him. “In a minute. Here-” she turns back to the boy, giving him a hand up- “what were you trying to do, exactly?”

“D’you know the combat manual?” He’s got gravel pebbling his forehead and scuff marks on his trousers. “Maneuver sixteen, but I can’t make it work.”

“That was your first mistake. Starting from a throttle, that’ll never work on someone his size. Try… hm. Twenty into seven into thirty-two.”

“How does that-” his forehead scrunches. He’s trying to picture it, clearly, his hands moving little circles as he works his way through the different forms. “Sorry. I can’t-”

She turns back to the ‘pub, who’s got his arms folded across his chest- and no armor. Perfect. “I’ll demonstrate. Shall we begin?”

He grins and lunges for her neck.

Overconfident. Typical.

She darts her left arm outside his right, brings her cupped left hand down sharply at the crease of his elbow as two fingers of her right hit the hollow of his throat and dig in hard; his arm bends and he chokes as she pivots her weight into him. When his knees hit the ground she pulls back from his throat, slides her left hand grip down to his wrist and rotates, snaps it back against her thighs- a little more force and she’d have put his elbow out of joint, but this is meant to be a friendly spar; still, he flinches. She lets her own knees bend, driving her weight between his shoulder blades until he falls forward, pinned by her momentum and wrist still caught in her grasp, arm twisted behind his back-

“And then,” she exhales, looking up to the scout, “with a little leverage-”

She’s barely torqued his shoulder before he’s tapping out.

“Or if you’ve got a knife-” she doesn’t draw hers, leaving it tucked into her boot, but pushes a fingertip into the base of his skull, his back at the heartline and at the level of each kidney- “here, here or here. All good options.”

“What if he’s in armor, though?” Another scout, a stocky woman in Republic fatigues, calls out across the ring. Her demonstration took ten seconds, maybe, probably less, but in that time they’ve attracted quite an audience. Letting her opponent go, she settles cross-legged onto the ground beside him; he rolls over, rubbing his arm.

“Then you screwed up. If you got close enough to an opponent in full armor to let him get his hands on you,” she says, “you’re probably going to get your ass handed to you and you probably deserve it.”

Beside her, the soldier snorts in agreement, then coughs. She might have hit his throat a little hard.

“Yeah, okay-” another voice, behind her- “but what if-”

When the light starts to fade half an hour later she’s sweating, covered in dust from the cobblestones, and she’s put most of the gathered ring through their paces in some form or another.

Dodging one last attempt at a grapple with a forward somersault, she turns around-

The Grand Master’s standing at the edge of the ring with Theron at her shoulder, arms folded across her chest, looking entirely unamused. “Cipher, I really shouldn’t have to ask you not to injure our infantry.”

“No one’s injuring anything.” She wipes her face. “Just training. They’re playing too close to the book, your people and mine both. If they can’t improvise in the field, they’re all going to-”

Probably better not to say that out loud.

“She does have a point,” Theron chimes in as Satele shoots him a look out of the corner of her eye. “I thought you wanted us cooperating. Joint training isn’t a bad idea.”

“What you do with your leisure time is up to you. For tonight, however, I need you both at the war table in fifteen minutes. Promptly.” That last comment directed at Theron, Satele turns toward Lana. “Lord Beniko, you as well, please.”

As she heads off across the courtyard, the three of them roll their eyes in synchrony.

“Promptly.” Theron snorts. “Subtle as a lightsaber to the face. I should go take a nap just to spite her.”

She laughs; her datapad, still on the table, chirps as the compiler finishes and she walks across to pick it up. “Hear, hear.”  

Lana slides off the bench. “I’d better go finish that map. Send me that file, won’t you?”

“On its way.”

With a nod, she stacks their empty plates, dumping them back into one of the collecting bins. “See you both shortly.”

Theron tracks her as she walks away. “Lana’s still avoiding me, isn’t she?”

“Not really. I pulled her away from work when I came back. That’s got nothing to do with you.”

“I guess,” he says. “I just keep catching her looking at me. After Rishi, it’s a little disconcerting.”

“She is sorry, you know.” Her sparring partner’s still standing near the edge of the ring, waiting; she waves the woman off with a nod. “You know she is.”

“Maybe. Anyway, that looked like fun.” Perching on the table, Theron shifts his gaze toward the still-training soldiers. “I may ask you to put me through my paces soon, if that’s okay with you. With all this down time I’m definitely getting rusty.”

“Whenever you like, once you get the all-clear. I don’t want your-” she catches herself on the words- “Grand Master Satele to shock me to death if I break one of your fingernails.”

“Jedi don’t use Force lightning, as a rule. And that assumes you can beat me, so-”

She grins. “I assume nothing. I’ll stomp you flat any day of the week.”

“I’d say you could try, but I just watched you spar for the last ten minutes. Honestly, yeah, you’ll probably kick my ass.” He returns her grin. “Do I need to read that file, too?”

“No, it’s just scouting data from today’s run. I’m sure we’ll go over it shortly. In exhaustive detail.”

“I hope not. But I’d better take notes, then. I might be talking you through tomorrow if I still can’t get field clearance.” Theron makes a face, reaching into his pocket. “I- shit. I left my datapad on my desk.”

As he pushes back up off the table, she nods. “I’ll meet you over there, then.”

“Walk with me? I just need to grab it.”

They make their way through the rows of tents, lamps within casting shadows on the canvas walls, until they reach the western edge of camp and the Republic command quarters and Theron’s tent, wedged between Satele’s to its right and the brigadier’s on its left. He starts inside, gesturing for her to follow- he wasn’t lying about the space, barely enough for the two of them standing, a cot with a duffel bag tucked underneath, a tiny desk and matching chair.

(He’s always tidy, everything neatly stacked or folded away, a tendency she recognizes in herself-

They were used to running, both of them, in those days: only the essentials kept near to hand in the field, ready to shove into a bag in ten seconds or less, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. An old habit, born of necessity.

They’ve gotten a little messier, now.)  

“How did your meeting go, by the way? I heard she wasn’t happy when you made it back.”

“How do you think it went?” Plugged into a charging cable, Theron’s datapad’s on the corner of the desk; he picks it up and slips it into an inside pocket of his jacket and then turns, wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, face to face. “I’m standing there talking about troop deployments and getting lectured on punctuality, and all I can think about is your-”

(She clears her throat, hides a smile behind her hand. Never mind. We were still on time to that meeting, if you’ll recall.

Yes, with a minute to spare. You weren’t seriously- Lana sighs. I do not want to know. I really don’t.)

***

(“-and all I can think about is your fucking mouth,” he says, the last words muffled in the press of his lips against her forehead. “You did that on purpose, I swear.”

“And what if I did?” She slips her arms around his neck, voice pure innocence and lashes fluttering. He’s even better sport than she’d hoped for, now that he’s decided to play after all. “I thought it was better than the alternative. But if it’s too much of a distraction, I won’t do it again.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it. How much time do we have?”

Not enough. Never enough to- stars, she needs to be smarter than this. The lamp’s flickering; the power from the generators gets spotty after nightfall, especially when they’re drawing off it to run the War Table equipment. All it would take was the wrong person outside, a glimpse of silhouettes, a little too much noise-

No risk, no reward.

“Let me-” she reaches up, switches off the light (yes, that's better) and checks the time. “Minus five for walking time, that leaves us… hm. Three minutes.”

“And I still owe you.”

“Mm-hm-” he pulls at her drawstring, fingers sliding down against her skin- it’s such a cliché but ah, clever boy, his hands- “you do.”

Her knees buckle; she reaches back for the edge of the desk, something to brace against.

“Then I may need to pay my debt,” Theron says against her mouth, words against the silent ohs she’s choking back, “in installments.”)

***

He did have a point: concentrating on the maps was rather difficult after that.  

Thankfully, she’s used to working around distractions.

***

By the time they drag the Commandant from the shuttle pad down the pathway to the War Table she’s in a foul temper.

She’s known she was in over her head the whole time they’ve been here. This entire mess, Revan and the Emperor... her training never covered anything like this. She can’t negotiate with these people. They’re completely insane, all of them, ranting about the Emperor, how he must feed, must feed- Force knows what the ghost of a Sith eats, but she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to find out.

(Spirit, he says, a correction that snaps her head backward, sharp as a slap. Spirit, not ghost. I am beyond death.

Lana reaches for her arm.)

“You’re not one of them,” Iven said, “you’re meaningless.”

He doesn’t even have to quantify it. She knows exactly what he means. In the annals of history, she won’t even be a footnote in this mission. Normally that wouldn’t bother her; Cipher work means passing unnoticed, after all, a quiet hand, a shot in the darkness. There’s no fame to be had for work done well, only infamy in failure.

But meaningless? It strikes a nerve.

The man’s still raving when she shoves him to the ground at Marr’s feet, even when one of her strike team hits him with the butt of his rifle. Her own shoulder’s throbbing, a lucky blow from one of the other Guards- dead now, burning in the center of the complex courtyard- and she rubs it as they close ranks around their captive.

“We won’t get anything out of him that way.” Satele gestures toward the Commandant, at the trickle of blood now dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Let me speak with him personally. Given his mental state, I think some delicacy is required.”

Marr shakes his head, a hint of irritation in his voice. “That will take time we do not have, and we must breach the temple before Revan. He will speak, whether he wishes to or not. With Lord Beniko’s talents-”

Lana looks as though she’d like to sink into the ground. “With respect, my Lord, I can’t force him. I can only tell you what I see, not pry it out. If you mean to question him, may I suggest you’d be far better served by Cipher Nine.”

She wrinkles her nose- Theron sees it before she can compose herself, the angle of his head a question she’d rather not answer. She has experience enough in the finer points of interrogation, true, but since Hunter she’s got no taste for it and Satele’s right, anyway. Hurting him won’t give them what they need. One can't break what's already broken.

“If you torture him, you’ll only kill him without learning any more than what we already know. He needs to be tricked into confidence, not beaten.” She looks down to the man, still rocking back and forth on his knees. “But I agree with the Grand Master, I must admit. It’ll be subtle work, but manageable, I think.”

Marr sighs, and if tone could kill she’d be dead at his feet. “I can always look to you,” he says, “for a particularly skewed perspective. What a pity we can’t simply command him with a word.”

Damn him. Damn him to the Void and back.

She doesn’t answer, bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from snapping back, to keep her muscles from shaking in helpless rage. How dare he-

“Have him moved to my quarters.” Satele turns to the guards, who move back to flank the Commandant again, one on each side, hands beneath his arms to drag him away. “We’ll begin immediately. Lord Beniko, with me, please. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Meaningless.

She turns on her heel and stalks away down the path.

By the time she’s back through the archway she’s no longer bothering to hide her fury and it must show, given the way people dart out of her way as she storms through camp toward the taskboard and the speeder bikes. She needs to get out of here. There must be something on the board, some excuse-

Massassi sighted near Watchpost Dorn. Perfect.

She moves her marker to the assignment, picks a fast speeder, and goes.

***

It was only one Massassi. Disappointing.

It never saw her coming; with poison and a few quick knifestrikes she drops the creature to its knees before she ever breaks stealth. It gets a few swipes in, none of them coming anywhere close as she dances in and out of arm’s reach and it roars, raging.

“I know exactly how you feel,” she mutters, driving her blade in deep, and it flails one last time and goes still.

Sitting down on a fallen tree beside the watchpost, she cleans her weapons and takes a few deep breaths, tries to settle her nerves.

Nope. Still pissed.

Her comm rings. She doesn’t even bother to see who’s calling, simply ignoring it; it rings again, this time on a private frequency, one they used on Rishi. Lana can’t possibly be done with the interrogation yet and Jakarro barely uses comms, which only leaves-

She answers. “What?”

“Where the hell are you?” Theron’s hard to hear, speaking just above a whisper. “You know as soon as they’re done with that lunatic they’ll want us back.”

“For what? All I’m good for is wetwork, clearly. I could have had him talking half an hour ago. You probably could have, too, and instead it’s a fucking Force-user party.”

“I know, but-” he pauses. “You okay? You sound out of breath.”

She sheathes her knife, rolling her shoulder back and forth- barely sore, now. Good. “Oh, I’m fine. My Massassi friend’s somewhat less so.”

“Your- wait, you left? ” His voice rising, Theron sighs. “Seriously. Where are you?”

“Check the board- I’m out by Dorn. I needed space.”

“Meet me at Esk again. We should talk,” he says as she starts to object- she’s really not in the mood, literally or euphemistically. “Actually talk, I mean. I’ve got a feeling you need it, the way you looked when you walked off.”

She chuckles. “Very perceptive of you."

“It’ll help, won’t it?”

“I doubt it.”

She can hear the eyeroll in his voice. “I insist.”

“Force, you’re a damned nag. Fine. You’ll need an excuse to get out of camp, though.”

“Oddly enough-” a beep over the channel, then a second; she shakes her head, trying not to laugh- “the power just went down again. I’d better go check it out. See you soon.”

She beats him there this time. Inside the cave it’s cool and quiet and peaceful; she cycles the generator back on and sits, back against the wall, beginning a memory exercise meant to calm her fraying nerves. By the time she hears him outside she’s nearly calm.

Nearly.

“So.” Theron steps out of the sunlight, blinking, looking down at her. “What the fuck was that about?”

She folds her arms across her chest, suddenly back on the defensive. “I thought we were talking. If I want someone to lecture me, I’ll take my chances with Marr again.”

“You know what I mean. I was pretty sure nothing could faze you, but you were about two seconds away from going for Marr’s throat.” He sits down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“Thought I’d hidden it better than that.”

“You hide a lot of things,” he says, “and yes, you’re very good at it. I just know what it’s like. Also, honestly, I’ve spent way more time in the last month watching you than I care to admit, so-” he shrugs. “That was a deep cut, whatever it was.”

(Does it still bother you that much?

She makes a noise, mixed agreement and equivocation. I still dream about Hunter. I suspect I always will, even with all the desensitization training I’ve been working on, but back then I was just pretending it didn’t bother me so it was a lot worse. About a month before you and I met, before that first raid on Tython, I was trying to turn a Republic senator. She liked poetry, she murmurs, so I met her at a reading. We were discussing literary techniques.

Lana nods. I think I see where this is going.

She was particularly fond of the poet’s use of- she swallows, forces the word out, syllable by syllable- onomatopoeia. The third time she mentioned it, she says, I threw up in an ornamental rosebush. Blamed it on too much wine.)

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You were right about how to handle Iven, whether he likes it or not, and to come back at you with whatever that was… It isn’t right. Why didn’t Lana say something?” He frowns.

“She has no more idea what he’s talking about than you do, and she’s not going to speak against Marr any more than you’d speak against your mother.” Wrapping her arms tighter, she shakes her head. “It’s an old wound. Let it be.”

He’s quiet beside her, thinking; she knows by the way he’s focused on the ground in front of him. She’s spent too much time watching him, herself. “You were tortured,” he says a moment later. “Weren’t you?”

She nods.

“By the Empire?”

“No.” Mostly true. A one-word answer to an ugly question. “Please, Theron. Don’t ask me any more.”

He takes a deep breath. “I- look, hear me out. When this is over, you could defect, you know. We could protect you.”

She turns to stare at him. He didn’t know, of course, couldn’t possibly have known, but she hears Ardun Kothe echoing in her head and for a second she’s back on Quesh, facing the same offer, the chance to make a lie real-

“No,” she says flatly. “Absolutely not. Never.”

“Why? You call yourself independent, but you’re still stuck under the Dark Council’s thumb. You deserve better than that.”

He really believes that. She can see it in his face.

But Ardun believed she’d really defected, too, at first, and it didn’t stop him from using her.

“You’re so sure of what I deserve? You have no idea. Absolutely none.” Looking away, across the cave, she focuses on a thin crack on the far ceiling. “I could say the same of you. ‘My agent.’ Do you really think you’re any more free than I am?”

A bow drawn at a venture, but it hits its mark. Beside her, Theron flinches, muscles tensing, then lets his held-in breath go in a slow, sad sigh as his head falls back against the wall with a soft little thump. “No. But the Empire-”

“We don’t all want to watch the galaxy burn, you know.” She ought to apologize but he doesn’t quite deserve it; he shouldn’t have asked that of her. She doesn’t need rescuing, doesn’t need to be saved. “Some of us realize we’ve still got to live in it.”

“You should tell your bosses that sometime, then.”

She closes her eyes. “Go to hell.”

“I would.” He’s so quiet it’s hard to make the words out. “But aren’t we already there?”

It might have been funny, some other time, if it weren’t mostly true. Letting her arms fall to her sides, fingertips raking furrows in the dirt as her hands clench into fists, she doesn’t reply. After a minute he shifts, just slightly, resting his right hand on her left; when she relaxes he threads his fingers through hers.

She doesn’t move. She should, but-

“I’m sorry,” he says. “So much for letting you vent- shit, you probably think I planned that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Not even a little bit. I just- I’ve seen what you can do, and I thought if-” he sighs again, squeezes her hand. “Forget I said anything. Please."

“I understand.” She does. She’d have done the same, under different circumstances. “But you promised, Theron. No sides. No games. Not with me.”

(He was never going to be any good at that, was he?  

She should have known better.)

“I know. But-”

Their commpads chime, Lana’s frequency; she glances down as the message scrolls, holding up her wrist so he can see it, too.  

Nearly finished. Lots to discuss. Table in 30- LB.

The light from the screen dies and they glance at each other before Theron starts to stand. “We should get moving. I’ve screwed this up enough without getting us into more trouble.”

“In a minute.” She doesn’t follow, stays seated, a weight on his arm pulling him back down until he stops, not sure whether to hold on or let go. ”Will you sit with me,” she says, looking up, “just a little longer?”

He nods, settling back to the floor beside her, and she rests her head wordlessly on his shoulder.

***

Up next: Risk/Reward. Two Revans, one fight, one promotion and too much alcohol.