#jedi ofc

[rae-gar-targaryen]

darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

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The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself. 

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant. 

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home. 

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff. 

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else. 

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering. 

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval. 

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure. 

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be. 

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?  

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen. 

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now? 

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches. 

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand . 

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea – 

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching. 

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile. 

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.   

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that? 

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.” 

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?” 

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.” 

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury. 

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.  

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”  

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force. 

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market. 

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …” 

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.  

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to. 

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your  jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a  promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment. 

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you. 

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?” 

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.” 

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you. 

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.” 

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power …  You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want,  too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving. 

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.  

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so  like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he. 

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.” 

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close. 

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion. 

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you. 

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?” 

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?” 

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ” 

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” –  the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue. 

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he? 

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.  

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite. 

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure. 

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you. 

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?” 

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap. 

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself. 

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm. 

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs’ breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.” 

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction. 

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet. 

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention. 

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking  in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch. 

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.  

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh. 

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would. 

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.” 

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release. 

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck. 

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be … 

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[tennessoui]

#5 for obikin for the ask game?

of course !!

(from this ask game)

5. "wait a minute. are you jealous?"

"I think I'm leaning towards the steak," Padmé says with that hum in her voice that means she's already decided what she plans to order and that it will indeed be the steak. "It's been so long since we've managed to go out like this. It's almost worth a celebration of its own, wouldn't you say?"

Anakin nods and smiles, closing his own flimsi menu with a flourish. If Padmé is getting the steak, then Anakin can as well certainly. It's much easier that way, for their needs to be aligned like that.

Padmé is right, too - it's been so long since they've spent a night together outside of her quarters. Due to the secrecy of their relationship and their own popularity, it's almost never secure enough to be seen together in public.

Except that apparently in the last month, while Anakin was knee deep in Mid-rim planet mud, a restaurant has opened on Coruscant that guarantees complete privacy for its patrons, a promise they keep by thick forcefields and thicker curtains set up in between each table. Food is delivered by droids that have their memory drives wiped each night, and the two humanoids that run the reservation system require fake names and documents from customers in order to book a table.

It's completely and totally private, and being out in public--sort of--with his wife on a night where he and all of his loved ones are safe on Coruscant...that is a cause for celebration.

And Anakin thinks he would genuinely feel happy in these circumstances if it weren't for one very small and very unfortunate detail.

The force fields the staff have installed block sound from traveling between tables.

They do nothing to block Force signatures.

And Anakin would recognize the Force signature behind him anywhere in the entire galaxy.

"Anakin?" Padmé's fingers land on the ball of his wrist and squeeze gently. It must not have been the first time she's called his name.

"Sorry, angel," he tells her automatically. The serving droid that has appeared at their table beeps at him impatiently, and he gives it his order as well. Same as hers, down to the optional sides. "My mind is not with me tonight," he admits the moment the apparatus sinks into the floor.

His wife squeezes his wrist again, fingers ghosting over the fragile skin.

Obi-Wan is here. Is he--why would he be here? It is a place made to be kept secret, made for secrets. Obi-Wan shouldn't keep secrets. He shouldn't be here.

And who has he brought with him? It is not a restaurant one travels to in order to eat alone.

"Anakin?" Padmé says, loudly enough to mean she has once more had to call for his attention many times.

"Sorry," he replies automatically, taking his wrist from her possession and running his hands through his hair. It's either occupy his hands or reach behind him to the solid curtain and rip it open. Obi-Wan is behind that curtain. In an engagement. A secret engagement.

A secret dinner engagement.

And Anakin didn't know about it.

"Is it the war?" Padmé asked, honey-brown eyes soft and gentle with sympathy.

"What?" Anakin blinks and then frowns. "No." They're two years into the blasted war. It's never put him off his dinner yet.

"Then..." she asks leadingly, taking her hand back from his side of the table and placing it in her lap. "What is on your mind, Ani?"

Well, he thinks, their booth is soundproof. And he finds that he must tell someone. Immediately. Obi-Wan is sitting behind him, meeting someone who Anakin may not know--or worse, who Anakin may know--and Anakin can feel him. His master is right there. With someone else.

"It's Obi-Wan," he admits to his wife in low tones.

For some reason, she does not look surprised. "Oh?"

"He's here," Anakin adds. "I can feel him in the Force."

Padmé blinks, but she still does not look surprised. "What a coincidence," she says, and Anakin narrows his eyes.

"What do you know," he demands, more war general in the moment than husband. "Who is he with? Did he mention it to you? When? Did he tell you why he's here?"

Her pink mouth falls into a small 'o' as her eyebrows raise. "Wait a minute," she says slowly. "Are you jealous?"

Anakin scowls. "Of course not," he snaps, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop so he doesn't give into the desire to rip open the curtain at his back. "You can talk to whoever you please."

Padmé's eyebrows furrow, and her eyes are far too considering. Too much politician, not enough wife. "I didn't mean of me," she says.

[moonlitalien]

Saw a gorgeous dress on twitter a while ago and decided to draw my girl Tiamat wearing it!

[legobenkenobi]

the fact that Jedi Researchers are canon but like never touched on ever is a crime actually. please give me more Jedi OCs who use their force connection for fighting and being badasses and stuff but also to be a super ultra mega nerd.

[darthkote]

Maul: and... This is supposed to help me.. how?

Obi-Wan: *remains cross-legged and quiet beside him*

Maul: Kenobi? *starting to open his eyes*

Obi-Wan: keep them shut and stop thinking so much. You're being quite loud, you know.

Maul: *growls before reattempting to quiet his mind* I told you this isn't my thing.

Obi: no, you just haven't given yourself enough grace. Try again.

[bunny7567]

I got you - Rex x Jedi!OFC Lexie

⟢ Series Navigation post ⟢

Status: Ongoing

Series warnings/tags: slow burn; idiots in love; a lot of angst; a few NSFW 18+ chapters; canon-typical violence; sometimes graphic descriptions of injuries; Echo and Fives appear a lot because I love them; more detailed warnings on each chapter; fix-it AU

Description: Lexie's life gets thrown upside-down when her Master up and leaves her during the First Battle of Geonosis. With the help of a clone trooper, she manages to take charge of a squad, but gets severely injured during the fight. Waking up after months of being in a coma and with little recollection of what happened, Lexie is knighted and thrown into the war. An anxious person who's always struggled with emotional attachment, Lexie's wish to prove herself worthy of her new role as a General and her compassion will come into conflict as the war progresses and she gets closer to the men created to fight in it... and even closer than she probably should to a certain Captain.

~ Chapters

NSFW 18+ chapters marked with 🔥

Chapter 1 ~ 3.8k

Chapter 2 ~ 6.1k

Chapter 3 ~ 4.8k

Chapter 4 ~ 5.5k

Chapter 5 ~ 4.7k

Chapter 6 ~ 4.6k

Chapter 7 ~ 5k

Chapter 8 ~ 5.1k

Chapter 9 ~ 7.2k

Chapter 10 🔥 ~ 5.5k

Chapter 11 ~ 5.5k

Chapter 12 🔥 ~ 7.2k

Chapter 13 ~ 5.6k

Chapter 14 ~ 4.6k

Chapter 15 🔥 ~ 7.1k

Chapter 16 🔥 ~ 7.9k

Chapter 17 🔥 ~ 6.7k

Chapter 18 ~ 6.4k

Chapter 19 ~ 5.4k

Chapter 20 ~ 7.2k

Chapter 21 ~ 7.6k

Chapter 22 ~ 5.7k

Chapter 23 ~ 7.4k

Chapter 24 ~ 7.5k

Chapter 25 🔥 ~ 7.8k

Chapter 26 ~ 6.2k

Chapter 27 ~ 6.2k

Chapter 28 ~

~ Extras

Hospital visits (Rex's pov) - best read after chapter 5 ~ 5.5k

Sparring Practice ~ 2.9k - set right before chapter 7

Rough idea of what Lexie looks like

ARC trooper Halves' armor and file

Canon compliant ~ 1.2k + this short conversation ~ 150 words

~~~

There's more chapters to come so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know

[mirrorofliterature]

fascinating look into the mind of people who sympathise with twelve grown powerful adults over one recently freed slave child, more at nine

[hvackisser]

Hell yes it is oc time babey!!! This is my togruta oc, Yora Tos, who was Brea's master when she was but a young padawan learner! 💖🫶💖

She was never offered a spot on the jedi council due to her being a little too new-age but she loved younglings and was perfectly happy teaching the next generation! Her personality was incredibly laid-back, and when little firecracker Brea was assigned to her, the council was hoping she might be able to calm the young one a little. Unfortunately for them, Yora had a very hands-off 'children will be children' attitude that gave Brea a LOT of freedom instead 😂 she wasn't UNWILLING to discipline her, but she did think Brea would benefit more from learning the consequences of her actions firsthand rather than reprimanding her too often, which eventually she did learn! The two remained very close even after Brea's knightship and I think Yora would have loved to take on other padawan after that, but the war sort of got in the way.

Her features are very soft, her gentle nature is reflected in her rounded patterns as opposed to the usually sharp-edged togruta patterns. Her colors are mainly cool, including her kyber crystal, as I think of her personality being much like flowing water and I wanted that to show it in her design. Her lightsaber also has a tulip-bud tip that I saw in the cartoon saloon star wars short 'Screechers Reach' and thought would be very fitting for her! Her first outfit design was kimono inspired but I decided to go the saree route instead in the second pic!

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @miutonium @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @sunflawyer @in-true-blue-love @tropicalgothships @little-miss-selfships @hotrodharts @cupiidzbow @frozenhi-chews @limey-self-inserts @star-whores69

[eternalimperius]

in this au Luke got adopted by Cal after an Inquisitor took him during the plot of the Kenobi show, then basically saved everyone in Jedi Survivor with his protagonist powers

meanwhile Leia gets trained by a depressed Obi-Wan

[wreckedhoney]

i don't know what flavor of obidala lucas had in mind when he was considering it and i know there are different vibes to go for. but i adore an obidala that's treated as a narrative foil to what we have in canon - not just in regards to anidala but towards what makes us call these films the "skywalker saga" as a whole.

obidala would be coming from a story that has anakin as a central point for other characters' motivations and conflicts - and even interrelations with each other outside of him. ahsoka is viewed as anakin's padawan, ahsoka knows padmé as anakin's love interest, and both of them view obi-wan as anakin's mentor and friend. obi-wan and padmé begin aotc as friends or having the potential to be friends even when in conflict, but in short time that deflates. they regard each other through anakin; obi-wan knows anakin adores her, padmé knows anakin admires & resents him, and their perception of the other is clouded through that filter, even if they both know it's not the whole picture, and it isn't even accurate.

but aotc padmé is still young and brasher, and obi-wan hasn't settled into a more stable relationship with anakin yet - and thus, people he knows primarily through anakin. time passes and they develop. obi-wan struggles in the clone wars but is more comfortable and mellow in his own skin. padmé's competency grows but she alienates herself from most of her friends and community outside work to keep her marriage a secret, to keep the tusken massacre a secret, because love is worth it. she is still in the trenches of clinging to her ties with anakin for years.

what lucas and tcw wanted to convey without having to hammer it in is that they're in love, they're friends, the love is there but that doesn't make the situation right, and not just because it was a lapse in judgement to dive into this attachment in the first place, but more so because after some years' long opportunity to rectify it, they still don't. they choose to stay despite the strain of living against codes and principles, despite never learning to communicate through conflict past someone-is-right-and-the-other-was-wrong, or unwittingly enabling distance between themselves and the rest of their loved ones. meanwhile, what does obi-wan look like to padmé while she goes through all this?

a foil. obi-wan adores anakin to moments of blindness, but she's yet to see him do any of the things padmé's felt the need to in order for anakin to safely stay. obi-wan reprimands anakin openly, he does not choose him or any individual over "order" as an entity - be it the council, the jedi order, the republic, democracy. through his overall canon narrative, he does not choose to lose himself or his principles for anyone, including anakin, even if it hurts him or others, even if it hurts himself. he is still with anakin without the same trappings of attachments that the marriage has - he is with anakin, and the jedi order, and the council; he still has his community and whole social sphere. and if ever padmé gradually came to perceive obi-wan as this alternative to how she and anakin have loved, wouldn't she start to question why she chose to compromise herself all this time when she now recognizes someone who doesn't, and he is still loved?

and i feel like it would start with some mild resentment, at least - less at any one person and more at the situation, but she can't help but aim some of it at obi-wan just for being the one to lead her to see, for being a contrast. but it wouldn't take long for admiration to overshadow it, and for the friendship that they have, however tepid it's been, to serve as an open door for padmé to eventually approach him - for guidance, or comfort, even if engaging more closely with him starts with just curiosity at first. she's begun to see him as obi-wan kenobi, and he sees her as padmé amidala naberrie, without the "anakin's" attached. and it's at this point, perhaps regardless if an outright romance blooms, that obidala becomes some narrative foil; a strong relationship between them without or outside of anakin is an inherent defiance to an anakin-centric narrative and storyline. with romance in mind in the backdrop of a hidden marriage, it can become some tainted glimpse of adoration without the star wars concept of attachment. does an obidala romance have to happen for both characters to gain this sort of independence and clarity? no, but it's part of what the pair on their own could be indicative of, almost symbolic of, if taken in this direction.

it rocks the boat of the narrative, it creates contrast and encourages themes of growth even and especially when that growth is painful, it's based on support and admiration and trust even through the bitterness and betrayal. there's potential for it to be both tainted and genuinely healing. and i am here for it, i'm here for this flavor of obidala, star wars' little ship-that-never-was impacting the tone of the saga. obidala is good and This Flavor of obidala can be so, so good.

[collophora]

last Oc of the trio Pippali - Clone Poet : Magendi Riss. Umbarian medic upgraded Captain after Order 66. Like all Umbarian he got...dubious morals...

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Six: The Planet Made of Glass

Warnings: nothing too bad, fluff and a mixture of angst/whump

Word Count: 3.5k

Not A King Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

On Tatooine, Din made a deal with Peli to find him another ship. But it was in pieces, even if the chassis and outer shell were intact, so it took longer than he wanted. 

Which meant staying on the planet for a while. 

His deal with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand was fulfilled. The Child was safe with him and Milena. No need for them anymore. He wasn’t sure how they would feel about him using them as a taxi anyway.

While Peli was fixing up the ship, a Starfighter of all things, though she promised she’d modify it to have two seats for Milena, Din and Milena had taken a temporary residence in town at the Inn. Their own separate rooms. Grogu stayed with him.

The kid slept through the night as the light of the stars and moons filtered through the curtains. Din let out a breath, removing his helmet to put on the nightstand. It had been so long since he had a proper bed. This was nice. He savored it, knowing soon enough he would be travelling through different sectors again. 

He began to methodically strip off his armor, ignoring the soft whispering in his head. Ever since he touched the Darksaber, he could hear a voice. He didn’t recognize it. They spoke Mando’a in a hushed, almost rushed voice, like they didn’t have much time. Once his armor was off, he took off his flight suit, leaving him in a simple shirt and boxers. 

Din looked at the nightstand where he also left the Darksaber. His hand hovered above it a moment, the voices dampening. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and inspected it. 

Why did he still have it? Why couldn’t Bo-Katan just take it? Why could he hear a voice? Whose voice was it? None of it made sense. 

Ruling Mandalore was not something that appealed to him. The politics, the pageantry that he had seen from other planets’ royalty disgusted him. He could not parade himself around like them. There were far better things to do, like feeding your people, ensuring their comfort instead of your own.

A loud ringing assaulted his ears, causing Din to drop the Darksaber. As soon as it clattered to the floor, the ringing stopped. He glanced at Grogu. Still fast asleep. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. Was he hallucinating? Did the Droid at the cantina accidentally give him too much, potent spotchka? 

The next morning, Din, Milena, and Grogu went to the spaceport Peli worked at. The ship was still in pieces but better than the previous day. Grogu played with the droids, making a few float.

“What are you planning to do?” Milena asked, glancing down to the Darksaber attached to his hip. 

He stared at Grogu, watching him carefully so he didn’t hurt any of Peli’s precious droids while trying to help fix the starfighter. “I don’t know, yet. I can’t rule an entire planet anyway. I just want to get back to my covert.” He turned back to the ship. 

Milena hummed, grabbing a part of the metal frame to attach to the thrusters. He faltered and then welded the piece onto the ship. It was nice and quiet for a while as they worked together. Besides the chatter coming from Peli about the celebrations happening on Tatooine. He wasn’t really paying attention. 

“Din.” Milena whispered softly. He paused and looked at her. “I think you would make a great Manda’lor.”

His breath was stolen from him. He couldn’t say anything. What could he say? He was taken aback by the emotion in her voice, her eyes so sincere that he couldn’t look at her anymore. 

Almost flippantly, she continued, “I believe it is those who do not want to rule who are best suited for it.” 

“Don’t say that.” Din said stiffly, gripping onto the edge of the starship. “I am not fit to rule. And I would not know how to gather our people. Or how to resurrect a cursed planet.”

Milena’s face morphed into something softer, full of an understanding deeper than Din knew himself. “Bo-Katan is the one not fit to rule. Too fueled by pride to see that most Mandalorians do not want an entitled warrior blinded by hubris to lead them.” She stepped closer, placing a hand onto his armored shoulder. “You will have help. It doesn’t hurt that you have a Jedi on your side.” She smiled. 

His expression softened under his helmet, his shoulders released the tension that had built, and the whispering voice in the back of his mind quieted. 

Milena believed in him of all people. He did not want to take that for granted. She would make a better leader. 

But maybe she was right. Perhaps it was the fact that he did not want or care for the throne to Mandlore that made him a better fit. He had struggled, had known what it was like to lose, had known the deepest, darkest recesses of the Galaxy and all its people, and never once felt like he was owed anything. 

He knew what it was like to care for people above himself—the foundlings in his covert, the people in his tribe, the child who had curled inside his chest and stayed there, and the woman next to him. It was second nature after being rescued by the Mandalorians who took him in. 

“Our people would be lucky to have you lead us.” Milena said gently, after the ship was completed and they had gone on a test run. 

Grogu was asleep in Din’s room while they sat on the roof of the Inn, feet dangling off the side as they watched the fireworks. Originally, he was going to leave Tatooine, find his covert, and figure out what else he could do to earn credits, but Milena had slowly changed his mind. To stay a little longer, to see what else he could do aside from providing for a single tribe.

The fireworks, a mix of blues, reds, and purples, sparked across the sky and were reflected on his helmet. 

He gripped the edge of the ledge tightly, not for fear of falling but something else completely. “You really think so?” Din asked in a whisper, he was almost afraid she wouldn't hear him over the loud booms above them.

“Of course.” Milena nodded, nudging her plated shoulder against his. “You have doubts about your own abilities. You are unafraid to ask for help. For the opinions of others. Too many empires fall when their rulers believe their word, alone, is law.” She admired the bursts of color as they danced across his helmet. 

“Most Mandalorians would call that weakness.” His eyes roamed over her features. That glassy look in her eyes was so beautiful. 

Milena sighed and looked away. “Times are changing, Din. And Mandalorians must change with it. Or else we will die.” Her voice, suddenly so cold. He'd upset her. 

He stared down at the sandy streets below, wondering if he should jump for his transgressions. For just a moment. He wouldn't. Unless she told him to. 

Din appreciated how supportive Milena had been ever since the Darksaber was thrust upon him compared to others. Bo-katan had given him a despiteful look and he wasn't quite sure how The Armorer would react. With glee? With disdain? She was like him, not very expressive. 

How could he begin to explain what he was experiencing with this new burden? The voice, the ringing, the tingling sensation in his fingers every time he touched the Darksaber? 

However, Milena was the most understanding person he had ever met. A woman who, too, had gone through so much. Who represented so much.

Jedi were slaughtered. And Mandalorians. And any new Jedi were searched for, taken, and turned into Sith or killed. Yet she was very much alive and well. Proud to be of dueling cultures and to, hopefully, bring together one culture which was scattered across the Galaxy. 

So, he could say exactly what he felt and knew he would not be judged for it. He could say the real doubts plaguing him, the thought that he was undeserving of a position so high, that he only really wished to live quietly without the fanfare of potentially overadoring citizens who thought he could do no wrong.

He never did.

“Then, a trip to Mandalore should be in order.” Din decided. 

If someone like Milena believed in him, then who was he to deny that belief? There must be something she saw in him that he did not see within himself. 

To rule an entire planet was a big responsibility, to be their people’s guiding light, who they had faith in besides the Maker of all things. She already had that faith in him. A single person could make a large difference in another's life and she had already made a big one in his. 

Flying through Hyperspace in the Starfighter was so different from the Crest. For one, the roof was a thick glass wind screen, nothing obstructing the view of the stars as they stretched around them. Grogu had slipped into Din’s lap, staring out at all the stars with a curious tilt of his head. 

When they arrived at Mandalore, Grogu whimpered. The planet was covered in storms likely due to the way the bombs from the purge affected its atmosphere. 

“It looks scary. I know.” Din soothed softly, staring out at the planet as well. “But it was once green and beautiful, back when the songs were written. It’s the homeworld of our people.”

Milena leaned forward, a hand on the back of Din’s seat. “We weren’t born there either, ad’ika. It would be a first for all of us.” She nodded at Grogu.

“I grew up there. On that moon.” Din told the child, pointing towards the smaller colony. “Concordia.”

The ship descended into the atmosphere, roughly because of the storm clouds. Once they got out of the clouds, it revealed a glassy, desolate landscape. Din wasn’t sure what he expected. Worse? Better? It wasn’t this. Some deep green glass spiked from the smoother horizon. 

Then the system went haywire. He tapped at the map. “Looks like the fusion bombs disrupted the magnetic field. From the surface, we won’t be able to communicate with anyone out of the atmosphere, so we have to be careful.” He mainly said this towards Milena. 

When the ship fully descended onto glass ground, Din observed everything around him. There were rumors, that he took as truth, that because of the bombs, that the air was no longer safe to breathe. Cursed. 

“I think it’ll be fine.” Milena hummed, her voice modulated from her helmet. It was as if she could tell what he was thinking. 

Din looked over his shoulder at her, hoping she could feel the quizzical look he was giving her through his visor. “I would rather not take a gamble.” 

“Then pressurize your helmet and seal his pod so I can go out first.” She suggested.

“Milena—”

“Do you trust me?”

He was taken aback by the question. Did he trust her? After all the things they’ve been through? To get Grogu back? To keep him safe?

“With my life.” He couldn’t have spoken more true words. 

Din complied with letting Milena out, opening the wind screen after Grogu was safe in his pod and his helmet was pressurized. She climbed out of the ship and walked around, rubbing her boot against the glass beneath her feet. He watched as she got familiar with her surroundings, visor turning, analyzing the landscape.

She turned back to the ship and waved. “It’s completely breathable, not cursed air!” 

With a soft chuckle, Din nodded and opened the wind screen to let himself and Grogu out. His boots touched the glass as he breathed, for the first time ever, Mandalorian air. 

It was surreal. For so long, he never thought he would ever set foot on the planet his ancestors came from. A place he had only ever heard of. There were no pictures, no paintings, no way to really imagine just how beautiful it must've been before it turned into a legend to scare kids at night. He never dared to imagine the cool air hitting the skin of his jaw, knowing it could never happen. Except it had. It wasn't quite the dirt under his boots, that was likely miles underneath the glass, but he was there. 

Grogu used his pod, hovering near the pair. He whined, looking around worriedly. 

“Don't you worry, ad’ika, we'll keep you safe. Just like we always have.” Milena assured softly, giving him a nod. 

Din’s chest was warm with a now familiar feeling. Though he still couldn't place what it was. It always sparked like a soft ember beneath his ribs whenever she interacted so gently, so carefully with the child. 

“What do we do now?” He wasn't sure he would make it this far, he hadn't thought much past simply getting on the planet. 

Milena stomped her boot on the glass. “We go down. And find the Mines of Mandalore.” 

“The Mines…” He whispered to himself. 

The Mines of Mandalore were where all Beskar came from. Even the tiniest of trinkets, necklaces, or pendants could be traced back to the mines. Since the purge, all Beskar was finite, recycled and reused or found in the hands of others and taken. 

Within those mines were the Living Waters, where Manda'lors were blessed and thousands of people gathered to watch as they recited oaths. And where many believed the evasive Mythosaur lived. Deep within the waters. If they still existed. 

Milena walked over to some thinner glass and stretched her hands towards it. Din stared and wondered what she was doing. 

The glass began to crumble and crack as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. An almost perfect circle was formed. 

He was stunned. He had no idea that the Force could do such things. Not that he had any idea what the Force could do in the first place. At first, he thought it was just levitating things with the mind or hands but he clearly had much more to learn. And that was… exciting. Only if he learned from Milena. 

Din glanced around at their glass surroundings and wondered if she could do something similar to the whole planet, not just a tiny section. 

Milena took a step forward. “Wait—” He stopped her, “Do you know where you're going?” 

“I trust my instincts.” She nodded then did a voice, an impression of someone he was clearly unfamiliar with, “The Force is very strong with me.” 

She dropped down, using her thrust pack to soften her fall. Din did the same. Grogu floated down in his pod. They looked around at the ruins of the city while she guided them. 

Even decrepit and beyond recognition, Din knew they were in Sundari. The capital. Songs were written of its beauty, the way it was a shining beacon for their people. How wonderful those days must've been. Now, it was a husk. Tall buildings falling into one another. Nature couldn't even flourish because of the atmosphere and the lack of light. 

As they got closer to the Mines, he and Milena turned on the lights attached to their helmets. His eyes roamed over the large entrance, grand and regal in its days, he was sure but now it loomed over them hauntingly. 

“It's hard to imagine our people walked these very paths years ago.” Din commented, looking around the caves as they pushed forward. 

Milena hummed, “It wasn't as long ago as you think.” 

“You weren't even born yet. How would you know?” His tone wasn't accusatory or condescending, just clear and soft. 

She was silent for a moment. “My parents were born here.” She admitted. 

He stopped. He felt his throat dry and his lungs suddenly lacking air. 

Milena had direct lineage to Mandalore. He could only imagine the turmoil inside of her. He had conflicting feelings of awe and utter devastation himself and his parents had only ever lived on Concordia. The stories from his covert and his mother, likely passed down from her mother, were the only connection he had to the planet. 

It was strange. To feel at home and yet displaced on the very planet his ancestors were from. 

“Here we are.” Milena announced once they arrived in the clearing to the Living Waters. 

Din looked around curiously, taking in the sights, the high ceiling and the pillars with Mando’a etched into them. This was their culture when not hiding, though still hidden from most of the Galaxy.

He began to strip himself from his heavier armor, removing his thruster pack and the cloak around his neck. 

From what he remembered, it was tradition that the new Manda'lor be blessed in the Living Waters. As a sign of their status as the ruler, they must truly walk the way of the Manda’lor. 

And if Din was going to rule, he would follow tradition. To a point. 

Traditions were made for a reason, to give meaning where there would otherwise be none. Din had always followed them blindly, because his faith was in his elders, in the Armorer, that whatever they said was the best course of action. Was it always? 

Milena was right. Cultures and religions had to change or else they would die. They would become too scared and never take risks, never realize that perhaps the Way they followed was wrong, that there was another path. That they could live, loudly, proudly as Mandalorians without fear on the very planet that was meant for them. They would be free to follow the Way in whatever means that pleased them. 

That was what Din wished for his people. To have Mandalorians of varying beliefs put aside their differences to live together. As one. There was too much judgement between tribes when they were essentially the same, oppressed people because of the Empire. Why fight amongst each other when they had a common enemy? 

Din descended into the waters, taking step after step. The waters were cold and he could feel them seeping into the fabric of his flight suit, touching his skin. It made him shiver. Yet it soothed him all the same. He let out a deep breathing, allowing his shoulders to relax and slump. When was the last time he was truly relaxed? He couldn’t recall. It felt… good. 

Milena watched with horror when Din was yanked down into the depths of the water. Just before she could dive into the waters, spurred on by Grogu’s whining, he was spit back out, body colliding with hers.  

“Din?” She rolled him onto the floor, “Din!” She shook him frantically. He didn’t move. If he was knocked out from the water in his lungs, she’d have to take off his helmet. “Fuck…” Her hand rested on the cheek of his helmet.

As if feeling her thoughts, Din leaned up, coughing up the liquid in his throat. He nearly choked on it again. 

Relieved, Milena laughed and patted the dome of his helmet. “Thought you died.” 

“Maybe I did.” His voice was hoarse as he pointed towards the waters. She followed his finger with her eyes. 

Peeking out from the Living Waters was a creature now thought of as a legend. With large curlings tusks, sharp teeth, and nearly glowing yellow eyes. Grogu made a worried noise.

It was the Mythosaur. 

It huffed loudly, puffs of air disappearing into the dark cave as it stared at the two Mandalorians before it. Clearly angry for disturbing its habitat, but waiting. For what? That was to be determined. Perhaps for the right moment to strike or, simply, to watch and observe what they would do next. 

Milena pulled Din up to stand. He nearly immediately was going to fight it but she stopped him. “Wait! Din.” She said firmly. “It’s not trying to fight.” 

He put his arms down, realizing she was right. He was so used to any and all creatures wanting to kill him that he wasn’t paying as much attention as he probably should have. 

She tore off her helmet and let it clang against the stone floor. “C’mere.” She pulled Din close by his hip, her chest pressed against his back, and forced his arm out. “Open your fingers. Yeah, like that. Good.” 

He could feel the heat of her body, even through his armor. Thank the Maker that he had taken a dip in the waters or else he would be overheating under his helmet. 

The unexpected happened. 

The Mythosaur let out a soft breath and leaned forward, closed its eyes and pressed its head against his hand. 

Din let out a breath of disbelief, a chuckle escaping him as he slowly rubbed his hand against the scaly head of the Mythosaur. He truly was walking the same paths as his ancestors. 

“Congratulations, Din Djarin,” Milena smiled, her eyes bursting with pride. “You truly are the rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

[renlyslittlerose]

Watching Andor and re-watching RotS and I am once again pissed off that they cut all the blossoms of the rebellion scenes in RotS

[vodika-vibes]

Here Comes The General

Summary: Scorch is not having a good time. Sev is missing and presumed dead. Boss is on Coruscant. Fixer is on Naboo. And he’s here, playing flying monkey for a man he’s been planning on killing since the day they met. Unfortunately for Scorch, Hemlock has well and truly bound his hands.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x General Rynn (OFC), mentions of Delta Squad x OFC

Word Count: 1218

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: I have Rynn on the mind, so you get a Rynn and Scorch story. Wherein I fix what happened to Scorch at the end of TBB. Yes, I have requests, but I need a break from requests for a little bit. Sorry.

Scorch slams his fist against the panel next to the stark metal door separating him from Rynn. He only gets an hour each week to spend time with her, and he knows he should be grateful, but he’s not.

Every time he comes to see his Rynn, he leaves angrier.

The door slides open, and she looks up, a small smile crossing her pretty face, though it does little to draw his attention away from the stark bruises marring her face and arms.

“Scorch,” She still smiles when she sees him, and his heart swoops affectionately. 

“Rynn,” He steps into the room, and the door slams shut behind him, not that he minds in the slightest. Scorch tugs off his gloves and tosses them to the side, along with his helmet, as Rynn stands and steps towards him.

His hands immediately move to cup her face, gently tilting her head so that he’s able to examine the dark brown bruises better, “I’m okay,” She reassures.

“They hit you.”

“Hemlock hit me,” She corrects, her own hands coming up to press against his cheeks, “You’ve lost weight.”

“Yeah, well—” Scorch scoffs, “It’s not like anyone here cares about the health of a clone.”

“Oh, Scorch,” She sounds so heartbroken that Scorch wants to cry.

He smiles at her, and leans in to press his forehead against hers, “There’s no need to say my name like that.”

“You deserve better,”

“We both deserve better,” He corrects quietly. Scorch moves his hand so that it’s brushing through her short hair, “I tried to talk Emerie into letting you have a headscarf, cyare. But they won’t allow it.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He brushes his lips against a bruise, gently enough that she doesn’t even flinch, “Your religion is a huge part of who you are.”

“My religion is more than a headscarf, Scorch.” Her voice is soft, “My religion is just as strong here in prison as it was on the Nightwing. Stronger, even.”

He sighs softly, “I know that. I do. It just feels wrong.”

“Well, they don’t exactly have the moral high ground here, no.” She replies with a small smile.

Scorch’s fingers move to the collar around her neck, thick and clunky, with a flashing red light on the front, indicating that the bomb is active. “I wish…”

“I know, Scorch. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” She stands on her toes and glides her lips against his, “I have faith. Faith enough for the both of us.”

“But…Sev—”

“Is alive. I know. And Boss and Fixer are just playing by the rules until we can be together again. This bomb,” She taps the collar with a short fingernail, “ensures the cooperation not only of you, my love.”

Scorch makes a face, “When we reunite, I’m not going to be allowed to touch you for days.” He bitches quietly, “I can already hear Fixer saying ‘Well, you had her all to yourself for months, so deal with it’.”

She laughs softly and presses her forehead against his chest.

Slowly, he smoothes his hand down her back, but before he can say anything, the cell door slams open, and he sighs quietly, “Times up.”

“Just for now, Scorch.” She lightly pulls herself from his embrace, and she walks over to pick up his gloves and helmet, “Back to work.”

“Back to slavery, you mean.” Still, Scorch slowly pulls his gear back on, until he’s fully kitted out again. 

Rynn smiles at him. Soft, warm, and loving, and he rolls his shoulders. It’s all for her. He will do anything to keep her safe and alive, even if it means working with the enemy. 

“Love you, Rynn.”

“Love you too, Scorch. I’ll see you in a week.”

He turns on his heel and heads out the open cell door. “Yeah.” It’s not enough. It will never be enough. But he’ll make do. He has to.

Scorch watches, amused, as his younger brothers from Clone Force 99 raid Mount Taniss. He watches as Hemlock confronts them, and he watches the oldest of them…Hunter, he believes his name is, punches Hemlock.

And then something interesting happens.

A small device, roughly the size of his palm, falls out of Hemlock’s pocket and slides across the floor.

Hemlock scrambles for the device, but Scorch gets there first. He picks up the device and examines it, uncaring of the blasters aimed at him from his younger brothers.

“Scorch!” Hemlock shouts, “Return that at once!”

He knows what this device is. This is the device that controls the bomb around Rynn’s neck. He’s seen it enough times to recognize it on sight.

Scorch meets Hemlock’s gaze, and quickly destroys the device before dropping the pieces on the floor.

“You—”

Scorch doesn’t allow him to finish as he curls his hand into a fist and slams all of his weight into the punch. Hemlock staggers back, his hand flying to his face. Scorch doesn’t think twice before shooting Hemlock twice in the head.

Execution style, Rynn used to call it.

His younger brothers hesitate and lower their weapons, “I thought you were working with him,” One of them, the one with goggles, says accusingly.

“Believe it or not, vod’ika, there are many ways to force someone to do something,” Scorch absently examines his blaster, “ways that have nothing to do with the damn chip they put in our heads.”

“So nothing has forced you to work for him?” The biggest member of the squad demands.

“Did I say that?” Scorch turns his head when there’s a rumble and the ground splits open on the other side of the room. He straightens and pulls his helmet off, hooking it to his belt, as Rynn lifts herself out of the hole she made.

She lowers herself to the ground and looks around for a moment, a bright smile crossing her face as she sees Scorch, “Have you seen my lightsaber?”

“Fraid they destroyed it, cyare.”

“Well, that’s rude of them. I guess I’ll have to make do with my spare.” She steps around some broken pieces of metal and allows Scorch to swing her into his arms, and press a light kiss against her lips.

“The Empire and rudeness go hand in hand, cyare. You should do something about that.”

Her smile is vibrant, “Oh, I intend to. As soon as I have all of my boys back. I assume the Nightwing is here somewhere?”

“Hidden. Safe and sound. Just like you ordered.”

She beams at him and presses her hands against his cheeks, “You follow my orders so well!”

“When I want to.”

“Of course.” Her smile softens, “Let’s get out of here, hm? We need to get to Sev.”

“Yes ma’am,” Scorch sets her down and motions towards the exit, allowing Rynn to take the lead. He pauses before he leaves and sends a comm code to Tech, “Here. It’ll connect you to the Nightwing. If you should need it for any reason.”

And then he’s gone too, following Rynn out the hanger door.

Scorch has no idea what comes next. Though, based on the small smile on Rynn’s face, she not only has an idea, she even knows how to pull it off. They just need the rest of their family back.

[bunny7567]

I got you - chapter 22

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 5.7k Tags/Warnings: aftermath of The Citadel arc... so: death of a loved one, major character "death", grief, guilt, mourning; Fives crying, Lexie crying, me crying while I wrote this; contains some lines from The Citadel episode; angst, like so much angst; this was not fun to write

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cyare - beloved cyar'ika - sweetheart, darling vod'ika - little brother/sister ori'vod - older brother

~~~

79s had quickly become one of her favourite places on Coruscant, Lexie realised as she sat back down, watching the entanglement of sentients crowding the dancefloor. It almost seemed like the war could not reach inside the walls of the cantina, giving everyone a respite from all the pain and suffering. And if anyone deserved a break, it was the clones. They deserved every fleeting moment they could have when they weren’t expendable soldiers, bred for one purpose and one purpose only, they deserved to just be men, to get drunk, to have fun, to feel human. Anara’s suggestion from a few weeks before kept sounding in her mind, getting more and more tempting. Maybe if she was a senator she could do more to help the clones get the rights they deserved.

“No more dancing?”, Echo’s voice brought her back from her conflicting thoughts as he returned to their table, sitting down next to her.

“I’m beat”, she replied, leaning a little into his side.

“Why didn’t you leave with Rex?”, he asked.

“Rex left? I didn’t see that”, she lied.

Echo huffed a laugh before he took a sip of the drink he was holding, making Lexie appraise him with a cautious peek. The ARC’s cheeks were a little flushed from the alcohol and a slightly mischievous spark was present in his eyes. She grabbed her own glass from the table, downing the remaining liquid at the bottom, which was mostly melted ice.

“I’m glad you and Rex made up”, Echo remarked out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”, Lexie asked, looking at him with a slightly worried look.

“Before Kaldonya things were a bit tense between you two”, he shrugged.

“Oh… that was just a misunderstanding… Why are you bringing it up?”

“No reason”, he said with a smirk. “It seems good… your…”, he paused, trying to figure out how he should phrase it, “your friendship, it seems good for both of you. I guess I want to say that I’m happy for you… and that you are Rex are friends”.

“Well… thank you, ori’vod”, Lexie said with a small, awkward chuckle.

“It’s just…”, he set down his drink, his words a little slurred from all the alcohol. “I didn’t want you to think that I disapproved or anything – of the friendship – with what I said on Kaldonya that day. I’ve seen how happy and relaxed you are around him and it’s really good to see. It feels like you’re finally fully yourself – with him, and with us. I’m just glad”.

“I guess I do feel like I’m finally myself, yeah”, she concluded after pondering his words. “Rex helped – a lot. The others too. But you, especially. I’m not sure I thanked you enough for following me in that supply closet”.

“I think you found me in there”, Echo recalled.

“No – the second time, before Ku’mai”, Lexie cleared up and he gave a couple acknowledging nods. “You didn’t have to do that, check in on me – and you definitely didn’t have to stay there for the entire duration of my panic attack”, she chuckled.

“Yeah I did. I couldn’t let you go through that by yourself”, he said earnestly. Lexie caught his eyes and smiled. “Do you still get them?”, Echo asked after a silent moment. “I hope you’re not hiding them or something”.

“No, it’s actually been a while since I had one. Things have really been good”, she said, a smile forgotten on her lips.

“I’m glad. But if they ever start again, you do know you can always come to me, right vod’ika?”, Echo nudged her softly with his elbow.

Lexie thanked him, then rested her head on his shoulder as the two of them continued their conversation for a while. Echo caught her up on all the new gossip he’d been told or had overheard during the night – he’d always been good at repeating what he heard after all. She would’ve been content to stay like that for the rest of the night, just laughing and gossiping, but Rex was waiting for her back at the base.

She declined Echo’s offer to escort her once she decided to leave, but the ARC still insisted on at least walking her out of the cantina and making sure she safely got into an air taxi.

“You really like this role of overprotective big brother, huh?”, she remarked with a small laugh as he held the taxi door open for her to get in.

“Damn right I do, vod’ika”, Echo laughed proudly.

“Lucky me”, she smiled brightly.

Lexie jerked awake, the sudden movement making her bump her head on the crate she was leaning against. She looked around a bit confused, needing a moment to recall where she was. And then it hit her. Like a punch in the gut. All the warmth of the memory from a few months ago dissipated in an instant. He was gone. Her friend, her ori'vod, he was just... gone.

She looked around, her eyes landing on Fives who was sleeping against a crate in her vicinity. Or, at least, she assumed he was sleeping, his helmet was still on so she could not know for sure. They both could’ve probably gone anywhere else – the barracks, a private office – yet once she stepped off the shuttle, all she could do was slowly walk to a quieter part of the hangar and slump to the floor. Fives followed quietly right behind her.

She tried to block herself from the Force as soon as she got on the gunship that rescued them from Lola Sayu, since she couldn't bear sensing the grief that was surrounding Fives –  it was too much. It had enveloped her, mixing with her own from the moment that shuttle exploded and honestly she had no idea how she even managed to function for the rest of their escape. So now she was numb, and cold, and so, so close to breaking down.

The worst part wasn't even that he was gone. The worst part was that they had to leave him there... and Echo was still alive when they did. Barely. His life force was so faint it was almost imperceptible, but still there, still a flicker of light in the growing darkness surrounding him. But there was no way he could survive that, not without medical assistance they didn't have the time to offer. And yet, it still hurt so much. It hurt that they had to leave, that Rex had dragged her away when all she wanted to do was run towards him –  to be with him as he faded, to hold his hand as he died. But they left. They had to. And now, Lexie had to find a way to live with it.

She brought her knees to her chest and put her head in her hands. No, this isn't real, this can't be real. This was just a bad dream and she would wake up soon, and go to breakfast in the mess, and Echo would be there and he'd tease her about oversleeping like he did many times before. Lexie just needed to wake up. Just wake up, just wake up, just wake up.

But she was awake. Wide awake. And he was dead. He would never tease her again, he would never laugh with her or gossip with her again. He was dead and it was her fault. She should've protected him. She knew something bad was going to happen, she knew it, why couldn’t she do anything to stop it? What good was the Force and its vague warnings if she was still powerless to keep her friend from dying? Her friend… her ori’vod. How did I let that happen?

They’d had a string of successful missions – some completed by just her, Fives, and Echo; others with the 501st or the 212th; and a few with her ARCs, plus Rex and Cody. They were on a winning streak, things were looking good for the Republic really. And then Master Even Piell was captured after learning crucial information about the Nexus route.

She had a bad feeling about it. From the beginning, from the moment she received the comm ordering her, Echo and Fives back to Coruscant, a cold flicker of dread had settled in the back of her mind. It was fleeting – just a brief shiver down her spine – and at first, she assumed it was simply unease over the Council pulling them from a mission. But once she stood in the Temple, gathered around the holo-table, staring at the crude map built from archive data, that feeling returned, stronger this time. Her whole body shivered when Anakin remarked that they would essentially be going in blind. No, she didn’t like the plan at all and that cold feeling lingered in her mind as she left the communication center.

At least she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“We’re trusting those droids to get us into the Citadel?”, Fives asked, doubt obvious in his voice as he watched the three reprogrammed battle droids follow R2-D2 through the hangar.

“It’s the only way”, Cody’s helmet-modulated voice replied. “We’re flying right into the heart of Separatist territory. Droids won’t be detected”.

“This still has to be one of the craziest plans I’ve ever kriffin’ heard”, Lexie mumbled.

“Come on, General, it’s not worse than your backup plan from the Abax mission”, Echo remarked teasingly.

“Hey”, she exclaimed, feigning offence and playfully slapping his arm, “it’s not like I had a lot of time to come up with a better one. And it wasn’t even that bad”.

“Respectfully Sir”, Cody interjected, “I’m still finding dried mud in my cuirass”.

“Well, disrespectfully Commander, if you’re still finding dried mud after a month, it means you’re not cleaning your armor properly”, Lexie retorted with a sly smile, earning a low chuckle from the man as a response.

Her attention was then caught by Rex walking into the hangar and heading to where Anakin and Obi-Wan were stood talking. His eyes flickered to meet hers and one corner of his mouth briefly twitched up in a smile. They had not been apart for that long this time, only a few rotations had passed since he had walked her to the hangar of the battalion’s new flagship and watched as she and the ARC troopers departed in the Amaranth. And yet, both hers and the Captain’s eyes brightened as soon as they made contact. Lexie put her entire focus on keeping her facial expression neutral before heading over there as well, gesturing with her head for the rest of the men to follow. Preparations were complete, the plan was about to be set in motion.

“I’ve never been carbon-frozen before, General”, Rex noted, walking next to Anakin.

“It’s the first time for us too”, Anakin replied.

“For you maybe”, Lexie mumbled. Rex glanced her way, a questioning look in his eyes. “Bad mission years ago… wasn’t fun. I’ll tell you later”.

They walked to the freezing chambers, stopping on the platforms that would lower them in. Lexie wondered if the anxiety she was sensing was only her own. She wasn’t looking forward to this. She remembered the cold, the tightness right before the gases knocked her out, and the nasty sickness that followed upon waking. It had only happened to her once, on a mission years ago – thankfully, Aayla had been there to pull her out – but that didn’t make it any easier now.

“Are… are we sure this thing is safe? I don’t want to end up a wall decoration”, Fives hesitated.

“We’ll be unfrozen as soon as we arrive. It’s not even that bad”, Lexie tried to ease his mind. Fives met her eyes with a doubtful look. It didn’t seem like he was buying her forced cheerfulness. “We’ll be fine”, she added with an unconcerned wave of her hand.

She then glanced to her right where Echo was stood on the next platform over. The ARC trooper met her eyes and offered her a small nod as they started being lowered into the freezing chambers. No turning back now.

Next thing she knew, Lexie was stumbling out of the carbonite, bracing herself on the slab in front of her in order to not collapse on the ground. Panic engulfed all her senses as she realized she couldn’t hear properly and she forced herself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths.

“I must have carbon sickness, because I could swear that’s Ahsoka”, she managed to make out the very muffled voice of Obi-Wan, and she turned her head to see what he was talking about.

“Your eyes are fine. It’s Ahsoka’s hearing that needs help”, Anakin scoffed.

Lexie let out a breathless chuckle and tried to straighten, pushing away from the slab she was leaning on. Her muscles were still too weak and she immediately lost her balance, but was fortunately caught by a pair of strong hands.

“Are you okay?”, Rex asked, squeezing her forearms.

“Yeah, yeah, all good, Captain”, she confirmed. Lexie’s cheeks turned pink as she looked at him. He was clearly feeling pretty rough himself from the carbon-freezing, yet his only concern was her. It always made her smile – the tenderness he showed towards her. “Are you feeling alright?”.

“A little lightheaded. Nothing I can’t handle”, he replied with his half-smile. “I’m gonna let go of you now, are you ready?”.

Lexie nodded and Rex slowly loosened his grasp of her arms. She straightened, glancing again towards Ahsoka who was attempting to convince Anakin that Master Plo had assigned her on the mission. Anakin wasn’t buying it – neither was she – but she had to admit she was quite impressed by the Padawan’s determination. Lexie looked back at Rex, realising that she was still stood very close to the Captain and took a small step back.

“Like Master, like Padawan”, she joked, noticing how he was also watching their small argument.

Rex’s eyes met hers again and he chuckled. “I don’t even want to imagine how your one will be then”.

Lexie shuddered at the idea. She could not see herself ever having a Padawan, being responsible for someone’s education and wellbeing like that. “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to find out too soon”, she muttered under her breath.

Her attention snapped to Echo as he stumbled out of the carbonite, followed by Fives who took a step and collapsed to his knees. Lexie instantly rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders to help him back to his feet.

“You alright, honey?”, she asked.

“'It’s not even that bad'?!”, Fives shot her words back at her, his tone irked as he clung to her arm for support.

“Sorry”, she scrunched her nose, trying not to laugh. “Are you good?”, she then turned to Echo.

“Yeah, yeah… just a little nauseous”, he replied weakly.

“If you throw up-”

“You’ll kill me, I know vod’ika”, he huffed a small laugh.

She wanted to laugh too, but without warning, that cold feeling of dread returned to her mind. When was the last time she felt something like this before? It was more powerful then when Rex was shot on Saleucami… Lexie looked through the Force around her, trying to pinpoint the source of this anxiety. Or maybe it wasn’t something specific? Maybe it just the mission itself?

“Are you alright?”, Echo asked her, noticing her anxious demeanour.

“I just… have a bad feeling about this”, she replied, her eyes lowering to the handprint on his armor. Fives could finally stand without assistance so Lexie was able to move closer to Echo, tracing her fingers over the blue paint absentmindedly.

She always liked that he had kept the it after being promoted to ARC trooper; she found it adorable for some reason, maybe due to the sentimentality behind it. Her eyes then searched his face, taking in every line on it. He’d changed a lot since that night they first talked at the 79s, he looked older, more mature, more sure of himself. But the more she looked into his eyes, the more uneasiness she felt enveloping her mind. She must have been staring too intently, or for too long – Echo tilted his head to a side, a worried look glazing his eyes. Lexie shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever it was she was feeling.

“Just… don’t leave my side, okay?”, the words were out of her mouth before she could even process them, and they were spoken so quietly, she wasn’t sure if he even heard them.

“Alright, vod’ika. I’ll stay close”, Echo assured her.

If only he’d kept that promise…

A hand on her shoulder made Lexie jump. She lifted her head from her hands to meet Rex’s eyes. They were kind, they always were when he looked at her, but the pain she saw reflected in them, the sorrow, the worry, it was too much. She averted her gaze, choosing instead to look at a spot over his shoulder.

“We’re out of hyperspace”, he said in a tentative voice.

Lexie hummed in acknowledgement.

The Captain pushed himself up from his kneeling position and extended a hand to help her up. She mumbled some thanks then looked to her right, catching a glimpse of Fives as he got up from the floor, his helmet still obscuring his face. Lucky, she thought for a second. She wished she could also hide her face right about now.

The three of them walked to the shuttle, joining the rest of the Jedi and Captain Tarkin, who they'd rescued from the Citadel. A nasty piece of work, that man. Lexie did not like him, and Echo had also found him unpleasant. He had told her as much after they freed him from the holding cell and ended up in the same group once they had to split up. Her stomach lurched at the realisation – that had been the last thing they talked about… the last thing they would ever talk about again. She could still hear the words clear as day.

“Child? Who does he think he is, talking about Commander Tano like that?”, Echo fell in step behind her, leaning in to whisper as they walked through the cavernous tunnels searching for an exit.

“A conceited asshole?”, Lexie offered.

“Is it bad that I want him to trip so that Commander Tano has to catch him before he falls into the magma?”, he quipped, surveying their surroundings at the same time, rifle raised.

“That would definitely humble him a little”, she agreed with a small laugh. “I could use the Force to nudge him in the right direction”.

“Do it. For the sake of my sanity”, Echo deadpanned.

The realization that she was smiling at the memory hit her like a speeder, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She needed to ground herself somehow, keep the tears from forming, so she tightly squeezed her left bicep, focusing on the physical sensation and pushing all her emotions deep down. She couldn’t feel them, not yet, not there.

The shuttle stopped at the base first and Lexie got off, claiming she’d hurt her leg during the escape and needed Kix to take a look at it. In truth, she really did not want to go to the Temple any time soon. Keeping her emotions undetected was exhausting, and she was still angry at Obi-Wan and Anakin for pausing to give Master Piell a funeral, despite her protests that they didn’t have the time. That was the excuse she gave them anyway. The real reason was the unfairness of having to leave Echo – and the other clones for that matter – behind while they stopped to honour the fallen Jedi.

The other reason she couldn’t go to the Temple was that Fives had asked her not to. As the base came into view, the ARC moved closer to her, nudging her gently with his elbow, followed by a small tilt of his helmet. She could feel his grief and knew he needed her. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka could handle the debriefing; the Padawan was the most important right now anyway, being the one Master Piell had shared his half of the Nexus route coordinates with. No, they didn’t need her, but her friend did. And if she was honest, she needed him too.

Fives was not alright. He was quiet, too quiet, and that alone was making her feel uneasy. His body language was also very stiff, walking slowly as if he was injured, but remaining closely by her side as they moved through the hangar. Until he stopped in front of the entrance to a corridor.

“I… I can’t face them”, he admitted, voice only a whisper through the helmet’s modulator and his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side.

He didn’t need to say any more, Lexie knew exactly what he meant.

“Captain”, she called to Rex, who was a few paces ahead, making him stop and turn towards them. “I’m taking Fives to my room. He needs some time to process everything. Can… can you tell…”, she continued, her voice faltering.

“I’ll tell the others”, Rex nodded, his helmet covering the concerned look in his eyes.

He knew what Echo meant to Fives, and he knew what Echo meant to Lexie. All the missions they'd been on, all the time they'd spent together – Rex knew the bond they’d forged was strong. Echo’s death hurt him too, there was no doubt, but it was different. Rex had lost his little brother, and with that came grief and regret – regret that he hadn’t been able to protect him. But Fives had lost his twin, and Lexie had lost her ori’vod. She had leaned on Echo for support so many times, perhaps more than she ever had with him. Rex could only imagine how badly she was hurting now.

Lexie gave him a small, grateful smile before she and Fives proceeded quietly to the turbolifts. They maintained their silent pace all the way to her room, but once inside, the ARC froze in the doorway and Lexie gently guided him to sit down on the bed. She settled next to him, her hands trembling slightly as she removed his helmet, and her heart broke when she saw his tear-stained face. Fives was breathing fitfully, his gaze fixed on the floor. Slowly, she cradled the back of his head, pulling him closer and resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“Let it out. I got you”, she whispered.

And he listened, wrapping his arms tightly around her as the tears started falling again, his muffled sobs echoing through the room.

Time seemed to stand still as Fives cried in her arms, and Lexie had never felt so powerless. One arm held him tightly, letting his tears soak through her top, while her other hand gently stroked his hair in a soothing gesture. She couldn’t think of any comforting words, and truthfully, she worried that if she opened her mouth to try and speak, only a sob would escape her lips and she would start crying as well. And that’s not what Fives needs right now. He just lost his brother, his twin, he needed to be comforted, not to be the one comforting her.

She wasn’t sure how long it took, but she eventually convinced her friend to lay down, and he was now asleep in her bed while she was sat next to it on the floor, her attention on the images displayed on her datapad.

Before their mission on Abax a month ago, Lexie had insisted they take some holo-pictures together, realizing she didn’t have many with them. The first one she looked at showed only the four men: Cody, Rex, Fives, and Echo, standing on the landing platform in front of a gunship. Lexie had laughed when she took the picture, surprised to see Rex adopting a relaxed pose, arm rested on Fives’ shoulder. It was such a contrast to Cody, who stood almost at attention next to him. A small smile tugged at her lips as she noticed that Echo also had his hand on Fives’ shoulder – she had not caught that before.

 She scrolled through the images, pausing to study each one. There was another holo where she was in the middle of the group, another that Fives had insisted on taking with just her and Rex, and the one she was staring at now – just her and the two ARCs. Fives had teased her about how short she looked next to them, so Lexie had decided to take charge and make herself the taller one in that shot. She placed one hand on Fives’ left pauldron and the other on Echo’s right one, perching herself up with a wide smile on her face. Fives was laughing, the camera catching him with his eyes closed, while Echo looked up at her, amused but with a hint of concern in his eyes, as if worried she might fall.

She zoomed in on Echo and she could swear she felt her heart break all over again, shattering into a million, tiny pieces. She couldn’t fathom it – she will simply never speak to him again. She will hear his voice, she will see his face everywhere around her, but she will never see him again. It felt cruel, actually, that they all shared the same face. Everything felt like a cruel joke.

A small sound at the door pulled Lexie back from the verge of tears. She slowly got up, walked over, and opened it to find Rex standing there, greeting her with a small smile. She took a step back, allowing him to enter the dimly-lit room. The door closed with a mechanical hiss after him. Rex glanced at her bed, quickly noting that his little brother was sleeping, before his gaze moved to the datapad on the floor. He picked it up, studying the image on the display. Lexie sat on her desk, tracking the movements of Rex’s hands with her eyes. It felt too difficult to lift them and meet his gaze.

“How are you doing?”, he asked in a hushed voice, coming to stand in front of her.

“Fives was pretty shaken up. He finally fell asleep a little while ago”, Lexie deflected.

“Cyare”, Rex gently prodded.

“I’m fine”, she said, still not meeting his eyes, “Fives is the one you should be concerned about. Echo was his brother”.

“Echo was your brother too”, Rex stated, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

“It’s not the same”, she argued quietly.

“He was your ori’vod. Just because you don’t share a genetic code, doesn’t mean your bond wasn’t genuine”, he insisted.

Lexie couldn’t reply, all she could do was shake her head trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was no use. Slowly, one by one, the tears started rolling down her cheeks and Rex immediately placed her datapad on the desk in order to bring her into his arms. It had definitely been a good decision to remove the upper part of his armor before coming here, Rex thought, as she buried her face in his chest. Gently, he began to run his fingers through her hair, his heart breaking as she trembled in his embrace.

Lexie allowed herself to cry for a while, but was still careful not to make too much noise. It wasn’t easy, the pain was suffocating her. Every time she felt the tears begin to dry she would see it all again – that horrible, dreadful battle. The blaster fire would sound inside her mind and she would see Echo picking up the shield and push for the shuttle. She swore she could even hear herself yelling for him to get back, she could hear the explosion and Fives screaming Echo’s name. And so the tears would keep falling.

It didn’t even feel good, it didn’t feel like a release of the feelings she had been supressing. All she felt was all-encompassing grief.

At one point she became aware of the reassurances that Rex was whispering in her ear. The Captain was telling her that it would be alright but she could not find it in herself to believe him.

“I just… I feel like a frustrated Padawan… I could sense that something would go wrong, Rex”, she confessed between chocked sobs.

“A lot of things went wrong; we knew from the start it wouldn’t be an easy mission”, he tried to console her.

“Yeah, but what good am I if I know something bad will happen and I can’t do anything to fucking stop it?”. Her voice was muffled, her face still pressed against his chest.

“Cyare… don’t do this, don’t blame yourself”, his embrace tightened.

“Who am I supposed to blame? Him? cause I… I already do and it’s making me feel like the most horrible person. I-I told him not to leave my side, I-why, why didn’t he listen?”, she sobbed.

“He did what he was trained to do, cyare. He tried to get us out of there”, Rex spoke softly.

“But it… it was for nothing, Rex. It… it’s not fair”.

 And it really wasn’t. Because the shuttle still exploded, they still had to flee and request an evac, they still had to fight droids and run through the cave system, and Master Piell still died. So what was Echo’s sacrifice even for? That thought brought everything back, and anger starting simmering in her chest.

“I am angry. I am just so fucking angry”, she continued, her voice strained as her frustration started rising. “I respected Master Piell, I did, but stopping to give him a funeral? Putting all of us at risk like that? What the hell was Obi-Wan thinking? And giving him the funeral when-when Echo and all t-the others-all the others were just left there”, she spat the words though gritted teeth, feeling Rex’s arms tighten around her.

“I know, I’m… I’m angry too”, the Captain admitted quietly.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to contain her anger, only for grief to break through the cracks once more. “And it-it hurts so much… that… that I’ll never see him again but I’ll see him everywhere”, she chocked.

“We know what that’s like, Lex. We’ll have to see him every time we look in the mirror”, came Fives’ strained voice from her bed.

His words struck her like a physical blow and Lexie slowly pulled away from Rex’s embrace just as he also turned to look at Fives. The ARC was sat up on her bed, rubbing his eyes slowly. He still looked exhausted, as if he had not slept one bit and Lexie immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, she apologised, rushing to wipe the tears from her face.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t”, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

“You alright?”, Rex asked.

Fives sighed, getting up from the bed. “No, but I will be. Echo wouldn’t want us moping around because of him”. He took a step closer to the desk, calling Lexie’s name to make sure she was looking at him as he said the next words. “And he would not want you blaming yourself. I mean it Lex. Don’t do that”.

Lexie almost chuckled at the seriousness both in his eyes and in his voice. “I’ll try”, she mumbled.

“Good. I’ll get out of your hair now”, Fives said with a small, forced smile, picking up his helmet from where Lexie had placed it.

“You don’t have to, you can stay as long as you need”, she hurried to say.

“Thank you Lex, but I need to hit the showers, I stink”, Fives huffed a laugh. “Do we have any new assignments?”, he then asked Rex.

“Nothing yet. General Skywalker is extending our leave by a couple of days so we can recover”, the Captain informed.

Fives nodded then walked to the door but paused before opening it. “Thank you for letting me stay here a bit”, he said looking back over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me, Fives”, she said, jumping off the desk and walking to him. She placed a hand on his left arm. “I’m here for you. Always”.

“That goes both ways Lex”, he echoed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you putting on a brave face earlier. You didn’t have to do that. Not for me”, he gently reproached.

Lexie’s lips twitched into a smile and she shook her head affectionately. “I keep forgetting what a big softie you really are”.

“How dare you”, he drawled.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell”, she said in an exaggerated whisper.

“You better not”, Fives chuckled. He brought the hand not holding his helmet over the one she still had on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “See you two at the 79s later?”, he asked, looking between her and the Captain.

“79s? tonight?”, she repeated a little shocked.

“We need to drink in his honour”, Fives declared.

“Oh right… yeah”.

“If you don’t feel up to it, cyare-”, Rex interjected from behind her.

“No. No, it’s… I’ll be there”, she murmured.

“I’ll comm you when we’re ready to leave”, Fives squeezed her hand again before letting go of it. He offered Rex a nod, then pressed the control panel by the door and stepped out of the room.

The door swished closed and Rex was at her side the next second. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”, he double-checked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine”. She turned to face him, finally looking in his eyes. “Do… do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”

“No, I took care of everything before coming up. What do you need? How can I help you feel better?”, he asked, hand cupping her cheek.

“Are you not hurting too?”, she sighed, leaning into his touch.

“Of course I am”, Rex admitted quietly. “And I will feel better by trying to make you feel better. How that sound?”, he countered with his half-smile.

Lexie chuckled and shook her head before wrapping her arms around him. “Well then, you could just hold me for a bit? Maybe we could watch one of those nature documentaries you like so much, see what all the fuss is about”.

“Great choice, cyar’ika”, Rex said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Taglist: @selene131 , @yoursrosie , @olasz-2003 , @ichimatsu-gal If anyone else wants to be tagged in future chapters let me know

[lemurblog]

Idk if you’re familiar with Death Note but for the uninitiated it’s a show where a high schooler (Light) becomes a serial killer through the power of a magic notebook dropped by a god of death (Ryuk.) He has a devoted but more powerful follower (Misa) and an anonymous detective (L) is attempting to prove he’s the killer, despite his dad (Chief Yagami) protesting his innocence. Anyway I don’t know how they would turn “notebook that kills people” into a kid-friendly parody concept but I just had a vision of Mort as Misa so if I were doing “Death Note but it’s AHKJ” I’d have Julien as Light, Karl as Ryuk, Mort as Misa, Maurice as Chief Yagami and Clover as L

I don't know much about Death Note, that's me! I did have to look up if Misa is the girly popstar. One of my favorite artists is Findo so she's my favorite through osmosis.

I can't really judge who'd be what, but I will say idk about KJ becoming a serial killer on purpose. It's not in his nature to resort to murder, for ex. as a prince it never occurred to him to assassinate his uncle. He was willing to kill Koto, however he's gracious and forgiving to all of his villains, no matter what they've done. I don't think he wants to rid the world of them - Koto just wasn't giving them other options. I mean KJ didn't even feel good about leaving a bunch of chickens to die. Which is why I say "on purpose." It could happen thru hijinks.

Clover is more likely to seriously weigh the cost-benefits of intentionally killing people by writing them into her journal (literally her favorite thing to do). The downside here is she might prefer hand-to-hand combat and find the death note kind of cowardly. It's true she has a strong sense of justice, personal integrity, and loves to follow the law, but I just think she'd be more tempted to use it (on purpose). KJ goes easy on people, even those who try to kill him, while Clover can be harsh over even small infractions.*

I also wonder if Koto would be a fitting god of death, or even Uncle…. Karl would fancy himself a god of death, but he's not truly the deadliest or most godlike villain. Koto also is the one who brought out the killer in Julien, which is interesting to think about.

Maurice would absolutely defend kj's innocence, but he'd def know kj was up to some bullshit. He'd just lie to protect kj. He'd suspect clover too if she was the killer. Giving her the shifty eyes