#smallest possible jedi?

[saphronethaleph]

Matters Not

Tarka Gerth swept her blue saber around in a glowing arc, deflecting two bolts aimed at her retinue of clones, then the half-dozen clone troopers nearest the front of the column fired a fusillade of blaster bolts and shredded the battle droids.

“All right, watch out for trouble,” the delphidian said. “There’s no way it could be this easy.”

“You are correct, Jedi,” a distorted voice agreed, and Tarka flinched before turning to the left and bringing her saber up into guard position.

General Grievous stalked out of the shadows, two of his special guards with him, and more than a dozen droids levelled their blasters.

“Grievous,” Tarka declared, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“A padawan,” Grievous replied. “Without their master… an easy target. And a foolish Jedi.”

He chuckled, which turned into a cough until he shook his cyber-augmented head irritably. “Your lightsaber will make a fine addition to my collection… no, I correct myself!”

Grievous sounded actually amused. “A padawan who practices the art of dual wielding, no less – what you call jar’kai in your Jedi arts! I appreciate your contribution!”

“Instructions, general?” one of the clones asked.

“Hold on,” Tarka replied. “I think… yes.”

She nodded sharply. “If I give you the lightsabers, will you let us leave?”

“What an interesting suggestion!” Grievous said, sounding highly amused. “Hand them over, and I will consider it!”

Tarka deactivated her lightsaber, and unclipped the other one from her belt as well. Then she put them both on the ground, and stepped back.

Grievous stepped forwards, taking both sabers, then chuckled.

“I have made my decision,” he said. “No.”

Clones tensed, blasters ready, then the second lightsaber activated – revealing a brilliant yellow blade.

The blade flashed out at least a foot from Grievous, and he looked at Tarka with amusement. “Really? A Jedi trick-”

Then the lightsaber spun around in a blur, slashing at Grievous and cutting two of his mechanical fingers off.

The kaleesh warlord stepped back, shocked, then split his arms and drew three sabers from his collection in his surviving three hands. Two of them crossed in a defensive move to block the yellow saber, and Tarka waved her hand to pull her own lightsaber back into her hand.

“Get to cover,” she told the clones, blocking attacks and retreating, and a firefight broke out as Grievous tried to work out what the karking hell was going on.

“Unfortunately, he escaped,” Tarka reported, about thirty minutes later. “Master Parakan did all he could, but Grievous sacrificed his guards to cover his escape.”

“That’s still a useful outcome,” Master Kenobi said, from the other end of the holographic link. “The confirmation that Grievous is present is useful to us, at least until he moves elsewhere.”

“What’s your opinion of Grievous’s skill, Knight Parakan?” Master Windu asked.

“He’s very good for someone who can’t use the Force,” Tarka’s master replied, at the top of his lungs.

Since he was a mole-flea from the planet Kowak, this was necessary for the audio unit of the holoprojector to pick him up at all.

“There’s some parts of the katas which unavoidably use the Force, and he stumbles a bit there, but he’s highly talented,” Parakan went on. “He seems to be especially good at multi-tasking, so he can use two or three sabers as well as one. I’m not sure how he would do with four.”

Parakan shrugged, not that anyone else could notice. “I also don’t know if he noticed me. I didn’t say anything, but he could have figured it out.”

“Take care, Tarka, Parakan,” Master Kenobi advised. “Grievous may try to excuse his defeat.”

“Next time I’ll try insulting him,” Parakan decided. “It might give him a hint that would let him figure it out faster, but it might also throw him off balance.”

He bounced on his lightsaber. “What do you think of calling him a four-armed quarter-wit?”

“Passable,” Master Kenobi mused.

[sollis-occasum]

you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning

word count: 3.8k

a/n: First of all, I must say that English is not my native language. Also this is my first x reader format fanfiction. I'm pretty sure I made some mistakes but I hope you don't mind guys. I am always open to your suggestions ♡

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of ​​you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced ​​the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

[blueberry-ry]

Jedi Master Tey Cha - respectively in her 30s and 80s

New OC in collaboration with the dear @scrimplications to create a Master for Ki-Adi Mundi!

She is an incredible duelist who, aspiring to become a Battlemaster, learned every type of lightsaber combat styles, excelling in Jar’kai!

Another passion of her has always been art, and following the steps and culture of her homeworld Pantora, famous for their millennia of traditional mosaics, she studied the techniques to create the most stunning mosaics in the Temple, from as big as to cover entire walls in thousands of shiny stones, to the smallest of amulets and gifts to give to all the members of her lineage, to her Padawans, her Padawans’ Padawans and so on!

She did not become a Battlemaster, but she did become the Jar’Kai instructor of the Temple, often helping Cin Drallig in his lessons about her subject, and also showing off her abilities to steal as many of Cin’s students as possible (all in the name of a good hearted rivalry)

Of course, by using mainly Jar’Kai she has two lightsaber, one is blue, alimented by the Kyber she found on Ilum so many years ago with her fellow crèchemates, the other is white, alimented by an ancient white Kyber from Pantora. Her planet millennia ago had a small region where, deep in their caves, could be found a vein of white Kybers growing in them, but due to the Sith wars it has been destroyed, leaving the surviving crystals to be kept safe by the various Temples of Catha (their main goddess) and their religious order, ready to be given to those rare Pantorans who become Jedi.

[intermundia]

i'm curious, have you ever talked here about your opinions on star wars' politics and the jedi involvement with it? if not then i'm very curious about your thoughts on it. i understand star wars' politics are quite basic and non-radical (republic good dictatorship bad) and i don't necessarily disagree with it but i wonder if the jedi shouldn't have been more involved and possibly more radical (to the left) instead of just, idk, not giving their two cents on it. i know it's a hot take but it seems to me they would benefit more if they were more into politics. i would love to know your thoughts on it.

So, I think the answer depends on if you want a Watsonian or Doyalist explanation. If we’re looking though the lens of fictional in-universe reasons, we know that the Jedi HAVE tried being directly involved with running the government—it led to thousands of years of destructive civil war in the galaxy, with splinter groups of dark side users attempting to seize supreme executive power, and the Jedi militant about preventing it. They willingly surrendered power to the representatives of the people of the galaxy for a reason, not out of negligence or indifference to galactic suffering, and we should always remember the history.

The Jedi chose to work inside the guiding structure of a sovereign civic government, outside the Order and answerable to the people as a check on their power, as they are not democratically elected. It takes strong democratic civic institutions to fight against greedy corporate ownership of society. Would the Jedi’s direct, undemocratic lobbying or enforcement have been enough to change the minds of everyone and reinforce community bonds? I simply don't think it would, and the risks of them trying are unacceptably high. The Jedi are powerful Force users, and that’s always relevant to consider.

You have to be careful when what you Can do becomes what you Should do becomes what you Must do, despite any collateral damage, especially when the range of your potential is broad. The Jedi know intimately that the more powerful you are, the easier it is to feel entitled to interfere and impose your own judgement, which is dangerous, as it will always be based on partial information and informed by unconscious bias. If you do not stay impartial or only help in limited ways, you can begin to lose your sense of perspective. It is also a self-reinforcing behavior, and the consequences rise for getting pulled into a control loop that dives into the dark side out of greed can lead to considerable fallout for you and society.

You can easily begin with good intentions but be corrupted over time by even the smallest original selfish impulses snowballing on each other when the consequences don't stop you but instead encourage you to further exert control. There’s a children's story about not giving a mouse even one cookie, because it will always take more afterward. The wisdom of the Jedi is in their restraint. It may seem frustrating that they don't interfere whenever and wherever they see fit, accepting that they cannot stop some particular injustices, because their intentions are to prevent a worse evil from happening later.

It's hard to appreciate counterfactuals, like yeah the galaxy fell after a thousand years, but we have no way of knowing what suffering would exist in those same thousand years if the Jedi had not surrendered large parts of their political discretion to the Republic. When they did, there followed a golden age of peace that it flourished for a long time before undergoing a crisis where a Force user took over again, before returning to civic governance with a New Republic. If we look to the OT and beyond, that's what the division of Luke and Leia represent, in a way. Leia has a different perspective and priorities and channels of power. Luke should be a warrior monk who occasionally touches the divine in his quest for peace, not involved in politics.

If we’re looking at it through the lens of the author, I think you have to resist the urge to try to make the Jedi into some real-world equivalent religious paramilitary force, or leftist group despite caring a great deal for those values. You have to remember that it's space opera, it's myth. They're theatrical characters demonstrating the ideal of public service without recompense, an impossibly good group of people with legitimate and earned moral authority, who act in the best interest of peace and collaboration, as inspiration to children to model in their interior lives and moral understanding of the world. They're conceptual of pro-social hopeful generous spirit in our hearts, glorious moral knights with glowing swords, not politicians at desks yk.

They're an icon of something that every person can choose to do in their own lives, not just something we can demand from public servants. I know this may be a bit unsatisfying intellectually, but you have to keep the genre of Star Wars in mind, the space opera has mythic logic and operates in the realm of symbolism. When Lucas uses scientific sounding and political sounding language, he's still trying to communicate with the 10-year-olds who don't care about the complexities and nuances of the real world. It's about narrative shorthand and moral signaling that symbiosis, mutual thriving through selflessness, is better than greed, selfishness, and cruelty. That's the genre, you know? Making the Jedi into politicians wouldn't serve the narrative purposes of Lucas's epic story.

[darth-kote]

Rex headcanons Pt. 1

Revels in even the smallest shred of attention from those he loves, which typically doesn't exceed more than the Jedi and his brothers. I can imagine Rex, running on absolute fumes and aching to go horizontal after the latest campaign, giving in when Fives or Jesse (or anyone else) smile at him with hope reflecting in their eyes – hope of spending time together, sharing laughs and drunken confessions. It wasn't often he was granted the opportunity to stop being Captain Rex (Ori'vod, the Battalion called him) and let his guards down. Though not blessed with ease in conversation and a relaxed disposition that some of his brothers developed after leaving Kamino, Rex craves connection more than anything. He wishes to understand the secret aspirations of his brothers just as much as he wishes to know their deepest fears so that he may do his best to ensure they never happen.

In the same vein, Rex prides himself in his implementation of risk prevention strategies. But he blames himself when things go haywire. Like his Jedi general, releasing control and accepting loss are difficult for Rex. If he could take blaster bolts to bring back every fallen brother, he'd do it without thinking – and he'd wear each scar with pride. This doesn't stem from a place of pride or wanting to be a hero. It goes back, instead, to the isolation he remembers before finding those he belonged with, those who looked like him, spoke like him and understood the loneliness he'd felt and could not go back to. Instead, it was the dread that filled him each time he thought about the dreams of a brother burning out like yet another star from a dying system that kept his feet trudging through each battlefield. There was a hope that, after the war, the clones would be granted more humanity.

When graced with time, Rex will say a silent prayer for the brothers who perished so that he could continue their mission. At first, he keeps his helmet on to hide the streaks of dampness that leave trails through the dirt and grime on his cheeks. As the months and years go by, however, he removes his helmet so that his brother's identity is not the only one left unknown by the harsh world he died in. (The tears eventually hesitate to fall too, and he hates it.) The prayers usually are an angry jumble of chaotic thoughts accompanied by the hope that his brothers' souls will find peace now that they were not being forced to fight a war that wasn't theirs. Ahsoka realizes this and encourages Rex to meditate and let his anger go to the Force.

Since Saleucami, Rex has been preoccupied with thoughts of building his own home and family. He wonders if there could be someone out there waiting for him, someone he'd have the pleasure to know and protect of his own volition. He finds himself daydreaming about four walls that he can call his, that he can fill with the things he chooses – to eat warm meals in, rather than a bland ration bar. Ideally, it'd be enough land to have space for any brothers who wish to visit or stay.

When asleep somewhere he knows is safe, he finds himself dreaming of someone beside him. The apparition has no specific traits or physicality; it's just the idea of having someone close, someone near, that gets him to relax and begin drifting into a dream. He likes to run through the mental catalogue of planets he's seen, the foliage, the weather, and the people. Though when awake, he does his best to push the fictional future he dreamed of deep down into the pit of his stomach; the possibility of not having that someday causes fear to fill his heart. And fear, he's heard, ultimately leads to suffering.

[deejadabbles]

Desperate Distractions (Rex x Reader)

Summary: Two times you and Rex distracted each other from work with something spicier.

Rex x afab Jedi Reader, established relationship.

A.N: It's been a long while since I wrote spicy lemon content, and who better to ease back into that with than our favorite captain? Hope you guys like this sexy little treat.

Warning: this is an 18+ fic minors DNI!!, oral (m receiving), praising, unprotected PiV (plz wrap it up irl), "sir" kink, inappropriate use of meditation mats.

Rex, the skilled captain of the 501st, always so composed, commanding, even. Always quick to snap an order, or put his men in line, nothing could shake him.

So, could anyone really blame you for taking any chance possible to turn him into a hot sweating mess?

He was whispering curses under his breath, and the way he was holding that data pad in a death grip said that all he wanted was to bury those fingers in your hair. That was the best part, he couldn't, he had work to do after all.

You took him slowly to the back of your throat, as far as you could handle given his considerable length. And right when you had him as deep as possible, you let out an intoxicated moan at the back of your throat.

Rex actually dropped the data pad with a clatter as he let out something that could only be described as a cross between a moan and scream.

"Kriffing hell, cyare!" he grunted, his hips rolling just the smallest bit, desperate to feel that vibration again, "You're going to be the death of me," he was panting hard, eyes fluttering closed and trying to grip the edge of his desk for some kind of support.

You pulled your mouth off of his length, letting out another moan as you went. "And here I thought clones could work well under any pressure."

"You know damn well they didn't train us for- AH!" his words were cut off the moment you lowered your head and took one of his balls into your mouth.

Rex didn't resist the urge to reach down and grip your hair this time, and your name fell from his lips along with another string of profanities.

"Hm, I think I like you like this, Captain," you hummed, before licking a slow wet trail from base to tip. "Like the sounds you make," you took nothing but the very tip of his cock passed your lips and suckled gently, loving the moan he let out in answer.

"Please, mesh'la," he whispered, and you knew he was on the brink.

As much as you loved teasing him, you could never resist him saying the magic word. For all your bravado, you were always so weak for him. "My captain knows how to ask so pretty," you hummed, "I think he deserves his reward."

And with that you took him deep again, cupping your tongue to cradle his shaft as you bobbed up and down, until you pulled him as far back as you could and let out that vibrating moan again.

It was all you could do not to choke when he released hot and wet down your throat, but you managed to gulp him down with practiced skill.

The hands that had been buried in your hair moved to your throat, tired, distracted little rubs tried to easy your hard swallows, a sweet act really.

Rex looked so flushed, so worn and disheveled, so perfect as you got to your feet. Now his hands were running through his hair as he tried to get his labored breathing back under control.

All you did was hum in satisfaction, pleased at the sight as you reached over his desk and picked up his data pad. That's when you let out a teasing tisk tisk.

"You didn't finish your report, Captain. I guess this means that I win," you smirked, referring to the little bet you had made when he told you he needed to get his work done before fun.

When you thought that he was still too flushed to act, you were wrong. His chair clattered to the ground as he jumped up, knocked the data pad aside, and began tearing your robe open.

"Right now, you're the only thing I need to finish," he growled, before burying his face into your now exposed neck.

You had thought that the glorious things that followed were his pay back. That taking you on his desk until you begged for him was his revenge.

No, his pay back was much bitchier, as he proved two days later.

You had been meditating, practicing your skills in the force by hovering a variety of small objects around you, when Rex came by to drop off some reports.

The moment he saw you concentrating, you were done for. He had knelt behind you and started rubbing your shoulders as he whispered in your ear, asking if you wanted a real test of concentration.

That's how you ended up like this, on all fours with his cock buried deep inside you. All while you tried desperately to keep those objects off the ground.

Rex hummed behind you as he placed little kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders, holding his hips back for a moment, giving you a reprieve from his relentless thrusting.

"Hm, you know what," he whispered against your skin, "I don't think a Jedi needs hands to command the force," and with that his fingers were around your wrists, dragging them back and pulling you down so your face was pressed against your meditation mat.

He clasped both wrists behind your back with one of his large, skilled hands, leaving you to look over your shoulder at him helplessly.

"Now," he purred, taking his other hand to gently stroke your cheek, "where was I?"

The sudden thrust of his hips were hard, causing you to let out a needy cry as he resumed his relentless pace. You felt your concentration wane at the sudden burst of sensations, but you couldn't much care.

The hard plastoid of the armor he left on bit into your skin with every thrust, but you relished the feel, hoped it would leave an imprint. You loved it when your captain left his marks on your skin.

He put his free hand to good use, trailing it down your body, gripping and rubbing and stroking every part of your body that he knew made you come undone. That he knew made you whimper and moan.

"And you say I make pretty noises," he chuckled, "tell your captain what you need, mesh'la, be nice, and I may even do as asked."

You let out a helpless noise before you could manage to answer, "Harder, 'want you slow and hard, please."

Rex smirked, "Please, what?"

"Please, sir!"

You barely had that title out before he gave you what you needed, pounding his cock into you hard, drawing out each thrust like something to be savored.

It wasn't long before, between that, his grip on your wrists, and his fingers finding your clit, you finished in a blinding burst of pleasure. He didn't stop there, not quite, as he chased is own end, changing his pace back to a speedy rhythm.

You were still high off the aftershock of your first orgasm, so it was little surprise that when he let out a moan and filled you to the brim, another was sent crashing through your body. It wasn't as intense as the first, but you basked the sensation.

Rex was panting hard as he released your wrists and gently pulled out of your sore body. You hummed when you felt his release drip down your thighs.

He started leaving little kisses across your shoulder as he turned you onto your back, making his way up your neck until he reached you ear to whisper in it.

"Looks like I win this time, sweetheart," he chuckled as he nibbled your ear.

"What?" you hummed, still half dazed.

A nod of his chin towards the objects you had been holding aloft with the force, "You dropped everything a long time ago."

You just laughed dreamily, "Oh, who cares," and drew him in for a long kiss.

Tag List: @blueink-bluesoul

[x-reader-things]

Hi!!! I was the one who requested the jealous Ezra x reader fic!

My request was Ezra being jealous around the best friend that is a boy (IDK if that was the original prompt but here it is!)

Thank you so much!

Thank YOU so much - especially for requesting again, I am so sorry that it got deleted-

I think it had something to do with being jealous and protective but I’ll just merge the two.

I hope you enjoy!

“Best friend or not.”

Ezra Bridger x Fem!Reader [romantic]

Summary ; In which Ezra is denying his jealousy, and gets protective of you after a mission.

Requested? ; Yes

Warnings ; A bit of canonical type violence, reader’s best friend is a bit of an asshole, and mentions and of assimilation and depictions of losing important items of cultures.

Word Count ; 3.8 k

——————————————————————

Ezra Bridger is never really one to be jealous.

Sure, he had bouts of it when he first met Sabine. Mainly vying for her attention instead of it being on others out of pure admiration, mistaking it for a crush. And sure, you were jealous of it back then too. But that was before you realized that Sabine was cool, and before he realized that all he wanted was a friend.

Never really had that before he met you and her.

And that, was almost a few years ago.

No, Ezra Bridger was never one to be jealous.

Not in the slightest.

Not at all.

No, he wasn’t drawn to it like a moth is to a flame. He didn’t feel a slow burning pit in the depths of his gut, the simmer of fire licking up the back of his neck. He didn’t feel annoyance ticking in the back of his head with a timer constantly going off and resetting when the feeling settles down. He didn’t roll his eyes every time Linel Rhayme, a pantoran rebel fighter known as the new Pheonix-3, and you were in the same room together. No.

He wasn’t jealous.

I mean, how could he be? You can have other friends. You HAVE had other friends. HE’S had other friends. He can’t be jealous, it’s not possible.

It’s a horrible emotion that Jedi shouldn’t have.

He wasn’t jealous.

——————————————————————

“Ezra! Focus.”, his master sternly said in a low voice, a hand clamping down onto his shoulder with a pressure he knows only as Kanan. Kanan leaned down a bit to make sure Ezra was listening. “Specter-7 will be fine. Now pay attention to this meeting, we have another mission we have to focus on.”

Ezra’s eyes darted away from you loading up Phantom II with supply crates in the distance. Your laugh rang out and echoed softly against the stone walls of the rebel base on Yavin IV, blending into the ambient bustle of noise around the area like a raindrop to a puddle.

Serene and unbothered, unlike the surface tension of the water.

Your pantoran friend laughed along with you, a voice that Ezra immediately tuned out with a quiet huff of breath. His… dislike (not jealousy!) of said rebel allowed him to be drawn back into the meeting at hand, focus no longer split up between two parts of the base.

Linel was assigned another mission along with you and you alone. Something that had to deal with intel and grabbing specific packages of important items that belonged to a few of the cultures being forcefully assimilated into imperial culture.

You, before having joined the Ghost crew at your young age, had been training on your planet to be a cultural anthropologist. You knew a lot of bits and pieces and important information about thousands of different groups along the outer rim, and being in the rebellion helped you hone that ability for even the smallest and most important tasks a rebel could have.

Bringing hope to people that they would stay, and not be completely wiped away from existence due to the Empire.

“Items hold a lot of importance, Ez.” You once told him. “It’s physical evidence of people, and creatures, and even planets alike that they exist. The empire wants to take that away from us too. I think everyone here knows that, to some degree.”

You were definitely an integral part of that mission. And Ezra couldn’t knock that. You would be able to differentiate what came from where, and help other rebels send it back to the places that those items came from.

His problem lies with Linel.

Kind of.

And the fact that you had to get close to Dathomir, where those witch-spirit-things were. And remnants of Night Sisters and who knows what else around the place.

He wished you didn’t need to go.

He wished that his mission with the rest of the ghost crew wasn’t on the opposite end of the Outer Rim.

He wished someone else was going with you, not Linel—

No, no, no.

Stop.

That’s jealousy talking, you aren’t like that Ezra.

He sighed through his nose, thoughts clearing up the more he paid attention to Hera’s instructions on their mission. Infiltrating another important supply run of ammunition that the Empire was sending off to one of the other planets they took.

It was just as important as your mission.

He needed to focus on that.

——————————————————————

The ride back to their temporary home on Yavin IV couldn’t go any slower than it did. The amount of alternate hyperspace routes the Ghost Crew had to take due to an increase of imperial vigilance was both annoying and astounding all on its own.

They - especially Ezra - could only hope that you were alright. You were a great flier, a great fighter even, trained underneath both Hera and Sabine themselves. They all know you can handle the heat when things get tough.

Their questions lie within the realms of of Linel could take it.

Hopefully he should, being a Pheonix-3 fighter who has flown under Hera’s command herself before. She has no doubt that he can handle a flying situation when he’s at the helm.

Of a one-manned ship, that is.

The crew could only hope that nothing went wrong, and things went as smoothly as they usually would go. (Not that smoothly, knowing their luck, but at least smooth enough to make sure you weren’t physically hurt.)

The moment the Ghost docked down on Yavin IV, Ezra quickly got off the ramp once it touched the ground. He jogged over to Aleksandr Kallus once he saw him, and slowed to a stop once he was close enough.

“Hey, Kallus—“, Ezra greeted, a little bit breathless on his rush to get over to him. “—any sign of Spectre-7 and Pheonix-3 yet?”

“Not yet, Bridger,” Kallus told him, earning a frown from Ezra. And a furrowed brow. Odd. But not out of character. “Don’t worry, Spectre-6, they just hit a small snag coming home.”

“Needed to take another hyperspace route, I’m guessing?”

“Not… exactly.”, Kallus sighed, partly out of annoyance. He had a task he had to get to; Ezra was taking up some of his time doing it. “Look, we’ll know properly when they come back. Their comms were a little garbled but I’m sure it’s fine, now, if you excuse me.”

He stepped around Ezra, going off into some other part of the base of his task. Ezra groaned quietly, shaking his head while walking back to the Ghost.

“What’d Kallus say about her?”, Sabine asked him, pushing a crate of unopened ammunitions his way.

Ezra took the floating crate, and moved it to join the pile of other crates in front of them. “Said she hit a snag coming home. They aren’t exactly sure what’s going on, either. Comms weren’t all that clear, apparently.”

“That’s… concerning”, Sabine said. A worried furrow crinkled the skin in between her brows when she took off her mandolorian helmet. She set it against her side with her arm slung over it. “I mean, I’m sure she’s fine and all, but he said nothing else?”

“Not a thing.”, Ezra crossed his arms in front of him, his hands lightly digging into the orange material of his jacket. It wasn’t much of a worried furrow that made his brow angle downwards as much as annoyance. Disdain, almost.

Kallus was still a little iffy on the trusting end for the both of them.

Sabine hummed in thought, eyes boring into the stone ground below them. “I’m sure we’ll figure out more when they both come back. Spectre-7 is always careful, especially on a mission that plays to her strengths. She’ll be ok.”

The mandalorian gave Ezra a comforting pat on the shoulder, one he gratefully took with a small and thankful smile, and walked back onto the ghost. Sabine took another ammunitions crate from Zeb, and pushed it down the ramp towards Ezra. He took the crate from her, looking back and forth between the ghost and where the Phantom II should be showing up, and continued on with his task of putting them all in a pile to be moved.

It should at least give him some time to stay calm. Distracting himself from the horrible flame of an emotion that sparked every time he thought of your mission, and who you were with.

He’s not jealous.

He’s not jealous.

He’s not jealous.

Concerned for your well-being, maybe.

But not jealous.

——————————————————————

A roar of a smaller ship skidding harshly on the stone snapped the whole of the Ghost Crew out of their stupor. Their mundane task of unloading the ship ceased, a whole load of wide eyes - and lenses, in Chopper’s case - staring in a frightful concern at one of the most dangerous landings they’ve seen the Phantom II take yet.

Once the skidding stopped just before a whole weapons unit, the screams of other rebels scrambling away had trickled down into a lot of murmuring. Ezra took the first step and dashed down the ramp of the Ghost ship, followed by other concerned rebels who found their way over to the smoking engines of the Phantom II.

Ezra coughed, covering his nose with his elbow and opened the back door entrance with the force. He didn’t want to waste any time if you were injured.

You and Linel almost stumbled and fell out of the ship, coughs racking through your throats. Smoke billowed out of the back, and there was a chorus of shouts when you both got out of the ship.

“I told you to leave the flying to me—“, you said, wheezing out another cough. You shoved Linel’s side, and you heaved in air. Your hand snapped up to cover a gash - bruise? No, definitely a gash - on your right arm. Ezra was immediately at your other side, his right arm going under your left to help you up better.

Your tired eyes met his with a thankful nod, and he nodded back at you. The both of you turned towards Linel once he started speaking.

“I’m a better flyer than you! I fly more than you on the daily, Y/n!”, he snapped back, also wheezing out the smoke from his lungs. You scoffed at his words and stumbled a step closer towards your friend.

“Woah, careful—“, Ezra began. He promptly shut up the moment your accusatory finger from your injured arm pointed up at the pantoran.

“Shut up, Linel, I fly the Phantom II WAY more than you do. You had no idea what the hell you were doing when those damn imperials got there!”

Ezra blinked. He - wasn’t expecting the amount of disdain in your voice. The amount of venom spouting through your words and weaving through the air like an uncomfortable blanket.

“You wanted to take things slow, that’s not how I do things—”, Linel started.

“YOU COSTED US THOSE CRATES!”

“YOU WERE TOO SLOW—“

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT - THAT’S ENOUGH, YOU TWO”, shouted another voice. Ezra, Linel, and you all flinched. Hera’s voice rung out in stern chords, silencing the yells that began to echo across the base. “That’s enough. Ezra, I want you to take Spectre-7 to the medical bay while Pheonix-3 tells me his version of what happened. Chopper, I need you to run specs on Phantom II, tell me everything we need to replace or get fixed. Sabine, Zeb and Kanan will go get what’s needed. Spectre-7 I’ll get a recount of your version of events later. Everyone understand me?”

A chorus of ‘Yes sir’s’, and ‘you got it’s’ and warbles from Chopper sounded off. Chopper headed closer to the damaged ship, Sabine, Zeb and Kanan following afterwards. Hera took Linel off to the side and sat him down on an empty crate, prompting him to tell her what happened on the mission.

Meanwhile, after Ezra was certain he glared holes into the back of Linel’s head, he led you carefully to the medical bay of the base. Your arm needed tending to, and he wanted - no, needed - to make sure you were ok.

——————————————————————

“Alright, Spectre-7”, Hera began, walking into the room of the medical bay you resided in for the moment. “Spill. What happened during the mission?”

Ezra finished tugging the last of the bandage over the gash on your arm, and tucked the last sliver of gauze underneath the rest of it. You glanced over and let out a sigh, your eyes settling in on staring down at Hera’s shoes.

“The mission started off as planned.”, you started. Your good hand lightly picked at a rip against the seam of your pants, thick material rough against the tips of your fingers. They were comfier than they looked, that’s for sure.

“We got out of hyperspace near Dathomir, hid behind one of the asteroids nearby and cloaked our signature. The pirate ship - not from anyone we knew, that’s for sure - docked on the light cruiser and we flew close by and attached to the pirate ship as planned. Sabine’s implant on the ship from a couple weeks ago worked, we didn’t need to contact them inside. Bounty hunters were distracted, bucket heads distracted. Something about payments and other shit I wasn’t paying attention to.

“The crates were there, on the bounty hunter’s ship. And I wanted to take things slow. Take as much as we could for a run back, and then go back on it again for the rest. Linel stayed inside Phantom II to load in the crates as planned. On my second run things went to hell and back between the pirates and the imperials because of a mishap in their agreement and Linel almost took off without me!”

At this point your hands moved with your words. An angry astonishment still held into your words, a bitterness left by your best friend. One you wouldn’t think would betray you, but ended up doing any how.

The simmering spark of flame in Ezra’s gut flared again.

Now’s not the time for jealousy, he told himself.

“I had to leave half of the items there, and rush back on before the door closed. And because of how quick he left we got spotted by imperials, we fought over who’s going to fly and we fucked up the Phantom really badly. Got nicked by a bunch of TIE-fighters and we we finally got back here the atmosphere finally did those damages in. Most of what was in the crates still left in the Phantom II are as good as destroyed now, Hera!”

You finally looked up at Hera, and her eyes immediately softened. Not out if you being one of her soft spots of the rebellion. One of the kids she took under her wing. No, not just out of that. The pure look of anguish that you hid behind your irritation at Linel was there, clear as day.

You always loved caring and learning about other people.

Cultural items held a hand in that. Those were always important to you. Severely, almost.

“All those pieces - all those stories, maybe even people, gone. And it was his fault for being too impulsive and my fault for letting it get to me. It was like before I joined you guys, Hera - everything I fucking lost from my people I that promised to get back and didn’t. It’s all gone because we fucked up.”

Oh.

You took a quiet breath, you shoulder bumping into Ezra’s. With a couple of blinks, you looked back down at Hera’s shoes, and wiped at the corner of one of your eyes, successful at keeping the dam that was your waterline of a lower eyelid at bay. “So… that’s all there is to it, General Syndulla.”

Nevermind.

Hera sighed, and sat down on your left side, her hand gently settling down on your left shoulder. “Well, at least now I know that maybe some best friends shouldn’t be paired together.”, she lightly chuckled, and you let out a quiet scoff of a laugh.

That feeling isn’t jealousy.

Your pinky finger edged against Ezra’s on your right, and he tapped his against yours, both of you curling said finger around the other’s.

It’s anger.

“Linel’s going to be grounded here for a couple weeks”, Hera states, voice still as calming as ever. “I have to ground you here as well to save face, alright? I’ll have Chopper go over the mission logs and recordings made during it just in case, see which one of your stories are corroborated with it. Just in case.”

She said the last sentence in such a way that told you she was still on your side. And you couldn’t be more grateful to her.

“Now, about the gash?”, Hera asked.

“The landing”, both you and Ezra answered. The Twi’lek laughed softly at the two of you.

“I figured as much.”

——————————————————————

“Hey, Linel Rhayme, right?”

Linel looked up from the data pad he was looking at, locking eyes with Ezra. “Oh, Commander Bridger. What’s up?”, he asked, letting his hands hang against his sides, datapad clutched into one of them.

“Nothing much,” Ezra said with a shrug. He leaned against the stone wall of the base, uncaring about the rough ridges digging into his back. “You and Y/n. Spectre-7. Best friends, right?”

“Right. The one and only!”, Linel answered, a nervous lilt slowly cantering into his voice. “Kinda messed up on that last mission though. We made up for it, I think. She’s still a little icy about it, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“Right.” Ezra said with a slow nod. “Well, kinda understandable when her best friend almost left her to fend for herself against both bounty hunter’s AND imperials. But I mean, you said it for yourself. Nothing you aren’t used to, right?”

Bitter.

Bitter.

Bitter.

Linel shuffled his feet. He was a couple inches further away from Ezra than he last stood.

“Look, Commander, it’s not like I had a choice. They would’ve grabbed us if I hadn’t started leaving—“, the pantoran began, brows beginning to furrow against his blue skin.

“—But, the thing is, you DID have a choice.”, Ezra cut off, eyes narrowed, darkened under the shade of the stone above them. His voice was calm and collected as his arms crossed in front of him. “You almost got captured regardless, and you put my partner in harms way. I don’t really take kindly to others that end up hurting the people I care about, you know.”

Ezra pushed himself off the wall, and walked closer to Linel. “Next time instead of spearheading your way to an impulsive decision like that on a mission under her lead, why don’t you listen to her instead, huh?”

He gave Linel a couple pats on his shoulder, and began to walk away.

“It’s not like you’re any better, Bridger.”

Ezra stopped in his tracks, not looking back at Linel behind him. He had more to say, so Ezra decided to wait until he said what he needed to.

“I’ve heard stories about how Commander Bridger of the great ship The Ghost was impulsive, and consistently put his teams into greater danger because of his decisions. Especially at the beginning.”, Linel said, a hint of malice lacing in between those words. “Don’t be a hypocrite and reprimand me for something I did that you’ve done multiple times.”

Calm.

Ezra took a deep breath. “I may have been impulsive and done that a few times, especially during the beginning. I’m not knocking that in the slightest. But, they were never out of a selfish need to get away after I joined the Ghost. And I made sure I never left anyone behind if the situation allowed it.”

He turned back to Linel. “Can you say the same for yourself?”

Silence.

“Be glad that my partner forgave you. That’s a trust you never want to try and earn back if you break it.”

Ezra turned away once again, not getting a sound out of Linel, and walked on. “Thanks for calling me out on my hypocrisy though. I’ll be sure to work on it.”

The pantoran could only watch the Jedi walk away.

——————————————————————

Somewhere off in the distance was the rest of the ghost crew - minus you and Hera -!near Phantom II, checking it’s diagnostics and grabbing what was needed to replace it. Sabine caught a glimpse of Ezra talking to Linel, and excused herself from the rest of the group to grab some supplies they needed.

“You didn’t go too hard on the guy, did you?”, she asked Ezra when he walked by her. She had the hovering cart of supplies in her hands already, and pushed them with her while the two walked back to the broken down extension of the Ghost.

“I didn’t.”

Sabine raised a brow at her younger brother figure, a smirk rising onto her face at his shrug. She gave him a pointed look.

“I didn’t!”, he raised his hands (and his voice octave too), in mock surrender. “I swear.”

“Surreee you did.” The mandalorian rolled her eyes with a snort, looking ahead of them. “Sure.”

A long stretch of silence slid by them both as they walked, only broken by a quiet and reluctant scoff Ezra let out. “Like I’d ever let him get away with what he did with Y/n kriff free.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let him either. Best friend or not.”

Ezra nodded in agreement.

“Best friend or not.”

[jedi-order-apologist]

The Ends (Do Not) Justify the Means

A Jedi turns away from their teachings and loses themself to the Dark Side, one justification at a time. Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "to fall" and StarWars100 - Prompt: "Fall"

Read on AO3

You have good intentions.

There is so much suffering in the world, and your own efforts to stop it often aren’t enough. It’s too slow, and you’re tired of giving everything only to bring the smallest possible change for the better, if that. The older Jedi advise you, patience, but why should you keep listening when you see a quicker path?

Still, you hesitate, at first. Using the Force in unrestrained, cruel ways leaves you with both exhilaration and a bitter sense of guilt. But you get the results you want. It’s easier, after that, the guilt fading away. After all, you’re only employing such methods on those who deserve it.

It doesn’t last. You find yourself in more difficult situations, and even with your newfound power, failure comes again, as it did before.

You need more power to ensure it doesn’t happen again. You do your research, into darker explorations into the Force, things that your faith has not merely cautioned against, but forbidden. They are too afraid, you tell yourself, to embrace what that power has to offer.

(You are too afraid, terrified that everything you have worked for will come apart if you aren’t powerful enough. You have already started down this path, and if you turn back now, all will be lost.)

With this power, you will break free of everything that holds you back from shaping the world as it should be. (You bind yourself tighter to the darkness.)

Sometimes, innocents suffer for your goals. It’s unfortunate, but necessary to gain the power you need. (You’ve all but forgotten the reason for it.)

Your fellow Jedi, who you would’ve once called friends, find out. You flee, but they catch up. And you tell them the same thing you’ve been telling yourself.

You had good intentions.

[bird-in-the-space]

Imagine being the most famous detective on Coruscant

You are the greatest detective on Coruscant and this is your life.

Warnings: Fox being annoyed with you, him kinda describing you as a snobbish asshole, some mentions of violence, assassination attempts, suiciders, reader using blackmail, and Palpatine being a warning himself.

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- After a life-threatening incident, you dropped out of the Jedi Order and decided to use your intellect and skills to become one of the most famous detectives the galaxy had ever seen. 

- You were a private investigator since you had problems following regulations and rules the ordinary police force uses, but due to your success rate and ability to uncover truths and bring criminals to justice. The Republic decided to create a contract with you and have you work with the Coruscant Guard, which meant working closely with the clones, especially with the famous commander Fox. 

- They first had doubts about you, especially when you were a dropout from the Jedi Order and suddenly became a big-shot criminal investigator. However, after solving a case or two, you proved your efficiency and worth of the reputation. 

- They started calling you in whenever they needed help solving a difficult case. Your intelligence and deduction skills were unlike anyone had ever seen, and your focus on noticing the smallest details made you a valuable asset despite your personality. 

- Commander Fox disliked you when you first met. To him, you were arrogant, childish, and disrespectful when it came to rules and social hierarchy. You loved testing his patience when you first met him, so he forced himself to tolerate you when solving a case. However, his opinion of you changed when you selflessly saved his brothers from harm during violent cases and he saw you show unimaginable kindness to the people of Coruscant. 

- Despite your disregard for rules and democracy, you were kind toward the poor and unfortunate. 

- You helped out those who struggled to make a life for themselves. You would be there to talk down those who considered suicide or crime, aiding them on a better path. You would be there to help the sick with mundane things or even help a child retrieve her toy or pet from a high place. 

- You would aid them financially with the salary the Republic would pay for your service and check on them whenever you had the chance. This made you well-liked among the people and some provided you with important intel when solving a crime. 

- This allowed you to be seen in a positive light and sometimes you took in cases free of charge. You even solved unrest through patience and talking, which Fox thought wasn’t possible since you had a love for insulting and getting a reaction out of someone. 

- Some people would describe you as the Jedi that should have been as you were more successful at keeping peace than the actual Jedi. 

- This would allow Fox to see you in a different light, and accept your nature toward the social hierarchy. Your sense of justice and finding the real truth would make him respect you and he would give up his views on you, even if you still teased and tested his patience. 

- You had no problem with him and his brothers being clones, you treated them like any other people on Coruscant. You were good friends with most of them like Thorn, Thire, and Stone. You also never hesitated to defend them from harm, letting Fox relax on your supposed arrogance even if you still boasted about your incredible intelligence.

- An unusual friendship would be born between you as you started working together more. Fox would watch out for your safety while solving violent cases and start counting more on your deduction as you uncover the truth. He would never admit it, but he would learn to be more patient and aware of suspicious details while working with you.

- You were one of the most talented detectives, but working with you would also prove to be one of his biggest headaches. You liked taking risks when exposing criminals and were incredibly reckless with your well-being. And unfortunately, you were good at causing havoc as bringing criminals to justice. 

- If you were bored, you would commit pranks that could be the biggest inconvenience or cause chaos. You would even use your force abilities to entertain his brothers or mess with the other citizens if they crossed you. Your sense of humor was also morbid as hell. 

- You were one of the reasons he got grey hairs. 

- However, despite your impulses for chaos, you were a trusted ally of CG. You never intentionally brought them to harm and sometimes you would assist shinies learning a trick or two when living on Coruscant. 

- You grew to trust each other and Fox never hesitated to come to your aid whenever your life was in danger. This caused some of his brothers to tease him for it. You returned that trust, backing him up whenever he needed it and not always testing his sanity. 

- You two worked well together, even though he wished you would stop endangering your life. 

- You lived in one of the upper levels of the city. You liked living in a cheap place and having easy access to the other levels. Outside your apartment was a tree you and your neighbors liked to spend time under. You sometimes meditate under it to connect clues and gain insights within your mind. It was a mental space that allowed you to focus.

- You never abused your force abilities but used them when necessary. You often relied on it to sense evil intentions before they were committed and used it to protect Fox and the others from harm. You might have left the Jedi Order, but it didn’t mean you would not use the abilities you were born with. 

- The Jedi Order would sometimes hire you to help with missions that required your skills and intelligence. You liked making your prices for them high and testing their patience which gives you an unfavored reputation among them. Regardless, you finish their missions effortlessly.

- These cases would allow you to have a lot of acquaintances in the Jedi Order and the GAR. You have no problem with them as you were the most effective detective. You would become familiar with most of the clones and Jedis who would sometimes personally seek you out to help with something. 

- Many people would come to you to help them in revealing the truth. You were excellent at discovering truths and lies, thus you would not hesitate to aid and defend them if they were being accused of something.  You would even put them in hiding if necessary. 

- You were not a big fan of the Senate but did not refuse service when some cases involved them or the senators needed your expertise. You became fond of senators like Amidala, Organa, and Chuchi, and would help them when they had interesting cases for you to solve. 

- This would cause less nice-willed senators to target you. You were not bothered even when they sent bounty hunters after you. It allowed you to gather dirt on them and expose them for corruption. This would be the most stressful time for Fox as he would be the one protecting you from these assassination attempts. You make it up to him by using the evidence you gathered to either blackmail or expose these senators. You enjoyed exposing them for their crimes, but sometimes you would use blackmail to make them act nice. You valued justice, but you were not fully above it. 

- Your reputation and skills would gain the attention of the supreme chancellor. You did not think of him much but knew he sometimes gave Fox and other CG a hard time. It was the only thing that made you not a fan of him. 

- However, throughout the war, you would start noticing strange patterns and details that pointed toward him. You would begin to suspect him and through the force, you would gain insights that involved him. 

- You first couldn't make anything out of them. However, you had a scent that something foul was happening behind the scenes.  

- You would be there to prove Ahsoka’s innocence when she was accused of murder and bombing and start investigating when the clone trooper Fives came to you and shared about the inhibitor chips. You will save Fives from his fate and begin investigating the inhibitor chips and Palpatine’s involvement with the Clone Wars. 

- Fox would be suspicious of this investigation when you asked him to join in, but when you get targetted by bounty hunters and bombers. He would become suspicious of Palpatine and aid you with the investigation. 

- It would then be a matter of time and fate as you unravel the mystery behind these chips. However, you were confident as you were the best detective after all

[leiakenobi]

do please gush about the similarities

(re: this ask)

Okay I should have known better than to think that I could answer this in the midst of all the concerts I went to this weekend BUT now I've recovered so let's talk about the Poe Dameron and Max Verstappen of it all.

I think at the most fundamental level the thing that really gets to me about both of them is that people mischaracterize them as cocky when the fact of the matter is that they're singularly talented and they know it, and that's something very different. It's one of the things that makes me very protective against fanon portrayals of Poe and pretty much as soon as I learned enough about Max to see that in him, I started feeling the same way about him. Those boys can simply do things in their cars/ships that should be impossible and for anyone else it probably would be impossible.

Which, also along those lines, there's some very fun parallels to my mind in just how much they each push their vehicles to the furthest limits possible. It's less explicit in the films—the one specific example that comes to mind is the lightspeed skipping scene at the beginning of The Rise of Skywalker, when Poe has to quite literally be calculating hyperspace jumps down to the smallest increment on the fly or else they will quite literally die. But there's also some very cool details in the Last Jedi novelization about his flying—we get a little bit of BB-8 POV about how Poe quite literally makes his fighter do things that it shouldn't be able to do, except that BB-8 is so confident in Poe's abilities that he thinks that the ship is literally faulty for how often Poe's maneuvers set off alarms. And that, to me, is some Max Verstappen level nonsense.

There's some littler things too, like the emphasis they both place on their position as just the more visible representations of a much larger team that they've put their everything into, and also some very fun parallels about their pedigree (Poe's parents were both exceptional pilots in the Rebellion so Poe basically grew up in his mom's fighter, which also not to get too into the weeds is a model that requires such exceptional reflexes and control that in my daydreams of Poe as an F1 driver I'm convinced that he'd absolutely excel with the same sort of extreme oversteer that Max can handle).

So yeah they're my good good pilot boys and I think often about Poe meeting Max and just seeing so much of himself in him and then I have to lie down about it.

[bigbadbatch]

In My Head - Chapter 5

I'm back! I have been holding off writing this because, well, you'll see. I wasn't in the headspace for it.

Warnings: Violence, Death, Mourning.

Word count: 2.3k (short bc sad)

Listening Reccs: My Tears Ricochet and The Prophecy by T. Swift.

------

My Tears Ricochet

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Months.

I’ve gone four months with no contact from Rex at all. Not a holo, not a call, not a secret message. The closest I’ve gotten is quiet assurances from Fives. These every-other-week ‘briefings’ were my tether to the two most important people in my life. At first it was all business, Skywalker standing behind him, observing. But after the second transmission he seemed to have lost interest. Fives and I can be ourselves again.

“We miss you, Keira. Both of us.” Fives mumbles as we wind down the latest brief.

“I miss you. Is Rex, is he okay?”

Fives gives a small shrug and that’s all I can get on the topic.

“Does he just not want to talk to me? I feel like surely he could have reached out somehow. Fives, you can tell me.”

Fives shakes his head and sighs. “Mesh’la. If only you knew.” 

He looks around and leans his head closer to the camera of the comm. “Things are going down. We’ve all been busy but something’s not right. Master Tiplar was killed by one of his own men, a clone. I’m on Kamino investigating now but… Keira I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You’re on Kamino?” I ask, interested.

I could go to Kamino. It could be a coincidence. I could see them- could see Rex. 

“Not for long. If what I’ve learned so far is true this is much bigger than I originally thought. Keira, I’ve been having nightmares. All us clones always have, but its different now. As a Jedi, maybe you understand." He says.

I nod, dismayed, not really paying attention. Looking back- I should have paid attention.

“Just be careful, Fives. Any idea when Skywalker will let you come home?” 

Fives shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

Before I can say anything he switches off the comm and the holo goes black. 

—

I spend the next two weeks anxious, which is only worsened when Fives misses our usual briefing call. The Jedi Temple had made an announcement about a possible assassin targeting the Chancellor, and that the perpetrator was on the run. That’s probably the reason for the disconnect. Everyone’s on alert. My holo beeps and I all but launch myself across the room.

Flicking it on I call out, “Finally, Fives, I was really worri…”

Fives isn’t on the holo.

It’s Rex.

My breath hitches in my throat at the site of him. He’s lost the smallest bit of weight. A new silvery scar rides up his neck. 

“Rex?” I ask incredulous. I’m expecting a heartfelt reunion, an explanation for not communicating this whole time, something, but all I get is a desperate-

“Where’s Fives?”

I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

Rex grits his teeth. “I know he’s on Coruscant. I know you’re the first person he would go to. Keira, this looks really bad for him but we can help, just let us help.”

This doesn’t make any sense. “Why would Fives be here? He isn’t with me, tell me what’s going on.” Then it all makes sense.

The announcement. The assassin.

Rex explains as best as he can as I grab my things.

“I’m going out to look for him." I say. "I’ll have my comm. If any of your men make a move at him I will defend him. He deserves a fair trial. Something about this isn’t right.” Rex nods and the screen darkens. 

---

The dark streets of Coruscant are packed with clones. Clones at the bars, clones on leave, clones on watch, on duty.

Clones looking for Fives.

I pull my hood low and let my heart lead me. The Force pulls on me with a steady tug, guiding my way. My intentions are good and my soul is desperate, and the Force rewards that. I make my way down the damp streets until my heart pulls me to an alley way, then a storage hangar.

“Fives?” I whisper. “It’s me. It’s Keira.”

A dark shape steps from behind a crate, hands raised in surrender.

“I knew you’d find me.”

I rush to hug him, all assumptions of his offenses forgotten.

“Fives, you’re okay.” I breathe. He hugs me tight to him, and I feel a wetness on my neck, where his face is buried. He’s crying. 

“You found me, you found me. We have to get out of here. We have to warn the General and Captain. You have no idea what I’ve uncovered.” Fives is… twitching. Eyes searching, heart racing.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Fives, I’m here. You’re safe.”

He grips my shoulders hard. “You have to listen to me Keira, you have to believe me. We… you. You’re in danger.” His breathing is ragged, and suddenly there are footsteps behind me, and Fives eyes widen and he pulls me behind a crate.

“Fives, we got the coordinates you left for us.” Anakin calls out, lightsaber blazing. Rex is close behind, pistols drawn.

“Thank you for trusting me. Have you come without troops? Can you lay down your weapons?” Fives calls.

They do.

“We’re alone.” Anakin yells into the void of the dark hangar. I give Fives' hand a squeeze.

“I’m going to meet them. Make sure they’re here to help. Do you trust me?” I say softly, but he claws at my hand.

“Stay!” He whispers, but I make my way out into the open and raise my hands.

“It’s me.”

Rex makes a move to run for me but Anakin throws an arm across his chest.

“Keira! What are you doing?” 

“Fives isn’t well.” I say quietly. “He needs a medic, not an arrest warrant.”

Rex nods. Anakin steps forward, Rex following and I walk to meet them in the open. “We are here to help you Fives. Come with us back to the Temple…”

Then there's a ringing in my ears and instantaneously theres a force field around us. Anakin punches the force field shouting “No! Fives!” But we are locked in. Fives steps out.

“I just need you to listen to me! I’m not crazy!” But he starts to ramble.

“Plot.”

“Deception.”

“Proof.”

Anakin shouts back, “Show me the evidence!”

And I am so lost, confused, even frightened at this point. I back into Rex on instinct, and he grabs my hand. I hear ships cascading outside.

“There’s a plot. Each clone has an organic chip in our genetic code. Someone can make us do whatever they want, even kill the Jedi. It’s all in here.” He hits his head furiously and I stifle a cry. “The chancellor wants to kill me. He knows what I know.”

Theres boots on the ground, the sound echoing around us. Fives backs up to us, to the force field. His eyes lock on mine.

“You have to believe me.” He whimpers and I nod.

“I believe you Fives, I do.” I press my hand against the force field.

It's too late. Coruscant guards, their red armor casting an ominous shade onto the walls in the dim light of the force field, weapons all aimed at Fives.

“Get on your knees! Stand down!” They all shout but Fives panics.

He’s a good soldier.

Always has been.

He reaches for a pistol. And before I can scream, before I can witness the death of my best friend, Rex grabs my shoulders and turns me to him, burying my head into his chest.

When the shots ring out, I still scream. 

—-

I light a candle at the makeshift altar in my quarters for Fives.

Fives didn’t get a funeral. Traitors don’t get funerals.

That’s what he’s known as now. Not a man who was ill. Not a man who needed help. A traitor to the republic he loved. It isn’t fair. I wipe tears from my eyes. I should have noticed it, seen it sooner. In our briefings, with every transmission he was more frazzled, more afraid. I could have stopped this in time if only I had paid attention. But I was too worried about seeing them, and hearing from Rex.

The Rex who hadn’t contacted me all these months- but still the Rex that held my weeping body as Fives took his last breath mere steps from me.

The Rex who’s knocked on my door every day for a week since we lost Fives.

I haven’t let him in. How could I? On Chandrilla everything was perfect, then it came crashing down in a way I can’t yet understand. 

Right on cue a quiet tapping emanates from my door. Normally I sit in silence until he leaves.

“Keira.” He calls. “Please.”

I stare into the flame of the candle. I see Fives’ smiling face. Fives and Rex fooling around in 79’s. Fives and I playing sabaac with Rex helping him cheat. They were brothers, and Rex was hurting just like me. I needed him, and he needed me. I stand and open the door. 

Rex’ face is startled. “You uh... actually opened the door.”

I say nothing and step to the side, inviting him in. He enters cautiously. His every move is calculated. This feels so wrong, us being like this. So distant. My heart wants to leap into his arms, brush away the tears I know are waiting to spill down his face.

My head wants to push him, hit him, scream at him. How could he leave me alone? For months? He’s broken Anakin’s rules before, why not now?

Numbness from indecision creeps in and I walk past him and sit on my bed. I can’t look at him.

He’s Rex, but his face?

That’s Fives face. And both hurt to look at right now.

The bed beside me dips as weight falls onto it, and his warm body brushes mine. We sit in silence, staring at the floor. I can’t help it, the tears begin to fall.

“Cyare.” He breathes and his hand reaches for mine. I pull it away and push myself further down the bed, away from him.

“Don’t.” Is all I can manage as the tears really begin to roll. He’s hurt, I can see it in his eyes.

“Please let me help. Please let me explain. Just let me in.”

I cross my arms, my head winning out and anger building. I jump up and pace the room. He stands too.

“Rex.” I half sob, half growl. He takes it as an invitation and steps close to embrace me, but I push him away. I don’t mean to, it just happens. He puts his hands up.

“It’s okay.” He whispers. “You can push me. Hit me. Hate me if you have to. Just let me help.”

My fists are clenching at my sides and I feel the anger building up inside me, swirling and twisting, aching in my bones. He’s stepping closer. I don’t want to hurt him, but the dark, the dark side of the Force boiling inside me, tensing my muscles and it screams for release.

“Get away from me.” I plead but it’s too late. Rex holds my hand and the seal breaks.

With a scream I aim all of myself at the towering bookcase behind me. The room shakes and Rex is knocked to the floor. With an implosion, the case shatters, the books disintegrate, and the small flecks of paper cascade around the room, fluttering down like snow. I sink to the floor sobbing.

My head in my hands, strong arms wrap around me and I’m pulled to Rex’ chest.

“I’m sorry.” I sob “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” I turn in his arms to bury my face in his chest, the two of us curled into a ball on my papered floor.

“None of this was your fault, mesh’la. None of this was anyone’s fault.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and sob into his collarbone. 

“It’s my fault you were sent away in the first place. I didn’t notice Fives needed help til it was too late.” Rex smooths my hair and makes soft, shushing noises. “They took you and you didn’t... you never talked to me Rex. You left me here alone and you didn’t even try to talk to me after everything, after that night.”

He sighs. “I wanted to. More than anything.”

I sit up and wipe my eyes. “Then why didn’t you?”

He smiles softly at me. “The General made some statements to me that night in Chandrilla. Some out of anger, but some true. I can’t keep you from reaching your potential as a Jedi. I can’t be a threat to your future as a Knight, as a Guardian. I would never want to hurt you Keira, in any way. I was scared. I still am.”

I cross my legs on the floor across from him. “You aren’t allowed to make decisions for me without my consent.”

He hangs his head.

“I’m a Jedi. I’ve fought alongside you and your men. I can make my own decisions in battle, and in life. Don’t you dare take that from me again.” He nods and our eyes meet for the first time.

We both take a breath. We both begin to cry.

“Did you notice, when he started getting bad?” I ask.

“He was having nightmares.” Rex says.

I fold my hands in my lap in silent prayer. “Do you think he was hurting?” I ask, voice wavering.

Rex moves to be closer to me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then wipes a tear from my cheek. “No, mesh’la. And I think he is finally at peace.”

My soul breaks at this and I am sobbing again. I can hear Rex crying too. I reach for him and his arms fold around me, pulling me close. We sit there. We cry. And when we have cried our fill for the moment, I lift my eyes to find him staring at me. We are so close to one another our chests rise and fall in rhythm. His lips part. “Mesh’la...” 

And I don’t respond. 

I kiss him.

[davnittbraes]

The Third Step - Chapter Twenty-One

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4500

Warnings etc.: a lil bit of fluffy domesticity because I just can’t help it with these three, smutty smut smut, like hella descriptive, I’m blushing as I post this, Mando’s Fingering Skills™️ once again, squirting, oral sex (f AND m receiving 😏😏😌😌)

Notes: if anyone irl asks me, I have no idea who wrote this, please don’t look at me.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Not even a full day in but you feel pretty confident that this is going to be the best vacation of your life. 

Even with the possibility of Imps searching this sector for you and the anxiety surrounding the mission to find the Jedi and other Mandalorians, it was so easy to slip into the simple activities of the day. 

Exploring the outskirts of the clearing with the kid, getting excited with him over the new bugs and pretty stones he found. Immersing yourself in the wild, untouched nature around you, breathing the fresh air deep and watching the play of the wind through the leaves, the arc of the slender tree branches in the forest.

Then settling into the quiet evening where you had started building out a set of Basic words to teach the kid on an old datapad while Mando did diagnostics on the ship and the kid followed him around like a tiny green shadow. 

Kriff. How far your life has come in a few short months. 

Wait, no -

Almost a year, now. 

You lean against the wall of the hold, idly rocking the hammock just the way the kid likes, watching him shift around to get comfortable, eyelids heavy. 

Almost a year, you’ve been with them.

Huh. 

Somehow, it feels like so much longer and so much less at the same time. 

The kid yawns, tiny teeth flashing in the dim light of the hold. He blinks once, twice, then finally succumbs to the pull of sleep, eyes closed and stuffed frog tucked under an arm. 

You count his breaths, the slight movement of his little chest as he drifts off. One minute passes, then the smallest of snores vibrates his little form.

Slowly, you stop rocking the hammock, watch him for signs of wakefulness. Nothing, just another soft snore.

Aaannddd gone. 

Stepping away from the bunk, you move about, quietly tidying up after the day. Boots on the ladder pull your attention, and you look up to watch Mando come into the hold, that warm, bright thing in your chest squeezing pleasantly at the sight of him. 

He moves toward the bunk, barely making a sound - pfassk, how does he do that - obviously knowing the lack of chatter means the kid is asleep, and pauses to watch the kid for a moment. Then carefully, he lifts a gloved hand to adjust the blanket under the kid’s chin, and keys the door closed. 

Dank farrik, they’re so ridiculously adorable. 

The helmet turns to look at you, a subtle flash of silver in the lights of the hold, and the warm, bright thing in your chest flutters, shifts, blooms into something with more heat. 

It’s an intuitive reaction, your body responding to the way he’s looking at you right now, broad shoulders set with determination, helmet tilting as his gaze takes you in. 

Assessing, contemplating. Planning. 

A tiny shiver runs down your spine. 

Is this what his quarries feel like, when they face him for the first time? As if he can see right through them, into everything they are, all their secrets and plans, with the absolute knowledge that he will make them obey?

Probably. 

But you doubt the next part is the same for them. 

He takes a step toward you, measured and precise, unhurried.

Your heartbeat skips, pulse quickening.

Another step, and another. Long legs eating up the distance between you. 

Flash of memory, the sensation of those strong thighs pressing yours open. 

A spark of arousal flares in your core. 

Your toes curl with the temptation to move toward him, but some curiosity holds you in place. 

What will he do when he reaches you?

A couple more steps, and you realize you’ve been idly counting them in your head, the barely heard sound of his boots hitting the durasteel floor. Maybe that’s what he’s doing, too, counting his steps - the intense focus in his frame could speak to that. 

Then he’s right there, in front of you, less than a pace away, silver and black and brown filling your vision as you drag your gaze up to the visor. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, silent. Waiting. 

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity edging the heat of your arousal between your thighs. That’s fine, you don’t mind breaking the silence. 

“Seven, I think.” Kriff, your voice is already breathy with need. No wonder he always knows exactly what you’re thinking, if you’re affected by him this obviously. 

He shifts infinitesimally toward you. “Seven?”

Your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, pressing into the softness of your thighs where they rest at your sides. “That’s how many steps it took for you to get over here. I thought that’s what you were counting.”

The helmet straightens, contemplative tilt gone, replaced with a calm assurance. “Close. I was counting to ten.”

Pfassk, even through the modulator, the low rasp of his voice curls at the base of your spine, fuels the want already pulsing through your veins. “Why ten?”

“Focusing exercise. Learned it as a child, in training.” His tone shifts, like someone repeating words they’ve heard countless times before. “‘When feeling the urge to do something rash, count to ten and then ask yourself if you still want to do it.’ Prevents you from acting impulsively.”

Your focus is suddenly caught by the way the light glances off his breastplate, makes him seem that much broader. You remember how that armour feels under your palms, how the edge bites just so into your fingers when you grip it tight for leverage as you rolls your hips into his -

Mentally shaking yourself back to the conversation, you meet his unseen gaze. “Interesting. What was it you had the urge to do?”

“This.”

A whirlwind of movement and strong hands are gripping the backs of your thighs and you’re rising -

You throw your arms around those ridiculously broad shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping tight around his hips, clinging to his frame as your balance shifts and your feet leave the floor. 

His low chuckle mingles with your squeak of surprise, muffled by the sudden pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

Then he’s setting you on top of a stacked crate, hands moving to hold your waist steady as you settle. 

You pull back a bit to throw him a half-hearted glare of indignation. “Focusing exercise doesn’t seem to have worked.”

His fingers flex on your waist, gripping just enough to remind you of how easily they lifted you moments ago. “It worked. But I still wanted to do this after the count.”

The hint of arousal in his voice swirls into the growing heat between your thighs, stoking. “And what do you want to do now?”

A pause, a breath, tension stretching between the two of you. 

His hands leave your waist, one dragging down your hip to inch toward your inner thigh, the other gliding up your side to cup your jaw, leather of his glove smooth and warm. “I want to watch you come for me.”

Crikking hells. 

Your core clenches, arousal flaring bright. “Shouldn’t you count to ten first?”

His huff of laughter is full of something like amusement tinged with lust. 

Then he’s moving - away? What - 

Oh -

Arms circle your waist to pull you further onto the crate, flush against his broad chest. The chill of his armour sends a shiver down your spine that settles between your thighs, urges them to part in a silent plea for friction where you need it most. 

His hum of approval reverberates through your entire body. “You ready, tionas?”

“For what?” You watch as he pulls his gloves off, lets them fall away. Kriff, he has beautiful hands. You want to touch them, clasp them in your own, thread your fingers through his, feel those warm palms on your skin, all over you, those fingers inside you, all the time -

“To start counting.”

What? Right, counting, ok -

Those long, graceful fingers slip under the waistband of your leggings.

You stop breathing as calloused fingers smooth over your skin, moving slowly toward your already aching cunt. 

The helmet dips down, his voice right next to your ear. “One.”

His fingers slip through your slick folds - pfassk, how are you already this wet - and up to circle your clit. 

Little sparks of pleasure zip through your veins at the contact and you want more, need - 

Your back arches into his touch and his free arm bands around your waist, keeps you in place while his fingers pick up a steady rhythm, perfect pressure squeezing the air from your lungs in a tight moan. 

Crikking hells how is he so good at this - 

“Two.” His voice rasps in your ear again.  

Realization dawns, cloudy with arousal. 

He’s counting up. To ten. 

He’s going to make you come by then. 

Warmth spirals out from your core, across your hips, down your legs. Your hands reach up, find him over your shoulders, fingers curling into his flightsuit as your pleasure builds rapidly. “Oh pfassk yes that feels so good -“

His free hand cups a breast through your shirt, squeezing soft flesh, palm grinding over the peaked nipple. “Three.”

Pleasure shoots down your spine, bows your back as his fingers on your clit pick up speed, press just a little more. 

Your body shudders at the sudden rush of heat, cunt clenching with it. The hand on your breast shifts, fingers pluck at your nipple, cloth of your shirt adding delicious friction. 

A soft susurration flows through the modulator. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Four.”

He’s right, your lungs are tight, pleasure pushing air from them, clutching your chest. 

You take a deep breath, hearing it shake on the inhale. 

His fingers on your clit suddenly shift, slip down, press against your fluttering entrance. 

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, a moan twisting the end and fizzling out into frantic words with the thrust of his long, thick fingers into your pussy. “Yes yes yes please -“

He presses the flesh of his palm over your clit, a low groan filtering through the modulator as your walls clench around his fingers in response. “Five.”

His hand shifts just so and his fingers curl up and oh kriff -

Pleasure bursts at the pressure of his fingers against some spot inside you, blooming colour at the edges of your vision, dimming the brief flash of pain as your head falls back, knocks against his breastplate. 

The sound he makes is almost a growl, buzzing straight through your core. “Six.”

His fingertips flutter, his palm grinds over your throbbing clit and your orgasm is suddenly right there, tightening across your hips and thighs, bubbling low in your stomach. 

It’s disorienting, the intensity of it, the white-hot pleasure radiating from where his fingertips pulse against the walls of your cunt. “How - you - I can’t -“

“You can, just let it happen.” His voice is a murmur, gentle but firm as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and finger. “Seven.”

You’re breathing fast, trying to keep up with the heat running through your body. There’s a pressure building, pushing against his fingertips inside you, growing with every press and every grind of your clit and -

“Eight.”

He’s gonna do it he’s really gonna -

Sounds reach your awareness through the haze, your tiny mewls of desperation, his quiet moan of encouragement, the wet squelch of his fingers in your soaked cunt. 

The pressure is too much, not enough -

“Nine.”

Your hand claws at his, pulls it from your breast to clutch it tight - you’re floating, drifting, sinking -

His fingertips flick up hard and you crack -

“Ten.”

A rush of heat and wet and -

You crying out against the waves of pleasure that rip through your body, back curving over his hand still between your thighs, his fingers still flexing and pulling more and more from you -

You can hear it through the rush of blood in your ears, the slick sound of his fingers moving, a rapid beat that matches your own heart.

Then there’s the drop and you’re trembling and you’re falling but his hand is tight in yours and he’s got you, pulling you back to his chest, slipping his fingers from your still-pulsing cunt to splay his hand over your stomach and keep you there with him. 

A moment of quiet, just your heartbeat and the hum of the ship’s engines, the panting of your breath.

The warm weight of his hand on your stomach. 

The swirl of cool air over the damp fabric of your leggings. 

Oh. 

You’re wet. 

You’re very wet. 

Shifting your hips, you can feel the soaked fabric of your underwear - and leggings - cling to your skin. 

Crikking hells. 

Arousal flares hot and bright again, your cunt clenching with the realization of just how hard he had made you come. How he had used that razor-sharp focus to make you feel good with no consideration for his own pleasure. 

Determination clears the hazy afterglow from your thoughts. 

You want to do the same for him. 

He drifts his hand down your stomach, ghosts over the wet fabric between your thighs as he speaks, voice low and soft. “Hope these aren’t ruined, they look good on you.”

The compliment almost distracts you, skittering through the growing need in your chest. It takes some effort to get your muscles working again but you swing your legs around, pivoting on the crate to face him. 

His hands fall to your hips as you look up, meet the black visor’s gaze, let that growing need speak. “I want to suck your cock. Can I? Please?”

He goes still, only movement the sharp flex of his fingers digging into your thighs. Little sparks of pleasure spiral into your core at the sensation, but you stay focused, keep your gaze steady, open. 

Let him see how much you want him. 

A slight tremor runs through his frame, breaking the stillness.

He lifts a hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip, voice ever-so-soft. “You really want that, mesh’la?”

You purposefully grip his wrist to hold his hand there, keeping your gaze on the black visor as you pull his thumb into your mouth, glide your tongue along its length. 

The sharp groan that filters through the modulator makes your pussy throb. 

Slowly, you pull back, let his thumb slip from between your lips with a final flick of your tongue. “Yes. I really want that.”

Your free hand slides down his front, cups the length of his cock through his flightsuit - pfassk, he’s already hard - and your mouth waters at the thought of him filling it. 

His fingers tighten on your jaw, bitten-off moan sifting through the modulator. “How… I can’t -“

“We can turn the lights off. Or leave them on, and I’ll cover my eyes with something.” You smile, squeeze his cock through the layers of fabric until he groans. “So you can watch.”

“Fuck.” His voice drops low, hips flex into your touch.

Sliding your hand firmly along his length, you nod, tilting your face further into his palm on your jaw. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

His breath hitches, fingers twitch on your skin. 

For a moment you think he’s debating with himself, some silent argument pulling his thoughts inward, and hesitation starts to creep over that desperate desire to give him this - maybe he doesn’t want it, he had mentioned that he’d thought about it before but thinking about it and doing it are very different things -

Then he’s stepping back, hands on your waist easing you off the crate. “Then yes, tionas.”

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest, flare of anticipation swirling into need, and you move quickly, shifting until you’re facing him then dropping to your knees. 

The sound he makes, a long, low groan, sends a rush of arousal to your core. You look up at the black visor, resting your hands gently on his thighs, questioning. 

He sighs, brushing the swell of your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m not going to last long if the sight of you on your knees in front of me almost makes me come.”

Your lips curve into a crooked smile, and you lean forward to press them over the fabric covering the hard length of his cock, holding his gaze. “Now you know what you do to me all the time.”

His cock twitches against your lips, his soft moan rumbling in his chest as the heat of your breath seeps into the layers of fabric and his fingers slide around the curve of your head to hold you there. 

The warm, bright thing in your chest squeezes so tight it hurts, seeing him like this, tall and broad above you, armour glowing in the light of the hold, faint tremor of restraint running through his frame as if he can barely control himself. 

Pfassk, he’s so beautiful. 

You want him so badly it hurts. 

A whimper pushes past your suddenly tight throat and you pull back just enough to speak. “Please, I need to taste you, gedet’ye.”

The tremor of restraint quivers through him, and he releases your head, tugs his cowl from his shoulders, movements sharp and deliberate as he tears a strip from its corner. 

He hands the loose cowl to you. “Kneel on this, cyar’ika.”

Always, always thinking of you. 

Tucking the bundled cloth beneath your knees, you shift until you’re comfortable, return your gaze to his. 

He holds the strip of fabric between his hands, and you smile in reassurance, closing your eyes as he pulls the fabric over them. It’s thick enough that you can’t see much, and when his fingers tie the ends in a knot behind your head the rest of your vision goes dark.

Your heart is racing, not with nervousness or anxiety - something to be said about that, considering the vulnerable position you’re in - but with anticipation. Excitement. 

Desire. 

His fingers run along the edge of the blindfold, gentle. “Ok?”

“Yes.” You don’t hesitate, leaning forward, silently begging. 

“I’ve… never done this before.”

You pause. Hesitation is thick in his voice, bordering on uncertainty. So unusual to hear, coming from him. 

But you get it. You had felt the same, with him barefaced between your legs and asking if he could taste you. 

Running your hands up his thighs to rest on his hips, you push as much confidence and reassurance into your voice as possible. “We can stop at any time, if you want. But as far as what needs to be done, just put your cock in my mouth and I’ll do the rest.”

A soft huff of laughter drifts down from above, and there’s a rustle of fabric that makes you bite your lip in expectation.

He speaks again, hesitance all but gone from his voice. “Mir’sheb.”

That makes you smile, tilt your face up toward the sound. “Then shut me up.”

His hand slides over your cheek, cups your jaw, thumb pressing into your bottom lip. “Open your mouth, cyar’ika.”

Oh pfassk -

The low rasp of his voice skitters over the coals of your arousal. 

You part your lips, let him guide your mouth open with his thumb, breath catching in your throat. 

Then there’s a press of warm, smooth skin over your bottom lip, a drop of bitter tang on your tongue, and crikking hells -

Your mouth closes over the head of his cock and a moan buzzes low in your chest as the thick weight of him rests on your tongue, the blunt tip presses against the roof of your mouth. 

His fingers slide around the back of your head, spasming. “Fuck, look at you, mesh’la, so good -“

He chokes off as you swirl your tongue over the head and shift forward, sink his cock deeper into your mouth. 

Pfassk, your senses are flooded with him, taste and scent filling your mouth, the trembling press of his hand on your head as he tries to hold back. 

But you don’t want that, you want him to lose himself in you. 

Pulling one hand from his hip, you curl your fingers around the base of his cock, stroking up as you pull back, letting the length of him drag along your tongue until only the tip rests between your closed lips. 

Something like a pained whine pushes through the modulator. Yes, that’s it, you want more of those sounds -

Flicking the flat of your tongue over the head of his cock, you bring your hand to your lips, let spit pool and leak under your curled fingers, then stroke down the length of his cock, firm, your lips still pressed to your hand in a wet seal that sucks another groan from him, a slew of Mandalorian words echoing off the walls of the hold. 

Yes more -

You start a rhythm, a steady glide, pull back and sink forward, fingers growing slick with spit, tongue laving over the head with each pass. His hips rock forward into the heat of your mouth every time you draw him in again, fingers on the back of your head flexing at each flick of your tongue. 

Instinct takes over and you fall into it, lose yourself in the beats of his moans and twitches of his cock in your mouth. You chase those sounds, seeking more, finding what pulls at his body to give him pleasure. 

Twist your bottom hand, thumb reaching down to brush over the soft sac there, that gives you a low moan. 

Stroke up the length to where your lips pull back to the tip, press your tongue flat against him, open-mouthed, that gives you a choked shudder. 

Down to dig your fingernails into the fabric over his abdomen, that gives you a restrained thrust that pushes him deep, grazing the back of your throat. 

That particular thrust pulls a moan from you, a rush of heat between your thighs, and you hum around his length, the sound mingling with the slick motion of your hand and mouth. 

He makes a strangled, desperate sound, free hand suddenly joining the other on the back of your head, and something primal thrills in your gut, shudders down your spine at the feeling of being held there, strong hands cupping your head with barely-held restraint as he loses himself in the hot, wet heat of your mouth.

His hips stutter forward, broken groan rumbling from the depths of his chest when you take the sharp movement in stride and let his cock slide in to the back of your tongue. “Gonna come -“

A desperate whine squeezes past the head of his cock - yes, you want it - and you pick up your pace, twisting your hand with each glide down his length. 

“Tionas -“

His breath is fast, uneven, urging you on. 

Yes yes yes give it to me -

He cries out, sharp, hips stuttering and fingertips digging into your scalp and his cock throbs on your tongue as his release floods your mouth.

You swallow it greedily, warm and slick down your throat, your fist and tongue working him through it, needing to take everything he gives you. 

Then his hands are easing you back, cupping your face, and there’s a soft clink of metal and he’s moving, shifting closer -

His lips capture yours, tongue lapping into your mouth and you’re searing hot, his moan rippling straight to your cunt as he tastes himself on you. 

Words mumble against your mouth. “So good, so good to me.”

And then he’s gone again and you’re suddenly cold, reaching for him, needing him close.

But he’s right there, hands pressing you down until your back is to the floor, your head cushioned on his cowl, and need pulses through your pussy as his fingers tug down the waistband of your leggings and underwear. 

His voice is raw with desperation. “Need you, mesh’la, need to taste you, feel you come on my tongue.”

Your hips arch to let him pull your leggings and underwear down your legs, shivering as skin still damp from your release is bared to the chill air of the hold. He doesn’t stop the take off your boots, just pulls your legs up over his shoulders, wedges himself between your thighs. 

His warm breath curls over your wet folds and you’re going to kriffing explode if he doesn’t -

He sucks your clit into the hot wet of his mouth and your entire body shudders at the wave of pleasure that tears through you. 

Your hand dives into his hair, fingers bury into those curls. “Oh pfassk yes -“

His tongue slips down between your folds and he growls as he laps the slick from your entrance, pushing inside before flicking up to your clit, pulling it back into his mouth and your thighs squeeze against the pleasure that coils deep in your core with each swirl of his tongue, each pull of his lips -

Your orgasm suddenly looms big and bright, pushing into the forefront with an intensity that shoves a moan from your chest. 

He groans long and low against the flutter of your cunt and sucks at your clit and -

You’re rooted to his tongue, warm silky wet heat that yanks you through hot bright pleasure and then release and you’re shivering, aftershocks rippling along your skin. 

His mouth softens and lips press delicately to your throbbing clit, guiding you back into yourself until you’re aching to feel him, the weight of him. 

You pull lightly at his hair and he shifts, lets you tug him up and over your body until his lips meet yours. 

It’s a sweet press of a kiss, until you flick your tongue out, some kind of curiosity rising through the fading haze of pleasure. 

Crikking hells you taste -

He groans into your mouth, his tongue gliding over yours, sharing the taste of you, and your heartbeat skitters in your chest as it blends with the lingering taste of his own release. 

Gently, you lap your combined pleasure from each other’s mouths, an intimate quiet lulling you into a sense of contentment. 

Pressing a kiss to his chin, still damp with your slick, you curl an arm around his shoulder, sift your fingers through his hair as your words murmur over his skin. “We taste good.”

He hums in agreement, slipping his tongue into your mouth once more before pulling back to nip at your bottom lip. “That we do, tionas.”

Your back twinges, shoulderblade pressing sharply into the durasteel floor, and you sigh in resignation. “And once again, we ended up on the floor.”

His chuckle dances over your cheek. “That we did, tionas.”

The warm bright thing in your chest pulses, flares, fills every vein at the sound of his laughter. 

You’ll take the backache later. Right now, you’re not going anywhere. 

*****

Mando’a translations

Tionas - question

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Mesh’la - beautiful

Gedet’ye - please

Mir’sheb - smartass

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

I see you got a lot of asks from this list so if there’s anything that you weren’t asked and wished you had been, go ahead and answer it now 🥰

Haha thank you for stopping by! (From this OC explorations ask game)

🤓 What is one thing that they "nerd out" over?

Lexi - either how freaking much she loves her color-coded planners and stuff like that (because omg this journal is a lifesaver and have you seen her door???) but also her friends! How they're so freaking awesome!!

Maddie - well there's obviously Star Trek and general sci-fi knowledge, but also Legos

Ash - she likes messing with robotics so definitely that, especially when she enters robotics club. However, as the series progresses she's more likely to talk about her powers

Gwen - books books books!! Music! Culture! Anything she can learn about people!

Noelle - cooking is her only hobby and passion because isn't it insane how the smallest change can affect the whole recipe??

Rose - art, but especially fashion design

Kelsey - amigurumi, general crochet

Robbie - anything. Give him a cool TV show, building set, video game, etc and he'll dive headfirst into a new hyperfixation

Akash - he likes music; not exactly on a deep sense but general Vibes, and why these arbitrary categories of songs he's made Make Sense. Also, he likes watching sports, so could ramble about tennis or baseball or soccer or something

Jedi - oh my God the science of the Alii powers for sure! The database! How things are classified and determined by DNA samples!! Ahhhh

Carmen - she hides it under being mad all the time, but she genuinely enjoys her work. She specializes in theoretical powers, but instead of theorizing what could be out there and looking for ways to prove how it's possible, she prefers looking at what's already there and figuring out potential new subpowers (and potential full powers to develop) based on that

Carla - psychology! Oh my God she could go on for ages

George - technology and computers for sure

Hye-Jin - she likes medicine and biology and also puzzles

All of my characters could potentially ramble about anything but I'll stop here :)

Thank you so much for the ask!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy

[abysskeeper]

Trick, mistake, secret and skin

This 100% did not start with me thinking Trick was one of the words

Yeah ok, my secret is that I'm always on my bullshit about Trick too. Another readmore because I uh...always always ramble hard about my girl.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

So, the key to writing Trick in any way, shape, or form is that she is, 99.9% of the time, never comfortable in her own skin and always contending with some type of monster writhing beneath her skin. Is she confident and capable in her abilities? Yes. Willing to lead and make the tough decisions? Yes. Self-assured and secure in who she is? No, never.

Is it a contradiction in a lot of ways? Yes, but the girl's a mess of martyr complexes and insecurities. She almost always, honestly believes she is the most horrible version of herself (a coward and a monster), and though she would only call herself as such in a conversation where it's directly referenced, she never denies the accusation and does all she can with her actions to try and make up for her perceived shortcomings. In reality, the worst version of herself is the girl who gave up for a time (there's usually some point in her history where she went selectively mute and actively tried to kill herself), and in that regard, Trick often pretends that girl actually succeeded. She rarely acknowledges that time existed, ashamed as she is by it, and on the rare chance it does come up...well, the ensuing conversation isn't pretty.

As for the monsters beneath her skin, it varies by verse, but she's usually contending with some type of darkness or beast that's a thinly veiled allegory for her rage, desperation, and trauma (because I'm like that). A few examples, in no particular order:

Pack-verse: In Trick's original universe (a dystopian urban fantasy/sci-fi mashup), she's a wolf shapeshifter who was experimented on as a kid, which ultimately resulted in the line between human and beast blurring within her. Meaning, she has a tendency to go partial-to-full werewolf when deeply upset, among other differences (improved senses, heightened instincts and reflexes, etc). She's terrified of her capabilities and tries to repress herself as much as possible, which only backfires. The whole character arc there is about her coming to terms with who she is and what happened to her, and accepting that that side of her (the rage, the desperation, the trauma) is not actually a bad thing (and is actually more heightened because of her human choices, not the animalistic ones).

SWTOR: I took the Jedi Consular story and ran with it. The effects of the Force plague linger after chapter 1, even after Morrhage is defeated. I figured that lending out your soul to protect fellow Jedi against a Dark plague probably means you don't get everything back properly, even if you did everything right. She doesn't suffer from corruption so much (I actually believe she's not corruptible because she learned the shielding technique), but she's almost constantly, subconsciously using the shielding technique on herself to battle off the bit of Darkness she inherited from those she shielded. Other parts of her are missing altogether. It causes her a lot of chronic pain, but over time she learns to deal with it...until chapter 3 when she secretly starts shielding the Children and accidentally inherits some of the Emperor's power. KOTFE and KOTET are the worst time of her life, and she never knew so much relief as when the Emperor finally died in EOO.

BG3: My new project and current brainrot. Trick's issues are a little different here, as she's dealing with divinity instead of darkness (her backstory fic I'm working on is literally subtitled "You've Been Touched by Something Holy"). Instead of dealing with darkness, she's dealing with the fact she's literally been touched by the God of Death and bares the scars (both physical and emotional. I'm using this as an excuse to finally make this a valid design and not just metaphorical) that set her apart from her peers. It's still very much a metaphor for her rage and grief, but has a new and exciting flavor that I'm still working out all the kinks of.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Again, depends on verse, but Trick always has at least one, world shattering secret she's keeping to herself. Generally, no matter in what iteration, there are deaths in her past she doesn't want anyone knowing about. The numbers and her exact involvement often vary, but she always feels a sense of guilt for people she either directly or indirectly killed through her actions and/or inactions. Otherwise:

Pack-verse: Her primary secret she wishes no one knew is, exactly, the number of people she's been responsible for killing as an agent of the government. However, that isn't a secret she can hide, as most people know and/or remember her committing those crimes. Instead, the secret she's trying most to hide is the aforementioned experimentation and ensuing consequences. She doesn't want anyone to know just how monstrous she really is, and how utterly disgusted she constantly feels about herself.

SWTOR: She tries to take the fact she was born an Imperial slave to the grave, but it does come out eventually to the Republic or Alliance. Instead, the one thing she will take to the grave is what happened to her as a result of the shielding technique. She'll never speak a word about the non-corruption corruption (thus, she'll never ask for help) because she fears how people will view her or treat her if they ever knew. The only exception is Cipher Nine, sometimes, but that man can and will both take a secret to the grave and never once consider betraying her trust.

BG3: The fact she died and was resurrected by a God. It's kind of hard to avoid in full, given the golden scarring is a dead giveaway of something divine happening to her, but she doesn't easily share the full story. And having died and being resurrected stands in direct contrast to being a cleric (and unrealized Chosen) of Kelemvor, nevermind the fact it was Kelemvor who asked her to live and resurrected her in the first place. It's complicated.

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

Trusting Torren, in every verse. The worst mistake she ever made is trusting her...ex? Abuser? Mirror image and narrative foil? All of the above?

Regardless, Torren is always her worst mistake. She tried so hard to fix him, but he was one of those people who couldn't be helped, and did nothing but manipulate and use her further because of her goodwill. People got hurt and died because of it, no matter the verse. She got hurt (usually assaulted), no matter the verse. Torren is always the worst mistake, no matter what, and the only reason she ever trusted him was because she was young and naive and just wanted to help.

Usually Trick rectifies it by, eventually, killing him. It's the only way she feels like she can rectify everything he's done (to her and to others), and it is her burden to bare alone (though sometimes Tav insists on doing the honors). Even after he's dead though, it takes a long time for her to move on from everything that happened. When she has Tav, he usually helps facilitate her moving on quicker, but she can get there on her own with enough time away from the situation and a metric fuckton of painful self-reflection.

[reconstructionlegacy]

Canvas, formal and road bonus points for multiple ocs

(From this ask meme; thank you so much for asking, Ren!)

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Brider has many traditional tattoos, but is modest about displaying them - often only those on her face and hands are visible. She is, I think, the least scarred of my cast (certainly of my main cast), with only a faint white scar on her stomach after the campaign on Corellia.

Jenûwtsâkyat has quite a few golden, delicately detailed piercings, fashioned with sharp angles, geometric designs, and claw-like curves. He shows many of them off (his facial piercings, in particular), but not all. He has some scarring that he covers with clothing, jewelry and, often, makeup.

Irati did have tattoos, but she has them removed as her confidence increases, instead wearing the same patterns with waterproof makeup when she is in public. She has a generous assortment of scars across her body, thanks to her minimal armor and ferocious, attention-drawing combat.

Aaliyah has traditional Mirialan tattoos on her face and hands, and no visible scars.

Hlengiwe has a burn scar on the side of his cheek, a cut through his forehead, and burn scars on the sides and palms of his hands - and, on the back of his hands, matching tattoos with Aaliyah, a sign of their marriage.

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Brider loves dressing up - in fact, she is usually not caught dead not in formalwear! This typically means many layers of flowing, traditional Jedi robes in pale creams and silvers, often with some jewellery around her horns and hair, often her trademark Ashla pendant suspended between two of her horns.

Jenûwtsâkyat also loves dressing up. He has many different "looks" for different occasions, including "dour" robes for Dark Council meetings (they are dour only in comparison to his other clothing, having his trademark golden jewelry and bolts of scarlet-purple shimmersilk), ceremonial armor for appearing militaristic, and old-fashioned Kissai robes for directing closed cultural ceremonies.

Gerhild wears a suit or a dress uniform when she needs to. She's not overly keen on it.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

Irati wears her typical light armor when traveling, if any armor at all; her gear starts out as high-quality, but is often old, worn-out, and many times repaired by herself, Vette, and Quinn. She prefers it that way.

Gerhild has good, sturdy gear, nothing fancy. It's in plain, neutral colours, or sometimes splashed with Republic blue or Havoc blood orange. She's packing rations, weaponry, a medkit, comms, and more, all efficiently stored in the smallest amount of space possible.

Johqai has battered, scrounged gear, often Imperial military "surplus" or "requisition" from defeated foes.

Hlengiwe more or less just has the clothes on his back and what he can store in his pockets. They're made with love.

[gwiazdowe]

could you share more info about what his jedi master is like?

Enah Eraclea, Consular. She was trained by an old pantoran geezer who was over hundred years old and who lived in relative peace-time. She acted as diplomat, she mediated interstellar negotiations and disputes, or conducted investigations as a neutral-party. She advised expanding worlds or acted as representative of the republic’s jedi outside of republic’s borders (one time even on a freshly discovered world the exploration corps mapped) Before the war she had a reputation of never raising a weapon outside the training dojo (because she only took it out as a last resort such as to kill a bitch with one swing.)

In person she has a sophisticated grace that is very feminine and makes her appear deceivingly soft despite a towering presence (literally, she is very tall) she’s generally uplifting, warm, and not judging, and upholds a model jedi exterior of a sage in the making.

She’d pull a lever to kill one person instead of five, and she would spare a separatist if they don’t appear to be a further threat; she has her ways of making sure of it too and it might or might not involve some mind tricks (shh)

She uses lightsaber form VI 

She pushed for negotiating with the recessing leaders for as long as it was possible, until it wasn’t possible, and she became invested in the war effort to end the fighting with the smallest amount of damage and death (on both sides) She believes the duty of the jedi has not changed, only the times have changed.

—

As a master for Cirz, well, Cirz is Enah’s first padawan and it comes with its own messiness. She planned to teach him similarly to how she was taught and that is by getting him out there and exposing him to the galaxy with little filter but with all the advice and direction. That doesn’t quite work that good when the galaxy is at war. She doesn’t get to supervise him as closely as she would like on deployments. It worries her even if she trusts Cirz to generally behave himself. She won’t take Cirz on missions that exceed his training and she won’t take Cirz with her if he will be a liability. She is very vocal about not letting him take the role of a commander (according to the jedi military integration act he should be one because of his padawan rank, but it is ridiculous.)

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I hope any of it answers your questions anon, and if it doesn't you will have to be more specific! Enah is only an NPC and im always willing to entertain Cirz having another muse as a master.