#traffic control droids

[swtechspecs]

SoroSuub Corporation 12-4C-41 Traffic Control Droid

Source: The Essential Guide to Droids (Del Rey, 1999)

[tales-of-the-ghost-zone]

Dani in The Clone Wars

I just love the idea of Dani falling into the Star Wars universe (or alternatively the Star Wars universe is the same universe as the Danny Phantom universe they just happen to be in different parts of the universe) and meeting the clones. Cause like she’s a clone too. And not just any clone but a (technically) “defective” clone that originally had unstable DNA.

Like she meets the clones and just basically unknowingly trauma dumps on them. Just like “yeah I’m a clone to. I was supposed to be a boy but somehow came out a girl. And my genetic structure was super unstable for the first year of my life and I almost melted into a puddle of ectoplasmic goo because of it. But then my original Danny was able to stabilize me. My creator Vlad tried to kill me multiple times too. And also I’m the only surviving clone, all the other were to unstable and melted into goo!”

And the clones are all just horrified. Cause like A. She’s the only surviving clone of her batch and all her batch mates died. B. She was originally genetically unstable and for them something like that would have gotten them decommissioned, something her creator attempted to do to her but her original stopped it and saved her! And C. she’s just this tiny little child whose only like two-ish years old and she’s already been through so much!

The clones all make the executive decision to adopt her as their little sister! She’s now one of them! They will protect her with everything they’ve got!! And Dani just adopts them back. And she is a tiny little feral gremlin child, spirits have mercy on the souls of anyone who fucks with her clone brothers because she sure as hell won’t!!!

[sw5w]

Air Traffic Control

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:58:51

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

hiii when you get a chance could you maybeee write a lil something about how 12 casey and raph both kinda of fall for the reader because she’s like them in a way?

like they would be a trio and really great friends and their feelings individually grow for her 😋 like maybe at first they were all just best friends and having fun but then as their feelings grew the hanging out kind of grew into jealousy and the readers like wtf guys

JUST A LIKE SOMETHING ON MY MIND 🤭 have a great day/night 💋

Jealous Trio

2012!Raphael x reader (a little 2012!Casey Jones x reader)

A/N: I normally don’t write for Casey, but I think I can manage this. Hope you enjoy❤️💋

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

You’re best friends with Raphael and Casey Jones, but as it happens so often with teenagers, the two guys develop a crush on you.

Warnings: Spelling and jealous bois❤️

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

It didn’t take a lot to understand how you, Raphael, and Casey Jones could form such a close friend group. All three of you were loud, sharped mouthed and easily prone to physical reactions. Mikey found out the hard way, that throwing his water balloons while the three of you were deeply engaged in a video game, was a very, very bad idea. He found that being chased around the lair by three hot tempered teenagers just was worth it. Especially not when they actually caught him.

You meet Raphael the same day you meet Casey Jones, in an alley further from home than you had intended to go. But in your angered state, after an argument with your parents, you did not take the time to notice your surroundings. And neither did you notice the strange emotionless men in the alley you had just entered. They leaped for you, and you screamed. But then a certain mutant turtle and a human boy came to your rescue, taking out the Kraang.

“I had it under control!”, you told them, your face flustered by the sudden rescue, as you stumped on the dead droid.

“Sure”, Raphael had said with Casey leaning his elbow on his shoulder. “That scream sounded like a person in full control”.

And that was the start of a strong friendship between the three of you. It didn’t take long before Raph and Casey would come and knock on your bedroom window, and asked if you wanted to hang out. That usually involved fighting Kraang droids or Foot ninjas, so obviously you said yes, bringing a baseball bat.

The three of you had used countless nights on the roofs of New York City, doing everything from playful ninja training to a strange game of hockey and baseball, that involved you hitting whatever hockey puck Casey sent your way with your baseball bat, sending it flying over the street. Yes, you had bused several windows, and yes, all three of you ran whenever that happened. It quickly became a fun inside joke that often caused Leonardo to be uneasy whenever he heard it.

But as it often happened with teeangers and friendships, emotions started sparking. In school Casey found his thoughts drifting more than usual, all finding their way to you and how hard you swung your baseball bat. You had once taken a Foot ninja out with one swing. That was impressive. So impressive that Casey found himself smiling at the memory. Raphael too found your face taking up more space in his head as usual. There was this time you had taken his sais, before doing a well meaning impression of him. Normally that would anger Raphael, causing him to yell and maybe even throw punches, but watching you with his sais made him feel warm inside. He too found himself smiling at the thought.

But for quite some time, neither Raph nor Casey knew about the other’s growing thoughts and feelings about you. For long they kept quiet, watching you with fond smiles, just being happy to have you around. Until one day they both realized that they were not alone with their thoughts.

It all began on a chilly evening when the three of you found yourselves on the rooftop of your apartment building, gazing at the city skyline. The distant sounds of traffic and the occasional sirens filled the air as you shared stories and laughter. You, not able to sit still that evening, found yourself standing out on the roof, just swinging your bat aimlessly, laughing at the nice stretching in your arms as you did so.

Raphael, perched on the edge of the building, stole glances in your direction when he thought you weren't looking. The tough exterior that defined his character softened whenever he spoke or looked at you, his eyes betraying a vulnerability he seldom showed.

Casey, armed with his hockey stick, leaned against a water tower, his eyes fixed on you and the movement of your arms. His tough, streetwise demeanor melted away in your presence, replaced by a genuine warmth that only you seemed to inspire.

It was there on the rooftop, that both Casey and Raph noticed the way the other was looking at you. The sudden realization hit both of them hard, as if it was a puck being shot at them by your bat. The realization that they were not alone in their admiration and growing feelings for you.

This marked a turn in your trio’s friendship. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the unspoken tension between Raphael and Casey grew more palpable. Each found themselves grappling with emotions they couldn't quite put into words. Soon it wasn’t uncommon for Raph and Casey to start silent arguments while you weren’t looking, or even pushing or shoving to be the one that got to walk you home.

The tension built moths, a simmering undercurrent that now threatened to erupt into a full-blown argument, even with you around. For everyone around you it was quite obvious what was going on. Both Casey and Raph was crushing hardcore on you, and yet, you were totally oblivious to this. You still hung out with them, happy and joyous as ever, not seeing the foul looks your two best friends were giving each other over your shoulder.

Raph and Casey would start seeking you out on their own without the other. Soon you would be met by Raphael on your fire escape or a never ending string of texts from Casey, asking if you wanted to hang out. You found that a little strange. For a whole month the three of you never hung out all together, but just you and one of the two. Raph would bring you to the lair or hang out on the roof, while Casey would come to your place or find a place for the two of you to play your hockey baseball game.

Then one day Raphael and Casey found themselves on the rooftop of your apartment building once again, the city lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars, as the two of them stared at each other in shock. Both of them had come to your apartment, wanting to heat if you wanted to hang out. But unbeknown to them, they had had the same exact thought that night.

“What are you doing here?”, Casey asked.

“I could ask you the same thing”, Raph said, narrowing his eyes.

The two boys angrily stared each other down, arms crossed, eyes narrow, fist clenched and jaws tight, hoping it was enough to scare the other off. But they both stood their ground, blame laying on their stubborn nature.

Casey sighed, leaning against a ventilation duct, a scowl etched on his face. "Look, Raph, we gotta talk about this".

Raphael shot a glare in Casey's direction, acting as if he had no idea what he was talking about. "Talk about what?"

Casey's frustration boiled over, coming out in an agitated growl. "You know what I'm talkin' about, Raph. Her. (Y/N). We can't keep goin' on like this".

Raphael's eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. "What's your problem, Jones? You got somethin' to say, spit it out".

The hockey-masked vigilante took a deep breath, attempting to rein in his anger. "I can't ignore this anymore, Raph. We're both into her, and it's messin' with the team dynamic. We haven’t hung out in a month. We gotta figure out who's gonna make a move or back off".

Raphael scoffed. "Why should I back off? She ain't yours, Jones".

Casey's jaw clenched. "She's not yours either, tough guy. But we can't keep playin' these silent games. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to us".

Raphael took a step closer, his body tense. "You think you're better for her, is that it? What makes you so damn special?"

Casey's voice rose, matching Raphael's intensity. "I'm not sayin' I'm better, but I'm not gonna sit back and watch you hoard all her attention!”

As the argument reached its peak, you emerged onto the rooftop. Having heard the voices of your two best friends from your window, you decided to go up and check on them, only to be met by them screaming and yelling at each other.

"Hey! Guys! What's going on up here?"

Raphael and Casey snapped their attention to you, their faces immediately shifting to nervous embarrassment. Raphael scratched the back of his head, a weak smile on his face. "Nothin', just havin' a disagreement about... baseball".

Casey rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, because that's a good diversion". That comment caused Raph to glare at him.

Not the least bit convinced, you crossed your arms, a stern look on your face. “Spill or I’ll get the bat”.

Panicked, both boys looked at each other. None of them were ready to tell you about their feelings, yet they knew you wouldn’t give up before they told you the truth. Curse you being as stubborn as them. And curse you for making them so nervous, when they normally would be calm.

“Raph has a crush on you!”, Casey yelled, pushing the terrapin towards you. Raph locked up, staring at you frozen in fear.

You smirked. “Is that so?”

Unsure of what to do, Raph grabbed onto Casey and pushed him towards you as well. “Casey has a crush on you too!”

Your smirk turned to an expression of shock, eyes moving between your two best friends. “Really?” Their nervous demeanor spoke volumes, telling you that it indeed was true. Your two best friends had feelings for you. “Is that why you guys haven’t hung out in a month?” The boys nodded, their eyes on the ground, both slightly ashamed.

A silence fell upon all of you, not really sure what to say. You had never guessed, nor thought that your best friends could have a crush on you, and therefore did not know what to think of it. The thought was knew and still strange to you, yet, you cared deeply for the two guys infront of you. For goodness sake, they were your best friends!

“So”, you started, catching their attention in less than a second. “My parents won’t come home before tomorrow evening. Do you guys wanna come down and watch a movie?”

The two guys looked shocked at you, before turning to one another, friendly smiles forming on their faces.

“That sounds good”, Raphael said with Casey nodding in agreement, before following you down into your apartment.

That evening you, Raph and Casey hung out in your living room, talking and laughing at the action movie playing on your television. You had to admit, it was nice to be together with your two best friends once again, feeling the calm and joy once more. As strange as it was to know that both of them had a crush on you, you were happy to be close to them once more. And tomorrow when they had gone home, you would sit down and have a real think through. Did you feel the same way? And even if you did, were you ready to start a relationship with any of them? And were you willing to run the risk of not just ruining one friendship, but two? You did not know. And as you sat and watched the movie with Raph and Casey, you still didn’t know. But you had tomorrow to worry about that. That evening, it was all about enjoying your time with your friends.

[keldabekush]

Coruscanti air traffic control droid that flirts outrageously with every vessel coming into its airspace because it finds it funny. Another oc i wont talk about enough.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fic about CX-2, because he needs some love and maybe a reader or S/O could rescue him from tantiss and take care of him and feed him good food and make sure he’s happy and healing

Idk if he is tech or dogma or anyone we’ve met before cause nameless clones deserve so much love and idk why I feel lowkey emotional, but it made me so sad when he got turned into a kebab, after all the torture and stuff he went through, I just wanted to hug him

Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!

In The End

Summary:  It’s been a year, 12 long months, since the last time that you saw CX-2. You went on a date with him, and then he vanished, with only a simple message saying that he had to work and that he’d contact you when he could. And then he fell off the face of the map. And now, almost a year later, and with the able assistance of a group of Wookie Mercenaries, he’s back with you, safely on your ship headed for the haven you’ve arranged beforehand.

Pairing: CX-2 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1359

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So as much as I love Tech and Dogma, I love the idea more that CX-2 is someone else entirely. So, here you have CX-2 being happy with his family. I just needed to take a break from my AU event, I have so many ideas for them, but it's like there's a traffic jam in my brain, I can't get the words to word.

Your knuckles are white as you grip the sleeves of your jacket. You’re very, very stressed. But then, you’ve been stressed for the better part of a year.

Hopefully, now that CX is safe, your stress levels will drop to a more reasonable level. And your medical droid will stop chiding you to practice yoga. That would be nice.

Speaking of said medical droid—

The door to the infirmary slides open and the silver droid hovers out and over to you, “The Patient is awake and aware. There seems to be no lasting damage due to his year-long confinement.”

“So I can see him?” You ask.

“He needs his rest.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The Droid sighs heavily, a very human reaction you can’t help but notice, but then he nods his head. “You brought him food, I take it.”

“Uh, yeah,” You gesture to the small tray of some of CX’s favorite foods. A pasta dish, with some roasted veggies, and a proper dessert. 

The droid eyes the food critically, and then nods, “That is all acceptable.” He says, “I am returning to my charging dock.” And then, abruptly, he hovers off.

You watch him fly into another room, and then slowly stand and grab the tray of food. Hopefully, he’ll be happy to see you. It’d be heartbreaking if you went through all of this trouble, and he wasn’t happy to see you.

Lightly, you knock on the door and then press the control to allow the door to slide open when you hear an answer from inside. You step into the room, making sure to shut the door behind you before you focus your attention on him.

He looks…well, he doesn’t look well.

Oh, sure, he’s still the handsome man that you fell in love with. Only he’s lost a lot of weight, his abdominal muscles are clearly defined, not protected by the thin layer of fat that gave him a very pleasant squish. He also has bags under his eyes, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a hint of grey in his dark curls.

But he’s still CX.

Your name falls from his lips, he looks astonished to see you, and then he averts his gaze, as if ashamed of something.

And that just won’t do.

You cross the small room and set the tray of food on an open table, and then you reach out for him, stopping just shy of touching him. “I missed you,” You say, your voice soft.

His dark eyes snap to meet yours, and the smallest smile crosses his face. “I missed you more,” CX replies, his voice slightly raspy, and for once, you believe it.

He reaches up and takes your hands in his and pulls your hands to his face, and you eagerly cup his face, content to feel his warm skin against your hands again. You don’t fight him when his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you as close as he can without pulling you onto the bed.

He buries his face against your chest and just breathes.

You gently card your fingers through his curls, your other hand moving from his cheek to wrap around him, holding him as tightly as you can. Just enjoying him.

You lightly drop a kiss on the top of his head, “I thought you were dead,” You murmur against his hair.

He trembles slightly, “I’m sorry. I never meant to disappear.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be.”

“Never.”

He pulls back, and looks up at you, “Cyare,” this time his hands come up to cup your face, “You don’t understand, I’ve hurt so many people—”

“It doesn’t matter.” You reply, “Not to me. You didn’t have a choice, CX. I know that.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

You shush him gently, “We’re going somewhere else. Somewhere where the Empire can’t touch you ever again. You have brothers there.”

CX looks baffled for a moment, “Brothers?”

“I think they called themselves Nil…or null?”

He blinks at you, “We’re staying with the Nulls?”

“Yeah, when I was looking for you, I managed to stumble over them. We’ve been offered a place with them. They have a whole settlement for clones and their families.”

“Even clone assassins?”

“All clones,” You reassure, “What do you think?”

He looks uncertain for a moment, “I suppose we can try it out, and see if it works.” CX finally agrees, and then he pulls you in so he’s able to press his face against your chest again, “cyare?”

“Hm?”

“What scent are you wearing?”

“What scent am I—?” You pause and your face flushes, “Oh, right. I’m not, not really.” You gently push him back and lean in to kiss his forehead, “There’s actually something I need to get for you, I left it in my room.”

CX peers at you, “Can it wait?”

“It’s a surprise. And I think, well hope, that you’ll like it.”

CX watches you for a moment, and you smile at him reassuringly, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He unwraps his arms from around you, “Alright,”

You beam at him and quickly drop a chaste kiss against his lips before you turn and hurry out of the room. You’re vaguely aware of him sitting up in the medical bed and swinging his legs off the edge as the door slides shut behind you.

You walk the short distance to your room, and don’t bother shutting the door behind you. There’s no need, you’ll only be in here for a moment, after all. You walk around your bed (big enough for you and CX to share), and lean over the much smaller bed, a loving smile crossing your face as you look at the face of your sleeping daughter.

CX’s daughter.

He vanished before you even found out that you were pregnant, so hopefully, she’s a good surprise.

You scoop Eli into your arms, adjusting her weight so she’s comfortably nestled against you, and you head out of the room. The scent that CX asked you about was baby powder, which you seem to always smell like since giving birth to Eli.

You step back into the infirmary, and CX opens his mouth to say something but stops when he sees Eli.

“...cyare?”

You sit on the bed next to him, “This is Eli, she looks like you.” You lightly brush a dark curl off your daughter's forehead, “Luckily, can you imagine if she got stuck with my hair color and your skin tone?”

CX doesn’t say anything, you glance at him and notice that he’s staring at Eli, wide-eyed.

“I found out that I was pregnant 2 weeks after you vanished,” You explain, “She’s 5 months old now. Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” He asks, his gaze darting to your face, “Am I allowed?”

“She’s your daughter, you silly man. Here.” You pass the baby over to CX, and adjust his arms so that he’s cradling her properly, “She’s a very calm baby, she doesn’t fuss a lot.”

Cx stares at Eli, mesmerized, “Was the pregnancy easy?”

You shrug, “Unimportant, I had plenty of help.”

“Cyare—”

You smile at him adoringly, “Next time, we’ll do it properly.”

He blinks at you, “Next time?”

“Um, well…if you want a next time.” You correct sheepishly.

You watch as he brushes a finger down Eli’s nose, “I’d like there to be a next time.” CX murmurs, “I can’t believe you gave me a baby.”

“Well, you gave her to me first,” You say with a soft laugh, “I’m just returning the favor.”

He glances at you and a genuine smile, the first one since you’ve been reconnected, crosses his face. “We’re going to be okay,”

“Of course we will.” You lightly lay your head on his shoulder, “We’re going to be better than okay, we’re going to be great.”

You feel him press his head against yours, “I love you,” The words are soft as if he’s not sure he has the right to say them, and you smile. 

You turn your head and press a kiss against his bare shoulder, “I love you too, CX.”

[moonstrider9904]

Reflection

Chapter 6 of Moonwalker: The Flame

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{crossposted to Wattpad - coming soon} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: Sarah is presented with some difficult truths she may not want to face. Meanwhile, the batch encounter a Wookiee on the Vanguard Axis.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing much. Just arguments and canon-typical violence.

Word count: 5.2k

Songs: crossroads, reflection

The cantina was nearly empty in those early afternoon hours. The only seats that were taken around the saloon were occupied by members of the squad alongside Phee, the woman Sarah had only recently met. With rich black hair and a voice to command everyone’s attention, and eyes that sparkled with the endless stories she could share, Sarah listened closely to all Phee had to say, paying no mind to the amount of times Hunter would roll his eyes in skepticism.

The subject of pirate life was prominent in all Phee’s stories, and as much as it sparked Sarah’s sympathies, it also brought a much more pressing matter to her mind. It had been weeks since she’d contacted Hondo in search of leads for where Crosshair could be, and Hondo would occasionally send a comm to tell her nothing had come up yet. Since the last time he did, she hadn’t heard a peep from him.

It never crossed Sarah’s mind that Hondo would conceal anything from her or refuse to give her information. If Hondo were to have refused, he would have done it the moment Sarah requested, but he didn’t. Maybe the leads were simply too hard to find—Sarah knew she was asking a lot from Hondo even if the request sounded simple. If Crosshair were easy to find once more, she already would have done it.

Any time the conversation was dominated by Phee and Sarah felt no eyes on her, she’d turn to look at the comm she clutched in her fist, as though she could will it to ring with any new information. Alas, only silence came from it, and it suffocated her.

“What about you, Strider?” Phee called Sarah, tearing her attention from her turmoil.

Sarah turned to Phee, her gaze nonchalant as though she hadn’t just been catastrophizing. “What about me?”

“What’s your greatest story as a pirate?” Phee gestured with her cup, eager to hear the answer.

Sarah leaned back on her chair and looked to a point on the ceiling as she thought, and a cheeky grin soon curved her lips. “It would have to be the time I flew Hondo’s ship without asking.”

“That doesn’t sound too terrible,” Phee raised a brow.

“It was on the lower levels of Coruscant,” Sarah delivered.

Phee snickered, crossing one leg over the other. “Well, you should have started there! How in the world did you get that saucer through Coruscant traffic?”

“Oh, no, don’t ask me how it got in, I was knocked out for that part,” Sarah leaned forward. “One moment, I was fighting reprogrammed battle droids with nothing but my bare hands, and the next I’m the only one near the bridge of the saucer while outside there are alarms blaring. Crew comes onto the bridge, telling me we have to get Hondo out of some night club, no time to explain, while outside the alarms are getting louder and I start to notice Corrie guard patrols incoming. I did what I had to do and manned the controls.”

Phee chuckled, savoring the many chaotic levels of the story. From the bar, Tech leaned forward on his chair, his figure angled towards Sarah as he adjusted his goggles. “How did you avoid collision? The lower levels of Coruscant are not known for being spacious.”

“I…” Sarah grinned like a kid caught red-handed. “I didn’t. I hit most of the patrols on the way out. Hondo never forgave me for scratching the saucer.”

Everyone around Sarah laughed, at least, everyone except Hunter.

“What happened next?” Omega asked Sarah with bright eyes.

Upon Omega’s curiosity, Hunter looked at the kid, concerned about her investment in pirate tales, and only partly affected by her level of attention on someone who barely acknowledged him. Regardless, Omega didn’t notice. She was still eager to hear how Sarah’s story continued, and then, Hunter watched Sarah down to every last gesture she made, and every thinly veiled mannerism only he would notice.

“Well, I got out of there,” Sarah replied. “By then, I was a good pilot, but saucers are ridiculously difficult to fly, or at least it felt that way at the time. I had to fly across Coruscant highways with two crewmates trying, and mostly failing, to tell me where Hondo was.”

“Oh, of course!” Tech exclaimed as he lifted his gaze from his datapad and turned the screen to face Sarah and the others, displaying on it a holographic capture of the saucer on Coruscant. “I knew your story felt familiar. You made it to local news coverage.”

“No way!” Sarah leaped from her chair and ran over to Tech, followed by Phee and Omega, and they all stared at the picture.

“Oh, you know you made it when you end up on the news,” Phee laughed, patting Sarah’s shoulder.

“It is a wonder there were no casualties that day,” Tech said. “The reports I saw said traffic had to be put to a halt. You made a large portion of Coruscant stand still, if you can fathom that.”

“All in a day’s work,” Sarah chuckled.

“You know, that reminds me of the time I went to Jedha—” Phee began, only to be cut off by Sarah.

“You’ve been to Jedha?!” Sarah beamed.

“Girl, I got lost in the kyber caves for three days,” Phee laughed.

Sarah chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me that one later.”

“You bet,” Phee saluted her.

Sarah then excused herself as Phee continued telling story after story, dominating the saloon and taking over nearly everyone’s attention. Sarah made her way into the back rooms clutching her comm, confident everyone else would be accounted for so long as Phee continued sharing her life. All the talk about her previous life had done little to calm the pressure that had bubbled inside her, but it had also reminded her that before anything else, Hondo was a dear friend. He wouldn’t mind if she called to check up on him or on what she’d asked, and besides, it was always nice to get the chance to talk to someone outside the confines of the saloon, someone she could trust beside the ones she knew she had beside her.

Sarah made it to her old room, the small space with the three cots that were meant for her, Omega, and Hunter. It was still familiar despite the fact that she hadn’t slept there in forever, and given recent events that had transpired with Tech, it was far better that way. But for the moment, this place would grant her enough privacy to make a quick call, and she wouldn’t raise suspicions by leaving the cantina entirely. Sarah then pulled out her comm and had just started to dial Hondo’s frequency, when suddenly, a deep and husky voice filled her senses.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

Sarah clenched her muscles to keep herself from jumping—was she so immersed in her current task she didn’t even notice Hunter had followed her? As calmly as she could, Sarah turned to him and stared blankly, expecting whatever it is he had to say. Hunter however, remained silent, and even though it was only mere seconds that passed, Sarah grew weary. With a heavy sigh, Sarah rolled her eyes, and her blank stare became infused with annoyance.

“Well?” She broke the silence. “You seem so sure. Go on, accuse me.”

“We tell each other everything in this family, Sarah,” Hunter paced closer to her. “I know you’re still mad at me, but don’t insult me by pretending I don’t take notice of certain things.”

Sarah’s heart rate began to rise, and she was sure that Hunter could feel the drumming of her pulse in his ears. She knew he would notice the blood racing towards her cheeks and her eyelids ceasing to blink as she looked at him directly in the eyes. Had Tech told him something? Had he put two and two together one time neither one of them were around? Or maybe she and Tech just weren’t that great at hiding it—Hunter and the others were bound to find out sometimes, but this was a conversation Sarah would prefer not to have at all. She and Tech hadn’t decided to be too open about it, not with the obvious tension that would arise. Sarah needed more time before she was ready to let the others know, and in any case, she’d like to have Tech there with her. Tech would successfully soothe her strongest emotions with a single gaze.

“You sneak off on your own, you barely take your eyes off your comm,” Hunter said. “It’s as if you’re waiting to be contacted, but somehow it’s never about a mission or something the rest of us hear about. It never involves any of us.”

Sarah felt her racing pulse become calm, but she remained silent. She wanted to hear whatever Hunter had left to say before making things worse.

“Sarah, are you talking to someone else?” Hunter asked. “Someone outside of us?”

Sarah sighed, unsure of whether or not she was relieved Hunter had picked up on her calls with Hondo as opposed to her affair, if it could even be called that. Hunter would certainly view it that way.

“You are,” Hunter confirmed as he observed Sarah’s demeanor.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Sarah looked at him, deadpan.

“I deserve to know who you’re contacting,” Hunter said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m still in charge of keeping this squad safe,” Hunter answered. “We have to be careful when making contact across planets. All it takes is one intercepted signal, and our entire location will be blown.”

While Sarah ardently wished the conversation would end, she did understand Hunter’s need to know. Still, even if it was just regarding her contact with Hondo, Sarah was sure Hunter wouldn’t love the reason behind it.

“I’ve been making sure the signals are masked,” Sarah said. “I wasn’t going to take such a stupid risk. I know how to keep us safe, and if it makes you feel better, Tech also helped set up the frequency channels to keep us safe.”

“So Tech knows?” Hunter raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t take it out on him,” Sarah frowned. “He only wants to help.”

Hunter exhaled softly, crossing his arms as he continued to stare at Sarah. “You still haven’t told me who you’re talking to.”

She met his gaze again. Sarah weighed the different reactions he could have as well as the different ways she could explain that would mildly make her intentions seem better to him, but she hesitated, giving Hunter enough time to sigh heavily and for his anger to become drenched with heartbreak.

“It’s Crosshair, isn’t it?” Hunter said, barely above a whisper.

Everything else was wiped from Sarah’s mind when Hunter uttered his name, and Sarah’s discreetly hurt frown turned into a scowl, scoffing as she turned away from Hunter for a second before meeting his gaze once more, defiant.

“You think if I’d made contact with Crosshair, I’d still be here?” Sarah snarled.

Hunter’s hands fell down by his sides, and his head shook slowly, ever so slightly in both directions as he processed her words. Hunter quickly swept his forehead, and he shook his head faster as he began to make his way towards the door.

“Forget it,” he said.

“No, stop,” Sarah spoke up as he was just about to leave. “I’m sorry.”

Hunter couldn’t help but stop in his tracks. He didn’t think he’d hear Sarah apologize anytime soon, but it was enough for him to angle his body towards her again, willing to hear her out one more time.

And Sarah sighed again, for once, tired of fighting and longing for some sort of clarity.

“It’s not Crosshair,” she said. “It’s Hondo. And I started calling him to see if he could help me find any leads as to where Crosshair is.”

“Good gods, Sarah,” Hunter paced back closer to her, stopping directly in front of her. A fury betrayed by sadness clouded his gaze as he looked into her eyes, and Sarah could feel the bubbling anger inside him. Despite that, she could also feel how desperately Hunter was trying to hold back.

Hunter took a deep breath and he continued. “Let it go.”

Sarah slowly shook her head. “No.”

“You are clinging to someone who made a choice not to be with you,” Hunter growled. “Has it not occurred to you that Crosshair doesn’t want to be found by you?”

Taken aback, Sarah’s features softened. In truth, that was a question she hadn’t been brave enough to ask herself. She thought she knew the answer, and she was convinced it was the right one, but the possibility of the truth regarding Crosshair’s choice being any different was too terrifying to face.

“Crosshair stayed to protect me,” Sarah’s voice trembled as tears threatened to pool in her dimming eyes. “I remember the last words he told me on that platform. If he stayed with the Empire, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be with me.”

“But it was still his choice,” Hunter said, his voice low, somewhat gentler, though not quite at the level of comfort he may have once offered Sarah. “If he wanted to come back, he would’ve gotten on the Marauder when we offered, but he didn’t. And it’s not fair to you to still be grasping at straws, going through all this trouble—”

“But he deserves someone to go through that trouble to find him,” Sarah said. “You may have found it in yourself to let him go. I can’t do that. A part of me wishes I could, believe me. Everything would be easier. But I can’t know peace for as long as he’s somewhere out there. I can’t quiet the doubts of whether or not he’s hurt, alone, cold, wounded, imprisoned—”

“Sarah,” Hunter frowned. “I don’t want you risking this family or our hideout because you can’t understand that Crosshair doesn’t want to be with us.”

A tear finally rolled down Sarah’s cheek, and though feelings swarmed inside her, she found herself at a loss for words. And it seemed that even the sight of her crying wouldn’t make Hunter soften, not that time. Perhaps, not ever, not anymore. She took a step backward, eager to find some sort of respite from a moment where she’d no longer be able to take the upper hand. She felt anger boiling through her veins. She felt anger towards Hunter for being so blunt, and she felt angrier at the possibility of him being right. She couldn’t decide if she felt anger towards Crosshair—whether it had been to protect her or not, Crosshair had still chosen not to return, and that was a deep enough wound in itself.

As Hunter looked at her, he sighed, and Sarah could notice his features soften. It looked as if Hunter was just about to reach out to her, perhaps finally trying to offer some comfort after realizing it was now his turn to apologize, but a third figure appeared at the door.

Tech had first looked at Hunter, as he was the one he was seeking, but his brown, goggled eyes fell on Sarah in a flash. His gaze remained there, astonished, attempting to form an understanding as well as an explanation. In terms of understanding, Tech could clearly see Sarah was upset.

And for an explanation, well, all Tech had to do was look at Hunter.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tech inquired with a frown so imperceptible only Hunter’s enhanced eyesight would notice it.

“Nothing,” Hunter said. “What do you need?”

“Cid requires us for a briefing,” Tech replied, skeptical. He walked over towards Sarah and poised himself at her right, slightly in front of her, as though to shield her. “We will meet you there.”

“Tech,” Sarah whispered, looking up at him.

Hunter looked at the two. He noticed how Tech had stepped in front of Sarah, and how unusual a sight that was. He noticed Sarah’s tears stopping when she looked up at him, as well as the way her eyes widened and her eyebrows lowered, as though she were moved by his presence. With one quick scan, Hunter saw many things, things he didn’t want to linger on. He wouldn’t fight Tech over his own speculations, so for now, Hunter gave Tech a short nod.

“Don’t take long,” he said before retreating from the room.

When Hunter was gone, Tech turned around and faced Sarah, relieved she had stopped crying.

“Do you require anything from me?” Tech asked her.

Sarah smiled, but dismay continued to flood her gaze regardless of how touched she was by Tech’s willingness to help.

“You’re doing enough, Tech,” she said as she leaned her forehead on his chest plate.

“I do believe every time you and Hunter argue, you both wind up far more hurt than the previous occasion,” Tech observed.

“Yeah, well, this time around, it may have gotten out of hand,” Sarah admitted. “It’s not as if I’ve pulled punches before. I’ve said some nasty things to him too.”

“That does not justify making you cry,” Tech leaned closer to Sarah. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I will be,” Sarah wrapped her arms around Tech’s waist, resting her ear over his heart.

The two remained in silence until Sarah stopped weeping, and when they parted, they walked together towards Cid’s office without making any physical contact. Their demeanors remained as normal as ever while they and the rest of the batch gathered around Cid’s desk and listened to her give them the details of their next retrieval, and as soon as she’d finished, they all set out to their next mission, a simple delivery of chain codes Tech programmed on their way to the Vanguard Axis.

It was a quiet flight, and Sarah remained with Tech for nearly the entire duration, refusing to make eye contact with Hunter, and refusing to believe what he had said about Crosshair. When the Marauder exited hyperspace and finally landed on the large space station they were heading for, the tension mercifully decreased as all minds turned their focus onto the mission at hand.

“Now remember, this isn’t a friendly place,” Hunter said as the Marauder’s platform lowered and the clones donned their helmets. “We’ll make the delivery. Echo, Omega, Sarah, keep watch here on the ship.”

Brightly, Omega agreed to Hunter’s instruction, and just as the rest of the squad was about to leave, Tech looked over his shoulder back at Sarah, and with his eyes, he seemed to say it all. Sarah gave him a quick nod, hoping she could convey her intentions just as well. She wanted Tech to know she’d be alright. And with no other words, the squad split up, and Sarah sat down a couple steps above Omega as they waited silently for them to return.

All of a sudden, Sarah felt her marks burning and her chest becoming hollow as the hairs on her skin stood on end. Her head snapped up, and her gaze scanned every possible corner it could land on, focusing on each sound and spec of light that may have come across her senses. In front of her, Omega caught onto her change in behavior and faced her, her eyes wide with concern.

“Sarah?” Omega asked. “What’s wrong?”

Sarah looked Omega in the eyes, unable to keep the words inside. “I just felt a disturbance in the Force.”

As she said those words, Echo emerged from inside the Marauder. “Someone we know?”

Sarah got up and paced down the steps and to the ground. “No, it’s not like that. Something just feels off.”

“We won’t be here for much longer anyway,” Echo said. “I’ll prep the ship.”

Sarah knew the wise option may have been to listen to Echo and to simply wait for the others to come back. The chain codes would present no problems, and they’d be on their way out of there fairly quickly, and whatever it is that Sarah felt would have no further impact on her or her life. And yet, that fact was contradicted by her inner sensations intensifying, almost overwhelmingly, to the point where she couldn’t ignore it.

Then she heard it: a howling loud enough to travel through the durasteel walls was beckoning her to head in its directions. Every one of her instincts told her to go toward it; she knew better than to turn a blind eye to whatever the Force tried to communicate to her. She knew better than to ignore the calls and the beacons it set around her, knowing that to do so would only make them manifest in more obvious, sometimes painful ways.

In front of her, Omega looked at Sarah, her big, bright eyes wide with worry. “Someone could be getting hurt.”

Sarah nodded subtly, frowning, and her eyes flew back in the direction of the howl when another one came. “I’m going.”

Omega pulled her bow out and followed Sarah. “I’m coming. You shouldn’t go alone.”

Sarah nodded at her and the two set out towards the steel hallways as Sarah pulled out her comm. “Echo, Omega and I are gonna check things out.”

“Be careful,” Echo replied. “I have the ship ready to go in case things go south.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said quietly and put the comm away, signaling Omega to come to a halt when they reached a crossroads. Leaning her back up against a wall, Sarah leaned forward enough to get a visual of the source of the howling.

It was a Wookiee, not large enough to be an adult, being forcefully coerced by two Vanguard Axis droids into a large crate where his fate could not have been pleasant in any way.

“We have to do something!” Omega whisper-yelled.

“I’m going first,” Sarah steadied her as she pulled out her hand blaster. “You’ll be my backup.”

Omega nodded and Sarah emerged from the hiding place, slowly pacing forward as she aimed the blaster at one of the droids. When the two noticed her approaching, their weapons immediately became pointed at her.

“Put your weapons away and step away from the Wookiee,” she commanded.

“Know better than to cross us, mercenary scum,” one of the droids replied as it began pacing towards her.

“I’ve crossed Pykes and Imperials, I’m not afraid of you,” Sarah clicked the switch of her blaster, setting it to kill.

In a flash, one of the droids lunged towards her, and it was stopped when a purple bolt from Omega’s bolt crossed its head clean through the center. It gave Sarah the opportunity to fire her blaster at the other droid’s head, and it too fell down on the floor with a large metallic thud. Sarah then looked at the Wookiee, and his eyes were fearful when he gazed upon her, looking as though he were getting ready to run. Sarah holstered her blaster and held her hands up, softening her features as she looked at the Wookiee, and when she did, her marks began to burn once more and the hollow feeling in her chest was replaced by a comforting warmth, the warmth of being near kin.

And when the Wookiee’s eyes widened, Sarah could tell he felt it too. Sarah’s hands lowered down to her sides, and her head tilted as she continued to gaze at the Wookiee, smiling discreetly.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re like me.”

The Wookiee smiled at her and spoke in his native language of Shyriiwook, and though Sarah had never come close to mastering the language, she could understand what he was telling her, how excited he was to find someone bound to him through the Force even though they’d never met before.

And Sarah would have continued the conversation with that same kind sentiment, but alarms began to blare, and through the distant halls, droid chatter approached unnervingly quickly. The doorway of the opposing hall then opened, revealing at least five more members of the Vanguard Axis, and Sarah brought the rifle from her back and assembled it expertly as she gestured at Omega and the Wookiee to run. They were able to successfully run down one of the hallways into a different room, one configured by a maze of crates, and there, their path was blocked by more of the Vanguard Axis.

“Scatter!” Sarah ordered as she used the Firepuncher to shoot down droid after droid.

Omega and the Wookiee disappeared from her sides, and blaster fire echoed around the entire room. When Sarah cleared the path in front of her, she ran into the maze and quickly found Omega and the Wookiee, who had successfully taken care of the ones who went after them as well. From there, Sarah led the way through their maze, signaling her teammates to lay low, until they emerged from the crates only to find Vanguard Axis reinforcements already swarming inside. Sarah aimed the Firepuncher at them and Omega aimed her bow, and no sooner had the droids piled in front of them that the door on the opposite side opened, revealing the entire rest of Clone Force 99, including Echo, all with their blasters aimed and ready.

“They’re with us,” Hunter called from across the room.

The leader of the droids held up a servo and faced Hunter. “Take your squadron. Leave the Wookiee and be gone.”

“No!” Omega called. “They’re going to hurt him!”

“You have it wrong,” the droid’s low, mechanized voice blared condescendingly. “Our buyer will pay handsomely for the Wookiee alive.”

Sarah aimed the Firepuncher directly at the droid. “Filth. You’re no better than a slave trader, trafficking living beings.”

“For the right price, anything can be smuggled,” the droid said.

As the droid spoke, Sarah quickly glanced over her shoulder at the Wookiee and then back at the droid. The Wookiee’s eyes widened, needing nothing more to understand what Sarah had wanted to tell him, and he held out his hand only for a cylindrical gadget to float quickly from the droid and into his palm, and as soon as it did, he ignited the green light saber and lunged towards the droid.

Sarah smiled. She realized then how much she had missed fighting alongside a Jedi.

All of them together with the Wookiee’s skills, and it wasn’t long before they could clear a path back to the Marauder. Sarah and the Wookiee were the last ones in line to get on, but before climbing, the Wookiee hesitated and called out to Sarah, warning her about the clones that accompanied them.

“They won’t hurt you,” Sarah called out in return. “You can trust me.”

The Wookiee hesitated, but he also knew it was either that or returning to the Vanguard Axis who would undoubtedly deliver him to something much more unimaginable. With his eyes hardened by doubt, the Wookiee leapt after Sarah and grabbed her hand, allowing her to help him inside the ship as it took off, and when they were far away from the space station and jumped into hyperspace, the Wookiee found rest at the back of the ship, sitting on the ground with his head resting on his knees.

Silence fell on the Marauder again as Sarah sat down next to the Wookiee and began cleaning the Firepuncher. She didn’t speak—she figured a wordless company would be more comforting after all that Wookie must have just gone through. But it wasn’t long before Omega approached with a full ration box and followed by the others, who immediately put the Wookiee on edge, causing him to growl furiously at the clones.

“It’s okay!” Omega called. “They’re not your enemies.”

“It’s okay, Omega,” Hunter said softly. “He’s a Jedi, he has reason not to trust us.”

“This Wookiee must undoubtedly have been present during Order 66,” Tech said, placing his helmet on in the event he would need to solve a language barrier and looked straight at the Wookiee. “But you do not need to worry. We did not follow the order, and besides, the inhibitor chips that made the clones unable to resist the order have since been removed.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Sarah told the Wookiee softly. “You’re safe with us.”

The Wookiee’s eyes softened, and finally, he reached for a ration bar in the box Omega had brought and began to eat it.

“So…” Omega began. “How did you end up there?”

The Wookiee spoke between bites, and Tech translated for the others.

“He was in hiding and attempting to reach the Wookiee homeworld of Kashyyyk when he was intercepted by the Vanguard Axis,” Tech said. “That was when we found him.”

“We could take you there,” Omega said brightly.

Though Sarah was touched at Omega’s unwavering will to help others in need, the prospect of returning to Kashyyyk caused a chill to wash over her.

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Hunter reassured.

“Yeah,” Wrecker chuckled. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been to Kashyyyk.”

Sarah stared vacantly at the Firepuncher as she heard those words in the background. The last time she’d been to Kashyyyk, the galaxy was an entirely different place. Despite the war, it was a kinder, brighter, better place.

“Do you have a name?” Omega asked the Wookiee.

The Wookiee growled in response, and just as Sarah was about to translate, Hunter stepped in.

“My Wookiee’s a bit rusty, but I think he said his name is Gungi.”

Sarah looked at Hunter, with the corners of her lips tilting downwards and her eyebrows falling down near her eyelids. Hunter looked at her too, and it seemed his features had softened, as though he’d wanted her to hear him, like it would spark the conversation that would lead to making amends from their earlier discussion.

But Sarah turned away. She wouldn’t get into that now.

“Gungi it is,” Omega smiled at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you home.”

Gungi gestured at Omega in gratitude, and then he turned to Sarah with his eyes gleaming in curiosity, telling her how he didn’t remember her from the Jedi temples back in the day. In response, Sarah gave him a sad smile.

“That’s because I’m not a Jedi,” she said. “I was never meant to be one.”

Gungi tilted his head, asking her how that was possible.

“I’m more of a manifestation of the Force,” Sarah replied. “I guess that meant staying as neutral as I could… I grew up and learned how to wield the Force on Jedha, but when the war came around, the Force called me to the front lines and I became a soldier. And I always go where it wants me to.”

Gungi nodded at her as he listened closely. If anyone could understand the intricacies of the will of the Force, as well as the constant dance and struggle between light and dark, it would be him. And with a genuine want to know more about her, Gungi continued to ask her questions, and Sarah welcomed all of them. Engaging in a conversation with someone similar to her was comforting, and in the current landscape, it was also rare.

Becoming absorbed in answering whatever Gungi wanted to know would also lift the weight that was threatening to crush her, the weight of all the memories that would flood her the moment she stepped foot on Kashyyyk once more.

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NEXT CHAPTER ->

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 1

A Clone Walks Into a Library

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged)

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: slight angst; mentions of canon character deaths; office politics are canon in the GFFA

A/N: Finally migrating this story over from AO3. I'll be posting a chapter on Tumblr every few days until I'm caught up, but if you'd like to read ahead, here's the link to the story up to chapter 8.

Summary: Clone medic Kix is a man displaced in time. Captured by Separatists and put into cryostasis when he learned the truth about the clones' inhibitor chips, he awakens fifty years after the end of the Clone Wars. The Republic is gone. The galaxy has changed. And now, the last clone trooper searches for answers with the help of a New Republic historian.

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Republic City, Hosnian Prime

32 ABY

The man gazed up at the imposing building in front of him, squinting against the harsh sunlight. The air was chilled despite the brightness of the day, and his breath swirled in clouds around him. He stood, seemingly oblivious to the pedestrians that bustled past as airspeeders whizzed through the skylane behind him. Few noticed the man, but those who did felt a strange sense of unease, of slight wrongness, as though he did not quite belong in the setting. Whether they observed this or not, the pedestrian traffic instinctively steered away from him, leaving a wide bubble of space around the stranger.

He stood, unmoving, for some time, locked in a silent debate with himself, until at length, he reached a decision. With a sharp nod, he walked into the building.

It was cold in the New Republic Galactic Library. Maree readjusted the shawl that she always kept in her office for mornings like this, then wrapped her hands around her mug of tea as she scrolled through the morning’s holomessages. Most of them were from colleagues complaining about the temperature. Most recently, the head maintenance droid had sent out a dispassionate mass response explaining that the sprawling complex’s central climate control had been automatically adjusted due to the spring equinox. Maree’s eyes lit with amusement as the indignant replies began to pop up in her inbox.

New Republic efficiency at its finest, she thought. Everything had to be automated. It didn’t matter that the outside temperature was still well below freezing; the equinox had passed, and so they were moved to the spring climate schedule. No doubt the decision had come from a droid that had no problem functioning in the cold. It would probably take weeks of complaints and committee meetings by the time the issue was resolved, and by that point, Republic City would likely be in the middle of a full and magnificent spring, rendering the problem null.

She nearly laughed as she skimmed through her messages and saw identical leave requests from two of the department’s interns who thought they were being subtle about their burgeoning romance. Ah, young love. Who was she to stand in the way? She quickly approved the requests, then moved on to carefully review the latest research directive from the New Republic Judiciary. Finally, she could longer put off reading the last message in her inbox. Despite herself, her heart began to beat a little faster as she opened the message. 

To: Dr. Maree R. Finnall From: NRGL Department of Outreach Subject: Decision on Expedition Proposal Submission Submission Number: ORE-R-72-00066T5 Dear Dr. Finnall, It is with great regret that we must inform you that your recent expedition proposal has been rejected. As you are aware, the current political climate in the Outer Rim is somewhat tenuous. . .

The message went on, but there was no need to finish reading it. Force knew she’d received it often enough to know what it said. Maree turned off the holoprojector with a small sigh. She took a sip of her tea and grimaced when she found it had gone cold. 

Taungsdays, am I right?

She crossed to her small kitchenette and dumped the tea down the sink. She briefly considered making another cup, but it would likely share its predecessor’s fate, so instead, she moved to gaze out the massive window. Glacial air flowed off the transparisteel, but the view was worth the discomfort. The early morning sun sparkled off the thick layer of frost covering Republic City, transforming it into a glittering wonderland. Beyond the city’s magnificent towers and spires, she glimpsed the deep azure of the western ocean.

I love it here, she reminded herself. It wasn’t exactly a punishment to stay on Hosnian Prime. Surely the benefits outweighed the disappointment of yet another rejected proposal.

The soft chime of her office door startled Maree out of her reverie.

“Come in,” she called.

The door slid open to reveal one of the library’s receptionists, Eidani Olphes. Maree didn’t know her well, but she passed the younger woman at the library’s front desk every morning when she arrived at work, and Maree always tried to be friendly with the support staff. She remembered her own early career when senior faculty were often dismissive and condescending, and she had vowed never to be the cause of anyone feeling so small and unimportant. 

“Good morning, Eidani,” she said with a warm smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Dr. Finnall, I have a gentleman here who is visiting Hosnian Prime to research the Clone Wars. Do you have any availability to meet with him this morning?”

Maree’s interest was piqued immediately. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten such a request from a private citizen.

“As a matter of fact, I’m free now,” she said. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” Eidani replied. “TJ-60 asked him to wait outside your office.”

Eidani fidgeted a little as she spoke, and Maree wondered if the man had made her uncomfortable. Maree commed her droid assistant, fully prepared to ban the visitor from the library if he had harassed the young Devaronian.

“Teejay, please show the gentleman into my office.”

“Right away, Dr. Finnall,” came Teejay’s monotone reply.

Maree heard the outer office door hiss open as Teejay directed the visitor to her office. Eidani turned around as soon as Teejay opened the door and watched his approach with a wide smile and undisguised interest. As the visitor walked into view, Maree realized she had misread the young receptionist’s reaction.

Force almighty.

Maree had never seen such a gorgeous man. He was tall and athletically built, with golden brown skin, curly black hair, and a neat beard. His nondescript clothing entirely failed to disguise his powerful frame, and he moved with the relaxed confidence of a man with absolutely nothing to prove. The beard emphasized his high cheekbones, but his eyes were the most arresting. They were a warm, luminous brown that reminded her of sunlight glinting through amber. Something about his face tugged at her memory, and she wracked her brain trying to remember if she’d met him before.

“Hello again,” Eidani giggled. “This is Dr. Finnall. She’s our Clone Wars expert.”

His solemn gaze flicked from Eidani to Maree, and she nearly blinked at the intensity in his eyes.

“Maree Finnall,” she said, shaking his hand. 

“Kix,” he replied.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kix.” 

“Just Kix,” he said.

He had a lovely voice, smoky and dark and beautifully accented, and Maree briefly wondered if he had any flaws at all. She hoped she had a better sabacc face than Eidani.

“My mistake,” she said. “Please call me Maree.”

“You specialize in the Clone Wars?” he asked.

 “To a degree. My scholarship focuses on the military history of the late Galactic Republic and early Imperial periods,” Maree clarified. “The Clone Wars are, of course, a major part of that era. How can I help you?” 

He glanced at Eidani, who was staring up at him with a worshipful expression.

“I, er—I’m looking for some fairly detailed information,” he hedged.

Maree took the hint.

“I see,” she said. “Please come in. Thank you, Eidani. I’ll notify the front desk if we need your assistance again.”

“Of—of course!” Eidani gushed. “Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all!”

“We will keep that in mind,” Maree smiled.

She shot a meaningful glance at Teejay, who immediately began to usher Eidani out of the office. Maree closed her door and turned to Kix, who was looking around the room with interest.

“Nice office,” he said.

“Thank you. Please make yourself comfortable,” she replied, gesturing to the soft, padded armchairs that were strategically placed around the room. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind. For now, can you tell me what specific information you are looking for?”

He selected a chair that was oriented so that it faced both the window and the door of the office, she noticed. Maree’s mother was the same way; she hated the vulnerability of having her back to an opening. Mindful of Kix’s hypervigilance, Maree picked up her datapad and settled into a chair on his left, leaving plenty of space between them, as she prepared to take notes. From this angle, she could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from his hairline. It looked like aurebesh, but his hair covered too much of it to be sure. It was intriguing, and she had a sudden and distinctly unprofessional urge to brush the hair away from his face and take a closer look.

“I’m interested in the late months of the wars,” he said. “Everything after the Battle of Anaxes.”

She tapped the information into her datapad. He observed her closely as she worked. She wasn’t accustomed to such scrutiny, and she found it slightly distracting. She felt a bit like a bug that was being dissected and studied.

“I can prepare an overview,” she said, “but that is still quite a broad area as there were so many simultaneous campaigns. Is there any particular battle or unit that I should focus on?”

“The 501st Legion,” he said in a clipped tone.

“General Skywalker’s legion. A fascinating unit,” she said. “Are you interested in their actions in the Imperial era as well, or only those preceding the fall of the Galactic Republic?”

“Both,” he said. “Is there a way to research individual soldiers in the battalion?”

“Yes, if you send me a list in advance,” she replied, “though it may take me a few days to compile the records. Will you be on Hosnian Prime long?”

“As long as it takes,” he said.

“I see. Perhaps we can meet on Primeday morning?” she suggested. “That should give me time to collect the combat reports at least, and once we’ve had a look at those, we might have a better idea of where to direct our research efforts.”

“What time on Primeday?” he asked.

“Any time you like,” she said. “I’ll have Teejay clear my schedule so I can be at your disposal all morning. I do have appointments in the afternoon that I won’t be able to reschedule, unfortunately.”

He looked startled. “Oh, I don’t want to take you away from your work for that long.”

“This is my work,” she said. “And I am delighted to meet someone who shares my interest in this particular field. Not many do. Consider yourself warned; you are far more likely to get tired of me than I am likely to run out of things to talk about.”

“I doubt that,” he said, meeting her eyes squarely. 

“Let me know if you still feel that way after I send you so many reports and articles that I crash your datapad,” she said.

He smiled for the first time since she’d met him, and it made him look younger and even more handsome, if such a thing were possible. She found herself smiling back at him even as she told herself not to indulge her interest. Not only was the man a client, but he was at least a decade younger than Maree—much closer to Eidani’s age, in fact. 

“I should forewarn you,” she said. “This period of history—it’s a difficult one. Most of the stories do not end well.”

“Trying to scare me off, Doc?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” she said. “I just want you to be prepared. There’s a reason most historians choose other periods to study. It’s a hard time to confront.”

“I understand,” he said, and something in his eyes told her that he truly did. “I will see you on Primeday.”

Kix exited the library feeling decidedly ambivalent. He stepped into the frigid air, which had failed to capture any heat from the bright sunshine during the time he’d spent inside the building. Still, he took a deep breath and felt the sting of it in his lungs.

He had been nervous when he entered the library. He’d spent over a year with Sidon Ithano and his crew, throwing himself into their skirmishes with a ruthlessness and ferocity that startled even the notorious pirate’s crew. But the violence failed to distract him from his own thoughts. He’d been consumed by grief and rage, overwhelmed by feelings of failure and guilt and the futility of everything he and his brothers had suffered and sacrificed. And worst of all, the knowledge that all of his brothers—every single one of them—were long dead. 

He had never felt so alone. 

Every time he looked in the mirror, his fallen brothers’ faces looked back at him. So he avoided mirrors as much as possible. Growing a beard helped disguise the resemblance, but he still couldn’t stand to meet his own eyes in the reflection. When he decided at last to uncover his brothers’ fates, the ship’s Twi’lek mechanic Reveth had warned him that nothing good would come from digging into the past.

“It ended bad,” she said. “I don’t think it could have ended worse. Don’t do this to yourself.”

They had been lying in bed. It hadn’t taken them long to seek each other’s company after Kix joined the crew. They both needed comfort—needed to forget. Just for a moment. He was haunted by his memories, and she by her hopeless, despairing love for the ship’s mysterious captain. They found oblivion in each other’s beds, but nothing more.

“I have to know,” he said, no longer able to bear the uncertainty. 

And so, he took a temporary leave from the Meson Martinet crew and traveled to Hosnian Prime in search of someone who could give him the answers he needed. The New Republic Information Bureau had directed him to the library, explaining that the facility maintained an extensive staff of archivists. At least one of them would surely be able to help, the information droid had assured him. When Kix had arrived at the entrance to the library’s vast structure, he’d hesitated, remembering Reveth’s warning before he’d departed the Meson Martinet three days earlier.

He’d shaken off the voice in his head, squared his shoulders, and gone inside. The pretty young Devaronian receptionist at the front desk hadn’t been able to answer his questions, but she had located an archivist who could, leading him through the labyrinthine facility with an ease that spoke of many such trips. She had been friendly and outgoing, peppering him with questions that left him tongue-tied, so he responded with mostly monosyllables or silence. His reticence did not seem to affect her at all—quite the opposite, in fact, and by the time she had located the archivist, she had escalated into full-blown flirtation. It had been a relief when the office droid had requested him to wait outside the office until the archivist was free to speak with him.

When he’d been admitted, he braced himself for another verbal onslaught, but the archivist was very different from the bubbly receptionist. She was older, for one thing. Her elaborate hairdo was threaded with silver, and a few fine lines crinkled around the corners of her eyes, evidence of decades of laughter. Her greeting had been friendly while maintaining a professional reserve, and he was struck by her low, melodic voice. 

And Maker, she was beautiful. Kix had found himself staring as she introduced herself, taking in the graceful contours of her face. She was dressed in elegant, flowing robes, and he had felt a moment’s self-consciousness about the shabby plainness of his own garb. But she had given him a kind smile, and despite the chilly air of the library, her small hands had been warm when she had clasped his in greeting. He clenched his fist lightly when she released him, trying in vain to hold onto that warmth. 

Her office was a comfortable, cozy room that seemed more like a home than a workplace—at least in Kix’s opinion, accustomed as he was the the harsh sterility of Kamino, the endless gray of the Republic Star Destroyers, and the chaotic violence of the battlefield. There was a large desk, which he had expected, and an assortment of soft, mismatched armchairs set around the room, which he had not. The expansive view from the enormous window naturally dominated the space, but she had decorated the room to suit her own taste as well. Several paintings hung on the walls, a few sculptures were tastefully displayed through the room, and there was a vase of fresh flowers on the desk. When she offered him tea, he noticed a small kitchenette, and he wondered exactly how much time she spent in this room. 

As she settled into the chair next to him and began discussing his request, he felt his anxiety spike again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain his interest in the Clone Wars without giving away his identity. It was something of an open secret in the Outer Rim that Sidon Ithano traveled with a clone trooper—though there were those who insisted this was merely another rumor designed to fuel the Crimson Corsair’s intimidating reputation. In general, Kix kept to himself, and he was reluctant to disclose his origins to anyone, let alone a government representative. To his relief, she did not interrogate him about his motivations; instead, she directed her questions to how she could best assist his search. Her soft voice made him want to lean in closer when she spoke, and as they conversed, he felt his tension begin to disperse.

She had a way of drawing him into the conversation without pressuring him for personal details, and he deeply appreciated her tact. It was not easy for him to talk to people, whether they were strangers or friends. Not like it used to be. He was not the same man he’d been before the Separatists tortured him for information and shoved him into a cryo-cycle stasis pod. 

During the Clone Wars, he had been fun-loving and easygoing. He’d been popular with his fellow clones and with the civilians he encountered—in fact, the bubbly receptionist from the library would have been exactly the kind of partner he would have sought out during a night out at 79’s. And most importantly, he’d had a group of brothers who were his best friends. Hardcase; Tup; Jesse; and the Domino twins, Echo and Fives. They had fallen, one by one, replaced by shinies, until it was just him and Jesse left of the original group—and Captain Rex, of course. The best commanding officer a clone could have asked for, and the closest thing Kix had ever had to a father. 

Finding Echo alive had been a miracle, and it was entirely due to Rex’s instincts. But the man they had found on Skako Minor had been so different from the ARC trooper who’d been left for dead at the Citadel that he had felt there was no longer a place for him in the 501st, and so Kix had lost Echo a second time. That loss was what had pushed Kix to take up Fives’s investigation. What he had found had horrified him deeply. He had tried desperately to alert the Jedi to the sinister plot, but the Separatists had found him first.

And now, fifty-one years later, he was a stranger in a strange galaxy, begging an alluring historian to tell him how his brothers had died.

---

Chapter 2

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones

[ms-erin-kallus]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Chapter 17

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/141874393

Why bother with this? She is just one less Imperial for the rebels to contend with.

That intrusive thought disappeared before it even finished as Kallus realized that he was one dead end away from ripping the Empire apart with his bare hands until he either found Rhoan, or ended any and everyone even remotely associated with both that day and the commodore.

Since his arrival on Lothal, all Kallus seemed to know was failure. One encounter after another, the Ghost and its crew evaded him with what seemed like an almost unnatural ally on their side. The laws of physics literally bent to their favor in front of his eyes and allowed them to escape from what should have been certain capture. It was at that moment he knew that he would never apprehend them.

With each defeat, he was left behind to look like the inept imbecile that he was beginning to feel that he really was. AWOL might have been the perfect cover to easily make her disappear, but with his skills, training, and resources he should have been able to find at least something.

It felt like she had simply been erased from existence.

Suspiciously, not a single ship left the dome the entire night before. The hangar captain in charge was telling the truth when he said that there had been no air traffic from late evening until early that morning. Even with the barrel of a blaster shoved down his throat, he made it more than obvious that the he didn’t know anything.

Though Kallus was slowly beginning to rectify who and what he had been, he knew for certain that he was already too corrupted for any hope of a complete transformation.

Concessions would always be made when he deemed necessary.

However, he realized that differentiating those necessities would prove a difficult task while he watched the trembling man fumble his way back to his feet from the floor where Kallus had shoved him. The lack of effort needed to coerce the traumatized officer as he threatened to scatter each of his children, by name, to different prison camps across the galaxy was almost second nature to him. It was a feeling of control and superiority that he previously relished, almost as if it was a necessity.

Reflexively and without realization, Alexsandr Kallus let the well practiced Imperial permanently ingrained into him do what it did best.

~

Assault was a minor offense. Granted, it was against another officer, but still, something didn’t add up. If anything, Kallus assumed Rhoan would simply be made an example of. Pryce had been off planet long enough for things to become more relaxed than she probably appreciated and punishing an officer was the perfect way to put everyone back in line. Except, that was hard to do if the defendant was nowhere to be found.

The comm next to him chirped and he grabbed it so fast he was surprised that it didn’t shatter in his hand.

‘I can’t find a single thing’ R3 wrote. ‘This doesn’t make sense, I hacked into every file in this dome and found nothing. They paused, ‘Sitringlato’s datapads and comms were suspiciously clean…like they had been wiped.’

Though a machine, Kallus could sense the dread in the droid’s words, “I’ve been going through every unconventional idea that I can think of,” he offered. Someone had to have seen something,” he responded as his head fell heavily into his free hand. The only plausible explanation he could come up with for as to why there was nothing to be found, was if things went as high up as he was afraid they had.

If so, there wouldn’t be much he could do. An ISB title could only get him so far.

‘I’m about to break into communications records, but I’m sure they were smarter than that.’

I know, Kallus thought because he too had been that careful in the past. “I’m going down to the public spaceport, maybe they took her off planet and used a civilian facility to cover their tracks.”

Silence.

‘If they took her off world we will never find her.’

I know.

~

About half an hour later, Kallus towered over a nervous spaceport supervisor that had been on vacation and returned at the worst time possible.

“I’m telling you,” she stuttered, “there is no record of anyone going out last night. There’s an orbital blockade right now. That means extensive paperwork for any and all traffic,” she paused before giving him the answer they both didn’t want to hear, “what you’re looking for just isn’t here.”

The woman visibly shook as Kallus glared down his nose at her, completely indifferent to the fact that she was a civilian and oblivious that the person he was fighting to overcome had again returned the instant he heard ‘I don’t know’.

He was tired of not knowing. He was tired of things being out of his control.

He was just tired.

“Then I want to speak to every single person that was within the facility last night. Now!” he growled. Time was quickly becoming an enemy, but he realized as he looked down at the distressed woman that mistakes were easily made with nervous, and thus, preoccupied minds.

“Yes, sir. It may take a little time to get everyone back here though,” she told him as she used the clipboard in her hands as a reason to look away from his unintentional scowl, “shift has already changed.”

Of course it has.

“Get them here promptly,” he said with as much patience as he could summon, “and comm me once they start coming in. I have another matter to tend to and won’t waste time here waiting.”

I can’t.

~

The detention block of the dome was as full as it usually was. No one ever bothered to notice droids unless something went wrong and they needed a scapegoat or some jerk needed to release some pent up aggression, so as usual, R3 simply rolled in to take a look around unimpeded.

Just as they dreaded, a thorough investigation of the main terminal at the level’s control panel yielded no results.

A series of beeps that Rhoan would’ve chastised them for rang down the hallway as they slammed their grasping arms against the paneling in frantic frustration.

An unnerving feeling that surged through their components from the moment they learned that she was gone steadily grew with every attempt that ended without the information that they desperately needed. R3 had seen the Empire make people disappear for less, but they had a feeling that this was different. It was personal and sinister, and the embarrassed commandant had something to do with it; they just knew it, and that terrified them.

And so, regardless of the main terminal’s lacking, every single console that sat to the side of their respective hold was scoured individually and meticulously using tactics not taught to them by the Empire. When that led to no result, R3 checked them again even though they knew what they would find.

Where is she?

They dared not ask anyone for anything, lest they garner unwanted attention. The last thing they needed was to stave off questions that didn’t pertain to her and only her.

R3 rolled back and stared at the lift at the end of the hallway, I’m not staying here without her.

“Hey, droid!” someone yelled from behind them, “let me out, why don’t ya?”

The little green machine turned and blinked at the twi’lek apathetically, “what are you in for?” they entertained.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” they answered before they turned and rolled to the lift.

“I’ll throw you in the incinerator myself if I get out of here!” the man yelled. “Fucking useless ass machine!”

“You mean useless ass free machine,” R3 beeped back as the lift doors opened and they boarded, headed for the workshop.

It was time to take a high risk chance.

~

Kallus used the time he spent waiting for the spaceport staff to arrive to look through the surveillance videos of the dome again. Sometimes he wondered if their lack of cameras in important places was as detrimental as he assumed.

It was.

Conveniently for whoever was covering their tracks, everything was gone. Imperial security blamed a rebel hack that caused a ‘catastrophic domewide outage’ that also somehow managed to last all night. The uneasiness that had crept into him from the moment he caught her outside of the base had exploded into full blown panic from the question, or worse, answer to, who would have that kind of authority and how did they get away with it so easily?

But mostly,

why?

There were outside servers where all recordings were kept for instances just like the one he was in. It was packaged as a ‘safeguard’, but in reality was just another way to cover up any and everything that needed to be.

Though he was ISB, even he didn’t have access to them.

Regardless, a favor was called in as he was finally forced to face the fact that whatever he was dealing with, it was much bigger than he was. The more time that went by the more confused he became, and the anxiety from it was physically manifesting itself deeper into the pit of his stomach as time went by.

“Agent,” a meek voice came from his side and jerked him from his thoughts. “The first has arrived. Where would you like to start?”

Kallus sighed uneasily because he already knew what he was going to find, he just dreaded having to come to terms with it fully.

“Find me somewhere quiet…and out of sight.”

~

As expected, no one saw anything unusual. If any of them were actually lying, they needed to be recruited because one person actually threw up from their fear. Again, he lost control and inadvertently slipped back into latent routine.

A handful of ships went out, but the documentation was meticulous and matched all corresponding surveillance videos,

unless she was smuggled out unchecked.

Bribery wasn’t an uncommon problem in the transportation industry. It was actually one of the most corrupt, and the possibility that someone ‘looked away’, and that he would find them in time, was a possibility that he clung to like a scared child to the safety of its mother.

By that point he was questioning everything, no matter how trivial or improbable. Nothing was going to slip by him.

Every ship’s manifest was handed over without question or hesitation and Kallus ordered each cargo load be thoroughly inspected and its results immediately relayed back to him upon its arrival under the threat of death.

Lasan was no secret, but it also wasn't exactly accurate; however, not many people knew that. Nor would they.

~

Reluctantly, Kallus was forced to pull himself away from his office where he had all but barricaded himself into, and the conversation he was in with R3, for a hangar where a ship waited to take him to a last minute, mandatory briefing with Thrawn and Pryce on the Chimera.

With a thousand thoughts running through his mind he didn’t notice the grating voice that yelled out his name from behind him. Instantly, a barely controllable rage made his veins burn with coursing fire.

“Agent Kallus,” the commodore called out again as he slowly sauntered toward him, “wait up.” The man smirked at a custodial droid that was quietly sweeping the floor in front of him before he suddenly pulled back and launched some sort of drink container that he had just finished straight at them as hard as he could.

The machine let out a series of loud, confused beeps when the bottle purposefully missed the basket attached to its front and instead hit them in the face with a hard, loud clank.

Sitringlato simply laughed as Kallus pushed past him. “You know-,” he started as he glowered straight back into the commodore’s amused eyes. It took everything in him to not add a bruise to the collection Rhoan had left behind when he picked the bottle up and faced him. “I see that your assailant has gone AWOL.” From what Kallus had learned of the commodore, he could easily use the man’s hubris against him. Just a subtle nudge and subliminal suggestion would be more than enough to get him to brag about anything he could use to find Rhoan.

Stringlato scoffed loudly, “Looks like she decided that running was her best option. She really has no idea how badly she fucked up. Stupid bitch.”

Kallus finally snapped.

Malicious intent flashed through his eyes and he knew the surprised commodore understood it as he suddenly stormed toward him.

Hands searched frantically behind him as the man stumbled, panicked from what he saw as an undoubtedly fatal threat until he found himself trapped against a wall.

“No, you don’t know how badly you just fucked up,” Kallus said down to him quietly before he smashed the bottom of the bottle he still held against the wall just above Sitringlato’s head. Pieces of the heavily reinforced glass exploded around them as the bottle easily shattered under the sheer force from with which it was viciously hit.

If it was going to take an Imperial to beat an Imperial, then that’s what was going to happen.

“You ca-“ the commodore started before Kallus slammed his fist into the wall on the opposite side of the man’s face hard enough that it left a permanent indentation.

On its impact, Kallus knew that he broke more than skin as, even through the immense volume of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, he felt an all too familiar burn as a small trail of blood fell from the gash in his damaged knuckle.

Beads of sweat quickly accumulated across the reddened skin of Sitringlato’s face as he realized that he was trapped between a fist planted firmly into the wall on one side of him and the broken end of the bottle held precariously at his throat on the opposite.

“I will only ask this once,” Kallus threatened down into the panicked face marred by an array of swollen, colorful contusions. “Where is she?”

Sitringlato yelped when Kallus pressed a sharp edge of the glass into the skin just above the major artery that pulsated rapidly in sync with his risen heart rate. “I don’t-“ he started before he felt it slowly permeate his skin. “I’m serious! I don’t know!”

Kallus menacingly began to turn the neck of the bottle so that its sharp point would also, “I don’t believe you,” he told him as he pushed his weapon further inward. “You know, it’s a common misconception that bleeding to death is a calm process,” he said as if their conversation was merely simple discourse. “You actually suffocate. No blood to pump,” Kallus paused as he watched the crimson line that disappeared down into the Imperial’s collar grow heavier, “no way for oxygen to circulate.”

Terror shot through the commodore’s eyes upon his new found knowledge and he instinctually tried to roll under Kallus’ arm to escape what he knew wouldn’t end well for him, but he didn’t get far.

“I don’t think so,” Kallus scoffed as his hand quickly left the wall and caught the man by his throat before he slammed him hard enough against the wall that it knocked the breath out of him. A yelp echoed down the empty corridor when he felt Kallus jab the broken end of the bottle into the side of his already battered face, hard. “I will give you one more chance.”

After a length of silence that Kallus deemed ‘too long’, but was in actuality a few seconds of hesitation, the pointed glass sliced easily through the softened skin of his injured eye.

“I wonder how much a bruise can bleed?” Kallus asked as he slowly looked from one side of his mangled face to the other. “I’ll start here,” he said more to himself than his victim as he dropped his free hand from the wall and grabbed the man’s chin violently.

“Okay! Okay!” Sitringlato shrieked, the cry muffled by the pressure on his throat, as Kallus carved deep enough into the man’s face he felt bone. “I’ll tell-“ he started before the man screamed loudly from what Kallus knew was a blinding, searing pain. If the man didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, truthfully, he would simply move to slice nerves until he did.

A door behind them whirred open and someone said something that Kallus couldn’t make out through the pounding in his ears. “This is ISB business, so unless you are also from the bureau, I advise you don’t make yourself a witness to this or it will be you next!”

The door quickly shut and the commodore used Kallus’ briefly unfocused attention to try another haphazard escape. It proved quickly a massive mistake on his part because he instead only managed to clumsily fall to his knees in front of an infuriated man that had finally reached his limit.

Terrified, Sitringlato scampered back against the wall and turned his bloodied face away as Kallus knelt in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered as he put his hands between them as some sort of useless shield.

“I’m not,” Kallus said coldly as he slapped the man’s hands away and grabbed his jaw to yank his face directly into his own. Wild eyes looked back at him, “this is for her,” he told him quietly as his free hand slipped behind the commodore’s head and grabbed a handful of hair.

A loud sound of snapping vertebrae filled Kallus’ ears with virulent delight when he quickly and efficiently jerked his hands in opposite directions. The murdered body slumped over onto the floor as Kallus stood and looked down to the handiwork at his feet in disgust.

“I’ve heard that this Thrawn guy is a real piece of work,” Sitringlato’s voice rang through Kallus’ ears.

Instantly, he was pulled back into the reality that he loathed returning to, “yeah,” was all he could manage to say as the vision of a dead body falling from his hands played out again in his mind.

In time.

“At least they finally got someone around here that can do their job,” the commodore smirked as the lift doors closed between the two of them.

Yeah, the airlock is too good for him, Kallus thought as he waited for it to come back.

~

“You’re late,” Pryce snapped as she buckled herself into a jump seat across from the commodore and settled in theatrically.

Kallus wasn’t in the mood for her antics and was genuinely afraid that he would snap if she kept it up. “Apologies, governor. I had to wait for the lifts,” he said as he cut a sharp, inconspicuous look to the man at his right.

“Perhaps you should’ve left sooner?” the commodore openly, bravely, and with remarkable stupidity mocked him, either oblivious to or unconcerned by the warning thrown at him.

Kallus took in a long breath and steeled himself before he sat down in the seat directly next to him and buckled in haughtily.

The other man turned and began, “there are open seats everywhere, why-“ but thought twice of it when Kallus pushed his face, seething with potential retaliation, straight into his.

As the shuttle began its slow ascent, Kallus whispered to him ominously.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sitringlato scoffed, “is that-,” he began pompously before Kallus reached over, grabbed the belt to his harness and yanked it as hard as he could without notice from an always preoccupied Pryce.

“Safety first,” Kallus chastised the suddenly silent man sarcastically as he continued to pull until he knew the strap was tight enough to make it impossible for him to breathe easily.

There was no response other than a muffled cough and Kallus assumed that the commodore was finally beginning to realize that he was prodding someone whose rank fell outside of the military hierarchy and, thus, didn’t have to answer to him.

An arrogant smile briefly crossed Kallus’ face as he let images from the hallway play out again in his mind, but with ‘improvements’.

Luckily, the flight to the star destroyer was short and before Kallus could abandon his plans and make good on his threat to end the man where he sat, he found himself on the bridge of the Chimera in front of an oversized star chart.

“Admiral Konstantine should be with us momentarily, grand admiral,” Pryce said apologetically as she looked toward the door in almost disgust at his tardiness. It hadn’t been long since she arrived, but anyone with eyes could see that the two of them hated each other, vehemently.

“It’s quite alright, governor. I doubt that he would have much to offer,” Thrawn answered in a cool, smooth voice. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Kallus couldn’t help but notice that, from the moment they arrived, Thrawn studied the commandant’s bruised face intently. Rhoan had really done a number on his eye, as even after two rotations and numerous trips to the medical facility later, it was still swollen and every shade of blue and purple. Kallus hoped that every time he looked in a mirror, he remembered how it felt when he slammed to the ground as she unleashed her torrent of unadulterated rage upon him.

“Commandant,” Thrawn suddenly interrupted. “I must ask, what happened to you?”

Sitringlato stood up a little straighter before he replied pathetically, “I was attacked viciously by a fellow officer, grand admiral.” The Imperial popped his tunic and lifted his chin as he delivered his accusation. “It was unprofessional and completely unwarranted.”

A loud, unintentional scoff escaped from Kallus before he could stop it.

“You have something to add, Agent Kallus?” Thrawn asked inquisitively. Red, glowing eyes burned into him like the summer rays of Tattooine’s dual suns.

Kallus cleared his throat and chose his words carefully, “the commandant is leaving out an important part of the story,” he barely managed to say without indicating the fury that grew exponentially with his words.

“Which is?” Thrawn continued, carefully studying Kallus’ every facial and emotional cue. It took every bit of the training he had to remain perfectly stoic in front of the intimidating alien’s inquisition.

“The captain was provoked,” he said simply in an effort to give away as little as possible unless absolutely necessary.

“I would hardly call it a provocation!” Stringlato almost screeched; his pride obviously mortally wounded.

Thrawn looked him up and down slowly and carefully before he turned back to Kallus, “do continue, agent.”

“The commandant made a very reprehensible remark, and it deeply offended and hurt the captain. She reacted in a way that, yes, was in poor judgment, but also could be seen as justifiable given the circumstance.”

“I see,” Thrawn said slowly, internalizing and reviewing the new information. “Tell me, what did you say that would warrant such an” he looked over his shoulder to his aide behind him who whispered something without an exchange, “antagonism?”

The commandant became visibly uncomfortable in an instant when he realized that his remark could only go one of two ways considering the instigation’s existence was a result of his inquisitor’s aftermath. “I, um,” he started before he cleared his throat. “I made a reference that the citizens aiding and abetting the insurgency on Batonn weren’t as ‘innocent’ as they seemingly presented themselves to be.”

It appeared that Kallus wasn’t the only one that was watching his wording carefully.

Thrawn was unnervingly silent as he looked down at the commandant. His blue face steeled and his body language rendered him immediately terse. It was only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity before he finally spoke, his voice was flat and monotone, “civilian casualties should always be kept at a minimum. The preservation of life is important if we are to keep the citizenry complacent and compliant. Wouldn’t you agree, governor?”

The color drained from her already pale complexion and Pryce stuttered as she answered, caught completely off guard, “of course, grand admiral.”

Thrawn cut his eyes toward her in a way that made Kallus shudder.

“Always,” she added with some sort of feigned agreement.

Picking up subtle cues in conversations was another part of Kallus’ extensive training. Those cues were not subtle. Their exchange was definitely a reminder, or even reprimand of some kind.

“And where is the captain now?” Thrawn asked inquisitively as he looked over to Pryce. “I am to assume that she has been detained for her crime?” he asked, assuming that she would’ve been the one to hand down, or at least approve the process.

“She has been sent to Kessel,” the commandant said proudly before Thrawn turned and showed just a brief second of surprise on his usually expressionless face.

Kallus couldn’t stop himself from turning toward Pryce, barely able to keep himself composed, “are you serious? For minor assault?” The words he spoke aloud sounded more like soft murmurs in his ears as his head began to swim at the very worst scenario he could think of.

“This seems quite unnecessary. Why such a harsh condemnation?” Thrawn asked, genuinely perplexed. The aid at his side stood with his mouth agape in shock and a look of disgusted confusion on his face.

Pryce stepped in, “we needed to make an example of her. If people know that extreme measures will be taken, then it should quell any further insubordination among the ranks. Consider it a,” she hesitated, “preemptive warning for the others.”

“That seems hardly pragmatic, Governor. I’ve learned that the most conducive crews are the ones that are respected and appreciated, not terrorized. Those very reasons are why mine have been an invaluable tool in the many successes that we have had for the Empire.”

Kallus could barely speak through the dryness in his throat, “if she was to be an example, why was her disappearance so thorough?”

“Do elaborate, agent?” Thrawn asked as he looked to him from the pair at his side that had visibly lost the confidence they had prior.

“The captain is listed as AWOL,” he informed them, barely able to hear himself, much less anyone else, speak. “I feel like it’s hard to make an example when the offender is nowhere to be found.” A sudden deafening roar in his head began to make the room spin, “her punishment will go unnoticed; thus negating its intention, will it not?”

Sitringlato cleared his throat loudly as he pulled nervously at the collar of his tunic.

“Pull yourself together,” Pryce spit at him quietly as she tried desperately to deflect the answer that she knew she wouldn’t be able to defend.

“I see that your answer is hard to swallow,” Thrawn’s aid snarked under his breath as he began to quickly scroll on his datapad.

“There’s nothing there,” Kallus warned before he realized that he had. “All of her records are gone, along with her.” Rationalize that quick, Kallus screamed at himself through clouded thoughts. It was hard enough to keep himself together without blowing his cover, “I was beginning to build a case, but there is absolutely no information on this supposed sentencing that has been handed down.” Kallus could’ve strangled Pryce where she stood, in front of them all and without hesitation, because of his next words, “without its proper trial.”

Suddenly, the commandant fell to the floor and clutched desperately at his throat as his face began to turn a dark shade of red.

Kallus struggled to breath harder than the man writhing on the floor at his feet as purple dots began to litter his field of vision.

You couldn’t even find her, how are you supposed to save her?

“Call for a medic, Commander Vanto,” Thrawn instructed almost apathetically.

“What is wrong with you?” Pryce asked dryly as Kallus dropped to the floor before he could black out and quietly hid that fact when he reached over to the commandant to unseal the top of his tunic.

“Can you breathe?” he asked as he shakily took his pulse. The man was in severe tachycardia.

“The medics are on their way,” Kallus heard Vanto say in a thick wild space accent as he studied the man suffocating on the floor but offered him no real assistance.

Kallus leaned down and made it look as if he was trying to listen to the man’s erratic breathing.

“I told you so,” was the last thing the commandant heard before Agent Kallus watched him die.

[officialfoxsquadron]

shiny happy people

7.2k words | my ao3

rating: mature

cw: discussions of starvation and eating disorders, vomiting and emetophobia, general bad coping mechanisms for trauma

summary: Cassian Andor does not know Pazima Reynard, except to know that they are one and the same; cold, cruel and calculating spies. When the asocial woman-and Cassian's sometime barber-returns to Rebel Base with a fourteen-year-old girl, he finds himself wrestling with the realities of being young during wartime.

“Would you like to hear the news?”

K-2SO’s clipped voice, typically so flat and emotionless, sparkled with a bit of excitement. Cassian Andor, Rebel spy, was sick to death of news. The Rebel droids were worse gossips than the organic beings. Besides, his whole damn job was news and gossip.

“I am going to hear it anyway,” Cassian grumbled, flipping the switches for the landing cycle. Crait, the home of the new Rebel base (and, Cassian supposed, his home), was a desolate, salty planet. The surface ran red as soon as you stepped on it. It made him uneasy.

K prattled on, some nonsense about the Senate and who was sleeping with who and who died. No one Cassian knew or cared about. But he let the droid talk as he watched the Rebel base grow larger, a bloody wound on Crait’s salt-white flesh. 

“Oh, and Pazima Reynard is back at base. She is married to Wedge Antilles and has a sister now.”

That caught his attention. Not necessarily Pazima Reynard’s personal life-frankly, he didn’t give a fuck-but it did remind Cassian he needed a haircut.

“What did we bring back to trade?” He looked over his shoulder, making a quick mental intake. Booze, cigarras, nudie holos, food from off-world–some combination of those would be enough to trade for a trim. He had not looked in the mirror since stitching up a blast wound back on Daiyu, but he knew that his hair had grown far too long. It fell sometimes, greasy and dark, in front of his eyes. 

A shame I cannot see the back of my own head, Cassian mused. Then I could just take care of it myself, and be done with it.

“Perhaps something for the girl,” K suggested, his voice surprisingly light. “She is fourteen.”

Fourteen . He sniffed. What madness had possessed Pazima to bring a teenager into an army base?

He shot K a dark look. “I don’t care,” he declared.

“As you say.” The droid paused. “Do not worry, Cassian. They will send you away again soon enough.”

He grunted, but said nothing. The voice of some traffic controllers crackled onto his comms, and Cassian responded in kind. He landed the ship without incident, and braced himself for the next few weeks in the cesspool of doomed young people he called home.

“I brought you something to trade.” He held up a holotape, something he had found stashed away.

Pazima Reynard, tall, stern and statuesque, stood blocking the doorway to her bunkroom. He had not seen her for more than a year. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Almost. Pazima, who wore her black hair in tight knots, complementing her angular face and tattooed copper skin, was not the type of woman to let you forget.

She eyed him skeptically, lifting an eyebrow. “You said whisky.”

“This is better. Music from before the Empire,” he said, stepping forward. He knew music was her great weakness. She snatched the tape from him, examining it.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Don’t remember.”

She sniffed, looking over the tape, and then down at him. “Fine,” she said haughtily, waving her hand and turning her back, “but only because you look pathetic, like a wet runyip.”

Cassian allowed himself to laugh and followed her into the bunkroom.

The bunkrooms on Crait are small, claustrophobic, dreary things, more like the prison cells on Narkina 5 than comfortable homes. At the very least, they had windows into the cavernous hallway, the artificial light providing a facsimile of normal family life. There was barely enough space for a chair and table, smushed into the back of the room. One of their four bunks was overflowing with junk. Above it sat Pazima’s new sister, curled into a ball and staring at him.

The girl was fourteen, according to K, but hunger had stunted her growth. She looked healthy enough now, if a bit pale, but Cassian saw the signs of past malnourishment. Limbs too short, skin covered in scars and stretched too taut, bones jutting like knives beneath her skin, threatening to pop at any moment. He was probably close to her age when he saw them in his own reflection, older still when he truly understood what it meant.

Still, he had grown into his looks. He wondered if she ever would. She bore a scar on one eye, red and angry and unsettling, making the pupil cloudy and gray. A shock of curly orange hair erupted from her head, messy and unkempt, falling to her shoulders.

A one-eyed ginger. What a catastrophe.

“Lottie,” Pazima said, gentler than he ever imagined her speaking, her deep voice the comforting rumble of thunder. “This is a colleague of ours, Cassian Andor.”

“Hello.” It came out shorter than he expected. It’s not that he disliked children, he just didn’t know what to do around them.

She blinked at him, then tilted her head, sizing him up like a fighter in the ring. Then, quick and quiet as a ghost, she scurried down the ladder and out of the room.

Pazima sighed wearily, watching her sister flash by in a red blur, shutting the door. “She hasn’t been talking much,” she said absently. “We thought she made some progress, but-” She turned to him abruptly. “You don’t care. Sit.”

She was right, of course. He respected Pazima, which was kind of like caring for someone, when respect is all you are allowed to feel.

“Colleague?” he teased lightly.

“What would you call it?”

He pondered that. “Hunters who sometimes chase the same prey.”

She grinned with approval. “Sit,” she insisted, gesturing again to her chair.

He breathed in and out, steadying himself. As much as he needed to be on base, to check in and regroup with his allies, he hated it. It was too banal, too domestic, too structured.

Relax, Cassian. It’s just hair.

Maarva cut his hair once. She was very bad at it, chopping roughly and chiding him to sit still through gritted teeth. Eventually, she gave up and outsourced it to an old man down the road. His name was Jossam, and he always had a sweet for him.

He sat in the chair and allowed Pazima to wrap an old blanket around his shoulders.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked, something he is sure he has asked her before.

“I went to an all-girls school,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

“Is that true?”

She snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

The scissors snipped at his hair lightly. It was uncomfortable, yet somehow relaxing to have someone touch him so matter-of-factly. Not insistent or passionate, like a lover, nor rough and feral like an enemy. The kind of touch that just is , and it’s enough to lull Cassian into a kind of madness.

His eyes fixed on the empty bunk where Pazima’s sister once was. Was he ever so young?

How old were you when you first killed someone? Do you even remember?

“I didn’t take you for the type,” he said quietly.

Pazima groaned like a teenager. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Judge.” Her eyes narrowed in warning when he turned to meet them.

“I’m not judging, I just thought-“ Thought you were too cold-hearted for that. That’s what we are, after all. Automatons made of stone and ice, sent to kill without thought, without question. He focused forward again, looking at the door. “Does she know what you are?”

“Of course she does, Cassian. Better than you .”

“And so what, so she will be-“

“Why do you care?”

It’s a sharp question, and a good one.

“I was a soldier too young.”

“So was I. I gave her a choice. I didn’t just take her.”

He woke up on Maarva and Clem’s ship with a deathly ringing in his head. Their voices, speaking frantically in hushed tones, grated on his ear. Worse, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying-Galactic Basic was still harsh, discordant gibberish to him then.

I didn’t have a choice. 

Then again, Maarva would always say she didn’t have a choice either.

Pazima, ever the observant spy, snipped the scissors decisively. She twisted her mouth into the idea of a smile. 

“Perhaps we’re just getting old, Cassian. Bail Organa has brought his daughter to base.”

Yes, he knew that too. It was hard to miss the stalwart column of a girl standing next to her father, going from meeting to meeting in a pristine white dress, large brown eyes observant and calculating. 

“She isn’t much older than Lottie,” she suggested. 

She is looking for absolution, Cassian realized. Absolution from me.

He was sure he had woken up in the underworld that day. It was like they always told the younger children on Kenari, when the sun fell and the flickers of the campfire elongated their fingers into long shadows. Wander too far from the group, and you’ll end up in the world below ours. The one the off-worlders found when they dug too deep.

“Will they be my new allies? This…flock of teenage girls?”

“Believe it or not, Cassian, I wasn’t thinking of you when I found her.”

“Then what were you thinking?” There it is, the kill shot, the question Cassian really wanted to ask. He wanted to grab her and scream it in her face. What is it, that compels you to rip a child away from their home, teach them a new language, force them to fight for the galaxy?l

Pazima stopped, taken aback by his fervor, before stepping in front of him. The sound of her boots echoed on the cave floor. She gripped the arms of his chair, one, then another, her pair of scissors balled into a fist. Cassian felt himself leaning back, and watched as that facsimile of a smile twisted into something uglier, meaner, as she leaned forward, filling the empty space with herself.

“You’re in my home, Cassian.” Her voice was soft, but sharp, a velvet glove concealing a steel fist. The muscles in her long tattooed arms twitched in anticipation, as if her body itself hungered for a fight. She lifted an eyebrow, brown eyes delighting in his physical disadvantage. She was stronger, taller, and had him practically trapped beneath her. 

In other words, he was prey, and she the predator, deciding if she would devour him. If it was anyone else, any time else, Cassian would have reached for his blaster.

But regret slowed his hand. What was he doing? He hardly knew this woman, only that she was dangerous, and he had questioned her, threatened her, pushed his own past into her present.

“Mind your tone.”

It was an order. He nodded.

Quickly, and as if nothing had happened, her hands left the chair and she walked back behind him, trimming his hair again.

They passed a few moments of silence, enough for Cassian to continue wallowing in remorse. She takes another strand of hair, and before cutting, decides to speak.

“Do you remember the Jedi?” she asked.

What a strange question. He had been alive when the Jedi were active-or so he thought. Kenari was far away from such things, and the idea that there was any sort of power in the galaxy besides the Empire was a distant fantasy. 

“No.”

“They took children away from their parents. There was a Jedi general in the Clone Wars who was twelve .”

“I didn’t know you were religious.” 

“I’m not. I just remember.” Pazima ran two of her fingers through Cassian’s hair, snipping away again. “This galaxy has always forced children to grow up too fast. With me, at least she will have steady meals and a bed.”

“She will be in a war.”

“She always was.”

The conversation lulls, and the monotonous sound betrays the electric charge in the air. Both of them knew what was happening; they were digging and digging, getting dangerously close to something honest.

Neither of them liked honesty. Honesty is what kills you. Lies kept you alive.

Yet honesty was irresistible, a gravitational pull. How many times had Cassian seen it–one truth spilled out, then another, then another, until you were weeping, telling your life story to someone you barely knew? How many times had he exploited it?

Pazima knew that too. They were liars, both of them.

When she spoke again, he wasn’t surprised to find the truth pouring out of her. Her voice was distant, quiet, as if it came from someplace far away.

“You and I won’t be alive to see the galaxy we hope to build. Surely you understand that.”

“Yes.” Wars were fought by teenagers, twenty-somethings. Pazima was in her thirties, Cassian not far behind. Young by peacetime standards, practically elderly in wartime. The clock had never ticked louder.

“What are we doing it all for, if not for them?”

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cassian admitted, his eyes on the empty bunk. “But I don’t remember ever being so young.”

Pazima sighed, long and weary, following Cassian’s gaze.

“Neither do I.”

A week goes by, maybe more, and the next time he passes the Reynards’ bunkroom, it’s a muffled roar of sound.

Cassian can’t help himself. Ever the spy, he slips into the shadows and looks through their window, curious at what he will find.

Wedge Antilles, Pazima Reynard’s husband, was the very model of a Rebellion pilot. Young, cocky, brash, and handsome. The type of man other men with too much adrenaline love to idolize. Not exactly who he thought Pazima would go for, but then again, he barely knew her.

He observed Wedge with an attempt at cool disinterest, though in truth, he found himself jealous at the easy way he flitted in and out of the window’s view, the winning smiles he gave the men gathered around him.

Laughter rose and fell, and then rose again, the sharp noise growing louder as Wedge opened and closed the door.

“Lottie! Where the hell have you-” Cassian made to scurry off, but it was too late. Wedge’s eyes locked onto his. “Oh, hello. Cassian Andor, right?” He stuck his hand out. “Wedge Antilles. Pazima said she cut your hair.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said, shaking his hand, searching quickly for an escape.

“This what you like to do?” Wedge said, flashing that smile and stepping forward, a bit of a sway in his walk. “You like to watch?”

Cassian snorted, the side of his mouth twitching despite himself. “I am an intelligence officer. It’s my job to be curious.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us.” He gestured to the door with a beer bottle in his hand. “It’s a tight squeeze, but you’ll fit.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “Crowds make me uncomfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” Wedge said, shrugging. His manner was easy, but Cassian saw something in the young man’s eyes, a fierce intelligence. He knitted his thick black brows together, darting his eyes up and down the hallway. “Have you seen Pazima’s sister, by the way? Short, redheaded, one-eyed. Very hard to miss.”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” He clapped Cassian on the shoulder, before pointing a finger at him. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m serious.”

Cassian wanted to curl up in a hole. This was exactly the type of social interaction he hated. What an embarrassing thing it was, to need people.

Still, he nodded. Wedge seemed to be a worthy ally. 

“Good night, Captain Antilles.”

“Night.”

The door closed, and Cassian walked away, determined to get back to his ship and sleep alone. He hated it here-all of them crammed into bunks carved into a cave, He longed to get a mission, any mission, fly with K2 somewhere shady and seedy and terrible, away from this prison of domesticity.

A sound from the shadows pricked at his ears, pulling him out of his reverie.

He knew the sound of drunken retching far too well, and someone was heaving, little gasps coming in between deep eruptions of sound.

He wanted to turn away, but something told him to stay. He should at least try to be a part of a community again.

“Hello?” he called, stepping towards the sound. “Do you need a medic?”

Two eyes peeked out from the shadows, the cold artificial light causing them to sparkle like stars.

Then Lottie Reynard stumbled forward, and promptly vomited onto Cassian’s shoes.

“What the fuck,” he groaned, shaking his foot and recoiling in disgust.

The girl blinked, scanning Cassian’s face as she wiped spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked truly pathetic, gripping the neck of a liquor bottle with white knuckles, chunks of vomit intertwined in her ragged red curls.

He almost pitied her, until he found himself slammed against the wall, a shriek ringing in his ears and a blade digging into his skin.

This is what you get for being kind, Cassian. Puke on your shoes and a knife at your throat.

He looked down at her, this tiny, savage animal.

“I could reach for my blaster and kill you,” he whispered. 

Her eyes flitted towards the weapon, then back to him, jutting her chin. “You would hesitate,” she reckoned, eyes narrowing as she scanned his face. Pazima said she didn’t talk, and perhaps it was better that way. Her voice was squeaky, so high-pitched it was almost grating, with a nearly indecipherable accent. “You are the type of man who hesitates to kill a child.”

“Am I?” He looked down at the weapon at his throat. Its wavy edges were sharp and fine, the blade decorated with etchings he could not quite see. “Your knife is very beautiful,” he said calmly. The tip pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood. He groaned and held his hands in the air, a gesture of peace, but his irritation was clear. “I am only trying to get back to my ship.”

“You startled me,” she said in a much smaller voice, before withdrawing and sheathing the knife against her thigh.

“You shouldn’t draw a weapon on strangers here. Not everyone is as kind as me.”

“You kill children,” she hissed, closing the gap between them once again. He could smell her sickly-sweet breath, see how her mismatched eyes shook with nervous energy.

He leaned closer, keeping his voice even.

“So do you.”

That was enough to get her to back away, working her jaw, wiping her mouth again before taking a swig from her bottle. 

It was jarring to watch a teenager drink from a bottle like one born to it. His heart, stupid thing, spoke before his brain. “I was like you once.”

The girl scoffed, face twisting in disgust as she rolled her eyes, tossing her messy hair. “So what does that make you? My daddy?” She said the last two words with such mocking disdain, and he found himself laughing in spite of himself. 

“I am too young for that.” I hope. “I meant I was very hungry once. Did you eat something today?”

“I-” She blinked, shaking her head, turning into herself. “No. I forgot.”

“You should,” he said. He pulled a ration bar from his pocket. “Especially if you plan on drinking half a bottle of gin.”

She looked at the bottle in her hand, before taking the bar and devouring the way only starving children could, crumbs falling onto her shirt. “I shouldn’t, I know, I just…I don’t sleep so good anymore.”

“So well.”

“What?”

“So well. Basic wasn’t my first language either.”

“Oh, great. A Basic lesson as well as a fucking lecture.” Her words slurred together, and she slumped against the wall.

Cassian shook his head, getting up. “Good night. I’ll tell Wedge where you are.”

“No-wait, Cassian.” She reached out, trying to tug at his jacket, his leg, before falling and stumbling again. He turned around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, something startlingly honest and pleading in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I think I’ve forgotten how to trust people,” she added quietly, folding further into herself.

“That’s alright,” he said, as gently as he possibly could. “I have too.”

Quicker than lightning, she stood up and swiped at the blood on his neck, collecting it onto the tip of her finger. He watched her, stunned, as she observed it dripping on her fingers, illuminated by moonlight.

Then, she closed her eyes, swaying just a bit, before nodding.

“You will die on a beach, in the arms of the woman you love,” she said, quiet and assured. She opened her eyes and smiled, a sincere attempt at comfort. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She shook the blood off of her hands and disappeared. They never spoke again.

The years have changed them all.

Cassian is still sullen, but then there is Jyn Erso, all fiery hope and determination, and she pierces him straight to the core. She makes the world come alive again, and with her, Cassian feels that there might be a future. Not for him, maybe, but for someone.

Scarif is a beach planet, and there is very little time for goodbyes.

Pazima Reynard is not a part of the Scarif mission. Whoever she is off of base, on base she is a mechanic. Even with a welding mask over her face, she was easy to spot. Her hair was now dyed a bright greenish-blue, locs piled onto her head, adding even more height to her tall frame. Sparks flew around her as she worked, illuminating her tattooed skin.

He was not a loud man, but he called her name. She lifted the mask, running her sweat and oil-slick hands into a towel.

“Your hair is very bright,” he observed.

“Cassian.” Her face remained passive, but her voice was rich with warmth. “Got bored on a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Funny place for a mechanic to be.”

“Yes, well,” She abandoned her thought, crossing her arms. “I hear you’ll be leaving soon.”

“Keep it quiet.” he said, voice dropping to a semi-serious, conspiratorial whisper. “If we need it, can we rely on you to rally the pilots?”

“Of course. I’ve roped Bail in as well. You’ve got people here rooting for you.”

He took a look around Rebel Base, maybe for the last time. This one, built out of an abandoned temple on Yavin IV, is much better than Crait. There’s something freeing about Yavin, like the Rebels have carved out a slice of the jungle, hidden away just for them. For a year or so, it felt like nothing could touch them.

Then Jyn Erso, and the Death Star. 

Time waits for no one. He won’t inherit the galaxy they’re building.

I’ll miss this, he thought, surprising himself. I’ll miss being on the outside of this, the great concentric circles of people, orbiting around each other. He had not had a home for a very long time, but Rebel Base was as close as he could get. 

A chorus of shrieking giggles interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Lottie Reynard laughing with a Mirilan medic, the two child-women passing cards between them and the droid mechanic K loved, some teenage boy with thick glasses. 

Their eyes met, very briefly, before Lottie ducked her head down, hiding the bright pink blush creeping up her skin.

Her words have rattled around in his head. They were easy enough to pass off as the drunken, nonsense ramblings of a half-mad fourteen year old.

Then he met Jyn, and saw the Death Star’s destruction.

“Sorry,” Pazima said absently, putting a hand on her hip. “I have tried to tell her she laughs like a Kowakian monkey-lizard. You can imagine how that went.”

Cassian shook his head. Truthfully, he took some kind of comfort in the fact that despite everything, teenage girls will always giggle too loud.

Then it hits him. Lies require time. The truth is something immediate, something to do when there’s no time left.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with her.”

It was like watching a mask come off, seeing the confusion on Pazima’s features. Her brows knitted together, and then a smile. She had dimples when she smiled. He had never noticed before.

“I thought you didn’t care,” she said, after a moment.

“I don’t,” he said. “So you can trust me. A neutral observer. A former skeptic, even.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head, looking at Lottie, then her boots, tapping her foot absently. “Well, glad you’re convinced,” she mumbled. “I’m still not.”

“I don’t think parents ever think they do a good job,” he said. “My mother thought I had too many women, too many secrets. She still loved me, though. And that was enough.”

Pazima hummed, and he watched as she looked over at her sister again, before turning to him, sighing deeply.

“I’m not good at this kind of talk,” she admitted.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss her worries. “Then I’ll let you get back to work. But…” He looked at her, really looked, noting the deep-set inner corners of her eyes, her flat, straight nose, her full lips, her high cheekbones, her square jaw, the freckles dotting her cheeks. He let himself take in the sight of a supernaturally beautiful woman, for no other reason than he could.

“Can I ask you for a favor? You’re the only one I can trust with it.” He reached for her hand, not caring about the oil and grease staining them, only caring for a desperate moment of connection.

If Pazima was confused before, she was even more so now, shocked at his sudden display of emotion.

“Cassian-“

“There is a woman, her name is Kerri. She’s from Kenari. She’d be twenty-nine, maybe thirty by now. If…if you hear about her doing whatever it is you do, look into it for me, okay? She’s probably dead, but someone has to.”

Pazima squeezed his hand, nodding like one taking a solemn vow. “I will.”

Lottie has always been an awful sailor, which is one of her more irritating qualities.

Pazima had thought, when she first found her, that she would take to it. She had hoped the ocean could be a mother to Lottie, the way it is to her. But she didn’t-her fingers so deft with a blade were clumsy with a knot, and she couldn’t remember half of the things she needed to.

Just follow the wind, Pazima. Chart your course, but follow the wind.

It was a rare opportunity for them, this trip to Ethamaia. One day, Wedge and Jax had announced proudly that they had swindled Wedge’s own parents out of the place. One of their ridiculous schemes, but it had paid off. Like so many times before, the Rebellion splintered after the battle of Yavin, scattering and hiding until a new, safer base could be found.

But for the first time in many years, this didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like resting. It felt like exhaling.

They needed this, fuck , did they need it. The battle of Scarif was a bloodbath, a litany of dead allies, dead friends. Alderaan was worse. And then the battle of Yavin, a desperate last stand against total annihilation…

Bail Organa used to tell her this was a war of a thousand cuts. Well, Bail, she wanted to ask him, do you still think that will work? Because we’ve all been cut a thousand times, and yet here we are, bleeding out.

Of course, Bail was dead now, blown up by a superweapon, and she could hardly rage against his nineteen-year-old daughter, showing up to command armies in her soiled white dress.

She exhaled and looked out at the sea, bundling rope in her hands. This was the last part of her past she allowed in her life. She was someone else once, someone with parents and brothers, and the sea was a part of her very blood. No matter how much she tried to forget–and she did–the sea still remembered. It still called to her, the vast expanses of blue, broken up only by white, sparkling sands. She looked over at her sister. She perched on the rail of the ship, swinging her legs absently as she smoked. Did she pick up that habit on Coruscant, or from Pazima? She couldn’t remember, and had never cared to stop it. You had to deal with the war somehow, and it was either that or the bottle or bad, weird sex. Pazima had tried all three, and found a cigarra the least destructive.

There was something striking about Lottie-not always the best quality in an assassin, Pazima would admit, but it drew her in. Her face was that of a brutalized doll. It was heart shaped and sweet, with something bullish about it too—a missing eye, a crooked, broken nose, round cheeks that went from cute to jowly depending on her mood. The sun was setting, which made her orange-red hair more brilliant. A bit of fire amongst the endless waves. It was her one truly beautiful feature, and Pazima watched as it twisted, blown by the salty sea air.

She is a woman now, Pazima lamented. Lottie has been for a while, but sentiment-stupid thing-stopped her from seeing clearly.

Cassian Andor once asked her why she had taken Lottie in. The answer still eluded her. There were some ready made ones, of course. Lottie was a sad young girl who Pazima helped to safety; the sob story she gave the Rebellion. Lottie was prodigiously talented at killing with a finely tuned survival instinct, able to move between man and woman, innocent and cunning in an instant; the reasons she gave Wedge, and the reasons why Lottie made such a good assassin.

But none of them sufficed. None of them were right.

There was an idea the Creidye had, the lower-level Coruscanti cult that had spawned Charlotte Reynard into the galaxy. They thought families could be forged, built by durasteel knives and blood bonds. Pazima despised most of their ideology, their fanaticism, their slavish devotion. But the Creidye had helped her when she needed it. She owed them a debt, like it or not.

So when she found herself in the lower levels, after a decade away from the planet that raised her, and found it filled with feral children, what choice did she have?

“Stop looking at me.” Lottie had eyes in the back of her head sometimes–something Pazima had trained her to have, an acute awareness of her surroundings. She felt a blush of pride at her sister’s perception.  “Or at least tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Just thinking we’re the same, you and I.”

“Oh?” She turned to her, exhaling smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Well, I would think so, we’re sisters.”

Pazima snorted out a laugh. A secret smile passed between them.

Lottie spoke again, hopping onto the deck with a dancer’s flair. “Cassian Andor said the same thing once.”

She crossed her arms. “That you’re sisters?”

“That he and I were the same.”

“Huh.” She was fairly sure Cassian held a personal grudge against Lottie for existing. The things you learn after people die. She took the cigarra from her sister’s delicate fingers and inhaled, before croaking out a response. “I didn’t know you talked to him.”

“I didn’t. I put a knife to his throat once.”

“ Charlotte! ”

“I was drunk, it wasn’t a good decision,” Lottie shrugged, as if that was an excuse.

Pazima pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling the cigarra again, feeling the smoke choke at her lungs. “Please tell me this was an isolated incident.”

“If it wasn’t, one of us would’ve died a lot earlier,” Lottie pointed out.

“That-” Pazima exhaled, in and out, attempting to find patience. It was a hard thing to find around Lottie, even harder when she was right about something. “You are aggravating.”

“Yes.” She paused, blinking. “But you have to admit it’s kind of funny.”

“I once was under Imperial torture nonstop for a week. Guess what I admitted?” She bent over, curling her lip in triumph. “Nothing, little sister.”

Lottie blinked, taking the cigarra from her. “Only you could find a way brag about surviving Imperial torture.”

Do you know why I chose you, Pazima? His voice, the Fox assassin that had taught and trained her, the one she had held in her arms as he died, rose from the whirlpool of memory. Because you, dear one, can endure.

“Just trying to impart some wisdom. A lesson for you.”

“I’m bored with lessons.” Lottie slouched onto the side of the railing, tossing her hair. She could be quite glamorous when she wanted, curls of red hair and curls of smoke intertwining, a budding femme fatale.

She could also be supremely annoying.

How many times had Pazima heard that particular complaint? Trying to teach her to read was the worst. It’s so booooo-ring, Pazzy. All the letters switch up and dance in my mind.

“You will be the only Fox left after I die,” Pazima said. The Fox, an ancient line of assassins, reduced now to two women on a boat. The history of whatever they were was gone. “Someday, you’ll miss my boring lessons.”

“No, that’s not right,” Lottie said, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. “We’re both meant to bear witness.”

There she was, the priestess, spouting inane prophecies. Lottie saw time differently. They all did, the Creidye, giving up individual Force sensitivity for something different, something communal. Something borne of a world with no moon and no sun and no seasons. Something kept hidden and locked away. Something even the Jedi feared. Something that it took an entire city-planet to bury.

How does one stop the tide , Pazima wondered. How does one stop the rain?

“You have to stop saying odd shit, Lottie. Especially when you’re not around me.”

“Luke says odd shit,” Lottie pouted, tossing the stubbed cigarra with deadly accuracy to a trash can.

Pazima groaned, throwing her head back. Luke this and Luke that. He was Lottie’s most recent obsession, the Jedi descended from the very heavens to save them all. 

“Luke blew up the Death Star.” And he’s a man and a fucking Skywalker, she wanted to add. Two advantages we both lack.

“Everyone remembers the Jedi more than the Coruscanti,” Lottie said.

“He’s as green as they come,” she countered. Greener . “He’s from the Outer Rim, things are different there. And you’re not just Coruscanti.” Pazima smirked. “I’m sure you tell him quite a story about your homeworld.”

“And what of it?” Lottie hissed. “Am I forbidden from even speaking of them now?”

Pazima scoffed, but shook her head. This was the hardest thing to articulate to her, the kind of  wisdom that only came with age. Pazima was old by Rebel standards-thirty-five-but so damn young compared to real people. 

The things Lottie had survived created only two things. Cynic, and zealot. Lottie had latched onto religion, despite Pazima’s objections. Now this kid, this son of Skywalker…

This is a war for the zealots now, fought by idealistic, traumatized teenagers. She looked up at the stars, just beginning to wink at her as the sun dipped below the horizon line. She found the light of Alderaan, still blazing bright, a beacon from a better time.

Endure, Pazima, endure.

“You are still dreaming of a world that does not exist.” Or maybe it did once. Perhaps the brilliant under-levels of Coruscant, with its boundless love and fiery magic and theatrical trickery, the one Pazima knew filled Lottie’s head, perhaps it still existed, burning alongside Alderaan.

“You don’t like Luke,” she observed, tilting her head.

“My personal feelings have nothing to do with it,” Pazima said, grateful for the change in topic. “He’s dangerous, we’d all do well to remember that.”

“Yeah, but he’s kind,” Lottie insisted. “Like Cassian.”

“Yes,” Pazima admitted. Which made him all the more unpredictable. What happens when the kindness burns away, and only the ashes and his raw power remain? He’s already killed millions, they just happened to be on the wrong side. 

Perhaps someday I will be done with grief , she thought. She could have all the time in the galaxy, and it still wouldn’t be enough to list those she had lost. It’s hardest to mourn someone like Cassian, someone who she barely knew yet knew better than anyone. They were too similar, the two of them, too intense and brooding.

Cassian was giddy when he smiled, like a little boy. It was so rare and it always made Pazima’s heart stop for a very brief moment. She did not love him, she hardly knew him. Yet it was enough to remind her of all she had lost.

“Why did Cassian say you were the same?”

“I dunno,” Lottie shrugged, voice quiet. “Something about being hungry.”

“Hm.” Lottie had been hungry, that was true enough. The Creidye were rich in revolutionary ideas and dusty legends, but very poor in any real resources. She hadn’t known Cassian was hungry. But then again, she never asked. Pazima had long ago learned to live with regrets, to let them wash over her like waves.

“Everyone always sees what they want in me,” Lottie muttered. “No one ever sees me for me.”

Her brow furrowed. Her sister was as prone to fits of melancholy as she was to vague prophecies. As far as Pazima was concerned, one had as little value as the other. She couldn’t have Lottie fall into despair, any less than she could have her go mad.

“I see you.” She petted a hand over her sister’s hair. Pazima knew she was bad at this. She was too direct, too cold, all of the warmth burnt out of her long ago. 

It’s a wonder Lottie’s only a chain-smoker.

“No,” Lottie said, tracing a finger over a scar on her arm. “No, you don’t.” 

A small crack formed in Pazima’s heart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry , she wanted to say. I hope I gave you enough time to be young.

Then Lottie shrugged, easy and languid, so much like Wedge–the warm brother and father Pazima never quite could be, the one Lottie so desperately needed. “That’s okay. I don’t think I see you clearly either.”

Pazima huffed out a laugh, relieved that the gloomy spell seemed to have passed. 

“By design,” she said. “A blank, beautiful slate, for idiots to see what they want.”

“Are you saying I’m an idiot?”

She wrapped an arm around her sister, pulled her to her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Yes.”

She stood up, walking over to where she had set up a little holotape player. Pazima was done talking. How foolish she had been, so many years ago, thinking spycraft would be all blasters and fast ships and fabulous dresses. It was mostly just talking, navigating the asteroid fields of wit and words and agendas. 

At the very least , she thought, looking over at Lottie, she’s better at that than I am.

She thumbed through her box of tapes, finding the one she was searching for.

Cassian had swindled her out of a haircut for it. She had high rates–after all, along with being the best mechanic and the best shot in the Rebellion, she was the best, and for a while the only, hairdresser. Still, she had let him pay with just this one little holotape, big brown eyes, and a sob story. 

Your enemies must think you are strong. Only you, Pazima, can know you are weak.

“Cassian gave me this,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Lottie, holding the tape between two fingers. “On Crait, after we got back to the Rebellion from Laakteen.”

Lottie scrambled to her feet, snatching the tape from Pazima’s hands, wrinkling her nose as she read the title. “Chaos Theory by Senators of Rhythm. What is this, jizz? Gonkrock?”

“Nah, more…electro-twang, I’d call it, but a little funkier than that. I never thought this would’ve been Cassian’s thing.”

“The kind of music you used to sing?”

Pazima smiled, allowing herself a bit of wistfulness. “No, little sister. But a good kind of music nonetheless.”

“Won’t the neighbors hear?” Lottie asked. They had docked on a little inlet, far enough from any real trouble, but still close enough to see the tops of the shell-white mansions peeking over the horizon line

She smirked. On Ethamaia, their neighbors were arms dealers and Imperial swine.

“Fuck ‘em.” she declared, and Lottie giggled giddily. 

Pazima could’ve admonished Lottie for the laugh-it was loud and wild, much like her, and certainly too attention-drawing for any assassin-but how could she? If there was anything that drew the sisters together, that drew all Coruscanti together, it was music. 

Pazima wasn’t a Coruscanti in the way her sister was. She wasn’t born under the city, nor even in one of the skyscrapers of the wealthy. Her home planet, Xuhiri, was vast and blue and sparse in a way someone like Lottie could only imagine. But like all of the female scions of great noble houses, Pazima was shipped off to Coruscant to learn how to smile and please, to host dinner parties and flatter the egos of wealthy men. It was in that great orchestra of a city, a symphony of speeder horns and conversation, that she first knew what love was.

Love was the sound of a Bith soprano at the Galaxies Opera House. A street busker strumming their double viol on the streets of Uscru Entertainment district, nodding and smiling as Pazima tossed a credit their way. And love, well, of course it was the Creidye performance troupes, emerging from the lower levels, soaking up the meager sun as they beat their heavy drums, their long hair swaying in time with the music and their dancers twirling their swords, the blades running over scarred skin and somehow never drawing blood.

She pressed play on the holotape and closed her eyes. She heard the familiar beat of a song long forgotten, a drum kit cuing in the singer and the backing band.

Her sister was already fidgeting in time with the music when Pazima reached out her hand, as if the music coursed through her very blood.

She took her hand gladly, and Pazima spun her sister around, watching her beautiful red hair twirl around her.

Dancing with her, on the deck of this ship that was somehow theirs, feet remembering steps she had learned long ago on Coruscant, to the music given to them by a dead man, Pazima couldn’t help but feel like this was all a dream. It was too nice, too sweet. The laughter came to her unbidden, flowing like a stream from her belly to her breath.

She watched Lottie, seventeen and hopelessly alive. Their two bodies moved in time as they danced, one scarred, one tattooed, both wearing their histories on their skin.

She felt again that prick of guilt, the one that threatened to consume her, the one Cassian had found so long ago, when Lottie was still half-mute. She was dancing now, and Cassian was dead.

There was no room for guilt, not anymore. The cause was still a hopeless one when Pazima brought Lottie to base. That had all changed now, thanks to the sandy-haired Jedi’s son from Tatooine.

He could win them the war. And Lottie, well…

Pazima sent a silent prayer to the waves.

If she dies, let her die young. Let her become a martyr and stay young and wild and beautiful forever.

And please, please, please, let me die before her.

[dameronology]

Hi are you still taking requests? I'd like to request one with Poe with number 4 from the angst list (you don't get to decide...) Safe travels!x

poe dameron + "i can't carry on like this for much longer"

It was late evening when you finally came home from work. The traffic on the Coruscant subway had almost been enough to ruin your day, and the fact it had been raining all afternoon didn't help either. You wanted nothing more than to just to get in the warm, have a cup of tea and then pass the fuck out. There was a shit ton of reality TV loaded up on the DVR and blankets on the sofa. It sounded like the perfect evening.

It didn't really click in your head that said perfect evening didn't involve Poe in any way. It had, once upon a time, but with work being impossibly busy at the moment, your relationship had sort of hit a reef. Neither of you had meant for things to go that way, but when you were both putting all your energy into rebuilding the Galactic Republic, it left little time for domestic bliss. And because you were so consumed by work, neither of you had really taken a moment to step back and think too much about the state of your relationship.

You loved Poe. You loved him with your whole heart and of course you wanted to make things work, but it just wasn't a conversation you were ready to have.

"Hey, Beebs," you greeted your droid with a tired smile, throwing your bags by the front door.

BB-8 rolling around could only mean one thing: Poe couldn't be very far.

And there he was, in the kitchen. A mug of caff in one hand and paperwork in the other; it was the earliest he'd been home in months and he looked shattered. You couldn't count the amount of times on both hands that he would creep in well past eleven o'clock, not rising until long after you'd gone to work.

"Hey," his welcome was monotonous, brown eyes barely flickering up from his datapad. "How was your day?"

"Y'know, the usual," you replied. "Got in early, stayed late, nothing to show for it."

You moved over to the fridge, ditching your wet hoodie and jacket into the dryer as you did. Poe's eyes followed you - it hadn't gone unnoticed that you hadn't bothered to ask about his day. Why would you? He'd always known you to prefer silence over small talk. He just never assumed it would be aimed at him.

"Yeah, same here," he quietly responded. "You up to anything tonight?"

It was a secret implore for please spend time with me. I miss you.

"Nothing interesting," you said. "I was just gonna watch some TV and chill out. It's been a long day."

"Mind if I join you?"

You glanced at him, eyes finally meeting. "Yeah, if you want."

No, not if I want, he thought. I want you to want it.

Poe stayed silent for another minute. He didn't want this to be the moment that everything came to head but also, what if it wasn't something he could control? This apartment used to be both your happy place; back when you were happy together, and not just dancing around each other, going about the formalities of your relationship simply because neither of you had the energy to end it.

"I can't carry on like this for much longer."

His voice broke slightly as he spoke; you quickly looked up from the slice of cheese you'd been examining, eyes wide at how the atmosphere in the room had nose-dived quicker than the time he forgot to refuel his X-Wing. You didn't need to question what it was that he was talking about it - you knew straight away.

You left it another second, unsure if you were supposed to say something.

"We've gone to shit, haven't we?" Poe continued. "I'm not saying it's your fault. I think it was a joint effort actually, or lack thereof but - I just miss the way things used to be. I don't like how we dance around each other now."

"I know," you murmured. "I don't like it either. I miss you."

"I'm right here."

"No, you're not," you shook your head. "You're never around. You probably think the same about me from your point of view, though."

"Is it just work that's keeping us away from each other?" he asked. "I mean...I know it is for me. I just don't know if there's a deeper thing on your side. Like that you've fallen out of love with me-"

"- no!" you quickly exclaimed.

Throwing your cheese aside, you crossed the room and took Poe's hands in yours. They felt foreign and familiar at the same time, maybe like he was a lover from a past life. He might as well have been at that point. Still, though, you could run your fingers over the calloused palms and recall how he gained every single scar; how every mark came to be, like a map in your head of the man you loved. The man you still loved.

"I love you, Poe," you said firmly. "Just...think of a relationship like a plant. If you neglect it, it will die. And I think we can both safely say that we haven't exactly been nourishing ours."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean for things to get like this. I wanted to work hard to create a safe galaxy for us and I think I've gotten so caught up in it that I forgot why I was doing it in the first place.

"It's okay," you sadly smiled. "Well, maybe it's not okay, not from either of us, but I do want to try. I really want to try."

Poe leant down and brushed his lips against yours; it was the first time that had happened in months. It felt like a spark of hope. The feeling that maybe things would be okay.

He smiled. "Me too."

[stokofsky]

Runners part 9

B-111 was excited to see what BX-626 had done with The Runner. Gray was simply no color for a space craft. He and K-3NT neared BX-626’s star port and he could see the glint of a wingtip through the tightly packed shuttles and starfighters parked all around it. He sped up.

“Where is the fiiiire?” K-3NT protested behind him. He’d done better in the foot traffic on the way back, B-111 had been happy to notice. But it still seemed to be unexpectedly taxing for him, mentally. B-111 was sure he’d get there, with time and practice.

“I want to see The Runner, Enty! Come on!” B-111 ducked under and around the other ships, all with mere centimeters of wiggle room between them. That was what was possible when only Droids were landing at a star port. When BX-626 had acquired this place more than a decade ago, she’d been told it could accommodate a maximum of six vessels. There had to be at least twice that parked here. And the Runner was parked right in the middle of it all.

It was sitting resplendent in the same dark metallic bronze finish he’d given his own plating, and that his old rouge-class had been finished in. It made an immensely pleasant difference.

“Why is it brown?” B-111 turned to find K-3NT looking up at the Runner as if bemused. His voice had certainly carried a tone of confusion. 

“Not brown!” B-111 said, irrepressible in his enthusiasm, “That, Enty, is Geonosian Bronze.”

“It looks like brown to me.” “Yeah, and your finish is pink.”

“No it isn’t! It’s Tskad bl-Oh.” K-3NTs shoulders sagged and he glared at B-111. “Very funny.” B-111 shrugged, “turnaround is fair and sound.” K-3NT gave him a sideways look.

B-111 ignored the look, and instead tapped a control surface on his wrist, opening the viewport hatch on the Runner. 

“Just going to leave without saying anything?” B-111 turned to see K-3NT tensely pointing his blaster rifle at BX-626.

“Where did you come from? There is a less than 30% chance you could have approached without detection in this environment.”

BX-626 walked up to K-3NT and forced his blaster point down with her hand. “I’m an assassin droid, slag-foot. I don’t go clomping around everywhere to announce my presence like your sort do.”

B-111 laughed. “I wasn’t going to leave, two-six, I wanted to check something.” 

“If you mean you want to know if I cleaned up your mess, then yeah. I had to move the ship to refinish it, and that involved actually interfacing with the controls. At all. Why in makers name did you not give your second seat its own instruments?”

“Thank you!” K-3NT cried. “That is exactly what I asked!”

“Didn’t need to,” B-111 replied, “I wasn’t planning on having anyone but the Armorer in that seat, and she’s definitely tall enough to see over my head. Besides, I was mostly focused on getting off that rock, not long term functionality.”

“Well, color me impressed then,” BX-626 said, looking the Runner over, “if that’s true, at least. Besides the ugly wiring to your added auxiliaries, everything on here is completely functional. For not thinking of much, you sure did think of everything.”

“So good to hear positivity from you, Two-Six, always so lovely.” B-111 made an exaggerated bow. 

“So are you going to square up your tab now, or after your next job is done?”

B-111 reached into the storage compartment on his jetpack. He took out a handful of coins, which he proffered to BX-626. She looked at the glittering credits and nodded, holding her own hand out and letting B-111 drop them in. 

She tossed the coins and caught them in her other hand. “That will do it, there’s a bit too much here, but I imagine you’ll be back, so I’ll add it as pre-pay to your tab.”

B-111 hopped into the pilots seat and gave a quick salute to BX-626. “That’s nice of you, but you can keep the change. If we ever come back here, we’ll have plenty of credits to go around.”

K-3NT, who had been hoisting himself into the cockpit of The Runner, paused and made a spluttering sound. “‘If’? What do you mean ‘if’? I thought you were on the warriors path, don’t warriors speak in absolutes?”

“Relax about it, Enty! A warrior knows that his path is fraught with danger, and there exists a greater than zero chance he fails in his undertaking. That is why he walks it, to know there is a challenge and purpose! Now get in.”

K-3NT stared at B-111. He turned and stared at BX-626. BX-626 shrugged her shoulders. K-3NT sighed and got into his chair, grumbling throughout the process. BX-626 waved at them as B-111 closed the canopy once more. 

He turned to speak over his shoulder. “Are you buckled, Enty?”

“Yes, I am.” K-3NT sounded huffy. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I am.” He repeated.

“Good!” B-111 said, taking his hands from the controls. “Then taxi us out of atmo-space.”

“What?”

“Were you a shuttle pilot or weren’t you? Come on, take us to space.”

“But I, that is to say, where are we?”

B-111 reached down and tapped at the navicomputer for a moment. “There, jump path programed, now will you please take us out to space?”

“I don’t see why I-”

B-111 turned around again. “Enty… is there a problem?” He’d expected K-3NT to be happy to have the chance to prove his effectuality, happy to have purpose to keep his mind off his present existential crisis. He hadn’t expected this level of resistance.

“I’ve only ever taxied between empty landing pads and capital ships, One-Eleven! I’ve never dealt with… all of that!” He waved his hands generally above his head.

“Enty… ‘all that’ is the most orderly, predictable speeder traffic system this side of Mon Cala.” His words were met with silence. B-111 decided to try a new strategy. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

He sat forwards again, took the controls, and shot the Runner straight up at its maximum lateral traversal rate. “One-Eleven…” K-3NT said behind him. He ignored K-3NT. He halted their vertical climb right before they made contact with an overhead skybridge. He then slammed the throttle to maximum, taking them rocketing straight forwards. He knew, of course, that he was well within his own limits when playing this game. He’d been flying this part of coruscants lower levels for more than a decade, often with far less regard than he had now. But this was enough for K-3NT. 

“One-Eleven! STOP!” B-111 complied instantly, bringing them to a total halt and causing them both to be thrown forwards against their safety harnesses. 

“Alright, Enty, what now?” B-111 waited, and The Runner began to gently move. 

“I will take it from here, thank you very much. You are such a dreadful brute, One-Eleven, and very insensitive.”

“I’m a battle droid.”

“So what? So am I!”

“I thought you were an enforcer droid.”

There was silence as they continued to gracefully lift up through the many levels of the city-planet. When they had left atmospace, B-111 double checked the navicomputer. “We’re ready for the jump,” he said to K-3NT, “Throw the lever at your leisure.”

“Where are you taking us?” K-3NT asked, the tone of suspicion not even concealed in his voice.

“Approximately 150 megameters off the surface of Rothana, where currently there rests a Kuat Drive Yards mobile proving platform. We are going to dock, and deliver the data tape which I, heh, liberated from Sienar Fleet Systems. After we have done this, and been paid handsomely for it, we will then travers away from the proving platform, far enough to be blocked from sight by the planet itself, and then land. We will then infiltrate a top secret KDY skunkwerks and steal their protected IP and abscond.”

B-111 waited for a response. He waited for K-3NT to ignore him and initiate the jump to hyperspace. He waited, it seemed, in vain. He turned to find K-3NT sitting still, his hands hovering just above the controls. “Enty, what are you waiting for?”

K-3NT looked at B-111. “I’m just processing. It is unexpected to me that you have even a semblance of a plan.”

“I’ve been executing a plan this whole time! Being marooned on that moon, needing to slap The Runner together, finding you, these were slight detours to that plan, but we are finally now back on that plan.”

“Huh,” was all K-3NT said to this. He reached past B-111 and cranked the jump lever. The Runner shuddered and jumped into hyperspace.

It was a long jump, during which B-111 stayed ready for K-3NT to ask questions. But K-3NT remained silent. Hours passed. B-111 became worried. Why was K-3NT not saying anything? Was he facing his emancipation purely within his own mind? B-111 wondered, dimly, if he had pushed too far and in the wrong direction earlier. But he held to his position, K-3NT would have to ask him for help to get it.

When they dropped back out of hyperspace, the thought of K-3NTs silence fled B-111s mind. It was time for action, time for focus. 

To the ships starboard loomed Rothana, imposing and orange. It almost looked like geonosis from this angle. Floating right in front of them was the proving platform. A large orbital facility that Kuat Drive Yards used to test their propulsion systems in zero gravity. 

B-111 took the controls and taxied them cautiously towards the platform. He pressed a button on the instrument cluster, “Proving platform, this is datahound, inbound with a delivery.”

“What are you doing?” Asked K-3NT, finally breaking his silence.

“What do you think, Enty? They aren’t just going to let us land. I previously arranged all this, datahound is my codename for this operation.”

“Operation? One-Eleven, we’re data thieves, not special agents.”

“Enty, a warrior does not allow his enemies to assign him his titles, that is the path.”

K-3NT was not allowed to retort, as the reply came over the comlink at that moment. “Datahound… you’re late, can you please verify you have not been compromised?”

“Oh, wonderful!”

“Quiet, Enty!” B-111 pressed the comlink button once more. “The item was, shall we say, stuck in shipping longer than I expected, and a bit harder to find.”

“We don’t want excuses, verify your safe code, dadahound.”

K-3NT leaned forwards, putting his head right next to B-111s, “what is the safe code? Should I have known the safe code? I think I should have.”

“Shh,” B-111 said, waving K-3NT back. He turned back to the instrument cluster. “Mon Cala; thirteen; halogen; seven; deep water; forty nine; cast ingot; two; harvest field; nine; vacuum. Confirm?”

B-111 waited for what seemed a tad longer than strictly necessary before, “confirm. Proceed to hangar bay.”

“Enty, when I said ‘let me do the talking’ I really meant it. I’ve been planning this operation for almost a year; I have contingencies, I have contingencies for contingencies; so if you don’t quite know what is happening, follow my lead.”

“I would have appreciated being brought up to speed, One-Eleven.”

B-111 was surprised to hear K-3NTs tone wasn’t sulky, just matter-of-fact. Also, he was stung by the correctness of this statement. “I am sorry Enty, I… hadn’t thought about any of that. I will fully brief you in the future.”

“Thank you,” said K-3NT, “Now let me get us landed. You’ll probably make them even more on edge if you land like a ‘slagfoot’ as usual.”

B-111 shrugged, sitting back in his seat. “Suit yourself, Enty.”

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN’S RECKONING - Chapter 3: The Cold

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Cassian struggles to wrap his head around his dire situation. Jyn begins to suspect something terrible has happened.

So grateful for all the feedback I've gotten so far!! Thank you to everyone who has left me a comment or sent me a DM.

This is a whumpy fic. Please heed the warnings posted on AO3 for your own well being.

READ THE FIC ON AO3

——————–

CHAPTER 3: THE COLD

He had been taught methods for surviving harsh interrogation. He was currently subjected to deprivation and exposure, designed to weaken him emotionally and make him so desperate he would confess anything in exchange for a reprieve.

The Empire would need a lot more than cold and dark to break Cassian Andor.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny that he was miserable. He had never been so frozen in all his life. The metal floor under his bare feet was so frigid it almost burned his skin—ever since Narkina 5 he hated going barefoot. And being strapped to a chair created pain in unexpected places like his neck, shoulders, and lower ribs. Cassian tried not to fidget. This is just the beginning, he told himself. He needed to conserve as much energy as possible.

When the lights first went out, his mind began racing. He couldn’t pinpoint a cogent thought structure; his brain felt like a traffic jam, full of chaos and emotion. Nothing useful nor harmful rose to the surface. But finally, after getting his breath under control, he managed to get his thoughts under control as well. There wasn’t really any need to further evaluate the situation. He was well and truly sunk unless someone came to his rescue—which would be insane. No one would risk it.

Jyn would risk it.

But he didn’t want her to.

In truth, he wasn’t even certain he was still on Tarkin’s star destroyer. He could literally be anywhere in the galaxy.

He twisted his wrists against his restraints, testing their strength, accidentally forcing the binds to bite into his flesh.

Cassian suddenly missed K.

He wasn’t sure why the droid popped into his head, but thinking of his friend made his heart feel heavy. He wished the door would swoosh open and K’s gangly body would lumber in. “At least the Empire gave you a shower,” he would have said, his voice clipped and sarcastic.

Thinking about the ‘shower’ made Cassian go very still as his awareness shifted. To his horror, he noticed something was happening to his wet hair.

It was growing thicker.

At least that’s what it felt like.

Fear stabbed through Cassian as he suddenly understood; it wasn’t getting thicker, it was freezing.

The room was slowly growing colder and colder. The water droplets trailing over his skin started to crystalize. His hands and feet ached. His nostrils stung with each breath.

They wouldn’t freeze him to death yet, would they? They hadn’t even asked him any questions.

Cassian tried to push down his dread. There’s nothing you can do to stop what’s happening. Don’t waste your energy.

Right now, he could control only his own thoughts, so he forced himself to think. He started by recapping everything he kept in his gear, making a mental list. But gradually his thoughts trailed away, moved into forbidden territory. He pictured Jyn’s fingers intertwined in his, and he instantly felt weak. He was surprised how fiercely and how quickly his heart yearned for her, for the friendship that had blossomed and carried them through one of the most frightening ordeals of their lives, for the comfort and familiarity he felt standing by her side or when she smiled at him from across a room. He was never flushed or excited around Jyn. Rather, he became centered and calm, which is how he knew his feelings for her were unique. She allowed him to be still, to be himself, to exist in his flaws.

But now there was little chance he would ever see her again.

Was there any possibility he could survive Tarkin? Should he force himself to withstand by clinging to the hope of being with Jyn? Or was it best to let her go, to accept that thoughts of rescue were delusional?

He was torn from these ruminations when the nozzle above suddenly turned on again and rained another spate of freezing water. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, firstly because he had no warning in the dark that it was coming, and secondly because each water droplet felt like a needle pricking his skin. He was left sputtering from the unexpected pain, air ripping from his lungs in panicked gasps.

There was no relief.

He could not escape the suffering, the cold, the fear of loss.

The only thing that kept him from dipping into despair was pride. He could not give Tarkin the satisfaction of breaking him this quickly. So, he set his teeth and endured.

Shivering violently drained his energy. He fought to keep his eyes open, but eventually he drifted to sleep, dreaming that Jyn walked in circles, searching for him in a blizzard.

——————–

In fact, Jyn was walking in circles. She and the rest of Rogue Crew spent many evenings in each other’s company, sometimes eating a meal, sometimes playing sabacc. But tonight, everyone watched as she nervously paced between their clustered sleeping racks.

“He’s long overdue,” she finally said angrily.

Everyone looked up at her but no one had the courage to speak.

“Something’s gone wrong.”

Bodhi raised his hand like a school boy, timidly clearing his throat. “Cassian has been out of contact before.”

“But this is different,” Chirrut interjected.

Jyn stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the monk she had grown to trust with her life. “What do you mean? Can you sense something?”

“He’s not a Jedi,” Baze stated matter-of-factly.

“No,” Chirrut nodded, “I’m not a Jedi but I can sense each and every one of you. We have been together long enough for me to see you all in the Force.”

Jyn sat down next to him, her tone growing desperate. “Tell me,” she asked without demanding.

“Cassian burns blue like the hottest flames. But he’s fading; he’s harder to see, harder to discover.”

Jyn forced herself to keep breathing even though Chirrut’s words choked her with terror. The thought of Cassian suffering was unbearable, but the image of him fading away and dissolving from existence made her blood run cold.

“We have to do something, then.” Bodhi leaned forward, ready to take action.

“What can we do?” Baze asked.

“How overdue are they?”

“Hours,” replied Jyn. “They’re well outside the envelope of their mission parameters.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else raised the alarm?”

“I assume it’s because they don’t have an extraction plan.” Jyn couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone. The Rebellion didn’t care how much Cassian had already sacrificed; to them he was expendable. “All they’ll do is sit by their wireless radios and hope one of his crew members checks in.”

“We don’t sit around,” Baze asserted.

Chirrut rapped his staff on the floor in celebration of his friend’s spirit.

“What should we do, little sister?” Malbus asked, trusting Jyn’s leadership.

“I want to talk to Mon Mothma. She’s the council member most likely to approve a rescue.”

“Then we go together,” Chirrut said. “The Force will lead the way.”

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE EXPENDABLE” - Tarkin tries to loosen Cassian's tongue. Jyn needs a powerful ally.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 "The Detritus"

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 "The Reach"

READ CHAPTER 19 "The Hologram"

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 "The Hand"

READ CHAPTER 25 "The Heart"

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[nimata-beroya]

The voice of traffic control dispatcher breaks through, “Glimmer, read back, please. What’s going on out there? That ship’s no authorization to take-off until further instructions.”

Dee and Zeb look at one another, hesitating what to say or do. Dee-Four is the first to react, and answers. “Base One Control, this is Intelligence Agent D-4Y7 on the Glimmer. I find the conflicting orders to be unacceptable, and I will submit a proper complaint to the supervisor. Lucky for you, it will have to wait. I am in in the middle of a very important and confidential mission and I must part immediately. Control, requesting permission to take off.”

A wave of yearning for Kallus hits Zeb like a punch in the stomach. He can hear his mate when he’s with his bastard mode on in the words that Dee speaks, even if with computerized voice but with unquestionable authority, enough to make the dispatcher pause. The droid has learned from the best.

“But the order that just came in—“

The frustrated sigh Dee-Four lets out is impressive. “Organics,” he mutters.

Fortunately, Chopper rolls into the cockpit, warbling something at lightspeed. As usual, Zeb doesn’t understand a word, but Dee does. Without missing a beat, he uses the information Chopper told him. 

“Control, authorization code Vev Grek Seven Three Dorn Eight. I repeat, Vev Grek Seven Three Dorn Eight.”

There’s a moment when they wait with bated breath, until the dispatcher’s voice comes through the comm again, sounding a little put out. “Glimmer, permission granted. You’re cleared to take-off.”

Zeb sinks into the co-pilot seat, letting out a huge breath. His relief is short-lived. He sees through the viewport of the ship that the security squad is still running on the tarmac and approaching them fast.

“Go, go, go!” he says to Dee-Four.

“Everyone hold on!” Dee warns as he puts the ship on the air, with no seconds to spare before the security team reach them. Only a few minutes later, they break from Yavin IV’s atmosphere and into outer space. 

“I’m comin’, love,” Zeb think to himself, as Dee engages the hyperdrive and the Glimmer jumps to hyperspace.

—Excerpt from Feed Me Poison, Fill Me 'till I Drown, Chapter 2

[enaelyork]

Nébuleuse [O.Krennic X F!Oc-Tarkin Daughter] [PART 2]

🌔Taglist🌔 : @fenharel-enaste, @alotofrandomfangirling, @starlady66

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PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Chapter prompt : After her argument with Krennic at her father's gala, Vicky must reconcile and finds herself in the midst of interesting proposals and facing a difficult and unsettling choice.

Content: Sexual Tension rising - Provocation - Jealousy stade one 😁 - Toxic trait.

The fear of seeing my father summon me to his office swelled in me as the next day passed. And yet, nothing came, to the point of seeing all my distrust extinguished and my shields lowered. But I had forgotten, with the months spent on Bonadan, his favorite tactic, which was to corner his prey when he was least suspicious.

—What are you doing up at this hour?"

His shadow had appeared in the door that connected our vast kitchen to his luxurious office. It was no earlier than four in the morning standard time, and I intended to set sail to join friends in an abandoned warehouse that once served as our epicenter for a whole host of illegal things. He must have anticipated my plans because he was wide awake and there was a gleam of sternness and satisfaction in his eyes that didn't bode well for me.

—Sit down.

I had tried to justify myself by presenting the glass of iced tea I was holding in my hand, but it was useless. Everything was superfluous with him and I knew that if I didn't carry out his request immediately I would end up in that chair that he was pointing to me one way or another.

—You should stop drinking this crap. He began as if to delay the moment when he would drop the ax on my head.

—It is beneath the Tarkins to enjoy the frivolities of such a drink. You need something more bitter.

— Yet you serve it to mother every evening when you are present. —Your mother is not a Tarkin and the only credit we can give her is having fathered two. You will drink caf, is that understood?

I was silenced, unable to spit my contempt at him for his way of controlling our lives. Father is not a man without feeling. He just loves us in a radically opposite way to my definition of love. As for my mother, the time is long gone when I am convinced that there is an ounce of affection that bound her to father. Her lust for prestige and power has locked her into a loveless marriage and she needs a few doctor droids and a good dose of medicine to accept it.

—It’s good that we meet, because I have to talk to you, Vicky. About you and your situation. —About my situation?

I raise my eyebrows. Until now, my situation had been of little interest to him. He let me work on Bonadan, hang out in the swanky spaces of Coruscant, and build racing ships to compete in illegal competitions. His impartial gaze told me, however, that tonight, party was over. — Your teenage crisis has gone on long enough. He began in a monotonous tone. Your mother and I agree that at your age, you need a job and a function within the Empire.

It wasn't a teenage crisis. I put my skills to the service of people who needed them. I helped. But I knew that all these arguments involving compassion and generosity had no impact on my father.

—I work, father.

—It is not a job to tamper with parts to build useless ships. You're an engineer, Vicky, in aerospace. It' is high's time to put your skills at the service of the empire.

—And if I refuse?

The smile that split her lips sent chills down my spine.

—So you know there will be consequences.

He knows. I immediately think. He knows my traffic does not only involve my skills. That I serve friends, that I help them meet their needs while they are illegal. And I know my father and his determination well enough to know that all he has to do is snap his fingers and send them all to jail.

I was trapped, cornered, and yet unable to hate him.

Because I understood it. That in his eyes he was doing what was best for me.

—And what is the program?" I imagine you have already planned everything.

— Somehow.

He left a certain mystery hanging over him. A sort of annoyance veiled for a moment his impassive air and his features carved coldly in the marble of his white skin.

—I spoke to the Emperor just this afternoon. He is delighted to see you back here and remembers your intelligence well. So I suggested that he get you into the advanced weapons program.

Did I hear correctly? He wanted to get me into one of the biggest science machines in the empire?

—Advanced weapons?" You want me to build destroyers?

—Currently only as a maintenance worker. It is out of the question that you benefit from my notoriety to make a name for yourself. I forged mine in blood and sweat, so will you.

I laughed. Literally. It was so huge that I couldn't come to my senses. My father was lying to me, he had another idea in mind, an idea so Machiavellian that he was ready to humiliate me by making me pick up spare parts in a hangar in the name of the Empire.

— Where is the scam? Make your real request.

And he gave me everything I liked he gave me. His smile. Not the scornful one he gave everyone, but the one that went with his mask of pride. My finesse reminded him that I was his child, his last born and undoubtedly his greatest success. Even though he couldn't articulate it, I knew it whenever he thought of me that way.

—Last night I witnessed a very interesting scene involving you and Orson Krennic. A small household scene of which I did not miss a beat, just like all of my guests.

I wanted to bury myself six feet underground. If he had found out that I had stolen Grandma's brooch from someone else's purse, I was finished definitly

—You know who Orson Krennic is, right?

He tried to reassure himself. I wanted to answer him something like the worst motherfucker in the galaxy, but I refrain. Seeing my lack of response and the question mark in my eyes, he saw fit to finish me off.

—Your future boss, starting tomorrow.

—No way.

I leaned back in the chair, palms out, rejecting the bonds that were forming in my head. I categorically refused to be my father's instrument in any of his despicable shenanigans, especially if it involved the man on whom I had thrown a glass of water and whose gaze I had found very too magnetic.

—I'm asking you to approach him and work your way up the ladder to get enough clearance to meddle in his business.

— I understood better his fine speech on merit. My father is smart enough to know that a meteoric promotion of his darling daughter into the higher echelons of the program would titillate mistrust as to my true function.

—That will never happen. Don't you think it's going to be okay after what happened?

—Krennic is currently working on a project that I can’t tell you about, but which belongs to me. And he wants to take credit for it. I cannot accept that my work is taken over in this way and meddling in it directly is not an option.

I sigh deeply. Divided between the desire to insult him and to slap him. I was finished and I knew it because there was no one more determined than my father in this world and elsewhere.

—It will take me years to level up enough for you to spy on him.

—I do not think so, no.

— And why this ?

—Because I saw the way he looked at you. It literally took my breath away. This sentence. These words. As if suddenly my brain had decided to come back to him, to his impassive face and pursed lips. To the curls of his water-soaked hair that I slapped in his face.

—You are a perfect target for him. And it's up to us to make him understand that his methods can turn against him. What do you say ? —I don't have the skills to watch him, ask to Ellie.

—Ellie is currently in a situation that does not allow me to trust her.

I understand that he won't delve into the subject, but the annoyance I see in his eyes is indescribable. I don't know what's going on for my sister, but it really upsets my father and I don't want to be there when the lightning strikes her shoulders.

— I don't have the skills to keep an eye on this man.

—Yes. More than you think. I'm not asking you to seduce him, I'm asking you to be close enough to the circles of authority to steal information for me and I know it's up your alley, right?

I take a deep breath, digesting the mess I've gotten myself into.

—He will never trust me. Right now he hates me and it's mutual.

This simple statement could have convinced him. Yet when I get up to turn back and go back to where I came from, defeated and defeated by someone stronger than me, he holds me back, gently pushing his hand on my wrist.

—It's in your genes to despise Orson Krennic, Vicky, and be sure to harbor that dislike."

I bow my head. My gaze struggles to fix it for more than a few seconds. Father saw the way Krennic looked at me, but I don't know if he saw the way I looked at him.

And this terrifies me.

Doubt shoots through me and the unsettling conviction he's warning me seeps through my veins as I let his fingers slide down my wrist and step away from him without looking back.

***

I had every intention of catching up with my friends failling them the day before. What could be more normal, then, to invite them to a prestigious evening organized by Exquise? This Coruscant bar is reputed to be the most upscale in town and to accept only a handpicked clientele based on prestige and bank account. None of them could afford this kind of luxury and it was the least we could do to offer them access to make me forgive.

I had put on a simple black dress that came to my knees, its scoop neck stopping at the birth of my chest. My look was enhanced with black lace gloves up to the wrist and contrasted with my leather ankle boots that could have walked the floor of a mechanical workshop.

My hairstyle was nothing but a chaotic bun in which I had fixed a dark velvet ribbon and the brooch removed a few days earlier from the bag of the bitch who was strutting on Krennic's arm. I did not know where this animosity towards this stranger came from apart from the fact that she had, in good faith, bought a stolen object and I had decided not to think about it any more when entering the effervescence of the place. There reigned here a warm and moist atmosphere, a penumbra attenuated by the multicolored neon lights which danced at the same rhythm as the customers on an insane electronic music.

— Shall we sit down?"

I nodded to Erkani as he grabbed my waist and pulled me to a bench set back from the dance floor. Tall and imposing, his emerald gaze contrasted with the darkness of his hair and his tattoo-riddled skin. He had sent Saiyan to get us a drink and was taking advantage of this little alone time to make up for lost time.

— You are beautiful, Vicky, really.

We exchange a soft look. Erkani is part of the same engineering class as me, but specialized in mathematics. He's the closest thing I've had to a friend since I was a teenager, with a few added perks. Benefits we regularly bestow on each other as two desperate souls in destiny were clearly incompatible.

—I guess we have Wilhuff to thank for your absence yesterday.

I chuckle, my mouth hidden behind my gloved hand. The idea of ​​him calling my father by his first name makes him the worst rebel in the whole empire. We do not discuss the subject further. Erkani being in a good position to know how uncomfortable discussing my family sometimes makes me feel uncomfortable, he rather prefers to tell me that we are now colleagues.

—I'm on Coruscant. Rather die than set foot on Geonosis and pray it never happens to you. he throws at me. The situation there is explosive and I'm not just talking about the natives. I wish he had told me more. Let me know in full detail what a mess my dad had just gotten me into, but Saiyan arrives just in time to take the ongoing conversation and add his two cents. Unlike us, she is not an engineer, but a scientist, which makes her an essential asset in the capital and she explains to me that she has worked on high-performance ionic shield formulas for larger surfaces.

We spend long minutes discussing this and that, including rumors implicating my sister in an adulterous relationship with a high-ranking empire officer. But seeing my ignorance, they refuse to provide me with the slightest detail and instead offer that we toast to our reunion.

It was then that the waiter came to place a glass of water on the table, right in front of me, as if it were for me, plunging my table into amazement.

—I didn't order anything. I said coldly, barely considering him. Do I have a head to drink water?

—It's offered

— By who ?

My head followed the gesture of his chin and my eyes landed on the bar, crashing violently into the electric blue of his gaze.

Him.

He was very busy. You could almost believe that he arranged for me to be in the front row of the pathetic spectacle he offers me. He wears a uniform, his high black leather boots and before removing his headgear to reveal his hair oscillating between darkness and greyness, contrasting with the electricity of his gaze and the mischievousness of his luminous smile.

It's not the same. I thought, scrutinizing the sublime beauty that hangs from his neck like one hangs from a rope. That was probably what she was doing by offering him her adoration. One of many on his long list of hopeless cases desperate for a little attention, money and sex.

Poor daughter.

—He says it's for the mess the other night and...

—Fuck that bastard. I said out loud without realizing it. I dodge Saijan's remarks about Orson Krennic buying me drinks and getting back to my business. At least I think so, because my eyes don't agree. I see his hand sliding down her spine, his fingertips teasing the bare skin she offers him and his lips so dangerously close to her ear it makes my stomach ache. My thighs squeeze together wondering what effect his touch can have and I'm practically sick of it.

I don't give in, refuse even to show him the slightest interest. Because I know it. I feel it. Despite everything that is happening, despite it being her body he is touching, his eyes are riveted to mine. Don't leave me, tracking down the slightest reaction that could betray my interest or my bitterness.

—Do you want another drink, honey?

Erkani leans towards me, whispers this proposal in a warm voice with a delicious accent. It was the opportunity I was waiting for, the one I dreamed of to give him the final blow. His arm rests on the back of the bench where we are sitting and I savor the moment when Krennic discovers it. I grab the glass he offered me and slowly put it to my lips and take a sip, crossing my legs under the table, knowing that from where he is, he doesn't miss anything.

What the fuck am I playing?

It doesn't take long for my friend to return with two glasses full of ocher, fizzy liquor. We toast, embracing our arms like an old couple after exchanging their vows and my eyes finally leave my main interest to dive into the emeralds of Erkani for a moment that seems to me forever and which was abruptly interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat.

—You're going to have to leave this table, young man. I have to discuss with miss.

His voice rumbles like thunder as his shadow looms over us, pulling me a little away from my friend and his hand too busy caressing my thigh. I may be a little drunk, but seeing him so close to me with such a somber expression on his face made me sober immediately.

—And if she doesn't want to?

—It s fine, Erkani. I handle.

I don't handle anything at all. My sitting position allows me to hide my trembling legs, but I am sure that my gaze and all that it betrays does not escape him. That he even loves it.

My friend gestures for me to call him if I feel the need and gives in to Krennic's blatant authority, who doesn't wait another second before sitting down.

—Nice brooch, baby Tarkin.

I want to slap him. Bad idea to start on a good professional relationshp.

—You have nothing better to do than taunt me, Orson?

—It’s Commander Krennic, but okay, I’ll settle for a thank you for the drink tonight.

—I'll call you whatever you want when you stop giving me stupid nicknames.

He chuckles, gestures to the waiter to serve us a round, placing his hand on the file just behind me. As if he definitively asserted his authority and his property. Bad idea, he will quickly understand that I am not a trophy.

—It's too bad you take it that way, I'm here to talk business.

— It must be very important if you have abandoned your evening pastime.

My words betray my contempt and arouse his amusement. This is shit. I really look like a poor girl.

— I am sure that my proposal will interest you.

—I'm not sure I want to hear it.

He lifts his glass to his mouth in such a slow and delicate way that I'm sure he's doing it on purpose. As for me, I remain hooked on his eyes and his proposal, mustering all the good will in the world to refuse it pronto. I'm almost ashamed to admit that being born Tarkin doesn't make me immune to his confusing magnetism.

—I heard your father was offering you a place in the Advanced Weapons Project, a place that doesn't suit your qualifications. I have other things for you, much more interesting. I blink to hide my surprise. Of all the possibilities considered, he chose to surprise me. —Are you bypassing my father's decision?

—I run this program, no matter what he think.

— Really ?

I barely hide the irony of my question, bursting into a laugh so powerful that I almost spill my drink. He turns his head away, pursing his lips sourly. It upsets him and I realize that hurting his ego is more exquisite than any candy, than the sweetest revenge.

— Why offer me a job when you don't know my skills?

—You're a Tarkin, isn't that enough to assure me of the quality of your work?

— My skills are not limited to my name.

— Really ?

He laughs, I focus on the contents of my glass in which I dip my lips, taking care to lower my eyes to better return to the charge.

—Which post ?

—Workshop chief.

—Workshop chief ? I repeat in disbelief. It's five grades above what my father offers me. My surprise seems to please him even if he compresses his jaw not to show me his satisfaction.

—You become a team leader, as an engineer that’s the minimum.

—In which unit?

— You will have to oscillate between Geonosis and here, it will allow you to change air when the need arises.

I digest the information, trying to hide my confusion in alcohol. I don't know how he manages to do this, but his offer is exactly what I need, what I'm looking for. It almost tastes like an escape.

—Geonosis is the planet you work on, isn't it?

It's his turn to raise his glass to his lips. He winces at the way I point out this detail to him and that's when I notice how the distance between us has shrunk considerably. I gave him ground without even realizing it.

—We may see each other there often and share our shuttles.

—Are you keeping an eye on me?

He doesn't respond immediately. Just batting his eyelashes at my hands hovering over the table. I have the impression that he wants to ask me which of us is going to watch the other and that he abstains, too amused by the little game that is taking place between us.

—I want to see what you are capable of.

—Let's be clear: I'm not the kind of person you buy, Orson.

On the other side of the room, his previous guest is staring at us with an evil eye. Krennic's head is tilted so hard towards me that he could kiss my neck and touch my shoulder with his fingertips. I don't know why I don't push him away, stay in his embrace and let my foot stick to his leg, my thigh pressing against his. In a final act of pure provocation, I see him grab my glass and put his lips to it to take a sip. I don't miss a thing of the show. The way his mouth envelops the crystal and hugs its shape, inviting me to imagine he's only doing this to give me a glimpse of what he might be doing to my own body.

—Oh, i know that. You're priceless, baby Tarkin.

I gently snatch my glass from his hand, brushing the lace against the leather of his gloves. Our eyes haven't been able to break contact for several minutes and his breath hangs on mine.

—She's getting impatient. I whisper, looking down, trying to put my lips on my drink exactly where he left the trace of his. I guessed the superhuman effort he had to make not to tip me over on this bench, because it was exactly the one I imposed on myself so as not to beg him to do it.

—Do you accept my offer?

— I'll think about it.

I whispered it so close to his mouth that my lips could have touched his effortlessly. But I had to leave before I ended up on his knees rubbing against his thighs, begging him to put an end to this desire that was bubbling in me, signing my death and my banishment from the Tarkin family.

—I'm not very patient, baby Tarkin.

—Well, time it's come for someone taught you how to be, Orson.

And I pulled away from him, as if to escape from an uncontrollable current that is dragging me into chaos. I don't know how he reacted to my running away, but he didn't try to catch me, or even order me to come back and sit with him. I was convinced, when I joined my friends, that I had already accepted his proposal a long time ago. And I didn't like it at all.

[parageist]

i had this dream where my friend was showing me this cool abandoned air traffic control tower he had found and turned it into an epic party spot. there was this weird contraption you had to bang back and forth like a gong kinda and it would generate electricity to power this janky elevator which led to the top of the tower. it was pretty scary because it felt like i was gonna fall at any time. but at the top was this cool bedroom and under that was a trapdoor which led to a larger room for partying and such. slowly people started showing up and i sat down and was talking with them but eventually it became too much, they started drinking and smoking and stuff and i left. before i left though, i took some pictures with the friends i had made but left the pictures inside accidentally.

on the way out i noticed all the trash and furniture (apparently) the partygoers had thrown everywhere, and cleaned it up, yelling at them for making such a mess. they got defensive and it led to this brawl but my parents picked me up before it got too violent. but later i returned to the tower to retrieve the photos i had left, but the tower was collapsed into a pile of ruble, and in the middle was this menacing gang of the guys who i had yelled at earlier. i managed to grab the photos and bolt out of there, but they had guns and stuff and were chasing me. i ran back home and warned my parents and family that they were coming, so everyone crammed into a truck and we drove far away from there before they could get us. but i saw another timeline where things went wrong and they killed a bunch of kids, it was disturbing lmao, but luckily that was just a vision and we continued driving away safe and sound.

however, eventually things got worse. somehow that gang of litterbugs had ended up causing an apocalypse. society had completely collapsed. but at the same time it wasn’t that bad? a bunch of stores and places still functioned like normal, but everything was free and so there was this place with all this homestuck merch, along with a bunch of VHS tapes of different games/shows i love, so i took a bunch of those.

then apparently there was a nearby building called the “oppenheimer house” and i had telekinesis and i grabbed it with my mind and threw it up into the air, then it crashed down into the building i was in but nothing was damaged too bad. we continued “shopping” and i got like this robert oppenheimer outfit (which was from doctor who apparently).

after that we were driving somewhere, looking for a place to settle in away from the chaos in the city. there was this guys house who let us in and it connected to this maze of tents? like imagine those tubes you would crawl through as a baby, like the one in coraline, connecting a bunch of tents and stuff. somewhere in there we found some evidence relating to this alien conspiracy theory (we also found some in the store earlier) and left to go to this nasa place.

in there we found this secret tunnel which led underground to this lava chamber and inside was this hologram an alien had been using. apparently he crashed on earth millions of years ago and created nasa as a ways of escaping back to his home planet or whatever.

after this point the dream became more fantastical, and i was exploring this open world post-apocalyptic world kinda like elden ring but also with some robots here and there like fallout 4. there were like the advanced battle droids from star wars (the ones without heads) guarding this weird fleshy wizard guy who gave me some quest im not quite sure lmao. but it led me to this place where there were these horrific beasts. they were like scorpions but with human heads and also phallic shaped? and they had these balls that could like detach and bonk you? so i had to like parry their bonks and i slowly whittled down the health of one of them, and when it was low enough i tried to like serenade or pacify it by hugging it but i ended up just killing it lmao.

then there were these normal human guys, some of them had weapons and would like cast these magic runes at my face. some of the runes were yellow and i had to slice those with my sword but some of the runes were blue and if i sliced a blue rune it would continue flying at me so i just had to dodge the blue runes. also i just ended up going crazy with my sword, slicing up all the guys, but apparently most of them were actually just innocent people and i ended up inflicting a bunch of scars on a bunch of just normal guys xD.

after that, some lady which was apparently from elden ring but she looked like she was from star wars appeared and warned me that fortisaxx, the lich dragon of death from elden ring, was trapped underground and i had to go there to kill him before he escaped. but as she was explaining this fortisax was throwing these death bombs out of his underground hole. we were at first laughing them off and making fart jokes about them but eventually there were too many bombs and they ended up bursting a hole into the ground, and fortisax flew out and started spewing death sauce on all these villages. we had like this epic rune battle but fortisax won and then i woke up.

pretty whacky