#A jedi and his green wife

[happeehippie]

instagram. j.b.

summary: follow along with joe and his wife evie as they go through is football career.

*face claim is yasmin quintana*

series masterlist.

evie

liked by joeyb_9, lahjay10_, and 780,726 others

evie: “holding hands is like touching souls” 🤍

view all 5,729 comments…

user: how are we supposed to just live with this

user: i’m so jealous

joeyb_9: my girl. 😚

> evie: always always always.

user: do you think he knows she just posts him for attention?

> user: do you think he will ever see this comment? probably not.

user: i’m feeling extremely single right now.

lahjay10_: y’all be holding hands like crazy

> evie: we locked for life. 🤍🔒

user: wait this is actually so sweet, imagine how many pics she has of them just holding hands. she’s so down bad.

joeyb_9

liked by evie, lahjay10_ and 304,837 others

joeyb_9: Green Goblin

view all 2,681 comments…

user: Great football Joe!

user: SHIESTYYYYYY

millyg: joey tell ev to text me back.

user: green like that bank account baby

user: that’s hot

evie: 🥦🥒🍏🫛🫑🥑

> joeyb_9: you gotta calm down.

user: QB is always sharp

evie

liked by bengals, joeyb_9, and 990,864 others

evie: out here

view all 1,863 comments…

user: tell jb to pop a perc and get back out there

> evie: kind of a tactless comment my guy, he’d be out there if he was able.

user: man screwed my fantasy team

> evie: yeah forget your fantasy team, it wasn’t his fault.

user: brave woman

joeyb_9: jacket=dope

user: chefs kiss

user: go bengals!

millyg: i love to see you this happy 💗💗

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and 709,950 others

joeyb_9: Just another stage on the journey of life

view all 11,306 comments…

user: praying for you my boy

nfl: 🙏🏼

evie: keep your head up baby, i love you.

> joeyb_9: couldn’t do it without you

joemainmixon: We got you brother!

user: the “he’s back” post next season is going to go crazy

user: get better soon lover

lahjay10_: the comeback will be legendary

user: revenge tour for real next year

cjstroud: 🙏🏾

user: joey take my wrist, i don’t need it.

evie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, and 91,736 others

evie: another gamedey in jungle. if you’re not in cincy you stink!

view all 7,728 comments…

user: still going to games??

> evie: ofc. those are my boys!

millyg: my little sweet pea

> evie: 🫛

user: my mom loves you (me too btw)

> evie: i luv ur mom. 😁💗

user: love to see you smiling

user: how is jb?

> evie: inspiring. 💗

joeyb_9: i like you.

> evie: omg thanks for sharing. i like you 2. 🤩🤪

joeyb_9

liked by lahjay10_, evie, and 852,100 others

joeyb_9: Learn to love discomfort

view all 5,793 comments…

lahjay10_: haha i just know you uncomfortable sitting like that. that’s what you mean by the caption?

> evie: lmao ur goofy

user: let’s go jb6

user: biggest qb in the league

user: happy birthday joe we love you!

evie: criss cross applesauce???

> joeyb_9: it’s called indian style. 🙄

> evie: is that what the big kids are calling it??

> user: ev is on his ass

user: it doesn’t go unnoticed you being on the sidelines for your teammates

user: are you and ev going to celebrate your special day?

> evie: we don’t skip bdays around here. even if you have a major surgery..

user: happy birthday king joe!

evie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, and 890,110 others

evie: bits and pieces

view all 3,611 comments…

user: wishing you and joe a lovely off season and smooth recovery

> evie: 💗💗💗

user: you’ll be back killing it next season! i can’t wait

user: okay, the teddy shirt? CUTE!

> evie: one of my favs

user: always giving us a peek at jb

> user: it’s funny how ev used to be the only one that called him jb and now it’s become one of his many nicknames.

user: going to be missing you this off season.

joeyb_9: puddle pic is 10/10 cuteness

> evie: 🥹💗

joeyb_9

liked nfl, bengals, and 891,028 others

joeyb_9: Sorry for the missed time. Return of the Jedi

view all 10,112 comments…

user: i hope my gf doesn’t see this post

user: miss u

user: see you next year daddy joe

evie: joe you can’t just post this on a monday morning with no warning.

> user: ev saying what we are all thinking

> joeyb_9: oh, i don’t know the rules. i thought this was my account.

> evie: smart. ass.

user: BURROW REVENGE ARC

user: can’t wait to see you back!

evies stories

* last part for now. 😢 *

if you want me to pick this back up once the season starts, give this a big ❤️ hehehe.

[alexcors]

May the Force be with every fan in the Galaxy! As well as inspiration and free time with every writer and artist!

Darth Al Ghul, a powerful Sith commander of the Legion of Assassins, is exiled to the far reaches of the galaxy by the Emperor, who fears his growing influence.

Darth Al Ghul's wife Raven went into exile with her husband to prevent him from finally falling to the Dark Side of the Force. She cherishes the memory of the time when the Sith was called Damian Wayne, along with the green beskar brooch that her husband once made for her.

And among the surviving Jedi they believe that one day it will be their love that will return peace and order to the Galaxy.

[gffa]

Your perspective on Vernestra was spot on to me. But what is wild is that that's Leslie's wife?? Like. She purposely made the character colder and CAST HER WIFE. (and let her have the hera makeup treatment of green paint bath)

Oh, I did not know Leslye Headland and Rebecca Henderson were married, that is WILD that she would cast her as Vernestra and then write her that way! I mean, not that wild that someone would cast their wife in a fun role, but it does surprise me that she chose to write Vernestra as colder than I would say she comes across as in the books. Like, yeah, of course the character is ~100 years older now, she's an adult now, she's got more responsibilities now, and maybe there will be an ending to the Nihil storyline that will explain her change, but it does feel a little wild to me that this cameo character your wife is playing wouldn't be written as a little more fun to play. Though, let's wait until Vernestra gets to use her lightsaber whip, I bet that was be AWESOME to play.

Honestly, I don't really mind that Vernestra is written as she is--aside from making me wonder how much Headland has read of the books, I have no idea if she's read just a few or all of them, not to mention I'm sure the writing for this show was written LONG before several of the later books came out--I like that a Jedi you know we're meant to like is written as a bit more formal and reserved and wanting to plan things carefully, rather than immediately act. I've liked that The Acolyte doesn't feel the need to make every Jedi "perfect", that Yord can have a stick up his ass but we still love him, Vernestra can be colder than we expect but she still cares deeply and is a wonderful person, like, yes, let Jedi just be characters! I'm enjoying that so much! Plus, I like that it kind of makes her feel like a spiritual successor/precursor to Mace Windu, the other purple saber wielder we know. He's reserved and can appear as cold to those who don't know him, but if you pay attention, you can see how deeply he cares about people, how honorable he is, how good he is. I bet they would have gotten along great, I would love to see Mace and Vernestra having tea, if she lived that long.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug on the Jedi in 'The Clone Wars'

Y'all have asked, and Dr. Meat Muffin might be a disgruntled old hag that chugs too much Trader Joe’s bourbon and doodles too much subpar art, but she keeps her promises!

Just so y’all know, if you’re a major character (Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, etc) you keep your name, because it was drilled into Doug’s head over 8 seasons of Clone Wars and the movies. Everyone else, though, Doug gave up and created his own catchphrases for them.

CW: This one's not as spicy as Doug's previous rants regarding Star Wars, but y'all know if y'all know. "It'll all come out in the wash."

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

Plo Koon: Ah, Shrimp Daddy. He looks like a shrimp that’s been boiled and left in the sun after a potluck. But my wife LOVES him, she says he has the nicest voice and she wishes he’d narrate some books. I loved him too, he was my favorite. That scene where he tells his clone boys in space that they’re important to him? Ah great. They should have him lead HR meetings. 

Aayla Secura: Babe-the-Blue-Jedi. They sent her away from the Temple because Yoda didn’t want that hotness distracting everyone. Is she and Miguel (Bly?!) dating? They are, right? 

Kit Fisto: Reggae Swamp Thing. Tell me that boy don't look like he lives in the Atchafalaya and bangs on the steel drums all day. I wonder if he stole those shorts from Michael Phelps. He’s cool but does he need to have a tank to swim in on his ship? Does he have gills? I need more info on this guy. 

Adi Gallia: Storm’s Cousin. Doesn’t this chick look like her? She does, right? Maybe she's a Jedi cause she can't control the weather. Didn’t Maul’s brother Saul impale her on his horns and that’s how she died?* Why didn’t Maul do that to Obi-Wan? Maul was obsessed with Obi-Wan, do you think it’s because he had a crush on him after he sliced him in half?

(Doug also ships Obi-Wan with Maul now? IS THERE ANYONE WHO DOUG DOESN'T SHIP OBI-WAN WITH?!)

Shaak-Ti: Ahsoka’s Aunt. They’re totally related. (“No, they’re not.” “Says who?” “Um, EVERYONE?!”) She’s cool, nice to the clone boys. I like her horns. 

Saesee Tiin : Angry Bull Boy. He looks like a minotaur whose daddy left him at a Wal-Mart instead of the Labyrinth after drinking too much.

Deepa Billaba: My Coworker Anu. Seriously! She looks JUST LIKE HER. I even texted her a screenshot, and she used that as her Slack Channel picture for the longest time. Nice lady, she's a good master to Lil Kanan. Hm, Lil Kanan sounds like a rap person my niece would listen to.

Ki-Adi-Mundi: Mutant-Mall-Santa. Look me dead ass in the eye and tell me the man don’t look like he was supposed to hand out presents and ask kids what they want for Christmas and ended up hanging out in toxic waste instead. He's a snotty asshole, I don't like him, he thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.

Luminara Undali: Lady-in-Drape. She’s a green lady, and she wears a drape. Meat Muffin, I'm tired and it's about to snow.

Barriss Offee: Little Lady-in-Drape. Man, she was awful, but she had good points, ya know? Kind of like Darth Maul. Do you think Darth Maul and Obi-Wan ever dated? Or would Obi-Wan’s boyfriend get jealous? 

Quinlan Voss: College-Hippie-Boy. Doesn’t he just look like one of those goofs that fart around with hackysacks all day long? I'd buy weed from him if he was selling, he looks like an exporter and consumer, if you know what I mean.

Even Piall: Dobby the House Jedi. Man he looks like he was on his way to help Harry Potter or something and ended up in a bathrobe with a light saber. Ah well. 

*= Savage is ‘Saul’ and Feral is ‘Paul’. So it’s Maul, Saul, and Paul. I strained a muscle laughing when I got this. 

Tagging my Redneck Doug stans here! @amalthiaph @sued134 @eyecandyeoz @thecoffeelorian @merkitty49 @megmca @skellymomam I missing anyone?

Let me know if I missed any Jedi, those were the ones that came up that Doug didn't immediately recognize.

[jedi-enthusiast]

Similar Stories, Different Treatments: Anakin Skywalker and Abijah Fowler

Ok, so recently I've been re-watching 'Blue Eye Samauri' on Netflix and last night it dawned on me that, generally speaking, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker have very similar stories and actions...and yet their respective fandoms react to the two of them very differently.

So, here's my long ass post analyzing the two of them and why people react to them so differently.

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First, comparing the two characters...

So, assuming that y'all know me for my Star Wars content, you probably know Anakin's story but, for the sake of this post, I'll explain it briefly.

Anakin was born into slavery and lived as a slave for 9 years. Then one day he and his mother met two Jedi and a handmaiden, and his mother asked the Jedi to take Anakin and train him---which they agreed to do, so Anakin had to leave his mother. At 19 he had nightmares about and then witnessed his mother's death when he went back to Tatooine before being promptly drafted into war along with the rest of the Jedi by the Senate. After a harrowing 3 years of war and having his worst behaviors enabled/encouraged by the villain and his wife, Anakin begins to have nightmares about his pregnant wife dying. He then tries to prevent her dying, even though she's in perfect health.

We know a little less about Abijah Fowler's past, but we do know an integral part of it from this monologue:

"My country's history is one of manufactured suffering. I was a boy when the Tudors burned any food the rebels under O'Neill might think to eat. We starved. Everyone starved. Mouths on the dead stained green from chewing nettles---you get resourceful in a famine. My parents died early, left me and my sister catching rats. The rats ran out quick. Fed my sister on my blood, it kept her alive an extra two weeks. I didn't sleep for three days to protect her body from the starving 'til the ground thawed. I cut out her kidneys and buried her, fat cap on them like a pea. I haven't eaten a single meal since my mind didn't go to that bite. It was the last thing I ever did because I had to. I control my life now, every bite."

-----

From my point of view, Anakin and Abijah are very similar in their motivations.

Both of them started out as, assumedly, sweet and kind and caring young boys. You don't harm yourself to feed your sister and then cause more harm to yourself to protect her after she's already dead, if you're not. Similarly, you don't bring three complete strangers into your home because you're worried about them and then risk your life to help them, if you're not.

Both of them then went through great tragedies and likely felt completely powerless because of these tragedies and the circumstances they found themselves in.

For Abijah it was growing up during a famine, witnessing the horrors of famine and what people had to do during it, witnessing the deaths of his parents, being unable to stop the death of his sister, and being forced into cannibalism---of his sister and likely parents, no less---to prevent himself from starving. For Anakin it was growing up as a slave, having to leave his mother at a young age, witnessing his mother's death, and then being thrust into a war and witnessing the horrors of that.

Because of that powerlessness, both Anakin and Abijah hate the idea of them being powerless and their actions are made from a mix of anger at whoever they blame for what has happened---whether they're actually to blame, or whether they've done nothing---and refusal to ever be powerless again, or at least accept that they're powerless.

These motivations led them both to commit- (Anakin) -or attempt to commit- (Abijah) -mass murder, *genocide, **cultural genocide, and murder of their female main character counterpart.

*Abijah wasn't necessarily setting out to commit physical genocide, but he was willing to do so if the people of Japan weren't willing to go along with his plans.

**I do consider Abijah's plans as including cultural genocide, since he has a whole monologue about the people of Japan being "godless" and how he'd force them into Christianity- (Catholicism?) -if he succeeded in killing the Shogunate.

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Now, comparing fandom's reaction to the two...

For Anakin, he succeeds in causing Padme's death, destroying the Republic aka the only democracy in the galaxy, committing cultural and physical genocide against the Jedi, murdering an entire village of Tuskens including the children, and going on to oppress and enslave the rest of the galaxy for decades...

...in contrast, Abijah only succeeds in committing mass murder and fails in all of his other plans---and his success in committing mass murder is partially due to the Shogun's sons and wife locking people inside the burning palace.

But, despite all of this, if you look into how their respective fandoms treat them, you'd assume that it was the opposite.

Anakin is lifted up as this good person who had no agency in any of his actions or, if he did, then the people he murdered "deserved it"---he's loved by most of the fandom and everywhere you look you see think pieces about how Anakin was really a victim, how his actions were justified, how he's not to blame for anything.

Meanwhile Abijah is hated and his actions are labeled by the fandom as bad. He's a terrible person and he's seen as such. I've never seen a single post justifying his actions or trying to say he isn't to blame for his actions.

Now, this is not me saying that the Blue Eye Samauri fandom is wrong to view Abijah this way---on the contrary, I agree that his actions are heinous and he's a terrible person, there's nothing there that I don't agree with.

However, I do think it's interesting how differently both characters are treated when one of them is, unequivocally, worse than the other.

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Why is this?

Now, I'm going to preface this section with the disclaimer that part of it is because Anakin is the main character of his media and Abijah is not---however, I believe that this has a very small effect on how fandom treats them since, as we've seen with other characters, screentime doesn't really matter that much when it comes to whether fandom likes a character or not.

Moving on-

-----

I think a lot of it is just that Anakin is conventionally attractive and Abijah isn't.

Anakin and Abijah are both selfish, misogynistic, racist, have violent responses to most things, and have committed atrocities in the name of personal gain. The only difference between them---besides the obvious differences that come with the medias they're in---is that Anakin is pretty to look at and Abijah isn't.

It'd be even worse if Abijah was a POC or a woman, even if he was conventionally attractive---as proven by other Star Wars characters.

Mace Windu? Fandom hates him and makes him out to be a villain.

Saw Gerrera? Same thing.

Rey Skywalker? People hate her and say she's "unrealistic" or "too OP."

Reva Sevander? People fucking CRUCIFIED her!

None of these people even come near Anakin's level of "I'm a terrible person and I do heinous things because why not!" Mace and Rey never did anything wrong, and Saw and Reva did the things they did because of trauma/revenge and/or working to take down a greater evil---and even then, neither of them do anything near as bad as Anakin!

Yet they're hated and held to a higher standard and crucified in a way that Anakin isn't.

-----

Another reason is that people can project onto Anakin in a way they can't project onto Abijah.

With Anakin, they can twist the Jedi's actions to fit whatever trauma they personally relate to, they can shove characters like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Mace, Yoda, etc. into whatever archetype they want to fit their story, they can excuse away every atrocity Anakin commits because he's doing it out of attachment and they think attachment means love, etc.

Meanwhile it's hard for people to project onto Abijah because everything and everyone around him is harder to change to fit his narrative.

There's no one really around him that you can say manipulated, abused, or otherwise forced him into doing the things he did. The other characters don't really interact with him, so people can't say the characters "deserved" what he did to them. And he openly admits that he's doing things out of greed, whereas Anakin says he's doing things out of love when he's really not.

----------

In conclusion, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker are both people that experienced tragedy and became terrible people that did heinous things because of it---but people only justify one of their actions because they think he's pretty and project onto him.

They're the same person in different medias 🤷‍♀️

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Nar Cyar’ika

Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

A/N: Thanks you so much to @starrylothcat and @a-single-tulip for going over this for me!

Prompts given: Telling someone you love them while you think they’re asleep and tentative kisses in the dark.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it up irl), Crosshair being Crosshair, canon battles, violence, clone deaths 😭, if I’ve missed anything please @ me.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Tagging: @techs-feral-wife

“General! Look out!”

Upon hearing the warning, you automatically threw your hands up as the debris littered the ground around you. Casting the force shield as wide as you could to cover your troops, but still, the finer dirt rained down. The hiss of it was accompanied but the smell of burnt alloy, broken droids, and the freshness of the gauged earth.

“Captain?!” You called, choking on the fuel heavy air.

“All in one piece,” He responded wearily. He was feeling a little grim and tired but he was still there unharmed, as were the rest of the clones that held the line. A whole month you’d been out here. Fighting back droids in an endless barrage, constant casualties as men dropped around you, something you took personally.

Too many nights had been spent holding a dying man’s hand, trying to ease his passing and take away the pain of his wounds. You knew the name of every single one, taking a piece of their armour for their brothers, because that was all you were allowed. Your ship wasn’t built to carry home dead troopers, only the ones still breathing.

“Incoming!” A trooper’s yell alerted you to act. It was instinctive, reaching out with the force, directing the missile off to the side of your positions, and exploding in a shower of wood and earth. The trees groaned, crashing to the ground and taking out some advancing clankers under the thick trunks; starting a chain reaction of more explosions that beat the air around you.

“ETA on our reinforcements?” You had requested help, a few extra platoons would tip the scales in your favour and you hoped they were arriving in the next few minutes. You hefted your DC-17m and began to shoot some droids, the repeat blasts kicking back into your armour as you swept some bolts along the Separatist front line, picking your targets through the trees and hitting the mark every time.

Captain Wilco was shooting beside you, his helmet nodded and you knew he was talking on the internal com. It was frustrating that as a Jedi you didn’t have a helmet and only a com on your wrist. That was no good while you were shooting.

“ETA 2 minutes, General,” he relayed steadily.

“Do we know how many?” He hesitated at the question and you felt his faint emotion change through the force.

“Make me happy, Captain,” You ordered as you took out another B1 droid.

“Just a single Commando Squad…”

“Beexes! Heading straight for your position, General!” The warning came through the comlink this time and you lowered your blaster, hiding behind a wide tree trunk as Wilco slammed in beside you, blasters upright and pointing at the sky as he took a second to breathe. The swift thunk of bolts sounded loud, shedding some splinters of wood near your shoulder. You hated these droids.

“Hold this,” You said, holding out the deecee.

“Is it time to show off?” He asked, twirling his blasters and shoving them in their holsters before taking your blaster.

“Yeah, it’s time to show off.” Drawing your twin blades free was always an exhilarating moment. The yellow-green cast of the plasma was a beacon to your troops. When the lights were lit, it meant their General was getting personal with the clankers.

You could feel the fresh prick of adrenaline, spinning away from your cover and stabbing the first droid under the chin. The alloy melted, no match against your lightsaber and your nose wrinkled at this smell of ruined circuits.

Shedding the dead weight you bounced some bolts away, noticing three more heading straight for you. Three. You were tired, your shoulder ached and your entire body was being pushed to its limit but you soldiered on. Wilco fired from the cover you provided but they barely slowed the droids down.

Any second…any second. You could sense them, the squad that had been sent to help hold your position and now you knew why they had only sent one. At first, you’d expected Omega, maybe even Delta if they were ordered hard enough…no. They’d sent the squad you would take above all others.

You flowed through the motions, relying on the force to tell you what was headed your way a few seconds before it actually happened. A bolt aimed at your shoulder penetrating your armour, another coming to pierce your side. Your blades swung, reflecting the bolts away not having the time to direct them. The droids crossed paths, their legs easily picking over the uneven terrain as they jogged. Bringing your blades in an X, you clashed them together before wrenching them apart and pushing with the force.

To your annoyance they contorted, refusing to fall over and you felt a flash of anger. Spinning around you concentrated, letting go of your left saber to guide it in an arc slicing off the head of a droid.

Two down, two to go.

Now they were upon you, one constantly on the move as it shot at you while the other pulled a vibrosword from literally nowhere. Going toe to toe with a BX droid was not on your to-do list today, let alone four of them. It met you swing for swing, with the added distraction of the other one shooting at you, this really wasn’t a fair fight.

An explosion that made the earth roll beneath your feet caught you completely off-guard, and you stumbled. The tremor rocked through your body, jolting your sabers from your grip and the droid saw its chance. It lunged to grab you by the throat, lifting you as you clawed at the metal arm that had you in a vice-like grip.

“General!” You closed your eyes at the sound of Wilco’s desperate yell.

No, please no! Your mind was frantic and you did the only thing you could think of. Throwing your hand out, you pushed Wilco back. You didn’t need him coming to your recuse and getting himself killed. He was swept off his feet, landing heavily on his back. Your legs were kicking, trying not to succumb to the panic, but you couldn’t stop it. You weren’t a born soldier, all your years at the temple could not have prepared you for this side of war. You were a peacekeeper. That’s what they’d told you anyway.

You began to gasp, reaching into the force to try and find the strength to ease this droid’s grip but your concentration was slipping. Your body was failing and so was your mind as your lungs burned for some air.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Light flared across your blurred vision, the sound of your lightsaber cut through the fog in your mind and you felt yourself fall to the ground. Dragging the tainted air into your lungs you were finally able to take a breath. Hands grabbed you, hauling you to some cover and you were able to see who your saviour was.

Captain Wilco was shooting with your repeat blaster around the side of the tree, his shots sporadic to indicate fewer targets were in his line of sight. It was the other soldier that interested you right now, his black and red helmet thrown into stark relief in the light of your saber.

The light side of his helmet was a complete dichotomy to the dark tattoo that marked the same side of his face. He now cocked it as he peered at you from behind the wide visor. “You’ll be needing these.” He remarked, retracting the blade before depositing them firmly in your grip. Hunter yanked his knife free of his vambrace, staying in a crouched position, and peered around the tree. “Crosshair...” you heard him murmur through his vocoder and you knew he was talking via the comlink.

“The clankers are regrouping.” You smiled at the bite in the sniper’s voice. You couldn’t see him but you could feel him high up the side of the hill, his presence was always loud to you through the force. Even across the distance that had been between you the last five months, you’d always been able to reach out to him.

“Are you all right, General?” Wilco had that smooth tone to his voice, the one that told you he had shut down all his feelings and was reacting purely on instinct right now. This man was going through the motions.

“Fine. I’ll be sporting a new collar of bruises though. Now I know what Captain Rex was moaning about.”

“Orders?” Crosshair’s voice slithered through the com channel and Hunter turned to look at you as he waited.

“This is your party, Sarge. Go, do what you do.”

“You heard the General, boys. Let’s finish this.” Hunter melted away, prompting you to get up.

“Captain,” Wilco was by your side, letting you lean on him as your legs shook. “Let’s watch the show.”

“Not a single clanker left,” Wrecker announced loudly as they walked through the carnage to your position. Your robes were singed, and the armour you wore over the top was carbon scoured and would need a good clean. Your throat was still sore every time you swallowed but you wouldn’t let the medics near you. There were far worse injuries littering the field.

“I’m glad you boys decided to make it.”

“Sorry,” Hunter replied, pulling his helmet off and giving you a cocky smile. “Had to stop and ask some clankers for directions.”

“And there I was thinking we were making enough noise.” As you spoke your gaze drifted over the Sergeant’s shoulder to fix on the figure that was striding to join his squad. He was tall, his long legs picking their way easily over the droid shrapnel; the firepuncher pointing at the ground but held in a way you knew it could lift and take out a droid in less than a second.

“Your position was easy enough to triangulate. Plus, we sourced the coordinates directly from your ship when we answered the call.” Tech had his nose in his datapad, no doubt keeping an eye on the com chatter so he was alerted to any change in the GAR.

“What’s next?” Hunter asked.

“General.” You turned to face Wilco, he was holding a holodisk in his hand, depicting an image of your Admiral who was currently in orbit over the planet you stood on.

“Orders from Coruscant?” You queried and he nodded.

“We have been told to return immediately. The Fearless is coming to relieve us.”

“We do all the hard graft and then someone else sweeps in and just holds it for us.” Shaking your head you tried not to be tempted by the anger that loomed. You knew why they did it, you created results. The 71st made waves, they got things done and you all were a formidable force against the droids. “Say, you boys fancy some RnR? It’s been a while since we caught up.” You could feel Crosshair scrutinising you from under his helmet, you felt the jolt that your suggestion gave him except it wasn’t his decision.

Hunter cast his eye over the squad but it was Wrecker that answered. “Aw, yeah! Been a while since we had some decent food.”

“Plenty of that up top. What do you say?” Your offer hung in the air for a moment as they all exchanged glances with Hunter.

“Yeah, why not,” Hunter said slowly.

“Saves on fuel,” added Tech.

“Captain, contact the ship and let them know Clone Force 99 is going to dock with us. They’re going to need supplies and fuel if we can spare it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned away to the sound of the lartys as they landed.

“I need to accompany the wounded. See you on the flight deck.” Hunter gave you a salute, briefly touching his bandana and flicking his fingers away, but your gaze was settled on the sniper. He backed away, his attention clearly on you and it took all your concentration not to physically reach out to him.

So you used the force instead, stretching over the few metres that separated you, frustrated that he was so close and still so far away. A frown tugged on your brow when you felt he was…angry. It created heated spots in the force around him and he suddenly turned away, spinning abruptly and stalking after his squad mates.

Walking in the opposite direction you distracted yourself as you did after every battle, by concentrating on your clones.

You hated the aftermath. The way their adrenaline trickled away just left exhaustion and pain. The air in the gunship reeked of blood, dirt, sweat, and men. You were used to it, aware that you didn’t smell any better yourself. The whole battalion had been planetside for five days this round and they deserved a well-earned rest.

“Jumper…” you crouched beside a clone who was slumped in a brother's lap, barely able to hold his head up. There was a mark on his white chest plate, the red cross of no treatment, and tears sprang to your eyes.

“General,” He wheezed.

“Hang on soldier, we’re going home.” You took his hand and concentrated. Nothing you could do would stop the inevitable, all that was left was to ease his pain. “You fought bravely today,” you murmured. He sighed loudly and you hitched up a smile. “The meds working?”

“Yeah. Thanks, General…” You had no idea if he knew what you’d done or not. By the time you’d stood up and moved to the next soldier, he had taken his last breath.

You waited on the flight deck, supervising all the wounded being taken, giving a comforting word to the exhausted ones left behind. You were hurting, trying to keep your brave mask on until you could fall apart in your quarters. Attachment rules be damned, how could you not feel the ache with each life that was lost? When you personally felt their passing through the force and the void they left behind?

“Ship docking!” The Marauder glided effortlessly onto the flight deck, turning so tightly, it made some of the troopers watching hold their breaths but you’d seen Tech pilot this beauty before.

“Get a fuel line ready,” you ordered a clone and he jumped up to carry out the task.

The squad disembarked, casting uneasy glances around the matching faces that openly stared at them. You knew if any other Jedi had asked they would have refused the hospitality.

“Jet’ika! There she is!” Wrecker wasn’t one for protocol and acting appropriately and you didn’t care, letting the large clone pull you off the ground and into a bear hug that you so desperately needed.

“Wrecker, the regs are watching,” Tech murmured.

“What do I care?” He replied loudly and you grimaced as it echoed over the deck. “Wha’ you looking at?” He demanded from the nearest group.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Wrecker.” Crosshair shoved past, his golden gaze avoiding yours. Something was up with him, maybe he was just pent up with frustration at not being able to greet you like Wrecker had. You wished he could, your entire body ached to be touched by him.

Five months was a long time.

“You boys hungry?” You asked when Wrecker finally put you down.

“I can guarantee one of us is,” Tech sighed as the big clone proclaimed he was starving again.

“No food fights this time,” You told Hunter, raising an eyebrow. “I had to do a lot of smooth-talking with the Admiral and Captain Wilco last time, not to mention the clean-up droid.”

“They’ll behave this time,” the Sergeant told you in a firm voice.

“Actually, I behaved last time,” Tech stated with a small frown on his face as they all followed you into the turbo lift.

“Only because you weren’t there,” Crosshair pointed out with an annoyed motion, pulling his toothpick out and flicking it at his brother.

Tech shrugged and barely flinched when the small stick bounced off his armour. “A minor detail.”

The doors opened and they stepped out, turning as one to face you. “Go relax, I need to get freshen up and then I’ll come and join you.” Hunter gave you a small nod of acknowledgement, Wrecker beamed, Tech gave you an absent wave and Crosshair didn’t even look at you. The door began to slide closed. Every fibre of your being wished Cross would look at you, so when his blazing, amber gaze finally locked with yours it felt like you’d been stunned, your breath stolen along with all the thoughts in your mind.

Five months was too long.

You went through the motions, raking your fingers through your hair and cleaning the grime of battle from your skin. Dirt and blood swilled away in the stream of water before the timer ran out and you sighed in the quiet space. It was never long enough but you understood the water had to be spread between an entire ship and everyone got the same amount of time in the shower.

You towelled yourself down and then wrapped up your body before stepping into your quarters. You had been so absorbed in what you were doing you didn’t expect someone to be standing by the door, leaning against the wall and you automatically threw your hands up.

“Jumpy,” He sneered.

“Well no one should be in here,” you snapped, still ashamed he’d managed to sneak up on you. Crosshair pushed away from the wall, uncrossing his arms to brush his fingertips against your grubby armour plates. You became acutely aware of how underdressed you were, clutching the towel tightly to your chest.

“You were reckless today.” With his words came a ripple of frustration, prickling at your senses and making you bristle in return.

“Isn’t that what we do on the battlefield?” Your answer made him scoff, dropping the armour with a clatter and looking up at the wall.

“You are not invincible,” he spoke with a sharp tone and his eyes held something hard and disclosed.

“I never said I was!” You gasped when he advanced on you, jabbing a finger into your bare shoulder, making you step back.

“I saw what you did!” He seethed in his icy voice. “For that…reg.” Drawing yourself up with as much dignity as you could muster while naked and only wrapped in a towel, you fixed a heavy glare on him.

“Captain Wilco is a fine soldier and I will not have you talk badly about any of my troopers.”

Crosshair straightened, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a displeased look on his face but that just wound you up more.

“Okay, you know what, Cross? I don’t have to listen to this. I have been down there for the past month watching men, your brothers, drop dead around me as they follow my orders.”

“They are not my brothers,” He spat, his gaze drifting away as though bored with the conversation. You sputtered angrily, the happy image of your long-awaited reunion was being replaced by this—anger and jealousy.

“No. You’ve never lost a brother, have you Crosshair?” Your voice had that hard edge you usually reserved for the Seps and you felt the briefest flash of doubt as it flickered through him before he squashed it.

“You are not one of them. No matter how hard you try.”

You laughed at his harsh statement but it held no joy.

“No? I may not have been pulled from a tank but I have no parents, I was holding a weapon that I knew how to use by the time I was 4 years old. I have seen as much, if not more death than your squad put together. Do you sense the moment a trooper passes? Do you feel it when they just…cease to be?”

His gaze flicked to your face, his eyes softening slightly when he saw the tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“I am not a clone, but they are a little pocket of family that I never had.” Turning away you grabbed your spare set of robes. “Now get out. That’s an order.”

The surge of anger from him was like a whip, making you flinch as he slammed a hand into the panel and shoved his way through the door before it had even fully opened. Your insides quivered as you tried to contain it all, but your shell was cracking, allowing the emotion of the last few weeks to finally show and you covered your face with shaking hands.

If only this wasn’t so hard.

“…and then, I picked him up by his neck.”

“What did Rex do?” Your eyes were wide as you nursed a cup of caf at the table with three members of the Bad Batch. Hunter was eyeing anyone that came too close, he was on edge here and you didn’t blame him. Your troops eyed them just as suspiciously. Tech was splicing some data he’d acquired from the Seps, you weren’t entirely sure and you didn’t have it in you to ask this time. Wrecker was doing a great job of distracting you from dwelling on the fact Crosshair wasn’t here. You could sense Hunter’s focus on you every now and again but you ignored it.

“The Cap couldn’t do much, but Crosshair took on that medic.”

“Kix?” You nudged Tech’s arm. “What did you do?”

“I asked Wrecker to put Jesse down. He didn’t listen.”

“Then I ruined all their fun,” Hunter said. “We can't afford to quarrel amongst ourselves. Crosshair needs that reminder more than most at the moment.”

“Where is he?” Tech looked up from his datapad. “Have you seen him?”

It was such a direct question and for a moment you panicked over what to say before shaking your head.

“He’s probably back at the ship.” Hunter pushed away his tray and went to stand up. Tech instantly followed but Wrecker moaned.

“Is it time to go already?”

“Not quite yet,” Hunter reassured him. “The General here is letting us go before they reach triple zero.”

Tech pushed his goggles up his nose as he looked at his brother. “I need to do some maintenance on the ship before we leave and I could us your assistance, Wrecker.”

“Take food with you,” You told the larger clone, pushing your own untouched tray in his direction.

“Bonus! Thanks, Jet’ika.” You grinned at the nickname. Wrecker had donned you with it the first time he saw you a couple of years ago. He followed Tech out of the food area, chomping happily on the extra food but your attention drifted to Hunter who paused.

“If you see him,” You said in a low voice.

“I’ll tell him.” This time you returned the salute and watched them all leave before making a move yourself.

You visited the medbay, checked on the injured clones, and had a chat with them as your ship sped through hyperspace. Keeping their spirits high was easier because they were heading for some leave. They certainly deserved it. Wandering the almost empty halls you debated heading to the bridge. Casting your senses you tried to get a feel for your ship. It lived and breathed like a living creature, the sheer amount of people in this flying city made it so. But one signature stood out. And he was back in your room.

You followed a familiar path, sensing his inner turmoil even as he slept, drawn towards it like a moth to a flame.

The first time you and Cross had given in, it gave you a thrill. Smoothing out the frustrated ripples in such a clone gave you a deluded sense of power. Not that you had any control over him, that wasn’t what you sought out, it was being needed by someone in a way you’d never been needed before.

You had life experience, more than most of your troops put together but it wasn’t something that was encouraged within the temple. You had seen, felt, and witnessed things that blew your mind. Love, you assumed, was a feeling reserved for civvies, not for Jedi. Compassion, a sense of caring was encouraged but love, raw passion. That was shut down.

And then you met Crosshair.

You had sensed his interest, the curiosity had been hard to ignore and he intrigued you just as much. It had taken you spending months with the Batch on a covert mission for the stoic clone to finally give in. And when it did, it opened your eyes to a feeling that encompassed you both completely. An all-consuming fire that burned whenever you were together.

Except this time. Because you had risked your life to save that of your Captain.

The door opened quietly and you slipped into the dark room. His armour was stacked up at the end of your bed and his breathing was even and steady telling you he was asleep. Crosshair was pressed up against the wall, a pillow of yours held close to his body and you felt a pang of guilt that you had spoken to him in such a way earlier. Sitting on the edge of the bed you sighed, plucking at your Jedi robes.

“This was not how I imagined my day going,” You whispered. This was a cheap move and you knew it, but if you told him now then maybe it would be easier to repeat when he was actually awake. “I’m breaking all the rules,” You confessed into the dark. “I feel like when I’m not with you I’m losing myself but when I am with you…I am not who I should be.” Biting your lower lip you stood up. “I love you, Crosshair. I’m aware I shouldn’t, I know that…but I can’t stop.” Glancing over your shoulder you saw he hadn’t moved, still curled around the pillow that smelled like you with his legs tucked up. “I hope I’m brave enough to say it to you when you’re awake.”

You debated going to find somewhere else to sleep, yet you knew this was the last time you’d probably see him for months and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Shedding your robes you carefully slipped in beside him and stared at the ceiling. He shifted and you froze. Crosshair uncoiled, rolling over to face you with the tiniest sigh.

“Look at me.” His was soft, whispering over your skin like the lightest of touches.

You obeyed, turning your face to catch his expression in the lights of hyperspace from the viewport in your room.

“Cross…” You stopped when he put a finger across your lips.

“It’s my turn.”

Your heart was pounding, you hadn’t paid attention to if he’d been awake or not, just assuming he was sleeping because of how even his breathing was. At least he was still here.

Crosshair’s eyes traced the way his finger trailed over your lips, rolling your bottom lip a little and your body responded instantly. He had so much to say, it crowded all inside him but he was never good at expressing how he felt with words and you saw his brow furrow. His fingers ghosted over your cheek, hooking around the curve of your neck and he dared to bring you closer. Your hand shot up to cover his, desperate to be close, to feel him everywhere at once.

Your eyes fluttered when his nose brushed yours, lips parting in a minute gasp when his breath pillowed against your cheeks. Maker help you, but you wanted him. You needed him right now and it coursed through you like the light of a supernova.

His lips were tentative, touches light as he gauged how you were responding to his hesitant advance. Both your mouths were open, neither of you wanting to break the delicate string that held you both suspended on this fine ledge. Anticipation swirled in your chest, it made each breath ache and your limbs tremble as the moment built to an almost perceptible hum in the force.

Your fingers tightened over his, giving him the permission he needed to close that gap between you both and sealing his mouth over yours.

The fall was glorious. Throwing you headlong into the taste of him as he crowded you against the bed. His body half covered you, pressing against your leg and letting you know he was there. A soft moan tumbled from your throat, succumbing to the sensations you had denied yourself for so long.

His mouth never stopped, burying his tongue deep into you and he manoeuvred over you completely, his arms on either side of your head as he swept his hands the sides of your face. Bringing your legs up he settled heavily between them, his body responding to the heat of yours as he rutted gently into you.

Your hips flexed, the friction against your clothed core was enough to make you moan again when you felt how hard he was through his blacks. His mouth left yours to trail wet kisses and nips along your jaw, making you arch into him, exposing your neck. He swept his tongue along your pulse point, pausing to lavish some attention on that place that made you shiver.

Your hands roamed up his muscular back, scraping your nails over the crop of short grey hairs, making him groan into your neck. You felt his lips draw back, the feel of his teeth pressing into your skin made you tense, only to surrender yourself to him completely.

He pulled down your vest top, letting out a warm breath that danced over your clavicle, making goosebumps erupt all over your body. He felt so good in your arms, his weight a comfort you realised you had missed as he slipped down. His hands were urgent, now rucking up your top to expose your heaving chest to him and he wasted no time in taking a nipple into his hot mouth.

Crosshair took his time, making sure you were writhing beneath him, whimpering with need before he moved on to the next part of your body. You pulled your own top off, glancing down to see him watching you with those eyes that almost glowed with the fire that burned within him.

His long fingers curled over the waistband of your pants, exposing your hip which he gently kissed, his gaze drawn to the way your stomach contracted at the teasing contact. Crosshair always noticed everything about your body, the way you moved, how you reacted in a certain way, and he used that to figure out your weaknesses. Of course, you’d never admit he was your ultimate weakness, all he had to do was look at you.

He moved over to repeat the motion on your other hip, tugging your pants down to expose you completely, finally rearing up to detangle you from your clothes. You hooked your legs around his slim waist and ran his hands along the line of your thighs, curling you up as he leaned forward to give you a kiss that had you gasping for air.

You knew what was coming next, Crosshair hardly ever deviated, wanting to get the most out of your encounter every time because neither of you knew when it was going to happen again.

His touch was slow but firm, dipping between your bodies as he leaned over you, supporting himself on one hand, his eyes watching your face when he gifted you with a teasing touch along your slit.

You heard the deep growl in his chest and his eyes closed. Long fingers deftly parted your lips and he brushed against your clit making your hips buck into his hand. When he pushed a finger into you it made your back leave the mattress. Your cunt fluttered around his touch, grasping desperately as he added another finger. He buried them deeply, pushing up and into you with a moan, his shoulders flexing from the motion and you leaned back against the pillow.

Your hands held onto him, legs quivering as he tortured you by drawing his fingers out of your wetness, making sure he was completely coated before shoving back into you, ripping a blissful cry from your chest.

He set a steady pace, dragging his fingers against the clenching walls of your sex, his need to feel every inch of you was something you were used to but never prepared for. Cross stroked that tender spot inside you, his fingertips winding up the coil in your lower belly that would have you eventually melting into the mattress.

His eyes intently watched your expression, his lips parted when he felt you shake around him, he knew you were close, he could feel it. And he pushed you over the edge. His breathing became ragged as you fell apart, his fingers not letting up, carrying you through the pleasure. Finally relenting when you hooked a hand around his tense neck and passionately kissed him.

Crosshair planted a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back onto the bed as he moved further back. His eyes devoured you, fingers sweeping up your inner thighs to collect the wetness that had leaked onto your skin. You watched, your body still thrumming with bliss as he put his fingers into his mouth, lifting his predatory gaze to lock with yours.

“You’re as sticky as uj’ayl,” He murmured.

“Cross…” you whimpered.

“Patience, nar cyar’ika.” His lips connected with your inner thigh, once more dragging his teeth against the softness of your skin, enjoying the way you gasped, hips undulating in a shamelessly desperate motion. He directed his attention to your core, using the flat of his tongue, slowly, teasingly, swirling around your clit.

You felt his fingers there once again, exposing you to his warm breath as he sighed. His mouth covered your entrance and you curled your fists in the covers. His tongue delved deeply, tasting you with a satisfied hum that vibrated up your spine, making you tremble.

Crosshair let you use him, grinding your hips against his face as you moaned desperately. One hand travelled up your body, pressing along your stomach to settle between your breasts, fingers spread so he could feel the throb of your heart as it beat in your chest.

It was gathering again, liquid fire searing through your veins and creating a reaction you had no control over. Your legs came up either side of his head, trying not to crush him so you settled your feet on his back. Your fingers slipped through the short, tough strands of his hair as your whole body flexed.

Your cries filled the room, a hand clenching in the pillow behind your head and your back arched wildly. Still, Crosshair persisted, his tongue stroking you into a blaze that only he could handle. His hips pressed into the mattress, his cock needy and aching to be buried inside you, but he could wait.

He groaned when you flooded his mouth, licking up every drop as your pleasure stole every basic function from your body. Each muscle contorted, holding you in a suspended state as the seal broke on the flames that licked across your sweaty skin.

Eventually, he released you, letting you flop bonelessly among the sheets. You protested weakly when he kneeled between your legs, only to shed his blacks before falling back into your arms.

He kissed you fervently, licking as deeply into your mouth as he had your cunt. He wasted no time in lining himself with your weeping entrance, his cock twitching in anticipation, dragging along the seam between your thighs and notching right where you wanted him the most.

Your hands slid down his back, following the lines of his tense muscles to hook in the plushness of his backside. You left him in no doubt of your intentions, not breaking a motion in the kiss as you widened your hips and used your arms to pull him forcefully into you.

He gasped when you clenched around him, seating himself to the hilt in your slick as his face rested on top of yours. His breath was strained and lust laden, his tongue coming out to lick at your lips making you whine as you did the same.

Crosshair filled you, creating a pressure inside you that was unrivalled, and it made your body quiver. Your grip on him relaxed when he began to move, pulling free until only the pulsing head of his cock was nestled comfortably inside you.

The snap of his hips was loud and you cried out together, breaking apart his resolve. There was urgency in his movements, a neediness that transcended words as he worked you both to the point of no return.

It didn’t take him long, already working himself into a state of desperation that he was finally feeding as he rutted into you. “I want to watch you,” He snarled into your lips, pushing up from the bed to kneel again. He lifted one of your legs, holding it up against his flushed chest, and worked his hips, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll. He planted a kiss on your ankle, his ferocious gaze magnetised to yours.

Your body was rung out and taut at the same. Your throat hurt, torn from the cries he pushed from you with each thrust. You knew you were going to ache all over for the next few days but it would have been worth it. Crosshair’s fingers imprinted on your skin, the sweat of his body dripped with yours creating a heady cocktail that sent your senses soaring. He was everywhere, suffocating you in the most desirable way as he began to lead you to the precipice once more.

His thrusts became sloppy, his cock pulsed inside you, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep his attention on your face. A faint roar sounded in your ears as your blood flushed. Lightning shattered under your skin, electrifying your body to the point where you became hyper-aware of every nerve ending.

Crosshair bared his teeth, sweat beaded on his temple and he picked up the pace to bring you both drastically to a catastrophic end. His spine curled toward you when he came, his form juddering as he growled, pushing his hips into you and exploding deep in your cunt.

You were incoherent, only able to scream his name from the pressure, your nails dragging along the firmness of his sides. Your vision faded out, your heart was fit to burst with every slight thrust that sent intense shockwaves through your body.

He released your leg, letting it flop down and he fell on your lips once more, heaving in your scent and coming down from his high. His arms slid under you, gathering you into his embrace as you both listened to the knock of each other's hearts.

You lay entangled together, your face tucked against his chest and he rested his chin on the top of your head. Your fingers were tracing lazy patterns on his cooling skin, trying not to dwell on the fact he was leaving soon.

“Did you mean it?”

You froze at the question, suddenly remembering what had started this whole encounter.

“Mean what?” You focussed on the way his throat tensed, frustration coming through the turbulent calm because you were forcing him to explain.

“What you said.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

He sighed.

“I’m not anymore.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant and you risked leaning back to look into his face. His gaze roamed openly over your features, almost as though he was committing you to his memory and so you did the same.

Using your fingertips you followed the cut of his jaw, feeling the stubble that was starting to shadow his face. You brushed a thumb over the darkness of his tattoo, knowing what resided behind such a mark. It didn’t matter how many times this man tried to push you away, or how strongly he believed he wasn’t good enough for you, nothing could stop you from wanting him.

“Yes, I meant it.” There was a wave of warmth, tinged with surprise, he hadn’t expected you to admit outright. “I don’t care about the consequences,” You whispered.

“You might.”

You shook your head, fingertips delicately tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not when it comes to you.”

His arms tensed, pulling you back into his chest and you curled willingly against him, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax. He hadn’t said the words, he didn’t need to. You could sense that he loved you too. He wanted to voice them, you could sense that as well, but he knew the ramifications of what such a declaration meant.

And he was willing to protect you for as long as he had to.

[waviermylove]

Xavier Thorpe Headcanons

Hopeless romantic.

Dabbles in poetry, they’re pretty damn good but he’s too embarrassed to show anyone. (Bonus: Wednesday finds the notebook one day and demanded to know the author because she was THAT impressed.)

Loves the rain and thunderstorms.

Favorite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

Very good at chess. Occasionally loses on purpose just to see the smug smile on Wednesday’s face when she wins.

Listens to The Arctic Monkeys, The Neighborhood, Cigarettes after Sex, Chase Atlantic, and Lana Del Rey.

Has a Spotify playlist for every occasion.

Has the habit of doodling on himself when he’s bored— his arm, wrist, and fingers are usually covered with sharpie tattoos.

Speaks impeccable French. (His mother was French). Currently learning German to flirt with Wednesday.

His mother died when he was young.

He inherited his looks from his father, but he has his mothers green eyes. (The reason why Vincent Thorpe couldn’t stand seeing his own son—it was a painful reminder of his beloved wife's absence.)

Takes hot showers.

Addicted to the scents of pencils, paints and paper.

Plays Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order on his PS5.

Was sorted into Slytherin when he took the Pottermore Quiz. ( Initially disappointed because he saw himself as a Gryffindor, but when he found out Wednesday was also in Slytherin, that was a total game-changer.)

Quotes Star Wars.

Cat person.

Hoodies, denim jackets, Converse, paint-splattered tees and baggy sweaters. (Wednesday steals them but he’s not complaining)

Wears fingerless gloves and beanies in winter.

Gets easily distracted by random everyday objects, he takes pictures of them on his phone for future reference.

Always carries a sketchbook.

Knows how to ballroom dance.

Wednesday Addams Headcanons

Wednesday x Xavier Headcanons

[illuminatedquill]

Sabine Wren x Ezra Bridger

Knightfall

Story Summary: A mysterious new enemy attacks Grand Master Skywalker's Jedi Temple in the dead of night. Faced with overwhelming odds, Jedi Master Ezra Bridger and Jedi Master Sabine Wren must fight against an enemy determined to finish what Emperor Palpatine started so long ago: exterminating the Jedi, once and for all.

@sabezraweek Prompt: Free

"Everything dies. In time, even stars burn out." - Revenge of the Sith novelization, Matthew Stover

The temple was burning.

Jedi Master Ezra Bridger moved with all the speed he could muster, drawing on the Force to aid in his movement. Merely a hundred feet ahead were the stone steps leading into the temple -

His eyes narrowed and a lance of agony pierced his heart.

Bodies lay scattered on the steps. Silhouettes, lit by the inferno engulfing the Temple, were engaged in fierce battle up and down the staircase: some of them were garbed in the traditional Jedi robes, lightsabers ignited in shades of blue, green, yellow, and violet; others wearing the familiar sinister plaster-white of what could only be stormtrooper armor.

As he approached, the rapid staccato of blaster-fire pierced the cool evening air. Some of the remaining Jedi went down.

He called to his wife, Jedi Master Sabine Wren. "Sabine!"

"Yeah, I see it!" He heard swift movement somewhere behind to his left and felt her reassuring presence through the Force.

"You can get there faster and clear the way!" he shouted.

"On it! I'll try to save some for you, old man!" Sabine, wearing her customary Mandalorian armor underneath her Jedi robes, fired her jetpack and raced ahead. A moment later, her lightsaber flared to life, the green-white blade a stark contrast against the fiery red and orange they were racing towards.

Her humor, Ezra noted, was purely reflexive. In the Force, he could feel her inner turmoil and despair barely restrained by sheer force of will.

Be safe, my love, he thought, desperately.

His wife flew through the battle and lopped off a head from one of the stormtroopers. She landed, pivoted, and switched to her patented akimbo lightsaber/blaster style. With grim determination, she set to work, with the other Jedi Knights rallying to her aid.

Her lightsaber blade cleaved through the enemy force, a green blur punctuated by shots from her blaster.

Ezra allowed himself a grim smile.

He needn't have worried. Closing the gap quickly, he ignited his own lightsaber and joined his wife in the fray.

Her name is Sabine Wren. She is a Jedi Master.

In her lifetime, she has been born many titles.

Mandalorian. Rebel. Traitor. Jedi. Mother. Wife.

She is all of these things . . . and more.

Her story is famous among the Jedi younglings. She is fearless, passionate, and forthright. The first Mandalorian Jedi in a thousand generations.

Sabine is not particularly attached to any of these titles, although she is grateful for them; for what they taught her and how they continue to guide her, even now.

Sabine Wren, Jedi Master, values one thing above all: balance. A sense of life and purpose that, for the longest time, had eluded her.

After much hardship she finally found it in the most obvious of places: herself. She didn't need to be a Jedi to matter.

She just needed to be herself.

And that is what she excels at. That is what gives her such fearsome strength. She is the personification of a tempest in battle; her prowess in combat is said to rival that of Grand Master Skywalker himself.

She never gives into the anger; the fear. They are tools, merely to sharpen her edge. Through the Force, she burns so brightly like the starbird of legend that she wears proudly on her armor.

Her name is Sabine Wren. And even in the blackest of nights, she shines like a torch for all to follow.

A flicker in the Force; Sabine angled her lightsaber to swat away another blaster bolt. She crouched and aimed her blaster at a stormtrooper, a dozen steps up towards the entrance.

Pulling the trigger once, twice, three times - all shots found their mark. He fell limp and tumbled down the steps in comical fashion.

"Watch it!" she snapped to a Jedi Knight - a Wookie, still young, named Lowbacca - who was busy with two stormtroopers. A third was taking aim at him from the Temple entrance, a long rifle in his hand.

Lowbacca growled his acknowledgment and snapped his lightsaber, a unique bronze color, to a defensive position. The long rifle fired; the bolt was deflected away by the younger Jedi.

However that left his flank exposed to the other two stormtroopers he was previously engaged with.

Sabine prepared to jetpack straight for those two, only to find a barrage of blaster-fire halt her progress; another squad had appeared from the burning entrance of the Temple and began to batter the remaining Jedi with shots.

Realization hit Sabine like a gut punch.

I'm not going to make it. Lowbacca's going to die.

The stormtroopers, sensing their opportunity, raised their rifles -

And were promptly cut down in a flash of humming blue-white energy.

Fierce exultation filled Sabine's heart.

He was here. Ezra was here, at last.

Her husband sprinted up the steps with speed that shouldn't have been capable of any being, let alone a middle-aged man. But with the Force as his ally, there was little that couldn't be accomplished by Jedi Master Ezra Bridger.

Throwing out his hand, he called his lightsaber back into his hand and pounced towards the squad of stormtroopers at the Temple's entrance.

They saw him too late. His blue-white blade cut through the air, scattering away their fire, moving at a speed that defied logic. Within mere seconds, the squad was cut down.

Ezra pivoted away from them and raced down the steps, picking off the remaining scattered troops.

Sabine trained her blaster on the entrance but no more troopers appeared.

And like that, the battle was over.

She reached out through the Force, looking for any signs of life among the still bodies - but nothing.

Ezra had done what was necessary with his usual efficiency.

Lowbacca lowered his lightsaber and stared at Sabine - and then at Ezra, coming up to check on his wife.

The Jedi Master wasn't even breathing hard.

"Show off," said Sabine to her husband, smiling a little underneath the helmet.

"Hey, you liked it," retorted Ezra. He came close and eyed her. "Are you okay?"

"No injuries. Armor took all the pot shots, as always. You?"

He shook his head. "I'm alright."

They both looked around at the chaos around them. The remaining Jedi Knights were looking at them. Waiting.

Ezra turned to them and said one word. The word they were all dreading.

"Knightfall."

The fire burned behind them, casting shadows on their faces. Through the Force, she felt the grimness of their duty - what needed to be done - and the mourning for what was lost, bursting forth like a fountain in each of them.

But they nodded and ran into the night, one by one. Their duty was paramount. The future of the Jedi Order would be decided on this night, by their actions.

Lowbacca let out a howl of anguish. Ezra clapped him on the shoulder and spoke something in private to the Wookie Jedi.

Sabine felt a chill go down her spine - the wookie's howl sounded so much like the mourning cry of the Loth-wolves back at home.

Almost like an omen . . .

The Wookie Jedi Knight chuffed out a response, nodded once to Sabine, and then ran after his fellow Jedi Knights.

Sabine saw Ezra stare after them. She didn't need the Force to tell what her husband was feeling.

The fallen Jedi on the Temple steps spoke loud enough for her.

After a moment, Ezra turned to her. "Have you heard from Master Skywalker?"

Sabine frowned. "I'm not sure. Scattered reports from the other Jedi; they haven't seen him. He wasn't inside the Temple when the explosion went off."

"I can't sense him either. You?"

Sabine reached out - multiple presences inside the Temple, too numerous to count or identify.

She shook her head. "No, nothing. But there are survivors, I think. Other Jedi, still fighting."

Ezra grimaced. "We'll have to head inside, then." He paused. "Sabine, did you hear from . . . ?"

"Our daughter? Last I heard she was gathering up the younglings into the mess hall."

Aster Bridger-Wren, a Jedi Knight, like her mother and father. Their pride and joy and love.

Still inside the burning Temple.

Ezra asked, "Anything else?"

"No. Comms were jammed shortly after that."

Ezra nodded, but she felt his concern and anxiety double through the Force, thrumming like a taut power cable.

She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Ezra. She's tough. She'll be alright."

Ezra swept a hand at the chaos before them. "This enemy - who are they? Imperials?"

"Can't be. Empire's been dead for decades. This is something new."

She paused before stating, "I think it's the enemy General Organa was warning us about."

Ezra narrowed his eyes at her. "The Imperial remnant hiding in the Unknown Regions? They had this kind of firepower out there this whole time?"

"I don't know, Ezra. It's possible."

Another explosion rocked the Temple and the two Masters were briefly buffeted by wind and debris.

Her husband shook his head. "No time to talk theories. We need to get in there, find Aster and the younglings."

"What's the plan?"

He looked at her and ignited his lightsaber.

She grinned. "Oh, I like this plan."

He snorted. "You always do."

His name is Ezra Bridger. He is a Jedi Master.

A model to the other Jedi, he is considered to perfectly embody the quintessential Jedi essence: kind, compassionate, and diplomatic.

What very few realize is how funny he is; how passionate he can be, just like his wife; and, most importantly, how hopeful he remains on even the bleakest of days.

His love story - and subsequent marriage - with Sabine Wren is the stuff of legend; not just among the Jedi, but the galaxy as a whole. Holo-dramas have told and re-told their story to trillions galaxy-wide, never failing to amuse him (and exasperate his wife).

His proudest achievements are his daughter and marrying Sabine.

Where Master Wren is a storm, he is a gentle wind, swaying the grass fields; where she is a firestorm, he can be the rain; his light is not the burning torch of his wife, but a calm, unwavering candle in the night to guide your way.

His skills in combat are vastly underrated, only due to him preferring a more diplomatic approach to problem solving - but the few who have seen him in action have been awed to silence at his speed and efficiency.

Ezra Bridger is merciful. It is a quality that his wife - and others who admire him - adores.

But he is no push-over. And his mercy has its limits.

Something more eternal, more truthful, and more deeper to the Light Side of the Force exists within the soul of Ezra Bridger.

Because he knows the truth of life; of the light and the dark. He has seen it all in his life.

He knows the fundamental law of nature and lives its creed to the best of his ability everyday: that the dark must always yield to the light.

No matter how small the flame.

The way to the mess hall was choked with fire, smoke, and stormtroopers. Sabine pulled out a re-breather mask from her pouch and handed it to her husband.

"Thanks," he panted. Jedi had techniques for dealing with smoke inhalation, but they could only stretch out air for several extra minutes - and that was if they weren't doing anything strenuous at the same time.

The stormtroopers were handled with little problem by the two Jedi Masters; it was the bodies of fallen Jedi that disturbed them the most. Friends and acquaintances, all of them. Too many to count.

Sabine wondered if this was how her master, Ahsoka Tano, felt during Order 66. Did she see the bodies of her friends and comrades too? She never spoke much about the events of that bloody period of history.

Vaulting over the corpse of a Jedi youngling, Sabine didn't have to wonder why.

They felt the presence of her daughter huddled inside the mess hall with a group of younglings. The two Masters reached out through the Force and let her know that they were coming.

Reaching the door, Ezra said, "Sabine. Watch my back?"

"Always." She ignited her lightsaber and turned around to scan the hallway for any incoming enemy traffic.

He opened the door.

Inside was a mess; benches pushed to the sides of the hall, with the long tables used for dining bunched together in a tight half-circle. And enclosed in that circle . . .

"Aster! All clear!"

His daughter poked her head above the table, along with ten or so Jedi younglings.

"Dad!" She waved a hand at him.

Ezra felt his heart lift with the immense relief at the sight of her uninjured. He ran over and gave a huge bear hug that lifted her off the ground.

Sabine ran behind him and quickly closed the doors and locked them before joining her husband in an embrace of their family.

"I told your father you'd be alright," said Sabine. "Smart of you to barricade yourselves in the mess hall."

"Thanks," said Aster. She was tall for her age, a latent gift from her grandmother, Ursa Wren, who stood at a towering six feet. Her hair was cut short in a bob fashion, similar to her mother but she had inherited her father's dark blue color.

Even now, he smiled faintly at the memory invoked whenever she was within eyesight; she was the spitting image of her mother at that age. Except for the eyes - those she had gotten from him, perpetually piercing with their blue, bright-eyed gaze.

"You're not hurt anywhere?" He searched her all over, with all his senses.

"I'm fine, Dad, really." She paused and said. "There were Jedi Knights outside the door. Did they . . . ?"

Sabine shook her head. Ezra remembered the bodies they stepped over on the way here. "They didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Aster bit her lip and looked down.

Ezra put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Hey. They did their duty. Just like you did yours. Remember."

"Honor what they fought for," she said.

"Right. And we do that by getting you and the younglings out of here."

He looked to his wife. "Hangar bay?"

Sabine nodded. "I know a short-cut. Should be safe. We hid the corvettes pretty well in case of something like this. I doubt the Imperials know about it."

Aster looked at her mother sharply. "Is it really the Empire?"

Ezra shook his head. "I'm not sure. Your mother and I don't think so."

Sabine said, "Well, they fall pretty easily to a well-placed lightsaber."

Aster snorted. "That doesn't narrow down the list of suspects much, Mom."

Sabine shrugged. "Hey, I'm a Jedi Master. Not a detective."

Ezra smiled briefly at his wife before asking, "Have you seen or heard from Master Skywalker, Aster?"

His daughter frowned, thinking for a few moments. Then: "No, I haven't."

Ezra shared a despairing look with Sabine.

"But I saw his astromech droid."

Ezra's eyes widened. "Artoo? Where did you see him?"

One of the Jedi younglings - a small Togruta female - spoke up. "He was being taken by the troopers. They were heading towards the inner defenses."

Ezra felt an icy fist clutch his heart. He looked at Sabine.

"It's bad, isn't it," she said, quietly.

"They have his astromech. Luke trusted Artoo with everything regarding the temple - if the Jedi are to escape, we need those defenses. They're probably trying to get him to turn them off."

She cocked her head at him. "What's the plan, Ezra?"

He smiled sadly at her. "I'm counting on you."

Even under the helmet, he could feel her eyes blazing at him. "Absolutely not. We go together."

"Someone needs to stay with Aster and the younglings to guide them out safely."

Sabine took off her helmet and stepped closer to him; her eyes were swimming in tears. "I am not leaving you here to die some stupid, noble death!"

Ezra gently grabbed her and lead them both away from Aster and the younglings. He could feel the worried eyes of his daughter watching her parents.

"I don't want her to see us fighting. Not at a time like this," he said to her in a low voice.

"The Jedi Order is dying, Ezra. We need everyone to fight back against this shadow enemy - "

"No, we need them!" He waved at Aster and the younglings. "They're the future! They're what we need to save, Sabine."

She shook her head. "Don't ask me to do this. Please, Ezra." Sabine reached out and cupped his face.

It took everything he had to step away. How badly he wanted to stay with her.

Just like before. A long, long time ago . . .

Softly, he gave his wife a kiss. "We had our time. I was happy with you. With Aster. With Hera and Jacen and Zeb and Chopper. And Kanan."

Sabine started to weep.

"It's time to pay it forward, my love. For the future. For Aster."

She looked away from him for a long moment. Then she put on her helmet. Sorrow radiated out from her like a furnace but he felt the iron will of his wife begin assert determination into her being.

She had made her choice.

Once, a long time ago, she had made a wrong choice. And Sabine had vowed never to do so again.

No matter the cost.

"Aster. Gather the younglings. Keep them in a tight formation."

Aster nodded and started issuing instructions. Sabine looked to her husband and said, "Thirty minutes."

Ezra frowned. "What?"

"I'm giving you thirty minutes, Ezra. Then we leave."

"Sabine . . . "

She grabbed him by the tunic. "I don't care, Ezra. The Force can't decide all of it. You owe it to me and your daughter to try."

Ezra blinked and smiled at his wife.

Do or do not . . .

"I promise to try," he replied. "That's the best I can give."

Sabine nodded and let him go. Igniting her lightsaber she went to the door and peered out.

"All clear. Aster, we're heading out."

Aster ignited her own lightsaber - a vivid, pink hue - and led the tightly formed group of younglings out the door. Ezra took up the rear.

Before they went separate ways, Aster gave him a quick hug.

"Is this . . . good-bye?" she asked, voice quivering. His daughter was trying so hard to be brave.

Ezra almost couldn't trust himself to answer.

She would have known if he was lying.

He just squeezed his daughter a little harder in the hug, feeling her; the strength born from him and Sabine, all their knowledge and fears and joys, flowing into her.

"Follow your mother. Remember your training. And trust the Force."

She nodded into her shoulder. "I will, Dad."

He watched them leave, Sabine leading them into a side corridor.

Ezra looked at his wife. Sabine paused and took one last look at him.

He wanted nothing more than to freeze that moment. To savor the image of his wife, beautifully fierce, for an eternity.

A disturbance in the Force -

"Ezra!" shouted Sabine.

He whipped around, igniting his lightsaber in time to parry two shots aimed for his sternum.

Stormtroopers, coming around the bend. They aimed their rifles and started to fire.

He batted away the shots. "Sabine! Go!"

He felt her hesitation . . . and then it was replaced with grim determination. "Thirty minutes, Ezra! Don't be late, old man!"

And then she was gone, quickly ducking into the side corridor.

Ezra huffed out a quick laugh, dodging another blaster bolt. He deflected another one straight back to its shooter.

"Sorry, fellas," he said to the remaining stormtroopers. "Can't be late for this date."

He moved in on them, the Force guiding his hands.

Drawing on the Force, Ezra made the sprint to the Temple's inner defenses in five minutes.

His comm-link chirped as he stood outside the door, reaching out with the Force. Five presences, all filled with malicious intent.

He could also hear the pained squealing of an astromech droid.

Ezra ducked to the side and spoke into his comm-link. "Sabine?"

"Ezra. We've arrived and are powering up the corvette."

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "Any issues?"

"Not really. Diced up some stormtroopers on the way. Aster did this neat flip move that I think Master Skywalker taught her."

Exasperated, Ezra heard his daughter groan. "Mom."

"It was very fancy. I think I saw you do something like that, when you were younger. Way younger."

Ezra growled, "I'm not that old, Sabine. You're older than me, you know."

"He's a charmer, your dad. How are things on your end?"

Ezra readied his lightsaber. "About to get this party started."

He paused and said, "Wish you were here."

Sabine replied, "Well, you can tell me all about it when you get back in twenty minutes."

Ezra smiled, despite the situation. Sabine always knew what to say. "I'll do that."

"Yeah. You will. Or I'm coming for you." The call ended.

He readied a breath and stepped inside.

Despite the simple name, the Temple's inner defenses were a complex network of fail-safes and redundancies; all tied to a single, massive computer core that oversaw a whole network of protocols that kept the Temple running smoothly.

In case of an attack, the whole network was to run automatically without need of supervision; an alarm was to be sounded for evacuation and a recorded message from a selected Jedi Master broadcasted to the other temples to warn them.

In addition, multiple turbo-lasers were embedded in the grounds all surrounding the Temple. If there was a carrier waiting in orbit - as Ezra suspected there was - the turbo-lasers would fire unceasingly, giving fleeing Jedi a cover to escape.

It was an ingenious system devised by Master Skywalker and the New Republic's best and brightest - but it failed to account for one possibility.

Sabotage from within.

As Ezra stepped inside, the first thing he noted was the slashes all over the consoles. Sloppy, powerful, angry strokes - but not made from any metal blade.

Made from a lightsaber. The Force radiated with the rage and power from within the room; an echo of whoever had done this damage.

I've got a bad feeling about this, he thought. Ezra hadn't the slightest clue who from Luke's students would be capable of such a betrayal.

The second thing he noted was the squad of troopers huddled around a familiar astromech - R2-D2, Master Skywalker's trusted droid. He lay on his back as the troopers took turns poking stun batons at him.

"Stupid droid," one of them muttered. "Have you ever met one so annoying? They usually cave after the first shock."

Ezra decided that stormtrooper would be the first. Igniting his lightsaber, he said, "Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

They all whirled around. "Jedi!" screeched one of them.

Ezra pounced. There was a random array of shots, easily blocked by him.

Five swift slashes later, he was alone in the room with Artoo.

"Hey, buddy," he said, picking up the droid. The astromech warbled a relieved response to him.

"Have you heard from Master Luke, Artoo?"

Artoo replied in the negative. He sighed. "Figures."

Artoo beeped worriedly. "I'm sure he's alright. Anyway, can you get these consoles up and running? We need to get the defenses operational before - "

A sudden flicker in the Force was his only warning. Ezra dove to the side as an explosion shook the room. Bits of ceiling and rubble sprayed over him.

Shaking himself at this daze, Ezra looked up and saw the stars.

And then he saw the stars blotted out by something massive. Hovering over the planet.

Artoo had already jacked himself into the console. Within seconds the consoles came to life - and beeped an alert at him.

"A little late, but thanks. Yeah, I see it Artoo." He whistled. "That's a huge ship."

Artoo beeped a statement at him.

"The Supremacy? Sounds like someone important is visiting us tonight."

"Shall I tell you his name?" asked a menacing voice.

Ezra ignited his lightsaber and looked around to the source. A human man stood there, mid-30s with brown hair and a permanently pinched expression, garbed in what looked like an Imperial officer's uniform.

Only it was all in black. Not the usual monotone gray.

He held a blaster pistol in his hand, aimed at Ezra.

"Artoo, get those defenses up and running now."

More footsteps - hard and orderly; a marching formation.

Twelve more stormtroopers filed into the room and formed a semi-circle around Ezra and Artoo. They raised their rifles.

Ezra forced calm into his voice. "I know you're all scared. I'm a Jedi; I can sense these things."

The officer sneered at him. "We've killed plenty of your Jedi tonight."

Ezra cocked his head at him. "Not me, though. I'm still alive. I'm sure some of you are wondering why that it is."

He lifted his lightsaber in a defensive salute. "If you want to leave, you may do so."

The officer laughed. "No one will be leaving, Jedi. Except for you, in a body bag."

"So, what are you? Empire? Or something else?" Ezra couldn't help but be curious.

At the word Empire, the officer seemed insulted. Ezra could practically feel the man boil over with indignant rage.

"Do not," he said through gritted teeth, spittle flying from his mouth, "compare us to that bureaucratic, bloated waste of an Empire!"

Ezra raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the man's reaction. "My apologies."

"We are so much more! Led by our Supreme Leader Snoke, we will create order! We will enforce peace! No more New Republic, no more Empire - just an Eternal Order, the first of it's kind in the galaxy!"

He jabbed the blaster pistol at Ezra in a frenzy. "We are the First Order, Jedi!"

"First, huh." Beside him, Artoo beeped softly.

All finished. He nodded at the astromech droid.

All at once, the ground shook as the turbo-lasers, finally re-activated, began to blast away at the super-carrier in orbit above the Temple.

The First Order officer blinked in surprise. "What . . . ?"

Ezra pulled him forward with the Force, impaling him on the lightsaber blade.

"Ggghrk," said the First Order officer. Ezra leaned in close to whisper in the idiot's ear.

"The Jedi Order will make sure that your 'First Order' will also be the last. You should have learned something from your predecessors - never let a Jedi talk."

The fury erupted in the man's eyes - and then faded all at once. He was dead.

Ezra tossed him off the blade and waved to the stormtroopers. "Next?"

They opened fire.

Letting the Force guide his hands into a defensive pattern, Ezra shouted to the astromech droid. "Artoo! You're all good, buddy. Go find Master Skywalker!"

Artoo squealed in protest.

"I'll be fine. Gotta stay here to make sure they don't shut down the defenses again." His blade hummed angrily, swatting away more blaster-fire. "Go, go!"

The droid sighed in resignation and activated his boosters, flying through a hole in the ceiling.

And then it was just Ezra. Alone.

Deflecting more shots, he spoke into his comm-link to say good-bye to his wife . . . only for him to realize that it had been damaged in the explosion from earlier.

So that was it, then.

No more good-byes.

Ezra Bridger drew the Force into him, letting him fill his entire being until he could feel his cells glowing with its power.

And then he went to work. Moving with impossible speed, cutting down the stormtroopers; dodging, weaving, parrying with unerring accuracy and grace.

The twelve that entered didn't stand a chance.

But more came. Filing through, blasters firing away.

And then more. And more. And more.

And more. An unending, unceasing flood of white armor and red blaster-fire.

Ezra Bridger, Jedi Master, knew the math was not coming in his favor for this battle.

But he could not let them turn off the defenses.

And so he fought. Drawing more and more of the Force into himself.

It was dangerous, he knew. That much Force usage would burn out even an experienced Jedi in minutes.

He was burning himself out.

Ezra wondered if he could count how much time he had left in heartbeats. His hands weaved the lightsaber, blocking three shots -

A fourth got through. His leg.

He drew more of the Force in, walling away the pain. He pivoted, sliced through the abdomen of another stormtrooper -

His shoulder erupted in pain. Ezra ignored it.

And then his abdomen, left side.

He was fading. Somehow, barely conscious, he was still moving. Still fighting. His body moved on instinct, despite the increasing toll of his mounting injuries.

F a d i n g . . .

F a d i n g . . .

Memories.

Meeting Sabine for the first time. How intimidating she was; how fierce she looked in the Mandalorian armor. How beautiful she looked under the helmet. Feelings that had never gone away - that he never expected to be reciprocated until she found him again.

Kanan. His first lessons as a Padawan, learning how to wield the lightsaber, how to open himself to the Force; but, above all, how to be a good person.

Hera. The Twi'lek who was like a mother to him. The laughter they shared, how she protected and taught him. He remembered the tears she wept after his long voyage home from Peridea, sweeping him into the deepest, warmest hug he could ever have imagined after such a lonely exile.

Zeb. Cantankerous, reliable Zeb. The joy and deep soul underneath that gruff exterior.

Chopper. Foul-mouthed but ever dependable. The fun times they had getting out of sticky situations with the Empire.

Ahsoka. Always looking forward, always wise, always a mentor whenever he needed. She was the one to knight him. Helped mold him into the Jedi Master he was today.

More memories. More fuel to keep him going. Feeding the fire that was going out.

Sabine finding him again on Peridea. How easily they slipped into old habits, hiding away what had changed.

How her betrayal had shaken him - but they made it through, together. Forged a bond that could never be broken.

Meeting Jacen for the first time. Feeling his heart crack at how much like Kanan he looked.

Ending Thrawn's reign of terror against the galaxy. Saving the New Republic.

Living with Sabine. Falling in love all over again.

The marriage. Their vows. Waking up to Sabine, sleeping next to him, softly snoring. Feeling the weight of her, how she felt, the strength of her heartbeat.

The birth of their daughter, Aster.

Seeing her first steps, her first words; seeing her enter the Academy for the first time.

So many memories.

He fed them all into the fire.

The blaster-fire stopped at some point.

Ezra stood, just barely. He couldn't feel much at that point. His lightsaber held just aloft in a position that required the least amount of energy to hold.

Around him lay the crumpled bodies of at least a hundred stormtroopers. All dead.

A voice crawled into his head. Through the Force.

You have fought well, Master Jedi.

It sounded like . . . the Grand Inquisitor? No, it couldn't be. Or maybe it was Vader?

Or . . . Thrawn?

"Who is this?" he muttered.

The death of your Order, the voice said. The beginning of mine.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, he remembered. "Snoke," he said.

Remember it well. For the short time you have left.

Three figures walked through the entrance, wearing scarlet armor. They moved through the sea of dead bodies like red wraiths.

In their hands, wicked blades with purple electricity surging through them.

Ezra had heard of them from the days of the Empire from Luke.

Praetorian guards.

Die well, Master Bridger, said the voice.

Still fading. Just embers left now.

Ezra, still in pain, lifted his lightsaber one last time.

Sabine looked desperately at the chronometer. Ezra hadn't arrived yet.

They were out of time.

"Anything?" she asked Aster.

Aster, tears streaming down her face, shook her head. "I can't raise him. Comms must be down."

Another explosion rocked the hangar bay.

"Not much of the turbo-lasers left," she said. "The massive ship above is bombing what's left."

She looked at her mother. "We have to get Dad. Let me get him."

I'm counting on you.

Sabine grabbed her daughter and sat her back down. "Tell the younglings to strap in and prepare for take-off."

A part of her was screaming, dying at what she was about to do.

"What? No - no, we're not leaving him, right? Mom!" Aster looked at her mother, pleading.

Sabine didn't listen. She keyed the control for the hangar bay doors and pushed the engines to maximum.

"Mom!" Aster yelled at her. "You're leaving him! You're leaving Dad behind!"

She glanced out the view-port to the burning Temple below.

Good-bye, my love.

Sabine knew, deep down, that she would always regret not saying it to him for the rest of her life.

She pushed the throttle and aimed for the stars.

The battle didn't last long.

It didn't need to. Ezra had done what was needed.

The praetorian guards pulled their blades from him. He fell over, watching the blood seep onto the stone floor.

One of them kicked him onto his back.

Through the crack in the ceiling, he saw a frigate rocket by, weaving through the laser bombardment, flying towards freedom.

He knew his wife and daughter were on there. Safe.

I'm sorry, Sabine. Going to be late after all. Hope you don't mind waiting a bit.

One of the Praetorian guards raised his blade for a final blow.

Ezra reached out one last time into the Force. Blowing life into the embers that were left.

With a strained shout, he threw his hands towards that cracked Temple ceiling. It shifted and groaned -

And then collapsed. Tons of rubble falling, caving in on the room.

The Praetorian guards screamed but had nowhere to run.

Ezra Bridger smiled, thinking of his watchtower - how the sun hit the capital city at the right angle making it sparkle in the early evening; how holding Sabine's hand felt on a warm, breezy day, just sitting in the grass fields, watching the Loth-cats scurry about . . .

He was still thinking about Sabine when he died.

FAR, FAR AWAY (Jacen)

Jacen Syndulla, Jedi in training, raced onto the docking ramp of the Ghost. His mother, Hera, is already preparing to lift-off from the Ghost cockpit.

"Jacen! Are we all set?"

He mentally checked the list one more time. "Yeah! That's everything!"

The broadcast from Master Skywalker's Temple had hit them hard - but the plan was already in motion. The Jedi were on the move.

Knightfall. Knightfall. Knightfall.

"Jacen, get up here! Gonna need you for navigation!"

"Alright, Mom," Jason shouted back. He began to close the ramp -

He paused. Two figures, shrouded in ghostly blue and somewhat translucent in Jedi robes, stood at the end.

One of them lowered his hood. Jacen sucked in a breath; it was a face he had only seen in holos and photographs.

"Dad?" he whispered.

His father, Kanan Jarrus, waved at him. He smiled sadly and turned to the other figure who also lowered his hood.

Jacen took a step back. "No, it can't be."

It was Ezra. He looked pointedly at Jacen and the younger Jedi could hear him in his thoughts.

It's up to you now, Jacen. You're the future.

Jacen began to cry. "Ezra, wait - "

I'll be seeing you around, kid. Don't worry. And look after your mom.

And then he was gone. They were both gone.

The docking ramp closed.

"Jacen! Where are you?"

After a couple minutes, Hera let Chopper doing the flying. She found her son, huddled at the docking entrance, still crying.

FAR, FAR AWAY (Ahsoka)

Ahsoka Tano turned to Huyang and asked, "Are the coordinates set?"

"Yes, Lady Tano. I expect we'll be the first to arrive."

They were sitting in the cockpit of her trusty T-6, waiting in deep space.

"Good. Any news from General Organa?"

"She'll be meeting us there, along with the other Resistance leaders," replied the droid.

The Jedi Master sighed and began to feel her age. "I can't believe it's happening again, Huyang."

The droid concurred with a sad tone. "Yes. Twice in my lifetime."

"And mine, too." Ahsoka had felt the disturbance in the Force, shortly followed by the broadcast from Luke's Temple.

Knightfall. Knightfall. Knightfall.

She drove a fist into her leg. "We're ready this time, though. We saw this coming."

Huyang replied, "The enemy is far more devious and quicker than we imagined. But, yes, we do have a plan ready for this."

Ahsoka opened her mouth to reply . . . only to feel a wave of sadness and grief wash over her. It was so intense and immediate that she doubled over in her pilot's chair.

I'm leaving it to you, Ahsoka. Thank you for everything.

"Ezra," she whispered. "No, oh no. Ezra."

Huyang, alarmed, asked, "Lady Tano? What is the matter?"

Ahsoka didn't reply. She was too busy crying over her lost friend.

FAR, FAR AWAY (Sabine)

Aster felt Ezra's passing before she did.

Sabine watched her daughter whisper, "Dad?", shudder once and then begin to sob, unrestrained.

And then - an invisible hand stroked her hair.

Ezra's voice, in her head.

Sorry, Sabine. You'll have to wait a little longer. I love you.

She reached out to grab the hand, but it was already gone.

And that's when she knew, more than anything else she had seen in the burning Jedi Temple, that her world had ended.

The frigate lay hidden in an asteroid field.

They had been pursued, as she expected. Sabine had used up every piloting trick she knew or heard about to escape the enemy.

Finally, they had stopped in an asteroid field to take stock and rest. Everything but the life support was turned off, in the event their pursuers came sniffing around.

And all that was left to do was . . . wait. Until they heard from Ahsoka.

Sabine sat in the darkness, feeling almost grateful for it.

Ezra was dead.

She kept repeating it in her head. It was a fact but that didn't make it feel any more true.

Ezra was dead. Ezra was dead.

"Mom?"

She looked over to Aster - and realized they weren't alone.

The younglings had all come to the bridge. They were scared, even if they were doing a good job of hiding it.

"Yes, Aster?"

"I'm - I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. About leaving Dad behind."

Sabine shook her head. "It's the truth. That's what I did."

Aster reached out and took her hand. Sabine could feel Ezra's strength in those hands.

"It's what he wanted. He wanted to make sure we were safe."

The words tumbled into the hollow space in her heart where Ezra used to be. They didn't make much of a difference in how she felt, but she forced herself to nod.

"Master Wren?" asked one of the younglings.

Sabine said, "Yes?"

"Can you tell us a story? To pass the time?"

Sabine almost laughed. "A story?"

What use are stories at a time like this?

Aster replied, "I think that's a good idea. Mom?"

Sabine sighed - and then heard Ezra's voice.

Tell them a story, Sabine. You've got plenty of them.

She frowned. Why? What good would it do?

Well, it'll stop you from moping around, for one.

Oh, funny.

You've got to give them hope, Sabine.

Even when I don't have any for myself? she asked.

Especially, then, replied Ezra's voice.

She sighed. I miss you so much, already, goofball.

"Alright, gather around. I've got one. About going into another galaxy."

The younglings eyes widened and they huddled into a circle around her.

There was a small yelp. "Ouch."

Sabine winced. "Yeah, okay. Probably need some light, then. Can't use technology though . . ."

Aster said, "Hang on, I've got a lighter here."

She flicked it on. "Is that from Dad?" asked Sabine, amazed.

Her daughter's eyes opened in realization. "Yeah, for my birthday. He said they used to use this way back in the early, early days before the Republic. It's an antique."

Sabine watched the small flame, dancing defiantly in the dark. It lit the faces of all that were present -

And, for a small instant, she saw Ezra - smiling, huddled in the circle, ready to hear one of her stories.

I'm counting on you, Sabine.

She smiled, feeling the tears coming on. Sabine bowed her head for a moment, cleared her throat - and started telling the story.

"A long time ago, in a galaxy, far, far away . . . "

"The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back. Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars." - Revenge of the Sith novel, Matthew Stover

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Brian Matyas, of Grogu meeting Ahsoka Tano on Corvus as Din Djarin watches them from the a small distance away. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 5, The Jedi.

His name was what? Grogu? What kind of name was Grogu? Then he laughed nervously inside his own mind. What kind of name was Djarin? He hadn’t been named after his father or any relative he knew. His mother had told him it meant ‘finder’ but he didn’t know what language that was from. It certainly didn’t mean anything in Gal Basic. He wondered what Grogu meant?

To the Mandalorian, Grogu meant trouble. But it also meant kindness. Curiosity. Sadness. Strength. Responsibility. And determination. The kid was really determined to stay with him and Din Djarin couldn’t figure out why. 

He wasn’t some sort of experienced father who knew how to raise children. He didn’t even know people like that. People who raised their children to be kind and helpful and sweet rarely got picked up on bounty fobs. They didn’t steal from their employers. They didn’t kill people. They weren’t pirates, or spice runners, or criminals. They worked at steady jobs like running a diner and they paid their way and if they fell on hard times they worked twice as hard to provide for their family. 

Or so he’d been told, by his former commander. Laac had a number of children. All raised to be Mandalorian warriors. They had been brave and smart and a credit to their parents and their clan. Din Djarin didn’t know where they were now, probably gone given the way things had worked out for so many Mandalorians. But if they had survived the Imperial attack on Mandalore, he was sure that Laac, his wife, and their children lived on a planet that was free from strife and made an honest living. At least he wished that was their destiny. 

He wished that primarily because it meant that there was someone he could ask for advice on what to do with Grogu if this Jedi didn’t agree to take him. Ahsoka Tano had been happy to meet Grogu. Almost ecstatic. But then her attitude changed. Became aloof and questioning. He didn’t understand that. Everyone else who met the small green boy seemed to fall instantly in love with him. Even as a happily unattached person, Din Djarin had found Grogu too genuine, too engaging, too vulnerable to ignore, although he had tried. 

Then there had been that moment when he realized that he’d given a bunch of ex-Imps a child who just wanted to play with a toy. An innocent, vulnerable, controllable child. What was he doing? It had been an affront to everything he’d been taught and not just by the Children of the Watch on Concordia. His parents had taught him that it was better to be a helper than a trouble maker. Those lessons had sustained him when he had to pick up the threads of his life and learn to be a Mandalorian and follow the Creed.

He looked at the child now, speaking to the Jedi without actually speaking out loud, and wondered how he ever managed to give him up. Yes, a camtono of beskar was worth a lot of credits and he had an absolute duty to recover that beskar for the Tribe and the foundlings they supported, but giving a child to anyone who might harm them was against the Creed. Of course that had lasted long. Thankfully. 

He wouldn’t be mentioning anything about that to Laac. He’d lectured himself enough in his former commander’s voice. Every time Grogu cried out in his sleep, Din Djarin blamed himself. Every time Grogu gave him that sad look, when his ears drooped and the corners of his mouth sagged and his eyes… dank farrik!, his eyes would fill with tears and the bounty hunter would remember every time he’d felt that same way. He wasn’t just remembering the loss of his parents and his friends and everything he had loved about the village where he had grown up. He was remembering every time he’d disappointed his creche leaders, his instructors, and his commanders. 

He especially remembered going on a test mission with Laac Straso and he had made every rookie mistake you could make and still survive. He’d been too eager and too inexperienced and too wrapped up in his own view of things. At the end of that mission, on their way back to their barracks, Laac had taken him aside.

“Djarin, I don’t know that this is the right path for you. You are a good hearted man, but you are not a hard hearted man. To be a Mandalorian you must acknowledge that every mission could be your last. That the foundlings, your creche mates, and your squad mates depend on you to know that and take appropriate actions. That first action is to get out of your own way. Know you are not and never will be the smartest, the best, the most indestructible Mandalorian to ever wear armor. But, if you think first, evaluate your options, and remember what you are taking any risk for, then you have a chance to make it to the next mission. I will not take you out again until you can show me that you can do that.”

That had almost broken him. But then he remembered being rescued by the Mandalorians and what that had meant to him. What it had meant to the other survivors of the attack on Aq Vetina. He had a duty to not just follow the Creed but to support it with his every action. 

Later that day he had sought his commander out and apologized for his behavior and explained what he had come to realize and told him that he hoped to regain his trust. Lacc had simply replied ‘This is the Way’. Eventually, they went on another mission together and Din Djarin had gotten out of his own way and it went better than well. He graduated from the program and became a member of Laac’s squad until he was compelled to take up bounty hunting. 

Now here he was, many years later, staring at his foundling and wondering if he was getting in his own way again. He wanted the best outcome for Grogu. He’d been told by the Armorer to find his people. But was this Jedi really the right person to hand Grogu off to? Was any Jedi the answer to his quest? He didn’t know. 

But he worried that he wasn’t the right person either. He had been adopted by the Children of the Watch, hence Din Djarin. Adoptee Djarin. He had no idea why ‘Din’ meant that and he never asked. It just was what it was. But he had no family line. No history to gift a child. The only thing he could give Grogu was a Clan to be part of, Clan Mudhorn. A clan of two. Was that enough for such a special child? He wished he could ask Laac that question. But then he heard Laac’s voice in the back of his mind, “Did you need more than that? Every child is special, Djarin. Every one. Get out of your own way.”

Under his helmet Din Djarin, Child of the Watch, smiled to himself. There was other work to do before he had to make any decision. He could enjoy this time with Grogu and help Ahsoka Tano with her task and then determine the path they needed to take. They had time and that was a luxury he hoped Grogu would appreciate. A clan of two for another day. This is the Way.

[vodika-vibes]

Delta Squad and their Jedi (wife) are on vacation (honeymoon)! Finally!!

I feel like the wedding(s) were really originally just a means to an end, a way to finish their mission in the cleanest way possible, and then they sort of collectively looked at each other, and decided that divorce was too much work, lol.

Scorch has been staring at Rynn for the last thirty minutes. Well, more specifically, he's been staring at her bikini for the last thirty minutes, the fact that she's wearing it not helping in the slightest. "You know, babe." Scorch finally says as he doesn't tear his gaze away from the flimsy material keeping her decent, "That bathing suit is distracting." "Hm." Rynn replies, noncommittally. "Like. Really, really distracting." Scorch mumbles, as he reaches out and trails his calloused fingers against her bare side. "If it's bothering you so much, you are free to go inside." Rynn replies lightly. Scorch grins, "I wouldn't say that it's bothering me." His eyes glitter, "I bet you'd tan better if you took the cloth off, though." She releases a laugh, "You're such a pervert." And then she flicks some sand off her fingers in his direction, "Besides, I'm green, Scorch. How much tanning do you think I'm going to get?"

[winniethewife]

Jewels made from stardust

(Poe Dameron x OC! Rhoswen Jewelace.)

Chapter 11: Someday she's gonna learn how to fly

A/N: This chapter is part of my art trade with @silver-night-m for my beautiful new tumblr set up.

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words: 970

“There you are!” Han said as he found the little red haired girl hiding in a corner. Han crouched down on her level, Rhoswen was only a little bit older than Ben. She looked at him with those big green eyes. He knew that the tragedy that took her parents life was terrible, but he couldn’t help but selfishly be grateful to have the opportunity to raise a little girl. Who cares what Hondo or the other senators think, He and Leia were perfectly equipped to be her family.

“Hey princess. What are you doing over here by yourself huh?” He asked as he reaches out to her, offering her a hand. Rhoswen, stays silent but puts her small hand in his as he helps pull her up to her feet. She looks up at Han with a worried look.

“Are…are you gonna send me away? Like the lady said?” She asked softly. Han felt his heart drop, she had heard the argument between Him, Leia and Amilyn. Amilyn thinking that another child would just distract Leia from her responsibilities to the New Republic.

“No, no. of course not! You’re a part of our family Rhoswen. I promise, you’re staying right here with us.” Han reassures her, lifting her up into his arms, settling her on his hip. “you’re gonna stay right here with me okay?”

“Okay” Rhoswen says quietly, as she rests her head on his chest. Han smiles at the little girl, glad that she was already so comfortable with him.

“I got you Princess.”

~

“8…9….10! ready or not here I come!” Han shouts as he uncovers his eyes and starts to look around the house as he hunts down Rhoswen and Ben. He turns the corner to the kitchen where Leia is sitting at the table reading. “Hey, have you possible seen a couple of kids hiding some were?” Han asked as he bent over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh no, I have not. I haven’t seen them anywhere” Leia says with mock innocence while pointing to the pantry cabinet. A few small giggles coming from within. 

“Oh well that’s just too bad, I guess I’ll have to keep looking…Gotcha!” Han opens the pantry as Ben and Rhoswen fall out laughing hysterically.

“No! Dad you found us!” Ben cries out laughing. Han and Leia start laughing with them as Rhoswen gets to her feet.

“Now you hide daddy and we find you!”

“Oh boy here we go again” Leia laughs watching as her small family has fun on a relaxing day.

~

“Are you serious Dad? I can fly the Falcon?” Rhoswen looked at her father bewildered. Han looked at her and laughed.

“Well, hopefully she’ll be yours someday. You should get to know how she handles. She’s nothing like the x-wings you’ve learned on.” He smiles at her and affectionately ruffles her hair. “You had to learn to fly one of these days.”

“Thanks Dad!” She hugs him tightly. Han smiles at her.

“Anything for my princess.” He says softly and kisses the top of her head as he holds her close. He was happy to have her. after a moment she pulls away and runs off to tell her friends. Han smiles watching her, she’s grown up so fast, experienced so much. With her brother recently leaving to learn the ways of the Jedi, He felt like time was slipping away, like sand between his fingers.

Rhoswen sits in the falcon looking around after Poe had gone to bed.  She sighs, it had been so long since she had just sat here, enjoying the feeling sitting where her dad once did, although Poe always did complain the seats were too small, threatening to replace them once or twice, but he know how much she needs the falcon to be just as it was. 

“Hey Princess.” The familiar voice fills the cock pit Rhoswen shakes startled and turns to see Her dad leaning in the doorway. She blinks a couple times.

“I…I must be dreaming.” Rhoswen laughs. Looking at her father feeling the tears start to sting the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah, probably, but I’m glad to see you kid.” Han walks over and sits next to her in the co-pilots seat. “So, Dameron huh? Your mom and I had a bet going to see if you two would end up together, I guess I owe your mom some credits.” He smirked at her. She laughs.

“Dad…I missed this. Missed you.” Rhoswen looks at her father. “I had no idea the last time I saw you…”

“Would be the last time. Yeah me neither kiddo.” Han sighs and looked away for a moment. “I’m Proud of you Rhoswen. You grew up to be an amazing woman, I couldn’t have asked for a better Daughter.” He smiles and looks over at her. Rhoswen feels the tears streaking down her face as she stands up moving to embrace him.

“Thanks dad. I love you.”

“Love you too kid. More than anything.”

“Red…Baby…Red?” Poe’s voice echoes in her mind. Han chuckles.

“Time to wake up Princess, See what lover boy needs” He kisses her fore head. Just then her eyes flutter open, she fell asleep in the piolets chair, clutching her dads jacket around her. Poe sat crouched in front of her.

“Hey…you alright? You didn’t come to bed and I was worried.” Poe looked at her with adoring dark eyes, a look of concern across his features. He touched her face. “you’ve been crying?”

“Yeah, sorry, I had a dream about dad. It was…like he was here.” She wipes the tears from her eyes, sitting up.

“Hey its okay. Come here I’ve got you.” Poe wraps his arms around her holding her close.  “Shhhh….I’m here. I’m here.”

“I know…I know.”

~

Masterlist

Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[rainintheevening]

#79 Anakin and Padme

Okay, so I've already done 79, but I hope you like my alternative. :) This is some super sweet Anidala here. (And now I REALLY have to go work on After All!)

From 100 ways to say ILY

14. "Can I have this dance?"

The message had been simple, left on her personal datapad for her to find when she finally took an airtaxi home. (Was her apartment at 500 Republica really 'home'? It was where she spent the most time with Anakin, the closest thing they had to a shared space.)

A message from Anakin: Meet me at the Salaheight Park at 2000. Nothing about what she should wear, or what they might do—normal for Anakin. He liked to surprise her.

A park, in the evening. Possibly some kind of festival? Or demonstration? She'd never been to Salaheight Park, in Naxville over an hour's ride west by air taxi, according to Threepio.

So she dressed down. Simple dress, simple braids that she did herself. Simple cloak on top. She would be ready for anything.

It was easy to slip away, with a sly wink from Dormé, as she crossed the main hall, gloves in hand. The air taxi driver was a cheerful older Rhodian, who hummed as he drove, and sang under his breath. Not a song Padmé recognized, but something about the 'fields of Kenelly' where someone was being sent to execution for standing up against a 'tyrant king', and he wanted his last words to be of love for his wife and unborn child.

It was both sad and brave, and Padmé let the driver sing.

He left her at the first corner of the park, the shadowed greenery a stark contrast to the buildings around. She knew Anakin would take her home, so she told him no need to return.

On Coruscant, the planet of cities, any green space was highly prized, and she knew living near such a park was terribly expensive. Padmé herself, being born and raised in grass and waters of Naboo, usually took time to visit one of them at least once a week.

Anakin would find her, she knew. Jedi senses and so forth, so she set out, walking easily down one of the wide paths. She pushed her hood back, smiled up at the large glowbees placed on top of poles, spaced evenly to light up her walk as the evening darkened under the trees. She loved the soft yellow glow of the orbs; it was very close to firelight which had so often lit her evenings at home on Naboo.

The singing reached her first, a strong, lilting voice, singing something she didn't understand, but it caught at her, pulled her forward. Through the pale trunks of betulas, and dark mossy cedrus she glimpsed lights closer to the ground, and quickened her pace.

She paused as she came to the clearing, took a breath. A crowd of 50 odd people, of various species, both sitting and standing. A ring of firetorches set in the grass. A motley assortment of musicians in the middle, where a tall pale-skinned Twi'lek male paced slowly as he sang.

Padmé didn't know enough Ryl to do more than identify the language he sang in, but the tone held deep longing and grief. Mixed with a single viotre and an electroharp, it was positively haunting. Tears stung her eyes.

This, she thought suddenly. This is what it's all about. This is what I fight for, this is what this war is trying to protect. This is freedom, and this is why I can't stop hoping.

That shining determination overwhelmed her for a long moment as the song came to an end. There was an extended pause before the clapping and cheering started.

Padmé took a moment to compose herself, before she set out across the grass. A young Devaronian ran past her, calling over his shoulder, and she had to step quickly to one side as a couple more younglings pelted after their friend.

The music began again, lighter this time, quicker. Whoever is on that quetarra is a master, she thought.

Padmé appreciated many kinds of music, though she always preferred classical or folk, with a few popular songs thrown in for good measure. She hadn't told Anakin, but his taste in heavy isotope was actually starting to rub off on her.

She drifted into the crowd, now mostly upright to dance.

Take my hand

Through the lights

Hold the city

Above the night

Somehow, almost magically, she saw him first.

He stood alone, swaying slightly, already pulled into the swing rhythm. The orange lights caught in his still-short hair, glinting firey gold.

Padmé's breath caught in her throat, and she held quite still, drinking him in. Tall, and incredibly slim in only a sensible shirt and trousers, though she knew his lightsaber had to be tucked into his belt somewhere.

A sense of mischief took her, and she joined the dancers, spinning and stepping up till she had worked her way through the crowd to stand behind him.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He spun around, his face already alight, his grin both joyful and teasing.

"Yes, m'lady?"

Her heart seemed too warm and full to fit in her chest. "Can I have this dance?"

"Of course, you can."

He took her hands, and she fell against him, giggling, both of them laughing like children.

Moments like this, they could forget, let all the fears and worries and burdens go, and simply glory in being together.

Take me away

But not too far

Hold me up

Among the stars

Anakin danced with ease, his preternatural Jedi grace serving him well in the flow of bodies and music.

"All Jedi dance," he'd told her once. "It's good training for combat. And it's fun!"

Now he held her, strong and supportive, as he spun her around, lifting her in a swoop that made her skirts swirl. The lights blurred around them, and there was only his glowing face, smiling up at her. The shadows were gone, the pain lines smoothed away, even his scar seemed to fade. He was simply, purely her Ani.

She felt like she could fly.

Take my love

Into wild space

In the dark

See my face

They danced on in a whirl of light and laughter, carried on the wings of music.

[thecleverqueer]

Random thoughts during The Star Wars Holiday Special:

*Oh shit! They’re interrupting the Incredible Hulk for this!

*What’s immediately lovely about this is the fact that it wasn’t digitally remastered… It’s in the same awful formatting that it was presented in originally in the 1970s…because Lucas tried to bury it and failed. It’s still available on YouTube.

*Chewbacca has a family… a wife (named Malla), a son (named Lumpy) and a father (named Itchy). They have green shag carpet in their tree house on Kashyyyk. They’re not at all as well put together as Chewbacca. The father looks like he was done up on a very tight budget. Though Malla looks like she uses a great Wookiee conditioner. There are no subtitles, so I have no idea WTF is going on.

*There’s a weird dance/ acrobatics/ juggling sequence on a holo-table. It’s got Lumpy all hella excited, but then he whines annoyingly when it’s over… Like, very, VERY annoyingly.

*Luke is wearing those fierce black boots that he wears in The Return of the Jedi. Fierce.

*The Wookiees are placing desperate calls on a machine that is making Galaga noises. Hopefully, they’re not using the fulcrum sub-space frequency?

*There is an imperial officer with a pornstache in this shop run by Art Carney… and he hands him a cube with… beta fish in it? Because Wookiees like them? Also, Carney’s puns… awful… absolutely awful.

*Is this… A drag queen cooking show? Making a bantha roast? In 1978? How many arms does she have? OMG! This is bananas!

*Then, it violently shifts into an epic space battle between the Millennium Falcon and an Imperial convoy…on Life Day. Fascists just don’t break.

*Art Carney just straight up drugs Chewbacca’s dad…. Like he goes on a kaleidoscopic acid trip that kind of turns into wet dream with some ASMR/ musical number with Diahann Carole. This is so WTF? Seriously. I’m not high enough for this.

*Holy shit! Carrie Fisher is drunk AF!! It’s like she read the script and was like “F*^% it”… and just went with it. She’s literally stumbling. On god.

*What in the hell is a Wookiee-ookie?

*The Fascists have come crashing into the Wookiee crib to ruin Christmas.

*Wait, wait, wait…. It’s Jefferson Starship in a box?! And, the fascist officer loves it! I’m not even sure I’ve ever heard this song before. What? Is? This??

*Lemme stop right now and say this is NOT something one should watch sober. Not at all…

*Now there’s a cartoon. Luke is flying around in a Y-wing… which is weird. Chewbacca runs the Millennium Falcon into an ocean of strawberry jam. There’s a Loch Ness monster being ridden by Boba Fett? Why are C-3PO’s eyes blinking?

*Oh! This is the Boba Fett Cartoon.

*Wait, wait… wait, “Star-log update:” WTF!!!? This is STAR WARS, not STAR TREK! I’m so confused.

*Luke and Han Solo are hanging up-side down for some reason. Boba Fett is working with Vader. No surprise. Okay. Turns out, Chewbacca knew… apparently Boba Fett smells bad. “Star-log 3241”… this is Star Wars, right? …um, right!?!

*Back to the fascists destroying the Wookiee house. They tore the head off the bantha plushie. Sorry bastards!

*I’m trying to figure out this Harvey Korman bit. Is he an android? Or… is this supposed to be funny? What am I supposed to be feeling while watching this?

*Ha ha ha!!! They’re shitting on Tatooine! They’re calling it a shit hole where no one wants to live! I told you! I’ve told you all this before!

*They do have some hella jiving Bith Bands on Tatooine though. Say what you will about the thuggery and villainy and downright scumbaggery, but those bands jam, man.

*Bea Arthur is running a cantina on Tatooine. And, apparently, she’s, uh, fallen victim to a simp? He drinks from a volcanic hole on the top of his head. I’m too sober for this.

*Does Bea Arthur have a Pantoran bouncer!?! OMG!

*Oh no. It’s a Bea Arthur musical number. She’s singing. I repeat, she’s singing. She’s giving everyone in the bar a round on the house. Oh. No. And, Holy balls! There’s a giant chinchilla in the corner of this cantina! Jesus Christ!

*Chewy and Han made it home. There’s a weird affectionate sequence. Now they’re getting these clear balls with lights in them. What’s happening?

*Now they’re all in red robes walking across the Galaxy into a Star or some shit… or maybe they’re in a Wookiee church? I genuinely have no clue what’s going on.

*R2 and C-3PO show up out of nowhere… no wait, Luke, Leia and Han are there at the Wookiee church!

*Leia is giving a drunken speech about fighting fascism and darkness this holiday season! Hell yeah! Every holiday season! F*^% fascists! F*^% the Empire!

*Um. Another musical number… I didn’t know Carrie Fisher sang, but here we are. There she is drunkenly hugging Chewbacca.

*Chewy is reliving “A New Hope” in his mind to the music that they play at the ending where they basically screwed him out of his medal.

*Now they’re eating a meal, and saying a Wookiee prayer? Who TF do the Wookiees pray to!? Why must all galaxies be tainted with evangelical religions? How did their tentacles reach so goddamned far!? Dammit, man. This is why no one in the galaxy far, far away can be gay! It’s taboo there too!

*Okay. Holy shit. It’s over. I’ve never watched it all the way through, but it’s bad. Bad, bad, like uncomfortable, watching a slow moving train wreck bad, like a venereal disease on Lucas’s legacy bad because it will never go away.

*But yeah, if you haven’t seen it… go… watch it. You cannot call yourself a true Star Wars fan until you have.

[firerose]

Shin coming from Diado……..a separatist world

Baylan hiding there after order 66, being discovered by a group of humans native to the planet

Some distrust him because of his Jedi status, the clone wars haven’t ended that long ago

Others connivance them to let him join their group

They all heard how the Republic betrayed the Jedi and there are even rumours that the now empire used them as soldiers and pawns for their war from the very beginning

They are all in the same boat as victims of the empire

So Baylan joins them, he is quiet at first but slowly forms a friendship with a kind and gentle man named Halvar

The mans wife Nanna is more outspoken, she is stubborn but under all her sarcasm she is companionate and empathetic

One time Baylan reminisces about the old Jedi order, and he wonders if is there anything like it a new generation of Jedi

Nanna smiles reassuringly

„Im sure there will be.“, she says, pressing a hand to her swollen belly,

She has pale eyes, green blue

Both her and Halvar have dark brown hair

And Baylan has no idea that an important part of his life is gonna be born in five months

[wantonlywindswept]

Mand’alor Grogu ficbit 3

one | two

i did have a good deal of this written; it was just not finished and was a different break in the story so it was awkward to post, hence the smol sad bit earlier

also my wife made me go to sleep

anyway

tw for past child abuse/injury, briefly mentioned

---

The slavers' deaths were briefly suspended: the children had been taken to the Temple.

Situated in the heart of Sundari, the Jedi Temple wasn't nearly as grand as the old one on Coruscant had been, but it had been built with growth in mind. The massive pagoda had added numerous floors over the course of Grogu's life, and the surrounding area had grown to match: the Temple was less of a singular structure these days and more of a district, with markets and residences and recreation areas just like the rest of the city.

No walls surrounded the Temple; there was no forced isolation for those within. Both Jedi and Mandalorians walked the grounds freely, living side-by-side, as had been intended when the very first stone was placed.

Mirn met them on the landing pad closest to the Hall of Healing, offering a perfunctory salute before falling into step as Grogu strode toward the entrance, Nadire and Tarikke following behind. 

(His strides were, generally, not terribly long. But anything was possible through the Force, and neither of his parents had ever really discouraged cheating.)

"Mand'alor," Mirn greeted. The Selonian seemed calm despite her ruffled golden-brown fur, beskar armor scored from blaster bolts. "We had Master Balen with us on patrol today; he said that both of the children had unusual readings in the Force, so we brought them here for treatment instead of the Medcenter."

"Unusual how?"

Mirn, who was only slightly more Force-sensitive than a rock, tilted her head towards him bemusedly.

Grogu chuckled.

"Right. Nevermind."

They were met at the ornate doors by a tall Twi'lek with vibrant green skin, clad in the traditional black robes of the Grandmaster of the Order. She bowed deeply with both hands tucked into her sleeves, the movement effortlessly graceful.

"Mand'alor."

Grogu smiled.

"Cinna."

Cinna straightened up with an amused quirk to her lips. She was immensely powerful, and her gravitas commanded respect from most other beings, but it was hard for Grogu to feel the same when he'd known her at two years old and teething. 

"The children?" he asked.

Cinna nodded, and motioned for them to follow. 

"Two human boys, one nine years old, the other eight. They're both being treated for malnourishment and dehydration, and have injuries on their necks consistent with slave collars. The elder has three cracked ribs and the younger was struck with a whip."

Grogu heard Mirn growl behind him, low and dangerous. He kept a tight rein on his own emotions, well aware of how the boiling rage in his own chest could affect the hundreds of Force-sensitives living at the Temple if he let it escape his beskar-clad shields. 

His father never had quite been able to train all the fury out of him.

"They're both powerful in the Force," Cinna continued, leading them down the steps deeper into the Temple, "But it was their presence that Balen noticed. They're connected to each other, of course, but they also seemed to feel--familiar, in a way."

"Familiar to him?" Grogu asked. 

Cinna shook her head.

"Familiar to Mandalore itself."

Grogu lifted his eyebrows, humming curiously. Every planet had its own unique presence in the Force, to those aware enough to sense it, and Mandalore was no exception. Any time he returned from off world he felt soothed as soon as he set foot on the ground, reaching out through the Force and feeling the comfort of home settle back into his bones.

But for the planet to reach back?

He was going to inquire further, but as they drew closer to the Hall of Healing, a hazy blue figure wavered into existence right outside of the ornate doors.

Grogu stopped in his tracks.

"Oh sweet Force protect us," he breathed.

Grandfather was grinning.

It wasn't just a smile: it was a full-on shit-eating grin, wide and pleased and utterly shameless, and despite himself Grogu quickened his steps as he was excitedly waved over. 

"Grogu!" Grandfather called, nearly bouncing on his feet in excitement. "Kid, come see, they're finally here!"

And then he walked right through the wall.

Grogu cursed and hurried after him, flicking open the doors with a twist of his fingers. The healers look startled as he rushed in, barely pausing to nod at them before chasing after his absolute gremlin of a grandfather. Anakin didn't stop until he made it to the children's ward, taking an abrupt left through the closed door of one of the smaller playrooms.

Grogu stopped outside to compose himself, settling his presence in the Force: making sure to completely banish his earlier anger and the ever-present irritation that came with dealing with his grandfather. 

He inhaled a few deep, calming breaths, and knocked on the door.

[thechaoticfanartist]

Before Grim could shout out a warning Ahsoka leapt at Vader.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as she watched what took place. Vader blocked one strike, but Ahsoka’s other lightsaber made contact with his helmet, slicing it in half. She tumbled to the ground and Vader fell to his knees.

Grim stood there in complete shock for a moment, her own lightsaber still blazing in her hand. Then, she deactivated the blade and ran to her wife. She began to help her off the ground. “Ash, are you alright?” She asked.

Ahsoka was about to speak, but Vader did instead. “Ahsoka,” he wheezed. His voice only halfway changed through the broken mask.

She looked away from Grim and at Vader instead. Her eyes widened in shock, and recognition upon seeing the half-visible face of Anakin Skywalker. Not even the burn scars of Mustafar could change who it belonged to.

“Ahsoka,” Vader said again. His breathing was heavy - more than it usually was. Damaging the mask had also damaged a portion of his life support. He couldn't go long in this state.

“Anakin,” Ahsoka gasped. She turned her head to face her wife, who was still holding onto her arm. “Grim, why didn't you tell me?” She asked, tears were in her eyes, and they would fall any moment.

“I'm sorry,” was all Grim could say. “But we have to go,” she added. Now that Ahsoka was standing again she tried to pull her away from her former Master.

Ahsoka didn't move. She only looked back at Vader. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. What this meant. For so many years she believed Anakin to be dead, that he died saving the Jedi, and now-

He had been the one to kill them.

“Ahsoka, we have to go,” said Grim.

Ahsoka looked back at her, looking down at her face. She took in its image, of the freckles that covered it, the lightsaber scar on the left side, the faint marks of lightning, and those kind green eyes shimmering with tears. “No,” she said. “I can't.”

“But he'll kill us!” she protested.

Ahsoka smiled gently. She clipped one of her lightsabers to her belt and with her free hand caressed Grim's cheek. She moved her head ever so slightly so she was looking directly up at her. Their eyes meeting, both with tears falling from them. “I love you,” she told her.

She leaned down and kissed her. Then she slowly pulled away.

“Ash-” Grim started, but she didn't know what to say.

“I'm sorry,” she replied. Then she used the Force to shove her back.

“Ahsoka!” Grim cried, already running back to her.

She stood facing Vader, who too was standing now. Words were exchanged, Grim barely heard them and it didn't even matter, she had heard them before.

Vader’s lightsaber ignited. Ahsoka's following.

Grim couldn't move. She screamed at her wife. Begging her not to fight Vader.

It didn't matter. She watched as the Sith Temple collapsed, and she could no longer see either her wife or the Sith Lord.

She had lost her again, and this time, she didn't have anyone else.

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