#but even if they did I think the clones would have enough ‘the galaxy doesn’t care about us we are our own people’ that they

[mutalune]

my clone culture headcanon is that they have almost no traditional mandalorian ties, they picked up almost nothing culturally/linguistically from the mandalorian trainers, but the one thing they DID get were endearments/affectionate and-or comforting words/etc.

b/c 1) that was the only way the trainers could somewhat express affection for their favorites without getting dinged for being too attached to them since no one there actually spoke mando’a 2) kaminoans would be Unhappy if the clones expressed affection openly so secret language words were the only way to safely verbalize caring and loving, so they picked up on those few kind words VERY quickly

(The way I see it working is that the trainers had favorites, would occasionally say something like “chin up, hang in there, good job kiddo,” and said favorites picked up those terms without actually ever getting Direct Translations of what they mean. So they get the words and some context but have to jumble it together themselves and pronunciation and meaning change the further away it spreads from the original favorites - because all of this is spread in private, quietly, until it grows its own legs in different iterations with different battalions imho

like they know adding -‘ika to a name is affectionate and feels like a diminutive but they don’t know what it means exactly and sometimes plug it into names in grammatically odd ways, so instead of “Trap’ika” you get “Trapper’ika” which sounds more like “Trapperka” when you’re talking fast.)

(i’m just a fan of gentle soft pet names and showing affection quietly and how love finds a way and how the clones can take what little scraps they were given and make it their own)

[the-bi-space-ace]

My partner had the cutest idea and I just have to share it with you.

Rex was so strict as a cadet. He tried hard to prove himself, stuck to the rules, made sure everything he did was in line with regulation.

However, a few command track clones took Rex under their wing: Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Bly, and Ponds. They knew Rex needed to relax a bit. He needed to have a bit of fun, not just stick to the regulations, so they kept trying to get Rex to play with them. Games like cards or more physical games like tag instead of having to run laps every time they did cardio.

Little baby cadet Rex was not having it. He was too nervous to step outside of the lines so they came up with an ingenious plan.

“It’s training, Rex!” Cody would say and he’d tilt his head to the side in suspicion.

“It looks like a card game.” Rex would throw back. Which is when one of the others would step in to say that it ‘tests your reaction time’ or ‘helps you strategize.’ He gave in, of course, and let them pull him away from responsibilities too many times to count.

He loosened up as he got older, realized that part of life is goofing off and having some fun. He didn’t have to be ‘perfect’ for them to still love him.

And imagine, down the line when Rex meets a trooper a lot like himself when he was younger. Someone who knows the regs front to back, can recite them without a second thought, and is tied at the hip with someone that would follow his lead anywhere. Someone who is still trying to prove himself and now wants to work extra hard in the 501st to be the best he can be.

Imagine the first time Rex strolls into the training gym and stops them in the middle of a spar and doesn’t like the way Echo’s back straightens like he’s about to get in trouble. Think about how he sighs and says:

“Boys, I think it’s time you got some more specialized training.” And Fives and Echo look at each other, confused but intrigued by what in the galaxy ‘specialized training’ even means. The only warning he gives is the same one he got from Cody as a cadet. “Don’t let me catch you.” before he takes off after them.

It’s tag. They’re playing tag. And it’s silly and a little stupid but by the time they’re done everyone is out of breath and they’re all half dead because their lungs are screaming at them but everyone is smiling and that’s really good enough for Rex.

He thinks of all the times a simple, silly game was called ‘training’ and he had to be tricked into it by people who love him and he knows he’ll do the same to make these two primarily Echo loosen up and get comfortable with their place in the 501st.

They have a lot to learn, but Rex knows they’ll make him proud. Whether or not they can win a game of tag- oh, wait, I’m sorry - whether or not they can win a ‘training exercise’ or a ‘spar’. They’ll get comfortable. And he’s sure there will be times they’ll make his life hell just like he did to everyone who helped him find his place.

It’s part of growing up and finding your people and figuring out who you are, your place in it all. Rex is more than happy to help.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello, love your stories and I saw the alpha fic you wrote recently. It’s funny that someone asked something similar to what I was thinking for Gregor. I’ve never requested a story before but here goes. Would you write a sweet (spicy if you’d like) story about Gregors recovery and the person who helped him. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a nurse. Maybe it can be someone he meets as he’s recovering someone who he learns some cooking tips from. I dunno cover all the bases if you like or not ?

Thank you .

I'm Still Here

Summary: A large part of you dreads the day that Gregor regains his memory and he leaves. You’re not stupid. Or blind. You know he’s a clone. You know he’s going to leave. But for now, you don’t have to share him with the galaxy, and that will have to be enough.

Pairing: Captain Gregor x F!Reader

Word Count: 1611

Warnings: None

A/N: I'm not sure I managed to fill this the way that you asked, but I hope you like it anyway!

“I don’t think I’m doing this right,”

You stop kneading the dough that you’re working on to look over your shoulder at the man standing at the counter on the other side of your kitchen, “What’s wrong?”

Gregor glances at you and makes a face, “I don’t think this soup is supposed to be so runny.”

You release a thoughtful hum and set the dough back in the bowl to rise for a couple more hours, and then you wipe your hands on the rag hanging from your belt.

“Well, it does need to simmer for the rest of the afternoon,” You point out as you walk over to him and duck under his arm to peek into the pot, “It should thicken as it simmers.”

“Should?”

“Don’t worry so much, Gregor. You’re doing great!” You beam up at him, and you watch, amused, as color spreads across his cheeks and he averts his gaze. You almost want to coo at him, but you don’t actually want to embarrass him so you restrain yourself.

“I just don’t want to ruin this,” He says, “They’re your family.”

“They’re going to think you’re great, Gregor. Just like I do.”

“I don’t think most people in the galaxy are as kind as you are,” He counters dryly.

“Nonsense, people are inherently good.”

You can feel Gregor staring at you, and then you squeak in surprise when his strong arm slides around your shoulders, tugging you back against his chest, “That hasn’t been my experience.” He replies, and his arm tightens, “I worry about you, you know that?”

“How so?”

“People are going to take advantage of you. You’re too nice.”

You twist in his embrace and grin up at him, “Good thing I have you here to be mean for me.”

He laughs and releases you so he can set the lid on the pot, and you absently turn the heat down a little. Gregor’s smile is warm and focused on you, and it makes you feel a little warm.

But then, you’ve been crushing on him since the day you met him. You’d be more surprised if his smile didn’t make you feel like this.

“So, are we all set?” Gregor asks.

“Um…” You run down your mental checklist, and then you nod, “Yep. All set. Soup is cooking, dough is rising, veggies are marinating, and you’re here! All that’s left is to put everything together and wait for my parents to arrive.”

He pushes his hand through his hair, “What if they hate me?”

“Then they can go and eat dinner somewhere else.” You reply loftily as if it doesn’t matter. In truth, it’s hit or miss on whether they’ll like Gregor or not. Your father has always hated the people you introduced to him, and your mother would always go along with what he did.

And him being a clone won’t even have anything to do with why they’d hate him.

Your parents have always been funny about controlling the people you surround yourself with.

Needless to say, you had a very lonely childhood.

“That easy?” Gregor asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“That easy.” You agree, and then you grin at him, “And you remembered the whole recipe on your own.”

He looks surprised for a moment, and then a bright smile crosses his face, “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s a huge step, Gregor!”

The brain injury he sustained, somehow, messed with his memory pretty badly. He’s been working on it for months now, and his doctor suggested that cooking might be a way to help his rehab.

Honestly, you thought that his doctor was a quack, but since it seems to be helping, you’re beginning to reevaluate your opinion of him. 

Though, you still think that not telling him that he’s a Clone is a shitty thing to do to someone. Surely Gregor deserves to know that he has an army of brothers out there?

But, even thinking that, you still haven’t told him. 

Oh, you’ve come close a time or two. But when he learns the truth, he’ll leave.

And he’s the only friend you’ve ever had.

You’re pulled from your spiraling thoughts at the sound of your comm ringing. You reach into your pocket to grab it, only it’s not there. Quickly, you scan the kitchen and then step into your living room.

Your comm is sitting on the table in front of the holo, and it’s still ringing.

You grab the comm and press it to your ear, and the person on the other end speaks before you’re even able to say hello. “It’s about time you answered.”

“I—”

“Not important. Listen, your father and I aren’t going to make it to dinner.”

“You—” Once again, you’re cut off.

“To be honest, darling, we don’t want to come. Also, we’re moving to Alderaan.”

“Wait—”

“We’re leaving in an hour, and you know how much I hate long goodbyes. Alright! Good talk! Bye, darling!” And then she hangs up.

You try calling her back, but she clearly turned her comm off after getting off the call with you.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips, and you drop your comm back on the table.

“Well, that was a conversation.” Gregor says from the doorway to the kitchen, “Everything alright?”

“...my parents aren’t coming.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, “No, it’s…” Your shoulders slump, “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected them to come in the first place.”

“They’re your parents. It’s alright to expect them to want to know the people in your life.” He flashes an awkward smile at you, “Besides, it’s not like I have any family that I know of.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you try to swallow your guilt, but this time you can’t.

“I…Gregor…”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“You do have family.”

He blinks at you, “What?”

“I just…I…” You grab your datapad and pull open a recent article surrounding the clone army, and you pass it to him, “You’re a Clone, Gregor. I knew it as soon as I saw you.”

He scans the article, and then scrolls to look at the picture at the top of the article, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re doctor—” You pause and then you close your eyes and sigh, “No, that’s an easy answer. The truth is, you’re the only friend I have and I knew that if you knew that you had family you’d leave. I was being…selfish. As per usual.”

Gregor is quiet for a moment, “Do you know where my armor is?”

“I don’t,” You admit honestly, “I wasn’t the one who found you. No one knows who found you.”

He frowns at you for a moment and then turns on his heel. You hear your front door open, and then the sound of the door clicking shut behind him. You fall back on your couch and bury your face in your hands.

You can’t even be mad about him leaving. It was exactly what you thought would happen when he found out.

You honestly don’t expect to see Gregor again, so when your doorbell rings right before you get into bed, you don’t know who you expect to see.

So you wrap your robe tightly around your body, and open the door just a crack.

You, very nearly, jump out of your skin when you see the man in armor standing in front of your door, though the fright turns to confusion when he pulls his helmet off and reveals a clean-shaven Gregor.

“Gregor?” You ask, bewildered.

“I found my armor.” Gregor replies, “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…yeah. Of course.” You move to the side to let him into your home and then shut the door behind him. “Where was it?”

“Oh, just laying around,” Gregor replies with a shrug as he starts pulling his armor off and stacking it near the front door.

You watch him, politely bewildered, and then finally ask, “What are you doing?”

He glances at you, confusion on his face, and then he favors you with a tiny smile, “Did you really think I was just going to leave?”

“...yes?”

“Not a chance.” He walks over to you and lightly cups your face, “Come on, how could I just leave you?”

“I lied to you.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I wasn’t in any condition to return to the frontlines anyway.” One of his hands slides to the back of your neck, and the other settles low on your hip, and he tugs you so that you stumble against his body.

“But—”

“I’m still here, cyare.” He interrupts, “And I’m not going anywhere until we settle this.”

“This?” You repeat, uncertainly.

Gregor giggles and his eyes glitter with mischief, “While I do have to return to the frontlines, I’m not leaving without giving you a night to remember.” He leans in and ghosts his lips against yours, “And I’ll definitely be coming back.”

“You…will?”

He doesn’t answer, instead, his grin widens and he closes the distance between your lips, pulling you into a deep kiss. “Well,” He mumbles against your lips, “That depends on you.” He moves so that his lips are trailing against your jaw, “I don’t think I was imagining the thing between us.”

“You weren’t,” You whisper, a soft gasp falling from you as his lips move to your throat.

“Good.”

And, when Gregor leaves the following morning, he leaves with the promise that he’ll come back as often as he’s able, several dark hickys, and a promise of his love.

He also leaves you pregnant, though you don’t figure that out until several months later.

@imabeautifulbutterfly @n0vqni @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach @dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97

@falconfeather23435 @etod @bb8-99 @kiss-anon @continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay @liz-stat @cc--2224

[subbing-for-clones]

The Defective Jedi

Chapter 1

Word count: 2.2k

Trigger Warnings: None really, just some fighting

Every day you tried to forget and yet almost every night you remembered. Wandering through the crystal caves of Ilum was horribly cold and felt so lonely. You were never particularly strong with the force but you always felt it. That connection between all things living and the energy it permeated, but when you entered the cave you felt, nothing. Why did you feel nothing?

You heard the other younglings yipping in happiness and laughing in triumph as one by one they found their kyber crystals and still, nothing called for you. Time was running out before the entrance became a wall of ice with no escape and even as a child you accepted defeat before you accepted death. You were the last to leave and the only one who was left empty handed. You would remember the disappointed look of Master Yoda forever, his eyes turned to the snow beneath his feet with a pained look before he looked back up at you.

It wasn’t long after that you were sent back home to Lothal. You had taken your parents pride and sullied it with failure and you don’t think they ever forgave you for it. It was true, you had failed before you even really got started. Your connection to the force just wasn’t strong enough to be a Jedi.

Still, you refused to let the connection go. You spent your formative years practicing the techniques you were able to learn in your short time studying under the jedi. Hours meditating every rotation searching for that warmth. You did find it; you could still feel it and so you taught yourself as much as you could.

Once you were able to venture out on your own you left Lothal and your parents’ resentment behind. Never really setting up a home; you joined a bounty hunter’s guild instead and used your abilities to become a fairly prolific hunter. It was during these years that all hell broke lose as war erupted all over the galaxy.

Only one year in and it wasn’t looking good. Hundreds of Jedi had fallen to the separatist forces and they needed help. This was when a desperate plea rang across the galaxy for the aid of anyone with force sensitive capabilities to come and join the fight for the republic. Whether it was out of the desire to help or need to prove yourself to the ones who threw you out you weren’t sure; still you answered their call.

You were tested and trained in a group of others with similar stories to your own under several rotating Jedi. At the end of your training, you were assigned to be exactly what you already were; a fighter. You were assigned to various squads as aid and back up; using your intuition, strategy skills and your fighting expertise on the battle field with the clones. You’d never hold a rank above a grunt but you didn’t care. Every victory was a curse on the Jedi for giving you up.

After months of rotating between battalions you were about to receive your permanent assignment. Clone Force 99, a rag tag team of four, apparently defective, clones. The irony didn’t escape you.

“Why are we getting a Jedi?” Hunter asked the hologram of Cody. The others standing back but still in view of the commander.

“She’s not a Jedi, she’s one of the force sensitives the Jedi asked to join the cause. She doesn’t hold rank over you, you’re still in charge.”

“I don’t like it.” Sneered Crosshair.

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice. The higher ups want these people sprinkled out through all the squads in case of a Sith attack. The Jedi worry about them rising up with the appearance of a few and quite frankly, no clone stands a chance agianst them. They can wipe out battalions.”

“When is she joining and for how long?” The Sergent was growing impatient and didn’t like the idea of a new member being added to their group.

“She’s waiting on Kamino for you now so you’ll meet her upon arrival, she’ll be with you until the war is over or until she runs as fast as she can away from you.” The commander had a small smirk on his face that Hunter mirrored. The idea of sending a Jedi, or whatever, running amused him.

            Once they touched down on Kamino three out of the four were sightly on edge with the exception or Wrecker who seemed rather excited. He was generally the most welcoming. The worry melted away as soon as they laid eyes on you. You really didn’t look like a Jedi at all. You looked like an operative. Instead of a robe you wore black armor and in the place of a lightsaber at your hip, you had a blaster and a large curved vibro-blade.

Crosshair couldn’t help but eye you up and down the armor looked good on you. You took each of them in once you took your helmet off and introduced yourself to your new companions, a dance you’ve done before. Wrecker was kind enough to grab the two crates of your belongings and load them onto the ship. There wasn’t much time for pleasantries before you received your first mission. You were to extract data from an outpost on Teth and upload it straight to Cody. Information about prisoners of war and where they were being held was your main objective. Anything else was an added bonus. You all loaded onto the ship after eating a hearty meal in the cafeteria.

In the back of the ship next to the bunks you unpacked a few things from your crates.

“Whatchya got there?” Wrecker asked excitedly.

“Ill eat a loth cat before I sleep in GAR issued blankets.” He laughed heartily at your response and left you to continue. You didn’t have any photos to hang or many personal items at all for that matter but that’s how you’ve lived for the last few years anyway.

            Once you were finished you made your way to the common area where the clones were discussing strategy. Quietly you took the empty seat between Tech and Crosshair. The outpost was situated in the middle of the jungle. Intel reported minimal guards as it wasn’t a main base but still enough that you all decided stealth was your best option.

            Once the plan had been formulated they all looked at you expectedly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“So why didn’t you become a Jedi?” Tech asked outright, Hunter elbowed him but didn’t faze the goggled soldier.

“I tried but, well they decided I wasn’t strong enough. I’m closer to the force than most people but not close enough to be a Jedi.”

“You’re defective like us!” Wrecker shouted with glee, earning an elbow from Hunter as well. You actually laughed a bit.

“Yeah, you could say that. I’ve used my abilities as a bounty hunter since I left Lothal until I joined the GAR.”

            Crosshair watched you out of the corner of his eye. You really weren’t what they thought you would be at all. You weren’t a religious zealot you were just someone trying to find their way in the galaxy like the rest of them. He admired that, the honesty too. You weren’t trying to be something you’re not.

            That night in hyperspace you tossed and turned in your new bunk. Nightmares from close calls on a hunt filled your mind. You were often reminded of the times you came close to getting killed before a mission. Eventually you gave up and made your way toward the cockpit. You enjoyed meditating under the blue streaking lights. You were surprised to see that someone had beat you to it. The lithe handsome sniper sat in the pilot’s chair cleaning his fire puncher and mouthing a tooth pick.

            He looked up at you slightly taken aback by your appearance. Quickly he composed himself and half waved his arm at the other seat as a silent invitation.

“Sorry for intruding, I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re not.”

You were starting to like the way words seemed to slither off his tongue. You nodded a thanks to him and turned to watch the stars soaring by at light speed. Both you sat in silence for a few minutes before he opened and shut his mouth, wanting to ask you something but Cross wasn’t sure if it was out of turn.

He mentally shrugged and asked, “So why did you join the GAR?”

“Is one part brave three parts fool a believable answer?”

“I doubt you’re a fool.”

“Well, we’ll see if you keep that opinion,” you chuckled and earned an upturn of the corner of his mouth.

“Honestly? I found it ironic that the Jedi needed our help now. I don’t hold too much resentment agianst them but I do want to prove myself as valuable. Besides, things make sense out here.”

“How so?” He turned in his chair to face you and put his rifle down for a moment. You glanced at him and shrugged your shoulders.

“There’s no confusion right now. We fight agianst Separatists and clankers. I’m sure there are good people on those planets but this is the side I chose to fight for so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Crosshair digested your words and offered “We didn’t get a choice.”

“If you did, what would you be doing?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer, I’ve never let myself be hypothetical like that before because there isn’t a choice. I.. We’re property of the GAR just like my rifle and this ship. Don’t tell Tech that though, it’s his ship in his mind.”

You giggled a bit at that and nodded your head in understanding.

“I spent so much time hunting and fighting bounties that this just seemed like a natural course of action. I can’t see myself doing anything else instead now.”

Crosshair picked up his fire puncher again and resumed cleaning it. You watched him for a while before turning back to the lights and closing your eyes. You reached out through the force trying to feel the Purgill you swore you heard. What you didn’t sense was Crosshair watching you intently.

            You were going over the mission plan one last time while Tech was putting down the ship a few clicks away from the objective point. The jungle terrain was difficult to get through but not too much of a problem. The closer you got the more the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Cross left your group close to the outpost to climb one of the giant trees for a better vantage point.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you whispered to the Sergent.

He nodded in response, seemingly sensing something as well. The post was supposed to be guarded by droids with a few officers scattered throughout but something was off. No perimeter defense and no guards posted outside. Your group made their way around to a side door shown on the schematics and while Tech was overriding security, you Hunter and Wrecker kept watch. You could Feel Crosshair’s eyes on you and it gave you an overwhelming sense of security knowing he was watching over you.

            Three droids were posted on the inside of the door and as soon as you were in Wrecker crushed one agianst the wall, Hunter stabbed one in the chest and you took the last one’s head off with your long viroblade. Quickly you dashed in and made your way through the base looking for a data port. Tech found one on a lower level and plugged in, searching the database until he found what he needed.  

“It seems there are around fifty clones being held captive for questioning on a moon in the outer rim. There are also schematics for the spider droids here…” Tech prattled on interesting things he was downloading until Hunter shushed him and signaled for him to hurry up. That’s when the alarm sounded.

“We gotta go, now.” You stated with certainty. Trusting your instinct the boys packed up and started running back up to the way out. Once the door was insight, a wall of droids emerged and started firing at you. You fell back around a corner and started shooting them with your blaster looking for a weak point in the wall.

“Wrecker throw a smoke grenade,” Hunter barked.

“On it!” Wrecker tossed two creating a large fog that allowed you to step out, you reached out your hand and with a little struggle, used the force to loosen a wall panel until it flew into the side of the droid squad, pinning them to the opposite wall.

“HA HA NICE!” Wrecker shouted.

The four of you ran like hell out of the outpost to find several fallen droids, courtesy of the reliable sniper.

Once the five of you were back on the ship and Tech was taking off Wrecker was excitedly telling Crosshair how you threw a wall at a bunch of droids, taking out ten in one go. There seemed to be an impressed glint in his eye.

“That was good work back there,” Hunter told you sincerely. You smiled and thanked him, watching as the data was sent through encryption straight to Cody to do with as he saw fit.

Your first mission with the squad, a success you exchanged a smile with the sniper and sat in your victory.

[obislittleone]

Come What May

Episode 4/?

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader (little one)

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, allusions to smut but no actual smut. canon typical violence, robbery?? idek y'all

A/n: I can't believe I edited this in one sitting but here u go now be fed and I'll probably post another one in two months lol

NINE YEARS LATER…

The sand was relentless, as it always was. Such was the life on Tatooine.

The days, though boring and long, brought a sense of peace and security to you. It was comfortable, and you didn’t have to worry about being chased.

Life with Obi was still blissful, though he’d become a different sort of person than he used to be. He was still yours, and one thing that would never change in his life was his unending love and devotion to you. Over all the bad things, you were still there, and if that was so, his life could never be all bad.

He became grumpy easily, but you often teased him, joking about how old he was truly getting. He’d hate when you pointed it out, because he already felt so much older than he had when the war was going on. Many would argue that it aged him, but truth be told, he was perhaps living the youngest days of his life back then.

You, of course, had continued to mature into the beautiful woman he’d always seen before. You looked different, sure… but all the ways you’d changed, he would think were for the better. He loved how normal you seemed. It was always so much more peaceful, living here. It was mundane and often quiet, but it was peaceful, and far less demanding of your former lifestyle. He had always hoped you could live a simple and sweet life, maybe not on this maker-forsaken planet, but having days that were just the same.

The daily routine was easy, and by now implanted in both of your minds. It was second nature, and hard to mess up even if you tried. The mornings were always slow, as the work hours were different from what you’d once known. After dragging each other from the warm confines of bed, there was a shared silence that would fall over you both as you continued to ready yourselves for each job you had. You had the fat end of the stick, getting to work in the city. You were legally dead across the galaxy, and the empire had no warrant for you in any scanner known to the systems. Especially not in the outer rim.

Obi-Wan had taken up the name Ben, the name he remembers from childhood. He doesn’t know if it was his original name, or if it was the name of his father, but it belonged to him somehow, and he felt it was easy to go by.

An hour was spent riding to anchor-head everyday, in order to clock in for your shift, and for him to catch a speeder to whatever work station they needed him at for the day. Lately he’d been harvesting flying Tibidon sand whales for their meat. He never failed to bring back a sliver of what he cut for your Eopie. It was something he did out of habit by now, but it somehow reminded you of a small thing he used to do for you many years ago.

Back in the age of the Jedi, before the clone wars ever began, Obi-Wan Kenobi had two padawans. One was the chosen one, and though he was often found to be a trouble maker, he was still the favorite among the two. The other was a small girl, not yet grown to her full capabilities. She always had a strong appetite, though, and the meals given to her were never enough to satisfy her growing form. Obi-Wan was quick to notice little things like this, and always saved his portion of Ksharra bread for her to eat after everyone was finished. The smile it brought to her was not soon forgotten…

What a sweet memory, and you almost always thought about it when you were watching him interact with the Eopie. He was gentle to all creatures, even after he became a bit hardened and settled into his new role of life.

After the ride home, there were meals that were shared in a comfortable quiet, and then a discussion of the day. It was definitely a more quaint way to live, but you preferred it to the horrid idea of running for years on end. You always told him how thankful you were to be with him, to have him amidst everything. It was he who you remembered the earliest in your life, being there for you, watching out for everything you faced, and helping you through it. He was still doing that, in a way. Though it were not by the force, he gave advice of work topics, different moody customers that would come in during the day, and even just ideas to help the work day seem faster.

It was only after he left for bed, with you watching the stars rise, that you were able to meditate. To revel in the force and to trust in its ways without anyone stopping you. Not to say that Obi-Wan would stop you, but he perhaps would try and convince you it still was not safe. It was you, however, that kept up your daily strength by meditation, and use of the force without his knowledge.

Though he would never know, your strong uses of the force were the thing that helped him sleep through the night, as he often woke up with nightmares, stirring your slumber as well and making you alert to the bad things his mind conjured. It was mostly Anakin, because how could it not be? He was his Master and his best friend, a true brother and ally. He had to have felt some sort of responsibility for what happened to him, all leading up to his death.

You too felt semblances of guilt, but you dealt with it in other ways. For him, these nightmares were often occurrences, and it was due to you that he got any sleep at all.

He would sometimes sit straight up at a moment’s notice, scaring you awake and realizing what had happened. He would breath fast and loud and not be able to slow it down, not even when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, whispering soothing words like he once did for you in your time of nightly terrors. At first, he was lucky to get back to sleep at all… but the more it happened, he found you being near him helped to calm him back to sleep. He’d cut himself off from the force, he had no use of it anymore. He didn’t know it was because of your old developed ability to take away the bad dreams. You always slept soundly beside him, even before you were together. Whenever he was laid next to you, there was not a dream that could plague your mind for the worse.

There was one night when he woke up, calling his old Master’s name. He sometimes dreamt of the way he died. He felt as though it was also his fault, that he could have prevented the Sith Lord Maul from destroying his only father figure.

It was all you could do, to sit with him, and try and calm his mind… but that night was harder. He had begun counting his failures as if they were stars, making them the only thing in the forefront of his mind, and rejecting anything that wasn’t his detrimental thoughts.

You sat with him until sunrise that day, but once the twin suns were over the dunes of everlasting sand, the day went on as normal. The small moments of grief and self loathing were forgotten.

It happened this way, only sometimes.

Something that brought you both peace on the bad days was going out to the hills and crests outside of the moisture farms specifically that being owned by Owen and Beru Lars. It would never be uttered aloud, for these thoughts brought on more episodes of sadness, but watching a small boy grow up in the sandy plains was always bittersweet. Though Luke wasn't a starpilot, or a jedi knight, or a cunning strategist... he reminded you so much of Anakin. You knew Anakin at this age, and all the years after. Even little gestures Luke sometimes made to his aunt and uncle, would send a pang of guilt through your chest. Anakin should be the one watching his son grow up. You all should be retired somewhere nice, like Naboo, with Padme watching over the twins as Anakin and Obi-Wan once again conversed like the brothers they used to be. Bittersweet, watching Luke learn to tend the farm like his uncle, instead of watching him play with his sister whom he knows nothing about.

Obi-Wan would never admit it either, but it was both healing and detrimental to observe Luke from a distance. He was closer to the boy's father than Owen ever was, and much more deserved the title of uncle... but it was not to be. Obi-Wan was a hunted man, and allowing Luke to be close to him could be dangerous.

Obi-Wan would bow his head sometimes after watching the boy, trying to make sense of how everything in his life could have lead to to this, and what could have possibly gone wrong that the galaxy was this bad. He could not even have a relationship with the son of his dearest friend.

Recently, he had delved into something of an addiction for him, something that was a grounding tool to help him realize he wasn’t going insane in these days of mundane work and internal chaos on this maker-forsaken planet. Others might see it as normal, but he had never been so insatiable before now. He craved one thing, constantly… you.

Whether it be through physical intimacy, or even small touches of your skin, he couldn’t get enough, and it was causing him to form strong habits that would not soon falter. You were of course all too happy to indulge him, as for a long time after you first came to these mountains, there was a block between you. The emotional force bond being broken disrupted many things, and that was one of them. You hoped sincerely that this was not just a rut he found himself in, and that it would only last so long. You’d missed the late nights, shared kisses and times of devotion to one another. He was such a gentle and skilled lover, anyone would have killed to know this side of him, but it was you he chose, again and again.

Though one half of the dyad was not felt in the force, he was still the love of your life, and you’d come to know him in a different way these past years. He was not necessarily a new person, but knowing him without the force, and without your constant ability of silent communication, he did become unfamiliar at times.

Still, he was Obi.

Always, he was Obi… even when everyone else used the name Ben, you would never give up the way you’d called upon him since you were but three years old. In public, he was just Ben Kenobi, who worked out in the dunes of Tatooine for a days wage… but in your eyes he was still the great protector of the republic, the General of the 212th legion, and a Master of the Jedi council. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

-

You were late again.

Not to work.

You didn’t tell Obi of your suspicions, feeling as though there could be a mixed reaction from whatever came of your condition, if you were indeed under the diagnosis you felt you were.

It had been ten years, and you were sure you’d retained internal damage that might prevent this outcome, but of course, the galaxy has seen far more impossible things come to fruition. Anakin’s mother conceived him without a man at all, so with the rate that your husband and yourself were going, it was almost bound to happen.

You left work earlier than usual, and gave an easy excuse to your employer as to why, and he of course was more than happy to oblige. You were a loyal and decent worker, so he never had any reason not to. There was a small clinic in Anchorhead, not as far advanced or technical as the one you were able to go to in Mos Eisley, but good enough that you would find out what you need to know, or what you were certain you already knew.

Being still deeply connected with the force, you were able to tell something was there, just like the first time, although now there was a slight difference that made you question it at first. Obi still had no idea, and how could he? You hadn’t let on to it at all and there wasn’t an ounce of strangeness to your behavior. Throw in the fact that he can no longer sense those kind of things, and you have a completely oblivious husband.

The medical droid who tended to you was outdated, but even with old mechanisms and past due needed upgrades, it deducted your symptoms to a diagnosis rather quickly.

You were eleven weeks pregnant, no doubt about it after some quick testing.

Though you were nervous of what this could mean for you, it was far more of a joy. You never thought this would be possible again, given the circumstances of the last time leaving you with injuries that should have made you completely unable to reproduce.

You were so excited as you went back into work, reeling from the information, and trying to think of ways to tell the father of this child that he was in-fact getting another chance at his dream. It wasn’t how you both had planned. You’d wanted to settle down amongst your friends, on a beautiful planet like Naboo. You had hoped for the freedom of the galaxy to give you the opportunities of a peaceful existence. Instead, you were stuck here, on Tatooine. The ugliest planet in the outer rim and much worse than you remember it from your first visit all those years ago. It was all for a reason, of course. Obi-Wan was a wanted man, in nearly every system there was a bounty on his head, with more than enough hunters out searching for him to bring his body dead or alive to the empire. You, of course, being legally dead and all, could go anywhere you wanted… but without him you saw little point in traveling away.

This child would mend the broken dreams you both had for the future, you were sure of it.

You went back about your work with a gleeful smile adorning your face, being extra friendly to patrons and even giving them a little extra for their buck. You couldn’t help the joy, it was too strong to keep bottled up for later. You were sure, though, it would still remain long into the day, and all the others after.

You’d been cleaning out a glass behind the counter when it happened. A group of robbers from out in Mos Eisley came rushing in, holding everyone at blaster point and shouting for them to get down. You grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, trying to strategize through the force how to deescalate the situation without hurting anyone. Your skills were just the slightest bit rusty, even though you practiced whenever you got the chance. A knife wasn’t exactly your weapon of choice.

The leader of the group stepped forward to the owner of the bar, and told him to empty the credit holds into his sack, but the owner hesitated, turning your way as if asking what he should do. You started taking quick steps towards him, pushing him out of the line of the blaster before it could go off. You waited for them to start shooting, but instead heard the ignition of a lightsaber. Or at least, it sounded a hell of a lot like one.

You jumped to your feet, watching over the counter as the scene played out. There was a man, around your age, wielding a lightsaber to defeat the robbers. They all went down pretty quickly, except one whom the man didn’t see behind him. You called for him to watch out, but he didn’t have enough time to react, so you raised your hand, focusing all your force energy on throwing the last enemy to the wall before he hit the ground.

He turned to you, eyes wide and saber still ignited.

“Did you just-?” He narrowed his eyes in your direction, and something seemed to click in his head.

Nobody else had seen you do that, but him seeing it was enough.

The bar rang with cheers and clapping in applause for the Jedi, who had saved the people in the establishment from being harmed by the robbery. They all commended him, and you had half a mind to forget it ever happened, just go back to work, but the man was keen on speaking with you. Even after the owner, and your boss, had spent a rather long time thanking him and offering him solace in the place, he wouldn’t be done until he’d had a word.

You were mixing up celebratory drinks for a few patrons when he finally was able to corner you, standing over the bar and keeping his voice down.

“I know who you are,” he said softly, as if trying not to spook you away. Most Jedi were like rare animals nowadays. Almost extinct, and completely vulnerable to sudden attack.

You set the glasses onto a tray and made eye contact with him for a single second, sending a glare his way before you went out to the tables and served the drinks around. He stayed and waited at the bar, and when you came back he sighed out.

“I know this must be hard, but I haven’t seen another Jedi in so long,” he rambled, all under the guise of a whisper, of course. You wouldn’t lie, as much as you feared the empire for everything it has taken from you, it was almost a breath of fresh air to see there were others, who hadn’t been stomped out by their evil yet.

“I was never a Jedi,” you said, but ultimately, you knew, no matter what you said, he knew who you were. As strange as it sounds, being the padawan of a famous Jedi came with some sort of notoriety. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I know that it’s you, because you’re supposed to be dead,” he had seen your name on the list of the deceased Jedi, along with his own name on the list of hunted ones.

“I am dead.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting you to say, maybe that you’d been like him, hiding for the last ten years and hoping that there would come a time when Jedi could arise again. But that wasn’t realistic. As long as the empire held rule over the galaxy, there could never be peace and freedom. Not for your kind, anyway.

“And I’m not coming back,” you added ominously, cleaning out the glasses that had just been set on the counter for you to deal with.

He stayed silent a few moments, but didn’t leave. Even if you didn’t speak to him, you understood why he lingered. The only Jedi you have in your life anymore is Obi-Wan, but he’s cut himself off from the force. There is no familiarity of what was. This man is probably on his own, and has been all this time. He craves the sense of normalcy your presence is probably bringing right now. Perhaps you crave it too, and maybe it’s the reason you don’t shoo him away.

“He’s here too, isn’t he?” He asked after a while.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you weren’t doing yourself any favors in gaslighting this poor man, but you’d built yourself a wall of protection, and it wasn’t going to come down so easily.

“You were inseparable,” he recalls, and he knows you understand him, and that you’re just being standoff-ish. “I always wished to have that relationship with my Master.”

“Believe me, the relationship was far different from what everyone assumed it to be,” You let out sarcastically, finally being able to let your guard down a bit, but only enough that you could interact with him in a way that wasn’t stingy. You’d keep all current details hidden. He wanted to rehash the past? Fine, you could give him that.

“What it ended up as isn’t any of my business, but from what I could tell, the laws of attachment didn’t exactly apply.”

You huffed out a breath, followed by a drawn out ‘Nope.’

You thoughts shifted a bit, to just how poorly you followed the rules. You’re carrying the man’s child for force’s sake. You were never much one for the laws of attachment.

The man before you had a dumbfounded face on, and you mentally slapped yourself. You hadn’t been guarding your thoughts. You haven’t had to in so long and before you realized you needed you, it all just slipped into the open air.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, bowing his head as if he’d been the one to provoke you. In actuality, you’d pretty much offered it all up freely for him to take, and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

“Don’t be, it’s my fault… it’s just-“

“Been a long time?” He guessed, and you nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

And now a complete stranger knew some very personal things. Perhaps he wasn’t stranger, though. He knew you, and Obi-Wan, and remembered the order from its glory days. You both had a sense of shared trauma that somehow bonded you without ever speaking a word to each other before.

“How did you recognize me?” You asked him after another bout of silence. You were drying off the dishes, and figured that as long as he was here, you would make the most of it. This clearly wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “I’m almost certain I’ve never met you up close before.”

He smiled, nodding to your hair, swept back into a style you’d become fond of lately. “Never met you, but I’d seen you around. You were rather well known among the order.”

“Guess those are the perks of being his padawan, huh?” You’d echoed your thoughts from earlier, and he chuckled.

“He was the person that everyone wanted to be. Not just a great Jedi, but a good man.”

Of course. You knew that better than anyone. He cared so deeply about everything he set his hand to. He was kind and gentle, though sometimes sarcastic and witty, but that too made him more likable in your eyes.

“He’s not changed in that aspect,” you let him know, and he took it as motive to tease you.

“I knew he’d be here,” he returned, and you looked up and laughed a bit. He’d caught you there. “He’d never left your side.”

You didn’t respond, just let that statement sink in. You guessed that many more Jedi in the order had perceived your relationship for what it really was, but never said anything. Maybe they were rooting for you, or maybe you gave them hope. It was all up for interpretation, but the one thing you could never deny was the realness in it. He’s never left your side, and he never will. Of that, you can be absolutely sure and certain.

When it was time to close up the bar that night, you’d left before the owner, making sure he was alright after the fiasco of the day. You passed your new and unlikely friend the Jedi on the way out as well, giving a simple nod that spoke more than just words. You knew he needed to talk with you, and as much as you will neglect to admit it, you needed to talk to him, too.

You found yourself at the stables before sundown, meeting with Obi by your shared Eopie, ready to go home.

You figured that the bundle of joy news could wait until things were a bit more settled. You didn’t know how the scene of today would go in the long run, or if imperials had been alerted, but you wanted to know about all of that before trying to make future plans for the child you were carrying.

He saw you enter the sectional, and smiled to you with that adoring look in his eye, the one that never faded.

“You won’t believe what happened today.”

-

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[queen-of-mandalore]

The more I think about the clones’ storyline in TBB, the more I see the similarities to Finn’s story in the Sequels and how much of a missed opportunity that was.

Like Cody questioning if the empire was really making the galaxy better, Finn realises that what the First Order was doing was wrong. Like with Crosshair, holding another trooper as they die makes him realise enough is enough and he has to get out.

Finn doesn’t even have a name, he’s just a number. How often in Clone Wars is the fact that the clones are more than just numbers brought up? Plus how the empire only sees them as numbers. The way Finn chooses a name just like the clones all chose their own because they wanted to be more than just their numbers, because despite everything they are still people.

But then in the sequels they just forget that Finn was ever a stormtrooper at all - he just becomes another rebel side character despite him having the most interesting backstory to any of the new characters. I wish we’d gotten Finn’s guilt of leaving the other stormtroopers behind, perhaps coming across troopers he was close with, Finn refusing to kill them because he knows they’ve been brainwashed like he had been - give me Finn using stun bolts because he doesn’t want to hurt them just like the freed clones do in TBB. I want to see Finn grapple with finding who he is, where his thoughts start and his brainwashing ends - I’m thinking about Rex’s conversation with Cut about if he truly believes in what he’s doing or if it’s just want he’s been programmed to believe. Give me complex conversations with Poe - Poe arguing that Finn can’t save the other stormtroopers and he’s being naive to think he can change their minds, Finn refusing to accept that. Finn giving rousing speeches to the stormtroopers that make them think twice - just like Fives’ speech in Umbara. Stormtroopers hearing about Finn’s defection and suddenly realising for the first time they have a choice.

Finn should have taken on the role Rex did in TBB, fighting to get other stormtroopers out of the First Order. We should have seen other stormtroopers questioning their loyalty to the First Order, maybe some still choosing to stay. We should have got moments like the one between Rex and Wolffe in TBB, with Finn trying to talk his former brothers in arms into doing the right thing. Finn should have led a full on mutiny.

But no, all nuance about the stormtroopers was ignored and they became canon fodder like always. Finn was sidelined and got no storyline or character arc of his own. When you see what they did with the clones across TCW and TBB, it really makes you realise just what we could have had if they hadn’t squandered Finn’s potential and had the guts to do something with some nuance - maybe the ‘bad guys’ aren’t all pure evil, maybe these faceless soldiers the resistance murder on mass are actual people who could have been saved? Maybe it didn’t have to be so black and white, good guys vs bad, but no that would be too complex and interesting.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

These Clone Wars headcanons are long overdue

I saw someone say Anakin couldn’t have taught Ashoka everything cause that man’s stiff as a damn board and I laughed my ass off cause they were right but then it got me thinking that this would be a perfect moment for Ahsoka to teach Anakin something

So she gently persuades him and by that I mean she forces him to do some simple stretches in the morning nothing too bad just stuff you’d probably do before gym class and after a while it kinda becomes a pseudo-joined meditation for them

After a while when Anakin started becoming more comfortable with the stretches she started teaching him yoga which he quickly fell in love with cause he found it was one of the few things that calmed him down as traditional meditation should

When Ahsoka stopped being Anakin’s padawan in the cannon timeline or in my delusional timeline where they both left the order and everyone’s happy he had to find something else to call her and for the first couple of months he would always introduce her starting with “my”

The nicknames would usually fall into one of two categories the first being the unhinged nicknames like “my little hell-raiser” or “my little desert storm” and then there are the cute and sappy ones like “my little Soka” or his personal favorite “my little sister”

And with the last one people would ask “Oh is she adopted” and while Anakin could go the normal route and say yes he would instead go his route and look at the person like they’re crazy and say “No why do you ask?”

Which leads me to my next headcanon of you know when people say “If you spend enough time with something you’ll start to resemble it” Well that kinda happens with Obi-Wan Anakin and Ahsoka

In the beginning they all looked as different as a group could look but after a while people started to notice their eyes looked weirdly similar and they held themselves in the same way and their facial expressions mimicked each other and oh my force when did they start looking related?

And this works in their favor later on when they leave cause remember yall they all left and lived happily ever after… 

Anyway it works out for them cause when Anakin reiterates “No we’re all siblings” people don’t even think about it they just kinda accept it and move on cause the galaxies in shambles and weirder shit has happened

Even though Ahsoka blames Anakin for crashing everything he’s ever flown it doesn’t truly bother her the risky moves and “fancy flying” become predictable after a while and weirdly comforting 

It should concern her that barrel rolls and 90-degree drops are more soothing to her than a trained pilot who flies by the book cause yeah sure the flight is smooth but will the pilot make jokes while they’re being shot down

It is a truly hilarious show of fate that Anakin Skywalker got put in charge of the biggest adrenaline junkie this side of the galaxy and even though they both know this fact neither one of them will mention it 

Ahsoka’s just grateful to experience the feeling of a rollercoaster without ever being on one and Anakin’s grateful to finally find someone who just nags him when they freefall instead of screaming at the top of their lungs or puking when they land

Ahsoka will jokingly rat out Anakin to Obi-Wan when he picks on her it’s not uncommon for the older Jedi to hear things like “Master, Anakin keeps floating my sabers to the ceiling” or “Master, I can’t find my headwrap and Anakin’s hiding again can you help me look”

Just funny little tidbits throughout the day and sometimes council members will hear those anecdotes and for some reason they think “Oh she’s willing to rat him out for real” which has led to some council members asking her the bigger questions 

Like “Where was your master last night we tried hailing him but he didn’t answer?” and when Ahsoka responds with “Oh he’s been in his room all night tinkering with his arm” they correct her and say that the guards never reported him returning from a late-night excursion

She’ll come up with something like “Oh he left? Well I’m sorry masters I never saw him go and I could have sworn I heard him” which is a lie she told him to say hi to Padme as he left and the only thing she heard that night was her music 

But for some strange reason the council decides to believe her cause even though she’s Anakin’s padawan she has a strangely trustworthy face and has a wrap sheet of throwing him under the bus in the past 

Little do they know she wouldn’t sell him out for real and Anakin pays loyal people generously and by that I mean baked goods and boba and her favorite movie being played while they eat dinner

I don't know what it is about Anakin that gives me morning-person vibes but he just does now I’m not saying he’s like super bubbly in the morning but being up at five am when no one else is around just soothes him for some reason 

This however doesn’t stop him from staying up late to work on some projects or having a movie marathon with Ahsoka it just means those things are infrequent 

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on the other hand feel like night owls to me the duo has so much going on throughout the day and while they’re both extroverts at heart nighttime is when they really unwind and get to relax 

All this to say it’s very funny imagining the normally broody Anakin smiling serenely at six in the morning barely needing a cup of caf while the normally happy duo of Ahsoka and Obi-Wan are reduced to grumbling grumpy messes that are death-gripping their cups of caf 

The Jedi don’t say “I love you” at least not in the normal way that everyone else does instead he makes snacks for his padawan while she frantically studies for a test that she forgot about or they say things like “Hey master I think I figured out why your prosthetic keeps locking up”  

Or one of them discovers his favorite tea in his cupboard after the younger two come back from a mission but he knows they were stationed three star systems away from where the tea is normally sold

Or the younger coming home from the same mission to find that all the chores they couldn’t do were taken care of 

You know the minuscule things that most people wouldn’t bat an eye at but to each other mean the world

[cross-my-heartt]

Alright folks, now that Solitary Clone and Outpost are out and we have more insight into Crosshair’s character, I thought it would be interesting to revisit some of the things he said on Kamino at the end of season one.

I’ve been meaning to make this analysis for a while but I’m glad I’m doing it now because season two gives us a lot more context and material to work with. (Let’s hope the rest of the season doesn’t make me look like a clown by throwing us a curve ball lol.)

Beware this is a quote heavy analysis.

Right off the bat I want to look at his motivations because that’s one thing people often use when they try to dub him as a villain. The thing is, Crosshair’s speech does often makes it sound there’s some more sinister ideological beliefs behind his actions.

“Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire's doing, occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right.”

“You still don't see the bigger picture, but you will.”

But when we look into it, I think the ‘bigger picture’ for Crosshair is something much more pragmatic and cynical than it seems.

To put it simply Crosshair sees the Empire for what it is, he knows how dangerous it is and that stopping it at this point is nigh impossible (and let’s be real, if Luke had caught a stray blaster bolt at any point, the Empire wouldn’t have ended anytime soon.)

He’s even more aware of it than most because he’s on the inside so when he talks about it there’s almost this resigned fatalistic quality to it.

“They did what needed to be done. Kamino, regs, the Republic... that time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it.”

There’s no reverence here. Compare it to the way any imperial baddie talks, Rampart, Tarkin, Sidious, etc. and you’ll see that this isn’t praise, this is just reality as Crosshair sees it. And Crosshair’s realism is really neat because it’s so uncomfortably close to the truth sometimes.

“Send her on a shuttle off-world.”

“Crosshair, don't.”

“It's for her own good. And yours.”

“Omega belongs with us.”

“Living among fugitives where she's in constant danger? You want to protect the kid, then let her go.”

___

“Blind allegiance makes you a pawn. A real leader protects his squad.”

“Look where that's gotten you. They're all going to die here because of your failed leadership.”

It’s in these moments of rationality that we see Crosshair’s perspective as someone who’s trying to protect his family at all costs, to the point where he’s almost begging.

“It's time to stop running.” (Running is too dangerous, I know the thing that’s hunting you and you can’t defeat it.)

“Don't make the same mistake twice. Don't become my enemy.” (Don’t pick a fight you’re going to lose.)

Of course coming from him, it all sounds like a threat because not only does Crosshair not sugarcoat things, he also finds the most brutal and even cruel ways to say them.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be. Not that it wouldn't be justified.” (I could have killed you but I didn’t. You did things that put you in danger of being killed.)

And because of his tendency to do that, you can easily make wrong assumptions about his character. The most uncomfortable parts of his speech are where he sounds eerily like a supremacist, like all of those officers who serve a bigoted and elitist empire.

“Because the Empire will be phasing out clones next.”

“Not the ones that matter.”

___

“We're not like the regs. We never have been. We're superior.”

But is that really supremacism? If it was would Crosshair treat the people around him as he does? Think about the way he treats Echo, Cody (especially in The Solitary Clone) and of course Mayday. That’s not the behavior of someone who finds other clones unworthy of friendship and kindness.

This is Crosshair being all bark and no bite. And it’s also that toxic coping mechanism that’s been hammered into his head: if you’re good enough, if you’re better than everyone, you earn the right to live and be safe and protected.

The batch’s life has always been about proving themselves, they’re an experimental unit, so it’s no surprise that a mentality like that has festered into something more insidious with Crosshair.

“You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It's time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.”

Purpose? Ideological purpose? A higher purpose? Or just purpose in the sense of use, the thing that’s always kept them safe.

What’s funny here is that Hunter follows that line with “You really don't get who we are, do you?” because Hunter struggles with the same dilemma of ‘keeping my family safe’ vs ‘doing the morally right thing’ throughout the show and in most cases he needs an extra push from either Omega or Echo to choose the latter.

He as a leader knows firsthand how difficult the balancing act between those two is with how much grief it causes him.

Crosshair is on the extreme end of that dilemma. That protective side that sometimes overrides morality is much stronger in him and that coupled with his cynicism can make for a dangerous combination.

To Crosshair there will always be an unfeeling higher power that he has to please in order to earn its favor and protection. Once upon a time it was the Kaminoans, then it was the Republic and most recently it was the Empire – they’re all the same to him.

“The Empire can't protect the galaxy without strength.”

This is what the Empire is doing in his mind, the same thing as the Republic before it. It’s enforcing its will for the sake of peace and you needn’t look further than Cody’s own lines from episode three to realize that this is what things look like from most clones’ perspective, at least at first:

“The Empire seeks to establish peace and order throughout the galaxy. […] Listen, we both lived through one war. Let's not start another. Too many people have died already. We can resolve this without more bloodshed. Please, do this for your people.”

We also see that Crosshair doesn’t think all that highly of the Republic either:

“You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? The Republic?”

And I think that’s because these big abstract entities hold little meaning to him.

His contract with both the Republic and the Empire is simple: protect and provide for me and my family and I will do what you say. You could even say he was conditioned to think that way. Ironically it’s Hunter who voices where Crosshair’s loyalties really lie when he says they're "loyal to each other and not some Empire" (and accidentally manages to be a bit hypocritical in the process).

And that’s true for Crosshair as well: his relationship with the Empire is not quite loyalty but more like a symbiotic relationship. It’s necessary but not personal:

“That's your problem, Hunter. You take things too personally.”

DBB put it best when he said “his job is not only to hit things from a stealth distance, but I think he also views the world and other people from that distance, as well”. (Remember that line about the bigger picture? Yep, Mr Baker knows his material.)

That’s why serving under Rampart seemed easy for Crosshair, we never once see him question or defy him. But then along comes Nolan who breaks that contract because suddenly things are personal, his hatred for clones is personal, he represents the part of the Empire that’s not just unfeeling but also actively goddamn awful and he makes the mistake of directing that cruelty at someone Crosshair cares about.

That’s both an eye opener and a deal breaker for Crosshair and we see what he’s capable of when things become personal, just how raw and human he can be.

That humanity, I think, is also why we see him split from the batch on Kamino. It might seem counterintuitive at first, but it starts to make sense when you see it from his pov: if you’re someone who’s so deeply devoted to the people you care about, the most painful thing that could happen to you is to be abandoned and rejected by them.

There’s a lot of hurt in what Crosshair says on Kamino:

“And here we all are, together again.”

“You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? The Republic?”

“You weren't loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven't. And it's why I'm going to give you what you never gave me: a chance.”

“Think of all we could do together. We were brothers once. We can be again.”

“All those missions together and you threw it away.”

And all that doesn’t just go away like that. It’s his pain that pushes him into making a decision that will later haunt him.

At the end of the day, Crosshair’s biggest virtue is how loyal he is to the people he cares about. He’s not like Rex or Echo or Omega, who selflessly put themselves in harm’s way for a cause that’s bigger than them (not for now at least) but you can bet he’ll tear himself to shreds to protect what’s valuable to him.

And you can love or hate that about him but I think it makes for a very interesting character. To quote DBB again: “He's not pure evil. He’s ultimately a rational guy, and there's some humanity in there, too.”

[reconstructwriter]

So I Finally Finished Attack of the Clones

...for the very first time. When did this movie come out again? I am late, is there still room on this bandwagon? Anyway more thought vomiting on this movie...

Sith Pattern: I do appreciate that Palpatine is old, rich, white male fascist. Dooku is old, rich, white male fascist. Anakin shakes things up a bit by starting out young and poor but he’ll get there and has the rest down. Meanwhile our heroes are Padme Amidala, Mace Windu, Yoda, Bail, etc. Would have loved for George Lucas’ original casting of Obi Wan to have gone through! This does make Mirror!verses and morality flip AU's very weird because the Galaxy is being saved from aliens by three white guys? Unfortunate implications aside I can suspend a lot of disbelief about laser-swords and magic IN SPACE but I gotta draw the line somewhere.

Anakin’s attachment: Is well-shown here with convenient comparison to Cleigg – her husband and her son, the two who should love Shmi the most. At her funeral Cleigg is all ‘you’re in a better place. Thank you for the time we had,’ vs Anakin’s ‘I wasn’t strong enough to save you, I won’t fail again’ and ‘I miss you’. Exact opposites. Cleigg was entirely focused on Shmi while Anakin was focused on himself.

Also Anakin’s focus kinda screwed up Obi Wan’s mission when he wasted precious moments FINDING Anakin to get his galactically-important message through.

Mace Windu Not Killing Dooku: Shatterpoint, along with some fanfics, has Mace beating himself up for not ending the war by killing Dooku but my man you’re too hard on yourself! You only killed Jango when he decided to fuck around and find out with you in the death arena. Dooku did not fuck around and find out so your only chance would’ve been to throw away all your Jedi morals and stab him in the back! Thus risking becoming Darth Tyrannus 2.0 and screwing the galaxy.

Jango why did you fuck around and find out? I get Mace held a laser sword to your throat and you had a working jetpack going into the arena…but that arena is No Man’s Land. Even if Galidraan was canon you could’ve stayed back and taken pot shots.

The scene with Boba giving one last keldabe kiss to his father’s helmet is heartbreaking! Ouch!!!

Padme: So I kinda get being willing to confess her terrible taste in men on Space Fantasy Death Row. She doesn’t want to live a lie and is straight up expecting to die so what does it matter if she confesses? And then she does live so consequence time! Still feels like she’s ignoring the genocide – or George Lucas is ignoring the obvious implications. Genocide does work for foreshadowing Jedi genocide and Nazi comparisons (boy howdy does it!!!). But murdering every single member of an entire tribe down to the babes in arms doesn’t work for ‘Anakin doesn’t Fall here, he just dips his toe in the Dark’.

Padme otherwise doesn’t seem too terribly out of character throughout. She stands her ground against Anakin and where she does give in – rescuing Shmi – or chooses to go after Obi Wan? Well both did do her immensely big favors it’d be weirder if she brushed them off. Plus, rescuing both comes with additional benefits – no assassin will look for her on Tattooine (it worked before) and Obi Wan’s rescue could offer the opportunity to discuss peace with the Separatists before war happened.

And it did – in the cut scene :P

Dual with Dooku: So Anakin did put his duty first when Padme fell in the (barren, sans enemies) sand with an ally but damn if his attachment to her wasn’t still affecting him. The hot-headed idiotic attack was the worst possible timing! Why does everyone beat Mace up (including the man himself) for not killing Dooku but give Anakin a pass when he had every chance of ending the war Right There if he’d been able to keep his head on straight for two minutes.

The End: As with the first movie, we end with Mace and Yoda clearly knowing what the Sith are doing, though they're split with Mace believing Dooku while Yoda thinks its a trick. And I think they’re both right because I read somewhere Dooku and Palpatine were hoping to sow doubt between the Jedi and the Senate but also was telling the truth – from a certain point of view. Anyway, they aren't oblivious. Yoda straight up says the Shroud of the Dark Side has Fallen.

The last scene really drives that home! How the beginning of the war is the beginning of the Empire. The war kills the Republic and this is repeatedly smacked into our brains with the imagery of Palpatine standing at the head of everyone else, the most powerful Supreme Chancellor ever as the army of white-clad troopers marches out into the galaxy below him. The Destroyers lift off. The Empire’s freaking theme music plays.

Overall the movie had its high points and stinkers but that was a damn fine end!

[tired-night-owl]

Blood Runs Cold

Fandom : Star Wars The Bad Batch

One shot ?

I tried to write a small fic about Crosshair and Omega in the new promo that’s been released because I can’t wait to see them together in the new season even if I know my heart is gonna get crushed by Dave Filony again… Hopefully I am the opposite of last season and I am soooo wrong and they will all be reunited as a big family where no one dies or sacrifice themselves for the others ! Anyway I hope you enjoy :) 

Word count : 866

Summary : Crosshair has much to think about in his new conditions, what doesn’t help is when a far too bubbly and optimistic teenager comes and ruins his peaceful self pity moment.

Notes : brief mention of torture I guess, small but graphic description of tech’s death, Siblings!crosshair x omega, Spoilers for the new promo clip !

He noticed it a while ago, when they first started their wicked experiments on him. He tried to keep it under control mostly for his pride because seeing as with such a condition, his (now rendered useless) talent would be even more so wasn’t helping his morale. Crosshair didn’t mind it too much for now because not one clone in this cursed facility was in any shape or form to judge him in his misery. That is until the girl showed up. 

That child has been the sole cause for any misfortune he had to live though in the last couple of months he thought, but scolded himself to at least not make it show. She has enough to deal with too at the moment without having to suffer his endless wrath and sorrows. Still she cost him everything. His family, in more ways than one, his station, attempting to save her branded him a traitor and a VIP ticket to Hemlock’s test table and —

His mind went silent 

His brother Tech…. He had to give his life for hers. Skull smashed to pieces because they didn’t heed his warning. There's no way the batch can survive without its brain now. 

His mind whirled with thoughts like these locked in his dark cell all day. Some would say they were enough to drive a man insane but Crosshair already knew insane, and it wasn’t by his choice. Now he sees it, the effect that damn chip has had on him. How it made him turn on the only people who ever cared for him. He couldn’t turn on this one now. 

« Crosshair… »

« Crosshair ! I tried to come earlier, but there are too many guards watching me…»

He tried to calm his usually snappy tone for the sake of the girl who must be as terrified if not more than he is at the moment.

« You shouldn’t be down here at all » he tried to make her realize a little harsher than he wished.

It was foolish of her to put a target on her back by snooping around, on THEIR backs. In a situation like this where there is no hope, it’s best to comply and hope you die as painlessly as possible. Though that seemed unlikely for him at the hands of that sick scientist. But there might be hope for her yet if she stopped escaping her quarters.

The girl continued with her misplaced energy and optimism.

« How else are we gonna plan an escape ? »

An escape ?! Had she gone insane? Did she not realize they were in the middle of no where, in an unknown imperial playground, surrounded by guards with no moral compass except loyalty to the credits they earn at the end of each shift filled with screams of tortured people. Better to kill that idea in the egg before she gets too altruistic. 

The sniper resumed his usual cold and unapproachable attitude, hoping the girl would realize that planning an escape in a place such as this with only 1 ally was foolish already but with no one, it was simply stretching your neck to help the executioner do his job. 

« There is no WE, and there is no escape… I’ve already tried. » 

The young clone didn’t budge.

« Every stronghold has a weak point ! Maybe I could convince Emerie to help, she’s one of us. »

His brothers has taught her well he could tell, and by that he meant by filling her head with useless idiotic tactics and informations for a obviously changing galaxy. Besides if they shouldn’t trust one person in this Sarlac pit, it was HER. That double crossing scientist woman. Testing on people was bad enough but on her own « brothers » that was being a plain sociopathic hypocrite. 

« Not every clone is your ally ! » The sharpshooter reminded her.

« You trust too easily… »

He expected a reply and one sounding similar to that one too, so he doesn’t know why her words struck him so. 

« Maybe you don’t trust enough. » Omega replied with that same misguided hope as earlier.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded the two and then it started again : the shaking.

The stupid shaking he couldn’t stop. The best sniper in the whole GAR with quivering hands, how ironic. He felt uneasy having her see him like this. It was as if his own brothers could see how low he had fallen and for a prideful man like Crosshair, it was not an easy feat to overcome. 

« Crosshair ? »  The young girl asked after her gaze fell upon her brother hiding his hands from her. 

Not so long ago he would’ve snapped at her for simply seeing him in a state like this, desperately trying to steady his once reliable hands but now, he just didn’t have the heart or the energy to do so…

« Just… Go. » he simply said. 

« Before you make things worst for both of us… »

In this moment he came to the conclusion that yes, he didn’t want to be punished for the girl’s misbehaviour but he also mostly didn’t want her to suffer because of him. 

Knowing Hemlock, he wouldn’t even do it to punish Omega… but he would do unexplainable things to the girl to make HIM suffer. 

[freesia-writes]

For the celebration: 17 and Tup!! Thinking about that sweet soft boy today, I wanna hold him, I get so worried for him ;;; @fives-girlfriend

Oooooo baby. I was excited for this one!

#17 - "Don't ever do that again! You have no idea what it does to me…"

Tup x Reader (I think GN but correct me if I missed anything) Word Count: 3.6k Content Warnings: drinkin and kissin. Apparently all I write, LOL.

“Come on, Tup. It’ll be awesome!” Hardcase exclaimed, clapping him on the back with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock him off his bench. 

“Yeah, they’ve never done this at 79s before!” Fives added, and even Dogma nodded vigorously through his mouthful of food. 

“I know, it’s just…” Tup began, but Jesse’s arrival, accompanied with a loud “who’s ready to party tonight?!” drowned out the rest of his reply. 

It was the talk of the mess hall -- Sy Snootles was coming to perform at 79s, and she was bringing along an infamous troupe of Twi’lek dancers, supposedly heralded throughout the galaxy as some of the most luscious and lascivious one could encounter. The clones who were lucky enough to be on Coruscant were undoubtedly excited, as they were rarely considered deserving of such luxuries. A few squads were planning to attend, the 501st being one of them, as you had heard on your lunch break. 

You worked with them frequently when they were on world, providing armor improvements, repairs, and tune-ups beyond what they would do for regular inspections. You were part of a small team that scuttled from armory to armory, equipping troopers with updated devices and outfitting new squads. The 501st boys were some of your favorites, having enough personality among them for the entire GAR. One in particular had always held a soft spot in your heart, with his unassuming demeanor and quiet insight. You’d chatted with him often while going over various armor components, and the stories he’d shared about the horrors of Umbara had broken your heart for him. He’d formed strong bonds with his brothers, especially after enduring that nightmare, and you’d felt your affection growing as you saw him grow from a fresh little rookie to a skilled negotiator, brave soldier, and man of strong convictions. 

If you were honest, he’d grown on you a lot. You found yourself daydreaming, during slow hours, of slowly freeing his hair from its neat little bun, running your fingers through it, and tracing your lips across his cheek to the little teardrop tattoo beneath his eye. But you’d also become close friends, and you were fairly certain that was the extent of his perspective and feelings toward you. There was an intimacy and familiarity between you that had been established as he’d shared some of his most vulnerable moments and harrowing experiences while you’d listened quietly, patting his hand and offering empathetic platitudes that couldn’t begin to match the magnitude of what he had been through. At some point, it had grown into more than just fondness, you’d realized, and it resulted in a simmering attraction that burned in your chest whenever you saw him. 

So when you found him at the back of the cluster of troopers waiting for the lift after lunch, and he caught sight of you as you approached him from the side, it sent a little shiver of tingles down your spine at the small smile that curved across his face. 

“CT-5385,” you said quietly, giving him a solemn salute that earned you an eyeroll as he looped his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into a warm side hug. 

“Cut it out,” he commanded, dropping his arm as you filtered into the crowded lift. “You heard all the fuss about 79s tonight?” he asked, barely audible over the rest of the chatter in the small space. 

“I did. You going?” you asked, feeling a sudden whirlwind of mixed emotions at it. 

“I’m not really feeling it, but it doesn’t sound like I have a choice,” Tup answered, shrugging and tipping his head toward his fellow blue-striped 501st brothers. 

“I can call you in for an emergency armor upgrade if you’d like,” you offered, to which he chuckled and shook his head. 

“Why don’t you just come?” he asked, looking up at you with those large honey-brown eyes. “It would make it a lot more bearable, that’s for sure.”

Your heart skipped a beat, wondering if he did have feelings for you after all, or if it was just the simple statement of one enjoying the company of a friend. You couldn’t help but smile, though, and tried to angle your face away from the light as you felt your cheeks grow slightly warm as you wondered about his affections. 

“I will if you will,” you said, resuming your light and airy attitude as the lift doors whooshed open. 

“Game on,” he declared, giving you the cheesiest finger guns you’d ever seen, promptly cringing at it, shrugging, and pulling his helmet on as he trotted off after his squad. 

“It’s a date?” you whispered under your breath as he disappeared around the corner.

* * * 

79s was packed to the brim, and clusters of troopers spilled out onto the streets all around it. The atmosphere was infectiously exciting, as though the entire world were on pause and tonight was a chance to escape it all for a few hours. There were three times as many food carts as usual, as the local vendors were quick to pick up on any chance for some extra business, and the entire block seemed like a party in itself. You started to feel anxious and out of place, as this wasn’t usually your thing. It had been something you and Tup had bonded over from the start -- a preference for more quiet, intellectual, serene spaces as opposed to the vibrant party scenes that more of the troopers opted for. 

You adjusted your outfit, feeling slightly self-conscious as it was decidedly more fitted and flattering than your simple work jumpsuit. You realized you had never really seen Tup in a more informal setting, as your interactions were primarily in the mess hall, the armory, or the barracks. All the questions and doubts began to swirl in your mind, amplified by the booming music that assaulted you as soon as you pushed your way into 79s. Heading straight for the bar and downing a double shot of liquid courage before you even looked around, you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, returning the glass to the countertop and scanning the room for familiar faces.

“You’re off to an ambitious start,” came a smooth voice from behind you. “Lookin to stir up some trouble? Give those Twi’leks some competition?” You smirked, turning to face Fives, whose presence could be felt as much as heard. His boisterousness and joviality always brought a smile to your face, and you admired his ability to channel that even after his harrowing experiences at war. 

“Oh, you know me…” you said, shrugging as you felt the tingly burn down your throat, warming your chest. “Where are the rest of the boys?”

“Upstairs, for now. Lost a fight with the 212th for the table by the stage, but we’re plotting our revenge,” Fives said with a conspiratorial wink as he jerked his head toward the stairs, motioning you to come along. There was something different about tonight, whether it was the setting or the occasion or some strange alignment of the stars, and you just felt an apprehensive prickle down your spine, as though something were about to happen. You ordered another double shot, taking it with you as you trotted up the stairs after Fives. 

A couple whistles and hoots met you as you reached the top of the stairs, and you grinned bashfully as Hardcase and Jesse catcalled you while Fives announced your presence. It felt like being welcomed home, as cheesy as that sounded in your own head, with the kind familiarity and brotherly acceptance they always had for you. Hopefully not TOO brotherly… for all of them at least… Your eyes roved across their faces, finding the one that made your heart flutter. Tup was crushed in the corner of the booth, mercilessly squeezed between Hardcase and Dogma, arms pushed into his sides. You laughed at the sight of him, and he carefully arranged his features into sarcastic disdain when he met your eyes. 

“Our little armorer here thinks she can keep up with us,” Fives proclaimed, gesturing grandly toward you as you gave him a quizzical look, having promised no such thing. “So let’s show her a good time tonight, eh boys?” A cacophony of agreement, friendly taunts, and promises followed his words, and you shook your head, the elation of the moment sweeping you up, and downed the double shot in your hand in one gulp. 

“Ohhhhhhhh she ain’t messin around!!” Denal howled, slapping the table amid the cheers and squawks. 

“Alright, move out. I want to sit right THERE,” you demanded, pointing to the corner between Dogma and Tup, who were surprised by your sudden attention. Hardcase laughed, eternally ready to join in any sort of shenanigans and feeding off of your energy, and rose to his feet, pushing the rest of the clones right off the bench to make way for you to climb in. They filled back in, squeezing even more, and jostled each other for room until Kix toppled off the end and had to search for a chair instead. 

“Hey buddy,” you said to Tup, happily pressed against his side from shoulder to knee. His plastoid armor plates were carefully positioned to avoid digging an edge into your side, although as you snuggled in, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to slowly take each one off…

“You’re in rare form,” he noted, lifting an eyebrow at your effervescent attitude. “What was Fives on about?”

“That was all him,” you laughed, “But for some reason this just sounded really fun tonight. You excited about the dancers? Perhaps get yourself a special one?” Why were you baiting him like this? Your head felt a little bubbly, and the wild atmosphere was doing nothing to help it. Tup gave a low chuckle, dropping his eyes to the table, tracing his finger around a ring of condensation drops from his tall drink.

“Jesse threatened to buy me one, but I doubt he’ll go through with it. He’d rather spend the credits on drinks for the ladies…” 

“Well. You deserve a break. You can’t keep everything pent up inside all the time,” you affirmed, nodding confidently as you shifted to survey the rest of the crowd. Tup looked up at the side of your face, suddenly pensive and solemn, as though he yearned to speak. You felt his eyes on you and turned back curiously, eyebrows lifted and an inviting smile on your lips, but he just returned your grin with a small one of his own, shook his head a little, and followed your previous glance out to the crowd as the announcer began introducing the infamous guest stars. 

* * * 

The show seemed to go on forever, punctuated with breaks where the performers would come out and work the crowd… both literally and figuratively. The booth had emptied a bit, as the troopers scattered to the refresher, the bar, and other groups. You and Tup had been lost in conversation, heads leaned together, living through adventures and faraway thoughts, completely engrossed in each other’s company. The connection was absolutely vibrant, and you felt pulled to him more than ever before. The general raucousness of the bar got louder as the performers were making their way upstairs, scattering to dance and laugh with the clones there. You felt a sudden flare of passion, a mixture of jealousy, protectiveness, and the mounting pressure of all the feelings you had for this trooper that you’d been stifling for so long. 

Two of the dancers whirled over to the booth, purring their invitations. One slowly sat on the eager knees Jesse, who laughed and yelled, “For free?!” The other climbed onto the bench on all fours and began crawling toward Tup, who looked alarmed. In a rush of emotion, you scrambled to get up, banging your knee on the table incredibly hard as you suddenly threw yourself across Tup’s lap. As you straddled him, you turned and put a hand out toward the Twi’lek. 

“This one’s mine, honey!” you said, channeling all the sass you’d ever seen on the holovids. The performer laughed, waggling her finger at you and sidling back out of the booth, only to be quickly scooped up by a pilot trooper. You turned back to Tup, resting your hands on his shoulders and looking down at him now from your perch on his lap. He was sitting straight as an arrow, hands held up slightly out to the sides as if he didn’t know where to put them. Heat blossomed across your cheeks and throughout your chest, and you laughed, trying to seem lighthearted but also not wanting to move anytime soon.

“I’m just looking out for you,” you said teasingly, glancing over your shoulders in mock fright as though there were horrors lurking around every corner. As you came back to him, he let out a laugh that almost sounded forced, and you noticed his eyebrows were working overtime to conceal the cesspool of emotions that were funneling through his brain.

“Thank goodness,” he breathed, with another nervous chuckle, awkwardly lowering his hands to the outsides of your thighs and setting them down so precariously, you’d think you were made of glass. 

“Better make it convincing though,” you said, lifting your hands to his hair, where you gently pulled the band off of his ever-present man bun. His textured brown locks toppled down, holding their shape where they’d been twisted around each other day after day. It was comical, as it lay in messy tufts around his shoulders and one decidedly large bump in the middle, but it was also incredibly sexy, and you felt yourself literally salivating. You also felt a panic settle in all of a sudden, wondering if you were wildly crossing the line… Or perhaps you were getting a question answered that had been burning for a long time now. 

He lifted his chin, eyes fluttering shut for a full second as you slowly, painstakingly raked your fingers through his hair, now free of its tight constraint. Your hands continued across his skull, down the back of his neck, and then forward along each side of his jawline until they came together at his chin, where you finished by giving his nose a tiny boop. His eyes widened, realizing your face was within inches of his, and he suddenly shifted himself to the side, knocking you off balance and onto the bench. He scrambled out of the booth, catching one quick glimpse from Jesse, who had been oblivious to you two due to the undulating distraction in front of him.

You felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, cringing so hard at the thought that you may have just ruined everything, and you flailed to get out of the booth after him. You caught sight of him disappearing out the balcony door (you didn’t know 79s had a balcony did ya? It does now!) just as it closed behind him. Pausing before following him out, you watched him lean on the railing, looking at the Coruscant underworld stretching out before him as his hair drifted across his eyes in the speeder-induced breeze. His expression was unreadable, and startled you in how foreign it looked. 

Taking a deep breath, you ventured outside, steeling yourself to try to patch things up. You pulled up next to the railing next to him and faced the city skyline, feeling too sheepish to meet him head-on. You fumbled for words, wringing your hands together in not-so-subtle anxiety. “I’m sorry…” you began.

“Don't ever do that again!,” he said suddenly, startling you into standing up straight and facing him fully. You were filled with regret, looking up at him apologetically and readying your explanations, until he continued speaking in a low growl that sent an electric shock through you. “You have no idea what it does to me…” he admitted, voice slightly hoarse at the end. He slowly stood from his lean over the railing, leaving one hand on it and turning toward you, the other hand pushing his hair out of his face. As your eyes found his, you were lost in the rich brown pools of emotion, accentuated by the wildly mess of his hair that made him look like an entirely different person. His hand clenched at his side, and he shifted his eyes off to the horizon again. 

“What does it do to you, Tup?” you asked quietly, and he closed his eyes at his name, soft on your lips, before slowly opening them and taking a step closer.The intensity of his gaze and the singular focus of his presence were electrifying, and you felt as though your insides were trembling. 

“It drives me crazy,” he whispered, some dark waves twisting across his forehead as the breeze ruffled past. He looked from eye to eye, taking in your face with an enamored stare as though he were seeing it for the first time. “I don’t want to make things awkward. I love our talks. I love getting to see you. I love your wit, your intelligence, your curiosity…” His confession had been coming out more confidently but hit an abrupt halt as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m sorry if it ruins our friendship,” he said with a resigned tone, and your heart took a tentative leap in your chest as you processed his words, hoping they meant what you thought they did. 

Fueled by his vulnerability and absolutely irresistible look, you reached for him, slipping your hands around the back of his neck, one slightly roving up into the roots of his hair at the base of his neck, and pulled him gently toward you. His arms were around you in a flash, and after one last meaningful, searching glance that seemed to stretch out into eternity, he closed the distance and kissed you deeply. Your tiny gasp of delight was swallowed up by his mouth pressed against yours, muscles tightening around you, pulling you against his armor. His hair gently tickled your cheeks, and you savored the taste of his lips, the scent of his shampoo, and the electrifying excitement of being in his embrace. 

He pulled back, mouth falling open as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened, and stared at you in awe. You offered a sheepish smile, giddy at the sight of him so shocked and enthralled. He lowered his hands to take yours, shaking his head at the ground, still dumbfounded. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you admitted, and he jerked his head back up to you, mouth curving into an elated smile. “You’re my favorite, Tup. You’re brave and insightful and kind and complex… I think the world of you.” Each word you spoke seemed to inflate him more and more with an overjoyed enchantment that lit up his face in a way you hadn’t seen before. 

“I didn’t think people saw us as unique enough to be interested… for real…” he murmured, and you shook your head, surprised and sad that he’d have such a notion. You lifted a hand to his cheek, which sent his eyebrows up a little further, and touched your nose to his. 

“Well I do,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. He eagerly reciprocated, pressing one hand against the small of your back and drawing the other up between your shoulder blades. His lips were so soft, yet firm and commanding, and his nose pressed into your cheek. There was more of a passion to it now, an intimacy and urgency that set off fireworks in your soul, and you dug your hands into his hair again, relishing the thick tufts between your fingers as you clenched it gently at the roots. A satisfied rumble came from his chest, and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until you were seeing stars. When he finally let you go, you gasped in as much of the cold night air as you could as though it alone were tethering you to reality. He smiled, face inches away, glowing with wonder. 

“I think there might be more of those Twi’leks up here,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, and you laughed breathlessly. “Better make it convincing,” he murmured, turning to back you up against the side of the building, leaning in with a sudden confidence, and bringing his hands to your face. He was kissing you again, pressing against you all over, hands roving from cheek to shoulder to waist to hair. It felt as though a dam had broken, and so much that had been held at bay was crashing down in the most incredible, unbelievable way. You lifted your leg, wrapping it around him, and he immediately gripped it with a gloved hand, moving his armored thigh and hip into you for support and stability. Kissing your way down his neck as he rolled his head to the side, closing his eyes in blissful abandon, you gave the top of his turtleneck a little snap, sending both of you into a quiet giggle fit as you held yourselves together. Every inch yearned to be connected, and you slowly lowered your leg, nestling your head into his neck and shoulder, not daring to move lest you wake up from this dream. 

“I guess we did show you a decent time tonight, eh?” he whispered in your ear, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a warm, protective hug.

[lightsaber-dorphin]

This post sprang from an ao3 comment conversation where I mentioned my “Fulcrum sounds like a clone name essay” and the author said they wanted to hear it. This was supposed to be a short thought-dump…

Ahsoka is the original Fulcrum. The symbol is based off her markings, and she choose the name. While the alias was later used by other rebel spies, Ahsoka created it as her own spy persona, not a title for a rebellion spy.

When I say Fulcrum sounds like a clone name, I am being literal. It sounds like the kind of name a clone would have. Ahsoka’s other alias, Ashla, has a deep meaning but is common enough that people don’t immediately know she’s lying about her name or connect her to the Jedi. By contrast, the only group in the galaxy who would find Fulcrum a normal name is the clones.

A fulcrum is “a thing that plays a central or essential role in an activity, event, or situation.” It reflects how Ahsoka sees herself. (She has a bit of an ego, and that’s okay.) It represents what she wants to be and do as part of the rebellion. “Fulcrum” is a description of Ahsoka by Ahsoka. That is a very clone-style way of choosing a name!

For someone else it could be a coincidence. But Ahsoka, who fought alongside clones for years and was close to many of them, would’ve seen the similarities. What did it mean to her, to pick a name a clone might choose in a way a clone might choose it?

Take a look at Ahsoka’s other alias: Ashla. An ancient name for the light side of the Force. There’s no such thing as a “Jedi name,” but Ashla is arguably the closest thing to one there is. She used this name right after leaving the Order, and again when in hiding after the Jedi were massacred. Both were times when her emotions about the Jedi were very raw.

Ahsoka created Fulcrum right after she returned to her troops, they and every other clone had their free will stripped away, and she had to kill many of them to survive. What does Ahsoka do in that situation? Tell no-one about her past while going by a name connected to the group she’s having heavy emotions about!

Ahsoka’s relationship to the clones was different from her relationship to the Jedi. To the Jedi she was one of them, a Padawan. They betrayed her. She wasn’t one of the clones, to them she was a friend, an ally. To the 501st she was Their Commander. They trusted her to lead them into battle. Ahsoka rejected who she was to the Jedi but not who she was to the clones of the 501st.

Rex said the “I am no Jedi” line first. Ahsoka used that phrase specifically when she said she isn’t a Jedi. It framed her non-Jedi status in a similar way to Rex’s. She subtly aligned herself with Rex identity-wise as she unaligned herself with the Jedi. Ahsoka isn’t a Jedi and the clones aren’t Jedi. They are both non-Jedi Clone Wars veterans. Ahsoka doesn’t identify as a Jedi anymore but she does keep identifying as a comrade to her troops.

Her troops were the first to say that even though she left she is still Their Commander. The 332nd painted Ahsoka’s markings on their helmets— the same markings that she made the Fulcrum symbol. Her troops painted themselves to represent her and she named and illustrated herself to represent them. Like poetry, it rhymes.

Ahsoka couldn’t openly declare that she missed the clones, that she respected them, that she didn’t blame them for the rise of the Empire. Most of the galaxy doesn’t know about the control chips and thinks the clones are loyal servants of the Empire. No other rebels would trust her. So Ahsoka can’t do that. But she can fight the Empire under a clone-style name, and honor them in that way.

Fulcrum sounds like a clone name and that’s on purpose!

[the-little-moment]

Part Nine

Words: 3,900

Summary: It's Senna's turn to pick a recreational activity for her and Crosshair.

Hope is the Hardest Love

“You haven’t been off base in a year.”

Crosshair raised his eyes across the mess hall table to the doctor who was pointing her fork at him. It was one of those rare days when their meal breaks lined up and he suspected she'd had his schedule tattooed to one of her arms. He took another bite before he answered her. “That’s patently false.”

Senna rolled her eyes and stabbed another forkful of questionable looking meat, grimacing slightly as she lifted it. “You haven’t been off base on leave in a year.”

“Why would I?” He spent his free time catching up on sleep, training, and trying not to think about what the others were doing, wherever in the galaxy they were. Once, he might have gone into the city to find a partner for some stress relief, but, at some point, the thought of fucking a stranger had lost its appeal. A lot of things had, really. 

“Because the galaxy doesn’t revolve around this compound!” Senna huffed. “Even I leave sometimes. And it’s my turn to pick.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed if I’d known this was what you’d pick.”

“C’mon, Cross,” the doctor wheedled. “You used to love 79’s.”

He smirked. “I think you might be misremembering what I liked about it.”

“Just meet me tonight at nineteen hundred. And no uniform!”

Crosshair finished the last bite of his own food with a dramatic sigh as Senna stood. Rounding the table on her way out, she tapped him on the head with her tray and chuckled as he irritatedly brushed her away. “Don’t make me make that an order, trooper.”

He did meet her at the bus stop that night, looking deeply disgruntled, but in civvies as she’d insisted. When Senna walked up, the sniper was leaning against the wall of the bus shelter in the shadows, arms crossed. There were a few other people waiting, but she noticed they stood as far from him as possible. “Good evening, Crosshair.” 

He lifted an eyebrow in disagreement, but Senna just smiled like she had him and she knew it. Crosshair looked her up and down. He hadn’t seen the doctor in anything but her uniform, or that huge shirt she apparently wore to bed, in a very long time. Almost long enough to forget that she wasn’t born in a pressed, white jacket. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but tonight she looked…distracting.

Crosshair shifted his toothpick with his tongue as the bus dropped down to stop in front of them and passengers began to exit. “This is your last chance to reconsider.”

“Oh hush,” Senna dismissed him, turning to board. “We’re here, we’re dressed, we’re going.”

“You’re not even prepared for what I’m going to choose after this,” he warned as he pulled himself off the wall to follow her. 

“Cross! It’s supposed to be fun, not threatening.”

“It could be anything. How are you with heights?”

Senna’s laugh echoed down the street as she stepped up into the bus.

Crosshair frowned when Senna moved to get off at the wrong stop. “79’s is two more stops.”

“We’re not going to 79’s.”

“You said—”

“I never said we were going there.”

He huffed in annoyance as he realized it was true, following her off the bus. It wasn’t like Senna to pull tricks. “Where then?”

“A place I used to go in college.”

“Are you sure it still exists? It could have fallen down between then and now.”

She turned to narrow her eyes at him, unamused. “I’m sure.”

“And this mystery venue isn’t going to have a problem with me?” he pressed. There were very few places on Coruscant that allowed clone patrons. 

“You look and sound different enough that it won’t be a problem.”

“Senna.”

The doctor sighed. “Just trust me for once, Cross.”

Crosshair bristled at that. He trusted her more than anyone. She was the only one who’d never let him down. “Fine.”

The place in question turned out to be located in a more upscale part of the city on the first level. The people entering appeared to be mostly college-aged, but there were a fair few older patrons as well, some of them looked older than Senna. Crosshair didn’t see any other clones. 

As they approached, he saw the wooden, double doors had some kind of flowering vine growing around them, each panel carved with a muse holding a different object. A scroll, a flute, a bunch of grapes, an ancient telescope. Curving script above the door spelled The Castalian Spring. Definitely not 79’s, Crosshair thought darkly.

He followed Senna inside to the bar where she ordered them each a drink. 

They sat at the bar for a while while Crosshair observed the other patrons and Senna made small talk with the entirely too chatty bartender. He scowled into his drink as the handsome Twi’lek made her laugh again.

Senna turned back to Crosshair when the bartender moved off to greet other customers. She smiled at his frown, the light glinting off small sparks in the deep purple lipstick she was wearing. Crosshair was transported back to the only other time he’d seen her like this, his squad’s graduation night, and the blue her mouth had worn then. If she looked like this at work, he couldn’t imagine how the regs would react. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to. Too many of them already acted like that around her, or they had, before the Empire. 

“Do you want to dance, or do you just want to sit here and drink yourself into a deep depression?”

“The second one.”

“Cross. You can do that on your own time. Right now you’re with me, and I put on a karking dress, and we’re going to have fun, dammit.” 

He sighed through his nose as she gave a stern tilt of her head, softened with a smile, then turned and walked out to the dance floor. The music here was different too. Popular Coruscanti tunes were mixed with various styles of music from other cultures, all fine for dancing to, but not meant to encourage the kind of heavy grinding that went on in the clone nightclub. Crosshair wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more out of place. 

Senna smiled as he approached her and Crosshair felt his mouth turning up in answer, despite his unease. She looked perfect. At home with all the other pretty people in a high-collared, amethyst dress that shimmered and wrapped at the waist, skirt splitting above her knees like petals. Her arms were bare and her small feet wore silver, heeled shoes with straps that circled her ankles, while the lights glinted off wide gold rings on her pointer fingers that matched the many little hoops in her ears. Crosshair could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen this much of Senna’s skin. It was incredibly disarming.

“You look nice,” she said when he reached her. “I meant to say before.”

Crosshair glanced down at his own clothes, a simple, white shirt, black leather jacket, dark grey pants and worn, black boots and belt. She couldn’t see that he also wore a blaster in a holster under his arm, but he doubted it would surprise her. He shrugged. “You’ve seen it before.” He didn’t own a lot of civilian clothing and most of it had been on the Marauder. The doctor was pretty enough to attract attention anywhere. If anyone was looking at him, it was undoubtedly because of the ugly scar above his ear. 

He watched her eyes move to the floor for a moment, then back to him with a wistful smile. “Not in a long time.” She held out her arms and Crosshair took them, relieved not to have to make the first move. 

They were awkward for a few minutes, shuffling and swaying under the colored lights, looking anywhere but at each other, until the music changed and Senna laughed, the sound loosening a knot in Crosshair’s chest. 

“Kriff, this song makes me feel old. I’m so behind on popular music.”

“That’s because you are old.” 

The doctor glared at him as he put his hand on the small of her back, daring to pull her closer while she was distracted. Her dress was slippery soft under his fingers. “You’re right. It was irresponsible for me to bring you here tonight; you’re not even old enough to drink.”

Crosshair just smiled at her, fully aware that he looked every bit as old as she was, if not older. That karking accelerated aging was picking up every day. His little landing pad vacation probably hadn’t helped.

He’d left his toothpick behind on the bar and didn’t know what to do with his mouth, reluctant to pull out another. Under his helmet he’d chew his lips, but without that cover he settled for running his tongue along the backs of his teeth, probing at the little gaps. There was something else he’d like to do, but that didn’t bear thinking about. 

Senna gasped when the next song came on. “This is from Bar’leth! My dad loved this song.” She hummed to herself as they swayed. “Remember when you were little and I showed you all the kaa'tak?”

“How could I forget?” He smiled dryly at the memory of his brothers spinning around the barracks. 

The doctor smiled up at Crosshair, then felt herself flush slightly under the intensity of his gaze. That was how he always looked, she knew, but sometimes it was unsettling to remember just how clearly he could see every tiny detail. He was beautiful. His eyes were beautiful, the shape of his jaw, the striking figure he cut in his civilian clothing, tall and lean. She saw the way people looked at him, out of the corners of their eyes, because he was intimidating with that scar, the reticle around his eye, and his persistent frown. Intimidating and beautiful. 

Crosshair had fallen into a bit of a daze when Senna spoke up, another wistful look on her face. 

“It’s funny, I—I told Tech once I’d bring him here someday.”

Crosshair blinked past the way the colored lights shifted over the familiar planes of her face. Senna was wearing dark makeup on her eyelashes and it made her eyes look deep enough to drown in.

He didn’t know how to respond to her words, so he said nothing. She probably wished his brother was the one dancing with her now. They’d always been close, the smart ones. And Tech never would have treated her the way he had. No, Crosshair was the asshole, everybody said so. He did what had to be done, that was all. That had never bothered him before. 

Senna tilted her head and smiled sadly like she could read his thoughts. “Maybe someday we’ll all be somewhere like this together.”

“You still think that?” Crosshair knew he didn’t. But Senna had always been the hopeful one. Clones knew better than to think about the future. Especially now.

“I want to. That used to be what kept me going. Thinking that someday the war would end and…maybe we could be happy. Safe. You could go where you wanted to go and do whatever you wanted to do.”

“We’re property of the Republic, Sen, of the Empire. It was never going to be a fairytale ending.”

“Everybody needs something to hope for, sweetheart,” the doctor said quietly. “Some dream.” She sighed. “I guess love for the Republic wasn’t enough to keep me going. Not after I knew you.”

Crosshair shifted his jaw and looked away. What did he hope for? The same as all soldiers, he supposed – a good death – in battle, not in a hospital bed, or on a lonely landing pad. He had hoped that his brothers would come back, but not anymore. What else was there to wish for? He’d do his job until he couldn’t any longer. There was nothing else. It was all he’d been made for. But there was a small part of him, despite being buried as far down as he could, that saw her there in his arms, holding his hand, and thought maybe he was stupid enough to hope for one little thing more.

“Cross,” the doctor’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me about Rampart and Kamino?”

Kriff. Crosshair knew she’d heard the news when the rest of the galaxy had, during the broadcast Senate meeting where Senator Chuchi had exposed Rampart’s order to destroy the cities. He couldn’t say he’d ever planned to tell the doctor that the official report, the “storm” that had ravaged the planet, had been a lie. He didn’t want her to think of his part in any of it. He wanted it to be over. 

“It was…classified. I—I didn’t know it was going to happen. I promise.” Crosshair sighed when Senna squeezed his arm. “It doesn’t…make much difference now. It’s gone, and so is Rampart.” That, at least, was a grim consolation. If there was ever a man who deserved to rot in Imperial prison, it was Vice-Admiral Edmon Rampart. Knowing the merciless nature of the Empire, Crosshair wouldn’t be surprised if it was a rather short stay. But he really didn’t want to talk about Rampart right now. 

To his relief, the doctor didn’t push, and they drifted back into the music, into studying each other in glances as they pretended to think about other things. Crosshair was still chewing over what she’d said before, about his brothers. 

“Sen…if it never happens, if they never come back—” He didn’t know how to finish the question, if he should.

She lifted her gaze to his face. “What, dear?”

“What will you do?”

Senna looked down for a moment, pained. When she dragged her eyes back up to his, they were so full of heartache that Crosshair came to a stop without thinking. The other dancers were still moving, oblivious to the way their world was crumbling around them as Senna squeezed his hand and his heart. 

“I-I don’t know. Maybe…it’ll get easier, with…time. It’s not so bad, just you and me, is it?” Her voice was small in a way that hurt him, barely there under the music.

“No.” It came out softer than he’d meant it to. He shouldn’t have said anything. She’d been happy. She was never happy anymore.

Senna led him to a table in the dining area when the song ended, neither of them in the mood to dance anymore. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” the doctor said, all forced lightness, clearly trying to drag the evening back from the precipice. 

When she’d asked what he wanted, he’d shrugged and said she could choose, so Senna ordered them two plates of shaak pulao. Crosshair smiled to himself when she asked for hers without nuts. There wasn’t really anything he wouldn’t eat. Echo was the picky one.

He glanced across the table at the doctor while she was bent over her meal. She had worn her hair down for once, the hip-length waves held out of her face by a few small twists pulled loosely from her temples. Senna smiled sweetly when she caught him looking. “Do you like it?” 

Yes.

She was gesturing to his food. Oh. 

Crosshair coughed. “Not bad.”

She had opened her mouth to reply when they were interrupted.

“Senna?” A tall, well-dressed man with sandy hair was standing beside the table, looking at her hopefully.

“Elan?” The doctor started up in shock and Crosshair felt his hand going for the blaster under his jacket. 

“Kriff, I knew it was you! Sen, how are you? I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I—I’m doing well,” Senna stammered, “What are you doing here?”

Crosshair relaxed slightly. She didn’t seem afraid, exactly. And the stranger didn’t look at all intimidating. Nothing about the way he was standing spoke of an impending attack. Still…

“I’m here visiting a friend. Wanted to see if the old place was still kicking. If I’d known you were on Corrie, I would’ve—” the man seemed to finally notice Crosshair at the table. “Kriff, I’m sorry.” The stranger extended a polite hand, “I’m Elan. Elan Iddas. Senna and I, uh, we used to date. That is, we went to school together.”

Crosshair debated acknowledging him at all. No, overt unfriendliness would be more suspicious. And he already wasn’t supposed to be here. “Crosshair.” The sniper studied the other man, taking in his pretty blue suit and judging that he’d have about two inches over him if he stood. He didn’t shake the hand.

Elan drew it back reluctantly, looking unsure of the situation. He glanced back and forth between them, then ran his hand self-consciously through his hair. “Well, I should let you two get back to it. Uh, Sen, if you’re ever free, I’ll actually be in the city for the next few weeks. I’d love to catch up. Or you’re always welcome to come visit Alderaan. Mom would love to see you, you know. She still talks about you.”

After he left, they sat in awkward silence. Senna picked at her food, seemingly stunned. 

Crosshair had lost his appetite. He looked around the room at the other patrons, noticing the way people clung to each other, laughing. In the booth behind Senna, a couple was engaged in a passionate makeout session. Crosshair scowled and looked down at his plate, but found his gaze drawn back a moment later. The man’s fingers traced down the curve of his girlfriend’s shoulder and she giggled softly before pulling him in for another kiss. Crosshair blinked and it wasn’t two strangers in the booth, but Elan and Senna. His fingers tightened unconsciously around his napkin. This was stupid. She didn’t belong to him, didn’t feel that way about him, and never would. If she wanted to go live on Alderaan with that idiot, good. She’d be safer there.

He was brought back to the table as Senna sighed. “You ready to go?” 

The night air was as chilly as it ever got in that part of the city and Crosshair was tempted to offer Senna his jacket when she shivered. Instead, he placed another toothpick in his mouth as they walked back towards the bus stop in silence. He didn’t know how to act with her now.

“I’m sorry about that,” Senna said after a few minutes of walking. Her voice was soft. “I never in a million years thought he’d be there.”

“You never said he was blonde.”

The sniper’s sour comment caught Senna off guard and she looked up with a laugh. “Should I have? Is that an important detail?” She chuckled and Crosshair softened despite himself. “Would you be upset to know he was even more blonde back then?”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and she laughed again. “I'm pretty sure I didn’t tell you much of anything about him. It didn’t matter really. By the time I met you, I hadn’t seen him in years. Never really thought I’d see him again, actually.”

“Do you trust him?” Crosshair certainly didn’t.

Senna sighed. “I don’t know. It’s been a very long time.”

“Will you call him?” the sniper pressed.

“His mum was always very nice and I do miss her, and Elan, we—but…” she sighed again, “I can’t go back now. I’m not the person I used to be. He remembers the Senna from fourteen years ago. Might as well be a lifetime.” She bit her lip. “Too much has changed.” Senna wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at the pavement as they walked, lost in thought.

Crosshair glanced over at her, considering what she’d said. It had been his lifetime, most of those fourteen years. He remembered what Senna had told them about her old boyfriend once. She’d called him perfect. A perfectly handsome, rich, Alderaanian doctor who was clearly still interested in her. As he watched, Senna pulled part of her hair forward to draw it between her fingers, and Crosshair saw the tattoo on her shoulder blade – a 99 that matched his own, and that of all his brothers. It had taken weeks of constant, shameless begging on Wrecker’s part to convince her, but that was a long time ago. 

When they turned the corner to where the bus was waiting, Senna reached out to stop him. “Cross, I almost forgot, but…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What?”

She looked around nervously before continuing in a low voice. “I had to wait until we were off base because… You remember what I said—about why I stayed here? Tech…he contacted me.”

Crosshair tensed and pulled her back around the corner, away from the people at the stop. He looked around to make sure no one was near, scanning even the rooftops before placing himself between Senna and the rest of the street, leaning close to her where she stood against the wall of a shop. “When?”

“A week after they left. Sweetheart. I told you the truth. They wanted me to go with them, but I told Tech I couldn't leave you alone. I just…wanted you to know that I meant it.”

A week. That had been before Onderon. Before Bracca. All this time, she could have been with them. She might still have a way to reach them. He felt the familiar crawl of his skin when he thought of the danger she was in. And Tech hadn’t even told him.

He didn’t know what to do now with this information. Was there something she wanted him to say? Crosshair dragged his gaze from the peeling paint behind Senna to meet her eyes. “Would you go now, if you had the chance?” He had to know, even if the truth might crush him.

When Senna took his hand, Crosshair found himself resisting the urge to lean even closer, to press her against the wall like the couple people might think they were. “Would you come with me?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer, she sighed and let go, turning away from him to walk back to the bus. 

In Crosshair’s dreams that night there was a soft, familiar voice, flashes of long, dark hair, and a small hand in his, trying to take him somewhere, but he knew he couldn’t go.

Back in her quarters, Senna stripped off her dress and shoes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She removed her bra under the cover of her large sleep shirt, paranoid of Imperial cameras even here. In front of the fresher mirror, she brushed and braided her hair and washed her face, not realizing until she turned the water off that she was crying. She leaned on the sink for a moment, staring at her blurry reflection as her harsh breathing echoed against the walls. Elan. He was still beautiful, fourteen years later. Seeing him so unexpectedly had thrown her backwards into the memories of their time together; their goodbye before Kamino and all the regret she’d felt for so many reasons. The regret of losing the last ten years she could have had with her family. The regret of the life she could have lived, maybe with him. 

But then there had been the look on Crosshair’s face at the table that she hadn’t missed, even in her own shock. His strange stiffness on the walk back. She didn’t know what he thought. That she would leave him, leave the army and Coruscant for Elan and Alderaan? She hoped he knew her better than that. 

Cross. Senna groaned, snatching the towel from its bar and pressing it to her eyes. Stop it. But as she breathed in the scent of army detergent from the worn fabric, she felt his fatigues under her cheek as she’d held him in her doorway, late at night. She felt his hand on her waist as they’d danced. Stop it! Fuck! Senna slapped the towel against the mirror and left the fresher, throwing herself down on her bed in the dark. 

When had she slipped into this way of seeing him? Maybe in the nights when he’d been recovering from his time on Kamino, when she’d never left his side. Senna thought of the way he’d held her face when he first saw her again. Of the feeling of his hand in hers while they’d slept, him in the hospital bed and her in the chair beside it. His long fingers twitching around hers in his dreams. Or maybe when he’d held her in his barracks, both of them too stupid and miserable to care about regulations for a few long moments of need. Or maybe, she groaned in frustration, when he’d given her that awful, beautiful look as he’d taken his rifle from her hands at the range. It was just loneliness, that was all. They were both lonely, and lonely people—

It doesn’t matter. It’s not right, and it’ll get us both killed.

Taglist: @just-here-with-my-thoughts @kybercrystals94 @bad-batch-lurker @freesia-writes @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise

[velidewrites]

Obi-Wan’s heart darkens.

It has done so too many times since the War started—that grip on his chest. He knows it is the Dark Side clouding the Force—clouding his judgement, tempting him to do things a Jedi should never even think of. Violence, control, power—Obi-Wan always resits it, even when it takes all his strength. There is something peculiar about that strange tug, though—the very darkness itself. It is nothing like the light, blissful before the War and blinding throughout it. Lately, it seems that no matter where he looks, he cannot see the right way.

The darkness promises clarity.

OR

The Clone Wars (2008) S5 E16 reimagined.

Note: This fic is a birthday gift for the wonderful @melting-houses-of-gold!

Warnings: Spoilers for The Clone Wars (2008), Graphic depictions of violence and death, NSFW

Read on AO3

PART 2/2: The Beginning

Obi-Wan’s hot breath clouds the glass wall.

They are exposed here, much too exposed, but there’s an excitement to it—the risk of getting caught. It would be the first tine—they’ve been a lot more careful in the past.

Right now, there probably isn’t a worse place in the entire galaxy for this type of…meeting. Satine would’ve snorted at the ridiculous term had her mouth not been otherwise occupied.

After all, this is no more than a secret hookup.

One of many and very few at the same time—she and Obi-Wan have been sneaking those moments every now and then, but she finds that they always leave her craving more. No matter how many times she feels his lips on hers, his body pressed against her own, it is never enough. She can never get enough of him.

But Obi-Wan isn’t hers to take—and he never will be.

She doesn’t let those thoughts dwell, though—not now, now when his strong hand on her waist tightens. She can feel the calloused skin on the subtle slit in her gown—roughened, she guesses, from all those years carrying the lightsaber. He has scars, too, peppered all over the back of his palms, thin and white and almost invisible to the average onlooker. But not to Satine. Satine always notices.

She tries not to worry about the latest one she’d spotted—still healing, which means he must’ve got it while protecting her. It the same hand that now rests on her cheek, that angles her jaw slightly to give him better access to where his mouth traces slow, sensuous kisses over her neck.

A tinge of guilt still tugs on her heart, though, so she turns her head an inch to brush her lips over his open palm. The move seems to surprise him as his breath halts, if only for a moment. Satine kisses him again, more boldly this time, and Obi-Wan straightens, his blue gaze darker now as it meets her own.

“Satine,” he whispers.

She wraps her arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”

Obi-Wan does not need to be told twice.

But then, just as she can practically feel the softness of his lips again, something beeps quietly in his pocket, and the moment shatters like glass.

Obi-Wan allows himself one, frustrated huff before he reaches into his robes for the commlink.

“Yes?” he asks somewhat grumpily, and Satine suppresses a chuckle.

There is a brief pause before Master Qui Gon responds, his voice slightly modulated through the device. “Did I wake you, my young Padawan?”

Obi-Wan glances at Satine. “Something like that, Master,” he says, and she finds that she agrees. All of this—him—has always seemed like a dream.

“Well, my apologies. Now that you’re awake, I need you up on the bridge.”

Satine’s brows furrow, and perhaps that’s why Obi-Wan asks, “Is there something wrong, Master?”

Another pause gives Satine worry. An intruder? On a royal ship? No, scratch that—a Mandalorian ship?

“A disturbance,” Master Qui Gon finally says, as if that explains everything. “In the Force.”

And perhaps it does, because Obi-Wan nods—to the commlink, as though it were his Master standing right in front of him. Satine can’t help but smile at that.

Obi-Wan casts her another glance, something like apology hiding behind his stare.

Go, she mouths to him.

He closes his eyes for only a moment before he speaks again. “I’ll be right there.”

***

Obi-Wan Kenobi did the one thing a Jedi should never do.

He dropped his lightsaber—allowed it to fall to the ground, discarded.

Without it, he’s…

He’s not sure what he is anymore.

And, despite his greatest enemy now standing before him, that scares him the most.

***

Obi-Wan drifts to a simpler time.

They are on Satine’s royal spacecraft again, her body caged between his arms, pressed against the glass wall. In that moment, nothing else exists but them—but the sweet taste of her skin, the soft touch of her lips on his palm.

Satine is all that exists.

She is time and space and life, glowing deep inside his chest, his soul. She is the only light he needs, Obi-Wan realises as she gazes at him from beneath long, blonde lashes. She’s the only light he’ll ever need.

The Jedi would call this attachment. Obi-Wan would call it a simple truth.

After all, there is no attachment—there is only this moment, one of so very few that he almost suspects it’s some cruel dream his imagination cultivated. But Obi-Wan has never been much of a daydreamer, which means that the soft lips on his skin must be real. Which means that she is real, as real as the perpetual tug of the Force on his heart.

Obi-Wan fears that one day, he’ll be forced to choose.

He fears, because deep down, his choice has already been made.

***

The throne room feels cold.

It’s the first thing he feels as he blinks back into consciousness—the piercing sting of hate, of years upon years driven by it. He couldn’t believe it at first, but, in a much more real sense, Obi-Wan has always known. Has always known that, one way or another, it would come to this—him and Maul, until the very end.

Satine kneels.

Her legs hit the stone, and Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches. He isn’t sure just how much Maul knows about her—about them—so he makes an effort not to look in her direction, forcing himself to look into those hateful, yellow eyes instead.

He should’ve known this was a plot—a sick, twisted plot to get to him. He doubted Maul cared about Mandalore at all, about the warriors under his rule—all tools to get what he was truly after. What he’s always been after.

He tries not to feel any guilt—that would only be handing another tool right into Maul’s hands. He tries not to think that, had it not been for him, Maul might have left Mandalore in peace—might have never even invaded the system in the first place. This is no time to dwell in such thoughts, no time to feel. 

For Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, there is never time.

Maul speaks to him from the throne—from Satine’s throne, and once again, Obi-Wan swallows the darkness that fills his chest at the sight. “Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you,” Maul drawls, “and your Duchess.”

Your Duchess.

Satine gasps, and Obi-Wan’s eyes dart to her immediately.

She floats a few inches above the stone now, her hand clasped around her neck as she tries to breathe again. She tries to yank free from a hold that doesn’t exist, from another dark, gloved hand that crushes her throat despite not even touching it in the first place. Maul knows—knows what she means to him, if only to an extent.

He’s going to kill her, Obi-Wan realises. He’s going to kill her because of what she is to him. At last, he’ll have his revenge—at last, he will leave Obi-Wan Kenobi in true, infinite darkness.

The only thing Obi-Wan has ever felt for the Zabrak Sith is pity.

But now, as his iron grip tightens on Satine’s neck, Obi-Wan feels everything.

“You should have chosen the Dark Side,” Maul hums, seemingly noting the turmoil thundering in Obi-Wan’s chest, “Master Jedi.”

Perhaps he should have.

“Your emotions betray you,” he continues. “Your fear, and…yes…your anger.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

Maul growls, “Let your anger deepen your hatred.”

But, the way he always has been, Maul is mistaken—and Obi-Wan almost smiles.

For there is no fear—no anger, no hatred, simmering somewhere in his soul.

There is only clarity.

This is what Maul wants—for Obi-Wan to spiral the same way Maul had a long time ago, for them to stand against each other as equals, two broken souls, fighting a war they never should have been part of in the first place. He wants Obi-Wan twisted and wretched by the Dark Side the way he had been, alone and without the Jedi’s Light to hold on to.

But the only light Obi-Wan has ever needed is right here, offering the balance he’d been searching for ever since he first bowed before the young Princess of Mandalore and sworn to be her protector for as long as she needed him. She’ll be the light while he’ll be the darkness—one unable to exist without the other, the way it was always meant to be.

Obi-Wan no longer fears the Dark Side—he welcomes it like an answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask until now.

Maul wants to fight him—to kill him.

Obi-Wan wants to kill him, too.

When he opens his eyes again, he can see the victory glowing in Maul’s eyes—can feel the ecstasy lighting his veins. Obi-Wan almost feels pity for him again.

But then he notices the weapon strapped to his side—a trophy to commemorate an enemy he hasn’t even yet defeated— and Obi-Wan allows himself a smile.

He reaches into the Force and finds a new ally within it—not that bright, blinding light promising to show him the Way.

No, he finds himself.

The weapon cuts through the air before it lands in the hand of its Master—old and new at the same time. Changed.

Somewhere far away, he can hear his own name, pushed breathlessly past Satine’s lips. 

Obi-Wan ignites his lightsaber.

In his eyes, it already burns red.

***

For a man so deeply rooted in his upbringing, change comes quickly for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Satine watches it with her vision blurred, still adjusting to the cool, crisp air returning into her lungs. She’s kneeling again, propped up on her hands and with her mind spinning, but for this, Satine will fight through the overwhelming heaviness trying to swallow her whole.

So Satine watches.

The transformation is so minor she might have missed it had she not spent every night in the past, countless years picturing him in her mind. Even his posture seems different—he stands straighter now, more confident, as if the weight of the world has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. His hold on his weapon has always been steady but relaxed, allowing him to swing and deflect with ease. Now, though, the lightsaber lays firm in Obi-Wan’s hand—the stance of an attacker, of an opponent hardly expecting any resistance.

Whatever reaction Maul had hoped to elicit from Obi-Wan was not this—not the calm, collected warrior, simply waiting for the first, reckless strike. But Maul doesn’t seem to notice this—doesn’t even look at Obi-Wan’s body, his attention entirely somewhere else.

No, Maul is focused on his eyes.

They used to shine a lovely cobalt—the kind that reminded her of the sky, bright and gentle at the surface but dark and troubled deep beyond, with only the stars left to navigate it.

Now, Obi-Wan’s eyes shine a gold that could rival the very sun itself.

They are nowhere near the same as Maul’s—the Sith Lord’s eyes are tarnished with hatred, with anger—soon, perhaps, with fear.

But Maul only sees what he wants to see—a reflection of himself that he could kill.

So Satine keeps on watching.

The guards raise their blasters and point them at Obi-Wan’s back—ready to strike as soon as the order is given.

They should know better than that. Even Satine, though her foggy vision and spinning mind, can see that this…this is personal.

“Leave us,” Maul snarls, and his own weapon springs to life—the Darksaber that never should have gotten into his hands. Satine has never much cared for it, but she knew her people have—and, no matter the outcome of this fight, this weapon will forever be tainted. Mangalore’s legacy, poisoned by Maul’s hateful touch.

The guards obey and begin backing out of the room, though their blasters stay aimed at Obi-Wan, who doesn’t even turn or flinch—he only stands, meeting Maul’s gaze directly, those golden eyes catching some of the light from the heavy chandeliers above.

Another guard enters then, his voice echoing through the large space. “Intruders at the landing platform, my lord—”

Satine almost cries with relief. Bo Katan—her message did get through despite the ship’s ruined transmitter.

“Go,” Maul orders, his voice dipping so dangerously low it is but a rasp carried through the air.

Slowly, he steps down the dais, the clank of his metal feet scraping the stone beneath. He’s forgotten all about Satine, now, a predator focused fully on his prey, ready to strike. The dark glint of his saber casts a long shadow trailing him like a pet.

She tries to pull herself up—to stop this, somehow, knowing it can only end one way. She’s never wanted this—this death, this bloodshed. Not on Mandalore—not anywhere in the galaxy. But her body is too weak, perhaps it, too realising, that, just as there cannot be light without darkness, there can be no peace without war.

And Obi-Wan has to win it.

He has to.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber over his head—a stance she’d seen him do many times—the blue hue doing nothing to hide the gold shimmering in his stare. Maul’s eyes narrow, the Darksaber twisting in his hand—one weapon answering another.

It’s a language Satine understands yet has spent her whole life refusing to speak. Wishing for it to die out, as all things do, and make way for another.

She understands now that sometimes, some wishes do not come true. So she wishes for another thing—for Obi-Wan’s warm touch, for his soft lips on her own. She wishes for him to survive—for him to win.

Everything happens too quickly.

She is still too dazed, perhaps, too weak and breathless to truly grasp the speed with which Maul moves as he lunges. At some point, Obi-Wan has managed to shift—to adjust his stance to something else entirely, lowering the lightsaber so swiftly she hadn’t even registered the move.

Neither had Maul.

With the Darksaber aimed for Obi-Wan’s head—where his weapon has just been, casting a bright glow over his face—Maul swings the Mandalorian blade, about to cast the finishing blow.

But Obi-Wan is faster. Smarter.

His lightsaber plunges into Maul’s chest, a small smile touching his lips.

Deadly.

Maul’s arms still hover over his head as Obi-Wan thumbs the hilt, and the weapon switches off, free from the burning hole in the red-black chest.

And then, the raging Sith Lord, the poison of Mandalore, drops to the ground with a loud thud.

“You,” she can hear his rasp, choked from a breathless throat. Some cruel part inside her thinks it ironic. “You have no idea what you’ve become.”

Obi-Wan only stares back.

Maul chuckles, the sound immediately cut off by a strained, hoarse cough. “You truly are alone now, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan looks at her then. Golden eyes meet a pair of blue—sun and ice, balance, as it was always meant to be.

“No,” Obi-Wan hums. “I don’t think I am.”

***

Satine sits on the throne, looking out to the bustling city below. She can still hear the cheering in the streets—she has a feeling the celebrations will continue well into the night.

She’d spent the entire day in the medical wing, every cut, bruise and swelling looked over multiple times until, hours later, she decidedly announced she was fine and practically recovered. She was needed somewhere else.

Now, as the evening beings slowly melting into dusk, she finds that she truly is fine—Mandalore is free once again, and with new allies. For now, there will be peace.

For now is the only thing she has. She will worry about the future later.

Later, because one of her guards has just announced another petitioner. The word makes Satine’s lips curl into a smile. “Petitioner,” she chuckles. “Please send him in.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi strides through the grand door, the Mandalorian armour he’d stripped off of one of Maul’s warriors still adorning his strong frame.

It shouldn’t have that much of an effect on her, but it does. She’d only ever seen him in Jedi robes before—and, well, she’d seen him out of them, too—but this…to see him like this, in her home…A pleasant wave of heat rushes through her, no doubt already flushing her cheeks.

Red suits him.

Obi-Wan bows deeply when he reaches the dais, though his gaze remains on her own. “My lady,” he says in a greeting, and she knows there’s a smile hiding behind that formal voice.

“Leave us,” Satine commands, and the guards promptly hurry out of the hall.

Only when the door shuts behind them does Obi-Wan ask, “I trust your discussion with Bo Katan was…productive?”

He already knows the answer to that—has seen Satine’s sister seamlessly fall back into her old role, mobilising the army to capture Maul’s traitors and keep the skies over Sundari at peace. Still, Satine says, “It was.”

A single ah escapes him, and she uses that brief moment of silence to search those eyes with her own. She isn’t sure what she’d expected—but they are still golden, still blazing with that same clarity she saw while he was facing Maul. More importantly, she’d half expected him to be gone by now—to hurry off to Coruscant, the way he always did. They way he always had to.

And yet, Obi-Wan is still here. Still wearing those golden eyes and red armour. Still looking at her as though nothing else in the galaxy mattered.

“What happened?” she asks quietly. She doesn’t have to specify—they’ve always understood each other, one soul bridged with another, their thoughts and feelings flowing freely between them both.

“I made a choice,” Obi-Wan says.

“Do you regret it?” She doesn’t think she would’ve survived if he said yes.

Obi-Wan takes a step toward her, his handsome features softening into a smile. “Of course not.”

She bites into her bottom lip—an old habit she can’t seem to let go of. Obi-Wan’s eyes trail the movement, and she tries not to think about the way his eyes darken as they settle on her mouth.

Not yet, at least.

“So what happens now?” she asks him, already dreading the obvious answer. “You go back—to keep the peace.” It doesn’t even come out as a question anymore—he is about to leave her again. She might as well state it as a fact.

“You mean to the Jedi,” Obi-Wan says.

“Are they not the same thing?”

His chin dips. “I thought so, once. I’m…not sure anymore. I don’t know if I ever want to find out.”

Satine isn’t entirely sure she is breathing as she starts, “But you are—”

“Not a Jedi,” Obi-Wan interjects. “Not anymore.”

There is no sadness in his tone—and perhaps that is why Satine asks, “What are you, then?”

He looks up to meet her gaze again and holds it long enough that she is not sure he even plans to answer.

But then, Obi-Wan steps up the dais and kneels.

“Yours,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

She reaches for him, then—for his handsome face, her thumb grazing over his beard. She relishes in it for a moment before she tells him, “I always have.” Her thumb brushes his lips now. “I always will.”

There is a second of silence—as though the world has paused around them—before Obi-Wan’s chest falls, and his hand captures the one on his face. Before he presses his mouth to the pads of her fingers, kissing each one slowly.

That familiar heat swirls through her again, settling somewhere deep inside her—pooling at her very core.

When his hand drops her own and moves to rest on her knee, Satine dares to tangle her fingers between his hair—to pull him closer.

She doesn’t wan’t him far away from her ever again.

“Then allow me,” Obi-Wan starts, his voice lower now, darker, “Allow me to live out my life in service of you, Duchess.”

“Obi-Wan,” she breathes.

“I’m yours,” he agrees, then slides a hand down her leg.

Satine would be lying if she said her choice of a gown tonight hadn’t been purposeful—Obi-Wan seems to have found the slit in the silky fabric quickly, now pulling it upwards and revealing her smooth skin. She can’t help but shiver at the feel of his hand on her bare skin—it has been so long since she felt that fire, his fire, setting her body alight.

When the hem of her dress finally reaches her thigh, Obi-Wan leans down and presses a kiss to her knee.

Satine looses a shuddering breath. It makes him look up—look up and smile as he notes the flushed expression on her face, the slightly parted lips. She knows what he wants, now—has never wanted it more badly herself.

She only gives him a nod before losing herself in him completely.

Obi-Wan’s mouth moves up her leg now, tracing her inner thigh, the kisses more open, more wet as he reaches closer and closer to where she aches the most. Satine can’t help but shift slightly, her body already desperate for friction—for him, filling her entirely, their bodies joining as one the way they were always meant to be.

Obi-Wan chuckles lowly as he notices her desperation—her impatience. He braces his other hand on her other thigh, now, curling his fingers around it, holding her gently yet firmly in place. It crosses her mind now that anyone could walk into the throne room, or fly past the large, wall-length windows, at any given moment—and find their Duchess spread open on her throne with a former Jedi’s face buried between her legs. They’re exposed here, too exposed, and—

Obi-Wan seemingly senses this—or perhaps she said those words out loud—and chuckles again, the rumble of the sound reverberating into her skin. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Satine laughs then—though the sound melts into a moan as Obi-Wan’s mouth hovers inches away, right over the apex of her thighs, and she can practically feel his smile as he understands her plot at last—as he realises that she is, indeed fully bare under the gown he’d so eagerly opened.

“Clever,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his breath tickling her hot skin.

Somehow, she still has half a mind to tease. “You know me.”

He hums. “Indeed I do. Though perhaps,” Obi-Wan says, pressing a kiss to her clit that makes her gasp echo through the walls, “Now is a good time to get, ah…reacquainted.”

Satine swallows. Hard. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The golden glow of his eyes is her only warning as Obi-Wan’s tongue drags clean up her centre.

Satine’s head rolls back, resting against the solid rock the throne is made of, and the city beyond seems to disappear entirely—there is only her and Obi-Wan now, Obi-Wan and his blasted tongue as it takes another taste.

He licks into her like the world is shattering around them—like there is nothing left that matters but the feel of her cunt fluttering around him. She peels herself off the stone headrest to look at him, to take him all in, and the sight makes everything tighten inside her—she needs him now, hard and fast, for all the years they’d lost that they could’ve had together.

Obi-Wan’s fingers move then, travelling down her to her entrance, a small groan escaping him at the slickness there. He licks her again, long and wet up her cunt, before two of his digits move inside her, thrusting in and out until she is breathless and all she can see are stars.

Satine cries out his name, then, overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s coaxing from her as his fingers curl up against the roof of her walls, hissing as she tightens around the touch. He, too, is panting now, his tongue swirling over her clit, swollen from the attention he’s been giving her, from the look of pure, unrestrained hunger upon his face. He licks her like a man starved, like he lives for the moans and the raspy breaths she’s offering him, mindless from the feel of his long fingers pumping in and out of her in a quickening pace.

She’s practically shaking, now, her blonde hair a sea of waves falling messily all over her face. Her grip on his own hair tightens—she is so close now, with her heart thumping loudly in her chest and lightning coursing through her veins. Obi-Wan doesn’t stop though, his tongue flicking at her clit, determined to see her come apart. To see her belong to him just as much as he does to her.

When his mouth closes on her clit and sucks, Satine comes with a strangled cry.

The only sound she’s able to make is the gasping chant of his name as he continues stroking her pulsing walls, riding her through her release. His mouth presses slow, gentle kisses to her clit now, ones that reduce her to nothing but a shuddering mess around him.

His eyes seem brighter than ever when he pulls back at last—like the brightest light in the darkness. She realises then that, perhaps, that is what the two of them are—have always been—to each other. No longer the Duchess and the Jedi, but Satine and Obi-Wan. He has always been hers, the same way she has always been his. For her, he will lay himself bare and become the man he thought he’d never get to be. For him, she will make sure he gets to remain that man forever.

They will fight for each other.

And that will always be enough.

[kimageddon]

A Prince of Dathomir - Chapter 117

-|- Page header by space-b33 -|- Masterlist -|- Prince of Dathomir Masterlist -|- Sins of the Father Masterlist -|- Art Masterlist -|- Check out my : Ko-fi / AO3 -|- Commissions Open -|- My Patreon -|- My Linktree -|- Join/Leave my tag list -|-

Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Slight Canon Divergence

Word count: Approx 3300

Contains/Warnings: Death, violence, blood, child death.

Chapter Summary: Zaiya and Feral find some Jedi for the hunt.

Notes: So... hi. It's been a hot minute... or 6 months... Well then. This is awkward. As it turns out, my burn out was a bit more severe than anticipated. But here we are! So, what's been happening in my absence? I had a few wonderful comments and check ins from readers asking if I plan to update.... I think this answers that question. As for the rest, uh... I was nearly made homeless, moved house, drew a bunch of stuff, deleted a bunch of social accounts and went ghost for a bit... had a massive breakdown, then put my big girl pants on and decided to try writing again. Next thing I know, I have written like 5+ full chapters. So that was cool. As for APOD and Sins, I don't think I'll be able to keep up with a weekly schedule again, as much as I would love to. But we'll see how we go with it.

Did ya miss me?

Hunt - Part 1

So often when the other Masters and Padawans would go out on assignment with their clone battalions, while Farley Korro was left at the Temple to meditate, only hearing about all the action days after it happened. 

Not today! 

He and Master Avona Teller had been assigned to a small mission, not his first, but among the very few he’d been granted permission to attend alongside Master Teller. He assumed it was because she didn't have enough faith in him yet.

It bothered him sometimes. Yeah, he was still young, but he was a Padawan, not a youngling! Farley was a little frustrated, he wanted to be a good Padawan and an even better Jedi… but he didn’t always see eye-to-eye with his Master. She seemed to see the Force differently to him. Maybe it was because she was Umbaran? As a species, they tended to perceive the worlds in a different way to humans. Maybe that was why Farley sometimes found it more difficult to understand his Master?

“Keep up, young one,” Master Teller’s smooth and calm voice cut through his mind and he realised he’d been lost in thought again. “Keep your mind on what you’re doing, my Padawan.” I have told you this a thousand times. Her tone was gentle but firm. 

“Yes, Master,” Farley replied brightly as he adjusted his pack and hurried his pace to catch up. Another thought occurred to him as he reached her side, “Master…?”

“Yes?” Master Teller asked knowingly. 

“You’re Umbaran.” 

“Astute observation, Farley,” Master Teller replied dryly. 

“I mean,” he continued, “your people, your homeworld, they’re… Separatists.” 

“They are,” she replied with a sage nod. 

“Doesn’t it bother you? They are your people after all.”

“We are Jedi,” she began calmly, it was rare she ever raised her voice, though Farley could tell when she was disappointed in him. “We are more than just Separatist or Republic.” 

“But we serve the Republic,” Farley replied, confused. 

“Yes we do, but that does not mean we are the Republic,” she gestured to the path ahead, “I am Jedi. To be Jedi means the individual and the group are one and the same. We are with the Force and the Force is with us.”

“So without the Republic, the Jedi would still exist?" Farley asked, trying to get his head around it.

"Correct."

"So if the Republic were to disappear and something else -"

“A grim thought, but yes, that is the idea,” Master Teller conceded. Farley frowned. What would that even look like? A Galaxy with no Republic? He couldn’t really picture it. Though, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, considering his Master was always telling him to remain in the present. 

“I guess…” While he was contemplating it, his Master interrupted his distracted thoughts again. 

“What is our mission here, Farley?” the Jedi Knight asked serenely. Farley patted the strap of his pack and smiled. 

“Delivering aid to the Troopers and civilians.” He grinned, as he finally felt a part of the action. Sometimes he felt it wasn’t fair. Other Padawans like Barriss Offee and Ahsoka Tano got to go out in the field and have amazing adventures so often. He tried not to feel jealous… but sometimes, he couldn’t help it. 

Today however, he had the important task of bringing a pack full of rare herbs to a local village so that they could make a very special healing salve, one the Jedi thought lost to time. 

A small squad of Troopers were sent ahead to protect the village while he and Master Teller had been sent to collect the special herbs. The village elder was going to assist them in making the medicine and bring it back to the Temple. It wasn’t a lot of excitement, but the chance to work with some Clone Troopers and finally be able to be a Commander! That was something he’d been waiting for. 

He was going to finally be a part of the war; fighting for the Republic and stopping the Separatists! 

The teenager picked up his pace and continued along the path; his head filled with visions of glory and fighting bad guys. Yes he was a Jedi, and they weren’t supposed to have such silly little fantasies, but the Jedi were known as “Heroes of the Republic” and he wanted to be one too. 

Suddenly everything went dark. 

It was like smoke had flooded the forest. Farley couldn’t see a thing. 

“Master!” he cried. He heard the sound of a lightsaber. He could make out Master Teller’s bright green blade through the darkness. 

“Run Farley!” she implored, and though Farley did not want to, he obeyed her. He had to get to the village and deliver the medicine. 

He leapt along the path, his heart demanding that he turn back around, that he help his Master! The village was not far, if he could get help-- Another flash of green -- but it wasn’t Master Teller’s lightsaber. 

An unsettling face stared back at him, inches away and he recoiled with a start. One blue eye, one glowing green and long white braids, dressed in red and black. He knew her from the holos and from the discussions he’d overheard between Master Teller and Master Shaak Ti. 

“S-Siren…!” he gasped. The tall woman pulled back, a single long, curved knife in her hand. it had green flames flickering over the blade. 

“Padawan,” she replied, assessing him with the tilt of her head. Her voice made him shudder, there was something about the way she spoke that made the Force ripple around him. 

“You don’t scare me,” he cried, reaching for his own weapon and tossing the pack aside. “There is no fear.” The Siren's eyes never left him, but she noticed his focus on the pack.

“What is your mission out here, child?” she asked, rather calmly. Was this some trick? Master Kenobi said she was aligned with the Sith!

“Like I’d tell you anything,” he retorted, taking the defensive stance Master Teller had taught him. She let out a sigh, but her eyes tracked him like a predator. He recalled another Jedi noting something about how this Siren was not human, and the way she watched him with absolute stillness confirmed it. She was creepy. When she did move, it was fluid, almost feline, predatory. She made him feel like prey.

She was scary to look at: her scarred face, spiralling yet jagged tattoos and that steady gaze. She looked like some kind of monster from a youngling story book. Just like the kind of witch that might eat children, towering over him with her evil mismatched glare. 

“You are a child,” she hissed with a curled lip. “Why would the Jedi send children into warzones?” Clearly she was unimpressed with what she considered a lack of a challenge. Farley had enough of being toyed with, left behind and underestimated. He let out a cry as he launched himself at the witch. 

“I’ll show you what this child can do.”

----

The colours in the Force changed, right before the attack. Lights sparking in reds and yellows moments before the Jedi Knight was set upon by her unknown attacker and her physical vision went dark. She had called for her Padawan to get clear-- she was not sure of the extent of the danger, and their mission came first. The medical supplies were the most important. Farley had to get them to the village, Avona had to hold off the enemy. She was the Master. She would protect her Padawan.

The man was revealed as he launched through the now clearing smoke, Avona saw that he was Zabrak: though little of him could be seen, only a set of distinctive horns. His face was partially covered from the nose down by a cloth mask. She did not recognise the patterns in his ochre skin, but she recognised the anger in his eyes. The hatred. The colours of light that flared and faded in the Force as he moved with all the grace of a seasoned warrior. 

He struck at her with a curved blade, flaming green, the shade similar to her own lightsaber. It sliced mere inches from her pale face. Her equally pale eyes darted to him as her blade clashed against his. When it met with her saber, she couldn’t cut through it.

His movements were swift and full of rage. The colours flashed around him in lights that only she could see. Her connection to the Force was steeped in the hues of the living world: she perceived it uniquely and unlike most other Jedi. The colours warned her with a spark that allowed her to anticipate her enemy's movements.

The young Zabrak was angry, though she had no idea why, nor did she have time to think. Avona’s training ensured she stayed in the moment. But she was aware that this Zabrak was unfamiliar. 

She fought him back with swift and measured movement. He dove left, she blocked. He swung a kick to her chest, she backflipped. She waited for a break in his guard, after a flurry of strikes, and she hit back. 

He was a brilliant warrior, but unrefined. He was vicious, but untrained in the way of lightsaber combat. It did not mean he was not a strong match for her -- as she quickly realised when she saw the spark too late and was shoved back hard against a huge tree by an unseen blast of pressure. 

He could wield the Force.  Who was this warrior?

"What is it you want?" she bellowed at him. She reached out in the Force, sensing the proximity of her enemy, and her Padawan. The Zabrak before her did not speak, but his pale and almost translucent, colourless eyes glared at her. It gave away his desires.

To kill. 

She sensed her Padawan some distance away, but not nearly far enough! Had neglected to obey her instructions again?

She leapt back from the Zabrak assassin and turned, only to witness a white-haired figure, fending off Farley’s lightsaber attacks. He was in danger.

She moved to rush to his aid, but the assassin stepped into her vision, the wicked blade driving downward. Avona only just blocked it. She required focus. This warrior was no match for her in battle. She was a Jedi Knight, skilled in the art of combat. She needed to put him down quickly, so she could assist her Padawan.

She dug in her heels, and faced him, raising her blade. She charged. It was life or death -- she had to kill him. 

----

A child. 

The boy was a child! Little older than the Togruta Zaiya had met some weeks ago. It wasn’t supposed to be a child! 

Zaiya fended off the attacks from the miniature Jedi with relative ease, though he had been trained very well. Why had Feral insisted on taking on the Knight? Why had the Jedi sent out a child for this?!

There were supposed to be two Jedi but no one mentioned he was a kid! She grit her teeth and kept the younger one at bay while she tried to figure a way out. If she really focused, she could kill him rather easily, but she wasn’t trying to. Surely the Knight was enough. She could help Feral… then they could go! Just leave the human behind, he could finish whatever mission he was on. 

Maul could get mad later, but she was not planning to kill him. She was just going to keep the kid out of the way so Feral could finish his fight. A quick glance told her he was keeping his own for now, but this Jedi was clearly skilled. 

“I’d rather not kill you, kid,” she said, looking down at him. There was something in his eyes that unsettled her. Something that reminded her of someone else. 

A long time ago. 

“I won’t go down without a fight,” he replied confidently and slashed at her knees. She leapt back, circling the boy while keeping her blade high. He was feisty, and strong willed… he also had the classic streak of arrogance she had seen in many Jedi she had met. It might have been too late for him. 

“How about you put the weapon down before you hurt yourself?” she retorted and gave him a shove with the Force, knocking his legs out from under him, though she didn’t chase him, just watched him tumble. 

He leapt to his feet with a competent, yet slightly clumsy back spin, and circled around to protect the backpack he’d tossed away. 

“I won’t let you take the medicine,” he warned, slashing at her side. She twisted away, deflecting the blow. 

“I don’t have any interest in your medicine, boy,” she snorted back at him. 

“Liar. You’re a traitor to the Republic!” he growled, his mouth curling in determination. 

“Can’t be a traitor if I never believed in it in the first place,” she countered, kicking him back again, if she could at least knock his weapon away-- 

“Argh--!” She heard Feral cry out, and Zaiya was distracted, seeing Feral clutching at his arm. The boy charged; only to be met with a wave of the Force, mingled with green smoke as Zaiya leapt to the aid of her brother. 

The pale Jedi swung her blade down to deliver the killing blow -- when Zaiya’s blade blocked its target. 

“Not today, Jedi,” she hissed. The Jedi’s eyes widened, as she too recognised Zaiya. 

“The Siren…” 

Zaiya shoved her back and began to circle, while Feral stumbled to his feet behind her. 

“My reputation precedes me, I see,” the Nightsister responded grimly. 

“Master!” the boy cried, rushing forward to aid the woman. 

“Stay back, Farley,” the woman warned calmly, holding out a hand, but not looking away from Zaiya. “Take the medicine and go.” Her instructions were clear, steady. Zaiya saw no reason to interfere with Farley's orders. By the time he reached the village and alerted the Republic troops they had scouted, the Jedi would be dead. She and Feral would be gone.

The boy hesitated. After a moment turned to grab his pack and run. At least he knew when to listen.

The Jedi - an Umbaran from what Zaiya could tell - regarded the equally pale Dathomirian with narrowed eyes. 

“You are… different than I expected,” the Jedi said slowly. What was that supposed to mean?

“Sorry to disappoint,” Zaiya said sarcastically. 

“There is conflict in you.” Immediately Zaiya’s expression hardened and she curled her lip. How dare this Jedi think she knew more about her than herself! Conflict?!  

“Is there.” She spoke flatly, more a challenge than a question. 

“Where’s the other one?” Feral asked from behind her. 

“A Padawan is no test of skill, the Knight will do,” Zaiya replied sharply, leaving no room for argument. The Jedi gave her an infuriating, knowing look. 

“What is your name, Jedi?” Zaiya demanded, before Avona could speak.

“Why do we need her name? We’re just going to kill her,” Feral snarled. He blamed the Jedi for attacking his brothers, hurting them… for not saving them, or any of the other Nightbrothers. But he also held true to the Nightbrother belief of strength prevailing. For him, he had begun a challenge, and now he must win. 

“An opponent must be respected,” she told him. “We must remember the dead.” The Jedi regarded her coolly. 

“I am Jedi Knight, Avona Teller. If you are to kill me, may I at least know the names of my murderers?” she asked with a calm only a Jedi could hold. At least a Jedi would not grovel and beg for life. 

They did not fear death. Feral gave a snort behind her, he was not so in touch with the spiritual aspect of death, but he respected Zaiya enough to honour her wishes, she knew. 

“I am Feral of the Nightbrothers of Dathomir.” 

“You know my name,” Zaiya began but the Jedi Avona just looked at her. 

“I know the name you use as a title… What is your true name?” It was a bold question. No one but the family knew her name. Did it matter now? She had left Dathomir. Avona was about to die…

“Zaiya,” she said, keeping her blade in the ready position, “Zaiya Valessa, formerly of the Lu’Lupta Clan.” Her face was impassive, but a hint of amusement curled at the edge of her lips. 

“Zaiya Valessa,” Avona repeated. Zaiya grimaced, her name sounded wrong coming from this Jedi, souring the entertainment she felt at this Jedi’s presumptuousness. Still, it felt correct at least that Avona would be granted this respect. She was a worthy opponent after all. 

“Avona Teller,” she replied, “you are going to die.” She stepped back, ready to let Feral finish what he started when she heard a cry to her left. 

She saw a flash of plasma and jerked her blade up instinctively. Only to realise it was the boy. 

The Padawan. 

He gasped and sputtered, coughing up blood as his lightsaber dropped and his eyes lowered to Zaiya’s curved blade buried in his chest. 

“No,” Avona lamented and Zaiya heard the Force around them become a torrent of pain and rage and sadness. The once calm Umbaran launched at her and Zaiya could only stare at the boy with wide eyes at the end of her blade. 

What was he doing?! Why had he not fled as he was told?! 

Feral intercepted the strike meant for Zaiya, pushing the distraught Jedi back with all the fierceness of a warrior. Zaiya pushed the shock aside, the rage rising in her. 

Idiot! Foolish child! What was he thinking?! She withdrew her blade slowly, and he fell back onto the mossy ground. His brown eyes searching, his face contorted in pain. He was fading fast, but he was suffering. 

She heard a cry and leapt to one side, avoiding Avona’s blade by mere inches. The boy’s condition had to wait. 

----

No… 

Farley. 

She couldn’t let this happen. Everything moved so fast. One moment, all was calm, she was talking them down. It was just her, and the two Zabraks. Farley was safe. Why did he come back?

Avona attacked. She had to keep the panic at bay, she had to save her Padawan. The colours of the Force flared in sharp, frantic blasts. Her emotions were too raw to be fully controlled. Farley. She had to protect him.

The Nighsister was a traitor to the Republic. She had stabbed Farley. Her Padawan. A child. Her vision was filled with the clashing of green on green as the offending witch faced her. Avona let out a cry as she charged. 

She flipped back to get some distance, if she could grab him-- 

But Siren was too quick, closing in and slashing at her. Avona blocked, pushing the witch back to attack again-- 

“Ahh!” she cried out as pain bloomed across her back. The Jedi stumbled. Another cut across her arms, and her grip faltered. No. Farley. Her breath caught as she felt agony searing in her middle. The long blade of Feral’s weapon stuck out from her belly. The marked warrior and traitorous witch had bested her. She tried to reach for her weapon, but her knees gave out. 

Avona collapsed; her vision and the colours began to fade. 

As she stared at the sky, her pain began to dissipate. Her training had cushioned her fall into death, but she couldn't go. 

Not yet. 

She sensed Farley's life-force draining across from her: it wouldn't be long now, until he was ready. She was determined to wait for him, to guide him one last time. They could return to the Force together.

She reached out to him, calming, soothing. 

I'm here. Then she stretched herself across the galaxy, in the Force and the spectrum of colours. She called to her, one last time. Vibrant memories of burnt orange skin, a soft embrace. Warmth, acceptance, a lifetime of neglected touch. A vow to something bigger than them all. 

As Avona lay dying, committed to her order until the very last moment, she made her final promise, and knew that Shaak-Ti could hear her.

I will find you.

Notes: For those of you paying attention, the Jedi and Padawan are not in fact mine, but belonging to the amazing, the talented, the legendary @eloquentmoon - if you haven't checked out their stuff on tumblr or AO3 then I would offer a recommendation. Moonie is a phenomenal writer and has actually written a piece for me as a gift of Maul and Zaiya and wow, it really knocked my socks off. Check her stuff out if you have a moment.

As always I ask for comments, reblogs or the like. I love feedback, it really helps in the creative process and I very very very much appreciate any and all comments of support.

If you wanna support me further in my artistic or otherwise creative endeavours, check out my Patreon. I hope you all have a fantastic day!

----

Tags: (If your name is crossed out then check your settings or username -- Tumblr is not letting me tag you!) @alwayssnivellus @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @ashotofspotchka @justalittletomato @nahoney22 @eloquentmoon @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @rain-on-kamino @bacarasbabe @lifeless-being @lazarithebellydancingmime @robotswithscarves @herbalinz-of-yesteryear

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[rebelwriter99]

Did I anticipate making a post after every episode of the Bad Batch I have watched thus far? No. No I did not.

Was that 25-30mins of my life such a quietly understated emotional rollercoaster that I am literally reeling enough to write this post a good 9hrs after I watched it? Yes. Yes it was.

I was impressed that this time they let Crosshair carry an episode on his own. Season 1 had ‘fun death defying adventure of the week’ energy mixed in with ‘harsh realities of colonialist imperial takeover’ and the tonal shift could be a bit jarring. Honestly, I think it was intentionally so. Crosshairs actions need a foil for context really and in season 1 the only established comparison characters were the batch so it made sense. Sometimes though I wished I could just sit with each set of characters for some extra minutes.

But this time-they went for it. And it was stunning. Contrasting Crosshair, who wants to lead, with Cody, who has vast amounts of experience leading a sizeable chunk of the army, was fantastic. Especially with Cody still mostly in white, with his signature self still evident even if it’s faded, to Crosshair, who is now a black blank slate until he takes off his helmet. For goodness sake the marks around their eyes are even on opposite sides. One carved by war, the other painted by choice. They also have an interesting difference in perspective set up right from the get go.

The two conversations in front of the memorial are to me, Cody feeling Crosshair out, and then having made his mind up. Cody, in my mind, has already decided he’s leaving. I think he’s trying to decide if he should ask Crosshair to come with him or not, and that’s why after he knows Crosshair doesn’t need medical care anymore (he was abandoned for a month?!) he quite rightly assumes he might not fancy being an imperial for much longer. At some point in the conversation, Cody is facing the light of the memorial, and Crosshairs face is in shadow. You know-just in case that light and dark symbolism hasn’t caught onto its job yet. I’m in heaven.

And then the action sequences. God but this whole thing was a punch in the gut. Instinctively you’re rooting for the clones against the droids. Because of course we are! We know the drill! And so do the clones-it was admittedly very very wonderful to just be able to enjoy clones being spectacular for 10minutes. It was like a clone wars run down-even the classic the gunship lasted 5mins cliche was well utilised. We’ve seen this scene a thousand times-and it was so old and so very very new. We’ve never really seen a group of regs operate without a Jedi against droids in a sequence this long before which was really evident when driodika show up and you just about have a heart attack instead of thinking ‘eh they’ll be scrap in a minute’. And Crosshair being fantastically impossible was breathtaking-and then you suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The whole time I had to remind myself ‘no this is the Empire now! They can’t succeed. Otherwise what will happen to all these poor people?’ And then the power of the clone army being trusted by the galaxy to protect everyone becomes evident. If I’m used to seeing these images and thinking ‘go clones! Save the galaxy!’ then how many billions of people on hundreds of worlds would do the same seeing it on galactic news with a bit of imperial spin? The whole sequence just leaves you feeling vaguely ill. You’re desperate for the Clones you care about to survive-but if they do? What will happen to so many others?

Cody was always going to be my favourite when he appeared-because I am an older sibling and he just has that energy so he’s always been my favourite. Whoever wrote him in this episode-I take my hat off to them. Because him and Crosshair are almost indistinguishable when they interact with droids (classic clone-scrap them in spectacular fashion). As soon as you throw an organic in the mix-he’s so himself. And you could see the different experiences of Cody, whose lost a lot of brothers and dives after the injured with little thought to his own safety, and Crosshair, who we know has never lost any of his squad in the most permanent sense of the word. Them and the civilians just took me right back to Ryloth-you can almost see Cody waiting for them to be relieved, to look to him for safety, but instead they’re terrified of him and it doesn’t sit well.

And he NEGOTIATED.

Writers I love you. I love that he succeeded. And I love that he refused to go back on his word. And I love that he left before the consequences of that refusal inevitably catch up with him. (He’s his Jedi’s Commander force bless you sunshine you tried Obi-Wan would be so proud of you.)*

We see the TK troopers becoming an occupying force through Cody’s eyes. To him the TK troopers could be replaced with droids and he’s seen that picture a hundred times before. And instead of arriving on a gunship to fix it, he’s walking onto one to be taken away having enabled it. “It Rhymes” and all. He knows this isn’t his place anymore. He knows he has brothers out there who believe the same as he does. A good number will probably follow after him.

But another memorial scene. And he knows Crosshair won’t be one of them-at least not yet.

I really really hope that we get a finally moment with Crosshair though. That he will be ordered to do something, and it will be a line he won’t cross. And then he will need out. Hopefully. Maybe. I’ll keep my toes crossed.

Also please may we see Cody at least once more. Preferably not dead or imprisoned. Just so we know he’s fine? Please?

* (actually coming back to this 5mins later there must be an “Anakin” *cue deep sigh* moment other than the mandalore arc where this scene actually plays out. Obi-Wan refuses to kill but Anakin does because orders vs Obi-Wan’s preference for diplomacy)

[please forgive the stream of consciousness abuse-this had to go somewhere! And Tumblr is where fandom ramblings tend to land 😅]