#gender neutral inquisitor

[5queerducksinatrenchcoat]

pspspspsps solavellan girlies*, come get y'all juice!

[imagine-silk]

Varric + carriage ride =

Before the Conclave you never thought you would ride in a carriage. As a mercenary it wasn't an option seeing as you would need to walk, some times ride, beside it. Most of them were simple and functional, nice enough for a noble but not enough to break the bank. Probably and early investment because your band was not cheap. There were gaudy ones adorned with gold and intricate designs curved into the wood. But the ones you like most were the parade ones, opened and decorated like any free inch would kill you. You couldn't say that out loud of course. You had and imagine to uphold.

But maybe with him you didn't have to. "It. Has. Curtains," you gushed, holding the embroiders silk with stars in your eyes.

"Really now?" he laughed.

"Yes!" You pushed the cushioned seat with a little bounce. Once it stopped you reached and touched everything. "There's so much space. I didn't know I could fit. And it's not creaking, I thought I would make it creak."

"I have never met someone so happy about working candles." As much as he was joking he was reveling in your euphoria. He wasn't a very verbally affectionate man or physically. "Ruffles did good."

You looked at him more excited than a nug finding a cool spot in the summer. "Yeah, you did." Then you looked under the curtain and tapped on the glass before apparently seeing someone and closing it.

A liar. He always called himself that and for the most part no one knew to the extent. He couldn't cop out with you though, after Haven he seemed to suddenly be glass for you to look inside. He should have known he couldn't pin it on Josie. "Good to know you like it."

[emotelizardrambling]

Friends in High Places:

Just a drabble based on a piece of fan art that I will edit into this post if I can ever find it again.

As a rule, Josephine Montilyet was a patient woman. However standing at the end of an ally waiting on the inquisitor was hardly a welcome pass time. They had come to Val Royux for the simple task of re-outfitting guest rooms for an upcoming, very picky noble visitor. Kaaras however had clearly gotten rather bored with the excursion, so Josephine had told them they could look at other shops while she finished the necessary preparations. Kaaras had promised to meet her here when they were both done, at high noon. Josephine had been waiting going on twenty minutes, and was now wondering if the Inquisitor had found another cause to get involved in, as they often did. She could not begrudge the influence garnered by their ability to involve themself in even the most petty squabble, but all the same, she rather wished she had agreed to meet at the tea shop instead. At least then she could sip a cup of tea and go over ledgers while she waited. "Hey Lady." a gruff and unfamiliar voice sounded from around a nearby corner. Emerging from behind it was a half armored hooded young man, followed by three others in similar garb. Josephine did her best to cover the irritation in her voice as she asked, "May I help you?"

"Hand over your coins," the lead figure stated with a cocky smile, "and nobody gets hurt." Josephine could not stop the quirk of her eyebrow, these thieves clearly were not regulars about Val Royux, anyone with sense would know not to mess with the ambassador of the Inquisition without far more forces. Josephine was no regular fighter for certain, though she was hardly defenseless on her own, but the Inquisitor had a, well justified, reputation for being protective of their people. "An' don't even think about screaming." The bandit continued, "We don't wanna shed more blood than necessary." At the same time a momentary blur of grey and black passed in the corner of Josephine's eye, from the top of a nearby building. Resisting the urge to shake her head at the inquisitor's flair for dramatic entrances she did her best to defuse the situation. "Monsieur, I am sorry that you find me in such poor condition," Josephine made a shallow bow, "you see, I fear my friend will arrive quite soon." Glancing at one another one of the thieves murmured "friend?", then they all began to laugh. "Look at that boss," one said "Nobles are throwing themselves at us. Two for the trouble of one." the "boss" laughed, "I might stop by the Chantry and start praying once we're done! Thank the maker for today." "Oh," Josephine sought to clarify. "I am afraid my friend is not a noble. At least not by birthright." she brought a hand to her chin wondering how to best broach the subject of who exactly they were messing with, "Does the name Adaar ring any bells?" It was clear by the dumbfounded expressions it did not. She almost pitied them for their ignorance, clearly there was no hope for this lot. "It means weapon, so I have been told." she tried to warn. "Likes to jump from high places." she allowed a twinge of annoyance to enter her words here. The bandits however were unmoved. "3 meters tall..." she attempted, though they only looked to each other in confusion at this, "Grey, does grey make you think of anything?" "No..?" "Carries a large sword, approximately my size..." "Look I don't care who your friend is lady just hand over the money." the man stated impatiently, inching closer with his blade. Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose as the bird's chirp sounded just above her. "Oh dear, now I do wish I had brought paper to write your names." It was at this point Kaaras decided to make themself known scuffing their boot on the roof of the building behind Josephine. "Huh? Who's there?" the thief barely had time to get the words out before Kaaras Adaar landed just behind the ambassador with a graceful crouch, before raising themself to full height, towering over Josephine. "Sorry I'm late." Josephine could hear the smirk in Kaaras' voice. The thieves, for their parts, seemed rather frozen in shock. "Boss....?" one murmured. There wasn't time for anything else before Kaaras broke into action, before any of them could get the good sense to run they were all unconscious on the ground. "You're unharmed, correct, Josie?" "Yes Inquisitor I am quite alright, next time, however, we will definitely meet at the tea shop." "Aw, but Josie they always make me stay for something, and the cups and chairs are so tiny..." Kaaras complained like a child. "Plus, better we catch these idiots then someone get hurt right?" "I suppose, but I would rather not play the bait, perhaps bring Dorian to do so in the future." "Please, Dorian would just fry them himself. It wouldn't be nearly as..." Josephine fixed them with a look. "erm... safe, for the bandits, I just knocked them out, they wouldn't escape Dorian without a few good burns." "An admirable point Inquisitor. Either way, we should see these men to our scouts to be dealt with by the proper authorities."

[fenrisisms]

genuinely i think broncarm is the funniest worldstate. first you have the hero of ferelden, that guy who killed the archdemon and lived to tell about it. his twin brother is the king of ferelden who fucks so hard that he began to cast doubt on the divine right of kings shit ferelden has going on. their mutual close personal friend is the viscountess of kirkwall who for the first time in as long as anyone can remember has the templar order by the dick and not the other way around. and all three of them are buddies of the inquisitor who has recognised titles in at least 3 separate societies. if i was a hater of any one of them i'd just walk into the ocean and call it a day

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer:

"A Deep Dive Into Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Expansive Character Creator by Wesley LeBlanc on Jun 27, 2024 at 02:00 PM As BioWare prepared to show me the character creator for Dragon Age: The Veilguard in its Edmonton, Canada, offices, I expected something robust – it's 2024, character creators have come a long way, and Bioware has a rich history of good customization. Despite my expectations, I was not prepared for how robust it actually is in Veilguard. Robust enough, even, that BioWare used it to create most of the NPCs in the game, save for mainline characters like companions. Setting hyperbole aside, it is a staggeringly rich creation system, and I look forward to seeing player-created near-replicas of celebrities and monstrous creations that'd be more at home in a horror game.  But I'm also looking forward to the community's reaction to the Dragon Age series' best character creator yet. At the heart of it is inclusivity, Veilguard game director Corinne Busche tells me before letting me guide her through creating my own character."

"As is usual, there are four races to choose from: Elves, Qunari, Humans, and Dwarves. After selecting Qunari, Busche pages through various presets, explaining the game allows for more detailed looks at each and the ability to choose pronouns with she/her, he/him, and they/them separately from gender, select different body types, and more. You can view your character, referred to as Rook in-game, in four different lighting scenes at any time, including The Veilguard's keynote purple hue, a bright and sunny tropical day, and a gothic night.  I joke with the team that after spending upwards of an hour creating my Dragon Age: Inquisition character in 2014, I immediately restarted the game after seeing him in the first cutscene; the in-game lighting made my hair color look terrible amongst other issues I had with my Inquisitor. Veilguard creative director John Epler says the team is aware of countless stories like that with Inquisition and its green-hued character creator, adding BioWare worked hard to squash that concern in Veilguard.  Head and body presets can be selected individually and customized to your liking with 40 different complexions that include smooth, rugged, youthful, and freckled skin tones, skin hues ranging from cool to neutral to warm, undertones to those skin tones, and even a melanin slider. Busche tells me BioWare relied on consultation to represent all people authentically. There's a Vitiligo slider (where you can adjust the intensity and amount of it) and sliders for your forehead, brow, cheeks, jaw, chin, larynx, and scalp. You can select your undergarments, with nudity as well because "this is a mature RPG," Busche adds, and use the "Body Morpher" to select three presets for each corner of a triangle and then move a cursor within it to morph your body or head into a mix of these presets. It's an impressive technology I'd like to see adopted in other games. [link to embedded DA:TV gameplay reveal video]"

"I can keep going: You can adjust height, shoulder width, chest size, glute and bulge size, hip width, how bloodshot your eyes are, how visible cataracts are, the sclera color, how crooked your nose is, how big its bridge is, the size of nostrils and the nose tip, and there are as many sliders, if not more, for things like Rook's mouth and ears. On ears alone, I see you can adjust asymmetry, depth, rotation, earlobe size, and even add cauliflower ear to your Rook. Busche says makeup blends modern stylings with the fantasy of Dragon Age with more than 30 options, including eyeliner intensity, color, glitter, eye shadow, lips, and blush. Tattoos are just as customizable alongside options for scars and paint. Tattoos, scars, and paint are very culturally relevant to some lineages, BioWare tells me, with unique tattoos for elves, for example. You can add tattoos to Rook's face, body, arms, and legs, and you can adjust things like intensity, too.  Im most impressed, however, by the hair options on display; there are a ton, and as someone with long hair, I'm especially excited about the fun selections I can make. You can finally dye your hair with non-traditional colors, and it's gorgeous. EA's Frostbite engine uses the Strand system to render each style fully with physics. "The technology has finally caught up to our ambition," Dragon Age series art director Matt Rhodes says. After customizing all of that and selecting our Qunari's horn type and material (of which there are more than 40 options to choose from), it's time to pick a class out of the Rogue, Mage, and Warrior – read more about Veilguard's classes here. Since we built a Qunari, we went with Warrior. For the penultimate step of the character creator, at least during the demo BioWare shows me, we select a faction. Out of the six options, we select the pirate-themed Lords of Fortune."

"Rook ascends because of competency, not because of a magical McGuffin," BioWare core lead and Mass Effect executive producer Michael Gamble tells me in contrast to Inquisition's destiny-has-chosen-you-characterization. "Rook is here because they choose to be and that speaks to the kind of character that we've built," Busche adds. "Someone needs to stop this, and Rook says, 'I guess that’s me.'" Ready to begin our Rook's journey, we select a first and last name and one of four voices out of English masculine, English feminine, American masculine, or American feminine options. There's a pitch shifter for each voice, too, allowing you to tweak it to your liking further. Don't stress too much about locking in your character creations before beginning the game – the Mirror of Transformation, which is found in Veilguard's main hub, The Lighthouse, allows you to change your physical appearance at any time. However, class, lineage, and identity are locked in and cannot be changed after you select them in the game's character creator.  From here, we're off to Minrathous, and you can read more about that famed city in our cover story, which is available here. For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]

[azurecanary]

In today's edition of "What in the Reddit"

"Kanan is proof that Jedi can have attachments"

We love a good "tell me you didn't watch the show without telling me you didn't watch the show"

My guy here (guy said gender neutrally) saw that a Jedi had a love interest and remained a good Jedi and made the classic mistake of "love vs attachment"

Now anyone who has watched Rebels the way through would know that literally Kanan's entire arc is about him letting go of his attachments

How does Kanan beat the Grand Inquisitor in the Season 1 finale? He lets go of his attachment to Ezra (primarily fear of loss) after believing him dead

How does Kanan become a Jedi Knight? He accepts that he's trained Ezra the best he could and lets go of his fear of Ezra turning to the Dark Side (a bit of dramatic irony in hindsight)

And what happens in Kanan's final episode? He's let go of his attachments to the Ghost Crew and accepts that they will be fine after his death

What was his final lesson to Ezra (delivered by Ms "Jedi in everything but name" herself)? It was for Ezra to let go of Kanan's death and accept that some things can not be changed

It's worth noting that Kanan says "I love you" to Hera for the first time after he's realised that she doesn't need him anymore

[ffc1cb]

happy to announce i’ve finally lost it and spent a considerable amount of time making a dragon age inquisition mod that lets your inquisitor use they/them pronouns. if there’s anyone out there besides me who wants to use it, here it is on nexus.

detailed description and personal commentary under the cut

update: as of 3.05 (may 3rd), the mod has been uploaded to nexus. see download link above for any future updates.

this is a mod for frosty mod manager 1.0.6.1. you MUST install the bioware localization plugin for it to work, otherwise the game won’t start. on fmm 1.0.6.2, the plugin is already built in, so you don’t need to worry;

this mod is a simple overhaul of the game’s base text; no changes were made to the actual voice lines. this mod also does not affect default romance flags (just like in vanilla game, you can only romance sera with a "female" inquisitor (or dorian with "male"), but the mod should, hypothetically, be compatible with other mods that edit romance flags);

you can install it at any point of the game. starting a new playthrough is not necessary;

works for all races and with all available dlcs;

along with the pronouns change, this mod changes all gendered words used to refer to the inquisitor to be gender neutral, i.e man / woman have been replaced with person or contextual variants. my lord / my lady and other similar titles have been replaced with messere (on the basis of this reddit thread);

some of the dialogue could've been mistakenly changed, since context was not always easy to parse. if you try this mod out, i’d greatly appreciate any help with pointing out my mistakes (blackwall’s romance in particular has given me the most trouble); additionally, i might have missed some lines in the codexes, since i skimmed through them very briefly.

i’ve no previous modding experience, so i went with the easiest option and, like i mentioned above, brute forced it and made a complete overhaul of the base game text as opposed to a pickable option i’d like it to be. ideally i’d love for this mod to be bundled together with this other one that switches pc pronouns (which was a partial inspiration for this mod). if anyone here has any knowledge on whether this is something that could be done, please hmu.

also, since in order to make this mod i had to read through the entire game text (it was torturous. not gonna lie) i collected some of my personal favorite bits and pieces along the way. if anyone’s curious, you can look at them here. there’s surprisingly many developers’ notes in there.

ps: this mod is free to use for all so this is not at all necessary, but if anyone is feeling generous, i have a tip jar.

[alienturnipp]

Hero - Champion - Inquisitor

aka the girlies (gender neutral)

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

the way i need enemies to lovers smut with cal where reader is a sith lord and gets hurt but cal being the good man that he is, takes her back to his place and things happen yk 😰

i love this so much and I hope it's alright that I changed the prompt a teensy bit. instead of being sith, reader is just a darkside-user more generally. also gender neutral. thank you so much for the request!

Balance (Cal Kestis x reader)

Summary: You encounter Cal Kestis a few too many times, and you can't explain the way that the Force seems to be conspiring to put you two together in a room.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors DNI; gn!reader; inappropriate use of the Force; reader is a darkside user and honestly doesn't know how fucked they are; semi-graphic injuries; porn with plot; toxic relationship lowkey; blowjob; mutual masturbation (sort of); penetrative sex; unprotected sex (pls be safe irl y'all); if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 12,765 my hand slipped

The first time you encounter Cal Kestis, you nearly kill him.

You’d heard the rumors, of course, whispered with bright eyes and furtive expressions in shithole Outer Rim cantinas of a flame-headed being cutting down Inquisitors and Imperials. When you first overheard a snippet of the tall tale, you’d nearly choked on your cheap spotchka. Right, you remember thinking, a fiery figure opposing the Empire. Did they run out of good gossip today? 

Most rumors have at least a kernel of truth at their centers, and you figured it was the same with this one. And besides, you are indifferent to the Empire, at best; you’ve been avoiding their attention as much as you can, but you suspect that the thick cloak of the darkside you wear like a mantle has kept most of the Inquisitorius oblivious. They’re looking for Jedi, who cannot resist continuing to do good in a galaxy rotted to its core, and you stopped being a Jedi long before the Empire rose to power. They probably pay no mind to one lone figure who straddles the line of light and dark, temptation and virtue. 

But that doesn’t mean Jedi pay no mind to you. Most of them, you can avoid; you fight when necessary. Currently, you’re thinking a fight might just be necessary. You’re on some planet you’ve already forgotten the name of, densely populated and urban. You stand with one foot propped on the edge of a rooftop, neon lights glimmering on wet permacrete. Rain drizzles in a fine mist. You gaze placidly across the gap to the next building—to the flame-headed being. Without even needing to try, you feel his Force signature: he burns in the Force, even as he tries to hide it. His coppery hair ruffles in the slight breeze, stubble darkening his face. 

With a steadying breath, you tilt your head to one side. “Got a name, friend?”

“Not one you need to know,” he calls back. His posture is loose, casual, but you sense the whipcord tension in his Force aura; he’s on the alert. 

As he probably should be. 

“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” You offer him a disarming smile. “Seems only fair, right? Equitable partnership.” 

He snorts. “There’s no partnership.” 

“Fine,” you huff. You tell him your name anyways, and he mouths it silently, but none of that tension dissipates. You take the moment to appraise him a little more closely: lean body, self-assured slant of his shoulders, faded burn scar cut across his face. Heat licks up your spine.

“Cal,” he eventually says. “Cal Kestis.”

You smile wide at his honeyed voice. “Nice to meet you, Cal Kestis. Mind moving out of the way so I can continue on my merry way?” 

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s no trace of regret in that gorgeous voice, only immense exhaustion. 

Your saber hilt twitches against your back as your hand flexes nearly out of habit. Taking another deep, cleansing breath, you shrug as if his answer means nothing. The dark tide of the Force surges through your body, tingling in your fingertips, sharpening the smoggy night air into fine detail. “Well, can’t say I didn’t ask nicely.” 

And then you leap, going from a dead standstill to a flurry of action in the space of a heartbeat. As your unstable crimson blade screeches to life, bathing the rooftops in flickering light, an answering snap-hiss echoes around you. Blue beam clashes with red, showering sparks over both of you. 

Oh, he’s strong, and for some reason that makes your skin flush. You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile and shove. He staggers back, feet slipping for a moment in the gravel surface of the rooftop, before he recovers. 

“I’ll give you this one chance to stand down,” he says, voice thick and low and oh how it makes you shiver. His eyes glint in the blue light of his saber. 

“Funny,” you snap, “I was just going to say the same to you.” 

A frown tugs at his mouth. Lowering into a defensive stance, his eyes never leave yours as you languidly swing your saber in a half circle around you, content to draw this out. You’ve killed your number of Jedi in the name of self-preservation—necessary sacrifices to ensure the continued balance of Light and Dark—but there’s something about the way his green eyes harden into sharp gems the longer you twirl your blade, the casual power in his veined forearms, the absolutely pure gold energy he radiates in the Force. 

With an aggravated shake of your head, you press the attack. Overhead, backhand, thrust, thrust, parry—you and Cal settle into a dangerous dance. Bright light bursts where your sabers connect, sparks skittering across the gravel. For anyone watching nearby, the pair of you probably look like blurs of red and blue light—another light fixture among this technicolor urban landscape. 

But for anyone skilled in the Force, the radiance of your sabers dims in comparison to the pillars of energy you both become. One golden and bright as a thousand suns, shot through with faint tendrils of inky blackness; one glowing in shadow, a black hole ringed by its event horizon, smears of golden light. 

Both the light and the dark are present in this fight, and you smile grimly. In all things, balance, as your master used to say. 

The memory is a distraction, and Cal manages to break through your guard and punch your nose. Searing pressure spikes through your head, warmth dribbling down your face. 

You merely grin at him with blood-covered lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Kestis.” 

And again the two of you become a flurry of attacks, parries, counterattacks, feints. In the distance, the low drone of a police siren reverberates off the tall glass buildings of the downtown area. You’ve been spotted. Time to end this now. 

You make a show of appearing to be tiring, breathing coming in heavy gasps, your saber still meeting Cal’s in time to stop him from separating your limbs from your body, but just a fraction slower than what you’d begun with. And you give ground. Just a half step at first, and then several steps. Cal seizes the opportunity to push you back, force you into submission, gain the upperhand—

Not knowing he’d lost this fight the moment he’d placed himself in your path. 

The Force is with you. In the Force, your arms seem to glow with terrible, purple-black ultraviolet power as you surrender yourself to its currents. There is no longer you and your saber; your saber is you. There is no longer you and Cal Kestis; there is you and the last piece of yourself that you’re willing to atrophy. Veins of golden Light criss-cross under your darkly shining skin—and as you stand firm once again with your back to the low roof edge, you will those golden veins to flush, to swell. You’re going to triumph here, and it’ll be with the approval of the full Force.

Cal’s face gleams with sweat, his brow furrowed, delicious mouth curved down in a frown. You lick your lips. 

“Yield, Kestis,” you say. One last chance. 

He just grunts, and in a blur of motion, separates the hilt of his saber. Another beam of blue snaps to life. Fear flares in you for a moment—but the Force remains with you, and you let the emotion siphon into your cracked, bleeding kyber. Plasma spits off the sides of your blade as you block attack after attack after attack; you’re an infinite well of patience—but that siren is getting closer, and you know that time, unlike your patience, is of the essence. 

In a flash of inspiration, you reverse your grip on your hilt mid-parry, then swipe the angry blade out and up. A cry of pain, and one of the blue sabers retracts as the hilt clatters to the gravel. Cal stumbles back, cradling his left arm to his chest, his remaining saber held in front of him. 

You can’t help the surge of pleasure at besting your opponent, even temporarily. As you twirl your saber again, a spotlight suddenly beams down on the two of you. With a grimace, you swing the saber down towards the soft juncture of Cal’s neck where it meets his shoulder—

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of the calm, resigned look in his eyes. Your blade hovers mere centimeters off his skin. 

Amid the roar of hovercraft, the police siren, and the rushing of blood in your ears, he murmurs your name.

“Kark it all,” you spit. Gathering the Force within you, you shove him back. A shout of surprise, a flash of blue, and then he’s tumbling over the edge of the building. You retract your blade and dash in the opposite direction without a second thought. 

Your master had always been honest with you about how little he, or anyone, truly knew about the mysteries of the Force. During your years as a padawan, you spent countless hours in meditation chambers deep below the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, feeling the constant ebb and flow of the Force around you. The first time he brought you there, your master explained in hushed tones how the temple had been built millennia ago over an old Sith temple. The Force resided in a nexus point there; streams of energy flowed from all over the galaxy and converged—and then diverged—from the temple. 

Sitting in meditation now, you breathe deeply and steadily as the memory crests over you. 

“But, Master,” you asked, “if the temple used to be a Sith stronghold, doesn’t that mean the dark side of the Force is strong here, too?” 

His kind, patient eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is right, my Padawan. In all things, there must be balance. Light and dark only exist because of each other.”

A frown tugged at your lips at that, and you cocked your head to the side. “But aren’t we supposed to resist the darkness?” 

“Yes,” he said. “The darkness is an overbalance—an overabundance—of emotions, passions, fears. The Sith, and all who use the dark side, manipulate the Force to their will, instead of letting their emotions, like the Force, flow through them.” 

Something about that didn’t feel right. “But—” 

Your master held up one hand, forestalling the line of questioning you were about to launch into. He stepped through a large, arched doorway into a dim, echoing room. “Come, Padawan. Perhaps meditating will provide the answers you seek.” 

You inhale slowly and open your eyes, squinting against the bright blue glare of the hyperspace lane. No matter how long or how hard you meditated under the temple, you grew no closer to an answer than by asking your master. Despite your frustration, you kept returning to the chambers below the Great Hall. The Force there was...comforting. Balanced. And yet, so infuriating in its mystery. You could feel both the light and the dark, and neither were good or bad. The Force just...was. Perhaps it was the long hours you spent in the tunnels and vast echoic chambers there that you developed your keen sense for the composition of the Force.

Standing, you groan softly at the ache in your knees. As you settle back into the thinly padded pilot’s seat, you massage at the joints, wondering just when you’d gotten old. 

Probably when that droid shot through your master’s heart on Geonosis, and you’d physically felt the Force tip off-balance half a galaxy away, deep in meditation on Coruscant. The memory is painful, and digs its festering claws into your heart yet again. 

The Council hadn’t even needed to tell you your master had perished in the opening salvo of the Clone Wars. The morning after his funeral, with both his and your sabers in your pack, you’d fled the temple.

The old fool, you think, slashing the memory of him from your awareness.

By now, you’re used to the pit of emotions yawning in your very essence. You hold onto your fears, your angers, your anxieties—but also your loves, your passions, your desires. Without even really thinking about it, you reach for the loose compartment that holds your master’s saber. Its duranium-plated hilt is slowly corroding, matching the slow degradation of yourself. The blade jumps to life with a snap-hiss. The green glow it casts is almost sickly, the blade bright, but thin and tremulous. It’s been weak since he died.

As you stare, eyes burning, into the flickering core of your master’s blade, you reach into the Force for the kyber at its heart. No matter how many times you brush against the crystal with your mind, you’re never prepared. A screech, unending and agonized and fearful, rends through your consciousness. For a moment, the green sputters, crimson taking its place. 

You drop the saber, gasping. The hilt clatters to the floor and blade retracts, and you’re left again in the pressing silence of hyperspace.

In all things, balance, drift the words through you once again. Green against crimson. Crimson for blue. You think about Cal Kestis, his blinding presence; you think of your vacuous silhouette; and you take all the rage you can muster and twist it into your own heart like a dagger. The joists of your ship groan in response.

The second time you meet Cal Kestis, you almost wish you’d killed him all those years ago.

Just a few months after that first encounter on rain-slicked rooftops, you caught wind of a rumor that the flame-headed being attacked the Fortress Inquisitorius itself. This time, you didn’t discount the story, having witnessed first hand—for however short a time—the Force-empowered determination of that single human being. None of the rumors about Cal Kestis surprise you anymore. 

But you routinely have to curse his name as the Inquisitors have now turned their attention beyond just Jedi. The cloak of the darkness is no longer enough on its own to hide you from the long gaze of the Empire. You’ve taken to hiding out on barely populated Outer Rim worlds, hanging around long enough to establish some kind of routine, before the gentle ripples of the Force lapping against your subconscious grow into towering, dangerous waves. And then you hop back in your ship, barely more than scrap welded to a hyperdrive, and scuttle off to the next system. 

Which is where you find yourself now. Koboh could be promising. As you crouch at the edge of an exposed cliff, you study the cosmic anomaly that orbits the planet. The Abyss. You’re not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it creates a strong enough disturbance in the Force that you’re hopeful it will mask your own signature. And, you admit to yourself as your gaze lowers to the breathtaking landscape spread out below you, you’ve hidden in worse places the last few years. Koboh seems promising, indeed.

You spend a few days studying the locals, trying to get a feel for how life works here. For the most part, everyone here seems like they’re from off-world—which is good, because it means you won’t stand out for very long as a newcomer. Everyone here is a newcomer. And everyone here is more concerned, it seems, with the things that lie in the dirt than in the world aboveground. All the better for you. 

Concealing your saber hilt against your back like always, you make sure your ship, bucket of bolts that it is, is well-hidden enough to dissuade any potential scrappers. Tucked high on an outcropping, you hope most folks won’t care too much to check out the shiny metal bits not covered by plant matter. Not when it’s several dozen feet above solid ground. 

And you make sure you look as uninteresting as possible. With your saber out of view, you could pass for a refugee without issue. Force knows you’ve been weeks without a proper shower; you can feel the dirt and grime on every inch of your skin. Your clothing, usually neat and tucked in, is dusty, torn, and stained with dried blood. 

Yes, you’ll fit in nicely here. 

As you pass beneath a metallic archway decorated with a massive horned skull, you reach out in the Force, making sure that none of the town’s inhabitants can get the drop on you. You bypass squat, square buildings that are probably homes of some of the folks here. None seem of interest. Instead, your gaze is trained on the larger, multi-story building near the center of town. As you draw nearer, you realize the sign above the door reads, “Saloon.” Perfect. 

The door opens to admit you into a hallway; at the end, you wait in front of another door for a moment while a mechanical eye studies you. Chattering in a deep, unintelligible voice, the eye withdraws, and the second door whooshes open to reveal the barroom. 

No one turns as you descend the few steps to the floor. Crates and clutter stock most of the booths along the side wall, a few folks talking quietly at smaller tables or sitting alone and nursing a drink. Quiet, staticky radio music plays over the speakers. 

Behind the bar is a tall, four-armed droid who skids to a halt where you lean against the counter.

“You’re a new face,” the droid says. “Name’s Monk. What can I get you?” 

You quirk an eyebrow and give the droid, Monk, an alias, your sixth one in as many months. Then you say, “Got any spotchka?” 

“Indeed I do,” Monk says. “Shall I start a tab?” 

“I’ll pay up front,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Monk gives you the cost as he pours the glowing blue liquid into a clean glass, and you slide the credits across the counter. The alcohol’s familiar burn slides down your throat as you lean your back against the bar. Over the rim of your glass, you study the other patrons here at the saloon. Dusty, tired figures, the lot of them. In the Force, they are marginal, giving off only nominal signatures, no different than most other living beings. Most of them aren’t important enough to even warrant a clear affiliation with light or dark; they just are. Your upper lip quirks in a grimace.

Extending your awareness out farther, you’re not sure what you’re searching for, but you suppose you’ll know it when you find it. The hilt of your saber digs uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignore it, using the pain to sharpen your focus. You sense more townsfolk going to and fro outside the saloon, but none of them of any more note than those inside.

Something in you itches. Frowning, you lower the glass of spotchka and try to focus in on that feeling. It’s under your skin, out of reach, just behind your spine, but if you just push a little farther—

You gasp, cringing away from the sudden supernova that blinds your awareness in the Force. Cal Kestis. It has to be Cal. No one else burns quite like him. 

You yank your Force signature back into your body, hoping he didn’t feel you like you felt him. Figuring you only have moments to get out, you make a split-second decision between the several other doors leading away from this main room. Spotchka glass still in hand, you dart for the nearest door, and it slides open to reveal a staircase that winds upward. You take the steps two at a time. At the landing, you hiss at the sight of a second-floor loft. Stairs seem to continue along the other side, continuing to wind upward, but before you can run for them, a familiar voice drifts up from below. 

“Hey, Monk, good to see you,” says Cal Kestis. 

Your body flushes with warmth. Kriff. 

Monk says something you can’t quite make out. 

“Another newcomer?” Cal says. “I’ll make sure to say hi when I see them.” 

Grimacing, you creep across the floor toward the second staircase. Your foot just touches the bottom step when a voice behind you calls your name—your real name, not the alias you gave the droid. 

You sigh, chin falling toward your chest. “Cal Kestis.” 

“How did you find me?” 

His green gaze burns into you almost as hot as his Force signature. You roll your eyes; typical Jedi, thinking the world revolves around him.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say. “I’m...laying low.” 

He crosses his arms across his chest, and you’re distracted for a moment by the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want to, Jedi,” you bite out. “I’ll go find my own desolate planet.” 

“Can’t let you do that,” he says, following behind you as you climb the stairs. 

“I’d love to see you stop me.” 

You feel the disturbance in the Force and brace for it. His attempt to yank you back down the stairs fails as you push against it—but you can’t push past it. Equally matched. Balanced. 

With a growl, you spin on your heel and point an accusing finger at Cal. “Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” 

His eyes narrow at you as you stand there, chest heaving with emotion, both of you crackling with energy in the Force. You down the rest of your spotchka and shatter the glass on the ground. Cal doesn’t flinch. The longer you stand there, the hotter your face flushes. Ignoring the impulse to shudder, you don’t miss the way his green eyes study your face, your posture, your signature. 

“I know you,” he finally says. “From the temple.” 

You snort in derision. “Good for you, kid.” 

“I was still a youngling when the Clone Wars started,” he says. “I...understand what it’s like to lose your master.” 

Your vision pulses black for a moment, and on instinct you reach out with a clawed hand. Cal’s eyes widen in fear as his hands fly to his throat, grabbing at the invisible hand you squeeze there.

“Don’t. Ever. Presume to know anything about me,” you hiss. “You know nothing, Cal Kestis.” 

“You’re—right—” he chokes out. “I’m—sorry—”

You shove, the Force exploding through your palm as he slams into the opposite wall. Sputtering, he coughs, rubbing at his throat. 

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.” You spit the title like a curse—like the curse that it is—and turn to take the staircase up and out. The door at the top admits you to the open-air roof, the cosmic explosion of the Abyss looming overhead. 

You step over the edge of the roof, calling on the Force to cushion your descent. At the bottom, you ignore the flabbergasted expressions on a few of the locals as you stalk off. Past the saloon, past the stables, through the shallow river—you’re not sure how far you walk, but it’s dark by the time that you realize you’re lost. 

“Kriff,” you sigh. 

Thankfully, whether by luck or by the sheer force of presence of your Force signature, you’ve not been bothered by any of the (frankly terrifying) wildlife on this planet. Tentatively, you reach out, but you find nothing but a few docile Nekkos and, farther off, a dozing bilemaw. 

In the dim light provided by the Abyss and the Shattered Moon hanging heavy in the sky, you determine that a shallow cliff alcove nearby will be as good a place as any to rest until morning. Settling under the rocky overhang, you exhale a shaky breath. 

It’s been a long time since you let your emotions take control like that. You allow yourself to feel them, even to use them to your advantage—but you rarely lose control. Not recently, anyways. 

You bare your teeth at the thought of Cal Kestis. He’s by far only the latest in a string of former Jedi you’ve encountered, but none of them, even the ones who you remember from your years as a padawan, created this amount of turmoil in you. So why him? 

Should probably just ask him myself, huh, you muse, hearing a twig snap nearby. You don’t need to look into the Force to know who it is. 

“Who’s following who now?” you call. 

With a familiar hum, a blue blade sings as it springs to life, illuminating the alcove you’re hunkered in, as well as Cal’s lean figure. You’re too exhausted to be angry at this point, but a different kind of heat licks up your spine as you push up onto your feet. The warmth settles between your thighs, throbbing uncomfortably as he raises the saber overhead, his arm muscles flexing. 

“Had to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone,” he says, halting just a few feet away. 

“No one out here to hurt,” you say. “What are you really doing here, Kestis?” 

He hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet, eyes not meeting yours. Squinting, you extend a tendril of awareness toward him—past the burnished gold aura, past the shell of Jedi honor he projects like a shield, until you brush against one of those tiny black cracks in his signature. He stiffens, shifts his stance into a defensive half-crouch. There is darkness in him. 

And there is lightness in you, sighs a voice that sounds very much like your master’s. 

You ignore it. 

“Well?” you prompt. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says. 

You snort. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” Sinking back into a meditative pose, you let your eyes slide shut and effectively shut out all things Cal Kestis.

At least, that’s what you try to do. The karking idiot seems to have decided that you’re not a threat—a poor miscalculation on his part—as his saber retracts and you hear the sounds of someone settling into a meditative trance next to you. Peeking one eye open, you glance over to find him sat back on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, his face blank and serene. He’s beautiful like this, you think. 

“I could kill you right now, you know,” you say, letting your eye fall shut again. 

“You won’t,” he says, sounding so matter-of-fact that you’re almost convinced that you really wouldn’t. 

Then you shake your head. “Don’t be so certain.” 

“You didn’t kill me five years ago. You won’t kill me now.” 

Gnawing at your cheek, you find you have no response for that. 

The third time you face Cal Kestis, you want to hate him. 

Koboh proves to be big enough for two powerful Force users. You keep to the wilderness, and he sticks to the town. For the most part, anyway. You occasionally catch a glimpse of copper hair as he explores the planet, following all the inane rumors of the locals. Why he even lowers himself to their level, you’ll never understand. 

And besides, Koboh has turned out to be a perfect place to continue your search for answers about the Force. You’ve never wanted to stop knowing, never stopped asking “But why?” The Abyss above is a physical presence most days, nearly oppressive in its crushing weight. It absolutely deafens you in the Force whenever you try to reach for it, painful screeching assaulting your senses. There’s something behind the noise, though, but it’s too far, too deep, for you to reach it. 

You haven’t seen Cal in a while now. And you’re fine with that. You’d watched his ship take off in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, and it still hasn’t returned. 

Shrugging, you decide that today is as good a day as any to do some exploring of your own. You’ve watched Cal enough to know that there are hidden vaults on this planet, and from what you’ve been able to tell, they’re old. Maybe they’ll have some answers. 

The sunrise peeks over the craggy cliffside, casting a gentle pink hue over the world, still hushed in its predawn slumber. Dew collects on your pant legs as you pass through a small clearing of scrubby bushes. A couple dozen feet up the hill glints a hint of gold. None of the Koboh prospectors would have left this alone unless it were for a reason, you figure. Maybe this is one of the vaults. 

Resting a palm gently on its surface, the gold is cool to the touch. Glyphs in Basic and other languages spiral around the circular door-like structure. When you examine it through the Force, you feel the mechanism that keeps it locked, but no matter how much you push, pull, yank, shove, the door remains sealed. 

“Dank farrik,” you curse. “How does Cal do it?” 

“Very carefully,” a familiar warm voice says from behind you. 

You barely glance over your shoulder, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught unawares, but somehow unsurprised he’s managed to find you. You should have known that even thinking of his absence would cause it to revert. 

“Very funny,” you say. “What secrets are you hiding, Jedi?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sith,” he says. 

As he sidles up alongside you, you glare at him. “I’m not a Sith.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “Red saber, strong in the dark side, angry all the time.” 

Huffing, you roll your eyes. His hair is longer than it has been since you first met him, and there’s another scar, pink and shiny, on his upper bicep, like he’d been cut with a vibroblade. As you study him, you also realize he looks...older. More tired. More weary. 

“You look like bantha fodder,” you say helpfully. 

He hums noncommittally. “Do you want into the vault or not?” 

“You’re gonna let me in?” you say, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

With a half-shrug, he says, “I’ve already explored this one. Nothing left in it for you to gain, except maybe some manners.” 

He reveals a small, handheld device that, when he raises it toward the golden door, blips. The door expands open, revealing a turbolift in the center of the floor. 

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, not moving from your spot. Suspicion bubbles in the back of your mind. 

Cal pockets the device and gestures for you to go ahead, giving you a sardonic two-finger salute. “It’s in my nature.” 

With that, he takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and trudges back downhill, tucking his fiery hair behind his ears. 

The vault teaches you something, alright, but it isn’t manners like Cal hoped. Even two century-old tech and warbled messages from a Jedi named Santari Khri cannot lift the veil of jade that rests over your eyes. The Order has always been faulty. The Order has always been weak. Your master was always fated to die, and you to wander, adrift. You grind your teeth in anger. Is that all that exists for you? For anyone? To live and die at the whim of some cosmic, unknowable power? 

The vault also reminds you of your mortality. As you work yourself into a silent rage about the unfairness of the galaxy, at the cruel and nonsensical nature of the Force, you miscalculate the distance between two crumbling stone platforms. With a Force-assisted leap, your arms windmill as you keep yourself balanced, but your feet only just manage to catch the edge of the platform. You wobble, anger bursting into fear, as the stone grates against itself before your stomach is in your throat as you plummet straight down. 

The rush of frigid air steals the scream from your lungs. Try as you might, the Force refuses to help you grasp onto the quickly receding lip of this chasm. 

And then pain rockets up your legs in jagged, arcing lines from your heels to your hips, and you collapse. 

It’s only by sheer willpower that you don’t black out. Grit your teeth. Take a deep breath. Curse until the pain abates. 

You take stock of your body. Your legs are on fire, and any attempt to move them sends a fresh wave of lava licking up your nerve endings. Otherwise, you wipe away blood from scrapes on your palms and tenderly poke at the bruises already forming on your ribs. Around you, myriad rocks and small boulders litter the cracked, moist ground. Mist clings to the spaces in between. When you look up, the ledge you fell from is completely obscured. 

“No Jedi wisdom for me, Santari Khri?” you croak as you gently shift into an upright position. Your teeth squeak from clenching your jaw against the pain, but you manage to prop yourself up with your back against a sizable rock. 

The mist deadens your words. Instead of an echo, it’s like the words get clipped short before they can fully materialize in the air. The back of your neck pricks. But, studying your surroundings once more, there is nothing for you to do but meditate. Perhaps, for once, the Force will provide.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you sit in meditation, methodically stretching your awareness to its limits, trying to snag onto any signature in the Force that might help you out of this predicament. Your butt goes completely numb, as do your legs—a fact you feel should incite panic in your already-tight chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. By the time that you’re ready to give up searching, your throat tickles with dryness and your stomach begins to feel empty. 

But just as you heave a sigh, rising out of the meditative trance, the Force tugs on your awareness. Furrowing your brow, you concentrate: up, up up up, and to the left. Something steadily growing closer. Something bright, and familiar, and warm. 

Cal. 

For once, you’re grateful for his annoyingly Jedi-like qualities. You track his presence through the Force, unable to do more than monitor as he seems to approach your location with frustrating slowness. 

“Come on,” you mutter, mouth thick. “I’m here. Come find me like you always do.” 

After what feels like another small eternity, you finally open your eyes and peer up through the opaque mist. Above, you swear you hear boots crunching on loose rock, and the distant bwee-boop of a droid. 

“Down here,” you half call, half croak. The words don’t seem to make it past your throat. 

For a terrible moment, you think Cal is going to search the seemingly empty vault and, not finding you within, leave. You can’t tell, through either his footsteps or his Force signature, what he’s doing up there. At the last moment, a burst of panic seizing your limbs, you lean forward with a groan and retrieve your saber, still miraculously tucked into your waistband. 

The spitting crimson blade is a comfort as it screeches to life in the oppressive space.

A voice calls your name, cautious. 

“Here!” you shout, voice cracking painfully in an effort to be heard. 

Blue flame bursts to life somewhere above—much farther above than you initially thought—and you nearly sob in relief. 

“Watch your eyes,” Cal shouts down, and you have only a moment to register what he means before you duck, retracting your blade. The unmistakable sound of saber scoring through rock reaches you, heated pebbles showering down on your covered head, and then the sound of two soft leather-clad feet touching down beside you. 

Wary, you raise your head. Cal crouches next to you, his face painted with a cautious kind of concern. 

“You came back?” You don’t mean to make it a question, but the softness in his eyes, the gentleness with which he ghosts his hands over your many injuries, makes you reconsider your previous anger toward him. At least, for a moment. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “it’s in my nature.” 

“Legs are the worst of it,” you say, gesturing weakly to your two limbs stretched in front of you. Both are angry shades of blotchy red and purple, but no bone peeks out from within your skin at the very least. 

Cal casts a questioning look up at you, his palms hovering over your legs. You give a small nod, and he lowers his hands until they make feather-light contact with your skin. Even as careful as he’s being, pain erupts all over again when he brushes over your shin, and you squirm, cursing. 

“Probably fractured the bones,” he says. “Need to get you back to town.” 

You groan. “Unless you plan on carrying me out of here, Kestis, I’m not in any shape to make it all the way back.” 

He studies your face for a moment, really studies it, and you can’t help the way your lips part at the intensity in his gaze. Despite the aching pain in your legs, you can’t suppress the heat blooming up your neck into your cheeks the longer his eyes roam your face. Surely he can sense the way your Force aura grows more agitated. 

Whatever he’s searching for on your face, he seems to find it. Shrugging his shoulders, the curious little BD unit you’ve noticed with Cal peeks its white-and-red head up. With a boop?, Cal jerks his chin at you.

The droid slides down Cal’s back and trots up to you. Tilting its head, the mismatched eyes whir and toggle as the droid seems to study you with the same scrutiny as Cal just had.

“What—”

In the blink of an eye—faster, even—a flash of green light dazzles you, followed by the sharp pain of an injection. But that doesn’t even matter, as a blissful, cool relief spreads immediately from the injection site through the rest of your body. The ache in your legs subsides to a dull throb, and you find that you can finally move the limbs without wanting to vomit. 

“Stim,” Cal explains. He rises to his feet, and holds a hand out. “Come on. It’ll wear off soon.” 

His hand is warm, achingly so, when he grasps yours and tugs you to your feet. Grimacing at the wave of nausea that sweeps over you, you cling to his hand until it passes. 

He’s studying the sheer rockface to either side. “I may be carrying you out of here either way. Come on. Hop up.” 

He turns to retrieve your saber where you dropped the hilt—he stiffens for just a moment, so quick you think you imagine it, before he hands the hilt back to you. And then he remains facing away from you. You realize, with a deep-seated groan, that he’s removed the jacket he was wearing earlier, when he let you into the vault. His shoulders are bare and so strong and pretty and freckled and— 

His soft question of your name breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Tentatively, you hook your arms over top of his broad shoulders, trying to ignore the way his skin feels against yours, and he crouches so you can more easily clamber onto his back like a pack. 

“BD, up,” Cal orders, and you squirm as the droid clambers up your back to rest with one foot on your shoulder and the other on Cal’s. 

Even with the stim working through your system much like coolant in your ship’s engine, and even with Cal doing all he can to keep you steady on his back as he Force-propels himself up the vertical rockfaces of this cavern, you bite into your cheek hard enough for it to bleed to keep yourself from yelping in pain. It’s bad enough that he had to save you from a slow death in this Force-forsaken vault; he doesn’t need to know the fire that licks up your nerve endings with every jostle. 

You shuffle off his back as soon as you’re able. A grimace contorts your features as you stumble a few steps, but you wave away Cal’s steadying hands.

“I’m fine,” you grit out. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” he says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you’re more exhausted than you are angry. “You didn’t have to come back for me.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, gesturing for you to step onto the turbolift first, “I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Ha,” you bark out. Your stomach lurches as the turbolift shudders into its ascent. “Of course I owe you, Kestis. It’s all about balance.” 

“Balance,” he says, his voice strangely hollow and contemplative. “You murdered Rexan Binette and Sarela Webb and the others for balance?” 

The names of the Jedi you killed reverberate off the curved walls of the lift chamber. Breathing through your nose, you avoid his gaze—and then shake your head at yourself, angry. Why should you be ashamed? It was them or you. 

The lift comes to a smooth halt at the top, and you’re somehow unsurprised to find that it appears to be dawn again. Your eyes find Cal’s green ones. They look nearly black in the early morning haze. His expression bares all of his emotions: hurt, suspicion, concern, worry. But he doesn’t seem...afraid. Not of you, anyways, and instead of filling you with rage, that realization makes you deflate. 

“The galaxy changed,” you say, voice flat. “You change with it, or you die.” 

He fixes you with his stare for a moment more, and then shakes his head and begins the long walk back downhill without a word. Heaving a sigh, you follow him. You can’t repay the debt you now owe him if you die from an infected wound. You tell yourself that the heat bubbling in your chest is hate, hate that you’re now bound to this life debt, hate that of all people you’re in debt to Cal Kestis. But hate has never felt so soft.

The final time that you and Cal Kestis cross paths, you remember why hatred is easier. 

It’s only a few weeks after when you’ve fully healed thanks to Cal’s quick intervention, the extra stores of bacta that you had the good foresight to stash in your ship years ago, and perhaps a nudge from the Force. You’ve retreated to your ramshackle abode in the wilderness; thankfully, the worst you have to deal with upon returning is a stray Bogling. No matter how hard you try to shoo the pesky creature away from your hut, it comes back again. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grumble, watching the Bogling scratch at the dirt out front of your hut. It chitters as it works to burrow its den. 

Cal has disappeared again, which works just fine for you. It’s easier to attune to the Force when he’s gone. When you’re not distracted by his burnished radiance, his soothing calmness, his serene meditation posture, his hair that looks as soft as the Bogling’s fur, his...him.

Genuinely, who the kriff does Cal Kestis think he is? Where does he get the right to continue to do good in the galaxy when all the galaxy wants is to kill him? To kill everyone like him? How does he continue fighting? 

For that matter, how do you continue fighting? The sudden self-introspection is jarring. You squint a glare up at the Abyss, the technicolor explosion hanging heavy in the sky, as if it personally arranged your fated entanglement with the Jedi. As if it asked the question of your purpose, not your own conscience.

You have to squint in part because, in the Force, the Abyss is blinding. Stare too long and you’ll be blinking away spots from your vision for hours afterward. As your eyes start to water, you shake your head and bring your gaze back to terra firma. Kark it all, you think, bitter. You continue fighting because you have to. Because you have to know the answer. You have to understand the balance. 

In the Force, you’ve watched for years as the streaks of light in your otherwise void-like existence pulse and contract. Here, underneath the staggering presence of the Abyss, the galactic, even cosmic, struggle between Light and Dark, splashes across your own skin, a microcosm. It makes you angry all over again, as you study the vapors of golden lightness drift around you. The anger is good. The anger makes the darkness pulse and surge and rise; the anger makes you more focused. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to hang onto the anger. 

And then you don’t have to try at all. In your peripheral awareness, the Bogling has scurried in fright into your small hut as the sound of footsteps—many, many footsteps—echoes off the surrounding cliff walls. Your lips curl back in a snarl at being interrupted. Saber hilt smacking into your palm with a familiar weight, the unsteady red blade fills your small clearing with a threatening hum. 

Around the corner comes a full squad of Imperials. For a moment, you have to blink, to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. But no. The hard white duraplast armor gleams in the midday sun, the mixed group of scout- and Stormtroopers advancing as one giant, grotesque organism. And at its midst, in the nucleus, are two black-clad figures wielding crackling electrostaffs. 

Purge Troopers. 

How dare they. How dare they come to your planet—and you hesitate only a moment over the possessiveness in your anger—and only another moment more when you find that you include Cal’s place on Koboh in that possession. This is your planet, together. The Light, and the Dark. 

In all things, balance. 

“Enemy located,” crackles the voice of one of the troopers. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, which. 

As the white-clad troopers fan out in a loose semicircle, blasters and batons raised at half-ready, the two Purge troopers continue a few paces forward. They’re nearly identical, all the way down to the way that they settle their weight on their right feet, perfectly unbalanced. 

“You won’t get away,” the one to your left calls, his voice imperious and cold. “Not this time. You’ll be coming with us.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” you call back, feigning disinterest. Through the Force, you mentally draw the battle map, the path of carnage and rage and blood you’ll wreak through the ten troopers in front of you. 

“There are ten of us,” the other Purge Trooper says, voice cocky and self-assured. The battle map in your mind halts, then reasserts itself with a new pattern. One that places Mr. Cocky and Arrogant at the top of your assault. 

You snort. “Glad to know the Empire is teaching its troopers basic math. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

You twirl your saber in a half circle around your body, a familiar ritual, a reset button to remind you to keep your head clear. As blasters raise to full height, you take a deep, centering breath, and close your eyes.

A silence takes over your ears, your mind, your very being. You are one with the Force; the Force is with you. Despite all your issues with the cosmic Force, you know it will not fail you now. You don’t hear the order to fire, you don’t hear the clicks of triggers, you don’t hear the scream of blaster bolts. You don’t need to. Guided by the Force, void-like and in command, your arms—your saber—jumps into place. 

Four blaster bolts pelt your way. Four blaster bolts ricochet and catch their originators in the chest. Four troopers fall. 

You open your eyes, lips tugging back over your teeth in a mockery of a smile. Sound returns to you just as one of the scout troopers, shaken, stumbles back with a cry: “St-Stormtrooper KIA!” 

You enact your battle map. 

Gathering the Force to yourself, you push off the ground and shoot forward with a Force assist, your saber swinging up and cleaving back down at the critical juncture between the cocky Purge Trooper’s neck and shoulder. The glowing plasma sinks easily through duraplast, fabric, and flesh alike; the trooper’s groan of pain gurgles as your blade cuts through his lungs. Now there are five. 

You whirl, saber moving nearly of its own accord to intercept each blow that the remaining troopers rain upon you. It’s nearly child’s play to parry their attacks, send them staggering off-balance. In a crucial moment where all your opponents hesitate to move forward again, you bare your teeth. Reaching out with a clawed hand, you grip the throat of one of the troopers, lift him bodily with the Force, then yank down as hard as you can. There’s a satisfying crack when he hits the ground.

You’re doing fine. You’re going to triumph here; the Force has willed it so. The fear of the remaining troopers is palpable and you draw on it, siphoning it into yourself, into your cracked and screaming kyber crystal. With a leaping slash, two trooper heads bounce away.

The remaining two troopers look at each other. You don’t need the Force to smell the fear rolling off of the scout trooper in waves, and you fix him with a feral grin. 

“No more quips?” you ask, voice harsh. 

He drops his baton and runs.

“Just you and me,” the Purge Trooper observes. 

“How very astute of you,” you say. “Your friend was the smart one. You can still run; I’ll let you go. For now.” 

“Not a chance.” The buzzing electrostaff twirls through the air as the Trooper lowers into a defensive crouch. “Surrender.” 

“Not a chance,” you echo, matching his stance. “Now, why don’t—”

A voice, familiar and warm and distracting, shouts your name from above. Like a fool, you hesitate, turning. There’s a glimpse of coppery hair, a blue flame, and golden radiance. You growl at the interruption—

And cry out as the electrostaff comes down across your upper back, singeing into your clothing, biting into your skin. 

You drop to your knees, vision blurry. Stupid. That was stupid. 

The Purge Trooper immediately raises the staff for another strike, but before it can make contact with the back of your neck, a rush of energy steamrolls over you and shoves the trooper fifteen feet back. His heels dig into the soft dirt. 

“Jedi!” If the trooper is surprised to see Cal Kestis coming to the rescue of the likes of you, you can’t hear it in his voice. “Guess this is my lucky day.” 

“Don’t count on it,” you wheeze. Grunting in pain, you shove to your feet and reset, saber singing in the air, the smell of ozone stinging your nose. 

Your name again, gentler this time, and closer. This time, you don’t turn, instead waiting for him to come to you. And he does, just like you knew he would. In the corner of your eye, Cal Kestis and his supernova signature provide something like...comfort. Heat bubbles and sputters in your chest at his closeness. This feeling is hate, you reassure yourself. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice pitched low. 

“I’ve had worse,” you say. “You here to help, or to mock?” 

He fully faces you, and you sense more than see his eyes rake over your profile. With a shake of his head, his copper hair flowing nearly to his shoulders, he raises his saber, point-first, toward the Purge Trooper. With a satisfied smile, you swing your saber in lazy circles. Finally. 

The two of you attack at the same time, nudged along by the Force. Together, you flank the trooper, whose training seems to have prepared him for a moment such as this. But for all the training this trooper has, you and Cal have more. You and Cal have more to fight for. More to lose. More to gain. 

Cal’s blur of a blue saber slashes through the air, at every turn blocking the trooper’s pressing attack, forcing the Imp to recalibrate. And when he attempts to do so, tries to even catch his breath, you’re there, the Force driving your swings harder. You know the blows that land on the staffs jar the Imp’s wrists all the way to his shoulders. You know he’s going to falter. You know he’s going to die. 

When the fear once again rises from this trooper, you smile. 

Overconfident, you twirl, blade seeming to bend as it whirls through the air. It will connect with the trooper at his waist.

It does—but his staff connects with you once again at your own waist, and this time it bites into your flesh and holds. 

“No!” Cal’s shout is harsh and angry. With a final flash of blue, the Purge Trooper slumps sideways, body collapsing into the dirt. The momentum yanks the electrostaff out of your side. 

You drop your saber hilt to press against the bleeding wound, hands shaking. Kark, this hurts. Why does it hurt so bad? Cal’s face, with wide, scared green eyes, appears in your field of vision. 

A spark of anger temporarily distracts you from the pain in your side and along your back. “Kestis,” you grind out. “I had it under control.” 

“It’s in my nature,” he says, like that explains everything. You suppose it does. Your anger abandons you, and you stagger forward, into his embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you as he ducks under your arm, taking your weight. “C’mon, we’ll get inside and I’ll patch you up.” 

“Got any more of those stims?” you ask, words slurring a little. You glance down at your side and blink dumbly at the amount of red staining your clothes. 

“A few more,” Cal says. “They’re yours. Just need to get you inside.” 

The several dozen feet to your hut pass in a blur and in a blink—you’re not sure which. Maybe it’s both. But you sigh as you settle down into the familiar comfort of your small cot. In the corner, you’re dimly aware of the Bogling cowering below the small kitchen table. Critter is cute, you suppose. Maybe it can stay. 

You’re delirious. That has to be it. You’d never willingly take in a stray. 

BD hops up on the cot next to you and, at Cal’s nod, ejects a glowing green stim canister. Cal catches it and then plunges the small needle into your side, just above the gash there. Cool relief tingles through you, and you smile at him. 

“That feels good,” you mumble. 

“I’m glad,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “You got medical supplies?” 

You gesture vaguely to the screened-off back corner, your ’fresher. “If I do, s’in there.”

BD stays with you while Cal rummages through your meager supplies, the little droid’s head tilted to the side as though studying you. You blink at him. 

Bwoop-beep? the droid chimes. 

“I don’t speak Binary, sorry,” you say. 

Cal chuckles, returning with a handful of supplies. “He’s wondering if you’re feeling okay.” 

You feel okay enough to feel annoyed at the question, and you shoo the little droid off your bed. When you return your attention to Cal, he’s hesitating, a roll of gauze, bottle of alcohol, and a needle in his hands. 

“What,” you ask, flatly. 

“Need to take your shirt off to clean the wound properly,” he says, and if you knew him better, you might think he sounds nervous. Embarrassed, even. 

But you don’t know him that well, and so you ignore his tone of voice. “Fine.” 

You struggle for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, hissing as the movement pulls at the wound in your side. Once it’s off, you throw it toward the ’fresher. 

Cal still hesitates, his eyes everywhere but on you. Another surge of annoyance flares in you, and you snatch the medical supplies out of his hands. 

“I’d really like to not bleed out here, Kestis,” you admonish. He at least has the sense to look abashed at that, and assists you in cleaning out the wound, stitching it shut, and wrapping you in gauze to keep pressure on it. You don’t let out a single curse, hiss, or groan the entire time, making the inside of your mouth bleed with how hard you bite down. 

“You okay?” he asks once you’re bandaged up. 

“What do you think?” you retort. “M’gonna sleep. You can go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he says. He withdraws, but remains in your small hut, slinging himself into the hand-hewn wooden chair at your dining table. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Why?” You can’t help the way the question sounds equal parts frustrated and incredulous.

“Just sleep, Sith,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, and for once, you have none.

When you wake, it’s still light outside. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze and left to dry out, your head not much better. With a soft groan, you roll onto your side and peer into the half-lit room. 

Cal’s already watching you. His gaze meets yours and pierces you, pinning you to the small cot tucked against the wall. Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you study his features. The dark scar across his face. The lean lines of his torso and muscles. The strand of fiery hair that curls over his forehead and teases his chin. Despite the lingering shards of pain in your side, heat flickers in your core.

“Why did you really come here, Cal?” you ask, voice low, the stillness around you demanding to remain unbroken. “Why did you come back for me at all? You know the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I can’t be worth saving.” 

He is quiet as he contemplates your question, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. Silence stretches between you, slow and languid, and you nearly hold your breath waiting for his response. 

Eventually he gives a half shrug. “There was a time when I believed everyone is worth saving. Since the Empire, things have...been different. I’m not so sure everyone deserves to be saved.” 

“So why come back?” 

His eyes are soft when they find yours again. You want to be angry, want to latch onto the residual pain in your body and sharpen it into a vibroblade, hurl it outward from yourself and hope it hurts him as much as you’ve been hurt. In your gut, the darkness stirs, but in your heart, the light whispers patience. 

“I see too much of myself in you to not come back for you,” he says, so quiet you nearly don’t process the words. 

But when his confession does register, you blink in surprise. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. 

“We couldn’t be more opposite, Kestis,” you say. “Do you know what you look like, in the Force?” 

When he remains silent, shifting in the wooden chair uncomfortably, you push yourself up into a sitting position. A sigh sloughs out of your throat. 

“You’re the most...beautiful thing I’ve seen,” you say, hesitating only briefly over the words. “You shine. You’re a beacon of light. Stars, Cal, you’re practically a star yourself.” 

His lips part in surprise, and you can’t ignore the way your core twists at the expression. “But—”

You raise a hand. “There’s darkness there, sure, but you are the light, Kestis. And sure, there may be light in me, but believe me, I’m a void. The void. You’ll never carry the sins that blacken my soul.” 

His toned chest rises and falls with his rapid, shallow breaths. When he swallows, you watch the way his throat bobs, the muscles that strain at his neck, the tightening of his hands into fists. Without even needing to look, you can feel the way his Force signature roils with confusion and surprise. You’ve caught him off-guard, yet again. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he whispers. 

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?” 

“In the Force,” he says. “Show me.”

“I’ve never—” 

“I have a gift.” He grimaces. “Psychometry. It might not work. But I want to see.” 

Ah. You understand how he knew the names of the Jedi you murdered, and glance at your saber hilt resting on the table near him. How much has he seen? 

Apparently, not enough. 

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Fine. C’mere.” 

The cot groans under the added weight, not meant for two people, but it holds. You adjust yourself to sit with your legs crossed, your knees touching Cal’s as he mirrors your posture. A slight twinge tugs at your ribs as you move. Cal’s eyes soften again as you grimace. 

“Don’t,” you grit out. “Save your pity.” 

“It’s not—” He huffs. “Whatever.” 

Glaring up at him through your eyelashes, you nevertheless rest your hands palm-up, fingers outstretched toward him. Cal gently rests his hands over yours. His skin is heated, electric where it touches yours. The thought crosses your mind, fleetingly, what your odds would be if you decided to finally end it here and now; the thought disappears as soon as his calloused fingers wrap around your forearms. 

“Like this?” he murmurs. 

“Feels right,” you reply in the same tone. “Here goes nothing, yeah?” 

You inhale a deep, centering breath, and allow yourself to sink into the currents of the Force. For a moment you have to squint as Cal’s truest form explodes across your perception. This close, you’re surprised he doesn’t radiate any extra heat. You’re also surprised at the imperfections you find in his signature, the small nicks in the otherwise flawless, gleaming golden skin. You have to restrain yourself from leaning forward to examine him even closer. The desire to know him, to pick him apart and put him back together, rushes through you, pulsing in your fingertips. 

When you feel adjusted to his presence, this close, this intoxicating, you squeeze his hands. Focusing on the places where the two of you connect—your palms, your knees, your signatures—you will your unique sight to bleed into his awareness. 

Judging from the way he stiffens and gasps, you figure it worked. Your combined abilities and strength in the Force, overlapping just this once, let him see the world like you do.

“You’re so...” He trails off, voice strained. “Empty.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” You squeeze his hands again. “Do you underst— oh.”

You nearly choke as the Force nudges against your mind. For a moment, you’re no longer in your hut, but instead on an unfamiliar ship, palms pressed against a stranger’s—no, not a stranger—her name drifts to you. Merrin. You’re comparing palm sizes with her, and her hands are nearly as big as yours—as Cal’s. 

You rip away from Cal Kestis and the illusion breaks. 

Heat burns up your neck to your face. “What the kriffing hell was that?” 

“What did you see?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes. He reaches for you, and you lean away, glaring. 

You don’t even know why you’re angry. Any emotions you’ve felt for Cal have been ones you can explain: anger, frustration, begrudging respect, competitiveness, hatred. You recognize his attractiveness, and you don’t deny the effect his presence has on your baser desires—but the nearly painful flare of possessiveness pulsing in you right now is foreign. Inexplicable. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you eventually mutter. “Did you see?” 

“I saw you,” he says. Tentatively, he skims his fingertips over your leg, up to your knee. When you don’t retreat, he gently snags your hand and threads your fingers together. “I’m sorry.” 

You bare your teeth and tug your hand away—or try to. His fingers tighten around yours, holding you in place. “I told you before, Kestis. I don’t need your pity.” 

“Then don’t see it as pity,” he says. “See it as an understanding. A mutual experience.” 

Sucking on your teeth, your jaw clenches for a moment before you sigh. “Fine. Who’s Merrin?” 

“An old friend,” Cal says, a little too quickly. “She’s... She went her own way a while ago.” 

Something like triumph glows in you. “Good.” 

He fixes you with a confused look, a crease forming between his brows. “Wha—” 

You cut him off, surging forward to press your lips greedily against his. The impulse to be closer to him, impossibly close, is overwhelming in this moment. His palm is warm and steady and grounding against yours. He grunts against you, going absolutely still. 

When you pull away, not moving more than a few inches away, you meet the shock in his gaze with a sense of pride. His eyes flit between yours, searching. You drag your eyes down to his lips, parted and damp and so fucking pink.

His other hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you forward into another kiss. 

You groan into his mouth. His lips are warm and soft and sweet against yours, moving slowly, uncertain. You tilt your head, nudging his nose with your own. With your free hand, you grip at his shirt and claw your way into his lap. You need more. More of him, more of his warmth, more of his touch, more more moremoremore. 

He breathes your name against your lips, and you shush him gently. His body is hard and lean beneath yours, his touch hesitant. Fingers still intertwined, you guide his hand to your waist. Without the barrier of your shirt, his touch burns, scorching you from the outside in. His fingers splay across your skin, trailing molten desire in their wake. Heat pulses in your core.

“Kriff,” you sigh, “please.” 

“Didn’t think you had manners,” he quips, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck. 

You reach up and tug on his fiery hair, earning a low groan. “Rude.” 

He chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. A shiver dances up your spine, a quiet sigh passing your lips. When he bites down there, you moan. 

“Kestis,” you pant. 

“Shh,” he soothes. The hand on your waist trails down to your hip and squeezes in time with another bite to your skin. With another groan, you rock your hips down into him. A grin curls your mouth up in pleasure at the feeling of his half-hard cock beneath you. 

“Off,” you order, tugging on his shirt. 

He breaks away from you long enough to yank the offending article up and over his head. Your palms smooth over the rippling muscles beneath his pale, freckled skin of his stomach, and he shudders. Brushing your thumb over a blaster scar under his ribs, you press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask. 

“I’ve had worse,” he says. 

“Show me.” 

His green eyes are dark, nearly black, when he meets your gaze with a questioning look. In response, you skim a featherlight trail over his torso, lingering at the scars that mar his otherwise perfect skin—mirrors, you realize, of the imperfections of his golden aura. 

When you trace the pink scar that bisects his face, he shivers. His hand catches your wrist, halting your movement. 

“That one,” he whispers, voice pained. “That was the worst.” 

You recognize, this close, the telltale signs of a saber wound. He’s lucky to have survived that, you realize. 

Kriff. You press your mouth to his once again, wrapping your legs around his torso. His body fits against yours, hard planes to soft edges, and you groan in unison. His kiss is still tentative, but he moves against you without hesitation when you deepen the kiss, your tongue licking across his bottom lip. His tongue is hot against yours. Spit slicking your lips, you groan into his open mouth. 

Fuck, you need more. Pulling at his hair, you urge his head to tip back, exposing the pale column of his throat. You lick a stripe down his skin, tasting his natural saltiness, delighting in the way his cock hardens against your clothed core. 

“Want you,” you mumble against his collarbone. 

He hums. “I’m yours.”

That possessive flare from before practically obliterates any coherent thoughts your brain was still capable of producing. Growling, you push him onto his back, shuffling down, kissing and licking and biting at his skin as you fumble with his pants. The buttons come undone; his hips raise to help you shuck the clothing off. His cock bobs as it comes free of the confines. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan. “Been holding out on me, Kestis.” 

“If I’d known—” His voice cracks. “If I’d known all you needed was to be fucked, we coulda done this sooner.” 

Tingles spark through your core hearing him curse—hearing him talk about something as base and dirty as fucking you. Stars, the heat in your core is nearly unbearable. 

You need to taste him. 

Wrapping your fingers around his heavy cock, you smear a droplet of precum over his flushed head. His body jerks in response, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, a smirk playing at his lips. Without warning, you envelope him in your mouth. Cal cries out, hips jerking up. You moan in satisfaction around him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink your mouth further down onto his length, before sucking, tongue teasing the underside of his head. One hand cupping his balls, you relax your throat and take him deep. The curls at the base tickle your nose. 

“Oh stars,” he breathes. “You’re so good at that. F-Fuck.” 

You hum, settling into a rhythm. His hand, broad and strong and warm, rests on top of your head—not pushing, just there, feeling you. His chest heaving, you can’t help but admire the flush rising to his cheeks, painting him in sin. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, coating the parts of him you can’t reach. Your eyes never leave his. 

Snaking your free hand down your body, you moan at the pleasure that zings through you at the momentary relief of touching yourself. 

“No.” Cal’s voice is strangled, strained. He flicks two shaky fingers, and your hand is yanked out from beneath your body by the Force. 

An obscene pop echoes in your hut as you pull your mouth away from his weeping cock. “Either touch me, or I’ll do it myself,” you growl. 

“Then c-come here,” he stutters. 

Shimmying out of your pants, you discard the garments to the floor without a second thought and climb your way up his body. His hands skim your sides, his touch barely there, as your mouth reconnects with his. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of his mouth, his touch, his cock. He feels too good. 

You hiss when his hand brushes against your aching sex. He breaks the kiss long enough for his eyes to find yours, a silent question there as his fingers find purchase at your core. 

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. When he moves his hand against you, your vision blurs and you press your forehead to his. 

“Stars, Kestis, just like that,” you hiss. 

He rubs his nose against yours. “Let me take care of you.” 

His touch is electric. Your body jerks against him when his fingers move just right, applying just the right amount of pressure. Heat and tension build in your belly, growing more and more taut by the second. Your legs shake on either side of his hips. 

“Cal,” you whine. “Gonna cum.” 

His touch retreats, and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“You’re g-gonna cum on my cock,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. The sweetness of the action contrasts with the filth of his words, and your stomach lurches. 

“Fuck, yes, okay.” You spit in your hand and reach down to make sure you’re ready for him.

He slicks his own palm with spit and jerks his cock once, twice, getting himself prepped. With his hand at his base, steadying his length, you slowly sink onto him. He splits you open inch by inch, the delicious burn of him in your core drawing a pitiful moan from your chest. When he bottoms out, you twitch in his lap, chest heaving. 

“T-Take me so well,” he murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over your face. “Stars, you feel so- so good.” 

You whine. “Cal.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

The pet name seems to surprise him as much as it does you. The heat that’s been simmering in your chest for months now, since the first time you encountered him, dulls into something...softer. More muted. More pliant. 

Eyes locked together, you test the waters and raise your hips a fraction. Moans tumble from both of you at the friction, and that’s all you need. Rolling your hips, you work his cock, drawing the most delicious noises from him. He caresses your face, smooths a hand over your back, kisses you sweetly. You find just the right angle where his cock brushes against that bundle of nerves deep inside, and you shudder. 

“Cal, I—” 

“Yes,” he groans. “Don’t stop.” 

You don’t. You drag your hips frantically against his, chasing the sparks bursting in your core with each thrust. His touch turns harsh as you ride him; your hips will surely bear bruises tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. You moan at the thought. Mine. Mine mine mine mine. 

Rutting against that raw piece of heaven in your core, you’re blind to everything else. Your injury forgotten, the empty void that yawns in your soul, your frustration with Cal Kestis: all of it is irrelevant right now. All that matters is that you keep fucking Cal. All that matters is the way his cock feels sliding in and out of you, dragging against your walls. All that matters is the way he moans your name like a prayer. 

“Need you t-to cum,” he orders, words faltering as you clench around his cock. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice hoarse. The tension in your belly draws hot and tight, ready to snap. 

Cal finally thrusts up to meet you when you bounce down, and you scream. That taut cord in your belly releases, snapping in two, and you see white. Pleasure explodes through you; every nerve lit on fire, tears dew in your eyes from the intensity. You claw at Cal’s chest, searching for purchase as he absolutely rails into you, chasing his own release. 

Through it all, he babbles. “J-Just like that, baby. Cum all over this cock. Fuck, you’re g-gonna make me— I— fuck, ngh, I’m—” 

He stills as he cums, his cock pulsing against your walls, and you jerk at the sensation, oversensitive. 

Your eyes flutter as you look down at him in the gathering darkness. His skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat. As his cock softens inside of you, letting some of his cum drip out, you groan softly. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper. 

He swallows visibly, and nods. “I know.” 

You capture his lips in another kiss, one he returns with a fervor. Stars, you almost wish you really did hate him. This would be so much easier. 

“What now?” he asks, thumb brushing over your tender hips. 

You shrug. “Same time next week?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Very funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

He hums. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

All of the heat of the last few minutes dissipates immediately, and ice knifes your insides. You push away from him finally, his cum dripping down your inner thigh as you stand, bend to retrieve your clothes, tug them on. 

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” 

“What do you want me to say, Kestis?” 

He sighs as he reaches for his own clothes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“You should have left when I told you to,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you stare out the single window of your home at the rapidly falling dark. 

“Yeah, maybe.” His hand is warm and familiar where he rests it on your shoulder. “You could...come with me.” 

You narrow your eyes. “And have to live by your Jedi code? No thanks.” 

“No code,” he says, quiet, contemplative. “Just the fight.” 

“Just the fight,” you echo. When he nods, something you sense more than see, you sigh. “I could...tag along. Just this once.” 

“Of course,” he says. His lips press against your temple. “Just this once.” 

Swallowing against the strange metallic taste rising to your mouth, you blink and summon the Force. You’re grateful for Cal’s grounding presence behind you. Your signature is...muddied. Marbled black and gold. When you glance down at his hand on your skin, you find that his aura is the same as yours. Mixed. Confused. 

Balanced.

Yes, you think. Hating him would have been easier.

[baphometsss]

solas is canonically bi and i will die on this fucking hill.

trick talking shit about it on twitter in 2015 or whatever means nothing to me. oh you wanted to avoid the depraved bisexual trope, did you?? you mean depraved bisexuals like iron bull who will literally betray and try to kill you in trespasser if you sacrifice the chargers? depraved bisexual zevran who tries to kill you and will try again if your approval isn't high enough in dao? depraved bisexual anders who commits an entire act of terrorism? depraved bisexual isabela who will run off with the qunari artefact in da2 and never return if your approval isn't high enough?? i could go on and those are just the depraved bisexuals. there are plenty of good, non-depraved bisexuals in this game too (leliana, josephine, fenris kinda depending on how you play it), so it's a moot point anyway

esp since as far as depravity actually goes, he's fairly good about the romance. like, his ultimate goal aside, he makes a point of saying in trespasser that he wouldn't sleep with lavellan under false pretenses. that's more than can be said for blackwall, who doesn't think twice about the potential consent issue of sex with someone who doesn't know who you really are

if it wasn't the fact that a good chunk of solas's romance lines were voiced with the male VAs in both base game dai and trespasser, i would be inclined to believe that this was an intentional choice, but given that and the fact that both solas and cullen use gender neutral language in their romances, and only cullen has a line which specifically turns the inquisitor down for being a dude, i find it much more believable that they literally just ran out of time

iirc neither solas nor cullen were going to be romancable to begin with but then they had a bit of extra time and they decided to do it, only to run out of time before finishing the male VAs lines

honestly i'm just frustrated by the fact that we have inconsistent writing and weird cop-out answers that people cling to bc they're offended that their precious straight boy might not actually be straight. i actually saw someone complaining on reddit about how 'refreshing' it was to see a straight character in dragon age like?? what. are you playing the same game? blackwall, cassandra, cullen (who was meant to be bi too but ig had either the same issue or his va was just too much of a bigot to do it), morrigan and alistair all spring to mind lol you're not short on straight people

in any case we can retcon our inky to be nonbinary, so unless they fuck it up by deciding that he's only into female elves and lock out all the nb solavellans who had to choose between male and female inky in dai, which is unlikely, it seems like it won't matter much.

just let me be gay with my silly egg man and i will be happy

[scarfacemarston]

Pride Month Requests!

My specialties are character x reader mainly because I've never received requests for ships and I'm not experienced in it! If you don't see a character, I can still likely write it. For male characters it will be MLM Reader x character and WLW for female characters. (Trans characters hcs and readers always included. Edit: Non Binary and gender neutral also welcome!) Reblogs appreciated! SFW preferred.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Steve Rogers x Reader

Natasha Romanoff x Reader Yelena Belova x Reader Peggy Carter x Reader Arthur Morgan x Reader John Marston x Reader Anakin Skywalker x Reader Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Hawke x Fenris Hawke x Isabela Hawke x Merill Dorian Pavus x Inquisitor Cullen Rutherford x Inquisitor Cassandra x Inquisitor Leliana x Warden

More by Request!

[pokelolinha]

respect to all the solavellan girlies (gender neutral) but i think its so funny to compare their angsty posts/fanart about lavellan reuniting with solas, still loving him but at the same time being so bitter, "oh my god its going to be so dramatic".

meanwhile, my inquisitor is a female qunari married to her beautiful wife, spending her summers in a mansion in Antiva, who is probably gonna get woken up by varric at like 3 am while he asks her to help stop solas and she's gonna be like. u want me to leave my wife and my house? for the egg?

[yanderes-galore]

Oof, I'm here now! Better later than never, so first request is concept/HCS for Solas from Dragon Age Inquisition, please -🐈

I'm really hoping I don't mess up this character because he's so damn important. But if I do... I apologize as my knowledge on the topic is still not the best. I appreciate feedback since this character is so complex.

Adding "V1" to this since this was written when I'm very new to Dragon Age... also DA4 isn't out, so that may change things.

Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition/Trespasser

Yandere! Solas Concept V1

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Deception, Overprotective/Possessive, Isolation, Kidnapping, Solas thinks he's doing the right thing, Somewhat lucid yandere, OOC Solas most likely, Dubious companionship/relationship.

I personally feel, due to his origins, his obsession is more likely to lean platonic.

He is capable of feeling love but he may feel more like a mentor towards his obsession.

After all, he's really an ancient elf that's lived for thousands of years.

He is a man who wants to do whatever he can to help, just like he wanted to do for his people.

Yet his efforts probably isn't always the right thing.

He is a wise being who would first concern himself with watching over you.

Especially if you are an Inquisitor.

Solas does care about his obsession despite what he does, just like in his romance.

He's surprisingly honest, sometimes admitting things you don't quite understand.

His obsession makes him falter in his goals.

At first he isn't sure what to think of that.

His goal is to take down The Veil to restore Ancient Elves to their former glory.

Solas is loyal to his people and would sacrifice anything to achieve his goal.

But he begins to hesitate when he thinks of you.

Maybe he really does just see your bond as mentor and student.

That or he catches himself having genuine feelings for you.

Either way, the obsess he has over you makes him wish he could ignore it.

He cares about you... he knows his goal may end up hurting you in the end.

By the point he really starts to focus in his goal you've both known each other for a few years.

Which is why his decisions hurt him more.

I feel most of Solas' feelings and obsession are bittersweet.

It feels like yet another tragedy between him and his obsession.

He's torn between his goals that he's been focusing on, and you.

He feels you're both victims of fate in this situation.

He's always cared about you... even if things aren't meant to be.

Solas found the missions you did together enjoyable, your chats being a welcome form of entertainment for him.

He feels horrible that he's deceiving you and soon going to betray you in the end.

But when that eventually happens and you two cross paths... he'll find a way to compromise.

I imagine until his plan is fulfilled... Solas does not plan on letting his obsession go.

He's a powerful ancient elf mage who is extremely intelligent.

Solas may outsmart his obsession, he's seen a lot as an ancient elf.

Once you meet him again, years after the events of Inquisition, he has a plan.

He hopes you will forgive him when he constructs a trap for you.

By the time of Trespasser Solas has proven to be very strong with his magic.

The moment he gets you close enough, he embarks on his plan.

You'll stay beside him while he prepares to collapse The Veil...

Somehow he plans to safe you while sacrificing all the rest.

He never liked others around you while in the Inquisition.

He felt in a way they were unworthy, since the start Solas has felt a connection with you.

So... who cares what happens to the rest when he collapses The Veil?

He just cares about you... even though he hates to admit it, he wants you.

If he has to trap you beside him with a spell, so be it.

You may look at him with such betrayal in your eyes... but he tries to soothe you.

He says he's sorry... yet this is how things are meant to be.

He'll keep you beside him for as long as he can.

Even if he fails to save you... he'll never forget you.

Solas is a very tragic yandere... one who seems like he's your friend and companion...

Only to betray you in the end in many ways.

He wants to soothe the pain you feel... all while he keeps you trapped by his side, away from all you know.

You may be a friends... you may be lovers...

Regardless of what you are... you're his... and that's all that matters to him right now.

[goosewriting]

finals are over, you know what that means!

❇️ REQUESTS OPEN 📢🪿

» before requesting, make sure to read the rules in the pinned post as well as look over the masterlists to see what has already been written! « (for your convenience, i copied the rules down here under the cut as well!)

→ requests will remain open for: an indefinite amount of time → i only write gn!reader (seriously read the rules pls)

→ you can request for the following characters:

🐢 RotTMNT: Leo, Donnie, Raph, also their future versions! (please specify/pitch a timeline of your choice)

💫 Star Wars: Fives, Zeb Orrelios, Armitage Hux, Cal Kestis, inquisitor!Cal

🕸 Spiderverse (ITSV, ATSV): The Spot, Hobie Brown

🕷 Marvel's Spider-man (Insomniac Games): Peter Parker, Ganke Lee

please note: some of these characters are more tentative than others. i can't guarantee that i will write every request, but i'll try my best! it really depends on if it inspires me or not, and that may take some time or not happen at all. either way, thanks for sending something in<3

→ requesting rules:

only reader inserts, no OCs or canon x canon

reader is always gender neutral

reader’s ethnicity is always unspecified (as in skin colour, cultural background, etc.)

reader with specific physical traits is okay, please specify! (e.g. height, build, hair length, etc.)

mutant/non-human readers are okay, please specify!

in general, the more specific, the better!

no smut, only platonic/romantic

no blood-related reader (where the reader is the requested character's biological sibling, parent, kid, etc). sibling-like relationship through friendship/found family is ok!

no witch/sorcerer reader or demonic themes. reader with powers (think my hero academia) is ok, please specify!

only 1-2 requests per person at a time

be nice :’)

[casp1an-sea]

Jedi Master Jinera “Jin” Vestria

The drawing is old, so it’s kind of bad. Sadly, I don’t remember what her tattoo says, but it seems to start with the letter T.

other characters to know for her story: Gen (best friend), Pical (Best friend), Zac (Padwan), Aaron (Husband), Ven (Daughter)

Birth Year: 50 BBY

Age at beginning: 27 (yes I know she’s young for a master it kinda bothers me but she’s kinda an old OC and now I don’t wanna change it so oh well)

Species: Human, courscantian

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Sexuality: straight (I forgot I could make cus het OCs lmao)

Height: 5’8”

Occupation : Jedi Master

Force Alignment: Light Neutral

—————————————————————————

Personality: Jin is quiet when you first get to know her but talkative and boisterous once she knows you. She holds her morals close to her and does not cross her own personal boundaries even if it causes her to break the rules. She’s loyal and friendly and sees padawans as a Jedi's friend, as well as a student. She really likes kids. She still holds the council in high regard and will not disrespect direct orders even if she doesn’t agree with them unless they conflict with her core values. Has a similar view of them as Obi-Wan. She promotes emotional stability opposed to emotional suppression and sees love and attachments as a strength when handled in healthy ways. She has a tendency to come across as monotone or blunt when not meaning to, causing others to read her tone incorrectly. She’s also quite sarcastic.

Appearance: Jinera has long light brown hair and green eyes. Her hair is mainly down with a partial braid. It’s tied into a full braid when she fights. She wears a sleeveless black skin tight suit with shorts and a turtle neck. Over that she has a white overcloak fastened around the waist by a belt.

Weapons: Single bladed orange lightsaber with a simple non-decorative silver hilt. But she tends to rely more on the force than her saber, and is very good with meditation and healing abilities.

—————————————————————————

Backstory: She was taken from her family as a baby and has no memory of them. Gen and Pical Were her childhood friends and trained with her as younglings. Pical has become more of a frenemy due to  conflicting views. She was taught mainly by Yoda as a youngling and her master was Plo Koon. She met a mercenary named Aaron on a mission to Corellia and is hiding that they are dating. Only Gen knows. Her Padwan in Zac.

A year before the clone war begin Gen was kicked out of the order after it was discovered that he had a spouse. Jinera was angry with the council and left the order without permission from the them, in solidarity with him, going to Corellia where she married Aaron and changed her name to Julana Drace. She mostly stayed out of the war and had a daughter named Ven. She did not use the force aside from teaching it to her daughter and kept the fact that she was a former Jedi a secret. She gifted her light saber hilt to her daughter, telling her that one day she would find a Kyber crystal of her own to power it.

in the wake of the empire, her and her husband are killed by an inquisitor and her daughter is taken by Darth Vader.

—————————————————————————

@xen-blank, @thehollowwriter, @l7k-a, @ferris-the-wheel, @keii-starz

@krenenbaker @elenauaurs @the-banana-0verlord @edith-is-a-cat @dove-da-birb

@theosb0rnway @fizzydreamz @ravenwing0110

@diabollicallyangelic @xentari94 @tomatette

@dragonflies-draw-flame @sunshinechildskywalker

[yoitsjay]

United

Pairings: Imperial! Hunter x fem! Inquisitor! Reader

Summary: you are sent to Felucia to track down rumors of a jedi, and instead run into a lone purge trooper... a clone... you bicker at first but develop a bond that cannot be broken

Warnings: canon violence, beheading, slight flirting? Relationship mentions, can be read as gender neutral

Word count: 2,602

A/n: more inquisitor hunter requested by @skellymom

“Fifth sister, you are being sent to Felucia… rumors have been circulating that a rogue Jedi, or Jedi conspirators, have been giving aid to the people there. Investigate, and put an end to it.”

Darth Vader’s voice was deep, and commanding and it sent a chill through the deepest parts of your soul. regardless you bowed your head. “Understood, Lord Vader. I will depart at once…”

-

Dense jungles, humid air and bugs. An amazing combination that in all honestly you despised with the very fiber of your being. Alas, Lord Vader had told you that this mission was important, and you would not fail your leader… and face the consequences of that failure.

But this was the fifth time you managed to get your foot stuck in a mud pile and you were getting pretty angry, and you out of all your inquisitor brothers and sisters had the best control of your anger.

You pulled your foot out and tumbled to the ground with an angry shout, scaring some of the birds from the trees. You huffed, and slowly got up to your feet, wiping the mud and dirt off your pants and cape.

“You! Stop right there!”

A voice called out, and you spun around, spotting who looked to be a… purge trooper? but his armor was different, painted black yes, but on his helmet it was painted white to look like a half skull. He was equipped with two DC-17 blasters, but they were holstered, and in his hands he was holding an electrostaff which was pointed towards you.

You narrowed your eyes from behind your mask, and stared at him. “You dare point that pathetic weapon at your superior?” You asked, tilting your head upwards. The man hesitated slightly, noticing the symbol of the Empire on your right pauldron, followed by the circular lightsaber that was attached to your back.

“I don’t care if you're a sith, jedi, or inquisitor. You’re in my way.” The man hissed. His voice sparked something familiar inside of you… from when you were a teenager in the clone wars… this purge trooper wasn't a nat-born… he was a clone trooper.

“I was sent by Lord Vader to investigate Felucia for signs of a jedi… so you- clone, are in MY way.” You hissed, grabbing your saber from your back, igniting both blades. The clone grunted, coming at you with his electrostaff. They were reinforced, and could handle a few strikes from a lightsaber. The clone seemed to know this, and only blocked when completely necessary.

He was skilled, very skilled, with a combat formation you couldn’t recognize. He was improvising every attack which made it hard to predict how he was going to attack next. You ducked out of the way of the trooper’s strike, tilting your head just as a blaster shot whizzed past your head. You hissed, and kicked up some dirt in his face before running and leaping at him.

You had your blade up against his throat, but he had his staff and his blaster at your neck and abdomen where your armor didn’t protect. You could kill him, sure, but he would kill you too.

You were both breathing heavily, just staring at each other… until a loud roar bellowed from the dense jungle beyond you… and emerging from said jungle was a rancor… lovely.

“We will have to save this for later.” You stated, and the man nodded, albeit hesitantly. You pulled your blade away just as he retracted his own weapons, and you both turned to face the rancor that was snarling at you.

You and the trooper battled with the rancor, which would definitely have pummeled you if you hadn’t run into the purge trooper. With your uneasy alliance you and the trooper moved in sync, like you were meant to fight with each other.

Just as the rancor was about to slam its claws down on the clone you force pulled him out of the way, he nodded to you, and then knelt down. You ran forward, jumping up onto his back before launching upwards into the air. The trooper caught the rancors attention with blaster shots, until you slammed your red blade into the head of the beast, jumping off and landing on the ground beside the man as the beast fell.

You dropped your saber and removed your helmet as you fell to your knees, panting, and clearly exhausted. The clone beside you had taken a similar action by removing his helmet, but he stayed standing.

He eventually extended his hand to you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes and his widened as you stared at each other, seemingly stunned by each other's appearances.

The man had longer hair, and a red bandana wrapped around his forehead with a skull sewed into the fabric. And much like the half skull on his helmet he had a half skull tattooed on his face. His honeyed brown eyes stared into yours, and you felt vulnerable, like he was looking into your very soul.

He was feeling similar to how you were, stunned by your striking appearance, and the beauty that radiated off of you. Unlike other inquisitors your eye color was normal, though you had a long, healed scar running from the top of your right cheek down to the corner of your bottom lip.

Eventually you grabbed his hand, and the man helped pull you to your feet.

“I’m CT-9 - Hunter. My name is Hunter.” He introduced, waiting for you to introduce yourself. You pressed your lips into a thin line, shakily breathing out your own name instead of your title. “Y/n.” You introduced, and shook his hand firmly, a truce set between you two after the battle you had fought together.

“You’re one hell of a fighter.” You spoke up, and his helmet, handing it to him just as he grabbed yours and extended it to you. You made an easy exchange, but held your helmet to your hip instead of putting it back on, and he did the same.

“I’m an experimental clone, it’s just part of my genes.” He explained, and your eyes widened slightly. “Experimental? as in clone force 99?” You asked, sounding surprised. Hunter tensed for a moment but nodded his head. “They used to be my unit, but they abandoned me.” He hissed.

You nodded, you understood his pain.

“My master abandoned me at the end of the clone wars too. When clones started firing on us, he ran away. I surrendered, and was taken in by Lord Vader…he is my true master.” You whispered, and Hunter shared a look of understanding as well.

You then looked around, the rancor had destroyed the main paths and had been destroyed from the fight, so now they had to travel through uncharted wilds in order to get to the town that the jedi was rumored to be.

Eventually you slid your helmet back on and he did the same. It was growing dark outside so you held your lightsaber in front of you to illuminate your path. Hunter used a flashlight attached to his helmet.

It was silent between you and him for most of the walk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Despite your previous fight, you and Hunter had grown a short understanding of each other… and you couldn’t lie, but you had started feeling drawn to the clone, attracted to him. And with the way Hunter tilted his helmet towards you every few minutes, the way you felt his eyes trail down your figure every time you cut through the jungle terrain to clear a path.

You could tell he was starting to feel attracted towards you as well.

Regardless you and Hunter aided each other in getting out of the dense Felucian jungles and to the small village that you had to investigate. It was late at night however, and you knew nobody would come out to talk. So you and Hunter chose a sheltered spot in the forest and created a small camp for the night.

You had come back from gathering sticks and other materials for a fire, noticing that Hunter was struggling to get the fire started. You let out a soft chuckle, igniting your saber before painting the tip down to the kindling. Immediately the fire ignites, and you deactivate your lightsaber again before kneeling beside him.

You placed your helmet beside you, staring into the fire, enjoying the comfortable silence between you two.. Until Hunter eventually spoke up.

“So… what is it actually like being an inquisitor? I hear stories from other purge troopers, terrifying tales… but I've never actually heard it from an inquisitor.” He questioned, and you turned your head to look at him, noticing that he was already staring.

You found yourself unable to look away from his eyes, opening your mouth to speak as you stared into his honeyed eyes.

“Some inquisitors don't… abide by our ways right away, like I did. So they are put through… conditioning, to become more obedient, more angry… and with that anger the Grand Inquisitor shapes his disciples. Then the harsh training begins, and groups of trainee’s will fight to the death… whoever comes out on top becomes an inquisitor.” You explained, eyebrows furrowing as you did so.

“I killed every single person in my age group, though older inquisitors say it’s because I was coddled by Vader, though he was the only one who saw my skill, my power with the force.” You added, sighing and shaking your head as you finally looked away from Hunter, staring back into the fire.

Hunter let out a low hum, and you felt him shuffle closer to you before he placed his gloved hand on your shoulder. You flinched slightly at the sudden touch, but didn’t move away. “I'm sorry… that all sounds.. awful.” He whispered, and you snorted in response.

“Awful doesn’t even cover it.” You replied, a snarky tone to your voice. You then sighed, and looked at him. “Why did your brothers betray you? you must’ve been close?” You asked, seeing the conflict spread across his face as he removed his hand from your shoulder.

“We didn’t see eye to eye on how the Empire was running things. So they left, and I stayed on Kamino until… until it was destroyed. they offered me a chance to come back but i- i refused.” He explained, frowning as he stared into the crackling red fire.

You frowned, nodding your head. “I would have taken that chance… if I was offered one.” You breathed out, and Hunter snapped his head around to stare at you, his eyes wide.

“But I made my bed… as messy as it is, and I'll lie in it until I die.” You added, getting up after a few moments. “Get some rest Hunter, tomorrow we will find our jedi.” You stated, walking over to the little canopy tent you had made, laying down on a bed of large leaves.

Hunter watched you go before he stared down at your helmet which was still laying in the dirt. He brushed his fingers against the carving on the side before he got up and went to his own canopy, getting some much needed rest.

-

When the sun started poking through the trees above, you got up and cleaned up camp before waking Hunter. As soon as you had touched his shoulder he was alert, ready for a fight only to relax when he looked at the slight smirk playing across your lips. “Ready for the hunt?” You asked softly, helping Hunter to his feet as he nodded his head.

You placed your helmets on your head before leaving the small camp area, making your way to the village not far away. People were already bustling about, but as soon as they spotted your terrifying masked appearance, followed by an intimidating purge trooper behind you, they started whispering, and cowering in fear.

“We did not come here to hurt you. We are only here for the Jedi. Reveal their location, or come out and face me, and the rest of you will be spared and rewarded by the Empire.” You explained firmly, having raised your voice so all the villagers could hear you.

Nobody dared speak up, which made you narrow your eyes from behind your hemet, walking up to who looked to be the village leader.

“We harbor no jedi.” He started as you approached him, gulping as you continued to stare him down. You then slightly turned your head in Hunter’s direction, still staring at the leader. “Hunter, why don’t we demonstrate what happens to those who harbor traitors to the Empire?” You asked, and used the force to pull a woman from the crowd.

She gasped as she fell to her knees in front of Hunter, and she looked up at him with fear.

“No- no please don't hurt me! i-”

Her pleas were silenced as Hunter raised his blaster, shooting her in the head. she fell to the ground, and people in the crowd screamed in terror.

“Stop!” A voice shouted just as you were about to pick another villager.

A rhodian man emerged from the crowd, a lightsaber hanging from his belt. You smiled, and pointed your own deactivated saber towards the rhodian. “I’ll give you one opportunity. Surrender, come back with me and you will be welcomed to the Empire’s inquisitorius with open arms.” You offered, holding out your other hand to the Rhodian.

However he just narrowed his eyes, and ignited his saber which was a vivid green in color. You sighed, glancing at Hunter. “It always ends up this way.” You sighed.

The rhodian went to strike you but you simply stepped to the side. Hunter lunged forward and he used his electrostaff to hit the rhodian in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

However you extended your hand, using the force to drag the rhodian back to your feet. You then slammed your foot onto his wrist, and it cracked under the pressure, causing the jedi to scream in pain and release his lightsaber hilt.

You pulled the hilt up into your hand, and admired the craftsmanship. “Amazing components… too bad you will never hold it again.” You hissed, igniting the blade before you brought it down to sever the jedi’s head from his body.

more people screamed, and started running away. Hunter raised his blasters, but with a raise of your hand he paused, and holstered his weapons.

You hooked the jedi’s saber to your belt, and clipped your own to your back before turning to Hunter. “Let’s contact our transport… As for you… you're my purge trooper now.” You told him, tone bordering on possessive as you walked up to him, dragging your finger along the bottom groove of his helmet.

“Yours, hm?” He asked, a surprisingly flirtatious tone to his voice. You chuckled softly, pulling your hand away as you instead called for transport.

You and Hunter couldn’t be separated after that, you had been very… persuasive in getting him as your personal guard and purge trooper. Though the Grand Inquisitor, Lord Vader and even the Emperor heard of the many successes you and Hunter had together.

Though the relationship that had bloomed between you and him had been kept a secret, nobody knew about it, which made this frustrating since you could only really be flirty when around others, and call it playful banter.

But, besides that fact, you and him were inseparable… and indomitable.

That was until Tantiss…

though that's a story for another time.

➺

Tag list:

Hunter:

Tbb:

@only-my-unexistent-fiances

All:

@moomoog017