All this weekend I´ll be prepared to answer all your questions about Armitage HuxandKylo Ren of any kind, whether it be flufforsmut, so shot your darkest and most perverted doubts or your sweetest and most tender concerns about these two gentlemen.
Chapter Summary: In which Trouve gets an invitation which brings back memories
Story Summary: Young Boba Fett has been granted early parole. However, he’s tossed out into the world with no money, home, or prospects. A chance encounter with two young teens in a diner solves at least one of these problems. What starts out as a temporary roof over his head slowly grows into a home and family he builds for himself, and leads him down a path completely different from the one laid out for him.
Current chapter was so big, I had to split it in 2. Part 1 is up today (5/22/22). Part 2 will go up tomorrow (5/23/22).
Story Summary: Young Boba Fett has been granted early parole. However, he’s tossed out into the world with no money, home, or prospects. A chance encounter with two young teens in a diner solves at least one of these problems. What starts out as a temporary roof over his head slowly grows into a home and family he builds for himself, and leads him down a path completely different from the one laid out for him.
Chapter Summary: New Year Fete Week has begun and everyone is excited for a fresh start! Each one has something they want out of their week. Willa wants her crush’s attention, Trouve wants the right equipment to get the audiocast rolling, and Boba just wants a more respectable fighting name. But after a good start, their efforts are slowed by obstacles placed in their way.
Current chapter was so big, I had to split it in 2. Part 1 is up today (5/22/22). Part 2 will go up tomorrow (5/23/22).
Story Summary: Young Boba Fett has been granted early parole. However, he’s tossed out into the world with no money, home, or prospects. A chance encounter with two young teens in a diner solves at least one of these problems. What starts out as a temporary roof over his head slowly grows into a home and family he builds for himself, and leads him down a path completely different from the one laid out for him.
Chapter Summary: New Year Fete Week has begun and everyone is excited for a fresh start! Each one has something they want out of their week. Willa wants her crush’s attention, Trouve wants the right equipment to get the audiocast rolling, and Boba just wants a more respectable fighting name. But after a good start, their efforts are slowed by obstacles placed in their way.
Story Summary: Everyone needs a sanctuary, a place where you can rest, lay down your head, and be at peace. The GAR needs this more than most. Luckily, the Investigation Squad has a friend who is willing to provide just that. Their resident Caf Lady, Arashy Grendel has a couch well-suited for napping, a shelf stocked with calming tea, ears good for listening, and arms made for hugging. And her friends in the Investigation Squad make frequent use of all she has to offer.
Chapter Summary: Rook makes use of the napping couch for the first time, and is as awkward as a poor Shiny can be
You decide to give Captain Howzer his first ever bouquet of flowers.
Warnings:Fluff, established relationship, kissing, flower giving, not beta read
Word Count:1302
Pairing: Captain Howzer x gn!Reader
a/n: I know I said I would write the next flower fic in my A Blossoming Love series for cobb, but I just couldn’t resist writing one for Howzer!! I love him so much already and just wanna spoil him tbh. So here you go! Enjoy giving captain howzer some flowers for the first time!
Summary: Unaware of the lipstick marks you’ve left on his neck, Rex removes his helmet in front of his General. But Anakin understands what it’s like to be in a secret relationship.
Pairing: Captain Rex x Jedi gn!Reader (stated that the reader wears lipstick)
Rating:SFW
Word count: 1.3k
Tags: Secret relationship, Fluff, Embarrassment.
Notes: this is like…. the most SFW thing i’ve ever written lol
“Hey, Rex, wake up.”
Rex stirs from his sleep as he hears you call out, gently nudging his body whilst repeating his name. He soon comes to light, rubbing his eyes and smiling as he feels you plant kisses across his cheek. “This is better than an alarm clock,” Rex states with a gentle laugh, before guiding your lips over to his, stealing one of many kisses from you.
“How was your nap?” you ask.
“Great. I mean, I’m still tired, but I’ll wake up once I’m in the shower,” Rex replies, slowly sitting upright and giving his eyes another rub.
“Yeah, you’ve got some time to get ready. Where did Master Skywalker say you were being deployed to again?“
I just posted Chapter 1! Two more chapters to come, and they’re already written! If you like happy Han and Leia with a new baby (their fourth), then give this AU a read! I had a blast writing it! Many thanks to @j-cbs for being my wonderful beta and friend!!
Your designation is CT-7567. Captain. 501st Clone Battalion. But your name, the one that matters more than any number or rank, is Rex.
You were a good soldier. You followed orders.
And now you’re attempting to steal the entire 501st Legion while Darth Vader’s back is turned…
“Rex?”
Darth Vader has returned. He wasn’t supposed to be on Mustafar, but here he is, and here you are trying to defect with his soldiers, and if you’re very lucky he’ll kill you instantly instead of interrogating you for information about the Rebellion.
star wars has officially been added to the list of fandoms i will write for !!
it only took 17 years of life for my friends to finally sit me down and force me to watch all of the movies, and i love love love love loved them all !! feel free to request for any characters <3
After a year and a half of writing and planning, today–St. Valentine’s Day and, apparently, International Fanworks Day–I finally started posting my Reylo as Cupid/Eros and Psyche fanfic, “Saving Love”!
This was inspired by a conversation we had in our Vader and Luke fic discord server. We were talking about crazy stunts we did as kids, and I mentioned that I used to do exactly what Luke does in this fic…except I don’t have a murder bot dad and I never got caught. :P Enjoy!
_______________________________________________
Vader knew something was up the moment he got home and ran into Luke in the hangar.
“Son.” Vader greeted. It seemed a bit early for Luke to be home, but then he remembered that some seniors got an early out period, and Luke had signed up for the program this semester. He immediately forgot about asking why he was home so early and was about to ask his son if he’d like to go with him to the Devastator, when he noted Luke’s hurried attempt to put himself between him and his speeder.
Vader paused, glad Luke couldn’t see his expression behind the mask as he narrowed his eyes at his son and then at the speeder. Had Luke gotten into a fender bender again? He thought he’d convinced his son to just tell him the truth when those things happened, but…
He reached out with the Force…and was surprised to find that Luke was not alone.
I wonder if he can taste the sadness (Ahsoka Tano & Anakin Skywalker & Rex)
Summary: Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and— “Master!” she cries, leaping up. Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation. “Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?” In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved. She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”
Warnings: major character death, lightsaber wounds, lots of children die but only one is shown, canon genocide, canon divergence but only to make it sadder Word Count: 1,826
Prompt:Angstpril Day 4 - Betrayal
Author’s Note: WOWWW why do I do this to myself lmfao. I was like ‘oh hey what if Ahsoka was in the Temple during Order 66 would that suck or what’ and then I. Wrote it. For some reason. I’m sick and twisted. Also, not to make you sadder or anything, but can you imagine Obi-Wan finding her body? Shit dude. Anyway, you might think Anakin wouldn’t go to the dark side if the whole Ahsoka thing hadn’t happened, but, like…he already murdered a village of Tuskens before the Clone Wars. I do not doubt that it would’ve happened somehow. I know this is super late but I wanna get all my Angstpril stuff written down no matter how late it is or else I’m gonna feel terrible about it. Title is from My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes. (Also, Jinnel, the Kiffar, and her future Master are my ocs. Zett is a canon character but he has barely any appearances so, uh, dibs.)
“Master Nu! I was just looking for you in the archives.”
Ahsoka bears a wide smile as the old Master of the archives turns to her. The young Padawan, though not so young now she thinks, bears a couple of datapads, old ones she’d borrowed before her last assignment.
“Ah, Padawan Tano. Apologies, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”
She gestures behind her, where a youngling Clan chatters excitedly. At the sight of Ahsoka, one Nautolan girl lights up and turns to her friend, whispering furiously.
Ahsoka smiles and waves a little, getting a few waves back. “Sorry, Master, I didn’t realise. I can come back later,” she offers.
“That’s quite alright.” Master Nu waves her off. “Just leave it on my desk, and I—”
She stops. Her gaze drifts to the far end of the hallway, but when Ahsoka follows it, she finds nothing there. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then she feels it, too: a roil of darkness and fear.
“What is that?” she whispers, unmoving.
The younglings finally notice, a long moment after their seniors, and begin speaking frantically.
“Is the Temple under attack?”
“What do we do, Master Nu?”
“What’s happening?”
“I have to go find my Master!”
With a raised hand, Master Nu silences them all. “Quiet.” Quickly glancing around, she spots a meditation room with an open door. “Quickly, into the meditation room. Padawan Tano, watch our backs.”
“Yes, Master.”
The younglings file into the room obediently, still whispering to one another. One girl, a young Kiffar, bursts into tears, so Ahsoka pulls her aside immediately.
“My Master left to go to the Senate Building,” the Initiate blubbers. “She doesn’t know we’re in danger! I have to find her!”
(She’s too young to have a Master, Ahsoka realises, and doesn’t have a Padawan braid. The Master must’ve found her on a Search and bonded with her.)
“See if you can contact her on your comm, but you need to stay here until we know what’s going on, okay?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t leave her!”
“I understand. My Master is out there somewhere, too,” Ahsoka tries to reassure. “But I can’t let you leave alone, either. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go find her together.”
The Initiate wipes at her eyes and nods, following the rest of her clan into the meditation room. Ahsoka looks back to Master Nu, who is glancing down the hall with wide, horrified eyes. Something has pulled in the Force.
Someone skids to a stop around the corner.
It’s a young human boy, a Padawan that Ahsoka has seen trailing behind Master Drallig for the last few weeks. On his sleeve, a scorch mark has burned through the fabric to his skin: a blaster wound.
At the sight of Master Nu and Ahsoka, his face twists in relief and he runs toward them.
“Zett,” Master Nu breathes out, taking his arm as soon as he’s close. “What’s going on?”
Through panting breaths, he speaks the impossible. “The clones—the clones are killing us!” he cries. “They got Master Drallig and I can’t find the Council—”
“What?” Ahsoka questions fiercely. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you won’t believe me, but I really saw it! It’s the 501st, they have their armour and everything and they’re killing everybody—!”
Master Nu squeezes his uninjured shoulder. “Breathe, Padawan. I believe you.”
“What!?” Ahsoka turns on her. “They would never—!”
“It may be someone else in that armour, but you know he’s telling the truth, Ahsoka. You can feel it,” she says warningly. “Don’t let emotion cloud your instincts.”
She backs down, but her chest tightens. “Yes, Master,” she says quickly.
“How many of them are there?”
“All of them. Master Drallig—” Zett chokes on his name. “—he told me to go to the landing pad, to get out and find help.”
“I’ll go with you!”
Ahsoka jumps when the young Kiffar reappears, running up to Zett.
“I’m a good tracker,” she says quickly, “and I know where my Master’s going! We can find her!”
Zett looks to Master Nu at the same time she does, uncertainty in his bright eyes. The old archivist casts her gaze to the end of the hall, where the chaos is starting to get louder. With a deep breath, she kneels before the younglings, a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Do not stop, especially for anyone in clone armour. Don’t trust anyone you don’t recognise and whatever you do, do not return to the Temple until you are given the all-clear, do you understand?” When they both nod, she reaches for their hands and presses them together, letting Zett take the girl’s. Master Nu gives him a firm look. “Hold onto each other. Do not let go. This is not a game.”
“Yes, Master,” they say at the same time, equally shaky.
She stands. “Go.”
The pair run off, Zett tugging the Kiffar girl closer to him as they dash down the hall. Ahsoka watches them go, waiting until they’re around the corner to turn her attention back to Master Nu, who has apparently done the same. Before she can speak, the archivist puts a hand on her shoulder as well.
“Stay with the younglings. Lock the door behind you and defend them with your life,” she instructs.
The girl’s eyes widen. “What? You’re leaving?”
“If the Temple is being attacked, there are things I have to do,” is her grim reply. “No one can get their hands on the archives, Padawan, no one. I’ll come find you when I get the chance.”
If I get the chance. The thought is there, though unspoken.
Steeling herself, Ahsoka swallows roughly but nods. “Yes, Master.”
With a glance over the Padawan’s shoulder, Master Nu lowers her voice. “Above all, make sure they make it out.”
“May the Force be with you,” she says quietly, a hope more than a comfort.
Master Nu smiles, a little sad, a little proud. “It is always with us, Ahsoka. It is always with you. Be brave.”
Her words echo in the young Togruta’s mind even as she departs. When she finally pulls herself together, she rushes into the meditation room, counting heads and closing the door behind her. She enters a code to lock it down completely before turning back to her charges.
“I need you all to listen carefully and do exactly as I say, okay?”
There are scattered nods and ‘yes, Padawan Tano’s, so she gives out instructions.
They build barricades throughout the room, providing cover for themselves. Initiates with lightsabers pair up with those without and the latter group gets a few weapons from Ahsoka. Her clone troopers—the ones killing Jedi—gave her quite a few vibroblades and pocket blasters over the years and she’s kept them all. It’s more than a little useful right now, she thinks as she hands them to the younglings.
“Keep your heads down and trust in the Force,” Ahsoka orders, ducking behind a gathering of meditation chairs and tables with three Initiates. She places a hand on the shoulder of the youngest, a small Mirialan with teary eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
Footsteps thunder from the hallway outside. The younglings fall silent in an instant, poised for battle.
Something catches in Ahsoka’s chest. They’re ready for this. They’re children and terrified but they’re ready for a fight. Is this what her Master used to feel when he looked at her, 14 standard and standing on the front lines? Like something was desperately wrong with this picture?
“The scanners indicate life forms in this room, sir.”
Ahsoka freezes.
Itsounds like a clone, though she can’t place who. Could Zett have been right? Are the clones—the 501st, of all battalions—turning against them? What in the Force would make them do that? Something here is horribly, horribly wrong.
There’s some beeping on the other side of the wall and someone out there must have the codes, because the door starts to slide open.
Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and—
“Master!” she cries, leaping up.
Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation.
“Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?”
In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved.
She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”
Light washes over her, the stark blue of his lightsaber being lit. She glances down to get a look at where he’s pointing it, what he could possibly be defending her from in a room of younglings. But then pain strikes her abdomen, squeezing her lungs. A choked gasp drags itself from her lips and she finally sees it.
The saber in her chest. Anakin’s saber in her chest.
A youngling screams and blaster fire echoes throughout the room, but Ahsoka can’t see what happens. She can’t even cry out for the Initiates she was meant to protect. All she can do is look back up at him.
His expression is blank, untouched by her apparent agony. He stares down at her with those yellow eyes—
Yellow eyes?
Her mouth falls open a little, her legs wobbling. She loses her balance, falling into him. And he catches her. There isn’t any sort of purpose to the movement, but he catches her.
He has yellow eyes.
Ahsoka thinks of Dooku, of his last moments spent glaring at her and her Master, those burning yellow eyes. She thinks of his red lightsaber fitting perfectly into Anakin’s hand and how nauseous she’d become at the sight.
“Anakin?”
It’s weak, hardly there. She doesn’t even know if he hears it.
And then she’s falling, falling to the floor. He drops her, lets her crumble underneath him, unable to hold herself up.
He walks away.
Breathing raggedly, Ahsoka wants to reach out, wants to grab the bottom of his robe before he can leave her. But her hands won’t cooperate, her entire body screaming at the scorched wound she bears.
The meditation room has fallen silent, leaving the troopers to follow after Anakin. They start to leave, but one notices she’s still breathing, still trying to move.
He lifts his blaster and she finally sees him.
“Rex,” she breathes out.
The jaig eyes on his helmet, carefully painted, give him away instantly. He lifts his pistols and she wants to cry. She doesn’t have the strength for even that. But she doesn’t need any strength to see that his hands are shaking. Ahsoka will never know what’s going on in his head, what’s driving him to lift his blasters in her direction. All she knows is that his hands are shaking.
“It’s okay, Rex,” she says, sounding far from it. “It’s okay.”
Summary:Ponds is wandering the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, on his way to a meeting with his general, when he finds a crying youngling. He’s clutching his hands close to himself and Ponds abruptly remembers a mission with General Vos, who had an eerily similar reaction to a set of manacles. Ponds can’t help but kneel in front of the kid and offer him his pair of brand new gloves.
Translations:ad’ika - little one/little child (term of endearment), Jetii - Jedi (singular) Tags:Ponds & Cal Kestis, Mace Windu/Ponds, mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos, Cal Kestis, Ponds, Mace Windu, Youngling Cal Kestis Word Count: 1,247
Author’s Note: I’m not saying Cal becomes Mace’s Padawan in this AU but I did have Thoughts about it ajldksfj. Imagine babey!Cal being with Ponds when the bounty hunter shit happens and Boba has Emotions and between him and Cal somehow Ponds survives…god, it’s too tempting. Also!! Baby Caleb and Cal being friends because they’re family now??? And Depa being the best big sister??? God, I can’t think about it too much or else I’ll want to write more. Anyway, enjoy! I love Padawan & Clone Commander dynamics, they’re so soft. The title is from To A Rosebud by Eva A. Jessye.
*
The Temple is quiet. It shouldn’t be a surprise to Ponds now, with the number of visits to it he has under his belt.
Not many vode can say they frequent the Jedi Temple, though admittedly almost every single one can claim to have been to the crèche at least once, but he is one of the few. In fact, ever since he and Mace cleared up their feelings—long story—he practically lives there instead of the barracks. Mace spends every moment of his time on Coruscant that he can spare at home and, as always, where he goes, Ponds goes.
What is a surprise is the little sniffling noise he can hear from around the corner.
He stops, frowning as he listens. It sounds…like an upset tooka. Or a crying youngling, which would make a lot more sense.
(He has plenty of experience with vode breaking down, but younglings? Not so much. He has a bit, though, given that Mace tricked the whole of Lightning Squadron into getting kidnapped by a youngling clan on their last leave.)
Despite his lack of talent dealing with younglings, at least in his opinion, he knows that a crying kid shouldn’t be by themselves, so he turns the corner.
The kid is tiny. Ponds didn’t know much about how natborns age until Rex’s kid came along, but he can wager a guess that this one isn’t much older than 10 standard. He’s leaned up against the wall, clutching his shaking hands close to his chest as he sobs, body heaving with the effort. But what really catches the clone’s eye is that he’s being extremely careful not to touch anything, flinching when his fingers even get close to his robes.
Abruptly, Ponds is reminded of a recent mission with General Vos. He’d never seen a general break down like that, not until he got his hands on a battered pair of manacles and picked up the suffering of every person ever bound with them.
Ponds approaches the kid, unsurprised that he doesn’t even notice his footsteps or his presence until he’s kneeling in front of him.
The youngling jumps, a gasp slipping past his lips. “No—”
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, ad’ika,” Ponds murmurs, sitting criss-cross to look less threatening. “Can you hear me?”
His lip quivers as he nods. “Can’t see,” he sobs.
Without question, he goes to tug off his gloves, a brand new pair after a trek through a jungle ruined his last ones. “Psychometry, right?” he gets a hesitant nod again. “You have a comfort item?”
(Vos had one of Kenobi’s old robes. Cute. Cuter in that it won Ponds that betting pool.)
He shakes his head. “Left it. Stupid—”
“Not stupid, just forgetful,” Ponds says instantly.
He holds out his gloves, letting them skim his hands so he can feel it, seeing as his vision is overwhelmed right now. Vos always gets more feelings than visions, apparently, but Ponds did some research into the ability before working with him and found out that it isn’t uncommon. He grimaces. This kid must be going through hell right now.
“Here, they’re brand new. Only memory you might get is me smacking one of my sergeants over the head.”
The youngling laughs a little and Ponds smiles. Success, he thinks, like it’s some kind of mission to get him to smile. Well. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.
He helps him slip on the gloves, careful not to touch him. “Better?”
“Mhm,” he manages, shutting his eyes tightly and opening them again. “Sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. What’s your name, buddy?”
He rubs at his eyes and runs a hand through his fiery red hair, sniffling a little. “Cal, um, Initiate Cal Kestis.”
“I’m Ponds,” he introduces, holding out his hand for him to shake.
“Mast-Master Windu’s commander?” he asks, eyes wide.
He snorts. “One and only.” He sobers immediately. “I thought the quartermaster gave gloves to all Jedi with psychometry.”
“They do, but, um, I keep…losing mine,” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t wanna ask for another pair ‘cause I’ve already had three in two months and—well. I don’t want them to be mad.”
Ponds tilts his head. “I get that. People are scary when they’re mad, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell you what, have you ever heard of the ‘CO Loophole’?” he asks. When Cal scrunches his face up, he snickers. “It’s something my shinies named. When you can’t find something for hours and you go to tell your commanding officer about it, they find it in less than a minute.”
Cal smiles a little and Ponds counts it as another win. “The crèchemasters do that, too!”
“Everybody who looks after somebody else can do it, I think,” he declares. “How about we see if you and I can’t find those gloves. If we can’t, I’ll take you to the quartermaster myself.”
The kid brightens almost instantly, but his face falls a second after. “You-you’re not busy?”
“Eh, General Windu fell asleep at our last briefing, so I think he can live with me being late,” Ponds says with a shrug.
(He’s not late to a briefing with ‘General Windu.’ He’s late to a lunch date with Mace, but oh well. Mace really won’t mind, especially when he meets this kid. Ponds knows he’s a sucker for kids—though not so much the ones that can’t talk yet—and he’s used it to his advantage.)
“Really?” he asks, gawking.
“Really. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Ponds holds out a hand—a bare hand, now, but he can’t find it in him to notice. Cal takes it without hesitation, his red-rimmed eyes brighter than before. Something tightens in the clone commander’s chest, realising that the kid has no problem trusting him. He wonders offhandedly what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been here at this very moment.
“You’ll have to show me the way,” Ponds admits to the boy as he helps him up. “I’ve only been once.”
Cal nods, dusting himself off without letting go of his hand. “To see Hawkbat Clan, right?”
“Yeah,” he remarks, somewhat amused. He leads the way down the hall, slow and steady so that the little one can keep up. “How’d you know?”
“They still brag about it,” he huffs. “We got to see the Wolfpack, but they’ve visited, like, everybody. They’re the only ones who got to see your battalion, though, so…”
Ponds hums. He didn’t realise younglings were aware of how much he and the vode have visited. In fact, he wasn’t aware that visiting was such a big deal. He’s always known that it was good for the vode, what with how strikingly relaxingit is to hang out with younglings, but maybe it’s good for the Initiates, too.
“Why don’t we take a detour?” he finds himself suggesting. “I know a squadron that wouldn’t mind some time off.”
He can message Mace on the way, he decides.
Cal lights up like a sun. “Really?” he asks again.
Ohno. He’s adorable. Holy kark, this kid could make the Separatists surrender with his grin alone. Ponds is smiling like an idiot, too. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to adopt someone so much, even when picking out shinies for Lightning Squadron.
“Really,” he laughs. “But if Commander Wolffe ever comes back to your clan, you have to tell him we’re your favourites.”
“Deal!” the boy chimes immediately, swinging their intertwined hands a little.
Wolffe can find another shiny Jetii. This one is his.
Wow!!!! A written work!!!!! I’m so sorry it’s been so long!! Turns out being a Creative Writing Major doesn’t give you a whole lot of time to write independent of the class, at least in my ADHD brain I’ve also been going through some things personally that have made it hard to be motivated to write on Winter Break, but here’s something that I’m finally able to put out!! And of course, my grand return is featuring my favorite Mauldalorian, Gar!!! *This is separate from Verburyc!!!!*
Pairing(s): Gar Saxon/F!Reader; M!Mauldalorian/F!Reader
It was a cloudy day in Sundari. Usually, the weather was picture perfect. Warm, sometimes hot, only cold once the sun dipped past the horizon. But today it looked like it could have rained. The clouds shielded the sun from view, giving the city a biting chill to the dry desert air. Gar liked to stand on the balconies of the Sundari palace after a good work out, staring out at the city he hasn’t been in since childhood, since Clan Saxon was exiled along with the rest of House Vizsla all those years ago.
Today, after Gar’s usual mid-morning work-out, he expected to find his usual balcony abandoned. But instead, he saw you.
You were like spice to him. Even just looking at your back, Gar could feel his chest heating up, and a small smile come to his face. He would go out of his way to speak to you at least once a day, just to relieve that burning desire to be around you all the time.
But you weren’t his, and it hurt Gar every time he saw you with the one that had swept you off your feet.
Gar’s pleasure at the sight of you was halted once his ears picked up on a quiet sniffle, and his blood ran cold.
You were crying.
“Y/n?” His voice was unusually tentative.
Your head whipped around, tear tracks running down your gorgeous face, eyes red and puffy.
“Hey Gar,” you tried and failed to clear your cracking throat as more tears slipped from your eyes, “interesting weather we’re having, huh?”
You look down, chuckling at your own failed attempt at trying to mask the hurt you were no doubt feeling inside.
Your breath hitched when you felt his arms wrap around your trembling frame, pulling you to his chest.
“You don’t have to hide your feelings from me,” he murmured, “please, tell me what’s wrong?”
Gar could feel you swallow harshly, “Bev, he…” you inhaled, and Gar could feel tears starting to land on his shirt.
“He said that he didn’t like the look of me… without my armor.” Your voice began trembling, and Gar only held you tighter.
“I… I’ve tried to get my b-ody to l-look a bit more ‘toned,’ but no matter how m-much I work out, my stomach doesn’t g-go away,” your tears were coming profusely, “A-and f-for a wh-while I g-grew to love h-how my body l-looked, b-but B-bev told m-me I wasn’t t-trying hard enough, a-and no Mandalorian w-would e-ever be attracted to m-me.”
Gar felt his own tears welling up, clutching you to him like he would lose you if he let go. “Oh, cyar'ika…”
“M-maybe he’s right,” you whimper, “maybe…”
“No,” Gar whispered, “No, he’s wrong. He’s so wrong, Yn. Look at me, cyar'ika.”
He pulled away from you, cupping your face to make you look at him. Your eyes shimmered with tears, a few more slipping out. They were quickly swiped away by Gar’s thumbs.
“Y/n, you are stunning. Anyone who would get the chance to see all of your beauty would be blessed by the stars, and that di'kut is cursed for turning away from you.”
He smiled down at you, before pressing his forehead against yours. “Gar cuyir mesh'la,” he sighed, “bid mesh'la.”
“Gar…” you whispered. Gar hoped he wasn’t pushing the bounds of your friendship with this keldabe, but at the same time, you weren’t pulling away either.
Gar felt his heart stutter in his chest when two soft hands cupped his cheeks. You pulled away from the keldabe, smiling sadly at him.
“I’ve had feelings for you for quite a while,” you began, your voice slowly returning to normal, “I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and you are a superior officer…”
“Y/n,” Gar interrupted you, “I adore you. I try to see you at least once a day because you bring so much light to my life, even just looking at you.”
“You always make my day better too, Gar.”
You look down. “I’m sorry that I didn’t act on my feelings, I didn’t realize…”
“It’s okay cyar'ika, we both know now and we’re here together, that’s what matters.” He stroked your cheek, and nearly lost his mind when you leaned into his touch.
“I… I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into another relationship,” you say suddenly, and you were inhaling as if to explain yourself in one go, but Gar hushed you.
“I understand, Y/n. You need time to process everything that’s happened with Bev. I will be here with you every step of the way, and when you’re ready, we can proceed whichever way our relationship takes us, okay?”
In barely a blink of an eye, Gar felt your lips on his, with your arms thrown around his neck. He gasped, letting his arms fall down to your waste and his eyes closed, embracing the softness of your love.
You pulled away soon after, smiling up at him. “Thank you, Gar.” He saw more tears well up in your eyes, this time of happiness.
“Anything for you, cyar'ika,” he replied, relishing in the feeling of his hands on your waist.
It was then that he felt you shiver, and the unusual chill of the Sundari air hit him at last.
“C'mon, you’re shaking, let’s go inside. I can make us some hot teas in my quarters?” Gar suggested.
“I would love that,” you respond, leaning into Gar’s embrace as the two of you walked through the Sundari palace, bits of sun cracking through the clouds.
You stirred at a sound of rustling. It was a strange way of waking. For after so long, you were used to being stirred by wandering hands and the dimness of the light’s morning setting, that bathed your quarters in a soft yellow glow. It was a colder way of waking that left you wanting.
And at the sight of Obi Wan is shrugging on his first robes, it’s chill grew. Your chest grew heavy and tension gathered in your shoulders. Every weight you felt, that of the world, the galaxy, this situation, shifted with you as laid on your side to watch your lover leave.
“Is it time already?” Your words came out horse, riddled with the leftovers of sleep and haunted by the blissed-out ghost of your voice from the night before. Obi Wan already slipped his arms through the sleeves as you asked. When he pivoted his stance to face you, you caught a glimmer in his blue eyes.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Pity,” you murmured, turning to rest on your back and face the cold, lonely ceiling. “Felt like there were things we could continue.”
“For both our sakes, I don’t think we should.”
“Careful,” you warned, flicking your gaze back over to Obi Wan. “You’re starting to sound more and more like the collective Council.”
“There are rules, Y/N.”
You nodded bitterly and returned your eyes to the ceiling. The moment you did, you heard Obi Wan’s boot clomp against the floor of your room. It took your every ounce of willpower to keep from watching him as he walked out your door. You simply stayed still, listening for the hiss that would come with the opening entrance and his dulled footfalls.
When the sound of the door never sounded, you turned your head and saw him. Obi Wan stood at your bedside, paces away from the exit, paces away from leaving. He was yours, for a few seconds longer. You reached out a lazy hand in the hopes he would take, prove that he was truly yours. That he would stay.
“There are feelings too, Obi,” you countered softly. “Unless there isn’t?”
“No, there are,” he whispered. Obi Wan took your extended hand and a trembling breath slipped past your lips.
Almost as if he heard the shaking in your throat, he moved to sit on the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, incidentally letting you fall closer into his warmth. His bright blue eyes drank in your features and you were thrust back into similar mornings. Mornings of pillow talk and careful caresses before someone’s comm chimed, tore down the peace you built in the peaceful hours of dawn.
“Then we continue.”
“Then we continue,” he replied, but his lips faltered down into a frown. “But you must know that my allegiances to-”
“The Republic,” you interrupted, giving his hand a soft squeeze. You and Obi Wan had talked so many times about this before, what would happen if what you had fell apart. “As are mine, as are all the Jedi.”
“Yes, but my allegiances to you will endure, whether we continue or not. Know that.”
As he spoke, Obi Wan leaned in closer, until his face was tantalizing few inches from your own. His warmth both put you at ease and stole your breath away. When you felt it soak into the sheets of your bed and to your exposed skin beneath, you also became suddenly aware of how vulnerable you were. But as Obi Wan’s free hand moved to cup your face, you knew he would not exploit that fact; he would protect you, always.
“I know now,” you replied once you found your breath again.
A soft silence settled between you then. Obi Wan’s hands remained on you: his left gave yours a gentle squeeze while the right traced your jawline. He drew you in and pressed the lightest of kisses to the corner of your mouth. You smiled when Obi Wan pulled away before you tugged his lips back to yours. He relented, kissed you harder than the last time.
His beard tickled your chin and coaxed your smile to widen. You felt his own mouth mirror your expression. At the sensation, you titled your head back and studied Obi Wan’s expression. How rare it was to see him smile. You leaned back and savored the sight.
“I’ll see you at today’s meeting?” Obi Wan asked, his tone low in a whisper. You merely nodded in response and he leaned forwards once more, pressed yet another kiss to your forehead.
He stood up then, gave your hand a last squeeze, and headed towards the door of your chambers. Watching Obi Wan leave was never easy. Even in those slow mornings of wandering hands, you always felt a pang of loss when he walked away. But then, that morning, with the tingling feeling of his lips on your yours and your skin lingering, it was lessened.
Though, as always, Obi Wan left with a part of your heart in his.
An exploration of Rey’s unseen grief over Ben’s death at the end of TROS.
(feat. Force Ghost Ben and a happy ending.)
preview:
The moment he is gone she forgets how to grieve.
The first and only thing she feels is pain, sharp and unyielding, like she has been run through by a lightsaber right in the soft spot at the base of her neck.
The pain fades quickly and is replaced instead by a hollowness that spreads from the centre of her chest outwards; an implacable coldness that consumes her quickly. She feels her face ease from its tormented grimace into something that might have almost been considered serene if it didn’t feel so much like a brumal death from within. She exhales softly, a light breath released from lips that have gone numb.
Her hands dazedly pat the soft material of his tunic, still warm from his body, as though she has somehow just missed him. As though she’ll still make contact with a solid form underneath and within.
Instead, all she encounters is the scrabbled ground beneath the fabric. There is no warm, breathing, living man within. It is now just an overlay for the hard unyielding rock below.
Had it truly been just moments before that she had held him in her arms, legs spread across his, their chests touching?
Was it really only seconds prior where their lips had met, held and captured, his mouth moving against her own? The feel of his fevered breath expelling from his nose and hitting her cheek as they desperately, awkwardly tasted each other for the first time? His arms hefting her, holding her, crushing her to him?
Had it even really happened?
For a moment she wonders if maybe she is dead again.
Maybe she is still dead.
Maybe she was always dead?
The feeling is the same, after all. The feeling of being trapped in that horrid liminal space where she had screamed and screamed in isolated terror, her voice singular amongst the endless stars; that inky blackness symbolizing a blank eternity.
Her throat feels raw, raw like she is still screaming although her face does not move aside from the slow descent of her eyelids, blink after painful blink.
Her breath comes out in short bursts as she scrambles up on shaky legs. At the last second she reaches down and grasps the shirt still on the ground, crumpling it up and sticking it under her arm. Her feet feel like leaden weights, knees wobbling, the coldness in her chest beginning to feel like an icy burn.
He had never seen her face. All he had were glimpses of fair skin caressed by the dim lights of the dark corners of the Pantheon.
But he knew she was beautiful.
Probably the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on.
In the past, he had bestowed such title to Duchess Amidala. As well as the title of smartest wannabe politician. However, she was out of his life. She left and would never come back.
Whatever he felt for her — he knew it was love, what else could it be? — no longer existed. The moment she chose to marry that — the moment he let her — bastard banker, he relinquished any claim over her — and she relinquished it too. For he was more hers than she was ever his.
He was supposed to be working.
She had the softest lips he had ever tasted. And a man of his age had tasted countless lips and courted countless women — much to his regret. In his defense, he would say he was careless, young and desperate at the time Duchess Amidala left him. He did what any young men his age would — tried to forget a lover with several others.
A mistake.
He was supposed to be working.
Instead, he found himself again at the dim-lighted balcony in the Pantheon waiting for her — and comparing her to a long-lost lover.
He did not turn on his heels to acknowledge her presence or to greet her. He continued with eyes focused down below, on the couples dancing in the Ballroom.
“I wouldn’t come today.”
“I was thinking of you.”
They both said at the same time. She stopped at his side, she was much shorter than him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.
The aftermath of their whispered confessions was met with silence. Awkward, unfulfilling silence. Their words had different meanings. He, for one, was anxious to see her again. But it seemed she felt very differently.
Once again, he could not help but compare her to the Duchess.
“Why?” he asked, the fear of rejection making the blood run faster in his veins.
“We should not…” she whispered back, chestnut eyes focused everywhere, but his face. “We cannot kee—
He silenced her…
…by placing a finger on her chin and holding it like a treasure. He treasured her. More than she knew, more than she would care to acknowledge.
She opened her mouth, a rebuttal ready on her lips. But, once again, he silenced her…
…with his kiss… with his passion…
She kissed him back, allowing him a moment of dominance… letting him tilt her head back and deepen the contact between their mouths; an arm clutching her waist and keeping her flush against him. She also let him and even relished when his fingers intertwined in her long and partially down — what a scandal for a woman of her social position and marital status — long, curly hair.
He knew, he knew, her words did not match her wishes.
When he drew back, more than satisfied with her response, he lost no time to bring her gloved hand to his mouth in a lingering and less than proper — was anything about that place ever proper? — kiss.
“You were saying, milady…” he prompted her, a smug smile lifting the corner of his full lips. He kept her hand enclosed between his and one arm around her waist.
She shook her head.
“Amidala… Duchess Amidala… That’s my name.”
He all but let her hand fall from his. Only one thought in his mind…
…he was definitely supposed to be working.
Anidala Historial AU in which both Padmé and Anakin flirt and interact in a Masquerade but neither knows who the other is. He only knows her as Duchess and she knows him to be Lord Vader, but other than that — and their growing attraction — they know very little about each other.
It was just an excerpt of my current Anidala WIP called Behind the Mask, the first chapter you can read on ffnetandAO3.
Summary: When General Skywalker returns to London he is immediately tasked to find the opposers of the Crown. There is no more fitting place than the Pantheon, famous for its debauched masquerades, to start his search. He just did not expect to be reacquainted with Duchess Amidala there or at all. When all secrets are uncovered, what lies behind the mask? [Regency AU, Anidala, Vaderdala, M]
