...and very ginger

Rude and very ginger thirty-something politics junkie with a side of sci-fi geek. Georgia Peach. Braves fan. Gamer. Fic Snob. Hopeful romantic. Portrait by Athena.

[andveryginger]

I did this one for the infamous Hallmark Holiday, shortly before or after “Traitor Among the Chiss” dropped (I’m a bit fuzzy on my timing), because, well, they brought Saganu back (instead of Yudrass, who was apparently floated as the other option). I am still eternally disappointed that we’re once again left without a resolution, AND that I really have to wonder if we’ll ever see the internal disruptions in the Ascendancy that this little nugget could cause, depending on choices. My inner Chiss and politics nerds would love to see a bit more about this. That said, I have my fan fic, and RP!Adela has Kal, and his own political complications. What can I say? I am still a politics nerd who is also a Star Wars fan, fic writer, and a romantic sap, especially for a good voice. =D (See also: Theron Shan.)

[lorelaigilmoure]

people: you two are married, right?

lucien and jean: nO??!!!??!?!!!?!

people: that sounds fake but ok

[yourjodeanfaceblog]

But in our heads we’re in bed together.

[seven-dragons]

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

[notwithaste]

oh she was actually holding his coat, she was so READY 😮‍💨

(i mean, we’re talking about a beat here between ‘not always miss fisher’ and his slight lean, and aunt p interrupting, and i caught her dropping her hand on my first watch but thought she was just reaching but no?? phryne already had her fingers on his coat to pull him in, to hold on, no i’m losing my mind)

[ddagent]

But I want you to know that…seeing your face at that moment was probably the single finest moment in my life.

[andveryginger]

THIS SCENE, y'all: The looks, the body language, the lack of personal space. The way he leans in and she way she lifts her chin, with the little gleam in their eyes, as though he's about to kiss her... 

We were so robbed.

[andorerso]

Cassian “don’t touch me” Andor vs. Cassian “what is personal space” Andor

[donnovien]

[greyias]

Hand holding prompts #16. only linking the pinkies together, not ready to let go completely

“My failure in reaching other members of our Order unfortunately extends to reuniting your former crew. Kira Carsen has proved especially difficult to locate.”

“Kira and I were close, but I haven’t felt her presence, either. I don’t know what that means.”

“As Jedi, we must remain above such worries. If you and Kira are meant to be reunited, it will happen.”

The moment the words left the Choza Raabat’s mouth, it was apparent that the Ithorian had hit a sore spot. There was only the slightest hint of reproach in his tone, like a mentor gently reminding a younger student of the way the world worked. Theron watched the reaction from the Alliance Commander, which to the casual observer probably looked like just a slight bob to the head. But it was the twitch to her brow, and a slightly deeper flush to the cheeks that let him know that the words had hit closer than she was willing to let on.

“Of course,” her tone remained pleasant, but the excitement at meeting a fellow member of her lost Order had faded behind a carefully constructed facade of professionalism. “All I meant is that the more allies that we can gather to our side, the better.”

Ithorian features were a little more difficult to read than those of most species, but Theron had spent enough time around them to know that the Jedi Knight probably saw right through the attempt. Choza’s calm countenance spoke nothing about his own thoughts or sentiments, and he simply dipped his large head in acknowledgement of her words.

“Our resistance appreciates all the help that the Alliance can provide,” Choza continued on, as if there was nothing more to comment on.

“We are happy to lend our aid in the fight against Zakuul in any way that we can,” Grey had smoothly shifted back into the mode as the Alliance’s Commander, the moment of vulnerability covered by Jedi calm. She assured Choza of the Alliance’s commitment to do everything in their power to take down the Star Fortress currently threatening the planet.

But as they walked away, she held her shoulders just a little stiffer than normal, and her pleasant, neutral expression was just a little too placid. It was probably convincing enough for everyone around them, but Theron could tell that the other Jedi’s words had stung. He pursed his lips together, trying to figure out if this was one of those moments where he should say something — or let her mull things over on her own.

He didn’t like to push. Talking about emotions had never been his strong suit, yet as uncomfortable and itchy as it made him to broach those kinds of awkward conversations, there were times it was more beneficial to not push exactly. But maybe give things a nudge.

“You know, I’m probably not the guy who should speak about this,” Theron said quietly, “but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a Jedi wanting to know where her best friend went.”

It didn’t take a Jedi to see the slight tension in her shoulders ease a fraction, and the tightness to her smile relax some. “But is he not right? Should I not be above such things?”

“I’m just saying, I think maybe a guy who spent five years meditating to himself might need a few remedial social skills.”

That got a smile out of her, which was the whole point. “There is nothing wrong with meditation.”

“Also, you’re a Master to his Knight, so like. I think maybe he shouldn’t be trying to lecture you on attachment.” Not that was a particularly sore subject with Theron or anything.

She shook her head good-naturedly, but he recognized the hints of her amused exasperation with him peeking through. “You do know that wisdom is not restricted by Jedi rank?”

“Oh, trust me,” Theron said, “I know.”

After a quick scan around their surroundings revealed they had traveled far enough away from the resistance’s camp to be out of sight, he reached out and squeezed her hand. Her smile faded as she let her gaze drift up to the mountains surrounding them, but he felt her hand squeeze back.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she hesitated a moment, before continuing quietly, “if I really am all that much of a Jedi.”

He frowned. Surely she was joking. Prior to Zakuul’s invasion and the decimation of the Jedi Order, she was practically their paragon and poster child. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed since they’d rescued her from Carbonite.

“There’s so few of us now,” she whispered. “Before all of this, things made sense. I had my place in the Order, with my crew. And when I woke up, nothing was the same. The galaxy seemed suddenly so much bigger, and smaller, all at once.”

Theron drew closer to her, and she instinctively reached out to take a firmer grip on his hand. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts and get his tongue to wrap around any words that might help. However, those elusive words appeared to elude him, so he settled for something that felt like a consolation prize, given everything she had lost.

“You still have me.”

“I am glad for that, truly.” She gave him a wan smile, then leaned her head into his shoulder. “Sometimes I feel you are all that I have left.”

Even though there was still a tension in the air and in her voice when she spoke, her body seemed to relax just a fraction at their proximity. He felt his own throat constrict a little at her words and had to work to swallow. Something about how she pulled in closer and pressed against him made him feel like maybe he hadn’t exactly fixed something — but at least he had broken nothing, either.

Now, if only he could ease some of those burdens she carried with her.

He was lost for a few moments, just enjoying the fact that they were together. A few tendrils of hair tickled his neck as they blew in the stiff wind whipping around the mountainside. His thumb absentmindedly stroked the inside of her wrist, running along the coarse blue veins that ran just under the skin. It was one of those rarer moments, a feeling of peace encapsulated in time. Despite the galaxy feeling like it was falling apart around them, everything felt right for this brief moment.

He felt her head move a fraction against his shoulder, and then a faint relief of pressure against his chest as she lifted her head. Her gaze met his, and there was a question in them he couldn’t quite place. A few more strands of her dark blonde hair had blown loose from her ponytail, and she absently tucked them back behind her ear as she cocked her head to one side.

If the greatest artisan in all of the galaxy was standing there, Theron was certain they’d never be able to properly capture the sight. The way her cheeks pinkened at the chill mountain air, or the way the freckles on her nose crinkled as the slightest smile graced her features, or the way her eyes reflected the clear blue Alderaanian skies.

It seemed like he didn’t have words for that, either.

“You’re... what I mean is...” Smooth, Theron. Smooth.

Mercifully, his comm link beeped, and reality set back in. It seemed the Resistance had located the shield bunker on this planet.

“Duty calls?”

“Yeah.” He gave a nod. “Duty calls.”

He didn’t let go of her hand when she made to pull away, and she flashed him a quizzical look.

“You’re the most Jedi person I have ever met. Just so you know.”

Her puzzled expression was replaced by a bright smile that lit up her entire face, sweeping away the shadows that had gathered about her. In a quick motion, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“You really are a smooth talker, you know that?”

“It’s my best quality.”

She rolled her eyes at that, but smiled and gave their linked hands a little tug as an indication they should make their way back to the camp. As much as he wanted to at times, Theron couldn’t fix all the problems in the galaxy — but perhaps that wasn’t the point of all this. Maybe just being there, helping smooth some of these rough edges when they poked through was enough.

He let himself be pulled along by the sight of her smile, the mountain wind still teasing her hair. They should probably have dropped their linked hands as they entered the camp, lest they elicit another remark from Choza about remaining above things. However, their pinkies remained linked even as the tents and Resistance members came into sight — as neither of them were quite ready to let go yet.

[isil-zha]

4x11 - Lines of Communication

[delovelie]

#GODS YES #i JUST #IHAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THIS #BECUASE DELENN IS A JUST A BEAUTIFUL PEFECT MESS OF DUALITIES #HUMAN AND MINBARI #THE GENTLE SPIRTUAL LEAADER AND THE RUTHLESS GENERAL #SATAI AND AMBASSSADOR #AND I JUST #NEED THIS A LOT

[starwarsfilms]

Look to the Force, and you’ll always find me.

Rogue One : A Star Wars Story (2016) dir. Gareth Edwards

[soyala23]

@clintasha_madness on IG

Black Widow = My Weapon of Choice

[storyknitter]

For the kiss prompts:

35.) a kiss on the space between shoulder blades.

More medieval fantasy fic for you and @queen-scribbles, who also asked for this prompt!

The battle raged around Vassanna and her compatriots; fighting back to back with Kira felt as natural as breathing and the enemy suffered greatly for it.

A break in the enemy allowed them to catch their breath and a knight raced on horseback to their position. No, not just any knight—Sanna’s heart leapt into her throat as she recognized Theron, her hopeful king.

“He’s as undefended as he’s going to get,” Theron said, gesturing across the battlefield to the Shadow King, surrounded by fewer than a handful of knights. “I could use your help.” He offered his hand to Vassanna, a pleading look on his face.

This was her chance: make Theron king and destroy Tenebrous at the same time, ensuring that he never hurts anyone else again. But could she resist his powerful magics? Her hubris had gotten her into trouble the last time and—

“Please, Sanna.”

Theron’s voice dragged her back to the present. Kira’s elbow found its way sharply into her back and before she could overthink it, Vassanna nodded. Ignoring the amused snort behind her, she sheathed one of her swords, reached for Theron’s extended arm, and leapt as he pulled her up behind him.

Wrapping one arm around his waist—solely to secure herself and not fall from the horse, she thought, not because she’d missed him—she brandished her sword with deadly accuracy, keeping their foes from unseating or injuring them as Theron steered them towards their final battle: the Shadow King and his two remaining defenders, Lords Baras and Acharon.

As Theron brought the horse to a stop, she begged the gods for the strength to prevail. Keep him safe, she thought, pressing her lips to Theron’s back, between his shoulder blades. Please.

He startled briefly at the pressure on his armor.

“For luck, your majesty,” she whispered, lowering her helm’s visor, and vaulted from the horse. “Let’s finish this,” she snarled as he dismounted.

Resolve and determination steeled her nerves, drawing her remaining blade as the Shadow King laughed. It was a cruel laugh that haunted her dreams, but no longer. Not after today.

[storyknitter]

Pyrrhic

The Star Chaser, en route to Odessen from Nathema 25 ATC

The constant beep of the kolto tank faded into and out of Vassanna’s ear as she skimmed the reports from Aygo and her other advisors, new information arriving in a constant drip.

Five lost aboard the Sprout, who didn’t make it to the escape pods in time. Eight gone from the Archer, another dozen missing from 152-B. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips. At least most were able to escape the destroyed ships in time, but stars, so much loss.

Another ping from Aygo drew her attention.

Sanna sighed once more, shifting a few names from the “missing” list to “killed in action.” Stars above, she hated this.

Dropping her datapad to the small table next to her, she hung her head in her hands. The tank’s beeping drew her attention again and she gazed up at the man floating within, tears blurring her vision.

“I guess you did it, huh?” she murmured. “Figured it out on your own, out-spied them, took down the ‘bad guys’ from within.” Her thoughts drifted to the datapad beside her, with its lists of dead and missing weighing heavy on her chest. A memory from a few hours ago twisted her heart: Theron giving her a small smile, despite his pain, before his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall, his Force-signature flickering dangerously low.

Don’t die, not yet.

“It’s too much. We won, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

Sanna wasn’t sure why she was expecting a response from the kolto tank, but instead of reassuring her, the steady beeping reminded her of everything lost.

[tvandfilm]

Babylon 5 | 2x20 “The Long, Twilight Struggle”

[bestintheparsec]

Welcome home. 

(for @forever-rogue)

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: “Reentry” (1/1) (Mairen/Reanden)

Title:  “Reentry”

Fandom:   Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse) Relationship(s): Mairen/Reanden (F/M) Rating:   Teen Warnings/Tags:   Adult Situations Implied

Notes: Fictober was kinda the jumping off point for this one, but real life really just went haywire, about halfway through the month. So... here it is, encouraged by the prompt, “Your information was wrong.”

Anyone interested in the back story should take a peek at the “Deja New” series, which covers the first meeting of these super-spy dorks, working undercover in the Empire, and the subsequent relationship they stumble into. This story falls shortly after the battle at the Meridian shipyards, as Mairen and Reanden have been invited to lead a Corellian-based task force in the renewed battle against the Empire. Posted without beta. All mistakes are my own.

Green Jedi Enclave Coronet City Corellia

The Jedi once known as Mairen Bel Iblis stood before the memorial, gaze tracing up the contours of the winding stone form as it reached upward and upward. A burning sensation tickled across her sinuses, creeping upward to engulf green eyes, even as the corners of her mouth tipped down, an outward sign of her struggle for control. Allowing her eyelids to close, she swallowed back the knot rising in her throat and knelt in the damp grass. She lowered her hands, fingertips barely brushing the blunted blades of foliage at her sides. Taking a deep breath she exhaled slowly, reaching gently into the Force. Chaos burbled just beneath the quiet veneer of recent history. Rebuilding efforts were underway in portions of the city, but kneeling, reaching into the energy that swirled within the enclave, she could sense the wounds still healing from the previous war: The aroma of scorched earth as it lingered in the air. The plumes of dark smoke rolling into the sky behind the towering skyline. The scream of Imperial fighters as they soared overhead, pursued by the howl of Republic ships. And all of it intermingled with shouted orders from troopers, cries of pain from the wounded, and wails of those left behind.

If living as a Sith on Dromund Kaas had been Hell, Corellia under fire had been the Ninth Level.

Her sister had been among the wounded – among the dead.

Her mother, her brother-in-law, and nieces had been among those wailing with the loss. Tightness gripped her chest, eyes stinging again as her own grief struggled back to the surface. She remembered too well the day she heard of the sacking – the sneering, wicked grins of the Imperials surrounding her as they celebrated the subjugation of her home, her family, and the death of so many of her fellow Green Jedi. Playing Sith hadn’t been all that much of an act that day. Dark tendrils coiled into her connection, and she felt a chill wash over her. She could hear the rumble of distant thunder; see a flash of lightning across a dark sky.  No, she thought. No more. This was not Dromund Kaas. This was Corellia, vibrant and full of life – life she could feel swirling all around her, warm and bright and reassuring. Wisps pushed back at the darkness, familiarity cradling her, welcoming her, and soothing the jagged edges of her anger and grief. She felt the whisper in her ear more than she heard it: “Emotion, yet peace… Death, yet the Force.” Drawing in a deep breath, she concentrated on how the air flowed into the lower reaches of her lungs; how her chest expanded first forward, then outward from the ribs. Exhaling slowly, she used the focus to reach further into the warmth that surrounded her. Resilience. Determination. Hope. There were Corellians who fought for the wrong reasons, engulfed by their hatred and seeking revenge… but they were far outnumbered by those who fought for the right reasons – for independence and for home. These had been the reasons she stayed on Dromund Kaas… and these had been the reasons her sister had remained in the enclave. Even as the realization settled over her, she felt a prickle of discomfort flutter across her mind; the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could sense nothing as an empty shadow took position behind her. It was a sensation she was familiar with, though with an unsettling twist: Most operatives trained in cloaking themselves and capable of concealing their signatures appeared as if they were nothing -- as though there were nothing unusual to sense. In this case, she could sense something – almost like a black hole – as if someone was somehow bending the Force around them. The voice that spoke into the silence was brittle. “I’d heard you were dead.” Mairen knew that voice. It was harder now, lacking in the warmth she once knew, but she would always recognize her brother when he spoke. Perhaps, she reasoned, the anger in his voice was why he felt so… unsettling. Of them all, he had required the most work in meditation… and hated every minute of it. Drawing a second breath, she once again gave an extended exhale, opening her eyes slowly. She moved, unhurried, to stand. Once there, she remained bent at the waist, red hair shielding her face as she swept debris from the knees of her pants and frowned at the damp circles. There would be time to change later, she supposed. Finally, her gaze settled on her brother. The years had been kind and yet… not. He was tall and wiry, built very much like their father. Gone now were the smile and chubby cheeks of his youth; they had been replaced by chiseled, high cheekbones, severe and sharp as his tone. Shadows lurked at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the creases there deepened not only with the passage of time, but the passage of life: It was a shadow that lurked in the pale green eyes that watched her now. Mairen held her own features in check, remaining behind her shields for the moment. She stood to her full height. “Your information was wrong.” His eyes narrowed and she could feel him reach out, begin to test her defenses. Fingers twitched at his side, thumb brushing against the hilt suspended from his belt. “And the rumors that you’d turned? Were those also wrong?” She nodded, once. “Part of the cover.” “You stayed.” “I did.” His lips thinned and Mairen glanced down as his fingers twitched again; glanced up as his jaw clinched. “Adrie died; the war ended; and you stayed,” he said. There was emphasis on each syllable, heavy, as anger seeped into his voice. “Twenty years, living it up as a Sith lord, yet I’m supposed to believe it was all ‘your cover’?” The shielding around his emotions was strong, but there were cracks beginning to form. Concern creased her brow. “You’re my brother, Cian,” she began slowly, her own voice calm and measured. “Father trained us all: You, me, Adrie. You’re the only one left who might know better than just about anyone whether I was capable of turning – of turning my back on my family; on Corellia; on the Force --” “No,” Cian interrupted. “I was your brother. The woman that stood there and lied to us – lied to me – about ‘finding her destiny in the Empire’ – she wasn’t my sister… because my sister wouldn’t have left our mother to deal with Da’s passing; wouldn’t have left me to clean up the mess. And she sure as Hells wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to say goodbye to her little sister.” Mairen frowned. The skepticism was expected… maybe even warranted. She’d known there would be members of the enclave especially who would question her return; it had been one of the larger reasons she had avoided it to this point. Still, he had not been there the day the fighting started again; hadn’t been there to see or sense her reaction. Even twenty years distant, it was a time she did not wish to repeat. “Our baby sister is one with the Force – just as we all will be, when our time comes,” she replied, “but if you think I didn’t feel anything – that I didn’t mourn her – that I don’t miss her – then you are blinded by your own anger and grief.” Her eyes narrowed. “I did not turn.” Her brother dropped his chin, green eyes holding hers. Each word was enunciated: “I don’t believe you.” “Then may the Force help you, because I” – Mairen paused, shaking her head – “clearly can’t.” The events of the next moment happened in a blur: In the exact instant that Cian reached for his saber, her husband, Reanden Taerich, and her mother, Senator Ruari Bel Iblis, rounded the corner. Immediately sensing the danger, Ruari swung her left hand up, fingers splayed as she ensnared her son in the Force. Pinned, he struggled like a man bound, face distorted with strain and anger. Beside her, Reanden had drawn his holdout blaster, barrel pointed toward Cian. His finger rested against the trigger guard. The senator scowled at her son. “What in the Nine Hells is going on here?” “A conflict with reality,” Mairen replied. “He believes I actually turned – that I’m truly Sith.” Voice strained and speaking through clenched teeth, Cian remained defiant. “I will not allow the Empire to take more from this enclave than it’s already stolen!” “Do you honestly think she’d be standing here -- now -- in this instant, if she were Sith? I’d kill her myself, if that were the case,” Reanden snapped. “Though your cousins or a battalion of the Republic’s finest might’ve beaten me to it the moment she set foot on Coruscant, if she were actually Sith.” Cian blinked, confused. “Coruscant?” His glare focussed on Reanden. The spy remained still, blaster at the ready. “With you?” “Coruscant. Nar Shaddaa. A particularly lovely honeymoon on Alderaan…” There was a hint of dark amusement in Reanden’s eyes, echoed in his tone as he taunted the immobilized Jedi. “It’s generally accepted that wives travel with their husbands.” “Husband?” Mairen nodded. “Reanden was forced out first. He was finally able to extract me from the Empire about three months later,” she replied. “After my lengthy debrief with SIS, we… married… on Alderaan. Mum’s cousins were quite accommodating.” The furrow in her brother’s brow deepened, along with the shadows lurking in the creases along the corners of his mouth. “You? Married him? After what happened to Airna? And you expect me to believe that you’ve not turned?” “I know what happened to Airna, Cian.” Casting a sidelong glance to Reanden, she nodded imperceptibly. “I’ve met the man who killed her – stood toe to toe with him, in the heart of the Citadel. It was not Reanden Taerich.” Pushing against the Force restraint, Cian tossed his head to the side in disgust; Ruari’s hand wavered with the effort. “I’m going to release you,” the senator said, slowly. “You’re going to leave the enclave, and you’re going home to meditate. If you even think about drawing on your sister again, Reanden will be keeping his blaster handy, and I will not be so gentle if I have to restrain you again. Do you understand?” He nodded once. Ruari drew her hand back slowly, as one might draw back a sheet, draped over a statue. As the restraint released him, Cian rolled his neck and shoulders, shook out his fingers. He looked to his mother. “You want to see the best in her,” he commented. “You want to believe her. I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed.” Ruari, Reanden, and Mairen watched as he turned, stalking across the courtyard to the far exit. As he disappeared, the cloud around her dissipated, and Mairen instantly reached for Reanden. The old spy reeled her in and held her close; their joined relief almost overwhelmed their connection. He smoothed his hands over her hair, lips pressing gentle kisses to her temple. “It’s all right, love,” he said. His own voice was a bit rougher than he expected. “We’re all right.” For her part, Ruari watched him comfort her daughter. “I should have prepared him – should have prepared you for how he’s changed.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I realized quite how much.” Reanden regarded his mother-in-law. “I’m no Jedi, Ruari,” he began, “but after that? I’d say unless someone is able to get through to him, he’s going to be more a danger to himself and the enclave than any Imperial.” Ruari nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” She swallowed, straightening. “Let’s get the two of you out of here. I expect a bit of peace and quiet and time alone would be appreciated right now.” “Anywhere other than here.” Giving a rueful smile, he released Mairen reluctantly; he maintained a hold on her hand. “I think I’ve had quite enough of Coronet for today.” Mairen forced a laugh. “That makes two of us,” she replied. “I think a double of Whyren’s, a fire, and a warm blanket might be just what the med droid ordered.” The senator took the lead, nodding as she stepped past them. “I know just the place.” ***

[greyias]

The Prompts for days thing 81. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?” (cause this just sounds adorable) XD

As a spy, Theron was accustomed to planning for the worst-case scenario in his assignments. Digital reconnaissance was a necessity in staying alive, so he had diligently prepared everything ahead of time. He’d mapped out all the network relays of Zakuul’s presence on Voss, loaded as many programs and exploits as he could fit into his implants’ memories and his datapad, and made sure he had backup communications in hand so they didn’t have a repeat of the Tatooine incident, where he had nearly gotten blown to bits alongside the Alliance Commander.

What he had neglected to prepare for, to his great chagrin, was the weather.

When the foreboding dark clouds rolled in across the horizon, they were speeding through the Pelath-Ri Marches towards the coordinates provided by Rokuss, the leader of Voss’s resistance movement. It forced them to leave the well-worn trail and take cover in one of the nearby caves as a dark, thick curtain of rain grew closer and closer. The sharp tang of ozone in the air told them they were in for quite the show.

The ceiling of the cave was high enough to keep them dry, save for the occasional drip, so they decided to wait out the storm. Theron drew his datapad and attempted to send a message to Miot, who was still waiting at the shuttle, but the electricity crackling in the clouds seemed to be producing too much interference. Or maybe the Sullustan had stepped away for a caf break. He grumbled under his breath and ran his fingers through his already unruly hair, making it stand even more on end.

“Are you being grumpy back there?” The question was tinged with amusement.

A glance up from his datapad revealed Grey was kneeling at the mouth of the cave, her fingertips tracing the patterns of the rivulets of water as it cascaded over her hands. She was calm, quiet, her eyes following the water as it flowed around her hands, oblivious to the chaos of the storm outside. Despite her actions, he could have sworn she somehow wasn’t actually getting wet. 

“What are you doing?” Theron quirked a brow at her.

Instead of the expected answer regarding the rain, she just said, “Listening.”

“Ah yes, the soothing sounds of a torrential downpour. How relaxing.”

“Some people find it relaxing,” she said with a hint of amusement, “but that’s not what I’m listening to.”

An urge to roll his eyes at the obvious Force nonsense rose in him, but he resisted it. She never seemed to find his disdainful quips about the Force nearly as amusing as he did — one of the many downsides of dating a Jedi, he supposed. “Then what are you listening to?”

“It’s hard to put into words,” she said after a moment. “The sound of a raindrop hitting the ground may be similar everywhere, but the way it flows is not. Thunderstorms on Odessen have this powerful beat that seems to harmonize with the rainfall. Here it’s more discordent, more turbulent. The vibrations of it as it crashes into the ground are a counterpoint to the steady rhythm of the rain. A bit like the duality of Voss itself.”

Theron was pretty sure that he had never listened to precipitation that closely in his life, and in all honesty, never planned to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but as much as I’m enjoying this little poetry reading, I don’t really want to get waterlogged.”

Grey didn’t reply, but her eyes never left the rain as it poured down, an expression of almost… longing on her face. There had been many times in Theron’s life where he once wished for the same connection to the Force that the Jedi had. He craved information, explanations for everything around him — and that there was this entire spectrum walled off to him, that he’d never be able to feel. It was difficult to not resent it in a way. But it was that look on her face, that feeling of peace and belonging and yet simultaneous yearning — he’d never be able to truly understand it. And that stung.

The water continued to splash off her palm, splattering against her armor and the gloves, and if she kept it up, she’d be drenched before long. And they hadn’t exactly brought a spare set of clothes to change into.

“I didn’t exactly bring a towel for you to dry off,” he pointed out.

“I don’t need a towel, I can use the Force.”

It took him a moment to process that. “Wait, what? You can use the Force to dry yourself off?”

She pressed her lips together, as if trying to suppress a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Kidding.”

The playful teasing could have annoyed him, but in the dim light of the cave, the way the water droplets clung to her hair and eyelashes gave her an almost ethereal quality. Like some otherworldly being from beyond the stars. She turned away from him as a few more water droplets trickled across her head and down her neck. He noticed the rivulets of water had soaked through the knees of her pants and were now dripping onto the cave floor. Correction: an ethereal, otherworldly being that was unfortunately on her way to getting soaked to the bone.

With a shake of his head, he said, “Maybe you should save all of that weather poetry slam for another time, because right now you’re getting soaked.” 

A rumble resonated in the distance, and she angled her head towards it, gaze fixed on the horizon. Although he couldn’t see what she was looking at, he could tell she was still straining to hear something. 

“I’m sure you can hear the thunder or the Force or whatever it is just as well in the dry area of the cave,” he added.

She flashed him that look again, amused with her lips pressed together as if she saw right through his sarcasm. If he didn’t know any better, he might think she was trying not to laugh. The cave became darker, as if the clouds outside had closed in and blocked out almost all the daylight. After a few more moments of whatever nature communing she had been doing, she finally relented and stood.

“Fine, you win,” she said, attempting to use her cape to wipe some of the water away.

“It’s not a contest.”

The brow she quirked in his direction indicated she didn’t quite believe that. “If we do not want to brave the storm, then I believe we might be stuck here for a little while. The storm appeared quite large.”

At that moment the thunder cracked again, echoing in the cave, and he felt it in his chest, in his bones. He could see her silhouette in the faint light, reaching up to her hair, fingering the wet, limp strands. The space between them shrunk in just a few steps, and without much thought he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. That ethereal Jedi vanished as she blinked up at him in surprise. He flashed her a sheepish grin in reply, although he wasn’t sure if she’d really be able to see it in the darkness.

She hugged the jacket closer to her body as if she were suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “Thank you.” 

“I can’t have you catching a cold.” He meant for the comment to come out cool and casual, but it was laced with more than a hint of affection. “Who will save the galaxy then?”

She bit her lip, as if trying to hide that same, almost bashful smile he seemed to summon in moments like these. If there had been more illumination in the cave, he imagined he might see the usual flush that accompanied that look. He reached out, his fingertips grazing her cheek as they followed the curve of her face. He could just feel the heat of her blush radiating through his gloves. It was times like this, when she was soft and vulnerable and open, that all the sharp edges he’d honed to keep people out were utterly useless. At least against her.

His hands glided down to her hips almost of their own accord as she moved forward, their faces inches apart, their breath mingling in the air. He detected the sweetness of her breath, a hint of the caf she’d been drinking earlier. He drew closer as her mouth parted, his own lips hovering just above hers, neither of them moving. And then, with a sudden surge of wind that sent the rain nearly horizontal outside the mouth of the cave, the thunder crashed again. The burst of lightning that followed was so bright that it lit up the cave for just a moment, and he could see that same sparkle in her eyes that made his heart race.

In that moment, the only thing in existence was the two of them. The rain, the storm, the wind, all of it vanished — leaving only him and her. As his lips brushed against hers, the thunder crashed again, as if in time with their hearts. And if only for a second, he thought he heard that same rhythm she’d been trying to describe echoing through the cave.