Hey. I’m Penguin. Or Kiwi or Ren. I’ll answer to any of them
I use she/they pronouns, but I’m pretty flexible
I’m a college student who spends a lot of time writing and so this is my writing blog. There’s my Nav that you can use to find the basic links and my main account where you can watch the chaos unfold is @penguinkiwi
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No longer using this blog so please don’t follow! instead just follow my main!
So, not sure how many of you have noticed or still stick around here but for some odd reason this blog does not show up at all in the tags anymore, I don’t know what it is or why it’s happened, but it’s not.
I’ve decided that instead of posting here, I will be posting to my main blog: @kiwikipedia
I wish it didn’t come to this, but that’s what happens, I suppose. I will still be leaving this blog up for a while or perhaps just leave it up permanently if transfering everything over becomes too much but for now, I’m no longer posting to this blog. Any updates will be posted about
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars: The Expanded Universe
Rating: T/M (Swearing, Gore, Major Character Death, possible later happenings, AU Bullshit, Angst to High Hell)
Summary: In an instant, the world exploded into color and smoke- and then nothing. And the Temple Guard were so easy to pin a crime on considering how they were sworn to silence. AKA: Even though Barriss joined the Guard, the flow of time only altered a bit. The bombs still go off, but the Temple Guard are put to blame instead of Ahsoka.
Notes: AU bullshit, Same universe as We Who Listen To Many And Speak To Few meaning its nibeul’s Temple Guard Barris AU
Chapter 3: The Guard Hall
AO3
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Trying my best but big ass writer's block said fuck you to me oof
Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard knew the Jedi Temple Guard decently well.
Shared drinks with them, kind of well. Shared drinks and ate meals and laughed and conversed with them kind of well.
While he was aware of their Oaths (the Cordru-Ji guard named Jiyu-Se had explained them to him once) and how on a technicality, Fox and the rest of the Coruscant Guard shouldn’t know or see their faces, let alone their names— but things were different off of Temple Grounds and with Cin Drallig instated as the new head of the Guard.
Fox knew names, faces, was friends with some, closer with others— hell, he had been added into the general comm chat thread for the Temple Guard under the guise of him knowing what was going on. For security reasons.
He had been on Senatorial Escort duty with some of them, defended the senate building and Temple with others— Commander Fox knew the Jedi Temple Guard pretty well.
And perhaps that was why everything was so jarring.
The attack on the Jedi Temple Hangar was something that had shaken up nearly everyone from the Jedi to the Clones— and even more so with the knowledge that their brothers had been killed in such a blast.
Part of Fox burned when he had been allowed a full report of the investigation so far.
A Temple Guard had known.
And yet they hadn't been able to stop it.
Part of Fox burned, but the better part of him knew that it wasn’t their fault— at least, as far as he was concerned as of now.
The Temple Guard had suffered their own losses as well, three deaths and all the others in the Hangar at that time injured— though he hadn't been privy to who had suffered the said injuries.
The comm thread that he was allowed in with the other Commanders of the Coruscant Guard was disturbingly silent. Not a single message from the Temple Guard.
And on top of that General Skywalker was dead. And Rex hadn’t stopped talking about it in the Commanders and Captains communications link between all of them.
( Cody was oddly quiet on the matter.)
Fox always felt odd giving his input when the others talked about their Generals, he didn’t really share any of that same connection to the Jedi. Sure, he could consider Drallig like a General to him, but he didn’t oversee the Coruscant Guard. And he could understand why Rex was talking about it, but…
He really didn’t have much to comment on, and he had to agree when Wolffe had snapped at Rex earlier to shut up about Skywalker.
( Wolffe didn’t like Skywalker, Fox didn’t know why. )
They had all suffered losses in some way or shape or form. Skywalker wasn't the only Jedi dead and there were Clones who were dead as well.
Still, the 501st would be needing a new General, something that Fox wasn’t super interested in, but there was just a lot of talk that went through the Command Comms. Lots of mixed feelings. And Fox’s own thoughts on the matter were jumbled and as much as he respected, and would say he was friends with, a number of the Temple Guard— he had other matters to worry about.
Security on the Senate Building was tightening, who could say that it wouldn’t be next? And the riots were getting worse.
( Fox wondered if he should pull his men back from Riot control on the Temple Grounds. The Temple Guard were competent, none of the Citizens would be able to get in with them watching the front. )
There were too many things that were going on, too many factors, too many unknowns…
And it gave Fox a migraine trying to work at all of it at once— and of course, it had to be at once.
The Clones were supposed to be peak human condition physically, but that didn’t mean that he could go or days on end without sleep.
It had been several days already when Fox had gotten an alert from the general police force on Coruscant.
The Jedi Temple Guard are Under Investigation as per the Jedi Council and Senate Mandate. Proceed to the Temple to Assist in the Investigation.
(x)
Fox’s own disbelief had been reflected back to him when he had pulled Thorn, Hound, and Tracker with him to join in the investigation.
He wasn’t even sure why he and the Coruscant Guard were needed to assist in the investigation. Not even the Coruscant General Police were getting involved.
(Then again, they often didn't and shoved work onto the Coruscant Guard. Maybe this was yet another thing they were shoving onto them instead.)
Nonetheless, he and the other three— along with Grizzer and Bear— had met up with two Jedi outside of the temple— an old Cosian Jedi and a middle-aged-looking Kiffar.
Cin Drallig was there as well, looking the same as ever, if not a bit more tired.
He had been the one to lead them to the Temple Guard’s hidden hall, after all.
“This is it?” the old Cosian Jedi mused as Grizzer and Hound and Bear and Tracker moved to investigate the Halls. They were all standing in what appeared to be a common room of sorts, and it looked rather small in Fox’s eyes. But then again, he had no idea how big the Temple Guard actually was. It seemed like no one did, really.
Cin shook his head before pointing down the hall to their immediate left, past the side door that lead into his office.
“Training halls, a storage closet, bathroom room, a Kel Dor anti-ox chamber, and the Healer’s office is down that way,” he said simply before indicating to another doorway that connected directly to the breakroom. “The bunk room for the Guards who are off duty and need to sleep."
Another gesture off to another room to their right. "And then we have a place where we can monitor the holocams for security and data logs.”
“Hoh, that's where the blackmail logs are kept?” the Cosian mused as the other Jedi moved to also investigate as well.
Cin just hummed. “Perhaps, Master Sinube.”
There was a faint touch of humor to his tone but it was wary. Fox could understand why.
From what Fox knew, no one except for Cin and the Temple Guard— and maybe Cin’s Padawans— had been in this hall since he had taken over as Head of Security and the Guard, and before that, the only people aside from the Guard were those who were in charge of it. Other Jedi just weren’t allowed to, after all. The Temple Guard’s hall was a place of refuge for them, a place for them to remove their masks and armor, to relax, to exist.
No other Jedi was supposed to be in there if they weren't related to the Guard.
Still.
It wasn’t really his… issue, so to speak.
While he had doubts about the Jedi Temple Guard being the ones behind the bombing, part of him just felt a headache coming on. There was so much to do still, he really didn’t have time to be here. There was no reason for him to be there, nor was there any reason for him to have brought Hound and Tracker.
But it was the loud barks from Grizzer and Bear that pulled him from his thoughts, making him blink from behind his helmet. Cin stiffened and the others turned to where the two Massiffs and their handlers were, or where the noise was coming from at least.
Cin moved first, an expression that was both confusion and worry across his face as he moved across the breakroom and into the bunk room. Fox followed him with Sinube into the room.
It was... rather sparse, so to say. With a row of ten bunks on the left and right sides of the wall and five in front of them, all with storage boxes under them. Fifty beds. There had to be more than fifty Temple Guard, right? That number was just too low. Maybe they didn't all have their own beds and just rotated out who slept where depending on who was on duty.
Fox's eyes moved from observing the room to where his brothers were. Hound and Tracker were kneeling at one bunk, the two Massiffs sitting and sniffing at a pile of robes.
“What did you find?” Fox asked as he crossed the room over to them. Hound tossed a small container to him in lieu of answering right away. he took it, and to the naked eye, there seemed to be nothing in it. He glanced to Tracker for an explanation.
“Nano-Droids, most likely , sir,” Tracker answered without missing a beat. “Traces of ‘em at least. Grizzer and Bear reacted the way they were trained to when they smelled explosives. This was inside the robes.”
Sinube turned to Cin, as did Fox, but Cin was still, brows furrowed.
“Master Drallig, do you know which Guard these robes belong to?” Sinube asked. There was silence before Cin shook his head.
“No,” he said carefully, slowly, and Fox could tell that he was still thinking, maybe he was in shock. He knew how much Cin trusted the Guard. “I don’t. The Temple Guard uniform is the same for every Guard, the only difference being the sizing. But there are too many Guard with similar builds to make a guess now. We would have to gather more information.”
There was another moment of silence, one that stretched too long. Fox glanced at Hound and Tracker, who both shrugged a bit. This wasn’t their jurisdiction. He didn’t even know why they were there in the first place.
“How long will that take?” Sinube asked, tone careful and Fox saw Cin glance back to the robes that Tracker was carefully folding. Always the careful one, always neat and orderly, that one was.
Cin shifted again, arms crossed loosely. “A few days at least.”
Sinube seemed to think on that before nodding slowly. “Three days.”
“If we work fast enough, yes.”
And again, Fox had a feeling that Cin was hiding something, that Cin knew whose robes those belonged to. The few times that he had talked to the Jedi, Fox knew that he was extremely sharp. He had to know whose robes those were. Even if they were all uniform and the same, every single Guard had their own way of designating their things is what Cin had said once.
He knew.
And it made part of Fox burn.
But he didn’t say anything, because he wanted to trust in Cin. Maybe he didn't know, maybe the confusion and the hesitance was genuine.
And yet, he wondered if it would end up being a fruitless trust because he knew that he and Cin were alike.
Neither of them would give one of their own up without a fight. And if obscuring information and hiding things that could be used against them happened to be part of that fight?
Well, Cin could probably get away with it. He was a Jedi after all.
(And again, Fox felt part of him burn.)
(x)
Barriss Offee had enjoyed her new life as a member of the Jedi Temple Guard. She had joined the same time that another one had— Siv Vera— and that had been three months ago.
Siv had lost her battalion and her Master, Barriss had lost her faith in the cause. Siv was young, very young, two years younger than her kind of young.
And because of that, Barriss had found herself slowly again, with the Temple Guard. She looked out for that little redhead, learned how to heal from some of the best former Healers in the Temple in order to mend the damage that the Guard did to themselves or inflicted onto them. Barriss had found herself again, protecting and defending those who could not alongside the other Temple Guard.
And now it was being questioned, now the faith in the Order was faltering again.
Like all the rest of the Guard, Barriss had been… well, startled wasn’t quite the right word, there was something more there, but she had been startled when Master Drallig had sent out a message to them.
The Guard was under suspicion, traces of Nano-Droids had been found in a spare set of robes.
But that was, by all means, impossible.
The members of the Temple Guard got less pay than other Jedi did because of the belief that the Guard needed no personal possessions— a technical truth— aside from their uniform, sabers, masks, and armor. And even those weren’t fully theirs anyways.
What pay they did get was hardly enough to get Nano-Droids, even if they saved for a whole year.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
Siv had said, while they were on break and banned from guarding the front, that if you weren’t aiming for anything high-end, you could probably get a set of them with a year's worth of what the Guard got paid.
(It was about a third of what a Knight got because it was assumed that the Guard didn’t need any expenses for Padawans or missions, being Temple Bound, which was true.)
But still, that was if the Guard who got those bots didn’t take money out for other things.
Things like cigarettes and nights at 79s, or Charhound food for Roq, or things like the books that sat on the bookshelves, or materials for lightsaber parts. Or things like ordering from Dex’s for celebration because of someone’s birthday, or things like that.
So either way, it wouldn’t have made sense for there to be Nano-Droid traces, let alone the bots themselves, in the Hall.
One could make the argument that maybe Sienna would make that purchase, but in the short time Barriss had known the Nautolan head of the Slicer team, she learned that she had a rather strong dislike for droids, bots, and AI systems.
None of the others under her had a fondness for them either— if they were going to run surveillance and get messages and information, they do it themselves, thank you very much. Or that's what Dron Uttox had told her, the Besalisk rather put out when Siv had asked him about it.
Nonetheless, part of her was worried as she sat down across from Mari Gildow, an eerie glow to her sightless, silver eyes as she nodded to her. A clear sign that she was using her Force Sight, Barriss knew.
The blind Guard used it often, and Barriss learned that the brighter the glow, the more she was seeing— what it was she was seeing, she didn’t know. She hadn’t asked, either. She wasn't very close to her just yet, not close enough to ask something like that in her mind, anyways.
“Sorry for calling you in like this, Barriss,” Mari said as Barriss settled on the chair across from her. They were both in Cin’s office, Mari sitting on the couch that was normally littered with documents and files. It had been cleared off and a recording device was sat down next to her on the cushions.
Barriss shook her head instead, hands in her lap. “It’s alright, I understand why you had to.”
Mari just nodded as Roq shifted from where he was laying. It was no secret that the Guard was under suspicion now, but none of them had any idea how and why the residue and evidence of Nano-Droids were in the Guard Hall, much less the Temple.
But it was unnerving. Sienna said that there had been no sign of suspicious activity in the Hall either, so it made no sense.
Nothing did.
“Master Sinube wants to know about the Guard and where all of us were during the incident,” Mari started, pulling Barris from her thoughts and she blinked.
“I was with Siv, we were in the kitchen, Siv wanted to try making something, but we had only gotten the pot out when the Temple shook.”
Mari’s gaze was unnerving, but she nodded.
“Siv said the same thing, but are there others who can confirm your story?”
She nodded. “Adona was in there, making tea. And Arnd’la was talking with Dron as they waited for the Caf machine to wake up.”
Mari’s lips twitched at that. The Guard needed to get a new Caf machine. K’Ramga had claimed that it was probably older than him, and none of the other Guard older than him refuted the claim. It took a good ten minutes for the thing to start working, and even then the first cup was always lukewarm and gross.
Barriss shifted a bit as Mari leaned back a bit.
“Adona hasn’t been questioned yet, neither have Arnd’la and Dron. But I can tell you’re not lying,” she told her after a moment before sighing. “I personally don’t think that any of the younger Guard would pull anything like this. Honestly, it’s hard to think anyone in the Guard would. We all know better than that…”
The blind woman shook her head, sighing again. It was a problem, Barriss knew. All of the Guard felt the same.
There was a restlessness to them that couldn’t be shaken, the feeling of need to prove that none of them would have dared to bring harm to the Temple.
It troubled Barriss, and she had only been with the Guard for a few months. No doubt, it troubled Mari and the others who had been there for longer.
But she could only hope and trust in the Force to show the truth now.
And yet... that fracturing feeling of her faith was back again.
If the Order, the Council, ruled them guilty... she didn't know what she would do.
I kinda want to draw parallels between Fox and Cin, and also the CGs and the Temple Guard as a whole. I hope it does end up coming across in a way.
Hey Penguinkiwi, I noticed on AO3 that you have your latest FGO fic “Great White, Great Red” with the rape/non-con warning on it while here on Tumblr it’s rated gen. I read it multiple times and can’t understand how it fits that warning. Did you do that as a mistake, or on purpose and forgot?
oops that was definitely a mistake! apologies! thanks for bringing that to my attention
It happened every year, and really, one would have thought that he would have remembered it since it was so consistent, but he never did.
Cin struggles, but Fay’s there to keep him grounded.
Rating: T
Warnings: Depcitions of depression, emotional hurt/comfort
AO3
I'm still working on chapter 3 of never forget and so I'm dusting the ole braincell off again
It happened every year, and really, one would have thought that he would have remembered how much it affected him since it was so consistent— but he never did.
There were some days when one just dragged, Cin was well aware of this— the Temple Guard and the Instructors experienced this just in general. The stress of teaching, the monotonous day in and day out schedule, the lack of conversation with others…
It weighed down on people.
The war hadn’t helped.
More and More Jedi came back from it worn down, exhausted. It was understandable for them, those who were out on the front, those who lost people left and right, friends and family and brothers— students and masters. Some of those on the homefront had tried to reason themselves that they shouldn't feel so dragged down— they weren't out there, they weren't losing people.
(Some Jedi would remind them of the fact between the words 'coward' and 'useless' and how they shouldn't feel upset because they weren't out there.)
Even so, Cin had struggled through the years during the war, trying to hide the way he would lose focus, would feel pulled down, unable to get up. Struggled through the season, day in and day out through the war— putting on an 'alright' face for those who were returning from the Front.
And Coruscant’s cold season— the winter season— wasn’t… horrible in comparison to Lavisar’s. He had gone to Lavisar a total of once and it had been in the winter, bitingly cold and almost no sunlight beyond what came through the cloudy skies— but it was still… difficult. And any junior healer could tell you how incredibly important sunlight was for one’s mental health, and just in general. And winter seasons meant less sun.
Cin had known for a long time that his mental health was all over the place. Shiiana Rohnda had made him go see Nix Mora when he had first been an instructor under her, but there wasn’t much that he could do for him, Fae-Bloods never really had a stable reaction to any medications made through normal means. And cures for issues like depression and anxiety were something that was somewhat unknown to the Alchemists and Magi who aided the Fair in medicines as well.
Cin had to power through on his own strength.
And he had managed to, slowly trudging through the muddy haze of winter, the dragging feeling in his bones, the endless wish for a sleep that wouldn’t come.
Slowly he learned to work around it, learned that even if it was an uncharacteristically freezing day, it would be better to spend ten minutes outside than shut in the Temple.
But the war had set him back. There had been so much to do as more Jedi left the Temple to fight, as Jedi came back dead, and those who remained behind had to fill those gaps in. Less Jedi also meant fewer Knights and Masters joining the Jedi Temple security's volunteer shifts, leaving time slots that the Jedi Temple Guard would normally have off empty and needing to be filled. Eight-hour shifts turned to ten, then twelve. The Guard struggled to fill the gaps in, even if they were all available at all times— but some were perched on the highest points of the Temple, watching from above. And some would have to have time off because of injury— Pong Krell in particular seemed to seek out Guard and rough them up when he could.
Cin filled in the gaps the Guard couldn't manage.
The war had set him back.
And when it had ended, he had been too relieved with the victory over Dooku and Sidious to even think about what he had to do when the winter season rolled around— or perhaps he had thought it wouldn't be a big problem.
He had been wrong.
Because Cin Drallig knew it was going to be one of those days when he woke and couldn’t feel anything.
Not in a physical sense, he could certainly feel the mattress under his back, but more in an emotional sense. It was as if something had shut off in his head and there was no urgency to get up and out of bed.
(As if he didn’t have to get ready for a morning shift because both Laria and Siv had gotten sick and he had chosen to fill in, as if he didn’t have a class to teach later, as if he hadn't promised Bene that they would finally get started on teaching her how to handle a Saberstaff.)
There was nothing and Cin knew it was going to be one of those days where he had to force himself to even breathe.
So he made an attempt to get up.
It took him longer than he wanted to.
His bones were heavy, his mind somewhat detached, but he managed to sit up, to haul his legs over the edge of the bed. He wasn't with the others, Nico and Fay finally had returned after several months, and they needed their rest— Fay was a light sleeper too. And Cin had come back early in the morning. Instead of joining them all, he had gotten a few hours of sleep in the guest room, and, if he checked the time on his comm correctly, it was early still.
Too early for some.
But it was normal for the Guard, for the Battlemaster who lead the Guard. Normalcy.
It took all his energy and focus to get to his feet, to throw on his robes, to just leave the room.
What did he need to do before he left?
Caf. Important to wake up and stay up.
Get something to eat— bread. Bread was good. He didn’t need to taste bread. As long as it quelled the gnawing feeling in his gut that demanded him that he eat.
(As long as it kept others from nagging him about eating when he didn’t want to. When all he wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He had work to do. Always work. Even after the war it was always work. People didn't want to guard the Temple, the Guard was still filling the cracks in. He wondered if there was a way to get a mandate for required work with the general Security for Knights and Masters. But then again, the Jedi didn't force anything from anyone— usually.)
He slowly made his way to the small kitchen, but it felt like much longer. Every step felt as if he was weighed down. He wanted to cry, wanted to hit something, wanted to give up all at the same time.
But he couldn’t.
He had work soon. Work to do. Always work.
He wanted to sleep.
He turned the Caf machine on.
It beeped at him.
He barely flinched when scalding Caf splashed onto the counter, and some back up at him, and some onto the floor.
All he could do was stare before he turned the machine back off.
He needed a mug.
Of course, he needed a mug. He hadn’t put one there in the first place.
But he needed to clean up first too.
But he had to go.
The shift would change soon.
He went to go get a mug, his boots tracking caf across the floor. He had to clean up too. Would have to clean up later. He could skip eating to clean. T'ra and Tholme both liked the kitchen clean, it was an important factor in cooking. You needed a clean space. Cin usually preferred the kitchen clean too.
He could skip eating to clean up.
He didn’t want to do either though.
It took him too long to get to where the mugs were drying in the sink, too long to even muster the energy to pick one up. Too long to get back to the machine, to put the mug in place, and hit the button again.
Too long to get caf, to turn the machine off, to pick the mug up.
Too long.
Everything felt like it was in slow motion, that it was being dragged down. Like a thick mud keeping him from going as fast as he liked.
But even so, he finished the caf, moved to put the mug down and—
He wasn’t sure what happened.
(He had missed the counter entirely.)
The sound of shattering ceramic would have made him react somehow had it been any other time, but now?
All Cin could do was stare down at the red shards at his feet.
He couldn’t move, just stared.
For too long.
And it was sudden, a moment when the fog lifted just a bit, but every emotion rushed into his chest— frustration, anger, ire— and his hand swung out, right onto the counter that he had missed.
It stung, but at the same time, it didn’t. There was the crack of bone, but he couldn’t feel anything.
As if in that split second, everything was gone again.
It was one of those days.
He had to clean up.
Had to go. Had to make it back to the Grand Hall for the shift change, had to go. Or— or-
He didn’t know.
Why was he trying to rush again?
What was the point?
And again that frustration welled up, he could feel it in his throat, in his chest, but the sun hadn’t risen yet. He had made too much noise already, and so he bit down until he could taste iron on his tongue.
And still, he couldn’t move, just stared down at the red shards at his feet.
And like the tide going out, the emotions left him again. The mud was back. The fog, the haze, time slowed to a crawl.
He had to go soon, promised Siv and Laria not to worry because he would cover for the both of them. If he didn’t then there would be a gap in security. Someone would get hurt. The Guard was already unstable. A third blow would be the end.
The Holocron, the Bombing. A third blow would be the end. Someone would die if the Guard was struck a third time with accusations against them for not being enough, not filling the cracks in enough. Someone would die.
He needed to go. Needed to move, needed to leave, needed to—
“Cin?”
And like a broken spell, he felt some of himself return, felt the dark fog that closed in around him, that forced him to focus on those red shards start to ease.
He dropped his hand back to his side.
Wet.
Knuckles cracked.
He’d have to fix that later.
Fix the wall too.
So much he had to fix. To do.
“Cin? What happened?”
Bare feet, careful of the shards, entered his vision.
He woke Fay up.
Fay, who was finally back after ages of not being in the Temple. Who deserved sleep in an actual bed for as long as she could get. With those she loved.
Not him, though. Too much. Too much. There was so much to do. He had to go.
He blinked slowly, not looking up.
“Broke a mug.”
His voice felt raw. And sounded strange. It wasn’t his, he doesn’t think so at least. But it had to have been.
There was silence, and he wondered if he was imagining Fay. Certainly, she should still be asleep.
But then a hand was gently placed on his arm and suddenly he was moving, being led away from those red shards.
Time seemed to move at its own pacing then, or maybe it was just the fog clouding everything, but… Cin couldn’t keep track anymore.
The sun hadn’t risen still. The chill of the Temple in the winter nights was still in the air.
Everything moved, but at the same time, nothing did.
There was pain, stinging from his hand, and he was watching as the skin knit itself back together, his hand between two others.
And time moved again.
And he found himself being settled down on his stomach, the cold seeping from his bones despite the fact that he had shed layers of robes somewhere along the way. Or maybe they had been taken from him. Or maybe they hadn’t been there at all.
He wasn’t sure. He didn't remember.
Blonde hair entered his vision though, sitting at his side.
The fog and the cold seeped from his bones, warmth starting to settle in.
“One of those days?”
He nodded slowly, couldn’t talk. Didn’t want to hear his voice that wasn’t his again.
One of those days. But he had to go.
He needed to go.
But it was one of those days. He couldn’t move now that he was back in the warmth.
She hummed next to him, brushing his hair out of his face before shifting the warmth- blankets- around him, a hand steady on his back.
“Do you want to go back to sleep?”
He wanted to.
He couldn’t though. He had work he had to do.
But his body betrayed him, and he nodded.
A gentle kiss was pressed against his forehead.
“Alright, go ahead and sleep. Don't worry about work.”
And he did. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
He would wake a while later, much later— the cold winter sun almost below the Coruscant Skyline from what little he could see when he peered out the crack in the curtains.
And he would wake to a heavy weight between his shoulders, and fur in his face. With a few of the Temple's resident Cat Sidhe curled around and on top of him, with Whitestorm between his shoulders, and Mollie near his head while Blackstar and Jasper lower on his back and Fay still resting her hand on his back between the two feline fae— grounding him, pulling him back from the fog when it threatened to return to him.
And Mollie would open one eye, the motherly King of Cats leaning over and pressing her nose against his forehead, with a murmur for him to go back to sleep— and he would.
It would be a week and a half before he would shake the fog off again, fully, and for a while.
And sometimes it was Tholme, doing work at his side with a hand on the small of his back. Sometimes it was T'ra, laying at his side, vines entangling them both and creating a heavy weight around them. Sometimes it was Bene, nestled against him, softly reading through her coursework out loud just to give him a voice to listen to. Sometimes it was Nico, murmuring stories from his travels. And sometimes it was Fay again, one hand brushing through his hair. One hand always on his back, or always touching him, keeping him grounded and away from the fog the threatened to creep into his mind.
It was just one of those times of the year.
They understood. It happened every year but always caught him off guard. Not them though.
They understood and knew what to look for.
And Cin held that close to his heart when the fog retreated from his mind.
Yes, Blackstar and Whitestorm are warrior cats references, bite me. Also I guess I'm just now integrating the Fae into the star wars universe. and really, is it a bad thing? no. I think Titania deserves to punch Palpatine out.
@spacerocksarethebestrocks got me fixated on the middle-aged Jedi poly (well, T'ra and Fay aren't but the men are ahgjhj) and uhhhhh, no idea if TiAllIn will make a reappearance but brain go brrr
Shiiana Rohnda and Nix Mora are both OCs, something something you can find out more on the tumblr by following some links in the bio.
Anyways. Exams haven't even started yet but I'm already going through it, huh? Oh well. Surprising no one, Cin is now the character I've ended up projecting onto like any healthy adult
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars: The Expanded Universe
Rating: T/M (Swearing, Gore, Major Character Death, possible later happenings, AU Bullshit, Angst to High Hell)
Summary: In an instant, the world exploded into color and smoke- and then nothing. And the Temple Guard were so easy to pin a crime on considering how they were sworn to silence. AKA: Even though Barriss joined the Guard, the flow of time only altered a bit. The bombs still go off, but the Temple Guard are put to blame instead of Ahsoka.
Notes: AU bullshit, Same universe as We Who Listen To Many And Speak To Few meaning its nibeul’s Temple Guard Barris AU
Chapter 2: The High Council
AO3
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This and the next chapter are a bit more... slower-paced? Fox shows up next chapter though!
There was still noting concrete by the time the various initial investigations from other groups had happened— no suspects, no official cause of the explosion.
Tera Sinube couldn’t tell the Council, the GAR, the Senate, the Republic anything more than what Cin and the Guard had reported.
The Coruscant Guard’s hounds didn’t pick up anything more than what Roq had found, anything more than what Yin’Shinhen or any of the others who were well versed in tracking by scent had found.
The Coruscant Police was a fumbling mess of a unit, so Cin didn’t even count them in the investigation. They didn’t find anything new anyways. Just reiterated what had already been said.
There was a lot of unease and unrest from the public, Flin Ros-Vel had taken a brick to the face while they had been standing Guard with the Coruscant Guard to stop the increasing Rioters from storming the Temple.
The younger Jedi wasn’t allowed back out front after that. And really, Cin didn’t allow most of the younger Guard to deal with the Rioters, save Tacar. Varrom had been a bit irritated at that, as had Siv and Bortz, but they understood. Barriss was still with the other Healers, but she had simply nodded when Cin had told her that her shift for the front stairs had been swapped out with the elder Togruta Guard, Nilaam Parvien.
But of course, the Citizens weren’t the only ones who were uneasy, the only ones who were unhappy. Who were grieving.
The Jedi and the Clones were equally shaken— especially the 501st. By some horrible coincidence, or maybe it was a miracle of the Force, Skywalker was the only commanding officer— the only General, really— that had been lost in the blast. None of the others dead held that position still, and the others who did had only been injured in the blast.
( And still the word sat wrongly on Cin’s tongue, like a rotting piece of fruit. Jedi weren’t generals, warriors and peacekeepers, maybe, but not generals. Never generals.)
Master Luminara had all but hunted him down, asking in a shaking and trembling tone if Barriss was alright— if she had been one of the three Guards killed. He had assured her she wasn’t and the other Master had collapsed where she stood.
(Attachments be damned, War was changing them all, and Cin knew the woman cared so much for her student. He helped her to her feet and back to her rooms.)
Ahsoka Tano and Obi-Wan Kenobi were inconsolable right now, from what he had heard from his own Padawan. And Bene wasn’t extremely close with Ahsoka anymore, but they had been in the past, despite the two-year age gap. She had told him that she wasn’t doing well. Scout, Whie, and Jay had talked a bit on it as well during their classes, Fukuhara hadn't said anything, but she seemed to be in agreement with the others.
Cin understood though, why Ahsoka was inconsolable, drifting from Master to Master, unable to find comfort. She had just lost her Master, after all— and Kenobi, his student.
(Maybe a bitter part of him was irate that Yoda was so reactive to Anakin’s death, knowing that Yoda wouldn’t have bat an eye if it was Cin who was nothing but charred pieces on the floor of the Hangar. But he shoved it to the side. His relationship with his old Master wasn’t important anymore. Damage control was.)
Plo Koon was quiet, as were Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, and Saesee Tiin. The loss of their men on the Jedi’s own grounds had shaken them. The men they had sworn to protect, that they had promised that the Temple would be a safe place for them if they ever needed it. Cin had yet to hear anything from or about Fox and the Coruscant Guard regarding the matter, however, though he doubted he would.
(He wondered how Kit was doing, really. His younger Lineage brother used to confide in him years ago, and part of him longed for that again just to make sure he was doing okay despite the grief.)
Coleman Kcaj and the other Artisans, along with Padpa Gaea and the Geologists, were working on the burial shrouds and caskets together apparently. But as heartless as it was, Cin never did pay much attention to the entombments of other Jedi before— and he couldn’t afford to now, either.
The Guard didn’t get funerals in the same way that the other Jedi did. They were anonymous to the end to the rest of the Order, so the only funeral a Temple Guard got was the one that came when they joined the Guard. But there was still planning that went into the actual funerals that happened to those who died within the Guard, shrouds to be made, unmarked tombs to be claimed for them.
There was also the usual work— And It was always work with this job, it seemed.
Even with the devastation, there was still work to be done.
So Cin did his work, late into the night and into the early morning. The Temple wouldn’t run on its own, he knew, and life wouldn't stop just for devastation and death— things needed to be done, and the Guard stretched thin and filled in the gaps of those who were lost or out fighting on planets far away.
And every morning Cin, no matter how little he slept, would join the Temple Guard out front, just like this morning— standing on the front stair with his arms clasped behind his back, eyes looking out over the signs, the shouting, the rioting.
To his immediate left and right were Nira and Ýrphen Aerin, the Twi'lek and Sephi women stock still in the face of the Rioters, arms crossed and saber pikes glinting in the sun, expressions indistinguishable behind the Temple Guard masks. On the outer sides of the two of them stood both Aculatus and Yin’shinhen— their imposing sizes had quelled the Rioters for a few moments when they arrived at the front. Coruscant Guard were with them, four in total, with riot shields. There were more above, circling in an unscathed LAAT/i in case things got violent.
They needn’t bothered, though, Cin knew.
They didn’t.
Not with the Guards of the Sniper Corp sitting in wait— a Branch of the Guards that was nearly unknown to everyone who wasn’t part of the Security branch.
The Bird’s Nest, as they were called.
And Cin had no doubts that if things got violent, stun bolts would fly from the vantage points of Jiyu-Se and Zoran Terus— the two Snipers he knew were watching the front Gate today.
(Though it wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful, he was. The Coruscant Guard were always welcome help.)
Still, the number of rioters had increased from the last day, the crowd was getting larger, the hostility so strong, Cin was certain that the Nautolans within the Temple could taste it. It was concerning, but for now, they hadn't resorted to violence a second time. But he wasn't holding his breath for the remainder of the riots and protests to remain non-violent. Things were bound to get ugly again.
“Master Drallig,” a voice called and Cin turned a half step to glance back as Master and former head of the Investigation Department of the Shadows, Tera Sinube, slowly made his way out to him, with Ahsoka Tano at his heels— the young Togruta’s eyes still a bit red and puffy, and that burning light that used to be in them gone.
“Master Sinube,” Cin greeted the other Master before nodding to Ahsoka. “Padawan Tano.”
“Master Drallig,” Ahsoka said softly in return, bowing slightly as Sinube hummed, looking out at the Rioters as he leaned on his cane.
“Again, today?”
Cin followed his gaze for a moment before nodding.
“They’re friends and family, all searching for answers," he murmured, shaking his head a bit. "I don’t think it’ll stop any time soon. The only relief we have is that they haven't resorted to violence again.”
The Elder Jedi hummed at that, nodding a bit. “You could be right. But we are all looking for answers, nonetheless.”
The tone in his voice made Cin sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. He knew that tone. Most Masters who had known him for so long took that tone with him when Yoda wished to speak to him. Since his ascension into Masterhood, (painfully late in many people's opinions, who put a Knight in the position of Battlemaster and then forgot to make him a Master, after all?) he and Yoda hadn't gotten along. To the point where Cin actively avoided the Grandmaster and nearly renounced his lineage once, but ended up not doing so.
So Cin knew that tone.
“I suppose the Council wishes to speak to me, then?” the Battlemaster asked and the other Jedi nodded solemnly. He knew it would be coming, but he wasn’t excited about it.
He leet out a sigh before he signaled to Yin’Shinhen. The Togorian Master just inclined his head slightly upon seeing the hand-sign for ‘authority change’.
If anything happened, Yin’shinhen had the ability to give any and all orders until Cin returned— provided, no lethal force was used unless Sinube thought it would be wise to do so.
Cin trusted Sinube, after all. The Elder Master had a good head on his shoulders. So he was at ease with at least one thing, as he simply bowed to Sinube and left.
(x)
Cin would never get used to standing in front of the Council and being called in for Council Meetings.
He didn’t like being the center of attention, barring teaching as he considered that an exception, and didn't like having his back to any of the Councilors in such a tense setting— no matter how familiar he was with them. So finding himself in the middle of the Council Chamber? It was rather nerve-wracking.
He knew almost all of them on some sort of personal level, of course— Yoda was his former Master, Ki-Adi Mundi and Kit Fisto his lineage siblings, Obi-Wan Kenobi another lineage relative, Coleman he considered a friend if not a close acquaintance, it was the same with Shaak Ti, Saesee Tiin, Plo Koon, Mace Windu, and Eeth Koth. The rest he was civil with.
Now he was under scrutiny, with the discomfort of knowing that there was always a chance of Yoda or someone else steering the conversation into accusation towards the Guard— any security flaw always did steer towards them, after all.
And Cin understood that the Council Chamber was arranged as it was so that everyone had a clear vantage point of the other Councilors when it came to debates and discussion, but it just made him uneasy. There were too many eyes on him, and even though he knew his shielding was strong and that the resident telepaths wouldn’t probe into his mind, he couldn’t help but feel as if his thoughts were out on display to the Council.
But none of this was seen by them, of course. The unease, the caution, the discomfort, to them he was perfectly calm and still.
He could feel all their eyes on him as he bowed and again when he straightened up.
“Masters,” he greeted carefully, and he could feel the grief still weighing on them. In the past, he was certain that he would have not felt it— but War changed all of them so much more than even the most stately and the most extreme to the Code would like to admit. Still his eyes glanced around to those he could see, meeting eyes for a moment before moving on. He never did know where to look when in the Council Chamber.
Not all of the Councilors were there in person, Agen Kolar’s holo image flickered from next to Eeth Koth’s, both Zabraks off-planet, but Koth was almost back to Coruscant. Shaak Ti’s blue form was also present, the Togruta Councilor still on Kamino for the foreseeable future. Kolar had filled in Gallia's vacated seat, and again, the grief weighed on him at the memory. But he shook himself from it, stopping to gaze at the Master of the Order before he continued.
“Master Sinube said that you had summoned me.”
“Master Drallig,” Mace Windu greeted, nodding. “Indeed. We did. How goes the efforts in keeping the Rioters at bay?”
Cin inclined his head. “As of now, they have not breached past the stairs. The Coruscant Guard have lent men to aid with riot shields, and as of when I left, no other Guards have been assaulted by the Public since I brought Leviathan and Balance out to the front.”
“Leviathan and Balance?”
He cleared his throat at that, turning to the blue form of Shaak Ti.
“The Guard are nameless, officially, Master Ti,” he explained, “But in order to communicate better, nicknames and code names have been given to individuals. Leviathan and Feline are the two large Guards who were out front.”
Yoda’s eyes seemed to narrow as Cin’s gaze flickered to his side for a moment.
Technically it was a breach in Oath, if one stuck strictly to the anonymity, but it made everything difficult, and it wasn’t as if the Guard were anonymous inside their own Hall.
And Aculeatus and Yin’shinhen’s imposing size had been keeping the rioters at bay for now, a recognizable feat. None of the Temple Guard had been injured further and the Coruscant Guard hadn’t been assaulted either— not once since the duration of the riots.
(The public recognized who they wanted to turn their anger towards, at least.)
There were nods from the Council, nonetheless, but clearly, they hadn’t called him solely to ask about this.
Cin had never been on the Council himself— unlike a number of others, he had no wish to, despite the growing ire at the lack of communication between him and them (Granted that was mostly Yoda’s fault, again. He got this and that from a few of the Councilors such as Plo Koon and Mace Windu, but most he had to learn through direct asking or second hand)— but he did understand how it functioned. And many times in his past had he been on Guard Duty in the Council Chamber.
He knew that the Council didn’t call him here for small talk. Certainly, it was important to know how the Riots were being handled, he’d give them that, but he knew based on the burning gaze on his back, that Yoda wanted to know more— or possibly accuse him of more.
“Something new has been found in the investigation,” Mace Windu continued and Cin raised a brow.
“Something new?”
Yoda inclined his head. “Indeed, there is.”
“If there is any news that has not reached the Guard’s ears, I am willing to listen,” Cin said simply, “The suspects have not been narrowed down much. Only the death count.”
“You are familiar with the Jedi Master Dael Zax, are you not, Master Drallig?” Saesee spoke, and Cin turned to look at him, nodding slowly.
He knew Master Zax. A talented man, Kiffar, with a rather controlled way of fighting— older and very different from Master Quinlan Vos. He had taught him some as well.
“Indeed. I can assume he was able to use his Psychometry on the surrounding area?”
Quinlan Vos was off-planet, and would be for a while still.
Saesee nodded. “He was. And thus observed something rather interesting.”
And hopefully, that meant something useful.
Sienna had all the tape files from before the explosion went off, but nothing after, everything had been destroyed. She and the rest of the Slicers within the Guard were going over it with a fine-toothed comb, making sure that nothing had been corrupted or obscured, but it had yet to be handed over to the Investigations Department. Nonetheless, if Master Zax managed to find something out, then all the better. Comparing what was found through Psychometry and what was recorded on the holocmas would help for sure.
“Master Zax says that, one of the Guards seemed to know where the blast originated from, and ran directly to it, Master Sinube reported that Master Zax found that for a while it was contained,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said slowly, and Cin wasn’t sure if there was a hint of accusation in his tone or not. He turned from Stass to the younger member of his Lineage family— great-nephew if he used familial terms.
There was pain in those blue eyes, pain and… anger. Cin worried about that, he knew that loss could do things to people, but he hoped that it wasn’t happening to Kenobi.
“I do hope,” he started slowly, “That you are not accusing the Guard who is currently in Critical Condition of being the mastermind behind the planting of the bomb, Master Kenobi."
There was ice in his tone, and he knew from the sharp look Yoda was giving him that he should tone it down. But for the Guard? He wouldn’t. If Kenobi was going to accuse one of his own based on evidence so weak a newborn babe could beak it, he wouldn’t hold back.
“Hardly,” Kenobi said quietly, shifting a bit. “But you have to admit that it was strange they did know where the bomb was.”
He let out a breath, his nerves were fraying. He hated being in the Council chamber, hated being the center of attention outside of teaching.
And for Cin, none of this wasn't new information. And it certainly shouldn't have been new for the Council, as he had sent a quick rundown on what the Guard had known, with the fact that Ashe had been the one to know what was going on right before the bomb went off.
“I don’t,” Cin told the other Master. “It’s not that surprising to me, at all. How many times have you and I and every other Master in this chamber felt a shift in the Force that allowed us to sense danger? This time was no different.”
Unless the other Master was trying to twist Ashe as the culprit. And a sinking part of him was worried that it was exactly what he was trying to do. It would be so easy to shift the blame onto someone they don't know after all, and give those grieving wanted a person to point a finger at. Wanted closure. And even if it was wrong, there was a temporary rush of closure when there was someone to pin the blame onto.
It was something Cin was trying to prevent.
There were murmurs among the Council as he gazed at Kenobi with an even look until the younger man finally glanced away.
“The Guard who dealt with the explosion first occasionally has Visions,” Cin said when Kenobi backed down, “Split seconds before disaster, but visions nonetheless. If it weren’t for them, I am of the belief that there certainly would have been more lives lost.”
Glances were passed between Councilors again before Coleman Kcaj spoke up, wisely moving the topic from the accusation of Ashe towards the general investigation going on.
“The investigation thus far is slow,” the Ongree Master said quietly, “Master Sinube and a number of other Investigators have been working with the Guard, correct?”
Cin nodded at that. “Anything that happens within the Temple’s walls and upon her Grounds is our duty to look into.”
“Mm, perhaps, more observant, they should have been,” Yoda mused and his gaze snapped over to his former Master.
Oh, how he wanted to snap at Yoda that the Guard had been more observant in the past when they had more eyes to look into things— but he held his tongue. The Order as a whole was dwindling, the Guard was becoming the largest Homefront and Temple-Bound group, he knew when to hold his tongue.
(Finally, it would seem. He hadn’t during his childhood and he had paid the price many times over.)
“What has happened is done, there is no going back in time,” Cin said instead. “The Guard will continue its task in looking into the matter.”
Mace just nodded as he met his eyes.
“We look forwards to what more is discovered.”
“You and me both, Master Windu. You and me both."
But Cin had a sinking feeling about everything. He only hoped that he was wrong.
Since there's no update schedule, things are slow and I try and finish one chapter before I start on the next. Finals are coming up but after, I plan on just writing my brains out during break so hopefully, there should be more chapters.
I made a minor change with switching Laria and Ner Asaku because whoops I got attached to Laria when talking to some friends on the discord. I mean. More than Ner Asaku at least. wooops.
I have a little headcanon that the Temple Guard use code names when they need to refer to one another in the presence of nonguards. Yin'shinhen is Balance, Aculeatus is Leviathan. More might be mentioned later on.
I am working on getting an actual cohesive page set up for my like eight hundred OCs just for later reference but for now I only have a spreadsheet up and like three pages of a google site in my main blog’s bio
Summary: The quiet scratch of metal against wood was the only thing that greeted Tholme’s ears when he stepped into the office. It wasn’t a rare sound, but it was definitely not something that was common.
AO3
Tholme/Cin/T'ra has taken over my life
The quiet scratch of metal against wood was the only thing that greeted Tholme’s ears when he stepped into the office. It wasn’t a rare sound, but it was definitely not something that was common.
Cin’s office had two doors, one that he knew that he could go into, and one that he knew that he couldn’t— and to all else, really. Wandering into the Jedi Temple Guard’s hall was a serious infraction, not to mention disrespectful.
No, if one needed something from them, they went to Cin and Cin would sort it out.
That was beside the point.
On an ordinary day, Cin would be behind his desk working if he was in his office, but every once and a while Tholme had caught the other man sleeping on the couch that had been dragged in from one of the other Jedi lounges.
(The Guard all of the Guard’s furniture had been taken from somewhere else, as odd as that was, but it wasn’t a major issue for the Artisans.)
But tonight it was different.
Cin was sitting on an old sheet with his boots off and legs crossed. A knife was in one hand, the other holding a half-finished block of wood. There were a few other blocks of various types of wood at his side.
Well, calling them all “blocks” would be an understatement.
They were all rather large and long, the one in his hands slowly being shaped into something reminiscent of a sword.
A hobby of Cin’s, Tholme knew, was carving. Well, perhaps it wasn't just a hobby, so to speak. The act of carving often kept Cin's hands busy and his mind empty— another form of meditation to him. On top of that, it was also necessary. The training halls in the Temple all held a great many practice swords of varying weight and size and most all of them had been hand-carved by Cin when the need to meditate arose.
“Carving again?”
Cin’s head lifted upon Tholme speaking and he turned to him before nodding.
“Jak’Zin broke another sword.”
Tholme just hummed, moving to sit next to him as he resumed his task.
“That one certainly doesn’t know his strength yet.”
“No, he does not, but in due time, he’ll learn.”
Tholme simply nodded. He vaguely knew the Togorian Knight, but not well. Even though he had been knighted more than a year ago, he still had moments where he lapsed control.
But there was little to be done. There were a number of Knights who had the same problem, unfortunately, but that was the joy of being a Knight instead of a Master, he supposed. Especially for newer Knights. There just wasn’t as much pressure on them to perform flawlessly, and certainly, Tholme knew that both he and Cin had snapped some of those training swords.
(Rumor was that the master of control, High Master Plo Koon himself had broken more than one, but Cin refused to tell him if it was true or not.)
Nonetheless, if Cin wasn’t worried about it, then Tholme wouldn’t either. The other man knew more about every other Jedi than some knew about themselves, it seemed.
“It’s late,” Tholme said after a moment of watching him. “Are you planning on carving through the night?”
Cin paused again, closing his eyes as he tilted his head a bit to the side. “I was planning to until my night patrol started. Night Guard and I switched shifts for the week. One evening and two Dead Night shifts.”
Tholme just let out a sigh at that.
“There go my plans for the week,” he complained, leaning his head against Cin’s for a moment as the other Master snorted.
“There’s still next week.”
He only huffed a bit, shifting and resting his chin on Cin’s shoulder as the other Master continued his work. Each stroke of the knife against the wood was deliberate, slowly working the wood down to the correct shape before he would eventually take sandpaper to the swords and smooth them out.
Tholme himself had no real talent for such artistry, but he always enjoyed watching Cin’s hands at work. It was mesmerizing to watch.
Still, it was disappointing to learn that Cin had to do work, but such was the life of the Head of the Temple’s Security. Even though he was in charge of the whole division, he tended to shoulder a lot more of the Guard end of things.
Though it made sense, considering how the Guard filled in almost all the spots of the other security detail.
“Well, I’ll just have to stay here until you head out,” he decided after a moment, nudging Cin to get him to move. He did after a bit of huffing before Tholme settled behind the Battlemaster, resting his chin on his shoulder once again to watch Cin work.
Cin just settled back against him, eyes focused on his work.
Tholme supposed his plans could wait for next week, T'ra should be back by then too.
The three of them were overdue for a date night, after all.
I like the idea that not all Jedi meditate in the same way
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars: The Expanded Universe
Rating: T/M (Swearing, Gore, Major Character Death, possible later happenings, AU Bullshit, Angst to High Hell)
Summary: In an instant, the world exploded into color and smoke- and then nothing. And the Temple Guard were so easy to pin a crime on considering how they were sworn to silence. AKA: Even though Barriss joined the Guard, the flow of time only altered a bit. The bombs still go off, but the Temple Guard are put to blame instead of Ahsoka.
Notes: AU bullshit, Same universe as We Who Listen To Many And Speak To Few meaning its @nibeul’s Temple Guard Barris AU
Chapter 1: The Hangar
AO3
|| Next>
I don't remember all of the bombing incident so it's going to be different than what happened (for obvious reasons) and also because I don't wanna go back and watch it like the clown I am. But i hope you enjoy this new series. No real update schedule though, woops
A Jedi always knew to listen to their instincts, to trust in the Force.
Ashe Lark knew this. As a part of the Jedi Temple Guard, he knew this
He knew it better than some did.
The Force around him had developed in such a way that had granted him visions— granted, they were never anything that was too far in the future, but it was enough.
Five seconds, thirty, a minute… that could be enough to save or kill someone, after all.
Master Drallig had taught him that, taught all of them that.
So Ashe trusted in the Force. Day in and day out, he trusted it, trusted that it would lead him in the right direction, would allow him to do his duty to the Temple and those who lived within her walls.
(“Her” was a blanket term. To him, and to many, the Temple was safe and home, they simply called the Temple “her” because of it. Warm like a mother. The Temple was as alive as those within her, after all. Most didn’t seem to realize it though.)
Still, there was an uneasy feeling in Ashe’s gut as he walked along the edge of the Hangar with the Jedi Temple.
There were a number of other Guards within the Hangar with him— as usual. There was always a group on shift whenever the Hangar was open, it was a safety precaution, after all.
It just so happened that today, Ashe was the one that any activity was reported to. Both as the Core Guard on the floor and the head of the Team in the Hangar.
( Master Drallig put a lot of trust into him, and for that, Ashe always made sure to do his job right. He had heard from one of the older Guards, Aculeatus Ventri, that this was one of the first times that the Core Guard was this young. He, Hakra Dorgoa, Mari Gildow, Syo, and Tacar Anulig were all Guards who joined after Master Drallig was made Head of the Guard. All the others had been there before, either been a part of the Guard when he joined and then left, or was part of it when he was moved from an Instructor to Head of the Guard. It was beside the point, though.)
The others in the Hangar with him were the Zabraks Styr Rox and Atus Tirfri, along with the Pau'an Varrom Selon and the Merlian Lima Kevrok. Ceri Hylia was also there, the white-skinned Nautolan standing near a group of maintenance workers as Ner Askau Maar walked past, the Red Nikto guard keeping an eye on the ships making their way in. A near-human guard, Laria Taro, was nearby, watching over the Agricorp Jedi who were bringing shipments out of the freighter.
A good setup, if he did say so himself, but still…
Ashe paused as Lima walked up to him.
He switched from the Core Guard's update comm to the Hangar Communications one. “Anything?”
“No, everything seems normal as usual.”
Ashe worried his bottom lip between his teeth behind his mask, glancing around the Hangar. The elder Jedi was right, there was nothing out of the ordinary, a few Knights here and there getting back, clones aiding in unloading and joining in wait for their Generals and Commanders…
He didn’t like it.
There was something off.
He didn’t like it.
But he left Lima with a simple wave of dismissal, continuing on his way around the Hangar.
The feeling increased, the feeling of wrongness, with every step he took. A pull in his gut. Something was wrong, something was going to—
And in a split second, flashing in his mind were colors, a feeling of searing heat, blood— no, those were just remains. Ah, no… there was blood… the smell of burnt flesh, the smell of smoke, of melting metal, of burning plastoid, of—
There was no time, no time to warn anyone.
Ashe’s body moved without him thinking, taking off across the Hangar in a sprint, following the pull of the Force, following the tug, the lingering threads of the vision.
It didn’t take long for him to get where he needed, and not long for the other Guards to catch on. There were orders being sent over the comm but it was all noise to him as he reached out.
It was important for one to realize that despite Ashe just being human, he was much stronger than he looked. Both physically and in the Force.
With one hand, he reached out, pulling at the Force.
In his mind, using the Force for something like pulling or protecting was always like using a sheet. It was something physical, something he could reach and pull at.
He reached out, grasping that sheet and pulling, and with his other hand he threw the Force out.
Two sheets of the Force, one throwing back the citizens and others behind him so that there was a wide enough breadth, the Force covering those behind him as Ceri, Ner Asaku, and Atus moved next to him.
And perhaps if Ashe hadn’t been a bit more frantic he might have found it odd that he was pulling and using the Force to separate people from a singular person, who seemed so afraid— but he wasn’t.
(When he would come to in several days, with painful scarring across his font, with the loss of one of his eyes, and one of his arms blown clean off, with news that people were dead, maybe then he would remember the fear, the confusion in the man’s face… right before his life was ended as the world exploded into color and flame and smoke. But there would be little time to think on that.)
So much was done in just seconds, and he pulled from all of his reserves—
And then the world exploded into color.
Brilliant oranges and reds and golds, and then heat, and the smell— the smell of blood, of burning, of plastoid and of metal, of smoke, and of burning flesh. Of death.
The noise came next, rattling Ashe’s bones. Screaming, yelling, frantic calls for order and safety, muffled orders over the Comm.
But Ashe focused, pulling at that sheet again, tighter, tighter, containing the fire, the heat, the destruction— but even with it contained, a chain reaction went off.
Nearby mechanical objects erupted into flame, and Ashe couldn’t breathe—
The world exploded into color and smoke and searing heat. Ashe’s feet gave way, a cry of pain from his left, and then silence as the world exploded again—
And Ashe knew no more.
(x)
Cin Drallig walked slowly around the blast zone of the Hangar, silent as he took in the damage. Vokara Che and her healers had been called down almost as soon as Cin had felt the sudden spike in the Force from the Guards down in the Hangar.
He had always had a very fine grasp on Resonance Links through the Force, sometimes too fine— feeling all of the different pings and pangs from well over a hundred people had caused him many migraines in the past— and it was what had alerted him to the danger.
But only moments before the entire Temple shook and the Force around them bent.
Still, as he kneeled down to examine the scorch mark… it was a bit haunting.
No, that wasn’t the word.
It was jarring? Startling?
Either way, the entire Temple was shaken to the core.
There were six Jedi Knights who died in the explosions that had been set off after the initial one, eight clone troopers, six crew workers, and three of the Guard.
Cin didn’t quite know the civilians who died, he regretted that fact as well. The only one he knew personally had been Jackar Bowmani— and the Abyssin male was marked down as… missing still. But Cin had seen the footage before he had come down to the Hangar.
Bowmani was dead, there was very little doubt about that.
Then there were the Troopers and Jedi who Cin did know personally. Or at least the Guard knew on a personal level.
The ARC Trooper Uj’alayi had been assigned to Coruscant recently, caught up in the blast trying to save a padawan. His armor had melted to his skin from the heat of a blast. The Padawan, a young human named Kenth Berek, was in critical condition but alive.
And Sweetie from the 104th had been overseeing the movement of medical supplies for the 104th’s next campaign. From what the comms said, The CMO of the entire Battalion— Ghost— was reeling. The entire Battalion was, really. He doubted that Plo Koon was much better.
Medic‚ a CMO, had been lost as well. Cyclone from Mace Windu’s 91st. As if the man hadn’t lost enough troops, with Ponds being dead and gone as well. Then again, all of the Jedi and Clones had lost too much in this war.
Thresher had been another that was lost. From Kit Fisto’s 272nd Battalion— the Sea Dragon Battalion. A heavy weapons unit. He didn’t know much about him, but of course, the Nautolans in the Guard knew the SCUBA Trooper. He didn’t know him but knew enough that he didn't deserve his life snuffed out like that. Thresher’s entire left side of his body had been burned away, a limb blasted off entirely— a gruesome sight, really.
Kick-Back was one of the Coruscant Guard, and so was Rocker. The two were almost always in the Hangar, watching over and joining the Guard in their task of making sure anything that came and left the Temple was recorded. Kick-Back and Kita Sheridan got along like a house fire when the Guard slipped away to 79s.
Rocker had always been a quiet sort, in comparison.
Patches was also a Coruscant Guard, one of their medical personnel. Cin never had the pleasure of meeting them face to face, but apparently, they were a good sort, according to Adona, at least. And he trusted her judgment.
All Three had been in parts under rubble, he had heard Kita retching when they had found Kick-Back’s torso.
Sergeant Meteor of the 419th under Saesee Tiin had been working on some ship tune-ups. The entire gods damned LAAT/i he had been working on had blown up because of one of the chain reactions blowing up too close to the ship. He had all but been incinerated, the only way they knew it had been him was because of the miracle of a surviving shoulder plate. The teal paint in the shape of a shooting star gave it away.
The Knights were another topic entirely that made Cin’s chest ache.
Tutso Mara, a near-human young man, had just been Knighted recently. Cin still remembered how he had expressed a wish to join the Instructors, and Cin had been ready to put his paperwork through for the position next week. His life was cut far too short. He was so young still.
Ghi Dural, a Kel Dor Shadow, had been a Knight for years and had just been leaving after delivering a report in person. He had been a good person, and no matter how old, it wasn’t fair for his life to be snuffed out just like that.
The Miralukan Jedi Knight, Noliod Val, had been… a rather difficult student of Cin’s— one of the worst, really, in his long years of work as the Battlemaster. A young man with a poor attitude and a blatant disregard and disgust towards the Temple Guard (and the Clones later, from what he had heard). But that didn’t mean that he would have wished death on the young man— with his neck snapped back from the force of getting blown off his feet in the explosion.
Dara Idella, Cin remembered, was just older than Kit Fisto and Shaak Ti— and a good friend of Kit's. A Nautolan geologist, she had returned to report some findings of rare minerals in an Outer-Rim plant— something to do with finding substitutes for Kyber if Illum got taken from the Republic. She was going back out to investigate further and got caught up in the same explosion that basically incinerated Meteor. The only reason they knew she was dead was because she wasn’t among the injured.
Aruarush Chana had been an artisan Jedi Knight, always with paint in his hair and on his face. He was supposed to have been leaving with Idella, looking for stones to use for pigments. Cin knew this because the young man had been bothering him for locations for good pigment stones— as if Cin knew more than Coleman Kcaj did or something. The clean-up team had found half of him.
And… Anakin Skywalker. The Knight wasn’t even supposed to be in the Hangar. He and his Padawan were supposed to be off-planet, but they had finished early. He was there fixing up his ship. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. His charred corpse had only been recognizable because of the melted prosthetic melded to scorched flesh.
Lives all cut short... but much less than there would have been.
Yes.
That was one of the only good things, Cin knew. Because Ashe was strong in the Force, because Ashe had sensed it before it happened, and reacted in order to save lives.
And now Ashe was in critical condition in the Halls of Healing, covered in burns and gouged with shrapnel, with one arm gone and Vokara said Ashe was lucky to be breathing still, that he was lucky to still be alive.
The other Guards who were alive were in the same position, but Ashe had taken the brunt, that was for sure.
But Ceri, Ner Asaku, and Atus... the ones who were right up next to Ashe... how was it that the three of them were dead?
What unfair hell was it that made things turn out like this?
Three of the four who contained the first initial blast and as many of the chained reactions that followed, were dead, one in critical, the remaining in just as bad a shape— and many more citizens, clones, and Jedi in critical condition on top of the deaths each group had faced as well.
The Hangar was in ruins, supplies gone, ships destroyed, the devastation was clear as day as he stood from where he was inspecting the scorch marks.
Right now, there were only Guard and Droids investigating, the other Jedi and Clones and civilians were being held off— there would likely be hysterical (rightly so) Padawans, Clones, and Family Members if they were let in. And it was dangerous, a careless move, and another chain of explosions could go off.
(Funny, that the Guard had been ordered to inspect the Hangar knowing this. Cin had growing thoughts on how the Order was using the Guard as the war moved forwards, but perhaps it was just the exhaustion getting to him.)
He shook his head, running a hand down his face in the next instant as he noted down the marks in the damage report on his datapad. This likely was where the explosion originated judging by the darkness of the marks and the destruction that seemed to go outwards, it was an odd spot for sure. The Guard’s Charhound, Roq, was sniffing around, Mari Gildow following as she used her Force Sight to possibly catch what the rest of them couldn’t.
“Anything of note?” Cin asked as Saa Kowa moved next to him.
“Nothing of concrete nature,” the Kel Dor Guard said, modulated voice every Guard had deep and with a touch of an uncanny valley feeling to it. “Sienna suspects that these were nano-droids. A modified and malfunctioning sort, at least. She and her team are still working on specific specs.”
Cin nodded at that, letting out a soft sigh.
“How are Styr, Ashe, Lima, and Ner Asku?” he asked her. Saa hummed, the noise reverberating in the relative quiet of the now destroyed Hangar.
“Adona, Barriss, and the other few healers we have are currently taking them to the Halls. Ashe is already there, in major critical condition still, that hasn’t changed. Styr is the most likely to recover. Lima and Ner Asku are still up in the air.”
She paused as Cin nodded slowly. It was a damn stroke of good luck that Barriss had wanted to join them. Both for her sake and their’s— and he would never say he was glad just because she was a healer. Barriss was family now, and he did care about her as a whole, but healer Guard were few and far between.
“Ashe’s survival is slim if he’s not treated with the utmost care. It’s safe to say that if the hammer comes down on the Guard for this, he will not survive.”
And what a nightmare that would be. But the Jedi trusted the Guard. This was a mistake, yes, they should have been alert, suspected something would happen due to the gathering unrest and rioting towards the Jedi due to the War…
“I do not think the Council would blame us for this. Nor would the Republic. I trust the Guard, and I know that we all uphold our oaths. Even those of us who face unease and are unhappy with the way the Order heads,” he stated, eyes not leaving Mari and Roq as the Charhound dug at something impatiently. “None of us did this. And I know the Council knows this as well. I trust in them."
"... We shall see, Master Drallig. I only hope you're correct."
"Feel free to kick my ass in training if I'm wrong," he mused back and she snorted out a chuckle, heading back down to help with clearing away some of the more dangerous rubble.
He let out another breath, going back to the datapad with all the damage reports on it from the others.
As much as he didn’t want to believe or give in to that belief, Saa was right. There was a chance that the Council and Senate could come down on the Temple Guard for this.
They were responsible for the safety of all of those who were in the Temple, after all— be it civilian, Jedi, or Clone.
He could only hope it didn’t come down to that. If only out of worry for Ashe and the other Guards in critical condition now.
But only time would tell.
I'm hoping that posting this will give me the motivation to write the rest haha. I'm having trouble with Council meetings and like damn, it be like that. I'm also debating everything— mostly who should be convicted and framed. And almost executed.
Also yes, I killed Anakin, what of it?
Anywho, thank you to everyone in the Discord and Tumblr who let me borrow OCs for this even though they all just got k-worded:
Uj’alayi is @purgetrooperfox’s OC
Thresher, Cyclone, and Patches are @bassuwun's OCs
Kenth Berek is @fake-fullbuster’s OC
Noliod Val is @certified-anakinfucker’s OC
And Dara Idella belongs to @spacerocksarethebestrocks
Sweetie, Meteor, Kick-Back, and Rocker are some of my own clone OCs, Aruarush Chana is as well— and ofc ya’ll know the guard are mine too
She was a legend in every culture. The woman made of the stars, of the galaxy, who looked as if the cosmos ripped itself open and she stepped through.
She went by many names— some called her a goddess, others a titan, others believed she was the Force, or perhaps the creator mother… but there was no answer. She simply was.
And to some she was just a legend. To others she was real.
But nonetheless, she existed in one way, shape or form.
But no one expected to see her.
Let alone Wolffe.
She emerged from the red glow of the Abregado System, eyes white like starlight. He couldn’t tell where her skin and hair met, the shifting galaxies and colors moved so differently, so dizzyingly, and were changing color to reflect the deep red.
Even the General seemed taken aback, and to be fair, just one of her eyes was as large if not larger than the escape pod.
But the General did not stay hesitant for long, moving to the viewport and gently placing a hand on the transperisteel.
“Great lady, an honor to meet face to face,” General Koon said and her eyes upturned slightly, a smile, perhaps. The General certainly took it at that.
“If you could aid us, we would be most grateful.”
There wasn’t much else to say, right to the point. And the figure, the woman, the titan, the goddess, she just bobbed her head before Wolffe felt the pod lurch and suddenly they weren’t moving on their own. Suddenly they were cupped ever so gently in the hands of a giant figure as she moved through space.
As if the cosmos had torn itself open and made way for her.
Wolffe didn’t remember much else after, only that when he seemed to wake, and with all the others in the pod too, they were drifting right outside of Skywalker’s flagship.
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars (Prequel Trilogy), Star Wars Legends
Rating: Gen/T
Summery: It's the trinkets that make a place house, but it's the person there that makes it a home.
AO3
To anyone new im not actually usually this fast when getting stuff out, I'm just clearing my wip folder out. Like, I will take long-ass gaps between writing normally, just not now it seems like I dont.
Kit Fisto knows his way around Plo Koon’s living quarters pretty well, he likes to think.
Kitchen, two guest rooms— one of which is Kit’s when he stays over, the other is to whichever one of Plo’s many kids stay over— Plo’s anti-ox chamber (which served as the Kel Dor’s own room as well), the fresher, the seating area…
There’s a large window that looks out over Coruscant with a windowsill wide enough that Plo’s turned it into an extra seating area— the best view was seen from this room, in Kit’s opinion, and he knew that the others who had been in Plo’s quarters agreed.
(Kit personally thought it was also the best place to just hold the Kel Dor outside of being in bed. Comfortable enough for two fully grown men of their respective species and Plo seemed to like settling against his chest well enough as they did to watch the sunrise.)
Plo’s office was down in the 104th barracks and one of the Guest rooms had probably once been an Office. Or maybe it had been another bedroom, one for Sha or Fae in the case that either of Plo’s relatives decided to stay with him.
(They didn’t ever, really. Fae Koon was an ancient Kel Dor who was often either letting padawans who lost their masters or had masters on a mission they couldn’t be on staying in his own quarters. And Sha Koon was an independent Kel Dor who spent a lot of her time in the Archives now that she had taken herself off of the frontlines.)
He prided himself on the fact that he knew Plo Koon’s living quarters just as well as Ahsoka knew them (pretty well) and just as well as the Wolffepack did (also pretty well. Though the original three knew them very well).
Kit also prided himself on knowing and filing away the little details, just because. The small details that made Plo Koon’s quarters his and not just some other Kel Dor Jedi’s.
A sense of home.
Small things like specially-made Transparisteel straws that fit between the filters of his mask that sat in a wire rack to one side of the kitchen sink. Or the half-finished flimsiplast novel that was set carefully on the side table next to one of the sofas. And the fact that the sofa was both extremely soft and could pull out into a bed for the original three from the Wolffepack could crash together in a pile if the 104th were all on shore leave— And still have room for three others if they brought anyone else.
There was also an empty and unwashed mug of caf that was certainly one of the mentioned troopers from over a month ago, but they always forgot to wash it. All of them. Eeth suggested that maybe the Will of the Force was that the mug stayed as it was.
Mace had dryly suggested that maybe the mug should be thrown out now, and Plo had looked deeply offended at that— or at least as offended as his mask would let him look.
(Casual Council dinners were always an interesting affair, considering the wide range of dietary needs from all of them. Kit liked smoothies, he liked learning what could be turned into a smoothie. He hadn’t been prepared for Plo to quite literally just blend everything that he was going to be eating the first time he had been to one, solely to spite Mace at that.)
There were larger details, of course.
Plo’s boots always went next to the door, though the rest of his clothes remained in his room.
Kit could always count on at least one new book (either bought or from the library) in the sitting room if Plo was on shore leave for longer than a week. Plo liked Flimsi-books over the datapad ones and Kit never did know why.
Plos’ quarters were also one of the few that was home to a bathtub outside of the Aquatics, and, while the Council had questioned it, it made Kit giddy to know that even if the blankets of the bed (in the room that totally wasn’t his) irritated his skin, there was a place he could sleep when he stayed over.
There was also the fact that Plo kept med-kits in each room of his quarters— in the cabinet next to the sink behind the dishes was where the one in the kitchen was, under the couch was where the one in the sitting room had been set. Plo’s room and the guest room that wasn’t Kit’s room both had their’s in the bottom drawer of the small dresser built into the closet. The fresher’s was in a medicine cabinet that was pretty empty otherwise.
So with all this in mind, Kit liked to think that he knew Plo’s living quarters pretty well. So it came as a slight shock to him when he entered and saw something new hanging up by the window.
Not a bad shock, not at all, it was quite pretty and looked to be made from wood or something of the like. It took a few seconds for Kit to realize it was some sort of wind chime before Plo made his appearance from his room.
“I see that you’ve let yourself in again,” the Kel Dor commented, a brow ridge raised. The older Master had just returned from a grueling mission in the outer-rim and had, more than likely, been sleeping up until Kit had let himself in.
“You didn’t have to come and get up for me,” Kit commented in lieu of responding to Plo’s comment, crossing the room and over to the Kel Dor.
Plo simply hummed.
“I was already awake when I sensed your arrival, not to worry,” he told him as he reached over and grasped his hands gently. He squeezed them before letting out a startled noise when Kit decided to drag him into a hug instead.
“Injuries?” he asked and Plo hummed, settling in his arms.
“Just the usual,” he assured him as Kit dragged them both back to the sofa and fell back onto it. A soft ‘umph’ escaped the Kel Dor against his chest, but he easily settled down and Kit’s tresses twitched and flicked a bit as they dangled off the edge of the armrest.
“That’s good,” the Nautolan told his partner, adjusting his arms again and resting one hand against the small of his back, the other around his shoulders. “How are the boys doing?”
“No deaths, thank the gods,” Plo murmured, nestling a bit closer and Kit lifted his head and gently bumped their foreheads together in place of a kiss— a bit hard to do when one of them wore a mask all the time.
“No critical injuries, either?” Kit asked as Plo returned the light bump.
“Sweetie and Nex both got shot in the shoulder and arm during a running retreat but they’re recovering, and Nex’s been bothering Nox— who is stuck in the barracks under Ghost’s orders because of a broken leg,” he told him. “The others just suffered scrapes and bruises and singes, mostly.”
Kit nodded at that. “And by bothering, you mean Nex is making fun of his Batchmate. Well, as much as it must be a pain for Nox, I’m glad he was the only major injury.”
“And I as well,” the Kel Dor rumbled before shuddering and letting out a startled trill as Kit’s hand moved lower. “Kit!”
“What?”
His grin only widened as Plo gave him a halfhearted glare. Kit lightly knocked their foreheads together again, tresses flicking in a teasing manner as he laughed and held the Kel Dor tighter, resting his head under his chin and a soft whistle left Plo as he settled back down again.
Deep inside, there was always a slight fear whenever he heard Plo was going out into space for an extended period of time. Taking a mission off-world on another planet was one thing, but…
Perhaps it was because of what happened with the Malevolence that always had Kit walking with an anxious twitch until Plo contacted him nowadays.
It was the only part of their relationship that edged into breaking the Code, or at least in Kit’s eyes.
For him, there was a separation in attachments and love. Attachments were ugly things, created out of a need to possess someone— something— and to obsesses over it.
Love was beautiful and free-flowing. Love was understanding that the one who you loved was also their own person. None of that “I know what’s good for you” shit, acceptance that should the other party want something, it was your part to listen.
Attachments were what a person was for you. Love was accepting that person was their own entity.
Attachments were chains disguised as affection. Love was an opened door to a birdcage.
But it was the fear of losing Plo to the cold void of space that bordered on a wish to possess. Kit would, without fail but never without struggle, quash that feeling down. But he knew Plo could feel it every time he did.
Plo was patient though, a calming presence to Kit’s swirl of carefully controlled emotions.
Kit had always been an emotional man, walking a path not too unlike Quinlan Vos in the Force, a path that his lineage siblings walked— it seemed as if all of Yoda’s students had a touch of the dark in them, and for some, for Dooku, it had consumed them.
And if, when he and Plo sparred, Kit’s strikes bore a bit more anger and frustration, he never commented on it.
Anger at himself for not being strong enough, frustration at himself for being so selfish when he knew that Plo would give anything to save his boys.
And Plo was ever so patient and kind.
“You’re thinking quite hard,” Plo’s murmur made him blink and he adjusted the Kel Dor so he could gaze down at him.
“It’s nothing pressing,” he assured him simply and Plo didn’t press, instead, letting out a soothing hum that made his tresses twitch happily in return. Kit settled again, head tilted back before he blinked a bit.
“Hey, what’s with the wind chime? It’s new,” he asked.
“Ah, I acquired it before we left the planet the boys and I had been on,” Plo told him, wriggling a bit in Kit’s hold before he could prop his chin up with his hands. “On Dorin, wind chimes are given to someone as a gesture of goodwill and good luck, along with being a talisman of protection.”
Kit nodded at that, he remembered being told that the first time he had seen Plo making one in the Gardens with Sha and Fae.
Still, Kit never minded listening to Plo talk, listening to him explain things that interested the older Jedi, or teaching him about the Kel Dor people.
“Tell me more,” Kit hummed. “I fear I don’t remember everything you told me.”
Plo huffed at that, knowing full well that Kit was lying, but shifted to get comfortable again. Plo never did deny anyone’s request for knowledge, no matter if he knew they were lying about not knowing a subject or not.
“My Uncle has told you about the Dorin religion that coexists alongside of our own belief in the Force, yes?” he asked and Kit nodded.
“Him, you, and Sha, many times over. Always interesting to learn about,” he answered. “Windchimes have something to do with them, then?”
“For the most part,” the Kel Dor confirmed before nestling back down and resting his head against his chest. “Children with names that are too long will be stolen away by the Spirits, and the use of wind chimes as protection is believed to be a form of protection
Kit’s lips twitched up. “So we’d have to use short syllable names, then?”
“Well, yes—“ Plo paused before lightly hitting him, a slight huff leaving him as Kit laughed.
“Aw, you don’t want kids?” Kit asked as Plo let out a flustered whistle, tusks moving behind his mask before a startled warble escaped him when Kit’s hands moved lower again, grasping his rear. “Really? I would’ve thought that you’d love some of our own by blood.”
“Kit—!!” Plo huffed again. The Kel Dor’s cheeks were dusted red, just visible across his skin and Kit just gave him a smug grin in return, but relented once more and let go.
“That’s not a no~” he said before leaning down and bumping their foreheads together. “Ahh, when this war stuff is all over, let’s see if we can get the others to let up on the code.”
Plo simply let out a soft warble, gentle and contemplative. Kit knows that it wasn’t the first time he had thought of children.
Because of how harsh Dorin was, the Kel Dor saw children as beings of wonder, of hope, and things to be held above all else. It was rare for a family to have more than one child by blood-right, let alone two who survived.
The Koon Clan had been extremely lucky in this manner with each generation having borne at least two children— Fae Koon did not have children, but his brother had, and that had been Plo’s father. Plo had a sister, and his sister, thank the gods, had been lucky enough to have three.
Fae was old, his bondmate long gone and dead (and still, Kit knew that the old Kel Dor mourned the loss of Tyvokka), and the clan had accepted that he would choose to neither bear nor sire children of his own blood at this point, but Kit knew from Sha that there was talk that maybe more children would come into the Clan through Plo.
And if they didn’t care that the children might be half Nautolan, then Kit was all for it.
And it wasn’t as if the Kel Dor didn’t accept the 104th, didn’t accept Bultar, or Lissarkh, or Ahsoka as Plo’s own.
They did.
As soon as they had hard that Plo had taken on padawans, had found Ahsoka, the various Clans of Dorin had been clamoring for updates and for him to return home.
Now that they know of the 104th, Plo said that they’ve only gotten worse. Apparently, the head of Plo’s clan is pissed that clones don’t have rights. Kit had then said that he’d like to meet the famed Kyr Koon and then watch the old Sage tear into the Senate.
Plo agreed that his ancient relative could probably make Dooku cry with a stern dressing down.
Kit supposed it all came from just the wonder the bloomed from the miracle that was childbirth— Well, hatching.
Nonetheless, he smiled as he listened to Plo talk and explain the variants and different meanings of wind chimes to the Kel Dor Culture. How certain metals and woods meant one thing, while another type meant something different.
The use of shell was for clarity... and driftwood for change.
Perhaps next time he was on an ocean planet he could find some and bring some back— it had been a while since he had sat down and made a wind chime with Plo, after all.
It would be nice to do that with him again.
are there smoothies and blenders in star wars? who knows! Now there are because I needed them both for ✨plot✨
Rating: Gen/T (swearing, minor violence, a single shark)
Summery: Beach Singularities are always strange. Achilles is gonna have to get used to Chaldea's other Servants.
AO3
I don't remember when someone suggested this but it was a while ago. This has been sitting unfinished for a while in my drafts
Achilles wasn’t exactly sure how he got roped into it, but here he was.
Sitting on a dock.
Holding a fishing pole.
He supposed it could be worse, he could be waiting tables instead of catching the fish for the small, beach-side diner that Chaldea found itself assisting.
Aside from him, there were a few other Servants on the dock, all fishing and hoping for the best— well, Ivan, Li Shuwen, and a few of the children Servants weren’t exactly on the dock, the Russian Tsar was standing in what was waist-deep water for him and the Lancer was on his shoulder. Jack, Abigail, and Nursery Rhyme were on the Mammoth’s head.
Cú and the other Irish Servants were nearby— though Medb was more or less being held in a chokehold by Scáthach at the moment— and Arthur and EMIYA seemed to be having fun with Beowulf on another part of the dock.
Achilles sighed, leaning back as he swung his legs. Fishing really wasn’t his idea of an exciting singularity activity. If he was really feeling childish, he would huff that it wasn’t fair that Jason, Atalanta, and a few others got to go with the Master and fight monsters in the forest while he was here fishing.
Sighing again, the Rider looked up at the sky as the lure of his fishing line bobbed lazily in the waters.
“Having fun?” Cú asked as he walked past, holding a bucket of bait. Achilles snorted.
“I wouldn’t call this fun, so to speak,” he grumbled, “I don’t get how you guys can sit still for so long.”
The Lancer just laughed. “You’ll get used to it!” he said as he continued on down the dock towards Diarmuid and Fergus. Achilles just made a face before he sighed yet again. He seemed to be doing that a lot, but he couldn’t help it— he was bored.
It was just after he had said that did yelling erupt from further out.
The Rider wiped his head around. The yelling— or rather screaming— was coming from Ivan, or well, the children atop Ivan’s head. Throwing his fishing pole to the side, he bolted to his feet and down the dock.
Of course, Achilles needn’t have worried as he noticed the girls were shrieking with excitement. With a simple tug of Ivan’s hand, a large fish was pulled out of the water.
Well, “large fish” was an understatement.
“Great White Shark” was far more accurate— and correct.
Ivan had reeled in a goddamn Great White.
There was a flash of red and a large splash before Achilles realized what happened.
“Li Shuwen fucking punched a shark, didn’t he?” He asked aloud.
Fergus burst out laughing.
“This happens every time we end up at a beach,” Scáthach assured with a shake of her head. “You’ll get used to it.”
He made a face at that, as the redhead surfaced, along with the carcass of the said shark. Thank the gods that this singularity was just a singularity— didn't Li Shuwen know sharks were endangered?
Well, either way, Achilles was certain that if Li Shuwen didn't punch one thing per singularity, the Chinese Lancer would go insane.
Yeah, Achilles wasn't sure if he would get used to it, really.
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars (Prequel Trilogy), Star Wars Legends
Rating: Gen/K
Summery: Some pre-slash and a discussion between a culture that ritually scars and one that does not.
Aka: Kit asks about Plo’s scarring because he’s curious
AO3
I'm knocking the hell outta my wips
“Did they hurt?”
Plo supposed he hadn’t exactly been expecting the question, though he knew that it would come up eventually as he lay on his stomach, reading from a datapad. Kit Fisto’s touch was light, trailing down the curving lines the decorated his back.
“Hm?” Plo lifted his head a bit. “Ah, yes. A bit. It’s a final rite for those among the Sages who pass their final trials. Kel Dor skin is tough, it’s a long process for just one to get carved, but even so, it is an honor to have them done.”
Kit hummed.
In truth, Plo was grateful for the other Master. While he had never been close with his father, he knew what it was like to have one, after all. Had Master Tyvokka not raised him in such a manner? Yes, the return after the Stark Hyperspace War had been something of a mess for Plo, with the dismantled and broken bond between him and his Master.
The Nautolan had been the one to catch him before any of the others had even registered the sudden impact of grief slamming into the Kel Dor at the realization that no, he would never see his Master again, never listen to the wisdom that came from old Wookiee again, and they didn't even have a body to bring back and entomb. And Kit had since been there every time after. When Micah sacrificed himself, when other fellow Jedi died, when Plo struggled with his own self-worth...
Kit was a good… friend. For now, that was all Plo would allow himself to hope for— no matter how much his heart tugged at the idea of possibly being something more.
Still, they were close friends, and Plo trusted Kit with his back, with the scars that decorated it.
Perhaps laying shirtless on the floor with another Master watching some Holo-Film or another on his own datapad next to him while he read was rather unorthodox, but nonetheless, that was what was happening.
And he wasn’t one to show skin, normally, nothing more than was he usually did with his typical robes, but, well, Coruscant’s summer season had reached record-breaking heats for the first time in about a hundred years, and most of the Order had routed most of its energy to keeping the more Polar Jedi at a safe temperature along with the waters for the aquatics.
Long story short, it was simply too hot to do much else.
Kit hummed, and Plo suppressed a shudder as he dragged his fingers along the jagged lines and steep curves in the center of his back.
“Do they all mean something if they’re final rites for the Sages?” The Nautolan asked.
Plo was quiet for a moment but nodded. “They do. You’ve seen the ones across my chest and my upper ribs, yes?”
Kit made a noise of confirmation as he nodded.
“Those are the mark of the winds, the signify my rank among the Sages as both one of them and a Jedi.”
“Does Fae have them?”
“Mm, yes and no. They are similar in structure, though my Uncle’s wind across his collarbones and down his sides, curling around his legs before stopping at his knees. Every Kel Dor has a different arrangement, they show our feats, our classifications, our talents, family clan, and so on."
Kit hummed before tapping a spot at the nape of his neck. “And the one on your collar?”
“Ah, that signifies my standing as one of the Kel Dor who can put themselves into a state of stasis. Anya-Seff, dead brain.”
“And this here?”
His fingers traced the one in the center of his back.
Plo chuckled at that. “The Koon Clan family crest. Should I leave the Order and return home, and then wed, another Clan’s crest would also be added to the arrangement.”
“Mm... the Koon Clan’s looks a bit like wings, almost.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Plo shivered a bit, feeling him trace the fern-like scarring that curled and stretched down his spine, breaking off towards his shoulder and down one arm. “Lichtenberg figures?”
“In part because of my abilities, I have been marked as a Storm Caster among the Sages. The faint figures were already seen under my skin, I chose to take the title of a Storm Caster and have the figures become more pronounced.”
Kit hummed at that. He had told the other Master of the full extent of his abilities once before and trusted him not to spread it around the Temple. The Council frowned upon his use of lightning, though a good number of them understood that it was also something that stemmed from the Sages, from the Kel Dor. It was not something that was Evil, though some were wary and fearful about it.
But that was fair. Lightning and storms were something people often feared.
Plo had come to accept that his particular skill set was a double-edged sword— Lightning was the mark of a Sith, yes, but the Kel Dor wielded it as both a mark of their own power and rank, a form of protection to redirect deadly Storms, and as a form of judgment.
“How long did these take?”
“Oh, a few years, perhaps six or so, to get that deep and detailed. Many of these were done over time. It takes a lot to scar our skin, as you know.”
“Gotta break the skin to scar it, yeah, I remember,” Kit chuckled. “And you’re all tough as the sith hells because for some reason your hide is thicker around the torso on down than neck on up.”
“I’m surprised you actually paid attention to that lecture.”
“Hey! I’m smarter than I look, old man!”
Plo smiled behind his mask as the Nautolan laughed, leaning back on his hands. Yes, Kit Fisto was certainly much smarter than people gave him credit for.
A political liaison, a healer, a consular. It seemed as people forgot that Kit had been known as quiet and thoughtful for many years of his Knighthood.
And it made Plo happy to know that Kit remembered much more than most would when Plo ended up rambling on. Perhaps it was just that Kit had a sharp memory or that he did the same with all of his friends, but still… it was a special feeling.
Perhaps, one day, when Plo gathered the courage, things would change.
But for now, this close friendship they had was enough.
I started this a while ago and thought that it was good but needed an ending and then I forgot about it. But now it's back and I'm avoiding my classwork as usual
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars (Prequel Trilogy), Star Wars Legends
Rating: Gen/K
Summery: It was a skill he picked up from his Master, but with so may of them around, he never quite had the time to ever get rusty.
Faerie AU
AO3
More Faerie AU for ya'll
Shatterpoints weren’t the only things that Mace Windu could see.
He saw the thorns and smelt the depths of the sea when Cin Drallig walked past, saw the true nature of the fur that one of the healers kept under their Robes, saw how Voolvif Monn's eyes were sometimes too amber during certain nights, heard the chattering whispers and soft giggles that others didn't, the hidden pathways stowed away in dark corners…
No, Mace was well acquainted with the world that was hidden, even from the Jedi.
His Master, T’ra Saa, while technically a Neti, had the blood of the Wood Evma and Druad in her veins— or, the equivalent, at least— and while under her teaching, he found himself constantly interacting with “The Other Side”.
His Master was a Healer, and so he had ended up picking up some things from her.
It was Caleb’s voice that drew Mace out of his thoughts, working simply on paperwork for the Order— as usual, it seemed. There seemed to be more and more paperwork with the passing weeks.
“— I’ll go get my Grandmaster! Hold on just one second, please!”
“Don’t worry, and no need to run, I’m not in any rush.”
Ah, that was Tholme then.
Hm. He knew the fox-spirit was on Coruscant, though he had assumed he was looking into the underground again.
Ah, but then again… he had lost an eye and a leg to Dooku, yes, it made sense that the other Jedi was here.
Caleb poked his head into Mace’s in-quarters office.
“Master! Master Tholme is here for his medicine,” the Padawan said, grinning and Mace had to smile. The child was like Depa— very enthusiastic to learn about his and his Master’s hidden trade. And it certainly helped that the Gardens and even the Room of a Thousand Fountains had all sorts of exotic plant life that couldn’t be found anywhere else.
Sighing, Mace stood but gently ruffled Caleb’s hair as he moved over to the chest of drawers across the room against the wall. Despite the supernatural perks of living for as long as Tholme had, it simply made sense that he was suffering from of aches and pains.
“You know, you could’ve gone to Master Healer Che for this,” Mace said as he walked out from his office, seeing the older man sitting on the sofa. Though ‘man’ was really just a relative term at this point.
Tholme worse a human face and emulated humans, but a single glance in his remaining eye reminded Mace of the difference between him and the other Jedi.
Fading sparks of blue flame reflected on his dark eyes as he stood to greet Mace, smiling.
“I could have, certainly,” the other said as he rested his hand on his cane. “But even for a skilled Jedi Healer, it doesn’t do it like a skilled pharmacist who knows the other side can.”
Mace rolled his eyes.
Tholme was quite old— ancient even. It was a feat for a fox to reach a hundred years, and even longer to be the age that Tholme was. Yes, Jedi Master Tholme was not human. There were a good number of Jedi who weren’t, in fact.
Tholme was just one of many, and Caleb wasn’t fully human either.
Though Caleb just had a few drops of the blood, according to the Merihán Jedi Healer, Nix Mora.
( But apparently, even as a healer, Mora’s talents in remedy and medicine making were less than desirable. T’ra had lamented that instead of a cure for sleepless nights, the Merihán had created an insanely powerful sleep potion that lasted for a week.)
Still, Mace handed over the small package to the other Jedi, who took it gratefully.
“Thuja leaves boiled down and crushed into a salve,” Mace said, “And Nettle and Silph leaves and flowers to make into a tea. Apply the salve to where your muscles are aching or in pain and the tea should soothe your back.”
Tholme smiled again, bowing and if Mace looked closely at his shadow he could see it shift and shadowy tails moving and swaying.
“As diligent as ever, I thank you, Mace,” the other man said as he straightened up, tucking the small package into his robe sleeve.
Mace just hummed in response. “Think nothing of it. You brought twice the payment last time.”
The other just laughed a bit, patting Caleb’s head as the Padawan grinned. Tholme had brought back a good number of rare plant clippings for Mace to use about a month ago, and that was enough for him. He never charged much, but he knew that the Fair often lived within contracts, boons, and other things of the like.
Most did not simply like doing things or having things done to them without equal payment.
This was something that Mace knew well, as Tholme left and Caleb leaned back on his heels, arms behind his head.
There was silence before Mace blinked.
“Don’t you have a class with Drallig, right now?” he asked and Caleb just grinned.
“Master Drallig apparently ran out of the insomnia remedy a few nights ago and forgot to come and get some more ingredients, naturally. Bene told us that she found him asleep at his desk and he’s not waking up.”
Ah. Of course he did.
Mace just sighed, shaking his head but patting Caleb nonetheless. The Battlemaster tended to forget about coming by to get a restock on Valer Root and dried Scutellaria and Cypri flowers. Which led to him being awake for days on end when Shaak Ti and Saesee Tiin were off-planet.
Mace did not envy the man for his bloodline, not with the whispers and shrieks of dying spirits echoing in his head often enough. No, Cin Drallig’s Faerie Blood was considered a curse to him, despite the incredible prowess and hidden trump cards it had also given him.
“Very well,” the Head of the Order said, crossing his arms. “Since you have time, you might as well learn a few things, hm?”
“Yeah!” Caleb cheered, following after Mace as he walked back to his office.
It never hurt to have cold and fever remedies on hand for the young spritelings, as his Master had called the young Fair Folk in the Temple.
Especially since that season was coming up and he knew for a fact that Scout— Padawan Enwandung-Esterhazy— always ended up catching some sort of cold.
So yes
Tholme is a fox spirit in human form. I based him off of a Kitsune, but I personally don't see Tholme as being Asiatic, more of North American indigenous. So for now, I don't have a name for what Tholme is, just that he's a fox spirit. Foxes are known for being sly, cunning, smart, and quick-witted. As Tholme is a shadow, I thought it would fit
Similarly, I do not have a specific type of Fair Folk or spirit that Cin is, just that he is one or at least has a lot of blood from one, same with Scout.
T'ra is my SW equivalent to a Wood Nymph/Dryad which, in this AU at least, are common among Neti. Neti are not Dryads or Wood Nymphs, but often mingle with them resulting in many half or full-blooded children.
Nix Mora is an OC healer who is the equivalent of a Selkie
Thuja is arborvitae leaves, with Silph being rosinweed
Valer Root and Scutellaria and Cypri flowers are valerian root, skullcap flowers, and lady's slipper flowers respectively.
Fandom(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Star Wars (Prequel Trilogy), Star Wars Legends
Rating: T (swearing, injury)
Summery: Plo Koon had hidden a… problem he sustained on Kohrm from the others. Unfortunately, it had to do with his mask. Fortunately, Kit Fisto is there.
AO3
This is for you @nibeul and Tumblr Anon!
Kit Fisto knew things, as surprising as it seemed to some people. He was not stupid, and it still made him roll his eyes sometimes when people were that startled when he exercised his “smarts”.
He had no need to constantly show off his intellect— Vokara Che and Micah Giiett had been the visible geniuses of their Creche group. He, Saldith, and Shaak Ti preferred to not show their full hands… and Qui-Gon had been… Qui-Gon.
So yeah, Kit Fisto wasn’t an idiot. He had been one of the Order’s political liaisons with Adi Gallia before the war and had taken time to study Healing with Vokara under the former Head Healer and former Head Mind-Healer Qin Koh and Nix Mora respectively. He had bothered the Archival Branch of Jedi enough as a child that Madame Jocasta Nu still kept him in her sights just so that he didn’t bother the other staff.
And he was observant. He had become observant.
Kit had known Plo Koon long enough and been close with him long enough that he had taken time to research, memorize, and recognize the signs of oxygen poisoning.
He had known the Kel Dor and rescued too many overly ambitious divers to know that oxygen poisoning in Kel Dor looked eerily similar to what happened with malfunctioning scuba gear.
Kit had been keeping a close eye on the other Master and his partner ever since Ventress had forced an avalanche down on their heads but with all that had gone on with Sharp and also the final battle with Ventress (Commander Wolffe lost his godsdamned eye, that witch).
And it was only once they were safely aboard The Renascence did Kit snap back to attention and return to keeping an eye on Plo.
The Kel Dor didn’t seem to notice that Kit was observing him as he talked to some of the other Clones who had stayed above.
A bit twitchy, but that could just but the remaining adrenaline from a fight.
The same with his fatigue that Kit could pick up that was coming off of him.
But Kit knew better than to just write those points off. Better to be paranoid and it turns out that his partner was just mildly inconvenienced by his age than to be careless and learn that it really was oxygen poisoning.
As Kit removed his goggles that kept his eyes from drying out in the harsh cold, he slowly extended his senses, his tresses twitching, searching for signs of discomfort.
The only problem was that Plo’s arm was also broken, and like himself, the Kel Dor was likely sore from both the avalanche and those worms they used as transport.
He picked up discomfort, but from what?
No, he’d have to watch when Plo decided to move. If he was off-balance, if he was dizzy, then Kit would act.
He knew that the boys were setting up a barrier field and filter to replicate an anti-ox chamber for Plo since The Renaissance didn’t have one— it was Kit’s flagship, after all, one that was equipped for Nautolans but not for Kel Dor— but it would be a while before that was situated.
Well, at least it meant that Kit could get away with fretting over the older Master without Monnk and Flit glaring at him for neglecting his own injuries.
Still, Kit’s eyes flickered back to Plo as the other Jedi finished up his conversation with two of his Sergeants.
A wave of dismissal or farewell followed, and Kit easily slipped out of his jacket as Plo began to leave the command bridge.
Kit followed, and he knew that there was something wrong immediately. Hells, he didn’t even have to wait for Plo to sway or start to use the wall as support.
Because Plo always stopped when he knew Kit was following him, when Shaak Ti was, when Mace, when Eeth, when Saesee, when Commander Wolffe, when Boost, Sinker, Comet, when anyone was following him. Because Plo Koon liked to walk next to them. Liked to have a discussion when walking.
But Plo hadn't even glanced back when Kit followed him through.
And then Plo staggered.
But Kit was at his side almost instantly, catching the smaller Jedi as he pitched sideways. A garbled grunt that sounded somewhere between ‘What?’ and ‘Kit?’ escaped the Kel Dor but Kit ignored it.
“I knew this was bound to happen.”
Kit’s quarters- their quarters, really- weren’t close, but they sure were a hell of a lot closer than the Medbay.
It was probably the fastest that Kit had moved outside of battle in a long time, with Plo half stumbling along next to him and half being carried.
Oxygen breathers could become poisoned by it as well, their bodies could only handle so much of it in their body. Kel Dor could handle remarkably less. Only a tiny fracture of what the sandscorpion on Tatooine could— and they could last for four standard days without it.
But no matter the air that was breathed in, Kit knew one thing was the same for all sentients when it came to Oxygen Poisoning: Oxygen toxicity was only manageable by reducing the exposure to the increased oxygen levels.
Kit set Plo down on the Bunk, murmuring a soft ‘hold on for just a little bit longer' before moving to look for something, anything to ease the Oxygen Poisoning.
He was certain he kept Oxygen absorption patches around because of this— because, while he was incredibly smart and quick-witted, his partner was extremely stupid.
Kit was a Jedi, yes. He knew that Jedi were, in a sense, for the greater good and for citizens and innocents, for the Light Side of the Force, but the lack of self-preservation—!
Granted he couldn’t really speak, but it always made him a bit huffy and worried when Plo came back with various injuries that could have been avoided. Something he knew that also happened in the vice-versa with him.
It took Kit a moment to remember to call the 104th Medic on board, but as soon as he did, he had found the patches.
Plo had already started with a hacking cough by the time Kit made his way back to the Kel Dor, but he didn’t waste any time, propping the other up against his side and carefully inspecting the mask.
There— it was a small crack, enough to blend in with the scratches from the mission, but enough that oxygen had been leaking in since, well, Kit wasn’t sure for how long. But judging by how deep that cough was, it had been a while.
He sealed the crack with a patch, making sure the adhesive was fully sealed and that it covered the entire crack.
Even with the patch, though, what Plo needed was a nebulizer— though at this point, the medicine within one might be enough to soothe the raw pain from coughing and choking. A ventilator would be stronger, but Plo could clearly breathe still. He was just being poisoned slowly and—
Kit shook himself out of his thoughts when Plo jerked a bit, coughing lowly.
“Kit?”
It came out as more of a wheeze if anything, but Kit reached over, taking the Kel Dor’s still gloved hand and squeezing.
“I got you, Plo. Sinker and Ember will be here soon enough, and the boys are setting up a field for you to decompress in… a crack like that won’t keep you down, yeah?”
A wheezing chuckle came from Plo as he shifted, resting his head against Kit’s chest.
“Yes… you are… right…” he murmured, and Kit squeezed his hand again.
It was going to be fine.
Kit was more than he appeared to be, he knew healing to an extent and he had caught it in time. Plo would be okay.
Because Kit wasn’t an idiot and knew what to look for, because Plo was resilient, because Sinker and Ember were on their way.
Plo would be okay.
I knocked this out faster than I thought I would lol
Anyways, from what I gathered, Kit doesn't have a named Flagship so, here's the Renaissance. Aka the peak of artistic beauty— //smacked. Ahem. Anyways.
If you've been following me for a bit, you know that Ember is one of the 104th's medics, the other (head) medic being Ghost. Apparently, Sinker also has medic experience, but I don't remember seeing it in-show. Oh well. Flit showed up briefly in another fic I did and is Kit's battalion medic.
