feeling fancy on a friday night, so have a sneak peek of the next caf embargo chapter:
The longer the silence dragged on the more frozen Kenobi’s expression became. Then suddenly it firmed, the wounded vulnerability getting tucked away like it had never been there at all. Cody had seen him do this dozens of times before; it had never once been turned on him.
He’d meant to be obtuse certainly, to deflect - maybe even to hurt, just a little, to burn Kenobi enough that he’d let go. He hadn’t meant for this.
You couldn’t take back orders once you’d given them, only issue new ones. Alpha-17 had drilled it into them mercilessly, until all of his cadets had learnt that if they wanted to speak when the simulations were on, they had to mean it. Cody had taken the lesson to heart, had lived and breathed it, but had never really appreciated that even regular conversations were their own kind of little warfare, too.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“You can just…go in there? He lets you?” he’d whispered, glancing over his shoulder as they’d headed towards the lift.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Cody had replied, shrugging his shoulders and tucking the robe Kenobi had begged for under one arm. “He knew it would be on our route - it’s efficient.”
If possible Rex’s eyebrows had risen even further.
“And you know where his robes are kept?”
Cody had scoffed. “There’s one cupboard, Rex, where else would they be?”
The day had carried on as normal from there, and they’d never spoken about it again. But the conversation had stuck with Cody. It had been the first implication he’d had that his relationship with Kenobi wasn’t as standard as he’d assumed. He’d even checked in with Alpha-17 about it, but Alpha had just rolled his eyes and said it wasn’t his fault that Kenobi needed mollycoddling, so he’d not thought about it further.
He was certainly reconsidering now.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The derisive huff he expected to hear next to him was absent. There was no dry comment about whether the force had told him that he’d been snoring, no sharp smell of caf from a mug that wasn’t his. There was just the tang of old bacta in his throat and the quiet hum of the bio bed.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and frowned. Cody wasn’t there.
It wasn’t the first time this had ever happened, of course, but the sheer emptiness was new. The air beside his bed was utterly cold, devoid of the force impression he knew almost better than his own.
Cody wasn’t just not there: Cody hadn’t been there for hours. Perhaps not at all.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The squeal of an incoming shell peals overhead.
‘24 yells, throwing himself underneath their meagre cover and trembling as the barrage starts, pock marking the earth around them in great plumes of dirt. In the brief seconds between each impact he can hear ‘38 sobbing over the comms, too frightened to even mute himself. The other three are each screaming something he can’t make out, a mess of overlapping voices and racketing booms.
The desert is a simulation. The live fire is not.
-
OR: Cody has to fight for his place on the command track, and learns more lessons about leading than he bargained for.
Happy Cody Day!!!! I had to get something out for this most special of occasions, to celebrate my main man, my sweet cheese, my sunshine commander. You are the top billed star of my wars <3
just a lil summin summin for wip wednesday to prove that i do still write sometimes
part of in comes the tide
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“It’s alright Cody, you take the bed,” Obi-Wan says, already turning back towards the living area. “I’m sure the couch will be perfectly adequate.”
Cody cranes his neck past Obi-Wan’s stupid head and eyes the sofa’s perfect, artistically sculpted cushions and innovative floating backboard. It probably cost more than Cody did, and for all those credits, there’s not a crumb of proper lumbar support. Obi-Wan will bitch about his back for days.
“You aren’t sleeping on that,” he says.
“I shall lie down on it, in any case,” Obi-Wan retorts, palming open one of the seamless cupboards by the door and making a frustrated noise when it comes up empty.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here’s my piece for the Vode An zine! Excited to finally share this as I have a soft spot for it. Thanks again to @star-wars-lesbian for betaing <3
Summary: After his failed mission to capture Dooku on Florrum, Stone is worrying and Fox is exhausted. They both find ways to help each other.
-
There’s the sound of breaking ceramic across the room, and too late, Fox remembers the whispered conversation he caught between Stone and Thire the last time it had been morning in his office. Something about ‘not enough sleep’, about ‘looking stressed’, about ‘thinking of ways Florrum could have gone differently’. And then later, Thorn had come in under the pretext of dropping off more paperwork and given him an order dressed up as a suggestion. “Stone could really use a debrief on that escort mission, boss” he’d said, and —
Fox looks at where Stone is white-knuckling the countertop and winces.
Whumpuary 2023 Days 1-3. Failed Escape-Concussion-Nightmares
@whumpuary
okay, as a heads-up, I won’t be doing all of the prompts for Whumpuary. I just saw some that I got instant ideas for so I’ll be doing those! But I also have other fics I wanna work on lol
Enjoy!
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His head spun.
Was he spiraling through space? Or had Han been spinning him around until he could hold himself up again?
Chilly smoke wafted before him, and that’s when Luke remembered - Bespin. Han. Leia. Chewie.
Vader.
Luke then felt the familiar weight of his father’s lightsaber in one hand, the other brandishing a soft pipeline towards his black-clothed opponent.
Vader held his own lightsaber before him, head tilted as if reconsidering the young Jedi. Luke set his jaw and yanked the pipeline spewing the carbonite freezing around on Vader, letting the white smog engulf the Dark Lord before tightly gripping his saber and going in for an attack. Vader met his blade with deft precision, and the two exchanged blows.
Luke felt his anger mount as he realized the Sith still only had one hand on his red blade, and seemed to easily bat all of Luke’s advances away like they were nothing more than an irritating fly.
Frustrated, the blonde spun his blue blade and aimed for Vader’s shoulder, preparing to attempt to rain down a flurry of strikes upon the Sith - but Vader caught his saber with his own, and for a moment, the two Force-users were locked in a standoff.
A standoff, Luke uneasily thought, Vader could effortlessly end by strong-arming Luke away.
And yet, the Sith wasn’t doing that.
Luke allowed himself this moment to catch his breath, panting slightly, as he gazed up at Vader through narrowed eyes and his sweat-damp hair. The Dark Lord was once more simply staring at him, like a wolf would a tooka-kit.
And like a wolf, it was too late to notice its pounce.
Vader’s blade suddenly shot upward, sending Luke reeling to regain his balance. But a slash of red imprinted itself into his eyes, a hard, ringing whack cracked across his head, and Luke was sent stumbling backwards, blinking frantically. He no longer had his saber in hand - must’ve dropped it - and he clutched a hand to his head as it spun, and spun.
Then the room, the carbonite freezer, and Vader were twirling round and round, and Luke deliriously thought The room’s spinning! Before he felt his knees give out and he didn’t even feel himself hit the grated floor at his feet.
But he could feel the bed he was lying on.
Luke fisted his hand.
Yep. Soft, plush pillow beneath his head. Warm, comforting blanket overtop of him.
Yet his head still pounded, sending his thoughts into a tizzy every time he tried to think.
Where was he?
He didn’t recognize the room he was in, with transparisteel windows showing the blue-white streaks of hyperspace…but the black, gray, and white interior decor certainly screamed Imperial .
Luke buried his face into his pillow and screamed.
His nightmare hadn’t been a nightmare after all - it was only the beginning.
“That droid is, and always will be, most loyal to the Skywalkers.” he murmured. “He gave me the map as soon as he got word that the First Order was looking for Luke, and since his Jedi and I are old friends, he knew it would be safe with me.” he then frowned.
“Lor San Tekka?” Poe asked, leaning forward. “What is it?”
“Please, call me Tekka,” the man replied. He was still frowning. “And to answer your question, I fear the map is no longer safe with me. The First Order is on its trail, and I fear they may have intercepted my transmission to the Resistance.” Tekka shifted on his seat. “A risky move on my part, I’m afraid, but a necessary one. I sensed the time is coming upon us to call the Jedi back into action.” Poe watched as Tekka rummaged through his clothing and pull out a small, brown drawstring bag. He placed the bag into Poe’s hand, and carefully folded it in, gripping the pilot’s hand tightly.
“Thus will begin to make things right,” Tekka said, staring intently into Poe’s brown eyes. “I have traveled too far, seen too much, to ignore the despair in the galaxy. Without the Jedi, there cannot be balance in the Force.”
