once again it is may the fourth, and as is customary i’ve written a fic—but this one is a bit different. on a few occasions last year i mentioned that i was working on an au where luke and andrie have a child: a daughter they name lani. well, this is the first fruit of that idea! lani’s not much of a character in this story bc she’s a baby, but in the future i hope to explore her journey and personality. for now, you should know that she’s born of andrie’s first pregnancy, about five weeks after her cousin ben solo. (i fudged ben’s birthdate a little here so they could be closer in age.) luke and andrie have stayed on chandrila, close to leia and han, while they consider where to build the new jedi temple. as this fic opens, their research has led them to choose ossus, and they’ve nearly finished preparing to leave. we join them on the day before their departure—check it out below the cut. as always, feel free to reblog and leave comments, and enjoy!
the beauty of their dreams
Hanna City, Chandrila, 5 ABY
He’s talking to the baby when Andrie enters their apartment, and she can’t help but smile. Luke speaks to their four-month-old daughter just as he would anyone else: his voice calm and steady, no high-pitched tones or nonsense babbling.
“When you’re older,” he tells the infant, “your mother and I will teach you the ways of the Force. Maybe by then we’ll have it figured out.” Little Lani gurgles and coos, her blue eyes (nearly the same shade as his) sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun. Luke brushes back her silky red hair and touches those same fingers to her cheek. “But we don’t expect you to be a great Jedi. All we want is for you to be happy, and safe, and loved. Never, ever doubt how much we love you.”
“Wise words, General Skywalker,” Andrie calls to them as she hangs up her cloak. “For once.”
A wave of his affection washes over her, warm and comforting—and tinged with amusement. “I’m not a general anymore, remember?” Luke reminds her. “Just a Jedi.”
“No such thing,” counters Andrie, striding into the sitting room and joining her husband and daughter by the window. “I’ve learned that pretty quickly.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then holds out her arms as Luke passes Lani to her. “Your father acts modest,” she tells the baby now snuggled to her chest, “but then again, all truly great heroes do.”
Luke’s face remains composed, but Andrie catches the pink dusting his face. “And your mother,” he counters with slightly raised eyebrows, “should know.” His words have their intended affect: she’s blushing now too. But she isn’t annoyed. Such moments prove he knows her better than anyone else.
In reply, Lani burbles a tiny giggle, curling her fist. Her parents share delighted smiles, once again in awe that she’s theirs; then they turn their gazes to the window and the bustling skyline of Hanna City beyond it. “Is the ship ready?” Luke wonders.
“Mm-hmm. The final maintenance checks came back clean. We can leave tomorrow.” Shifting Lani’s weight, Andrie’s eyes track an air taxi as it speeds past. “It’s finally happening…I almost can’t believe it.”
Luke’s mechanical hand rests on her mid-back, its presence a grounding. “Are you afraid?”
“Are you?” she immediately returns.
“…Not exactly, no,” he slowly answers. “Concerned, maybe, that Ossus won’t be all that we hope. I’ve considered waiting a bit longer, until we’ve collected more Jedi knowledge, and Lani and Ben are old enough to start training…” He sets his jaw and stands straighter. “But I trust the Force, and this is where it’s leading us. It has to be now.”
“I trust the Force too,” Andrie assures him. “And I trust you. We’ll go to Ossus and build our temple. The rest will follow as it’s meant to.”
Luke laughs softly. “You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Like I said: you do occasionally speak wisdom.” Andrie looks down at her daughter’s crown of red hair, so much like her own, and then at Luke. “No, I’m not afraid,” she declares. “But I am sad to be leaving the rest of our family. Lani won’t see them very much outside of holocalls—at least not until Ben comes to us.”
A frown creases Luke’s brow, the hand on Andrie’s back rubbing small circles. “I know,” he admits. “I miss them already. But Han and Leia understand, Andrie. They have important work of their own. We all have a part to play now.”
She nods, gaze flicking toward the direction of the Solos’ apartment. The warmth of her baby rests like a heated stone against her, this wonderful child, who cannot fathom the extraordinary things she will someday learn…and maybe even do herself. “What will her part be?” Andrie murmurs, patting Lani’s bottom.
“Master Yoda once told me that the Force is always in motion. It can show us the past, the future…or what the future might be, depending on our choices.” Luke regards his wife and child tenderly. “But whoever she becomes, the Force will always be with her.”
“And our love,” Andrie says resolutely. “No one can take that away.” She leans into Luke’s side and he carefully wraps his arm around her and Lani, the infant cooing again at the closeness of her father. The little family bask in that moment, Luke and Andrie all too aware of what was sacrificed to make it possible. And with the rising of the sun tomorrow, they will relinquish the comforts of Chandrila and set off to the wilds of Ossus, there to resurrect the Jedi Order and pass on its lessons to a new generation. One that will include their daughter and nephew—Anakin Skywalker’s grandchildren, the promise he once held born anew.
The responsibility is daunting, but they have the Force. They have each other. They are ready.
“What time did Leia want us for dinner?” Andrie questions, and Luke glances at the wall chrono.
“1900 hours,” he replies after briefly ruminating. “So we have a while yet. I think our little tooka kit—“ He tickles Lani’s chubby foot and grins at her shrill giggle. “Could use a nap.”
“Would you please stop referring to our child as a furry animal?” Andrie groans in mock-exasperation. “I’d expect it from Han, but you…”
If ever she needed proof that the farmboy from Tatooine still lived deep within the Jedi Knight, she finds it in his mischievous blue eyes and lopsided shrug. “You don’t seem to mind all the names we have for each other.”
“That’s different.”
“Not by much.”
With a sigh, Andrie concedes Luke’s point and steps back from the window. “Come on,” she beckons. “Help me put her down and we’ll have some tea.”
Luke follows them to the back bedroom, grateful for the opportunity of a small respite. There won’t be much time for that on Ossus…but then, they knew that going in. He chose to learn the ways of the Force from Obi-wan and Yoda, and Andrie in turn has chosen to learn them from him. It’s been difficult, to put it mildly, especially after Lani’s birth. It’s about to become harder still. But they know in their hearts they’d do it all over again.
“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he admits as he draws up beside Andrie at the door. “Besides you, of course.”
“Funny,” mutters Andrie as she punches the unlock on the keypad (she’s not quite adept enough to do so with the Force yet). “I’ve thought the same thing about you.”
The happiness that radiates from Luke then could outshine the stars. Wordlessly affirming their devotion, he and she carry their treasure to her cradle, secure in knowing that this is not the end of one chapter, but the unblemished beginning of another.
Transandry (transandrie/transandrist, tranandrist/trannandrist/trannandrous, tranandry/trannandry/trandry/trandrous, tranandrous/tranandre/transdrie, trandrie/transdrous/transdry/trandrist/transdrist or trannandre/transandre): an umbrella term for anyone who is a trans man (or any other wergender transness) and/or transmasculine.
While not all transmascs are trans men, some trans wermen don’t identify as transmasc either (or trans masculine-of-center). -Ap
If you were to ask Andrew about what motivates him in life, he would definitely and confidently answer with adventure. The thing is, he’s always had a knack for trying new things and discovering unchartered territories.
However, it still comes as a bit of a surprise that, on one free day off, Andrew finds himself in a Japanese language class that he had booked about a week ago.
reward for @thehumblehumdrum for lost in translation, her andrie fill for rare andrew week
it’s that time again! happy may the fourth to all my lovely followers :3 this year’s offering is a luke and andrie story, set about a year before the events of return of the jedi. if any of you remember my first angsty headcanons post, this is an expansion of the last bullet point. (and as for luke’s hair, it’s not EXACTLY the rotj hairstyle? it’s shorter on the back and sides and the bangs are higher. he let it grow out a bit on dagobah lol.) warning for language and sexual content, minors DNI.
parting is all we know of heaven and all we need to know of hell
Onboard Home One, 3 ABY
The sensations come to her in fragments: the absence of a warm body beside her, the bedside lamp flicked on, the rustling of fabric. Irritation—did he really think he could sneak away while she slept?—melts into glum acceptance. The moment has arrived; in a few short minutes he’ll be leaving her, going back to Dagobah with Artoo. To finish his training. To become, at last, a Jedi Knight.
Andrie pushes herself upright, brushing wavy red-gold hair back from her eyes, and fixes a bleary glare on the room’s other occupant. Luke meets her eyes over his shoulder, frozen in the act of pulling on his pants. The atmosphere is tense. At length he sighs and breaks eye contact, sliding the pants to his waist. “…I was going to wake you,” he offers by way of excuse. “I wouldn’t have just—“
“Really? ‘Cause that’s what it looks like,” Andrie points out. She kicks the sheets aside and scrambles across the mattress and out of bed, watching Luke as he buttons his fly. “Look, I know this is hard for you,” she adds. “For me too. But…stars, you’ve left me to wake up alone so many times. Don’t do it today.”
Turning to face her fully, he reaches out to gently touch her cheek. “You’ve done it to me too,” he half-smiles.
“Luke…”
“I know,” he sighs, rubbing his thumb across her faint freckles. “But I wasn’t going to this time, I swear.”
“I’m not convinced,” Andrie admits, noting with some surprise that he’s using his prosthetic hand. Even weeks later, Luke still seems uncomfortable with its very presence. Last night in bed, he’d almost been ashamed to use it. Her heart ached for him then. Maybe this, in some small way, is progress. At the very least, he doesn’t remove it when she confesses her doubt.
“I deserve that. But I’m glad you’re awake anyway,” he says. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”
Now that gives Andrie pause. What is there left to do? Luke had spent a good part of the previous day packing and ensuring his X-wing was in tip-top shape. He’d sent Artoo off for maintenance as well, and had somehow caught Leia in a rare quiet moment to talk (about what, Andrie hasn’t asked). Very likely he’d meditated too, he often does before a mission. And only when all of this was completed had he joined her for dinner, and then come back to her quarters…no, try as she might, Andrie can’t fathom what might have slipped through the cracks. “I give up. What do you need?” she wonders.
And Luke answers with a very strange question:
“Do you have any scissors?”
—-
They stand in the tiny attached refresher, grouped in front of the sink and its wall-mounted mirror. Though he’d showered earlier, Luke has wet his hair again to make things easier for Andrie; an off-white towel lies draped around his shoulders. Hovering just behind him (they’re nearly the same height—at least that won’t be an obstacle), Andrie fingers a chunk of hair nervously. The scissors are clutched almost painfully in her other hand. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” she inquires.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies calmly.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I cut someone’s hair? Besides my own, I mean.”
“And your hair looks great! I’m not worried.”
Andrie huffs. “Bit biased, aren’t you?”
“I only say what I mean,” Luke reminds her, dimple softly shadowing the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, if I tried to do it myself it would look terrible. All uneven and patchy. I trust you.”
You may come to regret those words, Andrie wants to retort. Instead, she bites her tongue and seizes the hair again. She’ll start at the back—that way, if she fucks up the damage will be easier to hide. Theoretically. Slowly she raises the scissors, blades sliding apart…eyes the piece of hair, gripped tight in her fingers, then slots it between the blades and decisively—
Snip. Andrie brings her hand away, a damp hunk of blonde hair along for the ride. Not nearly as much as she thought she’d cut, thank the maker. This is okay. She can manage as long as she follows this pattern; Luke was fairly vague on the style he wanted, only wishing for his hair to be shorter. “You good?” her lover asks, frowning at her in the mirror.
Lowering her hands, Andrie peeks around and nods reassuringly. “Oh yeah! No problem.” Flicking the hair away onto the floor (a problem for her future self), she draws in a breath and selects the next piece.
And so it continues, the minutes ticking away as she works. Snip, snip, snip, the steady rhythm of her scissors as they bite through Luke’s thick, soft hair. Errant locks drift into the sink basin, or catch in the towel he’s wearing, or glide to the tile floor. Gradually Andrie fashions it into a more…she supposes she’d call it conservative shape, leaving more of his neck bare and without quite as much body. It looks more or less even—should be easier to keep clean and tidy on Dagobah. “…all right,” she finally mutters, the first words either of them have spoken in some time. “That’s done. Turn around and I’ll get the front.”
Luke obeys, glancing quickly into the mirror as he rotates. “Hey, not bad!” he exclaims. “Maybe you should set up a salon in the next base.”
If it’s at all possible, he falls even more in love with her when she rolls her eyes and shushes him. “Quiet, you,” she chides him, adjusting his chin as she inspects his bangs. “Let’s see…”
The front of Luke’s hair takes considerably less time than the back. The pair quickly agree that he should keep his bangs, albeit trimmed slightly higher on his forehead; his sidelocks too are shortened, allowing his ears a bit more breathing room. Carefully removing his hair-covered towel cape, Andrie passes Luke a fresh one to dry off. She rinses her scissors, but can’t be bothered to clean up the remnants of her work just now. Her attention is focused on Luke, on what she’s done to him. He looks…different. Not different like the way his facial scars had changed him—this is something more intangible. It’s as if what remained of his youthfulness and innocence now lies in the sink with his hair. As he studies his reflection, turning his head this way and that, she can’t find a trace of the farmboy from Tatooine. There’s a sternness to his jaw now, a sadness in his eyes. For a brief second, Andrie’s anger flares at what this war—at what Vader has taken from him. From all of them.
And now he’ll be taken from her, by his own choice.
A bubble of relief swells in her chest when Luke doesn’t seem to hate his new hairstyle. “Thank you,” he tells her, squeezing her hand before he exits the refresher. Andrie extinguishes the light as she follows, eyes darting to the foot of her bed. There lies Luke’s flightsuit, neatly folded (more or less) and awaiting its owner. With fluid surety born of years summoned to midnight sorties, he shakes it out, shoves limbs into sleeves and legs, draws the zipper up over his fatigues and snaps the collar shut. Then come the flak vest, the life support pack, the harnesses, the smartly polished boots. His bags are already stowed in the X-wing’s cargo hold—all that remain to be retrieved are his gloves and battered helmet. And once he has those…
They’re sitting on her work table, but Luke makes no move to pick them up. Not yet. Instead, he strides to where Andrie stands. Blue contemplates blue as they face one another. Are they memorizing the sight, to sustain them through their separation? Or perhaps reflecting on how much they’ve changed? The naive kids who found themselves caught in a civil war—where have they gone…and what would they think of the man and woman in this room?
Luke swallows, lips thinning. “Andrie, I…” he begins evenly.
But Andrie halts him: “Don’t.” They’ve said the usual platitudes over and over: come back to me, be brave, I love you. She’s sick of them. She wants something solid. Contact. The distance between them closes rapidly, her hands seizing his biceps and their mouths fusing.
Immediately he relaxes into the kiss, hands splaying on her waist; a tiny whimper escapes him. They accept whatever comfort it gives them, this reprieve from the struggle. Last night wasn’t like this, Andrie thinks. Last night, they’d devoured one another. Clothes were torn off and tossed about the room, bruises blossoming from teeth and too-enthusiastic grips…he fucked her from behind, on her hands and knees, hips bucking like an untamed fathier. They’d fallen asleep soon after, still naked, exhausted and exhilarated. The encounter had been good. Very good.
But that wasn’t all last night had been…some time during those long hours, they awoke and turned toward each other again, desire rekindled. Luke shuddered when Andrie touched him, ghosting over his chest. “Please,” he whispered, every inch of him straining with need. The need for so many things. And Andrie knew she couldn’t give him all of them, but she’d give all she could. “Yes” was both reply and entreaty, her body unfolding for him as he surged tidelike against her. This time had been gentler; they made love without urgency, without greed or lingering fear. This time they lay entwined, fingers caressing and mouths falling open in soft sighs and groans; his strokes were slow and deep, his eyes shining as he gazed down at her. She gazed back, a smile creasing her face as she reached up to touch his. How safe she felt in his arms…the Empire’s might could never harm them here. All they wished for in this moment was release—and it was granted to them. The first round of climaxes had crashed in with loud moans and “yes baby, right there”. The second arrived much more unobtrusively: Andrie gasped and dug her nails into Luke’s back, and Luke uttered a soft broken cry into her neck, collapsing onto her as their chests heaved. “Love you,” he managed, holding her tighter. “Love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she answered, and felt the truth of it in her bones. And wondered how many more times she’d get the opportunity to tell him.
Just as she wonders now if this might be their last kiss. It’s over far too soon, his bottom lip sticking slightly to hers as he pulls away. He gives her a smile that’s meant to hearten her, but really just makes her sadder. “Look after Leia for me,” he beseeches.
How could Andrie refuse? Of all the people Luke’s leaving behind, the princess needs support most of all. “Of course,” she vows. “And I know Artoo will look after you for me.”
“Something like that,” Luke chuckles, though their smiles soon fade. The temperamental astromech is probably waiting in the hangar as they speak, grumbling to himself about what’s taking Luke so long.
There can be no more delay.
He walks slowly to the work table, loops his gloves through his belt and tucks his helmet under his arm. Even with his shortened hair, Luke is still a picture-perfect Rebel pilot, and Andrie can’t help but admire him. He’s so beautiful, and so strong, and she misses him already. There’s nothing more to say, no other final reminders to bestow. They’re equipped as best they can be to face the long months ahead, he in his training and she searching for Han. When their friend has been found, Luke will come back to rescue him. At least that was what he’d promised. She prays he’ll be true to his word.
And that makes her realize there IS one thing she hasn’t yet said to him—the blessing a Jedi most needs to hear.
“Luke.” He turns to her, expectant. Andrie inhales, and with all the sincerity she can muster pronounces: “The Force is with you.” Not “may the Force be with you.” It is. It has to be. For all our sakes.
His eyebrows lift in surprise, questions gathering—the subject of the Force has been a thorny one between them for years. But in the next heartbeat he seems to reconsider. There will be time for that someday…when this is over. “Goodbye, Andrie,” he tells her in a low voice, readjusting the helmet.
Even before she turns away, they both know she won’t come to the hangar with him.
She listens to his footsteps, and to the opening and closing of the automatic door, with a trembling chin and smarting eyes. Stars, how it hurts. There has never been a day it hasn’t pained her to send him off, regardless of the destination. But let him she must, just as she must attend to her own duties. Andrie rubs the tears away and heads back to the refresher. After sweeping up the hair, she aims to shower, dress and secure breakfast; then she’ll check in with Rebel command, and if Leia isn’t among them she’ll locate the princess herself. They’re no closer to finding Han, and Andrie will do whatever she can to assist.
When she and Luke reunite, he’ll be a Jedi. Heaven only knows what Andrie will be—but whatever it is, she’ll continue to serve the Rebellion with courage and devotion, and she’ll cling to the loyalty and love that sustain her.
But, she decides, she won’t be cutting anyone else’s hair.
on the grounds of the reestablished jedi temple on yavin, there is a graveyard (very small during the time we’re discussing) where force users lie in eternal rest. if a jedi wishes to be buried elsewhere, or their remains are not recovered, a cenotaph is placed in their honor. since both luke and andrie become one with the force at their deaths, there are no bodies to bury. therefore, under an old, gigantic massassi tree at the edge of the graveyard, two stones are erected side by side as cenotaphs. they are each about three feet tall, simple, engraved only with luke and andrie’s names, titles, the years of their births and deaths, and the symbol of the resurrected jedi order. neither master would have wanted anything fancier, and frankly it’s not needed. no statues, no long-winded epitaphs recounting their heroic deeds…they’ve passed into legend without those already. that being said, flowers are often left at the base of the stones, along with messages on scraps of flimsi and other offerings, by not just students but visitors from all over the galaxy. for generations, master skywalker and master mykarrah are paid tribute.
but there is one tribute almost no one else knows of: a few nights after andrie’s death, rey goes to the graveyard alone. there, beneath the massassi tree, she buries the japor snippets. unlike the masters’ lightsabers, rey doesn’t feel right keeping such personal objects, even privately. she views this act as the last thing she can do for her teachers and surrogate parents, before truly shouldering the task of leading the order in their stead. she never tells anyone what she’s done, and to this day the japor snippets lie undisturbed, a silent monument to a love that changed the galaxy.
