Mar 23, 2020
in reference to my previous anon, here’s a little flash sheet on the jedi general and commander nyx. hehe.
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Sweden
seen from Brazil
seen from Croatia
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Croatia
in reference to my previous anon, here’s a little flash sheet on the jedi general and commander nyx. hehe.
i drew a nsfw piece for nyx & his jedi general... click the link to see the full piece ft. facesitting.
How did Reader react to her lightsaber tattooed on Nyx' arm? Did she know? Or was he one day like "oh hey we have received some orders from the council and need to go back to fucking felucia - oh and by the way I got your lightsaber tattooed"?
Your facade of calm slips as you exit the Council debriefing the very moment you exit the threshold of the Temple.
Irritation is what bubbles up in your chest, and you can’t help but bounce your knee in the speeder ride back to the Garrison. Sunset be damned, you’re tired -- of this war, of the Council, of Felucia. Telling the boys you’ll be going back in three weeks time won’t settle well.
You dig your personal communicator from your robes and light up Nyx’s personal comm channel.
[ Done with drills? ]
His response is nearly immediate.
[ Eating now. Everything ok? ]
You tuck the communicator back into your pocket, thanking the driver when you arrive at the back hangar of the Garrison. You still get a bit nervous about sharing personal sentiments towards the Order and the War with Nyx over comm-lines; the Commander, however, has no problem doing so.
He knows your silence means you must be coming back -- as if your room in the Temple is no longer your home.
Ru is busy with classes, attending her evening civics class taught by a certain Ahsoka Tano. She’ll be on her own for the night, given some down time from the drills and practice you and her had been working on for majority of the day -- until Master Windu had hailed you for a debrief on the next stage of the war about mid-afternoon.
Your boots hit the tarmac and you relax a bit, making your way up to the mess hall. Sure enough, the entirety of Talon Squadron has occupied a back table. They’re chatting animatedly, but Nyx’s eyes are readily on you. He’d been watching the door, waiting for you to duck in.
His face lights up a bit.
Immediately, you note he’s wearing short sleeve blacks. His brothers around him are donning their long-sleeves, and Nyx’s bare arms stand-out; littered with tattoos, he often kept them covered, but...
It seems he has a new addition.
There’s a square patch of gauze taped to his left bicep.
You squint, a little amused at the Commander’s habit for ink, as you near the table. You rap your knuckles on the laminate and the boys croon a wave of greeting your way. You tap Lucky’s shoulder as you point Nyx’s way.
“We’ve got orders.”
Nyx notes your tone. He forks his protein and makes a face.
“Don’t tell me it’s Felucia,” Grim whines from the end of the mess hall table.
“Oh, Grim... how’d you know?”
Groans fill the table. Smokeshow drops his head beside his meal tray with a disparaged thunk. You watch Hauler press both palms to his eyes and Shade shake his head as he angrily forks his dinner into his mouth.
“Yeah,” you mumble, “I feel the same way. You gotta minute, Nyx?”
The Commander nods, finishing up his meal as he stands and ditches the tray in the compactor bin beside him. He pats Fennec’s shoulders and the Lieutenant nods -- he’s in charge. No words are needed.
Nyx catches up to you as you move into the hallway.
“Felucia?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, eyeing the ground, “Eastern front. They’re dropping us at the end of the line. We’re gonna be running aid-based missions.”
Nyx’s brows furrow. “You’re kidding.”
A sigh. “We’ve destroyed farms that have been in generations when pushing back the Seps. People are starving -- and we’re going to be leading the rebuild.”
Nyx nods slowly as he walks in pace with you. “You don’t seem pleased.”
You snort. “I hate that planet. You know that.”
“Mm,” he follows you into the lift, watching you punch the floor that his quarters reside, “Is there something else, though? You’re... you’re doing the thing.”
Your wet your lips as you smile, turning to eye the Commander. “... What thing?”
He moves, as if he’s going to point out some sort of tightened muscle on your face. But, instead, he tweaks your nose fast enough to wring a surprised laugh out of you as you swat away his hand. Nyx grins, chuckling warmly as you shake your head.
“Everything’ll be fine. We’ve been to Felucia twice now. Three times the charm.”
“Speaking of,” you pry, brow raised, “Did you finally get that acklay you haven’t shut up about?”
You prod at his arm, the one with the bandage, with a skeptical look. Nyx had a love for predators -- the nexu cat on his ribs and the condor dragon along his throat were proof -- and he’d been adamant about getting an acklay after the squadron had survived an alpha male’s attack on their first deployment.
Nyx grins, shakes his head, and moves to pull away the bandage.
“No, no,” he nudges you with his elbow, “Better.”
Your eyes widen when you spy a familiar hilt, outlined neatly along the muscle there. You mouth falls open as you pull at his arm, moving to stand in front of him as you admire the replica of your saber. You swat at his ribs, shocked and endeared, as Nyx chuckles.
“Stop it.”
“Do you like it?”
“That’s mine -- you...” your lips quirk, eyes roaming his content expression, “You are the worst.”
“I like it.”
The elevator dings for his floor. Before the doors open, you steal a kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough.
ok but u KNOW nyx would be drooling over the general in that dress hot damn
“You look breathtaking.”
Oh, he’s laying it on thick.
You laugh, putting your earrings in as the Commander watches from his perch on the edge of your bed. You lean in the mirror of the small refresher, smoothing out the pleats of the long, glimmering black sleeves.
“You’re sure it’s not too much?”
Nyx snorts. He stands, wanders over, and towers behind you. Tattooed knuckles come to sweep the curve of your shoulders. Brown eyes trace your features, trying to memorize this rare look.
(You and Ru had been invited by the Senator of Felucia to a gala celebrating the latest successes in the war campaign -- namely the leadership of the Jedi/Commander duo of yourself and Nyx. The Senator was thankful for both of your recent efforts towards aiding the rebuilding of farms destroyed in the latest push East of the capital.)
“No,” he shakes his head, “You’re perfect.”
“Quit staring,” you mumble sheepishly, “And finish getting ready -- you can’t duck out this. They’re quite literally honoring you.”
Nyx pulls a frown. The Commander leans, then, and places a quick series of kisses to the slope of your cheek. He doesn’t move, though, and loops his arms around your waist as he tucks his mouth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He plants a smile laden kiss there and laughs when you squirm.
“Nyx --”
“I know, I know,” a wink as he pulls away, “After.”
You swat at his arm, awe smeared across your lips. “Jerk.”
“A jerk who shined his armor just for this thing.”
“Well hurry up and put it on,” you flick the lights off to the refresher as the Commander bends to pull his long sleeve blacks over his tattooed arms and shoulders. You stare, greedily, as you speak, “Because I know Ru is going to want this to be cut short.”
“Me too,” mutters Nyx, “Rubbing shoulders with politicians? No thanks.”
“They might give you a medal,” you croon, leaning on the dresser and watching him work on the pieces of his newly cleaned armor, “Wouldn’t that be something?”
He snorts. “Fuck a medal.”
You hum. “I’ll take a week of leave instead of medal, just putting that out there.”
“I’ll make sure to tell the Senator that, love.”
a jedi and her padawan.
broken orders | chapter 12
a/n: i needed to wrap up this cliff-hanger plot line!
You wake up, submerged and confused.
You push yourself, bleary and sluggish, to the top of the bacta tank and weakly claw the respirator off your mouth in a wave of air bubbles. Beneath you, the machines hooked to your tank and to the IV nestled deep in your arm go off, filling your ears with a muffled beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep --
The humid air of the Felucia medical tent hits your face as you take a deep breath and cling to the side of the bacta tank, bathed in light blue light.
You’re alive, but you barely feel like it.
It’s another four hours before the let you out of the tank -- and even then, they’re pumping your IV with a tranquilizer and wheeling you back into the makeshift operating room, citing a need to finalize the stitching of the new flesh that had grown back in the tank. You’re thankful for the stims as you feel next to nothing but exhaustion; you don’t dare look down at the bare expanse of your stomach, fearful of the injury that has everyone but the medical droids recoiling.
You wake up to the sight of a woven roof, the warm weight of hand in yours, and sick with worry that is not your own.
You realize it’s no doubt the fault of the man beside your bed.
Nyx is asleep.
He’s leaned back in his chair, chin tucked down into his armor -- his boots are outstretched, perched on the edge of your cot and one hand remains tucked across his chest, while the other... is in your hand. Clutching you.
You inhale, shift, and wipe at the sleep in your eyes.
The clone commander to your left startles awake then, legs falling and eyes shooting open -- instantly, he’s worrying, both hands slipping to hold your arm.
“Careful --”
“I know,” you whisper hoarsely, “I know, Nyx, I’m okay.”
His shoulders relax after a moment, honey brown eyes roaming your face for a single breath before you swear his eyes well-up -- the clone pushed his hand through his helmet hair before you can confirm, and nods as his voice shatters
“I... I was scared.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, squeezing his hand, “I’m okay, I am.”
“Shh,” he coos, leaning to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, “Don’t apologize.”
“You look like hell,” you say, “You’ve been worrying.”
A small smile, tired and slow. “I couldn’t help it.”
You crack a smile, resting your head back against the pillow. You’re sore -- there’s a tight bandage around your middle, and underneath it you can feel the cooling prick of bacta. Grim must have been in recently, you reason.
“Where are the others?”
Nyx frowns. “Still on the line. We called the 104th for a medical evac -- General Plo Koon took over for you. Last I heard, they secured the basin and have dug in for the night.”
“Plo’s a good leader,” you sigh, relieved it’s not someone you distrust, “Him and Wolffe will handle things.”
“For now, focus on rest,” Nyx urges, mouth pulled into a straight line as a gloved hand teases into your hairline and soothes the hairs down there, “Okay?”
“Is that an order?” you croak.
Nyx snorts. “Yes, sir, it is.”
He kisses your brow and you begin to drift off to the brush of his thumb across your knuckles, over and over and over again.
You fall asleep, warm and safe.
okay.. but how does nyx react in meeting ru for the first time??
“And who,” the words are broken by a warm laugh, “is this?”
Nyx doesn’t know what he loves more -- you, gentling guiding a young, bright-eyed youngling his way, or the aforementioned bright-eyed youngling’s toothy smile being shot right up at him.
Either way, the usually gruff and rugged clone commander melts at the sight of the child, who seems to stick to your side like glue.
The commander kneels, without prompting, and tucks his helmet beneath his arm as he does so -- his hair is a mess and the light of the training hall make his tattoos stand out as they crawl down his neck, retreating into his blacks. Nyx is the one who juts a hand out, formality forgone for a friendly attitude.
“Hi.”
“Nyx,” you says sweetly, “This is Ru’kali. She... is my new Padawan.”
His face falls -- but only to be replaced instantly with awe.
“A Padawan?”
Ru gives an eager nod. She reaches out and shakes the Commander’s hand as he laughs, smile turning to pin you straight in the heart with happiness. He’s proud of you, you can tell -- it’s the glimmer in his eyes that says it. You know him well enough that words aren’t needed.
“You can call me Ru.”
“Ru.” Nyx sounds it out, features set instantly in something fatherly and fond, “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl, you know.”
Ru immediately grows flustered and drops her eyes, toeing the ground and laughing. “Thank you.”
“Ru,” you call softly, hand on her shoulder, “Why don’t you go see what the others are up to, yes? I’m sure Grim has told them all about you already.”
She obeys wordlessly, only giving Nyx a small wave before she turns the corner of the hallway and disappears towards the observation deck where half of the squad is watching the others run drills.
The Commander stands, cocking a hip and swatting at your arm. “When I asked about kids, I didn’t mean now --”
“Shut up,” you croon, laughing and moving to slip into a tight hug. It radiates pride and love and affection and you giggle into Nyx’s neck as he spins you around.
“I’m proud of you,” he says finally, setting you down and planting a sturdy kiss on your head -- there’s weight there, slowing his words down as he speaks them into the crown of your head. He watches you, then, smile like sunshine, “And, you got a cute one.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, laughing a little, “She’s shy.”
“Very shy.”
“But, she’s warming up,” you pat his hand, taking it into your own and giving it a squeeze, “And you laid it on thick.”
An amused shrug. “I can’t help it. I am gonna be her favorite, I’ve already made that my one goal in this life.”
“Oh my goodness.”
Okay you’ve gotta tell me how Grim and our little padawan interact im DYING TO KNOW
“Hi.”
Grim recoils slightly, a minor look of disgust on his mouth, when Ru offers a pastel pink skinned hand forward -- the medic pulls back, face screwing up as honey eyes bounce between the Padawan and the giddy newly appointed Jedi Master.
This is seriously gonna complicate things. Taking a child into battle? That seems... morally ambiguous even for Jedi standard protocol.
“... They gave you a kid?”
“Grim,” you snarl, “Be nice.”
The medic is suddenly pinned under the big baby blues of the Padawan -- Ru’s standing there, blue brows screwed up tight as she tries to put together why the clone wouldn’t shake her hand. The shy girl immediately withdraws and... well, Grim feels a little horrible.
Okay, more than a little.
Terrible. He feels awful.
Oh, god, her lip is quivering.
... Is she gonna cry?
Oh, please, no, no no no, don’t cry --
“Uh,” the medic bends down, pulling his helmet off his head and dropping it to the ground as he kneels -- suddenly, her expression becomes less like the waterworks are brewing and more like she’s just made a new friend and... Oh god, she’s adorable, she’s the cutest thing he has ever seen and he is gonna die, “Hi, kid.”
“You have tattoos,” she points to the ones that crawl up her own cheekbones and temples, “Like me?”
The General is beaming. That wise grin -- and Grim can’t help but crack a smile at that. The medic watches as the girl tucks a loose fly-away behind her ear and clasps her hands in front of her, watching him speak.
“Yeah, I guess so. We match, huh?”
Ru smiles, nods, and giggles -- just quiet enough to melt Grim’s entire fucking heart -- and the medic knows that this kid is gonna be the death of the entire squadron.