Hello, Clawen fans! If you haven't seen it already, I'm sure you will be watching Fallen Kingdom soon. And if you're like me, you didn't even get home from the theater before thinking, Oh my God, I so excited for new Clawen fic!
For this reason, I am thinking of running a second round of the Clawen Ficathon! This post is just to gauge interest. If you would be interested in Round Two, comment on this post or drop me an ask or a chat. If several people are interested, we'll iron out the details soon.
Assignments have been sent! If you did not receive an assignment, please let me know as soon as possible; I think at least one of you may have changed URLs since signups. If for any other reason you believe you will be unable to complete your assignment within the time allotted, please let me know as soon as possible so we can find a pinch hitter for your recipient. As a reminder, there is no upper limit, but your stories must be at least 1000 words long. By popular demand, you will have two months to write; stories are due Friday, 14 September 2018. Please do not post them until then.
Response to my query about running a new round has been enthusiastically positive, so OBVS it’s on like Donkey Kong. I will be posting information shortly.
Home (she’s in my blood like fine whiskey) Claire/Owen Rated E
Written for the Clawen Ficathon, gifted to @rebellionsarebuiltonhope, or whatever url they’re going by now. I hope they still see this!
Title: Home (she’s in my blood like fine whiskey)
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4,220ish
Summary: STAR WARS AU. Claire is an Under-Secretary to a Corellian senator and Owen is a security officer who’s finagled his way onto the ship to confront his WIFE just as the ship is attacked. One emergency drop ship and a hike through the jungle on a tropical island on Kattada later, they’re forced to confront their history together and figure out what kind of future they might have.
Feat. Simon Masrani, Blue, and Rexy!
Also, apparently Owen Grady is one hell of a sentimental bastard. Who knew?
Commenor Run
8 ABY
The distant rumble that echoed throughout the Kaytoo II was enough to make Claire Dearing raise her head from the datapad she was holding and frown, ears straining for any further noises that could concern her. They better not have let Senator Masrani fly the ship again, she thought darkly to herself, turning her attention back to the finer points of the gem and alcohol trades. If she had to read one more page of numbers, she was going to need an entire bottle of brandy herself.
Before she had attained her majority, Claire had frequently announced that she was going to travel the galaxy. And why shouldn't she? The daughter of a moderately well-off family in Tyrena- the capital city of Corellia- academically exceptional and extremely ambitious, the galaxy had been at her fingertips.
It still was; not even the war or the fall of the Empire could get in her way.
Still, finding herself hundreds of thousands of light-years away from home as an Under-Secretary to Senator Richella Belami as part of the Corellian delegation, Claire sometimes struggled to remind herself that she was living her dream. Now that the New Republic was becoming more established, more worlds would be sending delegates to the Assembly. Claire would be there and hopefully, she would be able to network herself into a Senatorial run of her own someday.
She was in control of her destiny.
Alarms began going off all over the ship, sending her heart rocketing up into her throat. The Commenor Run had been under New Republic control for a few years now, but that didn't mean there weren't still die-hard Imperialists out there, or opportunists looking to take advantage of the power vacuum during the transition.
Her intercom chimed, Simon Masrani's completely unruffled voice coming over the line: “Never fear, Claire. Commander Gallia has sent one of her best officers to ensure you make it to a life pod before dest-”
The comlink cut off as the Corvette CR90 shuddered from some kind of impact. Claire's mind raced as she absorbed Simon's words. Before what? Destruction? The lights blinked, the cut out entirely save for the alarms.
“Mother of moons,” she ground out, tossing her datapad and several important belongings into a bag and swinging it over her head and onto the opposite shoulder. She couldn't wait to find out what sort of jacked up moof-milker their security service would send to her. First, she had to locate Senator Belami and make sure she made it into an escape pod safely.
Her door chimed once, sparks flying from the interface before the doors slid open to reveal the one man Claire thought she would never see again.
“Lieutenant Grady? They sent you?!?”
Owen Grady wasn't wearing a poncho this time, the Pathfinders' irregular uniform, but he was wearing a much nicer light tan CorSec uniform with green piping that molded to his broad torso. The two holsters that crisscrossed his hips were a familiar sight: one holding a blaster pistol, the other a knife-sheath. Even with his face cast into darkness against the flashing red lights that lined the corridor, she could make out his bemused smile.
“First...it’s Captain Grady now. Second...two years and no sugar. Is that any way to greet your husband, the man who’s going to save your ass for the second time?”
She flushed deeply, hands flying to her backside as if she could protect it from the memory of his hands caressing it. Then his words sank in. “Husband? Just because we pretended to be engaged while undercover, during the war, doesn't mean that- why would you even say something like that?” She babbled nervously.
“Old Artemus Brock was a little too well-meaning after that yarn you spun him about running way to Tralus during an intergalactic war because your parents were trying to get you to marry a damn ekster,” Owen waved his hands mockingly in the air, only for his words to be interrupted as another impact rattled the ship and the Kaytoo II lurched, sending him tumbling into Claire. They sprawled inelegantly onto the floor, sliding until they were stopped by the edge of the bed.
How many times had she dreamed about this- his weight on her in the dark? Rising up onto his forearms, Owen stared down at her, his eyes...assessing? Gazing right into her soul? Over the comms, a ship-wide evacuation order started, breaking their reverie.
“What the hell is that about?”
“Unknown, hostile vessel. It parked itself behind our engines. Turrets can't hit it but it can fire on us.”
“Well then,” Claire panted, trying not to be swamped by panic. “How about less talk about my ass, and more plan about how to get it off this ship?” She snapped.
Owen didn't respond directly to her but instead pressed against his personal comlink in one ear. “Sitrep,” he barked to whoever was on the other end. During the terse conversation, which she could only hear half of, it occurred to Claire that they were still lying on the floor of her temporary quarters, during an evacuation order, like it were the most natural thing in the world. Might as well.
“Kriffing hell!”
And just like that he rolled onto his feet, dragging her along with him out into the corridor along with dozens of panicked passengers. “Senator Belami, I have to-” she tried to protest.
“She's already in a pod with Masrani.”
“Oh, that's good. The last thing I need is to start over again under another Senator.”
Owen turned to shoot an incredulous look down at her, one that bordered on a grin. “D'you know what, Dearing?”
The return of the old nickname spread throughout her insides like a slow, molten heat. “What?”
The doors slid open behind her and, with two hands now on her hips, he backed her into the escape pod. Once again, she allowed that devilish smile of his to distract her.
“I missed you.”
And with that he pounded a fist over the release button, shutting her into the incredibly cramped pod with him. A chirrup-chirrup sounded behind her and Claire sighed.
She should have known.
“Hello, Blue.”
Battle of Tralus
6 ABY
“I am not getting into that rust bucket.” Not was said as emphatically as possible.
Sonic booms tore through the sky, making the air vibrate from the force of tons and tons of broken Imperial Star Destroyers and Strike-class cruisers that were entering the atmosphere. It was dark enough that, if she stared up into the Tralusian night sky, she would see flashes of light from Grunger and Pitta's ongoing battle. The Scum of the Empire could mutually annihilate themselves all they liked, but Claire wished they'd do it somewhere much less inhabited.
Lt. Grady, and she had to remind herself to call him Lieutenant instead of Owen, like she had been simpering on and on during the past few weeks that they'd been pretending to be engaged for the sake of this damn mission...the Lieutenant just stood there next to the small retractable ladder, jaw tight with frustration.
“Dammit, Dearing! If we don't get all those datafiles to the Rebel Alliance, everything we've been doing for the past weeks will be rendered worthless. Now, are you going to get in the fragging fighter or not?”
In the rear of the banged-up A-wing, a small and spherical astromech droid with jagged blue markings down its sides was plugged into the droid socket. It burbled and chirruped at her inquisitively. Claire didn't speak a lick of binary, so she frowned as Owen nodded up at it.
“Too right, Blue. If my partner were knocked out, I'd of course be obligated to stuff said partner into the cockpit myself.”
“There's no way we'd both fit in there- it's way too cramped!” She exclaimed, pointing out the obvious.
Owen glanced up at that very same cockpit and shrugged. “I served in a DP20 gunship, this here cockpit is more spacious than the berth I had back then.” He patted the hull fondly.
She bit her lip, considering her options. Times like this, it really stuck in her craw that she was a Corellian scared of flying. “Hey.” Claire looked back at Owen.
“Do you trust me?” He asked in a carefully measured tone. Completely serious and completely earnest.
To fly us through an atmosphere on fire, to save my life, to believe in me when I say I can manipulate the head of Tralusian InfoSec into giving me access to his computer?
“Yes.”
There it was, wasn't it? The solution to her dilemma placed right in front of her. He was more than just her partner, she trusted him. And for a woman like Claire, trust didn't come easily.
If she trusted him, then she could do this. “Okay,” she murmured, nodding as she stepped up to the A-wing.
“You just had to be wearing that, didn't you?” He jerked his chin in the direction of her dress, a long white number that skimmed her hips and flowed to the ground. It certainly didn't leave much space for her to raise a leg onto the bottom rung of the ladder. “Suppose I'll just have to give you a nice, firm hand.” Owen wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Scoffing, Claire met his eyes, holding them as she reached out to grip the hilt of the knife Owen had strapped to his thigh. He watched in amazement as she bent down and sliced a rough line through the costly material, ripping it all the way up past her knee.
When she slid the knife back into its sheath, inches from his groin, Claire thought she saw his finger twitch against the holster. “Better now?”
“Worse, actually.”
Kattada
8 ABY
It wasn't the sensation of plunging through atmosphere that made Claire feel out of control, it was Owen Grady's arm around her midsection. Because of course they only had time to make it to the tiniest escape pod possible and were now sharing a single seat. Blue had rolled around before finally extending her mechanical arms to brace against the walls of the pod.
The small exhalation of Owen's breath against the back of her neck almost made her forget the very real possibility that they could crash and be splattered across some random jungle on the ground.
“Feels like old times-” he began to chuckle against her ear.
“I want a divorce,” she ground out.
They had definitely landed on an island; problem was, that island appeared to be as isolated and remote as it could possibly get from any major landmass. Owen sighed and shouldered the small pack of their scarce supplies.
“Well, the comm is definitely shot,” Claire announced tersely as she wriggled her way out of the escape pod. Barely minutes in the tropical climate and her skin had taken on a dewy sheen.
“I know, because I told you that already.” Blue released a stream of angry crackles and chirps as her head swiveled back and forth between Owen and Claire so violently Owen worried it'd disconnect from her body. “Blue told us that.”
“I had to check for myself that our situation really was a dire as it seemed.”
“Right, because being stuck on a tropical island with me for a few hours would be the worst thing ever,” he bit out.
Pathetic, Grady. Just pathetic.
“A few hours? I thought too much optimism was foolish, Captain Grady.” She said, reminding him of his words to her during their old mission.
“I saw a small settlement a few hours' hike east of here before we crash-landed. I'm betting on them having a better comms array than our pod. We can get in touch with someone in Haleoda.”
She squinted up at him. “Hike? As in we walk through that-” she pointed at the dense jungle around them. “For hours? In this heat? When it's nearly dark?”
“Yes,” he stretched the word out. “That's pretty much the only way we're going to reach that settlement. Unless you'd like to sit in the escape pod and wait?”
She actually considered it. Owen could've scoffed if his attention weren't laser-focused on the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, leaving it redder than it'd been before. Sod it, you're really in love with her, aren't you?
A loud squak sounded from above. In unison, both their heads jerked up towards the noise. There, darting through the sky, was an enormous bird with a long, narrow head. And a row of sharp teeth.
“A hike through the jungle, it is.” Claire darted ahead of him into the jungle brush.
Owen followed behind at a more laconic pace. Might as well enjoy the sights.
Night had fallen, bringing the temperatures down rapidly, which Claire was grateful for. The humidity had wrecked her hair, making her long, elegant braided bun look frizzy. She shuddered to think how much it would cost to have her lovely dress hydro-treated when they were rescued. Kattada was hardly a rock, but they were as far from civilization as they could get.
Owen had finally relented and decided they would be better off resting until morning. Between him and Blue, they had located a small clearing where they could safely start a small campfire. Dinner on Kattada was actually breakfast for their internal clocks, but all they had were two quick meal-packs. As she sat on a log and watched Owen finish his food, Claire finally had the time and space to process the news he'd given her earlier. So the well-meaning civil servant had taken pity on them and altered their records to show a marriage certificate registered in the system?
She could have laughed at the incredulity of it all if he hadn't been killed during the aerial bombardment of Rellidir. If too many of the buildings that housed the bureaucratic systems on Corellia hadn't sustained damage of their own, making it hard to prove that the certificate was fraudulent.
She was Claire Dearing, cool as a dead star. A harpy, according to some people...usually human males. Yet this one had no problem standing toe to toe with her, never dismissing her ambitions or her abilities. What if, for a moment, she allowed herself to picture a different Claire Dearing, one who could be softer, one who could wake up next to Owen Grady every day. But the memory of every single failed relationship she'd ever had paraded themselves before her, mocking her silly fantasy.
“Did you bring them?” At his questioning eyebrow raise, she clarified: “The divorce datafiles for me to sign?”
Owen harrumped. “Nope.” He'd long since shed his uniform jacket as a concession to the heat, leaving him in his under-shirt, pants, and boots. Making her think of the things she wanted to do to him.
“Right,” she nodded, turning back to the fire. “You wouldn't have had time to grab them before the evacuation order.”
This time he stopped eating and leveled her with a stare. “Nope, because I didn't bargain my way onto the Kaytoo II...” he paused to marvel at the ridiculousness of that name, shaking his head. “I called in a bunch of favors so I could tell you we should just stay married.”
Now she was struck speechless. Claire was aware that she was sitting there on that log with her mouth wide open, but for the life of her, she couldn't seem to form a coherent thought.
Owen pointed at her with his fork. “Now that's new.”
“Why in all the galaxy would we stay married?”
He made a small moue with his mouth. “You and I, we're good together. Might as well keep it going,” he said as if marriage could be boiled down to just that. Now, Claire was well aware that many wartime relationships had come together that simply. She'd seen plenty of them amongst the members of the Rebel Alliance. There certainly were billions of Victory Kids crawling (flying, slithering) around, as it were.
Maybe Claire saw the appeal in that. It was the complete opposite of her usual long list of criteria for judging a potential partner's qualities. She watched him watch her in the flickering flame-light and wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Owen Grady was an excellent judge of character, she had learned that much when they were undercover. But could she have faith in how he saw her?
Gods, her feet throbbed. These shoes were not made for tramping through miles of jungle. Claire broke their staring contest first, squinting into the darkness of the jungle beyond their little camp. “Where's Blue, anyways?”
He didn't push her. “Reconnoitering.” With a sigh he rolled up his finished meal-pack and shoved it into a pocket of his pack with the rest of their trash. Then he rolled his head and stretched his arms above his head, working out the kinks. The action made his under-shirt lift up, exposing the taut skin of his abdomen and the dark, wiry hairs there.
She remembered what they felt like against her cheek.
“Stop it.”
She met his eyes. “Stop what?”
“You know, you're wearing green.” He pointed out, jerking his chin in the direction of her dress. She looked down at it, the emerald green material that fell to her calves.
“So?” She retorted.
“Obtuse doesn't suit you, Dearing. I told you green was my favorite color.”
“It's the most patriotic Corellian color and I am an under-secretary to a senator.”
“You said you rarely ever wore green because, and I quote, “it makes my hair look so garish!””
“And that somehow translates into me wearing it because of you? Let me remind you that I had no clue I would be seeing you on the Kaytootoo T- the Whatever!” She was breathing hard as Owen laughed.
“Doesn't mean you weren't thinking about me. Admit it, you missed me too.”
Owen's face hurt from smiling as he reached into the pack and removed a small bottle. Sauntering over to where Claire sat, he dropped his weight down onto the log next to her, holding out the bottle for her to take.
“Whiskey?”
“Denendre Rye Whiskey,” he corrected. “Because the wine's good...”
“...but the whiskey's better,” Claire finished, a smile of her own tugging her lips upward.
“We really made a mess of it at the end, didn't we?”
It'd been easy to grow something when it was just the two of them on Tralus, working together and having each others' backs. It'd been something else entirely when they'd been back in their stomping grounds on Corellia, clueless how to translate the raw, organic energy of what they had into something that could grow there.
“Yes, we did.”
She took a deep swig from the bottle, holding the heat in her mouth before letting it slide down her throat. Damn, but he loved whiskey. Claire handed the bottle back to him and it was Owen's turn to tip the liquid past his lips. He relished the burn and maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe the food was affecting his blood-sugar levels, but the thought struck him that Claire was like whiskey. Oh, he knew what some people haf said about her- an ice queen, cool as a dead star. He knew she'd heard them say those things, too. But the truth was that she was more like fire to him, and not just because of the hair.
She got in his blood like fine Corellian whiskey, inflaming him. Not entirely smooth, with just enough roughness to excite him, reminding him that he was alive.
“Maybe I couldn't reconcile the way I was with you, with the way I always used to be back home,” she admitted carefully. Owen waited patiently, almost holding his breath. “Maybe I can admit I wear green and think of you.”
Then: “Do you trust me?” Claire looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers.
Do you trust me to try? Do you trust me to have your back when we're surrounded by people who would turn us into the Imps? Do you trust me to not just leave you again?
“Absolutely.”
She took the whiskey bottle from him and set it on the other side of the log. Then she stood in a slow, graceful motion and swung her legs onto either side of his hips, ruching her skirt up and up until it was bunched around her hips. She lowered herself into his lap; he helped steady her progress with his hands. Her thighs were soft. He loved the weight of her on him.
“I could be your home, Claire.” The admission fell into the silence between their bodies, stark and hopeful. And then her lips were on his, answering his confession with one of her own. Claire wasn't good at saying sentimental things outright, he'd noticed. But that was okay, with all the languages in the galaxy, it wouldn't be hard to learn hers.
Owen cupped her face in his hand, using the other to splay against her back, holding her close. Wild, sweeping kisses, the nibble of teeth on his upper lip, and then the slow rock of her hips against his. He let out a deep groan, dropping his hand down to grip one upper thigh beneath her skirt. Arousal was a sharp thing, making his groin clench and his cock harden.
And...and... “Stars, you're so wet,” he gasped against the side of her neck as his fingers slid into her underwear. He got them slick first before slowly pushing them into her. Claire began to move her hips against his hand, using his palm to grind where she needed it most. Her questing hands made their way from his chest and shoulders down to the zipper of his pants.
Once she freed his cock from the confines of his boxers, Owen very nearly thought he was done for.
“Owen, I need you,” she moaned restlessly.
“Okay.”
Once he was in her, and their foreheads were pressed together, their hips began a slow, steady rhythm. The pleasure built and built, and Claire's hips snapped against his in tighter and tighter circles until she had the fingers of one hand fisted in his hair and her head thrown back with abandon.
“Owen,” she kept murmuring like a litany. “Owen, Owen...”
He tugged her bodice down to expose a breast, pale pink-tipped.
“Owen..yes!” She hissed as he closed his lips around the nipple and suckled hard.
And then she was gone, and he was gone, too.
They say that Corellians have rocket fuel for blood; Owen thinks that if it were true, then the taste of Claire- just being around her- would make him immolate.
He did so, gladly.
The fire was fading into embers when Claire awoke to find herself tucked into Owen's lap, him with his back to the log they'd just fucked on. The skin of her neck and left breast felt raw from the bristles of his beard but for the first time in years, Claire Dearing felt content. The future was out of control, but...she was with him and they would figure it out together.
A faint noise reached her ears. She blinked rapidly and focused all her attention on the jungle around them. That was definitely some sort of animal growling she was hearing. And...was the ground vibrating?
“Owen!” she whispered harshly, poking him hard in the ribs.
He inhaled and groaned out, “I was already awake!”
Her entire body ached as she clambered to her feet and righted her clothes. Owen did the same, reaching for his discarded holsters. With a moment's consideration, he handed her the blaster pistol and kept the knife for himself. Claire refrained from rolling her eyes and followed him closely as they quietly stepped into the thickness of the trees.
Heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she was sure all animals in the vicinity could hear it, they finally found their way to a small stream. She recognized Blue first, the small droid standing out in the dim light with its mostly white shell. Blue spotted their approach, head swiveling around to whistle and chirp at them excitedly.
That was when Claire spotted the enormous figure rising up behind Blue. From the way he tensed against her hand, Owen had noticed it too. The creature was just about as big as an AT-AT, standing on two hind legs with a long tail, short arms, and scaly skin. Teeth. It had lots of sharp, terrifying-looking teeth. And it was looking down at Owen and her with beady eyes and flaring nostrils.
Blue let out a loud, long chirp.
“Let me guess,” Claire started, “Blue is telling us to run like hell.”
“Actually...she's saying she made a new friend.”
The creature opened its mouth and let out a fearsome roar, so loud it rattled her bones. Another series of beeps and whistles came from Blue.
“And...” Owen paused, still holding the knife out in front of him, “her name is...Rexy.”
I will be posting the masterlist soon. I have received messages saying stories will be posted this evening or sometime this weekend, so don’t fret if you don’t have a story listed on the masterlist.
There are several ways to post your story. You can post your story on any website you like--Tumblr, AO3, Livejournal/Dreamwidth, etc.--you just have to submit it to me in one of the following ways:
Submit the story to the Clawen Ficathon blog using the Submissions box.
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Masterlist coming here in a second. Make way for Clawen stories!
Welcome to the Clawen ficathon challenge! It’s so easy:
1) Sign up with a Clawen prompt.
2) Be assigned another author’s prompt.
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Here is the challenge schedule:
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Signups close: Tuesday, 10 July 2018
Assignments sent: Friday, 13 July 2018
Stories due: Monday, 13 August 2018
This means you will have two weeks to sign up and a month to write your story!
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2) There is no upper limit, but all stories must be at least 1,000 words long.
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All genres are welcome, all ratings are welcome, AUs are welcome. This is not a ficathon for RPF, however, given that the primary ship must be Clawen. We also request that you not write a chapter in an ongoing series of your own; all stories must be standalone pieces.
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When the deadline hits, post your story in your own blog with the tags #clawen ficathon and #your recipient’s URL, AND/OR send a link in a SUBMISSION to this blog. On Monday, 13 August 2018, a masterlist of stories will be posted with a rundown of who wrote for whom.
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