#feejastar

[kara-knight]

I've seen Jedi reciting the Resol'nare plenty of times in fic. What I love in Jedi/Mandalorian relationships though is when the cultural exchange flows both ways. So, where are the Mandalorians reciting the Jedi Code?

There is emotion, yet there is peace.

They could be sitting in meditation with their Jedi partner/s because even if they cannot touch the Force, they've found this quiets their buzzing mind, and it's like their Jedi taught them how to breathe again. (The serene face of their Jedi sitting in the sunshine with their eyes closed, their lashes casting tiny shadows on their cheeks as they reach out to the universe, to the Manda, to the Force? Well, thats not half bad either.)

There is ignorance, yet there is knowledge.

Understanding is entwined with intimacy, and the foundations of your relationship are being built of beskar when you care, when you try to understand what is so fundamental to the world of the person you love. So much of Jedi culture is based on teaching and learning. When you're a Mando who could only guess at what is truth and what is legend about the Order though youve heard a lot of wild tales, every time you're at the Temple its not just your Jedi, its all the knights, masters and right down to the younglings who want to share their knowledge. That's how it begins to feel like home. (And the Jedi library? You've never seen anything that could hold a candle to it.)

There is passion, yet there is serenity.

You never knew Jedi could get angry before you spent any time with them. Just hadn't thought about it. Now you could see it, clear as day. They were shaking with it, silently burning up with it. And yet they did not act. "There's kids in there. They've got ad'ike, younglings!" You gesture sharply towards the warehouse you've been scouting out that should've been abandoned. From your vantage point, through the high windows you can both see heavily armed beings shoving around children. The zoom on your HUD lets you see the tear tracks on their faces. You start forwards, ready to jump off the ledge, jet-pack roaring. "Stop." Bare fingers close around your gloved hand. Fierfek, sometimes you wished they'd wear more armour than one white vambrace swirled with gold like you'd seen on the Temple Guards and its pair, your own bright painted beskar. You take a breath and you can see your Jedi's chest rise and fall in time with it. You could break their grip, their hand, but you won't. Not never. You trust them. They're as angry as you are. You trust them to see what you can't. "Why? What do you think we should do?" "If we go in there 'sabers and blasters blazing, it'll be the kids who'll get hurt. Not us. Not those shabuir'e who are doing this. Those kids." "Ka'ra. Oh Force. You're right." They don't rub it in, just nod grimly. "We do this my way. We do this carefully, and Force willing, everyone goes home tonight." You slide your hand through their loosened fingers to slot them together, to hold them. They lean in and press your foreheads together.

There is chaos, yet there is harmony.

Jedi go through lightsaber katas like they are not only fighting but creating, footsteps soft, barely brushing salle or sparring circle floor. They dance. When they fight, they are a whirlwind of flashing, shrieking plasma. It's blue, it's yellow, it's green, it's purple, it's all so bright, raining down like the long ago monsoons of Mandalore's jungles. It takes a far more skilled warrior to wound not kill in the tulmult of combat as those burning blades find their mark. And you follow them, stepping in where they leave themselves open (they know you'll be there), staying close even as searing light skims over your head (they know you'll be there), walking away from the fight to finish the rescue no matter how much it pains you, letting them dive into the fray alone (because they know you'll be there). (The Ka'ra and the Force shine upon you. You take the kids home together. You all get out.)

There is death, yet there is the Force.

When they watch their Jedi use the Force, it feels like the universe itself is in the room. Their Jedi laughs and tells them that the universe has been here all along. The Force flows through us, the Force protects us, and the Force ties us together. It is part of all of us since before we became us and we will be part of it for always after us. It doesn't end, it doesn't need to begin, it just is. We are the universe, you and me, we are our two peoples whether they fight or die side by side, hand in hand. It is the Temple and it is Manda'yaim. It goes beyond the galaxy and all we know and love, it is all we know and love. We are something and we are everything.

So, what if there are Mandalorians also reciting the Jedi Code? What a beautiful universe we could be creating.

[kara-knight]

WIP @batbetbitbotbut looook im drawing feemor, jaster and tarre from the polyam prompts you send ages ago!!

yes tarre has curly hair mohawk and fee is rocking the undercut. jaster is just having a bad time.

[kara-knight]

Feemor, Jaster and Tarre in the Jedi Temple!

I see so often in Jedi-Mandalorian relationships the Jedi learning and being a part of Mandalorian culture but what about Mandos appreciating their Jedi’s culture? So behold Jaster in comfy tunics hanging out with his partners and the library book next to him!

[kara-knight]

WIP It's-Been-A-While Wednesday

I want to get back into doing more WIP posts as I've got so much that I've been working on , especially in my long fic, that is written but waiting on other bits to be posted as a chapter.

So here, without further ado, assorted snippets including some of my favourite bits, in no particular order:

*

Tarre began to laugh, massive, gasping, body shaking laughs, tears brimming up in their eyes. The sound of it filled the room up and Jaster’s heart too, bouncing off of the walls.

Jaster laughed along with them, both of them chuckling until they were then silently wheezing with breathless, hysterical mirth. In a pragmatic view, both of them were needlessly worrying medics: Tarre clutched their head, face twisted between a grin and a grimace with each outburst, and Jaster’s vision swam concerningly as he was forced to let the back of the bed support his weight.

“We—- we need to figure out—-“ Jaster tried as he and Tarre attempted to sober up staring at the ceiling.

Jaster accidentally caught Tarre’s eye, glancing over to check up on them only to find them looking back and him, and it all began again.

*

The blue light from the datapads deepened the purple under [Jaster's] eyes and the grey cast to his skin. It drew lines between the crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes from smiling and frowning and living. He looked younger though, more lost and tired than he let anyone else see outside his helmet during the day.

He glanced up and blinked at Tarre. His eyes were warm though, deep brown Tarre could sink into in calm moments, when everything else went quiet. Jaster checked his chrono and winced.

Tarre approached, stepping behind him so they could draped their arms around his neck and cuddle close. He wasn’t bothered by the ‘saber they still clung to, gripped in reverse where if ignited it would only be going through their own wrist. Jaster tipped his head back to rest against their stomach and they leant down to brush a kiss to the crown of Jaster’s head then rest their forehead upon it.

*

Xanatos choked on his own gasps for breath. He was frozen here with feet that felt like they were stuck to the floor. Everyone was right, here he was skulking in a hallway thinking about all the ways he could doom them, he was a traitor and Feemor was too trusting and it was only a matter of time before he failed his padawan brother too—

Feemor wasn’t even his padawan brother anymore either, Qui-Gon had seen to that when he repudiated them both. The familiar flare of anger-hatred searing through his veins so strong he couldn’t catch his breath. But it strengthened him, though it was dark and it hurt, because he knew this, it was all he’d been left with after— after everything, even as it couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

He smeared them away with the sleeves of his sleep shirt. They kept coming but he tried even though the action was as useless as he now was. He settled for pressing a hand hard over his mouth to muffle his sobs so he wouldn’t wake anyone up. His shields were an utter mess but he yanked them tighter around him anyway so Fee wouldn’t sense he was upset even unconscious. He didn't need any of them, he was used to being flung between nightmares and insomnia every night by now. 

*

In Jaster’s silence, Feemor sat down on the floor with him and held his arms out welcomingly. Jaster leant back, or more fell into them. With Feemor’s warm body solid behind him, one of Fee’s hands splayed over his stomach, the other curled around his chest, Jaster nearly wanted to cry.

Tarre knelt in front of him, neatly slotting between his and Fee’s outstretched legs. They then tucked their feet to the side beneath themself in a gesture that was so Tarre that Jaster’s heart hurt, before they reached out to cup Jaster’s face. Jaster dropped his own hands away and raised his chin to let them.

*

Feemor’s armour collided with the wall behind him as he let Tarre push him up against it. The impact of it reverberated through his body, taking his breath. He pulled Tarre tighter to him with his hands that were already tangled in their tabards.

He could feel their triumphant grin in the Force as a spark of emotion where he could not see it through their infuriatingly opaque visor. Feemor’s Guard’s Mask wouldn’t show anything either, but his open shields laid his desire bare before Tarre. Tarre’s presence oozed confidence, that same shiny purple-black as their armour, shot through with giddy delight in a wave of sunset orange.

They tilted their head in the exact same way as they would before kissing him deep enough that all he could see was stars, they leant in, Feemor instinctively opened his mouth--- their helmets clacked together. He panted.

*

Feemor rested his head on Tarre’s chest, right over one of their hearts. He could hear both of them beating in rhythm, calm and steady. Tarre wore one of Jaster’s worn out t-shirts; soft under Feemor’s cheek, it smelt of both his partners. He nuzzled into it.

Tarre made an adoring noise and kissed the crown of his head. Jaster hummed, sweeping Feemor’s hair out of the way to tuck his face into Feemor’s shoulder. Loosely curled along Feemor’s back, he was a comforting presence to lean into, as both of them seemed to have the same idea of stroking Feemor’s hair, gentle hands carding through the waves.

[kara-knight]

More FeeJasTar :)

1J for @thechaoticfanartist from this polyam trio art ask game

[kara-knight]

Tumblr is very broken for me currently. So we get fun stuff like posts that will not fucking let me reblog or even save to draft, then i reload it, and now ive reblogged it a metric zillion times apparently. Also my cat is involved here. Deleted most but leaving a moderate 4 identical reblogs as im taking it as the will of the Force, of the Ka’ra themselves, that i not just commit to but double down upon my bit:

So short story longer than necessary, as I am a yapper as always,

✨Trans woman Jaster Mereel✨

No i will not elaborate (yes i fucking will)

[kara-knight]

Drawing the characters again :)))

[kara-knight]

Feeeeemor chapter!!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

---

There was a darkness to the underbelly of Coruscant that too many sentients lived and breathed— one that lingered, unable to be dispelled even in the mid-level reaches that could afford glow-lamps on their streets. The shadows skittered alongside the rats, emboldened by the ever present gaze of blinking neon advertisements, threatened by leftover homely lights bleeding from shuttered windows.

It had a weight to it, pressing down on your chest until every breath was a fight. It crushed its people to uphold the very schemes of greed that cut this planet apart horizontally. Lines were drawn by how far down the sunlight reached, numbered, ordered as thousands of levels of city were stacked haphazardly on top of each other.

Feemor blinked hard and shook himself. He’d splayed his gloved hand out on the gritty wall beside him in a futile attempt to ground himself. The pale grey leatheris contrasted with the stained duracrete framing the high alcove doorway he stood guard within. He brought his hand to his chest, his chest-plate.