This is a segment of a future chapter for my long form fic on Ao3. Read the beginning of it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73954831/chapters/192915106
3 days before Operation Silence - Ziost - New Adasta
The handy thing about Imperials was that you could always trust them to be bigoted. Well… some of them at least. Theron scratched at his collar as he pulled out a lit smokestick from between his lips and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. He took a long look at the cards in front of him and sighed deeply. He threw them face up onto the table, “I fold.”
The Imperial officer at the other end of their dinky, little table laughed. It was a deep throated ugly sound, like a goat getting murdered.
“I knew you’d fold. You had that look in your eyes.”
Theron only shrugged as he took another drag of his smokestick.
The officer eyed him, his flabby round cheeks red from his excessive good humour, in stark contrast to his pale, blue eyes that held nothing but contempt for everything and everyone. He was a hateful little man that only took joy in smoking, drinking and gambling away all his credits and who filled whatever was left of his sad, little life with a burning hatred for the Republic and its tolerance of so-called ‘lesser beings’. In other words he was the very thing Theron despised most. Luckily they didn’t need to be friends for this to work.
The officer, a Lieutenant Brauker as he was called, started shuffling Theron’s credit stacks towards his half of the table. He mumbled his words out through the edge of his mouth that wasn’t filled with cigarettes, “Why do you even want this gig anyways?”
Theron rolled his shoulders back lazily and pretended to think about it, “I’m bored I guess. Heard Nox was testing something out. I wanted to see it for myself.”
“Heh. I wouldn’t get my hopes up. That’s just a rumour. Couldn’t care less about that sort of junk anyway, not when she’s got all those aliens infecting the ship.”
Theron didn’t bother replying to that.
“Well, if you want my post I ain’t gonna stop ya. There’s better things to do with my life than canoodle with Nox’s little freaks. Especially now that I’ve got these new shinies.”
He started rubbing his hands together and counting up his stacks. Theron watched him carefully, waiting to see if there was any hesitation or doubt in the middle aged, blonde man. Brauker only grinned as he pocketed the credits. Smoke from their cigarettes was starting to blanket them in a heavy smog, as dulled music from the cantina beyond the back room started to play. It was a bass heavy song that made the table rattle to its rhythm. Brauker pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and slid it over the desk.
“Here. The official form stating that you, Lieutenant Pyke, will be taking over my post. It’s a little messy but it’s the real deal. Got my signature and everything.”
Theron was careful not to get any stray ash on the form as he picked it up and assessed it. It had caf stains at the bottom left corners and it smelt strongly of grease and smoke, but it seemed legitimate. It also had a plastoid seal at the top corner, an Imperial artifact that was much harder to forge than it looked. There was no way someone like Brauker would bother going through all that effort; it had to be real. He nodded and slipped the sheet into his breast pocket. He needed to get this to an Imperial personnel and resources office as soon as possible if he wanted to board the Doombringer before it took off for Dantooine. Luckily, here on Ziost, there were quite a few of these offices around.
He took one final drag of the cigarette, a bitter thing he’d only accepted from Brauker so as not to raise any suspicions, before crushing it into the ashtray at the centre of the table. “A pleasure doing business with you.” He dashed out the back of the bar into Ziost’s frigid night air before he could hear Brauker’s reply.
a/n: it's finally here. after all the suffering and pain i went through to get this done, i don't want to look or think about it anymore. so i am giving it to you all :) this is supposed to take place Legacy of the Sith, but i kept any references to the storyline vague. also the "Doc" mentioned in this story isn't our good ol' pal Archiban Frodick Kimble, just a random doctor, but you're free to imagine it as him.
pairing: Stasma "Staz" Syr (OC) x Rass Ordo
warning(s): spoilers for Onslaught and Legacy of the Sith. written in present tense if that offends anyone.
[read on ao3]
Stasma shouldn’t be here. She’s been ordered to bedrest for the next two weeks; if Doc catches her now, he’ll probably go through with his promise of posting guards at every point of exit in her room.
Which is why she’d waited until the medbay staff were in between shift changes to do this.
In Stasma’s defense, she hasn’t been outside in days. She needs fresh air, to smell something other than the cloying, sea-salt stench of the kolto clinging to her skin and gurgling in the tanks down the hall. The balcony’s only a few feet away from her bed, behind glass doors that need to be manually opened.
Stasma’s limbs scream as she slowly rises from the bed. She’s wearing a hospital gown—a sleeveless, knee-high white dress underneath a longer translucent gown—that masks all the med patches on her abdomen. A thin bandage is wrapped around her head like a minimalistic tiara.
Her first steps are wobbly, but she quickly gains her stride and makes her way across the room. Sliding open the balcony door, Stasma is greeted by the sounds of Odessen’s fauna, disjointed but melodic all the same: bees buzzing and birds tweeting, shade stalkers growling somewhere deep in the forests from having cornered their next meal. The air is warm and smells vaguely of brine (from the oceans and seas that constitute over half the planet’s surface. Stasma’s never had the opportunity to see these bodies, much less visit one. Maybe when Doc finally releases me, she thinks).
The balcony overlooks rolling, verdant hills stippled with patches of orange, pink, and purple blossoms (candlewicks, centaureas, and donors, Stasma lists off in her head). A shadowy mountain range sits in the distance, the blood-orange sun hovering between the two highest peaks, and the sky is a gradient of pinks: near-white towards the horizon, coral in the middle, and fuchsia at the top. Wispy clouds shift slowly across it.
Leaning against the balcony railing, Stasma closes her eyes and inhales deeply. A gentle breeze tickles her cheeks and ruffles her dark forest-green hair, loose and long, falling to her hips in faint waves. The metal balcony is comfortably warm under her bare feet.
It’s finally over. Stasma can hardly believe it—with the way things were going it seemed like this conflict would never end. But Darth Malgus is dead. Heta Kol and the Hidden Chain have been defeated. The Galactic War continues, but that’s a problem for tomorrow (or whenever she’s cleared for duty). For now, she can rejoice in this victory.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Stasma smiles. “Rass.”
He’s standing in the threshold between her medbay room and the balcony, hand braced on one of the door handles. Beskar’gam nowhere in sight, the Mandalorian is dressed in white and navy green fatigues, his dark hair damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.
Rass smiles awkwardly. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
A beat of silence.
“You, uh,” Rass says, shifting on his feet. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Stasma blinks at him—and then laughs. “Yes, I’m supposed to be in bed. But my injuries have mostly healed, and that room gets stuffy. I needed some fresh air…You won’t tell Doc, right?”
“Your secret is safe with me, Commander.” An emotion flits across Rass’s face then—fear? Worry? Uncertainty?—but it’s gone before Stasma can discern it. “Do you…Can we talk? If you’re feeling up to it, I mean.”
Stasma raises an eyebrow. “Of course.” She gestures for him to join her at the railing. “Is everything alright?”
Rass doesn’t reply until he’s standing beside her. “Yes. I mean, I think. I…” Rass sighs defeatedly, as if this already isn’t going like he’d planned, running a hand through his hair.
In all the time Stasma has known Rass, she’s seen him in various emotional states—exhilirated, upset, furious to the point he didn’t even resemble himself—but never frustrated. To this extent, at least.
“Look,” he continues, turning to face her fully and Stasma mirrors the movement, “I’m not good at this emotional stuff, so just bear with me…please?”
Stasma nods slowly. “Okay…?”
Exhaling deeply, Rass looks away; when he looks back, his eyes are filled with the resoluteness of a soldier marching into a decisive battle. Or a Mandalorian about to talk about “emotional stuff,” Stasma thinks wryly, but sobers once Rass starts speaking again.
“After Layla died, it was…hard,” he says. “I couldn’t get close to people anymore. Whenever I tried, I could only think of all the ways they’d die, all the ways I’d fail to protect them. I guess I was…afraid of having to go through that pain again. So, I put up walls. I kept anyone who was remotely interested in me at arm’s length…And then you came along.” Rass laughs, a humorless sound that’s a mix between fondness and bitterness. Stasma’s pulse quickens. “You were kind and warm and gentle. Not to mention brilliant and tough as cortosis. You saw the worst parts of me and didn’t even flinch.
“I tried so hard to ignore this. You deserved—deserve someone who can give you all of themselves. But after your battle with Malgus…” Trailing off, he takes a moment to gather himself, his following words thick with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you. For those three days you were in a coma, I kept thinking I never told you…” He swallows. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
Rass steps closer, and Stasma has to tilt her head to meet his gaze. His expression is fond.
“I’m in love with you, Staz.”
Her eyes widen, her heart stutters. “Rass…”
“I know,” he says softly. “You’re a Jedi. I’m a Mandalorian. We both have our own codes. I just…needed you to know before I left Odessen. I’ll always be here for you, Staz. Whenever you need me.”
Wait…does he think his feelings are one-sided? Stasma hasn’t always been open with her affection towards him—her position doesn’t allow for that—but she wasn’t that subtle. She can’t help the giggle that spills out at the thought of her Mandalorian’s obliviousness.
Rass steps back, stricken. “What—”
“Oh, you are a nerf-herder.” And before he can reply, Stasma places her hands on his shoulders, pushes herself up on tip-toes, and presses her lips against his.
It’s a quick and chaste kiss, meant more as a gesture of reassurance than an outpouring of love. When she pulls back, Rass is staring down at her, dazed.
“...Can you do that again?” he asks.
Stasma laughs. “Yes. But first—I think it’s my turn.” Cupping his face with her hands, she says: “I love you, too, Rass. I have for a long time.”
Rass blinks at her. “‘A long time?’” he repeats. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She smiles ruefully. “You weren’t ready to hear that. You would’ve run, and I…I wanted you to stay more than I needed you to know how I felt.”
“I won’t run, Staz,” Rass says, placing his hands over hers. “Never again.”
Her smile shifts into something soft. “I know.”
The second kiss is longer, sweeter. Rass’s arms come around Stasma’s waist, pulling her closer, and her hands find their place on his chest. The Mandalorian’s lips are soft—despite the fact that he essentially lives on battlefields in perpetual dehydration—and he tastes like spice and something vaguely alcoholic. Of course, Stasma thinks. He needed some liquid courage.
When they part for air, Rass leans his forehead against hers. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”
Stasma knows the words are Mando’a, but not their meaning. She’ll ask Rass about it later; right now, she wants to relish in yet another victory.
i need to go to the dentist with the amount of cavities i got from writing this shit
The frenzied thoughts began as soon as he came-to; echoes from his Force vision. Screams—the agonizing terror of billions as Darth Sheasea destroyed planet upon planet, the pitiful shrieks of his darling Luz as she scrabbled and clung to gravel, fingers bloodied as villains dragged her away; those he could not, despite his best efforts, banish from the forefront of his conscious mind.
Pressing as the screams were, it was Zallia’s last words from his vision, spoken weak and weary as she stroked his cheek, accepting a fate she did not deserve that haunted him most. He did not throw the knives that severed her vitality from the galaxy, but his choices had twisted the knife and led to her gruesome demise. The anguish of those same choices lingered, a cataclysmic fire smoldering on the edges of his every waking thought.
He would turn to the dark side of the Force. Him! The battle master of the Jedi Order. The man who had not strayed from his master’s teachings one iota, save for one moment of teenaged folly. He needed time to ponder the message of his vision free of distractions. Yet, much as he longed for the blissful simplicity of contemplative silence, there was no rest for him. Not when the object of his conscious and subconscious desires stood just out of arm’s reach, hands on her hips, head tilted to the side, studying him in that astute way of hers that left him feeling exposed.
“Okay, Jedi Master ‘ready for active duty’ Praxis,” Zallia began with a long-suffering sigh as she toggled the last of the ship’s controls to send them into hyperspace toward Mek Sha. “Let’s get you back into kolto. “
Not kolto again! The narrow metal tank, shaped like the casing of a kyber crystal, was unlit, windowless, and wreaked of healing flesh and his blood. The fast working treatment set fire to his tender skin as it healed, making him feel like he laid atop the logs of his funeral pyre; set ablaze and roasted alive. No, there would be no more kolto for him; not without a fight. Perhaps it was his aching wounds, or the mental weight of his unanswered questions, but he gave in to churlishness, and despite his best efforts to fight his foul mood, remained there.
“You’ve helped me enough today. Thank you very much.” He grumbled as he pulled his elbow away from her solicitous hands. “I will manage on my own.”
Morff set his palms on the soft kit leatheris of the pilot’s chair, braced his biceps for the shock of pain from his wounds and pushed up with all his might. He strained and panted, grunted with effort, and yes! He was almost there, somewhere between half-way and three quarters of the way upright, until, as he met Zallia’s eyes with defiant triumph, his shoulder wound gave a violent twinge and he collapsed back into the chair, breathless and defeated.
“Do you want my help now?” Zallia asked with a tight voice that hid none of her alarm. “Because this is getting hard to watch. There’s no shame in needing help when you’re down for the count. It’s been one hell of a day.”
In this ‘one hell of a day’, he’d been dragged across an enemy base whilst almost bleeding to death, had survived an all out separatist air assault that aggravated his worst anxieties about space travel and set him on the volcanic edge of a tidy mental breakdown. To add insult to his already aggravated injuries, there was also their impending partnership with Jonas Balkar to contend with. How he detested that man! If dealing with Balkar wasn’t enough to set his teeth on edge, he’d had a sedative administered by a comically large needle jabbed into his neck, the side effects of which left him with a throbbing headache. A headache that felt like a needle was stabbing itself through his right eyeball and piercing his brain. If the needle had a name, it would undoubtedly be ‘Jonas Balkar’.
Force above! Would he have to endure the rekindling of Zallia and Balkar’s romance again while he suffered in silence? He didn’t know whether he could bear it a second time. Zallia and Balkar’s short-lived “reunion” on Taris had been an excruciating endurance test for his love-lorn soul, an exercise in absolute silent torment. They were nigh inseparable during that mission, with Balkar’s hands and lips roving over Zallia every opportunity he could find while he led her away to empty Rakghoul dens to fornicate amid the gloom and extreme danger. Jonas confided to anyone within earshot the thrill of near death from a potential Rakghoul attack kept things spicy between him and Zallia—Morff hadn’t inquired. Balkar also treated Morff to an hour-long treatise about Zallia’s most desirable physical attributes (most of which Morff was already keenly aware) and a thorough dissertation about Balkar’s most effective seduction techniques—again, Morff hadn’t asked.
Morff volunteered to take on an entire room of Rakghouls by himself to avoid Balkar after that delightful conversation. He told himself it was because he found the behavior and lack of discipline the man exhibited irritating, but in hindsight, knowing his true feelings for Zallia as he did now, it wasn’t the constant smack of their heated kisses and nor Jonas’ ceaseless, muffled moans that drove him to face the Rakghouls head on—it had been envy. Envy of a man who had more charm and confidence in his pinky finger than Morff had in the whole of his person. With his breezy, effortless charisma and blistering good looks, it was little wonder Jonas earned Zallia’s affectionate smiles while Morff earned her scowls and a double dose of sass. Stars, where was his mind? He ought to be thinking about their mission to Mek Sha, the potential destruction of the galaxy, his vision—anything but the woman who stood at his side.
“You okay, pal?” Zallia prompted in a soft voice as she waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention. “You’ve been staring at the light speed toggle for the last five minutes like it insulted your mother. Blood loss can make you loopy. A diagnostic and a stem wouldn’t hurt…”
Morff blinked, startled by her voice and the observations that came with it. A stem would come with yet another needle, and he still hadn’t recovered from the last one. He tore his eyes away from the vibrant sapphire hues of the hyperspace lane, and settled them at last on her.
Zallia’s face, streaked with sweat, dirt, and a trace amount of blood, was as white as the monotone interior of the ship—tight skin, with deep set worry lines and dark circles under the veiled expression in her eyes—she was worried. Ah, she’d pierced his skin with a needle so large it would have deflated an engorged puffer pig and now she had the audacity to be concerned about him? His sullen, nettlesome need to drive her back bubbled up to the surface.
“For which one of us has this been more than one hell of a day? Let’s compare our blaster wounds, shall we? I’m not in the mood for a healthy and safety lecture from the one person on the ship with zero blaster wounds and a flagrant disregard for both health and safety.”
Zallia straightened her spine until it clicked, mouth dropped open and prepared for her verbal assault.
“That’s rich coming from the man who offered himself up as bait to an entire base of blood thirsty separatists. I’m trying to take care of your blaster wounds and you’ve done nothing but bite my head off for the last twenty minutes. What’s gotten into you?”
He shot her a dark look, brows drawn deep, forehead wrinkled, and with an exasperated flourish of his gloved hand, gestured to each of the three scorch marks on his tunic where the blaster bolts had burned their way through linen and flesh.
“Am I allowed ten additional minutes of head biting time on that account, or should I have included a head wound to my injuries to earn it?”
It was a touch melodramatic, but he was proud of himself. It wasn’t often he got the upper hand when they sparred verbally, but given the way she inclined her head and the exasperated eye roll that followed, he could tell he’d won that round. While it was a win, it did little to lift his spirits or quiet his mind. He wanted peace and calm; he wanted to go home to Tython, back to the time before his vision, to the blissful simplicity of ignorance.
“Alright, you made your point. Look, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but I’m not convinced my kark-up is the only thing bothering you. Come on, it’s me, your old pal, Zallia. What’s wrong?”
Morff went still as he returned to the fractured flashes of his vision, lodged in his mind like shrapnel, to the moment in the silo when he’d held Zallia in his arms, his hand covering hers, fingers tracing first the silver promise band around her finger, then, tracing the peak of her belly swollen with their child.
“I…” Morff’s mouth went dry as he fought the story from escaping from his lips and tumbling out into the open. “I saw a vision from the Force that is…concerning …”
Shame coursed through him as he imagined telling her his secret. Would she find kinship with him after he revealed his turn to the dark side, or would she call him a monster and leave him lonely and wanting? His eyes went distant, and reluctance set into his mouth as he struggled to speak. The oppressive silence lingered, interrupted by the heaviness of his labored breathing and the occasional spark from the temperamental life support system.
“Was it about Master Si?” Zallia asked, her kind eyes alight with sympathy as they searched his face. “Are you seeing her death again?”
Death—Morff’s heart took off, racing at the word at a frantic rate until a sharp pain made his shoulder ache. He rubbed involuntarily at the blaster wound that pierced his now pounding heart while his arms tingled with a strange sort of numbness he’d never experienced before. His ears rang with the percussive thud of each explosive blaster round and while he sat in the cockpit with his feet placed firmly on the ground, he felt as though his body was sailing through the air, down into the depths of that never ending stairwell. What in the blazes was happening? The muscles around his chest constricted, squeezing and wrenching the air out of his lungs until he feared he might pass out. He reached out and gripped the armrest of his seat until his knuckles turned white.
No, no, no. This was a mistake. He wasn’t ready to revisit his most painful memories about his master again, and he was in no condition to reveal the truth about his vision to Zallia, not when hearing the word death elicited this type of response.
“I can’t discuss it with you,” He managed with a quaking voice between heaving breaths. “It’s something I must face alone…”
“You don’t have to face it alone.” She said in a calm, steadfast voice. “We can face it, together.”
His eyes shyly met hers, fearful she may have seen his wounds ran much deeper than physical and that he would see her judgment. What use was he as a Jedi to the galaxy if he collapsed at the weight of this, yet another test in a lifetime filled with them? What use was he to her if he couldn’t use his gifts to protect her? Yet despite his fear that she would look at him and find him lacking, there she stood, regarding him with a look so tender he almost laid the entire story at her feet then and there.
Zallia reached out with a gentle hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, stroked the sweat drenched locks of hair away from his forehead with her fingertips. Morff let out a shaky breath in response and, despite the gravity of his woes, surrendered to the moment to lean into the comfort of her touch. Her fingers traced his scalp again and again, in lazy circles. His eyes drifted close, and for the first time since the vision, he felt the sweet comfort of peace.
The tension in his aching muscles melted away with each caress as he gave way to exhaustion. Aching loneliness seeped into the recesses of his heart, painful in the way he longed to confide in her as he had always done. To sort through this mess with his chosen partner, let her tinker with and repair every woe in her wry, good-natured way. Her fingers curled through the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, and his mind drug him to the sun-drenched memory of how she’d done this once before, with her arms wrapped tight around him, and her lips pressed to his.
The hand strayed from his hair, drifted to his cheek and lingered. The need to tell her all of it sprang to the forefront of his mind. About that love-sick twinge she’d spawned in him the instant she’d stuck her glove into his face to rescue him as he dangled precariously from a cliff on Tatooine. To the time they sat side by side in a broken hole of her ship, bodies melded to each other, heedless of personal space. She worked to repair her ship’s navicomputer while he read a bit of ancient Jedi poetry to her until her head touched his shoulder and she drifted into sleep. They stayed in just that pose for hours until his arm had gone well and truly numb because hadn’t wanted to disturb her. He longed to tell her his dream for a life well-lived, no longer included a seat on the Jedi council—he would trade it for a co-pilot seat on any ship she flew.
Then, all at once, his thoughts swerved again toward darkness. A merciless, wild and violent turn, to the last seconds of his vision, to the moment the first vibroknife pierced Zallia’s flesh. The warm moment between them turned cold as Morff pulled his face away from her hand with an abrupt jerk and stood, to put as much distance between them as he could. The side effects of his kolto bath made his pulse race and his stomach turn, but it continued to rejuvenate him beyond the tank. His legs were sturdy enough now to carry his weight without threat of imminent collapse. He pushed past Zallia, away from the close quarters of the cockpit and into the spaciousness of the lounge, not trusting himself to avoid falling under the spell of her touch again.
Until he was certain what message the vision had given, this was not her burden to bear, and his frustration at not being able to trust her with what ailed him boiled over. He did not want this fight, yet, the distraction of it, the challenge she presented as she matched wits with him blow by blow, kept him from descending back toward the bitter path his thoughts forged.
“You deliberately dosed me with a sedative to avoid answering my questions about your unsanctioned foray into my mission—why? What are you hiding from me?”
“Would you give it a rest for one karking minute?” She burst out as she threw her hands up in frustration and followed his path into the lounge. “Sure, I almost got you killed, but I also saved your life. Where’s my thank you? Do you know how many blaster bolts I almost took dragging your Force anointed ass out of that base? Now, instead of gratitude, you won’t stop complaining. But yeah, sure—I’m the bad guy. So you know what? I’m sorry. Are you happy now?”
“Happy?” Morff countered with a sardonic snort. “Your half-hearted attempt at an apology didn’t include an ounce of regret. You’re avoiding the question—like you always do when you’ve chosen to lie. So again, I’m asking you why?”
“Are you sure you’re ready for answers because you don’t seem ready to listen to anything—”
“—You’re using your favorite deflections when I stumble too close to the truth. The conversation steers you towards accountability for your actions, and rather than own your faults—“
“—You are unbelievable! An enraged Wookie has more common sense. I am being the voice of reason for once in my life, and you have turned what should have been a joyful reunion into a Thane/Praxis prize fight. So how’s this for a little accountability since you’re so hellbent on putting my feet to the fire? I went into the base to chase down a few extra credits.”
Morff’s head recoiled, stunned by the admission. At last, they’d gotten to the truth! Zallia stared hard at the floor, humbled, exhausted, and utterly defeated. Somehow, seeing her like this was worse than the inkling of suspicion he was being misled and not for the first time in his life, he wished he hadn’t pulled on this thread.
“Why?” He asked, his voice soft with genuine confusion. “Forgive me for doubting your story, but if you went into the base to pickpocket credits, why the denials and the sedative? It’s no secret to me you’re a gifted thief—you stole my saber from me the night we met.”
Zallia sank into the unforgiving cushions of the nearby chaise lounge with a loud thud and folded her hands primly in her lap, an unusual move, so foreign to her she might have been a character in a scene from a holovid and not the woman of solid flesh and blood and flaws he adored. Odd, why did her actions seem so wooden and performative?
“You almost gave up your saber hilts to buy me a ship—the hilts that belonged to Master Si—your most prized possession. Do you know how humiliating it is to need that kind of hand out? I didn’t want Theron to know about it, so I used helping you with your mission as a cover story. There. You cracked the case and got the truth out of me. Are you satisfied?”
A prickle of suspicion crawled up his spine and lingered at the base of his skull. Everything about her looked miserable and sick to her stomach and yet, he sensed there was a part of the picture he was missing. The confession was perfect; too perfect. Zallia never revealed the truth so quickly, unless the truth she’d revealed was a lie. Morff’s mind latched onto a single detail as he reviewed the confession—she looked at the floor as she said it. Her tell! The one habit in her Sabacc game she’d fought so hard to break and had failed to overcome. The habit Morff used time after time to predict when she was bluffing. Of course! But he had to be sure.
He reached out through the Force bond between them and recognized a familiar recoil, a tension in it he hadn’t sensed since Hutta, where she revealed the truth about her bargains with a local crime boss to save his life in small, measured confessions.
Of course, it was possible the dishonesty he sensed was his own, as he was equally guilty of hiding the truth at the moment. Morff wavered on the precipice of a momentous decision. What if he accused her of lying and was wrong? The state of their friendship was already tenuous at best at the moment. Perhaps she might be more forthcoming with her secrets if he took the risk of sharing his? Of course, he’d nearly fainted during his first attempt and it was also a difficult topic to broach. How did he dive into those dangerous waters? Something like:
‘The Force showed me a vision where we married and had a child together. I also learned I would turn to the dark side…’
Morff virulently pushed the thought aside. With her gift for wit and wordplay, the conversation would delve too far into ‘what types of dreams he was having about her’ and how ‘she’d like to get a look at his dark side’ and he was decidedly not in the mood to defend himself against those types of attacks today.
One task at a time. First, her secrets, which somehow seemed more manageable and less terrifying to him than his own. Then, somehow, some way, he would address his vision in a tactful, delicate admission that didn’t make it sound like the ravings of a madman. Stars, he missed Powin. He’d give anything to parse out the meaning of his vision with his dear friend, but alas, unless he plucked up the courage and the wording to confide in Zallia, he was alone.
“I know you’re hiding something from me,” Morff said slowly. “My thirst for honesty is insatiable. It’ll take more than this meager confession to quench it.”
Zallia slapped her palms against her face and drug her fingers down her cheeks with an exasperated growl.
“—You are driving my insatiable need to drink whiskey. Prax, trust me on this: drop the questions before I say something we’ll both regret. Now, as fun as this has been, I need to get us to Mek Sha before the life support system fails or we won’t have enough oxygen left to argue.”
Regret? Her strange wording, the dark expression as she said it, puzzled him. What could she possibly have to say to him she would regret?
“Fine. I’ll agree to a temporary truce for the sake of requiring oxygen, but mark my words—I’ll have the truth from you, Lia, even if I have to die yet again to get it.”
“Sounds swell. Since we’re marking words—you mark mine. You show me Morff’s soft underbelly for a nanosecond, and then boom, the thick Jedi armor you wear grows back like skin. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice your five star panic attack earlier? Whatever was in this vision is eating at you. But rather than putting on your big boy robes and telling me why it’s worrying you, you’re pushing me away and picking a fight, hoping I won’t notice you’re spooked. So since you’re spoiling for a fight today; put up your dukes, Master Jedi. Now it’s my turn to ask the questions. I’ve screwed up at least twice a week since the day we met and you haven’t blinked an eye. Why is this one screw up so much more important to you than the rest?”
Excellent question, observant in the way it stripped him to the marrow of his bones with a few precise incisions. This was a time to tread lightly; truth in half measures with a large dose of genuine feeling mixed in—a cocktail of lies and truth he’d learned from her. He inhaled, a long slow cleansing breath, his shoulders rising to his ears before they dropped on the exhale, rounded and hunched, wishing he could slink away to hide from this moment.
“This incident on Ord Mantell has left me shaken and fragile in mind and body. What I seek is reassurance. Lia, I gave my life to defend you. Not as a Jedi dying to honor his duty to the code, but as a man who died for…lov…” Morff paused, unable to finish the word as his pulse thudded behind his eyes. “Loyalty for my dearest friend. Why did you really interfere with my mission on Ord Mantell? Am I so disposable to you that you’d risk my life for a handful of credits?”
“How can you say that?!” Zallia demanded, frustration roiling to the surface. “After everything we’ve been through, you think I would trade your life for worthless garbage? You aren’t disposable—you absolute herded nerf—I’m in love with you!”
Rules: Post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.
Thank you so much for the tag 🫶 @serenofroses
Ngl I didn't post right away cuz I wanted to keep working a little more on my fic so the last line I wrote would be better 👉👈 but I've been very tired so I DIDN'T. So I'm gonna cheat anyways and put the FIRST line I wrote for my fic, that way it serves like a little teaser hihi.
It was a calm night in the Old World, on its empty streets, a Chiss woman was walking alone. The air was breezy, yet, she felt like the thousands of lights from the city were warming her up, somehow. She found it curious how the homeworld of such a destructive Empire could feel this peaceful. She began to understand why her friend had exiled himself here..
-Lines from a fic set during KOTFE featuring Rue, my Imperial Agent, who's searching for Kaaydan, my Smuggler, after not seeing each other for years.
No pressure tags: @nekorinnie @izmagicallulu @aeskanera (idk if you write!) @shynmighty and whoever wants to do it!
Not the same that she is accustomed to-- it is not the same, not empty enough, devoid of everything and everything. But it is a hollow point, where rage once simmered, now a gap that she cannot quite comprehend. Whatever the Voss had done, whatever Senya had done, it had worked.
Agonia wishes it hadn't.
He isn't the same white-hot flare of agony that scorches her dead eyes, not the same grip around her throat. When he appears there, at the Zakuulan palace and offers his aid, she thinks she might have come across a very convincing clone. No; it is him, the same strange eyes, the same scars that creep across his face like spiderwebs. Absent, yet, a torrent of darkness that swirls around him like a storm.
Odessen does not accept him. The Alliance follows her word, perhaps hesitantly, but there is no outward rebellion. The whispers begin immediately though-- a fog that overtakes, cascades through underground halls. She knows. She listens. Venom spitting maws that long for the throat, and she wonders which of them will strike first. Even then, could she stop it? Would she?
Ah, her mouth, first.
Only days after, she finds him in a hallway, and it is no coincidence. Flitting in the shadows, watching with ravenous eyes, waiting and waiting. When he's alone, she strikes, shoving him against the wall with a wild gaze that only just begets her gnawing hunger, salivating behind her mask.
"Where is your rage, Arcann? Where is your anger?"
This time, when she looks into his eyes, there is only mild surprise, an eternity of regret, enough sorrow to sate an ocean. A loss of self, the agony it precipitates.
It is what she sees within herself.
"Who are you?" before he can answer, "Who are you now?"
"I am the former Emperor, commander of the Eternal Fleet," he makes no attempt to free himself, to fight back, "I am a murderer--"
"No," there's a desperation that breaks through her voice, her mask, the space between them, "Why won't you fight me? Why won't you try to kill me? Hurt me?!"
"Commander--"
"Who are you?!" with a shriek that echoes through the base. Blood seeps from her nose, touches her lips. The silence that befalls them is heavy, a gravity too formidable for her fragile chest. If he is no longer the monster that echoes in her dreams, than who is he?
Who is she?
"I am Arcann," he says at long last, watching the fury evaporate from her, leaving her desperately cold. Unfathomably vacant.
Agonia releases her grip, backs away from him as if he'd just struck her.
A/N: Laisle wears this outfit in game now as her main outfit with her previous main outfit being used for important meetings and less day to day and combat use. I also have had ideas but no inspiration to write the stories,until this one. I did start writing Rhunuk from Lais’ perspective but I lost inspiration. But here is a fluff prompt with Lais and Theron after the 7.5 update on Hutta. “How long have you been standing there?” “Longer than you’d like.”
Laisle stepped out of the refresher on her Fury Class interceptor starship, she had just returned from a long mission on Hutta. The former Dark lord had lost the Jedi padawan she was trying to help. As the blonde put the towel to her hair, she sensed a familiar presence near her. “How long have you been standing there?” asked Laisle to her lover.
“Longer than you’d like. When did you get back?” Theron questioned.
“Not too long ago, I lost Sa’har Theron.” Lais responded, wrapping the towel around herself while she entered her adjoining room. Laisle grabbed her normal gear that she wore around Odessen, opting to keep her hood and mask off.
“You did everything you could honey.” Theron consoled. Laisle looked at her husband, her blue eyes held all her emotions, anger, sadness, regret, remorse. The former spy was never great with emotions, but the woman he loved was hurting in more ways than she would ever lead on.
“Come on, Lana taught Lea the basics of force shoves and she is excited to show us how much she learned.” Theron said while standing up and extending his hand to his lover. Laisle chuckled upon hearing what her most trusted advisor had taught her daughter.
“Thank you, my love. You know how to help more than you know when I’m this upset. I think I was so frustrated because of how I left my siblings when I was taken to Korriban. Sa’har left her brother the same way I left Skye and Christian, just she was taken by the Jedi. His anger was strong, he blamed her for everything. I think it’s how I thought my family would feel, that they’d blame me for escaping.”
“You will find her, and your siblings don’t blame you, they understand you tried to get to them, but you had to survive yourself. Now let's go watch our oldest show us what she learned.” Theron reminded his wife.
The pair went to the Force Enclave where Lana Beniko and Lea Shan were to watch what the child had learned.
“Mommy! I wanna show you what Auntie Lana taught me!” Lea squealed when she saw her mother. The pink hair falling over the child’s left yellow eye. Laisle and Theron leaned against a wall next to a Chiss Jedi Master who was meditating. The pink haired child had a training dummy in front of her that she was supposed to gently push with the force, so with an audience she used all her might to push as hard as she could. The training dummy moved back a meter from where it had started.
“Great job sweetie!” Theron cheered while Lais threw her fists in the air in excitement.
“Why don’t you go get your sister and pack some bags so you, your sister, mom and I can go on a vacation. I have an idea for a trip all four of us can take, but you and your sister need to get ready, can you do that?” Theron asked.
“I can do it dad!” Lea responded, sprinting out of the Force Enclave giggling to herself.
“Where are we going? I need to pack for us, tell Lana what needs to be done, prpar-” Lais started asking but was cutoff.
“Its somewhere warm, we will be gone for one week, the state of the galaxy is not up to you. You are taking a vacation, your mom, dad, brother and sister are meeting us there, a mysterious benefactor reached out about a new housing opportunity and I took it. Now go pack warm clothes and I will tell Lana how to reach you.” Theron explained while showing his wife to the door.
Laisle walked to hers and Theron’s room where a bag was open on her bed, the man had really thought of everything, Lais thought to herself. She grabbed her more casual clothes, as well as some more formal outfits for both of the adults. Theron planning a family getaway for her was exactly what she needed after her mission not ending how she wanted. Laisle grabbed her favorite swimwear to wear around others, Theron being the only person she felt safe around to show all her scars, both the battle scars and the emotional ones. The final things the blonde grabbed were some towels and the toiletries her immediate family needed.
“You almost done honey?” The girls have their bags packed and I have T7 ready to help us get there. Your Fury is prepared and your dad just said they arrived at the villa. The rooms will be decided when we get there, since the property is in our names of course. We just have to leave.” Theron asked from the doorway.
“Yep, all that's left to say is where we're going.” Lais responded, grabbing the bag before her husband could. Theron led the way to the Fury, where the two kids were.
“Let’s head to Copero for a week to relax.”
“Copero? You? Theron you aren’t allowed to be there after what you did last time.” Laisle responded.
“They forgave me for that. Besides you forgave me, why are they any different?”
“I married you, they had to deal with your most stupid idea. Treason isn’t usually forgiven.” Laisle reminded her husband.
“You’ve been to Copero before mom?” Lea asked
“When I was pregnant with you I went there. Your dad was an idiot around when you were in my belly. I had to stop people from hurting your dad for breaking all their rules.” Laisle explained to the child.
“I hurt people including your mom to protect her, but she didn’t need me to protect her. I’m gonna go tell T7 to take off so we can get there and talk more on the way.” Theron said to end the conversation. As he walked to the bridge, he thought about how much his life had changed in 15 years. He no longer worked for the S.I.S., was married, had a family and had finally started to learn work/life boundaries. He was happy.
A series of messages between Torian Cadera and Corridan Ordo.
Word count: 1408
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: Mand’alor’s summons
What’s happening
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: Mand’alor’s summons
You’ve been out hunting too long. GH finished. Mand’alor’s presenting the champion.
And yeah I figured you wouldn’t know so I went ahead and bought a shuttle ticket for you too. Meet you at the wall tomorrow. 0600, don’t be late
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: Mand’alor’s summons
Appreciate it
~~~~~~
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Oh, buddy.
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Answer me
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
What
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Don’t “what” me I saw how you were looking at her all starry eyed
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
No I wasn’t.
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Sure
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
I wasn’t.
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
Stop ignoring me.
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Sure lover boy what do you want
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
I’m going to leave something nasty in your bedroll
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
Besides, purely hypothetically, it’s not like I’d have a chance
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
You know that
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Sure, hypothetically. whatever helps you sleep at night vod
And don’t be like that you’ve got tons of redeemable qualities. Like your tendency to go on week long hunting trips all by yourself with no notice or warning to your commanding officers
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Oh wait you’re being serious.
Weve talked about this. Your old man’s mistakes aren’t yours. You’re as good and worthy as any of us, so cut the shit.
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
I know, but not everyone believes that
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Fuck em
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
Helpful
Besides I’m sure she already has tons of suitors. Being a single woman of her standing and prestige and all
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
“Standing” this “prestige” that quit beating around the bush you’re not fooling me
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
And I doubt I’d ever get a chance to really talk to her anyways
Statistically speaking
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
Okay I can’t refute that
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
Where’s your next assignment?
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
My unit’s heading for Tatooine. Hopefully not for long
Wish you were here
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: [no subject]
Well I don’t, if youre headed for Tatooine. I’ll be on Dromund Kaas for a bit. Not sure about after. We should try to meet up soon though
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: [no subject]
For sure. K’oyacyi!
~~~~~~
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
She’s here
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
On Dromund Kaas?? Why
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
Hunting some beast. Sent by Mand’alor. She’s in the caves now
Jogo tried to pick a fight, didn’t know who she was. Probably good thing I was here
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Jogo, that skanah. Remind me to put a boot up his shebs the next time I see him
So what you ran to talk to me the second she’s out of sight? I hope you at least tried to talk to her
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
I did, I stopped her from killing Jogo
But in all seriousness she seems very levelheaded and pragmatic. I think she’ll be able to take down whatever’s in that cave
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Look at you singing the champion’s praises
Wish I’d seen the look on Jogo’s face. Moron needs to stop sharpening his knife and tune into the holo
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
Just making an observation
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
I think she’s coming back. People are getting excited
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Well??
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: champion
She got it. No one’s really sure what the beast is, but it’s definitely the one because you can’t hear its heartbeat in the caves anymore
She even managed to put Jogo in his place, which is probably the more impressive achievement between the two
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Oya! That’s impressive. Both with the beast and with Jogo
When do I get to read the poetry I’m sure you’ve already begun to wax in her honor?
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Oh come on I was joking
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: champion
Answer your comm you osik
~~~~~~
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: Current station
Saw you were on Taris, with Commander Fett
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: Current station
Yeah, why
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: Current station
You’ve been acting a little off lately. You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: Current station
No, don’t worry
We’re just here to fight the imps battles for them. As usual
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: Current station
Good. Keep it that way
~~~~~~
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Heard that the imps have started working on something big on Taris. You know anything about that?
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Torian
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Answer my comms you shabuir
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Torian are you getting these? I’m getting worried
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Torian I just talked with Commander Fett. Where the shab are you
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Answer me
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
If you don’t answer me I’m coming to Taris myself and cracking heads until I find you. Answer your fucking comm vod
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
I’m alive. Jicoln is dead
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
WHAT?
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
Went hunting for him. Wouldn’t have been able to take him down without levi though
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
You osi’kovid skanah beskad lo'shebs'ul narit I’ll kill you myself
Who’s Levi
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
Grand champion
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Okay I think you need to explain to me exactly what happened
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
Grand champion came looking to collect on Jicoln’s bounty. Ran into me in the field, we decided to work together
Jicoln challenged Levi to Geroya be Haran so I helped scout out Jicoln’s honors while she gave him the runaround. He got me pretty good near the end but Levi patched me up
I injured him though. Levi was able to track him down after that. Let me have the killing blow. Talked to him a little first
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
Osik, vod. Glad you’re not dead, I ought to thank the champion for that if I ever meet her. My comm’s open if you need to talk to someone about it all
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
Thanks. Might take you up on that later.
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
And since when were you on a first name basis with the grand champion, you cheeky shabuir? You’ve gotta be the luckiest bastard I’ve ever known. Have you tried any poetry yet
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
Ne’johaa
To: Corridan Ordo
From: Torian Cadera
Re: imp activity?
And I’m a part of her crew now actually
To: Torian Cadera
From: Corridan Ordo
Re: imp activity?
YOU’RE WHAT?
~~~~~~
Mando'a, in order of appearance
vod: sibling (in this context, brother)
k'oyacyi: "Cheers!", "Hang in there", "Come back safely". Literally, a command - "Stay alive!"
skanah: very hated person; approximately "fucker"
shebs: ass
oya: Lit. "let's hunt"; also "stay alive", "hoorah", "go you", "cheers", etc. Always positive and triumphant
osik: shit
shabuir: motherfucker
shab: fuck
osi'kovid: motherfucker
beskad lo'shebs'ul narit: "You can shove your beskad (Mandalorian blade) up your ass"
ne'johaa: "Shut up"
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was all he could think. This wasn’t how his life of service was supposed to end - shot for his loyalties with a rifle of his own beloved Empire. They’d toss his body in the waste disposal, and all that would be left of Captain Malavai Quinn would be a smear on the wall below Kaas City.
Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior
Words: 14,600
Canon-divergent KOTET reunion, featuring drama, angst, revenge, and hot tubbing. Content warnings for canon-typical violence/injury, light torture, execution, minor character death.
This fic is 92% entirely self indulgent hurt/comfort, and 8% reworking canon to make it fit Khel’s story and let Quinn have the revenge he deserves. Accordingly, some background details are left intentionally vague.
Chapter 3 - Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)
Khel couldn’t help but notice how familiarly Quinn was treating him, his comments no longer bearing the near-constant signature of ‘my lord’ as he spoke. It was entirely possible that Quinn was simply too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to put in the effort of such formalities. But Khel suspected a different cause, one deeper and yet far simpler; just as the Empire itself had been changed by so many years of fighting for its survival, so had Malavai Quinn.
The door at the end of the hall was closed, but a few tendrils of steam were still wisping their way out along the seams. A small table sat just outside, laden with two heavy mugs of mulled Kaasi wine.
“You should have everything you need inside,” said Khel, as he stepped over to the table. “But just use the intercom if not.” He held out one of the mugs to Quinn. “Take this with you. And take as long as you like.” He couldn’t help reaching out with his other hand as well, wafting his knuckles gently across Malavai’s cheek.
He had already turned away and moved to leave when Quinn’s voice brought him up short.
“Won’t you…won’t you join me, my lord?”
Khel paused. The formality was back. Curious.
Quinn had many different ways of saying ‘my lord’, all with their own unique inflections and implications. They ranged from deep respect in public, to sly teasing when the two were alone, and all the way to stiffly passive aggressive when he found himself in disagreement with Khel. This particular one, however - Khel was reading uncertainty there, and restraint. It was the tone Malavai employed when he was feeling at a disadvantage, and trying to find a way back onto more secure ground.
Khel shifted to face the other man again, canting his head as he regarded him. “I thought you might want to be alone for a while,” he explained. “This has been quite the ordeal for you.”
Malavai’s expression twitched. “My lord, I have been essentially alone for the last five years,” he said, in a pained voice that made Khel’s insides stir with renewed anger at what he’d endured. “I would vastly prefer your company.”
He was such a pitiful figure, standing there in his ill-fitting clothes with the mug clutched in both reddened hands, his hair bedraggled and a haunted look flickering in his eyes, and Khel found himself wishing he had made Quinn’s would-be executioners suffer a bit more before they’d died.
