I come to thee for Little Einsteins AU ideas, and the ship for it be Rocket x Big Jet
I will admit I've not seen Little Einsteins enough to fully know the characters, but I'll give it a go…
Series: Little Einsteins
AU Criteria: After the mission's done and the night has come, the hanger can be a sanctuary for two.
AU title (optional): Wingmates
The hanger they share is silent, save the soft hum of their engines as they rest from the day's adventures. The two craft facing each other after refueling and just enjoying the company.
Big Jet watches Rocket through his sensors, thinking about the way they met, and more importantly, his actions against the red beauty because of it. He hadn't understood the ways his sensors scrambled and engines revved when he saw him, but now… now he wonders if he'd blown it.
They were wingmates, flying the skies with the kids that seemed to love them as much as they loved each other. Especially after his apology during their show and tell day. He hadn't let them inside yet, but he knew that they would eventually fly with him.
Rocket had been protective of the children, watching his every move. He knew Rocket was right, but… it felt different lately.
Rocket let out a soft whir, drawing his attention, and Big Jet watched a single headlight blink on and off slowly, and the red craft move over to make room on his side. Room enough for Jet to… Oh… oh my.
me, upon realizing I keep forgetting to load up tumblr: sweats
Anyways!! TFcon was a BLAST, I got my ass signed up for Secret Solenoid (with barely an hour to spare), catching up on commission work.............. life’s chill!
Top row a handful of TF-related Patreon rewards, and bottom row some recent sketches! Hope y’all had a lovely Halloween and the weather changes aren’t hitting anyone too hard yet!
Request: Hey saw requests open and I was wondering if you could do a oneshot or mini series on a wing soulmate au but it’s an au where everyone has wings and either you can only fly when you meet your soulmate or your wings match your soulmates?
Author: Holly
Warnings: None that I can think of
Characters: Y/N, Gabriel, Sam, Dean
Words: 2,049
Y/N = Your Name
A/N: I’m baaaaaaack!
Your feathers were literally ruffled. Sam’s long fingers combed through your wings, stroking feathers back into place following the windy storm you’d gotten stuck walking back to the hotel in. You stretched out your wings and yawned, pressing them back into his touch. Extending the muscles in your wings felt as cathartic as stretching your legs after being in the car for hours.
Dean entered the room carrying two stretched plastic bags of take-out containers and food. His wings were covered up by a rain coat draped over his shoulders. “Alright, party people, here’s what we got.” Dean put the bags on the table and started listing all the food he bought.
Sam quickly finished the perfunctory grooming of your wing and got up to claim food. You quickly followed. Dean’s stomach was a black hole, so you needed to take what you wanted before he had the chance. Once you had enough food, you all went to your seats and started eating. You felt like you were starving after missing lunch.
Sam waited until he had shoveled half of his food into his mouth, taking more vegetables than either you or Dean but eating just as fast. Once he wasn’t so hungry, he slowed down. “Okay, so we don’t have a very clear lead on this hunt yet, but whatever it is, it doesn’t have a clear victim preference.”
“Nah,” you agreed, “A teenager, a senior, and two adults, all different jobs, demographics… they couldn’t be more different if they tried.”
“Which they couldn’t possibly have done, because they didn’t know each other.” Sam added, nodding. “I checked everything. There is nowhere on paper where any of them crossed paths with any of the others.”
“So we look at the MO,” Dean declared, garbled by his food. Both you and Sam booed at his poor manners and he rolled his eyes. “What do we know of that kills people this way?”
The three of you went back and forth suggesting and striking down potential supernatural culprits while you finished your food. Personally, you were rooting for an angiak because you’d never seen one before, but with the victims, it seemed unlikely. By the time your dinner was all gone, your wings were fully dry, you were ready to sleep, and the three of you were making a game plan.
“Next morning, me and Sam can hit the morgue, and Dean, you can call Cas and see if there’s anything the police didn’t put in the official report.” You curled your wings around yourself in a comfortable resting position, like they were giving you a hug.
“Ah…” Dean glanced over at Sam. “Y/N, I think you should stick it out here and do some research. We could be dealing with something completely new.”
The highest arches in your wings slumped down towards your lap. “You just don’t want me to be seen,” you accused, preparing to sulk.
“Well, you’re… you’re pretty memorable,” Sam sheepishly admitted.
Your whole life, you had been teased and taunted for your wings. Sprouting from the edges of your shoulder blades and spanning six feet on either side of you when fully stretched, your wings were a source of both pride and shame. You would have loved them so much more if only they were a different color. The golden flight feathers and tawny, fluffier down lining the edges where wing met skin looked gorgeous together in any other context, but having the colors on wings? You stood out everywhere you went.
Hunting was hard when no one was quick to forget your unique coloring. Sam and Dean were reluctant to take you places, even though you were just as good at fighting and investigating as they were. Dean’s smoky, ashy wings and Sam’s rich, earthy shades were beautiful, but not particularly exotic or memorable.
You hated that your wings so often took you out of the action. They were a part of you, but so was hunting. The fact that the brothers seemed to think golden wings and hunting were mutually exclusive was easily your biggest problem with them.
You huffed and raised your wings angrily. “Okay, new plan, Sam and Dean, you guys go to hell again and me and Cas will solve the entire case.”
The thing about your wings was that they weren’t actually as unique as they appeared at first glance, because no matter how bizarre any person’s wings were, they had an identical match somewhere. That person was your wingmate, or your soulmate. You were kind of excited to meet your wingman (your favorite wing-related pun), but hoped he was older than you. If he was, then your birth wasn’t the event that had saddled you both with embarrassingly bright and obnoxious wings.
Having wings that stood out was a detriment in society. It really wasn’t fair, since actual birds had an easier time attracting mates when they had brighter wings. Humans saw it the other way around. The better you blended in with the rest, the more people liked you because you weren’t disrupting their precious status quo.
This was problematic for you on two levels. Firstly, you never blended in, so you were always interrupting the status quo. If you stuck around for more than a day or so, not even hotel staff would compliment the pretty colors. Secondly, you hated what it might mean for your soulmate. Did they resent their own wings? Would they blame you if they were the younger one? And was there ever going to be a place for the two of you where you could live comfortably together? Even assuming that one day you could leave the supernatural world behind…
But, when you stopped thinking about the coloring, you wouldn’t give your wings up for the entire world. They would help you find that one person you were meant to have.
“Y/N, it’s one angel.” Sam tried to convince you when bribing you with your favorite cheesy snack didn’t work. “Just one. Not even a violent one.”
Dean snorted loudly.
Sam glared at him. “Okay, so he’s a little aggressive,” he grudgingly admitted, “But only to people to piss him off! Which… we happen to have done. A couple of times.” You tilted your head towards your shoulder and looked at Sam judgmentally. “There was a misunderstanding,” he said defensively.
“A misunderstanding which repeated itself a couple of times?”
“Will you do it or not?” The taller hunter wearily asked, holding out a book and almost begging.
It was tempting to make him actually get on his knees and beg, and record the footage as blackmail, but since it was for an actual case, you reluctantly had to take the moral option. “Fine,” you sighed, furling your wings to your back. “I’ll summon him and then you guys can take over once he’s here and not feeling too stabby.”
Dean brought in a chocolate cake and a pie from the car, explaining them as offerings but taking the pie for himself when Sam had his back turned. Dean’s wings arched happily while he snuck into the other hotel room to eat the pie while Sam helped you to draw an anti-angel sigil, just in case. You stood in front of it and squeezed out some more blood to smear around on your palm to make sure it would activate if you needed it, then Sam left the room.
Summoning angels was an uncomplicated process; you just needed their name. You looked at the paper Sam had wrote it on and swallowed hard, your wings curling tight with some stray nerves. An archangel. Because summoning archangels had always gone so well in the past.
“Gabriel,” you said aloud, picturing a long-robed, long-haired guy with six white wings. You knew by now that angels never looked the way you expected, but you had no other mental image. “I pray on behalf of the Winchesters because they’re terrified you would smite them instantaneously. If you’d please come talk, we have some chocolate cake. And if you hurry, there’s no way Dean can finish all that pie on his own.”
The fluttering of wings not too unlike the sound your own made came from behind you, but when you turned to look, no one was there. Instead the silverware by the cake in front of you clinked and when you looked back towards it, a short blond man was picking up the entire cake platter to just go at it.
“Gabriel?” You asked, feeling a lot less intimidated now that an archangel was clearly so eager to get at the cake. Someone would be right at home in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
“That’s me, sweet cheeks,” Gabriel said, spearing a huge piece of cake onto his fork, looking up at you and stopping. “Oh, wow,” he noted, looking over your shoulders. “Nice wings.”
You held your wings tighter to your body. Angels had never complimented them before and it made you shy. “Oh… thank you,” you said, reaching behind your back to soothingly drag her fingers over a long primary feather.
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, putting the cake down on the table and stepping closer to you. You took a step back, and he put his hand up and stopped. “Hey, look, I just want to show you this.” He wiggled his eyebrows and the air in the hotel room ruffled. Then, with an odd popping sound, actual, physical wings unfurled from behind the angel – tawny in the downy base and gold shades along the long, graceful wings.
He stretched them like they’d been tucked down tightly for a long time and took a look at them over his shoulders. “Would you look at that,” he said, looking back to yours. You reached out with your wings tentatively towards his, the feathers along the tips and edges splaying.
“They match,” you gasped, snapping your wings back to your sides. “You have my colors.”
“Um, I’m literally older than dirt,” Gabriel quipped, sending you a somewhat chiding stare. “I think you have my colors. But anyway, enough with semantics,” he dismissively stated, ignoring the fact that he was the one to bring them up at all. “Sugar, my soulmate is a human and yours is an archangel. This is going to be a little complicated.”
“Yeah, duh, Sherlock,” you replied without watching your mouth. He was your soulmate – you weren’t afraid of him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, I love one with a spine, I was hoping for that,” he said, his grin widening delightedly. “Let’s go somewhere more private to talk about those complications. And we can finish this cake and go through whatever else sounds good.”
“I…” You almost leapt for it, but a shred of common sense remained. Serial killers had soulmates, too.
Gabriel flapped his wings impatiently and a gust of air breezed over your face and through your feathers. “Come on, ditch the bozos. I’m way cooler.” He winked.
Your mind made up, you reached for him while relaxing your wings and letting them extend closer to his.
After five minutes had passed, Sam wasn’t sure whether Gabriel was being stubborn, you had taken the cake and abandoned your assignment, or you were being yanked around on chains by the notorious trickster. It took a bit of cajoling, but Dean, who was still sore about the Mystery Spot, agreed to go back to your room and see.
Sam knocked and received no answer. Dean knocked harder. “Hey Y/N, open up,” Dean called through the door.
When neither of them got a response, Sam used the key card to your room to let themselves in. There wasn’t anyone there, but the chocolate cake was gone. So was the angel-banishing sigil. In the stead of the archangel and their hunting friend, there was a latticework pie on the single bed.
Dean immediately went for it. “Ooh,” he said, licking his lips.
Sam sighed. “Dean, no…” Obviously it was a trap.
Dean had barely touched it before the pie exploded, messily bursting and somehow managing to get cherry filling all over Dean’s clothing while leaving the rest of the hotel room pristine. A flag burst out of the center of the destroyed pie with “see you later, morons” printed on the little scrap of fabric.
I mentioned that I was working on a fic inspired by a conversation with @kaelinaloveslomaris about one of her stories, Imperial Problem Child ‘verse by @radioactivepeasant, and my enjoyment of writing Mon Mothma in Dreamwalker.
This is that story. Mon gets a holocall that she has been dreading, which does not go as she expects.
Alternate Title: Wedge’s Very Bad Week
Thanks to @kaelinaloveslomaris for beta.
There was an inexplicable tension aboard Home One, inexplicable in that a team out of contact two days past the mission's predicted end date was something that happened, if still something that caused the friends and families of those out of contact to worry.
Perhaps it was that Luke Skywalker had led the team that was now out of contact. Perhaps it was Princess Leia Organa's abrasive worry for her friend, even as she planned to rescue the third of their famous trio.
Or perhaps it was Mon's own knowledge of how much worse the war would get if Skywalker died on a mission for the Rebellion.
When the communications station sounded the signal of a contact from an unfamiliar code, heavily encrypted, Mon felt a chill. Something made her go against protocol and step forward to stand behind the communications tech who was attempting to trace the signal.
Then the code shifted. It was still encrypted, but one word materialized from all the code, clear and unquestionable:
Executor.
"Clear the area," Mon ordered immediately. "I will take this call myself. Everyone else, stay out of range of the holo."
"Do you know who's calling?" the communications tech asked, looking up at her with wide eyes. His voice shook badly. His hands were worse. "Do we have a spy on Executor?"
"Only one man would be calling us from that ship," Mon said gently. "And he is not on our side of the war. Clear the area."
The communications tech flinched at the very implications, and half the bridge crew seemed frozen. The terminal signaled again, its sound more urgent.
Well, he wasn't known for his patience. "Move!" Mon ordered.
Finally, finally, the holo area was clear. Mon stepped into it and opened the connection.
Vader materialized on the bridge, no less terrifying for being present only by holo.
"Lord Vader," Mon said. Yes, he already knew she was involved with the Rebellion, but that was not the only reason she had insisted she would be the one to speak to him. She could interact with him with the dispassion and diplomacy she had learned as a politician, and given Skywalker's absence, she thought those traits might be necessary for the Rebellion as a whole to get through this confrontation intact, even should it cost her her life.
"Senator Mothma." Vader's vocoder-supported voice echoed on the bridge, along with the chilling sound of his respirator, a sound that echoed in too many Rebels' nightmares already. This would make that worse, Mon knew. "I wish to speak to Lieutenant Antilles. I suggest you arrange it."
Mon blinked. Antilles? Wedge Antilles? That was not what she'd expected. "Pardon?" She asked.
"I dislike repeating myself, Senator. Lieutenant Antilles. Now. And in privacy."
Though he spoke no threats, Mon knew Vader wasn't giving them a choice in this. He would have the conversation he wanted, one way or another. Whatever it took. "Lieutenant Antilles is in the hangar. It will take some time to summon him. As well, I will not have the loyalties of the second in command of my best squadron, wingmate to my best pilot, questioned needlessly. I will be present for this conversation or it will not take place." Luke's second and wingmate. She wanted Vader to remember that.
"Acceptable."
"Then I will transfer this signal to a briefing room. Lieutenant Antilles and I will be with you as soon as he arrives from the hangar."
"Do not keep me waiting long, Senator. My patience is not infinite."
That startled a laugh from her. "No, Lord Vader, you have never been known for your patience. If you will excuse me, I will expedite things as much as can be done."
"Very well.”`
When the holo terminal shifted to holding, Mon checked it twice for any insidious bits of code that would allow Vader to see or hear what happened on the bridge, but she couldn’t afford more time than that. She’d have to delegate and hope the h-security team wasn’t too rattled by Darth Vader having contacted them directly to do an effective job.
She turned away from the communications situation to the rest of the bridge. “Summon Lieutenant Antilles to the Fire Conference Room.” Of the conference rooms aboard this ship, it was the most secure. It was also on a direct line between the bridge and the hangar, making it a shorter trip for both Wedge and Mon.
When someone had sent the summons to Wedge, she issued orders to the h-security team to secure the communications as much as possible now and again once this contact was finished. She instructed the admiral to maintain their position for the duration of the contact but to have a course prepared to exit the area quickly when it was done, in case Vader had traced their signal or known where they would be.
Orders issued, she walked from the bridge, moving fast but refusing to look like she was hurrying. Her people were disturbed enough by Vader’s contact; they would be calmer if they thought she was handling it with equanimity.
When she arrived at the door to the Fire Room, she saw Wedge Antilles hurrying up the adjacent corridor and waited for him to reach her before entering. She checked the chrono and was grateful to see that she still had a bit more than a minute of the time she’d allotted before she had to take the call off standby. It would have to be enough.
“What’s going on, Senator?”
She took a breath. “Lord Vader contacted us 8.8 minutes ago. As much as he is capable of, he acted with neutrality to us, but he demanded to speak with you.”
“What? Me?”
Mon ignored the interruption. “Given he contacted this ship directly and made it clear he initiated the contact from the Executor, I feel it is better to permit him to speak with you, provided I remain. Given that he has been courteous and refrained from outright threats, I'd prefer you avoid provoking him. Courtesy does no harm in this situation and may help.”
"But what does he want?"
Though she felt some empathy for the plaintive tone, her lips thinned as she considered how to answer. "I'm fairly certain I know the general topic, but I am not aware of the specifics. More, we lack the time for proper explanations of what I do know. I can't justify leaving him on standby much longer."
Wedge went white, and Mon reached out and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze then withdrew. "I think," she said carefully, "that you have less to fear from him in this conversation than you believe." When he went to press her for further details, she shook her head. "Take one more moment to prepare--then I'm activating the holo. I won't be leaving, so don't worry that you'll be facing Lord Vader alone. I will not let any implication that the wingmate of my best squadron commander is compromised come from this incident."
Though he was still pale, he took several deep breaths and nodded. "I'm ready--or as ready as possible."
Though she wasn't sure she believed him, she reached out to the holo terminal and activated the connection back to the Executor. "Lord Vader. Lieutenant Antilles is here to speak with you." She waved Wedge forward, however much she sympathized with him.
"Good." Once again, Vader's holo presence dominated the area. His mask turned, focused on the young man. "Lieutenant Antilles, I require you to rendezvous with the Executor and provide escort back for my son."
Mon closed her eyes. Vader had Luke after all. At least it explained why his initial contact hadn't gone as she expected. Then the rest of what the Sith had said registered.
"Why would I be your escort of choice?" Wedge demanded. "Wait, your son? You have a son?"
"Escort where, Lord Vader?" Mon asked carefully.
"To your fleet, before my master learns of his presence in mine. Yes, Lieutenant Antilles, I have a son."
Wedge sat down hard on the edge of the conference table. His eyes narrowed in thought. Abruptly, they widened, and he stared between Vader and Mon. "Luke. It's Luke. That's why you emphasized that I'm his wingmate, Senator. Why Lord Vader wants me for an escort."
"Indeed," Vader said.
"Then what happened? He's two days overdue, and we've had no word."
"A member of the team your Command sent with my son was a traitor," Vader said, his vocoder-supported voice very cold. "She sold the team out to the system governor. It was fortunate I arrived in the system before the fight ended. I pulled my son out--he was the only survivor." He paused, his mask turning to study them both. "The coordinates of my ship should be coming through shortly. I will expect you to rendezvous in no more than three days, Lieutenant."
"Wait, Lord Vader. Please," Wedge said quickly. "Your hunt for Luke is famous Galaxy-wide. Why are you sending him back now? Especially after the lengths you went to to catch him at Bespin."
Mon didn't think she was imagining Vader's fraying temper, but he answered. "Between sending my son back to your ragtag band of dissidents and letting my master kill him, I will take sending him back. My direct contact details are attached to our coordinates. I suggest your refrain from abusing that information." He cut the connection.
Watching Wedge sag forward and rest his face in his hands for a moment, Mon felt quite a bit of sympathy. Vader wasn't the easiest to deal with when he was just in the area, less so when focused on an individual and making shocking revelations.
"I take it you knew?" He lifted his face from his hands and met her eyes, expression almost empty.
"I was expecting him to demand answers about what we'd allowed to happen to his son." She'd been expecting that call every time something happened to Luke since news of Vader's outrageous bounty reached them.
Wedge nodded but didn't press the subject.
"Do I have any chance of stopping you from going?"
"If you order me not to go, I won't."
"You. Not the rest of the Rogues."
For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Then he stood. "Are you going to order me to stay?"
"No. I just want you to be aware of how dangerous this is. Vader seemed to be honest, and his reasoning makes sense, but this still could be a trap."
"And you want to know if finding out that Luke is Vader's son changes my opinion of him. It doesn't. I know Luke."
"All right, then." Mon smiled helplessly. Wedge was a Rogue.
---
Having stopped outside the empty system he'd been given as a rendezvous point, Wedge checked his controls carefully. If this went wrong, that might let him get out, though he wasn't counting on it.
Strange to be counting on Vader's word for his safety, but he was.
As prepared as he could be, he flew into the system, keeping his eyes out for any warnings that this was a trap. His heart rate increased at the sight of the Executor, but it was the only Imperial ship in the area. He took a deep breath and entered the code Vader had provided into his comm.
The moment the comm connected, the sound of distinctive breathing filled the cockpit. "Yes?" Vader snapped.
"This is Lieutenant Antilles, Lord Vader," Wedge said carefully.
"Good. You will be landing in my private hangar."
Wedge took a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to set foot on Vader's ship, but this was for Luke. He followed the instructions and touched down in the small hangar. He had to steel himself again before climbing from the cockpit to meet the short, unremarkable admiral waiting for him. The man wasn't imposing based on looks, but Wedge didn't trust that; Vader's admiral would be both competent and dangerous.
"Lieutenant Antilles. Lord Vader is expecting you. Come with me, please."
Tension increasing with every step, Wedge followed the admiral through too many empty corridors until they reached a hatch with Stormtroopers outside and an access panel beside it.
More than a minute passed after the admiral pressed his palm to the access panel, but the hatch slid open. The admiral--wasn't Vader's latest admiral named Piett--stepped back from the hatch and motioned Wedge forward. "They are waiting for you, Lieutenant," he added when Wedge hesitated.
They. Luke. Wedge strode forward without further hesitation. He found a cabin designed as a sitting room with a great expanse of view looking out at space. Vader stood with his back to that expanse, hands gripping his belt. Luke sat in a large, comfortable chair positioned with a good view of the stars and the rest of the room, his boots on the floor but his feet tucked up on the cushion. He was dressed all in black, a cape slung over the back of the chair. He looked relaxed in a way Wedge found hard to imagine, given who else was present.
"Wedge!" Luke smiled at him. There was no concern in his expression, which did help. A little.
"Luke. You're all right?"
"My son is well, Lieutenant. Sit down. We will have a conversation before I permit you to escort my son back to your fleet."
"Father," Luke said. He sounded just like he did when exasperated by Wes's antics. "It's all right, Wedge. Father isn't going to hurt you or prevent you from leaving. I have his word, and you have mine."
Vader pointed at Luke. "And you gave me yours you would not interfere in exchange for that promise, young one."
Raising his hands, Luke shrugged but still smiled at Wedge, who stared between them. This exchange was nothing he'd ever expected to see. Especially with what he remembered of Luke's emotional state after Bespin.
After a moment, he moved to sit down, not wanting to test Vader's patience further. The chair across from Luke's was smaller, light grey rather than the crimson of Luke's, but still quite comfortable. It put him as the third point in a triangle with the other two men, Luke not quite between him and Vader.
"You have been my son's wingmate since the battle of the Death Star, as well as his second in command for Rogue Squadron. In that time, you have mostly done an adequate job at watching his back and keeping him out of trouble when Rogue Squadron is active."
"Thanks?"
Vader ignored him. "In the last months, the situation has become exponentially more dangerous. The Emperor is aware of Luke. You will need to do a far better job in the coming weeks. He claims he is content to permit me to pursue my son without interference, but I do not trust him to hold to that. The danger also will not be restricted to when you are flying."
Glancing at Luke got him nowhere, so he looked back at Vader. The Sith's mask wasn't helpful, either. "Are you. . .are you trying to recruit me as Luke's bodyguard?"
"Are you unwilling?" Vader's voice was cold. "I understood the Rogues to be more loyal than that."
Despite knowing he'd been provoked, Wedge couldn't let that go. "Of course not! I'll always watch Luke's back!"
"Good."
And perhaps it was Wedge's familiarity with Luke that made him sure he wasn't imagining the Sith's air of satisfaction.
"In addition, you will be escorting Luke to meetings that I expect you to keep quiet. He will know when and where we will be meeting. My son requires further training to survive the Emperor."
Luke rolled his eyes but nodded.
"All right. How often? We'll need to adjust the Rogues' schedule to accommodate. Also, you know we'll have to tell Senator Mothma."
"The Senator is acceptable. Provided your fleet does not attract Imperial notice, I intend to arrange meetings every two to five weeks for two to three days."
Wedge bit his lip. He didn't like the thought of spending so much time with the Sith, but he wasn't going to leave Luke alone with Vader. Blood tie or not, Vader had mutilated Luke once, had nearly broken him in the same confrontation. However comfortable Luke seemed now, Wedge wouldn't forget that. "I'll pack a datapad, then."
Vader nodded sharply and turned to face the stars.
Wedge took that as dismissal and rose, but Luke didn't move as quickly. "Wedge, could you give us a minute?" When Wedge hesitated, back stiff, Luke smiled at him. "It'll be fine. Just wait by the hatch. Please, Wedge."
Since that wouldn't leave Luke alone with Vader or Wedge alone with the Stormtroopers he was sure were still in the hall, possibly with the admiral as well, he obeyed. He leaned against the wall beside the hatch and folded his arms, eyes focused on Vader.
Luke pulled on his boots before he stood but left the cape where it was. He walked over to stand beside Vader, looking out. he placed his left hand on Vader's arm and turned enough to smile up at the Sith.
"Thank you, Father."
"We made a bargain, young one. There is no need to thank me."
Luke laughed a little. "You didn't have to make it. But not just for that. You saved me. Even when I was safe, I heard you order the troopers with you to check the rest for anyone still alive and give them proper medical care. And don't try to tell me it was about prisoners. You did it for me. So thanks."
"You are my son." Vader's voice was quieter than Wedge had thought his vocoder would allow. "Of course I would save you."
Something passed between them that Wedge couldn't hear, but Luke finally pulled back with a laugh. "All right, all right. I expect to hear from you soon. A week is not enough to make up for more than twenty years."
Vader rested one hand on Luke's shoulder for a second, then withdrew. "Your droid is with your ship in my hangar. Stay safe, my son."
"May the Force be with you, Father."
"And with you."
Luke paused by the chair, swung the cape over his shoulders, grabbed a bag Wedge hadn't seen, and joined him by the hatch. Vader didn't watch them leave.
They didn't talk as the admiral escorted them back to Vader's hangar. Once there, Artoo rolled out, chirping a greeting. Luke returned it. He removed his cape again, folded it neatly, and gave it to the little droid.
"Keep that safe for me, would you?" He retrieved his flight suit and pulled it on before turning to the admiral. "Thanks, Admiral Piett."
"Of course, sir."
Then Luke swung up into his cockpit, and Wedge followed suit. Soon, they'd left the Executor and were flying out of the system. Shortly after they entered hyperspace, Luke contacted him. "You all right?"
"Yeah. Are you?"
"I'm fine. Father made sure I was treated to the highest standard of medical care the Imperials' best ship could provide."
"Are you really going to meet with him? He mentioned a bargain."
"I do intend to, yes. When Father mentioned surviving the Emperor, he meant helping to kill Palpatine. That's a lot of what we talked about when we started to see if we could come to some agreement. I was injured by the time he got to me, so I spent the first couple of days in medical. He was very attentive and didn't push me at all, and he made sure I knew he'd let me return to the Rebellion after I had recovered. So by the time I was mostly healed and he suggested we make a bargain, I was willing to listen.
"I've gotten a lot better in the last few years, but he's right that I'm not quite ready to survive a fight at that level. But that didn't make me willing to compromise on using the Dark side. If he wants to train me, he has to do it in the Light side."
"Vader?"
"He was a Jedi once. He's capable of it. And he agreed. Which means I have an even greater incentive to train with him.
"Teaching me on the Light side means he'll have to use it as well."
sorry for the mild content drought, work about kicked my ass the past week and a half and I spent the past couple days vegetating over a Star Trek Disco binge
so have an experimental Cyclonus doodle and some sappy Wingmates I did a while back, I’ll be back up and running soon :,)
Lots of Monsterbots and a couple Wingmates.
Still up to my usual sketchy stuff. I had a hard time focusing on work this weekend so just doodled where I could. My sketches and speed are improving!
On the plus side, I’ve more or less figured out how I wanna deal with Grotusque’s design! He’s been a bit piecemeal with insp pulled from a few continuities, and then my own flare mixed in. I’m p happy with the result.
