#Hunter x original female character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelessdagger · 1 year

Text

The Fall of the Jedi | Chapter Three: The Great Disillusionment

Pairing: Hunter x OFC

Rating: Mature

Summary: “Love is not willing, Odella. It happens without warning and without cause. It is intoxicating, it is…” Obi-Wan looks up, only for a moment. “It is the morning of springs first bloom."

Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Anakin Typical Behavior

Words: 6.3K

Daybreak Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

“They’re sending me to the AgriCorps,” Odella groans.

“You’re always so dramatic,” Anakin tells her, rolling his eyes.

They walk side by side, elbows linked, down the lavish and large halls of the Temple. The day is in that odd bit of time, indiscernible between too early or too late to be awake. Regardless, no human Youngling should be active at this hour, four past new day.

“I’m not dramatic, I’m correct.” She turns to him, grabbing his hands. “Promise you’ll visit me, and that you’ll tell me every adventure you go on.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the AgriCorps.” Though his manner of speaking tells that even he is unconvinced by his words. “You’ll be the best farmer in the Order.”

Their hold drops, and she marches on. “You’re so unbelievably unhelpful.”

“And you have plant magic, they’ll love you there. It could be worse, you could be made to work in the archives for all your life. Then you’ll turn into Master Nu.”

She giggles, elbow jabbing his arm. “I suppose there can’t be a fate worse than that.”

“You’re only twelve Del, you’ve got a whole year before they’d consider sending you away.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Obi-Wan has been your Master since you met him. Every day feels like a failed audition for me. No one likes me.”

“Master Vos likes you.”

“Master Vos still has Aayla, and if Obi-Wan says they won’t allow him to train both of us, they’re not going to make an exception for Quinlan. They’re only Knights, Ani. They have no power in the Council.”

“What’s so great about being a Knight if you can’t do anything on your own?” He huffs.

“Knights can do plenty on their own.” Anakin stares at her with a look that says like what, and she shrugs. “I dunno, choose their own hairstyle?”

He throws his head back laughing. “Have you seen what Obi-Wan is growing out? If that’s what a Knight chooses, I’ll join you in the Corps.”

They come to a window, the last in the corridor, spanning the height of the entire wall some feet off the ground. Odella climbs on the windowsill, Anakin sitting across. Stretched, his legs cross over and end at her thigh. He hasn’t stopped getting taller since the fall, and his voice cracks when he’s overly excited. She still hasn’t grown over five foot.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says in a yawn. Wiping the remaining sleep from his eyes, he cleans his hand on her leg. “I bet they’re all intimidated by you.”

“What?”

“Well,” he cracks his knuckles, “Not everyone is cool enough to be friends with The Chosen One.”

Odella’s jaw drops, bright laughter cackling. “You did not just say that.”

He grins. “I’m not hearing that I’m wrong. They only haven’t realized how lame you really are.”

“And now I’m lame?”

“I’m sorry, do you have a prophecy? Didn’t think so.”

She sticks her tongue out, wagging her head. “There are like… a bajillion prophecies—“

“No there aren’t.”

“Whatever. I could have one too, it just… hasn’t been prophesied yet. Or, or no one knows it’s about me. I bet I have to be old when it happens, like… twenty two.”

Anakin cringes. “That’s ancient.”

“I know, but you’ll probably be ancient when the balance thing happens.”

His face morphs to a frown. “I don’t want to get old.”

“Me neither,” Odella sighs. “What if we’re not friends anymore?”

“Don’t say that. Of course we’ll still be friends, why wouldn’t we be?”

“What if I’m not meant to be a Jedi, and you forget all about me?”

“You will be a real Jedi.” He’s as firm as a fourteen year old can be. “And when we’re both Knights, we’ll do everything together.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Obi-Wan says I have to start going with him every time he’s assigned missions, and when you get a Master it’ll be the same. So we may not see each other as much, but when we’re Knights we can hang out whenever we want, wherever we want. And when we’re Masters, no one can tell us what to do. Not even the Council.”

Odella leans forward, wild eyed. “What if we’re on the Council?” She whispers.

Anakin grins. “Even better. I’ll be Grand Master, and you’ll be my assistant.”

“Why do you get to be Grand Master?”

“Because I’m older.”

“But I’m smarter.”

“Well I’m the Chosen One.”

Sunlight filters into the corridor, blinding. Their shadows build from incoming light, large on the ground.

“You know,” Anakin says. “It doesn’t matter what we are, I’d never forget about you. Even if you do end up on the AgriCorp, you’re still my sister. Nothing can change that. I promise.”

Odella nods, closing her eyes. There isn’t a universe to exist where she and Anakin aren’t bonded. She knows this with every fiber in her being. They’re best friends, the closest thing the other has to family.

Anakin Skywalker and Odella Thoren can and will never be without the other.

She’s sure of it.

“Hello again Odella,” Jocasta Nu says, peeking into one of the aisles of the Temple archive. She looks up at the shelf being examined, then to the Jedi. “Prophecies?” She asks. “Have you grown tired of Mandalore?”

“Hello Master,” Odella says, barely a glance over her shoulder. “No, I’ve just… decided to try something new today.” She tightens her robes, pushing fallen hair from her face. She holds a pile of records in her arms, and pulls off the top one. “Are you familiar?”

“Of course—” she nods, taking the tablet, “—the kyber that is not kyber,” she muses. “Master Jinn told me once that this one had come true when he were off world with Master Kenobi. What a pair they were.”

“So I’ve heard,” Odella says. In haste, she returns all but one record to their proper location. “What of this one? She who will be born to darkness will give birth to darkness. I’ve not heard of Sith having children.”

Jocasta then takes this once, squinting to read its textual display. “Have you considered,” she says. “That it may not be literal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just as you’ve said. Sith were not known to have children. The old prophets were keen on being metaphorical. What are the tenants of the dark side?”

Odella shrugs. “Power, anger, fear, aggression, greed, envy.”

“Someone may be born of these things and not necessarily be Sith. A family of anger. Of greed. Agression. She will birth one who will continue these traits.”

“So is it a warning? Of cyclical abuse?”

“Perhaps. Or that these traits are innate, and cannot be helped.”

Odella frowns. “Like an infection of bloodline?”

“It is possible.”

“Does the Force will people to be in the dark?”

“No child, but as Master Yoda says: The dark will forever dominate destiny.”

“That is for those who choose. If a child is born to it, that is not her choice. Nor the choice of her child.”

“But it may be the choice of the child to return to or remain in the darkness, to have comfort in it.”

“I see.”

Jocasta motions Odella to her side, pointing down the written language. “Look here. This darkness will arrive before the light, which will reveal after other dies.”

“So the child will die?”

“Or the child itself brings the light. Or, it is possible there is no child at all, and that it is merely the Force personified.”

“How confusing.”

“Prophecies always are,” Jocasta chuckles. “Have you anymore questions?”

“Yes,” Odella nods, “Actually. Do you happen to know where Anakin’s prophecy is? I thought it would be in this section… but I couldn’t find it and ultimately got distracted.”

“Ah, the Chosen One. Further down on the left, third shelf from the ground.”

“Thank you,” Odella says, heading over. She kneels and collects the record, blowing off dust. “Have you been well? The attack gave everyone a fright.”

Jocasta smiles close lipped, a short nod. “We are still standing,” she says. “That is where importance lays now.”

“Yes,” Odella agrees in a mutter.

“You have been quite the busy body throughout all of this from what I hear.”

“Is it?” She asks, turning fully.

Jocasta nods. “It isn’t every day a Jedi finds it in herself to say no to Master Windu.”

“Ah, well… Perhaps more Jedi should,” she says. “It might finally do some good around here if the Council listened, whether they want to or not.”

“You still have so much to learn,” Jocasta chuckles. “I realize you have had your difficulties with the Council, but I am unsure if publicly disagreeing with your old Master is the way to go.”

“Countless of civilians could have died today if I did not act as I did. And now that it is over, Jedi are already stationed for relief efforts. If that is the reason I receive repercussion for saying no to Master Windu, so be it.”

“You are a bold reproduction of your late Master,” Jocasta muses. “Her defiance of the Council did not go unnoticed either. Or, unchecked.”

Odella twitches, biting her tongue for only a moment when she stands. “Master Nu, with all due respect—“

“Ah, Odella. There you are,” says Obi-Wan, stepping into the aisle. He bows to Jocasta, a tight smile on him. “Master Nu.”

“Master Kenobi,” Jocasta says, as full of a grin as she can. “Oh congratulations on a successful mission. The Separatists will never again think of attacking Coruscant.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nods, “that is the hope. Master Nu, if you don’t mind I would like a word with Miss Thoren in private.”

“Oh certainly.” Jocasta nods, moving to the side. “You let me know if there is anything I can do for you, Obi-Wan. The Republic owes you her thanks.” She pauses, a short sigh to follow. “Qui-Gon Jinn would be so very proud of you.”

Obi-Wan coughs, nodding shortly. “Yes, thank you.”

She leaves without grander exit, toddling with mumblings of how great this will all look in her histories.

“Hello Odella,” Obi-Wan then says, turned to the young Jedi.

“Master Kenobi,” she greets, peering just past him. “Have you come to deliver me to the Council for a reprimand?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Though I was privy to an earful from Mace of the encounter.”

“Ah.”

“He is proud of you, Odella. It takes a certain kind of Jedi to see more than the Council. Although your time together was short, I find that he believes you to be his greatest achievement of a Padawan. Though I also find that Master Nu is correct in her assessment that you are far more a reflection of Elenia. She would have done exactly as you did today. She would be the most proud of you out of all.”

“Does it ever get easier?” Odella asks, quiet. “Not having them around?”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I wish I could say it does. There isn’t a day where I don’t wish Qui-Gon were here. But there is comfort in knowing he is at peace in the Force.”

“Did Qui-Gon miss Dooku?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nods, “He never spoke of it, but when he looked for guidance, it was always to the Count. But Dooku was alive then, and the circumstances were different.”

“Was alive?” Odella asks.

He nods again, slow. “Anakin killed him today,” he says, quiet, a little rumbly in his chest. “While rescuing the Chancellor.”

“What?”

“Quiet, please,” Obi-Wan urges. “No one is to know yet. Not until the Chancellor makes his announcement of this victory.”

“Victory?” Odella presses. “There is information only Dooku holds about the workings of this war. Information I have been shipped to Separatist planets in order to try and retrieve. Of Sidious. Maul. Grievous. Bringing him alive, having him stand trial and admit to the galaxy his crimes, not risking sympathizers. That would be a true victory.”

“Odella,” he hushes. “I agree, but this was a battle Anakin fought on his own. He may not have had a choice.”

“Where were you during this?”

“Unfortunately, incapacitated.”

“Oh,” she frowns, “where is Anakin?”

“At the Senate, being the poster boy they all want him to be.”

“The Senate?”

“Yes.”

“With—“

“Most likely.”

Odella falters, biting her lip. “He isn’t coming tonight, is he?”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Of course,” she sighs tucking the tablet under her arm. “I was hoping I could see him before tomorrow’s lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That ‘important mission’ Master Yoda had for me? I’ve been made an official instructor for current affairs and basic lightsaber dueling technique. I figured a lesson on the two of you would be a nice topical break.” Her eyes roll. “No one trusts me, still.”

“Odella—”

“It’s not my fault Quinlan fell, I shouldn’t be punished for it.”

“It is a great honor to your intelligence that Master Yoda sees you fit to be a permanent instructor.”

“I’m not a teacher, Obi-Wan.”

“You spend all your days in here,” he says, motioning around. “Studying. You and Anakin would sneak into Knight training sessions as Younglings so that you could learn technique. You are constantly speaking of and researching issues others face. At your heart you are a scholar, Odella. The whole Council sees it. Master Yoda has given you a platform within the Temple to share your passion. This should be a very exciting time for you, it takes years for most Masters to prove themselves worthy permeant placing in one position. Let alone two.”

“I’m a spy, Obi-Wan. A fighter, and a very good one if necessary—“

“You are a Jedi,” he interrupts. “You are a peacekeeper, not a warrior. When the war ends you will need to find your way outside of battle. Many of your peers will struggle just as you do, but you have been given a new purpose. Not all will be able to say that.”

Odella frowns, chewing her lip until skin breaks. “Do you know what Anakin will do?”

Obi-Wan mimics her, twirling the hair of his mustache. “I have my theories, but he has not said.”

The younger Jedi sighs, making her way into the larger commons of the library where Obi-Wan follows. “When we were younger we said whatever we would do we’d do together.” The statement is followed by a soft laugh, head shaking. “Now I’m lucky if I hear from him at all. It’s very strange.”

“Have you not been keeping in contact?”

Her head shakes. “No, I haven’t talked to him since I left.”

“Really? I was certain it was you he would speak to at least a third of the time he ran off to make a call.”

Odella’s face morphs to a tight smile, nose scrunching. “I can’t believe you allow it,” she mumbles. “Especially after what happened to Quinlan. It changed my perspective, certainly. I’ve always wondered why it never changed yours.”

Obi-Wan pauses in his step, breathing out withheld tension. “I’d like to show you something,” he says, walking ahead. “Please, follow me.”

“I don’t see the point in this,” Odella says, sat in Obi-Wan’s room.

She set down a piece of Mandalorian armor, painted red and black onto his desk. It joins a collection of other trinkets Obi-Wan presented to her from a wooden box stashed under his bed.

“Is it a necessary trait in all the Jedi I find respectable to—to break code? To form these attachments which only serve to hurt?” She asks. “In passing once, Quinlan mentioned your… connection to the late Duchess, I hadn’t thought… Well, you never struck me as one willing to fall in love.”

Obi-Wan scoffs in amusement, lips pursed.

“What is it?” Odella asks.

“Nothing.”

“Well you were, were you not? In love.”

“Yes,” he nods, “I was. I still am.” From the desk he grabs a thin piece of twine, twisted with the emblem of a lily of metal hanging at the end. A necklace of a sort. “Although I would not say it was willing. I detested the Duchess when we met. And her I.”

Odella frowns, following how it catches the light.

“Love is not willing, Odella. It happens without warning and without cause. It is intoxicating, it is…” He looks up, only for a moment. “It is the morning of springs first bloom. It is the greatest form the Force may take. It may even be greater than the Force.”

“How can something be greater than the Force?”

“Should you ever know it,” Obi-Wan says. “You will learn.”

The pendant settles in the palm of his hand, fist wrapping around.

“If it ultimately hurt you,” Odella says, soft. “How do you not regret it? Master Yoda says pain leads to the dark side. I can’t imagine the pain you held was not tempting.”

“It was,” he admits. “However, I find that I would much rather live this one life knowing her, than a million others without. I would be a fool if I could ever regret Satine Kryze.”

Obi-Wan moves his mouth as though dehydrated. Like the name were as new to him as it were years ago. Odella suspects it is the first he’s said it in quite some time.

“Is this how Quinlan felt? Feels,” she corrects. “About Ventress?”

Obi-Wan nods. “It is.”

“I see.”

“Odella,” Obi-Wan says. “Trust I understand your concerns with Anakin. I myself have spent many a night wondering if my lack of action is appropriate… but who am I to deny Anakin of his spring, if Qui-Gon did not deny me of mine?”

Odella nods, slowly standing. “I think I understand.”

To a displayed hand Obi-Wan settles the pendant inside. Her fingers wrap around it, delicately tracing metal. Capturing memory.

“I only worry for him, Padmè as well. She is my Senator after all, and my friend. I’ve found a disturbing pattern resulting in Jedi who love. I will pray it does not come true for them.”

She walks behind Obi-Wan, drapping the necklace around him.

“And Anakin loves with the whole of himself,” she adds. “He makes many promises he cannot keep.”

Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder. “Should the need for intervention arise, I will be the first.”

She leans over him, arms wrapped around his front. She stares out the window, admiring the skyline of their city. “Do you think it will happen to me?” She asks, quietly. “I feel now that I may not be fit for it.”

He offers a soft smile, and nods. “If it is the will of the Force,” he says. “Then it will be.”

“Younglings!” Odella calls, late into the day. She claps her hands to silence a chattering room. “Your focus, please. I realize much happened this morning, but your attention is to be on the present.”

A human girl standing in the middle raises her hand, the other holding her lightsaber, a new creation from Illum. “What did happen, Master Thoren?”

“No one tells us anything,” a boy says, growled in Shyriiwook.

“If you would all settle down I should be inclined to tell you.” Her remarks are with constant wit, and she sits lazy and draped across her chair. “Although really I should only be inclined if you do your practices as I’ve instructed.”

She hardly glances from her datapad, scrolling through research of Mandalorian armor. It must have taken decades to develop the alloy to defend against a lightsaber. She thinks Obi-Wan may let her hold it again, for proper study of material.

She’ll be sure to ask before the day is done.

“Drawing shapes is boring,” an Ithroian child complains through her vocoder. “We want to duel!”

“Nurti,” Odella says, tapping a control panel to her left. In front of the children a blank holographic screen appears. “Draw a square.”

She attempts as much, her green blade humming into the blue. The result is a squiggle of lines, vaguely connected.

“That’s a rectangle,” Odella tells the class, peeking over. “A square is equal on all sides.”

“I know what a square is,” Nurti mumbles, hotly embarrassed.

“Then why could you not draw it? Class?”

The Wookie boy raises his hand now. “She was shaking.”

“Yes,” Odella agrees. “Why was she shaking?”

“She’s nervous?” A female Twi’lek suggests.

“Maybe. Why else?”

“She held her saber with one hand,” another Initiate calls.

“No… I could draw it with one hand,” Odella says. “Anyone else? Nurti, how did the saber feel in your hand?”

“Heavy,” she says.

“Does anyone have an idea why it was heavy?”

The class is silent until a second human girl shuffles in the back. “She was trying too hard.”

Odella sits with a start, nodding. “Exactly.” She stands, resetting the holo. “What does Master Yoda say?”

“Do or do not,” the class says in unison.

“There is no try,” Odella finishes. From her hip she ignites one of her sabers, purple glowing the room. “We either make a square—“ as she speaks, she lifts her saber, drawing a perfect square. “Or we do not.” The purple disappears as quickly as it came. “We either win a duel and live, or we do not. Your lightsaber is an extension of yourself, not a tool. If it is heavy, you are not connected to your crystal and so you are not connected to yourself. It chose you as much as you chose it. You are meant to be one.”

She looks to Nurti, motioning to the board.

“Your focus was on proving me wrong instead of proving yourself right. Go again, but act for the benefit of yourself. Reach through the Force and into your crystal. Envision the square in your mind. Draw when you are ready, not a moment before.”

Nurti raises her saber again, taking a breath. With both hands on her hilt, her eyes fall shut. Slowly, she raises her plasma until it touches the holo, drawing in a single breath.

“Perfect,” Odella says. “Now a circle.”

So she does.

“Disengage.”

And the green disappears.

Nurti opens her eyes to her shapes, a grin overtaking. “I did it!”

Odella nods, pacing the room. “You would all like to fight,” she says. “I understand the excitement of the prospect, I too spent my days watching the Knights and Masters in awe. But these are not the wooden staffs you may have used with Yoda. They are weapons. They can and will hurt you and your peers. Until you have bonded with your crystal, taken the time to master precision and control, none of you will be ready to duel.”

“Yes Master Thoren,” they all say in unison.

The sound of a wind chime enters the room, perking all ears.

“Class dismissed,” Odella says. “Your assignment is to spend an hour in mediation with your saber. Tomorrow, I want you all to speak of what you’ve learned. Your emotions, the feeling of the Force, anything you find notable.” Her hands wave, shooing them all to the door. “Tumj and Bhrian if I hear you’ve been practicing unsupervised again I’m confiscating your sabers. Go, all of you.”

The group leaves in giggles and scattered goodbyes, funneling out one by one.

“Maker help us all,” Odella groans, alone. “You’re a scholar, Odella,” she mocks in Obi-Wans voice. “Why wouldn’t you want to be a teacher? It’s almost as good as being a farmer.“

“I would argue it’s a bit better than farmer,” a voice interrupts from the doorway, making her jump. “At least here you’re not covered in dirt.”

“Anakin!”

Unable to help herself, Odella sprints to her friend. He lifts her in a spin, laughing.

“Maker your hair!” She gasps, looking up. “This is what a Knight chooses?”

“I forgot to pack the Temple barber before I was shipped away for over half the year,” he snorts, shaking it out. “My deepest apologies.”

“You look like shit.”

“Says you.”

They grin.

“Obi-Wan said you wouldn’t be here tonight.”

He shrugs. “Well, the war isn’t exactly over yet, and I did promise not to come back until it was.”

She slaps his arm. “Congratulations on your survival by the way. Not that I had doubt, but the odds were slim.”

“I think not dying was also a part of that agreement.”

Her eyes roll. “I’d say it’s good to see the Outer Rim hasn’t completely stripped away your charming personality, but I’d be lying. You’ve managed to come back even more annoying than before.” She takes a moment to stare at him, and squints. “What?”

“What?” He repeats, smile never leaving.

“You’re acting weird. What is it?”

Anakin shrugs, walking around the room. “I can’t be happy to see my favorite Jedi?”

Odella gasps, quick to follow. “Oh something is definitely up. Spill.”

“It’s nothing,” he laughs. “It’s good to be back is all.”

“Mm.”

“And,” he turns, “I missed you.”

“Mhm.”

“I did!” he defends. “We haven’t gone this long without speaking since… ever.”

“I know.”

His gaze narrows. “You’re seeing right through this aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

His sigh is passive, rolling his eyes. “You’re not going to drop it.”

“Not a chance. Spill.”

His eyes scan the room, leaning to her level. “I have just learned, the best news,” he whispers.

“What?” Odella mimics in tone.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Right, so why can’t you tell me?”

“That’s how secrets work.”

“Since when do we keep secrets?”

“Since when are you and Obi-Wan hanging out willingly?”

Her jaw drops. “Do you keep tabs on every male bedroom I enter?”

“When they’re my Master or my men? Yes.”

“Oh, speaking of. Did Jesse come back with you?”

“Del,” he groans.

“Simmer down. He’s never been in the Temple and I promised him a tour.”

“Of what? Your bedroom?”

“Anakin!”

“I told you not to get involved with the clones.”

“And I told you to trust me. If you’re so concerned you can chaperon you underdeveloped nut.”

“Jesse went to Mandalore with Ahsoka,” Anakin says. “Along with Rex and the rest of the team. I’m not sure how long they’ll be there.”

“Oh Ahsoka!” Odella grins. “You’ll have to tell me everything. How is she? Obi-Wan said she’s not officially back yet, but what do you think? I miss having another girl around with all you brutes.”

He looks around again, bright eyed, as if harboring another great secret. “She’ll come back,” he says. “She was… apprehensive, when we met again, but I blame nerves. After Maul is defeated she’ll remember how much she loves it here, loves being one of us. She’ll be back by the end of the week, I’m sure of it.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“Don’t say that. Of course she’ll be. She has to be. The Order is her life, she’s only forgotten.”

“Anakin—“ Odella sighs.

A second chime enters the room, causing a flinch.

“Shit,” Odella swears. Running to the chair she collects the forgotten data pad, and unloads the holo. “I’m late, I have to go. Will you still be around later?”

“I might be,” Anakin says. “Where are you going?”

“I have another class, other side of the Temple. Maker, if I wasn’t going to get expelled before, I will be now.“

“Expelled?”

“It’s a long story,” she breathes, jogging up to him. “I told Mace to fuck off.”

“You did what?”

“I’m being facetious. Kind of. If you haven’t heard already, I’m sure you will.”

“Del—“

“If you’re still here, meet me after supper hour,” she calls, out the door. “I’ll tell you all about it, and you can tell me what this great big secret you have is.”

“Del I can’t—” Anakin calls back.

“Later!”

“Would you believe me if I said they’re deficiently sending me to the AgriCorps this time?” Odella asks, walking down a corridor of the Temple.

At the end of its hall stands Anakin, leaned by the windowsill, staring at the setting sun.

“After you’ve managed your way out twice? Not a chance.”

“Third time is the charm,” she says, reaching the end. “Maybe the Force wills me to be a farmer, and I’ve been doing a disservice by denying myself of my apparent destiny.”

“If your destiny is farming then the Force really does need balance, doesn’t it?” His smile is cheeky, arms crossed over his chest. “I guess I should get to work on that some time soon. Save you from the misery.”

Odella shrugs, jumping on the ledge, sitting. “There’s a war going on,” she says. “Priority wise, my comfort in the Order should not be high on your list.”

“Are you not?” He asks, softer in tone. “Comfortable that is.”

Her first response is a sigh, head leaned against the wooden frame and cool glass. “When we were younger we had all these ideas about what being a Jedi would be like, and I don’t know if it’s the war or… me, but I don’t know. Reality is hard to match to expectations.”

“What did you expect?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life here, and I don’t know what I thought would happen,” she laughs, almost empty. “Master Yoda says my first word was his name. I used to…” she points down the corridor. “He taught me how to walk in these halls.”

“He did?”

Odella nods, a timid smile. “It’s not rare for children to come here as infants, but… Yoda says my umbilical cord was still attached when I came. He never sees human babies that young, so I guess he took a liking.”

“I never knew he was like a father to you,” Anakin says. “Is that how you get away with all that you do?”

“No,” Odella laughs. “Not at all. If anything it’s given him higher expectations of me. It’s why I’m so—“ she waves her hand, flippant. “Out of every sentient in the Order, I’ve always cared for his opinion the most. I figured he’d tell me if he were cross, so I can get in as much trouble as I want. And I did. Still do. As long as I don’t disappoint Yoda I don’t really care.”

“Huh.”

“And now I’ve been thinking… he doesn’t tell me when he is disappointed for the same reasons. So I wonder how deeply I have indeed disappointed him after all these years.”

Anakin morphs to a frown, facing her directly. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I am a failure of a Jedi,” Odella groans.

“You’re a great Jedi.”

“Do you know how many Masters I knew as a toddler? How many of our Masters quite literally watched me grow up from a newborn? And none of them thought of taking me as a Padawan. And after Elenia passed and I hadn’t finished my training… No one wanted me still. I actually hoped Yoda would take me, I used to dream about being his Padawan. And out of nowhere Mace Windu is arguing on my behalf.” She bites her lip, eyes narrowing. “We were Knighted at the same ceremony Ani… I don’t think he thought I was ready. I don’t think I thought I was ready. But they were expediting promotions and I was already so far into my training.”

“Odella,” Anakin says. “The Council makes many mistakes, you are not one of them.”

“They do not trust me.”

“They don’t trust me either. They never have. From the moment I entered the Temple, the Council has had nothing but distaste for me. If I didn’t have this damned prophecy pinned to me, they wouldn’t take me at all. Hell, if Qui-Gon never died I wouldn’t be here. None of them want me here, after everything I’ve done and still do. I promise it is not you who is flawed, it is the Council.”

“I don’t know Ani—“

“The Council allowed Obi-Wan to fake his death. They are the reason Ahsoka left. They are the reason Quinlan was trapped into working with Ventress. Every major flaw of the Order is due to the Council’s arrogance. If they do not trust you it is because they refuse change. Good, necessary change I know you could bring.”

Odella sighs, nodding her head in thought. “The war has changed a great many deal of things. At times I wonder if… If I am supposed to be a Jedi at all. If all these obstacles… the farming, the teaching, not being wanted as a Padawan… What if it is the Force telling me I’m doing the wrong thing here?”

“You were made a Knight because you are meant to be a Knight,” Anakin says. “The way I see it, the Force has carried you through these challenges because it is where you are supposed to be. You can’t leave the Order. I won’t allow it. I won’t. It’s a horrible thought for you to even have.”

For a second, and it is only a second for if were any longer Odella might find it in herself to call concern, Anakin darkens. His voice drops, and his jaw tightens. He stares at her with such brief intensity she finds that all her prior thoughts leave her.

Anakin is not so much objecting to her leaving the Order, as it is an objection to her leaving him, she realizes. After so many have before, she can’t say it’s all that unreasonable.

She doesn’t know how to describe the dash of cold that it comes with the fist that grows at his side.

So she will not try.

Odella nods, shaking out her arms. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You are,” he agrees. “You’re tired, and much has happened. With Dooku dead, as soon as we locate Grievous the war will be over. Then everything will be normal. You won’t have these thoughts anymore.”

She doesn’t say how she doesn’t know what normal is anymore.

“Yes. It will be.”

“I think I’ll be made Master by then,” Anakin says. “When I am on the Council I will argue for all the changes you wish to make. I’ll see to it they are done. I promise.”

Odella only nods.

Anakin sits across from her, knees bent as her legs stretch. “I swear to you Odella. I’ll make sure you are made Master too, and on the Council alongside me. We’ll be unstoppable.”

“What was that secret you had?” Odella asks instead. “The one you can’t tell me.”

On a dime his mood changes, wrinkles between his pinched brows disappeared. A smile in its place. “You’ll find out soon,” he says. “It’s the best news I’ve heard in my whole life. It will be the best of yours as well.”

Her head tilts. “What is it?”

“A blessing.”

Her eyes roll. “Fine, keep your secrets. Whatever it is, if you have no worry of them what so ever, I offer my preemptive congratulations.”

“Can I ask you something?” Anakin asks. His smile drops, just slightly, and he chews on the inside of his cheek. “Because I do have one worry. I… It’ll sound silly, but I want you to answer honestly.”

Odella reflects his concern, and nods. “Of course. What is it?”

“What did I do wrong with Ahsoka?”

“What?”

“If I had done things right she would have stayed. I could’ve made her. What did I do wrong? You were friends, did she tell you if she was disappointed or unhappy being my Padawan?”

“She complained of you the way any Padawan complains of their Master. Anakin, Ahsoka loves you. You said so yourself, the decision of the Council is what drove her away.”

“And my lack of dedication prevented her from coming back.”

“Ani—“

“Odella. Tell me. How did I fuck up? Tell me how I can change so it does not happen again. I will be better. Stronger. More loyal if I have to.”

She takes a moment, sat in thought. It strikes her as a plasma bolt. He’s taking another Padawan.

“Ani you took care of Ahsoka the best way you could. She’s an excellent duelist, she’s intelligent, she’s determined.”

“Then how could she leave?”

“Because she is intelligent and she is determined. She understood her poor treatment and acted to better her life. You should be proud of her.”

“I am.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“I couldn’t take care of her. I couldn’t protect her. Not the way she should have been.”

“Anakin,” Odella says. “Whatever will happen to you, it will all work out the way it is meant to. You are the Chosen One, it will be for the best.”

“What if I mess up again?” He whispers.

She reaches over their legs, grabbing his metal hand. “Let’s say somehow, a child came into my care, as one may… come into yours. If something were to happen to me, you are the only person in the entire galaxy I would trust with their wellbeing.”

His nod is short, firm and sure of itself. He grabs her other hand. “I would do everything in my power to provide for them,” he says. “I would do right by you Odella. I promise.”

“I know, Ani,” she says. “I know.”

Anakin leaves some minutes or hours later, walked by her with their elbows linked. He never did stop being obnoxiously tall. He tells her he will return by the morning to speak to her class, and promises to bring the puffed pastries she enjoys.

He never says they’re a recipe Padmè makes from Naboo, but she never questions their origin.

Inside her room, alone again and at last with a break of excitement, Odella flops on her bed.

Dooku is dead, she thinks. The war will be over soon.

She tucks herself into bed, staring out her window to the night skyline.

She doesn’t know what will come then, or what will become of her. But she’s inclined to take Anakin’s stern optimism to save her from thought.

Still, she can’t help but wonder if Anakin keeps a book of his promises. And how he intends to keep them all.

Next: SUPPLEMENTAL DATA I

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfic #Hunter x OC #Hunter x OFC #sergeant hunter x oc #Daybreak #Odella Thoren #Hunter X Orignal Character #Hunter x Original Female Character #Hunter TBB #TBB #TBB Fanfic #Anakin Skywalker #Anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction

1 note · View note

yandere-writer-momo · 8 months

Text

Yandere Short Stories: The Sponser

Yandere Afab Vampire x Afab Vampire Hunter Reader

For my dear friend @corvlth

Eclectic. Odd. Bizarre. Out of the box. Those were all ways one would describe Duchess Evaline Bohéme. She was known to be an eccentric artist who’d much rather spend her time painting than socializing with other nobles.

There was no point socializing with humans in her mind. It didn’t matter how many centuries went by or how often she changed her name, human nobles remained the same. Greedy and selfish.

Which made issues arise. She didn’t want to marry nor did she want to date. Evaline lost herself in her oil paintings, dedicating every fiber in her being to the vibrant colors and the soft contours of a figment of her imagination.

But that was until she met her. (Your name), the vampire hunter. A gruff and tenacious woman who took the social world by storm by being out of the norm. A woman doing a man’s job? It was unheard of… and it fascinated the duchess.

People underestimated the huntress because of her gender but Evaline didn’t. She could feel it from her place in the shadows that the huntress was far more capable than the hunters before her. So how could Evaline obtain her?

Evaline would sell out her brethren. If (your name) hunted all the other vampires, then (your name) would trust her. Maybe she’d open her heart to Evaline? The thought made the Duchess giddy.

Evaline watched (your name) from her perch of her bedroom window. Her violet eyes memorizing every part of the scarred huntress’s face. In Evaline’s eyes, she was the most magnificent creature she’s ever seen.

Evaline swore if she had a heartbeat, it would have stopped when they locked eyes. That her cheeks would blush a cherry red under the huntress’s strong gaze. She was enamored.

(Your name) took the small bag of gold from the butler. The huntress tipped the brim of her hat down as a sign of respect.

Evaline sunk to her knees, the wood splintered under her hands from the force she fell with when (your name) climbed on top of her horse and rode off.

Evaline wanted her… and Evaline would have her. Whether in this life or the next.

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere monster x reader #yandere monster #yandere lesbian #yandere wlw #yandere vampire #yandere vampire x reader #vampire #vampire hunter #lesbian #lesbian oc #sapphic #sapphism #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere stories

364 notes · View notes

sinisterexaggerator · 1 month

Text

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 15

Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, mildly dubious consent, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.

This chapter: No warnings but for a disgruntled Duros.

Word count: 2.7k+

Notes: This is kind of a short chapter, but it feels right to set it apart on its own from what comes next. In fact, writing shorter chapters may make it so that I update more often, as it's easier to manage, and I still have a LOT of story to tell. <3

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter ||

Zulara tried her best to not let fear overtake her, for her spiraling thoughts to get the best of her, even as she sat there all alone. Not truly, but it felt as if she had been abandoned, Todo having powered down with Bane still sleeping soundly in the bacta.

Everything was happening much too quickly, though it had been hours since she’d come here; her head was spinning. She hadn’t eaten, having let her meal fall to the ground at Cad Bane’s entrance to her tiny home back on Slave Quarter’s Row the night before.

Zulara realized she didn’t even know the time, not having a chrono of her own. She supposed it did not matter, although Kayson might come looking for her. She wondered if Hondo was able to curb his anger, or to make up some excuse for her, but in her heart she knew nothing would deter her master once he had a mind to do something—find her secret hiding spot.

It was only secret because she was sure he did not know where Bane was docked, or even what his ship looked like. It was the only thing that gave her hope as she gazed longingly at the Duros, wishing he’d wake up.

She regretted leaving Todo just standing there, his form bent forward in a supine slope, but she had been too concerned, too riddled with worry for the hunter, not to go directly back to his side.

She had lost track of how long she had been there, seated on the floor with her legs folded beneath her; her fingers and forehead flat against the glass, Zulara engrossed by Cad Bane’s every breath—she could not help it.

She had almost panicked, having thought to call the youth named Boba Fett, but after the story she had heard, she steeled herself, refusing to bring him back aboard the ship if she could manage it.

Now, it was not Bane who settled into dreams, but the girl beside him. She dreamt of silly things. Things that were nary possible in this life, things that might have made her smile, but she was not so dotty as to put any stock into them.

Imagine her, flying amongst the stars, free from Kayson and from his business, only having to answer to herself. But maybe Bane would be there, maybe he would take care of her, and she would him. Maybe she could join him in his quest across the galaxy, providing him with some relief once he had finished a hard day’s work—how asinine she was to think that. It would never happen.

In reality, space was dark, cold, and unforgiving, she often floundered when she was made to practice piloting. Never before had Zulara felt so claustrophobic, not until she had experienced breaking atmo on Kayson’s orders the first time she left Lothal, no matter that the stars were beautiful.

When she was positive that nothing could go wrong; when she was absolutely sure that Bane was resting comfortably, the girl would climb unsteadily onto her tingling legs and her own two feet—they had nearly been asleep—finally ambling down the corridor to where the little droid resided.

Zulara did her best to move him to his rightful place: the recharge station. No arguments were given, no sassy backtalk had to be endured, yet she found she missed him. The silence of the ship was more than deafening, besides the warbled sound the pod made as it recycled and replenished bacta, as was its purpose, just like he had one—she presumed something, though she had no proof: It was possible in deep space Bane felt too alone, therefore Todo kept his mind sharp, kept him on his game, in addition to keeping the Duros company.

What friends did he have otherwise? Did he have partners that stood by his side? From what Pampy had said to her, he seemed to work all by his lonesome, with a reputation that preceded him.

Perhaps he liked it that way; perhaps she was intruding, yet he had seemed intrigued by her. She worried every second of every minute of every hour what Bane might do should he find her here once he awoke; she prayed to the Goddess of the Twi’lek people that he might find solace with her and not try to kick her out, or worse.

She felt the click, heard the sound that denoted Todo was plugged in. It echoed loudly in the quiet, bouncing from wall to wall. She glanced about her. There were so many things for her eyes to see and study.

There was a lengthy worktable. It was littered with motors, servos, gears, and wires of all sizes. Some parts looked salvaged, while others might be newly purchased, not to mention microchips of unknown origin and lenses, sensors, other various tools and instruments.

She saw a pair of RW-80 welding goggles, along with a protective visor. There were advanced repair kits of all kinds, including those for blasters. Most curious of all was what she thought were trinkets, things that he might collect. There were different kinds of helmets, and what appeared to be weapons of some sort that were unfamiliar. Cabinets lined the walls; she wondered what they might hold. She dare not snoop too much for fear of repercussion.

Still, that would not stop her. She gathered all the bits and pieces of Bane’s wrist gauntlet from off the ground, double-checking to make sure the hunter was still dozing.

Once seated, Zulara would pick up a nearby broken-screw remover, also known as an extractor. This one had a spiral flute structure, which she used to carefully unwind one that was being difficult. Her hands were delicate, though exacting. They had to be for one thing, yet without a measured touch it was possible to add too much torque to the brittle metal, thus making your job that much harder for you.

She removed its outer shell; it was cracked and badly damaged. There was extra paneling meant for droids nearby that could be welded and reshaped, but first thing’s first—she would need to replace the ruined circuits and find a pair of hypersheers for precision cutting and resizing.

---

Lavender eyelids batted open; Zulara found herself in slight repose, her own palm cupping her soft cheek as she had tried to keep her focus. It was at that moment she remembered—she had been cooking rycrit stew! With no sense of time inside Bane’s ship, she hoped it had not become inedible.

She spared a glance, Todo had still not activated. She could not have been asleep for too long, as it only took droids an hour to recharge, or so she’d heard—much less time than her.

Zulara suddenly felt like she could sleep forever, or at least for several hours, but she would not let herself succumb to such a notion. At least not until poor Todo could take over, then maybe she might get some rest before finishing the final touches on Bane’s vambrace.

It had been complicated, finding what wires led to what. She had a scare or two, and nearly burnt her fingers. It was fascinating just how it all operated—she wondered if Bane had built it all himself.

The girl was tempted to check on Bane again, but she did not want to accidentally cause a mess in his little galley, sparsely stocked though nearly spotless, and housed somewhere near the ion engines or another source of power; there was a low humming sound that seemed to burr the whole time she was in there.

Her feet found the rungs to the ladder she would use to climb down into the belly of his ship. His living area, the medbay, his workspace, and the cockpit—they all resided at the top, though separated by double-doors and one almost star-shaped hallway. It led off into four other separate, shallow paths—dead-ending at different doorways, whereas the kitchen and dining area, what looked like holding cells, and ample storage space were down below—so was the boarding ramp and holoterminal with access to the HoloNet.

She was sure that medbay used to be someone else’s living sleeping place, the way furniture was covered and piled up in the corner as if those items had been an afterthought. There was a spare refresher there, besides the one she was sure existed in Bane’s bedroom.

In addition to all the other nooks and crannies, there was the lift they’d use to carry him. It was industrial, flat, and open on all sides, like the ship’s sole was simply rising. It had been designed to act as both roof and floor between two levels; if you were on the lower deck, you had to wait for it to join you.

Zulara imagined it was useful for heavy items, like the pod Bane was currently occupying. She set her thoughts aside, focusing now on the smell that was emanating from down the hall—it was good, thank goodness, and did not smell like anything but vegetables and rycrit stew, like it was supposed to.

The girl would take a breath as she ran her fingers along the counter—it was made from stainless durasteel. She gathered the lid from off her home-cooked meal, inhaling deeply of the aroma that had been building up within. She ladled a bit of broth in the convex shape of the spoon she’d used to cook, then took a taste to make sure it was perfect.

---

Two wide, yellow eyes—like sparkling jaspers—whirred and vibrated with a light buzzing sound. Servos and joints were manipulated, little arms stretched out for a brief inspection, Todo 360 making sure that his intermotors were all functional and accounted for.

He shook his head, as if clearing unwanted thoughts or a fog that lingered, the faithful droid not quite able to remember what had happened to him. He blinked, his metal body tensing—Mister Bane—he was still inside the tank!

Todo would swivel his large cranium to the left and right; that girl Zulara was nowhere to be found. He wondered if she had gone. Had he made it to his recharge station? Perhaps she had it in her heart to help him, as the last thing he could recall was himself stalling, and only a few meters away from his destination—he was sure he had heard her call his name—if his memory still served him, she had sounded beside herself.

The service-droid stepped away from the mechanism holding him upright—he was now fully operational and at full power. He actuated his rocket thrusters and propelled himself into the center of the hall; he took to its right side, branching off, then opened up the steel-plated door to peek inside.

“Mister Bane!” the droid cried happily.

Todo realized he had nearly scared the Duros, his sharp eyes widening in breadth. He had halted with one leg in and one leg out, leaving his imprisonment, whether he should or shouldn’t. Todo knew Bane detested bacta—its texture, temperature, and consistency were all things that displeased him. He had argued with him more than once, the droid sometimes wondering just what he would do without him should he not be there to convince him otherwise.

“Your health is not a game!” is what the droid had told him, sounding as if he truly cared, though he was composed of nothing more than ones and zeros. In reality, Bane was thankful for him; he was like the nagging mother he never had, sure that without that droid, he would already be dead.

Still, that did not mean he was ready to entertain his fraught concern. His tone was lacquered with it, and the hunter would not have it.

“Bane! You are awake! I was—”

The Duros shot his droid companion with a look that dared him to keep yapping, Todo at once halting his chipper dialogue. What Bane was truly feeling was easy to decipher, as it was always written on his face, and rarely pleasant.

“Sir, I can tell your mood is poor, however there is—”

“Quiet!” was the only thing his master demanded of him, Bane’s voice gruff and raspy as he was thirsty on top of feeling completely useless. It felt as if he had been hit with an errant hovercar, or an entire starship, his body aching in places he did not know could ache.

Todo made a sound equivalent to indignation, yet he held his tongue, even though he did not have one. Bane’s other foot joined its partner on the ground, the Duros idling, lingering, just standing there for what felt like minutes, trying to regain his equilibrium.

Once capable of movement, Bane would begin his lethargic trudge toward his refresher in his private quarters, thinking the only thing he cared about was a warm, inviting shower; the feeling of the sticky bacta on his microscales was anathema and suffocating.

The hunter would hardly notice the wet, viscid trail he left behind in his ship’s short corridor, or that the droid had followed him, desperate to talk to him about something he imagined would be unimportant. His head ached, and his mind was numb, no thoughts present except those about the pain he was experiencing. He would take something—drink something—deadening those things he felt both from without and from within, not knowing that the girl being aboard his ship was anything but another dream.

---

“Oh, what am I going to do with him? He never listens! And now I suppose I am going to have to be the one to clean up this mess. I am a techno-service droid, not a maid-droid! Not even a thank you for—”

Todo paused in his lonely rant, tilting his head off to one side. His focus remained trained on the little sound he thought he heard—the clank of boots, or footsteps on the nearby ladder’s metal rungs. It was positioned just left of the cockpit’s doors, Todo surprised when he saw a head emerge, covered in dark locks.

“Zulara!” he called to her, coming forward as she pulled herself up, and out, “I thought you had wisely decided to go home,” he started in. “You will be happy to know that Mister Bane is alive and well, and is currently taking a much-needed shower.”

Zulara’s eyes widened with every word; she tiptoed forward, deciding to check on things herself as Todo kept the conversation going, though she nearly slipped in a residue that happened to be foot-shaped. “I am not sure that I can explain your presence here, therefore it may be in your best interest to leave—now—before either one of us gets into serious trouble.”

It was not that she didn’t trust poor Todo, but she had to see with her own two dichromatic eyes; she peered toward the bacta pod. It was open, and Bane was not inside.

The girl would turn, gazing at the floor and at the tacky substance that had left a path to the door across from her; it was obvious that Bane had made his way just as the droid had said. She began to follow it, Todo placing his hands upon his hips as his spheroid eyes broadened and expanded.

“—And just where do you think you are going?” he asked, perplexed.

“To check on Bane,” the girl would offer as a whisper, her footsteps timid; she moved closer to what was sure to be his bedroom. Her heart was pounding, and her internal temperature was rising, all from simply knowing he was somewhere, awake, on the other side.

“That is the worst idea I have ever heard! Do not be foolish!” Zulara would ignore Todo and his warnings, only pausing to hearten her small amount of courage. She could feel him tug her, his little hands having found the backside of her pants, “he will surely kill you!”

“I’ll be all right,” Zulara stated, shooing him away. Like a moth to a flame, she bade herself to go inside.

Todo would balk and scoff, pace back and forth, and wring his hands, but to no avail; none of this would help him. He tried again, “I do not know who you think you are, or what you are doing, but rest assured Bane will—”

The door closed in his face.

“Organics!” Todo would lament, exasperated.

#Cad Bane #Cad Bane x OC #Cad Bane x Original Character #Fanfiction #Star Wars #Original female characters #Twi'lek species #clone wars #bad batch #book of boba fett #Stars Above #Todo 360 #Bounty Hunters #Star Wars smut #multichapter fic #my writing

11 notes · View notes

imagineanime2022 · 8 months

Text

Kianna W/ The Zoldyck Family Adults

Zoldyck Family X Kianna (@nunezs-stuff OC)

Requested: @nunezs-stuff

Request: Original Request

*Part 1*

Silva

🟣 Silva was indifferent to her, he assumed that if she was allowed to officially be a part of the family that it would encourage Killua to come back to the family. 🟣 He was weary of her, he knew that people weren’t above using children to gather information and she seemed perfect to be a spy, quiet, small and ordinary or so he thought. 🟣 Silva spent a long time watching her, gathering information that he could find for her and eventually coming to the conclusion that you weren’t a spy or even a threat to the family, especially after taking a trip to meet her father (who didn’t have anything nice to say). 🟣 Kianna was uncomfortable around Silva given her history with father figures but Silva was definitely different to her father in so many ways but they became closer after she proved herself by protecting Killua. 🟣 It took a long time before either of them could talk to the other, mostly because Kianna was afraid and Silva had no interest in the opposite gender or speaking to them. 🟣 Kianna earned her place in the family through torture and manipulation of their targets and brought back valuable information when she came back. 🟣 They were never closer than what you would call a business relationship but I don’t think that Silva is particularly close with any of his children.

Kikyo

👒 Kikyo did not like Kianna, she did not trust her and hated that she had managed to gain the respect of most of the children in a very short amount of time. 👒 Kikyo watched her everywhere that she went and the only reason that she never hurt her was because Killua wanted her there. 👒 After that was pointed out to her, she started to try and get to know Kianna because maybe Killua would spend more time at home if Kianna liked being there. 👒 Kianna never felt very safe around Kikyo, she had the same personality traits as her father and she was sure that one wrong move would land her a hit to the face or some other part of her body. 👒 Kikyo became more amicable of her after seeing her torture someone for the first time and get the information that they needed out of them, she was exceptionally good at it. 👒 They would never be very close but they learned to live together or at the very least they were able to live in the same house when they needed to without almost killing anyone.

Zeno

🐉 Zeno was the only one that tried to get to know her as a person outside of being a friend of Killua or a potential threat, he was so strong that he didn’t need to worry about any of it. 🐉 Kianna found his presence to be calming, every member of the family listened to him and he meant her no harm, despite already knowing most of Kianna’s history from various different sources he wanted her to tell him. 🐉 Zeno was the one who told the rest of the family about her abilities in manipulation and torture after she told him. 🐉 He liked her because she made Killua happy, and that was all that he wanted for the kids of the family and you were a strong ally to have given all of your skills. 🐉 Actually advocates for her when talking to other members of the family, which gets Silva and Kikyo to take a step back and really look at her. 🐉 He’s inclined to spend the most time with her out of all of the adults and is likely to oversee the training that she’s put through to make sure that no one was too hard on her. 🐉 He’s probably the closest of the adult members of the family and the one that she’d go to if there was a problem and he’d definitely listen.

Request Here!!

#hunter x hunter oneshot #hunter x hunter reader insert #hunter x hunter scenario #hunter x hunter imagine #silva zoldyck #silva zoldyck imagine #silva zoldyck oneshot #kikyo zoldyck #kikyo zoldyck imagine #kikyo zoldyck one shot #zeno zoldyck #zeno zoldyck imagine #zeno zoldyck oneshot #imagine #oneshot #one shot #OC #original character #female character

20 notes · View notes

keravnos-kori · 1 year

Text

return to sender - chapter three: best and brightest

ofc x tech (eventual)

word count: 5.1k

rts masterlist // ao3 link

summary: halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…

a/n:...let's pretend it hasn't been almost three years since i've updated

~~~~~~

“Are we there yet?”

A collective sigh reverberated throughout the cabin. Tech bit his tongue, but couldn’t help his eyes from rolling. “For the eighth time, Wrecker, you’ll know we have reached our destination when we drop out of hyperspace.”

The largest member of the Batch released an irritable groan from his position on the floor, resting his head on the cool durasteel siding that made up the Marauder’s interior.

“Does it always take this long? I never have to pay attention since Crosshair-…” Wrecker trailed off, the circumstances that led them to Saleucami in the first place overtaking his thoughts.

There was a tense silence that spread between the cockpit and main hold, cut through after a moment by the newest member of the crew. “I’m sure it can’t be that much longer!” Omega reassured. The young girl swiveled around in the co-pilot’s seat to face the rest of her companions, feet barely brushing the ground.

Tech glanced up from his datapad to assess the chronometer on the console closest to him. “Your intuition is correct. We are expected to make the drop in approximately one-half standard hour.”

Turning to follow Omega’s gaze, Tech noticed Echo nodding somewhat absently at the communications panel. Hunter continued to pace the length of the ship’s main compartment, fingers twitching near the holster of his vibroblade: a habit only initiated when his patience was wearing thin.

Staying glued to his datapad was the most effective way to keep Tech’s mind occupied in the moment. There was a lot to process from the past few days, and while he was mentally capable of doing so, he was not sure he was prepared to open up emotionally in front of his brothers about his concerns.

This seemed just fine with the others, as they had yet to discuss the implications of Crosshair’s departure either.

Having to leave their brother behind was a difficult decision, to say the least. Though Crosshair began to act strangely on Kaller, the Batch chalked it up to his severe disposition and assumed he was in a sour mood from all the contradictory orders. It wasn’t until their mission in the Onderon sector that things got out of hand.

Disobeying Hunter to his face. Threatening civilians. A total lack of disregard for how they always operated.

All in all, Tech felt as if he’d failed Crosshair, and not just from departing without him.

For not being able to see the warning signs sooner.

They’d always been close. As close as anyone could be to Tech, and vice versa with Crosshair.

Flashes of their days as cadets flashed in Tech’s mind. Everything that they’d gone through together, first as a quartet for the majority of their enhanced lifespans, then with the welcome addition of Echo to their squad. What was it all for if they left each other behind?

Wasn’t that what made them who they were from the very beginning?

Tech inhaled deeply, clearing his thoughts.

Crosshair’s absence wasn’t the only thing troubling him. Nearly 12,400 parsecs away was a civilian he had, for weeks now, kept contact with.

Against Republic regulation.

Tech had his own creative methods of bending the rules, but this went against his training completely.

He accepted her request for academic assistance on a whim. Resisting pursuits of knowledge was not where his strengths lie.

But that wasn’t all…

This civvie, this woman, was in the very heart of Imperial territory from what Tech was able to glean from scattered radio waves. In his last transmission, he was able to relay recent events to her and provide a warning to escape before anything worse happened in her vicinity.

Her.

Halla.

Contact attempts would have to be few and far between them now. He was effectively on the run from his creators and she was subject to increased surveillance in the capital.

The thought was not a pleasant one.

He was confident in his ability to take care of himself despite the circumstances, but she was just a student - albeit a rather intelligent one. Tech knew, though, that intellect and survival skills were nowhere close to being in the same category. The best he could hope for would be that she keeps her head down and book passage to a system not known for its ties with the centralized government; much like his own plan.

Redirecting his attention back towards his screen, Tech’s heel began to bounce beneath the control yoke as he began to brainstorm potential solutions. How could he provide assistance from such a distance away? What good would he be to her if they had no method of communication?

Straightening his back, Tech decided to compose a new message before he had to switch back to piloting manually.

If he was capable of modifying his signal to become untraceable (which he was and did), and he provided instructions to Halla to do the same, would it not be logical to assume their transmissions could resume without external interference?

There was a flurry of typing as Tech did all he could to explain, down to the minutiae, the process of concealing one’s transmission identifier, holonet mask, and localized device positioning mechanism.

Child’s play for him, in the grand scheme of things, but not for an individual with no engineering experience whatsoever and who had once admitted to him that she’d once fallen for a basic malware ploy that resulted in unsavory Neimoidian images to be downloaded on to a University-owned device.

On that note, Tech made an effort to be as thorough with his directions as possible.

Once the list was drawn up and revised for clarity, Tech took a moment to check the chrono once more: T-minus four minutes until the drop. Satisfied with the results of his work, Tech wrote a quick note near the top of the message and addressed it before sending it off.

Clipping the datapad back onto his utility belt, Tech began his routine of sublight prechecks.

If Crosshair couldn’t be helped right now, maybe Halla could.

~~~

Halla was not a morning person.

She did not enjoy drinking caf or planning how she was supposed to be productive that day. Most of all, she hated waking up before noon on a good day. If it weren’t for the bitterness she felt at the news she received yesterday, Halla would still gladly be nestled in bed.

But no. Here she was, bright and early at 08:00 hours, waiting for an audience with her new graduate advisor.

The administrative complex was just as big and expensive as the rest of the buildings across campus, filled with similar indoor-friendly greenery and back-breaking duraplast seating. The newest addition, besides the drab gray and white uniforms milling about, was the massive tapestries emblazoned with the newly minted Imperial cog draped liberally both in and outside all University structures.

Halla imagined they were meant to display “indomitable allegiance to the cause” or something of the like, but the only impression she was left with was how badly the shades of black clashed with the pristine white and emerald interior.

From her position in the foyer, Halla could still hear the protestors on the steps outside only meters away. It was a diverse bunch, much like the former populace of the college, all holding signs and chanting something along the lines of “hey hey, ho ho, racism’s got to go!”

It had been embarrassing to walk past them, entering the building with her loose hair as a partition between herself and the crowd. She would have joined in, and might’ve said as much to them if she weren’t trying to avoid the scrutiny of the security guards holding a barrier in place.

She was a traitor.

Halla’s meeting with the Dean was not exactly on his daily agenda. She had figured his last message counted as an open invitation, leading her to plaster on a cheerful smile at the check-in center and con her way onto the visitor list.

A list. For who exactly?

Besides a few spare personnel milling about, there was a distinct lack of student activity taking place inside. Halla never saw anyone go into the Admin Complex ahead of her, and there was no one else in the lobby to follow her up either.

They’re just wasting your time to establish authority. Be patient.

Patience was never Halla’s strong suit.

Eons (or maybe just another handful of minutes) passed before the receptionist flagged her down and led her to the lift. Riding up to the story hosting the Dean’s Offices, Halla was cast off to the next administrator who directed her to stand outside a room labeled Aurek Suite.

The pneumatic door opened, though no one was standing at the control panel. Instead, a man was sitting behind a barren desk, the high back of his chair rising over his head.

Arlin Sreetus looked to be the poster boy of the imposing aesthetic his employer was implementing across the planet. Perfectly parted hair, piercing blue eyes, and not a speck on his uniform. Neat, clean, manicured down to a level that was almost unsettling to gaze upon.

Halla felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She wasn’t prepared for when he opened his mouth.

“Miss Ismaren, so nice to finally match a face to its name. Please, come in and sit.” He greeted her from across the room.

Halla had to bite the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from doing something she’d regret. The Dean’s voice was not suited for the body that produced it, much too nasally and broken to fit the façade that went along with his flawless white jacket.

Once she trusted herself to speak again, Halla released the inside of her cheek from between her molars, quickly striding across the office and finding her seat across from the Dean.

How am I supposed to stay angry with this slime when I’m too busy trying to keep myself from laughing?

“Good morning,” Halla greeted, tone as stiff as she could manage.

Sreetus glanced at the terminal in front of him before addressing Halla again.

“I see you’ve received my message,” he said.

“I have,” she responded.

He raised his eyebrows, and Halla had to wonder if he even knew she wasn’t here to be on friendly terms.

"I've reviewed your academic profile," he started. “Impressive credentials you have here… near-perfect grade point, published research commendations, federal volunteer work.” His eyes continued to flit back and forth between her and his screen as he spoke. “Very impressive, indeed.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Halla deadpanned.

The Dean’s nose twitched, barely noticeable but present nonetheless.

“I also noticed while reviewing your file that you have yet to register for your chain code. Every Imperial citizen is required to have one. Is there a reason you don’t?” He asked patronizingly.

Halla froze for only a half second before she attempted to brush the question off.

“I was planning on getting around to it soon. I’ve been rather busy with my research, as you could imagine.” She said pointedly.

Sreetus leaned back in his chair, blue-and-red rank plaque upon his chest shining under the bright fluorescent lighting. “Ah, yes. Your clone studies. I’m glad you decided to visit today so we can redirect you towards more…productive outlets.”

Halla bristled, “With all due respect,” which is none, “I believe my current track is the most productive use of my time. You can see from my portfolio, I’ve worked in this area for the past few yea-”.

Sreetus spoke up, effectively steamrolling over her protests before she could even elaborate on her position.

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of your past endeavors Miss Ismaren,” he groused. “No need to recount every detail.”

“But, I-”.

“There are better opportunities for you now, Miss Ismaren. I understand you hold special interests, but it is time to leave them in the past. The present is where you need to be, with the rest of us - helping to drive society forward.”

More like helping to send it into an authoritarian backslide.

Her silence prompted him to keep speaking, not that there was much time to pipe up anyway.

“You’re lucky, you know. To have such connections in your life capable of putting your name forward for such an exclusive position.”

If anything in the past twenty-four hours took Halla off guard, that comment was it.

“I’m…not sure what you mean.”

“An in. An assignment within the Imperial Service Corps. - the Security Bureau.” Despite the smug look on his face, Halla got the sense that behind his words lay a twinge of envy. “A personal recommendation from your father.”

No.

That couldn't be right.

“Sorry, you must be mistaken. My father, my biological father - we don’t speak. I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, haven’t heard anything from him directly since the start of the war. And besides, he has nothing to do with Security or whatever Service Corps. you’re talking about. He’s been in the Navy his entire career.”

Sreetus pushed on, “Forgive me then, for assuming you held contact. His surname was never redacted from your official record,” He cleared his throat and began reading off his screen. “Age: twenty-two, birthplace: Coruscant, full legal name: Hal’lazorinda Naimina Sileas Ismaren-Y-”.

Before he had the chance to finish his recitation, Halla found herself cutting him off, “I don’t go by that name. Ever.”

“And yet you use the rest…” He huffed under his breath. “Despite your…strained familial relationship, I am not mistaken. Your father’s honorable service during these past years has earned him his new position within the ISB. The request has been logged and attached to your file.” Reaching into a side drawer, Sreetus pulled out a datapad and set it squarely in front of her, already loaded with a page full of text displayed.

Taking a deep breath, Halla kept her gaze steady on the man in front of her as she reached for the device, only lowering her gaze once it was in her possession. She took a moment to skim through the first paragraph, then scrolled down to the bottom to see her father’s digital signature signing off.

Halla was dumbfounded. Why would he do something like this for her? Why now?

Feeling that she’d seen enough, Halla returned the datapad to the desk in front of her. During her review of the document, her brows had furrowed so deeply that she knew she would have a headache coming on later. All she could think about was her father’s blurry face imposed on the body of the grumpy UC archive officer.

“Now that you understand the full extent of the situation, I must counsel you to follow through with this offer. Not many your age have the chance to pass directly into the Corps. with the minimal training you have. Your only requirement would be to fulfill the Royal Imperial Academy’s junior officer preparation, maybe a basic close combat course once you are stationed. From there, you can climb to any other position you deem worthy.

Given your father’s status and the Emperor’s need for the brightest minds to fulfill his vision, the position has been tailored for you, specifically. Despite the nature of your outdated research,” Halla had to bite back a scathing remark at that comment, “you will be a perfect fit for what has been reserved.”

Halla found her head shaking ever so slightly as he finished his tirade. She had to play this safe to avoid skepticism of her loyalty, but was finding that harder and harder to do the longer this meeting went on.

“While that sounds…promising, I really have no intention of relocating anywhere without knowing where it is. Is this position intended to keep me on Coruscant?”

Sreetus pressed his thin lips together before speaking, “I am not at liberty to say. Given the confidential nature of this assignment, even I am not privy to its location. The ISB would be the organization briefing you, not the University.”

And yet you know so much about everything else…

The air around them was tense as a stare-off commenced across the desk, Halla schooling her features to match his.

He broke first. Halla’s one victory of the day.

“I sense we may be at an impasse right now. Take the day to think of what I’ve said, I will confer with the Bureau Chief and let him know I’ve spoken with you.”

Halla tilted her head and grinned, though she was sure it came off a little more sarcastically than she intended. “No issue.”

Rising from her seat, Halla turned her back on the whiny sycophant and made her way back toward the exit.

“Miss Ismaren.” Halla halted inches from the door, but did not turn around. His voice was the most severe it had been all morning.

“You would do well to learn just how far His Majesty’s power reaches. You will either join and thrive, or you may only get far enough to learn what it means to be against him. Do choose wisely, young lady. Oh, and don’t forget to register for your chain code.”

Halla didn’t remember how she found herself back downstairs, head overtaken by the dense fog of the Dean’s hidden threats.

The streets were mysteriously empty of protestors when Halla left the lobby.

~~~

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:18

Recipient: Tech

Subject: Re: Comms Assistance

I followed your instructions to the letter, I hope I did everything right. Thought it was funny you bothered to assign me a code name - remind me to ask you about it some other time. Wanted to send a quick message to tell you my line is secure now, though I don’t know for how long now after this morning.

I met with a Uni rep who tried to recruit me into a service corps. Asked about a chain code? Didn’t know if you had any info. Either way, I’m on my way to the port to book passage off-world like you said. Will update you when done.

Stay safe out there,

Zenith

*Transceiver Identification: 02-91-31.cv.modified*

~~~

“What do you mean my credits aren’t valid? They’re galactic standard!”

A tinny response came from behind the transparisteel partition, the attendant droid repeating its earlier message: “Please be advised: your payment method has been declined. We ask that you exchange your outdated currency at the Commerce Bureau and return with the correct tender, along with a valid chain code to access the flight directory. Have a pleasant day!”

“I don’t know what you mean by outdated. Credits are credits!”

The droid’s optical sensors seemed to bore into her. Halla crossed her arms.

“Please be advised: your payment method has been declined. We ask that you exchange your outdated currency at the Commerce Bureau and return with the correct tender, along with a valid chain code to access the flight directory. Have a pleasant day!”

Halla glared up at the booth, scooping her credit chit back with more force than necessary. Pushing away from the service shelf, she couldn’t help but throw a venomous “Go to Hell!” over her shoulder. The droid only called the next person in line to come forward.

Turning on her heel, Halla stalked back to the self-checkout kiosk and punched in her information again.

And again.

Each time, a blinking red alert popped up with a message similar to that from the service desk.

Invalid Identification. Please see an attendant for assistance. Have a pleasant day!

“Blast it!” No matter the destination, no matter the departure date, all itineraries were locked behind a paywall, accessible only by, you guessed it, the correct tender and a valid chain code.

Before she could make a scene by tearing her hair out in the middle of the Spaceport, Halla stowed her chits and stalked out of the Boarding Registry.

~~~

Looking back on that awful day, Halla didn’t know why she expected it to get any better once she left the port.

Arriving back at her apartment went about the same as it normally would, except for when she stepped off the 19th-floor lift and rounded the corner to find her front door missing.

Or rather, her front door was wide open for the whole building to see inside.

Surging forward, Halla gripped her doorjamb and surveyed the interior.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Her voice shook against her will.

No reply.

With great caution, Halla entered her sitting room.

Silence.

She began to check out every inch of the space, from the floor to the ceiling and everything in between to find anything amiss.

Bewildered, Halla took a step back.

If someone had entered her home, they’d done a lousy job of burglarizing her.

Everything was as it should’ve been. Her plants, her holovids, the art on the walls, all still in their rightful place. Even Boonta was still floating around his tank without a care in the world.

Did the door just…malfunction?

For all the grief it’d given Halla over the years, the entrance’s one redeeming quality was that it was secure. It had never just opened up on its own accord before.

Padding into her bedroom, she continued to look around and take her valuables into account.

That was until she came upon her workspace.

On the ground beneath her desk was a large gap.

A large, empty gap where her holoterminal used to be.

Halla felt the blood drain from her face as her eyes went wide behind her specs.

Kriff.

Fuck!

There’s no way this is happening…

Wheeling around, she began searching every nook and cranny of her apartment for the missing console, even the spots she knew would be too small to fit it.

Halla had everything on that machine. Everything.

Her contacts, her financial information, the full draft of her dissertation.

Her entire life’s research.

Gone. All gone.

Halla stopped looking. She considered her options before going back out into the main hallway. She was sure her neighbors didn’t appreciate the way she was repeatedly punching their buzzers, but she didn’t know what else to do. Half of them didn’t open up and those that did claimed nothing out of the ordinary happened that day when asked if they had any clue what happened.

Dejected, Halla returned to her apartment making sure to enforce another lock if only to create a false sense of safety.

Safety, my ass.

She paced around for about a minute or two, running her hands over her forearms. Two minutes turned into ten.

Then twenty.

Then thirty.

She could only reach one conclusion, as paranoid as it made her come across; the same person - or group - that did this was the same as who she should’ve been reporting the crime to.

This was no petty theft. This had to be intentional.

Recollections began to invade her mind; Sreetus’ ominous warning, the apparent leeriness around her not being a registered citizen, and the Imperial officer she’d seen occupy her terminal in the UC archive.

She’d given no thought about the latter since it happened, but now she couldn’t help but think he was following her digital trail, digging into whatever he could scavenge from her session.

Halla had wiped her search history, but…

Leave it to the security agency to be able to pull it back up.

Letting out a defeated moan, she slapped her palm across her forehead.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Halla ended up hunkered down in the sitting room for the rest of the night. She felt like a stranger in her own home, vigilant of intruders that might return at any time.

Lying on her sofa, she kept a hand on the go-bag she packed earlier in the evening. The pack included any and all essentials she would need in case a quick getaway was needed: her personal datapad (that still had all the supplemental research she downloaded, thank the Maker), its powerpack, her data and credit chits, and a hygiene bag containing her toothbrush, dental gel, deodorant, hair brush, a travel razor, and other similar items.

Her extra set of glasses, contact pods, and a small medkit she kept stowed under her kitchen sink were also shoved down too. An extra set of boots were folded up at the bottom of the main compartment with as many leggings, tunics, sweaters, camisoles, and underwear as she could roll up laying on top of them. The side pockets were bulging with her filtered water bottle on one side and non-perishable snack foods on the other.

It was hard to prioritize what to leave behind, even in a hypothetical scenario. Halla treasured her possessions: her makeup, her jewelry, her art, and her music collection, not to mention her collection of flimsi-bound books she’d accumulated over the years, uncommon as they were.

In the end, she decided to place only the earrings she’d inherited from her grandmonna in a small pouch and wear the matching pendant around her neck for safekeeping. The music was already downloaded onto her datapad, and most of the art was obviously too large to fit in the pack, sans her sketch diary and a pouch of drawing implements which she included on impulse. After careful deliberation, Halla decided to choose one particular flimsi novel from her shelf to keep with her, due to its objective value as an antique as well as the number of times it’d been read since the initial purchase.

Halla had practiced walking around her apartment with the go-bag strapped to her back, adjusting the order of its contents as needed. Once she was satisfied, she decided to make camp out where she could be the most aware of her surroundings.

Every sudden noise made her flinch as she tossed and turned her head, never shifting from the position on her back as uncomfortable as it was. No amount of breathing exercises or words of affirmation made her feel any more secure.

How do I know I’m not being watched right now?

Time passed slowly in the dark as Halla thought of her odds of escape.

In her mind, she created a chart of pros and cons when it came to registering herself, if only to have the opportunity to get off-planet.

Pro: I’ll have access to credits that work again.

Con: Who knows what they’ll do with the information I give them?

Pro: I’ll be able to book passage out of here.

Con: What if they’re able to track where I go?

Pro: It’ll get everyone who thinks I’m against them off my back.

Con: I am against them.

Pro: It would draw attention away from-

Halla gasped, eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling.

From Tech. It would draw attention away from Tech.

He was on the run right now with the rest of his squad with a little girl in the mix now. If Halla submitted to the registry, the suspicion of her (and them by proxy) would ease up. For the Maker’s sake, she had regular correspondence with him stored on her now-confiscated holoterminal! The last few messages were never uploaded to the main drive, as they only existed on her portable device, but she couldn’t risk their safety for her own selfishness. She was risking potential charges of treason or conspiracy at this point.

If I just go and do it, maybe they won’t feel the need to snoop around more than they already have…

The decision began solidifying in her mind, despite the apprehension of what might come after.

Halla fell into a fitful sleep, fingers still clutched around the strap of the bag that rested below her.

~~~

The local Coruscanti star’s natural light didn’t reach the level Halla’s apartment resided on, so she had to rely on the day cycle atmospheric controls to tell when daybreak was.

Back aching and eyes half open, Halla bathed and dressed while her morning tea was heating up. Travel mug and protein bar in hand, she made her way to the Commerce Bureau before the line could get too long.

Spending more time there than she had anticipated, she emerged hours later with a pit in her stomach, a pouch full of polished silver credits, and a new chaincode embedded in a rather unambiguous ID card.

Soon after she returned home, Halla composed a message from her school address:

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:19

Recipient: Arlin Sreetus, Dean

Subject: Chain Code Acquisition

Dean Sreetus,

This morning I was able to obtain my chain code, I thought you would have liked to know. I’ve considered the offer you conveyed to me and have chosen to accept. Please inform the appropriate figures in this matter that I am able to begin as soon as is convenient.

Good day,

Halla Ismaren

University of Coruscant

College of Interplanetary Law & Relations

Capital Campus

Halla wanted to feel confident in her decision, but all she felt was numb all over.

Like she had just signed her own death warrant.

She didn’t look at her datapad for the rest of the day.

This is for them.

This is the right thing to do.

~~~

Inbox: (1) Unread

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:19

Recipient: Zenith

Subject: Chain Codes

Zenith,

I am pleased you found my instructions comprehensible, however, this is not the main issue I wish to address.

I assume you encountered difficulties while at your local spaceport due to not having a chain code in your possession. We also have run into trouble because of this new database. We were able to rectify this issue for ourselves, but I must warn you about the dangers surrounding these identifiers. If you provide me additional time, I will come up with a solution for you to get around these requirements as well.

I do not presume to direct your actions; I can only provide my opinion based on what I have seen during my latest travels.

Under no circumstances should you obtain one of these codes voluntarily. I will be able to elaborate at a later date, all I ask is that in the meantime you take my judgment into account.

-Tech

~~~~~~

taglist (comment/dm to join): @wenalena @envyspinebender @shannon-lynn-21 @kimageddon

17 notes · View notes

thecoffeelorian · 2 months

Text

Presenting, At Long Last...Lyn!!

(As I'm editing the most recent chapter of "The Past Is Another Land", here's a little preview for the chapter that comes afterward.

In other words, I'm presenting my OC Lyn Innsur to you all in a special POV edition, and I hope she makes a good impression! Thank you so much! :D :D )

No Pressure Tags:: @apocalyp-tech-a @theosb0rnway @talesfrommedinastation @littlefeatherr and anyone else interested in more Tech x OC content! 😎

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I can already hear them. Two loud sets of feet tramping through the underbrush, one larger than the other, and their voices sound both annoyed and confused.

No, not just that—they sound like a pair of nervous babysitters, if not also a bit more.

Still, I can only guess what’s bothering them at this moment, though it might certainly have a lot to do with the girl and her friend who just came through this part. Especially considering that, at least for most of these, they’re wearing a certain combination of family colors.

If anything, they’re certainly not scared to be seen in public with one another.

This is probably why I waste no time moving in their direction, even as my hiking companion has to stand still for a minute before allowing himself to turn and walk upon a different trajectory. We’re going in the same direction regardless, so I don’t think I should have ANY trouble speaking to any of the others if the problem here is exactly what I think it is.

Not when I have firsthand knowledge of what DOES happen to young girls who suddenly don’t make it back home.

This is why I’m not afraid to meet them out here upon this very path, my head upright and my lekku at rest. I know for a fact that they have no reason to fear me, so in return, I can only hope that they don’t give me any reasons to be afraid of them.

Or…that’s my main thought, until I see the largest of the bunch crash through a few trees first.

#random status update #star wars #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #original character #my oc #lyn innsur #original female character #original twi'lek character #original autistic character #tbb tech x oc #wip wednesday #actually autistic #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker

6 notes · View notes

my-morai · 25 days

Text

Finally getting around to the next chapter of Look for the Light 💖

If you need some The Bad Batch fan fiction you can start at the beginning while I'm working on writing!

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb #clone force 99 #bad batch #fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #original character #star wars #fanfic #hunter x original female character #tbb hunter

3 notes · View notes

wild-karrde · 10 months

Note

Hi Karrde,

I FINALLY finished the intro and chapter 1 to my ongoing Hunter/OC fic! Your timing is great btw. It kicked my rear end into gear and will give me time to work meticulously on Chapter 2.

Here's the link:

Ok...it won't let me include the link again...well, poop.

Sending this over so you know I attempted to do it correctly. Will message you with the link. Thanks for your patience.

YAAAAAAY for finishing your intro and first chapter but BOOOOOO for Tumblr links being a bummer in my ask box again (THANK YOU FOR SENDING THE LINK IN MY DMs!). I already love Mad and Love from your description! They seem awesome and I cannot wait to get to know more about them! I adore this concept and the amount of research you've put into this (and as someone that puts playlist on all of my long fics, I love that you've included mood music for your writing). Thanks so much for sending this in and take your time on chapter 2!! We shall all await it excitedly but patiently!

Link

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #hunter #hunter x oc #hunter x ofc #hunter x original female character #nsft #lemon #lemony lemony #angst

3 notes · View notes

metalheadfreak1 · 2 years

Text

Starbright Chapter Five.

okay a few things.

Okay so a few things. 1.) I'm sorry this took so long to post a new chapter. You'll see why in like a second. 2.) I read through what I posted so far and found a lot of errors. To the point it bothered me...a lot. So. I went through and edited a lot of it. Added a few things, got rid of a few things. If you don't feel like going back and rereading I feel ya. But if you do in my opinion it looks better than what I did before. 3.) Now that I'm done editing I'll be back on my regular schedule and will be posting new chapters for the rest of the fics. 4.) Again I'm so sorry this took so long but it's here now and I hope you can forgive me for taking long. 5.) Enjoy the chapter!

#hunter bad batch headcanons #Hunter tbb #Hunter the bad batch #Hunter tbb x original female character #Hunter x original female character #Hunter fan fic #Star Wars #Star Wars fan fic #Tech tbb #Tech the bad batch #Crosshair the bad batch #Wrecker the bad batch #Original characters #Chiss #eventual smut #fluffy #absolutely fluff #they’re in love <3

4 notes · View notes

lovelessdagger · 1 year

Text

The Fall of the Jedi | Chapter Two: The Battle of Coruscant

Pairing: Hunter x OFC

Rating: Mature

Summary: “…Separatist Droid Leader General Grievous has been seen outside of Coruscant atmosphere,” a female presenter says, strong in her Coruscanti accent. “Fighter droids are landing at this very moment across Galactic City. The Republic is under attack. I repeat. The Republic is under attack.”

Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Character Death. Canon Typical Violence.

Words: 3.4K

Daybreak Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

For the first time in her life, Odella believes the Force has abandoned the Jedi.

It is the only explanation.

“Where are the younglings?”

For keepers of the peace, the Temple has never been in such disarray.

“Has anybody seen my Padawan?”

Separatist droid battalions march by the thousands over Coruscant streets.

“Sector B-12 needs more forces!”

Temple guards line corridors, double bladed lightsabers posed and ready for the impending attack.

“We must remain clam. Tranquility will bring clarity.”

Through windows, debris of starfighters and the wreckage of buildings they crash into tumble in a fiery blaze.

“The Chancellor—“

Vulture droids soar in the sky, shot down by clone troopers who fall not long after.

“Who is protecting the Chancellor?”

It’s the beginning of the end of the world.

In the hull of a modified Omnicron-class attack shuttle nicknamed the Marauder, the head of clone trooper Tech tilts, blocked eyebrows pinched together.

“Your paint job is a bit crude,” he says, accent more posh than the standard clone. “But it will suffice.”

“Thanks,” Echo scoffs, voice modulated through his helmet. He stands like a paper doll, three sets of eyes on him. He hasn’t been with this new group, The Bad Batch, for very long at all. Though acclimation to them is easier than to his new body. Even now, he can frequently be seen finicking with his cybernetic parts, or forgetting he had them all together, reaching with what was his right hand. “It’s not like there were many options.”

“Black armor is in short supply in Kamino,” Tech says. “And cyborgs are not in the manufacturing protocols, it would not have made a difference.”

“Well I think he looks great!” Shouts the biggest one of the group. His hand claps on Echo’s shoulder, nearly toppling him over.

“And you, Wrecker, have the taste of a Rancor,” Tech says.

“Hey! You take that back!”

“No,” Tech says, turning back to the ship’s steering.

“You’re all children.” The sneer from the corner comes from Crosshair. Soiled boots lay on top of a separate control panel, a toothpick between his teeth. “Tech is right though, your paint job is shit.”

“It’s hard to do much with one hand.”

“Oh,” Crosshair scoffs. “I’m sure there’s plenty hard for you to do, unless… you’ve lost that too?”

Hearty belly laughs erupt in the ship from each clone, aside from Echo of course. Wrecker is the worst of them, an overgrown tank of a child.

The leader of the group, Hunter, walks out from the fresher. He wears his blacks, tying his red bandana onto his partially dried hair. There’s no acknowledgment to the others as he grabs the data pad by Crosshair, sitting behind Tech.

“What do you think Sarge?” Wrecker asks. All he does is flick aimlessly through incoming reports, posture hunched. “Sarge?”

“Hm?”

“What ya think of Echo’s armor?”

He still doesn’t look, nodding. “Sure thing Wrecker.”

“Hey Sarge, Cross wants his picture taken.”

Nothing.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s been out of it since Anaxes,” Crosshair says, flicking his toothpick. “You’re just now noticing?”

“Well excuse me, not all of us have super eyes.”

“It’s called basic observation skills.”

“Still doesn’t explain what’s wrong with ‘em.”

“Simple,” Tech says, looking back. “He saw a girl.”

It earns a reaction at least, distinct gray eyes flickering across the room.

“Told you.”

“How did you figure that?” Echo asks, taking off his helmet.

“Because, Hunter’s arrogant. He’s only allowed himself to look stupid one other time—”

“I can hear you,” he says.

“—and that was on Kamino. Right before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

He sets the tablet down, arms crossed. “Is this really necessary to discuss?”

“It is,” Tech says. “It was some Jedi girl who accompanied General Yoda to collect the Regs,” he explains to Echo. “We were speaking to Commander Ponds and she runs up completely out of breath and says ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’”

“I remember that!” Wrecker interjects, laughing. “His face got all red and everything.”

“Was she talking to him?” Echo asks.

“No, she was talking to Ponds. She didn’t even look at him,” Crosshair says. “He just stood there and stared at her like a maniac.”

“It was his first time seeing a girl,” Tech says.

“It was the first time any of us saw a girl,” Hunter defends.

“Yes, but you were the only stupid one. He was out of it for weeks, we almost voted Crosshair in to be leader.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you know who it was?” Echo asks, always the more compassionate.

“No, and it doesn’t matter. We’re done discussing this.”

The collective groans, muttering over Hunter’s lack of fun. His eyes roll, paying them no mind. The big brother position has always been his, for better or for worse.

Sirens of the Marauder screech within the hull, each of the men flinching in on themselves. Hunter’s the worst of them all, genetic modifications and all.

“Tech, turn that off,” he grits, hands to his ears.

“It’s Kamino,” Tech frowns, reading the data scans. “They’ve never done that before, I’ll override the ship’s calibrations so that they no longer have access… Hello?”

“Clone Force 99, this is Tipoca Base. You’re to reroute to Kaller, abort your assignment to Coruscant immediately.”

“May I ask why?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“I am asking for a reason.”

The line falls flat long enough for Tech to exit the Marauder out of hyperspace, and reprogram coordinates through the NavComp. They’ve all thought the other had disconnected completely until static crackles through the speakers.

“…Separatist Droid Leader General Grievous has been seen outside of Coruscant atmosphere,” a female presenter says, strong in her Coruscanti accent. “Fighter droids are landing at this very moment across Galactic City. The Republic is under attack. I repeat. The Republic is under attack.”

Odella leads a line of other knights throughout the Temple, each with lightsaber in hand. Though she can’t say how she became the leader, or why they chose her to follow. Just that morning she sat alone in the Mess Hall, nursing a cup of tea that burned her throat. Now, her feet guide her to places her mind does not know.

Maybe it’s because she felt the ripple through the Force before everyone else, before it even started. Or she thinks she did. It’s a feeling like she’s never had before. It’s a dagger of thorns through her skin, pricking and dragging.

She will not know it’s the beginning of the end until the end has passed.

They gather in one of the briefing rooms, and she turns on the HoloNet news as if they cannot all see the tragedies unfolding with their own eyes. The news reports in Basic, anchors rattling off what everyone already knows.

“…Republic is under attack. I repeat. The Republic is under attack.” Their tone remains as bland and unbiased as they’ve been trained to in academies, despite the vision of their hologram shaking with explosions.

They all look to her, expecting something.

It’s like the final gear in her brain is clicked into place. She dismisses the report in favor of a map of the planet, on a separate monitor displaying the growing list from the HoloNet of attacked areas. Master Yoda and Master Windu have already taken to the Senate and Federal District. They’ll be fine.

“I need two volunteers to go into the CoCo District,” she says, looking over her shoulder.

Without thought two Jedi, Nira and Yikan, a Rodian and Ithorian step up.

“Three for the Central District.”

Jtal, Adi, and Boric.

“One for Bindai.”

Eirm.

“Two in Brewery.”

The doorway to the room is left open, and passing Jedi on their own determined walkthroughs find their way inside.

“Four in the Entertainment district. One by the opera house, one at the theaters, two near public transit.”

Then four.

Odella cross checks growing reports of attacks with various maps, a third hologram displayed with Clone Commander reports. Group by group assignments are made, and two Jedi elect to stay with her. “You all know my comm frequency, right?” She’s answered by thrown about hums of affirmations and steady nods. “Good. If you need backup reach out, we’ll reroute forces the best we can. Remember, if you see civilians you must do anything you can to protect them.”

Another set of nods follow.

She sighs, Temple grounds shaking with another explosion. “May the Force be with you.”

“Everything’s gone to hell.”

A sea of men are hounded into one shuttle after the other, pressed together shoulder by shoulder. Beneath their feet, mechanics rumble and the exhaust spews on take off.

Nomart didn’t even know this many men served in the Coruscant Guard. It’s a big planet, and they’re rarely all together in the same room at once. In fact, Nomart suspects the last time this many of them were this close to another in one space, were their growth pods back on Kamino.

He ended up being one of the last to leave the barracks after the alarm sounded. Everyone else was in a full sprint to stations, and getting trampled would do little for his assistance to the Republic. They haven’t been told much, not that they needed to. Separatists have attacked Coruscant. General Grievous has sent his army of mindless droids to fight for him.

He is a coward, and a monster, and he will be brought to justice.

Nomart’s never seen the man in person, if it was fair to refer to him as a man at all, but he’s heard stories, rumors. Some say he began life as a droid who slowly configured organs to become more like man. Others, the opposite. Either way, it stands true that his life runs off cybernetic parts, and he is the most abominable thing in the galaxy.

The mental health of clones have never been a pressing issue to the clones themselves or the Kaminoans. They’re soldiers, and battle simulations have rotted their brains since before this whole mess started. Death and destruction and slaughter have become a normal and exception proponent of everyday life.

When Grievous showed up, things… changed. The rare few clones who have survived encounters with him are sent back to Kamino for reprogramming. They’re too shaken by the experience, they become mute, they cry at the sight of B-1 droids, they scream at the hum of a lightsaber. The Republic needs soldiers, not traumatized men.

No one knows how it’s done and no one asks. No one says it either, but they all suspect it’s a sham. Those sent back are never heard from or of again. Their existence is completely wiped away.

And now he’s here. On their planet, or just above it. Who does he think he is? The Republic is the strongest entity in the galaxy, nothing some dirty Sep can take and scare away. Certainly not a deformed clanker like Grievous.

“It’s always been hell. We’re only just now realizing it.” Jinx says this, off to Nomart’s left.

“Well,” Nomart sighs. “At least it was fun.”

It wasn’t, but they’ve known nothing else, so at least they’ll never have the chance to wonder what if.

They say nothing more than this.

“I’m gonna tell her,” A third says, the shuttle rattling all inside. “When this is all over, I’m gonna tell her how I feel.”

“Tell who?” Jinx asks.

“General Prot. Brick’s in love with her,” Nomart says.

The rest of the shuttle turns inward.

“Are clones allowed to love?”

“Of course we are,” Brick says. “We love the Republic. We love our Chancellor. We love the citizens—”

“The citizens don’t love us,” Landor says. “I just walked by another clone protest while on patrol last night.”

“I got a drink thrown at me,” Welt adds.

“Why bother?” Train asks. “It not like she feels the same way.”

“She does,” Brick says. “I know she does.”

“Did she tell you?”

“No but—“

“She’s a Jedi, Brick. It’ll never work out.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t die knowing I never tried.”

The shuttle stops in the Senate District, and they all file out. Blasters and riot shields raise in their march. It’s worse than any of them suspected. Entire buildings are destroyed and there’s more destruction on the streets than visible pavement.

The lot of them manage eleven steps away from the shuttle—Nomart was in the middle of his twelfth—before it explodes. There’s no correct way to describe it. The ricochet of metal shrapnel, the deafening sound of it all, how his body ends up twenty feet from where it started. How he passes out and wakes up to the worst pain of his life.

Limbs are intact, he’s not bleeding (not anywhere he can see at least), he’s cognizant of his surroundings. He’s alive.

He may be the only one alive.

Groaning comes from the body beside him, sharp and breathy. “Gi...“ He says. “Maker.”

“Brick?” Nomart asks, turning over. “Brick, it’s me. It’s Nomart, I’m here. Stay awake brother.”

“Martie?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s Martie. You gotta stand up. We have to go.”

“Where’s,” he pants. “What happened to…”

“It’s just us. I think.”

“Fuck. I can’t… I can’t get up.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll call someone, I’ll—“ The commsystems on his arm are shattered, wires on the fritz. “We’ll wait until someone comes. The Jedi will be here soon. They’ll help us.”

“Tell her,” Brick coughs. “Tell Gia. Please. Tell her for me.”

“Tell her yourself,” Nomart says, taking his hand. “We’re gonna get you out of here, you hear me? We’ll get you back to medical and you’ll get all patched up. You’re gonna tell her, and—and you’ll go on and get out of this war and have fucked up Jedi clone babies.”

Brick laughs, if a pained wheeze can count as a laugh. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He’s talking out of his ass, he has the moment he entered cadet training. But it’s gotten him this far.

“They… they’d kinda be like yours too, wouldn’t they? Same DNA and all that.”

Nomart slows, a frown settled behind his helmet. “I guess they would, yeah,” he says. “So you’ve gotta push through, B. Someone’s gotta keep up our legacy, might as well be you.”

“I’ll name the boy Nomart, even if it is stupid. I swear.”

A shadow grows over them, blocking the artificial sun.

“How…” a mechanical hacking cough billows into the air, “… touching.”

Few clones survive encounters with General Grievous.

Nomart and Brick are not one of them.

“This just in,” the reporter says, static of her words filtering in the briefing room. It’s hauntingly empty now, save for the three who occupy. Twin Jedi Knights Cora and Gia Prot scatter themselves at computers, headsets turned on and maps surrounding their vision. Odella mimics their situation at the center console. The HoloNet plays at a fourth in the background.

Gia crumples to her knees without prompt, a gasp and horror stricken across her face.

“Sister,” Cora says, bending. “What is it? What have you sensed?”

“I’m unsure,” she admits, hand over her chest. “Something terrible has happened. Absolutely awful… does it not pain you as well? I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“No,” Cora says. “I feel nothing.”

“Odella?”

“I’m sorry, no. It’s best to ignore it until later,” she says, swiping through reports. “Your attention is needed here—”

“Supreme Commander of the Droid Army, General Grievous has set foot on Coruscant,” the reporter says in the air. “By emergency order of the Senate, citizens are to remain inside and away from windows. Power down any and all droids you may have in your home. We do not know what he is capable of.”

Swearing never came naturally to Odella until now.

“Thoren.” Filters through the headset, bass voice of static and authority. “Why am I being alerted to Jedi being sent out under your word?”

“Master Windu,” she panics, straightening posture an automatic response.

“It is not your station to command attacks of this nature. You’re not trained for this.”

Force be with her.

“With all due respect Master, attacks of this nature were not in your training either. I’m doing what I know to be the right thing, just as you taught me.”

“Pull back your forces.”

“No,” she says, catching the stilled breathes of her company. “I don’t think I will.” Her eyes squeeze shut, waiting for a reprimand that never comes. “If you’d like news of your location,” she continues to say. “General Grievous has been spotted in the Senate District. The Chancellor is in danger.”

Silence comes first. “Shaak Ti has already been sent to protect Palpatine.”

“Are you able to communicate this information to her?”

The line falls flat, frequency empty once more. And then, “She’s not answering.”

It’s as if the axis spin of Coruscant itself has stopped, a cloud of dread heavy as storms. If Palpatine is gone, the Republic is truly lost. What good or hope can there be without their adored leader? Grievous wouldn’t kill him, she’s sure of this. He’s too valuable to both sides. An execution would only come to a public audience, the supreme victory of the Separatists. This is an outcome Grievous’ mind, whatever is left of himself after his enchantments would be satisfied with.

Count Dooku on the other hand… he’s a Jedi. Or he used to be. He left the Order just before she was brought in, but even still she knew of his pride. Harm will only come to the Chancellor under his hand. Even then, her spy work in Separatist worlds provide one insight, he is respected. What would his people think if he so viciously murdered an innocent man without trial?

He’d make certain that Palpatine is humiliated in front of the galaxy, reputation destroyed to be made out as the monster the Republic has made the Separatist to be.

There’s only two people Odella knows who can, who will protect the Republic in this hour. Two who will win the war and turn the tide. And one, who will keep his promise and come home to a finished war.

With such a simple thought, faith is restored.

The Chancellor won’t die. Not yet.

Not if Anakin has anything to say about it.

Windu seems to face the same realization she does, a steady crinkle of their silence until he says, “Tell them to hurry. Time cannot be wasted.”

“I will.”

“Ahsoka? She’s back?”

Obi-Wan watches as Odella’s blue tinted hologram shines into the bridge aboard the Venator-class Star Destroyer. It feels as though no time has passed at all since her departure from Anaxes, but he notes her older appearance. The bright eyes that sat in his quarters for hours on end slightly dulled. She stands with closed fists, nails biting into her palms. The permanent smile she’s worn since she were a Youngling, gone into stoicism.

He blames the quality of hologram, government issued items can’t always be trusted.

“No,” he says, head shaking. “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that. Shall I relay a message to Anakin for you?”

She takes a pause. “Grievous has invaded Coruscant. You both must return immediately.”

Commander Cody stands by his side. With a nod, he takes off in a sprint gathering forces. “What can you tell me?” Obi-Wan urges.

“Not much. The Temple hasn’t been attacked, and neither has the Senate. I’m sure Dooku is here as well, outside of atmosphere.”

“And the Chancellor?”

Her left hand shakes, and wipes on her thigh. “Please, don’t scare Anakin. You know how he gets.”

“Odella, what’s happened?”

“Master Windu told me Shaak Ti was sent to protect him but— no one’s heard or seen her since the report of Grievous.”

“He’s been taken?”

“That’s the assumption. Yes.” She sighs now, brows furrowed. “Obi-Wan,” she says, as hushed as she can be. “Please look after Anakin. If he does something he regrets—“

“He won’t,” he says.

“He won’t do it, or he won’t regret it?”

Obi-Wan steps back, glancing to Admiral Yuleran. “Sound the alarms,” he says to the other. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

This at least, he can promise.

In the cold of space directly outside of Coruscant’s atmosphere, war rages on.

Two Jedi soar on star fighters and infiltrate the Invisible Hand.

A Sith Lord is slaughtered.

A Chancellor is saved.

A Republic is all but destroyed.

Next: The Great Disillusionment

#The Bad Batch #Hunter x OC #The Bad Batch fanfic #The Bad Batch Fanfic #Hunter x OFC #Hunter X Orignal Character #Hunter x Original Female Character #Hunter TBB #TBB #TBB Fanfic #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #TCW #TCW Fanfic #Daybreak

0 notes

deafeningnightcollection-things · 2 years

Text

TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

Last Updated: July 3, 2022

Worlds Collide

Summary: Cassie Narm's life has never been normal, but when your parents are refugees from another planet that tends to happen. For as long as she can remember, her parents have been running, from an enemy she knows nothing about but fears nonetheless. She lived in 10 places before they finally settled in Beacon Hills, they've been there for years now and Cassie loves what normalcy she can get. But, when an alpha bites her best friend, normal goes out the window. Toss in a hunting family that knows more than they should about otherworldly visitors, and budding romances between old friends. Beacon Hills will never be the same.

Chapter 1: Why am I in the woods looking for a dead body?

Chapter 2: My best friend is definitely a werewolf

Chapter 3: Parties and hunters are not a good combination

Chapter 4: Why is the truth so hard?

Chapter 5: Wolf Hormones and Painful Visits

Chapter 6: Lacrosse is not for the faint of heart (coming soon)

#teen wolf #teen wolf x oc #scott mccall x oc #oc #ofc #original character #original female character #alien #werewolf #werewolf hunter #Scott mccall #stiles stilinski #Allison argent #Derek hale #Peter hale #melissa mccall

5 notes · View notes

sinisterexaggerator · 2 years

Text

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 12

Explicit: Slow Burn, Gratuitous Smut, Porn with Plot, Canon-Typical Violence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Angst, Tatooine Slave Culture

This chapter: Blood, gore, death, physical injury.

Notes: To me, Jabba has more than one or two Rancors. This is not Muchi, and this is not Pateesa. This may very well be the mother of Pateesa because I say so ;D (the Rancor Luke Skywalker eventually kills).

Word count: 4.3k

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous Chapter || Next chapter 》

“If I had known you planned to kill him, I wouldn’t have brought him here,” Boba Fett stated openly before his audience with Jabba upon his throne.

“Boba… Jee oidn't. Made pej oecision oefying jeesh.”

Boba Fett was Jabba’s favorite - it was a well-known fact – the young hunter assumed he might be able to use this to his advantage at the present juncture. Though it was true he did not care about, or even like his former mentor, still, he was a skilled and adept hunter who didn’t deserve to go down like that. To be tricked, electrocuted, made to be food for a hungry rancor - it didn’t sit well; he thought Brainee should be ashamed, though perhaps a fitting end. It might also be said Boba had the idea to one day take Bane out himself - to prove once and for all he was the fastest gun – to break the draw. The honor should be his.

“He defied you out of loyalty to his client, and what Brainee did was reprehensible."

Brainee came forward then, one finger extended in a show of contempt and malice. He thought it only fair after what he had been exposed to: a weapon against his head. “Bane threatened me. He pulled his blaster on me! He said he was going to come back for me if I lied to him! I am sure he would have killed me if it suited him.”

“Perhaps, but face-to-face, and maybe just don’t lie,” he offered with a hidden smirk beneath his viewplate.

“So, that’s an excuse? Let me just … wait around to be murdered “nobly” by one of the least moral bounty hunters of our time. You speak of loyalty. He is loyal when it’s to his benefit. Bane is better off dead.”

Brainee had a point; it shut him up. Boba returned his gaze to Jabba through his helmet’s visor. “Do not release the rancor. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

“Toooh alay, Boba. Chuga.”

“It is not too late unless you say it is, Jabba. - Hungry? Cad Bane will hardly be a meal.”

“Stang something else shash eat.”

“And if I do, you will release him?”

“Jee widd think ooout lo.”

“I suppose that’s better than nothing. Fine. It shall be done.” Boba left the palace in a flurry, off to find some other type of quarry. An animal, perhaps a bantha or a massif, something, anything, that would satiate the rancor’s appetite along with Jabba’s. That might be the only way to spare the hunter’s life, despite the Hutt only saying he would “think about it.”

Brainee sneered, his expression sullied with his bitterness, though deep down he was worried for himself. If Bane escaped unscathed, his own life would be forfeit, yet he would bet all his credits on Jabba’s pet.

“Better hurry, Fett. He won’t last long down there,” he japed.

---

Cad Bane had passed out for some ten minutes, not realizing where he was until he noted his limbs were still entangled in the lithesome net. His appendages were bound; his hat had fallen off; he coughed. He tasted the distinctive flavor of his blood.

The Duros wormed his hand down, fingers inching toward his leather boots. He bypassed beneath the edge, burrowing the tips until he grasped what he was looking for - the tool that would set him free.

He actuated the humming blade, slicing through the netting, the vibroknife easily shearing the thin strips apart to release his body from its captivity. Every movement stung; he was forced to bend to cut his feet loose. He coughed again, wiping his mouth off on the back of his gloved hand.

Sure enough, there was a streak of emerald green. He took a haggard breath, rising to his full stature, then grasping at his chest. He raised his voice, bellowing to the crime lord above, knowing the Hutt could hear him speak, or hear him scream, depending, for the rancor had not yet been freed and Cad was dreading it.

“Jabba! Let me outta dhis damn pit! Might jus’ spare yer life if ye act quick.”

Not the best choice of words, though Cad’s temper could not be pacified once it had been set aflame, but the bounty hunter was in no position to make empty threats.

His verbalized ill intent only seemed to tick the slimeball off, as the gears began to turn on the gate that housed the beast, the Duros grimacing with nearly every inhalation of stale oxygen. It smelled down here.

“Fek,” Cad mumbled to himself, listening to the telltale clinks and grinding of the metal as he backed a pace away, staring at empty space.

Bane knew that she was there, he could sense her; he could feel the creature’s presence, and there was a shadow looming just beyond the darkened threshold of the cage’s maw.

A deafening roar filled the chamber, though Bane’s ear canals were shielded by his skullcap, a towering hulk of muscle and reptilian flesh stepping forward at a pace that was almost leisurely.

Cad studied his adversary, swooping down to scoop his hat up and holster his fallen blaster. He placed the bolero atop his crown, ignoring his own pain for now as he fully faced the monster who slowly bore down upon him. He gave a final warning, hoping that the Hutt might rein her in.

“Unless ye want me te kill dhis thing, ye betta’ wise up, Hutt.”

He was met with no response but a thick, gruff laughter, Bane’s elliptic eyes narrowing into slits. He dug into a pouch he kept attached to his gun belt and retrieved a thermal detonator, impressing a finger upon its trigger.

He tossed it at the rancor but his attempt was thwarted. The creature knocked it back with a sudden extension of its lengthy arm.

“Sspast,” was all he had time to say, dodging and rolling, just as the trill of the small explosive increased, signifying the device was about to splinter. Cad ignited his Mitrinomon thrusters with a quick push of a button on the underside of his forearm gauntlet to travel airborne in reverse.

He tipped his hat down low midflight over his sensitive eyesight, protecting it as the baradium compound became unstable within the tiny sphere, washing the rancor’s dining room in a deadly glow.

The explosion made the rancor even angrier as Bane was thrown against the rock wall just behind him, his hearing ringing in his ears, the white-hot flash of luminescence overtaking half the den’s expanse. He shut his eyes tight beneath his hat, feeling the pain shoot up his spine and back. He cursed himself, thinking this day had gone to kark from the very start.

The creature, though disoriented, ran forward toward him. She swiped at the Duros who had to duck. He activated one gauntlet’s flamethrower, scaring the salivating mess enough to make her ambulate backward on her stubby legs.

“Piss off!!” Cad growled grouchily at the flat-faced being, his own fangs bared, though once the flames died down she returned to her attack.

Bane maneuvered sporadically, gripping cold stone to support himself; the beast retreated with another burst of fire encountering her gaping, tooth-filled mouth.

It gave the hunter sufficient time to recuperate and to gain his footing. He curled his fingers and flicked his wrist, encapsulating one of the monster’s armored arms with his conductive whipcord launcher. Its skin was tough like leather, and perhaps blaster resistance, but a friendly jolt might quiet her enough to sit down and shut up, or so the Duros hoped.

Cad was wheezing as he turned the dial to his contact stunners; it reached max threshold, a bolt of electric blue riding the length of the cable in a zigzag pattern. It found its mark, the rancor giving a choked cry of desperation before it became a kind of pathetic whimper, the animal thrashing against the makeshift leash that encased her limb.

“Don’ like dhat, do ye, ye sow?!” the Duros sizzed, digging his soles into the ground to retain his traction, the creature flailing its head to the left and right.

Bane held his arm steady, activating the sinewy tissue in his biceps. He was lean, gangly, but he wasn’t weak, though the oversized monstrosity began to shortened the distance between them. She tugged on the wire that restricted her; Cad administered another shock.

He was tired, in pain, and bleeding internally, though he kept his cool intact. It took every bit of his remaining strength not to let the rancor win.

Bane shouted out to the audience above; the hunter was leaning toward the cusp of going feral. He had a bone to pick, and he’d wind up gnawing on it before the night was done. “Hutt! S’over. Gonna burn dhis thing te a crisp unless ye-”

“Bane.” He heard Fett call his name, the Duros’ attention diverting momentarily. He caught sight of Boba with a rope loosely held within one hand, the other end drawn taut around a Dewback’s thick, beefy neck. He had come in through the service entrance. Caretakers most likely utilized this path in order to feed and maintain Jabba’s prized possession, though this bit of negligence gave the larger reptile an in to nearly end Cad Bane.

The whipcord tightened; it tensed; it became inflexible. The rancor drew Bane in, giving him seconds to react. His body was jerked forward, upward, one massive claw rising to strike. Cad slammed his palm against the quick release built into his gadgetry, the line connecting him to the rancor severed, and just in time.

However, the beast’s arms were elongated; they stretched to lengths beyond a standard reach to capture prey. Cad reactivated the thrusters on his boots in order to try and zip away.

He put just enough space between them to avoid the full brunt of her deadly swing; he felt the sting. The rancor’s nails stripped a layer of Bane’s armor clean through to his scales. The Nashtah-hide tunic was ripped to shreds, his chest exposed, grazed by the animal’s filthy talons as the force of the slap pushed him into jagged rock.

Bane rebounded involuntarily; he crumbled onto his knees, the contraption on his arm short-circuiting – it shot sparks. This was it. He couldn’t take another blow. It was Boba’s fault. He had distracted him, though the boy now spoke a word: the rancor’s name.

“Seuffa. Here, girl. Look here.”

Bane turned his neck, slowly, as he gasped for breath, his apparatus whirring as it compensated, releasing extra oxygen from the canister that resided along his back, though now it leaked as it had cracked at the force of his most recent impact. He watched, stunned, as Boba led the rancor off, coaxing it to follow in the opposite direction from where the Duros struggled to stand on his own two legs; he seemed to be a natural.

Cad heard the crunch of bones - the wailing of the Dewback - the smaller cold-blood’s death rattle. He tried to walk, though he stumbled from side-to-side like a drunken man who had more than his fair share of ale, his broad fingers splayed across his burning lungs.

When Fett returned, he paused to study him. He realized Bane was worse off than he had first observed; he needed help, or a bacta pod, which Boba was well aware of the fact he had one on his ship if he could only convince him to take his assistance.

“Bane, this way. Let us go through the tunnels.”

Cad had a second wind; his brow ridge narrowed in malevolence. He hissed in hatred at Boba Fett, his cuspids revealed to the sockets that lined his gums. He nearly spat his words. “Don’ need yer help, and Ah’m goin’ out de way Ah came!”

Bane withdrew both LL-30’s, pulling one trigger after the other as he aimed up high, forging a man-sized hole in the metal grate that barred him from Jabba’s antechamber. He heard sounds of shock; screams; the shuffling of feet. He slammed his hand down haphazardly upon an array of buttons until he forced his boots to fire. He went skyward with Boba right behind him.

The other hunter had launched himself with the jetpack housed across his shoulders, meaning to stop Cad’s vindictive revenge in its tracks, but before he could ascend and manage to halt the Duros’ instinctual inclinations, he had already lain Brainee out, the Siniteen stewing in a pool of his own viscera and blood – he was riddled with more than twenty shots; burns and scorch marks.

“Bane,” Boba enunciated sternly, though Cad had whisked around; he ignored him, storming forward to mount the dais where Jabba resided. He sucked in all his pain, his anguish, skirting the Hutt’s tail and implanting the barrel of his Persuader against the slug creature’s wide cranium.

The crime lord howled as no one in the room knew what to do. Even Bib Fortuna cowered, having rightfully kept his mouth shut since the start; he was the Hutt’s righthand man, though he wasn’t stupid.

The only other figure who bothered to step forward was the silhouette of a woman; she was tall and thin, rivaling Bane’s own wiry physique. She crossed her arms; she leaned into her hip, a look of curious incredulity spanning her ghoulish face.

Aurra Sing waited patiently, drumming her long fingers across her naked elbow. Her jumper had no sleeves with which to impede her skills, though her weapons, her rifle remained slung across her back. She would ascertain her own role in all of this once Fett said his piece.

She had arrived late to the scene; she had not been here to see Bane fall into the rancor’s den - where Fett was, Aurra was not far behind, as well as the rest of the Krayt’s Claw syndicate.

This situation was new to her, but there had to be a reason for it. She respected Cad, they had worked many jobs together. He was not one to give himself over to emotions without an explanation or a justifiable rationale.

“Stay outta dhis, Fett,” Bane seethed, his eyes molten like the lava of Mustafar. His gaze wandered briefly to his former colleague, a hunter who had also taken Boba beneath her wing. They were not on the best of terms, though it could not be said they hated one another, yet he stood his ground, unsure if Aurra planned to hinder him.

When no one moved a muscle he got close enough to smell him, tasting the putrid flavor of the Hutt upon his lips. His disgusting scent permeated; it traveled, encompassing his olfactory organs. Bane would have retched his guts out if he weren’t so consumed with cutting fury.

“Cad Bane let'z make oeal. Let jeesh boll an jee widd give uba 100,000 credits an jee-jee seel norget beet evah happened.”

“He wants to make a deal, Cad,” Boba translated hurriedly, hoping the lure of credits would appease the hunter and call to his base needs - his love of money. “He says he will give you one hundred thousand credits if you let him go and he will forget this ever happened.”

“Warned ye! Gonna hafta do better n’dhat,” Bane’s canines clicked as he felt like biting him; he would not be satisfied until he mocked and ridiculed the worm who called himself a Daimyo. “Wanna know why Ah’m here? Ah’ll tell ye, scuzzball.”

Bane pressed the barrel further inward even as his other hand gripped at his ribs. He was depleted; the ache in his bones was catching up to him. If he wasn’t careful, someone would most assuredly take advantage of his weakness. It would be in his best interest to take the credits and leave while the going was still good, but not before he satiated his bitter indignation.

‘’Ere ‘cause yer weak! Don’ even know when ye got smugglers runnin’ weapons under yer nose. Seperatists still kickin; Tour’s payin’ me te flush ‘em out. Look at’cha; missin’ out on all dhat tribute.”

Jabba squelched a sound of outage with Bane’s LL-30 still so close to his massive head, his tiny arms waving in lividness as he fought back many hostile words. though there was something there; something he could use; he would tempt the hunter with an even bigger reward to right his agitation.

“Stang these smugglers shu an jee widd oouble haku Tour Aryan paying uba!”

“He says bring the smugglers to him, and he will double what the governess is paying you,” Boba relayed quickly.

It was tempting, but Bane knew better. He had already said too much; he had spoken the nature of his task, but his temper had been such that he was unable to control himself.

“Ain’t sellin’ out,” he stated tersely. It was more matter-of-fact than charged with heavy feelings. The Duros was calming down; he did not want to be a failure in the eyes of his clientele. The Empire was a steady source of income this day and age.

“’Ere’s de deal: Ye stay out m’business. Ye give me one hundred thousand creds’ naht te kill ye. Ye let me walk. Don’t exspect te be seein’ me no more.”

“Agreed, Murishani.” Jabba answered without thinking.

“Double-cross me, ye die. Ah’ll find a way te do ye in if it’s de last thing Ah ever accomplish in dhis God’s fersaken galaxy.”

Bane relinquished; he dropped his blaster though he kept a wary eye on everyone around him. He stumbled off the platform, droplets of dark jade leaving a trail with every step he took.

He passed Aurra; he tipped his hat to her before laggardly trudging onward. He paused at the entrance of the palace, his fingers clamping down upon the edge of the last partition that separated him from the outside world.

He barely reached the darkened corridor that would lead him beyond Jabba’s residence as he kept one hand upon his weapon’s holster; it was a warning to the others, anyone who would try to fool with him in this condition. Injured animals in the wild would fight to the very last.

Boba watched him go as he propelled himself with a push from off the wall and around the corner. He would follow, but not before Jabba had given him a new set of orders. The clone glanced to Aurra as the Daimyo spoke, knowing that he would need her help on this; also Bossk and Dengar’s.

“Nind beet ulwan, an stang hoohat jeesh. Jee widd doo hoohat before Tour Aryan.”

“Yes, Jabba.” His new job was to bring the gunrunners to the Hutt before Cad could track them down, yielding them to Tour Aryan. It was a game of chance – let the best hunter win out in the end.

Boba nodded once - a brief show of supplication to his employer before briskly turning to supervene behind the Duros - Aurra made to join him, but he held one hand aloft.

“Wait here for now,” he commanded with placid authority. She obeyed, though scowling, having little in the way of patience. If he had been any other man …

---

Outside in the dark, Cad Bane fiddled with his comlink, the set of switches that would signal the Justifier to his whereabouts. He received nothing but static from the other end as the device scintillated; miniscule sparks and wayward bolts of electricity nearly electrified his fingers. His face contorted in a show of unamused annoyance as he called his droid, “Todo, come in. Need a pick-up.”

He smacked his gauntlet; it only injured him. He growled out loud; he was frustrated beyond belief as he took a rasping breath. Bane realized he would have to walk it back. He had no way to contact his good-for-nothing robot, no way to summon his ship to him. A weaker man would have sat down in the sand.

It would be ironic to survive all this only to die out in the desert.

Bane put one foot forward and began the long trek into town where his ship was docked at the spaceport in Mos Eisley. Every part of him was suffering; his body, his mind; his psyche. He dipped his head to look at his open wound; the blood would most likely alert a predator. He was thankful he at least still had his blasters, though it was only a small consolation as he could hardly move.

“Bane,” a voice rather softly behind him said. He felt a hand rest atop his shoulder. The Duros jumped; he whirled around, his own hand coming to swipe at Boba’s as he skittered back. He thought to shoot him, blue digits itching at the grip of one seated pistol.

“Keep yer hands off me,” he spat.

“Bane, what are you doing? You'll never make it,” he said with a stern, yet careful calmness.

“Why d'ye care. Yer de one who brought me ‘ere!” Cad retorted, eyes flaring as his temper began to rise once more.

“I had no idea things would turn out so badly. I didn’t think-”

“Nah, ye didn’ think, did ye?” Bane turned again, marching onward, though sluggish; he was slow.

“You need help,” Boba did not relent; he kept on following him, matching his speed to walk along beside the irate grump.

“Don’ want it! Dhat’s what’s wrong with ye. Told ye dhat. Too compassionate.”

Bane ignored him otherwise, physically pretending he wasn’t there right at his side. Cad refused to look at him, instead facing the sprawling dunes he would have to conquer in order to get back to his ship alive.

“Would you have me work for the Empire then? To be like you?”

“A job’s a job, but maybe so. Need a lil’ backbone.” Bane took a breath that rattled, nearly dropping to one knee. He righted himself before he could fall, however unsteadily.

“Bane, you’re going to die out here if you try to walk all the way back to Mos Eisley, if you care.”

“Dhen so be it,” the Duros responded flatly.

Boba stopped in his footsteps. He let him meander another pace or two away. He removed his blaster; he aimed it at his former mentor and took his shot – it was set for stun - Fett only shook his head.

“Stubborn old fool. Your pride will be the death of you.”

---

Boba made the effort to drag Cad back to an awaiting land speeder. It was Brainee’s, but he would not be needing it again. He situated him in the best possible position: stretched out so as not to cause him any more undue pain.

Fett had no idea why he was even doing this; the Duros didn’t want his help. Should he find him aboard his ship alongside Todo, who knew what he would do. There might even be another duel.

Ultimately, he might have felt a small amount of guilt. He had once admired him, then he had tried to take his life. Disagreements happened all the time; he had learned to watch his back. Even Aurra had come crawling when he least expected it. Still, he had been the one to betray Bane; he had wanted off the job, and was willing to protect those people. If he had stuck it out, maybe there would have been another way for him to get his way.

Yet despite his crookedness, Boba could not leave him there alone in the harsh climate of the planet Tatooine – not in his condition - it was an unforgiving place. Besides, he would be eaten by a massif, or some other carnivorous creature like a sandswimmer, perhaps. In this state he was a sitting mynock.

It was the thoughts of those times he fed him, put him to bed, or let him cry to him that solidified Fett’s resolve; the times they had spent together with his father, Jango.

Maybe Bane was right: he was too soft. However, he supposed the man might thank him one day if their paths ever crossed again.

Instead of going directly to the port where he knew the Justifier remained unattended except most likely by his droid, Boba did what he thought was best; he needed someone to monitor and care for him, and it could not be him.

Bane would not stand for that. It was ridiculous; ludicrous to even entertain it, though this woman he had taken a fancy to seemed like she might be the type to attend to his needs and wounds.

Fett left the speeder running as he approached her simple dwelling. Bane was still knocked out cold, thankfully unconscious, as he would have surely protested. He had not noticed that his own armor was coated with a thin sheen of sticky green.

He rapped three times and waited, glancing back to note the Duros’ breath was shallow. He needed bacta.

He had forgotten his appearance; his helmet was still on. The girl answered and mildly gasped. She appeared frightened, her fingers gently grasping at the edge of her hut’s doorframe as she studied him; her eyes were two different colored jewels that sparkled in the night.

Fett cleared his throat; she was in nothing but a nightgown. Her raven hair was down and framed her face of a lovely shade of purple, or maybe pink. It was unique. He fumbled for his words, deciding to remove his beskar headgear first, his handsome face revealed along with dark locks of chocolate brown.

“Who-who are you?” she meekly stuttered. “What do you want? It’s late. Perhaps you have the wrong address.” She moved to press the button that would close the door; Boba stuck his boot out and halted her.

“Come with me.”

Her lower lip quivered; perhaps she thought she was being kidnapped, or forced into coercion by this strange person who expressed his necessity of her.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know w-”

“It’s Bane. He needs help.” Fett moved to the side, giving her a clear view of the vehicle that resided close behind him. He took this time to observe her - the golden slave collar at her throat – she was beautiful. Boba could see why the Duros favored her.

The girl’s expression changed; her eyebrows furrowed inward in a state of pure alarm as she caught sight of Cad in the backseat of the land speeder. She moved to rush beyond him; her hand reached out; he blocked her path using his right arm as a barrier to access. “Get dressed first, and hurry.”

She reluctantly stayed silent, tears forming in her eyes, then turned around to obey his hushed command.

---

Masterlist

Sorry for the long wait.

Note about Aurra and Boba’s relationship

#Cad Bane #Cad Bane x OC #Cad bane x Original female characters #Stars Above #Star Wars Smut #Star Wars Fanfiction #Boba Fett #Aurra Sing #Jabba the Hutt #Tatooine #Clone Wars #Bad Batch #Book of Boba Fett #Bounty Hunters #My writing

15 notes · View notes