Send a location for a drabble! || Accepting

He’s always liked this room. It's peaceful. The whole Temple is a bastion of tranquility, yes, but this room is special. The rushing water was like a white noise, and mingled with the heavy, calm nature of the Force to block out absolutely everything else. There was nothing but him, the room, and the universe around him. It was perfect. He sits quietly, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. Breathe in, breathe out. The air here was so clean. Not the same clean as in the gardens; that was a grassy, earthy clean. This was clean like a rain storm was. Clean like everything untoward was being washed away. 

It’s nice. 

Another breath in and out, and the weight on his shoulders falls away in time with the water rushing down. It’s cold against his skin, plastering his hair to his face, the back of his neck, his shoulders, but it reminds him of two simple, undeniable truths: He is alive, and he is home. Together, they make a third truth: He is lucky. Perhaps it’s strange to think that way after everything, but it’s true. He survived, he’s lucky. Ah, but this train of thought is a distraction. Focus, padawan. 

Once again, he breathes, and once again, he is distracted. A familiar presence nudges at the edge of his perception, asking permission, and he cracks one eye open and smiles. It’s all she needs. Booda steps under the water beside him, folding her legs neatly as she, too, closes her eyes and finds her center. She’s much more adapted to the conditions than he, with water sliding off her haillu and flowing back to the pool below them. 

“It’s good to have you back,” she says softly. “We missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.” He says. He shifts his right hand enough that his little finger nudges against her hand; she turns her palm over and he takes a gentle hold. The metal of her prosthetic is cool against his skin, mingling with the faint chill of the water. They stay like that for long enough that he forgets the time entirely, but he does remember that he was right before.

Send a location for a drabble! || Accepting

One, two, three. Two, two, three. Three, two, three, one. The steady impact of his fists against the leather of the bag filled the room with a dull staccato. One, one, two. Three, two, three, four. One, two, one, one, two, one-

“Whoa. I was wondering where you were.” Braig stops and looks up. He knows that voice. 

“Hano.” Braig straightened in surprise even as his excitement tinged the Force gold. 

“Aren't your hands sore?” Hano’s whiskers twitch as he steps closer, arms crossed over his chest.

“Nope.” Braig shakes his head. “I got wraps. See?” He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers as best as the cotton would allow. Hano’s ears perked up. 

“Oh, are those the new ones?” 

“Yeah. The quartermasters are letting me break some in.” Braig grinned. “I brought another set, if you want to give it a try?”

“Yes!” Hano said instantly, and his excitement popped through the Force before falling flat. “Ah, but I can’t.” Braig paused halfway through picking the other wraps up. 

“Why?” 

“Master Eedai and I’re getting ready to head out to Anoat.” Hano pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “I just wanted to say bye first.” Braig’s hands fell to his sides. 

“Your first mission.” He says. He can't deny the note of jealousy that twings in his chest, but he puts on a smile anyway. 

“Yeah,” Hano sighs with a shrug, pushing his fingers through his hair. “And it’s to a planet with poison air. How am I supposed to hunt anything down when I’m stuck in a gas mask?” Braig reaches out and nudges his knuckles against Hano’s shoulder.

“Hey. You’ll do great. You always do.” His words earn a pleased grin and a flush of satisfaction in the Force around them. 

“Sure.” Hano nudged him in return. “It’s gonna be at least a week or two, and I bet by the time I get back, you’ll have a master of your own, and we can swap stories!”

“I dunno-” Braig began, before being cut off. 

“I do!” Hano slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him off balance. “In fact, I bet the only reason you don’t have one yet is they’re all fighting over who gets to pick you.” He gestured wildly with his free hand, and Braig staggered to keep up. “And you’re gonna have a whole line of ‘em, and you’ll be the first padawan ever to have to say no to a master!” Braig stopped trying to squirm out from under his bicep long enough to shoot a disbelieving look.

“That has to have happened before.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Hano shrugged without letting go. “You’re the history nerd, not me.” 

“Okay.” Braig finally shoves out and throws a few lazy punches in Hano’s direction. Hano laughs, parrying each one, and drops to a hunter’s crouch. Braig grins and braces for impact-

Before the beeping of Hano’s comm stops them both. Hano sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I gotta go. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back?”

“Please.” Braig nods. And as his friend makes his way out of the room, “May the Force be with you.” Hano flashes a smile over his shoulder and gives his ears a twitch.

“You too.” 

Braig watches him go, one hand braced on the bag. Then the door closes and it’s quiet again. He sighs. Hangs his head. Pushes his hand through his hair. Resumes his stance. 

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have || ACCEPTING

He hates his last name. Absolutely hates it. Not in the sense that he thinks it's a bad name, more that he doesn't want any association with it. He knows that, for Jedi, his situation was strange, and hints at a not-great home life. He’s not interested in knowing any more than that. As far as he’s concerned, the Jedi are the only family he’s ever had or needed - the Order took him in, took care of him, taught him everything he knows. He loves them.