#nareens

send me three names + a number (accepting.)

fuck, take a bullet for, murder

lET‘S SEE. well, technically speaking everybody is liable to get murdered at some point, but in all fairness, the only one who should really worry about an educative murder (and maybe some resurrection afterwards) is fein, because it wOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED IF U EMBRACED THE DARK SIDE FEIN. let this be a lesson!

fuck: everyone. we’re not picky here. :^)

take a bullet for: nimm, khadis: fight me, and if he plays his cards right (boy doesn’t even want a saber how can you expect him to stay alive on his own), xavis

Its deep into the early hours of the morning, when its still more night than morn, and the sun hasn’t yet begun to creep over the canopies of the jungles; and as she presses the gear his fingers searched for blindly into the palm of his hand they shift with a soft smile from silence to safety. 

She tells him about a snow storm in a cold metal bedroom and the hammering of her heart against her chest, and he trades her a story about colors dancing and shifting along fresh snow drifts, shimmering along silvered ice, and sticking wet and cold on eyelashes and lips. 

Watching failure will always leave her with a nagging feeling of discomfort. Here, she hadn’t expected much else. She doesn’t – didn’t – normally bother with the regular tenets of the Imperial Army, but the Moffs usually possessed a certain amount of cunning and ability to backstab colleagues, that even the Inquisitors, which thrived on similar values, awarded them a faint degree of respect whenever they were forced to interact. Tarkin was exemplary even for his sort, and considering their meagre time for preparation, she’s surprised this many of the Jedi have come back alive.

She glances over her shoulder through the mess hall, and picks up an extra drink to go with her late afternoon snack. There’s a Jedi with luminous eyes sitting alone, one that left for Jedha and came back, apparently physically in one piece. Nareen, she thinks – Orion’s padawan.

She strides over with her hoard, nodding at the seat opposite Nareen. “In need of company?”

One:

The first time she makes it snow, controls the flurries and lets them glide down his cheeks like the echoes of his birth mother’s kisses, he can’t help but cry. He’s never missed his home planet, but he’s always missed the snow. 

Two: 

He twists and turns them while he meditates, bending their little stems into intricate spirals and lifting their petals so they turn towards a sun they’ve never seen - little metal flowers he started carving for his little sister. The first one he presses into Nareen’s palm has flowers painted the colors of the skies at night on Coruscant. 

Three: 

Padawan. There is so much they must learn, so much they still don’t know, but she makes him feel like he’s learning. Dancing together, blunt staves whirling, they echo each other in a dance one element away from deadly. Their training is quiet, sometimes, but to be a Jedi they must be capable of violence - they cling to each other with that knowledge, giving each other a reason to push their muscles and abilities beyond what they’ve ever known. 

Four: