Honestly Sabine being Ashoka’s padawan is poetically hilarious.
Because only Ahsoka “I am no Jedi” Tano, padawan of Anakin “Darth Vader Human Disaster” Skywalker, would have a padawan that is not only barely force-sensitive, but a Mandalorian at that.
It’s the version of Ahsoka in TCW that we knew. She was badass and deadly.
But now we see that she’s also a kid. She was trained to be a child soldier. This is her after years of fighting and learning how to handle herself in a battlefield.
Azriel x Reader (780 words, based on a request!, warnings: hypothermia, angst)
Masterlist here
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You were used to the cold. You grew up in its unforgiving teeth and clawed past winters when the bite felt almost too strong. There were methods to survive it, tactics to overcome the painful numbness that crept along your skin, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern to this cold. You were alone and this chill was with you.
You should have listened to Azriel.
It’s not a normal snow, he had warned, you should wait for me. But everyone seemed to forget that you were new to being fae, and when you were new, you felt invincible. You could live through the winters of your mortal years without a second thought. You couldn’t die from snow or ice or sleet.
Or, so you thought.
You huddled against the tree trunk, your fingers stinging and burning—but that didn’t make sense because the only substance that surrounded you was the blizzard. You could feel your body begin to slow, movements becoming labored when they shouldn’t. You hadn’t felt this kind of weakness since before becoming fae.
Azriel was going to kill you; he’d be so furious to find your body here, surrounded by nothing on the outskirts of the winter court. Each soft whisper he’d pressed to your skin was loaded with adoration and praise for you being his mate above all else. He’d waited for you, he would tell you, and now you were going to die a meaningless death.
Your grip on your cloak was concrete and rigid, but it was pointless. The snow had already seeped into the material and chilled you to the bone.
You were tired.
Closing your eyes seemed like the right decision. Sleep would help you gain the strength to sift through the white haze and find the border to these lands.
Your lashes brushed your cheek and darkness felt warm.
Until the incessant tug at your ribs became unbearable. Until a voice was calling you home and the concept of home ticked your heart rate up a beat.
“Open your eyes. Please,” the voice stressed. Your body was numb and nothing was coherent over the whistling wind.
There was pressure on your face and the air felt more stagnant, but everything else remained unchanged.
Going against every muscle and desire in your being, you fought the weight of your eyelids and were met with the image of Azriel in the blistering cold. He was wrapped up to his neck as you were, but he was taking all of it off.
“No,” you mumbled, the word barely a sound in the wind.
Azriel’s gaze snapped up to you, his hands still clutching the scarf he was prying from his shoulders. His hands, with no gloves to cover his skin, cupped your cheeks. You couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, but you could feel the quivering of his fingers.
“Good,” he seemed to mumble to himself. “Good, you’re awake. Okay, okay…”
It was nonsensical and your brain was far too muddled to make sense of it. You only raised the dead weight of your arm to wrap stiff fingers around the material of his cloak.
“Keep… it on,” you whispered.
A spark of something shot across Azriel’s face. His lips parted as snow settled on his brow. “I need to take it off. I need to get you warm.”
You let out a shuddering breath. Azriel, with his brows painfully furrowed, watched you for only a second more before he continued his motion to get you pressed to more of his skin and wrap the remaining area of his winter wear around you.
“I love you, do you hear me?” Azriel spoke by your ear, the tone of his voice unwavering despite how his body shook. As if he wanted the strength to seep into your bones and warm you. As if that would work.
He stood with you in his arms, your body now jarred by the change in temperature. He was moving quickly but not flying. Through a bleary blink, you saw the ice forming on the juncture of his wings.
“Answer me, y/n,” Azriel demanded.
“I’m tired,” you replied.
“I know. I need to get past the border and then we’ll be home. You can sleep then, but not before.”
You hummed a response.
Azriel seemed to tense beneath you. “I love you,” he repeated. “Please don’t do this.”
You wanted to tell him that you weren’t doing anything—that it was too cold for him to be here. But in the comfort of his arms, you let the darkness of his shadows lull you to sleep. In your dreams, you heard your name, over and over.
stormborns
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
janainaart
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
