In theory, babysitting the twins was an easy task. While Luke and Leia, like all children, got into trouble, they were generally well-behaved whenever Obi-Wan looked after them. This was possibly due to Obi-Wan indulging in their games of pretend and letting them stay up to watch a movie. Today hadn’t been an exception, as Anakin and Padme attended another Senate event on Coruscant, he found himself spending the day with the now ten-year old twins.
They had spent the day playing outside, Luke pretending he was a pilot weaving between the properties many trees while he and Leia attempted to ‘shoot’ him down before he could make it back to the house. Obi-Wan had hoped this would tire the twins out so that bedtime would be easy after they settled into a movie after dinner, and he had succeeded. At least half-way succeeded.
“Uncle Obi-Wan, can you tell me a story?”
Looking over his reports, casually requested by Padme for his inspection before she left, Obi-Wan saw the very much awake Leia staring back at him. Setting the papers aside, he scooped the girl into his lap who happily settled herself against him with an expectant look.
“I thought you were asleep,” Obi-Wan said, stalling for time as he thought of a suitable story for a ten-year old.
“I tried to sleep, but I missed daddy telling me a story before bed and mommy tucking me in.”
“Ah, well, I can try my best to tell you a story.”
Obi-Wan launched into a story about a young leader against an evil force, teaming up with her pilot brother, to save the whole galaxy. The young leader, Obi-Wan told the girl, fought her way to victory over the evil army with her blaster amongst the trees while her brother shot down enemy pilots.
By the time he had finished the story, with the hero taking her place amongst the new government and creating a fair and safe galaxy for everyone, Leia was breathing heavily against his chest.
Smiling, Obi-Wan took the young girl in his arms and brought her back to bed. Careful not to wake Leia, he tucked the blankets carefully around the sleeping girl. Noticing Luke had kicked his blankets off in his sleep, Obi-Wan tucked in him as well. He stood for a moment, watching the two sleep and his heart swelled at the sight of his friends’ children. He had been concerned when Anakin informed him of his retirement from the Jedi Order, but that had long shifted to pride at how his former Padawan had evolved into a liaison between the Council and Order and love for the twins born soon after.
It was this happiness that saw him give in to requests for babysitting at their home on Naboo and the occasional review of Padme’s reports. With a quiet sigh, Obi-Wan returned to the living room where his forgotten papers sat abandoned on a table. He was determined to finish his notes before Padme and Anakin got back.
Hours later, Obi-Wan was nudged awake by Anakin.
“It seems you fell asleep, old friend.”
“I think the twins tired him out,” Padme’s voice was quiet as she stood by her husband, “I’ll make up the spare room for you, Obi-Wan.”
“Thank you, Padme,” he said with groan, stretching his stiff back as he rose from the chair. He knew better than to argue against the set look on her face, one so much like her daughter had worn hours earlier.
“I should be thanking you. Looking after the twins and reading my reports, which I would like to ask you about when you feel like it.”
“We should let him get to bed before you have him up all night,” Anakin chuckled as his wife scooped up her papers.
“I wasn’t suggesting tonight, Anie, I’m tired as well.”
Obi-Wan smiled at his friends’ gentle argument, knowing that it wasn’t only the Skywalker twins who could get him to do anything. And while he would sigh and frown at the ridiculous situations they roped him into, Obi-Wan would always give in to Skywalker antics.
On the outskirts of Theed, reader finds themselves comforting Echo after one of his nightmares. Unsure what to do at first, you decide to coax him in to do something you loved to do and would calm your mind; slow dancing.
Warnings: SFW, talks of nightmares with Echo, maybe a hint of suggestiveness a few times if you squint hard enough. Fluff and little angst. Reader wearing a dress.
gif is my own, please credit if used.
Originally posted July 2021. Rewritten 2023.
Restless nights were not usual lately, not due to your dreams or the humid temperature, nor the symphony of snoring from Wrecker and Tech. No, it was Echo who kept you awake.
His troubled sleep had become more frequent, accompanied by restless tossing and turning in his bunk. It was evident to anyone with half a mind what haunted his dreams, but you were uncertain of how to ease it.
Your bunks faced each other, and in those sleepless nights, you would turn to gaze at Echo as he mumbled, whimpered, or occasionally cried out in his slumber. When his eyes flew open, yours would flutter shut. Just as you wouldn't appreciate being watched while you slept, you figured the same courtesy should be extended to Echo. He would release a silent sigh, leave his bunk, and remain awake until the night once again descended.
Echo was a recent addition to your group. A few months prior, the others had rescued him from Skako Minor, but you were on a separate mission at the time. Hunter had contacted you, informing you of the new recruit, which you welcomed without hesitation. After all, strength lay in numbers.
However, what you hadn't anticipated was the sight of Echo, a Reg who appeared entirely cybernetic. Your gaze immediately fixated on the scars that adorned his head, remnants of the cruel machinery that once imprisoned him. His legs were composed of a dark metal, and a scomp was affixed to one of his hands.
You refrained from pitying him, aware that it would only make him feel weak. Instead, you extended a warm welcome, and it didn't take long for the two of you to form a genuine friendship.
Theed, the city that always captivated your senses, held a special allure for you as well as the others So, during a rare moment of respite, the Marauder was parked on to a hillside overlooking the city below. A well-trodden path led the group to the main sector where you spent the majority of the day until it was time to call it a night.
As the group began boarding the ship, a figure caught your peripheral vision, walking away from the steps toward the edge of the hillside. Hunter glanced at you, silently conveying the message to approach quietly, before he settled into his bunk. Taking the cue, you made your way toward Echo.
"Hey, Echo," you called out gently from behind him, feeling a pang of guilt as he startled, quickly turning to face you.
"Sorry, I should have been louder and not sneaked up on you," you chuckled nervously, relieved to see him relax upon recognising you.
"It's alright," Echo replied, his gaze returning to the front. Following suit, you settled beside him, both of you gazing out at the city of stars below.
The silence between you was comfortable, interrupted only by the soft squeaking of hidden creatures in the grass beneath you. Your eyes fixated on the radiant lights of Naboo, a smile of contentment gracing your lips, which didn't go unnoticed by Echo.
Echo had always been intrigued by you since the day you met. He noticed that you treated him as an equal, never coddling or overly protective. He appreciated that immensely, as the last thing he wanted was to be treated like a fragile being.
He observed you more than he would care to admit. He noticed the way you prepared your morning caf with an extra dash of sweetener, the way your nose would scrunch up when you laughed, and how you always made an effort to connect with him. It was undeniable that he had developed feelings for you, but he couldn't summon the courage to pursue them. Besides, how could someone like you possibly feel the same way about someone like him?
"Are you not tired?" Echo suddenly asked, his question catching you off guard. You turned your gaze towards him, shaking your head in response as you both began to sit on the grass.
"No, not really.” You replied with a smile, letting your legs swing over the ledge of the hilltop. "But, um, are you tired? I mean, physically tired?" Your curiosity seeped into your words unintentionally, and Echo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.
"I... I am quite tired, yes," he admitted.
"I thought so," you spoke softly, your gaze drifting down to your knees. The dress you were wearing rode up slightly above your kneecaps due to the way you were sitting.
His eyes followed your gaze, and he swallowed nervously before averting his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Letting out a sigh, you closed your eyes for a moment, gathering your thoughts before looking back at him, your head slightly tilted towards the sky. "I know, Echo. I know that you have nightmares. More so than when I first met you," you whispered, your voice hushed in case someone on the Marauder happened to be secretly listening, though you doubted it.
Echo's face remained inscrutable. He didn't show sadness, annoyance, or anger. He simply looked blank until a small "oh" slipped past his lips.
"Do you... want to talk about it? I understand if you don't, but just know that I'll be there to listen," you offered, your voice filled with genuine concern.
Once again, your kind words touched Echo's heart, causing it to skip a beat. However, he shook his head gently. "There's not much to say. It's just nightmares about..." He struggled to find the right words to describe the horrors of the Techno Union.
"I understand," you replied, even though you couldn't fully comprehend the depths of his pain. But your understanding brought him a measure of comfort nonetheless.
Silence fell between the two of you once more as you both continued to gaze at the breathtaking view. However, a small gust of wind swept by, causing you to shiver. Echo's eyes slowly shifted towards you, noticing the goosebumps that appeared on your skin. An urge rose within him, wanting to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you closer for warmth, but he restrained himself.
"Hey," you spoke up again after a few minutes, capturing his attention. "Do you want to know what always helped me relax before going to sleep?"
"What is it?" he asked, genuinely interested. If you had any suggestion that could help him find solace in his restless nights, he was eager to hear it.
However, his heart sank a little when you revealed your answer.
"Dancing."
"Dancing?" he repeated, slightly taken aback, only to see you nodding enthusiastically.
"Yeah, it always had a calming effect on my mind, whether I'm dancing alone or with someone," you explained, shrugging as a fond memory of dancing back on your home planet filled your mind. There, you could lose yourself in the simple joy of movement. But now, amidst the war, such moments were rare and precious.
"Well, I can't say I'm much of a dancer. I doubt I'd be any better now," Echo responded, adding the last part with a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.
You frowned at Echo's response and stood up abruptly, determination etched on your face. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"
Echo turned his body to face you, his expression clearly questioning your seriousness as he looked up at the hand you extended towards him. It was hard for you not to find his skeptical look somewhat endearing.
"Come on," you urged, retracting your hand when he didn't reach for it. Holding up one finger to indicate you'd be right back, you sprinted towards the ship. Echo stood there, waiting anxiously for your return, and was surprised when he saw you carrying a makeshift radio.
You fiddled with the knobs and buttons until angelic-sounding music filled the air. Lowering the volume to avoid disturbing the other members of the Batch who had fallen asleep almost instantly, you placed the radio by your feet.
"I'm not..." Echo trailed off, watching you with curiosity. "When did we even get a radio?"
You chuckled slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. "It took some convincing, but I managed to persuade Hunter to let Tech make one for me. Tech didn't mind, since he enjoys tinkering with things, but Hunter was cautious due to his heightened senses. Crosshair wasn't interested, but I didn't care about his opinion, and Wrecker was all for it. So, here we are," you explained, smiling at Echo and then turning your attention back to the radio.
"So, how do you want me?" you asked, your tone light and inviting.
Echo blinked rapidly, his breath hitching as he momentarily misinterpreted your words. He desired you in ways he dared not share, but he knew that wasn't what you meant. "Uh, whatever is comfortable for you," he stammered, surprised that he didn't decline your offer. Deep down, he had always found you sweet, and the fact that he was willing to dance or at least give it a try made your heart swell with happiness.
You took a step closer to Echo, gently taking hold of his arm and guiding his flesh hand to rest on your waist. He watched you tentatively, unsure of himself, until he felt his hand make contact with you. A peculiar sensation stirred in his gut.
Your hand settled comfortably on his shoulder, and your other hand extended, signaling for him to clasp onto it. However, as he began to raise his hand, he froze. Embarrassment washed over him as he realized he had no physical hand to offer, and your heart raced as you sensed his inclination to withdraw completely. Acting swiftly, you took hold of his cybernetic, meeting his worried gaze with understanding.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Echo," you reassured him softly, fully aware of the emotions he was grappling with.
"But there is," he muttered, breaking eye contact.
"Just keep looking at me," you whispered, placing a hand on his cheek to ensure he maintained eye contact. The radio played a new song, setting the mood, and you guided him through the steps once your hand was back on his.
Echo kept his gaze downcast, focusing on his and your feet, careful not to step on yours. You had to repeatedly lift his chin to bring his gaze back to you. "Eyes on me, trooper," you gently reminded him.
A smile graced Echo's face, and as he got the hang of the dance, he found himself enjoying it more than he thought. You noticed how gracefully he moved, surprising you with his delicate touch. His hand remained respectfully positioned, never venturing lower than it needed. He even surprised you further by offering a small twirl, adding a touch of elegance to your dance.
"See? You're getting the hang of this," you grinned as Echo expertly flared you out and pulled you back in, bringing you slightly closer than before.
"I must say, I have a very good teacher," Echo complimented you, his gaze fixed on your closed eyes as you gently hummed along to the music. Your bodies moved in sync, interlocking both physically and emotionally under the dark sky.
The music changed once again, and you found your hands naturally moving to the back of his neck, your fingers intertwining with each other. Hesitant but willing, his non-flesh hand settled on your waist, bringing you closer. He hoped you couldn't hear the rapid thumping of his heart against his chest.
"This is nice, Echo," you murmured, reopening your eyes to meet his golden orbs. You couldn't deny the fluttering in your chest at the sight of his gaze.
He hummed in acknowledgment. "The view isn't so bad either."
Your cheeks flushed at his words. You wondered if he was referring to the city of stars shimmering on the horizon, but his gaze remained locked on you.
"I... I agree," you managed to say, your bodies still swaying gently to the soft tunes from the radio.
A breeze swept by, and you cursed yourself silently for not grabbing a shawl when you went to get the radio, as your teeth began to chatter. Unconsciously, you leaned into Echo, seeking warmth, and you felt the comforting heat emanating from him. Echo sensed the situation and mustered the courage to draw you even closer, until your chests touched. Your head found solace against his shoulder.
A faint smile adorned your lips, mirroring the one on Echo's face. He silently thanked the breeze for its role in bringing you closer, as he doubted he would have made the move without its assistance. The subtle scent of your shampoo filled his senses, intoxicating him.
"Cyare?" he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness. Your hands, still wrapped around him, trembled slightly as you pulled away, but your arms remained draped around the back of his neck, curiosity evident in your raised eyebrow.
“Yes, Echo?"
"Can I kiss you... please?" The innocence in his voice nearly made your knees buckle, but his grip on you was firm, assuring you that he wouldn't let you fall.
You gazed at him, taken aback yet elated by his request. You found yourself yearning for the same, and so you did.
Tipping your head up, your lips gently brushed against his. He exhaled against you, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly as he felt you tilt your head, granting him better access.
The kiss was brief but incredibly sweet. As you both pulled away, bashful giggles escaped your lips, and you pulled each other into a warm, secure hug.
"Thank you for dancing with me," you breathed softly into his neck, sending shivers down his spine. The heat from your kiss still lingered within him.
"I should be thanking you. It's been a while since I danced with such a beautiful girl," Echo replied, his words causing you to blush, grateful that your face was hidden in his embrace.
Eventually, you both pulled away, but your hands had found each other, fingers intertwining.
"I think it's time we head to bed, hm?" you suggested, hoping he would be receptive to the idea, and secretly hoping that his nightmares would be kept at bay for the night.
The forbidden tale of Anakin and Padmé's AOTC courtship. A detailed expansion covering the movie, known deleted scenes, and many new scenes. If George showed 20% of their screen time, this is the other 80%. Told in Padmé's POV with ROTS awareness. Written for the enduring fans of Anidala.
I Coruscant. Chapter 3: Executive Order
It was the familiar savory smell that roused me awake. When my eyes squinted open, I saw Dormé's oval face looking down on me from her stance next to the sofa. A promising mug was in her right hand. "Caf?" she asked, sweetly.
Oof. Did I fall asleep looking at drafts on the couch again? This was hardly the first time Dormé had found me on the yellow bench, greeting me in the morning with a pleasant smile and a hot cup of my favorite spiced brew.
The apartment was cast in yellowish amber, as the emerging sunrise entered the space like gold filling a basin. It was going to be a beautiful morning. For a wonderful moment, life was as it had been. Normal. Uneventful. I was too recent a visitor of the mind-numbing sleep world, and I didn't yet remember the events of the landing platform. The deaths. The grief. The close call of the second attempt. But the ignorant spell was broken when a shiver went through me and I realized how frigid the room was, and why. Normally, I kept my apartment at humid, slightly warm temperature that mimicked Naboo's southern climate. It reminded me of home. But the busted window in my bedroom— an area that was merely one open corridor away— must've allowed Coruscant's chilly dry air to infiltrate throughout the apartment during the night.
And with that dawn of understanding, reality came rushing back. Because it was a window broken when a bounty hunter— or their accomplice, I was still hazy on the details, especially now— tried to assassinate me. Had tried again— after slaughtering innocents yesterday.
Cordé. Bern. Torin.
Seven faces flashed before my eyes in quick succession. I stared momentarily at the deep blue ceiling, composing myself, halting the way my lungs seemed to constrict and fill with rocks in my chest. Then I swallowed the grief back. I propped myself up on my left elbow— like I'd prophesied, I had indeed rolled over in my sleep to better adjust myself to the "C" curve of the sofa— and with a grateful smile, I reached up. Dormé carefully passed me the purple mug of caf, just like she had for hundreds of mornings. Some routines just carried on. "Thank you." I wrapped all my fingers around the cup luxuriously— it warmed my chilled hands.
That's when I noticed there was a second, thicker blanket draped across my lower half, covering the thin one I'd brought with me from the veranda's couch. It was the purple top linen from my actual bed. That was unexpected. Without it, I might've frozen through the night. I credited its presence to Dormé. She must've placed it on me while I slept.
Unless…
"Where's Ani?" My eyes scanned around the room, failing to find their target.
Dormé studied me for a moment, pausing ever so briefly before she answered, with a directional tip of her head, "He's just outside. I think he's doing some morning reflection ritual."
Careful not to spill my drink, I sat up enough to peek over the rim of the furniture at the figure out on the balcony. His back was to us, and his hands were clasped low behind him. His brown robe floated around him in the breeze, showing us that his feet were spread shoulder-width apart. There was no hint of tension in his frame. The sunrise rays illuminated his dark blond hair, making the short strands appear almost crown-like around his head.
When Dormé answered me, her voice had been quieter than when I'd asked my question, and I knowingly matched her low volume now. "He's meditating."
Dormé shrugged. "Like I said."
I sat up fully, my aching back protesting but also reveling in the chance to straighten out. I stretched it as best I could while sitting and holding a cup of hot fluid in my hand. At least my neck seemed to have decided not to hurt anymore. I ventured the mug to my lips, but the toasty air before I made contact alerted my senses that it was still too hot. I blew habitually on the liquid, then dared to take a sip anyways. I licked my scorched lips and looked expectantly up at Dormé. "Any news?"
Only her eyes betrayed Dormé's otherwise stoic countenance. "Hundreds of messages of condolence came during the night. Honestly, it might be in the thousands by now. Even some of the factions who don't like you sent words of sympathy. And there are numerous requests for interviews from the media."
I sighed. "So, word has gotten out."
At least the families of the victims knew— I'd made sure they'd been contacted before I gave my speech to the Senate yesterday. In my opening remarks to the assembled chamber, I'd publicly announced the seven lives lost. It would've been unforgivable if the families found out either that way or through some back channel.
"Should we tackle the media all at once? Call a press conference?"
"No," my tone was adamant, imperative. "No, not with the vote in the balance. I don't even want to give the appearance of capitalizing on tragedy."
The life of a politician mandated that press conferences be a part of the diet, but instigating them when it wasn't absolutely necessary was the style of other Senators, not me. Besides, the threat was still ongoing, and there was no need to make Obi-Wan and Ani's job any more difficult.
Dormé nodded, and I knew she both understood and agreed. "A memorial service is going to be held at the Naboo embassy this morning. There's to be moment of silence, time for remarks, as well as grief counseling for anyone seeking it. The service is going to be semi-private— Naboo only at this time."
I knew the staff at the embassy extremely well, and I was proud and glad that they were putting something together. The shock and brutality of this attack would be felt by all who called Naboo home, and I was grateful that those here on Coruscant had a place to come together.
I took another sip of caf. "I'll be there, too." Dormé's lips twisted, and lines appeared on her forehead. I was about to take another sip, but as I studied my handmaiden the mug stayed paused before my lips, inadvertently heating the tip of my nose. "What is it?"
"Nothing. Well. I just think— yes, it would be good of you to go."
I gave her a wary look. "What are you not telling me?"
A rushed sigh suddenly escaped through Dormé's nose. "Last night the embassy held a candlelight vigil for the fallen at Lucian Park— completely open to the public. The crowd was… large."
I didn't believe my ears. "Our embassy? The embassy for Naboo?"
The look on her face was all the affirmation I needed.
I gaped at her, incredulous. "Why wasn't I told?" I should have been there!
Dormé was immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry. You were in your room eating dinner when I found out, and the Jedi and Captain Typho told me not to."
My lips straightened into a thinly pressed line, and then my voice rang out clear and loud. "Ani!"
Starlight - Chapter Twenty-Five: The Death of Dawn
Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC
Rating: Mature
Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut
Warnings: Explicit Language, Graphic Blood and Violence, Traumatic Events
Words: 8.6K
Summary: “You’ve got a big heart, kid, I don’t know how you’ve kept it. I’ve seen war before, it changes people. He wants to change you too, and you can’t let him. No matter what he does to you, you keep your heart. Can you promise me that?”
“I promise,” she whispers.
Starlight Masterlist Here
Read Chapter Twenty-Four Here
Read on AO3 Here
Its been a while since the Mandalorian could confidently say he’s been to a planet as helpless as Corvus. With the recent excursions of Naboo, and even Navarro to an extent, he's almost ashamed to forget how miserable the rest of the galaxy is.
Rolling hills and barren trees are all that can be depicted on first glance. A copy and paste of muddied browns and grays with a thick overall of fog. According to the NavComputer, only two seasons occurred here—spring and summer.
It begs the question as to why all the plants—from as big as the trees half fallen and stripped of limbs, to the spots of dirt which once grew grass—are dead and burned away.
Selfishly perhaps, he finds the silver lining of Lumina’s continued unconscious state. There isn’t a surviving flower in sight. The only sunlight is that which inconsistently peaks through the clouds. He’d hate for her to wither away or burn out like the rest of them.
The child is hidden in a sack over his shoulder, cape partially dropped over him. It was impossible to pull him away from her body, for the past day of travel all he did was sit and watch her breathe.
The AZ unit says she’s fine. At this point he has no choice but to believe it.
A stone fortress surrounds the village of Calodan, spanning the height of the Razor Crest. A bell sits center on the top behind three guards. Two aliens and a human in the middle.
“State your business,” the human calls down. Nasally, his words almost slur together.
“Been tracking for a few days,” the Mandalorian says. “Looking for a layover.” There’s silence for longer than he’d like, and he rummages his mind for another useless excuse.
“Nice armor,” the man says. “You a hunter, then?”
“That's right.”
“Guild?”
“Last I checked.”
Silence passes again, dragging annoyance back into him. He wouldn’t need this if she were awake. She’d be able to feel out the Jedi as soon as they landed.
It strikes the Mandalorian that he may have become dependent.
An interesting development on it’s own to indulge in.
“Open the gate,” the man says.
The inside is just as bad, if not worse than the out. The main street is empty, save for the sporadic droid here an there. The true citizens tuck themselves to the side behind stalls and into alleyways. Rooftops are lined with snipers, ten according to his schematics. All facing him.
An elderly woman stands at a small table, wares of used metal pots and pans sat out for sale. The handles are worn and bottoms black. They must be her own.
“Pardon me, vendor,” he says on approach. “Have you heard of anyone…” She walks away, hunched and silent. “Hmm.”
Lumina was always the better negotiator.
A man sits crouched with two children in a smaller alley tucked behind the table. “You there,” Mando says. “I need some information. I'm looking for someone.”
The children are sent away, heads ducks and hands to the side.
“Please, do not speak to them,” the man says, standing. He speaks like his own presence is a secret. “Or to any of us.”
“Look, I just need to know—”
Two guards, he suspects the same from the entrance, place themselves behind the Mandalorian. “The Magistrate wants to see you.”
---
“You requested to see me?”
For four standard months this fortress has been her residence. Though it may only be the twentieth time she’s seen the machine in person. He doesn’t talk to her when he’s back at base—or, whatever this new place can be called. Maybe home.
But sometimes he does. It isn’t nice but it isn’t horrible. As the situation currently stands, she exists more as a living occupation of space than anything else to him. It’s demeaning, but so has been her life until this point.
She doesn’t mind the silence, not yet.
It’s better here on Mustafar than it was in Arkanis. She has a bed, a real one. It’s big and feels like clouds. She actually has a whole floor all to herself. Only three people are allowed inside. The machine, Vaneè—its servant—and her. There’s a lock on the door from the outside. It shocks her hand if she attempts to open it.
In the west wing a protocol droid waits in a windowless room. A single desk sits in the center, a projector board at the front. Every morning she sits in that room for eight hours, proceeded by a steady meal of supplements and water.
In the afternoon, she’ll move to the east wing for training, instructed by another droid, followed by an actual meal of whatever Vaneè has scrapped from the kitchen.
Then, she’ll come back to her room to find an object placed on her desk. Sometimes it’s a stripped piece of armor from a Storm Trooper, or the hat of an Imperial officer. Each night she meditates with the object and writes a report on her findings.
Tonight’s object is the lightsaber of an Inquisitor who operated under the alias of Seventh Sister. She was decapitated on Malachor.
The girl doesn’t faint anymore.
While preparing for bed, Vaneè entered her room. He knocks three times as announcement, two seconds between each.
“Dress yourself,” he said. “He is waiting for you.”
Now she sits on her knees, head bowed before the machine. He stands with his back turned for six and a half minutes before looking at her, staring for another four before telling her to rise.
Notably, he wears a different helmet.
He says nothing else, but the air of the Force shifts.
He’s killed a Jedi.
An understanding passes between them. He nods once, and turns back to the window. She moves beside him.
Silence is expected and preferred. But she’s always been deviant in nature. She looks at him until he looks back, and waits for the passing of three breaths.
“What was her name?”
---
“Ahsoka Tano!” the Mandalorian shouts, blaster pulled.
He’s never seen anyone like her—the Jedi. Not necessarily of her being Togruta, he’s come across his fair share of their kind in his days. But her movement, her posture. Her fighting without need for thought, easy and quick on her feet. She leaped out of his flames and vertically over a tree like it were a game. As if he were only practice for a real challenge yet to appear.
He’s completely out of breath, close to kneeling over. Her… swords, white and illuminated stay posed for attack.
“Bo-Katan sent me,” he pants, hand out stretched for the sanctity of defense. “We need to talk.”
Only then do the laser of her swords disappear.
“I hope it’s about him,” she says.
The Child sits on the stone where he was left, cooing curiously to the stranger.
When she takes him in her arms, it takes everything in the Mandalorian not to stop her.
---
The Slave I is only landed for three minutes in Mustafar before she comes running inside. She used to run then, full of hidden excitement and undiscovered joy.
“Good morning!” she calls. Taking her usual place at the side of Boba Fett, she stretches, feet on the dash.
“You’re disturbingly chipper.” He’s never been a morning person, and knocks her boots down. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Today’s my birthday. Can I fly?”
“No. Strap in.” There’s never a point in arguing, and the ship leaves the atmosphere in minutes. “What do you mean it’s your birthday?”
“I realized last night I don’t know how old I am. So, in honor of having an age, this day will be my birthday from now on.”
“Ah huh. And, how did you decide this?”
“The Force. Ever since I woke up I’ve just had this feeling that today is a very important day.”
“Right. So, how old have you decided to be?”
“Seventeen.”
“Why seventeen?”
“Because, seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. I’m seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”
“You’ve really thought about this.”
“Thank you, I know. But, that’s not all. Something wonderful happened yesterday.”
“Don’t tell me you’re talking about Alderran.”
“No, though I can’t say I’m going to miss that planet. I’ve heard those Organas have always been a pain in the Senate.” She leans in close, looking out to the emptiness of space for prying ears. “He killed a Jedi,” she whispers. “An old one too, back from the Clone Wars.”
“Who?”
She shrugs. “His name was Kenobi. I’ve never heard of him before but, Vader found his death to be very important.”
“And… this pleases you?”
“It does,” she says. Though her tone is more that of obligation than truth. Not that she knows the difference. “One less Jedi in the galaxy is always pleasant news, but that’s not the wonderful part. Vader gave me his lightsaber. Just to study, of course, but I stayed up all night going through it.”
“Any great discoveries?”
“No, not really,” she says, faltering.
Lying will come much easier with age, but he doesn’t question her.
She doesn’t speak again until they’re exiting hyperspace, back in her seat and strapped in. “Boba? Were all the Jedi as evil as everyone says?”
“Do you want my honest opinion or what you want to hear?”
“Your opinion.”
“Then no, not all. I knew one decently, a long time ago now.”
“Was he awful?”
“No,” he chuckles. “No, she was very nice. One of the kindest people I’ve met. Always cared for others before herself.” Against his better judgment, he looks over. “You remind me of her quite a bit.”
“She must have been hiding something bad. The Jedi all committed treason, and anyone who commits treason against the Emperor is a disgrace to the galaxy. ”
“Your existence is treason against the Emperor.” He laughs at her silence. “You’re going to learn people don’t fit your expectations as perfectly as you’d like,” he says. “It’s a big galaxy, Ad’ika. Not everyone is as clear cut as you.”
“They should be. I don’t get what these Rebels are complaining about. The galaxy is perfect under Imperial rule, it’s never been better.”
“Is that what you think, or what you’ve been told to think?”
“Is there a difference?”
“So the destruction of Alderran, is that justified under Imperial rule?”
“Master says—“
“Darth Vader is not here. Your thoughts are your own when you’re with me, you know this.”
She sighs. “The princess is a part of the Alliance, therefore she’s committed treason. According to Imperial rule, the sentencing is death. I suppose… being a figurehead of both the Alliance and her planet, a public execution would have been the logical course to take. But then, it would have turned her into a martyr. We can assume this was Tarkin’s line of thought as well. The destruction of Alderran gave her a punishment and prevented her glorification. So… yes. It was justified to protect the Empire.”
“You know, when you’re older you might think differently about this.”
“When I’m older, I’m going to be the official heir to the throne. I’ll do better. I’ll make sure another silly rebellion never shows up again. Then, another incident like Alderran will never have to happen.”
“If that’s what you wish.”
“It is, and I’ll have a Sith army. People won’t even know the word Jedi when I’m Empress. It’s all planned out. Master says when our time to take over comes, no one will ever oppose us.”
“You have much to learn still,” Boba says. “You’ll see someday. You’ll look back on all of this and think you’re as silly as those Rebels you mock.”
“No I won’t.”
“Accepting other views is part of becoming an adult. I used to hate Jedi just as you do, now I’m indifferent. Many people exist of all walks and thoughts of life. You can’t lump them all as good or bad.”
She sighs. Spinning her blaster around her finger, her nose scrunches and lips purse. “So what was so special about this Jedi?”
He removes his helmet, handing it over. She always loved to hold it then. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
---
The Mandalorian fears he’s aged a whole lifetime on Corvus waiting.
The sun, or what little left of it when he arrived has exchanged its place for the moon, large and high in the sky. He can’t tell if the stars are out, but Lumina still hasn’t woken up, so he tells himself its better if they’re missing as well.
Ahsoka sits alone with the Child as Mando paces the outskirts of their company. They don’t talk, or, he doesn’t think they are anyways. She stares at him with the smallest smile, nodding along on occasion.
Lumina always did that, more so on recently.
He tries not to dwell on the thought.
“Unfortunately the patient has not woken,” the AZI unit says through the commlink. “According to my preliminary scans, her vitals remain in perfect standing. Although, heart rate has begun to rise again.”
“What do you mean again?”
“On randomized cycles of unconsciousness, the patients heart and breathing rate have exceeded higher than what is standard for humans in rest. Right now, it is comparable to say, running. If my predictions are correct, it will go down in time. There is no cause for alarm.”
“Does that… hurt her?”
“It should, however the contrary appears to be true. These spikes exhibited occur when the rate falls below standard. As if the body is keeping itself from malfunction.”
The words come heavy, followed by sitting vomit in his gut. “She’s dying?”
“Quite the opposite. By all protocol it is in this exact moment that I recommend the patient be moved to a formal facility. But this is a curious case. The body seems to have entered a self sufficient regulatory stasis. This is abnormal.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s normal for her. Okay… let me know if anything changes.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Care to join us?” Ahsoka calls to him. She sits closer now, with the child. A small lamp wards off insects and is all lighting provided. “You sound worried. Is everything alright?”
“It’s fine.”
She doesn’t press further, against her own better judgement. The child sits to her right, babbling.
“Is he speaking?” Din asks, cautious in his own way. “Do you… understand him?”
“In a way. Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.”
“Grogu?”
The Child coos, a sharp turn in his attention.
“Yes. That’s his name,” she says. “Were you not told?”
His head shakes. “There’s no way I could have known that.”
“I see.” She stares at the Child—Grogu, without words. Another conversation of thought he’ll never be aware of.
“He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” she says eventually, and Din sits during her speech. “Many Masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the Temple. Then his memory becomes... dark. He seemed lost. Alone. I've only known one other being like this. A wise Jedi Master named Yoda.” Grogu looks at her. The Mandalorian thinks for a moment, this is of his own recognition. “Can he still wield the Force?”
“You mean his powers?”
Her nod is slow, the weight of thoughts heavy on her head. “The Force is what gives him his powers. It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”
Grogu’s head falls forward, eyes shut. It’s well past his bedtime now. On general occasion he would be curled under Lumina’s arm, shut happily in their bed.
“I’ve seen him do things I can't explain. My task was to bring him to a Jedi.”
She’d never forgive him if he let the Child go without saying goodbye.
“The Jedi Order fell a long time ago,” Ahsoka says.
“So did the Empire, yet it still hunts him. He needs your help.”
“Let him sleep,” she says. “I’ll test him in the morning.”
It’s only when he stands, the child tucked to his side and snoring, does she speak again.
“If you don’t mind, I’d still like to talk to you.”
He pauses in step. “Me?”
“You’ve brought someone with you, on your ship. Who are they?”
He steps out of the cockpit where she lays on the floor, curled on herself, shaking with dry coughs.
“The Alliance blew up the Death Star.”
The shock calms her immediately, sitting up with full alert.
“What?”
“A war will come from this.” Boba helps her to a seat, and crouches to her level. “You’ll have to learn how to fight.”
“I already know how fight.”
“You have to become stronger. Quit your crying. He won’t accept them.”
“It hurts,” she coughs.
“You can’t let it. Listen to me.” He grabs at her knees. Not in any way to cause bruising, though she has enough it’d be hard to distinguish. “You can’t let him know it gets to you, not anymore. You’re a solider now. All the Jedi are gone, all the Inquisitors are gone. He’ll put you out there to fight normal people. Good people who don’t stand a chance. You have to adapt.”
Wiping her eyes, her bottom lip trembles. “Like the people from Alderran?”
“Yes. Exactly like them.”
“…Even if they’ve done nothing wrong?”
Jedi were easy to kill. They were monsters. Terrorists to the galaxy. Destructors of the Empire. Her work and their slaughter were said to be noble.
“Yes. And you’ll have to do it. He says it once and you do it, no questions and no arguing.”
“But—“
“No arguing. People are disposable to the Empire. You’re not. Your main objective is always to survive. No matter what you have to do.”
These words will stay with her.
“You’ve got a big heart, kid, I don’t know how you’ve kept it. I’ve seen war before, it changes people. He wants to change you too, and you can’t let him. No matter what he does to you, you keep your heart. Can you promise me that?”
“I promise,” she whispers.
“You’ll be a good soldier,” he says, patting her knee as he stands. “It’s in your blood.”
They’re outside of Mustafar’s atmosphere three hours later, she hasn’t spoken once. A bubble grows inside her now, full of tar. Boba sighs, looking over. When he wears his helmet she can never tell what he’s thinking.
“The stars are pretty luminous tonight,” he says.
She frowns, knees tight to her chest. “What does that mean?”
“It means they look like you.”
---
Mornings aren’t different than the rest of the day. The sky lightens, but stays an overcast of gray. The Mandalorian yawns under his helmet, wishing to rub the sleep out of his eyes. The conversation with Ahsoka went longer than he’d prefer. Her questions ran too personal for liking and too vague for assumptions.
If she’s aware of his slight distaste for her, she says nothing of it.
Attention is on the Child—Grogu, sat with fallen ears and tired eyes on a rock. He’s shy of his abilities here, a new and unwelcomed development.
“I sense much fear in you,” she whispers, holding his hand. “He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years.” She walks away, standing across. “Let’s try something else. Come over here.”
“He’s stubborn.” Mando debates whether to tell the Jedi of his hidden confidence. Though she may already know this, being the reason of her instructing him and not the kid.
“Not him. You. I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”
He follows. “That would be a first.”
“I like firsts,” she says. “Good or bad, they're always memorable. Now, hold the stone out in the palm of your hand. Tell him to lift it up.”
The Mandalorian sighs, hand outstretched. “All right, kid. Lift the stone.”
The Child blinks.
“Grogu,” Ahsoka corrects.
“Grogu…” It gets his attention at least. “Come on, take the stone.”
Nothing.
“You see? I told you, he's stubborn.” He tosses the stone to the side. “He only listens to…”
“To your partner?”
“Yes. He never has an issue using his powers around her.”
Ahsoka hums, leaning against a boulder covered in moss. “Try to connect with him. What does she do?”
A lot. Nothing. Both in ways he can’t bother understanding. He can’t tell Ahsoka that Lumina just exists. That she talks to Grogu like he was reflective of his fifty year old age. That she’s tickled Grogu until he spazzed and knocked over a crate of tools. That she tells him fairytales involving that stupid little ball—
Worth a shot.
He pulls it out of his belts pocket, rolling it between thumb and index. “Grogu… Do you want this?” He asks crouching. “Well, go ahead. That's right, take it. Come on. You can have it. Come on.”
It shoots into his hand.
Shit.
The reaction is involuntary, but without regret. “Good job! Good job, kid. You see that?” He asks, moving closer. “That's right. I knew you could do it. Very good.”
“He's formed a strong attachment to you,” Ahsoka says. “I cannot train him.”
“What? Why not? You've seen what he can do.”
“His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears. His anger.”
“All the more reason to train him.”
“No. I've seen what such feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi Knight. To the best of us,” she breaks in a whisper. “I will not start this child down that path. Better to let his abilities fade.”
In her walk away, Grogu’s cries go ignored. “I’ve delayed too long. I must get back to the village.”
It isn’t his finest moment—Din’s—what he’s about to do. But desperate hours call for desperate threats.
“The Magistrate sent me to kill you.”
---
On the rarest of occasion, this being only the second happening over the past two years, she’s sent on assignment with a proper fleet. Not necessarily in command of said fleet. Not guiding Storm Troopers into battle or pilots into a dogfight, but as a stowaway in disguise.
Here, she sits among twenty other men, crowded together in white shiny plastoid. Here, they all look like her, and she like them. Here, her name has become TK-9835, she’s a shiny fresh out of the Imperial Academy on Myomar.
She’s only nineteen, and the other men are well into their thirties. They mutter and laugh about who approved a child, a boy, to join this mission. They nudge her for a response, and she cannot answer. Her voice will not be modulated enough to disguise her gender. But her hand closes around the tacky rifle in her grip, and notes TK numbers to attack should she have the time.
Her temporary commander briefs the situation: The Rebel Alliance bombed an Imperial Starship manufacturing facility. The people are rioting—believing themselves to be free of the Empire at last—it is the primary objective of their squadron to bring order. They are to kill whoever does not comply.
She does not listen to direction. Not on strategy or designation of attack groups. These instructions are not for her, not really.
The moment they land, she would run off and strip herself of the armor. She’d go directly to the site of the explosion and enter an underground bunker. Inside this bunker, computer systems lined the walls. She would go the one in the center and retrieve the data it held—production schematics for the Imperial Starfeet. Every ship possible to build. Then, she’ll destroy the computer, and send the data to the Machine, who would send the data back to its creator.
Whoever they may be.
She does exactly this. She’s a good soldier, she’s always been a good soldier. She follows orders as soon as they’re told, without question and without argument.
In truth, it goes against all her inner beliefs and moralities. Though, she isn’t exactly sure what those are just yet. She isn’t afforded time or safety to sit and contemplate introspection. What she does know, or at least suspect, is that the Empire is wrong.
Exiting the bunker, she moves rubble of the building on top of the door. The fire she started would extinguish itself without fresh oxygen. No one else will have to be harmed.
The upper city is chaos. Flametroopers incinerate entire homes, citizens who try and flee are shot down, riot control troopers shove those who aren’t into a lineup, tasing whoever they have with electric batons.
They’ll be executed by sundown.
She has to find her discarded armor, it’s only a block down, tucked behind a dumpster. The sounds of war are getting easier to block out, the pull inside her in the Force, easier to ignore. The pain never goes away, though the intensity since Yavin has never been reached again.
It’s chronic, nonetheless. It claws at her heart until she bleeds. The little tar bubble grows day by day.
“Papa!”
The scream gives her pause, half way to the uniform. A child. A little girl judging by the pitch.
“Papa!”
It doesn’t matter, she decides, continuing her walk. Her parents are more than likely dead, or they soon will be. The fleet will find her, no doubt sooner than later thanks to the screaming. She’ll be sent to an Imperial Academy and trained to be a pilot or a data manager.
Arriving to the pile of armor, she lifts the helmet first, staring into its black eyes. Helping civilians isn’t in her directives. She needs to get back before she’s left, or worse caught.
You’re a good soldier. You’re a good soldier. The best soldiers do what they’re told. You’re—
Fuck.
The little girl is found in shambles of tears two streets down. She’s tucked behind fallen sheet rock, it’s white dust covers her umber brown skin. She can’t be more than three years old. If she does not forget this, it will be her first memory.
“Hey,” she whispers, crouched to eye line. “Hey, shh, shh. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” The girl stops screaming then, bottom lip trembling. “What’s your name?”
“Tarei,” she whimpers. “I want my papa.”
“I know, but you have to stop screaming. Do you know where you live? Or, where you saw him last?”
Tarei shakes her head. “He’s with my daddy.”
She wipes dust off of the girl’s face, lip bitten in a frown. “Okay… it’s okay we’ll find them together.” If they aren’t already dead. “Do you have anything that they gave you? A… a toy or…”
Tarei extends her wrist. On it, a silver bracelet, a small green gemstone in the center.
“Can I have it?” she asks. “It can help me find them. I’ll give it back, I promise.”
Somehow, Tarei trusts her enough to agree.
They find her parents within ten minutes of tracking. It would have been five if not for the on ground war. Though, if not for the on ground war, none of this would have happened.
Tarei is carried on her back and jumps off as soon as her parents are in sight. The men introduce themselves hushed and bleeding as Khohan and Maxir. They crowd under a bridge above a stream. There are two other families with them. Another mother with two children. A father with five.
Fear is strong in them. All of them.
She drops Tarei’s bracelet in Maxir’s hand. “The troops will be gone within the hour. Stay hidden until then.”
He looks at her without words. They all do. Confusion, also detected in the Force, may be more present than fear. She is, after all, just a girl. Barely an adult. Only her eyes are shown but her youth is present.
“What’s your name?” He asks at last.
She pauses, stood motionless and frowning. “I recommend you all get a shuttle off world in the morning. There are sanctuary moons in the neighboring system. You’ll be safe.”
Khohan stands, moving tentatively to the front. “Here,” he says, holding out credits. “For saving our daughter.”
She stares at the credits like he’s offered his own heart. “You’ll need them to buy passage. Prices inflate after these… incidents.”
“Please,” he begs as a whisper. “It’s all I can give you.”
---
“No,” the Mandalorian says.
In front of him, Ahsoka holds a spear of pure Beskar. A day ago, this exact spear was presented to him by the Magistrate of Calodan— now a woman whose fate he cannot discern. The fight had lasted until sunrise. In the process Morgan Elsbeth’s gunman, devotees, and assassin droids were eliminated.
They stand outside the city gates, now far less foreboding. Inside, the people celebrate their newfound freedom. Imperial rule is finally at an end here, and will never return. They will live their days in serenity. Their children will grow without fascism, and so will their children.
Or so he hopes.
“I can't accept,” he continues to say. “I didn't finish the job.”
“No,” Ahsoka agrees. “But this, belongs with a Mandalorian.”
He wishes he could have seen her in action. A third person perspective on her battle strategy and combat skill. The awe of her ability during their own fight cemented his desire to know more, lighting the match on his curiosity of Jedi.
She hands him the spear. “Where is your little friend?”
He’s almost forgotten their agreement. Or he’s forced himself too.
The latter is more likely.
“Back at the ship,” he says. “Wait here… I’ll go get him.”
---
“Where is he? Where’s Skywalker?”
The Rebel held by his collar flounders, mouth agape like a fish. He’s a pilot, dressed in that horrendous orange uniform that’s become infamous in the galaxy. His helmet lays on the pavement of the warehouse they find themselves, visor cracked and plastoid shattered to bits.
“I—I don’t know,” he cries. “Please don’t hurt me.”
It’s a menacing sight, a girl—well, now a woman—of twenty years of age, holding a grown man double her size a foot of the ground.
“Please, I have a family. I have a child.”
Her eyes flutter to the medallion around his neck, a badge of honor, and they roll. “You don’t actually think I give a fuck about that do you? Where’s your little Jedi wannabe?”
His brows furrow, confusion overtaking fear. “What’s a Jedi?”
Those fucking Inquisitors.
She rips the pendant off his neck, clenched around her gloved fist. Perfect.
“You’re part of Captain Syndulla’s squadron.” The gold gleams in her hand, blinding him at certain angles. “How’s that little boy of hers? Jacen, right?”
What little color is on his pale face drains.
“Do you know who his father was? He’s a dead blind man, ring any bells?” The pilot’s jaw tightens. “So you have heard of Jedi. It’s not nice to lie Uript.”
Fear shudders around him from the discovered name. “How do you…”
She removes the blaster from his waist, throwing it behind. His body is the second toss, to the back wall leaving an indent. “If you tell me where Skywalker is, the Empire may still spare your life, Uript.”
He’s bleeding now, from behind where his head met the wall. “What the hell are you? Some Inquisitor? They’re all meant to be dead.”
Her laugh is clear, though passes through closed lips. “I’m just a girl trying to find her way. Skywalker’s my compass. I know you know where he is. Either you tell me, or I force it out of you.”
“I’d rather die than tell you anything.”
She paces the cement, dragging rubber soles to mark. “If that’s what you wish.”
A quick snap of her hand pulls a blade from her waist belt. Thrown, it lodges into the side of his neck, centered in the carotid artery. Blood pools rapid down his throat, mouth fallen open. In ten seconds he’s lifeless.
“Now you’ve lost your lead,” she swears to herself. Pulling out the knife, she wipes his blood against his shoulder before pocketing it again. It’s never not disgusting. “Stupid. You’re stupid.”
In frustration, his head becomes victim to her blaster six times over. He’ll be unrecognizable if the Rebels ever find him… at least his tag is still on.
Leaving, she almost trips over the broken helmet. Bits of its skull crushes under her boot, giving her pause.
That’ll work.
She lifts a piece of the visor, closing her fist.
Cold. X-Wings. Snow.
Nothing useful, winter is in season in over a million known planetary systems.
She lifts another piece, and the process repeats.
Snow. Computers. Droids.
Again.
Mechanics. Snow. Skywalker.
Perfect. Her intents move to location.
Snow. Snow. Snow… a Wampa.
She looks at the mutilated pilot, presenting herself in a deep melodramatic curtsey.
“The Empire thanks you for your service.”
Inside the cockpit of her starfighter, locked in hyperspace, a hologram projects.
“Report.”
“The Rebel base is located on Hoth,” she says. “Skywalker’s with them.”
---
It isn’t supposed to happen this way. In truth, Din never thought it would happen at all. He’s been with Grogu for so long now, and he’s delayed twice that. He’s let himself believe this is permanent, all of this. This dysfunctional little family they’ve created inside the Razor Crest.
They’re not supposed to say goodbye.
Not like this.
He looks to Lumina, still asleep in the alcove. The AZ unit has powered down on the other end of the ship for a recharge. What will she think when she wakes up? If she wakes up? As far as Din’s concerned, she’s as much of a mother to Grogu as he is a father.
They’re a team. Partners. Parents.
They never expected any of this, not in their lifetimes and not with each other. He should still be working out of Nevarro and bitter at the universe. She should still be in Coruscant, being whoever she was before.
Din can’t just… give him up. They’re supposed to fight about this. She needs to yell at him and make excellent points, and he needs to yell at her and do the same. She deserves to hold Grogu, one last time. To kiss his head and give him all the affirmations she can think of without knowing Din can hear.
She needs to tell him not to let him go.
That’s all he needs. He needs her to sit up and look at him like he’s the most idiotic man she’s ever met—he probably is—and he needs her to tell him to let the kid stay.
Lumina, wake up. Please.
Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t twitch or sigh or groan for him to shut up.
“C’mon buddy,” he mutters, fixing Grogu’s coat.
She’ll never forgive him for this.
That’s fine.
He’ll never forgive himself either.
“It’s time to go.”
---
The first notable thing, is how small and ugly the cantina is. Placed in the middle of no where, it’s a miracle anyone would bother to come at all. Busted seating of rotting wood line the walls. The floor creaks with every step.
No one gives notice when she enters. They’re all hunched over glasses of liquor and screaming at a projection on the wall showing some sport game from Coruscant. It’s a week old and they argue about the possibilities of a championship match that has already passed. On the opposite wall is a news alert, again from Coruscant. A Rebel fleet has been destroyed over the Felucia system.
Her seat is at the seventh table, clockwise from the entrance. She sits without grace, stealing the bowl of broth from the man who sat across. The green armor is familiar, though he might as well be a stranger.
“How longs it been since you ate?” he asks, shoving his drink over next.
She shrugs, tossing her mask to the middle of the table. “Been busy.”
He nods to the news projection. “Your work?”
“You could say that.”
His sigh can be defined by nothing but disappointment.
Her eyes roll, slurping obnoxiously. “Relax, I wasn’t in the fight. Just gave a location tip off.”
“I thought we agreed—“
“You’re not responsible for me anymore. Besides, I was already in Felucia on his order. What do you expect from me? I had to say something, if he found out I knew they were there, I’m dead.”
“Where does he think you are right now?”
“Back home. He’s on his way to the Death Star, they’re behind schedule.”
“So it’s true. They’re creating a second one?”
“You heard?”
He shrugs. “I have my sources.”
“He’s meeting with the Emperor in a couple days, then I’m supposed to join him aboard.”
“You’ll be in the same place as the Emperor?”
“I know. I was surprised too. But he says it’s far bigger than the first one and I’ve mastered hiding myself. He can’t even tell when I’m home anymore.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Of course I am. But there’s nothing I can do about it. If I’m caught, I’m caught.”
His words are soft, helmet lifted off his shoulders and placed on the table. “You used to have so much fight in you.”
“My days have been numbered since Yavin, you know this. I’m sure Vader will kill me any day now.”
“He won’t. He cares for you.”
Her look is of pure mockery. “He’s a Sith Lord. He’s physically incapable of caring.”
“He’s always wanted you alive. That counts for something.”
Her answer is another slurp. Boba never did understand the Force. “He wanted to see my face yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Dunno. Just stared at me for a while, didn’t say anything. I don’t think he’s looked me in my eyes since Bespin. Then he said he’s done well with me and left.”
“Well with you?”
She shrugs. “Didn’t ask, couldn’t tell you. He says the war will end soon, sensed it.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he grumbles. “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m worried for you—”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she snaps. As heads turn, her voice lowers. “I can take care of myself now. I don’t need your protection.”
“I’ve raised you since you were a child. I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”
“You were always safe with me.”
“Right,” she laughs. “That’s why you fucked off back to being Jabba’s full-time errand boy again, right? To keep me safe?”
“The agreement I made with him was to train you until he felt you were ready. Our last day together was meant to be—”
“The day the Death Star exploded. I know.”
“I understand you’re upset—“
“You understand? You left me. You dropped me off after Bespin and never came back. You said so yourself, you raised me since I was a child, and you didn’t even say goodbye. Do you know how many days I waited for you?”
“I’m sorry—“
“I don’t fucking care. My entire life you were the only person to treat me with some humanity. First he sidelines me for a fucking Jedi, and then you fuck off to blow Jabba the Hutt. Do you know how humiliated I felt when he said you weren’t coming back? That I was always just a job to you?”
Boba’s head shakes. “He lied. That’s not true. Not one bit.”
Her eyes roll, chugging down water. “You only care about your money Boba. Don’t pretend otherwise, it’s worse on you than it is me.”
“I care about you.” She’d never seen him so serious before. It’d be chilling if she found an ounce to bother with emotional reactions anymore. “My priority has always been you.”
Her stare is cold and empty. “If I wanted to listen to useless excuses, I would have found a Storm Trooper. Not come to Tatooine.”
Boba stills. “You’re finally the soldier he always wanted you to be.”
“No thanks to you. Are you finished wasting my time? Or is there really something so important that I had to come all the way out here for?”
“The Alliance is planning an attack on the Death Star.”
“What?”
“They’ve gotten word of it’s location and how to destroy it. My guess is it’s only a matter of days.”
“How do you know this?”
“I told you, I have my sources.”
“You’re a Rebel now?”
“Aren’t you?”
Her eyes narrow, grip tightening on the glass. “I serve the Empire with pride. So did you not long ago.”
“You know well I give my allegiance to no one.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve hated the Empire since we met and you were but a child. You said so yourself, the war is ending. If you’re not careful, you’ll go down with it.”
“If that’s my fate,” she shrugs, “So be it. I don’t think I was meant to last this long anyways.”
“Adi’ka—“
“Don’t call me that anymore. I have my numbers, use them.”
“I want you to come with me.”
She stills, a small frown present. “What?”
“I know how to hide you. Where you can go that you’ll be safe until it all ends. You’ve said he doesn’t speak to you anymore, there’s no reason for you to stay. I can take you someplace where there’s no chance he’ll find you.”
“Where?”
“You’ll be with family,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.”
She’s quiet. “Clones?”
“Something like that.”
“If he finds out we’re both dead.”
“Do you trust me?”
Her hesitation is slight, but present.
“Do you trust me?” He asks again.
For better or for worse, she answers “Yes.”
“Good.” He slides a communicator watch across the table, and an in-ear piece after that. “When you get to the Death Star, keep this comm turned on. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”
“Why can’t we go now?”
“I still have to make arrangements and meet with Jabba. Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”
“Promise?”
“On my life. Will you wait?”
She nods, pocketing the gifts. “I will.”
---
“You’re like a father to him.”Ahsoka waits outside the ship, cloaked in gray, her orange skin is the only color in sight. Besides Grogu, of course. “I cannot train him.”
“You made me a promise,” Din argues out of stubbornness. “And I held up my end.”
She steps forward, taking Grogu’s hand. ”I cannot train him because he is already being trained.”
“What?”
“Removing him now will actualize his fears. There are no Jedi to help you. It’s best to pray this ends well.” Ahsoka walks the dead pasture, hands behind her back. “Has she woken?”
Whatever she means by this, he gets the sense she won’t say.
“No. Not yet.”
Her nod is slow, solemn in a way for reasons he can’t place. “I’d like to see her, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, head shaking. “She wouldn’t be happy with me if I allowed that.”
Ahsoka peers into the ships hull, then back to the Mandalorian. “Stay until sundown,” she says. “I may be able to assist and see what’s happened to her.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes.” Pensive, she turns to the wind. “I’ll require rest and meditation if I’m to be successful. I recommend you sleep. The night has been long, and I sense the next will as well.”
“But you’ll help her?”
Ahsoka nods. “If she allows it, yes.”
---
She never sees Boba Fett or the Machine again.
She never sees any of them again.
She stands in the middle of Coruscant’s Underworld streets with dried blood on her clothes. A white scar is now permanently on her shoulder, and a second on her hip.
Her eyes are brown here, and she can’t recognize herself in the mirror.
She rotates her time between Level 1313 and Level 2685. This is her home now—or, base. She doesn’t care what this new place will be called. She exists as nothing more than a living occupation of space.
She hasn’t seen a star in one hundred and forty rotations. She can’t imagine what dawn looks like anymore.
A war rages Topside. It’s been going on for four standard months. The first one isn’t over yet either. Most planets are still recovering from Operation: Cinder. Entire cities, near worlds in some cases, slaughtered.
He’s slaughtered. The man in front of her, propped against a brick wall. He hasn’t stopped bleeding, there’s more of it outside than in at this point.
She thinks his name was Coul. One of the Trandoshan bodyguards said it when he walked in.
Pipes on the level’s ceiling rumble as warning. Club Kasakar is under the toxic waste facility Topside. Their rain is Topside’s raw acid.
At least she won’t have to worry about disposing the body.
She crouches to his level, head tilted. It’s her best work yet. He’d be proud.
Coul’s head falls forward and she pushes it back with one finger. His eyes are still open, pupils permanently wide.
He bleeds from here too, his face. Or whatever is left of it without a jaw.
“Cunt,” she whispers.
“Hey, Tracker,” comes from behind.
She’s still working on recognizing the new footsteps she’s surrounded by. She doesn’t care about names, descriptors do the job just fine.
It’s one of the girls, the bartender. In appearances, she’s to only be a few years older. Taller, built like a fighter. She has short auburn hair that falls over her eyes, and tattoos across her arms.
Auburn promised to show her how to make drinks someday so she didn’t have to play waitress for tips all night. Auburn says part of bartending is trying the drinks to learn them all.
She can’t tell her she’ll only need to hold the bottles for a moment to know all the recipes. So she excuses that she doesn’t drink. Which is true, she’s never had liquor before, and doesn’t plan to anytime soon.
If she starts now, she worries she won’t be able to stop.
“Boss wants you back inside,” Auburn says, tapping the doorframe. “Your break’s been done for ten minutes already. Any longer and he’ll start taking it out of your tips.”
So she nods as she stands, shaky on the stiletto’d heels of her uniform. “Thanks.“
“It’s Lena, by the way, figured you forgot again.”
It’s noted, but Auburn works fine for now.
“Holy shit,” Auburn says. They both stand in front of Jawless. Auburn looks close to vomiting while the other stares expressionless. “Did you do that?”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“You gonna tell on me?” She asks, completely monotone.
She’s supposed to be keeping a low profile. A current condition of her employment.
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You know, he’s gonna find out about this.”
“I know.”
“He won’t be happy. Coul was a regular. Big spender.”
“I know.”
“He’s threatened to sell you out to the floor. You shouldn’t press your luck.”
She shrugs.
“You don’t care?”
Another shrug.
Auburn sighs, mimicking her head tilt. “What’d he do?”
She’s quiet.
She’s quiet for a long time.
“I can’t remember. But it was fun.”
---
When Lumina wakes, it isn’t with heavy gasps of breath, it’s not with nausea in her stomach, or built bile in her throat. She doesn’t spring out of bed or cry in painful agony. Despite of the debilitating weight over her chest, she feels nothing.
In fact, she’s as calm as she’s ever been. There’s nothing inside her. Not fear or annoyance or joy or exhaustion. Her consciousness is in limbo.
What she does feel, are energy shifts in the Force. They’re going completely haywire, frantic and bouncing in and out of the darkness she’s made her home.
It’s fear. And for once, not her own.
Lumina lays conscious shut eyed for an indistinguishable amount of time. Enough for her to realize she’s back in the Razor Crest and it’s powered off, landed somewhere.
A fan is turned on, above her to the left. It’s a cooler to some kind of repulsor, hovering mechanics fluttering around.
“Heart rate continues to a regulatory standard of function.”
A droid.
Huh.
A scanner passes over her face, blue light blinding through eyelids.
“Brain waves have moved to a significantly lower function than prior results,” it says.
“What does that mean?”
Din.
His voice comes through a speaker on the droid, slightly garbled.
“The ‘nightmare’ is over.”
Nightmare? She hasn’t had a nightmare since Naboo, if her little startle can be considered as that. Technically, she hasn’t had a real terror since Ryndellia.
“Her body is stabilizing,” the droid says.
“Are you saying she’ll wake up soon?”
“Theoretically, yes. Or her body has finally exhausted itself and she will die.”
“What?”
“This likelihood is more improbable than possible. Worry not. I suggest further testing be conducted upon return to Nevarro. I would do so now, but unfortunately I do not possess those capabilities.”
Din sighs, its funny, even through a communicator he manages to be annoyed. “You can talk to her about it when she wakes up, but I don’t—Hey, don’t touch that—I have to go. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“Affirmative.”
The droid hovers away into the greater hull, and silence enters once more. Calming, beautiful silence.
It’s funny to think she ever hated it. The silence. The cold. It’s so comforting now. How did she deny it for so long?
How could a little girl exist in a fortress of evil and manage to keep her spirit? How could that little girl walk side by side to a machine, idolize him as a father, and still take a lifetime to love the darkness?
She wants to sleep.
But the Force calls to her. It isn’t a scream or cry in the wind, and nothing freezes her over. Now, the Force is tense and calculated.
Her attunement to the Light Side of the Force is strong, although unused and unrecognized for years, there’s no denying of its presence.
A Jedi is here.
As though through a preformance of exorcism, Lumina sits up, eyes opening. There’s no telling how long she’s been out, days she can assume. The same was true when she grabbed his lightsaber.
Her head tilts at the droid, busy inside a crate of medical supplies. It notices her shuffling, turning startled.
“Oh my! Hello.” It floats back in with a metal canister. “My name is AZI-29473067302958824. I have been your medical assistant for… three rotations on a standard cycle to this planetary system. However, when adjusted for galactic zone changes, you have been in comatose for eighty-two hours. Congratulations on survival.“
Lumina spares it no response. She stands on the bed, pulling off a loose panel of durasteel. Her lightsabers are beautiful, black metal tucked perfectly away. They fit on her belt like pieces to a puzzle.
“I must request you intake this hyper-hydrator. Your internal organs will be in desperate need of refreshment.”
This she does. It’s sour and rotten, thick like slime down her throat.
“Excellent,” AZI says, hovering away again.
She climbs out of bed, slow to pull on her discarded boots.
“Now, I must inform the Mandalorian on your activity. He will be pleased.”
Wrapping her scarf around her hair, she scoffs.
“The Mandalorian has given me specific instruction to alert him to any change in your condition.” It turns to Lumina. “Ah, what are you doing?”
Lumina approaches the AZI unit. Placing a hand on its circuit board, the droid crashes on the ground. She smiles, pulling on her mask. “I’m gonna have some fun.”
if you’re still doing requests, would you maybe do #9 with Crosshair & a reader that uses he/him pronouns (but is maybe not cis idk?)?? Like maybe the batch rescued the reader from some sort of bad situation, & Cross is the only one awake to comfort him when the reader wakes up from a nightmare or has a flashback??? If this is too specific just lmk I just have a lot of Feelings about Crosshair ahdjajdjsksm
-boba-filth (<— side blog I check more for fic stuff)
Bad Dreams
Heck yes 😎 sorry if it is out of character and cruddy. Running into a bit of a writers block, but I’m tryna force it over— maybe.
@boba-filth
Crosshair x reader: “I’m not going to leave you, not now, not ever. You’ll never have to suffer alone again.”
Warnings: brief mentions of family death, touch starved, slightly out of character. Passing out/fainting from being malnourished. Reader is a Slave and TBB save them.
You were born into slavery. It was what made up your life. You never once imagined that you could be free. Live your own life. Make your own decisions. The idea of freedom made you laugh, honestly. It was just such a far stretch and unimaginable. You figured you'd die in the spice mines like the rest of your family did.
You were on lunch break. Eating quickly to avoid getting harassed or beaten by one of the soldiers watching you and the other workers on break. You guys rarely got time to yourselves. When you did, it was barely even a half hour long. So food was often shoved into your system like it was your last meal.
You looked up when you heard the sirens go off. Breath catching in your throat. They only went off for intruders or when there was a group of miners attempting escape. The noise was enough to have you and the others standing and starting your own commotion.
Fights broke out, blasters were fired. You didn't want to be caught in the middle of the fire, so you ran. Your eyes wide and darting around. You had to hide. Sure, life sucked, but you didn't want to die. Not today at least.
"Hey, you there!" A guard shouted, pointing to you. Making you run faster in a panic. You felt tears prick the corner of your eyes when a hand grasped your arm. Pulling you to the side. "Where d'ya think you're goin', wise one?" Another guard asked. Your body trembling as you stared up to him. "I was, I was just, I was getting out of the mess. They were firing-" you rambled. The guard snarling and shoving you. "Can it, fool."
You were sure you'd be shot. Closing your eyes when the one holding your arm raised a blaster to your forehead. "We don't do well with run aways, do we?" "Nope," the other guard answered. "What do ya say we play a-" Bang! Bang!
You inhaled sharply. Squeezing your eyes shut more than they were. Jumping as your fists clenched at the sound of the blaster. The smell of burning flesh and blaster residue filling your nose. "Hey, you alright?" A voice came from in front of you. Eyes parting to see someone in armor, with goggles? You were alarmed, to say the least. They had to be an intruder. But why did they save you..? A nobody?
"You saved me.." you babbled. Blinking in shock as you stared at the other. "Well, you looked like you needed the help, are you alright, though?" You nodded, rubbing your arm where the guard squeezed. You were sure there would be a bruise there. Your skin was so sensitive anymore. "Good," he started walking off, and you felt your body tremble again. "Wait! I know the exits. I can help you, if you get me out of here." You bargained. The man turning back to face you. Sighing, then kicking a blaster from one of the motionless bodies to you. "Alright, but stay close."
You did as told, and kept your piece of the deal. Following who you soon learnt to be named Tech, around the mines. The two of you meeting up with four other men. Who each had bags full of viles of spices. "Who's this?" The one asked, motioning to you with his helmet. "Our escape plan, they claim to know some exits." "The guards don't even know about them. We use them to get out of the mines for our breaks." You added, and the bigger of the men shoved you a bit. Though it wasn't in a forcing way. "Then let's get going!"
The six of you took through the tunnels. Feet grinding against the gravel as you ran. You felt so weak, tired. You wanted to rest, but this was your chance at freedom. Even if you didn't know these men. Life as their servant or whatever they planned on doing with you, would be a hell of a lot better than this life you portrayed.
You pressed your back against the wall when you heard foot steps that weren't your guys. Motioning for them to do the same, and they did. Men running by the tunnel hall heading the other direction. "How much further?" Tech asked, and you pointed to a latter. "There, that latter. It leads up to the surface." You spoke, and they nodded. Motioning for you to head there first, so they could keep watch.
The ground began to shake, parts of the tunnel behind you collapsing. "Hurry!" You shouted. The pain in your chest making your throat clench. Climbing up the latter as quickly as you could. The boys following after you. Making it out just as the tunnels caved in.
You practically threw yourself on the ground as you made it to the top. Everyone doing the same. Each of you panting, adrenaline racing. "So who are you guys?" You asked in between breaths. Standing to your feet a bit shakily. "We're Clone Force 99," one spoke. "We call ourselves the Bad Batch, I'm Hunter, this is Tech, Crosshair, Echo, and Wrecker." You nodded a bit. "Thank you," you murmured. Them all giving you a questioning look under their visors, and you were sure of it by the way Echo and Tech tilted their heads. "For helping free me."
Tech nodded. Approaching you, helping steady you as you swayed. "You can some with us, least we can do for you helping us." You looked to the others, and they all nodded. "Got any family?" You frowned. "No." Everyone was silent at that. "Well, it's settled then, Tech, Echo, help them to the ship. Cross, keep a look out for any guards or clankers. Wrecker, help me carry the cargo." Hunter spoke, causing you to weakly smile. Passing out at some point to the ship.
When you went limp in their arms everyone panicked. Echo and Techs grip tightening on you to help lift your deadweight. "Are they alright?" Wrecker asked, and Echo sighed as the two raced you into the Marauder. "I'd say they're just wore, they look extremely malnourished, I know from experience it's hard to not pass out in that state." Echo informed. Lying you on a bunk, and Tech nodded. "They aren't a clone, either, so I'm shocked they kept standing as long as they did."
You were fine, really, but Tech and the others took turns watching over you while you rested. Water and rations next to the bunk you rested on. It was Crosshairs turn for the night to keep watch. Make sure if you woke up before they got back to Naboo to return the cage that he could explain where you were. Keep you from panicking, or so they hoped.
You were beginning to sweat. Eyebrows creasing, hands balling into fists at your sides while you dreamt. It was hardly a dream, more a reply of your past. Your family. Watching them die before you. Held at gun point. Bags over there heads, blaster shot to their foreheads. Out of your parents and four younger siblings, you were the only one kept alive.. 'This is what happens to slaves who don't listen! '
You jerked up with a startled sob. Hands clenching the sheets. Feet scrambling while you looked around. Chest rising and falling in a quickened pace as your eyes darted around the dimly lit room.
Crosshair looked up from polishing his gun at the commotion. Setting the rifle and cloth aside. "You okay?" He asked, he wasn't too confident on what to ask. Other than that. Watchibg as your head turned to look at him. "Who are you?" You asked with worry. He was about to question you, until he remembered you hadn't seen them without their helmets. "It's crosshair, you saved my brothers and I from the mines." He explained. You calmed slightly at that. Licking your lips, then looking down. "Oh okay," was all you spoke.
You both sat there in silence for a bit. Your hands relaxing. Now resting in your lap as you leant against the wall. Attempting to steady your breathing. "There's some food and water for ya." He motioned to the small table beside you, and your eyes darted to it. You were starving, you didn't get to eat today before the alarms sounded. Raching over to take the rations and water. Dowing them both like you'd never eaten in you life. Which sometimes it felt that way.
Crosshair watched with a small smirk. "Hungry, little one?" You felt a bit self-concious at his words. Only nodding slightly as you took a final sip of the water. Then placing the tray back down next to the bed.
"You have bad dreams often?" He questioned, and you looked down to your hands. Fiddling your thumbs as you nodded shyly. "Sometimes, yeah.." he sighed at that. "I can lay down with you," he joined, causing you to glance over to him. Watching as he stood and approached where you were resting. Taking this time to notice he wasn't in his armor anymore. Only his blacks, which gave you a better image of his body. As the fabric hugged his skin.
Your heart was racing. Squeezing your hands together to keep them from trembling. You hadn't had physical contact in so long, even the offer of it intimidated, but also excited you. "You don't have to," you told him, and he shrugged. "It'll help us both."
You scooted over as he began to climb into the bed. Pulling the covers over the both of you. The two of you sinking down to lay on your backs with small sighs. "You this nice to every new comer you come across?" You asked. Turning onto your side to face him. Cross turning his head to look at you with a small shrug. "Maybe I am," he gruffed. Making you smile a bit. "I doubt it."
Crosshair didn't respond to that. The room falling quiet again. "You get bad dreams too, then?" You blurted, and he exhaled. "Yeah," you nodded a bit. "Do you ever.. Dream about memories? Bad ones?" You asked. Playing with the fabric of the pillow, and he nodded again. "I keep dreaming about my families death." You admitted, and he looked over to you. His expression unreadable, but his eyes screamed worry. "Does it ever stop?" You asked. Voice cracking.
He thought for a moment, then licked his lips. "Somedays." You felt a little better hearing that, you guessed. "Sometimes they're worse." You frowned at that.
He looked over, catching your look of disappointment and displeasure. Turning to his side to reach out for you. It was weird for him, touching someone he barely knew, but you seemed like you needed it, and something about you struck his interest. He saw part of himself in you.
"Hey, I’m not going to leave you, not now, not ever. You’ll never have to suffer alone again.” He reassure. Rubbing small circles into the small of your back. Causing you to stop breathing for a second. Processing what was happening. "But you tell aby of my brothers about this, I'm leaving you in the streets of Naboo." You smiled faintly at that. Unsure if he was serious or not, but you could hear the hint of sarcasm in his voice. You hummed, curling up closer to him. "I won't."
Summary: Every Jedi lineage has its own dance and Ahsoka, for one, is excited when Anakin finally begins teaching her theirs. However, before they can get really started, they run into a slight problem.Or That time Ahsoka learned Dooku is her great-great-grandmaster.
AN: Based on that post about Jedi linages having dances that I can’t find anymore thanks Tumblr.
Ahsoka wanted to impress her Master. She wanted to prove to Anakin that it hadn’t been a mistake to take her on despite the more than untraditional claiming. She had to make him proud and show that she wasn’t a childish youngling anymore and could be useful on the battlefield.
Ahsoka also desperately wanted to jump up in excitement because they finally had found some time to spare and Anakin was going to teach her their lineage’s dance. It wasn’t the first sign that Ahsoka was his Padawan, but it seemed like the one that was the most binding. She had gotten her proper beads and even been sent to the quartermaster to get clothing more suited for the war front. Ahsoka hoped her Master hadn’t noticed she had picked her new tunics to match the colors he seemed to prefer to wear. She wouldn’t mind it per se, plenty of Padawans did it after all, but it was just a little embarrassing if he said something about it. Anakin already called her “my Padawan” or, after she’d done something particularly reckless, “my very young Padawan” plenty of times. They were a team and would stick together until Ahsoka was a formidable Knight of her own, but being taught something that was particular to their lineage somehow reassured Ahsoka that she had found her place more than anything else.
“Ready?” Anakin asked.
They had assembled in the bigger training hall of the flagship and carefully put their outer robes to the side together with their lightsabers. A few clones were training, but Ahsoka could already see them beginning to work out less and less to observe them. She had to give it her best. Like most younglings, Ahsoka had adored the celebrations when various lineages would show off their dance, dreaming of when she would learn hers. The elaborate choreographies were stunning, the backflips that were in pretty much every dance at least once had always made her screech in delight.
Not that Ahsoka would do so now.
She was fourteen. And a Padawan.
She didn’t giggle or watch in awe.
“Born ready, Master,” Ahsoka replied cheekily.
Anakin grinned, looking carefree and oddly young this way. Ahsoka was glad about it. She would have disliked it if an old and stuffy Master had picked her.
“Good. It’s been a while since I actually danced, so forgive me if it doesn’t look as fluid.”
Anakin shook his right arm, the one Count Dooku had cut off as if to underline the point. Ahsoka was sure that he must be joking. She had seen him go toe-to-toe against Master Kenobi during training and his prosthetic had hardly seemed to bother him. She had been a little put out by it at first, Jedi with such grave injuries didn’t get send on active combat missions or delicate negotiations anymore, but Anakin had definitely shown that it wasn’t holding him back.
Anakin took a deep breath and bowed in front of her, it was the first position which most of the dances Ahsoka had already learned at the temple shared. Then he took a step forward, raising up his right arm at the same time. The longer she watched, the more mesmerized did Ahsoka become. There were plenty of moves, each one representing one Jedi, and they all fit together perfectly. It reminded her of the gentle waves of the sea or shifting sands of the desert, but none of those images perfectly translated to the fluidity with which Anakin moved. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him even for a second, but she could tell that the clones too had all halted in their movements to observe him. It was beautiful and even though there was no music, Ahsoka felt like she could hear the banging of drums or the gentle play of a harp. More than anything she wanted to join right in, learn to copy all his moves.
With ease, Anakin rose from the ground, arched his back as he spun. Out of that flip, he stepped forward with one leg, slowly pulling the other with him. He raised his arms up-
And stopped with curse Ahsoka wouldn’t dare even whisper where any Master could possibly overhear.
“Is everything alright?” Ahsoka asked quickly.
Anakin’s expression had darkened, he was frowning and clutching his prosthetic arm with the other hand as it shook slightly. Had it malfunctioned and hurt him? Ahsoka jumped up from her position on the ground to walk over to her Master, worry trailing after her like a lost child.
“Yes, yes,” Anakin muttered. “I’m fine, I just forgot it. Obi-Wan and I haven’t fixed the sequence yet.”
“Fix it?” Ahsoka inquired. Lineage dances didn’t get fixed, that was the whole point. They got extended but never changed.
“Mhm,” Anakin hummed, pointedly not elaborating, and walked over to his bundle of robes to fish his comm unit out of them.
A moment later he was calling Obi-Wan. The whole situation was absolutely strange to Ahsoka, she didn't want to know what the clones were thinking.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice rang through the silent room as if he had been shouting. “Aren’t you supposed to be training with Ahsoka right now?”
“And aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Anakin retorted drily.
Ahsoka counted the hours and indeed. Obi-Wan wasn’t supposed to be awake, it was his nighttime rotation. They had scheduled the hours so that at least one Jedi was always up in case of an emergency. If none of them followed protocol, that particular system was rendered useless.
“I had more pressing manners to attend to." That, Ahsoka had already learned, was Obi-Wan speech for I was up reading through reports. "What can I do for you?”
Anakin rolled his eyes and send Ahsoka a look of fond exasperation, expressing quite clearly what he thought about Obi-Wan’s attitude. She snorted and was half in mind to tell him that he wasn’t doing much better than his Master.
“I’m teaching Ahsoka our dance,” Anakin said. “And we didn’t fix it. Dooku’s move is still in there.”
Silence followed. The name of the Sith Lord had cut through the air like a lightsaber, leaving behind a rough and burning wound.
“I- I had forgotten about that,” Obi-Wan picked up the conversation again.
He sounded tired and hurt, it made Ahsoka uncomfortable. Jedi Masters were supposed to know… well, not everything, nobody could, but the uncertainty in his voice was still unsettling.
“You’re in the main training hall, correct? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
And with that Obi-Wan ended the call and Anakin tossed his comm unit back into the clothing pile.
“Sorry, Snips,” he apologized. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Your first lesson is not turning out as I had planned.”
“That’s alright!” Ahsoka replied quickly. She had already figured out that not a lot of things about her apprenticeship were going to be going according to plan. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, what was that about? What do you mean with Dooku?”
Anakin blinked a couple of times as if he didn’t understand her question. For a moment Ahsoka wondered whether she had said something wrong or accidentally spoke complete gibberish, then Anakin’s face cleared up.
“Right, you don’t know. Look, Obi-Wan is your grandmaster. He was trained by Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who died ten years ago on Naboo. Qui-Gon’s Master in turn was Count Dooku, who was taught by Master Yoda. Dooku’s your great-great grandmaster.”
Anakin spit Dooku’s name like an insult, rightfully so in her opinion. Dooku was a cruel bastard, it was almost impossible to imagine that he had been a Jedi Master once upon a time. To think that she was of his lineage now, that he had fallen to the dark side when his own Padawan had been murdered by a Sith and had cut off Anakin’s arm-
“He’s no Master of mine,” Ahsoka said finally.
Dooku had betrayed everything the Jedi stood for. He didn’t deserve to be remembered as one of their own. The sooner they cut his sequence from the dance, the better.
“Can you teach me the moves after his until Obi-Wan arrives?” Ahsoka asked. “I still have to learn those.”
Anakin smiled, a little strained still, but cheer was slowly seeping back into it.
“Sure,” he agreed. “Let’s start with Master Qui-Gon’s move.”
He fell into a stance Ahsoka assumed was the one where Dooku’s usually ended and picked right up, transitioning into what must be Master Jinn's move, then Obi-Wan’s and finally his own. By the time Obi-Wan showed up in the training hall, Ahsoka could almost execute those last three in perfect synchronicity with her Master.
Summary: a steamy one night stand with the commander of the 104th makes things a bit awkward when you join his platoon under the request of Plo Koon.
Warnings: masturbation, degrading if you squint, choking
This day just couldn’t get any better if it tried.
One minute you were dealing with the catastrophe that Maul left behind with Obi-Wan, the next you were assigned to work with the 104th by your old Master, Plo Koon. This wasn’t the situation you wanted to be in, not now, not ever.
It wasn’t like you had a choice, Plo was someone you valued more than anyone, he was practically your father, you couldn’t turn his request down out of the fear of hurting him. So you decided to accept but asked for a few weeks of preparation before you done so.
Now, here you were. Those weeks had passed quicker than you could sheath your lightsaber and you were carrying your bag on your shoulder as you stepped onto the ship picking you up from Naboo, Plo and Comet waiting for you with smiles on their faces as they welcomed you with open arms. You wondered deep down where Wolffe and Sinker were at but you kept your mouth shut, avoiding suspicions as you hugged your once-Master and put up mental barriers to protect your thoughts.
The trip to Coruscant was comfortable, you made great conversation with Comet as Plo flew the ship, catching up on all the fun you had missed whilst you were out living on Naboo and protecting the royal family with your own battalion, the 265th. It was sad saying goodbye to them but thankfully someone was taking over from your position so they weren’t entirely alone.
You asked about Wolffe, as embarrassing as it was. It caused Comet to raise a brow and smirk at you when Plo wasn’t listening. You nudged Comet and rolled your eyes when he cleared his throat to stop himself from smiling. It came as no surprise to you that the Wolfpack knew about that incident between you and Wolffe a few months ago, they were brothers so of course they knew. But you tried not to think about it too much, focusing on the next few weeks ahead which would surely be hell.
When you arrived on Coruscant, you were immediately escourted to your new chambers at the Jedi temple kindly by Comet instead of Plo, who had ‘business’ to attend to before vanishing. Your chambers were comfortable, that’s all you had to say. You admit you missed your room back at the Naboo Palace but there was no turning back now, this was your life from this day forth.
You changed into your grey Jedi robes after going for a shower and made your way to the military platform nearby the temple. The trip there took about half an hour at the speed you were running at and thankfully you had just arrived on time for Sinker and Wolffe returning from a small mission they had. Comet walked along with you after racing up to say hello, offering you his arm as the two of you trailed over to Plo who had his arms clasped his hands behind his back.
Things seemed quiet, only the distant sound of footsteps approached which caused Comet to let go of your arm and immediately stand at attention. Your body was tense as you stood beside Plo and held your head high, eyes focusing on the two white and grey clones approaching you both.
“Welcome back Commander, safe trip back?” Plo asked with a brow raised, walking a few steps and meeting Wolffe halfway as the clone removed his helmet, revealing the face you feared to see.
Looking down at your feet, you swapped the occasional glance with Comet who stood awkwardly beside you, as if he understood what you were feeling, and tried offering you a kind smile. You cleared your throat in an attempt to get rid of the tension surrounding you, but when your Master called your name, you knew you couldn’t hide anymore.
“Yes Master?” You perked up, taking a step forward and keeping your eyes on him as much as you could, your palms getting sweaty and breathing getting shorter as you kept your calm facade glued to your face.
“You remember Commander Wolffe, he worked with you a few months ago on Naboo” Plo stretched his arm out, gesturing for you to come closer and unfortunately speak to Wolffe, this was a nightmare.
“Y-yes of course, how could I forget” You blurred out, sounding shy and almost idiotic as your eyes finally connected to the odd yet beautiful eyes of the Commander of the 104th.
“Nice to see you again, General, settled into Coruscant after your trip from Naboo?” Wolffe sounded so casual compared to you, as if he didn’t remember anything from months ago, to be honest that was a pretty good thing.
“Yes, it’s quite nice being back but I do miss my home” You answered, offering Wolffe a smile which he returned before Plo called over Comet and Sinker to give them further orders. The conversation between you and Wolffe was cut off very quickly and before you knew it, you were heading to one of the many hangars to get ready for your first mission. Everything was moving so fast You almost got a headache but thankfully you could get some rest once you were on Plo’s ship.
Plo’s ship was big, there was no denying it. There were bunkers at the back for the clones to sleep in and multiple refreshers. The cockpit was small though, it only allowed allowed 3-4 people at a time but the body of the ship was fairly spacious. You sat down beside Sinker on the copilot seats and folded your arms over your chest, nestling into the leather seat which provided heat for your cold body.
“We’re off to Kamino to spectate the cadets training, it isn’t much of a mission but it’ll be a good thing for the boys to be back home” Plo spoke, steering the ship out of the hangar and flying towards the sky as he spoke. You buckled yourself in and got comfy as Wolffe and Comet buckled theirselves in outside of the cockpit, chatting amongst theirselves quietly as if they were exchanging secrets.
“First time to Kamino, General?” Sinker asked with a smile, clicking his belt together as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. You hummed, feeling your ears pop at the pressure as the ship slowly rose out of the atmosphere and into space.
“It is, I’ve never been good at flying though so I hope the trip won’t take that long” You sighed, clamping your nose with your index finger and thumb and blowing slightly to put the pressure off your ears, hearing them adjust to the volume as they popped once more.
“It won’t take that long in light speed, but go and get some rest it you want” Plo turned his head and looked at you before standing up from his seat and cracking his back, sighing pleasantly to himself.
“Are you sure, Master?” You asked instinctively. Plo chuckled.
“Still at it with the old names, (Y/N), you keep forgetting I’m not your Master anymore” Plo teased, his black eyes creasing at the corners as if he were smiling. You blushed at his words and nodded your head, turning to look at Sinker who was smiling at you in amusement.
“Old habits die hard I guess” You sighed, unbuckling yourself from your copilot seat as you watched the ship drift softly in the atmosphere, far far away from Coruscant already. You looked out the window for a short moment, your fingers skimming the glass surface as you were almost enchanted by the way the stars dotted the black void surrounding you.
“Never fails to take my breath away” Comet entered the room, patting your shoulder and dragging your attention away from the stars. You smiled at the clone and nodded your head in agreement.
“I agree; seeing the stars never gets old” You added, turning around and bumping shoulders with Comet before exiting the cockpit and stretching your arms above your head, closing your eyes and letting out a small moan of satisfaction. Your noise didn’t go unnoticed, you seemed to miss Wolffe sitting by himself as he clenched his jaw at the sight of you. You walked towards the back of the ship, approaching the small bunker on the left and entering it whilst yawning.
You closed the door with a soft push and headed towards one of the many cabin beds in the bunker. It was pretty cold in the back of the ship so you blew got air in your hands and tried to warm them up. You took the bottom bed of the cabin bed at the back, the sheets cold against your skin as you tried getting comfortable on it, your legs bent as your back pressed against the mattress. You stared up at the mattress above you which was held by the metal structure of the cabin bed, creaking slightly as you shuffled around in your bed.
You closed your eyes and raised your arms up to support your head, eyebrows furrowing as you tried desperately to fall asleep but something was keeping you awake. You couldn’t shake it off. Opening your eyes back up, you grumbled angrily to yourself as a deep frown sunk onto your face.
The room was too cold, you needed heat. You propped yourself up on your elbows and thought of different ways to warm yourself up. You could fight the cold and just wrap yourself up tightly in your robes but that would take too long. There was no blankets on the ship and Plo wouldn’t offer you his cloak for extra warmth. Maybe... just maybe you could try something you wouldn’t usually try on a mission such as this.
You cursed to yourself as you hooked your fingers around the waistband of your trousers, sliding them down along side your underwear from your hips and shimmying out of them, the waistband now clinging to your mid thighs as your hips and the place between your thighs was on full show. The cold air hit you and you gasped quietly to yourself. You were so dead if someone were to walk through the door but a part of you needed this.
One of your hands trailed down your stomach, pushing up the robes covering your torso and revealing your tummy. Your fingers grazed the skin before moving towards your sex, your eyes shutting over as your fingers began working their magic on yourself.
It didn’t take long for you to start panting, eyes squeezed shut and breathing sharp and raspy, one hand clamped over your mouth whereas the other continued rubbing your sex at a fast pace. You let out a moan and quickly glanced at the door to see if anyone was approaching, all whilst touching yourself with more force. It was getting harder and harder to suppress your moans but you got more turned on at the thought of someone hearing you, maybe even Wolffe. Your mind got dirty, but your fantasies encouraged you to go faster.
Your breath caught in your throat when you heard footsteps approach the bunker and before you could stop and quickly pull up your trousers, the door opened and Wolffe walked in casually.
“Kriff” You whispered, pulling up your trousers even though his eyes landed on you and his jaw fell open immediately. His eyes almost bulged out of his head and his face lit up with red the moment he realised what you were doing.
“Seriously? You couldn’t wait till you were somewhere more private?” Wolffe asked, crossing his arms and frowning as if he were a parent. You gulped, looking at your hand and slyly rubbing it against the material of your trousers, clearly embarrassed at the fact you had been caught. Wolffe stared at your fingers, noticing the light shining on them and revealing the glistening wetness/precum that coated them. His breath hitched in his throat and his mind flashed with all the events that happened months ago, feeling himself grow hard in his uniform as he tried looking away from you and thought of something else.
You were here though... the person he fantasied so much until this moment. Would he let this opportunity go to waste?
“What were you doing?” He asked with a tone that made your heart flutter, you gripped the sheets with your hand that wasn’t wet and looked away from his intense stare, feeling how hot your face was and realising just how humiliating this whole situation was.
“You know what I was going, why ask?” You snapped, looking back up at Wolffe and noticing he had reached over and locked the door. Your eyes widened and your heart sped up rapidly. Was this about to happen? Your master was right outside of those doors.
“I want to hear it from you” Wolffe had such authority over you with just that tone of voice, your knees clamped tight together and you made a soft noise of vulnerability. Wolffe walked up to you and bent down on one knee in front of you, his eyes level with yours as his hand placed itself on your thigh. You tensed under his touch and you flinched at the sudden contact, trying to avoid his gaze but it was impossible when he was moving closer to you.
“Are we seriously going to do this again?” You chuckled, causing Wolffe to crack a grin as he shrugged his shoulders as a reply. Wolffe surprised you by pressing his lips against yours in a sweet and short peck, nuzzling his nose against yours once he pulled away. Surprised at his actions, you brushed it aside and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close and pressing your chest against his as you kissed him harder.
Wolffe’s arms grabbed your waist and before you knew it, he picked you up from the bunk bed and slammed you against the nearest wall, hips colliding with yours as his mouth pressed against your neck and left a love bite there. You instinctively wrapped your arms around him and linked your heels around his back, closing your eyes and letting out a quiet sigh as he sunk his teeth into your skin.
“What if someone comes in?” You asked, holding in soft moans and whimpers as Wolffe continued biting your neck and didn’t bother looking back to meet your gaze as he hummed.
“Guess you’ll have to be real quiet then, General” He smirked, hips tightening against yours as one of his hands trailed up your body to wrap around your throat. Your breath hitched, mouth open slightly as Wolffe leaned back to admire what he’d done to your neck, stroking the hickies softly with his thumb before tightening his grip on your neck. Your hips rubbed against his armour for some kind of friction, your breathing becoming heavy and sharp the more Wolffe waited to do something.
“Just fuck me already, commander” You pleaded softly whilst giving Wolffe a desperate look, biting your lip and purposfully winding him up to relieve that tension buried in your stomach. The commander between your legs let out a low, predator like growl and held your neck with a sturdy grip before slamming his lips hard against yours. It was all tongue and teeth, the both of you were hot and needy for one another and the kiss proved it.
Wolffe didn’t need to undress you from your robes, nor did he need to take off all of his armour. The two of you were risking it all to have sex whilst on a mission so neither of you had time for the full event, that could wait until you got back to Coruscant.
Wolffe delicately placed you on the ground so you could take off your trousers without any mess or confusion, him doing the same as he removed the white plate of armour covering his crotch before taking himself out of his blacks.
The both of you fumbled with your clothes, removing them as if it were a competition. Wolffe bit his lip as he looked down at the place between your legs which was now uncovered.
Quickly, he picked you back up as if you weighed nothing and pushed you against the wall once again, his breath hot on your neck. You closed your eyes and smiled, doing your best to keep in a moan as he thrusted into you with force.
This mission was going to be more interesting than you anticipated.
More platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Reader, guess who is absolutely in love with the idea of cuddle piles?? *points to self with a big foam finger*
Codywan is probably a little less than a squint away, you being adorable, Obi-Wan being a Dad™ and Cody being a Fun Dad™, Reader is 14 here!!
@demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol Thank you for being a soundboard for ideas and listening to my screeching, love youuuuuuuuuuuu
Masterlist
Given that it’s the fifth time he’s tried to sleep since he got back and all five have failed, Obi-Wan feels like its safe to reach out to Cody. The likelihood that the Commander is also awake doing paperwork is extremely high and if neither one of them can sleep they might as well be productive together.
Reaching out with the force he ends up finding the soft light that is his Commander, in the gym of all places. Which, he will concede, is a wonderful idea. He hasn’t sparred with anyone in quite some time and Cody would be a more than suitable partner. Nodding to himself he rises, grabs a robe and departs, no need for his boots, he’ll end up discarding them anyway.
When he arrives however, the door opens to total darkness, he barely has time to register it before being hit with such a strong wave of the force it nearly knocks him clean over.
Warmth.
Gentleness.
Complete Serenity.
Home.
Blinking he steps in, allowing the door to close behind him, and tilts his head as his eyes adjust.
Bodies. There are bodies everywhere. Laid out on mattresses that had to have been drug from the barracks, equipment pushed to the walls and barely any floor space to be seen. He continues his examination a moment longer before finally realizing, they’re sleeping.
The troops are sleeping.
And his Commander, his loyal second in command, is right in the middle of it all.
Slightly unsure how to proceed he nearly ducks out of the room before hearing the voice of the one he came in search for.
“Kenobi?”
It’s a whisper, but since it’s ‘Kenobi’ and not ‘General’ (and he’d know that voice from all the others anywhere) Obi-Wan turns back.
He raises his eyebrows in question before realizing its very likely Cody can’t see him. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” Comes his whisper, this feels like a very sacred moment in time, in the force and outside of it, he wouldn’t dream of ruining that for his men.
“I can’t hardly hear you, it’ll be easier if you’re closer Obi-Wan, I can’t move or the Commander’ll wake up.”
It’s a little louder than before but Obi-Wan perks his ears. His Padawan was here too? Did that explain the beautiful feeling of comfort that was the force was steeped in?
“I can’t—”
“Use the aisle”
Aisle? Oh. Now that he looks a little closer there does seem to be small pathways between sections, most likely to make leaving easier for those on night shift, though with how entangled everyone is, Obi-Wan isn’t sure anyone could leave (He’s barely left the doorway and he certainly doesn’t want to, this feels comfortable, content, like coming home).
Tiptoeing along he makes his way to where (he thinks) his Commanders are. He happens to guess correctly, finding you wrapped around Cody’s torso, face pressed into his chest, Waxer’s back pressed into yours and boil next to him, there’s a trooper he isn’t familiar with that’s laying between Cody’s legs, with an arm extended to catch your calf—that will certainly need addressing.
“Something up on the bridge?” Cody breathes in a whisper, he’s picked up his head to look at Obi-Wan and in the closeness (despite the darkness) Obi-Wan can see the depths of his brown eyes, the lack of frown lines on his forehead, and the blissed out smile that’s settled on his face. What he wouldn’t give to keep Cody—all the troopers, always like this.
So he shakes his head. “No, I was—” What had he been doing anyway? Looking for Cody yes, but he can’t say that because Cody will feel obligated to move.
“Sir, with all due respect, shut up or I’ll sit on you.”
Both Cody and Obi-Wan turn slowly towards the voice to find Boil has raised his own head and is glaring at the Commander. Voice still thick with sleep and eyes only half open he grouses “Waxer’s a mess if he doesn’t sleep and since I’m the one that has to be on duty with him, hush.” Belatedly his eyes turn to Obi-Wan. “All due respect General.”
With that he flops back down, pulling Waxer closer and humming a little, already asleep again.
“I’ll just—”
“Obi-Wan. Lay down.”
Half turned away Obi-Wan’s eyes go back to Cody’s. The only place open is—Well. Sort of, compromising for the Commander.
“I wouldn’t want to—”
Cody’s raised eyebrow (normally reserved for errant shinies) hikes itself up his forehead and Obi-Wan’s nose twitches. Apparently he’s the one being a stick in the mud (as the Padawans say these days).
“Alright” Comes his voice, much smaller than he gave permission for it to be, and he discards his robe in favor of putting it over the two of you. Cody adjust slightly as Obi-Wan settles, pulling you nearly atop him in order to raise an arm around Obi-Wan.
Obi becomes suddenly aware of the broad chest of his commander and the fact that unlike the others (that are totally encase in their blacks) he is wearing a tank top. Force help him.
“Read an article from Gree that it’s best for young humans to have skin-to-skin contact, its been good for the troopers too.” Comes Cody’s low whisper, his head turned to Obi-Wan to keep the noise down.
“You do this often” Obi-Wan realizes, and he doesn’t sound strangled as he feels the warmth of the arm that is now around him, or the chest that he is now very close to. He doesn’t.
“Usually every Taungsday but the Commander opened up Primeday since this campaign started. She says it’s good for us.”
They’re interrupted by the door sliding open again, two troopers entering and making their way around the room. Also in blacks, they rouse two others, trading places, and the new set leaves together. Obi-Wan looks to Cody questioningly and he closes his eyes, nodding.
“We go around the clock, trading in and out so everyone has time here.”
Obi-Wan is floored. How hadn’t he known about this? Clearly you had snuck out to do it, you’d been securely in your quarters every night when he checked before going to his own, why hadn’t you told him?
“Go to sleep Obi” Comes Cody’s sleep slurred voice, “I’m almost in the field, she can take you too.”
“Field?” Obi-Wan asks hurriedly but its too late, Cody’s already snoring.
Now intrigued he closes his own eyes, he does feel much more tired he suddenly realizes, like he could actually sleep.
Barely a beat passes before he finds out what field Cody meant.
It’s Naboo. Nearly two years ago now, after the war had kicked off. He doesn’t remember why he’d been there, (probably looking for Anakin) but you’d wandered off during a meeting, gone missing for hours, and then been found just outside the city in a field of wild flowers; napping and talking to nerfs and loth cats. He remembers the trip with a certain amount of anxiety because you’d been young, and from one minute to the next missing. It wasn’t uncommon for young Padawans to be targeted by those less than morally upstanding, he’d feared the worst for several hours. You’d been lectured by Captain Typho for quite awhile before he managed to get there himself so he’d tried not to scold you, it did lead to the two of you further strengthen the bond you shared as Master and Padawan but he’d never realized what had happened in the time you’d been missing.
Sunshine, warm with a soothing breeze, the purring of a loth cat nearby, the stirring of the grass and the sound of the nearby stream. The ground firm beneath him but cushioned by the soft grass, the comforting weight of Cody’s arm around him.
Each new thing his brain becomes aware of encloses his senses in tranquility, coziness and reassurance. He doesn’t blame you for leaving now, or for being sorry you were caught.
He wakes what must be hours later, unwillingly and quite slowly but he does, and realizes there are several others coming to consciousness as well. Somehow during the night Cody has moved to face him, both of them clinging to each other, and Cody stares at him for a moment before breathing a quiet greeting. The lights are still off but Cody can see the chrometer on the far wall that lets him know they should be on the bridge soon.
“Where’s my Padawan.”
Cody’s eyes fall back to Obi-Wan, then further down to his own arms where you had been at one point, he begins to roll over with a grunt of question, arms loosing on Obi-Wan (who is rising to look over his own shoulder before turning back toward Cody—
You’re wrapped up with that unfamiliar trooper.
“Wooley’s got her Kenobi, she’s fine.”
“Fine?” Comes Obi-Wans harsh whisper, “Fine??”
Cody raises his eyebrow again. “You know we’ve been doing this for months right?”
Obi-Wan sputters.
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