#He collects the younglings on his walks through the temple

[olives-and-lilies]

Hey you remember that ARC Bingo I told you about? I’ve been having a lot of fun with it. Some fills aren’t tumblr approved, so you’ll just have to pop over to AO3 to see them. Maybe. If I remember to post them there. Should I post them there?

Anyway! Thank you @clonefandomevents for hosting such fun bingos! I’ll finish the OC one soon

[throughparisallthroughrome]

"In Darkness, We Transcend"

Chapter 5: Cult of Personality

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of suicide,

A/N: SOOOOOO sorry this took so long! I ended up having to split this chapter into 2 part (got a little carried away with dialogue oops) so I promise the next one is coming soon. I really really can’t wait for it (it ends on an awful cliffhanger…) Please enjoy!! Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4.

No matter how you stacked the crystals on your nightstand, they never looked right to you. 

Your time as a Jedi allowed you to develop a liking for the diverse minerals available in the galaxy. There were millions, and you spent a reasonable amount of time collecting as many as possible when you got the chance. All different colors, shapes, and sizes. They reminded you that there were so many opportunities in the galaxy and the beauty that came with that. Especially now, you were grateful for that reminder. 

You stacked one called “pietersite” you found in a cave on Alderaan on top of a piece of ocean jasper from Kamino. You felt the colors looked nice together, and you had always wanted a cairn next to your bed. The tranquility was necessary, as you did everything you could to bring it to your space. Just as you got them to balance, your hands knocked them over as a knock on the door across the apartment startled you.

You sighed and set them down, realizing that you should probably focus your energy on the surrounding boxes instead of some rocks next to your bed. A week had passed since you were knighted and granted more spacious living quarters. Quarters that fit your status much more. While you didn't receive the role of master, they provided you with quarters befitting one. It must be some sick way for the council to apologize for what they put you through with the Children of Nox. Funny. 

As you strolled through the small apartment and to your door, you wished you had this space when writing. It would have made that process much more comfortable- well- as comfortable as it could have been. Writing for months on end about a cult you were unwillingly indoctrinated into in the name of research wasn’t exactly “easy.” After tripping over a few boxes and loose items, you finally reached the door and pressed a few buttons, buzzing in your mystery visitor.

“Master Kenobi!” You exclaimed, a hint of confusion lacing your voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure is all mine, Y/N.” He smiled at you, though a hint of sadness was present in his eyes. Besides the look in his eyes, you felt it in the force that something wasn’t right. Your own smile dropped. 

“Is everything okay, Master Kenobi?” You gulped slightly, watching as the man in front of you searched for something to say, opening his mouth in response before closing it harshly.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” 

He led you through the temple and into the gardens, passing several younglings and other Jedi along the way. You felt yourself growing more nervous as the seconds passed, the silence between the two of you excruciating. You knew deep down that whatever he was about to tell you couldn’t be good. Your hands grew sweaty, and you discreetly attempted to wipe them on the sides of your robes. 

Obi-wan knew you were nervous. Hell, he was feeling worse and worse about this as he led you to the garden. There was no going back from this. And although you both attempted to hide your nerves from one another, they were painfully obvious. You noticed his discretion, and it piqued your interest (As well as kinda made you want to die).

“Master Kenobi,” You followed him as he stood on the ledge, looking at the city surrounding you both, “Why did you bring me here?”

He sighed deeply, bringing his hand up to scratch his beard in thought, “I’m afraid there’s no easy way to discuss this.”

“Discuss what?” You felt your breathing hitch. Fuck. This was not good. 

“The council likes to believe that what they do is in the best interest of everyone.” He looks off in the distance, avoiding your lingering gaze. “As a member of said council, I’d like to say that’s true. But there are cases where I feel as if maybe we could have handled things a bit better.” 

“Obi-Wan, is this about the Children of Nox?” Your hands shook as the words left your mouth, and you carefully put them behind your back, avoiding his concerned eyes. 

“No, I’m afraid we’ve moved past that.” He motions for you to follow him, sitting down on a bench surrounded by beautiful trees, vines, and various flowers. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m glad Anakin and I could make it to the ceremony. It’s a great honor to be knighted, and after everything you’ve been through, you deserve it.” 

“Thank you,” you mumble while fidgeting with the rings on your fingers, feeling an unpleasant taste on your tongue at the mention of his padawan’s name. “But if it’s not about them…” You trailed off as you turned to face him, watching his lips form a frown. 

“I’m afraid the council has been lying to you, Y/N. And I’d like to preface that even though this was before my time as a member, I was involved. And for that, I am so sorry. I hope you know that at the time, I thought I was doing what was in your best interest as a youngling. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Master…” You trailed off, your eyes wide and body shaking at his words. What could Obi-Wan Kenobi could have possibly done to you?

“Y/N, Anakin isn’t the only chosen one. Actually, he is one half of the chosen one prophecy.” He smiles gently at you, putting his hand on top of your shaking one. “You are the missing half.”

“W-What?” You manage to croak out, your mind not believing the words coming out of his mouth. 

“I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this- I could face expulsion from the order. I feel as if I owe it to you after everything that has happened in the past year. It’s not your fault, and it’s not Anakin’s. The council made a decision that seemed to be the most beneficial at the time.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“They picked Anakin as their chosen one and made sure that you stayed separated from him as long as they could. I know that you and Anakin don’t know each other, but that isn’t an accident, either. Anakin doesn’t know any of this, and I’m afraid I can’t tell him quite yet. They were worried about what could happen if you met too young and how this would look to the younger Jedi. The Jedi code prevents attachments even though the prophecy states an attachment between the two of you would bring balance to the force. The Council was selfish in its decision, believing that maybe Anakin could bring balance to the force on his own. But he can’t. He’s reckless a-and, selfish, and angry. I’m afraid that you would be his only hope.”

Your blood suddenly boiled as you realized the implications of his words.

“Does that mean they sent me on a ‘research’ mission to the Children of Nox in an effort to keep me away from him? All for the selfishness of their code?” You spoke plainly, attempting to hide the anger within you. Obi-Wan adverted your gaze, giving you the answer you needed.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I had no idea when I agreed that it would go this far. That it would cause so much pain to you and Anakin both. I’d give anything to change my decision.” He attempted to console you with his touch once again, his eyes widening as you flinched away from him.

“What else, Obi-Wan?” You stated flatly, the anger and sorrow in your voice leaving you. In this moment, you only felt empty.

“Well, there is something else. This decision wasn’t made by the current Council, as the prophecy is thousands of years old.”

“But you just said it was?” You interrupt, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“The current Council decided to uphold the plans made by those during the High Republic. The decision to separate the chosen ones goes beyond just our Jedi Council. It was made decades ago, deciding that the best option was to keep things as normal as possible. I’m afraid these things were decided before you or Anakin were born.”

“Obi-Wan, what is considered normal? I feel like you aren’t telling me something.” He sighs once again, leaning back against the bench.

“Admittedly, yes. The Council fears the power the two of you may possess together. It’s new and scary and something that has been foretold as long as the Jedi has existed. The fact that it’s come true within our time is just- I don’t even know how to explain it. But it seems that the Council and the Jedi have long been afraid of the power the chosen one prophecy could bring- and I know that isn’t fair to you or Anakin. But that is just the way things were and always have been, unfortunately.”

Obi-Wan was met with your silence as you stared off into the distance, letting the news wash over you.

“So I’ve lived my entire life like this because the Council was too fucking afraid of the prophecy they are supposed to uphold?” You don’t falter from your gaze out onto the horizon, speaking as calmly as possible in this situation. 

“I’m afraid so, Y/N.”

“And you’re not telling Anakin for what reason?”

“I know the boy- and he won’t take this nearly as well as you are. I fear what he may do if he finds out.” Obi-Wan mumbles the last part of his sentence, the guilt washing over him as you come to terms with the situation.

“There’s that fucking word again,” You mumble, balling your fists at your side as you take another deep breath, “I-I can’t fucking believe this.” You choke out a sob, feeling Obi-Wan trying to soothe you once again.

“Don’t!” You shoot up, shouting at him, “Don’t fucking touch me right now. Please.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorr-“ 

“Please stop, Obi-Wan! I just-“ You take another shaky breath, gripping your knees to ground yourself, “This is unbelievable. My entire fucking life as a Jedi is a lie. I’ve done everything in the name of the Order and in the name of what I thought was the greater good. What I’ve been taught as a CHILD is in the name of the greater good. I’ve been indoctrinated here as well, the Order isn’t much better than the Children of Nox- just preaching different things.” You trail off as your realization hits you, Obi-Wan staying silent next to you.

“I’m afraid I must leave, Master Kenobi.” You stand up, your voice shaking as you brush off your robes. “I hope you can understand my decision.” 

“Y/N, wait-“ He grabs your arm as you turn to leave the gardens, forcing you to face him one last time, “I know there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay. I can’t say I blame you for wanting to leave. But please- don’t do anything irrational. And just know that I am so sorry.”

You take a deep breath, pull your hand back from his, and nod, a reassuring smile spreading across your lips. The second you turn away from him and make your way back to your quarters, tears start falling freely as your heart pounds. 

You’re not sure at what point you broke out into a run, but as you sprinted through the temple halls, ignoring the looks of those around you, you knew that you needed to get out of there as fast as possible. Your legs and hands were shaking, your mind racing as your body felt like it was going numb. Breathing was nearly impossible, and by the time you opened your door, you collapsed on the floor, the panic attack washing over you as fresh tears streamed down your face.

You let out a quiet wail, the sobs taking over your body as you struggled to catch your breath. You attempted to cover your hand over your mouth, wanting to conceal the sounds of your cries from the others in the temple. It was over. Obi-Wan had told you everything you needed to know in order to solidify the end of your days as a Jedi. 

Everything you knew was a lie. Everything Anakin knew was a lie. And no matter what Obi-Wan had told you- you’d never stop hating Anakin. He got the best missions, the chosen one treatment. The only thing you ever did to surpass him was being knighted first. And you knew he hated it. You saw it in his eyes at the ceremony. 

You managed to pick yourself up off the floor, making your way to your bedroom as you shakily put the few belongings you wanted to keep in a couple of bags. Some clothes you needed, toiletries, pictures from your time as a youngling, any awards or sentiments as a Jedi, some books you enjoyed as well as the copy of your books, and finally, your lightsaber. You knew Eric’s door was always open to you, so that’s where you eventually ended up. 

You’d never go back to the temple. 

“Hey,” You heard a soft voice mumble next to you as you stirred in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open in confusion.

Anakin smiled as he nudged you, watching your brows furrow through exhaustion. You groaned softly at the disturbance, lifting your hand that had somehow ended up on his knee to your eyes and rubbing it. He unknowingly gave a slight frown at the lack of contact from your knee and the way you suddenly lifted your head off of his shoulder. You let out a small yawn, covering your hand over your mouth in the process. Anakin giggled at your tiredness, finding it difficult not to.

“Fuck,” You grumbled, the sleep giving a slight scratch to your voice, “How long was I out, Ani?” 

He blushed a little at the old nickname your sister had given to him while cracking a smile, “Like 10 minutes.”

“That’s it? Maker…” You put your head in your hands and shook briefly, attempting to wake yourself up.

You suddenly cleared your throat, moving away from Anakin as you realized how close you had been sitting next to him. You were so tired before that nothing other than the rest mattered at the moment. Now you were uncomfortable again. Anakin, of course, noticed this, and it took everything within him to not reach out and comfort you. He knew this had to be fixed on your own terms, as much as he hated it. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled to the cab driver, throwing him some credits and crawling out of the vehicle. 

The air was brisk, and you felt the hair stand on the back of your neck. You wrapped your shawl closer around your arms and over your head, glancing up at the stairs to the landing pad. Anakin stood next to you, wincing gently at the breeze in his face.

“Ready?” You sighed at his words, choosing silence as a better option before beginning to walk up the stairs. 

He quickly followed behind you, making sure to glance behind him. When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, taking in the sight of the cruiser before you. It was big, and it was exactly what you needed. It wasn’t a warship, either; it fell more into the “luxury” category. But as your eyes trailed down the ship, you noticed a hooded figure standing beneath it. 

You instantly tensed up, and Anakin immediately felt you through the force. You both exchanged nervous glances as the two of you reached for your lightsabers instinctively. Before he could say anything, you began to slowly walk towards the figure, feeling something familiar about it. He mentally cursed himself and then followed closely behind, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt and holding it close. 

You stood tall and took the shawl off of your head, feeling braver as the force signature of the person in front of you became more familiar. “I’m afraid you have the wrong platform. This is Jedi business.” You stated coldly, gripping your lightsaber tighter, your knuckles turning white from your nerves. Anakin nearly choked hearing you call yourself a Jedi and how boldly you spoke. 

“Do I?” The voice was melodic and one you had craved for so long. You instantly grinned.

The figure turned around and met your eyes, smiling wide on their face. You clipped your lightsaber back and ran to them, pulling them into a tight embrace and taking in as much of them as possible.

“Fuck, I missed you so much Padmé.”

You swang each other around, giggling and laughing as you held tightly. You buried your head into her shoulder, breathing in the scent of your older sister. 

“It’s been too long, Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you lately. I’m so sorry I haven’t visited sooner, and I-I’m sorry for our circumstances now.” She pulls away from the hug, still holding onto your body tightly as she searches your eyes for any response. You brush off her apology, pulling her in for another tight hug.

“No need to apologize. You’re here now, and that’s what matters. Wait, Padme- Where’s your security? I don’t like you here alone.” You search the perimeter, Anakin walking up next to you and nodding to Padme. 

“Y/N, they’re here. I promise. I asked them to give us a moment together- they don’t need to know what’s happening. You’re starting to sound like Anakin.” She giggles at you, raising an eyebrow slightly at her underlying claim. 

“I-” You cut yourself off with a laugh, giving her another quick hug before pulling away and taking another look at the ship. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Padme asks, stepping beside you and glancing up at the ship, “Made sure you got the best one we could offer.”

“Y-You did this?” You turn to her with a smile, noticing how she looks back away from you and at Anakin. You turn to face his grin.

“It was my idea, but Padme shouldn’t give me the credit. Figured it was better than some old, suspicious republic warship they gave to the Jedi. Although, I didn’t know she was coming to say goodbye.”

She beams at Anakin’s words, grinning back at you. 

“Guilty as charged.” You look between Anakin and Padme, the words stuck on your tongue. As much as you wanted to stay with Padme and catch up, Obi-Wan’s life depended on you. 

“Padme…” You turned to face her, the sorrow in your eyes telling her everything it needed to. 

“Go,” she pulls you in, holding her hand against the back of your head and squeezing her eyes shut. “Do what you have to do. Just... please be safe. Come back, preferably in one piece.” 

You nod against her, letting a sob take over you as you embrace her warmth for what feels like the last time. She cries too, mouthing to Anakin behind you to keep you safe, and he gives her a solemn nod, feeling tense about the situation. You shudder beneath her touch, taking a deep breath and pulling away. She smiles gently at you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Come to Naboo when it’s all over.” Padme squeezes your shoulders.

“I-I’d love to, but I have the restaurant and-”

“Y/N, it can wait. Our family needs you right now- especially after all of this. Please. Do it for us. You need to rest, honey.” She reaches out to you again, and you bite your lip, thinking over your response as your leg bounces.

“Okay. Fine- yeah. I could stay in Naboo for a few days.” You laugh slightly, smiling back at the girl in front of you.

“Okay, now go! Before we start crying again!” She shoos you off, breaking eye contact and walking away back towards her guards, who suddenly made an appearance at the edge of the platform. You felt yourself let out a breath you were unaware you were holding. She’s safe. 

You follow Anakin onto the ship's loading dock, turning around and making eye contact with Padme one last time before the ship closes, and she’s gone.

You let Anakin walk to the cockpit without you, taking a moment to sit on the floor and breathe for a second. Your mind is reeling, your heart pounding. It was all happening. In a few short hours, you would be on Mustafar, facing the past you thought you had escaped. As lovely as it was to see Padme, it didn’t help you at all. In fact, it only made you feel worse. You needed to get Obi-Wan back no matter what, but deep down, if something happened to you along the mission- it never concerned you. Padme made your willingness to sacrifice yourself much harder. You didn’t promise her verbally that you would return, but with the last look she gave you, you knew that’s what she wanted. She knew you far too well for your own good, and she knew you would try to do something morally righteous. She knew you’d try to be the hero.

Maybe Anakin did, too. Deep down, a part of you felt like he could see right through you. Like he knew you better than you knew yourself. And maybe he was lying about not asking Padme to come, knowing it would be the only thing that made you take yourself into consideration. The only thing that would prevent you from doing the ‘heroic’ thing. And as much as you hated yourself for it, you were thankful, even if he didn’t do it. You knew there was so much more to the relationship between you and Anakin, more than he even knew. But you suspected he knew that much, too. He knows there’s still more to the story. 

“Hey,” Speak of the Devil. 

“Oh- uh- Hey.” You awkwardly stand up to meet his gaze, wiping your wet eyes on your jacket sleeve. “I- uh- I should probably change.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, his intense eyes staring holes into you. You quickly turn to grab your bag and change in the nearest bathroom before a hand on your wrist stops you, his calloused fingers making your heart skip a beat. “Y/N, everything’s going to be okay.” You flash him a pathetic smile and a nod before running off. 

He frowns as you break away from him and bolt into the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he wipes his hands on the front of his robes and shakes his head in annoyance. He just wanted to help. Why were you still being so difficult? How long was this going to take? He finally walked to the cockpit and sat in the pilot's chair, throwing his feet on the dash and closing his eyes. As much as he didn’t want them to, his thoughts wandered to you. He thought about the dress you wore, the muscles in your back it exposed, how you talked to your employees, and the gentleness you possessed when you fed him that soup. This was going to be a long trip. 

“What are you doing?” You cross your arms at the man before you, annoyed by his comfort. 

“Oh, fuck! You fucking scared me!” He jumps at your words, taking his feet off the dash and taking in your different look. His eyes scan your body thoroughly, and you feel yourself shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Although you knew you liked it. 

“Get out of my seat.” You sneer, and he raises a brow, leaning back into the seat further and letting out a loud, sarcastic laugh. You clench your fists at your side. He was clearly enjoying this.

“Your seat? That’s fucking rich. I’m piloting. End of story.”

“No, not end of story. It’s my fucking mission, so get the fuck out of my seat!” You snap at the man before you, pointing to the co-pilot's seat as you yell. 

“Your fucking mission? We’re saving my master. I’m leading the mission-” He stands up, getting in your face as he yells back. Your face turns red with anger. You were not putting up with his self-righteous chosen one shit right now. Not when so much was on the line.

“Anakin, you don’t know shit about what we’re doing here! How dangerous this is! Obi-Wan’s life is on the line, and I come back to you with your feet propped up on the controls fucking daydreaming! It’s my fucking mission. Drop it. Now.” You move closer, sticking a finger at his chest accusingly. He let out a laugh, rolling his eyes at you and smiling. 

“Y/N, you think you’re so fucking high and mighty because the Jedi sent you on a suicide mission to be a part of that fucking cult, and now Obi-Wan is gone, and now you feel guilty. Stop acting like you’re so much fucking better than me. I’m so sick of your fucking attitude. And why is this your fucking mission suddenly when you haven’t been a Jedi in years? I know about the Children of Nox- I’ve done the research, I’ve read the books-”

“And who do you think wrote the fucking books!” You yell in his face, feeling his hot breath on your nose. His smile had dropped, his eyes washed with guilt. You knew he wouldn’t admit that you were right, but his eyes told you everything they needed to. “Now sit the fuck down and get out of my fucking chair.”

“Okay, Y/N, you may be leading this mission, but I need to pilot. Please. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t feel comfortable with other people piloting. I have a thing- just- please.” His voice was soft, and desperate, his eyes searching yours for any sort of sympathy you could offer through your cold gaze. You sigh and shake your head, plopping into the co-pilot seat next to him, knowing he was undeserving of a verbal answer.

“Anyways,” You kick your feet on the dash as Anakin messes with some of the controls and lifts the ship into the atmosphere, punching on the hyperdrive. He throws a glare at you. “You may want to take a look at this, Anakin.” You pull up the most recent HoloNews feed about you, shoving it in his direction.

“Woah-Woah-Woah-Woah, What the fuck is this?” He rips it out of your hands, staring at the headline. ‘A forbidden love? Jedi Knight and General of the 501st Legion, Anakin Skywalker, makes first public appearance with ‘Like a Bantha!’ CDC, Y/N L/N. Could this be love?’ The picture showed you smiling and waving at the fans while his hand rested on your lower back, leading you into the restaurant. He only had eyes for you. Fuck. 

“Just fucking read it; I’ll explain in a second.” You search his eyes, unable to read the expression on his face. You attempt to reach out through the force and see him glance at you. Nothing. 

His eyes scanned the article, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

Even though the Jedi Order is known for forbidding their believers from any sort of attachment- romantic ones included- our dreamiest Jedi is seen behind CDC of ‘Like a Bantha!’ Y/N L/N into her own restaurant. Now, you may be thinking, how do we know they’re together? Maybe he’s just a bodyguard? Well, readers of Galatic Gossip Magazine, the GGM has yet to let you down!

As you can see from our clearly dissected photo, his hand on her lower back, the smile on her face, and the crease in his brow as he looks at her says it all. Our Jedi is clearly smitten. And our Chef is clearly in love. And everyone knows L/N wouldn’t do anything like this publicly without a reason. It has to be a relationship. There’s no question about it! Listen, in a few weeks, when we see them kissing in a public place, and I come back to write a follow-up, don’t say I didn’t tell you so! But now the main question is… how is Skywalker getting away with this? If we know, then the rest of the order has to know. Are they okay with their chosen one being romantically involved with another? And what does this mean for the rest of the Jedi? This controversy raises many questions about the Jedi and what they stand for. If you have any thoughts or questions you’d like to add, click the link below! And don’t forget to subscribe and tune in next week!

“I-I don’t understand. This feels bad.” He hands back the device as he gulps, feeling suddenly uneasy about his reputation as a Jedi. 

“No, Anakin.” You lean forward with a smile, resting your hand on his knee to comfort him. “This is good. This sends a message to the Children of Nox. We know each other—we know the truth. And clearly, the rest of the galaxy knows something is up, too. They should fear us—they need to fear us, especially when all eyes are on us.” You gently squeeze his knee before leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes. 

“I think I get it. Even though they know we know each other, fear is our most powerful ally.” He mumbles to himself, biting his lip in thought.

“Exactly. Now, what do you know about Mustafar?” You giggle, enjoying his nervousness about the news. For some odd reason, the idea of the galaxy thinking you were a couple didn’t necessarily bother you. 

“Well, I know it’s located in the outer rim and is pretty much uninhabitable, as it’s a lava planet. It’s a mining planet overrun with all sorts of crime- pretty sure it serves as the headquarters of Black Sun as well as the Children of Nox. However, I do remember one of your books saying that Crimson Dawn often fought over territory on the planet.” You quirk a brow at his knowledge, a satisfied grin painting your face with the credit he gave you.

“Wow, I’m impressed, Skywalker.” You leaned forward, adjusting some of the controls on the ship, “You’re very knowledgeable. I appreciate that. Would be a shame if only one of us had a brain.” You shot him a wink and a smile, to which he reciprocated. 

“It’s all thanks to you, Naberrie.” He mused, and you smiled softly to yourself at the use of your real last name. How you miss being called that.

“Now, like you said- it’s an outer rim planet. And it’s all fucking lava. Not only do we need to be careful about not burning to death, but there are pirates everywhere. And who knows what crime syndicates have been there since the last time I was there?” You turned your chair to face him, and he automatically mimicked your actions, his brow creased in concentration, “We need to land around 17 klicks away, so it’ll take around half a day to get to the fortress.” 

You open a projector and map out the new waypoint for you both. Anakin follows your painted fingers carefully as you show him where you need to land and what direction you need to hike in. 

“There’s a cave in this area; it would be best if we landed there. In the case of pirates, syndicates, and the cult- this conceals us the most. When we arrive at the fortress, there’s a series of ventilation that we can take in. They used to be under construction for a long time, but hopefully, they’re functional. That should block out most of the noise. I scouted the ventilation system for a long time when I was there in case something happened, and I needed to make a quick exit. Regardless, if we follow a certain path, it’ll take us across to one of many control rooms. We exit the vents- knock out some guards- and there’s our disguises. They should have a keycard to the control room where we can slice the computers and access the data on where Master Kenobi is being held. We could also disable the cameras and alarms, and we might as well- Wait- Are you getting all of this?” You break your stare at the projection to see Anakin wholly spaced out, looking at you. 

“Oh- uh- yeah, of course. Keep talking, I’m listening.” Anakin stutters out awkwardly, feeling the energy shift between the two of you. He makes a bold move and places his hand on yours, giving it a light squeeze. You freeze. He smiles. 

“O-oh- Uh- okay, well, then you and I make our way to their cell block with the information about where Kenobi is being held. We break him out- but keep our disguises up. It’s crucial we act like this is standard- even to Kenobi. The Children of Nox are smart- too smart- and we can’t risk any slip-ups- especially when we have Kenobi. I’m not sure at what point it will be best to reveal our identities to him, but I’m sure he’ll catch on. We leave the same way we came in, making sure to avoid detection the entire time.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Anakin grins, gripping your hand tighter with his gloved one and leaning back into his seat, letting his eyes rest for a moment before you land. 

“Yes- it does. But there is one thing that will make this extremely difficult-”

“And that is?” He opens one eye at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“They’re all force users. We have to conceal our force signatures as best as we can in order to remain undetected. We can use the force minimally- but nothing crazy. The higher-ups will suspect something just with us in proximity to the Temple- but that’s just general unease. We have to be careful about this, Anakin. There’s so much at stake and-”

“Hey,” He gives your hand another gentle squeeze, his brows furrowed in concern as he feels your heart rate rising. He doesn’t know how he can detect it- but his force sensitivity is significantly acute when he is near you. “We’re gonna make it. He’s gonna be okay.”

“A-Anakin, shouldn’t I be comforting you? He was your Master, after all. I-It’s okay, you don’t need to do this, Ani.” You trail off into a whisper, breaking eye contact. His hand doesn’t falter it’s grip on yours. 

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N. I know you feel like it is. And I’m sorry I used that against you- you don’t deserve that. Y-You don’t deserve any of this.” He grabs and holds your hand with both of his, those blue eyes searing into your soul. But with those words leaving Anakin’s lips- you do the unspeakable. You hug him. 

You throw yourself into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck- not saying a word. He can feel your body shake slightly above him, and you can both feel each other’s increased heart rates. He wraps his cloak around your body while his gloved hand snakes itself around your waist, pulling you closer into him while his other one finds its way to your scalp, massaging your head against his chest. You lay there momentarily, closing your eyes and taking in his warmth. He smelled good- too good. And shockingly- you were so comfortable there with him. A small part of you didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want it to end. And with the beep of the dashboard, it did. 

The second the ship notified you both that you entered the Mustafar system, you jumped off of his lap and into your own chair so fast. You both cleared your throats and avoided eye contact- clearly not wanting to discuss the intimate moment you just had. Were you weak? Just giving in to your unfairly attractive enemy like that? Probably. But did you like it? Yes. 

“Do- Uh- Do you mind punching in those landing coordinates for me, Chef?” He attempted to mask his nervousness with a nickname. Even though you smiled, you saw right through him. 

“Of course,” You mumble, quickly typing in where you need to go onto the ship's navigation system. He watched as your fingers moved, another smile teasing its way onto his lips. 

You were both silent during the landing sequence into the cave- the air thick with tension for what was to come. To say you were nervous was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. There was so much that could go wrong and so quickly. He opens the door, and you’re instantly hit by the smell of smoke. You carefully step out of the ship, blaster out and ready to fire as you survey your surroundings. Anakin quickly discarded his cloak, leaving it behind on the ship as the door closed. 

“Fuck, This sucks already.” You squeeze your eyes shut, the smoke instantly making them water as Anakin giggles at you. 

“Okay, Princess, didn’t realize you couldn’t handle a little smoke.” He muses, and you glare at him, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks with the nickname. 

“Shut up. Let’s start walking.” You walk away from him as you pull up the map on your navigator, giving you the best directions to the coordinates of the Temple. You hear a slight ‘aye aye, captain’ from behind you and roll your eyes as your lips curve into a smile. 

“So you’re just a chef at some restaurant? Didn’t realize just a chef would end up on the front page of the galaxy’s hottest gossip magazine…” He teases, and you roll your eyes, gently kicking rocks along the path.

“It’s only cause of you, Skywalker.” You toy, and suddenly, it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

“Now you can’t possibly think-”

“Of course, I don’t think that.” You turn to look at him, placing your hands on your hips, and he smirks. “I know my status. I earned it.”  

“Oh?” He raises a brow, “How so? I’m beginning to realize I don’t know much about you, Chef.”

“Well, what exactly do you want to know?” You start walking again, avoiding his lingering gaze on your figure. The heat rose to your cheeks, and you became slightly apprehensive. What the fuck.

“Tell me everything. We have a long walk ahead of us, y’know. And I find it fascinating that you are more famous than I realize.”  

“Well, okay. I’ve loved cooking and eating for as long as I can remember. When I was a youngling, I was always excited to be sent out on missions with the hopes that I could try some of the local foods and customs, as well as being just exposed to their cultures. I just loved seeing different things that we weren’t used to as a Jedi, yknow? My master would even let me bring some ingredients home if we could, and I would figure out something to cook. I honestly don’t know where the creativity or my ideas came from- they just sorta happened. The Order was kind enough to let me visit with my family for a long time- I often took holidays in Naboo, and I learned to cook from my mother and sisters, as well as enjoyed their- our native foods and cultures. I also took a bunch of missions there, so I really got to know the planet.”

“Oh yeah, the food was terrific on Naboo. I noticed how much of your restaurant was inspired by it. It’s really cool. But how did you even become a famous Chef? You’re so young…” Anakin trails off in thought, trying not to offend you, and you laugh. 

“I’m getting to that, Skywalker. And actually- the entirety of my restaurant is inspired by Naboo. It was the little piece of home I had away from home. Anyway, after I left the order, I lived with Eric for a long time, doing a bunch of random freelance work. But all of my time and money went to cooking, traveling, and eating. I somehow managed to befriend a lot of Chefs, and over time, they took me under their wing. I became really popular in the community, and they were all impressed with my knowledge and skillset despite never going to culinary school. I have this thing about flavors, and somehow, the skills have always come to me so easily. I don’t know why or how- but it’s helped me thrive ever since. Eventually, I made enough money to open “Like a Bantha!” which did insanely well and put me on the map. The only reason I’m so fucking famous is because I’m an ex-Jedi who’s never been to culinary school and has the insane culinary talent of someone who’s been cooking for 50 years. And it’s beyond just me- the Force has something to do with it. Cooking is my passion- I thought I was the chosen one of that, not this. And Anakin, I feel like I’ve accomplished far more and have done far more good for the galaxy with “Like a Bantha!” than I ever could as a Jedi. I’ve given so many people new opportunities and experiences… It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. I thought being a Jedi would fulfill that purpose- that longing. But it never did.” 

You stop rambling and gaze at Anakin, noticing he has a particular unrecognizable gaze towards you. Admiration, maybe? You weren’t sure.  

“Wow- uh- That’s-um, That’s really impressive, Y/N.” He stutters out, and you feel almost shameful.

“I-I I’m sorry, Anakin, I shouldn’t have-”

“NO, please. I loved hearing about it. I’m almost jealous. No need to apologize. I just wasn’t sure how to respond. Now I am. It’s incredible that despite everything, you built yourself back up and made a name for yourself in such an iconic way. I’m really impressed.” He flashes you a smile, and you find yourself becoming a little more fond of the Jedi next to you. “Tell me about your staff. You all seem pretty close.”

“Ha, yeah, that we are. I feel like I raised all of them despite a lot of us being the same age or most of them being older, actually. I probably shouldn’t say this, but Cora’s my favorite. She came in freshly out of culinary school and was so intimidated but so excited to learn. Something about her... I just felt so inclined to help her. To make her grow. I’ve taught her everything I know and some more. I’m still teaching her. She’s teaching me, too, actually. She’s probably a year younger than me, but she’s so fucking smart and talented. I’m so proud of her every day. I feel like her big sister. And I’ve spent so much time with her. I know her friends and family; I’ve cared for them and helped them when I could. I mean, just recently, I paid around 7,000 credits for her Lothcat to have surgery after a bad accident. I left the restaurant with her, knowing she’d take care of it. She loves the place as much as I do. If I ever left it, I’d leave it with her. She deserves it.”

“And what about Luca?” He avoids eye contact, but you raise a brow at his question and laugh.

“Luca is Luca. He’s almost as good as Cora but still young and so reckless. He’s also way too fucking horny for his own good. He’s hit on me so many times it’s hilarious. I never entertain it, but I do find it amusing. I just let him talk himself into a hole, and he always stops. It’s become more of an inside joke than anything. He’s also in charge, despite his attitude and lack of maturity, he has an amazing talent and is immensely passionate about the place. He’s gonna do great things one day, especially when he stops thinking with his dick.” You both laugh, and you notice his shoulders drop, the tension easing on him. Was Anakin Skywalker becoming comfortable around you? 

“Ah, I see. Thought maybe something was going on there. You’ve seen the way he looks at you?” He jokes.

“No, no,” You giggle, “There’s nothing going on there, as much as he hates it. And yes, I’ve seen the way he looks at me- it’s purely lustful. Besides, I haven’t had anything romantic happen ever, and fucking Eric was the last person I slept with, and that was a fucking mess. I’d rather not rehash that. Besides, virgin Jedi boy, what’s it matter to you?” 

“It doesn’t- was just curious. And believe me- I’ve had my fair share of fun. It’s not very ‘Jedi-like,’ but again, I never really have been.” You raise a brow.

‘Makes sense. You always were trouble-”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on, Anakin,” You nudge him slightly, “Don’t act like the entire order didn’t hear about it when their beloved ‘Chosen one’ would act up! Gossip spreads faster in the Jedi Temple than it does on GGM.” 

“I- Touche.” 

You both fell into a comfortable silence, and the walk was amicable despite the circumstances. You took your time taking in your surroundings, most of which you only saw during a window when you were a part of the Children of Nox. Although the mission was critical, you were grateful you got an opportunity to see Mustafar for yourself, not locked inside. There were so many mountains and valleys where you walked, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Anyone could pop out. And they did. 

The second you felt a trigger being pulled- before the shot was even fired- you pulled Anakin behind some rocks, cutting your thigh open in the process. 

“Ah, Fuck!” You shouted, grasping your thigh and putting pressure on it as Anakin fired your blaster back.

“Y/N, are you hurt? What’s wrong?” He ducked beneath the rock, allowing the blaster to cool off while he attempted to inspect your knee, only to be pushed away by you. 

“Just focus on shooting! Fucking bandits.” You trail off to yourself as Anakin fires at them, the noise growing unbearable to you. You had to make it out of this. This was not part of the plan. You ripped off the bottom of your shirt, wrapping it around your clothed thigh, hoping to stop the bleeding. You ignite your lightsaber, the yellow hue contrasting beautifully with your surroundings while you stand up and reflect the shots back to the bandits. 

“Y/N!! What the fuck are you doing!” Anakin throws the blaster to the side, igniting his own lightsaber and jumping over the rock, hitting a few bandits with their own blasts. 

“Ending this. We don’t have fucking time for this!” You yell back as you slice through the last of the bandits with your yellow saber, ending the fight. You exhale and wipe the sweat off your forehead as you shut off your lightsaber and clip it back to your belt.

“Hey,” Anakin yells towards you, gaining your attention from the slaughter you both just committed, “Check these out.”

You turn around to meet Anakin’s eyes as he leans against 2 perfectly good speeders the bandits had graciously left you. Well, they didn’t have much of a choice.

“Holy shit!” You yell back, running over to meet him as you inspect the speeders. He instantly smiled at your reaction. “These will get us there in no time!”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series or all fics <3

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Ryan Church. The Mandalorian and another fighter take on an AT-ST on the planet Sorgan. The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 4, Sanctuary.

“Grogu! Come on, buddy! It’s time to go!”, Din Djarin called out as he walked through the small cabin, looking for his apprentice. 

It was clear that Grogu wasn’t ready to go anywhere. His silver ‘ball’, which was really one of the knobs from the Razor Crest was still sitting in his hammock, as was the toy rancor that Boba Fett had given him the last time they were on Tatooine. The Mandalorian was surprised because he knew that Grogu was looking forward to going back to Sorgan.

Grogu had been bugging him practically non-stop over that wretched AT-ST and what it was doing on that peaceful planet since they had first seen it. Pointing out that they had both been very busy since that day did nothing to appease the former Jedi youngling. Grogu had made it plain that they had a duty to return to Sorgan and explore the planet and make sure no other Imperial junk had found it’s way there. What if there was another cloning lab? Or a secret base? Or a Sith temple? For a person who generally refused to speak Gal Basic, Grogu had found a way to make sure that Din Djarin understood his concerns. 

The Mandalorian’s counter argument had been that if the Imps had an active base on Sorgan they wouldn’t have let the Klatooinians capture the AT-ST to begin with. While Grogu grudgingly accepted that, it was clear that he thought it would be appropriate for them to confirm that condition and not just hope that’s how things might have gone. 

He had a point. Although Din Djarin didn’t believe that they’d find an active base, they could still find an old one. Or an abandoned or even hidden transport ship. They could find other Imperial detritus that could create problem for those farmers. He didn’t want that any more than Grogu had. 

Which begged the question, where the heck was Grogu? He’d wanted to make this trip and now he’d gone missing. Well, not missing, but he wasn’t in the cabin. And he didn’t have his favorite stuff, so where would he go? It had been a while since the Mandalorian had turned his bounty hunter’s mind back on and now was a perfect time to do that. 

Grogu liked to collect data, evaluate maps and star charts, and he liked to consult with people who were not his dad over them all. One deep sigh later and the Mandalorian was striding out to the N-1. Grogu was very likely talking to R5. He had a real affinity for droids and mechs and they seemed to like him right back. 

But, to his surprise, Grogu was not talking the sensors off of R5. The droid was puttering around the ship and performing minor maintenance tasks. At least the mech hadn’t decided to field strip the port engine control system. That would have slowed them down significantly, like it had the last time it happened. Now R5 consulted with the bounty hunter about all pop-up and preventative maintenance so they weren’t delayed in meeting with Captain Teva again.

He asked R5 if he’d seen Grogu and the mech nodded it’s body in the affirmative. That was good. Where did he go? The mech seemed to shrug. When did R5 last see Grogu? R5 beeped at him and the Mandalorian sighed. Apparently Grogu had been trotting toward Nevarro City an hour or so ago. Dank Farrik. 

A few minutes later, as he was grabbing his flight pack and checking the status of his personal weapons, the Mandalorian heard a knock at the door. 

Din Djarin yanked the door open and practically tore it off its hinges. 

He found himself looking IG-11-M in the optical sensors, while Grogu stood behind the Marshal.  

“Din Djarin. Apprentice Grogu has brought to my attention that equipment installed by the former Imperium may be present on the arboreal planet of Sorgan. As a duly authorized Marshal of Nevarro City I have notified the High Magistrates office of the condition and asked for direction in how to manage the request for assistance that Apprentice Grogu had made. It is my duty to notify you that this request is number two thousand one hundred and twenty forth request for assistance being evaluated by the High Magistrate’s office. It may take some time to evaluate Apprentice Grogu’s request.”

“Dank Farrik. Grogu, I told you we were leaving for Sorgan today to perform that evaluation. IG-11, you may cancel my apprentice’s request. It is not necessary.”

The Mandalorian was both annoyed and proud of Grogu. No, he didn’t want Greef Karga dealing with potential problems on Sorgan. He had enough to do on Nevarro.  But, Grogu had shown real initiative in trying to obtain assistance from their friend.

Grogu chirped at him and then ducked around the droid and jumped up to give his mentor a hug. 

“Very well. I will be tracking your progress and will re-initiate the request if you fail to report back in a timely manner, as your apprentice requested as part of his application.”

“Grogu requested that?”  Din Djarin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Affirmative. He reported that sometimes he needed to use both beskar and a lightsaber to accomplish his goal. I presume you understand his meaning, as it is not recorded in my data structures.”

“Yes. I know what he means.  Thank you, Marshal. Grogu, I suggest you pack your bag and make sure you wear your beskar. As I recall you don’t currently have access to a lightsaber.”

The Mandalorian watched IG-11-M set off toward Nevarro City while Grogu zipped into the cabin and went right to his room. Din Djarin closed the door to the cabin and walked towards his own room when he heard another knock at the door. He wondered if IG-11-M had forgotten something, but that didn’t seem likely.

He opened the door and exclaimed, “Dank Farrik!”

“Is that some sort of Mandalorian greeting? Grogu contacted me and I came here as soon as I could.” Luke Skywalker replied, looking confused. 

“Grogu!”

[bladetoblade]

obviously it would be a strategic nightmare, but i’m just thinking of the universe where the surviving jedi rebuild together in the aftermath of order 66

for the first months, they built temporary shelters and wooden shacks. it’s a new and strange environment so they occupy younglings by taking them for walks through the woods to collect food and explore.

there are no villages and towns nearby, but there are birds and all kinds of 4-legged animals that curiously approach. every now and again, mace has the younglings sit down in the soft grass and be very quiet. gently, he draws the creatures closer with the force so that the children can let them eat berries out of their palms

during clear nights master skywalker points out constellations and stars in the night sky. he tells them what it’s like to break atmosphere and fly. subtly, he plants directions and coordinates to safer planets, hoping it’ll stick

“that’s coruscant,” mace windu whispers, after a little one asks where the old temple is.

they all work during the day to build their new home, their Temple, from the ground up

it doesn’t look like a temple, and the kids very kindly point this out.

“wherever jedi commune with the force and wherever you are, that’s where the temple will be,” padawan dume explains, patting yarkov’s head fondly. he flushes a bit when master windu smiles and nods in approval.

in another time, younglings would watch in awe as jedi masters used the force to pile stone atop stone. now the jedi rebuild with their hands instead.

soon they begin planting a garden outside the Temple’s walls. masters, padawans, younglings kneel side by side along the temple wall

master obi-wan puts his very interesting botanical knowledge to use (for the first time, anakin points out) as he tells the younglings what kinds of flowers and fruits and peppers they’re planting. his hands guiding theirs as they dig up the soil.

dirty hands tug at their masters and their friends robes, soon turning into handfuls of dirt thrown at each other

no one scolds them. this batch of younglings could stand to misbehave more, the adults privately think, as they get dragged into making a bigger mess of their clothes.

of course, with a dozen or so jedi younglings there are lot of antics and dangerous stunts

master obi-wan and master mace have practiced the art of saying no and expressing disapproval, managing it with a mere look. so when a youngling does something they know they weren’t supposed to, the first thing they do is find master anakin. usually he’s behind the Temple, building new chairs for their table or repairing their cranky vaporator and water purifier.

innocent and ignorant of many things, all of them know that he’s the best person to put between them and master obi-wan’s disappointment (which really, is mild at best against them)

his lungs don’t quite cooperate with him the way he wants, but anakin smiles and lets himself be dragged along to explain (to the older masters’ poorly hidden amusement) why exactly the tomatoes have been smushed or to help a padawan retrieve their saber from a tree (which tree it was, no one remembers)

later on some of the clones join them at the Temple. they tease the kids, pat them affectionately on the head, and generally indulge them (not that there’s any lack of that here)

sometimes they take them out and show them how to shoot. there was a long discussion, but ultimately it was agreed that this was a necessary skill for them to have in a galaxy like this. the kids are thrilled to show off trick shots they learned to the masters, who while cringing a bit internally, clap and cheer

(“uncivilized,” obi-wan jokes to anakin quietly, a fond look in his eye.

anakin elbows him, “i’m sure if you practiced you could get just as good as yarkie.” he teases mock sympathetically.

“excuse me? i’ll have you know that i am-“

mace rolls his eyes and some of the kids smother giggles.)

[anon-e-miss]

A Touch of Sight - 7

“Yo, Swin,” Jazz called to the merchant as he entered his shop without knocking. Swindle jerked with surprise, coins scattering everywhere.

“What can I do for your Lord Inquisitor?” Swindle asked, voice a half octave too high. He had probably purchased suspicious goods from someone again. At the moment, Jazz was not concerned about Swindle’s dubious ethics.

“The ten story walk up at the corner of Prima and Tenth... that’s one o’ yers, correct?” Jazz asked.

“Yes?”

“Why in the frag are ya renting a blind mech a hab on the top fraggin’ floor?” Jazz asked.

“It... it was what was available,” Swindle replied with a quiver in his voice as he knelt behind the counter and tried to collect all his fallen coin. “I’ll have you know, I had no idea about... whatever it is he’s done to get your attention.”

“He ain’t done anythin’,” Jazz said, leaning against the counter on one arm. “I just came here to give ya a lil warnin’.”

“Oh...?” Swindle asked with a little peep. He peered over the edge of the counter.

“If anythin’ happens to that mech or those mechlings,” Jazz said, leaning in, staring down at the merchant as he flinched. “If he even trips on one of those broken steps, I will hold ya personally responsible. There wouldn’t be enough pieces o’ ya left when I was through to fill an energon cube. ‘M I clear?”

“Crystal,” Swindle squeaked.

“Good,” Jazz said, pushing off the counter. “‘N don’t ya even think ‘bout raisin’ his rent.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Swindle replied. Of course he would, he probably went to recharge every dark-cycle how to squeeze every last coin he could from his customers and tenants. But if he had to choose between a few extra coins and Jazz’s wrath, the Lord Inquisitor was confident fear of him outweighed Swindle’s love of shanix.

How had Prowl come to be blind? How had Bluestreak come to be mute? The Great Calamity was surely the answer but Jazz did not believe the whole story could be so simple. It boggled his processor that Prowl was able to get around a well as he did, that he had found to communicate with his mute creation as well as he did. The youngling was clearly devoted to his originator and brother and that devotion was a heavy burden on someone so young. Jazz thought his desire to enter the service of the Lord Inquisitor was out of a desire to keep close to his creator, to help him, to protect him. Clearly the argument about attending the temple school was an old one.

Even if they somehow saved enough shanix, Jazz doubted Prowl would be easily able to convince Smokescreen to go and attend university. Prowl seemed to be doing everything to let Smokescreen fly but the youngling wanted dearly to stay in the nest. Jazz understood Smokescreen’s devotion to his creator, he himself was devoted to his originator, Punch. Like Prowl, Punch had encouraged his creations to learn and to live but when all was said and done, Jazz was always happy to go home to roost. The little shop his originator sold his wares had was not the home Jazz had grown up it. Punch, Punch had been home, whatever gutter or hellscape they had found themselves in, Punch had been home.

As the faithful gathered in the temples to worship, Jazz walked along the quiet streets. He did not need to go to temple to be close to divinity, Jazz was in surface to Primus’ avatar. Not that Optimus seemed so godly and really that was what Jazz liked so much about him. Optimus Prime was a mech, a mech claimed by a holy relic, but still a mech despite it all. If Optimus had thought himself a god, Jazz would have no use for him and would most definitely not have been in his service. He had served a mech who thought himself a god, Sentinel Prime, Optimus’ predecessor and most definitely considered him above mortal mecha. Unfortunately for him, Sentinel had been quite mortal and Jazz’s blade had cut through his chassis no differently than it did any other mechanism.

When the city was quiet as it was, Jazz could hear the best and he walked and he listened. In the distance, he heard chimes and he wondered if one of the temples was playing a new psalm. He listened, intently and found he did not recognize the music. Curious, Jazz followed the chimes. As he walked further away from the city, Jazz came to realize it was not chimes he was hearing but crystals, crystals that same so purely, he had mistaken them for an instrument. Though Jazz had heard stories of singing crystals, they had been fabled to only exist in Praxus.

He followed the song to the edge of the woods beyond the city walls and heard the glyphless call of a pleasant tenor and the crystals rang in answer. What was this? Some ancient ritual? Jazz remembered the fairy tales his originator used to tell him, stories of sirens and dryads. A cautious mech would fear a lure or a trap but Jazz was too curious to bother with caution and he walked through the thick woods, following the crystals’ song. As the woods thinned out, Jazz recognized a small figure perched on a moss agate boulder. Beyond Smokescreen, Jazz saw Prowl dancing in a field of the most beautiful crystals, their colours so rich and bright. Prowl trilled as he spun in a slow circle. The crystals sang for him. Jazz nodded to the mechling as he walked passed. Smokescreen reached for his wrist but Jazz gently brushed him away and he stepped into the field.

[luvvewan]

promptsssssss!!!

13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️

Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.

—

The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.

Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.

“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”

Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.

“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.

“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.

He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.

He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”

Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.

Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.

The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.

Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.

Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.

From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.

“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”

He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.

“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.

Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.

“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.

Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.

And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?

Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”

Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“

“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.

Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.

In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”

“Nuh, Evvi.”

“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”

Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.

My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.

“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”

Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.

Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”

“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”

They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”

Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”

“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”

“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”

“Oh yes. That was it.”

Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.

“Nearly done,” Evvi said.

Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”

“M-Master…”

“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”

“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”

Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”

For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”

Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It’s out, Master Jedi.”

“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”

His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.

—

Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.

They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.

But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.

He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.

Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.

—

When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.

Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.

“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.

Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.

—

Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.

Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.

Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.

He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.

“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”

Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”

“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”

“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”

“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.

Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

—

They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 8

Distractions

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, ClanLeader!Din x Reader.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Smut (oral (m), exhibitionism, rough sex, penetrative sex, public (outdoor) sex, doggy style, breeding kink, dirty talk). Descriptions of canonical violence. Implied injury. Talk of children/pregnancy. Fluff. Talk of death/’meaning of life.’ Honeymoon shenanigans. Two big idiots being in love. A little surprise for all the Mira stans out there.

A/n: I hope y’all are ready for some more world-building! We get to see a bit into Din’s past in this chapter, and shed some light on some possible ulterior motives. Second a/n at the bottom! Hope y’all enjoy💗.

Summary: Din and you finally didn't the time to slow down for a bit and you find out quickly that you weren't the only ones who had something planned.

The Offer Masterlist | My Masterlist

The stone beneath your fingertips was rough, pewter-colored grains gathering at the edge of the brick you sat on until you flicked them off with your finger. You squinted and watched the few larger pieces you could see as they fell to the ground, collecting just a few inches from your feet. A chunkier, darker colored boot came into your line of sight and you followed the path up his legs until you were met with the matte blue of Paz’s visor. You squinted through a smile as he tilted his head, blocking the sun from your face and gesturing to your boot.

“Do you like them?”

The leather squeaked as you flexed your toes in your boot, your foot turning to the side as you lift your leg a little to show it off. You nodded, a sheepish grin plastering across your face knocked your heels together.

Paz didn't have to ask where you had gotten them; they were brand new, a practically perfect fit, and made specifically for you.

“....at your husband's request.”

You shouldn't have expected less from Din, especially from the way he had reacted when the sole of your original shoe finally gave out. He had made such a big deal out of it; even after you told him it was fine, tossing them to the side and continuing with a simple pair of slip-ons you had. Din wasn't so quick to dismiss it, he picked up the boot in question and watched as the split in the arch grew wider and puckered when he squeezed it in his hand.

It was a surprise to find the new pair sitting on the table this morning, along with a note handwritten by Din. 

“These have been made for you at your husband's request. Please, take very good care of them. -Din.”

You could practically hear the playful attitude in his voice and picture the laugh he probably had as he wrote out the words. 

The written ink was smeared, the corners of the spare paper fraying, and some of the letters were hard to make out; but you loved all of it, every flaw and every second of care that Din had poured into such a simple thing. You had smoothed out any creases that had been left in the paper, being careful to not spread any of the ink further, and placed the note inside one of the books in the chest that sat at the end of your shared bed, another one of Din's gifts. It felt silly sometimes to hold on to such trivial things; but when you read the note again, one last time before putting it in the chest for safe-keeping, it didn't feel silly at all. It felt warm and airy and it tickled your cheeks with a feeling you had only ever had around Din.

“You don’t have to wait with me you know?” you peered up at Paz and tilted your head to mirror his. “I’m perfectly capable of finding him without you.”

“I know that Vod’ika,” Paz crossed his arms and leaned against the same wall you sat on. “I figured you would like the company.”

“Always,” you bumped your shoulder against his playfully, looking to the entry of the great hall just a few feet from where you sat.

It was quiet around the great hall, most people being respectful of the council and leaving an empty and silent place for them to work in. You stood from your seat, walking just a few steps in front of you until you were met with the adjacent wall, leaning forward and craning your neck to look at the sky.

“Did he say why he sent for me?” you questioned, though it wasn't bothersome on your end, it did make you wonder what was so important for Din to send someone for you instead of just looking for you himself.

“He only asked me to bring you to him, once the council had finished,” Paz gestured to the door. “They should be done at any moment.”

It wasn't a few minutes later that you found yourself walking the halls just a few steps behind Paz, Mandalorians passed the two of you; your path seemingly going in the wrong direction from the way they flowed down the hall. You nodded to the people who noticed you, most of them giving a simple acknowledgment of your presence; the few without helmets offering a smile.

Some stray voices carried through the halls, echoing off the stone and mostly indistinguishable by the time they found you. You followed Paz turning a corner where the voices grew louder as you stepped through the threshold of a doorway.

There was a long table that stretched across nearly every inch of the room, a few groups of people still lingering as they slowly filed out of the room. Din stood at the head of the table, speaking to an older Mandalorian who carried his helmet under his arm, his hair was greyed and worry-lines set deep into his features. Their conversation hushed as you and Paz neared, Din's helmet turning to follow the direction his counterpart had looked. He said your name softly, turning to face you better.

“As requested,” Paz joked as he stepped towards the other two men. “Took me far too long to find her, you should keep a better track of her, Djarin.”

You rolled your eyes at the laugh they shared, grinning as you watched the two of them shake hands and joke with one another.

“Cyar'ika,” Din turned to you and held his hand out to you. You took it and went to stand at his side, leaning towards him as your fingers intertwined. He gestured to the unnamed Mandalorian, repeating your name to him and introducing the two of you.

“This is Medrit, a member of our council and my mentor from when I was a youngling.”

You had seen Medrit around in the village before, mostly when you had sat at dinner with Mira; but you had yet to speak with him. His demeanor told that he was someone of importance, and the decorations that sat on his chest were a testament to that as well.

You smiled at him, nodding as he repeated your name and offered you his hand to shake.

“Din Djarin has told me much about you,” Medirt spoke, smiling fondly as he patted Din on the shoulder. “I'm sorry I missed your presentation and have failed to meet you before this.”

“Medrit and I have been busy.” Din sounded almost shy, something that sounded so foreign to you. Medrit seemed to agree, exchanging a look with Din that did not go unnoticed.

“But I hope to know you better, very soon.” 

He reminded you so much of Din, in the way he spoke and carried himself. You wondered if we're seeing a glimpse of Din's future, the thought of his hair greying at his temples bringing a smile to your face.

“I would like that very much.” 

-

Medrit and Paz said their goodbyes not too long after, following the last few people who remained out of the room. Din and you were left alone, save for the guards who were paired at the doors. Before you could think of asking, Din dismissed them; the two of them shuffling out of the room at his command and pulling the heavy wooden doors closed with a thud.

“You never told me you had a throne.” You teased him, pointing to the chair that was behind him. It was noticeably larger than the others at the table; made of the same wood, deep, rich in color with designs and phrases etched into the arch that served as the backrest. The chair wasn't much different than the rest, but you noticed it nonetheless, grinning at him as he shook his head.

 “It's not a throne, Cyar'ika.” You could hear the grin on his voice, his helmet pressing gently against your forehead as he squeezed your hand.

“You look beautiful.”

The leather of his gloves was warm against your face, following along your jaw until he pushed them into your hair.

“Your hair?” He questioned, his fingers pulling away once he noticed resistance.

“The children,” You smiled at the memories, shrugging a little when Din chuckled. “They wanted to practice.”

Some days it felt like there wasn't much you could do to contribute to the Clan. As much as you hated following Mira around as if you were lost, especially since you were married to their Alor; she never minded the company or the help for that matter.

You sat with her for lunch just outside the gated areas that served as the gardens, sitting on empty crates and sharing some of the food you had spent the morning picking. It’s where you met Korri, a sweet girl about your age with kind eyes and a quick tongue that kept even Mira’s smart mouth at bay. You noticed how Mira’s eyes focused on her when she spoke and the way their hands brushed against each other anytime they stood near each other. You didn’t mean to tease Mira badly but, you couldn’t resist seeing the meek expression that crossed her face when you questioned her about it. The two of you were alone and gossiping like schoolgirls over bushels of food; sorting the good from the bad once most of it had been harvested. Korri had joined you, fitting right into your conversation once the awkward tension had dissipated.

As you ate together, you watched as children ran around, playing games of their imagination, their laughter carrying through the gardens. You had learned a few of their names, becoming familiar with them as the times you helped Mira grew in number. Sometimes during your breaks they would come and sit with you, asking questions with an innocence that only seemed understandable because of their age. Most of them understand what your marriage to Din meant, and a few of the older ones had even made a habit of calling you their Alor; a title you knew they used with no real bearing but was a little joke between you and them.

And of course, when one of them came up to you and begged you to let them practice on your hair, you had no resolve to tell them no.

They were careful, as careful as someone so young could be; twisting sections of your hair into different patterns until they found one they liked. Eventually pulling most of it back from your face and securing it with a tie. They insisted on picking some of the small clusters of wildflowers that grew along the fences of the garden and putting them in the ties of your hair. You sat and let them work for as long as they liked, thanking them and making over their handy work as they giggled at your praise.

The children were all very sweet, and some days you looked forward to them following you while you worked, enjoying their company no matter how tedious it could be.

“You look beautiful.” He repeated the sentiment from earlier, his voice just barely above a whisper.

You pressed yourself up against him, your hands resting on his chest while his arms fell to hold onto your hips. You tilted your head, batting your eyes as you looked up at him with a pout.

“Kiss me.”

He groaned a little, squeezing his arms tighter around you.

“Not in here, Cyar'ika.” he sighed, his breath hitching a little when you leaned to press a kiss on the spot where his chest and neck met. “I can't.”

You nuzzled your nose in his skin, dragging your lips up and down and leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. His fingers dug into your flesh, his hands flexing sharply as your nails running gently down his chest, stopping at the signet that cast his belt.

“Sit down, then.”

You pushed his shoulders, watching as he followed your direction and sat in his seat; his thighs spreading naturally as you kneeled in-between them.

When you finally put your mouth on him, he had nearly shot straight out of his chair from how hard his hips bucked. He was wound tight, his cock hard and throbbing under your touch from you teasing him; running your nails over his skin, and mouthing kisses onto his tummy, just barely ghosting over his groin.

He moaned your name, the sound practically melodic even through the metallic filter of his helmet, as you locked eyes with him. You guessed about where they'd be under there, imagining the vivid, dark color of his irises as you had seen them just this morning.

“You look so beautiful, Cyar'ika.” He groaned when he hit the back of your throat, choking out a curse as you slowly pull your mouth back up the length of his cock. “Taking my cock like this.”

You pulled off him with a wet pop, giving a few sweet kisses to the tip before wrapping your lips around him again.

“I don't deserve you, sweet girl.”

-

“We'll make it on foot, but it'll take a little while to get there.”

“You still haven't told me where we are going.” You released the strap of your bag to grab Din's hand your finger intertwining and your paces synchronizing as if from memory.

You had been walking on this trail for a while, it was one you had never been on before, but Din seemed to know where he was going. So you followed him, watching over your shoulder as the village slowly disappeared into the treeline behind you.

“That is the point of a surprise, Cyar'ika.”

A surprise.

Although it had been almost three months since you had married him, Din still surprised you. Sometimes in the form of his words, his actions, and sometimes with gifts; all things you told him weren’t necessary but he insisted on giving to you, his way of making sure you were taken care of. Of all the things Din could be, he was protective and caring in ways you had never realized could be so intimate with another person.

You knew he would kill for you, and you were sure he had threatened that before.

You had never brought it up, but you knew Din had threatened Kron the night of your presentation. You could count on one hand the number of times you had seen him since, a stark contrast to how he seemed to loom over you in the months prior. While you knew Kron deserved every word that Din had spoken to him, part of you couldn’t help but wonder about it. You were happy to put the experience behind you but part of you worried that it was about something that laid below the surface. You had never even known why Kron had even shown interest in speaking with you in the first place.

“That man, Kron,” you spoke before you had even decided if it was best to bring this up. “Why do you think he hates me?”

He didn’t say anything at first, taking a moment as if he needed to collect his thoughts, the gears turning under the shin of his helmet as he figured out what to say.

“I don't think he hates you, Cyar'ika.”

You scoffed, earning your hand a squeeze as he turned his head to look at you.

“Well, I would've believed otherwise.”

He stopped fully, your hands still connecting the two of you when you stopped just a second after he did, turning to face him. He sighed, breath coming from deep within his chest and causing his shoulders to raise with the force of it.

“He's angry with me,” he paused, still gathering his thoughts as if he needed to decipher what exactly to tell you. “and he never should have taken that out on you.”

“Why would he be angry with you?”

Maybe it was better to drop the subject, but you couldn’t help the curiosity you felt; an itching feeling that got worse with every word Din said.

“Because I beat him.”

The Mandalorians had a particular way of running things, traditions, and governments that sometimes dated back farther than anyone could remember. It didn’t surprise you that it wasn't a matter of electing someone to become their leader, they had to prove themselves just like they did as a child.

“Our leader before me was a wise man named Goran.” Din paused for a moment, leaning his head back until his visor pointed to the sky and then dipped to look at you. “When the time came, he had no children, successors to carry on his line.”

Shortly after the Verd’goten, The elders had announced that the future chief would be chosen from younglings hand-picked by the council. There were days, weeks dedicated to the trials that had been prepared for them; tests of their skill as a leader, a warrior, a Mandalorian. Something like that didn’t happen every day, and nearly all of the village watched as each of the candidates were tested; it became a game of sorts.

Both Din and Kron had been chosen by the members of the council, both of them had succeeded at nearly every challenge and in the final weeks, they were the only two competitors left.

“He was a few years older than me,” He started walking again, pulling you along with him as you listened to him retell it. “Much bigger and more experienced than I was. I think everyone thought he would be chosen.”

The story Mira told you when you first asked about Din was true. As a final test of their strength, both were sent on a hunt; they needed to kill the Mudhorn that had been terrorizing part of the village. Taking down such a creature would be the ultimate approval of a warrior’s capability and skill, and their willingness to protect those who are innocent. 

Din had won.

The night he had made his way back to the village, carrying the horn of the beast over his back as evidence of his victory, he was welcomed with open arms. The celebration has lasted for a week and at the end of it, he was crowned the new chief.

“You are the only living thing that has seen my face, since.”

The tenants of his creed had been solidified then, with status came the change and responsibility greater than most had.

“How old were you?”

He hesitated, almost as if he was ashamed to admit it.

“Fifteen.”

“You were just a child.”

“Maybe, so.” He looked at you, his free hand coming up to squeeze the fingers still tightly wrapped around his bicep.

“It must have been hard on you, having enormous responsibility so young.”

You could never imagine the burden Din had to carry and to have it from such a young age; sometimes you had no idea how Din had survived for so long on his own.

“This is the way.”

You placed a kiss on the pauldron of his shoulder, right over the Mudhorn signet that had been molded into the beskar, laying your head against the cold metal as you walked in silence again.

There may never come a time when you fully understand Din's creed, and even if you sometimes thought his life would be easier without it, you never wanted to disrespect his beliefs. You would be there for him, even when you disagreed with his reasoning. Making sure he didn't carry such a weight single-handedly anymore was the only thing you concerned yourself with; Din knowing he didn't have to do this alone anymore was all that mattered.

“One day my time will end, and there will be someone to take the helm just as I did from him.”

You had talked about things like this with Din before, most of the conversation happening in the late hours of the night as you tried to find sleep; you talked about a future, the life you wanted to lead with him, and what would become of that. And want the end would look like.

“I don't want to think about that.” You dismissed him, looping your arm around his tighter and pushing any sort of similar thought from your mind.

“All things must come to pass, Cyar'ika.” His tone was gentle, the words almost lost from how quietly he spoke them. “One of our children will be the next to lead us, and I will die at peace knowing they are prepared to take my place.”

“Our children will be lucky to have a father like you to teach them,” you smiled, shaking your head as you looked at him. “I don't think there's much I could do.”

Din slowed his steps, pulling his arm from your grip and he stood in front of you again. Something in him changed, his demeanor much sharper, determined than what it had been before.

“You have overcome so much in your life, Cyar'ika.” He was quiet again, his words carrying an emotion you could feel as he stepped closer to you, the space separating the two of you falling away to practically nothing.

“Just because you have never wielded a weapon in battle does not make your life less honorable.”

He guided your gaze back on him when it fell, his knuckles gently running along your jaw and tapping against your chin as a request for you to look at him.

“Never degrade yourself from anything less than deserving.”

Din had a way of saying just the right thing, it was as if he had time to carefully plan every single word before it fell from his lips. You smiled up at him as he held your face in his hands, the leather of his gloves contrasting the warmth that you felt in your cheeks.

“If our children are half as kind as you are, Cyar'ika….then I know we will have done something right for them.”

-

“Don't look.”

“I'm not.”

You couldn't help but giggle at how silly this felt; the kind of feeling that was light, and innocent and left butterflies that swirled inside your stomach when Din laughed at you. 

“See,” you squeezed your hands dramatically over your face, trying to prove you had no intention of breaking your promise. “I can't see a thing.”

Even with a half-hearted attempt at reassurance, Din wasn't convinced you'd keep true to your word.

“Yeah?”

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold cover your face, you slipped your hands out from under it as Din tied it in a knot at the back of your head.

“I think I know you better than that, Cyar'ika.”

His arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you off the rock you had taken a break on.

“A girl can try can't she?” He spun you around until you faced in the other direction, setting you down as you gripped his biceps to keep your balance.

“Maybe,” he turned around, and you heard the sound of him moving around a little bit, then his unfiltered voice hit your ear. “But then you'll ruin the surprise.”

He took the bag from your shoulders and you reached out for him blindly, your belongings hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. He held on to your wrists and gave you a quick kiss on the lips before he lifted you into his arms. One of his hands settled underneath your knees, while the other wrapped around your waist.

You couldn't tell why Din had brought you out here, you couldn't see much as the path disappeared under your feet, the worn cut that had been made on the forest floor blending back into its surroundings. Din had insisted you close your eyes as soon as you reached the end, and he guided you to sit and wait until he was ready. The trail had led to the start of a hill from what you could tell, the sun shining brightly on the other side and casting both of you in a shadow as you stood at its base. Din grunted as he started up the hill, and you dug your fingers tighter into his furs as you shifted in his arms.

He carried you to the top; even with you commenting on how capable you were at walking he just ignored you.

“This is about you, Cyar'ika.”

“About me?” You could feel the sunlight pass over your features from behind your blindfold, warm and kissing your skin as you grinned up at him.

He sat you down once he passed the top, helping you balance yourself against him with his hands still roaming your sides. He turned you around with a kiss to your lips, your back pressing against his chest.

“Are you ready?”

He pressed his lips into your shoulder, trailing sweet kisses up your neck until he reached your ear; his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he whispered the words into your skin.

“I hope.” 

There was a nervousness that settled in your stomach, an excitement that flooded your veins but left you woozy as you leaned against him. You felt his hands reach for the blindfold, loosening the knot and letting the soft material fall away from your eyes.

It took a moment for you to adjust to the light, the sun was bright and hovering over the horizon, bathing everything in a beautiful golden glow and you shuddered out a breath when everything came into view.

It went on forever, large stretches of meadow littered with pinks and reds that swirled in gentle patterns; flowers of every kind dancing around your feet and tickling the skirt of your dress. You could see the colors vividly under the brightness of the setting sun; blooms that were full and in every shape imaginable stood at your fingertips.

“Do you like it?”

You felt him smiling against your skin, peppering small kisses along your jaw and cheek.

“It's wonderful.”

You turned in his arms, your faces just a hairbreadth away from one another as a question burned on the tip of your tongue.

“Din, how did you-”

“It's yours.” Din cut you off, his hand cupping your jaw while his thumb gently ran across the apple of your cheek.

“Mine?”

He held onto you tighter, and you felt like you were gonna burst; your chest swelling with the immeasurable feeling you got every time he looked at you.

“I’m giving it to you.”

You could see the warmth hidden behind a heavy-set brow, his irises a deep, rich color that sparkled with golden flecks of sun and left you breathless. His kiss was soft and left your mouth burning in the wake of his touch, your hands threading through his hair and pulling him deeper as your lips slotted together.

“Every year, that is the trail we use when we go on our hunts,” Din explained pulling away just enough for the words to slip past his lip, his palms still caressing the side of your face.

“And every year we pass by this meadow without so much as a second glance.”

Your hands wandered to hold Din’s arms, your fingers trailing along the length of his forearm until they came to rest at his wrists. He smiled as you squeezed them in your palms, your forefinger tracing tiny patterns on the underside of his arm.

“But this time, Cyar'ika, all I could think about was you.”

You felt tears brimming at his words, and when they finally rolled down your cheeks he brushed them away; catching them with his thumb as they fell from your eyes.

“So I'm giving it to you.”

He kissed you again, his mouth heavy against yours and his touch like molten that left a gentle burn underneath your skin. His taste was practically burned on your tongue by the time you pulled away from him, your threaded fingers the only thing that stayed connected as you led him deeper into the meadow. He was impatient, stopping you much sooner than you had planned, your chest colliding as he pulled you back to his arms. Warm, wet kisses trailed over your neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive spot on your shoulder, making you groan in his ear. You gasped as your hands ran over his back, your nails scratching lightly and traveling to pull the curls at the base of his neck.

You don't remember how you got to the ground, it doesn't even register that you're moving until you feel the solid earth beneath you, pinned by Din's weight. His hands felt like they were everywhere at once, warm, and calloused against your skin once he removed his gloves. They pulled at pieces of your clothes, your own hands going to pull the latches that held Din's cape.

“You want to give me warriors, Cyar'ika?” He growled into your ears, your bodies rutting against each other as you desperately tried to strip yourself of enough layers to have each other. “Be my sweet Riddur and bare my children?”

Din chuckled at the completely sinful sound that left your lips, half-concocted strings of pleas spewing from your mouth; begging for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fill you to the brim with everything that was him.

“Let me breed you, sweet girl, as a proper husband should.”

He wasn't gentle when his hips finally rocked into yours, but it felt so blissful; like your body was tingling with excitement and about to burst with each cant of his hips. 

Your knees dug into the dirt beneath you, the material of Din's cape doing nothing to cushion you from the weight of his thrusts; the sound of your love-making the only thing that could be heard over the moans you shared.

He clung to you as if his life depended on it, kissing every inch of you he could reach and gripping you hard enough to leave imprints of his hands on your skin.

He swallowed the screams that laid on the edge of your tongue in a kiss, his fingers circling your clit as you ride your high over and over again. You were so sensitive when he had finally finished, your nerves heightened and your cunt glistening with the mixture of your releases.

You shared ‘I love you’s between slow kisses, your lips swollen and sensitive as he nipped them between his teeth. You held him close, burying your nose in his hair as you lay beneath a painted sky, every color imaginable dancing above you as the world continued slowly from day into night.

-

There was hardly a shred of sunlight left in the sky as you made your way back to the village. Din all but led you, the darkness making the forest a little more difficult to move through; your fingers gripped any piece of his clothing you could reach, clinging to his side as if you were afraid he'd leave you behind.

He chuckled a little bit as one of your hands gripped his cape, the other landing on his bicep and walking directly behind him, your head resting on his shoulder blade. You let go of him as he tapped your hand, stopping in his tracks to brace himself and telling you to climb into his back. You hesitated for a moment, you have no idea how much longer it would be to get home; there was no way Din could be comfortable carrying you for that long.

“Come on, Cyar'ika.” He turned his helmet to look at you, what little moon that was out tonight glinting off the visor. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, jumping when he told you to and moving with him as his arms helped you settle on his back. He walked a little slower but he still seemed to navigate the trail better than you. You could feel the breaths he took from under his helmet, his chin peeking out from under his helmet from your angle. You laid your head against his shoulder and hummed as you squeezed his neck tighter, your finger sticking out to tickle him along his jawline. He flinched slightly, huffing out a laugh as he groaned out a meaningless warning. You settled your cheek against his pauldron, looking out as slopes of land started to form under the faint shine of the moon. The night was still around you, the only noise that registered being the thump of Din's boots on the ground and the faint sound of a broken breeze that wafted through the woods. You could see lights from the villager's home through the thinning treeline, the mountains that served as the backdrop of your home glowing with blue hue under the moonlight.

“We're almost there.” You commented, pointing a finger in the direction of the village.

Din slowed for a second and lifted his head to follow your hand, commenting on your ‘good eye.’ You huffed and held on tighter to his neck, trying to hold some of your body weight up to make it easier for him.

It didn't take much longer to reach the edge of the forest, the homes of the village much closer and more lively than they had looked from a distance.

There was something uneasy that washed over as you slipped from Din's grip, your feet landing flat on the ground that felt alive underneath you. The earth was rumbling, hardly noticeable but it tickled you through the soles of your boots as you stood still. You look over to find Din looking towards the village, his hand reaching out for you and pulling you to stand behind him. He held onto your hand with a bruising grip as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingertips.

It hit before you could ask him what was wrong, a blinding light that knocked you to your feet and left you scrambling against the dirt beneath you. There was a pounding inside of your head, a deafening sound that was shrill and left ringing in your ears. Your head was spinning as you tried to sit up, fighting against a heavy weight that kept you pinned to the ground. There were sounds of voices, muffled yelling that barely registered as you blinked up at the sky. 

The canopy of the trees was glowing in shades of violent reds that swirled around bellows of smoke. Your body felt heavy, every breath that passed through your lungs burned as you pushed against the pressure that held you down. You tried to move again, your arms limp and scratching against the dirt as shadows passed over your face. Some limbs seemed to move with yours slowly, with heavy hands bumping yours in their search for purchase. And then the weight was lifted, your vision blurring at the sight of Din's silver helmet. His hands held your face, words falling from his lips that were suffocated by the chaos that roared around you. Your eyes felt heavy, every time you blinked it was like heaven to have them close for just a second longer.

You looked at him, watching the colors dance across the profile of his helmet with words stuck on your tongue; sentences lost in the confusion that had settled over your mind. He was still talking to you, his arms sliding under your body to haul you off the ground; the remnants of a promise hitting your ear as your eyes finally closed.

“.... you're gonna be okay.”

Translations:

Vod’ika- Little sister

Alor- Leader, chief

Verd’goten- Mandalorian rite of passage

Riddur- Spouse, Husband/Wife

A/N (pt2): Y’all remember when the reader talked about how much she liked flowers because its something she remembers from her childhood??? Well Din did.

Taglist

Permanent

@on-the-razor-crest​ @readsalot73​ @roxypeanut​ @talesfromtheguild​ @vintage-silk​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dartheldur​ @b0n-chann​ @dindisneydjarin​ @tangledlove27​ @blueplaidhood​ @lackofhonor​ @holamor​ @ajediherowitchrunner​ @mandhoelorian​ @random-fandom-lady​ @aeryntheofficial​​ @stubbychaos​ @promiscuoussatan​ @lark-cale @lilkermit14​​ @leather-mommy @zombiexbody​ @absurdthirst​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @xjaywritesx​ @sappy-stars​ @drownedbytears​ @mrsparknuts​ @gallowsjoker​ @animechan6616354 @paintballkid711 @pedroepascal @dadolorian @roxu-radio @lv7867 @theocatkov @xjaywritesx @nelba @persephonehemingway @justanotherblonde23​ @emzd34​ @stardust-galaxies​ @misofirebird​

The Offer

@queenofheavenandhell​ @youmeanmybrain​ @theocatkov​ @dreamgirl-67 @duker42​ @spxcedxdddy​ @vikingqueen28​ @hdlynn​ @leo-moon​ @tiffdawg​ @newyorksins @roxypeanut @grapemama @skinny-macncheese @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @archqtype @promiscuoussatan @starflyer-104 @jedi-dreea @jake-chillinhaal @imaginecrushes @roguereds @coonflix @mandoispunk @din-damn-djarin @eternallyvenus @starlite41 @emesispo @californiakoenig @mindless--ramblings @lovinglokiforever @gabile18 @chibi-liz05 @justanotherblonde23 @luminarahan​ @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

[lune-hime]

Hey luv I wanna say I love Garden of Tulips so so so much and im very looking forward to the next chapterrrr💓 I saw that ur talking requests so could you pls write a drabble of pregnant!reader x levi? Thank youu

Thank you so much for requesting and giving my my story so much love. <3 I’m sorry for the latency in posting, thank you so much for being so patient with me. The thought of Levi being a soon to be daddy is...just so precious. 

↞↠↞↠↞↠

You padded quickly down the stairs of your home trying to let speed make up for your lateness. Your feet stumbled a bit on the last step as gravity caught up to you. Your leg almost bent underneath your flailing body, but with a spry little jump, you rectified your slip and landed safely on the cobblestone pavement. 

You let out a nervous chuckle as you collected yourself. When your eyes met with your awaiting lover, you felt the steely cool flame of his concerned glare. 

“Levi, I’m fine.” You assured him with a cheesy salute. He rolled his eyes and gave your invisible baby bump a tender rub before walking with you into town. 

~~~

Your little bump was modest in size but now quite visible. It poked against your fitted blouses and caressed the cotton of your dresses. As you perused a window display of impeccably decorated tartes, an elderly gentleman accidentally bumped into you on the crowded street. As swiftly as the apologies could leave the man’s lips, Levi’s firm palm was at the small of your back. He guided you away from the bustle of the market street as he tucked his bag of produce under his free arm. 

“Levi, I’m fine.” You smiled sweetly as you let him whisk you away to a more peaceful sidewalk. Levi clicked his tongue as you emerged on the other side of the chaos. He bent down and gave your baby bump a warm caress before grabbing your hand and walking home. 

~~~

Your precious cargo was now swelling the soles of your feet and causing your ankles to ache with the dull but lovely pain of motherhood. Despite the leniency of your comrades and superior officer, if you couldn’t be a part of the battle action you still wished to contribute as much as you could to planning and strategy. Levi stuck around with Erwin and Hange after your morning meeting while you decided to situate yourself at the edge of the pond that resided along the grounds of HQ. 

As you watched the water ripple in tranquility around your submerged toes, soft honks brought your attention to a wandering mob of cygnets. The youngling swans seemed intrigued with your toes and as you wiggled them they bit at them playfully. You chuckled at the feeling of their little nips before a sharp hiss met your ears. 

Their parents had emerged and were swimming to you with a slew of protective screeches. You were about to get up when a shout followed by a stick being vaulted into the water stopped you. Levi had appeared and began threatening the large birds, only to turn into the new subject of their aggression. You laughed furiously as they chased your lover across the edge of the water away from you. Eventually he managed to scare them back to the center of the pond with the throwing of a large stone.

When he made his way back to you, his chest was lightly heaving and his lips were pursed in the cutest irritated line. 

“Thank you, Levi, but I’m fine.” You giggled as he crouched down beside you, rubbing honeyed circles over your belly. 

~~~

Levi was sweating and shaking as he reeled from another nightmare. Your eyes opened to him sitting upright with his hands massaging his temple. You let out a groan as you struggled to sit up, your cherished bump now bubbling with life. Slowly reaching out, you caressed his bare arm and coaxed his hand away from his face. 

“We’re fine, Levi. And you’re stuck with us.” You cooed. You two shared a silent exchange of adoration before he exhaled and adjusted to rest his head against your stomach. You began running your fingers through his disheveled raven locks. He hummed at the soothing rhythm of your palms and the gentle kicks of your little one on his clammy cheek. 

And forever the two of you would be stuck with him. 

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: “Do you like it?” Obi-wan asked. Ahsoka looked up at him in confusion. What was he talking about- “The tea,” he added and raised his own cup like a sign.

Or, Anakin is injured and Ahsoka spends some time with her Grandmaster.

The tea Obi-Wan pressed into her hands smelled familiar, like the one Anakin made for them after late shifts when they had only recently left Coruscant. It was a sweet tea, so sweet that Ahsoka didn't even need to put any sugar in it. Their kitchen – an expression that still made Ahsoka grin with happiness because she had a Master now and she was a Padawan, even after these first months – didn't have anything but tea and some instant noodles stocked. For some reason, Ahsoka wasn't allowed to heat them up for lunch, so they had to go down to the cafeteria to eat. Obi-Wan had said something about the noodles being important to Anakin, and Ahsoka hadn't asked after that. She was too sure she'd start to cry like a youngling if she thought any more about her Master, who was currently unconscious in the halls of healing, being looked over by various healers.

The mission had been supposed to be easy. Nobody should have gotten hurt.

Ahsoka sunk further into her chair, buried herself in her Master's oversized coat. It had been handed to her when they'd brought Anakin in and Ahsoka had kept it on since. She knew it was stupid, that she looked ridiculous, but she kept it on anyway because it smelled like him and therefore like home and peace.

So here she was now with her Grandmaster in their kitchen in an apartment she didn't even really have a room in yet because they hadn't had time to clear it out, drinking tea.

"Do you like it?" Obi-wan asked.

Ahsoka looked up at him in confusion. What was he talking about-

"The tea," he added and raised his own cup like a sign.

"Oh, yes," she replied, feeling stupid for not having understood. She wanted Obi-Wan to like her and think she was a suitable addition to their lineage. "It smells familiar to the one Anakin always makes."

"It's the very same," Obi-Wan replied. "It's the only tea the two of us like equally well, so we always drink it together."

"Oh." Ahsoka hadn't known that. It felt like something she should know about her Master, like allergies. Frantically, Ahsoka tried to remember whether she could recall any of Anakin's allergies; he had to have at least one, right? Before she could get any more worked up and leave Obi-Wan in this awkward silence, she forced herself to ask another question. "What's in it?"

"A few red berries and some other indigenous fruit from Naboo. It was the only tea offered on Naboo that didn't taste like it had been dosed in perfume," Obi-Wan said and pulled a face as if the tea from Naboo had genuinely offended him.

Ahsoka giggled, then quickly clasped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to laugh at her Grandmaster, but Obi-Wan only smiled good-naturedly.

"Why- when were you on Naboo together?"

She knew that Anakin enjoyed items coming from the planet and was quite knowledgeable about its culture. She had no idea why someone would have all theatre genre of Naboo's last century memorized, but as Anakin had proven on a long retcon mission, he could talk endlessly about them. At least all his cursing had made them more entertaining than her own literature classes at the Temple.

"Ah, that's a rather long story. You were…. Five when Anakin joined the Order, weren't you?"

Ahsoka wanted to protest, surely she had to have been younger, but she remembered the whispers and knew her Master's age. It was strange to think he was only a few years older than her. She thought it would have been more, it should have been more, but if she were any younger and he older, perhaps they wouldn't be Master and Padawan at all.

She nodded in confirmation and Obi-Wan continued on.

"Anakin and I spent a month together on Naboo before we returned to Coruscant and he officially became a part of the Order. The Naboo prefer their food to taste and smell a bit flowery, and neither of us was used to it. After a lot of bickering, we decided that it was the one brand we actually both enjoyed. It took us a while to figure out how to brew it correctly, but eventually, I learned and taught Anakin in turn."

That certainly sounded nice, domestic even, like a scene she had never seen before. She tried to imagine the two of them in their kitchen, Obi-Wan being younger without a beard and looking less exhausted while Anakin was even shorter than her, perhaps standing on a barstool of some kind so that he could reach the counter.

Obi-Wan brought his own cup to his lips and drunk from it, then he set the cup on the table again.

They didn't have a single matching set of teacups that they actually appeared to be using. There were a few tea sets in the cupboard, Ahsoka had seen those already, but they didn't look like they were actually in use. Instead, Anakin and Obi-Wan had a collection of cups with silly images, colorful prints, and sayings.

"Ahsoka, I know we didn't get to spend much time together yet, but if you'd like, and if you enjoy this tea, I would like to show you how to prepare it properly."

Hearing those words, Ahsoka perked up. "Really?"

Obi-Wan smiled kindly at her and set his cup on the table. "It's a bit of a tradition for us, figuring out how to make a particular tea and then going out to buy a new cup for it. I used to do it with my Master, and Anakin and I didn't collect so many different mugs for no reason. You don't have classes this afternoon, do you?"

Ahsoka shook her head. "No."

They had canceled her classes for the rest of the week. There was no need for her to go when she'd only worry about Anakin. She could, of course, but the healers had been very insistent that Ahsoka should figure out her own boundaries and act according to them.

She still kind of wanted to go to class, just to prove that something like her Master getting hurt didn't unsettle her too much, but she was also still glued to their kitchen chair, wrapped in his oversized coat.

"Then, if you want, we can go out in the city today and buy you a cup and a new brand of tea to try out."

It would do her good to go outside. "I'd like that."

The two of them finished their teapot, then Ahsoka returned to her room. They still hadn't finished setting it up and so was currently more the place she stuck her stuff as Anakin frantically tried to move his plants to another surface that was not already covered by them and miniaturize his droid workshop. Most of the time, she didn't even sleep in the bed that had been cramped in there. In the words of her Master, why should she sleep there when Obi-Wan's larger and more comfortable bed was right there. Or Anakin's when Anakin managed to drag himself only to the sofa or, already half-asleep, stumbled into Obi-Wan's room.

Once her Master was cleared from the halls, they were going to sort that out. Even if Obi-Wan didn't have any problems with her taking over his bed.

Ahsoka got dressed, changed into robes of her own size and slipped back into the main room. From there on it was a quick and easy trip to the shopping districts of Coruscant. Obi-Wan wistfully muttered something about "at least it's not the lower levels this time" that he didn't see fit to elaborate on and Ahsoka, therefore, chose to keep in mind for a later date.

The tea shop he led her to must be one he frequented more often because the owner greeted him with name and immediately showed him a selection he thought would be to Obi-Wan's liking. Ahsoka smelled the various fruity, spicy, and bitter tea selections and eventually picked one that Obi-Wan and she both agreed looked like the most interesting one. Apparently, the tea changed colors as it cooled down. They didn't stay long enough in the store to get a practical demonstration, but Ahsoka was still eager to see it. Mainly to see it in the new mug Obi-Wan had bought her. It was supposed to match the color of the liquid inside. It was ridiculous, but Ahsoka thought it was fun.

"We can make it for Anakin later," Obi-Wan said. "He is supposed to wake up this evening."

"Do you think he'd like that?"

"I think he would be very pleased to see how well his Padawan has conducted herself in his absence. And he always did like food that was a little extraordinary."

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly with the two walking through the smaller streets, visiting stores Ahsoka had never seen before, but who all apparently knew her quite well already. The number of times somebody addressed her with "Little Anakin's Padawan?" was quite astonishing.

By the time they returned to the Temple, it was already dark. Their first stop after deposing their new items in their rooms was the cafeteria. Dinner was, as always, a loud and cheerful affair. Groups of Initiates were running around the many tables, Padawans chatting to each other and Masters bragging about their students. She and Obi-Wan took a seat at a table a little closer to the edge where it was quieter, though even they weren't spared from the toddlers handing out sugary cupcakes that looked like somebody was trying to sell pure diabetes.

But how was Ahsoka supposed to resist when the tiny Nautolan with the huge eyes offered it to her? It wasn't like Obi-Wan could resist it either.

After they had finished dinner, they returned to their quarters, properly put away all they had bought, and set the new tea package on the kitchen table together with Ahsoka's mug.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said. "Let's see how hot the water needs to be and how long the tea needs to steep."

With gentle fingers, Obi-Wan began to put the tea leaves into filter bags and familiarized Ahsoka with it. He taught her how to properly pour tea and which brands were better with a little more or less sugar, which needed salt of all things, and about a hundred other different tidbits that she couldn't believe he just knew from the top of his head.

But all the work seemed to pay off as they had a teapot full of blue tea that was slowly turning violet.

"Well done," Obi-Wan praised her as he grabbed the teapot and a mug for himself.

Ahsoka took her own new one, though she had already decided that she'd let Anakin drink out of it this time, and took another for herself. Together they headed towards the halls of healing. They hadn't even entered them properly when Anakin's voice reached them.

"I am fine, Bant, I swear! I just want to see Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, promise I'll be back within twenty minutes- ten minutes!"

Just as Ahsoka and Obi-Wan waked around the corner, they saw Anakin attempting to climb out of his bed, bandages still wrapped around his head, and arguing with Bant. As soon as he saw them, his eyes lit up.

"Ahsoka! Obi-Wan, are you well?"

Ahsoka stared at Anakin, whole, healthy, and smiling, and reassured herself that he was real. Then in the fashion of a child, she threw herself at him, burying her head in his chest as she before had in his robes.

"Woah, woah, everything's alright, Ahsoka. I'm just fine, see?"

He patted her head almost a little awkwardly like he didn't know what to do with his hands, but Ahsoka didn't care.

He was fine, everything was alright.

"Anakin Skywalker, what are you doing? Get back into bed!"

Ahsoka slowly released Anakin from her embrace so that he could fall back on his bed. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled his eyes at the Mon Calamari Jedi.

"Bant wants to keep me here overnight, even though I'm fine."

At this, he glared a little at Bant, though Ahsoka could tell his heart was not in it. If that were so, she knew Bant wouldn't be standing here much longer. As ridiculous as he looked right now, Ahsoka knew her Master could be quite terrifying if he wanted to.

"Don't act so much like a bratty Padawan, Anakin," Bant only commented. "Now sit down, rest, get well, and you can go back to your rooms tomorrow morning."

"Yes, yes," Anakin muttered and pulled the blanket back over his legs. Bant smiled at the three of them, then bid them good night as well.

"It's good to see you're causing trouble as always," Obi-Wan said and set the teapot on the table next to Anakin's bed so he could sit down on its edge. "Here I was worried it was something serious."

"Oh, you know me, Master. I always have to be a little dramatic. What tea is that?"

Anakin couldn't have changed the topic more obviously in favor of curiously examining the teapot.

"Master Obi-Wan and I went out shopping in the city today," Ahsoka spoke up and pushed her new mug into Anakin's hands before she saw down next to him. "We bought a new tea and it changes color and also a mug and-"

"Hey, Snips, slow down." 

Ahsoka shut up as Anakin raised his hands. Then, with an expression Ahsoka could only describe as pouty, her Master turned to Obi-Wan.

"You took my Padawan on her first tea run without me?" Anakin asked accusingly, pointing his finger at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan only sighed theatrically and poured some tea, by now a dark red color, into every cup. "Well, we can't all be heroes recovering from a deadly assault. I take it said hero doesn't want a cup then?"

Now Anakin was quick to hold out the cup Ahsoka had pressed into his hands. "No, I want to see what my Padawan picked out. Hurry up, Master."

Obi-Wan's following laughter was infectious. It was almost as loud and cheerful as Anakin's demands to be told everything of their trip in detail. Sitting next to him on the bed, covered by the heavy blanket and the warm tea in hand, Ahsoka could finally allow herself to relax fully.

[firewins-the-fangxrl]

Building Anew

Now that May The 4th Be With You Excange has revealed I’m crossposting my fic! so here’s some fluffy Grogu and Luke bonding! (also can be kinda dinluke if you want)

(link to the fic on ao3 in the notes cause tumblr sucks and will hide posts with links!)

---

In his efforts to rebuild the Jedi order Luke finds himself learning many new things, some were expected such as old Jedi teachings and methods of finding force sensitives, others things he had not expected, such as the favourite colours of his younger students.

"Wait Master Luke, lightsabers can be purple?" a tiny Twi’lek pipes up.

"Yes there's a multitude of different colours that lightsabers can take depending on the users connec-"

"Can they be rainbow? Rainbow is my favorite colour!" comes another voice.

"My favorite is yellow!" from a Nautolan boy.

The ensuing lesson turned into a session of sharing favourite colours. Which, if Luke is being honest, is surprisingly enjoyable.

Teaching turns out to be one of Luke's favourite parts of resurrecting the order. Each of his students is different and helping them find and control their connection to the force is rewarding. The kids are also interesting to talk to, they're happy to tell him, with the honesty and excitement that comes with childhood, about a variety of things from a cool bug they found to what sensing presences in the force feels like.

Luke learns a lot about each of his students, both mundane and not.

Grogu is probably one of the most interesting to communicate with. Luke learns a number of things about Grogu, firstly that the kid has had a long life.

A really long life.

The first time Luke really gets a sense of Grogu's age is a few weeks after he was first brought to the small temple that acted as the youngling teaching quarters. He and Grogu are meditating together when he's hit with a rush of unfamiliar memories.

Huge sprawling temples filled with the bustle of people going about their day. The sound of children playing and distant lightsaber practice. The sight of adults hurrying past, lightsabers strapped to their hips, some with padawans trailing behind trying to keep up.

It takes him a few seconds to piece together that the memories are of the old Jedi order at its height. He turns to observe the small green child, struck by the fact that the people from that memory are probably all long gone.

"You're a lot older than you look, aren't you?" he murmurs quietly.

The child doesn't move, still deep in meditation, so Luke returns to meditating as well. They settle back into peaceful and companionable silence.

The second thing he learns about Grogu is that he loves his dad. Though Luke only met him briefly he can see that they have a strong bond.

Grogu is also more than willing to share stories of his and his dad's adventures with Luke. Every memory Grogu shares is laden with warmth and adoration.

The adventures are also seemingly extremely dangerous, which is how Luke quickly learns fact number three.

Grogu's father is a stone cold badass. From risky rescues snatching Grogu from the clutch of Imperials to killing a fully grown krayt dragon (something he is honestly in awe of) the man seems to be an unstoppable force powered by protective instincts.

As the stories go on Luke starts to wonder if part of the reason Grogu's father is so unstoppable is because he never stops to think anything through.

Of course Luke isn't exactly one to judge since he's nowhere near the picture of restraint himself.

But still, for force sake the man let himself be swallowed whole by a krayt dragon!

Even Luke isn't quite that dumb… well for the part he's not.

Grogu, it seems, has inherited his father's lack of regard for consequences, as he's quite willing to attempt to eat anything without waiting for Luke to check if it's poisonous or not.

However Grogu's favourite foods by far are frogs and cookies. Luke isn't quite sure what those two things have in common but he does know that cookies must be protected from the green bean (especially if they belong to another student) and that most of the frogs on Draay 2 aren't poisonous.

Except for the tiny yellow ones.

Chasing down Grogu to remove frogs from his mouth to scan for edibility becomes a daily struggle.

This is when Luke first realizes that Grogu is a menace.

The child has more chaotic energy than should feasibly fit into such a small being. Most memorably in the lightsaber incident. The less said about that the better but Luke has certainly learnt his lesson about leaving his lightsaber in a place that small green toddlers can reach.

He's glad to still have his legs.

A fact that he has not been at all prepared to learn came during one of Grogu's father's visits. Which was that Din was apparently a king.

Din lands his ship at the small landing platform adjacent to the temple. Grogu is practically vibrating with excitement by the time the loading door opens and the man walks out, beskar armour glinting in the sunlight.

Unlike his previous visits he is flanked by two other Mandalorians, both wearing blue armour.

Din turns to one of the Mandalorians and says something, too low for Luke to overhear at this distance, and the two Mandalorians turn to go back inside the ship.

As Din walks closer, Grogu wriggles free from Luke's arms and runs to his father. Din drops down and scoops the excited child up into his arms. Luke can hear Grogu making excited squeaks as Din murmurs something to the child.

“Who are your friends?” Luke asks as Din walks closer.

“Royal guard.” is Din’s only response.

“Royal guard?”

“I’m technically the Mand’alor”

“Technically?”

“It’s… complicated. I don’t suppose you’d want a second laser sword?”

“Uh, no thank you” Luke says, noticing one of the blue clad guards glaring at him from the ship. Her helmet is off and he can see short red hair and a slightly terrifying expression that reminds him of Leia when some poor soul angers her.

“Yeah that’s probably for the best,” Din says wryly.

The rest of the visit is fairly normal, except for the bodyguards hovering over Din. Luke gets the distinct impression that the guards are more interested in ensuring that Din doesn’t make a run for it than protecting him from danger.

Something he learns after a while is that Grogu has nightmares.

Grogu is more than happy to share snippets of memories and stories about his life before the fall of the old order. However he avoids the topic of the fall itself. Luke doesn’t push Grogu to share anything he’s not comfortable with.

Luke is pretty sure that's what the nightmares are about since Grogu refuses to tell him anything about them.

He’s okay with that. He doesn’t need to know the specifics to comfort the small scared child that comes to him. Luke just holds Grogu and murmurs reassurances.

Sometimes, if it’s really bad they start a holo call to Din, he always answers no matter the time. They stay up late talking about whatever they can think about until Grogu has fallen asleep, comforted by the presence and voice of his father.  

Once when Din is visiting Grogu, Luke wakes to a knock on his door in the middle of the night. He finds a very tired looking Mandalorian carrying Grogu.

“He had a nightmare?” Luke asks.

Din nods clearly suppressing a yawn.

“Come on in. I’ll make some caf.” Luke says, stepping aside.

They stay up talking long after Grogu has fallen asleep, Din tells Luke about the struggles of being a king and Luke shares some stories he’s collected from being a teacher.

He tells Din about the lightsaber incident. Din finds it funny and Luke would probably be more annoyed if the man’s laugh wasn’t so pleasant.

By the time Din leaves, the sun is just starting to crest over the horizon and Luke realizes that he has to go set up for his morning class.

He decides that there are much worse ways to spend the night than with Din and Grogu.

Grogu apparently agrees with him based on the number of crayon drawings he makes of the three of them after that.

Luke is pretty sure Din gets a few of them framed.

[starculler]

Lead Me Down Another Road (preview)

Word Count: 2975

I fell into a minor rabbit hole and stand before you now with a scrap from the Crèchemaster Anakin AU I'm working on. The full fic is a few thousand words longer than this (and will go up on ao3 within the week), but this is technically the original bit I'd planned on writing (and is thus self-contained enough that I'm comfortable posting it alone here. As a treat). Hope y'all enjoy it and the glimpse of at least one of several Jedi OCs I've been having to come up with for this lol Note: I'm using crèche-minder in place of crèchemaster because it fits a little better with how I've set up the role in the au -- the particulars of which will be explored in the full fic.

Anakin stood from where he’d sat among the younglings in Targon Clan when he caught sight of his master standing just inside the room, all ten pairs of eyes straying from their painting to watch him stretch. He grimaced briefly at the splotches of bright paint he could already see on his tunic and pants, but made it a point to smile at a scowling nautolan making a grab at his ankle. He shuffled back, just out of reach, and had to dodge another two pairs of eager, sticky fingers with a put-upon sigh that failed to fully mask his amusement. It was the same song and dance every time he was sent to Knight D’nali for crèche-duty, and he’d long gotten wise to the initiates’ tricks.

What made today’s game of Catch-the-Padawan novel was Obi-Wan’s presence hovering at the edges of Anakin’s focus. His master hadn’t come to collect him like this since his first few weeks, confident that Anakin would neither get lost on his way to and from the crèche, nor try to dodge his punishment after that awful first and final attempt. He shuddered at the memory even as he leaped nimbly over a pair of near-humans who’d thought to tackle him from behind. He laughed when they turned, eyes wide and betrayed for a moment before trying for a frontal attack.

He dodged, weaving between ten tiny, determined younglings — baiting them with the promise of his capture before stepping just out of reach once more — until he hit something solid from behind. He blinked, stunned for a second and sure that he’d had enough space still to maneuver around, only to yelp when an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him off his feet with an ease that spoke of more than a little help from the Force.

“Master!” He groaned, his protest drowned out by mixed cheering and jeering from Targon Clan and their minder’s own loud laughter. Anakin shot Knight D’nali as much of a betrayed look as he could while caught, but the traitor only laughed harder. He huffed.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, grinning and smug and just as much of a traitor as the kiffar knight, “it seems I’ve won a prize to take back with me. A whole padawan all for myself.” A chorus of “No’s” and groaning followed the statement, and Anakin, face warmer than it had been a minute ago, suddenly found the floor much more interesting than a gaggle of disappointed initiates. Obi-Wan, still being a traitor, only laughed.

“Alright, alright. Settle down now,” Knight D’nali interrupted, wading into the chaos so she stood between them and the younglings. “Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have other duties to attend to, and you little Jedi have a latemeal to prepare for.”

With only a mild amount of protest, the little ones acquiesced. In true, and still vaguely eerie to Anakin, Jedi fashion, they bowed in sync, calling out a discordant mix of goodbyes and thank yous. Anakin nodded in return, starting to wriggle in his master’s grip in a futile attempt to free himself. Obi-Wan held fast even after two of the younglings, a zabrak and the same nautolan who’d first tried to grab onto him, crept around Knight D’nali to hand him four sheets of flimsi splattered with a variety of bright, clashing paint.

He sighed, resigned to the embarrassment of being gifted their paintings under the too-amused gazes of both knights, and murmured a quiet “Thanks” that made the pair smile so wide he thought their faces might split. Their obvious happiness made something warm bubble up in his chest and his hand tingle where flimsi met skin. It was hardly the first time one of the younglings in any of the clans he frequented had given him something small like this to take back with him — he had a wall in his room dedicated to doodles and paintings and a corner set aside, free of his usual clutter, for knickknacks and crafts — but the shock and awe and tingling warmth it left in him never wore off.

Anakin’s gifts had never lied with children. His temper ran too hot and he never quite knew what to say to anyone his age, much less younger than him. It had, in fact, taken months of constant supervision, patience, and teaching from the crèche-minders who’d agreed to take on his crèche-duty punishments for him to build up any sort of rapport with the little ones under their care. It had been hard and frustrating, but ultimately rewarding, work even if it had been borne out of his master’s own frustrated desperation.

The arm around his waist squeezed briefly, and Anakin had to fight down yet another burning flush when he realized Obi-Wan had most likely noticed where his thoughts had wandered. He floundered for something to say or do, but settled for a heavy sigh that drew a brief chuckle from his master.

“I apologize again for stealing Anakin back so early, Knight D’nali,” Obi-Wan said and Anakin could picture the apologetic smile on his face as he spoke.

“No need,” said Knight D’nali, smiling just enough that the wrinkles in her eyes and the upward pull of her cheeks distorted the two, bright red tattoos — one line the width of her thumb and the other no more than half a centimeter — cutting vertically down from hairline to jaw over her right eye. “I may be getting older, but I remember well enough how busy a padawan’s life can be.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin groused and earned himself a huff from his master and a bark of laughter from Knight D’nali.

“That’s sweet of you padawan, but the gray in my hair tells another story. And not another word about it,” she said the second Anakin opened his mouth. “There’ll be no buttering up this old knight. I told you, if you’re back here in less than a week I will sit this clan down for a four-hour meditation at least. Force knows your master certainly won’t object.”

“Yes Knight D’nali,” he said in the dull tone every chastised padawan seemed to affect, much to Targon Clan’s delight if their stifled giggling was any indication. Knight D’nali simply nodded, satisfied. Obi-Wan, again, laughed.

“And on that note, we’ll be taking our leave now. Knight D’nali.” Obi-Wan bowed as well as he could with an armful of padawan still pinned against him. “Targon Clan.” He offered the still-giggling younglings a much shallower bow. “May the Force be with you,” he said, echoed only a moment after by Anakin, before turning on his heel and striding out into the hall.

Anakin wriggled again and said: “Master, you can put me down now.” Obi-Wan hummed but didn’t so much as slow down until Anakin huffed, rolled his eyes, and added an only somewhat petulant “Please.”

It took him a moment to find his balance when Obi-Wan suddenly let go, but soon enough he was keeping pace with his master, just shy of being at the knight’s side. They walked in silence, past the doors to other clans of exuberant younglings and down the almost confusing pattern of turns that made up the Temple’s Crèche. It was, he knew, meant to be confusing so that intruders would have a harder time reaching the Jedi’s most vulnerable members on the off chance they made it through the Temple, guards, and every Jedi in between. He also knew that Obi-Wan was purposefully leading him through the longest route rather than the faster shortcuts one of the other crèche-minders, a young pantoran knight he’d only met with a few times so far, had taught him.

They nodded at the pair of guards stationed at the Crèche’s primary entrance once they’d finally made it through, and again to any Jedi they passed along the main corridor. Anakin glanced curiously at his master when he led them not towards the dormitory or refectory, but instead toward the salles and meditation rooms. He pursed his lips, unsure if it was a good or bad sign.

The salles meant lightsaber practice — Anakin’s favorite — but he doubted they’d stop there. He had, after all, been in the crèche because he’d let his temper get the best of him again, and Obi-Wan had made a point of steering Anakin away from as many potentially aggressive outlets as he could until he was sure Anakin was cool-headed. That didn’t stop him, however, from reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, shiny and still new considering he’d only just built it less than half a year ago. The trip to Ilum had been terrifying and exciting in equal measure, just the two of them instead of waiting for the next crèche clan’s planned gathering. It still awed him sometimes, to brush the warm, steel cylinder and find it there or to sit and listen to his crystal’s song virtually anytime he wanted.

It was a scrap of undeniable proof that he was a Jedi. That, late-comer or not, he belonged here just as much as any other padawan or knight.

Obi-Wan slowed, looking back at Anakin with the kind of unbearably soft, caring smile that told him his master had probably felt where his thoughts had gone. He held an arm out and Anakin hesitated a moment at the familiar invitation, torn between embarrassed frustration and elation at being invited close in a fairly public space, before stepping up so he was beside rather than behind Obi-Wan. He stiffened when Obi-Wan put an arm around his shoulder, but relaxed before his master could even think about pulling away. Anakin pressed into his side, deciding that, right now, eleven-nearly-twelve wasn’t too old for the show of affection, and just about melted when Obi-Wan’s arm shifted to briefly squeeze his shoulder.

His vain hope for the salles was, of course, dashed as they walked passed to duck into one of the smaller, unoccupied meditation rooms. Despite not wanting to complain, Anakin couldn’t completely stifle a sigh as he took in the room: bland, small, and box-shaped, with a few colorful cushions laid out and more stacked against the walls with a few other types of seating for those who might need it. Obi-Wan flashed him a quick smile, squeezing his shoulder once more before letting go and settling on an older-looking, dark blue cushion. Anakin breathed in, held it for a count of four, and breathed out in an effort to brace himself for the ensuing lecture or meditation he was sure to suffer. He picked up a red cushion from the far wall, calling it to his hands with the Force, and sat himself down in front of his master, close enough that their knees almost touched. Then, he waited.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started after they’d sat in silence for a few tranquil-bordering-on-nerve-wracking minutes, their slow, even breathing the only sound in the room. Anakin met his master’s gaze, shifting slightly as a small kernel of icy unease sprang to life in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not in trouble, Padawan.” Obi-Wan smiled, still soft. Still caring. Anakin frowned.

“You don’t usually bring me here unless I am.”

“I suppose I do, don’t I?” He seemed to speak mostly to himself, brow furrowed and a wry twist to his lips, like he’d found something funny. Anakin cocked his head to one side, watching as Obi-Wan breathed deeply a few times like he was trying to center himself. Or, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, bracing himself. Anakin squirmed in place, hardly daring to breathe himself as the unease in his stomach grew a fraction larger. “I’ve been talking to a few of the crèche-minders you’ve been working with.” Anakin swallowed, thoughts flitting towards the many mistakes he’d made the last few months and especially at first. “They’ve given you rather glowing reviews if I do say so myself,” he said, a small but pleased curl in his lips. And Anakin—

Anakin blinked.

“Really?” he asked, and wished the question hadn’t come out quite so bewildered. His master grinned and Anakin swore there was pride gleaming somewhere in his eyes.

“Really. They’ve enjoyed having you there. Knight D’nali says you have an uncanny ability for distraction,” Obi-Wan teased. Anakin stuck his tongue out and earned himself a bark of laughter. “Master Benni,” he continued, sobering once more, “made an interesting suggestion when I spoke to him last week. I—” Obi-Wan stopped. Inhaled.

“Master?”

A fine tremor had started in Anakin’s hands at some point. Excitement at first, quickly drowned out by a fresh wave of nerves. He’d once thought, at first, that Tatooine would drown in rain the day Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t have a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. A nearly three-year partnership with the knight had broken the facade a bit by now, but the sight of Obi-Wan struggling to put his thoughts together unnerved Anakin even after his master smiled reassuringly, reaching forward to clasp one of Anakin’s hands between both of his.

“There are many paths to becoming a Jedi, as I’m sure you’ve learned by now. Guardians, Council members, diplomats, teachers … crèche-minders,” he said, emphasizing the last. Anakin’s breath caught, eyes wide as the implication sunk slowly in.

“Did— Did Master Benni,” Anakin started, strangled and halting. Obi-Wan nodded. “But—But I’m horrible with younglings! I’ve made so many mistakes. I—”

“You are learning, Anakin. No one expects you to be perfect at anything. Much less in dealing with younglings.” Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it. Floundered in his incomprehension until—

“Are you … Are you getting rid of me?” he asked, voice suddenly small and hurt. He turned his hand in Obi-Wan’s grip, wrapping his smaller fingers around his master’s wrist as if he would disappear from Anakin’s sight at any moment.

“No,” Obi-Wan said firmly, one of his thumbs stroking the back of Anakin’s hand. “You are my padawan, Anakin, and I will never abandon you.” Obi-Wan paused there, earnest and scorching in his focus until Anakin nodded, more numb than anything else at the moment. Satisfied, his master continued: “But I do think that this is a good opportunity for you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down to their hands and then back up, meeting Anakin’s once more, steady and confident and calm. “You’ve changed a little since you’ve been around the crèches. I can see a confidence in you that wasn’t there before, and better control. Not just with the Force, though I’ve no doubt entertaining younglings for hours has done wonders.” Anakin flushed, fuzzy warmth buzzing in his chest at the praise.

“You feel things — everything — so strongly, Anakin, and I fear I’ve not been able to help you much in that regard.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Obi-Wan held a hand up for silence and settled for a quiet pout instead, much to his master’s amusement.

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he said with a nod, “and I do not doubt that you would learn a lot at my side alone. But I’m coming to realize where you might need more than I am able to give, not because I don’t want to. Force knows I’d do whatever I could to help you, Anakin, but there are simply things I won’t be able to understand. Haven’t been able to understand,” he added and Anakin frowned at the brief, bitter note he could pick out in his master’s tone. “Master Benni’s offer has as much to do with your potential as it does with your connection to both the initiates and their minders. I— We think it’s something you should consider, despite how it’s likely not the path you first envisioned for yourself.

“You will still be my padawan, always,” he said and squeezed Anakin’s hand to reinforce the sentiment, “but you would split your time between myself and a rotating number of the crèche’s minders under Master Benni’s supervision. You’ll be busy, and kept in the Temple more often than not even if I’m sent out on missions. It may cut into your classes or lightsaber training, in which case you’ll have to work harder to keep up, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you could do it.”

Anakin nodded, mind whirling and thoughts spinning. There was more Obi-Wan wanted to say, he could tell, but Anakin was grateful for the lull granted to him to gather his thoughts.

“I—” Anakin swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly dry. He held his master’s wrist a fraction tighter. “Can I think about it?” He winced at how his voice cracked, but Obi-Wan only nodded, smile still firmly in place.

“Of course. You don’t have to decide on anything until you’re ready. Master Benni made it quite clear to me that the offer is open to you whenever you wish to take it, whether that time is now or after you’ve been knighted.”

Anakin blinked, balking at the magnitude of not only the offer, but the old Master’s apparent faith in him, even as the buzzing warmth from earlier threatened to consume him fully now. He felt a fresh flush rise on his cheeks and a sheen of stinging tears prick at his eyes, held back by sheer force of will because he refused to waste the water just yet. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand before leaning forward, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Anakin’s outer tunic. When he pulled, Anakin went as easily as he used to into his mother’s arms, overwhelmingly grateful for the contact just then.

“I’ll think about it, Master,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robes, his face pressed into his master’s chest. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan only hummed in response, tucking Anakin close and rubbing soothing circles into his back while Anakin clutched at him in return.

[burnwater13]

The Jedi hadn’t seen the important utility of play. How play helps build relationships. How it teaches people to cooperate, learn, and think on the fly. No. That was not the Jedi way. 

Grogu didn’t even realize that he had been missing out on important development opportunities like that until they went to Sorgan. It had seemed liked a very plain and simple planet at first glance. Small towns. Farming collectives. Simple. What could he learn there?

Then he met the children at the krill farming collective and he realized that children could really do stuff that was different from what the adults did. The adults were very focused on work. Because that’s what adults do apparently. And the kids might have done a little work, here and there, like collect baskets, clean up, take lessons. But they seemed to spend almost all of their time playing. Playing!

That was an amazing realization. He hadn’t known the Mandalorian for a very long time when they reached Sorgan. So, Grogu had no idea if Din Djarin thought play was good or not. There was a big gap in his knowledge of Mandalorian culture, customs, and taboos.  

All he’d known about the Mandalorians was that the Jedi fought them over the years. He didn’t know why and had forgotten when. But what he had learned, through first hand observation, was that Din Djarin didn’t seem very playful. He didn’t seem very talkative either. Grogu heard ‘No’ a lot. The Mandalorian called him ‘kid’ a lot. That was about it.

Of course, a few times the tall bounty hunter seemed to forget that Grogu was even there and talked to himself about the work he was doing, needed to be doing, or had done some time in the past. Grogu had found that pretty amusing. He wasn’t sure why the Mandalorian was mad at something called the ‘first layer’ and what it meant that it rode up all the time, but he was pretty funny to watch when he was trying to fix that. But that was it for fun and funny.

On Sorgan, Grogu wasn’t a Jedi youngling or padawan or a Jedi anything really. He was just a child, who not only could, but should play with the other children. He was very intrigued by that. What kind of games did the children want to teach him? Could he play them? Or would he be too small? Would the other children see him as different? Or would he blend right in? He didn’t know, but he really wanted to find out. 

The Mandalorian seemed to find his request to hang out with the other kids pretty harmless and said something like, ‘Go have fun.’ Huh… Grogu guessed the Mandalorian must have at least heard of fun before. That was good.

So he walked over to the group of kids who were peeking at him and then hiding. Was this a game? Were they already playing a game? Wow. They were! The other kids were laughing and smiling, which he’d learned was a sign that humans were happy. That was great. He could use more happiness.

The Mandalorian just stood around and watched him play with the kids.  They played all kinds of games and laughed and ate food together. Well, he ate the food and they were thrilled, grossed out, or both. Grogu liked it best when they were both. Those kids would pretend to find it gross when he ate a frog whole and then would cheer for him to do it again. That never happened at the Jedi Temple.

Grogu wondered if Mandalorian’s had children and if they did, was play high on their lists of priorities? It was hard to imagine what would be higher than armor polishing, flight safety, or weapons management, but Grogu hoped that play was somewhere on the list. 

Of course Grogu couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s face to tell if he was missing fun times that he’d had as a child or if he was sad that he didn’t have fun like this. He couldn’t tell if Din Djarin was smiling or frowning. Which was a pity. It was very clear that watching Grogu with the other children was occupying the Mandalorian’s thoughts. Grogu wondered why?

Whatever it was, Grogu wondered what kinds of games the children on the next planet they visited played. Would they be as friendly? Would he be able to use the Force without getting into trouble? Would the Mandalorian play along the next time? He’d just have to wait and see. But he hoped the games would involve food. He liked those games a lot.

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

I will be your armour

For @codywanweek 2021 Day 6: Armour.

You can also read this fic here on A03.

No warnings.

Cody sighed to himself as he stared at his armour pieces. The battle that had just ended had been a hard one, with Cody needing to replace some of his armour pieces, thankfully they had what he needed in storage on the Negotiator. Getting the new armour pieces wasn’t the problem, it was deciding what to paint on his armour. Just recently some of the Ghost company boys had said apart from his sun burst design, his armour was a little plain. When Cody had stared at their amour, the word hypocrites came to mind. Most of his brothers had pretty standard designs, so he had no idea why they were telling him to make his armour ‘more interesting to look at’. But with Cody needing new shoulder pauldrons he found himself considering new designs for his pauldrons. He was sat cross legged on the floor of his quarters; his armour pieces spread out in front of him as he stared at the two pauldrons in consideration.

The door to his quarters slid open and he looked up from his position sitting on the floor, his shoulder pauldrons shiny white by his knees. He found Obi-Wan looking down at him with a smile on his face and a pot of 212th gold paint in one hand. “To paint new pauldrons, I thought you could use some paint,” his cyare teased gently.  Cody smiled and shook his head as the Jedi walked into his small quarters, placing the tin pot of paint on the floor by his knees and pressed a kiss against his lips. Cody raised one of his hands to rest at the back of Obi-Wan’s head, his fingers tangling with the copper strands. They both pulled away when the angle began to make their necks ache.

Cody sighed as he looked back at his armour pieces. “I was told to make my armour ‘more interesting’ but I don’t know what to do,” he complained. He wasn’t whining. He wasn’t.

Obi-Wan snorted in amusement and trailed his fingers through Cody’s dark curls as he moved to sit on Cody’s bed. The Jedi sat on the bed, his feet remaining on the floor, allowing Cody to lean his back against Obi-Wan’s legs. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about painting armour cyare. So, I will leave this challenge in your capable hands,” replied Obi-Wan softly.

Grumbling under his breath about the vagueness and unhelpfulness of Jedi, Cody turned to look at his cyare only to find Obi-Wan had dropped into a state of meditation, for once not crossing his legs. Cody rolled his eyes and turned back to his armour pieces with a mutter of, “you don’t know the first thing about painting armour because you don’t wear any.”

After a few minutes of pondering designs in his head, Cody craned his neck back to look at Obi-Wan and smiled fondly to himself. This wasn’t the first time someone had asked Obi-Wan for advice or ideas for painting their armour, and honestly, Cody should have expected Obi-Wan not to help him. Obi-Wan was constantly finding ways for the men to create things or find individuality wherever they could. The 212th had been the first Battalion to paint their armour, Obi-Wan used the sound reason that it helped differentiating between different Battalions on the field of battle. But it was also a way for the men to be individuals. Obi-Wan also encouraged the men on leave to look around the Jedi Temple when they had leave on Coruscant, other Jedi Generals did the same. But Obi-Wan was the only one Cody knew of who ran tours of the Jedi Temple for his men. Cody had often found himself in the Temple Archives, and on numerous occasions talked with Master Nu regarding the Jedi Code and old art artifacts the Archives had in its collection. The stern Archives Master would also share tea and stories of his cyare as youngling with a mischievous glint in her eyes, so Cody loved spending time with the older woman.

Thinking about how his cyare embodied the true meaning of the Jedi and how he always did his best to uphold the values of the Jedi Order. Cody decided on a design and got to work. First, he touched up the paint on his other armour pieces, as there was no use having fresh paint on his shoulder pauldrons but not on the rest of his armour pieces or helmet. Then he picked up his left shoulder pauldron, and with a steady hand he began to paint the Jedi Order’s symbol, as he finished the symbol he turned to smile once more at his cyare who looked peaceful in his meditation. Then he turned to his right shoulder pauldron, as he picked up the paint brush again, he thought about how his brothers in the 212th were trying to design an unofficial symbol for their Battalion, they had learnt about their General’s love of varactyls when he told them a story about riding one while a Padawan, and felt the friendly-yet-fierce animal could be a perfect symbol for their Battalion. So, Cody went about painting the silhouette of a varactyl the best he could from memory, while recalling the smile on Obi-Wan’s face as he told the Battalion the story of his mission as a Padawan on the planet of Pijal.

As Cody set his right shoulder pauldron back on the floor to dry, he leaned back against Obi-Wan’s legs feeling satisfied at his work. His satisfaction must have shone in the Force because he felt Obi-Wan stir and then lean forward so he could look at the armour pieces over Cody’s shoulder. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I knew you would think of something worthy to be on your armour,” stated Obi-Wan. Cody reached his own hand up to cover Obi-Wan’s hand with his own. It seemed Cody did not have to explain why he painted the symbols he did, his cyare seemed to already know.

“Would it be too much to ask for you to get some armour pieces? I can help you paint them,” asked Cody as he turned to look up at Obi-Wan.

“I do not need armour Cody,” responded Obi-Wan with a roll of his eyes.

Snorting in disagreement, Cody stated blandly. “I beg to differ.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward so his chin was resting on Cody’s other shoulder. “My robe is my armour.”

“Osik it is,” swore Cody. “Your robe isn’t much protection. Especially when you drop it everywhere.”

Chuckling to himself, Obi-Wan moved his arms so they were wrapped around Cody’s chest and hugged him. “But cyare. Boil, Waxer and Wooley rely on my robe drops to rate them for entertainment purposes.”

“I would prefer you disappoint them,” growled Cody lowly. “And a battlefield is no place for entertainment.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, instead he lifted Cody up beside him on the bed and then stretched them both out to rest together. Cody wanted to put up some resistance, but the warm presence of his cyare on a rare quiet day, led him straight into sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, on yet another battlefield. Cody watched as his cyare, who had yet again shed his robe in a dramatic fashion, was facing down some droids who were throwing grenades. Even though Cody wasn’t Force sensitive, he sensed danger when he noticed some droids start to throw grenades towards his General, and so he ran towards his cyare. He knocked Obi-Wan over and together they tumbled and rolled for a couple of meters on the ground and then Cody covered Obi-Wan’s body with his own.

After the droids had been dealt with, Cody leaned up on his hands and looked down at Obi-Wan through his visor. “Now will you listen to me and get yourself some armour?” he sniped, but there was no anger in his voice, just worry.

Obi-Wan smiled up at him and rested a hand on the side of Cody’s helmet. “But that is what I have you for cyar’ika.”

Cody sighed in exasperation but found himself leaning his head forward and rested his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. He couldn’t feel his cyare’s skin through his helmet, but the action was comforting nonetheless. “I love you,” he murmured, only heard by the person the words were meant for due to the loud sounds of battle.

Obi-Wan’s hands traced the new symbols adorning his shoulder pauldrons. “And I love you. I do believe that your new pauldrons suit you very well cyar’ika.”

“You inspired them, cyare,” Cody readily admitted, his voice fond.

“Hey Cody! Stop smooching the General and give us a hand!” yelled Longshot, his voice holding too much mirth for Cody’s liking.

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled with laughter as he gently helped Cody to his feet. “Well, we had best do as Longshot says and give him a hand.”

“Just so long as you don’t take it literally and get your hand cut off,” remarked Cody dryly.

His Jedi frowned at him and mockingly put a hand over his chest. “Would I Cody? How could you doubt me so?”

“I just know you too well,” teased Cody. With one more press of their foreheads together, they marched back into the battle side by side. Just as it was meant to be. Cody figured, if Obi-Wan continued not to wear armour, he was indeed going to have to act as a second pair of eyes and armour himself, because he would not let anything bad happen to his cyare. The galaxy would have to get through himself and his 212th gold painted armour to do so.

[passable-talent]

part 2 for the sith reader plleeeaasee????? im loving it

part one here

I’m aware of the memability of the youngling massacre and i know i promised to not make reader/anakin redeemable but,,, im gonna do it anyway. strategically it doesnt make sense to murder the next generation and also reader is constantly trying to make anakin believe they’re doing the right thing. reader doesn’t have the luxury of saying ‘do it or padme dies’. they’ve got to be smarter than palpatine was. 

Good news: you’re a Sith Lord. Palpatine is gone. Anakin’s on your side. Also, he loves you, that’s good. 

Bad news: you now have so much more on your plate. You’ve got to activate the clones to kill the Jedi, give a speech before the Senate, accompany Anakin to Mustafar to get rid of the Separatists, there was just so much to do, and in so little time. 

So, no matter how you wished to stay in his embrace forever, you pulled from Anakin’s arms, brushing back his hair sweetly. 

“Love, we need to start moving against the Jedi,” you said softly, righting his very disheveled robes. “You have to go to the temple. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

“I can’t kill any Jedi,” he said, breaking your gaze. In response you hugged him tightly, comfortingly. You’d known he would worry about that.

“I know, I know, I’m not asking you to.” His loyalty to you was strong, but you knew it was not yet unbreakable. “The Younglings- they can be saved. I’ll take care of the Jedi, but you need to make sure they’re safe.” He nodded, fixing the last few details of his tousled robes, and kissed you one last time before he left the room.

Which left you alone, with your thoughts, and some very knotted hair. 

It took a moment to clean yourself up as well, but soon enough you could take a seat at Palpatine’s desk, calling up the communications you’d seen under his fingers a thousand times. The Clones’ slave chips would take over their will the moment you gave the order, and you bit your lip for a moment, wishing you could be there in person to see it all. But you had something much more important to do with your time. 

You pulled your hood over your head and opened your communications to all of the Clone Squadron Leaders. 

“Execute Order Sixty Six,” you said, and the words burned on your tongue. 

You didn’t really have time to waste, you see. You had to meet Anakin at the temple, ‘find’ the evidence you’d plant, rush back to the Senate, then make it to Mustafar. You had a very full schedule for the afternoon, and yet- you couldn’t help it. 

You leaned back in the chair, closed your eyes, and opened yourself to the Force. You reached out across the galaxy, feeling into the light, and the dark. Through it, you felt a thousand Jedi dying. And nothing, well, almost nothing, had ever felt so good. 

The Jedi Killer, you’d been, in the Clone Wars. And though the generation of them did not die by your saber, it was your order, your decision, your words, that had brought them down. You weren’t just a killer. You were a crusader. 

Once you’d gotten your breath back, you pulled up a different communication, one wired to a meeting hall on Mustafar, full of people you despised. Nute Gunray, Shu Mai, truly awful people. People who had come to power, and did nothing with it but collect wealth. Disgusting, truly- when one comes to power, they’re meant to wield it, just as you were. But these people only cared about their trade, their capitalism. Pitiful.

“Viceroy,” you said with a dark smile, eyes hidden beneath your cloak. 

“Lord Errar,” Nute acknowledged you with a bit of surprise in his voice, “Where is Lord Sidious?” 

“He has just a bit to take care of in the Senate,” you said with a wicked smile. Nothing made your soul spark like a well-crafted lie. “Once that’s taken care of, I will pay you a visit, to give you your reward for your help. When the night is over, my friends, you’ll be left in peace.” Giving them no time to ask questions, you closed the communication, delivering your last word to an empty office. 

“Pieces.” 

The last thing you needed to do before you left was nice and easy- the press of a button. Hidden away in the far corner of the Chancellor’s desk was a button meant only for emergencies, which is certainly why you used it now, of course. The death of the chancellor was an emergency, wasn’t it?

You called a senate meeting. 

Once that was done, you knew you had only an hour before the senators would be expecting you, so you found your saber and hurried to your speeder. It didn’t take long to get to the Temple, where you had sent Anakin. He had rescued the younglings from their training, in the midst of the battlegrounds that the Temple had become, and gotten them away to their chambers, in the care of droids. He met you in the center of the temple, Jedi and Clones alike scattered around the floor. So caught up in his mission, he hadn’t noticed how long you’d been at the temple, working your way through the files. 

“I told them that I’d come back when it was safe,” he said, “The droids will take care of them.” 

“Good,” you breathed, giving him a quick kiss under the ear. You took his hand, and slowly tugged him toward the communications center of the temple. “I have to show you something.” You pulled up the files you’d been painstakingly preparing for months, crafting them, ensuring they looked as though they were written by Jedi fingers.

On them were plans from the other side of the Clone Wars, supporting the Separatists. They held details about the destruction of the Senate, the assassination of the Chancellor, without even knowing he was a Sith. And of course, your magnum opus, the most perfect thing you could’ve included- the passage that described how the Jedi would allow the Dark Side of the Force, the Sith, to rise in power so that the Jedi could shift the blame for the war to the Sith. This, you knew, would hurt Anakin most of all- that the Jedi had completely ignored their duty to fight the Dark. 

“I just don’t understand,” you said softly, shaking your head, darkness pulsing deep in your chest with a beautiful, well-crafted lie. “I thought- I thought that Sidious was behind the war. But even he was being manipulated by the Jedi, he was going to be gotten rid of so that the Jedi could control the Senate.” Anakin couldn’t look away from the holograms. 

“Anakin, I’m so sorry,” you breathed, lacing your arms around the closest of his, hoping to give him even the slightest comfort, as he accepted that the people who’d raised and trained him were so evil. Apparently.

“There’s some good news, though,” you said, motioning to one of the holograms, “We now know where the Separatist leaders are. You and I- we can go...” you paused, seeming to stumble to find the proper word. “...Remove them.” Finally breaking his eyes away from the holo, he nodded, pulling you just a bit closer. 

You kissed his cheek, giving him a moment to grieve.

“I should inform the Senate,” you said, “They’ve never met me, but I was the Chancellor’s apprentice. They’ll respect me.” His flesh hand came to your face, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes for the briefest of moments to drown in his affection. 

“Be careful,” he told you, and you nodded.

“Can you-” you said, shaking your head briefly, trying to be gentle with him. “Come with me, please. I don’t want you to stay here by yourself.” He nodded, and together you walked to your speeder, taking it to the Senate hall. 

And this- this was to be your masterpiece. 

“Senators-” you began, aligning your shoulders in a way that had you looking powerful enough to command their attention, but nervous enough they wouldn’t suspect you for foul play. “I’m afraid I have some very disturbing news for you.” 

"I was an apprentice to the late Chancellor Palpatine, a gifted and respected leader who guided our republic through the first war in generations. I’m saddened to inform you, though, that this war was not what you’ve been told.” Whispers rippled through the senate’s hall.

“The Jedi, to whom this Senate entrusted the peace of the galaxy, had given power to the Separatists, in order to stir up the war. Earlier this very day, four Jedi masters ambushed myself and the Chancellor in his office...” you trailed away, bringing up emotion to stir their sympathy.

“I only escaped thanks to one young Jedi who still represents what the Jedi Order was meant to. The Chancellor was not so lucky.” You felt it as grief rolled through the room, and fought away a smile. They believed your every word- of course they did.

“On the battlefields, the horror of the Jedi and their plans were realized, and many of them were executed for crimes against the republic, following the Chancellor’s dying wishes. His other...” You shook your head, as though disbelieving what you were about to propose. 

“His other wish on his deathbed was that I carry on his work. That I guide the Republic into a future of peace.” The energy in the room shifted, but not toward the negative. No, they trusted you. They were considering giving your former mentor’s power to you. They just needed a little more. 

“I know you’ve never seen me before, you have no reason to trust me. I implore you, honorable senate, to believe me. I will see it that this Republic is capable of recognizing traitors, as the Jedi had become. I will see to it that the remaining traitorous Jedi are hunted down and executed. I promise to lead this Senate into the future!” 

The cheer went up. 

“I vote to reorganize the Republic, into something stronger, more powerful, more capable of destroying threats to the peace!” 

The energy was beautiful, lifting you to levels of bliss you had never felt before. You were to be the most powerful Sith there had ever been, controlling the Senate, the Republic, the Sith, the Jedi. 

The Republic. Such a name didn’t have quite the ring you wanted. You were to be, what, Chancellor? No, no, that wouldn’t do. 

“Together, we will create the first Galactic Empire- a beacon of hope for the galaxy, the strongest protector of the peace that the galaxy has ever seen!” 

Emperor. Now that was a title you were proud to carry. 

“We have to hurry,” you told Anakin as you strode from the meeting hall, “The Separatists might hear word that we know their location. We’ve got to get to them before they move.” 

They hadn’t- they waited, like the proper pawns they were, for the reward you had promised them. Such a reward came in one of two forms:

Anakin’s saber, or yours. 

You had planned out everything that would happen this day, everywhere you would go, every bit of it. You knew every step, and were never caught off guard. 

Until you discovered Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting outside of your ship.

You had to make a decision fast- how you were going to play this. Obi-Wan was a talented Jedi, and possibly the one person who you’d be incapable of manipulating, thanks to that strong Jedi code. He was also the only person who Anakin might be loyal to, over you. 

So, you let Anakin have his reunion, as though you hadn’t even noticed Obi-Wan. 

You stayed close, but you hadn’t thought to make Anakin realize he’d have to stand opposed to Obi-Wan, so you had to wait for the proper moment to interject yourself. 

“Anakin, are you alright? There’s been so much happening- I was so worried.” You knew Obi-Wan had noticed you, but for all of Obi-Wan’s faults, at least he knew that you were no threat to Anakin. 

“I’m fine,” Anakin told him, and you recognized what he was feeling- he was pushing away his emotions, as the Jedi Order had always told him to. 

“Master Yoda has lost contact with Master Windu- we don’t know what happened. Do you?” 

And there it was. The moment you’d been waiting for.

“Stop,” you groaned, crossing your arms. “You know exactly what Windu was doing. You know exactly where he was today.” You stepped forward, putting yourself almost between Obi-Wan and Anakin. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said, astonished by your presence. He’d known you were there, but something about you now almost reminded him that you were barely an adult, just like Anakin. “No, sith apprentice, I don’t know what happened.” 

“That’s a lie!” you shouted, not yet bringing up your saber. You put your arm in front of Anakin, as though protecting him from Obi-Wan. “You’re done lying to him!”

“Excuse me?”

“Mace Windu along with three other Jedi masters were sent to murder the Chancellor of the Republic so that the Jedi could assume control! Anakin and I found the plans in the Jedi temple ourselves!” Obi-Wan’s expression fell, and he didn’t look away from you.

“What are you talking about?” 

You shared a glance with Anakin, and suddenly, you had an idea. 

“They didn’t even tell you?” You whispered, turning your gaze to the floor as though you were considering. You were, though, honestly- there was no reason why this needed to end with Obi-Wan dead, not if you could reel him in just as cleanly as you did Anakin. And if you failed, then to Anakin it would feel incredibly genuine that Obi-Wan would need to die, ensuring his loyalty either way.

You brought your gaze to Anakin’s, and offered him the slightest pitiful smile.

“Maybe he can be trusted,” you said, offering him the hope that his master was redeemable. Lifting your chin as though gathering your wits, you turned to Obi-Wan, something under your ribcage sparking again with the love of a good plan seeing itself through. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Master, but the Jedi had been plotting the death of Chancellor Palpatine, and once he was gone, they were going to assume control of the Senate. Your masters have been behind this war, all along. It’s all very-” You shook your head. “Despicable.” 

“It can’t be true,” Obi-Wan said, his voice stealing air from his lungs, his chest seeming to deflate, and this couldn’t have possibly worked out better. 

“We found the plans, in the Temple,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan looked at his former Padawan. 

“I assure you, Master,” you said, lowering your head, “I just want the galaxy in peace. I know you aren’t inclined to believe me, I understand...” It occurred to you that if he knew the whole of the story, he might be swayed toward you.

“Anakin and I are a Dyad,” you told him, and Anakin’s entire presence in the Force pulsed with surprise. “I always thought that it meant we were destined to be enemies, but I guess the future is harder to predict than that.” Obi-Wan studied you briefly, looking over your face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty. He underestimated you- you breathed dishonesty, it was in your bloodstream. Why would he be able to see it on you?

“You are a sith, are you not?” Obi-Wan asked, presumably weighing whether or not he could trust you. 

“I was abandoned by my master, because of how I felt for Anakin,” you told him, and none of it was a flat lie. That was your specialty- you were surprisingly honest, if one listened with a close enough ear. You reached out to take Anakin’s hand, an unabashed show of affection that felt quite teenaged. “I just want him to be safe.”

“If I can trust you, (Y/N), which I’m not sure I can,” Obi-Wan said, “I’ll help restore the galaxy in every way I can.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 3

[anon-e-miss]

A Touch of Sight - 4

“Well, it looks like none of the internal structure of yer servo were damaged,” Medic Fixit declared. “I’ll knit yer sentio metallico and ya gonna be good as new.”

“Thank you, Medic Fixit,” Prowl called from his perch on the berth.

“I couldn’t help but overhear ya talkin’ with the lil one, Prowl. A priest did this?”

“Smokescreen would be better able to answer.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen said. “He was yelling at Blue demanding he give him an answer. He knew Blue doesn’t talk but he thinks we’re all just soft on him. I told him to back off and got between him and Blue. He told me to go back to my seat. I said no. He hit me. So I punched him.”

“Well done, dearspark,” Fixit said. Prowl was surprised by the sentiment, though he shared it. “I don’t support canin’ students to begin with. But the rod’s never s’pposed to be used wit enough force to do damage like this.”

“The temple school expelled Smokescreen. I do not intend to fight it. I will find Bluestreak and Smokescreen placements elsewhere.”

“If ya give me the priest’s designation I’d like to report Smokescreen’s injury. The Prime’s Law is quite strict when it comes to the treatment of minors.”

“Your complaint would likely bare more credence than mine.”

“An unfortunate truth. Y’re all done, Smokescreen. Lemme reactivate yer motor relays and let’s see you move that servo.”

Prowl could not see Smokescreen move his servo. The medic was sitting in such away that it blocked his line of sight. Given there was no sound of protest or alarm, he assumed the medic had done his job well. Taking the medic’s fee from his subspace, Prowl waited until Fixit came over to collect it. He waited, Fixit was a thorough medic and he walked Smokescreen through a number of tests and exercises to confirm that the youngling’s servo was in good working order. While he did not wish to require the service of a medic again in the near future, Prowl only wished he could request this one in particular. Unfortunately the Guild dispatched what medic it wanted, and Prowl would have no choice but to accept whatever mechanism they sent his way. It was a shame, Fixit was an especially attentive physician.

“That looks perfect, Smokescreen,” Fixit said. “Now, it might be tender for a mega-cycle or so but that’ll pass quickly.”

“Thank you, Medic Fixit. I have your fee.”

“Save it. Wit Swindle’s history, ya could use the savings.”

“Does the guild not take a percentage after ever call?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me ‘n the Guild. I got it well in servo.”

“Thank you, Medic Fixit.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll show myself out.”

Pride was something Prowl struggled with. Not so long ago he had been the one to dispense charity. Those mega-cycles were gone, however. For the sake of his mechlings, Prowl could not refuse the medic’s generosity, anymore than he had the Lord Inquisitor’s. His little business did well. Crystals were used in all manners in Cybertronian society, and Prowl knew where to find those most marketable for his clientele. The market was closed on Primus’ Cycle, while others might have used the cycle for worship and rest, Prowl used it to harvest crystals from the wilds within and beyond the capital’s walls. That would be one complication so far as finding a temple to educate the mechlings. Many expected the families of their pupils to attend worships, Prowl had neither the time nor the processor to waste on gods and divinities.

“You aren’t mad at me?” Smokescreen asked as he joined his brother and caretaker on the berth.

“For defending Bluestreak, and then yourself? Absolutely not. I am proud of you.”

“Thanks, Creator.”

Smokescreen cuddle into his side. Prowl ran his servo over his helm. He was terribly proud to call this mechling his, even if he had no given emergence to him. They had been close as nephew and uncle, Nightstalker had only ever shown a passing interest in his sole creation, but in the four vorns since they had survived the murder of Praxus together, they were so much closer. In every way that could ever count, Smokescreen was Prowl’s. The mechling was nothing like Nightstalker. Smokescreen had too much kindness, too much intelligence, and too much bravery to bare similarity to his originator. Prowl was as pleased by this as Nightstalker would be angered, but there was no fear that his brother would find them. That mech was dead. He had self-immolated when he had set Praxus to the fire.

“Did you really do well in the market this ‘cycle or were you just saying that so I’d shut up?” Smokescreen asked.

“I would not tell you to shut up. I would, and I do overrule you as I see necessary. I did do well, however. A pair of watchmechs attempted the usual scam and where reprimanded by one of the Prime’s officials. In the end I received nearly twice the value of the ajoite they wanted, and the Lord Inquisitor paid for a fluorite in gold.”

“Gold!”

“Do not tell anyone. The neighbouring peddlers saw the exchange, of course, but I do not want to buy trouble. We have savings for any potential disaster, do not fear, Smokescreen. There will never be the need to sacrifice your or Bluestreak health for fear of hunger.”

“And yours?”

“Clever mechling. I am in good health, am I not?”

“Somehow, you don’t fuel right. You haven’t even drunk your energon yet.”

“It slipped my processor.”

“It always does.”

“You are a cheeky youngling.”

“I got it from you.”

Prowl took up his cube and nuzzled Smokescreen before he drank. They would have to miss the beginning of the Decim-tur market, perhaps even the whole mega-cycle. It was not ideal. Decim-tur was the most common free-cycle for the intellectual class in Iacon and it was Prowl’s best mega-cycle for selling his more expensive wares but getting himself tickets for failing to have his creations educated would be considerably more costly. At first light they would go to the next closest temple school. If they were lucky, the temple would admit the mechlings and they would all make it to Prowl’s lot before the market began or at least not long after. If this temple would not enrol them, well the walk to and from school could potentially get cruelly long.

Heat in their habsuite was erratic. The mechlings crawled into the lone berth with Prowl and they cuddled in together. It was cozy, Prowl supposed that would be the most flattering way to describe it. There was no room in the little habsuite for a second berth, not really and they all recharged better this way. Prowl, perhaps more than the mechlings, found the closeness to his creations grounding. He woke less often with memory purges when they recharged snuggled up to him. They grounded him in this world so he did not fall into the bleak darkness of his memories. What Prowl would do when they had grown, well, that would be vorns from now and the dark-cycle of his abacination would be a more distant memory.

They woke before dawn, though of course Prowl could not see the sun rise. His internal chronometer did not require the movements of the sun and stars to keep track of the time or the seasons. Because it provided a sense of normality, they drank their breakfast fuel at the table. If they got to the market in time, he would send Smokescreen to the baker for pastries. Just as their habsuite had not washracks, it had not kitchen either. In any case, it probably would not have been wise for Prowl to try to cook. He had not been especially proficient when he had been sighted, but then, as the Second Son of Praxus and the Lord of Justice, there had been no need for Prowl to know his way around a kitchen, the palace had always had staff for that. Life had change dramatically and yet, Prowl thought for the most part he was happier as a pauper than he had been a prince.

The next closest temple was the Temple of the Light of Primus. Prowl did not understand the distinctions between the various temples to Primus throughout central Iacon, never mind the many enshrined to the members of the Guiding Hand. In Praxus, the King was the holy of holies and there was no god but the living god. Considering what a devil Nightstalker had always been, Prowl had never subscribed to the state religion of his kingdom and considering what a devil Sentinel Prime had been, Prowl had no more faith in the divinity of Primes than he had in his brother or originator. Considering the behaviours so many priests and their most ardent worshippers, Prowl did not believe true morality or decency came from sitting in worship in a temple.

Smokescreen was Prowl’s navigator. He held Bluestreak’s servo as he walked ahead of Prowl, in perfect view of his creator’s doorwings. After a few trips, Prowl would have the route perfectly memorized and he would be able to go about unaided. Of course, he always had to be careful. His doorwings worked better for distance vision and he had to scan constantly for obstacles. Prowl was not able to react to sudden obstacles, like someone suddenly stepping into his path. Overall, Prowl managed well, including when the mechlings were not present to guide him, because he moved about during the quieter joors. There was no way in Pit for him to safely navigate the market during active joors. In any case, he did not want to navigate the market when it was bustling with shoppers, it suited his business better to be on his mat with his crystals.

“Oh wow,” Smokescreen exclaimed. “It’s... huge!”

“It must be one of the Cornerstones,” Prowl said. “That would imply they have large classes. Hopefully that means they will have space for you and Bluestreak.”

“I’m not sure how to get in... there’s a weird maze,” Smokescreen said.

“A labyrinth,” Prowl guessed. “Temples often have them, they are intended to be meditative.”

“I don’t want to get us loss,” Smokescreen worried out loud.

Prowl did not have the chance to answer. A figure loomed in front of them. The figure filled Prowl’s doorwings’ entire range and he could get only minimal details, just the outline of the mechanism and it felt... overwhelming. He hated being loomed over, it made him all the more aware of his blindness. On instinct, he flared his doorwings, trying to “see” more detail. He saw the giant had smokestacks, but really that was all. Smokescreen and Bluestreak backed up and Prowl readied himself to throw his chest and runaway with them. It would by them enough time; the crystals in it made it heavier than it looked.

“Would you like me to guide you through the labyrinth?” The stranger asked.

“Oh!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “Yes, please! I don’t want to get us lost for the joors!”

“Not to worry,” the giant said, in the voice of a mech, Prowl thought. “The labyrinth isn’t a maze. It winds, but there’s only one way in and one way out.”

The stranger turned around and walked into the labyrinth. Smokescreen followed him, holding Bluestreak’s servo and Prowl followed after them, his doorwings kept high on his back. He calculated, as he walked, of how to protect his creations if the stranger turned on them. It was paranoia, he understood this, what sort of madmech would attack bitlets in a cornerstone temple’s labyrinth. All the same, Prowl calculated because it was all he could do to keep his helm. As these things did, the labyrinth twisted and turned and Prowl got to the point where he wanted to scream with outrage. What of expediency? But he held his glossa. Being so visibly disabled, Prowl was already treated with wariness. He did not need to prove himself a madmech.

“Here we are,” the stranger said.

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “Would you point us towards the high priest?”

“I should be able to help you,” the stranger spoke in a gruff yet kind voice. “You don’t need to barter. If you and your mechlings are hungry, you’re welcome to a meal in the dining hall.”

“I am not here to barter,” Prowl replied. He heard pedsteps and angled his doorwings as he heard this latest stranger angrily clear their throat. “I am Prowl...”

“Hush,” the giant ordered and the both Prowl and the newcomer fell silent. “Prowl, what can the temple help you with then?”

“My mechlings require schooling by the Prime’s edict,” Prowl said. “The school at the Temple of the Sacred Spark has proven unsuitable.”

“I got expelled,” Smokescreen piped up and Prowl did not sigh. If the High Priest asked the temple for Smokescreen’s record, they would learn of his expultion there. “The priest yelled at Bluestreak because Bluestreak doesn’t talk. I told him to stop. He hit me with the yardstick and I punched him. See my servo? Medic Fixit really did a good job. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.”

“Bluestreak only communicates in chirolinguistics,” Prowl explained. “And only when he is comfortable. He understands perfectly well. He learns perfectly well but he does not speak and no amount of screaming will make him speak.”

“The Temple of the Sacred Spark, you said?” The giant priest spoke softly. “Magnus?”

“I’ll see to it,” and the newcomer trudged away.

“Can I have your servo, Bluestreak?” The priest knelt and even kneeling he towered in front of the sparkling. Prowl felt Bluestreak shift against his leg. Standing, Prowl could not see with his doorwings their interaction but when Bluestreak pressed his face against Prowl’s side, Prowl could feel him smiling. “My chirolinguistics is rusty.”

“Creator taught Bluestreak and me,” Smokescreen spoke up. “He wanted to find a way for Bluestreak to communicate after we found him.”

“Bluestreak is your foundling?” The priest asked.

“They both are,” Prowl replied. “Smokescreen was the creation of my brother. He is my creation now.”

“It was brave of you, Smokescreen, to stand up for your brother,” the priest said. “I think you do your creator proud.”

“He does,” Prowl said. “They both do.”

“I still don’t know why we have to go to school,” Smokescreen grumbled. “Creator teaches us lots. He taught us chirolinguistics and herbalogy. I can sell crystals like Creator...”

“Education is powerful,” Prowl said. “It opens doors you do not see yet. But you will.”

“Well said,” the priest said and there was a smile in his voice. “There will be seats for them in class for Secund-tur. And I’ll make certain all of the priests that hold the classes are aware of Bluestreak’s mutism.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

“We serve a hot breakfast for the students,” the priest said. “Who wish to join us. Would yours, Prowl?”

“They would,” Prowl replied. The temple would prepare a hardier breakfast than the meagre cubes Prowl bought.

“We have lots to share,” the priest assured him. “If you wanted to join us now.”

“We have fuelled,” Prowl replied. “The market opens shortly and I have goods to sell.”

“Perhaps another time,” the priest declared. “May the market bring you a great bounty.”

[val-aquenta]

Late again! I’m sorry about that, but here it is. Jedi June for the prompt: There is no death, there is the Force

Here on ao3

Luke has spent years travelling across the galaxy chasing after the hints of Jedi that remained. He had not understood the extent that the Empire had gone to destroy every single piece of evidence for the existence of the Jedi. The average citizen of the Empire, now called the Republic and benign re-organised under Leia’s watchful eyes, did not even know what a Jedi was. Often the only ones who remembered were those directly related to people from the Clone Wars. Still, Luke had expected… something at the very least. Some books about them, or written by them, saved somewhere. Perhaps, if he was lucky, survivors. It seems, however, that was not the case. 

The first thing he’d gone to was the various Temples scattered around the place. Most of them had already been crumbling before the empire had risen, and therefore there was little there. He’d been told by an old twi’lek lady that Jedi of all ages would come there to study archaeology and theology of other sects of the Jedi here, however that had stopped during the war, the Republic calling them back to fight on the front lines instead of pursuing their interests here. “A Jedi left me these when she went to fight.” The twi’lek had opened a somewhat ornate box of Mirialan style, he believed and revealed books and old clothes. “She never returned to pick them up.” Sadness then shone in the twi’leks eyes, a loneliness and loss that spoke of a love lost to the cruelty of death. The twi’lek had let him take photos of a lot of it, keeping some parts of the personal journal private, and had sent him on his way with a blessing. 

Eventually, as the Imperial threat disappeared and fled to the outer rim, Luke made his way to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, expecting some kind of remnant of the Jedi. Here, at least, people knew of them, but they seemed to dislike them very much. The Temple was still there, but it had been cruelly turned into the Imperial palace for Palpatine to languish in. He watched, anger twisting his gut, as they burned down the Imperial banners decorating the outside walls. Leia had gone with him as they entered the ruined building. It would have been a beautiful place if the death of children could not be felt through the walls. Darkness seemed to coat the surface of the Temple like oil on water, but he felt some semblance of hope as less touched places rejoiced at the feeling of a Jedi for the first time in many years. The archives which might have been beautiful only held the broken empty datacubes and vandalised art. The corridors Luke walked might have been a wonderful experience had the Empire not covered the cream walls with black paint and the blue carpet with red. Luke had left the artificial planet, now forever tainted by darkness, to establish his Jedi Order elsewhere, still on the lookout for the remnants of the Jedi. 

A few years later an anonymous tip had sent him to some coordinates where a planet, icy and cold, hung. A massive trench bisected the planet, held together by some kind of metal machinations. There was a heavy loss hanging in the air when he stepped off and, once he delved into the planet, he realised that crystals had once been plentiful here. Indeed, almost hidden if not for the Force’s insistent pushing, a small cavern with Jedi carvings and crystals as well as a wall of ice hung. Obi-Wan had made himself known here, blue colour blending into the light colour of the ice. “What was this place?” He asked curiously, touching the head of a fallen statue softly. Obi-Wan, he knew, could not make himself appear often, so whenever they met he tried to make the most of it. Here though, strangely enough, he looked fainter than usual, as though he was weaker. 

Ben’s face was filled with soft grief and loss. “This is Ilum. It was where the Gathering happened. Where younglings collected their crystals and faced their fears.” He looked around with sorrow. “I only wish that you could experience the same.”

Luke took in the fractured light here, broken by the loss of so much Kyber, “So do I.” Obi-Wan had opened the ice with the middle crystal, carefully manoeuvring it until it struck the ice. It had revealed the empty coves, only a few littered crystals remaining, some crushed under the boots of those who had mined here. Ben had dissipated soon after, not before regaling Luke with stories of the gathering which Luke had recorded carefully, trying not to be too bitter. Luke had left, disappointed and even more disillusioned. He just wanted something that remained for him to understand and experience. 

Hurt by the fractured nature of the legacy of the Jedi, he had gone back to the Temple and fallen into a fit of sadness, trying to spend more time with the new Jedi, but every time he hit a curve and he did not know what to teach and how to answer a question, the mood would return. Even here in his home, he felt, unmoored, disconnected from what he did. 

It was a day after one such event where Luke sat, meditating by a creek when he felt the telltale fluttery presence of a ghost. He slowly drew himself out of the meditation and peered over to blink in surprise. He’d never met this person before, and he was rather curious. The man, tall and imposing, cut a stern figure despite being a wispy blue. The man took a seat in front of him, on a rock lit by the sun. Strangely enough, the sun seemed to pass through him, and very little shadow outlined the ground. 

“Luke Skywalker, am I right?” His robes were plain, not adorned as he had seen in a grainy image of a togruta he’d managed to recover.

“Yes… and you are?” His hands rested against his lap. Luke peered closely at the robes, attempting to memorise this set of robes to perhaps recreate it.

“Master Mace Windu.” The man bowed in greeting with that.

Luke gasped, “The Master Windu? From Ryloth?” This man was a hero. Legends still popped up, inspired by his feats of strength in Ryloth amongst the twi’lek. “You’re a legend…”

Mace chuckled a bit, “Am I?” He took a moment to compose himself, sitting down across from Luke. His face slowly set back into its serious contemplative state, resting a hand against his chin. “You are… interesting, and very kind. Attempting to piece together what the Empire destroyed.”

Luke grew cold. The failure to piece the Jedi back together stung. “Failing.”

“Not by your hand, though.” Mace was stern but still kind. He tilted his head, observing Luke thoughtfully. “You have done the best you could make no mistake, but there is very little left of us.” Luke felt a warmth being included with mace and the other Jedi. “Your perseverance to do so is commendable, but you must know when to stop, and when to focus on the Jedi under your care. They depend on you more than you realise.”

“But they ask questions, Master Windu, questions that I have no answers for.” Luke thought back to the day when a young Padawan had asked about the nature of relationships in relation to the Jedi way. “They killed our culture, and I can’t revive it.”

“Perhaps, but you can create it. You are a Jedi Luke, a Jedi capable of many great things.” A sadness seemed to envelop the man. “I wish that you might have lived in the Temple, but it has passed." The man seemed to be looking through him, as though he saw something beyond just his flesh and bone. Luminous beings indeed, Luke thought "Just because there is no Council, or the structure we once had is gone, does not mean you are a lesser Jedi than any of us.”

Luke looked away, “I don’t think I’m capable of doing that. What if I get something wrong.”

“Then you do.” The man brushed invisible dust from his robes and stood up a telltale sign that he was going to fade away. “This is the New Jedi Order, things are bound to change and be different. You can’t expect to salvage a whole culture from the scattered ashes of an old one. The change is already here, now you must only embrace it.” Mace flickered ominously. “Ah, farewell Luke. May the Force be with you.”

Luke stood, “May the Force be with you.” The man smiled softly and slowly dissipated leaving nothing behind as he did so, Luke watching him fade away until there was nothing.