#and his understanding of jedi morality and the thing he leaned on and has needed for years

[tennessoui]

T&t Anakin being a little bitch right now lol. He is throwing such a tantrum. Fuck ahsoka! Fuck his troops! Fuck the ppl that rely on him! ONE person made him upset so he's gonna fuck off forever. You've really mastered his personality. He certainly would blow everything up over one person (rots cough cough)

(2/2) I don't know why but I genuinely thought before this chapter that Anakin was actually going to think about his actions and what he was doing. From your tidbits I knew he decided to leave and I've no idea why I was under the impression it was a decision that Anakin had poured over and given the correct amount of contemplation. Like maybe he thinks he's not fit to be a Jedi because he'd chosen the path of revenge? Nope! He just wants to hurt Obi-Wan in the meanest way possible! Man-child Anakin activated!

oo ho ho this is such an interesting ask/reaction!! one of the reasons i really liked writing this last chapter is because anakin is just absolutely spiraling apart and as much as he can admit to himself that he feels betrayed and lost and empty and burning with rage, he also doesn't take the next step to admit that maybe any decisions he makes right now aren't going to be of sound mind and any new information he learns is going to be processed through that lens of anger and betrayal

i think him leaving the order can be put down to him having lost trust in obi-wan - and obi-wan is the order for him, obi-wan represents the entire order. there's no way he feels like he can stay because obi-wan deceived him and obi-wan chose to put the order above anakin ("when did anakin become less than his utmost important thing?") - and he is angry and he wants to hurt obi-wan ("i want to see his eyes when i tell him it's because of him") but he's also at least a little bit afraid of what he's capable of doing right now - more than representing the order, obi-wan was like the center of his entire world ("what do planets orbit when their sun implodes? nothing. they burn too.") and now he has no center at all because he's that mad at obi-wan. not even just for lying, but i think because the lie proves to him that he's never been loved by the person he has loved the most.

i really like examining the way anakin loves through fics like these and this one in particular because i think it's so....honestly, like. wild crazy. he's so consumed by rage that he was lied to and hurt by his one true love, obi-wan, that he can't see the bigger picture when master windu and master yoda immediately can put aside their emotions and think of what it means for the chancellor that obi-wan will not be undercover as hardeen to protect him ("we are at war, Anakin! This is bigger than your individual feelings of the matter.") and thats true!! they are not in any way wrong but anakin doesnt have the capability of ever seeing the situation like this because he loved obi-wan too much, was too attached, can't let go of what he feels for him--be it anger or love--for even a moment to consider the bigger picture

which he's never been able to do in this fic. i mean i think this is almost the natural conclusion to the tantrum anakin had at the very beginning of the fic where he went back to the past in the first place, though i wouldn't necessarily call that a tantrum.

except then he worked through his grief and pain and anger in the past, with the help of young obi-wan, and came back....but now he is filled with grief and pain and anger and he has to go away again to deal with it because the support system he learned to lean on when obi-wan died (the order and obi-wan) can no longer be trusted because obi-wan can no longer be trusted and the entire order is now to be held in suspicion

tldr the premise of the fic is really that he threw a tantrum and ran away from all his responsibilities like ahsoka and his men and the war; he's just doing it again but the target of his grief and rage have changed slightly and his methods of running away are different but this is all very influenced by my understanding of anakin's character and his capacity to accidentally and purposefully hurt those he loves

[azems-familiar]

thank you for your in-depth answer to my fallen!cal ask, totally agree with you 100%!! interested to hear more on your thoughts about why cal is already fallen, and not just struggling, if you're happy to share?

also, cannot wait to read your fic!!

i am absolutely happy to share!

so let me preface this with the how i see the Force and falling. the Force is not an axis of morality; it is selflessness versus selfishness. those do tend to lean fairly closely to specific moral alignments, because of the general existence of sapien nature, in which selfishness encourages more selfishness and drawing power from anger and fear and hatred encourages you to wallow in it more and more thoroughly and corrupts very easily, and selflessness often leads to or spawns from kindness and compassion, but the point being that the Force is not a video game mechanic and not tied to your morality, so someone can do objectively good things with evil intentions, and someone can be fallen and connect to the Force through selfishness and still be fighting the morally correct fight and still do good things.

to me, falling is a choice. a person can slip up and use the dark side on occasion without falling; it happens, where you react emotionally and lash out, where selfishness takes over, where desperation causes you to grab onto your pain instead of letting it go - this is why the Jedi train mindfulness so hard, so that they don't act on their emotions without considering the emotion first, because it's very very easy to do and it's dangerous. you can slip up and use the dark a few times and still be a lightsider (though not regularly, and as soon as it becomes a deliberate thing you're going to fall - like i said, it's a choice). but falling is when you look at yourself and you look at the world and you decide to put yourself above it in whatever way, you decide to hold onto your negative emotions instead of letting them go.

falling is Cal choosing to fight Bode instead of letting him go and going back to try to save Cere and the others. it's Cal refusing to even try to understand, refusing to listen, clinging to his anger and his betrayal and his grief, and massacring an entire ISB listening post to attempt to get to one man, even knowing (especially knowing) that said man has a child with him and made the choices he did out of desperation and fear. it is Cal taking out his anger and grief about Cere on Denvik.

Cal made a choice. and the thing with the Dark is that it can eat you if you aren't careful, it's so easy to lose control, and i do think that Cal's actions on Nova Garon are a result of him losing control somewhat, but he knowingly, willingly made the choice. and whether he makes morally correct decisions or not, he is still drawing his power off that anger and grief. he's definitely not stuck there, but it's where he's at right now.

something i also want to add in here is - i generally see the Force as, every Force user will face The Choice at some point in their life. the choice between the galaxy and the self, the choice between light and dark, between holding on and letting go - and that choice will look different depending on the person, because one person's letting go might be another person's holding on. i could get into a fascinating discussion on duty as attachment versus duty as letting go but that is... not for this ask, i don't think.

and, since you're so nice, have a little snippet (this is totally unedited so don't come at me if it's bad djkfghkjh)

For a moment he just stands looking at the dead body, taking the chance to catch his breath - Bode isn’t going to be going anywhere, after all, not with his fighter unflyable, and Cal knows just from their brief clash on Jedha he’s going to need all his strength for this. And then BD shrills a warning, and the Force screams danger, and he spins around as a stormtrooper with a shock baton launches from somewhere he hadn’t noticed, and he yanks his sabers up to block but he’s still going to be too late-

The sound of blasterfire echoes through the hangar and the stormtrooper topples forward, swing going wide, as a pair of blue blaster bolts bury themselves in their back. Cal lifts his head and makes eye contact with- with Bode, blaster still out, standing at the far end of the hangar near his disabled fighter.

“You always forget to watch your six,” Bode says.

What the hell, Cal almost says, and doesn’t. “Shoot me in the back, then,” he snaps instead, reaching for all that anger and letting it flow through him, bleed into his sabers and into his aura and into every breath he takes. “Isn’t that what you did to Cere?”

[chokemeanakin]

Misunderstandings - Anakin x fem Reader (angst +fluff)

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @artiza-n ! 💕

Wc: 6.4k

Summary: Anakin and reader get sent to Naboo to guard Padme and Clovis during a debate and some misunderstandings ensue. Mostly jealous angst, some fluff at the end— happy ending bc we all need that right now.

Gif from @swprequels​

“I still don’t understand why they need both of us,” you grumble, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you walk out of the cruiser. The day is hot on Naboo, but grey and cloudy with a promise of rain later. The humidity makes your skin sticky, worsening your irritation.

“Think of it as a vacation,” Anakin pulls the luggage from the transport cubby, setting it on the ground beside him. “You watch over Clovis, and I’ll handle Padme. It should be a breeze.”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t understand why they need both of us.”

You had just gotten back from a long and grueling siege on Pontoon, another one of those vast, endless desert planets in the Outer Rims. You’d really much rather be sitting in front of an air cooler right now, resting your tired bones and trying to forget the taste of sand.

“These are two very important Senators, Y/n,” Anakin waved off your attempt to help him with the luggage. “If anything happens to them at this debate, the Senate will lose important advocates for peace and the end of this war.”

You knew this, of course you did. Not that you’d completely agree with his statement-- Clovis always seemed a little shady to you, his morals seemingly scattered all over the place. You guessed that’s why the Council sent you, a simple marksman, to guard Clovis while the beloved freedom-fighter Padme Amidala got the most powerful Jedi to ever exist. 

“Besides,” said Jedi nudged you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Of course you do. Between the war and separate guild or Council missions you’d both been sent on, neither of you had time to even breathe in the others’ direction for months. The only reason the Council was able to wrangle you onto this cruiser was because Anakin was going to be there. Not that you’d even be able to spend much time with him during the day, although you were aware that you’d be sharing a room in between the Senators you’d be protecting at night…

You and Anakin meet the Senators at the hull of the ship. They walk down the ramp side by side, heads held high and hands clasped in front of them. Their movements are smooth, like they’re gliding on water, and the heat doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“Master Skywalker. Y/n. Thank you so much for being here, it is so courageous of the both of you to be looking out for us,” Padme stands before you, beautiful as ever in one of her many extravagant, expensive gowns. The headpiece woven through her hair sparkles in the midday light, the warmth of her eyes capturing the rays of the brilliant sun. “However, I must say that I hope your services are not needed. I’d much rather this debate go by smoothly than have any dangerous interruptions.”

“I can assure you, we’ll take care of any problems before they arrive. Leave the dirty work up to us,” Anakin returns her smile, charming as ever. 

Anakin shoots you a glance and then follows her away, carrying multiple bags of luggage in each arm as Padme shows him where to put it. For such a small woman, she seemed to pack heavy. Unfortunately, this leaves you and Clovis to stand alone together, an awkward stillness settling before you.

“Um, Anakin has your luggage,” you yawn into your arm, gesturing to his receding form with the other. “I’m Y/n, and I’ll be your bodyguard for this debate.”

“You?” Clovis doesn’t smile, instead he scans you up and down with hawkish eyes. “You’re such a small thing. What could you possibly be able to do to protect me?”

It’s not said unkindly, but it still irks you. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a nasty retaliation for the sake of diplomacy. “You’ll find I’m pretty good with a blaster. The best, actually, according to the Jedi Council. That’s why they have me work with the Generals in the war.”

“Are you a General yourself?” Clovis begins to walk, heading toward the senate building. You follow at his side.

“Not exactly. They offered me the title, but I declined. I’m more of a freelancer, and once the war ends, I’ll go back to taking odd jobs. Besides, there’s no use in having an army if I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Humble. That’s admirable,” Clovis’s mouth tilts into something of a smile. “I, myself, could never turn down an army. Or the status, for that matter. You could be holding a lot of power if you pushed your way with the Jedi Council, you know.”

“My way?” you questioned. “I just told you, I don’t have a way--”

“And that’s your flaw,” he mused, chin still pointed up, never quite looking at you. “How curious-- your Jedi counterpart seems to have stolen all the ambition.” 

You roll your eyes. You never had a thirst for power, or status, or influence, or any of that. Your power came from behind a blaster, when your focus was trained on a single target and your finger was glued to the trigger. One simple twitch of a muscle, and you could end a life from miles away. That was your power, and it was all you needed.

He is right about Anakin, you have to admit. He was always looking to be better, not just for himself, but for the good of others. You love that about it, in fact it’s one of your favorite qualities about him. Sometimes, though, you wished he could see that he didn’t have to try so hard all the time to believe he was enough.

The blast of cold air that hits you as you enter the senate building wrenches you out of your thoughts. It whisks away the perspiration that had built up on your skin, cooling your body and calming your mood almost magically. The sounds of your collective footsteps tap along the glossy marble floor, echoing throughout the empty chamber.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing here?” Clovis leans against his podium, marked with a nametag spelling his name. Next to him is your seat, and on Clovis’s other side is Padme, followed by Anakin on the end. A cold dread fills your veins, just now realizing how boring tonight’s debate is going to be.

You sigh inwardly, tracing the engravings of your nametag with the tip of your finger. “My job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to observe.” 

“Well, observe away,” he pushes himself off the podium. “Although I don’t think it will be very entertaining.”

He’s right. You sit in your seat, legs crossed on top of your podium as you inspect your nails. It’s been three hours since you’ve arrived, the sun is setting, and all Clovis has done is stroll around the debate room, muttering to himself and pondering through his position. You’re bored out of your mind. Pulling out your holocom, you wonder if Anakin’s situation is any better.

“Y/n?” he picks up a long moment after you send the call, and his face projects blue before you. It’s loud where he is, and his eyes are looking at something else.

“Where are you?” you question. He sounds like he’s a party, but you know that can’t be true. “Where’s Padme?”

“She’s with me,” Anakin tilts his head, signalling that she’s sitting in front of him. “We’re at a restaurant getting dinner. I was just going to ask-- did you and Clovis go somewhere to eat yet?”

You drop your legs from the podium and lean in close to the com, speaking quiet so Clovis can’t hear. “No, he’s barely said a word to me since we got here. He’s been walking around the debate room all afternoon, just talking to himself.”

“You think he’s nervous for tonight?”

“Maybe,” you spare a glance at him. He’s staring at the domed ceiling, as if he’s counting the pillars coming out of it. “Or maybe he’s just psycho.”

“Oh, Clovis knows what he’s doing,” a femine voice interjects. Anakin’s eyes shoot forward again, immediately smiling as Padme speaks. “His pre-debate ritual is long and gruelling-- I should have warned you. He’s simply getting into his headspace, that’s all.”

“How long does it usually take?” you mumble.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Make sure he eats beforehand, otherwise he’ll be crabby during the debate. And trust me, you don’t want to have to handle a crabby Clovis.”

Both Padme and Anakin laugh at this, and you force yourself to smile along. “Yeah, I’ll go see what he’s up to now.”

“Good,” Anakin says, momentarily drowned out by an uproar of cheers behind him. “We should get going, too. Padme needs to get dressed for the debate. See you soon.”

Anakin ends the call, and you’re left wondering how exactly the topic of dressing Padme came up. 

Shoving down your irritation and self-pity, you pocket your com and stand from your seat. Clovis’s head whips toward you like you had pulled a blaster on him.

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” you stretch your arms over your head, working out the kinks and aches from sitting so long. “I was wondering if you were hungry at all.”

“I can’t eat before a debate,” Clovis looks almost angry for a second, and then he glances down at his watch. His expression smooths into one of urgency. “Ah, we should head to the apartments. It’s time to get ready.”

The night is still warm, and the sidewalk drips with a rainstorm that you missed while you were in the senate building. The fresh air is nice, though, and you breathe in the smell of sweet flowers and savory restaurant food. The grumble in your stomach is hard to ignore, but you know you’ll manage.

Clovis leads you all the way to his suite, the temporary apartment that sits in conjunction with yours and Anakin’s, and Padme’s on the other side. Staying in this apartment complex made more sense rather than finding separate housing units, as keeping everyone together would aid in ensuring their safety.

Padme’s mansion would have been a nice stay, you think, but these apartment sweets are also quite luxurious. You walk into the master bedroom to find a formal, dark blue gown laid out for you on the bed. Next to it is a rumpled space where you assume Anakin’s suit had been, but instead there’s a note and a box.

Padme wanted to get to the senate building early, so we’re probably going to just miss you. Too bad, I won’t get to help you into this sexy blue dress. Maybe I can help you out of it later.

You laugh softly, smoothing your thumb over the inked-on smiley face before finishing the note.

I’m not sure if you had time to get anything to eat, so I got you something while we were out. See you soon.

A

You don’t need an “I love you” scrawled into the paper in order to know he wanted to add it. That would have been too risky, and there was no way you’d be able to make an excuse if anyone were to find it. Still, you rip up the note and throw it in the trash before opening the box underneath. Your nose is instantly filled with the smell of food, still warm, and you sit next to the blue dress, digging in unceremoniously.

You scarf down as much of the food as you can and then store the rest in the fridge before getting to work on making yourself presentable. You have to look put together, yet not so much that you stand out. You slip a couple of silver clasps into your hair and do your makeup, opting for a bold lip color because you don’t have much time to do anything fancy with your eyes. You’re running short on time-- you know this because of the knock on your door, and then the irritated sound of Clovis:

“Y/n, we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. You know how bad it would be to arrive late to this event?”

You stand in front of the mirror, desperately reaching behind you to grasp at the zipper of your dress. It would be so much easier if Anakin was here to reach it for you, but you make due and quickly pull it up. The dress is form-fitting and flows down into a puddle around your feet. A bit long, as you opted not to wear heels in case something went awry, so you bunch the skirt up in your fists and jog to the door.

“My apologies,” you open the door to find Clovis, now dressed in a pristine black and white suit with his hair gelled back. “I was making sure I had my equipment all in order.”

Clovis ignores your excuse, eyes instantly moving to take in your figure. You could swear they blow open wide for a fraction of a second before he composes himself, clearing his throat and masking his approval with his usual grim expression.

“You clean up quite elegantly. Now, we should head to the lobby, the limousine is waiting for us.”

…

You’re not sure what the point of a limousine is, as the walk from the apartment buildings to the senate building is 10 minutes tops. Probably for formalities, you decide, as Clovis helps you out of the vehicle. The building that had been vacant only a couple hours earlier is now swarming with Senators, all dressed in lavish, extravagant gowns. Everyone is holding a flute of some sort of drink, and they congregate in small groups, making small talk before the debate starts. 

Clovis wastes no time with socializing, and beelines for his seat.

You hang back, searching the crowd for Anakin. Without heels, many people tower over you and it’s hard to focus with the deafening sound of chatter filling your ears. But you’re trained for this, have spent your whole life blocking out the unnecessary, so you hone into your patience and scan the crowd closer. 

There.

You’d recognize that head of golden-brown curls anywhere, even if it was tamed down for this event. He’s standing tall among the Senators, eyes gleaming bright as he engages a whole crowd of them in some wily story. He and Padme look at each other and laugh, his hand on her shoulder and her hand finding his waist. Your blood suddenly turns hot, and you push your way through the crowd to make it to them.

If you could, you would march right up and pull him away from all those greedy stares. They’re practically drooling all over him, and Padme’s hand is still on his waist. But you know better-- you can’t let anyone know you and Anakin are familiar, so you stand at the edge of the crowd, meeting Anakin’s eye.

You glare at his face, then at Padme’s hand, then back to him. His eyes narrow into a warning, extremely fleeting, and then he continues on charming the crowd. You know what he wanted to say-- it means nothing. It doesn’t stop the heat from blossoming in the pit of your stomach, the irritated glare you shoot Padme before looking down.

Way to stay under the radar, you think, slipping away from the crowd and deciding it’s better to keep your eyes on Clovis than get angry over a move on your boyfriend that was probably innocent. 

Clovis is sitting at his seat, still as stone, surveying the crowd before him.

“You nervous?” you take your seat beside him.

“Not at all.”

“Good. You’ve been preparing all afternoon, I think it’d be ridiculous if you still doubted yourself.”

“You… have faith in me.”

“Of course,” your eyes softened at the vulnerability in his statement. “You’re a powerful Senator.”

He huffed, the crack in his green eyes immediately cementing over. “I know.”

And, there he is. Back to being gruff and dismissive. 

It’s quiet for a moment longer, but you’re okay with that. Small talk is not an interest of yours either, and you’d much rather sip on the flute of drink that a servant had given you than join the crowd on the floor. 

Unfortunately, you have trouble wrenching your eyes away from Padme and Anakin, who are still surrounded by drooling Senators. Padme looks like an angel, dressed in a floor length gown spun out of gold thread that you’re pretty sure came directly from the sun. It shimmers and sparkles as she moves, standing out like a beacon of light among the rest of the room. She is radiant, with a matching headpiece that glitters like a chandelier, the jewels braided in and out of her chocolate curls. Even her makeup is minimal yet blindingly beautiful, with a gold shimmer staining her eyelids and cheekbones that reflect the warmth of her topaz eyes.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Clovis murmurs next to you, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Who? Padme?”

“I believe she’s taking quite a liking to the Jedi.”

Heat sparks in your blood again. The fact that even Clovis notices how handsy Padme is being… then again, it’s a known fact that Clovis and Padme have a history, and he could just be reading too far into things out of jealousy.

“You shouldn’t call him that,” you choose to ignore his concerns. “Anyone could be listening.”

“You see that smile? That’s the smile she only ever gave me. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it…”

“Clovis, Anakin isn’t allowed to form attachments. You have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not him that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s her. Look. Look at the way she leans into him when she laughs.”

You take his advice and… now that he says it, she does get a little too close for your liking. Every time Anakin finishes a punchline, the crowd erupts in laughter and Padme joins in, bracing herself by gripping onto his arms and grinning into his neck. He catches her, ever the gentlemen, but he’s smiling too.

It’s a little more than innocent, and you can’t tell who’s fault it is. But that doesn’t help the jealousy steadily rising in your chest.

“The debate should be starting soon,” is all you say, leaning back in your seat and scowling into your flute of drink.

The only thing keeping you rooted to the seat instead of launching out of your chair to rip Padme away from Anakin by the hair was the fact that you know you’re the one who’s going to be sharing a bed with him tonight-- not her. 

You’re just hoping he even makes it back to your bed. Or will poor Padme need help with something else that requires Anakin’s doting attention?

A bell rings just on time, signaling for the Senators to take their seats. Anakin leads Padme over, arms hooked around each other, and she smiles at you as she approaches.

“Y/n, you look wonderful,” she whispers, and then slides into the seat between Clovis and Anakin.

Your cheeks burn in shame. How can you harbor such awful feelings toward her when she was so sweet? But the anger is worsened by the compliment she had just given you-- it’s one thing to be drop-dead stunning, why does she have to be so kind, too? What are you to compare? 

After tonight, Anakin’s probably going to think you are so difficult-- always complaining, always tired, never as pretty or gentle or kind. You don’t have a laugh that twinkles like wind-chimes, or eyes that reflect the light like soft glowing pools of honey. If she is the sun, you are just a cold, hard, chunk of ashen moonrock.

The debate goes on for an eternity. You zone out for a lot of it, stewing in your anger and drowning in self-deprecating thoughts. A few times you’re brought to the brink of tears before you remind yourself you’re here on a mission, and throw yourself into scanning every nook and cranny for something that could be amiss. Eventually, a break is ordered.

Senators begin to rise from their podiums to stretch their legs, including Padme. She tells Anakin she’s going to the washroom, and your eyes zero in on the fingers lingering on his arm as she leaves. You stand as well, meaning to walk a little and stretch your legs, and Anakin follows you.

“Padme’s right,” he catches up to you easily. “You do look wonderful. Blue really is your color.”

You stop by the open window, breathing in the fresh air as you search his eyes for truth. Does he truly mean it? Does he look at you with that same light he had looked at Padme with? Or is he only saying it because he has to? Because he’s used to complimenting you because you’re his girlfriend?

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lower your gaze, picking at the marble stone engravings of the windowsill. 

“Y/n,” Anakin lowers his voice. He’s concerned now, picking up on how upset you are. “I said you look beautiful. What’s the problem?” “No, you said I look wonderful. It’s different than beautiful.” You mean to leave it there, but  can’t help but add, grumbling under your breath, “Padme looks beautiful.”

It’s immature. You know it as soon as you say it, but for some reason you can’t stop yourself. You just want Anakin to take more notice of how strong Padme’s coming on to him, to assure you that it means nothing. You know it means nothing, but you still need that confirmation.

“She does,” he says, and your heart drops. You look up at him, and he’s staring back with an intensity you can’t decipher. “She’s a Senator, Y/n, this is her debate. Of course she has to look beautiful.”

“She’s more beautiful,” the words fall from your lips and taste like poison.

“What’s this about?” Anakin’s voice is dripping in irritation. Once hearing it himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he speaks again in a softer tone. “Why are you comparing yourself to Padme?”

Gah, even the sound of her name coming from his mouth is like nails on a chalkboard. But you decide to do the first smart thing you have all evening, and take a lesson from him. You breathe deeply and bite down on your anger before answering.

“I’m not trying to,” you admit, eyes falling from his face to trace the exposed skin of his neck. “I just-- she’s flirting with you.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I-- I know. But…”

“It still bothers you. You’re jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous about,” even saying this, you can hear the lie in your voice. You repeat the statement, more to yourself, trying to believe it. He’s yours-- for now. He could just as easily be Padme’s. What if he wants to be Padme’s? 

“Look,” Anakin takes another grounding breath, then fits a finger beneath your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “I can see you’re trying to think rationally, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. But… you’re being ridiculous.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You have to understand, I do not like Padme like you’re thinking. I--” he cuts himself off, eyes flitting around the room before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “I love you.”

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, making you shiver. His lips ghosting over your ear, the whispered promise of his devotion to you… suddenly, you feel very stupid.

“Okay,” you accept, and the bells ring again, signalling everyone to take their seats. You head on over with him, but not before putting as much heart into your next words. “I’m sorry for getting jealous.”

“It’s okay,” he gives you the first warm smile of the night, smoothing your hair down quickly before breaking off to take his own seat.

You sit next to Clovis, considerably calmer, replaying Anakin’s whispered “I love you” over and over in your head, the touch of his gentle hand in your hair. There was no need to make such a fuss, and honestly you were upset with yourself for ruining the night. You decide to make another smart decision for the night, and push away all of the negative thoughts to the deepest corner of your mind. No more, not tonight-- instead, you would focus on a way to make it up to him for being so ridiculous, and to thank him for being so patient with you.

It’s as you’re planning the rest of your night out, that you see Clovis’s knee bouncing under the podium. You know his time to speak is coming up soon, and his actions betray his mind. He’s such a liar. He is nervous.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, reaching onto the podium to give his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, and he looks at you like you’ve struck him.

“I know I do,” he spits, but doesn’t move his hand from underneath yours. “It’s just pre-performance jitters.”

His next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them.

“It doesn’t help that I have two gorgeous women sitting next to me to witness this all.”

Now it’s your turn to look like you’ve been struck. You know he means for you to hear it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, as you can see him give Clovis a sidelong glance just as Padme takes the seat between them again.

“I-- um… we’re rooting for you,” you fumble. “No need to get nervous now.”

Clovis blows out a long breath, and then covers your hand that’s squeezing his palm with his other. “Thank you, Y/n. You’ve truly been so patient and accommodating this whole night. I must find a way to pay you back afterwards.”

“Oh, there’s no need--” your words are cut off as the delegates call for order, and then the debate resumes. You don’t miss the way Anakin’s back stiffens in his seat.

Clovis works up a nervous sweat in the minutes leading up to his speech, but when he gets up, he delivers it without a flaw. Everyone claps, and then Padme goes. You clap along once she’s finished, trying not to calculate if Anakin is clapping harder or faster for her than anyone else. He’s not… but you just had to be sure.

There never seemed to be any threat for the entire night, except for one instance. A young man stood by the door, eyes shifting around for a moment too long to be casual, and Clovis seemed to notice as well. 

“Where, exactly, is that equipment you were speaking of earlier?”

“There’s a strap on my thigh, and it holds my blaster to it. Look,” you pull your skirt back to reveal your leg up to your thigh, where the tip of your blaster peaks out. “See, nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that Anakin would notice, or that he’d even mind.

Finally, the debate ends, and the senate room is dismissed. You let out a long breath, ready to just get out of this dress and relax in the suite with Anakin now. However, you stand to leave your seat but Clovis is in your way.

“Y/n, like I said before… I must show my gratitude for your services. Please, let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh-- Oh geez… um.... I can’t,” your eyes flit from Clovis to Anakin, who’s standing behind him. He’s got his back turned, bidding farewell to the new friends he made, but you know for sure that he’s listening. “I really need to go to bed, we’re leaving early in the morning.”

“You can come to my suite, we can order room service. They’re right next to each other… besides, you can always just stay over at mine for the night. There’s room.”

That tone. Those eyes. You know what he’s insinuating, and it sure as hell isn’t just dinner. 

“Clovis, I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The green cracks of his eyes are hardening again, the soft daisies growing from them being wrenched out in clenched fists and stomped under a boot. You want to stop them from freezing over in that insufferable ice again, and decide it might be nice to humor him for a job well done tonight. After all, he was a lot kinder to you than you thought he’d ever be, and part of you likes being one of the few people on his good side.

“How about I walk back with you to the apartments? We can do that much.”

Clovis smiles, and holds out an arm. “I’ll take it.”

As Clovis escorts you out of the debate room, you turn to look back at Anakin. He’s ushering Padme out of the crowds, staring after you as you leave. He doesn’t smile, or wave, or do anything really. Except look angry. 

A sudden ball of nervousness forms in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Offering to do this was a mistake, that much is becoming clear with every step you take with Clovis latched onto your arm. You can feel Anakin’s eyes burning into your back the entire way out of the senate building, until you’re on the streets of Naboo and he’s off in a limousine with Padme. 

Of course he’s going to be angry at you now. You were mad at him for allowing Padme to flirt with him, and now he’s going to think you’re making a move on Clovis to get back at him for it. Even though that’s not at all what’s happening… Oh how the tables have turned. 

You’re jittery the whole walk back. Clovis tries to make conversation, but you only offer him short, clipped answers. Really, you should have shut down his advances in the debate room. No matter that you pitied him for being rejected by Padme and yourself, you should have said no. You didn’t owe him anything. But here you are, and now you are going to suffer the consequences from Anakin when you get back to your room.

“Are you sure you can’t stop in? Not even just for a drink?” Clovis asks as you make it to the top of the stairs. You turn the corner, and Anakin is leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for you. 

“Uhh,” you unwind your arm from around Clovis’s. “I really can’t. Sorry.”

Clovis follows your gaze, and sees Anakin. His tone turns steely. “Is it because of that Jedi?”

“No, oh my-- no!” you feign the most incredulous expression you can, nerves growing more frenzied as you grow closer to your apartment door. “I really am just so tired. Please Clovis, I have to go.”

“Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“You’re right,” a deep voice cuts in. “It doesn’t.” 

Anakin takes the arm that Clovis refused to let go of, and slips it out of his grasp. Thankfully, for Clovis’s sake, he lets him. Anakin pushes you behind him and stands before Clovis, towering over him by a couple inches. 

“It was a pleasure serving you and Senator Amidala. Hopefully we can work together again soon. Have a good night”

Each word that comes from his lips are dripping with venom. Clovis grows red in the face, and you can tell he’s trying hard not to retaliate. In the end, he decides to turn and stalk back to his own apartment door. 

Once it slams shut, Anakin turns to you. You meet his eyes with the most innocent expression you can put on.

“None of that,” he hisses, and steps past you to walk into the apartment.

“Oh, come on!” you follow close behind, closing the door and jogging to catch up with him. He’s standing before the bed, roughly loosening his tie. “Anakin, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? How am I supposed to believe that after what happened earlier?”

“Yes, okay, I admit I was jealous of you and Padme. But I got over it! I swear I wasn’t trying to get you back for it, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Anakin pulls the buttons off his shirt so hard, you’re afraid they might break. Suddenly, he is shirtless, and so very mad, and so very tall… and muscular… and… wow…

“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that,” he argues, stopping to stand before you. You wrench your eyes away from his toned midriff and meet his eyes, which are blazing with hurt and anger. A warmth is rising in your veins-- a different kind than earlier-- but it’s beat out with something stronger. Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying so desperately to ignore the heat that’s radiating off his chest. “I really am. Clovis was just… kinder than I expected him to be--”

“Was he? Was he kind when he had you sit in silence all afternoon in the senate building? Was he kind when he refused to let you eat? When he guilt-tripped you into spending time with him?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” you cross your arms and size him up. “And you’re not totally innocent either, you know.”

“Really?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow at you, sitting down on the bed roughly. He leans back on his arms, daring you to continue.

“You let Padme flirt with you, and you never told her to stop. You could have set some boundaries, told her to back off a little...”

“And you could have told me you were leaving with Clovis before gathering your skirts and skipping away,” Anakin bites back. 

“I wasn’t planning to! Anakin, please, both of us made mistakes tonight. Can we just agree on that?”

He frowns, eyes flickering over your still-dressed form. He motions for you to come closer and turn around, so you do. Gentle fingers work at the zip on your back, dragging it down to free you from the constraints. You remember the note he wrote from earlier, how he couldn’t wait to take the dress off of you, and grow disappointed at how the night had gone. This was not the context you had been expecting. 

The way his hands linger on your waist, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Okay. We both made mistakes.” You feel his soft curls against the bare skin of your back as rests his forehead against you. You hold your dress up in the front so as not to expose yourself. “I’m sorry for letting Padme flirt with me. I should have put an end to it-- I know it hurt you to watch.”

“It did,” you whisper. “But I’m also sorry. For getting so jealous even though you never accepted her advances, and for making it seem like I was trying to get revenge. It wasn’t my intention.”

A soft “it’s okay” is kissed into your back. His hands grip your waist, turning you in his grasp. He’s looking up at you now, hair mussed up and eyes wary. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

What were you guys doing? At the end of the day, it’s you and him. Padme is out of the picture, and so is Clovis. Everything is alright, and that fuss you both put up throughout the night was virtually pointless.

Looking into his eyes, the ones you love so much and could never picture yourself ever parting from, suddenly this whole thing seems elementary. How terrible, disastrous, and ironic this night turned out. Replaying the events in your head, you find a smile begin to crack at your lips. Anakin can’t keep a straight face either, the ridiculousness of it all beginning to catch up with you both. You begin to laugh, and he follows, burying his head in your stomach as you hug around his neck.

“We must be back in training school,” you giggle, feeling his shoulders shake beneath you. “How pathetic of us.”

“Ahh,” he groans, suddenly wrenching you off your feet and onto the bed on top of him. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pulling you as close to him as possible. “Let’s just forget this night ever happened. It was dreadful and embarrassing.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was never even here.”

“Me neither,” he presses a line of warm kisses down your neck, stopping at the strap of your dress. “Let’s get this off. Do you still have your blaster on you?”

You pat the metal strapped onto your thigh. “Locked and loaded.”

“Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I definitely didn’t want to get my head blown off.”

“Safety’s on, wisecrack,” you help him shrug your dress off, kicking it from your legs and off the end of the bed. You unclasp the band from around your thigh and distribute the blaster onto the nightstand. 

“I’m the wisecrack,” you don’t miss the way Anakin’s voice deepens, attention suddenly captured by the bare skin of your body beneath him. His eyes follow the path his fingers are tracing up your leg. “Careful, or I’ll have to report that to the Council.”

“For what? Being right?”

“For creating conflict of interest on the job,” his fingers skim the soft flesh of your upper thighs, tickling their way past the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, up and up and up… “It’s terribly naughty of you.”

His words are teasing and corny, but somehow the deeper insinuation of them still cause your cheeks to burn red. 

“Anakin,” your voice is hoarse, causing your blush to deepen. His long fingers cup your chin, keeping your lips ghost over his as his other hand pulls the silver clasps from your hair. “I need a shower.”

“I can meet you in there?”

You clutch at his shoulders, bringing him forward to close that gap between your lips. His mouth is warm against yours, pliant and soft and generous. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for all night, all this time you’ve been apart. The smell of him, taste of him, feel of him— you could never get enough. 

“I’ll save you a spot.” 

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Ten: The Echo

Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. It’s marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.

You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?

“Good Morning!” Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel you’ve found yourself on.

The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.

When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Pay. Attention.” The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.“It’s well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. “What did you do?” You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories you’d been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.

In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And what’s even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.

With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding AU Part V (SW Time Travel AU #27)

Part I - - - - -  Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV 

After a meandering walk through what felt like every path the hanging gardens and marsh pools had to offer, Obi-Wan stopped to lean against a stone wall. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you ready to stop and eat something? As nice as this has been, I’m getting hungry and I’m guessing you are too.” 

Anakin was only being a little sarcastic. It had genuinely been nice to peacefully spend the day with Obi-Wan like this- they hadn’t been to the marsh habitats since the war started. He had resigned himself to watching Obi-Wan enthusiastically greet every wandering knight, master, and elder who they passed. 

It was actually starting to become impressive- Anakin never realized how many members of the Order his Master was friendly with- no wonder he was given a seat on the high council! But after the last heartfelt clasping of hands with a completely unfamiliar Bothan (thankfully for Anakin’s petty jealousy, Obi-Wan wasn’t hugging everyone), Anakin had asked who the knight was.

Obi Wan frowned. “No idea. But I suppose I must have seen him somewhere.” 

Anakin was no longer feeling impressed.

When a group of crechelings wandered by, Obi-Wan appeared briefly overwhelmed with emotion. His shields (apparently even better drunken than sober) didn’t let anything specific slip. But he knew Obi-Wan was feeling something intensely. Bizarrely, instead of saying hello, Obi-Wan hurried out and away with Anakin dragged behind, bringing them back to the stone wall and their skipped breakfast.

“Not yet.” Obi-Wan responded hoarsely. “I want to visit the Room of A Thousand Fountains first, and say a few more goodbyes.”

“Goodbyes?” Anakin asked, a slight chill running down his back. “We’re not shipping back out until the end of the week. Do you always say goodbye to everyone this thoroughly before redeployment?”

“No. Do you think I should have?” Obi-Wan frowned. “I feel like that would have been more upsetting than anything else.”

“Ok then, why are you saying goodbye now? To the whole order?” 

Obi-Wan didn’t reply, he just pushed off the wall to continue on his quest to apparently visit every corner of the temple.

“Master, please, you’re worrying me. If you won’t eat, then let me take you to the Healing Halls so they can check you over for drugs. We can visit the fountains after.”

Obi-Wan finally paused, thinking that over. “I would like to see Bant. She should be there, right?”  

Bant did end up being there, and was more touched than disturbed by Obi-Wan’s sincere joy to see her. While Obi-Wan wandered the halls greeting injured Knights, she ran several tests.

“As far as I can tell, all you had last night was human-appropriate alcohol. No force-user specific drug interactions, and no traces of Spice. It’s possible there’s something I missed, but your force presence doesn’t feel off balance in the manner I specifically associate with drug-induced altered perception. Your blood sugar is a little low and you’re somewhat dehydrated, especially considering you’re in the temple, not out on a mission.”

“I’ll take care of my physical needs after I visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Just because a vision isn’t purely induced by the force doesn’t mean I can’t draw meaning from it. I do appreciate how you always looked out for me though, Bant. I’ve missed your fussing.” Obi-Wan smiled, clasping one of her hands in his.

Bant sighed, “If Master Yoda wasn’t off world I’d urge you to talk to him. I haven’t seen you this shaken by a vision since we were younglings. Even if you do seem to be handling it fairly... calmly.” 

Obi-Wan laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that someday. I might be wrong, but I think he’ll be happy to learn about-” Obi-Wan gestured around vaguely, “all this. I’ll talk to him at some point. I’m sure of it.” 

She glanced over at Anakin, who had been a quietly looming shadow the whole visit. He seemed both relieved by the diagnosis as well as bewildered. “Can I speak to you privately?”

Obi-Wan nodded and Anakin stalked out of the test room. 

She scrutinized him, worry more obvious now, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slipping tenses this whole time. You’re still not sure where your vision ends and reality begins, are you? Do you even know when you are?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “I know what’s real and what’s not. I’m just...enjoying not fully living in the moment. I have every intention of waking up.”

“Yeah, that’s a BIG red flag, Obi-Wan. Force.” She tilted her head back and forth, examining him with obvious concern. “I am scheduling an appointment for a soul healer and you are going to go, understand?” She demanded.

Obi-Wan agreed far too easily. She reluctantly let him leave with an earnest promise to eat something real.

Obi-Wan came outside to find Anakin pacing. 

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he told his former Padawan, ignoring the ache in his chest.

“Of course Ori’vod,” Anakin said, ducking his head with a shy smile. “What did Bant say?”

“She wants me to eat something real and visit a soul healer.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, I can do at least one of those things.”

“A soul healer! She thinks you’re crazy?” Anakin asked offended. 

“First of all, you don’t have to be unstable to visit a soul healer. I’ve seen them in the past, when there wasn’t as much wrong with me. I’m sorry if I led you to believe you couldn’t seek out help for your problems.” Obi-Wan said. Another mistake.

“I-I know that. I just thought, you know, Jedi can be judgmental of that sort of thing. A good Jedi is supposed to be able to just, meditate stuff away.” Anakin said bitterly.

Obi-Wan thought furiously. Was this why he had been so blindsided by Anakin’s fall? Had his padawan been so afraid of judgement that he hid all of the warning sides of his struggles with darkness? Maybe he could ask Owen for some sort of petty assistance when he brought over bantha milk next time, to demonstrate to young Luke that it was ok to ask for help. No, he was probably still too young for those sorts of lessons to have much meaning. The insight would require meditation, when he was more sober. 

Unsure how ‘Anakin’ would respond, Obi-Wan tentatively said, “You’re right, that some Jedi might judge for seeking such aid. But I think in the last years of the war, that sort of opinion became less and less common. After all, an ideal Jedi shouldn’t be leading an army. I don’t know if anyone can be perfect during war, let alone a peacekeeper.”

When that failed to garner positive or negative reply, Obi-Wan let out a breath. “It hardly matters, since I can’t exactly visit a therapist, let alone a soul healer, given my present living conditions.” 

Anakin seemed to process that, giving Obi-Wan a long, searching look. “What’s your next point?”

“Hmm?”

“You said first of all, and I think that was all one thing, so what’s your second point?”

“Not exactly being able to visit a soul healer regularly doesn’t count as a separate retort?”

“I guess? I’m just trying to understand what you’re trying to tell me” A twinge of frustration crept into Anakin’s otherwise level tone.

"I appreciate that, truly, and I regret the number of hurtful miscommunications that sprung up from me failing to do just that. Well, I suppose, by most reasonable standards, I am ‘crazy.’ Getting some help with unraveling my mind would probably be best, if it were an option, but it isn’t so...” Obi-Wan shrugged.

Before any followup questions could be asked, they finally arrived at the main entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The archway was stunning, water flowing upwards along the stone in intricate, shifting tessellations. When they stepped through, Obi-Wan was delighted to see Mace Windu sitting on a bench by the entrance. 

“Mace! I was hoping to see you.”

Mace looked at him. He seemed at first, to be utterly unsurprised by the duo’s arrival. But the longer he stared, the more visible shock overtook his features. “Master Koon recommended I look for you...force what happened.”

Obi-Wan just chuckled. “Oh you know. What didn’t happen.”

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked urgently. “What do you see, Master Windu?”

Obi-Wan tried to wave them both off, laugh a little more forced. “Please, I came here to relax. I’m sure it would be easier to say what’s not wrong with-”

“Kark it, Obi-Wan this isn’t a joking matter.” Master Windu’s voice was calm, but insistent. He slowly started approaching Obi-Wan as though the fellow council member were a feral loth-cat. 

“You look as if...nearly every shatter point around you has broken open. Force, I think you’ve been carrying some of these with you since you were a child. Usually when things that deep break...And some of these- some of these are too big to have just affected you.” Mace hesitantly reached forward, brushing against something invisible.

A chill ran down Anakin’s spine, again. What the kriff did Obi-Wan see in his vision? Last night he mentioned the temple burning, their rooms turned to ash, and Anakin had just...let that go in favor of greedily spending time with this addictively affectionate version of Obi-Wan.

“Mace...” Obi-Wan groaned. “I had been wondering what you might say to me but this is...please, can’t you just give me a hug and let me enjoy the peace for one more hour.”

“Master Kenobi,” Mace said, seeming to revert to an even more serious version of himself. “What I see cracked open around you is bigger than the reemergence of the Sith on Naboo, bigger than the first battle of Genosis. Whatever has happened, you cannot possibly keep it to yourself, practically or morally.”

To the shock of both Windu and Skywalker, Obi-Wan actually rolled his eyes at that. “Mace. You are not telling me anything I do not already know. And I am choosing to spend a little longer enjoying the unique joys of the Temple before dealing with the harshness of reality. Haven’t I earned a small break? I’m not abandoning my duty, but if I don’t take care of myself where I can I’ll go madder than I already have.” 

At no point did Obi-Wan’s voice get whiny or upset, he just calmly dropped a series of bombshells like he was repeating an argument.

Mace and Anakin exchanged glances, but if Mace was trying to communicate something, it was utterly lost on Anakin. 

“Alright, Master Kenobi. I trust your judgement.” 

And, to Anakin’s shock, Mace pulled Obi-Wan for a tight hug. “And I care about you, Obi-Wan.”

For a brief, hysterical moment, Anakin Skywalker wondered if he was about to witness his Master break down crying on the shoulder of Mace Windu the Master of the Jedi Order.

But Obi-Wan just let out a slow breath and returned the embrace before bowing deeply in Respect. Windu returned the bow with a placid expression. 

“If you’ll excuse me...I think I’d like to stand by the waterfall alone for a moment.” He paused, turning to address Anakin. “If you’re willing to wait for me, I’ll happily rejoin you by the glowing mushrooms.” Anakin nodded silently and Obi-Wan beamed before leaving the two alone together.

Mace turned to the young knight in a silent demand for answers, and, for once, Anakin was eager to share what he was dealing with. “He came back drunk last night, talking about the temple burning down, and being well-”

“Unusually emotionally expressive?” Mace offered.

Anakin nodded. “Took a blood sample to analyze in the morning. He woke determined to hug every sentient being in the temple. I actually managed to get him to the halls just before we came here; Master Eerin said there was nothing in his system and...I just don’t know. He’s been off today, but not in a bad way, exactly. Could a vision have caused the shattering you saw?

Mace furrowed his brow. “Not any vision like I’ve ever seen but...these are dark times. And Master Kenobi has had historically bad luck. If some new cataclysm is coming for us- I absolutely believe he’d be the first of us to stumble into it. Something terrible and extraordinary must have happened in the 24 hours since I last saw him in person.”

A beat passed.

“I should go to the mushrooms before I lose track of him,” Anakin said quietly.

Mace nodded. “Skywalker, if you need assistance dragging him back to the healers for whatever reason, comm me, understood?” 

“Understood. Master Koon said the same.” the Knight replied, heart pounding.

The Windu clasped him on the shoulder firmly, "I’m going to check in with Master Eerin. It’s possible she has some suspicions that my observations will help her confirm. Until then...”

“I’ll look out for him.” Anakin promised.

Part VI

[johnconstantinesdick]

Okay *cracks knuckles, accidentally dislocates fingers* @agentscamander-romanoff and @steel-phoenix took the bait and enabled me by asking me to elaborate on my Children of the Watch origins theory. Which means I am about to go ABSOLUTELY feral.

Apologies to anyone for having incorrect Star Wars lore, I’ve barely consumed canon content and I don’t intend to start now. Also sorry if anyone has already said this! I’ve never seen this particular theory/interpretation and it’s made me go a bit insane.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, cults, and the aftermath of genocide. I don’t go super in depth on any of it but it’s there. Also, I typed this in the notes app of my phone and autocorrect hasn’t quite submitted to some of these names.

SO. I’m going to break this up into sections. 1. Exploring canon 2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string 3. What does this MEAN??? 4. Complaining about Bo-Katan.

First off, though, here’s my thesis: Children of the Watch is a “splinter group” made up of the children that Death Watch stole, indoctrinated, and abused. They’re also not a cult (Death Watch is though lmao).

1. Exploring Canon:

Okay, so. Canonically, Death Watch has abducted, tortured, and brainwashed children. Arla Fett is an example of that, having been abducted at the age of 14 after her parents were killed and she was subsequently brainwashed into becoming an assassin for Death Watch. She didn’t even hesitate when she found out her brother was alive! That’s how strong the conditioning was! She was so fucked up from it that she spent YEARS in a mental facility, and she outright begged a Jedi to wipe her memories in exchange for a favor. DEATH WATCH DID THAT. And you CANNOT tell me she was the only one they’ve done this to. PLENTY of fic writers have extrapolated off of this and mentioned it, but it’s important to me that everyone know this shit is absolutely rooted in canon.

Another Death Watch Child Abuse Fun Fact: Dred Priest and Isabet Reau, two of the trainers of the clones, canonically had Death Watch leanings and tried to instill Death Watch beliefs in the clones by FORCING THEM TO FIGHT EACH OTHER IN SECRET BATTLE CIRCLES THAT ENDED UP KILLING SOME OF THE CLONES. THEY WERE CHILDREN AT THE TIME, IF IT WASN’T CLEAR. WHAT THE FUCK. If THAT’S not an example of Death Watch abusing the kids under their care then I don’t know what is. It’s suuper not a stretch for me to think that this wasn’t an unheard of thing in more official Death Watch circles.

Also canonically, Bo-Katan has referred to Din’s covert as “Children of the Watch”, and Din, despite obviously being an important and respected member of his community, doesn’t recognize the name, which implies to me that it’s not a name the covert chose for themselves. Rather, a moniker that was given to them after they splintered off of Death Watch. Since this isn’t an opinion and it’s more just… information, I’ll trust Bo-Katan on this one.

We also know for sure that Din’s covert IS connected to Death Watch in some way, seeing as the flashback sequence very clearly shows Mandalorians in blue and gray beskar’gam, the colors of Death Watch. HOWEVER… the Armorer, who seems to hold a high position of authority in the covert, wears gold and copper beskar’gam. Din wears unpainted (v2) or mismatched colored (v1) beskar’gam (I do grant that his paint color counts less towards this because he’s pretty much one of the only people interacting with the outside world and so colors associated with Death Watch are probably a no go no matter what). Paz Vizsla’s armor is a very dark blue with yellow and cyan details and, oh my fucking god I didn’t even know this but he has a fucking MYTHOSAUR SYMBOL ON ONE OF HIS PAULDRONS. THE FUCK???? THAT’S LITERALLY THE SYMBOL OF THE TRUE MANDALORIANS IM. Ok. Okay. I needed a minute. Like I KNOW that the mythosaur skull is Mandalorian symbol in general but I think it just hits different when a Vizsla is wearing it, you know? Especially because the placement is the same as Jaster Mereel’s???? Literal founder of the True Mandalorian movement????? Excuse me???????

Let’s uh. Let’s get back to armor. I can address that… later. So. Anyway. Armor is super important, and it’s uhhh very telling that the covert doesn’t emulate the Death Watch colorscheme strictly. Like, yeah, there’s gray and light blue in there, if you go through some wiki pages, but they’re not the only colors they use, and the Armorer doesn’t even have either of those colors! And she’s the biggest authority we’ve seen! Very fucking interesting!! Bo-Katan still has her armor painted in Death Watch colors! And yet she’s derisive of Din’s covert! Verrry interesting!

We also know that Din’s covert emphasizes children VERY much, more than Death Watch ever would have, imo. It’s expected for the adult members to provide for the foundlings (and it’s VERY interesting that the kids are seemingly all referred to as foundlings iirc. More on that later.), and even though Paz disagrees with Din working with the empire, he and the other members of the covert immediately and with no hesitation come to Din’s aid for this child that Din hasn’t even claimed as his own—it’s amazing! And I will note that Bo-Katan and her warriors do the same upon their initial meeting with Din—Koska dives into danger with no hesitation as soon as Din says the child is still in danger. We see that this solidarity does come at a price for Bo-Katan, though, while the Armorer sees protecting a foundling as a duty that is completely worth all the trouble it brought.

Fascinating also that Boba was 100% on board to help out Din to save Grogu past what Din or anyone else would have expected of him, while Bo-Katan had to be bribed into coming by the promise of Moff Gideon and the darksaber. And she thinks she’s somehow more Mandalorian than him.

And NOW, going way back in time to the beginnings of the True Mandalorian movement, we know that Jaster Mereel originally authored his Supercommando Codex by looking back through history to the Canons of Honor and the Resol’nare, and he took those ideals and ideas and he modernized them to create a set of moral guidelines to follow. And people loved that shit! Death Watch had to infiltrate the True Mandalorians and then trick the Jedi into slaughtering them just to get rid of them, because Jaster’s charisma and his sexy sexy morals were too strong. (God. I fucking LOVE Jaster Mereel if you couldn’t tell.) Anyway, there’s precedent for Mandalorians looking back to their history to bring forth old ideas, repurposed to a modern context. We also know that, canonically, Din’s covert follow the “old ways” of not sharing names and of never taking their helmets off in front of others.

Moving on.

2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string:

So if we extrapolate from the fact that Death Watch are, uh, super fucking abusive towards the kids that they stole/their own kids, then we’re left with… this group of kids, who have been mistreated and indoctrinated for a LONG TIME, and possibly don’t have that great an understanding of non-toxic Mandalorian culture. And if they’ve been abducted or rescued, whatever, they might not fit back in with the places they were taken from, or they may not have a place to go back to, or they may not even remember where they’re from originally. It’s some prime angst material! Good stuff.

And if we pull the implication from the names that “Children of the Watch” is a splinter group off of Death Watch, it really does make you think… huh, you know what? These two things may be one in the same. Maybe.

And, like, we know that Jaster Mereel and Din’s covert both looked to Mandalorian history to find pillars for their community’s morals. Jaster did so in the middle of a lot of political turmoil, as a way to say “Hey, we can still be Mandalorians in the ways that matter, but being Mandalorian doesn’t mean being a morally bankrupt conqueror. We can have honor and still wear armor and fight and uphold the Resol’nare.”

And I think Din’s covert did so when they were struggling with unlearning the toxic ideals that had been shoved onto them by Death Watch. I think they had to figure out their own way of being Mandalorian or else they would have crumpled under the pressure. And so they looked back to the old ways and picked out the more extreme interpretation of Cin Vhetin (clean slate) which says that, once you swear the Resol’nare and become a Mandalorian, your past doesn’t matter, it’s what you do now that does. You don’t take off your helmet, and you don’t let others know your name, because those things don’t matter to who you are and what you do. (There’s also the issue of the helmet and name rule being an important defense tactic to protect the covert, seeing as how Mandalorians post-Empire are the survivors of genocide. There’s already a fantastic post on it here)

Related, another Mandalorian saying is “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.”, meaning “Nobody cares who your parent was, only the parent you’ll be,” which IMO fits in very nicely with how I’m interpreting Din’s covert. It’s all about your actions and future mattering more than your past. I think that when the covert was splitting off and being built, this would be a huge component of them healing. Because the way they were treated and indoctrinated by Death Watch doesn’t have to affect their future actions. They don’t have to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, they can build a covert and a community around caring for foundlings.

Now, onto the foundlings! I find it very interesting that, whenever the covert’s younglings are mentioned, it’s always as foundlings. I think this implies that there’s a focus on saving and raising children more than there is on sharing blood with them, and I think that the covert would be more inclined towards communal raising than typical family units, if only to keep everyone in check and to protect the children from ever being treated as they were. I also find it VERY interesting that there’s a lot of emphasis put on returning children to their own kind. I don’t think Death Watch would have employed that practice, and I think that’s another example of the covert wanting to make their community a better place for children. I think it’s likely a lot of them didn’t get that choice, and they had to leave their cultures and people behind. And so they want to give that choice to their children.

I think it’s also amazing that, like. They keep finding and raising children instead of deciding they’re too damaged or whatever to have kids. Because it doesn’t matter if they have baggage or trauma when a child needs them. That’s FANTASTIC. I’m losing my MIND. It really doesn’t matter who their parents were to them, just the kind of parents they will be. It’s all about breaking that cycle and deciding to be better and I LOVE THAT.

3. What does this MEAN???:

Well. What this means is that Din’s covert has a very clear set of motivations and structure when it comes to how their covert is run. It’s not a cult; in fact it is specifically a group created by cult survivors who are determined to not do to others what was done to them. The rules may seem weird and strict at first glance, but they have a clear purpose and rationale, and no one is trying to amass power. They’re just… trying to do better, and be better.

(This also means that I’m 99% sure that, with the assistance of time travel, at least half of the covert would be SUPER INTO Jaster Mereel. I like to imagine that Paz had, like, a poster of him on his little sewer bedroom wall. I fully believe he painted that mythosaur skull on his pauldron in honor of a good man who was killed by Paz’s own relatives for standing by his morals and daring to try to reform and rally Mandalorians. I also think it would be funny if, like, Din doesn’t know shit about ANYTHING to do with modern history, but Boba mentions that his grandfather is Jaster Mereel and Din is like “OH I KNOW THAT GUY! Yeah he’s cool, he’s the historical crush of like, my entire covert.” And Boba is like. What.)

It also means that it can be up in the air about whether Din was found by Death Watch before his covert splintered off, or if his covert was still just wearing Death Watch colors when he was found. Fun thing to play around with, but right now I don’t want a solid timeline.

Hmm just thought I should add: while the Armorer does seem to have a position of authority, I don’t think the covert can be structured politically with clans and houses like other Mandalorian groups. Like, clan just means family in this context, and is less a part of hierarchy, and I don’t think they would even recognize houses within the covert? Like they MIGHT decide to call themselves part of House Djarin now that Din is Mand’alor, but before that they weren’t like. House Vizsla with Paz as the leader just because they used to be Death Watch. I don’t vibe with that. This isn’t really super relevant, I just wanted to add it.

4. Complaining about Bo-Katan:

Anyway Bo-Katan is absolutely full of shit and it’s doubly disgusting that she’s standing there in Death Watch armor, seemingly still allied to this fucking cult of imperialism and conquest, and she accuses Din of being in a regressive cult, and she implies that the way he engages with the Resol’nare is wrong and like. Repressed or something. God I hate Bo-Katan. But I love to hate her. She’s horrible but I want her to be included in the list of Din’s friends but not the list of people he’d trust his kid with. I have contradictory Bo-Katan feelings, whatever. The most important thing is that all of her opinions are horrible, like, all the time. And we shouldn’t trust her when she says Din’s part of a cult. Literally why does anyone take that at face value. If we’re taking her word as the authority on Mandalorian issues then I guess Boba and Jango aren’t Mandalorian!!! Seriously.

TLDR; Din’s covert (aka “Children of the Watch”) is made up of survivors of childhood abuse, torture, and brainwashing at the hands of Death Watch, and they’re dedicated to making sure their children don’t go through the same thing. They’re not a cult, but Death Watch sure was! Jaster Mereel is the love of my very aromantic life and Bo-Katan’s opinions can’t be trusted. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

My Love| Echo (12)

Note: kinda short but important at the same time also Sonju hitting on the reader (cough)

Warnings: talks loosely about past trauma

Reader: Male

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 3.5 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Masterlist

Echo smiled, laying next to Y/n on the bunk, body bare and only covered by a blanket, sharing with Y/n.

"That..." Y/n spoke with a deep breath, "Was...new..."

Echo chuckled, he had finally gotten back to Y/n, and things returned to how they were almost immediately.

"So were you," Echo spoke rubbing his shoulders and neck, prominent bite marks had scabbed over quickly where Y/n once drank sips of his blood.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Y/n apologized.

"Don't apologize," Echo told him, "I'm not saying I didn't like it."

Leaning up he kissed Y/n's lips, Y/n returning the favor. Echo pulled away with a chuckle.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Echo smiled, Y/n shifting under him slightly to get more comfortable, his arm around Echo's shoulder one arm behind his head relaxing, his eyes even closing as if he was going to sleep.

"Y/n," Echo grabbed his attention.

"Hm?" he asked with closed eyes, chest rising and falling steadily, skin warm.

"Can, we talk about it?"

"Bout what baby?" Y/n questioned.

Baby, that nickname, returning from the grave, he had never thought he'd hear that come from Y/n's chest, "About, our past, like we use to."

Y/n rubbed Echo's shoulder, "There's still not much to talk about."

Echo frowned, not much to talk about? Perhaps he just didn't want to talk about it, but Y/n taught him you had to talk about everything, the sooner the better, or it would catch up to you. It was silent, Echo not wanting to pry.

"I was put away for a while," Y/n started out of nowhere, "The Corasaunt guard with Tarkin as their director stormed the house after a conversation with my parents, we were hauled away in cages rather than cuffs, I didn't understand, tried to keep the kids safe the best I could, but we were split up, I had managed to keep Princess in the cage with me."

Echo looked up at him, listening to every word that fell from Y/n's lips

"but when we got to the research facility, we were split up. I didn't know what happened to everyone until I escaped with Sonju and Mijuka." Y/n spoke, "After the incident with Dogma."

Echo frowned, but let his fingers rub over Y/n's exposed chest, over some puckering scars.

"I had learned from archives that most of my brothers and sisters had died, there was only one left." Y/n spoke, "You remember Princess?"

Echo nodded, Princess the sweet little girl that had done his "much needed" makeup all the time out of fun.

"I had run to grab her from her cell but, well it seemed her death was more than just experimenting wise, they had her in a tube, filled with flowers and red liquid, turns out they had just sold her and she hadn't been marked as dead yet," Y/n told him.

"Y/n, I," Echo tried to empathize, sympathize, anything, but it was even hard for him to comprehend, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Y/n spoke, "I'm not too sad about it anymore, she's with the family somewhere else now, I just hope they're happy wherever they may be."

Echo snuggled up to Y/n more to comfort him, "I'll never see how you'll do it, be able to accept it, especially so fast."

"I haven't been able to accept it, but I know, that I can't keep dwelling on it, when we broke the kids out of the physic section in that lab I realized, I had to be a big brother again." Y/n let out.

"I'm here now, you can lean on me now," Echo spoke, Y/n smiling smally in response, "I want to help you like you've helped me."

"Thank you Echo," Y/n told him, kissing the top of his head, "You've helped by being accepting."

Echo ran his hand through Y/n's hair soothing the male, his hand from the top of his hand ran down to his cheek where he rubbed a thumb over Y/n's cheek. They stayed like that for a few more moments, relived in each other's arms.

"Hey, Roslyn!" Sonju called banging on his door, "Dinner!"

Y/n sat up, quickly throwing joggers on and walking to the door, where he let it slide open, his frame blocking the doorway.

"Alright, I'll be out," Y/n commented, Sonju seeing Echo's form in the background immediately, the clone covering himself up some more.

Sonju looked back down at Y/n acting as if he hadn't seen anything, "And what's this thing with everyone calling you Y/n? Weren't gonna tell me?"

Y/n shrugged, "Didn't know you needed to know." he replied sarcastically.

Sonju chuckled, hands upon the top of the door frame supporting his leaning down the body which rests at Y/n's eye level, leaning in Y/n rolled his eyes.

"You, smell different." Sonju teased, "Want me to change that?"

"Want me to rearrange your insides, and not in a fun way," Y/n argued arms crossed.

Sonju chuckled, "Well then hurry your ass to dinner before I drag you there."

Y/n waved him off Sonju walking off with a shrug as Y/n closed the door locking it once again with a push of a button.

"Come on, let's go eat," Y/n told Echo.

Echo nodded, getting out of bed he dressed, Y/n redressing himself in something more suitable as they walked out together, everyone in the common room eating.

"Your food," Connor spoke handing the bowl to Y/n.

"Thank you." Y/n thanked taking the food.

"Here your's as well," Isabella spoke handing the bowl to Echo.

"Oh, thank you." Echo spoke, the two finding seats on the floor more comfortable than the seats as they leaned up against the curved booth.

"Ooo! y/n! Y/n!" Emma cheered, "Ray has-"

Emma was elbowed hard by Ray, "Hey!"

"I don't have anything," Ray defended as Emma frowned.

"But you just told us that-"

"no, I didn't" Ray argued jerking his head towards Echo who was looking down at his food and eating.

"Oh,"

"Anything you wanna say ray?" Y/n questioned with a smile.

"Emma has a crush on the bandanna guy!"

"I DO NOT!"

"YES, YOU DO!"

"YEAH!? WELL, YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON THAT BLONDE GIRL AT LEAST THAT'S TRUE!"

Echo almost choked on his food at the burst of conversation, wait way- OMEGA!?

The two continued to bicker, the elders laughing, "Remember when you had a crush on a certain someone Sonju." Mujika teased.

"Yeah well, I ended up eating her so," Sonju spoke taking a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

"That's news to my ears." Y/n spoke, "Her?"

"I like options," Sonju spoke another big spoon of potatoes into his mouth.

"Relationships are a waste of time," Connor spoke.

"Well, you did try and stab your dad to, death," Evie spoke.

"Damn imagine having parents." Jacob chimed in.

"Jacob!" Evie argued, "Really!?"

"Oh was this not trama circle and dinner?" Jacob questioned, "Let's just unpack it all why don't we."

"we rather not," Isabella spoke eating her stew.

"But I'd bloody love to." Jacob spoke, then turned toward Echo, "So what's your story lad?"

Echo looked up food in his mouth pointing to himself in question.

"Please don't entice my brother with stories," Evie spoke.

"Oh uh," Echo spoke, "I'm a clone, that's all really do it."

"You fought in the clone wars?" Norman asked sitting across from Echo as he nodded.

"ARC Trooper, previously at least," Echo spoke. "Not much of a trooper anymore anyways,"

Echo let his words sink in then quickly corrected them, "You know!- with the empire, and all..."

"The clone wars were pretty brutal on the creed." Evie spoke, "Moraled Assassins because ruthless bounty hunters, the republic didn't take nicely to the Creed not taking a side, neither did the separatist."

"So, neutrality destroyed your people?" Echo questioned.

"Yes," Evie spoke. "Very much so,"

"Order 66 destroyed the clones and Jedi, did it not?" Connor questioned.

Echo nodded in response, "It killed a lot of good men, soldiers, Jedi, and Clone."

"Title doesn't do you much good now," Sonju commented, "We're all the same in the ground"

Y/n sat up from his leaning state and grabbed two drinks off the table, handing one to Echo. The rest of the dinner was quiet, eating is the main task, it reminded him of Y/n's house, everyone talked letting out whatever they wished to at the beginning of dinner and then everyone becoming silent as they ate and filled their stomachs.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand. 

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?” 

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka. 

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.” 

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group. 

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways. 

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes. 

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings. 

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms. 

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.” 

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid. 

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

“That’s not necessary.” 

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all. 

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities. 

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks. 

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.” 

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough. 

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?” 

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7. 

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing. 

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?” 

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl. 

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking. 

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold. 

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach. 

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands. 

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate. 

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs. 

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.” 

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​

[obiwanobi]

You really made me write a 2.6k fic after I said I wouldn't write a fic, hum. Have some 'drunk, tired and jealous but will never admit it' Senator Kenobi who just wanted to spend one quiet night bitching about other politicians with Anakin:

Growing up in the Temple made Obi-wan way more aware of how to control negative emotions, but possessiveness has never been a huge problem in his life. He's not a Jedi, so he does have material possessions -admittedly, fewer than most people- but the rule about attachments still has a particular impact on him and even if he hasn't made a deliberate choice to keep respecting it, he understands the value of it and makes a point of keeping it in the back of his head.

Until now.

Senator Odage is laughing obnoxiously and putting his grabby hand on Anakin's arm. Senator Odage, with his wide smile and passionate speeches, seems to have been galvanized by the standing ovation following his latest intervention in the Senate Chamber and is now chatting with Anakin. Anakin who had enthusiastically clapped with the rest of the Senate a few hours earlier after Odage's remarkable intervention.

"You boiling with hate is not a sight I'm used to."

Glass raised to him in greetings, Bail lifts an eyebrow at Obi-wan's flat look. That's the first time Obi-wan sees him tonight, lost in the myriad of senators, committee members, ministers, dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses, representatives and official dignitaries, exchanging platitudes, plotting their next moves, faking smiles and drinking to forget at the Senate Holiday Party.

"I am not." "You’re giving shorter and shorter answers to diplomats you wanted to talk to for weeks and you’re holding your glass so tightly that I can almost hear it shattering as we talk.” "I might be a bit tired," Obi-wan admits as he forces himself to unclench his fist and looks at something else than Odage and Anakin. "Tired, yes. I would have said trying not to snap at people of your own party and mentally throwing daggers at Odage, but tired is good enough I guess."   "I don't know what you're talking about."   "You know, Senator Odage? Young, bold, promising career in front of him, antislavery committee member, currently flirting with your Jedi and making you sulk in a corner?"   "Oh. That Odage. No, I'm quite sure I'm just tired." "And why would you be tired?"   "Why would I-"

Something that has been growling inside of him for hours finally snaps and the floodgate opens.

"Please Bail, I just came back from my seven-week-long trip with tragically boring representative Bar, where, do I need to remind you, I finally put in motion the underfunded education program for children of the Outer-Rim, was supposed to come back to Coruscant in time to deliver a speech that would have proved that I achieved some kind of progress, which is unheard of for someone working in the Senate, but had to make a 'quick' detour by Naator's moon and got stuck with the Duke there who thought Stewjon was a show on the HoloNet because Chancellor Palpatine wanted someone from the 'remote' Mid-Rim to explain that even 'backwater dust-ball like your planet has benefits of allying themself with the Republic!' and then came back to Coruscant just in time to see young, bold, promising Senator Odage ending my own speech with, I'll admit, more punch and sincere sensibility that I could ever deliver! So maybe I'm just tired Bail, and want to spend my night quietly sulking in a corner."

And with Anakin who I haven't seen in two months, he didn't add.

Still in his corner, but this time with Anakin complaining about politicians to his face, moving Jar Jar's glass with the Force every time he puts it down, giggling at Padmé's attempts not to laugh. Yes, Obi-wan would have liked that.

He is maybe, just maybe, a bit more than tired.

Obi-wan risks a glance at the Jedi still listening to Odage. His hair is longer than when he left and getting in his face, preventing Obi-wan to see his reaction to the senator’s gesture for another drink. Anakin knows better than to indulge in public, he huffs internally, raising his own glass to his lips. He learns that the hard way the first time Obi-wan took him to a boring party and they both realised that he was, despite his stature and his ‘strong Outer-Rim boy who fears nothing’ declarations, a lightweight incapable of keeping down drinks with more alcohol than sugar.

"You need to drink," Bail says, reaching for the closest bottle. "This is my fifth one." "You need to stop drinking," Bail corrects, reaching for Obi-wan's brandy. "No, I don't. It's fine Bail," He sighs as Bail sends him a worried look. "I think it's just time for me to go home." "Without me?"  

And there he is. The only Jedi present at the Holiday Party without any clear reason why. The only one Obi-wan can bear to see after such a terrible day for his ego and moral dignity. Obi-wan is almost relieved to feel him close again after so long, but the warm feeling of reunion with the incandescent supernova that is Anakin in the Force is tainted by Senator Odage's presence at his side.

"Obi-wan."

Anakin's warm hand on his elbow distracts him from the senator, but he doesn't move close enough to make the gesture looks intimate. Even if the way Anakin keeps looking at him makes Obi-wan wants to chuckle with fondness at the obviousness of the whole thing. The Force is vibrating with bright delight around them. It's a good thing no other Jedi is in the room because if Anakin's blinding smile is not enough to translate all his emotions, he's certainly not shielding anything in the Force right now. The only thing stopping him from reaching out or saying more is that he knows how Obi-wan feels about displays of affection, particularly in public.

Before Obi-wan can say anything, Odage is gesturing his glass in front of his face, dragging his attention away from Anakin's eyes.

"Good evening Senator Organa. Senator Kenobi, a pleasure to see you back! I was just talking about you with Knight Skywalker and how your speech was truly something. I hope you didn't mind that I tweaked some parts to make it mine? Being part of the antislavery's committee brought me a new perspective on social activism, and on the... How did you say, Anakin?"

Anakin replies something at the same time that he lets his hand fall from his arm. Obi-wan can only stare in disbelieve at the man calling a Jedi he barely knows in such a familiar way. Is it really their first encounter? Did Anakin meet Odage in the past fest weeks when Obi-wan wasn't here? He certainly looks like someone he would have a lot to talk too, being approximately the same age and Odage having this magnetic pull that seems to enthral most of the Senate.

What else did he miss during his time away?

"...I'm sure you can submit a demand to the Jedi Order for this, Mariv," Anakin says.

Mariv? Mariv? Who the kriff is Mariv? Surely it isn't Senator Odage, who is now leaning towards Anakin with the smile of someone who's finally hearing what he was aiming at for the past hour.

"But wouldn't you be the best for this, Anakin?"

This is it. Obi-wan probably had too much to drink, especially combined with his exhaustion and sour mood, but he knows he will not let that slide. Anakin looks clueless and Obi-wan will not let him be roped in whatever grubby schemes avid politicians have in mind with a Jedi, however smart and better than him at his job they are. Especially if they're smarter and better than him.

"Anakin," Obi-wan cuts in, and just like he hoped it will, it immediately grabs Anakin's attention. Obi-wan doesn't call him by anything else than a respectful 'Knight Skywalker' when they’re not alone. He barely does it in front of Bail and Padmé. "I'm sure you can't take decisions without consulting the Order first, that would be presumptuous, wouldn't it?"

If Obi-wan's complete focus on him hadn't distracted him from Odage, the small step he takes closer to the Jedi, making them arms brush, would have done the trick. He never gets that close in public and judging by Bail’s raised eyebrow, he’s not the only one surprised by his own boldness.

"Oh," Odage says in a suave voice, his eyes following the way Anakin unconsciously shifts his whole body towards Obi-wan, "yes, you would know about this, Senator Kenobi. I keep forgetting your past as a Jedi apprentice. That must be a real advantage to have this connection to them. Not every Senator can have the chance to call for a specific knight when they want company on their trips or when they fancy it."

Obi-wan feels Anakin's reaction in the Force before any movement and almost as a reflex to prevent him from throwing a comment they will both regret, Obi-wan grabs his shoulder. It’s enough to stop him. Obi-wan feels him slowly relaxing under his fingers. His hand, a light touch at first, slowly goes down to the small of his back, applying just the right amount of pressure there to make the man under it quiet and contented in the Force once again.

Sometimes, Anakin being so receptive to touch is a blessing.

"You're perfectly right, Senator Odage," Obi-wan declares with the most polite smile he could afford after four glasses of brandy and rethinking his entire career in the past twenty minutes. "Nothing like good-old fashion favouritism to get out of assassination attempts and surviving Outer-Rim fascist government leaders who don't appreciate feeling like you're giving them a lesson. Thanks the Force for failing my Jedi training, I don’t know how I could be a competent politician without completely relying on the Jedi Order."

The poorly covered laugh coming from Bail, who has been suspiciously quiet until now, does nothing to stop Odage from opening his mouth again. Obi-wan is drunk, hasn’t slept in the past 48 hours and has a hand on Anakin: One more inappropriate remark from Odage and fist-fighting would feel less and less outside of the realm of possibility.

“Senator Kenobi, I never knew you were so funny.” “I haven’t been funny since my last run-in with a gundark,” Obi-wan deadpans, eyes locked on Odage as he downs his last glass of brandy. “I think Senator Kenobi is tired,” Bail proclaims before Odage has the chance to reply. “He was just telling me that he was going home, and I’m sure it’s also time for Knight Skywalker to head back to the Temple.” “Sure, we’re going the same way and I came with a speeder, I can take Obi-wan home.”   “Wait Anakin, I didn’t have the time to-“, Odage tries but Bail is already putting a firm arm on his shoulder.   “You two have a good night! So, Senator, did I already introduce you to Representative Bari? I’m sure you and her seven heads will get along marvellously.”  

“That was…” Anakin says once they’re gone, leaning completely against Obi-wan’s hand on his back. There is no reason for it to still be there, but Obi-wan can’t stop his slow insistent up and down movement against Anakin’s back. “For one moment I thought you were going to use the prissy tone you take when I’ve irritated you enough to make you lose patience, and just starts listing everything he did wrong since the day he was born.”

Obi-wan narrows his eyes at him, finally retracting his hand and turning away toward the main exit of the Senate’s reception room. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Anakin is right behind him.

“I don’t have a prissy tone.” “Hum hum.”   “I had…” Obi-wan’s shoulders sag and he slows down to match Anakin’s pace. “…A long week.”   “It’s Wednesday.”   “Ah. I’m afraid that if this is the way I start the week, my chances of ending up in jail are going to blow up at the end of it.”   “Don’t worry too much about it,” Anakin dismisses, getting his robe and Obi-wan’s coat from the cloakroom, “I would bail you out. If you ask nicely.”   “Would you?” He feigns a distract tone as he turns around to slip his arms in the coat Anakin is holding for him. “I was under the impression that you would be too busy mooning over Mariv to think about it.”  

There is a strange noise behind him and before he can react, two hands are on his shoulders and forcing him to turn around and confront Anakin’s wide eyes.

“Are you… Are you jealous? Is this why you were all…”

He makes a little hand gesture to his back and tilts his hand. Obi-wan really wants to tell him that he looks like an idiot with his silly gesticulations and shaggy hair everywhere, but unfortunately, a slight blush from the party is still visible high on his cheeks and the amusement in his eyes is tangible in the Force around him, and by extension, around Obi-wan. It’s infuriating.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin,” He huffs, shifting around, but Anakin must see something on his face because he’s suddenly laughing and squeezing his shoulders.   “Obi-wan Kenobi, you are jealous! You're a jealous man! I have never seen you jealous before, I didn’t even think you knew how to, this is the greatest moment of my life!” “Anakin, you’ve been knighted. And freed from slavery.” “I stand by what I said!” He declares loudly. “Were you ready to defend my honour?” “Force, would you stop saying-“ “No, no, answer the question Obi-wan.” “Can we go-“ “Did you think I was into Odage? Were you seething with rage because he touched me? Did you think I would forget all about you after two months and, what, elope with the first politician to talk to me?” “You’re a terrible person, do you know that?” “Because you know I would only elope with you.”

There is no answer to that. Anakin is the picture of sincerity, grin still full of mirth, golden curls framing his flushed cheeks and the Force humming softly around him. It feels warm and kind, loving in such a playful way that it’s begging Obi-wan to join him, give in, love him.

And Obi-wan is a tired, old, drunk fool who wants.

He’s shoving Anakin behind one of the pillars of an adjacent corridor before he realises what he’s doing, fisting Anakin’s tunic in one hand and grabbing a handful of curly hair to keep him in place with the other. Anakin’s eyes suddenly darken, his lips moving to form the beginning of a shameless taunt, surely, but Obi-wan’s demanding mouth is on him to prevent it in an instant. He tastes like expansive cocktails at boring parties, but underneath it’s him, only him and no one else.

A leg is pushing Anakin against the pillar, pressing and pressing at every little noise escaping from him. Obi-wan wants to melt into him.

“Terrible, awful boy,” He grumbles as Anakin tries to laugh before getting kissed again, instantly pliant under him.   “Well,” Anakin finally breathes. His hair is an absolute mess, half in his face and half pulled by Obi-wan’s fist, letting him admire an immaculate throat. Where he found the strength not to bite there before, Obi-wan doesn’t know. “I think I need to send a ‘thank you’ card to Odage. Or maybe grant him his-”

A sharp pull on his hair and his words turn into a faint whine.

“Will you, Anakin? Will you really?”

Anakin’s eyes shut blissfully, like he’s finally where he wants to be.

“I guess I won’t have time for that.”

[morganas-pendragons]

fools in love

prompt: that trope where character a just woke up after going through a near death experience and they see character b sitting on a chair beside their bed peacefully sleeping and another character appears and says "oh good you're awake character b has never left your side ever since"

song: fools in love by inara george

tag: @obiorbenkenobi​ @karasong​ @anakinsahsoka​ @dressed-up-heartbreak​ @icanbringyouincold​ @kaminobiwan​

***

Glaring fluorescent lights blur your vision as you lean against the wall adjacent to the bacta tank, eyes narrowing as you try to blink the stars from your vision. You’ve lost count of how long you’ve been standing here. There was something stirring in you that kept you from leaving the room and going to your quarters to sleep.

That something had auburn hair, piercing eyes, and had nearly gotten himself killed - what a wonder, that one, considering he never took care of himself anyway - since the five of you had come back from Kadavo.

How did you get here? Both of you? You weren’t supposed to be in the slaver’s camp, much less subjugate to the methodical torture of the Zygerrian’s as they worked to break you, and you weren’t supposed to have killed so many of them in retaliation for the way they’d hurt him you.

Hurting you was one thing.

Hurting him though.. You’d let the forces of the galaxy rip you apart if it meant he’d be safe.

There’s a coping mechanism that the mind uses in order to spare you from your trauma. It takes the memories of your traumatic time, locks them away, and keeps you from remembering them. You would give anything to have the memories of your time on Kadavo repressed if it meant you could forget the way Obi-Wan screamed when they used the whips again and again and again until blood rushed down his back and he was thrown into the rocks beside you and forced to continue to work.  

“You shouldn’t have done that, Kenobi.” You whisper late in the bunks one night, careful not to wake your fellow slaves as your hands hover over the weeping sores that cover his back. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

 “Contrary to popular belief, my dear-” He took a hand in his own and brushed his lips against the inflamed and cracked skin of your knuckles. “It would be quite a relief to my self conscious to be the one injured instead of you.”

Which was why you stood here, right now, eyes glued to the bacta tank that currently holds Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your mind cannot seem to comprehend what should be a very simple question: How did you get here?

What kind of twist did fate have to drag the two of you together?

 “Oh, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” You whisper, swallowing the knot in your throat as you approach the bacta tank and brush your fingers over the glass. There’s an apprehensiveness to your movements, like your subconscious is trying to urge you to flee before you can be hurt any further. Some wounds are internal. They’re the ones you can’t see. “I always thought you were the fool for never allowing yourself to love.” Which was a lie, one you had blissfully ignored, but Obi-Wan was one of the model Jedi of the Order and one you highly respected. “But I pity the fool who acknowledges the depths of their own affection for a man like yourself.” You pause at the precipice to the hallway and turn to look over your shoulder.  “And the fool was me. What a pity.”

Fools in love, is there any other kind of lover?

Fools in love, is there any other kind of pain?

I should know...

I should know this fools in love again

***

Then.

The first one was when Obi-Wan threw himself in front of you to keep your form from the eyes of Keeper Arguss. Rex had flashed him a warning look almost immediately and stiffened when two Zygerrians came forward to flank Obi-Wan as he was forcefully thrown away from you.

 “Kenobi! I admire your determination in protecting your fellow Jedi, but you should know,” The lever at his side falls forward, and a dozen Torgrutans scream as they fall into the abyss. “Your Jedi morals will have dire consequences.”

You close your eyes as the screams of those helpless Torgrutans - most of which remind you so much of Ahsoka - ring in your ears. You’ll be carrying those ghosts with you for the rest of your life.

***

Then.

It becomes hard to keep track of time once you’re in the cave. The Zygerrian’s set you and the Togrutas to a grueling schedule that lasts for hours. Stale bread and warm water are your only sustenance, and your thoughts are your only company.

Sweetling.. look down at me.

The familiar nickname echoes in your bond with Obi-Wan as you peer to the other side of Rex where Obi-Wan stands. He sees you through his peripheral vision, flashes a smile, and continues in the process of transferring rocks to the transportation carts in front of you. Your muscles ache, your eyes burn, but you carry on.

You have to.

It’s nearing the end of the shift when you feel Rex’s hand on your arm, and the clone captain pulls you nearer to him so you don’t have to see what’s occurring on his opposite side. Obi-Wan, in the midst of his shift, had come to the defense of two Togrutan children who’d been whipped and burnt by their electro collars after having fallen due to the lack of strength. He’d thrown himself into the line of fire and suffered direly for it.

Obi-Wan-

No. His voice is sharp but clearly wavering with the amount of pain he’s in. Do not fret over me when your own life is at stake, sweet one.

You furrow your brow and breathe a small sigh of relief when you and Rex are shoved forward to the room of pallets they’ve distributed for the slaves opposite of the cavern. There’s not enough for all of you, but Rex has offered to take watch - he defends this with his unnatural ability to go hours without sleep - and you sit down with your knees drawn to your chest as sleep evades you.

Obi-Wan curls up in the spot in front of you and attempts to fall asleep. He keeps shifting uncomfortably, and it’s not until the sliver of light coming from the opposite wall shines upon you both that you see why he’s so uncomfortable.

 “You fool. You absolute fool. Why do you keep doing this?” You whisper urgently, lightly pressing your hands against his arm to draw his attention to you. You don’t understand why he’s so careless with his own life. You want to throttle him. To shove every piece of evidence in his direction to show him why his existence is a light, why he’s a flaring glow of Light and joy and beauty in an otherwise dark world that is this galaxy in the midst of a war.

 “You know.” He replies softly.

You shake your head. You really don’t. “Sit up.” He complies with ease and settles in between your parted legs, chest deflating as you trace your hands over the dirtied and torn fabric of his Jedi tunic to curl your fingers along the inside of his forearms. “Relax for me, Obi-Wan. Breathe.”

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

Obi-Wan gasps as he feels your Force-Presence lingering inside of his mind, surveying his injuries and ascertaining the depths of which ones needs to be treated first and foremost before continuing any further. Had it been the Healers at the Jedi Temple, he would’ve torn himself away and insisted he was fine.

He could never resist your spirit.

 “Sweetling-”

You can feel the skin stitching back together, the muscles loosening and the ache that’s deep in his bones abating as you focus. You can’t expend all of your energy. Not tonight. Not now, not when you’ll be repeating this in the morning.

 “Come to bed with me, Obi.” The plea breaks past your lips before you can stop yourself, and he flashes a questioning look over his shoulder before you lay down and he follows by laying in the curve of your body. Your fingers graze over the column of his neck and curl around his shoulder. “Be at peace.”

You both fall into a fitful sleep.

No peace is found.

***

Now.

Obi-Wan is in the bacta-tank for another week. His burns had been severe, as Kix had recorded in his chart upon having watched you drag his limp body into the medbay, and that didn’t even begin to cover the obvious dehydration and malnutrition. Cracked ribs.. burns.. lack of sleep. Too much to record on one data pad.

He’d treated what he was able, and he’d put Obi-Wan Kenobi into the bacta tank with the hopes that it would do the job it was created to do. What doesn’t surprise him is the fact that you’re there for all of it. The descent, the treatment, the waiting. All of it. 

  “So are you going to tell him?” 

He’s supposed to come out of the bacta today. You’ve been stuck in your memories ever since your return, trying to figure out what you could’ve done differently to maybe have prevented the pain that had been inflicted upon him. While Obi-Wan might’ve been physically harmed, listening to the way he screamed as he was burned to nearly the bone and whipped for a transgression not his own would haunt you forever. 

  “Tell him what?” 

If you allowed yourself to love Obi-Wan Kenobi, he would be the victim of your transgressions and your burdens for as long as you both lived. He’s already suffered enough. You don’t want to be the reason he suffers more. 

  “Don’t play stupid.” Kix chides lightly as he moves to set his data pad on the table and lift the lever to begin lifting Obi-Wan from the bacta tank. ‘’You know exactly what I mean. Are you going to tell him how you feel?” 

The machine hums as you and Kix stand opposite one another on each side of the tank while two junior medics prepare the hover-stretcher beneath you to take Obi-Wan to the medbay for the rest of his recovery. 

Your stomach clenches at the sight of the pale scars that line his back. They look like electro-whip marks. He’ll forever be reminded of how he nearly died for you. 

Shame. 

  “He doesn’t need more suffering on top of what I already gave him.” You murmur, taking the upper half of Obi-Wan’s body into your arms. His head lolls aimlessly on your shoulder, breathing shallow as his lungs prepare themselves for the intake of air after being immersed in the bacta for so long. “He needs to heal. He can’t do that with me.” 

  “I think you’re wrong.” Kix replies as the two of you and the two junior medics lay Obi-Wan down on the hover-stretcher. You pause at the side of the stretcher and take his limp hand into your own before brushing your lips across the back of softened knuckles. “And I think you’re going to regret it.” 

Fools in love Are there any creatures more pathetic Fools in love Never knowing when they've lost again *** 

Then. 

You cannot taste anything. You have lost all sense of time, all sense of direction, and right now you only have one purpose. It’s not keeping yourself alive. It’s keeping Obi-Wan alive. 

Your hands find purchase on his back at night. They heal him. They keep him alive, and Rex keeps you alive. 

Until the Zygerrians use a Togrutan child no older then six years old against you for being unable to do work. It was the lack of sustenance. You snuck your food to Rex who needed the strength more then you did and the Force could only aid you so long. 

It seemed even The Light had abandoned you. 

  “JEDI!” The cold, sharp tone of the Zygerrian supervising the slaves today activates your collar and draws you to your knees. Your desperation turns into a frigid, feral anger that bubbles low in your belly as you defiantly lift your chin. “Get up.” 

  “I’m sorry,” You snarl mockingly. “The lack of food and water is preventing me from being able to work. Forgive me.” 

  “I’ll forgive you when you get back up and get back to work,” Your eyes narrow as he grasps the soiled tunics of the nearest child and presses her against him, fingers digging into her montrals as she whimpers in his embrace. “Get. Up.” 

Obi-Wan draws inward on himself from behind Rex when he watches you stand to your feet and everything moves in slow motion. 

The Togrutan child falls to the floor and doesn't move. You scream -raw and bloody and fierce- as lightning explodes from your fingers and incapacitates the Zygerrian who falls to the floor and seizes from the electric shocks running through his body. Something aids you, fuels you, as more guards run into the room. 

It is you against six other fully grown Zygerrian guards. 

Kenobi stiffens at the sight of you. You don’t have the strength to do this. You don't have the strength to do much of anything, and neither does he, but he absolutely refuses to let you be injured because they exploited your weakness: your compassion. 

Obi-Wan moves away from Rex, braces himself, and before you can do anything, the Jedi Master is throwing himself right into the line of fire. He’s barely wearing anything. He has no strength. No will. No endurance. Not after all of this. 

Kadavo had been designed to break you. Seems it did. 

  “Obi-Wan!” 

Something is burning. Skin. It’s skin. Upon seeing Obi-Wan at your feet, you throw all caution to the wind and grimace as you throw yourself atop him and shield his body with your own. After taking the brunt of the electro-whips and the collar being activated, The Force is leaving you with every movement and you just want to scream at how unfair this is. 

And then the head guard says something about Argus, and then you and Rex and Obi-Wan are being dragged into the main facility. You’re concerned about the fact that Force lightning shot from your fingers. You’re concerned about the way Obi-Wan is writhing and there’s weeping wounds on his arms and his back is raw from the burns, and you want to keel over right there and vomit on the floor. 

Luck is not on your side. Nothing is on your side. 

Nothing but the dark. 

By the end of it all, Anakin and Ahsoka are the ones to come and retrieve you. When you finally see your most beloved is when you allow yourself to succumb to what has happened by falling unconscious in Ahsoka’s arms. 

***  Now. 

You trace the white scars on the inside of your arms, evidence of your time on Kadavo, before returning your attention to his bedside. Obi-Wan now lays supine in the medbay bed, eyes closed and blankets pulled up to his chin as he sleeps. He’s only woken up one time. 

You’re grateful for the silence. It’s given you a lot of time to think. 

  “Ah, there she is.” Anakin muses as he takes a seat beside you and pulls your legs into his lap. “You gonna tell me why Rex said you shot Force lightning at the zygerrian guards? Or why Obi-Wan threw himself into the jaws of death by nearly being burned to the bone because of your outburst? Sounds like something I’d do.

You pause and pull your lip between your teeth. 

  “You don’t have to talk. Just listen. I know that he’s not easy to love. I mean, why would you? He’s a walking disaster. Just the fact that you had to drag him down here tells me enough. Here’s what you need to remember.. When Obi-Wan loves, he loves with everything he has. Why else would he suffer so harshly? Why else would he go to such an effort to keep you safe?” Anakin places your feet back on the ground, stands to his feet, and places a kiss upon your palm, “We all know. When he wakes up... you should tell him.” 

You smile softly at the Jedi Knight as you draw your knees to your chest. “Maybe.” You whisper into the silence. Anakin flashes a smile in reply and moves to the opposite side of the room to talk to Kix in hushed tones about Obi-Wan’s condition. “Kenobi, Kenobi... You’ll be the death of me.” 

You draw your chair closer to his bed and take his hand in your own, linking your fingers through his own before you press your forehead against the mattress and fall asleep. 

Fools in love Gently hold each other's hands forever Fools in love Gently tear each others limb from limb

*** 

Now. 

When Obi-Wan wakes, he’s expecting to be greeted by the auburn aura of fire and the smell of charcoal. Instead he’s greeted by the cold white walls of the medbay on The Resolute. 

The warmth of skin on skin radiates against his hand as his eyes slowly flutter open and he takes in his surroundings. Kix is standing on the other side of his bed when he finally comes to consciousness, and he’s smiling as he takes Obi-Wan’s chin in his hands and slowly rolls it to his opposite shoulder. 

  “I’m glad you’re awake. She’s been there since I brought you in here.” 

You lay awkwardly curled up, hair mussed and lips slightly parted as you sleep soundly at his side. 

Tears brim his eyes as his gaze falls back to the ceiling. Force... Force, does that mean-

  “Yeah, Kenobi. You already know.” Kix murmurs as he reapplies the sedative while checking Obi-Wan’s bandages. “Should’ve realized.” 

He falls back into a painless sleep with your eyes on his mind. 

Fools in love they think they're heroes Because they get to feel no pain I say fools in love are zeros, I should know, I should know because this fool's in love again

bonus: 

Your scars heal, obi-wan’s wounds close over, and before you’re sent back onto the front lines of the war.. you have a moment of peace that you’d so desperately craved after kadavo. 

  “Obi-Wan-” 

He pulls you into a darkened corner of the negotiator, eyelashes fluttering and chest constricting as he leans inward inward inward force help him- “I should know,” he whispers. It’s been too long of denying himself of his desires, too long of yearning to speak to you about his heart and about how fearful he was when you’d fought the Zygerrian guards. “I should know because this fool’s in love again.” 

As he captured your mouth in his own, you made a mental note to yourself for later: Reminder, thank Kix. 

You did. 

[twilightofthe]

What was your opinion of the Clovis arc? People I know either love it or hate it, no in between. I generally liked it but found it waayyy ooc.

Hey anon, thanks for the ask!!!!

AHSJFLSLALK OK SO UH. Wow. Clovis arc. Yiiiiiiikes ok so. I totally agree with you on the fandom divide and I also totally agree that everyone involved in it is rather OOC for my taste. That being said, that case of OOC is exactly why I personally do not like the arc that much at all.

(Please note that my following words are MY PERSONAL OPINIONS, and that anyone is free to disagree, in fact I welcome the discussion, and even if this is your favorite arc, please consider yourself welcome on my blog I hold nothing against those who might like it)

Part of me was gonna make a short and sweet point about how I don’t like that TCW has had both of its main female characters have unwanted kisses forced on them, and instead of teaching young girls watching to tell those kinds of people to fuck off and respect their bodies, we get: 1. Just let it happen, you both must kinda like each other anyway or 2. Stay still then sit back while your boyfriend beats him half to death

But actually turns out I wanted to spend all day writing an essay so now you get this. So far I’m gonna hit four points:

the show’s constant need for Vader foreshadowing sometimes tending to completely override Anakin’s current mindset and personality he should have at this point in the timeline as well as his preestablished characterization

the way TCW gave Anakin a giant dosage of toxic masculinity to try and please the pissy movie critics who didn’t like that he cried

the role of Padmé and how TCW tries to portray her as a “strong woman” by just having her constantly be irritated by and sometimes even look like she actively dislikes her husband while simultaneously have her act OOC so they can blame HER and her actions for Anakin’s reactions and anger and overall Fall

How I think this arc is not irredeemable and that with some fixes it could be done decently— decently, not well, because a lot of this arc’s problems are also due to preexisting writing choices throughout the show

(Ok whoops this turned into a half Clovis arc rant half entire TCW Anidala commentary)

So firstly I wanna start that yes, I am fully aware that TCW is meant to fill in the gaps between AOTC and ROTS and help explain why Anakin’s mindset in the final movie is what it is and justify his Fall. Of course we need to show some Vader foreshadowing throughout the series, and in some places it is executed very well, notably the Mortis arc, the Bad Batch arc, the Wrong Jedi arc, as well as others that I can’t cite off the top of my head currently because I might have a mild touch of heat exhaustion wooo I need to get off the beach.

But it also has some rather hamfisted Vader foreshadowing stuff too. Like, y’all know the fandom joke where it’s like “Anakin: *Accidentally Leaves The Toilet Seat Up*. The Background Music: *BLASTS the Imperial March*” but like, they actually really do that. Like the time where they have Anakin take out a terrorist about to blow up an entire ship full of people and then play the Imperial March afterwards and imply he’s a “cold-blooded killer” just to defend the moral purity of the two people who were gonna stand there and let the ship blow in the name of idealism.

I’m getting off topic but yeah, sometimes the show’s Vader foreshadowing makes sense, sometimes it’s pretty forced, and the Clovis arc DEFINITELY leans towards the forced side, and when they try to force more of Darth Vader into Anakin at a point where he shouldn’t quite be there yet, it screws with his entire character.

This is particularly shown in the majority of the show’s takes on Anakin’s relationship with Padmé. Namely, they tend to forget nearly the entirety of AOTC with the exception of the Tusken murder scene, then forget even more of ROTS up until the point where Anakin strangles her on Mustafar. Basically, they take the truth that it was Anakin’s unhealthy attachment to Padmé that sparked his Fall, but then they decide to run with it where almost every single interaction he has with her in the damn show is him being a toxic overbearing dick to her and her acting like she mildly tolerates him at most and definitely doesnt respect him as like, I guess a way of showing what happened on Mustafar is in character for them???? Ugh, I’ll explain further.

So with Anakin’s aggressive possessiveness towards her. We know Anakin has possession and attachment issues. We know he’s a clingy needy whiny anxious mess who’s constantly afraid of losing or driving away the few people he has pinned his entire happiness on. We know he leans unhealthily on Padmé to provide the majority of his emotional support. We know he’s convinced himself he can’t live without her. But never, NEVER is it seen in the movies where his possessiveness turns into outward aggression towards her or this douchey pushiness. Never does he treat her like his property, like she belongs to him.

Not until Mustafar.

Not until he’s raving, half out of his mind with the warring emotions over the atrocities he’s just committed, until he’s begging her to understand where he was coming from, begging her and the child to stay with him and justify his decision, until he sees Obi Wan and sees her backing away from him, leaving him, and he PANICS because oh no no no you can’t abandon me, I need you, doN’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME. And he lashes out and tries to force her to stay, punish her for leaving and doubting him, and he puts that hand around her throat.

And that is supposed to be when we know he’s crossed the line, when we’re supposed to be horrified, where we know he’s lost himself, because he has NEVER ACTED LIKE THAT BEFORE.

Now how does Anakin act before? In the movies? He’s deferential to Padmé in almost every other scene they’re in together.

In AOTC, yeah he stares at her a bit creepily from a distance, he says awkward things and does goofy stuff to impress her, but he does Not get in her face. The few times he does invade her space, she flat out tells him: stand back. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t say that. Don’t interrupt me. And Anakin always, always backs off, respects her wishes. He follows her lead and lets her call the shots both on Naboo when he’s supposed to be protecting her and when she organizes the Geonosis rescue and once they arrive where she flat out tells him “I’m a Senator, I’ll handle this, just back me up”, and he’s all but just “ok yes queen”.

But they aren’t married then. Fine, take ROTS. It’s a movie all about Anakin’s issues but even then, when he’s worried about Padmé dying, he tells her he’s worried and that he can’t lose her, but he still keeps a distance. He doesn’t constantly hover and loom over her. If anything, Padmé, both in ROTS and AOTC is always the one to approach Anakin and close the distance when there’s conflict. When Anakin is upset, he averts his eyes and distances himself, tries to draw in on himself and brood silently, and we’ve seen it in Palpatine sometimes (of course with bad motives but he still does), but Obi Wan and Padmé both especially needing to be the ones to come over, turn his face to them and be like “hey, look at me, I care about you, what’s wrong”. Padmé SAYS in ROTS when he’s feeling specifically conflicted about losing Padmé, “don’t shut me out” and has to come over to him because he’s retreated into a corner of the room to scowl angstily out the window. Anakin does NOT get overbearing and possessive of her or get in her face, not once in the films.

In the fucking show? The Clovis arc, while perhaps the worst offender, isn’t even close to being the first time Anakin has been overly pushy and aggressive with Padmé, or acting like she’s something he owns, From that time in the Senate Hostage ep where he’s bugging her about ditching work and all but acting like incels texting like “awww but babe my dick hurts :(”, from the FIRST Clovis disaster ep where he’s childishly trying to screw up Padmé’s mission, to the Clovis arc in season 6

And this is where they just roll right in with their “oh so Anakin’s an overbearing, entitled douche” bit with the interaction he has with Pads and he’s trying to talk her out of taking the Clovis assignment and he says something along the lines of “as your husband, I demand you don’t do this”.

Hwat. The Fuck.

What kind of caveman-esque, 1800’s-ass man of the house whom my wife must obediently serve kinda entitled-ass BULLSHIT?!?!?!?

Like, I’m sorry, I really am, but that is just completely out of left field and not like Anakin at all. I mean to the point that when he’s an evil Sith Lord trying to talk her into taking over the galaxy with him, EVEN THEN he does not include “Padmé you must join me because I’m your husband and you do as I say” sort of domineering assholerly.

Anakin does not push Padmé around. He does not TRY to assert authority over her or try and force her to do shit. Not only because she doesn’t put up with that kinda shit for a second, but because Anakin respects Padmé; he will treat her with respect. He always has, and sometimes like in this arc it really doesn’t feel like he does.

Now of course Padmé’s response to the “I own you” declaration is “fuck you, asshole, I do what I want” and doubling down on her decision, and then decides to go even harder on the mission if only to spite her douche husband (and we’ll get to Padmé’s characterization in a bit) which is a very different kind of Anidala conversation we see in the show as opposed to the movies (also discussed later).

Now, the reason for Anakin’s overbearing douchery ties directly into an overarching problem in TCW— honestly, one of the very few issues I have with this show, but the problem is that it touches nearly the entire thing —and that is they almost completely reworked Anakin’s personality to be more hyper-masculine alpha male.

This is a topic I’ve discussed on my blog before, but the gist is that in the movies, Anakin was not the typical male heroic protagonist and DEFINITELY not what people expected from Future Darth Vader The Masked Brutish Male Power Fantasy. He was awkward, he was shy, he was soft spoken, he was clumsy around the girl he liked, he was very openly romantic, he liked frolicking in fields and candlelit dinners and snuggling. Two of the most important people in his life were soft, feminine women and he openly loved them very dearly and very gently— and he deferred to them when he felt it was right, as I’ve mentioned before. He CRIED when he was upset and was messy and emotional. And fanboys hated this with a burning passion. They couldn’t project their power fantasy onto this!!!! The Anakin critics were a HUGE part of the mob who crucified the prequels to the point of chasing both Anakin actors practically out of the movie industry in general.

The Clone Wars writers were obviously petrified of this happening again. So their solution, as has always been Star Wars’s solution to hateful fans being upset about an innocent character, is to completely rework them, hide or retcon all the undesirable qualities, and act like everything was all fixed. Now don’t get me wrong, there are aspects of TCW Anakin that I adore. As I’ve also mentioned before, they got his humor, his cleverness, his eagerness to do the right thing, to help people, his relationship with Obi Wan and Ahsoka and his men, they got that all perfectly. But the rest??? TCW’s solution to the criticism of Movie!Anakin was to turn him into an agressive, dominant, violent shadow of everything “soft” he was in the movie

Now, he speaks loudly and more deeply. Now, he’s cocky and overconfident and while yes he was arrogant in the movies, now it’s dialed up to like an 11. He never cries, never even THINKS to show a negative emotion that’s not Manly Rage And Aggression(TM). And then there’s the way he is around the women in his life. No more awkwardness or shyness, now he makes jokes about being a “ladies man” and does whatever the fuck flirting he does with Miraj Scintel even though the Anakin from the movies would have needed like every scrap of his self control just to look at her without insta-murdering her face. And then there’s how he is with Ahsoka and Padmé. He is muuuuch more of a loud brash dudebro around them who pushes his weight and is kind of controlling and their solution is just to have the both of them be Strong Women(TM) who Fight Back whenever he tries it too hard with them.

With Ahsoka, it’s not too bad because it’s a brand new dynamic and she’s a rather agressive firecracker personality herself when we first meet her, so the constant Snips n’ Skyguy snipefest works for them. For Padmé? It just means that in far too many episodes they’re in there’s a point where Anakin says something Eh and Padmé gets mildly irritated to actually annoyed with him for it and she’ll talk down to him and then there’s an argument between them because he’s bullheaded and she’s a Strong Woman. Why do I consider these out of character?

In the movies, despite the flaws, Anidala is a couple who actually tries to communicate. Anakin feels open to speak about his troubles to Padmé and her to him (for the most part, she definitely has a savior complex and a tendency to squash her own shit so she can help deal with both Anakin’s and the galaxy’s at large) when they’re worried or concerned about something and they want to talk it out, so they’ll talk it out!

The problem with Anidala isn’t that they don’t communicate, it’s that they try but also only do it by halves because they hate fighting. They’ll talk, Anakin will say something that Padmé might disagree with— the fascism discussion in the Naboo field in AOTC, the question of whether the Republic is just or not in TPM —and she’ll try and correct him if she feels he’ll listen, but if he doubles down, she’ll go “ok you know what, agree to disagree, let’s not fight” and she subtly changes the subject because she hates fighting with him. If Pads says something Ani doesn’t like— telling Obi Wan about them in ROTS, some emotional advice she tries to give in both movies —he’ll flat out shut down and be like “I don’t want to talk about this, let’s drop it” and then seek out cuddles or affection as a distraction.

And that brings us back to the Clovis arc. The scene where the “as your husband” line occurs. Anakin is trying to talk Padmé out of doing this not because he’s jealous. Maybe he was jealous the first time he met Clovis and saw Padmé being all cute n’ fond with her old flame, but this time it seems almost entirely because last time ended in catastrophe and he’s genuinely worried for Padmé and feels she’s not thinking wisely, that she’s putting herself in danger.

However, Anakin is deciding to voice these concerns in Possessive Dudebro Pushing because of the aforementioned misguided Vader Foreshadowing and Toxic Masculinity. Padmé? Is not even CONSIDERING what he has to say, is just breezing on through and shutting him down at every turn and generally acting like he’s a dumbass who doesn’t have a clue about anything.

Now, it is very in character for Padmé Amidala to be all “I’m right, you’re wrong, fuck you don’t get in my way”. HOWEVER, they aren’t framing this as solely Padmé having a goal and bulldozing her way through the situation. That’s not how they frame this.

They frame this as: Padmé is embarrassed that she misjudged the situation wrong the last time and embarrassed even further that Anakin had to step in and get her out of trouble— which he brings up —and probably remembers that he made fun of her while he did it—

(Timing out to say that THAT scene was also OOC; they once more wanted a Vader parallel what with Anakin’s silhouette when he opens her cell door and the way Padmé’s sleeping pose is identical to Leia’s in ANH. But Anakin basically steps in and gives her this condescending-ass “awww the little wife’s gotten in over her head like I SAID she would, good thing I’m here to rescue her!” bit that’s really just MEAN. It’s not like him and Obi Wan’s/Ahsoka’s teasing snark whenever they have to pull each out of trouble, he’s just kicking her while she’s already down. Really, Anakin’s reaction should have been a lot less humorous and a lot more pissy; she didn’t listen to him, didn’t trust him, and ended up in danger because of it. It’d be a surly and upset “I told you so”, not an amused one.)

—and now it seems much more like Padmé is solely taking this assignment to spite Anakin for being a dick and to pettily prove that she knows what she’s doing rather than any sense or urge to do the right thing. And....... childish pettiness????? Is not Padmé. And yet, she has the entire immature “don’t tell me what to DO, Anakin” attitude this whole arc that amounts to WAY more than just the normal response she would have to his overcontrolling dickishness

And once again, it’s because she, like everyone else in the episode, seems to think the problem Anakin has is that he’s jealous of Clovis. He’s not, not really. He’s insecure, yes, but he also knows Clovis is a bag of dicks as well, and trusts that Padmé knows she’s better than that. His problem isn’t fears he’ll lose Padmé, it is entirely that Padmé isn’t listening to his concerns, doesn’t trust him, is going into a situation they both know is unwise, and he is frustrated he’s not in a position where he can look out for her since he feels she’s not looking out for herself. And, he’s not entirely wrong. Padmé IS being reckless and kind of irrational solely to prove a point. He just goes about it pretty much entirely the wrong way, which is what you can really say is the cause and effect formula for any problem Anakin Skywalker encounters and subsequently makes worse.

And then there’s That Scene. The one where Clovis tries to force a kiss on Padmé and Anakin freaks and almost kills him for it. I’ll start off by quoting another Tumblr user on that very scene by saying in regards to Clovis: “that bitch deserved that”. The almost murder? Maybe not that far, but the initial hitting for disrespecting someone’s “no”? Yep, that was deserved.

My first criticism is that Anakin shouldn’t have even had time to attack him because why the fuck wasn’t Padmé instantly kneeing him in the balls?!?! Like Padmé is not prone to violence immediately, no, but she can will and does defend herself immediately when she needs to— her right punch knocked someone tf out once when she was pissed —and she already gave him a warning that his advances were not welcomed.

Now, I am absolutely not victim blaming. I am NOT saying it is the fault of a woman (I’d be a hypocrite if I did and that’s all I’ll say on THAT), or of anyone when faced with sexual harassment, if they don’t fight back for whatever reason, no matter how capable of doing so they may be. What I’m saying is that considering her previous behavior and personality and the fact that the show NEVER goes deep enough into explaining heavy stuff like why victims might freeze or NOT fight back when faced with harassment, I feel like showing her not attempting to defend herself at all is kinda strange.

Now, Padmé’s utter passiveness to the situation aside, we’re going back into toxic masculinity and misunderstood interpretations of how Anakin displays possession. While I’ll repeat that Clovis deserved consequences for the forced kiss, Anakin going full caveman defending his property jealous rage just. Doesn’t feel right to me. Again, I think Anakin would probs hit him and put the fear of living god into him, maybe even I’d buy the attempted murder if they framed it as Anakin doing it because he hates those who force their will on others and disrespect women, but the whole that’s MY wife and you’re touching her shite just once more feels alpha male aggressive ridiculousness. Like again, I understand Anakin is possessive of Padmé, but not like this. I’m sorry, but I just cannot see that, him fighting over her like she’s a scrap of meat.

Like, I completely think she’s in the right tho to put them on a break after he does it though. That’s well within her right.

But then onto the FINAL part where after Clovis goofs and fucks them all over and then dies, she forgives him and blames herself for everything and apologizes. And like, that part I do see as in canon and character for her and for Anakin. He doesn’t like to admit his mistakes, her mistakes weigh on her and when she fails to fix or save someone, she falls into depression and upset and self-blame.

But the fact that Clovis died because Anakin dropped him? Anakin Skywalker, who scaled an entire elevator shaft carrying two people over his back who combined probs weighed more than Padmé and Clovis. Anakin Skywalker, who’s used the Force to lift tons of debris, who’s used it to hold back explosions, Anakin Skywalker, MOST POWERFUL FORCE USER IN HISTORY WHO TENDS TO RELY ON BRUTE STRENGTH FOR MOST SHIT ANYWAY. That Anakin couldn’t pull two people over a ledge?!?!?!?!? This has always bothered me.

Like to be honest; I feel this entire episode could have been so fixable too. Like keep Anakin’s obsessive worry over Padmé making a mistake, keep the best part of the arc which is his talk with Obi Wan where Obi Wan tries to connect with him and explain that he’s not alone, all Jedi have emotional struggles and have loved, if perhaps he wants to TALK to someone about it, Obi Wan is here for him, like that? That’s okay!

Just ugh ffs, get rid of the nasty Anakin treating Padmé like a naughty dog who won’t obey him and the Padmé purposely acting unwisely to spite Anakin plot. Have the entire conflict be both of them being upset that the other doesn’t trust them, doesn’t believe in their advice, keep Padmé’s speech about how marriages NEED trust and compromise to survive, take all of Anakin’s aggression towards Padmé and transfer it to aggression towards Clovis, like make the conflict him menacing the guy if he hurts Padmé again just because he’s being overprotective and “if you won’t look out for yourself I will” and Anakin getting constantly checked for not being able to control his emotions, Padmé can tell him off for being overprotective instead of overaggressive and his possessiveness can instead show through him arguing that he needs to keep her safe at all costs. THAT can be the argument.

And if they want the Vader foreshadowing? Like real, in-character Vader foreshadowing??? Tbh, drop the Clovis beatdown, drop the machoness towards Padmé, and just have Anakin blatantly DROP the douchebag at the end of the episode instead of his hand slipping. Make him choose to ACTIVELY kill Clovis. Like THAT, Anakin taking the law into his own hands and deciding that he knows best and this guy is dangerous and has fucked up one too many times, there being an opportunity where there’s an chance to save Clovis when they’re alone without Pads, “be a Jedi, Padmé wouldn’t want this, do the right thing” Clovis might say, and we can see Anakin’s face considering, and then he just “Long Live The King”s him and lets him fall and die, THAT is an in-character Vader foreshadowing.

Then at the end of the episode, we can have Anakin lie to her, say Clovis slipped, say it was too late, and Padmé can believe him, thank him for trying. Then there’s the same thing where Padmé apologizes, and we can have a callback to the convo about trust and she adds that she’s sorry that she didn’t trust him, and when she says that, we zoom in on Anakin’s guilty face.

There. That’s how I’d fix these episodes

And THERE, I think I’ve complained about everything, I am SO sorry for the gigantic ass post and response, I’ll add a read more once I’m on my laptop and not on the beach on mobile.

But yeah anon, I hope that satisfies your question xD

Once again, I welcome discussion if y’all either agree with me or if you have any differing opinions, I know my takes are far from hot for several people and I’m curious to see what others think!

[kyberphilosopher]

Kalon

“So long as you’re with me, I know I’ll never have to do anything alone.” 

Word Count: 2091

Pronunciation: KAL-en. (n.)...  the ideal of physical and moral beauty especially as conceived by the philosophers... beauty that is more than skin deep.

Rey really wanted to pound her fist against the ship in her frustration. 

The Millennium Falcon had accomplished so much throughout its existence- it was the infamous ship that had made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs! It had outrun Imperial starships. Not the local bulk cruisers, of course, but the big Corellian ships. Sleek and uniquely shaped, she was fast enough for anyone. 

But Rey thought she knew better. Of course, she appreciated the ship for what it was already. Anything that someone put so much effort into working with and creating was something that she could get behind. However, the thought popped into her mind that maybe there was a way to make it better. 

Just a little rewiring! Maybe a new paint job? Nothing too extreme, of course. The girl would never want to change the entire essence of something with so much value- sentimental or otherwise. Rey preferred keeping the vessel of both her friends memories and her own the same. Safe and secure. 

But this task was proving to be a tad more difficult than anticipated. 

It spiraled quickly enough. A little bit of rewiring turned into having to replace certain bits, which turned itself into having to fix an oil leak. How the Falcon hadn’t exploded into thousands of little shards was beyond Rey, by this point. It continuously seemed that with every adjustment she made [or attempted to make] morphed into a new problem that might’ve not even been worth it. It didn’t help much that that Poe Dameron guy would make a face or a snide comment as he watched her work. He had even made offers to help Rey, which she slapped aside each time. 

You watched as the girl finally slammed her palms against the side of the thing. With grit teeth and a bit of a huff, a few strands of brown locks fell down as she took a step back. Rey always was a bit of an emotional person, and sometimes her anger and frustration got hard to ignore. 

You shift against the wall you lean on, eyes glued to her. Rey looks incredibly pretty, however flushed with irritation. She’s been at it all day, and the exertion is rising in time with the setting sun. The sky, once a brilliant, bright blue, has faded into pastel shades of tangerine and raspberry and lemon. It’s warm today, adding to the thin layer of sweat spreading across her shoulders and palms. You were curious to see how her hazel eyes would make themselves appear in the light, but she was turned away from you. 

“Girls gonna be the death of us,” Poe grumbled as he walked passed you, shaking his head and jabbing his thumb. His expression was one of a ‘can you believe her?’. 

You crane your head over your shoulder to watch the man march away and into the hangar. You’d be willing to bet that he’s going to complain to General Organa, who will say some sassy words of wisdom in response. 

When you turn your head back, Rey has her hands on the sides of her hips. She looks the Falcon up and down, her white robes billowing slightly in the summer like wind. You’re not sure what she’s going to do next, but you’ve observed her enough to know she’s not exactly a quitter. 

Your relationship with the Jedi was a bit of a strange one. It wasn’t bad by any means. You weren’t quite... “friends”, but you weren’t really acquaintances either. It was more like the outer circle of friendship, where things are soft and warm but still somewhat mysterious. Rey didn’t come to you for things like she would Finn or Leia, and you didn’t talk to her nearly as often as Poe or Tallie. But you watched her sometimes out of appreciation and security, wondering if she was aware how beautiful she looked in the light of the sun. 

It takes a lot of bravery to talk to someone you admire, whether you know them well or not. People would be jealous of all the guts it took for you to push yourself from leaning by the entrance, and starting towards the girl. 

“Need help?” you question politely. Rey jumps and turns to you, startled but not upset. “Sorry.”

Rey looks at you for only a second before turning back to the ship. Her brown eyes rake up and down, looking at the exposed wires and vents and all the bits she’d happened to destroy. “No, no. I don’t think so,” Rey decides to say with a sigh. 

“You sure?” you say, turning to look at the structure ahead of you as well. “I mean, not to brag, but I think I know a lot about YT Leight Freighters.”

This draws a flash of a smile from her. She feels the stress and annoyance of working at the ship all day sinking away slowly with the light bit of humor. She looks down at her feet before squinting her eyes in the sunlight. “Can you toss me that Hydrospanner?” she says, pointing to the ground by your feet. 

You bend down and pick it up right away from the cluster of tools, tossing it to her. As she catches it sloppily and turns it over in her palms, she scoffs in that way that people do to show a kind form of surprise. “Finn can never do that right.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. “Find a tool?”

Rey looks up at you, smiling. “You’d be surprised.”

You grin softly at each other in the light, the Falcon casting dim shadows across the place but not diminishing the warmth that you felt. The nervousness in your stomach was ever present, and you were somewhat afraid of saying something wrong with her. 

“So are you going to make any adjustments to the inside?” you ask, peeling your eyes from hers and admiring the bulk of the famous ship. You can see all the little divots and scratches embedded in the metal, each one telling a story. You can see why she would’ve wanted to keep reparations to a minimum. 

Rey strains as she goes to tighten a screw on her tip-toes. Her brow furrows and a bead of sweat appears on the right. “No, I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.” 

You nod in understanding. “Always wanted to be a pilot,” you muttered, half to yourself. 

Rey squinted over at you, detaching her tool from the bolt and watching your expression change to one of awe. Everything you guys said to each other had always been polite and small, only urgent once or twice. You knew each other, knew of each other, but not in the way that she knew others. It wasn’t quite as intimate or personal as her relationship with others, but Rey liked your presence fine enough. It shocked the pit of her tummy to hear you say something that sounded so personal. 

“Well, aren’t you?” she questioned. 

You scoffed a little dryly, and Rey knew you were about to sell yourself short. “Piloting an X-Wing isn’t much of the same as piloting a Falcon.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Rey said kindly. She watched you turn to her with the glint of joy in your eyes, dissecting her words. “Pass me that towel?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. Again, you picked a rag smeared with dirt and grime from the ground and passed it to her. “Are you going to be here all day?”

Rey rung the towel around her sweaty hands, attempting to soothe the perspiration into the skin instead of wiping it away. She had been, in all honesty. She liked working with her hands, especially when it was on something as grand and legendary as the Millennium Falcon. It reminded her of something she knew was real and tangible, no matter how many bad memories her hands tied to her old life. 

“No,” she said, even though it hurt a bit to say. 

You bit your lip for a second, giving time for her lie to sink in before speaking again. “I meant do you want me to stay all day?”

Rey looks over at you again, her head moving fast. Her big, doe eyes are looking at you like you’ve said the kindest thing in the world, trying to detect if you mean it. You do. 

“Yeah,” she says, hoarse but with smile. She nods her head vigorously, strands of hair bouncing up and down. “Yeah.”

You stayed with her for the next hour or so, standing out against the setting sun and the distant view of fern green trees. Rey payed attention to every one of your polite words, each one an offering. She offered what she could back as she weaved and fumbled. 

You got to see her hands in action, and you were surprised you hadn’t appreciated them before. To be fair, this interaction was probably the closest you’d been to her. But Rey’s fingers were slim and strong and nimble, and they twisted wires like braids. The metal panels of the ship seemed to bend to her will. You knew she was worth all the time you’d spent observing her beauty. 

“Do you think any of this will actually mean anything?” you asked at the end of the day. The sky had turned purple and orange by now, with the sun disappearing beyond the horizon. Most of the soldiers and pilots and workers outside had turned in for the night, and Rey’s palms had begun pink and rough from the work. 

You lean your head back against the ship, which is a little uncomfortable, but fatigue has somewhat dulled your senses by now. Your locks matted in the back as it pressed against the metal. You had a knot tying itself up in your lower back, while Rey had one forming in her upper. “What do you mean?” she questioned, shutting a panel for the time being. 

“Just... the Rebellion,” you admitted. Your eyes flitted around. Rey could see the reflection of the rising moon in your pupils, even from the side. “The Resistance. What if it doesn’t actually do anything.”

Rey admired your profile, appreciating the look of your skin. She could see the exact shape of your jaw, the chapped nature of your lips and the length of your lashes. Sweat had begun to form against your skin from the humidity of the system, but it didn’t look stinky or unwelcome. 

She doesn’t know much about you still, but she likes your presence now. Against the noise of the galaxy, your conversation is quiet and soft, and not nearly as abrasive and demanding as others around her. Rey closes her lips. Her eyes soften more and more, melting into the soothing aura of your presence. 

“It’ll mean something,” she says, nodding her head like a promise. 

You turn your head to look at Rey, meeting her hazel eyes. “Yeah,” you say in turn. “It’ll mean something.” Though you’re not talking about the Resistance now. 

You’re talking about Rey, who you’ve found incredibly beautiful since the moment you saw her. Strong and fierce, she had a fire that reminded you of all the things in life you loved. And maybe one day, you could tell her that. But for the moment, all you can do is exchange a genuine smile with her, the light of everything else in the world fading away until her and the Millennium Falcon are the only things that remain. 

“Would you ever want to...”

You turn back to Rey as you walk, watching her wipe her hands across her pants like its a smock. Dirt and oil smears across them, but you know she doesn’t mind. The girl has already had enough experiences to become accustomed to a little dirt. 

“Yeah?” you ask, the moon rising higher into the lavender canvas above. 

Rey feels nervous, and she’s inwardly cursing at herself for not being able to stop her voice from slipping out. “If you’d ever like to fly the Falcon with me,” she explains. “I just mean...”

You look down, then back up between the girl and the large, infamous ship. “Thank you, Rey.” 

You’d agree the next day, on the condition that it meant something. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I don’t like the sequels very much, but somebody wanted Rey and I delivered. I like writing for girl characters, to be honest. A lot of the sequel characters are a bit difficult to do because I don’t think a lot of them have to much of like... personalities? But I tried to stay true to what I think Rey might say. I’d appreciate feedback if i was alright with her character though! it’s important that I keep them in character

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @kit-jpg​ @chokemeanakin​ @anakinswhore​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ @haztory​

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XII

Part I - - - - - - Part II - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part X - - - - - - Part XI

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“We cannot delay much longer” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said gravely. “Rumors are spreading like wildfire throughout the temple, and Master Kenobi’s absence is not going unnoticed among the troops.”

Master Fisto sighed and his hologram rippled. “As much as I dislike deliberate falsehoods, I think it might be best for morale if we keep- the truth, as we understand, under wraps as much as possible. Young Ashoka is deeply shaken. I myself...” the Nautolan sighed again, running a hand through his tendrils anxiously.

“Not to mention the fact that Master Kenobi might have a valid reason for mistrusting the Chancellor so strongly” Master Gallia added darkly. “Of course I’m not saying we should charge him with anything based on Kenobi’s scattered words alone, but given the chance that this was proceeded by some hypernaturally prescient event, some form of precaution seems warranted.”

Yoda hummed in reply, looking weary. “Fallen ill, Obi-Wan has, tell the Chancellor and the Admiralty, we shall. Incapable of visitors. Still unknown to us, the cause is. Overwork, we suspect. Truth, it may be?” he finished, turning to Master Windu.

Mace leaned back. “I’ve shared everything relevant. We still don’t know anything with absolute certainty. It is my hope that the healers will call upon our more powerful telepaths for assistance later today, should their other efforts continue to prove unsuccessful.” he added with a glance at Master Koon.

"In the mean time,” Master Tiin interjected. “We must discuss the situation in the Expansion Region! As much as we had hoped to delay the Unumbran until Master Kenobi was capable of leading the 212th-”

“That is no longer plausible, if ever it was.” Plo-Koon interrupted softly.

“You may be best suited for the task, Master Tiin” Windu offered. “Your 407th was intended to accompany the 212th, in any case.”

Saesee Tiin reared back, alarmed. “I’m honored, but as I’ve already explained to the council, my skills as a pilot and Shocktroop leader are best utilized at a lower command level. I’m certain there’s a better suited replacement for Kenobi, at least for the short term. What about Skywalker? He is Kenobi’s protegee, and more familiar with working directly with the 212th.”

“You are a veteran with considerable more experience than young Skywalker. You would truly trust his judgement over your own?” Shaak Tii asked skeptically.

“As a General? Absolutely. I’ve seen what he’s capable of.” Master Tiin confirmed.

Koon pushed back, disapproving. “Regardless of his skill, I don’t believe he is in the best mindset for such a task at the moment.”

“Will he be held back from the front entirely?” Master Koth asked, frowning. “That would mean reworking our forces considerably.”

Before Mace was forced to add his own concerns about Anakin’s role in the war, they were interrupted by a priority message from the Chancellor’s office.

Exchanging looks, the assembled council straightened in their seats, nodding one by one at Master Windu, who finally accepted the incoming call.

A full scale live holo of Chancellor Palpatine opened at the front of the room.

“Ah, I see the full council is here. I thank you humbly for accepting my call so quickly.” He said to the room with a smooth bow of the head.

Exchanging a glance with Mace, Master Yoda answered, “Of course, Chancellor. Serve the senate, we do. Help you how, can we?”

A troubled expression crossed Palpatine’s expression. “I recently heard the most terrible rumor about poor General Kenobi. I was hoping the Council could clear up the truth of the matter.”

“Hmm. Dangerous things, rumors are. Careful with them, you are wise to be.” Yoda said. Everyone in the room expertly stifled a smile at Yoda’s unrivaled skill at vague topic evasion.

The Chancellor was far too practiced a politician to allow irritation to cross his expression. “Thank you for that wisdom Master Yoda. Now what exactly is the condition of the High General of the Third System Army?”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “Plagued by sickness, Master Kenobi is. Unable to wake him, our best healers are.”

Palpatine gasped. “How horrid! Surely this must be some insidious Separatist plot! What else could have felled such a powerful Jedi.”

“Immune to illness, Not even the Jedi are. Still investigating the cause, are we. Discussing who should care for his troops, when you called, we were.”

“Oh, how dreadful, that we are forced to discuss such mundanities as troop movements when a good friend’s life might hang in the balance! Please, if there’s anything I or the Senate can do to help, you have my personal support in accessing the finest healers.”

“Very kind of you, that is. But well cared for, Master Kenobi is. Will help, a rest from the stress of war, we hope. Do our best to keep the news contained, we shall. Risk inspiring fear in the public, we do not wish.”

“Indeed! That is very wise thing to fear. Do not worry, I will ensure that any security leaks are taken care myself if need be.”

Master Windu finally spoke, tone and posture absolutely neutral. “Thank you, Chancellor. If there’s nothing else, we will return to planning our strategy during Master Kenobi’s unfortunate but necessary leave of absence from the front.” 

“Of course! When you are finished, would you be so kind as to send General Skywalker to brief me on what you decide?”

“That won’t be necessary, Chancellor. I’m more than happy to come in person to brief you myself” Windu replied in the same placid voice. 

“Oh, I’m certain that as Master of the Order you have more important tasks to do than talk to an old man such as myself! And as you know, I consider Anakin a friend of mine. It will do me good to check in on him myself, I’m sure you understand.”

“As you have so kindly reminded us in the past, nothing outweighs a Jedi’s duty to the Senate of the Republic. As Master of the Order, I consider discussing the matter with you a top priority. And as for Skywalker- your concern is of course appreciated. I’m sure, given your friendship, you will respect our decision to give the young man some time off from council obligations to meditate over his concern for his friend and former Master. We would be happy to pass on an informal invitation to meet with you, if you wish.”

Palpatine was silent for a moment. “How...very kind of you to respect their close bond with one another. Yes, please do pass on my personal invitation of support to Anakin. And my offer of non-Jedi medical consultation.”

“I will do so as soon as our meeting has finished. Thank you again Chancellor.”

Palpatine nodded briefly then closed the connection, hologram winking out of existence.

“Unaware, I was, a leave of absence from his duties, we were giving Knight Skywalker.” Yoda said with a raised brow.

“The full matter will need to wait until Master Kenobi wakes, but for now, trust me when I say that we should at least discuss possible replacement leadership for both the 212th and the 501st.”

The council grumbled at that, but Mace quelled any arguments with a severe look. 

“Very well.” Shaak Tii relented, pulling up a datapad. “Jedi Masters currently without troops to command include several shadows that we could hypothetically pull from their duties, as well as Master Krell after the tragic loss of his last division...”

---

“My Lord! This is an unexpected honor! How may I-”

“Save your simpering, Tyrannus.” The hooded figure hissed. “It appears we have a new player in the game.”

“To whom are you referring, my lord?” Dooku responded, thinking quickly. Of course both Sith were constantly instigating power plays amongst the Republic and Seperatist leadership, but nothing dramatic came to mean.”  

“You mean to tell me you don’t know?” Sideous replied with a wicked smirk. “How disappointing. I had thought your spy network better than that, particularly when it comes to your favorite lineage member.”

Dooku paused. “I was aware that Kenobi had missed the most recent major mixed war briefing. Do you mean to tell me he has begun to move against you, my lord?”

“My, my. Your sources truly are failing you, Darth Tyrannus. Quite the opposite is true. It appears that someone has managed to land a blow where our combined efforts had previously proven fruitless.”

“A blow against Kenobi? On Coruscant? That is...an interesting development” 

“Indeed. Find out everything you can. Whoever has succeeded has done so in such a manner as to utterly rattle the High Council. I’ve never seen them so deliciously shaken.”

“I see. And what of your favorite of my lineage? I assume you are managing to use the situation against him gracefully as ever.”

Palpatine’s smirk fell into twisted snarl. “The boy is despondent of course. My lack of warning means that I was unable to position myself advantageously in advance. And now he is refusing to answer messages, while the council has chosen to give him time off. Bah. Of all the times to attend to their Chosen one’s emotional wellbeing...”

Dooku drew himself up, expression betraying nothing. “Forgive me my lord, but any information you can provide me would help in my search to find our ‘new player’ as it were. I have never known the council to be so...soft with a knight when his former Master was simply in sickbay. Do you mean to tell me that Obi-Wan Kenobi has passed into the force?” His tone, haughtily impassive throughout the conversation, grew a touch disbelieving at the very end.

“My sources tell me he is ‘unwakeable’ but given the boy’s anger and grief, not to mention the fact that his force signature is practically non-existent... I suspect his condition may very well be critical. Find out the rest.  Do not fail me again, Tyrannus.”

The connection cutoff abruptly, leaving Dooku alone in the dimly lit room. He strode out, sealing the private chamber behind him and calling out. 

“Ventress! Attend me at once- I have an urgent assignment for you...”

Part XIII

[3piox]

The Jedi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Plan

Making new post because that reblog chain was getting a lil long and I can talk about Ventress til the banthas come home:

What does the Jedi Order do with this?

They decide “we can use her as a tool. We will send one of our own to her, under false pretenses, and we will have him pretend to be a Fallen Jedi. We will have him inveigle her to train him in the secrets of the dark side. And we will have him use her to launch an assassination attempt on Dooku, killing him using his own student.”

This is a HOWLINGLY bad decision. It is morally dubious. It is grotesquely dismissive of Ventress as a person, it is NOT in accordance with the Jedi Code. This is a desperate, fear-based attempt at murdering their enemy using any weapon available to them.

Fear, of course, being the path to the dark side.

Asajj Ventress dies because the Order fucked up and gives her life to protect the vehicle of that fuckup.

It’s those kinds of decisions that should be laid at their door.

- @opinions-about-tiaras​

Oh, yes. Now setting aside my more Doylist opinions on That Book (Golden is a hack, Asajj dying to further Quin’s story is tired sexist BS, anyways she’s a lesbian duh) something I do like about this terrible, terrible series of events is how thoroughly Obi-Wan roasts the Council at the end for their choices.

"We lost our way," Kenobi had said. "We lost it when we decided to use assassination, a practice so clearly of the dark side, for our own ends, well intentioned though they might have been. All that has happened since-Vos succumbing to the dark side, the deaths he has directly and indirectly caused, the secrets leaked, the worlds placed in jeopardy-all of this can be traced back to that single decision. Masters, I submit to you that Vos's fall was of our making. And Asajj Ventress's death is on all our hands. That Vos is here with us today, devastated but on the light path once more, is no credit to us, but to her. She died a true friend of the Jedi, and I believe that she deserves to be laid to rest with respect and care, with all gratitude for the life she gave and the life she has restored to us, and this bitter lesson that came at so dear a price. We are Jedi, and we must, all of us, always, remember what that means."

This scene is also very interesting when you contrast it to Ventress kinning Ahsoka when Ahsoka was framed for the temple bombings.

My master abandoned me, and that's exactly what you did to her, you and your precious Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan defends Quin where Ahsoka was failed. Ventress wanted the full pardon Ahsoka promised to argue for her, but Ahsoka losing faith in herself and the Council meant she never did try to speak in Ventress’s defense. Ventress still living on the edges of society meant she was in prime state to be used for this terrible, terrible plan.

"If we can take him, we can turn him back," Kenobi said.

"You cannot save everyone, Master Kenobi," Plo Koon said, not without sympathy.

Yoda nodded. "Save themselves, they must."

(...)

"You know as well as I do that there is still hope for him."

"I don't know that," she said bluntly. Kenobi was surprised. Mace Windu frowned, leaning forward. "You weren't there. You didn't see his face. You don't know how hard it is to come back from-"

"You did it," Kenobi interrupted quietly. Ventress paused in midsentence, her eyes looking piercingly into his. He could sense how stunned she was by his recognition of what she had done. 

“He could sense how stunned she was by his recognition of what she had done.” Ventress saved herself, without being given any favours. I do understand in a general way why the Jedi wouldn’t offer her any. She has done horrific things. I wish they had decided to reward her from the start of this plan, however, even if they chose to keep her in the dark (hah) because of her lack of trustworthiness. Instead they just sit on an offer of a pardon until they need to reassure her she won’t be arrested for helping them get Vos back.

The Jedi assume that because she’ll be DTA (Down to Assassinate) she won’t have changed enough to earn forgiveness, despite the fact that Vos would get to stay a Jedi after hopefully beheading Dooku. Moral equivalence, and all that.

We owe Vos the chance to choose again, and, with our help, wisely.

We owe him that chance to choose again. “Anakin, this path has been placed for you; the choice is yours alone.” People make informed choices when all their options are clear to them. Thanks to Dooku and Ky Narec, Ventress knows the life of a Sith and of a Jedi. She can choose how she wants to live as a result -- but some material limitations exist outside her (i.e. her status as a war criminal.)

The Jedi come up with this terrible plan because they’re clouded by emotion -- the novel opens up with Dooku committing a mass murder and laying the blame at the Jedi’s feet. They react by doing what they’re always seen as both guilty and not guilty of: Taking action.

"Answer me this. How often has this Council sat, shaking our heads, saying, Everything leads back to Dooku? A few dozen times? A few hundred?"

You accept the ‘gift’ of a million soldier slaves to end a terrible war. You could also end that war by laying down your arms, accepting the consequences on your own small organization -- and the deaths of billions as they’re mowed down by droids. You choose to fight, and if you take that step, what’s so different about sending someone to kill the instigator of this war? Where do you draw your line in the sand?

To Quin’s credit, he does tell Ventress who he is and about the whole plan before any training or assassination plans take place. She agrees without needing any reward.

I think what really gets me is the point they bring up time and again, and Dooku himself sums up so perfectly:

"Our escape plans hinged on her?" Dooku exclaimed almost at the same moment, his lip curling. "The most abysmal assassin of all time?"

They can make all the noise they want about Ventress having gotten closer than anyone to killing Dooku -- at the end of the day, she’s still failed, TWICE,  and that was with magic witches on her side. Why would they use her for this plan, for any reason other than she’s convenient. It’s lazy. It’s that ultimate allure of the ethically dubious: “It’ll just be easier if we do it this way.” If they really wanted to assure this working, why didn’t they just offer Ventress a pardon in exchange for Dooku’s itinerary, then send Mace and Yoda to dice the devil up? Seriously.

Also, this whole stupid book becomes Even More Pointless when you consider how fucking funny it is that after Learning Their Lesson here the Jedi decide that the perfect plan of action a whole 2 months later in RotS is to .................................. send Obi-Wan to kill Grievous. I mean, what, they weren’t worried just a little bit that Obi-Wan would end up sleeping with him instead and switching sides? 🤔🤔🤔

[nrsranger]

1.7

Ord Mantell

Ord Utellian (pop 10,003)

The Mantellian Sepritist

1904 hrs

The Mantellian Sepritist was a large bar on the outskirts of the City of Ord Utellian, which served as the host city for the New Republic Fleet, it was a three walled establishment with a low brick fence extending out, then comprised the fourth wall leaving 12 meter by 12 meter section in the open air. The walls of the bar were decorated with art and artficats from the days of the Old Republic, Old Mantellian battle helmets, the most prized artifact was an Old Republic Trooper SpecForce armor from the famed Spec Ops Unit known as Havoc Squad. Several dozen tables sprinkled the large floor space. Currently all the tables and the bar space were filled out with uniformed officers from the New Republic Navy. The noise was kept to a modest level with occasional outbursts of laughter, that's what Dorman thought when he, Yarn and L.T Commander Maldoza walked in. The three of them crossed the room and found a table with five people gatherd around it. The Light Blue uniform identifyed them as pilots in the Star Fighter Corps. Glancing at the rank insignia on the shoulder and chest they were identified as three Squad leaders, a Flight L.T and the highest ranking officer, a Flight Captian. The moment Dorman saw the Squad leader insgnia he instantly snapped a salute, Yarn was a bit slower as he went to attention. Then men seated at the table turned toward the out of place display of promt millitary protocol.

“Who’s on watch at this table?” L.t Commander Maldoza demanded crisply

“I am” Flight Captian Alek Mauz said getting up and facing the two men and the Bothan as if they were in a standoff. “At ease Ensigns”

“Do I even need to ask?” Maldoza said all formalily and hostility dropping.

“I don’t know why you still do?” Alek said then added as they shook hands in a way only old friends can shake hands “These are my two new pilots?”

“Yes, they are, enjoy them!” L.T Commander Maldoza said “I have to go immedatly” he added

“Your not going to stay, Ralrost?” Alek siad

“I wish I could but things are in motion things that require my attention” Ralrost said “or is that to vuage” throwing a glace toward Dorman and Yarn

“Anything I should know about?” Alek said

“Not yet, but make sure none of your pilots are” Ralrost stammed a bit as if trying to remeber a coiloqual saying “K.O, we might have work tommorrow”

Alek starred into his friends face susspisouly, “yeah, sure thing” he said hessitently, but then continuing he said “Joker, get the L.T Commander somthing for the road!”

As Joker stood up and hopped over the bar “Does he want some Bothan concocktion or a cup of Jawa juice?”

“Careful! I’m the guy who can get you a date with every Todarian drag queen from here to Naboo” Ralrost said drawing “oooooOOOO’s” from the whole crowd

Tinged with a bit of embarssement but with a playful smile “It was one time! Howd you know about that?,” Joker said

“What can I say, I’m Bothan…..and the fact that you talk when your K.O’ed drunk” Ralrost said smiling ear to ear

“Well you just earned yourself a Bothan Protein Martini” Joker said as he assembled the drink.

Ralrost then felt a buzzing in his pocket and grabbed out his commlink, listened for a bit shut it down and looked up just as Joker was finishing with the drink and was looking for a to go container he found a hydro-cylinder took off the cap took a wif then made a face as he poured it out into the sink, he then refiled the container with Ralrost’s Bothan Protein Martini, he then put the cap back on. The bartender starred not caring, so long as he got paid he then shrugged his shoulders and went about his business.

“Alright Commander here you go” Joker said as he tossed it to Ralrost,

L.T Commander Maldoza caught it, thanked Joker and exited the bar in a rush.

“What was that all about?” Yarn said

“Ralrost Maldoza so so high in the Bothan interllignce network even I don’t know how much he is informed about, if he is worried, somthing is big is happening” the Flight L.T said

“Trippers right, Everyone lets go light on the drinks!” Alek said

The bar erupted in low grummbles put deep down they all knew that Maldoza information has saved their lives more time than they could count, and thats all the ones they knew off. Alek Mauz then turned his attention to the two new Ensigns that are now under his command

“So what are your names Ensigns?” Alek Mauz said

“Ensgin Yarn Belmic! Sir!”

“Ensign Dorman Tarn!,Sir!”

“Congratulations, Belmic your Firebird 11 your temparory Call Sign is 11, Tarn your Firebird 12 your temparory Call Sign is 12, now 11, 12 take a seat and lets make some introductions” Alek Mauz stood up and said “Fire Birds introduce your selfs to your new squad mates”

From behind them came “I’m Derci Alpine but you will refere to me as Joker, Squad leader, or the King of Naboo”

“Names Taus Maic I’m your new Flight L.T Callsigns Tripper” said one of the men sitting at the same table as them

“Call Sign Squid” Said a Quarren sitting at a circular table with three other pilots playing a friendly game of Sabbac with table snacks making up most of the winnings “but my name is Talllos Quarn”

The person the human to his right said in a deep voice “Mac Ran callsign Brawl”

The Sabbac dealer was a Rodian who said “Ives Derven, Sabbac”

The final person at the table was a human who said “Sir, Magnolian Vardeenios 5th lord to the thrown of Varlelos call sign Drip”

The next voice sat a table with three Rodians belonging to a Weequay “Call sign is Mob, thats all you need to know right now”

“Mash Ric Callsign Root” said a human sitting at the bar alone “thats Utapa Tarples grandson of the Great General Tarples from the Clone Wars, his Callsign is Gungan he dose not like to talk infront of most people” Mash said indicating a Gungan sitting on a chair leaning aginst the wall with his uniform cover covering his face appering to be taking a nap.

“This is Squad Leader of the Night Owls Natalia Gee callsign Vine” Alek said indicating the Theelin Female “This is the A-Wing Squad Leader Otis Tik or Noodles” indicting the two squad leaders sitting at their table “and last but not least my name is Flight Captian Alek Mauz, Callsign Firebird and I am your CAG” said the ageing man that gave them their call signs ”You probaly have alot of questions, and so long it does not interfere with the enjoyableness of the evening, you may ask”

“Umm ok,my first question is, what kinda Jedi esc stunt did you pull to get a whole X-Wing squadron named after you?” Yarn Belmic said

“Oh ho ho ho! Now thats a story!” Tripper exclaimed leaning in revealing how much he enjoyed telling this story “You don't know that your sitting in the mists of a galaxy wide celebrity, Alek Mauz is credited with the last confirmed kill of the Galactic Civil War”

“And the Call Sign Firebird?” Yarn said

“If you stick around for a while you might learn why” Alek said with a hint of reluctance.

“I have a question” Dorman said talking twoard Tripper “what did Commander Maldoza mean by asking whos on watch?”

“Now, that is a practice that dates back to the founding of the Rebellion, whenever the Rebels needed to blow off steam and went into a cantina or bar they would always pick out someone to be on watch incase Imperials came in or if any of his comrades wanted to pick a fight there would always be a sober man to break up the fight or to get his men out of there, when Captian Namin who was in the Rebelion from the early days was put in command of the Ranger he instituted this practice” Alek said

“And why are you always on watch?” Dorman asked

“Amoung my people, our gods have promised us in what we call the Palaidin Promise, that who ever swears off Alcohol, additicve substance, sexual relations, and who lives their life as moral as they can, they will be blessed by the Gods that we will be faster, stronger and better than our enemies.” Alek said slowly and cautioly as if this was something very important to him and he did not want anyone to misunderstand.

“This is all fascinating but Captain can we return to the topic at hand? I need to prepare my squad for the next threat” Noodles, the A-Wing Squad leader butted in impatiently.

“Yes, Yes as I explained before, both the First Order and the Resistnace pose threats to the New Republic, and we need to be prepared to deal with both of them” Alek said

“I don’t buy that Captain, the Resistance was formed as a result of the First Order making several threatening moves” said Vine The Y-Wing Squad leader

“Senator Organa only formed the Resistance as a result of a psychological need to fight someone somewhere and when she runs out of enemies who will she fight. I am just saying, look at our training exercise today, we went up against three light cruisers, one grand cruiser and several dozen fighter craft. The carrier jumped out when we destroyed most of the fighters who had 4 cruisers and fighter crafts?” Noodles said

“I met the Senator! she is not a person who is addicted to violence!” Vine exclaimed

“No, she does not seem like a violent person but look when the Empire fell she stayed in the fight to the very end until all the Remnants no matter how small were ratted out and crushed them. She has been fighting her whole life then when Alderan...um, blew up something snapped and she has been a loose cannon, fighting anyone who raised a blaster in her general direction.” Noodles said getting more heated as he’s speech went on

“Your beginning to sound like an Imperial, because Senator Organa has done nothing but sacrifice anything and everything to keep our galaxy safe and all your doing is complaining” Vine said getting just as heated

“No, no you miss understand me, Natalia. I am very grateful for what all she has done she sacrificed everything for the benefit of the Rebellion so that today I don't have to live in a tyrannical empire, but when there is finally peace, what would warriors do, they find another war to fight and when there are none, they start one” Noodles escalating his voice

“I don’t know but the First Order is clearly the bigger threat, and the Resistance is ill maned and ill equipped to take on the First Order or anyone for that matter” Vine said

“You won’t hear an argument from me on that one” Noodles said “But that won't stop them growing”

Yarn was following the conversation very closely but his concentration was interrupted as Joker walked back from the bar, grabbed a seat flipped it backwards and sat down resting his hands on the head rest and looked at Tripper, and Alek who at this point have stayed out of the conversation letting the The squad leaders duke it out verbally. At this point in the argument it turned to how the Resistance is “only made up of Old War Heros like Acbar and Organa, people with nowhere left to go and academy washouts”

This is where Yarn jumped in “I had a classmate in the Academy who got his first posting as an X-Wing pilot before deserting to the resistance” That was like throwing Coaxium off a clift as the argument turned into a three way argument with Noodles saying how the Resistance is a dangerous enemy causing desertion to fill their ranks with Military personal, Vine defended the Resistance recruitment practices by justifying how most of the Navy would leave to fight the real enemy and Yarn was somewhere in the middle.

“Oh Shut up and kiss already!!” Joker said over the clamor drawing the attention of a few other pilots. Noodles and Vine looked at Joker with a stare that could kill, then looked at eachother as they begian to laugh as they stood up faced eachother then boom! They were kissing, and kissing, and kissing either passionatly or viloently, drawing laugh cheers and whoops from the other pilots this went on for few minutes.

Trapper looked accross the table at Yarns face contorted in shock

“Oh, no we broke the new guy” Joker said

“Eleven?, Eleven? You there, Ord Mantel to Eleven come in Eleven” Tripper said waving his hand toward Yarn.

“Huh!!, WHAT THE CRIFT JUST HAPPEND” Yarn said in shock

Chuckling Joker said “Oh that? They have been together for the last few weeks, they argue like this just to throw us off their scent, but IT DIDN'T WORK” he directed the last portion toward the kissing couple.

“Hey, Hey it's Elvens first day here, let's not scare him too bad, ok?” Tripper said nugging Joker.

Throughout this whole ordeal Dorman sat back minding his own business and read the one book he always carried with him in his right thigh’s pants pocket

Alek noticed what Dorman was reading and with a roll of his eyes he realized just how much work his old Bothan friend cut out for him.

“What your reading there, Twelve?” Alek asked

“Just refreshing myself on whatThe New Republic StarFighter Regulation Manual says about improvisational combat plans” Dorman said

“Let me set a few things straight” Alek said then asked “let me see your book”

“Sure, “ Dorman said as he handed it to his Captian

“Look you see this book? Who wrote it?” Alek said displaying the front of the manuel

“Senator Trayis Malcor of Russan?” Dorman said puzzled

“Exactly, this book is useless! It is a military manuel written by a politician, a politician who does not even have a lick of military service” Alek said demeaningly

“Well, sir, uhhh” Dorman stammed

“Look Bookworm there is only one book that matters here in the field” Alek said slamming the manuel down reaching in and holding up a little black book that contained the names of people who should be notified in the event of his death or capture, it also contained personal notes and the last will and testament of Alek “Firebird” Mauz, every pilot filled out two, one he or she carried and one left in their lockers. “The only thing that matters” Alek continued is returning to the people who are in this book and making sure they never hear what I wrote inside it, the manuel only hinders that goal” Alek said with the most stearn voice anyone ever heard him use

A few seconds passed then “Joker?” Tripper said, shouting over low tumult of the crowd trying to lighten the increasingly darking mood “Did you hear that?”

“Yeaah, it sounds like a Callsign” Joker said, jumping on top of the table drawing all the pilot's attention.

“As your Squad leader” Joker said “and Flight L.T” Tripper joined, “we now crisan you Ensing-” they said together “what’s your name” Joker ask “Droman Tarn” Tarn filled in,

“We now Crisan you Ensign Dorman Bookworm Tarn!” they said together

“That's too on the nose Joker!” Root said “Get more creative!”

“Ok! Just Dorman Worm Tarn”

“But that’s my call sign!” Waldmir Vardom a Rodian A-Wing pilot said

“You're not making it easy, Worm!” Joker then said “Ok, ok fine If nobody else has any other exueses you are now Ensign Dorman Book Tarn!!!!”

No body interupted

“Alrighty” Tripper shouted “Let's give Book a Ranger Carrier Air Group Welcome!!!”

“WELCOME TO THE RANGER, BOOK” the whole bar erupted, even Noodles and Vine stopped kissing for a moment to join in the shout.

[evabellasworld]

I Give You My Heart

Chapter 6

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

——————————————————————————————

Summary:  When Riyo Chuchi’s life was threatened, Commander Fox and Jedi Knight Ava Lira and Eva Bella Young are assigned to bring the senator back to her home planet Pantora, where she will be safe from harm. But when the assassin knows her whereabouts, it’s up to Fox, Lira, Eva, and Riyo to work together and stop the assassin.

————————————————————————————-

“Lip, can you hear me?” Fox asked frantically, with Riyo clinging her arms around him. “Lip, are you there?”

He had been attempting to contact her more than once, but so far, he received no answer from her. This was unlike his vod’ika at all. He knows that Lip would check in every half an hour and since it has been more than the usual timing, his palms felt clammy underneath his gloves.

Riyo is aware that they are both in a distressing situation right now, with both of them hiding underneath a bunker that was set up for Republic officials in case of an emergency. Their bunker was obviously hidden underground, with no windows at all.

The room felt suffocating as she could barely breathe, but what little choice does she have? With her assassin still out there, Riyo needs to survive if she has to push for the Clone Rights Act to pass in the Senate. Without her, who will take over and rally for moral supports within the Grand Army of the Republic?

Seeing Fox reaching out for his younger sister made her worried. She doesn’t know much about Lip, except for the fact that she got her name due to her obsession with lipstick, especially the deep red colour that matched her armour. So she made it a point to go to a cosmetic shop and gave her a box of lipsticks, which the clone trooper adored.

Wearing makeup was rare among clones, so Lip happily obliged when her brothers and sisters wanted to wear one as well, especially Yves and Duke. If her lipstick was wearing off, Lip would rush to the refresher and reapply it again, without anyone batting an eye. She may not be able to paint her armour however she wanted, but at least she is able to paint her lips her own way.

“Commander Fox,” a voice replied, which Riyo and Fox recognize as Yves, who was close to Lip.

“Yves,” he answered her, wondering about Lip’s whereabouts. “Where is Lip? What happened to her?”

“Lip is down,” she told him. “I repeat, Lip is down. She must have been chasing the assassin when he somehow rendered her unconscious.”

“Oh, goodness,” he spoke, trying his best not to panic. “Is she still breathing?”

“She is, Commander, but I’m afraid to report that her head is bleeding right now, and she needs medical attention as soon as possible.”

He glanced at Riyo, who was shocked to hear about the clone trooper’s current condition. “Of course, Yves. Tell the boys to head back to base while you get Lip to the medics as soon as possible. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes, commander,” Yves obliged his command, as she hung up from her comlink. Taking off his helmet, Fox groaned as he rubbed between his temples, hoping to relieve the pain in his head.

First, Riyo almost got herself killed twice, and now, Lip is unconscious, he thought, as he leaned against the metallic wall. Is it that hard for the universe to give me a fucking break just for once?

“Hard day, isn’t it?” Riyo said, putting her hand on his shoulder, making him shudder for a moment.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he nodded, staring blankly at the blank ceiling. “It seems that the assassin had Lady Luck by their side today.”

“Fox, I’m really sorry about what happened to Lip,” she sympathized. “She was a good person, and she doesn’t deserve to be suffering from her pain right now.”

“So do I, Riyo,” he deadpanned. “But what can I do except to get her patched up? The Chancellor is just going to offer thoughts and prayers, that’s all.”

Riyo’s lips tightened. Despite the Chancellor portraying himself as a loving grandfather to the public, it seems that he never cared for all those troops who either injured themselves or died in the line of duty. She wants to believe that the Republic is the virtuous side of the war, but they don’t even bother to lift a finger to help.

They always pointed out how the Separatists enslaved an entire planet into producing droids, but yet the Republic treats their clone troopers worse. Some senators pointed out the treatment of their soldiers, but their voices are often drowned out by the cries to increase wages among senators and government officials while ignoring the minimum wages, which was stagnant for the past decade.

If Pantora were to leave the Republic, they would be vulnerable to pirates and warlords that wished to steal from the people, but if they stay, they have to obey whatever terms and conditions that the government wants from them. Riyo could join the Separatists, but then again, she doesn’t trust Count Dooku either.

This was arguably the hardest choice she had ever made, according to Riyo Chuchi. Her mother always advised her that if she was confronted with such a path, she would have to list down the pros and cons of both sides and evaluate which one works best for her. It seems easy in theory, but in practice, not so much.

She has listed down the pros and cons of staying in the Republic versus joining with the Separatist Alliance, but all she ever achieved was knocking herself on a wall, figuratively. Sometimes, her mother’s advice works, and sometimes, it doesn’t. As always, if she’s stuck at a crossroad, she’ll have to figure everything out by herself through trial and error.

“Thoughts and prayers aren’t the only things that will make things better,” she remarked, going back to the conversation they were having. “I mean, you can use it to soothe someone who's in pain, but it won't solve the problem. That's what I can say about it.”

“You have a point there, Ri,” he cracked a slight smile. “Yeah, I just wish more people could do something rather than just wishing that things get better, you know.”

Riyo could stare at his smile as she solemnly thought about all the lives that risked themselves just to protect her, including the doctors and nurses in the hospital that she was treated. She felt that they deserved more than well, since they worked day and night to make sure that people's lives were saved.

At one point, the Senate planned on cutting funds for healthcare, which irked her so much. Citizens were already suffering from debt due to medical bills and yet most politicians just looked away, like how they looked away when sex workers had one of the highest mortality rates on Coruscant and Outer Rim Territories, after soldiers, policemen, and firefighters.

“Yeah, I wish people in the Senate had more empathy for people around them, especially the citizens of the Republic.”

“Oh well,” Fox sighed. “You can't always do everything, no matter how hard you tried to fight.”

Her lips curved downwards when she heard Fox's comlink beeping from his wrist. “You should take that.”

He gave a nod as he answered the call, only to hear a familiar voice from his rank. “Commander, your troops are expecting you,” Thorn informed him. “They just came back from their mission.”

“I'll be there, Thorn,” he affirmed. “But what about the senator? I can't just leave her all alone, exposed to danger.”

“I'll take over with some of my troops. You should tend to your troops, especially Lip.”

Reminded by the fact that one of his younger sisters was injured, Fox had no other choice but to do what Thorn told him. After all, duty comes first, especially during wartime.”

“Alright then, I'll be there as soon as possible. Commander Fox out.”

As he hung up, he put on his helmet and headed towards the door, with the Pantoran senator's eyebrow furrowed. “Well, I hope I get to see you soon.”

“Don't worry, senator, you'll be fine with Thorn. Besides, we might be receiving new instructions from the Chancellor.”

“Good luck, Commander, and be careful out there.”