#jabba has a few

[david-talks-sw]

The OTHER type of Star Wars fan

We've already covered (through this longer post and this addendum) that research shows George wasn't that involved or interested in the derivative material of the Star Wars franchise, also known as the Expanded Universe (EU). Aside from approving a few points, he let Howard Roffman and Lucasfilm Licensing handle it.

He is the first to say that he ain't as knowledgeable about Star Wars lore as we fans are.

Thing is... he's also not as passionate as we are.

Recently, I was watching some Q&A videos of George R.R. Martin, the author of Game of Thrones... and it occurred to me:

Martin is what most Star Wars fans wish Lucas was.

Think about it.

He's a talented writer who likes to focus on morally "gray" characters and complex political plotlines,

who created a series of novels for a mature audience in which his narrative merely asks questions and lets the reader draw their own conclusions,

knows and engages in the lore behind his creation and will often respond to those lore-heavy questions, and has gone on record stating that canon is the glue that holds a story together and keeps it coherent.

Contrast that with George "continuity is for wimps" Lucas, who:

Wrote a movie franchise which is also, partially, political... but he makes it for kids, and he's explicit about how this is thematically a clear-cut story about how the conflict of "good vs evil" is really about "compassion vs greed",

with flat dialogue, boring cinematography,

and whose approach to lore and canon can be summed up in his answer to how Anakin got his scar:

"I don't know. Ask Howard [Roffman]. That’s one of those things that happens in the novels between the movies. I just put it there. He has to explain how it got there. I think Anakin got it slipping in the bathtub, but of course, he's not going to tell anybody that." - Pablo Hidalgo’s set diary, August 2003

And as a Star Wars fan, I will admit that some of his casual retcons felt disrespectful, growing up.

"Boba Fett is NOT Mandalorian?!"

I had the same reaction when I saw an interview of Kathleen Kennedy stating she was a fan of Star Wars... from a filmmaking perspective. That seemed like such a finagling cop-out for me, at the time.

"Just say you're not a real fan, God!"

And it's easy to divide it in two camps, like that. You have 1) the fans, who will delve into deep lore, and you have 2) the average moviegoer.

But looking back on it... holy shit, that is actually a completely valid way of being a Star Wars fan.

Yes, Star Wars is a transmedia franchise, it's books, it's video-games, it's deep lore, it's lightsabers and Jedi and Sith and bounty hunters and Ewoks and Jabba and High Republics and Tython and Revan etc.

But before it was that, Star Wars was a filmmaking revolution. A juggernaut of innovation for the silver screen that inspired most of today's filmmakers.

So, sure, George Lucas isn't an avid lore-loving Star Wars fan like you and me. But he is a movie fan.

"I'm not that passionate about this story. I like it, it's fun and I enjoy doing it. But it's definitely not my life. I'm a bigger movie fan than I am Star Wars fan. I like making movies. At the end of nine years of making Star Wars, I was not ready to continue it. I was completely burned out on it. I was more passionate about raising my kids than making movies and especially making Star Wars. So I made other kinds of movies and TV shows and advanced the technology I needed. It's not a matter of passion. My passion is for filmmaking. I'll go and do filmmaking that is easier to do, where you can realise your ideas better. And nine years is a big part of your life, and to commit to another nine years, I didn't wanna do that right away." - EMPIRE, 1999

And you can tell this, when you watch the Star Wars films.

There are honestly so many homages and interesting filmmaking techniques, peppered throughout the six films, which only a nerd for cinema history like George would know how to implement.

C3-PO being based on the droid from Metropolis (1927) is a perfect example of this.

And that's interesting.

Because there's essentially this entire other dimension to the films, where it's not just the story unfolding, but to filmmakers it's also a series of techniques that make them go "I wonder how they did that!" or homages that make them go "OH! I know where that's from!" like we do when an comics characters appears in live-action.

Here's other examples:

CINEMA HOMAGES

All of Star Wars is absolutely littered with homages to cinema history.

I mean, you may already know this, but Flash Gordon is what George originally wanted to shoot, but the copyright holders said they only wanted Fellini to direct it (ironically, George wasn't artsy-fart enough for them). So he decided to write Star Wars instead.

As such, the inspiration from Flash Gordon is also present visually and spiritually throughout the two trilogies.

"It was like a Republic serial, a 1930s-style matinee adventure. The idea was that you came in, saw Episode IV, had missed the first three episodes, and wouldn't get to see the rest of it." - Starlog Magazine #300, 2002

The dialogue that a lot of people refer to as "campy" and "flat" is actually a mix of George being an experimental filmmaker who doesn't give much of a fuck about dialogue (and is by his own admission, not the best at it)...

"I'd be the first person to say I can't write dialogue. My dialogue is very utilitarian and is designed to move things forward. I'm not Shakespeare. It's not designed to be poetic. It's not designed to have a clever turn of phrase. [...] I just wanted to get from point A to point B. This film doesn't lend itself to that sort of thing because it's not about snappy one-liners.  I think that Lethal Weapon-style dialogue is overused, it's a necessary aspect of high action films where you have to have the smart retort. You have to say "I'll be back baby" and stuff. It's not my style. It takes away from the integrity of the movie. [...] I'm aware that dialogue isn't my strength. I use it as a device. I don't particularly like dialogue which is part of the problem." - EMPIRE, 1999

... which is convenient, because it helped him simulate the dialogue of 1930s matinee serials, such as Flash Gordon.

"Let’s face it, their dialogue in that scene is pretty corny. It is presented very honestly, it isn’t tongue in cheek at all, and it’s played to the hilt. But it is consistent, not only with the rest of the movie, but with the overall Star Wars style. Most people don’t understand the style of Star Wars. They don’t get that there is an underlying motif that is very much like a 1930s Western or Saturday matinee serial. It’s in the more romantic period of making movies and adventure films. And this film is even more of a melodrama than the others." - Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002

But beyond that, literally it's everywhere.

The scene where Palpatine ascends to being Emperor as Anakin slaughters his political rivals parallels the final scene in The Godfather, where Michael becomes the Don while his goons do the same thing.

This video compiles all the tributes beautifully. Check it out.

Even The Clone Wars has whole episodes that are direct homages to cult classics. The Zillo Beast episode is a clear reference to Godzilla, the episode The Wrong Jedi is inspired by The Wrong Man, etc.

"CINEMA VÉRITÉ" CINEMATOGRAPHY

I've already written a whole post (one of my favourites) showing how his fascination with cinéma vérité documentaries is reflected in the cinematography of all six Star Wars films, and it's part of what makes the entire franchise feel so immersive.

You can check it out here:

KUROSAWA

We've gone over how he's a big fan of Akira Kurosawa, and how big an influence Hidden Fortress was on both the Star Wars trilogies...

... but so is the mise-en-scène and the way George approaches production design. The reason Star Wars feels so "lived in" is also a lesson George learned from Kurosawa, which is that by making everything just a bit off-kilter, a bit dirtied-up and imperfect...

... and yet keeping it all consistent, in a way, you manage to make the film feel grounded and immersive, no matter how alien it is.

"[It] may sound odd in a movie like this, but credibility and realism, even in the most unrealistic situation… to sorta create that sense of realism is very important to making the story work and making you feel like you’re actually in the environment that transports you and gives you the suspension of disbelief that you need in order to enjoy a movie. [...] Kurosawa used to call it “immaculate realism” which is to make it slightly off-kilter, slightly eccentric, like things are in real life. Even if it’s a very predictable situation, give it that little funny edge that takes it away from that and makes it realistic. And I had to struggle very hard, in the Star Wars films, to make them appear to be realistic, even though they’re totally fantasy." - The Phantom Menace, Commentary Track #2, 1999

POST-PRODUCTION & VFX

Another one of the more impressive aspects of the first Star Wars was the dogfights and the trench raid of the Death Star. The camera pans with the spaceship, the dynamism of the cuts. The space battles is what made George creat ILM in the first place.

He was determined to do the opposite of what 2001: A Space Odyssey had done with that opening scene where the space ship moves into frame slooooowly...

... so he gave the team a collection of WWII dogfight footage to give them ideas.

(note: this was the same approach he would take years later with Dave Filoni, when teaching the latter how to edit and craft dogfights in The Clone Wars)

The attempt to film the trench run eventually led to the creation of the first motion control camera dolly.

Best analogy I can think of, when describing George's approach to Star Wars, is the following:

An avant-garde esoteric contemporary artist - y'know, the type who puts a blue dot on a white canvas and calls it art - creates a comic.

Why? Because he wants to make this one art installment for a gallery exhibition. After that, he intends to move on to other things.

But the comic is really good! And like, its audience quickly expands beyond just gallery visitors, no, everyone likes it.

Suddenly, the comic develops a cult following, and the entirety of comic book geek culture has zeroed-in on the artist and they're all asking him to make more art! And he makes more! And more!

Then he stops for two decades, moves on to other art projects, raises his kids. Years later, he discovers new ways of drawing, and he's like "I'm making a Prequel to the comic, y'all wanna see it?"

Everyone cries out gleefully: "Oh God, yes! Finally! Show us!"

But this motherfucker makes a manga.

Why? Because he feels like it.

And of course he does, he's just creating art, right? He discovered the graphic tablet, so he's having fun with it, because he's always innovating and pushing the envelope with his art.

And the movies are fine, by manga standards. But by comic book standards, they obviously suck! The comic book audience is mad. They wanted another comic book, not a manga. Why is it in black and white? Why is read right-to-left? This comic sucks!

(And arguably, they have a point... as a savvy businessman, he's made a whole lot of money off this comic, he built a media empire out of it, and instead of giving them what they want, he made something else)

But again... this guy isn't a comic book illustrator, and has been very explicit about saying this.

He's an artist who - for a very specific project - drew a comic.

Many things can be true at once:

the fact that these creative decisions didn't always hit their mark for the average moviegoer, or fans of "Star Wars, the space fantasy movies and expanded universe" (usually the lore-loving geeks like myself)...

... and the fact that they were meticulously and carefully crafted in a way that fans of "Star Wars, the revolutionary film" (aka fans of cinema and filmmaking) can appreciate.

There's a spectrum of the fandom, and there is a spectrum in the way we can appreciate Star Wars. Which kinda reminds me of that scene in Chef (2014) where Carl goes on a rant explaining the intricacies of making his chocolate lava cake to a food critic.

It's not just undercooked chocolate.

It's molten.

Conversely, it's not just flat, campy dialogue. It's an homage to the 1930s matinee serials à la Flash Gordon.

It's not just boring cinematography. It's a reproduction of cinéma vérité documentary-style camera work which effectively grounds the film.

Having considered all this, when I hear that Tony Gilroy or Kathleen Kennedy were more in the latter camp, I go "fair enough".

First of all, because like it or not, so was George. He clearly didn't give a single crap about the comics and books, besides signing off on minor plot points. He's not a "sci-fi movie director", he's an experimental filmmaker who makes movies set in space.

But secondly, because - aside from children - it's clear the audience he was targeting was these cinema-savvy folks who'd get his references and would be inspired by the filmmaking techniques.

Not the fans or the critics.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppixie @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos

[saphronethaleph]

Extra Extra

“It’s like one of those logic puzzles,” Lando said, looking down at a Dejarik table that had been turned off an hour ago. “We know most of the ingredients we need, right?”

“We know most of the ingredients of one way to do it,” Leia amended. “Though I can’t use the Boussh disguise for both of them. I’d have enough trouble using it on one of them, though I think Jabba would be a bit easier to fool.”

“Relatively speaking,” the Socorran replied. “What do you think, Chewie? Jabba’s not kept on top of a crime ridden world like that for decades by being gullible.”

“That may be true, but he’s arrogant,” Chewbacca replied. “And, unlike with Luke, we at least know where Han is.”

“I get the point,” Lando admitted. “Problem is, none of us three are from Tatooine. Luke is, but… like I said, logic puzzle. The easiest way to rescue Han is to already have Luke – and the easiest way to rescue Luke is to already have Han.”

“Rescuing Luke, we could at least call on the resources of the Rebellion,” Leia offered. “Being able to actually kill Darth Vader would be an enormous blow to the Empire.”

Lando chuckled. “Yeah, sure, but – I hate to admit it, but Han’s better with the old girl than I ever was. If we were okay with Luke’s death, then an insane plan like attacking Darth Vader’s Super Star Destroyer would be a bit easier to stomach… if you want to get him out, Han’s touch with the Falcon can only help.”

Leia sighed.

“I have the feeling that doing Han is going to be easier,” she said. “I’ve got a few contacts I can call upon… and if we do manage to get Rebellion resources involved, then Jabba’s palace is a much softer target.”

“We’re going around in circles,” Chewbacca declared. “We need more information. Even knowing where Darth Vader was would help, because that way we’d be able to make better plans.”

He frowned. “Jabba’s strength comes from being a big fish in a small pond. But getting Han out means being inside the defences – and if he realizes what’s going on, he can use Han’s safety as a hostage.”

Lando nodded along.

“I actually wonder if we shouldn’t hope that Luke can rescue himself,” he said. “Or – if we are going to try and rescue Luke, we should abandon the idea of doing it with the Falcon directly. The YT-1300 might be common, but any light freighter of that class is going to stand out.”

Chewbacca looked curious.

“That sounds like you have a plan,” he said. “Care to share?”

“I most certainly do,” Lando answered. “That giant ship has to get supplies, right? Giant standard containers. I wonder how many old style battle droids we could fit in a giant container alongside the Falcon to provide a distraction – then jump out from inside the ship once we’ve retrieved Luke.”

“Now there’s a crazy idea,” Leia said, but she was looking contemplative. “That might work. Audacity can win the day when lesser plans simply don’t have a chance to-”

“Mistress Leia!” C-3P0 interrupted, hurrying down from the cockpit. “Mistress Leia! There’s something very strange on the holonews!”

Lando, Chewbacca and Leia exchanged curious glances, then Lando hit a switch and turned on a holoprojector.

“I didn’t know that was there,” the wookiee admitted, then they all stopped and stared at the news.

“Admiral Piett, this is most irregular!” Grand Admiral Tigellinus declared. “Your authority does not run to the Imperial Center Oversector – explain yourself at once!”

“My authority derives from Vader,” Piett replied, evenly, facing the viewscreen showing Tigellinus’s face.

The Grand Admiral was apparently not on board his capital ship, and the other displays around the Executor bridge were showing that the Empire’s Central Fleet was both out of position and unprepared for combat.

In the second part, at least, Piett fully knew how they felt.

“Vader’s authority also does not run here,” Tigellinus retorted. “Power down your weapons and shields immediately.”

“That request is out of order, Grand Admiral,” Piett replied. “I am under no obligation to stand down.”

Someone began speaking to Tigellinus, their voice a little too quiet for Piett to hear through the connection, and the Grand Admiral turned a rather entertaining shade.

“Admiral, you are violating my direct orders,” the Grand Admiral declared. “One of the ships of your fleet is making a full power burn for the surface of Imperial Center! They must stand down immediately or they will be destroyed!”

Piett’s gaze flicked to the displays, and it took all of a lifetime’s military politicking to avoid reacting visibly.

Tigellinus was very much telling the truth. One of the Star Destroyers of Battle Group Executor was burning for the surface at full power, and scattered fire from the defensive platforms was already striking home on it.

It wasn’t responding, though, and Piett had a sinking feeling that he was starting to understand what was going on.

It wasn’t that he necessarily disagreed with the idea of a coup d’etat, or at least that was what he would certainly say if Vader had asked him about the subject. Partly because denying Darth Vader was a good way of getting choked to death over a video call, but also partly because… something had changed in Vader in the last few months.

Since Bespin.

But he would very much have appreciated being told any of the details more than five minutes before the Executor had left hyperspace.

“The destroyer may have engine problems,” he said, instead. “It was undergoing refit and was mostly evacuated for that very reason.”

“That is not an engine problem!” the Grand Admiral snapped. “You are relieved of command and placed under arrest!”

Piett made a gesture, and the viewscreen deactivated.

“I suspect that conversation was going nowhere productive,” he said. “All batteries ready. I want a full ion cannon salvo on the first capital vessel of the Central Fleet to fire on our wayward destroyer.”

He folded his hands behind his back, and tried to seem like he knew what was going on.

Palpatine was not ready for the situation he had just found himself in.

In principle, assassination was always a risk for someone like him, and he had many means of protection.

He had a ferociously competent security service. He had his guards, armed and trained to a degree of furious perfection that was then hidden under ceremonial outfits. He had the mighty apparatus of Imperial power, grown for twenty-five years. He was the most powerful single individual in the galaxy, with the might of a thousand years of Sith learning and alchemy buttressing his own powerful hatred.

He also had flashbacks to the last time he had been utterly out of control of the situation, which was when he had been on board a crashing Confederacy capital ship.

And now there was a durasteel triangle sixteen hundred metres long, crashing down out of the Coruscant sky. Even as he watched it collided with the Imperial Palace shields, and the shields lost, collapsing with a CRAAACK like the sky splitting open, and the Emperor summoned the Force to himself – ready to do whatever it took to survive.

Whatever it took.

Then he noticed the bright red letters painted on the front of the Star Destroyer. Every single character a hundred and twenty metres high, spelling out a name.

AMIDALA.

Palpatine’s eye twitched, then the nose of the Star Destroyer made contact, and the next ten seconds was an incredible cacophony of rending metal and collapsing supports and energy as several reactors ruptured.

When the debris finally stopped and the smoke began to clear, the entire room was on a fifteen degree slant. The transparisteel windows had exploded inwards, and a horizontal rain of giant shrapnel had killed every one of the guards and functionaries in the room.

There were several fires going on, and it rather looked as though most of the palace complex was in the middle of collapsing.

Then two curved TIE/Advanced wings landed with a crash on the floor to his right, coming in through a hole in the roof, and Palpatine’s gaze snapped in that direction. He drew his lightsaber with a single quick motion, concealing it in his sleeve for now, and he saw two figures step off the pieces of curved metal.

One was entirely familiar. Darth Vader, his apprentice. His slave… but it was immediately clear that Vader was his slave no more.

Just from his posture, if it hadn’t also been apparent from the events of the last few minutes.

Vader was reminding him unpleasantly of Anakin, on the days when Palpatine had touched the wrong nerve.

But the other could only be Luke Skywalker. He looked different, now, to any time Palpatine had seen him before. Older, maybe. More touched by pain and loss, perhaps – but mawkishly certain of his convictions.

Like a teenaged queen he remembered. Or the same woman, as a twenty-something senator who had ruined far too many of his plans without even realizing whose plans they were.

“Ah, young Skywalker,” Palpatine said. “I see your father has brought you here to die.”

Vader ignited his lightsaber, and Luke drew his own as well – activating it with a flash of blue light.

It was Anakin’s old one, from Mustafar, and Palpatine could feel that the Force liked that.

He hated that, and that hate gave him strength.

Strength he was unpleasantly sure he was going to need.

For a moment, the Emperor dismissed Vader. He knew Vader, knew his weaknesses and his strengths.

A moment was all he could spare, but he needed to understand the younger Skywalker. The boy’s lightsaber was held in a form that looked almost like Soresu, or almost like Niman, but there was a touch of Djem So there as well.

Except that the weapon in Luke’s left hand was a blaster, with the flowing chrome lines of one from Palpatine’s own home world.

Luke glanced at Vader for a moment, then settled himself.

“I call for a vote of no confidence in Emperor Palpatine’s leadership,” the boy said, and Palpatine’s eye twitched violently.

Then everything was a blur of blue and red, of crackling lightning and the high pitched whine of a blaster.

“You know,” the Emperor said, most of a week later, as the latest bureaucrats left in a state of some confusion. “I expected that you’d be the one actually in charge, Father.”

Vader shook his head, implacably.

“I will upend the galaxy for you, my son,” he said. “Be your strong right arm. Your enforcer. Your teacher. I will place you on the throne of all eternity. But I will not do datawork.”

Luke smiled slightly.

“It’s not dramatic enough, is it?” he asked. “I looked up that quote, you know.”

Vader was silent for a long moment.

“It felt… appropriate,” he said.

“I’m sure it did, father,” Luke replied. “Now… I need to try writing my next letter to Mon Mothma. Somehow I am going to convince her to help me turn the position of Emperor into one with constitutional limitations.”

Anakin looked across at his son.

“I believe you might just do that,” he said.

“I must say, I didn’t expect this,” Obi-Wan mused, materializing in front of the throne.

“What didn’t you expect?” Luke asked.

“Well, take your pick,” Obi-Wan replied. “But if there’s one thing… it’s how you killed Palpatine. It seems that the Banite legacy of the Sith earths itself into the killer, meaning that the killer becomes the new leader of the Sith… a vessel for Palpatine, in other words.”

Vader gave Luke a concerned look.

“And?” Luke asked. “I don’t think I’m a vessel for Palpatine.”

“The connection requires a Khyber crystal,” Obi-Wan clarified. “And now I need to face that the galaxy was saved because you killed Palpatine with a blaster, of all things.”

Anakin started laughing, then coughing, then laughing again.

“Father?” Luke asked, concerned.

“Who’s uncivilized now, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, holding on to the side of the throne so he wouldn’t collapse.

[thealtoduck]

NXDE

Peter Parker x Male Black Cat!Reader

Warnings: Reader has a leaked sex tape with his ex, reader’s nudes have been leaked, bullying, crappy guys, crying, mentions of wanting to die, feelings of shame, angst.

Peter Parker x Male Black Cat!Reader: Masterlist

Summary: Peter finds out why you have the reputation as ”the school slut”.

———

Peter was changing back to his normal clothes after P.E class. As he finished changing he saw that a couple of guys were grouped up watching something on one’s phone. ”Yo, Parker, you know Y/n Hardy, Right?” One of the asked.

”Yeah, why?” Peter asked the guy just said ”You gotta see this” and waved Peter over. Peter curiously walked over to see what the guys were looking at. He looked on the screen where he saw a video of Y/n.

Y/n was laying fully naked on his back in bed, legs lifted as the guy filming was plowing in and out of him with his cock. Peter heard Y/n’s moans from the video playing in front of him. He then watched as Y/n came all over himself and the unknown camera man unloaded deep in Y/n.

He looked at the guys and asked shocked ”How did you get that video?”. The guys shrugged and one said ”It’s all been circulating for a few months, i think i heard it came from some chat room but i’m not sure”.

��Wait? All? There’s more?” Peter asked. ”Yeah, there’s some videos and pictures, i think” the guy said. ”Does Y/n know?” Peter questioned. ”I don’t know, maybe?” the guy said. Peter the got all his stuff and left the locker room. He decided to try to find Y/n after school to talk to him about it.

He saw Y/n at his locker and walked up to him, ”Hey Y/n” Peter said. ”Hey” you answered casually. ”So i wanted to talk to you about something important, wanna come to my place?” Peter suggested. ”Yeah sure” you answered.

The two of then made your way to Peter’s apartment, May wasn’t home so you had it to yourself. You and Peter sat down on the couch in the living room and you asked him ”So what did you wanna talk about?”.

”Well… i was in the changing rooms and a couple of guys were watching a video… of you and another guy… well…” Peter tried to break it to you. He didn’t even need to finish he could tell you knew what he was talking about. You sat in silence for a short while.

You just uttered a simple ”Oh… Yeah”. ”I really know how to pick them, right?” You said uncomfortably with a small dry laugh staring down at the ground. ”Well it’s not your fault, the guys you dated were shitheads who would leak that kind of stuff” Peter stated.

You let out another dry laugh and explained ”It started with just fun videos and pictures where i happened to not be wearing a shirt, then some of them started bringing out there phone while i was changing, then when we were having sex” and Peter noticed your voice tremble.

”Then one started sharing those pictures and videos to his friends and the other ones also did sooner or later” you said. ”Then they started spreading around the school and i became the school’s slut, man-whore, fuckboy…” you said and Peter noticed you had started tearing up.

”And when i found out i wanted to fucking die, cause everyone could see videos of me… and i- and i-” you started but broke down in tears. Peter instinctivley threw his arms around you and pulled you closer as you cried. The two of you sat in silence and Peter just let you cry it out.

You then pulled away slowly and looked at Peter with teary eyes. ”Are you ashamed of me?” you asked. Peter took one of your hands and said ”Never” he then planted a small kiss on your knuckle, giving you small smile.

”Can we watch a movie?” you then asked Peter. ”Which ever one you want?” he answered. ”I wanna watch ”Return of the Jedi” so i can laugh when Leia kills Jabba the hutt” you said casually. ”Okay, i’ll get the dvd” Peter said and got off the couch.

[bearw-me]

Sense it's may the 4th can I request the hazbin crew reacting to teen reader celebrating star wars and explaining to them what star wars is sense I think most of them wouldn't know about it.

yess i can! and sorry if these don't live up to expectations! i've watched the movies but im not totally involved in the fandom!

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬!

𐐒 ft : gender neutral! teen! reader, charlie morningstar, vaggie, alastor, nifty, angel dust, sir pentious, husk 𐐒 cw : fluff 𐐒 summary : you are showing the hazbin crew what star wars is no matter the cost + and their reactions 𐐒 note : ITS STILL may the 4th where i am! this counts!

Charlie Morningstar! Loves your enthusiasm so much she decides to watch the movies with you until she falls asleep. Makes popcorn for the two of you! I think she'd be pretty clueless though, as the princess of hell who's never been exposed to that kind of pop culture.

"Oh my goshh! Star wars!"

. . .

"What is that?"

She's got a good attitude about learning through you

Vaggie! Sits with you and Charlie, and although she has no idea what you are talking about (her being an angel and all and having no contact with Earth), everything you say to her just kind of floats through one ear and out the other.

GETS HEATED and physically mad when the storm troopers miss. every. shot. they. take.

likes she's cursing in spanish type of mad

likes bloopers (like when that one storm trooper hits his head on the door)

Alastor! Hates the television, so you'll have to explain everything to him through other means, even if that means him listening to you tell him the whole thing.

honestly, i think he'd be the most uninterested in the plot if it couldn't be explained well.

i think he'd actually like looking at the comics if you showed them to him "Well look at this fellow! Aren't they all charmingly misshapen!" when you show him aliens like Jabba, or Jar Jar.

likes the 'epic saga; between armadas and armies, jedi and sith. . . like he's smiling with his eyes narrowed and nodding as you point out everything that's happening.

Nifty! Retains NOTHING you are saying, she is just kind of staring through your soul. So when you put the movies on in the lobby she actually moves and watches while she dusts.

subconsciously retains the information and names some of her roaches after the characters.

she stops cleaning to just sit front and center in front of the tv.

LOVES the violence and fight scenes, especially when people get cut by a light saber.

asks you for pictures of the characters that she keeps crumbled into her apron (she adores darth vader)

always plops down onto a pillow in front of the tv whenever boba fett + anakin skywalker are on screen

WOULD LOVE to kill a storm trooper herself

Angel Dust! Like Charlie, I think Angel would be the best person to hear you out about star wars. I think he'd be a major geek with you, even acting out a few scenes and letting you win. He see's you like his sibling, so he enjoys your company. Why wouldn't he love doing something that you love?

loves the clothing in the movies, especially the queen of naboo's makeup. "And the hairr!"

loves the romances and sci-fi fantasy part of it

expect him to have ideas

Sir Pentious! I think out of all the people in the hotel he'd LOVE star wars. From watching the movies with you in the hotel's lobby to asking you a TON of questions! Like everything you know about star wars, he has to know too!

"I like thiss 'Sstar Warss'"

has to know everything and has his own fan theories

probably cried while he watched padme + anakin's love story. right up to the end

(he tries hard to identify with anakin)

he'll probably celebrate may 4th right along with you, t-shirt, movie cup, all his wrecked up merch in his hands just to watch the movies with you

tries to recreate all the gadgets and light saber's he see's without success. . . YET

Husk! Doesn't get it. He listens to you sure, while your sat at his bar counter and explaining everything to him about the plot and the characters. He asks a ton of questions, but it is sort of like explaining it to your dad.

He'll lean over the bar and ask you about plot holes, and when you answer back excitedly he kind of sighs to himself "Why is he getting so worked up on the plot anyway?"

like why is he forming an opinion now?

likes when you talk about it though, your enthusiasm is a little contagious

is 'subtly' watching the movies from behind you, turning away to wash some glasses when you stare over at him

[tossawary]

So, I don't really like the characterizations in this "Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire" novel. They're serviceable for the most part? They're mostly fine. There hasn't been a "yeah!!! THAT'S the character I know and love!!!" moment so far for me, but there have been a few "ohhh nooo, HARD disagree on this characterization choice" moments. This following passage from Leia's POV is one of the paragraphs that wrinkled my nose the most with its baseline heteronormativity / amatonormativity / sexism:

(CONTEXT: Leia and Luke are on the Falcon with Lando, Chewie, R2-D2, and C-3PO, on their way to try and get Han back from Boba Fett, who has not yet delivered Han to Jabba the Hutt. Luke and Leia had actually separated after the events of Ep5, briefly, so that Leia could try to track Boba Fett and Luke could build himself a new lightsaber, but they have met up again for this mission.)

"She turned and watched Luke as he cleared the micrometeor dust from Artoo. Luke wanted to rescue Han as much as she did. Which was interesting, given that she'd felt the competition from them for her attention. A lesser man than Luke might take advantage of a rival's absence, but so far he had not. That was the thing about Luke. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win fairly." (pg55)

I don't like this. At all.

Where to start? I resent the fact that this is a thought being put into Leia's head as a character. A lot of Leia's thoughts in this novel are too focused on weighing the men around her as romantic partners for my taste, though this is partially because the book keeps having them hit on her. Like, yeah, she's thinking about Han all the time because she loves him and they're trying to rescue him from Boba Fett, but I feel the text could be flavored more with her also occasionally thinking about the loss of Alderaan or her career in the Imperial Senate or her work for the Rebellion, anything to remind us that Leia as a female character has a lot more going on in her life and past besides her male love interest(s).

"Luke wanted to rescue Han as much as she did. Which was interesting, given that she'd felt the competition from them for her attention."

Leia thinking it's "interesting" that Luke wants to rescue Han is a weird fucking choice. Luke and Han have been friends for a couple years at this point, working in the Rebellion together. They're FRIENDS. In the films, Han saves Luke's life once during the Death Star run in "A New Hope" and then again on Hoth in "Empire Strikes Back", so Luke also owes Han a couple life debts. Han was also only targeted and captured by Darth Vader because Vader was after Luke, so Luke is likely to feel partially responsible for Han's capture and wants to fix it. Of course he wants to rescue Han.

"A lesser man than Luke might take advantage of a rival's absence, but so far he had not."

Like, I understand that this is Leia thinking that Luke is DIFFERENT compared to other guys; this passage isn't suggesting that Luke Skywalker would ever leave a friend behind due to something as selfish romantic jealousy. Leia is thinking poorly of OTHER MEN not known to us, sure. But the fact that this is Leia's POV means that it's LEIA noticing again RIGHT NOW, years into their friendship, that Luke is a Nice Guy, and it just contributes to the problematic pattern of having Leia always weighing the men around her romantically. The particular timing of this passage makes it feel like Leia IS a little surprised here and now that Luke would weigh friendship over trying to "win" her attention away from a "rival", and that's a shitty thing to have Leia think at all about Luke and the other men in her life.

Leia's surprise implies to me that, while Luke was getting his robotic hand, they never had a normal fucking conversation about what had happened to Han and what they wanted to do about it. Like, framing him as a "competitor" suggests to me that she doesn't know Luke fairly well by now? Luke and Leia are ALSO FRIENDS, in my mind, but the poisonous "men and women can't ever be friends" mindset is insidious. If I was writing fanfiction here, the recovery post-Ep5 would be the perfect point to have a scene of Luke and Leia grieving together, even if they don't actually talk about it, so it's weird to me that that didn't apparently happen. Like, sure, maybe neither of them had a full emotional breakdown and talked about all of their feelings for hours, fine, they don't know they're siblings yet and their feelings for each other are weird, but I don't think it's OOC for Luke to have said something like, "This is my fault. Han saved my life and I owe him. Leia, we'll get our friend back, I promise."

Like, damn, just let them be friends. Friends who have confusing Force feelings about each other sometimes, sure, but still friends first and foremost rather than "woman" and "suitor". The way that Luke and Leia act in "Return of the Jedi" always suggested to me that Leia had flat-out told Luke by then that she's in love with Han and Luke was cool with it; honesty cutting through any more potential love triangle nonsense. There's no "competition" anymore!

"That was the thing about Luke. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win fairly."

Again, I DO NOT like Leia framing herself as something to be "won" at all. Gross. This is just... a weird thing for anyone to think to me, especially Leia, who has a thousand other things to think about in the fight against the Empire besides love. If Leia didn't come up with this thought on her own, then someone else must have said it or something like it, and I really don't like the idea that it might have been Luke, who ALSO has a thousand other things to think about in the fight against the Empire. I don't like this characterization.

Of course, this is one small passage, not written with bad intentions, and I can admit that I am not reading it with generosity. But the way Leia's POV scenes up until this point have largely prioritized potential romantic connections as the central thing she's thinking about has been really annoying, and this passage is where that pattern gets concentrated into something even more direct, so it annoys me even more than it might have on its own. I do kind of enjoy that most SW relationships are a hot, confusing, poorly defined mess on a good day; their lives suck a lot of the time. I do not need the story to be purely about THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP where no one is motivated by romantic love.

But I do wish I could ban anyone writing Leia's POV from ever having her think about the men around her as "rivals" for her attention. No. Bad. There's a fucking war on. Her parents are dead and planet is gone. Give her A SECOND THING to think about besides love, please, since apparently it's too much to ask SW that Leia (or Padmé after her) is regularly given another female character to talk to.

[bellarkeselection]

Our Little Kenobi part 2

Part 1

Part 3

Request from @starvingbrokestudent Can you do a super sweet pregnancy fic with Obi Wan? Like the reader finds out she’s pregnant after fertility issues and Obi Wan is just so excited?! And how they try to keep it a secret from the council and eventually she has a baby boy?

Sitting down in my chair in the council room I was currently the only person in the room. The meeting didn't start for another few minutes and I was getting slower with the pregnancy. My reflexes weren't as sharp and sooner or later others would notice too. I heard footsteps coming around the corner but my shoulders loosened seeing Obi-Wan. He sits down next to me sending me a look. “How are you feeling today, Y/n?”

“I have been throwing up all morning to be honest. I barely made it to this.” I responded to him rubbing my eyes trying to wake myself up.

Obi wan sent me a sad smile. “I'm sorry for causing you discomfort.”

“I don’t regret the night we spent together. I just wish it didn't make me sick every morning.” I reassured my fellow jedi master.

He nodded, clasping his hands together staring at me until we heard more footsteps coming towards the large and open room. I saw Yoda and Windu come inside and the other Jedi master members followed their heels. They sat down in their chairs where I began feeling nervous and twiddled my fingers together in my lap. “Looking at the war effort we have. Need someone to rescue Jabas son we do.”

“Master L/n, we have considered you since you are the most fluent in his language.” Windu explained looking in my direction.

Yoda pointed his finger at me. “Most useful you will be on this you will be.”

“Oh masters, I am not sure I can go.” I stuttered running a hand through my hair feeling my face turning red trying to not make it obvious of the reason why.

Obi wan kept his cool, sitting more upright on his chair. It had been a few months since I had told him I was pregnant with his soon to be child. We knew the rules that we had vowed to the council and the laws that were in place. “Do you care to tell us why that is exactly?”

“Oh uh…I have been feeling sick the last couple of weeks. I suppose it must be a stomach bug.” I clasped my hands together in my lap.

Yoda tapped his fingers on his chin. “Understand it is. Rest and get better you should. Send Kenobi in your place we shall.”

“Forgive me, Master Yoda. But I must back out as well. I have sworn to train some of the younglings months before the war started.” He held his hands up placing his hands on his knees praying that they couldn’t sense his nervousness.

Master Windu rose to his feet but he doesn’t seem angry or suspicious of the responses we had given him. “We understand you’re commitment, Master Kenobi. We will decide someone else to begin the search for Jabba's son to prevent a war with his army against the Republic.”

“Thank you for understanding, Masters.” I bowed my head rising to my feet before leaving the room.

Obi wan had got to his feet too doing the same but he would go in the opposite direction of where I had and wait a few minutes for them to clear the room. Then he would follow me back to my quarters like we had talked about the night before. I sat down on the edge of my bed burying my face in my hands. “We can’t possibly keep this up forever…it’s just not possible.”

“I wish that you weren’t right about that.” Whipping my head towards the voice I saw Obi Wan had slipped his way into my room without me knowing.

Slumping my shoulders I signed laying down on my back counting the lines on the ceiling till he came over and the bed dipped at his new weight. “Obi wan…I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s not a bad thing when we have something to hide from the council. I am just glad that they don’t seem to suspect anything.” He responded by running his hands through his locks.

Turning my head in his direction I said what we were both trying not to think about. The fact that we may have to abandon our entire lives here because of the infant. “Obi-Wan, we'll have to leave here won't we?”

“If anyone on the council suspects us. Yes we will have too. I'll have to break my promise to Qui Gon to train Anakin…to honor my promise to remain by your side now and for however long our lives may last.” He interviewed his hands together in his lap.

I paused just watching him take in a few breaths. Obi-Wan and I had been friends for years so it was almost impossible for us to not fall in love with each other. We knew the other inside and out. We were bonded together, possibly even for life. But not yet in marriage. Over the past few weeks I had been deciding I wanted to be given his last name. I wanted my child to be able to address as a full born Kenobi. Reaching up I touched his shoulder making him look at me. “Obi, there's something I wanna do.”

“What is it, my darling?” He asked softly.

Leaning forward I kissed him quietly for a moment and he leaned into the kiss smiling till I drew back. “I know you already asked me to marry you so let’s do it this evening. I wish to become your wife tonight.”

“Who would we get to perform the ceremony?”

“Padme, she and Anakin had R2D2 and C3po do their wedding.” I replied.

Obi wan paused before rising to his feet and he held his hands out to me helping me stand up with him. I squeezed his hands before he leaned down kissing my forehead leaving the room going to find the members that we needed. “I’ll get everything set and ready. I’ll see you in your dress later, Y/n.” As soon as I had told Padme she was over the moon even giving me one of her very first princess dresses to wear as my wedding gown. Obi wan decided that we should get married on the temple roof at sunset which I found very romantic in my opinion.

Padme and Anakin were standing in the center of the roof with Obi wan by his padawan. C-3PO was standing in the center of the group. R2D2 was rolling in front of me, throwing some flowers until he reached the others. Obi wan lifted his head and immediately was at a loss for words seeing me before him. The dress I had on had long sleeves that were made of lace and I had a short heel on with my hair loose except for two strands tired back. Padme wiped away some tears. “I don’t think much needs to be said here. All of us who are here right now know that these two wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t really love one another. So the vows if you would.”

“Y/n, I love you more than I thought I could anyone. And I have to say I am so grateful that I now join my life with yours.” Obi wan intertwined my hands with his, slipping the wedding band on my ring finger.

Squeezing my hands that were holding mine I chuckled, slipping the band on his finger trying to not cry too much on the borrowed dress from my best friend. “I love you to the stars, Obi. I know we didn’t plan the baby. But we have always been a good pair together so I am so excited to be your wife after today.”

“It is my great pleasure to now pronounce you husband and wife.” Padme declares looking at Anakin.

He smiled between the two of us. “Obi-wan and Y/n Kenobi sounds rather good to me.”

@notsentimentalll

[phoenixyfriend]

Flip the Hourglass 3

Chapter 3: Monster(?)

Anakin has some bad conversations

Read on AO3

-----------

Anakin has emergency credits on hand, but Republic currency is going to be difficult to offload to anyone who’s actually staying on planet. He has some peggats, a just in case measure he never fully outgrew, and one he is grateful for now. He saves the peggats for later, and drags Ahsoka Soka to the spaceport to find a more appropriate set of clothing for her. A few of the traders here do take credits, as they spend enough time going back and forth that they generally need both currencies in their coinpurse. It won’t work for everything, but fabrics and food and water are in supply here.

Soka complains, even whines a little, but he knows it’s mostly the heat and the dawning grief that they are slowly coming to terms with as a group. He lets her have a little bratting for her own good, as a teenager in a horrible situation. He still makes her get better clothing. Togruta are just as sensitive to solar radiation and the associated risk of cancer as humans.

“Ugh, I look like Obi-Wan,” she asserts.

“Not all beige is Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells her. He passes over the haggled price to the trader. He’s lucky in that his money is worth more now than it would be in a decade and a half, so everything certainly feels cheaper. Still more than he’s comfortable with, but it’s the cost of doing business. “You can wear your burgundy as a base layer, and the belt.”

“I don’t like beige,” Soka says. “It clashes with my markings.”

“Cheaper than white, and it reflects the sun better than dark colors,” Anakin reminds her, far from the first time. “I’m getting some too, you know.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

It’s not just the color that she objects to, but that’s a safer point of contention than the loose and flowing shape of these clothes, or the fairly rough weave. It’s smoother than most of what can be purchased locally, unless one has far more funds than Anakin is willing to expend before he can secure a building and his family’s freedom; it’s also more expensive than the slave fabrics, but he can push the budget a tiny bit here on the Republic credits side. It’ll soften with a few washings, anyway, and the main concern he’s got is for temperature regulation and blocking the sun.

The shape… he doesn’t want her targeted for kidnapping. If she fights them off, she risks getting noticed by Gardulla and Jabba. If she doesn’t fight them off, Anakin will probably kill someone to get her back.

Shmi could probably talk him out of it. Rex might not bother.

At any rate, kidnappings are bad. Wear the shapeless dresses. Anakin got some for himself and the rest of them, too.

“What’s next?” Soka asks.

“Water,” he tells her. “Buying it from off-planet isn’t always easy for locals, but it’s the best option for using our remaining credits without losing most of it to currency exchange fees. Some food if we find it cheap, but water is probably still going to give us the most clang for our credits.”

Soka makes a face. Anakin ignores it.

They shop around, each carrying more and more products without a floating carrier for it. They get looks, of course, but nobody is too willing to ask why they’re not having difficulty with such weight. Too many options, and half of them are deadly to the asker.

Anakin’s comm rings. He picks up.

“Hey, General,” Rex’s too-easy voice greets, “tell me, how much trouble would I get if I shot someone?”

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 1: The Accident

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: trials of war (general suffering), sleep deprivation, crash landing, light injury, abandonment (if you squint), angst, fluff, humor, trio banter

Summary: As the Clone Wars officially commence, General Kenobi begins to suffer the consequences of burning the candle at both ends with back-to-back responsibilities constantly at his heels. When the council makes a concerning announcement in the middle of a mission, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ashoka are forced to drop everything and travel to Coruscant. Fate, however, has other plans— you.

Song Inspo: Sign of the Times — Harry Styles

Words: 5.7k

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Only the dead have seen the end of war — Plato

Obi-Wan Kenobi was…displeased.

The General’s arms remained loosely folded across his chest as he leaned back into the passenger’s seat. The robes being used as makeshift blankets shifted in response. He tried to calm himself with a deep breath as the next round of turbulence threatened to rip the shuttle apart, but Obi-Wan couldn’t ignore the slight prickle of his auburn beard when the skin underneath grew more sensitive from anxiety. A sigh escaped his lips. He rested his eyelids, head falling back. The aching Jedi thought back to only a few days before. Obi-Wan and Master Yoda finally recovered Anakin and the new Togruta Padawan on Tatooine after the two successfully returned Jabba’s son Rotta. The Separatist kidnapping plot was a failure.

He remembers finding it odd back on Tatooine, as he waited on the transport for Yoda’s arrival, that the Grand Master found it necessary to personally accompany him and a number of clones on the assault transport tasked with retrieving the duo. His head heavy with sleep was easily distracted by the implications of Yoda’s presence. So much so, that the native Coruscanti failed to notice a certain, nearly 900-year-old Jedi’s arrival. As a wise Master Jedi often does, Yoda sensed Kenobi’s confusion the moment his feet met with the transport floor. He eyed the younger Jedi for a moment until their gazes suddenly met. Kenobi respectfully clasped his hands behind him, nodding at his arrival.

"A new mission, you and Anakin have.” Master Yoda signaled the transport pilot to take off with the motion of a hand as he turned to scan the hilly sand dunes. Obi-Wan matched his stare, wondering if there was something out there; some wisdom the older Jedi gleaned from the three moons in the distance.

Kenobi raised each eyebrow in intrigue as he glanced down at the shorter man, ignoring how the sand around the transport billowed from its ascent. “Oh? What does this mission entail?”

Yoda’s eyes remained locked on the landscape, back facing him. “Explain, I will. Collect Anakin and his young padawan first, we must”

The trip from The Negotiator to Jabba’s palace was quiet, but short. Kenobi was interested in seeing if Anakin and his new Padawan resolved differences so clearly displayed on Christophsis. Despite Anakin’s well-known stubbornness, he had hope. From what little he saw, Ahsoka seemed to have that bright, fiery personality needed to challenge Anakin’s own. His musings were soon answered as the transport neared the palace. Even from hundreds of feet away, it was clear to Obi-Wan that Anakin and Ahsoka seemed to have reconciled, with bright smiles that stood in stark contrast against Tatooine’s muted, emotionless environment. He was pleasantly surprised to sense the first drops of respect between the two, like fresh rainwater after millennia of drought.

As the transport began its landing protocols, Obi-Wan closed his eyes to rest his mind. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The bearded Jedi felt an air of… perception in the force. Likely Yoda’s wise prediction of this outcome from the start. Master Yoda always had a profound understanding of Jedi connections— which Master-Padawan assignments would work best, which younglins were friends and foes, and, most recently, which Jedis could collaborate in addressing the intricacies of politics, and the horrors of war.

The transport displaced the swirling sand below as they made their final descent. Obi-Wan glanced at Master Yoda when the transport touched down and settled. As if on cue, Master Yoda stepped onto the hot sand and moved toward the duo. While Obi-Wan followed and neared Anakin and Ahsoka, the strength of their connection became increasingly perceptible, challenging Kenobi’s composure to keep a neutral face. He was pleased.

Yoda glanced between Master and Padawan. “A new mission, you are needed on. Rejoin your battalions and travel to Naboo, you must”

As the four boarded the transport and headed back to Kenobi’s ship, Master Yoda informed the trio that the 212th and 501st had been called to Naboo to collect vital medical supplies for a planetoid in the Outer Rim, known as Polis Massa. Their main medical facility, aiding in the treatment and sanctuary of war victims, was experiencing a concerning depletion of medications, bacta patches, and other stock. The sudden arrival of a large planetary entourage of refugees has disrupted their timeline of available reserves from months to merely a week. After a general representative shared these concerns with the Senate days prior, Naboo Senator Padme Amidala graciously offered a large donation of medical supplies to keep the facility functional and the refugees safe. The Jedi were tasked with the transport, and due to the scale of the cargo, two warships were needed.

Obi-Wan’s mind jumped to his recent experience on the young senator’s vibrantly lush and florid planet. He remembers how The Negotiator and The Resolute’s arrival on Naboo was met with noticeable excitement. It began while discussing offloading logistics with the lead Commander.

“General,” Commander Cody glanced back down at the datapad in hand. “This manifest won’t make that timeline possible. Even if we assign every available trooper, it will take at least a week to fully load the cargo. Most of the crates with medication or medical devices are too delicate for the average loadlifter. And many of our troops aren’t trained in handling this type of equipment.”

General Kenobi sighed, gently stroking his chin in contemplation. At the time, the situation certainly posed an unfortunate fate for the refugees who were desperately waiting for these supplies. The issue was not new. The General, Commander, and other troop leaders had spent the entire journey from Tattoine to Naboo attempting to solve this very problem. Having had mere hours of sleep in the last few days, the General had difficulty allowing his mind to reach out to the force for any new ideas to aid in the formulation of a plan. The slight, sharp pounding in his right temple returned, an unfortunate, reoccurring experience that began when he boarded The Negotiator on Tatooine.

Suddenly, as if the Maker himself heard his doubts, Kenobi registered the click and persistent whirring of an opening cargo bay door. What piqued his interest and encouraged Kenobi to turn and assess the situation, however, was the sudden cacophony of loud commands, conversations, and footsteps behind him. Both General and Commander pivoted toward the scene, Cody lowering his datapad in distraction as Kenobi rested his hands on his hips in surprise. There were what looked like thousands of dockworkers as far as the eye could see, all in various states of loading The Negotiator with the medical supply crates. It was not a far-reach to assume that Anakin’s warship was receiving similar assistance. Kenobi shook his head, nearly kicking himself for ever doubting the efficiency of a mission involving Naboo.

“That’s some Senator, huh?” Commander Cody relayed as he gawked at the extra manpower, likely arranged by Padmé herself.

Kenobi smiled at the site. “Your eyes do not deceive you.” Cody called out to a few clones and motioned them to follow as he approached the crowd of dockworkers, orders at the ready.

With the generous assistance of Naboo’s finest citizens, a lot of commands from the confident Commander, and a weary General helping where he could, the starships were fully loaded and cleared for departure in less than a day, much to the bewilderment of Commander Cody. He made sure to remind the General as they made the final cargo checks that even though the pickup on Naboo was exceedingly fast, the offloading process would certainly take a week with Polis Massa’s lack of cargo staff. This, Kenobi could accept. At least with all the cargo already on the planet, the facility could coordinate with the Commander so to prioritize which supplies were offloaded first. The most desperate patients would have what they need in time.

The journey from Naboo to Polis Massa allowed General Kenobi to carry out a new set of duties. These were the first moments in the last few weeks in which he was finally free to file his reports. That meant many meetings, many questions, and writing every small detail down.

War between the Republic and the Separatists rarely left time for moments of respite, and the General was beginning to feel the effects deep in his bones. Occasionally, the head pounding returned. But what truly concerned Kenobi was how the lack of sleep began to play tricks on his mind. Formulating complex thoughts almost felt like drowning, and his mind seemed more easily swayed to the past. Kenobi remembers how this experience pressured him to finally concede— this last report would need to be followed by rest.

As the warships approached the asteroid field and the General completed the finishing touches to his final report, Kenobi received an urgent meeting request from Master Windu with the notation ‘sensitive.’ He remembers entering the empty war room, taking a deep breath from the exhaustion slowly creeping across his shoulders, and accepting the call on his Holopad. The blue, semi-transparent holograph of Mace Windu appeared before him. Only as his figure’s bright blue shine emanated a strong glow into the room did Kenobi realize he’d forgotten to turn on the lights.

“Master Kenobi, a pleasure, as always.”

“Master Windu.” Kenobi greeted.

He paused for a moment, just a moment, but it was long enough to indicate how long the last few days had truly been.

“I hope you’re getting some rest after the events of Christophsis and Tatooine.”

“As much as is possible, Master. The 212th and 501st have been called to deliver vital medical supplies from Naboo to Polis Massa.”

“I am aware. It may settle your mind to know that your time in the Outer Rim will be coming to a close shortly. All active-duty Jedi have been temporarily recalled to The Temple.”

Kenobi immediately grew concerned, especially when he noticed how the elder Master’s eyebrows creased ever so slightly. He frowned. “Master, may I ask what influenced this decision?”

“We will discuss it once you and Anakin arrive in the next few days. Please continue your mission to Polis Massa. The Council requests that once you arrive, you and Anakin arrange for transport back to Coruscant. Your battalions can unload the cargo themselves.”

Kenobi nodded. “Understood.” Once more, he paused. This time unsure if it was fatigue or apprehension. “Should I be concerned?”

This time, Windu embraced the silence, only offering the General a challenging stare.

“Please inform Anakin of this development. We will see you soon, Master.”

With that, Master Windu ended the communication, plunging Obi-Wan back into the darkness. As he remained in that dim, quiet war room, the General was left with a new, deep weight on his chest.

The General rubbed his face with a hand. Rest. He needed rest. Obi-Wan allowed his mind to briefly concentrate on his commitment— he would sleep as soon as the report was finished. It would only take a few more moments, he reassured himself. Then, the General would finally get some much-needed shuteye.

Kenobi relaxed. He was moments away from returning to the datapad when his mind wandered once more. He thought back to his conversation with Master Windu. This type of request from The Council and its level of urgency was unprecedented since the Separatist conflict began. It was difficult not to theorize about the severity of any event that would require the recall of thousands of Jedi. And it was moments like these where he would ask himself what Master Qui-Gon would do.

Obi-Wan tossed those thoughts to the back of his mind, shaking himself out of his stupor. These mild anxieties would disappear as soon as he rested his body, he knew that. And he was certainly looking forward to it. But first, Anakin.

He remembers how Anakin answered his Holopad request faster than expected. It wasn’t that Anakin was ever derelict in his duties, but he sometimes struggled with communication. Admittedly, it was usually because the man was too busy engaging in another risky, dangerous, or outright insane course of action.

However, this time, he answered. And no number of streaky lines in the holograph could hide the smirk spread across his face when his eyes met Obi-Wan’s.

“Miss me already, Master?” He crossed his arms while addressing his former Master. His longer hair shifted and head tilted slightly to the side.

Kenobi shook his head. “Hardly, The Council has called for all Jedi to return to Coruscant, including you and I.”

Anakin scrunched his nose as if a rancid plume of spoiled Giji stew entered his nostrils. “What for?”

“Unknown, but we are to arrange for transport back to Coruscant once we arrive on Polis Massa.”

Anakin nodded. “Got it.” Once more, he grinned. “Don’t worry, Master, I’ll find us a shuttle that will get us back in no time.”

Anakin ended the transmission, once more freeing the darkness to engulf Obi-Wan. His eyelids drooped. It took every strength not to immediately collapse to the floor and sleep. Just as he began to weigh the pros and cons of such an action, there was a sudden knock at the door.

“Yes, come in.”

Commander Cody entered, seeming somewhat out of breath. “General.” He breathed in once more, slowly and deeply. “Apologies,” he exhaled. Kenobi sensed threads of guilt from his person. “I’ve come to tell you that we’ve arrived at Polis Massa.”

The General smiled. “Thank you. I will be there in a moment.” As the Commander exited, Kenobi turned away from the door and back toward the black depths of the room. He sighed.

Another violent shake of the ship’s hull yanked Obi-Wan out of the past. Eyes shooting open only to rest in crinkled annoyance as he side-eyed Anakin in the pilot’s seat.

“Anakin, if I had known that you’d choose a shuttle barely cleared for travel, I would have made my own arrangements.”

Anakin huffed as he negotiated with the Emissary-class shuttle’s controls. “This wasn’t my first choice either, Master.”

Another loud rumble reverberated throughout the cabin. “I thought you were one of the better pilots in the Jedi order?” Ahsoka’s irritation poured from the backseat and flowed around the senses of the two senior Jedi. Obi-Wan stifled a laugh as Anakin’s frown deepened. His grip tightened around the throttle.

“There was no way for me to know that the only available ship capable of galactic travel on that planet was decommissioned hundreds of years ago.” He groaned. “They don’t even make parts for this piece of junk anymore!”

“You call this capable?”

“Snips…”

Despite losing any hope of sleep with the stress of traveling in a rusted space bucket, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but playfully add to Ahsoka’s antagonizations.

“She has a point, Anakin.” He motioned at the hull. “For someone who boasts about their engineering talents, I would have thought that this trip would be smoother.”

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were sure that if they’d looked over at the frustrated pilot, they’d have seen steam blasting out of each red-tinted ear framing Anakin’s flushed face. Without any retort, he let out a defeated huff and refocused on navigating the trio out of the Outer Rim.

Ahsoka snickered as Kenobi used this cue to once more lean back and close his eyes. But despite how much his body ached for rest, his mind wandered to The Council once more.

Then, there was an explosion.

Obi-Wan was shocked into consciousness. He sat up quickly, knocking off some of the robe blankets. Alarms blared and red lights flashed. “What happened?!”

“Something hit the ship. Sublight engines are damaged.” Anakin began to frantically negotiate with the shuttle’s controls, looking increasingly concerned as he continued. “Whatever it was, I have no control over them anymore.”

“Can you fix them?!” Ahsoka yelled out, trying to be heard over the commotion.

“Working… on… it,” Anakin gritted. But despite each new attempt, the shuttle continued to hurtle in a dangerous direction.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warned. “You’re taking us directly toward the gravitational field of that planet.”

“I know!” Anakin yelled. He continued to fight with the controls. Eventually, he jumped up and stumbled over to a viewing window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the damage from the side.

He sighed, still examining the engines. “Well, whatever it was, it’s permanently changed the direction of the engines.” He glanced back at Obi-Wan and Ahsoka with a look of dismay. “I can’t fix them. We’re going to crash.”

“Do you always crash the ships you pilot?!” Ahsoka exclaimed as she began to brace herself for the planet’s gravitational pull.

Anakin ignored her. He returned to the controls in hopes of making their crash landing as soft as possible.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and sighed as he felt the new root of a gray hair form. “Always a joy flying with you, Anakin.”

The deafening noise of the croaking hull reached an all-time high as they entered the atmosphere. The three passengers began to sweat, the heat of their reentry taking its toll. As they passed the planet’s cloud layer, the craft’s violent shaking achieved its peak.

If Anakin gripped the clutch with any more strength, it would’ve surely splintered. His teeth clenched and eyes remained alert as he mumbled his internal calculations out loud, a slight pause in between each one.

“700 meters, 600 meters, 500 meters…”

As they rapidly neared the planet’s icy surface, Anakin yanked the controls toward himself and down. What remained of the engines wined out a high-pitched drone as the shuttle struggled to level out with the planet’s surface.

“400 meters, 300 meters, 200 meters…”

Ashoka looked away, nails digging into her seat as Kenobi tried to blanket the three of them with a protective force barrier.

“100 meters… brace yourselves!”

The engines’ wine accelerated in intensity and volume as the craft’s belly made contact with a snowy bank.

The impact’s shock finally gave General Kenobi the longest rest he’s had in days.

—

The soft heat of the Tauntaun’s fur warmed your fingers with each stroke as you plunged your hands across her muscular chest. She huffed in contentment, hot steam shooting from her nostrils into the subfreezing air, and across your face. The sensation tickled your cheeks. A giggle bubbled up from your stomach as you rested a cheek against her warm frame. You briefly think back to when you were both young. You absolutely could not stand her smell when you first met her, but companionship has its way of encouraging two beings to attune to each other.

Moments like these in the desolate, icy graveyard of Hoth always helped you recharge after hours-long scavenging trips. You turned and took a few steps away from your steed to look out at the horizon, readjusting the sack of lichen that hung across your shoulder. You knew that you needed to start heading back to the shelter. The trip would take an hour, and night was beginning to creep across the horizon. What’s more, the edges of your boots were beginning to dampen from hours in the snow. At least you had your thick Wampa cape, which encased your body in warmth.

Another huff, this time disgruntled, sounded behind you.

You turned to the beast with a smile. “Oh Meetra,” you sighed. “I’m tired too. We’ll head back soon.” You reached up and scratched behind her ears. The Tauntaun relaxed as the tension in her muscles began to release.

Suddenly, a deafening boom sounded from above and behind you. You flinched, your body shocked out of Hoth’s calm surroundings. Meetra, equally startled, tried to pull and sprint away, but you grabbed the reigns tightly, keeping her calm. You spun around, eyes glued to the sky as a mechanical moan emanated from the atmosphere, its source still invisible in the blue sky. But in an instant, a gray, round shape with smoke trailing behind shot through a cloud and barreled toward the planet’s surface. You watched as what looked like a ship tried to level its descent miles away. In the back of your mind, you hoped that your dear friend, who you last saw years ago, was not inside. Within seconds of that thought, the ship made contact with the ground. A blast of sound and burst of snow left in its wake.

As you watched thin trails of smoke begin to billow in the distance, you felt a sudden pang in your heart, and pull to the wreckage. There could be survivors in desperate need of help, you thought. Maybe they needed medicine, or bacta patches. You contemplated the emotions of whoever may have lived through such a brutal incident. Scared, hopeless, confused— you could identify with those sentiments.

But it didn’t take long for the warnings you’ve heard all your life to creep into your mind. If you broke your agreement, you knew you might regret it. Not just for your own sake, but his too.

“Stay safe. No unnecessary risks. I’ll return soon.”

“I promise.”

A grumble escaped your lips. You agreed to stay out of trouble, to wait. But it’s been so long. Years. Nearly a decade, if you followed the stars correctly.

Then again, he knew your nature. He accepted long, long ago that you were too curious for your own good. He probably thought to himself, as he watched you grow, how your kindness, determination, and sympathetic soul were sure to get you into trouble.

You knew yourself, and you knew he was right. But you could not stand idly by and watch. He’d understand.

You turned back and took a few strides toward Meetra before slinging a leg over the Tauntaun’s body and mounting her bare back. You kept a tight hold of the reigns and angled her head toward the crash site.

“Let’s go girl.” You clicked your tongue twice, signaling her to move. “Let’s check it out.”

Meetra vocalized as she took her first stride forward. Her feet crunched the freshly dusted snow, stamping large tracks behind you.

—

Obi-Wan felt cold air blow across his face and ice dust his fingertips long before having the energy to open his eyes. Slowly, but surely, he tested the movement of his toes, knees, and elbows before checking his sight. Obi-Wan groaned, rubbing his face before assessing one eyelid at a time. Blinding sunrays poked through a small hole in the viewport, lightly burning his eyes. A groan escaped his throat.

Once his vision readjusted, Obi-Wan was able to glance around the cabin. The shuttle was delicately balanced on its right side, gravity attempting to pull them down to the shuttle’s edge. The hull creaked and moaned as snow continued to escape through the viewport hole, adding to the light blanket of ice around the trio. Obi-Wan turned to his left and saw that much like himself, Ahsoka and Anakin were thankfully not thrown from their seats, likely due to the elder Jedi’s last-minute force shield around them. Their arms and legs hung toward him, following gravity’s pull. As he examined the two more closely, Obi-Wan could tell that Ahsoka had regained consciousness only moments ago. Anakin seemed to be in the throes of coming around, his head bobbing side-to-side in discomfort.

“Is everyone alright?” Obi-Wan cleared his throat after his voice cracked.

“I think so,” Ahsoka responded. She began to rub her montrals as if responding to a migraine.

“Here.” Obi-Wan tossed her one of the robes that had fallen to the ground. “It will be colder once we exit.” Ashoka silently thanked him as she slipped it on.

“That wasn’t too bad.” Anakin was suddenly wide awake, an air of contentment emanating from his force signature. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he tossed him another robe, this time without warning. Anakin caught it easily despite the distraction from patting himself on the back for his personal definition of an easy landing.

Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed. “What would have been good was not crashing in the first place.”

Clearly, the young Padawan was equally in deep need of real respite like the rest of them, Obi-Wan thought. As their conversation continued, he finally found the energy to stand, taking this moment to observe the hull.

“Well too bad, Snips.” Anakin retorted as he shrugged on the thick cloak. “We’re already here.”

Obi-Wan sighed as he assessed the damage. “Is it repairable?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Anakin stood and hiked up to the shuttle’s exit, using the force as support against the gravity actively pulling him down. The mechanical creaks and cracks heightened with new movement. Ahsoka grabbed her armrest and jumped over it toward the door. Obi-Wan took a few wide strides to follow. Once the three reached the wall that was now the ceiling, Anakin opened the door with a click and whoosh.

The cold bite of an air blast attacked their faces and pockets of exposed skin. Anakin shielded his eyes from sudden bright light and surveyed his surroundings. His former Master and Padawan peered out from either side of him. The trio stood there for only a moment, staring out at miles upon miles of empty terrain, ice, and snow banks.

Anakin jumped out, gently landing on the surface ten free below. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka swiftly followed with equal elegance. As Anakin made his way toward the engines to assess the damage, Obi-Wan used the moment to scan their surroundings further. The sound of Anakin ripping off panels and testing the shuttle’s internal mechanisms echoed off the naked ice patches dotted around them.

He closed his eyes, reaching out cautiously with his mind to feel the area’s energy. There were clusters of forces, small and animal-like, scattered miles away, with one group especially concentrated in a cave, the entrance of which Obi-Wan spotted a few miles West. He relaxed, feeling comfortable enough to deepen his connection with his surroundings.

Obi-Wan’s head tilted and eyebrow raised when he felt particularly strange activity to the South. There was an extremely weak force signature, almost like a dying creature. But it didn’t feel like the sensation of a semi-sentient being. There was depth, conflict in the shaky signal.

He huffed, eyebrows creasing as he attempted to dig his heels deeper into the fleeting feeling. But just as he was getting a better grip, the life force disappeared. Maybe it truly was just a small animal, meeting their Maker.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The bright light reflected off the snow and into his retinas.

He knew which planet they had crash-landed on. It shared its name with this system. Nevertheless, he enjoyed using these unexpected moments as a learning opportunity.

“Do you know what planet we’re on?” He said as he turned to look at the young Togruta.

Ahsoka pondered his inquiry. She observed the region, surveying the planet before looking down at the sleet encapsulating her feet. She lightly kicked some snow as she formulated her thoughts.

“Hoth, right?” She questioned.

Obi-Wan smiled. “Very good.” He turned back to the distant ice cave, hoping to get a better sense of the creatures within. It was possible that they might emerge to investigate the excitement of their crash landing. The boom was likely heard from miles away.

“I remember reading about the Skell beings on this planet.” Ahsoka mused. “They refused to choose a side during the old civil war. Instead, they attacked everyone within moments of seeing them.” Her voice stuttered as she finished. The cold was beginning to affect her.

Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. “I’m impressed by your knowledge, Ahsoka.” He made sure to raise his voice a little. “Clearly, you took your studies more seriously than Anakin.”

“I can still hear you!” Anakin yelled from behind the engines and he stood up, followed by a sharp clang. “Ow!”

“It looks like you could use a hand.”

Obi-Wan whirled around at the sound of a new voice as Ahsoka followed suit. His eyes met a figure with y/h/c hair and piercing silver eyes that glimmered in the sunlight. The figure sat atop a large, furry beast with two horns framing its round snout. A sizable white furred drape wrapped around their torso and hid their legs.

“Hello there.” Obi-Wan greeted.

Hearing all the commotion, Anakin peaked around the back of the shuttle, rubbing the back of his head in defeat. Curiosity paused his assessment, pushing him to join the others.

The beast huffed and lightly stomped its feet at the presence of strangers. The stranger hushed the animal, stroking its neck to calm it before throwing a leg across its back and demounting.

“I saw your ship crash a few miles back.” They explained as they took a few strides forward. “You should know that recreational hunting on this planet is illegal.”

“We’re not hunters...” Ahsoka clarified.

“Just travelers who lost their way.” Obi-Wan cut in. The young Padawan has yet to learn that these days, strangers fear the Jedi in the Outer Rim. Best to remain anonymous.

—

“Well, you better find shelter soon.” You advised. “The surface temperatures drop too low for non-indigenous beings to survive after sundown.” Everyone seemed alive and healthy when you arrived, you thought. You sensed that the trio before you was more than capable of handling their own affairs from this point forward, so you turned and walked back toward Meetra, satisfied with your investigation.

“Do you live nearby?” The older, bearded man quickly asked. You paused. You knew you shouldn’t indulge the questions of strangers, but curiosity got the best of you. You spun to face the man. He took a few steps toward you. “Is there a village somewhere? We have yet to find signs of civilization.”

Your friend’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.

“Stay safe. No unnecessary risks.”

You took a step back.

The older man paused mid-step as he analyzed your features. He silently apologized by gently lowering his foot back beside the other. The man smiled, likely hoping to make you more comfortable.

“No village.” You paused, internally sighing. You wondered whether you would regret this decision, despite knowing deep in your bones that it was the right thing to do. To help them. To guide them toward survival on this planetoid death trap.

But then your mind pulls you back to your promise. A promise you intended to keep. Still, you had thrown away any semblance of cautiousness hours ago when you first decided to explore the wreckage, you reasoned.

You eyed the hunk of metal once more. It certainly was beaten up. But despite the many dents, holes, and obviously mangled engines, the fact that it wasn’t a pile of parts was simply a miracle.

“I’m surprised your ship suffered such little damage.” You exclaimed, glancing back at the trio. “I wasn’t expecting to find a ship at all with your reentry.” As you finished, you noticed the younger man’s frown at that comment.

The bearded gentleman smiled. “We were very lucky.”

The whistling of chilly wind filled the brief silence. It whirled around the four of you, threatening to take all of your cloaks off your very back. They were sure to perish if they remained out here for any longer.

You internally groaned, knowing that you’ve already made your decision. No avoiding it now.

“There’s no village.” You took a deep breath, hardening your face in case this group was not who they said they were. Best to seem somewhat tough. “But you’re welcome to accompany me back to my shelter. There should be room for everyone.”

The bearded man’s eyes brightened at the gesture. “That is very kind of you.” He seemed sincere.

You could see that the young Togruta behind him also relaxed. She seemed to be especially affected by the cold as she lightly shook. The idea of a warm place to rest surely put her mind at ease. The younger man seemed somewhat surprised, but equally content.

You relaxed at their innocent features, and grinned. “It will take a few hours so we better leave now.” You turned again and walked to Meetra’s side before pausing once more. You faced the trio. “I only have one Tauntaun and she can only carry two people at a time. We’ll need to take turns.” You climbed onto your steed.

“Sounds good to me!” The younger man blurted out. He lightly jogged up to the Tauntaun with a relaxed countenance before jumping up and mounting the steed behind you. You could tell that their younger companion was annoyed with their compatriot’s blatant gall. The man glanced over your shoulder. “My name’s Anakin, by the way.” His toothy grin caught the light.

You chuckled, glancing over at the young man. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Ahsoka.” The bearded man motioned to the young girl. “And I am Obi-Wan.” He placed a hand against his chest.

Their bright spirits lightened your soul. “It’s a pleasure.” You steered Meetra around toward the shelter far behind you. Clicking your tongue, you began the journey.

“So this shelter,” Anakin started. His head returned to hover over your left shoulder. “You don’t happen to have any century-old shuttle parts or schematics…”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warned as his march met Meetra’s pace to your right, Ahsoka in tow.

Your bright laughter filled the air as you further relaxed. When you looked back at Anakin you noticed Obi-Wan’s comforting smile out of the corner of your eye. “You know…” you teased. “You may be in luck. Useless centuries-old knowledge is probably all I have.”

Anakin seemed satisfied with your witty retort as he leaned back with a pleased utterance. In your peripheral, you could see Obi-Wan’s interest was piqued by the lift of his eyebrows. He looked out West, into the distance, clearly contemplating your words.

After a moment, his gaze shifted back to the caravan, catching your eye. His features lightened. “I believe I missed your name.” Obi-Wan challenged.

You turned back toward the path ahead and smiled. “Y/n.”

“Hmm.” You glanced back at his vocalization. He stroked his beard while his gaze returned to the West.

“Y/n”

[tatooineknights]

quick luke question: which one of luke's flaws is your favorite? which one bothers you the most?

I think Luke's willingness to take the weight of the universe on his shoulders alone is a very sad but heroic trait of his. The responsibility of being the last Jedi (or so he thinks) and the only tangible connection he has to the father he never had makes him take on a lot more than he probably should by himself. It is a common flaw shown throughout each of the movies, though maybe more of a quality than a flaw in the first. In Empire, it is also mixed with a bit of cockiness and assurance (I think he equally wanted to take Vader on as much as he wanted to help his friends; there is selflessness there but also pride). In Return of the Jedi, knowing he is Vader's son, he takes on the entire responsibility of distracting the Emperor and hoping to save his father's soul, knowing it could just have easily killed him. In The Force Awakens and Last Jedi, it is out of a misguided hope that things will turn out right if he removes himself from the picture.

But that kinda goes into my favorite of his flaws, which may be Anakin's biggest but not quite so much with Luke: pride. I appreciate that he knows he's hot shit even if it later makes an embarrassment out of himself (you know Vader is internally proud and cracking up).

Look at him talking himself up just a few minutes after joining around a bunch of experienced pilots like he's part of the club.

Look at him just baiting this master Sith Lord that successfully destroyed an entire order and orchestrated his own Empire.

We won't even go into his dumbass nonsensical plan to rescue Han from Jabba the Hutt that he goes through like it's some masterpiece.

With flaws like these, how can you hate him?

[mysticficti0n]

hey doll can you do fem!reader dating Tom and she's a model and she gets asked to do a lingerie shoot and she's questioning to do it or not and Tom convinces her with little flirty comments and then on the day he comes to pick her up and she's still posing in this black lacy stuff on a bed and he's watching until she notices and he asks if they can take the pieces home????

love you 🤭

girl yes yes yes

∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　

rip it off

warnings- flirty, angst??, model!gf+TomK

words- 744

"okay thank you- bye" I cut the call and looked to see Tom giving me a questionable look "I've been asked to do a 'fall lingerie' shoot next Wednesday, but I don't know" yes I model but usually fully clothed, I'm not very confident about every inch of my body and Tom knew that "what if I just look like a idiot?"

"babe you wont look like an idiot, I've seen you In lingerie thousands of times and every time It happens oddly enough it ends up with you in my bed and that on the floor" he smiled moving from his place on the sofa to be closer to me "plus Y/n you are sexy as fuck, men are lucky to even look at you and I'm the luckiest because I get to come home to you and do this" he pressed his lips to mine and I couldn't back away from a kiss from Tom, who could?

"what If my dad see's it? god that also means my horrid step-mom too!" I cringed at the thought of those two seeing me nearly naked, dad hadn't been a large part of my life until I started gather fame at 16 for acting in adverts, then dating Tom in one of the most famous bands in Germany and now a world-known model

"so what of they see it? he has a gorgeous daughter who has a successful career unlike him who owned a car company that went bump and his wife looks like Jabba the hut so you have nothing to worry about" I laughed pressing a kiss to his cheek "I'm not wrong- but anyways I think you should do it babe I mean you're the fucking most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I know everyone else would agree"

"fine I'll do it, and thank you you're such a sweetheart when you want to be" I drew circled on his palm seeing him let a small laugh out

"yeah wait till I come see you on Wednesday"

∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞

"thats it Y/n push that hip out hun" I was stood in a make-shift door frame with bright white lights making my skin glow while wrapped in a night black lacy piece "okay I think we need you on that bed, and how good can you arch?" I felt a blush come to my face as we walked to the bed

"pretty well..." I climbed onto the plush fabric and watched as they fixed the camera onto me "where do you want me to look? camera or just off it?" I asked Jenna who stood smiling at me

"erm look to the camera and then we can try other stuff but doll you look stunning right now- so ready?" I nodded sliding down the bed and pushing my ass up as much as I could and stared into the lens, the camera clicked a few times and people switched lighting and my make-up until I herd a familiar wolf whistle fill the room, I looked over to where Jenna and the editor were sat and saw in the shadow behind them was Tom sucking his lip, I blew him a kiss and carried on with my shoot, I found myself pushing my positions more as his eyes laid upon me

"okay can we get one of you in the shower? but change into that baby pink set first and Pablo will come lighten your make up because we want cutie in the shower vibe okay?" Salma rubbed my shoulder letting me off set to change, I walked to Tom who sat playing his lip pricing, I purposefully swayed my hips a little more and let a salutary smile come on my face

"afternoon" I hummed feeling his hands immediately go around my waist "you okay?" he stood towering over me pressing a kiss to my forehead

"I'm amazing" his eyes drew narrower, he lowered his head so his mouth was next to my ear "need some help getting this off my love?" his tone sent shivers down my body and all I could do was nod, his hand slipped down to the globe of my ass giving it a quick squeeze before looking to Jenna who had a smirk along her lips "can we take these home?" Tom asked referring to the lingerie "and maybe some spares in case" I hit my boyfriends shoulder as a red shade covered my face

"damn Y/n didn't see you as a girl to have her clothes ripped off" she giggled winking at me

"right well I'll go change" I quickly walked to the backroom and I herd heavy steps follow behind me

"don't fuck for too long!" Jenna called as Tom shut the door after him

[foundfamilynonsense]

I’ve made this post before but y’know what? Jedi haters want to baselessly blame the Jedi for everything that goes on in their galaxy then I think I’m allowed to call Boba Fett a slave owner.

- Boba Fett has replaced Jabba the Hutt as crime boss of tatooine (or whatever the official title is)

- Tatooine is a known slave empire. It was completely out of the Republic’s control, and Jabba was actually the one who sold Anakin’s mom to Watto. In Return of the Jedi Jabba keeps Leia as a slave so we know nothing changed in Tatooine up until Jabba’s death.

- Boba makes a few changes to Tatooine, it’s true, his biggest thing is that he’s tired of putting his life on the line for asshole rich guys who wouldn’t do it themselves. Tired of being a bounty hunter and having nothing to fight for. But! Slavery is not brought up at all.

- those two pig guards worked for Jabba and beg Boba for mercy and he decides to let them work for him. I doubt they got paid under Jabba, because Jabba only paid bounty hunters, and they worked for him exclusively. There is nothing that suggests Boba pays them either.

But honestly. Tatooine is a very big planet and as of three-something years ago there were slaves. Slavery cannot be undone overnight, so Boba DOES run a slave empire.

He also definitely knows this, bc he was a bounty hunter for Jabba the Hutt and the slavery was not a secret. He saw Leia as Jabba’s slave.

We see his first few weeks as leader and he never mentions slaves. Which means he runs a slave empire. He owns slaves, because he owns everything. And since the show was about him making progressive changes and people getting angry and trying to take power from him, the fact he does not try to free the slaves is not just something that we can assume happened off screen, but something Boba decided not to do.

Boba Fett owns slaves and runs a slave empire. Your fav is problematic. But please tell me more about how the Jedi are morally reprehensible for not immediately freeing every slave in the galaxy through sheer force of will.

[gloomwitchwrites]

High Stakes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical swearing, mando’a lanaguge, yearning, denial of feelings, placing bets, light dom/sub (with bratty behavior), possessive behavior, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 7k

When your employer loses a bet to Jabba the Hutt's favorite contract killer, Boba Fett, you are suddenly placed in his control. But you and Boba are not enemies. The two of you have known each other for a while now, and this only pushes the two of you closer together.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart mesh’ika – little beauty mesh’la – beautiful

The artificial air kicks in and its refreshing coldness brushes against your neck. You sigh heavily, appreciating the luxury that few establishments have in Mos Espa. Not even Jabba’s Palace can boast to having such a feature.

Glancing over your shoulder, the rest of the room begins to melt into smoky shadow. The large shutters over the windows start to shift downward to ward off the light and heat from Tatooine’s twin suns. They stop two-thirds of the way, allowing for natural light but shrouding Tranquil Sands in shadow. The small lamps at each of the tables turn on, giving the place an intimate glow. In the far corner, the band changes up their song, and spice smoke from hookah pipes fills the air.

It might be the middle of the day, but Tranquil Sands is full. It always is.

Need a drink? Tranquil Sands has a full-service bar.

Want to spend all your money gambling? Tranquil Sands has all the best tables.

Do you desire more carnal pleasures? Tranquil Sands can provide.

Or are you simply wanting a place to rest your head? At Tranquil Sands, there are plenty of beds.

Tranquil Sands has it all.

And you are its bookkeeper.

Lady Sheku, a beautiful Twi’lek female with peachy skin, is the owner of Tranquil Sands. You’ve been keeping her books for several years. The two of you have grown close over time, forming a subtle friendship built on mutual respect.

Trust is important for something like this. You work closely tracking every credit and form of currency that enters or exits this establishment. It’s not just to ensure that proper dues are paid out to Jabba, but to be as transparent as possible for when—not if—the Empire comes knocking.

“Is everything in order?” asks a sultry voice.

You spin around just as Lady Sheku approaches. The Twi’lek is gorgeous, and she doesn’t even try. Many with money on Tatooine show it off, but Lady Sheku is all gentle elegance.

“As it always is,” you reply, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.

Today is payment day. Today is the day that Jabba the Hutt receives the protection dues from Tranquil Sands. But it isn’t Jabba who fetches it, nor is it his loathsome second Bib Fortuna. It’s Jabba the Hutt’s favorite bounty hunter, Boba Fett, that comes calling.

He is always on time. Never misses a single payment.

“You look lovely today,” murmurs Lady Sheku, her brow rising slightly as she admires your outfit.

When out on the floor, you have to look like you belong, not like you sit in a backroom all day hunched over ledgers. Yet you also cannot look like any of the workers. That might give some guests the wrong impression, and the last thing you need is a misunderstanding out in the open. You’ve opted for black, a color none of the workers wear. They prefer brighter colors, and the ones for pleasure purchases are even brighter with golden bangles and necklaces. You’ve gone completely bare other than the thin black fabric that hangs on your body.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Lady Sheku leans in, her voice dropping even lower. “It can’t be because a certain bounty hunter is coming today?”

“No,” you answer automatically, but it’s not entirely a lie.

Boba Fett is sweet on you, and everyone knows it. You are the one who interacts with him, who hands over the credits, who makes sure Jabba is paid and satisfied. Boba Fett is the man between, and yet he is enticing. A flavor of spice you cannot seem to shake.

But no matter how much attention he gives you; it simply isn’t possible. The two of you cannot be together. Boba Fett is a bounty hunter. He wears Mandalorian armor. He works for Jabba the Hutt. Everyone knows how deadly Boba is, that he’d rather vaporize his bounties than bring them in alive. A man like that makes enemies, and you’d be first on the list if they plan on targeting him.

“Liar,” teases Lady Sheku, waving her hand dismissively.

As if speaking his name summons him, Boba Fett enters through the front doors. For a moment, all conversation ceases, even the music seems distant. His helmeted head swivels, scanning the room. When it lands on you, everything stutters before hurtling forward. He takes one step, then another, and then he’s moving toward you with purpose embedded into every slap of his boots against the marble.

“Boba Fett,” greets Lady Sheku, her head dipping slightly with acknowledgement. You do the same, knowing it’s better to show respect to one of Jabba’s favorite contract killers.

When your gaze returns to him, the T-shaped visor is aimed at you. Though you cannot see his eyes, you feel his stare. It brands your skin, peeling back the flesh to reveal your deepest secrets.

“Everything is in order,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “The credits are in the back if you’ll follow me.” You shift and raise an arm, indicating the backroom you and Boba always meet in to make the exchange.

Boba shifts in your direction but Lady Sheku raises a hand. “A moment. Please.”

He pauses, and you drop your hand back to your side slowly, unsure of why Lady Sheku is delaying the proceedings.

“I have a proposal for you. An offer, if you will.” Lady Sheku’s shoulders shake a bit as she straightens her spine. Boba says nothing but inclines his head. “You never partake in anything we offer here at Tranquil Sands. As the proprietor of this fine establishment, I’d like to know what I can do to make you a loyal customer.”

You keep your face completely blank even as your mind races. Why is Lady Sheku asking this now? There isn’t any reason to delay. All the credits are there. In fact, there is plenty, so why make him wait? Why make you wait?

Boba Fett considers Lady Sheku’s question for a moment before he answers. “What I want isn’t on the menu.”

What I want isn’t on the menu.

When Boba says this, his helmet is turned in your direction, the T-shaped visor pinning you to the spot. Lady Sheku grins, her gaze subtly shifting between you and Boba.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” shrugs Lady Sheku. “For a price.”

Is she really selling you to him? You’re not a slave. You’re an employee.

You’re about to protest, the words forming on the tip of your tongue, but Lady Sheku gives you a look that silences you completely.

Trust me, it says.

Boba inclines his head. “I’m listening.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Sheku claps her hands together. “Let’s make a game of it. Shall we?” Placing one hand on Boba Fett’s upper arm, she guides him over to the gambling corner. Boba allows himself to be led and you follow right behind him, tension tight in your stomach.

“A wager,” says Lady Sheku. “If I win, you pay a portion of the protection money. If you win, you can have the woman you want for the evening. She will be…yours. Completely.”

“Lady—” you begin but Boba cuts in.

“What game?” he asks.

“Cards.” Lady Sheku gestures toward one of the tables.

“Sabacc?”

“Afraid, Boba?” teases Lady Sheku.

“Hardly. Let’s play.”

The two of them sit down at the nearest table. You stand there in shock, your feet unable to move. A droid dealer approaches, shuffling the cards, and still, you do not move. Others begin to press in, watching on as cards are dealt.

You want to rage, to curse everyone and everything, and yet, at your core, you’re not entirely angry. Lady Sheku has stepped over the line, crossed into territory that is blurry and wrong, but she’s not doing it for her own gain.

Everyone knows how sweet Boba is on you, how he always stands close whenever he’s near you, or how he compliments you at every visit. Even when he goes to the backroom with you, Boba is a complete gentleman. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t disrespect your boundaries. None of that accounts for all the gifts that arrive at Tranquil Sands’ doors. The ones for you never have a name on them, but it’s easy to guess who they’re from.

Something solidifies in your soul, and you take a step forward. A crowd has gathered, eager eyes watching on as the owner of Tranquil Sands and Jabba’s favorite bounty hunter face off over a few rounds of Sabacc.

The air is stagnant, and your gaze is glued to the floor.

Should you look? Should you watch on? Or should you let it be?

Even if Boba wins, you know he’d never hurt you. He has it in him to be cruel and sadistic, but he’s never raised a hand to you. He’s never taken what you haven’t freely offered. In this, if he wins, will Boba remain the same? Do you even want to know?

Kriff it, you think, shoving through the crowd, coming up behind Boba. Just as you squeeze between a Zabrak and Weequay, the crowd gasps. Boba leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide. Lady Sheku appears disappointed but you know her tells.

She glances up, winks, and then stands, sighing loudly. Your gaze falls to the table. Boba’s winning hand stares back at you tauntingly.

“You’ve won, Boba.” Lady Sheku inclines her head, hands spreading wide before her. The crowd around the table begins to disperse, their interest disappearing quickly. “My assistant will make sure you receive Jabba’s payment and then she’s all yours.”

Boba starts to stand and you shoot Lady Sheku a look. The Twi’lek shrugs casually. You’re welcome, she silently mouths before greeting a new wave of customers.

With Boba Fett looming over you, it’s hard not to notice his height and broad shoulders. The Mandalorian armor he wears is worn and dented, the paint chipped and peeling in some places. Yet it only adds to his aura, his sense of strength and power. His helmeted head dips as if he can kiss you through it. For a moment, your face rises as if to meet him, but you back out at the last second.

“This way,” you choke out, taking a step back, gesturing toward the other end of the room.

Boba leans away but he doesn’t create any distance other than that. It isn’t until you start walking that Boba moves, keeping pace with you. At the doors to Lady Sheku’s office, you scan your card and enter with Boba following behind.

“I’d offer you something to drink but this will only take a minute,” you say over your shoulder.

At the massive safe, you enter the code, retrieving the credits in their locked box. Turning around, you set the box down on the table, opening the lid to reveal the credits inside.

“Everything appear satisfactory?” you ask.

Boba doesn’t say anything. It’s infuriating because you don’t know if he’s looking at you or the credits behind that bucket.

“It’s all there. You can count if you—”

“You’re mine,” says Boba, like it’s an indisputable fact.

You take a deep breath, hands balling into fists at your sides. “For the evening,” you amend.

Boba glances down at the credits. He shuts the lid, reengaging the lock. His head tilts and his hand ascends, one finger pressing to the side of his helmet.

“I’ll need a pick up,” he says to someone that clearly isn’t you.

Boba does not pick up the credit case. Instead, he steps around the desk until he’s standing next to you. Reaching out, the back of his gloved hand brushes over bare skin. You feel the ridge of knuckles through the leather.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to form proper words. Boba’s touch is like a stun wand. Electric but lethal. You are struck, ripped apart, and pieced together. It hurts, not because he’s touching you but because this will end, and the two of you will return to your lives. He is not meant for you. This cannot be more than just the evening.

Lady Sheku meant well by losing, but this might be too much.

Boba drops his hand and plucks the credit case from the desk. “When we return, you’ll sit with me. In my lap.”

His tone is assertive. Boba isn’t asking, and that stirs something inside you. While you like this, you also want to push back. But you’re not quick enough in your response. Boba points in your direction, chastising before you even get a word out.

The two of you stare each other down before Boba curls his finger in and presents his open palm. It’s an invitation instead of an order. While Lady Sheku needs to mind her business, Boba is the man that haunts your dreams. Every interaction with him is a memory that sticks to you like syrup.

Slowly, you extend your own hand, slipping it into his offered palm.

Boba’s hold is gentle as his fingers encase your hand. You allow yourself to be led from the room, to be escorted to a large booth tucked into a private corner. From here, Boba can see the rest of Tranquil Sands. It’s private yet strategic, a habit of any good bounty hunter.

Placing the container of credits on the table, Boba takes a seat in the booth. The cushions are soft and wide. The table in front of it is low to the ground. Boba never let’s go of your hand. He keeps you close, drawing you into his lap.

You fit perfectly there, and the naturalness is startling.

Boba keeps one arm around your lower back for support, his broad hand planted firmly on the curve where your hip and upper thigh meet. You’re tucked against him, leaning into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his armored chest. With his other hand, Boba guides your legs over his thighs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, that same hand running up your thigh, parting fabric until he’s touching bare skin.

“Yes,” you reply softly, a shiver running through you from the contact.

Boba’s answer is a gentle grunt as his hand on your thigh tightens. It’s a possessive hold, and you don’t entirely mind. Around you, patrons move about. Many don’t even glance your way, entirely preoccupied with their own endeavors.

It isn’t long before two Gamorreans enter Tranquil Sands. Between them is a woman in an all-black body suit with cape and cowl. The only visible part of her are her eyes which glow a subtle shade of purple.

“Boba,” she says on her approach.

Boba Fett only nods toward the container of credits. She is swift, fetching the credits and leaving without another glance at you or Boba.

After a few moments of silence, Boba adjusts, and it only draws you closer to him. “Are you upset with me, cyar’ika?”

The question surprises you. “Why would I be upset?”

“Why would you not be? Didn’t ask what you wanted.”

You snort. “Did you even consider what I wanted?”

The answer comes automatically. “No. I want you. And I saw an opportunity,” he says. “But you know that.”

You do know. You’ve known for over a year now and so does everyone else. Whenever Boba walks in, Lady Sheku and all the workers immediately look at you with amusement on their faces. Boba might not be overt in his attentions, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t gone unnoticed.

“What’s your plan, Boba? To lure me in? To convince me I should be yours?” You’re pushing him, feeling bold, but how could you not be? You’re in his lap, almost straddling him, and Boba’s hands are everywhere even though they’ve hardly moved at all.

Boba inclines his head. “You’re already mine. Always have been.”

“You don’t own me,” you murmur.

Boba’s silence is deafening, and you have no idea what it means. You desperately wish you could see his face, to look into his eyes and glimpse even a semblance of understanding. That silence is all there is because the matter is done the moment the doors of Tranquil Sands open.

Boba is all business after. He shifts you out of his lap, having you sit beside him instead like a pretty thing on display. But Boba keeps one hand on your inner thigh as he conversers, never removing it even when you adjust against the cushions.

Strangely, Boba never removes his helmet. Whenever he comes to retrieve Jabba’s payment, Boba almost always removes his helmet in front of you. But that has always been in a private setting behind closed doors. This is out in the open.

He orders food and drink, offering it to his guests as much as he offers it to you, and yet taking none for himself. You remain quiet, listening attentively but mostly staying out of it. Boba doesn’t ask for your input, and the various individuals seem to understand that you are off limits.

It isn’t until Tatooine’s suns begin to descend that Boba shifts gears.

“We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs. The only thing upstairs are rooms. Rooms to sleep. To rest. To—

Your heart thunders in your chest. Excitement rushes in along with an underlying nervousness you can’t entirely place. It’s not geared toward Boba. He’d never hurt you, never push himself on you. No. This nervousness is a questioning of whether or not he’ll accept your advances if you give them.

It's a silly thing to question. Boba likes you. He’s smitten, willing to pay an entire month’s worth of protection money just to have the chance to be with you.

Boba stands and presents his hand. You take it, and he helps you to your feet, but he doesn’t drag you to the lift. He stays right there, towering over you, his free hand grasping your waist.

“What is it?” you ask, gaze roaming over the room in one quick sweep before returning to Boba.

“Do you want this?”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Boba?”

“Do you want this?” he repeats. “With me?”

When you don’t answer right away, Boba gently squeezes your waist. “Give the word and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Boba—”

“If you wish to leave, tell me now.”

You swallow. “Does this mean I can’t go if I change my mind?”

Boba’s chest heaves. “No. You can always go. You can always walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Even though Boba played Sabacc with Lady Sheku in order to possess you, he is still giving you a choice. This is up to you. Boba has already made it clear what he wants. All you need to do is accept him, or walk away.

“I don’t want to go,” you breathe, knowing with these words you’ve changed your future forever.

There is no going back. No reversal. You are confirming what you already know and what he’s suspected. You want him.

Boba’s hand slips away from your waist only to travel downward to grasp the back of your thigh. This one touch makes you inhale sharply, and the soft chuckle Boba makes sends heat straight to your core.

“My mesh’ika,” he croons.

Boba keeps using these words you don’t know. You can take a guess as to their meaning. He’s used them before but only in private. Only when you’ve allowed him a passing touch before you depart.

Now, with his hand massaging the back of your thigh, the meaning is clear to you. And this place is far too public for such affection.

“Upstairs,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you’re surprised the voice receiver in the helmet even picks it up.

Boba’s hand disappears from your thigh, leaving an emptiness behind. You long to draw him back to you and indulge in his touch.

The ascent to the room is sluggish, and yet with a blink, you’re at the door. You cling to Boba’s armor-clad arm as the door slides open, and Boba guides you into the dark. The moment the two of you cross the threshold, a lamp near the window clicks on.

This is one of Tranquil Sands’ suites.

You enter into a small sitting area with a lounge sofa and low table. The curtains are closed, keeping out the light of Tatooine’s suns. To the right are sliding double doors. They stand open, revealing a large bed. The door to the bathroom is through there but you cannot see it from where you’re standing.

Boba releases your hand, and you are reluctant to let him go. He presses a few buttons on the control panel near the door. More lights turn on. It is dim—almost intimate—and all you want to do is reach out to him.

This is just for the evening. Only for the night. Then it’ll be over. You will return to your books, and Boba will be the vicious bounty hunter he has always been. He will come for Jabba’s payment, and you will hand it over, never meeting until the time to return rolls around again.

Hesitantly, you stride forward into the middle of the room. With hands clasped in front of you, you turn in Boba’s direction, only to find him within arm’s reach.

The two of you stare at each other, not speaking, hardly breathing.

With an aching slowness, Boba reaches up with both hands, clasping the sides of his helmet. You hear the hiss of the seal releasing, and then it’s gone, revealing his face. This is not a surprise. It’s no gut-punch. Boba’s face is one you’ve seen before, but this is not a business exchange. This is personal.

Boba moves past you and gently sets his helmet down on the table. He is right there, and when he straightens to undo his leather gloves, your hand finds his bicep, resting where there is no armor. His dark eyes swivel towards you, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. It looks so soft and inviting—just long enough to give it a little tug.

He removes one glove and then the other, tossing them onto the table next to his helmet. Your eyes track every movement, the casualness of Boba’s undressing a mesmerizing dance. You cannot look away.

“You’re staring, cyar’ika,” muses Boba, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You cough, and discreetly check for drool. “Want me to stop?” you shrug. “I can do that?”

“No.” Boba’s tone startles you, but it is his hand on the back of your neck that truly makes your stomach flip. He drags you against him, and your hands instinctually rise, pressing against his chestplate.

His dark gaze is sharp. Piercing. “Draw me a bath, cyar’ika.” Your lips part and Boba’s gaze drops momentarily before returning to your eyes. His grip on the back of your neck tightens a bit before releasing.

“Go,” he says, voice husky and rough. “Before I get dirt on that pretty dress.”

Heat rushes up your spine and flares hot in your cheeks. Pressing a hand to your burning face, you quickly enter the bathroom. Built into the wall is a massive tub. It’s all smooth, clean lines and easily fits two.

“Kriffing hell,” you murmur at the ceiling. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

Shaking your hands out at your sides to release some of the giddy nervousness, you reach for the small panel in the wall. Hot water begins to emerge from the faucet. Pressing a few more buttons bring forth an aromatic aroma, and the water starts to turn sudsy.

It looks inviting. Entirely heavenly.

Water is a heavily sought-after resource on Tatooine, but Lady Sheku has connections, often transporting water in from off world. It’s expensive but it supplements what can be purchased on Tatooine.

You pause, hearing soft footsteps. Turning, your eyes widen, and the heat that you banished from your cheeks returns. You quickly look away as Boba’s nude body brushes past you and steps over the edge of the tub to slide into the water.

Boba sighs heavily, and the sound goes straight to your sex. It’s contentment and satisfaction, and you want to know if that’s what he sounds like when he’s buried deep.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you say, keeping your gaze averted. But as you turn to leave, Boba reaches out, his wet hand grasping your wrist.

“You’ll stay,” he commands, releasing your wrist to tap the side of the tub. “Right here. Where I can look at you.”

Slowly, you ease down on the edge of the tub. It’s not entirely uncomfortable. It is wide and flat, large enough for you to sit without sliding onto the floor and into Boba’s lap. You place one hand behind you, and one on your knee to keep balance. Boba submerges himself a bit more, the water coming up to the middle of his chest.

“You look lovely today,” he murmurs, gaze roaming up and down your body in appreciation.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Am I not lovely to you every time you see me?”

Boba smirks. “You are. And even when I don’t see you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, fingers playing with one of the gauzy, black strands of fabric.

It’s loose enough that the material spreads out and hangs toward the floor, revealing plenty of bare leg. Boba’s hand is nearby but not touching. Yet his fingers flex like he wants to touch you but is resisting the urge to do so.

“Join me,” he rasps, those fidgeting fingers forming a fist.

“Is it a command or an ask?” It doesn’t really matter if he’s asking or demanding. Sliding into that warm water with him is a desire you don’t want to resist. Will you straddle his lap, sitting face to face? Or will Boba want you to recline against him, back pressed against his chest?

Boba’s dark gaze is unmoving when he speaks. “It’s what you wish it to be.”

You swallow and sit up straighter. “Look away.”

Boba laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up at an odd angle and you giggle.

“Fine,” he agrees, glancing at the wall, whistling to himself.

Slowly, you stand. You partially give Boba your back as you slip one strap over your shoulder and then the other. You loosen the band at your waist, and then the dress is on the ground, a dark pool of fabric at your feet.

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Boba still turned away, but he’s stiff, almost rigid. That is when you notice your reflection. It is blurry, mostly an outline, but it’s clear that you’re nude.

Turning quickly, you cover your breasts and step into the tub at an odd angle to hide yourself. It’s silly, since you’re already taking this leap, but it’s natural to want to hide yourself. This is new. Different. While you’ve always liked him, this is beyond anything the two of you have engaged in.

A few stolen kisses in a backroom means nothing compared to this.

As you start to sink down, Boba’s head turns. Your gazes lock, and then he’s reaching for you, bringing you against him. He does bring you to a straddling position. Boba guides you around until you’re sitting in his lap, back pressed against his chest and head resting on his shoulder.

The water hardly covers your breasts.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmurs in your ear even as his hands run up and down your thighs, waist, and hips under the water.

The motion stirs the water, revealing your breasts to him. Boba groans against your throat as one of your hands reaches back to rub the back of his neck. While keeping one hand on your thigh, Boba gently cups one breast, lightly pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Your breasts have never been overly sensitive, but Boba’s touch is immense. All-consuming. You’ve never reacted to anyone’s touch like this.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. Boba’s hand beneath the water grasps the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “All mine.”

Boba’s lips trail over your neck and then the curve of your jaw near your ear. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and all trepidation you might have held vanishes. This man is enamored. In rapture.

“Let me kiss you, cyar’ika.”

But you do not let him. Instead of saying yes, instead of agreeing, you’re the one who responds with action. Your lips connect with Boba’s, and it seems to surprise him. At first his lips do not react, but then he’s answering back, kissing deeper. Seeking. Wanting to taste.

You open for him, and Boba moans, his hand upon your breast sliding upward to grasp the front of your throat in a possessive hold.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, cyar’ika?” murmurs Boba against your lips. “Do you know how much I’ve craved you?”

“I thought we were bathing,” you reply, and he smiles. It’s so sweet. Soft. Something you’ve never seen on his face.

“You’re right,” he croons. “We are.”

You’ve never been cleaner. Boba keeps you reclined against him as he scrubs and strokes every inch of your body. He is gentle the entire time, pebbling your throat and lips with soft kisses that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

When you’re refreshed, Boba hands over control, and you are just as thorough. You adjust positions, straddling him. Boba wiggles further into the water, leaning back entirely, one arm splayed across the back of the tub while the other rests under the water where it rests on your thigh.

Boba never looks away. His gaze is always on you. There is a dreamy, happy quality to it, like he can’t believe you are truly here with him.

“You’re clean,” you say, twisting out the excess water from the handcloth. You set it aside just as Boba releases the valve for the water to drain.

You start to stand but Boba grabs your waist, drawing you back into his lap. Words begin to form on your lips, but Boba is quick, silencing whatever you wanted to say with a kiss.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, drawing back enough to stare into your face.

The water is quickly disappearing, and the sudden rush of air prickles your skin.

“You can have whatever you want,” you answer, and Boba’s grip on your waist tightens.

“And what if I want you on your back, hm?” he prompts. “Would you spread you legs for me?” He leans in for another kiss. This one is chaste. Quick. “Would you let me in, cyar’ika?”

Would you let me in, cyar’ika?

You have to bite back a moan. You’ll give this man anything.

“Dry me off and find out.”

With a swiftness that has you grabbing on to the back of Boba’s neck, he manages to lift you and step onto the bathroom floor in open fluid movement. He holds you in the air like that, and you pretend not to notice his hard as it presses against your inner thigh.

Slowly, Boba eases you to the ground, but he doesn’t let go. Keeping one arm around your waist, Boba snags a towel from the shelf. It is clean and white. Freshly laundered. He drapes it over your shoulders and you find the edges, bringing it in. Boba grabs another for himself.

You start with your ears and throat, then the rest of your body before drying your hair enough that it’s slightly damp. Boba is much faster than you, and he does nothing to help, only watches. Admires. It’s far too intimate, and you keep glancing away, smiling like a kriffing idiot.

“What?” you laugh, and Boba returns the smile.

He gently grabs hold of the towel and you release it to him, leaving you completely bare. The towel falls from his hands, and then Boba is grasping your hips, walking you backward into the dimly lit bedroom.

Boba comes to a halt when the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. Keeping one hand on your hip, his other hand grasps the side of your throat, titling your head back a bit as his mouth meets yours in a searing kiss.

Heat is everywhere. It burns beneath your skin, soaring outward until you’re pushing up onto your toes in an attempt to draw closer. Boba is all eagerness. All hunger. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause for air. He is devouring and you want to be consumed by him.

“I want to taste you,” he says between kisses.

When he leans in for more, you pull back, giggling. “You are.”

“No,” he replies, voice growing husky. “I want to taste you here.”

On here, Boba slips his hand between your legs, fingers gently parting your sex to revealing your slickness. The moment his fingers make contact, Boba growls, and it is a needy sound.

“That is what I want,” he reiterates, and you will not tell him no.

“I told you, Boba. You can have whatever you want.”

Boba withdraws his hand from between your legs. “On your back, love.”

You ease down onto the bed and then lean back on your elbows as you scoot away from the edge. Boba’s fingers brush against the tops of your knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide so that he can move between them.

His rough, calloused hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide upward toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach.

Boba adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Boba worships it all, leaving nothing untouched.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod.

Boba’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws some up to your clit. Presses. Swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst.

You gasp, back arching slightly as Boba continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Boba grins against your thigh.

“Good. That’s it, cyar’ika,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your wetness.

He finally adds a finger, begins pumping. Your hips buck, and Boba meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

That is when Boba descends. That is when he finally takes his taste.

Boba parts your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. He swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed. Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face.

Boba sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. You hear yourself but it seems so distant, like you’re falling into a deep hole. Your thighs clench like you’re trying to trap his head between them, but Boba is strong. Insistent. He keeps spread, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

You say his name until your voice grows hoarse and you skin is tingling in the afterglow of pleasure.

Around you, the bed sinks as Boba shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves as you gaze up at the man you’ve always held at a distance. Boba’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of light, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

You reach up and run your thumb across that mess only for Boba to suck that digit into his mouth, wiping you clean of yourself.

Boba is so close, and you arch your neck, seeking his mouth. He gives you what you’re seeking, and everything in you melts, becoming one with his warmth. Your hands slide up his chest and then back down, nails grazing over his skin.

He breaks the kiss, panting. “I need you.”

“You can have me.” It’s a wonder that you’re even able to speak.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Boba grasps your wrists, and then you’re rolling on to your stomach, Boba’s weight heavy at your back. Your arms are above your head, pinned there. With a quick adjustment, Boba shifts your wrists to one hand while the other runs up and down your back in a gentle caress.

“Mesh’la,” he murmurs, and you shiver.

Slowly, Boba releases your wrists, but you do not move them. You hold them above your head, awaiting Boba’s next move. Both hands join, moving lower and lower until his hands are full of you. He squeezes your ass and mutters something under his breath that you’re unable to hear.

Boba’s hands fall to your hips. They adjust, bringing them up off the bed a bit. But Boba does not part your legs. Instead, he tests your entrance with a single finger.

Grunting, he withdraws, and then reaches up, snagging one of the pillows.

“Lift your hips,” he commands. You comply, and Boba slips the pillow beneath your lower abdomen. “Better,” he growls, hands returning to your ass.

The bed sinks as he shifts, and again, Boba does not part your legs. He adjusts the pillow some more, arching your hips a bit higher. His hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, pausing near your pussy. With a little pressure, Boba spreads you a bit, but it’s not nearly as much as you expected.

You push up onto your forearm, twisting a bit to look over your shoulder.

Boba’s gaze meets yours just as the head of his cock finds your entrance. He holds himself there, and then thrusts forward.

You cry out, not from pain but from pure pleasure. The stretch is intolerable but so kriffing good you nearly come undone right then.

Boba retreats, and then returns, each roll of his hips giving you more and more of his cock.

“You’re so kriffing tight, cyar’ika,” he groans, feeding you more until your toes curl from the intrusion.

Boba pauses when he bottoms out, holding himself there as his hands slide up and down your back in a soothing caress.

“How do you feel?” The question is one of genuine concern.

You’re no longer leaning on your forearm. You’ve collapsed, cheek pressed against the bed. “Good, Boba. I’m good.”

Boba rolls his hips again, and the slow drag has you clenching. The whimper that accompanies it arrives unbidden, but it is only one of many.

His thrusts begin slow before becoming steady, each one a claiming. Boba drapes himself over you, his forehead resting against the back of your head, and his hands planted on either side of you. Boba uses that as leverage to drive into you over and over.

You are pinned beneath him, taking everything, and it is delicious. You don’t want him to stop. You want to be claimed. To be possessed. To be known by him.

Boba’s breath is hot against your neck, and the words he mutters are of a language you don’t know. He might be cursing you, praising you, or praying to gods you know nothing about.

It isn’t until Boba’s thrusts become quick and erratic that his mind seems to return to you. Keeping one hand anchored to the bed, Boba uses his other hand to tangle his fingers in your hair. Without hurting you, he turns your head just enough to look into your eyes.

“Let me come inside you, cyar’ika.”

“Boba,” you groan as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” he begs.

Boba slows his thrusts, awaiting your answer.

You start nodding, but Boba shakes his head like it isn’t enough. “I need words. I need to hear you say it.”

He lightly tugs on your hair and you moan your answer loudly. “Yes.”

Boba’s grip on your hair releases, and your head drops back to the bed. In his end, Boba is relentless, a pounding pace that drives you into the bed. Your fingers claw at the bedding, everything in your clenching and unclenching, your clip rubbing against the pillow until your own release bursts like stardust.

Boba groans against your throat, and then he stills, pressing down with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt. You don’t even care how messy this will be. You only care about how his arms start to go around you. How he completely drapes himself across you like a blanket. How he whispers your name between kisses to the space between your shoulder blades.

Adjusting some of his weight off of you, Boba grasps the front of your throat, and then you’re looking at each other.

“How many more times can I have you tonight?” he muses, lips curling into a smile.

“We should take what we can. Before we depart. Return to our lives,” you answer.

“You think I’m letting you go, cyar’ika?” counters Boba.

You shift to see him better. “Isn’t that what has to happen?”

 Boba’s mouth forms in a wide grin. “No. You might return to your books, but when I come calling, I expect to be treated like this.” He lightly thrusts, and you whimper. He’s growing hard again. Needy.

“Boba,” you groan, arching into him.

He kisses your shoulder. Kisses the dip and then your throat. “I’m never letting you go, cyar’ika.”

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

@singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff @ninman82

@no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos @tulipsun-flower @nomercyforthewarrior @hantheconqueror

[mksolomon1]

Adventuring with Tinfoil Hats & Copium

Somewhere in the interval between TBB S2 and S3, I read that with Tech's fall, we were entering Empire Strikes Back territory. I consoled myself with the idea that season 3 would bring us into Return of the Jedi territory with the Batch gaining allies and victories. Yet my experience of this season has been far from that because, if anything, the tone of the story has became even darker. I had lost all hope in the analogy.

But I was wrong.

Not wrong that the tone had gotten darker--obviously it had--but wrong that we aren't knee-deep in Return of the Jedi anymore. But before descending into the pit of tinfoil hats and copium, it must be acknowledged that these are very different stories with somewhat different messages. It is the major plot points that run parallel between Jedi and S3 of the Bad Batch, along with a few fun asides.

Return of the Jedi begins with Luke, Leia and Lando mounting a rescue of Han from Jabba's palace--while S3 of TBB places Omega in the Luke/Leia/Lando role breaking out Crosshair as Han. This is the Rebels first victory in Jedi and it proves a significant win for the Batch as well. (Note also that Han can't shoot straight immediately after his rescue.)

The next major plot point is when Luke turns himself in to the Empire; TBB gives us Omega in Luke's role and CX-2 in Vader's. (Note that just before this beat we get episodes of "Force Talk with Luke and Ventress"! 😊)

This brings us to the end of the latest TBB episode, Point of No Return. If CX-2 is Tech, will Omega work to turn him, insisting on the good person buried in his memory? Could be, if that's Tech.

What else lies ahead?

Certainly the Batch will storm Mt. Tantiss (with clone allies instead of Ewoks), while the interior plot will probably concern Hemlock in the Emperor's Jedi role and Omega continuing as Luke. I don't think we'll see any further sacrifice-offer from her, though Hemlock may decide to terminate her.

Will CX-2 or Emerie play the Vader role to save her? I don't know. It seems a likely scenario. Might the threat to Omega awaken CX-2's inner-Tech, a man who twice before offered his life to save Omega's? Maybe. Will Emerie take her revenge on Hemlock? Will Wrecker as Lando get to blow it all up? I hope so. We'll see soon enough.

This concludes my TED Talk. Thanks for your attention! 🤡

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

This is a brilliant description of Donald Trump (from 2020):

Someone on Quora asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?" Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response:

A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump's limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don't say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it's a fact. He doesn't even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn't just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness. There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It's all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don't. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He's not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He's more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy' is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it's impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump. And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.

Source: jobsanger: British Writer Pens The Best Description Of Trump I've Read

[lamaenthel]

Body Heat

[read on ao3][Rexsoka Monthly: Oct '23- Body Heat]

Rex thought he knew what blue looked like. He'd been raised atop the oceans of Kamino, had seen the stormless skies, even had the color painted on his armor. Meeting the eyes of the Togruta in the escape pod, though, he felt like he was seeing the color blue for the first time. Captain Rex accompanies General Anakin Skywalker to check the debris field of Abregado for survivors, on the lookout for two in particular: High General Plo Koon, Jedi Master, and his Padawan, Commander Ahsoka Tano.

Characters: Captain Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker, Commander Wolffe, Plo Koon Rating: E18+, Minors DNI Wordcount: 9,263

Rex respected his General. Skywalker led from the front, bent over backwards to prevent unnecessary casualties, and never asked his men to do anything he wouldn't do himself. It inspired loyalty and kept morale higher than any other battalion.

His one flaw was how attached—ironic, being a Jedi and all—he became to his little shitbox ships. The Twilight was the one he'd stolen during his mission to rescue Jabba's Huttling. He'd fixed it up. Mostly. But it rattled unnervingly as they exited hyperspace, and that made Rex nervous.

Give me an honorable death on the battlefield, he thought, a bolt to the head or even a mortar strike. Make it quick, make it clean. Not a slow one suffocating in space.

It's how most of the poor sods of the 104th had probably gone. Rex hoped that his brothers had taken their helmets off and ended it quickly instead of suffering after their air had run out. He put it from his mind and focused on his terminal.

"R2, modulate the scanner for any signs of this mystery weapon," Rex ordered.

"Negative," Skywalker corrected. "Tune it for life-forms. Highest sensitivity."

Rex turned from his terminal, confused. "Sir?"

"What's the matter, Rex?"

"Sir, I thought you said we were scouting ahead of the fleet. Why would we scan for life forms when we…" Rex stopped when he noticed the bright red star through the viewport. "Sir, is this the Abregado system?"

"Sure is." Skywalker turned around wearing a tooka's smirk.

"Didn't the Council say that we couldn't risk any more ships?" And there had been a right fight about it too, with Skywalker ending the holocall with the Jedi Council by walking away in a huff.

"We're still on our way to the staging area, we're just taking a quick look around Abregado first." Skywalker's smile thinned, took on a bitter edge. "The Council may be willing to give them up as dead without even trying to look, but I'm not."

"As far as I know, this mystery weapon doesn't leave any survivors." Rex crossed to the co-pilot seat, his heart aching. He'd already said his goodbyes to his lost brothers in private. It was too painful to hope.

"There's a first time for everything." Skywalker boosted the power to the console with a few typed commands and a flipped switch. "Have you ever met Plo Koon's Padawan?"

"Commander Tano? Not directly." He'd heard plenty about her, Wolffe never shut up about her whenever they met up at 79's—I'm telling you, Rex, the girl is crazy but she has the heart of a warrior—but he never would again, Rex realized. He was dead, and she probably was too.

"She's an old friend of mine." Skywalker's eyes softened. "We're the same age. I… I came to the Temple later than most. I didn't always get along with the other kids. The one person who was always there for me was Ahsoka." Skywalker's eyes were feverish with hope. "If there's a chance she's alive, I'm not going to write her off without even trying."

"As you say, Sir." Rex felt as though they were treading the line of insubordination, but he trusted his General with his life. Even if his little friend hadn't made it, there was a chance that a brother or two was out there clinging to the wreckage.

And if he needed to drag him out of the system because fierfecking clankers were still hiding in the debris field, there was always his stunner.

Skywalker bowed his head and closed his eyes, one hand out like he was reaching for something. He was using the Force. It wasn't the first time Rex had seen him do it, but it never stopped being impressive.

The lifeform scanner wasn't coming up with anything. "Sir..."

"Just wait."

Rex wanted to believe that at least someone had survived, but it didn't look like it. "Sir, we don't have much time before the fleet misses us—"

"She's alive!" Skywalker cranked the ship hard to starboard. R2 wheeled across the floor, screaming his dome off. "I can feel her. She's this way."

Rex held on for dear life. "As you say, Sir."

Skywalker's search light illuminated a floating pod with a small, shadowy figure clinging to the top. "There! Prepare the cable!"

"Yessir!" Rex rocketed out of his seat, aimed, snagged the pod, and dragged it into the cargo bay.

The shadowy figure had been a Jedi, General Plo Koon. He had collapsed next to the pod by the time Rex slid down the cargo bay ladder. And two brothers, Rex joyfully realized. "General, don't move. Easy does it, now, I'll activate the med-droid."

"Captain Rex." General Koon looked up, and although he didn't know how to read a Kel Dor's facial expressions, he was fairly certain that he was smiling.

Rex was just surprised he'd remembered his name.

"Master Plo!" Skywalker jogged into the cargo bay, relief clear on his face. "Are you alright?"

General Koon shivered. "I believe I am suffering from hypothermia."

Rex eyed his black fingers. "Frostbite as well, I fear, Sir. You should let the med-droid treat you."

"Such damage cannot be undone, but the damage will not progress further. Once my men have been seen to and we have escaped from this system, I will happily allow it to tend to me."

Rex spotted movement inside the pod. "General Skywalker, there's men inside!"

Skywalker yanked the pod's door off with a frantic gesture. "Ahsoka!" he shouted. "Ahsoka, are you in there?"

"Skyguy, is that you?" A high, musical voice like a bell called from the back.

Skywalker sagged with relief. "You had me worried, Snips!"

"Is Master Plo—"

"Alive, little 'Soka," the General rumbled. "And the two of you?"

"I could use some help with Wolffe!"

"Captain, help her while I get us out of here," Skywalker ordered, Koon's arm around his neck.

"Yessir." Rex climbed up, trying not to slip on the frosty buildup, poked his head inside, and—

Oh. Oh.

Rex thought he knew what blue looked like. He'd been raised atop the oceans of Kamino, had seen the stormless skies, even had the color painted on his armor. Meeting the eyes of the Togruta in the escape pod, though, he felt like he was seeing the color blue for the first time. Her eyes were bottomless, a crystalline lake of true blue that made him dizzy. Her skin was contrasting orange, with crisp white markings on her forehead and cheeks. Her lekku—striped the same blue as his armor—reached her navel, and she had a headdress of wicked-looking teeth decorating the seam of her forehead.

Her lip curled up in a smile, exposing the tip of a sharp fang. "Can I get a hand, trooper?"

Rex closed his mouth, painfully aware that he'd been staring. "Yessir," he mumbled, clamoring inside with the grace of a drunk bantha.

"I'm fine, but Wolffe is severely hypothermic." She rubbed the clone's arms.

"What's he doing out of his armor?" Rex asked, voice cracking embarrassingly. Idiot. Calm down before you pop a blood vessel like a fierfecking shiny at a peeler show.

"Out of armor rotation." She smiled, and Rex wished he had his helmet to hide his burning cheeks.

"Well, let's get him out of this ice cube." He chanced a glance back at her. She wasn't wearing the heavy robes of her Master, but a backless red battledress with the tell-tale sheen of armorweave. "You're not cold?"

"I'm freezing, but I can use the Force to protect myself from extreme temperatures for a short amount of time." Her eyes shone with grief, and it took everything Rex had to not wipe away the tears that threatened to fall. "I tried with Wolffe as well, but we were running out of air and…"

"I'm sure you did your best, Sir." Rex winced. Please don't think I'm sassing you. He hopped out with Wolffe's arm over his shoulder and laid him on the ground. "Alright, let's get some—"

"Strip." Commander Tano ripped the uniform jacket off of Wolffe like she was skinning a thimiar.

"S-Sir?" Rex stammered.

"Body heat is the most efficient way to rewarm a hypothermic patient, so lose the armor, Captain. Your brother needs you." She tore Wolffe's boots and uniform pants off, leaving him in only a pair of compression shorts, and wrapped her long arms and legs around him from behind, clinging to him like a spider.

"Commander Tano is correct." The med-droid draped a blanket over them.

Rex shucked his armor as quickly as he could until he was down to his blacks, then joined her under the blanket, trying to look anywhere but directly at her; not easy given that they were practically nose-to-nose and there weren't many other places to look. He focused on the row of teeth on her forehead so he wouldn't drown in the endless blue of her eyes.

Commander Tano grinned. "An akul."

Rex jumped like he'd been zapped with a nerf prod. "What?"

"They're akul teeth." She tapped the big one in the center. "It's a beast on Shili. It's a traditional rite of passage for my people to slay one."

"Oh." Rex swallowed. "Was it… hard?" Was it hard? Are you stupid?

Her lip quirked. "Hard?"

As if it were answering her orders, Rex felt—oh kark oh fierfek—his cock jump to half-mast. He adjusted his hips away from Wolffe's icy hip and prayed.

"Let's just say I earned them." She blinked at him slowly. There was a tiny ring of dark sapphire around her pupils. "Do you have a name, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir. It's Rex, Sir."

"Rex. I like that."

"Thank you." Rex cleared his throat. Blood. Vomit. The Sickener. Why are you hard, just go down, please go down… "So, ah, how long have you been a Padawan?" How long have you—shut UP, trooper, why are you asking her that?

If she found him impertinent, she didn't let on. "Eight years. I was eleven when Master Plo chose me as his student." She smiled wistfully. "He's the one who found me on Shili when I was little. He brought me to the Temple where I belonged."

"That's good. Good that he found you, I mean. Or else you wouldn't have become a Jedi." Why were her eyes so hypnotizing? Why were her lips so perfectly plush and full? Why did the backs of her hands feel so good pressed against his chest?

The lights died. Commander Tano looked around, confused.

"Hey, what's with the lights?" Sinker demanded.

Boost struggled to his feet. "We should get up to the bridge." He tripped and almost knocked himself out on the ladder.

The med-droid caught him before he hit the floor. "You're too weak. I will go see what is wrong." It clambered up the ladder with a noise like a toolbox being shaken.

"I hope that ship hasn't returned." Commander Tano looked troubled.

"Ship?"

"The Seppies' secret weapon. It's a ship armed with a massive ion cannon. It disables—"

The lights flickered back on. The ship lurched violently, throwing them all across the hangar into a pile.

"Kriff!"

"What in the—"

"Ow!"

"I really hate it when Anakin flies," Commander Tano groaned. "Sound off, men."

"Sinker."

"Boost."

"Rex," Rex wheezed, his diaphragm still in spasm.

"Wolffe, you alive?" Commander Tano reached behind her and awkwardly took his pulse. "Oh, good. He'd never forgive me for letting him die naked."

The ship tilted again. The group tumbled across the floor and slammed into the side of the escape pod in a tangled heap.

"Ow!"

"Get your karking knee out of my spine!"

"I'm trying—"

"Um, Captain?" Commander Tano patted his shoulder.

To his horror, Rex realized he was flush against her—on top of her—stars, between her legs—he still had a halfie—karking, kriffing son of a Hutt—

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Commander!" He threw himself to the side, rolled over Wolffe, squashing him a little—sorry brother—and frantically searched for the blanket.

"Stay with Wolffe and get him warm," Commander Tano ordered, smoothing her dress. Her hands slowed on her hips. "I'm going to see why Anakin's flying a skiff like a podracer." Her eyes lingered on Rex before she turned and darted nimbly up the ladder with an alien grace that left his mouth dry.

" ...Yessir." He finally spotted the blanket stuck to the side of the pod. He wrapped up with Wolffe again on the floor and willed his roaring pulse to settle.

She didn't notice. She didn't. Stop panicking. Rex took a deep breath in and let it out, shaking. He was stupid, so stupid—stars and tides, he was a Captain, why was he acting like a shiny who had walked into 79's and seen a woman for the first time in his life?

"Commander?" Wolffe murmured, stirring.

"Easy, brother," Rex began. "You're—"

"Saber's poking me," Wolffe mumbled.

Rex shut up.

A week later after the massacre at Abregado was avenged, Rex found himself sitting across from a drunk Wolffe at 79's. He looked haunted in a way that Rex wished he couldn't empathize with.

The survivors of Abregado—they called them the Wolfpack, now—were the last members standing of the entire 104th. Their numbers were being replenished, word spreading of hundreds of shinies on their way from Kamino, but who would lead them was unclear. General Koon needed time to recover, and according to Wolffe…

"They don't trust a Padawan to lead us," Wolffe said bitterly. He finished off his beer, swiped his hand across his lips. "A load of kung. Commander Tano is brilliant, you hear me?" He swayed in his seat. "Brilliant."

"I hear you." Rex shifted uncomfortably. The music was loud and gave him a headache. The nightclub was packed with clones and chasers in equal numbers, flirting at the bar and grinding on the dance floor and necking in corners.

"General Koon'll come back someday. He… he won't let this beat him." Wolffe looked like he wanted to cry. "I tried. I couldn't boost the signal any more than I did. The power died, and so did the life support, and—"

"You've got nothing to blame yourself for, brother." Rex clasped his shoulder. "You've had enough. Let's get you back to the barracks, alright?"

"They're empty," Wolffe whispered.

Rex felt his stomach clench like a fist. He remembered that first quiet night back in the barracks after Teth and fought the burning sting of salt behind his eyes. I'll see you on the march, brothers. "Sleep at the 501st's. All three of you."

Wolffe nodded miserably. He didn't thank Rex, but he didn't need to.

As luck would have it, Coric had just hailed a cab and was headed back. He waited for Rex to hunt down Sinker and Boost and then tucked Wolffe in between them. "Come on, Captain, squeeze in. There's room."

Rex realized his helmet wasn't clipped to his belt. "Wait for me?" he asked the cabbie.

The Ugnaught snorted. "Buddy, there's twenty cabs circling this block this time o' night. I ain't gotta wait for you, and you ain't gotta wait for me."

"He'll only be a minute!" Coric protested.

"It's fine. I'll catch the next one." Rex waved them off and headed back inside. His helmet was sitting right where he'd left it: in a corner booth a few strides away from the bar, overlooking the dance floor.

The hooded figure sitting beside it, nursing a shimmery, pink-purple drink in a cocktail glass, had definitely not been there a minute ago.

"C-Commander Tano?" Rex stammered.

She peeked out from under the brim of her heavy brown cloak: her blue eyes made him instantly dizzy. "Captain Rex." She stroked the jaig eyes on his helmet like they were markings on a tooka's forehead, her orange fingers just a tad too long with an extra joint that Humans didn't have.

"I, um…" Rex cleared his throat, shifted his weight. "What're you—I mean you're—are Jedi allowed to be in bars?" What is wrong with you?

"I can't say that it's encouraged, but neither is it forbidden." The tip of her upper left fang caught the light as she smiled. "Have a drink with me?"

"O-Of course, Sir." Rex sat down, ramrod straight, unsure of what to do with his hands.

"What are you drinking?"

Rex had already had two beers and the last thing he wanted to do was start belching in her face. He eyed her drink curiously. "What's that?"

"Half shimmerwine, half jogan fruit juice. The favored drink of Padawans trying to stretch their contraband. Anakin calls it a dizzy zeltron." She swirled the glass and took a sip. "It's not very strong, but it certainly tastes good. Would you like to try it?" She handed it to him without waiting for an answer.

Rex started breathing manually. He stared at the delicate imprint of her lips on the glass as he took a sip and—oh, that's karking delicious. Sweet and tangy, with the astringent bite of alcohol only at the very end. He nodded with appreciation and handed it back. Her bare fingers just barely brushed his, leaving behind tingles. "Very good, Sir."

"You can drop the Sir for tonight, Rex." She brought up the holomenu, plugged in an order for a second dizzy zeltron, and waited for the bartender droid to wheel it over before she raised her glass. "To my knighthood."

"You were knighted?" Rex asked, surprised.

"This morning." Her smile thinned. "It was… bittersweet. It was decided that Abregado and the hunt for the Malevolence were fit to serve as my trials. Master Plo said I was ready, and as his injuries are too severe for him to continue to teach me…" She shrugged.

"How severe?" he asked, dreading the answer.

She took a deep breath. "All of the fingers on his left hand, his right arm up to his wrist, and his left foot were amputated. And he has deep scarring where his mask burned his skin. He almost lost a pedipalp, but thankfully it should heal as long as it doesn't go septic."

Kriffing hells. "Wolffe will be sorry to hear that," Rex said after sitting stunned for uncountable seconds.

"Yes, he's a Kel Dor and his biology grants him some resistance, but he spent two hours exposed to the vacuum of space." Commander Tano shook her head. "He's truly a Master of the Force. I'm honored to have been his apprentice." Her eyes went misty. "But unfortunately I have been deemed too inexperienced to lead the sixth systems army in his stead. That is a role for a High General, a Council member, not a freshly-knighted Jedi."

"Oh." Rex sipped his fancy drink, unsure of how to answer as he didn't exactly…

"You don't disagree." She watched him impassively, giving away nothing.

"I…" Rex hesitated.

"Don't worry. Regardless of what Anakin may have told you, I'm not that cocky." She chuckled, and Rex's heart started beating again. "They're still deciding where I'll be assigned. They may be putting together a new company from a few depleted ones."

"Why not stay with the 104th?"

"The 104th is the battalion attached to the High General. They're… reserved, I suppose you could say." She finished off her drink, shook her head. "I wish I knew where I was going. I don't like not knowing the future."

"Can't… Can't Jedi see the…" Rex stopped, his cheeks on fire. Be normal. Be NORMAL.

"I've had a dream or two that proved to be a premonition, but I'm no seer." She traced the rim of her empty glass. "If only I was. I could have foreseen Abregado."

"No one could have foreseen it," Rex said immediately, feeling the strange need to reassure her.

Something in her blue eyes seemed to tremble. "I will miss working with Wolffe." She looked away. "He's a very good man. And a good mentor. He's taught me a great deal about strategy." Her lip twitched. "And how to play Corellian Spike."

"He's cleaned me out more than once." Rex's smile faded. "He won't be happy that you're being reassigned, especially if General Koon's not coming back."

"Perhaps… no. He'll stay with the 104th. That's where he's meant to be, and the memories of our time together will be enough." She shook her head and gave him a watery smile. "So, Rex, what's it like working with Anakin Skywalker?"

"Well, General—"

"Ahsoka," she interrupted. "No ranks tonight, if you don't mind. Just call me Ahsoka."

"A-As you say… Ahsoka." Her name felt as beautiful as it was impudent in his mouth. "Well, I'm proud to serve under General Skywalker, first and foremost. He cares about his men. He'd never ask any one of us to do something he wasn't willing to do. When we drop into a hot zone, he's right there leading the way."

"He always did like being the center of attention." Gen—Ahsoka—her smile grew. "So be honest, how many times has he crashed a ship with you onboard?"

They traded stories about Anakin Skywalker for what felt like hours. The lights from the dance floor spun hypnotically in her huge eyes. The dark kept her pupils enormous and pushed out the endless blue into a tiny ring. After his third dizzy zeltron, the edges of the bar started to turn fuzzy around the edges, the diluted shimmerwine finally bringing on a small buzz. When he managed to escape her eyes he lingered on her plush lips, the winged markings that kissed her cheeks, the curve of her jaw, the soft breaks in the pattern of blue stripes on her lekku, her delicate hands. Her nails were painted dark gray. Does she know what that means to us? he wondered, watching them trace her glass and drum on the table and once, squeeze his wrist in an overly-familiar gesture that started his pulse racing, turned his throat tight and made it hard to swallow.

She was so beautiful, especially when she laughed. But as she started to share stories about not just his General but her men, he saw the sadness grow in her eyes. She kept her hood up—she hadn't said so, but she didn't seem to want anyone else to notice her—and used it to hide those fathoms of blue once they started to redden with unshed tears.

"This is nice." Ahsoka's smile returned, sending his heart racing yet again. "It's… it's nice to be around clones again. It's comforting."

"Comforting?"

"I can feel you. All of you." Her lip quivered. "All of my men are dead. I couldn't save them. But I can… I can pretend, here, for a little while. That these beautiful minds that I feel in the Force are the minds of my men, and they're safe and happy and full of life and joy, not…" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "That they're not…"

"Hey." Rex had reached out and put his hand over hers before he could stop himself. "Abregado wasn't your fault."

"I know. I still… I wish I could have saved more. I felt their lives wink out like stars out there as those horrible droids were hunting them down, and I felt so helpless." She laughed humorlessly. "I can say without a doubt that helpless is my least-favorite emotion." She turned his hand over and traced his palm with a delicate touch.

"I agree." He could feel her pulse in her fingertips. Is it supposed to be that fast?

"I…" Ahsoka trailed off. She stared at his fingers, haunted. "I'm a Knight now. A General. They… promoted me for failing the 104th, and now they want me to do it again."

"You saved Wolffe, Sinker and Boost," Rex immediately said. "It's… it's not many, but it's better than saving none at all."

"How can you even look at me?" she asked. "Thousands of your brothers died. Thousands. I'm supposed to protect them, and I f-failed them." She wiped her eyes before tears could fall.

Rex wished he could wring Dooku's neck for making her cry. "You saved who you could. That's all anyone could have asked." He took a deep breath. "Did you hear about the battle on Teth?"

"Teth." She bit her bottom lip. "It… it sounds familiar, but I'm sorry, I can't recall the details. When was it?"

"Only a month ago. General Skywalker was called upon to rescue the son of Jabba the Hutt after he was kidnapped by the Seppies—"

"That's right. It was right after Christophsis was secured. They framed Anakin as the kidnapper." Her lip curled up in disgust. "Idiots. Anyone who knows Anakin even a little bit knows he would never have anything to do with the Hutts of his own free will."

"They were holding the little stinker in a monastery on Teth. It… was a rough fight. Torrent Company landed with a hundred and forty-four men. By the time General Kenobi arrived with reinforcements, we were down to six."

Ahsoka's jaw dropped. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"General Skywalker had been personally tasked with returning the Huttlet to Tatooine. He fully intended to come back and support us, but he was forced to leave us behind after discovering that the Huttlet was sick and on death's door."

"He left you?" Ahsoka's eyes bugged out of her head.

"On the orders of Chancellor Palpatine and the Jedi Council." Rex fought to keep his voice steady and his tone neutral. Judging by her reaction, General Skywalker hadn't told his friend about Teth for a reason. "He was not pleased, but he followed orders and completed his mission."

"But he left you." Ahsoka's eyes shone with tears.

"He completed his mission," Rex repeated gently. "I don't resent him for it. The mission comes first, always."

"The mission." Ahsoka stared down at the dancers writhing under the colorful lights below them for a few silent moments. "The mission of the Jedi," she began, "our purpose, our lifelong oath, is to protect and preserve life. Not abandon it to certain doom."

"It wasn't that certain," Rex joked lamely. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are." She laughed, then, and the bitterness that clung to the edges of those musical notes shocked him. "No thanks to him, clearly, but you survived. The Force protected you that day. I'm grateful that it did."

"Don't think too poorly of the General," Rex said, suddenly swamped with guilt. If I just turned Skywalker's oldest friend against him… "I didn't bring it up to lay blame, but to tell you I've been where you are and I know how hard it is to be one of the few who survived. There's still no one I trust more to lead the 501st. He's a good man, and he… wasn't happy about it, believe me. If the choice had been up to him, he would have stayed."

Her hand, still resting in his, twitched like she'd been shocked. "I do believe you. I suppose that unlike Anakin, I'm having trouble reconciling my upbringing with my new role. I never expected to be in a position where I would have to… to decide who lives and dies on such an enormous scale. Until Abregado, I thought nothing would be worse than Geonosis. Nothing could be worse than Geonosis. But it was just the beginning of the carnage, wasn't it?"

Rex fiddled with his empty glass, unsure of how to answer. "Hopefully we can turn it all around," he said feebly.

Ahsoka pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with all of this—"

"You're not!" Rex interrupted. "I-I mean, it's, um, it's…"

Ahsoka raised one brow marking, a curious tilt to her head.

"Whatever… b-burden you need to unload, I can handle it. But it's not a burden. It's just talking, and talking's good. You can talk to me." Shut up you karking moron, shut up, shut up—

"Thank you, Rex." Ahsoka smiled. "You're a very kind man. Anakin is lucky to have you as his first-in-command."

Rex wasn't sure that he'd ever been called kind before. "Thank you, S—Ahsoka."

Her smile widened. She leaned forward. "I like the way you say my name."

"Y-You do?" Rex asked, head spinning and not from the shimmerwine.

"Yes. You say it like it's… precious."

Rex's mouth was drier than the deserts of Tatooine. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is. It's yours."

"And that makes it precious?"

"It's, um… it s-suits you." Rex's ears were on fire. The roars of his brothers' distant laughter, the clinking of drinks, the thumping bass music; all of it disappeared into the background, leaving them in an isolation chamber of his own imagination.

"Are you calling me precious?" She traced the stem of her fancy glass with one long finger.

Rex was either going to have a heart attack or he was already having one. His pulse was like a bass drum in his ears, fast and loud and pumping blood away from his brain and into—stop it, stop it, not now, she's still got tears in her bloody eyes you pervert—it didn't matter how bad he felt about it, his codpiece was getting tight and he had no idea what to do about it.

"Rex?" Ahsoka licked her lips innocently.

"I should get back to the barracks. It's, um, it's getting late, a-and PT starts at 0600." Rex awkwardly clambered out of the booth, praying that the plate preserving his dignity didn't pop off.

"Oh. Alright." Ahsoka took to her feet far more gracefully than him. "May I fly you back?"

"You have a speeder?"

She shrugged. "A bike."

He'd… he'd have to hold onto her… waist…

"I don't want to be a bother," Rex forced himself to say.

"It's no bother. The barracks are actually on the way back to the Temple."

"Oh. Yeah, alright, um… you're… you haven't had too many to fly, right?"

"I'm fine. Jedi are trained in the ability to control our body chemistry and eliminate toxins in the blood. I'm as sober as a judge." Her smile faltered. "Unless you'd rather take a cab. I, ah, I don't want you to feel like it's an order or any—"

"No!" Rex exclaimed, panicking. You hurt her feelings, idiot! "I'd be grateful for the lift… Ahsoka."

She beamed at him. "Then follow me. Don't forget your helmet."

Her speederbike was parked in the back of the lot beside 79's. It wasn't a model he recognized; or rather it looked like a mish-mash of three different models he sort of recognized, but had never quite seen in that configuration.

"It's a Skywalker special." Ahsoka's eyes shone with a green, felinoid flash in the low light.

"Sorry?"

"My bike." She lifted one long, long leg and threw it over the seat. "Anakin helped me build it for my advanced mechanics module. The frame is a T-85 with handlebar extensions to accommodate my wingspan, the engine is a rebuilt Undicur modified to work without that dumb hydroxofluxazine coolant, and the repulsorlift coil is from a Renatta swoop that I tweaked to give me a little faster lift without sacrificing horizontal acceleration speed." She patted it fondly, like it was a loyal hound. It was painted bright green.

"And it's… skyworthy?"

"Of course it is." She frowned. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course!" Rex exclaimed embarrassingly fast. His cheeks burned. "I just, uh, well, General Skywalker's mech projects aren't always…"

"That's why I asked if you trusted me." She kicked it to life, and it came to with a throaty purr. "Hop on."

He slid behind her, never more thankful for the protection of his hardshell in his life. His bare fingers rested gingerly on her waist.

"Hold on!" she said cheerily. She punched upwards and forced him to grab her before he tumbled ass-over-tit off the back. "You alright back there?"

"Fine," Rex said faintly, his heart screaming along at a thousand miles an hour. You're not dying. You're on a speederbike with a pretty girl. She's giving you a ride home because she's a Jedi and a nice person. She doesn't know you're hard. You're not dying. You're not dying. Shut up shut up shut up—

An orange arm shot backwards and pulled him closer. "You can come closer, Rex, I don't bite," she laughed. "Not without a good reason, anyway."

His groin throbbed with a new rush of blood. His stiff length felt like it was being squeezed with a fist, his codpiece strangling him as much as it was protecting her from his depravity. You're so pathetic that sitting behind a pretty girl has you ready to shoot off? Idiot, mutant, freak—

"Do you like music?" She didn't wait for him to answer. She flicked a switch without taking her hands off the handlebars and soft, slow-tempoed electronic music filled his helmet. "I got tired of not being able to hear it over all the honking," she said, tilting her head; a thin, transparent sticky disk on her left montral caught the headlights. "It's a mini tightbeam modded to have only point-five meter range, so I don't accidentally start blasting skonk in some poor grandfather's hearing aid in the speeder beside me."

"Smart." He focused on the music, and lowering his blood pressure, and not his cramping thighs, quivering in his desperate fight to keep them from resting against hers. The pressure of his cod pressed up against her back was not helping, nor was the vibration of the engine.

Her lekku caught his eye. She was leaning forward, but if she tilted back they would rest on his bare hands. He couldn't help but stare at them, wonder how they felt to the touch—soft, they look soft and heavy—if they could move like a Twi'lek's or if they were static. They jiggled and swayed with the wind like—stop it—and their blue stripes matched his. It's a shame there's no room for her in the 501st. She was born wearing our colors.

But maybe it was a good thing she wasn't. How could he ever keep his mind on the mission if she was in the line of fire? General Skywalker led the charge with a laugh, was she secretly as insane as he was?

Wolffe had called her fearless, a warrior that would give the Alphas a run for their credits; he didn't give that kind of praise to just anyone, which meant… She's probably worse.

They glided to a stop at a red light. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

Rex gaped like a fish for a few seconds. "Not much," he forced out, trying to sound casual.

"I sense that you've got a lot on your mind." She glanced at him in the side mirror; she was smiling.

"Just, uh…" He coughed, stalling. "I was wondering, um…" He spotted a billboard with an orange Mirialan enthusiastically licking a small glowing treat on a stick. "What's a quasicle?"

"You've never had a quasicle?"

"No?"

Without signaling or bothering to wait for the light, Ahsoka banked hard to the right and left the traffic lane for one directly below them.

"What are you doing?" Rex yelled, hanging onto her waist for dear life. Oh she's definitely worse.

"Getting you a quasicle!" She barrel-rolled into the traffic lane—and there was that honking she'd mentioned—and passed over the gates of Monument Plaza.

"It's really not that important, Comman—Gen—Ahsoka!" Just let go and fall. It'd be less embarrassing.

"You'll love it. All of my boys had a sweet tooth." He watched her smile sadly in her side mirror. "Master Plo used to order them in bulk." She laughed suddenly. "Oh no, I just realized… there's probably quasicles floating around in the debris site."

Her laughter was infectious. It was a stupid thing to laugh about—it wasn't even funny—but it was so absurd that he couldn't help it.

She glided down into a parking space near a fountain. "Come on. I know a stand not far from here." She lowered her hood, slung that long, long leg over the front of the speeder like an acrobat, and took off down the stone path at a brisk pace. Dark gardens with the odd photoluminescent something-or-other lay on either side. "Before the war, Master Plo and I would come here sometimes to meditate and do our Salutation to the Force." She glanced over her shoulder; her big blue eyes were wet again. "Perhaps the last time was the last time. It's a shame I didn't commit our visit to memory more thoroughly."

As soon as she looked back around, Rex discretely adjusted his codpiece.

"We would always get a little treat afterwards—that's what Master always called it, just a little treat to end our lesson on a sweet note." She swiped at her eyes. "Gah, I'm speaking as though he's dead. He's not, he's alive and in bacta. He's changed, and he will need time to recover before he returns to the field, but our time together is not over."

"That's right." Rex inwardly sighed with relief knowing that General Koon would eventually return. Wolffe would sleep better not tossing and turning about it.

"It's just down here." She broke into a jog towards a brightly-lit machine, stark-white sides bearing the same orange Mirialan that had graced the billboard. "Okay, there's lots of flavors—my favorite's the Elixir, it's a mix of meiloorun, snozzberry and leemeh—and Master Plo's favorite is Winterberry, that's cinnamon, butter and parna berries, but something about cinnamon ice just tastes odd to me. I've also tried—"

She babbled on, more animated than he could have imagined a Jedi could be, as excited as a cadet with a pudding cup. The machine's white lights made her markings glow. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

She blinked at him. "Rex?"

She'd stopped talking, and he had been too transfixed to realize it. "E-Elixir," he sputtered after an embarrassingly long silence, unable to remember any other flavor if he'd had a blaster to his head. "Elixir sounds perfect."

"Great choice." She fed the machine credit squares with a grin. "Bucket off, trooper" She handed him a glowing chunk of orange ice on a stick and ripped the cover off of hers immediately.

"Reckon it's radioactive?" Rex examined the glowing treat with a little apprehension.

She burst into laughter. "No. It's made with a special kind of bioluminescent sugar from Mirial. A fellow Padawan of mine, Barriss, gave me some candy once that glowed just like this. It tasted like roses." She took a small nip off the top and sighed happily. "So, have you ever been here?" She made off down the path at a slow walk and gestured for him to follow.

His eyebrows went up at the fruity treat—it was tangy, sweet, ice cold and made his tongue tingle like he'd licked a battery. "Monument Plaza? No. The barracks and the bar are really the only places I've been for the most part. Biscuit Baron once."

She laughed. "Let me guess who took you there. Master Plo has a weakness for the place as well. He only allows himself to indulge once a year." Her smile grew. "My birthday."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He is." She smiled wistfully. "I'm honored that he chose me as his Padawan. I love him very much."

Rex's eyebrows went up. "Love? Is that… er… I thought Jedi weren't supposed to…"

She shook her head. "Everyone gets that wrong. Jedi are allowed to love. In fact, it's the core tenet of our philosophy. We must show endless compassion, unconditional love, for all life in the galaxy, whether they be friend or foe. What we as Jedi forgo is attachment to that love. We must accept that treasured items can break or be lost, friends can leave or d-die." She cleared her throat. "We must stay in the moment and accept that nothing is permanent except the Force. I will miss seeing Wolffe every day, but I accept that our time together is over, as is my time as Master Plo's Padawan. I will always hold those memories dear in my heart, but I must not become so attached to what was that I lose sight of what is."

Rex fought his need to stare at her, to commit every millimeter of her face to memory. General Skywalker had told him about Angels once, beings that lived on one of the moons of Iego and were said to be the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy—"Though I'm sure I've seen better," Skywalker said, his mouth twisting in a wry half-grin—and now Rex couldn't help but wonder if he'd been thinking about the Togruta in front of him, too.

"I like your hair," Ahsoka blurted out. Her stripes seemed… Are they darker, or is that just the light? "I wasn't sure if it was rude to ask or not…"

"Ask what?" Rex asked, slightly dazed.

"Is that your, ah, your natural color or is it bleached?"

"Oh, uh…" Rex ran his hand over his buzzcut self-consciously. "It's natural. Pops up every now and again. The Kaminoans engineered slight gene variations among us, you know, just to make sure that a whole generation doesn't get knocked out by a virus or something, and sometimes… recessive traits in the Prime pop up."

"The Prime. Jango Fett?" A shiver went down her spine. "I heard he was a force to be reckoned with. He managed to face off with Master Kenobi and not just survive, but come out victorious. I assure you that is no easy feat."

"I agree. I served under General Kenobi in the 212th Attack Battalion before the 501st was created. I saw how fierce of a fighter he is firsthand."

"That's right, I forgot about that." Her lip twitched. "I have to say, blue suits you better than marigold."

Rex's cheeks burned. "H-he—Jango Fett, I mean—he was the best fighter in the galaxy. It's why they chose him as the template. But he was also a traitor to the Republic, an assassin, a snake. It is our honor to erase his stain on the galaxy."

"Well, I like the hair. It makes you unique." Her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked on her treat.

The fabric inside his codpiece was getting uncomfortably damp. He took a deep breath in and focused on the glowing ice thing in his hand. It tasted heavenly. It's what kissing her would taste like.

They entered a wide open pavilion with a big rock sitting near the opposite edge. It was almost empty of any other visitors, only a few dozen… couples, judging by the way they were holding hands, wandering about chatting while a little guardian droid zoomed through them. "Oh, have you seen Umate?" Ahsoka sped up. "It's the peak of the tallest mountain on Coruscant. Technically, it's the only piece of the planet's surface one can still touch." She approached it reverently, closed her eyes and leaned on it with one hand.

Rex gave the monument a once-over. It looked… well, it looked like a big rock. But Ahsoka looked radiant, whatever she was sensing bringing a soft smile to her face.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Do you want to touch it?" She stepped to the side. "Go on. It's good luck."

Rex stepped forward, humoring her, and reached out. "You're sure this is allowed?"

"You just saw me do it, didn't you?"

Rex threw a wary glance at the patrolling droid and gingerly touched the gray stone. He… felt nothing. It was rough and cold.

Ahsoka stepped behind him. "Trillions of souls on this planet, all living and dying in an endless cycle in the air," she murmured, "but right now, you are the only living being touching the surface."

"I suppose when you put it that way…" is what Rex said. Whatever you say, beautiful, is what he meant. He took a step back. "There's so little exposed. I wonder if they'll build over it one day."

"It will be a sad day if they do."

Rex bit off the last of his quasicle. The whole inside of his mouth was pleasantly tingly.

"I suppose we ought to get back." Ahsoka collected his stick and passed it on with hers to a little roving MSE droid. "Thank you for indulging me."

"Thanks for the quasicle."

"I'm happy you liked my suggestion." She ducked her head with a smile. "I, ah… You know, I'd originally planned to celebrate with the Wolfpack tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I was going to surprise them, but then I started feeling doubts over whether or not they would want to see me. It's not that I think they bear me ill-will, but… well, 79's is a clone space, one you should feel free to relax in. The chance that I would be imposing my presence on them when it was unwanted was too much to risk."

"I can assure you that your concerns were unwarranted," Rex said. "Wolffe thinks it's egregious that you aren't entrusted with the 104th. It's all he could talk about. He thinks the galaxy of you."

"Oh." Those stripes of hers were definitely darker. "That's reassuring. But it's… not the only reason."

Rex heard a distant rumbling. "What other reason?"

Ahsoka turned her face to the sky, squinting. "I don't remember rain being programmed for tonight."

"Maybe a flash update." The wind picked up. "Run?"

"Run!" Ahsoka bolted. Her rear lek wagged like a puppy tail as she ran.

Rex put his helmet on and followed. He couldn't help but imagine that view on the front lines, chasing her into the face of death. He'd follow her into hell itself. You'll never see her again after tonight.

"We're not going to make it!" she called back. Raindrops smacked against the ground. Ahsoka darted to the right though the greenery towards a covered picnic pavilion, dark and empty of any visitors.

They were halfway there when the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. Rex was protected, but Ahsoka was drenched to the bone in a matter of seconds. A scant meter from the pavilion's edge, she tripped on her soggy robe and almost face-planted into an aura blossom bush.

"Gotcha!" Rex caught her by the waist halfway to the ground, his bucket an inch away from her face.

Her big blue eyes blinking hypnotically, rain smacking against the back of his helmet, her mouth hanging open in surprise—

He snapped to his full height so fast that he nearly blacked out. "Almost made it," he said, hurrying them under cover.

"Almost. Thank you for the save."

"That's my job, Sir."

She snorted, shrugged out of her robe and tossed it onto a far table with a wet smack! "Well, this was unexpected." Her bare back glistened with raindrops.

"I'll say."

"At least you have your helmet." Ahsoka rubbed her arms and shivered. "And of course the temperature dropped. How rude. I'm filing a complaint with the weather bureau in the morning."

Rex immediately looked around for something to make a fire with. Everything was ferrocrete and durasteel.

"I guess I'll get to see how good that water protectant really is." She hopped atop a picnic table and rested her feet on the bench. "The seats on my bike are real akul leather. I harvested it myself on my last trip to Shili. The Togrutas at the Temple like to go as a group for an Initiate's coming-of-age hunt." Her hands twisted in her lap, fiddling with the edge of her damp skirt. "Most of the akul will go to whatever tribe's lands we're hunting on, of course, but we all usually take a little bit. Master Shaak Ti takes two teeth on every hunt she goes on. Master Altair Raj inlaid bone shards into the hilt of his lightsaber. I like to take leather—well, the skin, I mean. I tan it myself. I've made a few things. I made my belt." She smoothed her hands over the leather straps hugging her hips. "It's… nice to work with your hands. Rewarding." She was overtaken with a full-body shiver.

"I thought you could control your body temperature?" Rex yanked off his helmet, trying not to panic.

"I can maintain it a lot better than I can adjust it, and I'm trying to bring it back up." She shivered again and rubbed her bare arms.

"Body heat is the most efficient way to rewarm a hypothermic patient, Captain."

His erection, which had barely eased, made a painful resurgence out of sheer adrenaline; he knew what he had to do, he just didn't know how he was going to do it without humiliating himself. Rex's brain felt like an unstable, staticky supernova and he moved slowly, like he was in a dream, but he unclasped his pauldron and let it rest on another table.

"Rex?" Ahsoka's eyes widened.

"Can't have you getting hypothermia on my watch, Sir." That's right, Captain. General Tano requires medical assistance and you will provide it. His cuirass came off. His greaves. He finished stripping to his waist, then hopped up beside her and tugged her into an awkward side-hug. "Body heat, remember?"

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, you're right. Good thinking, Captain."

They sat in stone silence and watched the rain. Rex's groin throbbed like he had a tourniquet wrapped around his member. Ahsoka's arms snaked around his waist and her head rested on his heart. She slowly stopped shivering and melted against his side. At some point, he closed his eyes and just listened to the rain. He could feel her pulse in the vein that ran down the outside of her lek, a thomp-thomp-thomp against his heart, a fluttering sensation like the wings of a trapped sparrow.

She felt good in his arms. She felt right in his arms, like she'd been engineered to fit perfectly in them—or that he'd been designed to hold her—but either way, even if General Grievous himself had started coughing behind them he wouldn't have been able to let her go.

One long, elegant hand came up and gently traced a tingling meridian down his chest. "The other reason why I didn't join Wolffe was because I saw you there," Ahsoka murmured.

His stomach clenched. "Oh?" he asked, his voice cracking like a cadet's.

"I don't know what it is about you, Rex, but I…" She sounded so unsure of herself. "I feel myself drawn to you and I'm not sure why."

Rex's heart pounded like a drum, like a bomb ticking down, 5…4…3…

She watched him closely for a few moments. Her eyes changed, became… hungry, almost predatory—Togrutas are an ambush predator—then she cupped his cheek. "May I kiss you?" she whispered.

The world shorted out and turned white, like a flash grenade had gone off in his brain, every anti-fraternization regulation in the manual streaming across his scrambled mind like a news ticker; even so, he couldn't do anything but nod, stunned into dumbfounded silence, unwilling to deny her anything she wanted—and what he wanted, more than he'd ever wanted anything before.

Ahsoka's lips delicately pressed against his, soft and full and delightfully cold. Her mouth opened just slightly and her tongue darted across his lips, the taste of Elixir blooming behind it. He groaned and pushed helplessly back into the kiss, clumsily meeting her tongue. Is this happening? Is it really happening, am I kissing her? Kissing a Jedi?

Her fingers scratched the back of his head, searching for purchase and finding none. His hand came up, slid up her bare back, traced her lek—soft, so soft—and finally cupped the back of her neck, pushing up against the silkiest, hottest skin he'd ever felt. She gasped, and before he knew it his lap was full of warm, writhing Togruta, one leg thrown over him before he could even register she'd moved. She ground down on his codpiece, so painfully tight that the pressure nearly made him scream—in pleasure or pain, he wasn't sure, but either way it was the best thing he'd ever felt. Her fingers traced over his chest, ten lines of fire that burned from within. She slipped over his cod and cupped him through the plastoid, and all he could think was is this what dying feels like?

She deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth. She took his free hand and put it on her soft breast—fierfeck, hold it together trooper—and moaned, "Rex," as she ground down on him again and again. She wasn't cold anymore, she was on fire in his arms, burning like a star. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she rode him, gasping with pleasure.

It was too much. He'd been fighting his arousal for too long. With a sharp cry into her mouth and a helpless upwards thrust of his hips, he lost the fight against pleasure and came, a tidal wave of pure, devastating sensation that left him floundering. She sped up, circling her hips, rubbing against his codpiece until a few moments later she finally stiffened and threw her head back with a rapturous moan of her own. His spirit slowly floated down and climbed back inside his body, painfully aware of the warm, sticky mess inside his blacks.

"S-S-Sorry," he forced out, cheeks burning with the mortification. You. Idiot.

Ahsoka paused, panting softly, and kissed him again. "The rain has stopped," she whispered after a few moments, pulling away. He hadn't even noticed. "We… we should get you back to the barracks."

"I, uh…"

She dismounted him with a wince and pulled her battledress back down, concealing the giant wet spot at the apex of her thighs. She carefully climbed off the table and hobbled over to her wet cloak.

The horrifying clarity of what they'd just done slammed into him like a turbo-train. You'll be sent back to Kamino and decommissioned for this if it gets out. "Commander Tano, I…"

"That's General Tano, trooper." She winked. "And I'd appreciate it if you could keep this between us. No bragging to the boys. Especially Wolffe."

Wolffe's miserable face flashed across his mind's eye. You won't have to worry about Kamino if Wolffe finds out. "I'll take it to the grave, Sir," he said hoarsely.

She smiled. Why does she look sad? "Good man."

Neither of them spoke a word on the ride back. When they arrived at the barracks, she let him off with a soft smile and a nod, then took off into the night like a dream spirit.

Rex wandered into the barracks in a daze. His office clock said he had an hour before PT started. He didn't bother sleeping. He dekitted in his office, chucked his blacks in the laundry then headed to the showers to scrub himself clean.

He could never tell anyone what had happened. They wouldn't believe you anyway.

He grabbed a fresh set of blacks and headed to his office to clean his armor. It didn't take long to wash all traces of Ahsoka Tano off of the plastoid.

You'll never see her again.

It was probably for the best.

So why do I already miss her?

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork / @rexsoka-monthly Divider: @saradika-graphics