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softlymellow · 3 months ago

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The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 10

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.3k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

"The city didn’t care. The war didn’t stop."

Anakin’s chest rose up and down frantically as he watched you disappear. He could only feel anger and disappointment. Disappointed at your insensitivity. Disappointed in himself…

He hated to admit it but he himself wanted to forget about all of this. To take you in his arms, caress your hair and feel your warmth. But he couldn’t. There was something inside of him, a lingering feeling that wouldn’t escape. It felt like revenge. Like he wanted you to feel his pain and suffering while you were suffering.

He wanted you to know just how much he tried for you in the past year. Only for you to come back, no apology and no explanation.

It wasn’t something a Jedi should be feeling. He should be rejoiced that you were even alive.

But he didn’t feel that. It felt like he had a volcano in his stomach bubbling, waiting to explode.

So he went to the only place where he could let out his frustration with no shame. No regards for the Jedi code. He wanted to hit something and let it be okay.

Anakin made his way to the Jedi temples training wing. His head felt hot and his hands were in fists.

The training room was dark. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need to. The red glow of the emitter pads lit the room enough.

His cloak was already on the floor and his saber ignited with a hiss so loud and abrupt it startled the stillness of the room.

Blue lit up his own face in violent flashes as lunged forward and swung at the automated saber droid designed for training. Not destruction.

And he hit hard.

Again.

And again until the droid automatically went into defence mode.

But Anakin didn’t give it any time as moved to destroy it, not train with it.

CLASH. SNAP. WHIRL.

Anakin moved his body with gritted teeth and he slammed his saber through the droid's core and sent it crashing against the wall.

His chest rose and fell in short gasps as he felt sweat beading off his forehead. He then dropped to his knees.

And then—

A soft beep.

A little trill.

He looked up to see R2-D2 rolling into the room, checking up on Anakin as he always did. Anakin and R2-D2 had a special bond. It wasn’t just master and astromech. R2 was a friend to him. An attachment he shouldn’t have but Anakin would go to great lengths just to save R2.

Another beep. Quieter.

Anakin’s eyes burned and he wasn’t sure when they began to water.

“Don’t look at me like that…” He muttered.

R2 let out another trill, this time more like a question.

“I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked. “I don’t know why I care so much. I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s not--she’s not even the same person anymore.”

Anakin crossed his legs and his saber deactivated in his lap. His mechanical hand ran through his hair — frustrated.

R2 chirped again.

Anakin laughed once, sharp.

“What? You want me to say I messed up?” He shook his head, his hair still sticking to his forehead. “That I yelled at her? That I made her hate me even more than she already did?”

R2’s dome rotated as if he was shaking his head ‘no’.

“I practised every insult in my head for months. I thought that if I saw her again I’d be strong. Cold.” His hand slammed against the rubber pads on the floor. “But she accepted that offer like nothing had even happened. Like I didn’t even matter.”

Anakin leaned back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know anymore.”

Beeeppp

Anakin looked down at his wrist as his comms were ringing.

Obi-wan.

Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face and blinked away any sign of whatever just happened. Pressing the small button on the left, Obi-wan's voice was heard.

“You left the meeting rather fast.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and stifled a groan. “I had things to do.”

“Well, whatever it is, you will have to continue later. The Council has a mission for you.” Obi-wan said.

“What is it?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows.

“To fully wrap up this case, one of us do need to visit Dev in the detention center and make up a report.”

“And why can’t you do that?” Anakin inquired.

“I have things to do.” Obi-wan mocked. Anakin could almost imagine the smirk on his face.

Anakin audibly groaned and rose up from his spot on the floor. “You owe me for this.”

“This is part of your role as a Jedi,” Obi-wan said matter of factly, “I will see you soon.” And just like that the call disconnected and Anakin was left with a task he definitely did not want.

“This day just keeps getting better and better…” Anakin said aloud.

Whrrrrrp

R2 trilled, amused over Anakin’s situation yet happy that he rose up.

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

You sat by the fountain, your palms rubbing at your sore red eyes. This was all stupid. Why did you let him affect you like this? Why couldn’t you have just walked away.

The silence pressed against you harder with every passing second. A breeze drifted through and gently nudged your hair.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet. You turned around and towards the wall, wanting to cut across the courtyard —straight to your room. The temple courtyard buzzed with life.

Clone troopers prepping transports, some snickering at their own banter and some gathering supplies. You used to have your own clones. Just like Anakin —his 501’st— and Obi-wan’s 212th. But you weren’t a Jedi Knight anymore. So you lost yours. You probably lost it just as fast as you left. The war continued. A new Knight would take your place.

No one turned their heads towards you or stopped when you passed. Don’t think any of them noticed.

Until one did.

“Commander?”

Commander?

No one had called you that for far too long.

You whipped your head around.

Captain Rex.

Rex tucked his helmet under his arm, his mouth slightly agape, his armour dusty and his hair seemed blonder than you remembered.

“Force,” he said, approaching slowly and blinking like he couldn’t believe it. “It really is you.”

You forced a smile on your face, suddenly hyper aware that your nose might’ve been equally as red as your eyes. “Rex.” You swallowed.

And then a warm smile crept up his face. “Didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well. Things happened,” you tried to laugh it off.

Rex shifted his helmet to his other hand, “word is that you will be joining us in our expeditions.”

You narrowed your eyes at this, “us as in…?”

“General Skywalker,” he scratched his chin. “I think that includes General Kenobi’s 212th.”

You held back a groan and instead began to rub the skin under your lips anxiously. “Seriously?” You grumbled.

“Seems like you guys know more than me,” You forced out an awkward chuckle.

Rex shrugged, “word gets around fast around here.” And then with a cheeky smile, “I’m sure Sir was ecstatic to see you.”

“Anakin?” You questioned, taken aback.

“You know how he is. Wouldn’t say it outright, but…you could tell.” His voice more gentle now. “Every free second he had, he spent it with R2.” He added. “Thought he was fixing comm relays. But we knew.”

“He was still trying to reach you.”’

You felt your heart pang. You didn’t know what to say. Biting your lip, your brain scrambled to find anything to say.

“Well…um…He was definitely-” You stuttered. “Emotional?”

So what the hell was the deal with Padme? Why did he have to make things so much more complicated for you than they already are.

Force.

Rex immediately sensed the way you uncomfortably shifted weights between your feet. To spare you, he changed the topic. His gaze grifted briefly to your untouched saber at your belt, then back up to your eyes. “You’re gonna be needed,” he said. “We’re spread thin. Too thin.”

You then looked at him, really looked at him.

This wasn’t about orders and pride from the council. It was about survival.

“It’s not the same,” you said, looking down.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But we’re not the same either.”

You glanced back at the Temple. Maybe you didn’t belong here. But you were needed. As much as you hated it, you had nowhere else to go. You already tried that.

Before you could answer, a call crackled through Rex’s comms. He grimaced.

“Gotta go,” he said, lifting his helmet and tucking it down under his chin. “But…it’s good to see you again. Really.”

“Likewise.” You shot him a small smile.

He then turned away and jogged off. You stood there alone. Reality dawning upon you. You couldn’t ignore both Anakin and Obi-wan as much as you wanted to. You were all so close knit so of course they would place you under their supervision.

Your shoulders slumped and you felt a ball of anxiety grow in your stomach. You weren’t excited for this. Not one bit.

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

Anakin’s boots echoed as they hit the durasteel floor in rhythmic taps.

In his usual confidence, he walked with his shoulders set, one hand on a datapad, the other swinging at his side. His gloved fingers were twitching like they wanted to grab something more useful than a report.

He didn’t look around or glance at the other hallways. He knew this level.

Level 6, Cellblock.

Judicial Detention Center, Coruscant.

It was the level where high risk detainees were kept. Prisoners of war. Assassins. Dev.

The corridor was narrow and lined up with holding cells built for function, not comfort. White-blue lightning. A singular bed and just enough room to sit, pace and regret.

His nose crinkled as the place reeked of sterilisation fluid.

As Anakin passed cells, he couldn’t miss the people who muttered to themselves, rocking in place. The ones who were scarred and slouched against the wall, eyeing him carefully.

Anakin didn’t break stride to look at them, he didn’t need to. His presence said enough.

Glancing down at the datapad as he neared the end of the hall, he tapped against Dev’s record.

Bounty: Two confirmed Jedi targets — dead or alive.

Affiliation: Independent. Known associate ‘Ani’ (alias).

He felt his mouth twitch.

Anakin paused at the final cell. And inside was Dev.

Dev who sat against the edge of his bed, his wrists bound in stun cuffs, his ankles chained to the floor. He didn’t look up right away.

Grabbing something in his pocket, Anakin pulled out an ID tag and scanned the scanner. The cell door slid open with a hiss. And then he grabbed a chair with rough hands that was placed at the end of the hall, where a guard would most likely watch overnight. The chair scratched the floor as he pulled it in the cell.

Anakin stepped in, his shoulders broad and his face unreadable.

Dev finally looked up, neither of them smiled or showed any emotion.

Anakin sat on the chair across from Dev, clearing his throat, ready to begin.

“Full name, Dev Lowsyk, correct?”

Dev didn’t say anything.

Anakin’s expression darkened.

“Answer.”

Dev rolled his eyes. “How long will this take?”

“If you work with me then we won’t be longer than 10.”

Dev looked down, his chest rose up slowly. “Correct.” He then exhaled.

“Age twenty-one?”

Dev nodded.

“Left the order at 15, yadda yadda yadda…” Anakin scrolled through the datapad before pausing at his most recent history.

“Bounties including specifically targeting Jedi. And the Corellia bombing.” Anakin looked up from his datapad, a stern look on his face.

Dev shifted slightly. His jaw was bruised —no doubt from the temple guards that dragged him in— and his knee was wrapped in bandages.

Anakin continued, his voice level. “Tell me who paid you.”

“You’d think I’d tell you?”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Dev gave a sharp breath through his nose. “Look, I don’t keep receipts, alright? I get the target and then I get my credits. That’s how it works.”

“You’re telling me you don’t know who you deal with?” Anakin’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the datapad forgotten now.

“We don’t ask questions,” Dev shrugged, “they aren’t usually too eager to tell anyways.”

Anakin paused at the mention of ‘we’.

“And Y/n?” Anakin felt himself tiptoeing around a topic he knew himself wouldn’t like. “Did she know about the bombing?”

Something flickered in Dev’s face. So imperceptible. But Anakin saw it.

Dev’s lips twitched. “You mean, Ani?” Anakin felt his stomach twist at his nickname. At the alias you chose to have. “She didn’t know.”

Anakin didn’t blink.

He felt the Force in the room thicken with tension.

“Let’s talk about you two.” Anakin crossed his arms defensively. “Where did you meet, Y/n?”

“Jakku.” Dev answered honestly. “I helped her get out of her Jedi clothes. She seemed pretty useful so that’s how we ended up here.”

Jakku?

That was where you had been all along?

The most remote, lawless planet in the outer rim. Anakin wanted to hit himself because how couldn’t he have thought of that? It was a planet for refugees, outlaws, thieves. It was the most perfect place you could retreat to. Still, there were too many systems for him to pick but he just wished he could have done different.

Anakin cleared his throat, trying to not it affect him in front of Dev. “She worked with you for over a year. You coordinated jobs together,” Anakin nodded to himself, trying to understand the picture.

“We recently had our one year anniversary,” Dev corrected.

Anakin ignored him. “So why take her in at all?”

Dev huffed a dry breath. “It’s not every day you see a rogue Jedi.” Anakin didn’t say anything, but gave Dev a hard stare, not satisfied with his answer.

“Look, I saw myself in her. She didn’t know who to trust. Didn’t care if she lived through the next week, but still she wanted to find her footing.” Dev leaned forward. “She had the skills, I needed an extra hand, she had nowhere else to go, so it worked out.”

Anakin’s throat tightened, but said nothing.

“It wasn’t anything romantic,” Dev added, a strand of his golden hair falling over his eye. “I respect her. I still do. And then Dev’s mouth curled downwards, in an expression Anakin could almost describe as disgust. “But not when she acts like a Jedi.” Dev referenced the moments when you would defend the Order as if they didn’t abandon both you and him. When he saw the way you immediately obeyed Anakin and Obi-wan after being found, it made him realise the flaws you had.

Anakin allowed him to continue, watching the way Dev shook his head as if he wanted to forget about that part of you. “She would give credits back to the kids on the outer moons. Never kept any for herself.”

Dev went quiet for a moment as if he was thinking. Then casually—

“She used to have this old comm receiver. Beat to hell. It never left her wrist.”

Anakin’s head lifted, his eyes widened in slow realisation. “And what did she do with it?” He asked carefully.

Dev watched Anakin with a growing smirk, like he was a predator and Anakin was the prey. Dev knew which buttons to push.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She used to listen to your messages. Quiet little habit. Helped her fall asleep, I think.” Dev shrugged it off.

Anakin didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

His jaw clenched hard and his teeth ached. His grip on the datapad was so tight it could almost crush underneath his white knuckles. His stomach twisted in knots and he suddenly felt very nauseous. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe Dev — but because he did.

Because Anakin knew the way you would sleep.

Anakin knew that you needed something to hold. Something to ground you. Whether he would spend the night in your room —your arms around his chest— or when you missed his voice when he was away, he would send you encrypted voice messages.

You heard him. This entire time.

Anakin stood slowly, trying his hardest to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want Dev to think that it affected him.

“Where are you going?” Dev asked coyly.

“I think our time is done here.” And without letting Dev have another word in, he made his way out the cell door.

The door slid shut behind him with a hiss.

Anakin didn’t stop walking and he most certainly didn’t look back. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe either.

Dev’s words replayed in his head over and over again.

Anakin turned a corner and into the turbolift, wanting to get out of here as fast as he could. He wanted to punch a wall but instead he closed his eyes.

Anakin had spent a year telling himself you didn’t care, that you had moved on, that you didn’t miss him at all.

And now — now it was a shitty truth in his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it.

He didn’t know anymore.

Maybe he could call Padme? Padme knew how he felt about you. Especially while you were away. But now that you were back in the picture, it felt like he couldn’t. Like the problem was here, head on, and not tucked away in the corners of his heart and mind.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to forget about you.

Forget about everything you two had together.

Forget about the kind, sweet girl he grew to love.

He had wished he argued against Obi-wan and not taken this task.

That night, Anakin didn’t go to bed. Instead, he stared blankly at the endless lights of Coruscant.

The city didn’t care.

The war didn’t stop.

And he would still be expected to turn up at 0800 sharp.

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

Anakin was already there when the doors opened. Already aching in places he couldn’t name.

The mission hall buzzed with tension. Multiple holomaps hovered mid air, showing different systems, landmarks and terrains.

You walked in but dressed differently. Dressed like a commander.

Across the room, clones murmured strategy amongst themselves. Both part of Anakin and Obi-wan’s army.

Anakin stood near the front, his arms crossed against his chest and his jaw tight. He wouldn’t look at you directly. He never wanted to look at you. His heart burned every time he met your gaze and he would feel his throat tighten up. He still could still feel your palm lingering against his chest, pushing him away in anger. You didn’t even want to look at him. After the things he had said to you, how could you? It was clear enough he had changed. This wasn’t the same Anakin you grew to love. The Anakin you knew would have come to you at the late of night to apologise, gently taking you into his arms. But you didn’t know that such a thing was not part of Anakin’s agenda anymore. Certainly not after learning that you didn’t care as much as Anakin wanted you to.

Obi-wan paced between the holomaps, gesturing and talking to Cody. No one looked at you directly. You could feel it. Questions buzzing around the room.

Why is she here?

What is she now?

You’re not a Jedi anymore?

Obi-wan and Cody went over usual protocols, debriefing the team on what was to be done.

“The final sweep team for Saleucami will leave within the hour,” Obi-wan said, his voice steady. “L/n, you’ll accompany Commander Rex’s division.” Obi-wan broke you out of your trance.

You gave a short nod. And beside Obi-wan, Anakin shifted just slightly. The subtle roll of his shoulders.

Cody glanced at you, and then back down at the map, and then back at you. Like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. Raising his hand and enlarging a certain point on the hologram, he inhaled.

“Commander, L/n. If you have worked there before-” he subtly referenced your ‘past’, "- we’d value your expertise.”

The words were polite. Measured. Although, you suddenly felt on the spot. There was still some chatter amongst the other soldiers yet it felt like you were the center of attention.

You’ve been there once —with Dev— not exactly on Jedi business.

“I mean, sure-” You walked up towards the magnified holo of the terrain, adjusting your glove absently.

You inhaled deeply before beginning, "the west flank has collapsed terrain,” you pointed towards the ridgeline. “It’s narrow and we aren’t able to see much, but it's defensible if we can take it before dusk.” You said calmly.

Planning and strategising like this wasn’t new to you, you had done it a million times with your own troops, the troops here and with Obi-wan and Anakin.

“The main risk is the drop off here.” You circled a cliffside on the eastern shelf. “It's too deep for us to scale on our own so if we set charges at the middle of all of that..." You hummed, licking your lips. "We can collapse the exit and trap anyone trying to come in from the south.”

“If we push Rex’s squad through the north pass at-”

“-Or,” Anakin snapped. “We don’t risk sending people into a canyon you’ve only seen from the wrong side of the war.”

The words immediately died in your mouth and the room fell silent. You stared at him and you didn’t even register the way Obi-wan’s head turned sharply towards him. Every clone fell silent and even the holomap flickered like it wanted to disappear.

All you saw was him. Anakin. In all his glory.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

The fury.

The hurt.

He couldn’t hide it after feeling another betrayal from you.

You hadn’t even realised your arm was outstretched pointing to the map. You forced it down slowly, eyeing Anakin very carefully.

“Excuse me?” You blinked.

Anakin stepped forward. “That plan is reckless and arrogant.”

“I’ve led strikes like this before.”

“How long ago?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I know the terrain. I’m not just guessing-”

“You’re not a Jedi anymore.”

Silence.

Rex looked down awkwardly, feeling the tension in the air. He felt torn between defending you and protecting his general.

Kix busied himself with the holomap, beginning to adjust the map for no reason but to do something. And Cody pretended as if he wasn’t listening, fiddling with his helmet.

You audibly scoffed, feeling the tips of your ears turn red. You opened your mouth to respond but Obi-wan stepped in just as fast.

“Anakin.” He warned firmly.

“I was given just as much authority by the Council to help lead this mission.” You defended yourself.

“You’re not cleared yet. You’re here under supervision.” He said, his voice low.

Your throat closed but you stayed standing.

Obi-wan stepped forward again, wanting to diffuse the situation. “Anakin, that's enough.” Obi-wan had a hard look on his face.

Red —poor Rex— looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, glancing at you and then immediately away.

You felt every eye in the room digging at your skin. You stood there frozen. Shocked that Anakin had embarrassed you this badly in front of your own people.

Obi-wan broke the silence diplomatically. “Commander Rex, if you would please assign a recon detail to L/n and prepare for the shuttle.”

Rex straightened and immediately nodded, “Of course, Sir.” He said, eager to leave the room. The other clones busied themselves and maps began to blink out as they also aimed for the door.

Anakin didn’t say anything else but stare at you across the room. His chest heaving and a glare on his face.

And as you turned to leave the room, you still felt him shoot daggers at your back.

While the room filed out, Obi-wan looked over at Anakin disappointed. This was not at all how he raised his padawan.

“You crossed a line,” Obi-wan finally said, watching Anakin’s jaw tighten. “And you know it.”

His lips parted, wanting to defend himself in fury, but Obi-wan didn’t let him.

“You humiliated her in front of the entire command council,” he continued. “You humiliated yourself.”

Anakin pushed his arms closer to himself and he looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “She deserved it,” he muttered.

Obi-wan’s gaze hardened. “No.” He said sharply. “She didn’t.”

Anakin whipped his head around to look at Obi-wan, his eyes blazing. “She heard everything, Master! All that time I tried to talk to her through my comms —like you suggested—” he pointed at Obi-wan, “she heard them! She doesn’t care.”

“How can we let her back in here like nothing happened? She–” he stopped himself. The words snagging in his throat like it would hurt too much to finish.

Obi-wan took a step closer to Anakin. Master and apprentice. Obi-wan couldn’t miss the way Anakin’s hands shook ever so slightly. He saw the grief under all that rage. And Obi-wan knew, he knew how much it would hurt him to find out something like that. He was the one who suggested it. He told him to keep trying and he did. He also knew when Anakin had given up on it.

“You’re angry,” he said softly, “I understand.”

Anakin laughed bitterly, his boots squeaking against the polished floor as he fidgeted. “You don’t understand.”

“She was ours,” Anakin said quietly. “She was our friend.”

Pain flickered across Obi-wan’s features. He too yearned for the old days.

“I know,” he said.

Silence.

“Hurting her won’t undo the pain you’re carrying. It never does.”

Anakin said nothing, just looked down at his shoes as if the answer was plastered there. Obi-wan inhaled deeply, slightly relieved that he had calmed down.

“You owe her an apology,” Obi-wan gently said.

Anakin didn’t react. He didn’t agree nor disagree. He just stared down, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Obi-wan watched him for a long moment. Anakin looked like the child he once was after being scolded by his master. He saw the boy he raised. And the man he was becoming.

With that, Obi-wan left the room and left Anakin to stand alone in the silence.

a/n: YAAYY new chp guys better days r coming TRUST MEEE anakin wont forever be like this 😭😭😭😭hope yall liked it mwah omg also some credit to @k-n-e that whole dev and ani scene was like a light bulb moment i had to add it in hehe omg one more thing i hope that last part wasn't rushed or anything i just dont wanna bore u guys 😩

This isn’t proof read guys sorry I’m sleepy I will tmr💔

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

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redsshanks · 3 months ago

Note

i beg of thee, for some ace x reader 🙏🏻 fluff or nsfw is fine, but i read some of your previous stuff and its so good i crave the ace!!!!!!!! thank you in advance i owe you my life

Thank you so much! It means a lot to hear! I went with just some fluff, drunk ace and looking at the stars! I really hope you like this one!

warnings: none, slightly suggestive at one spot but not really

word count: 1,335

The bar was crowded just as you’d expected. It was one of Pop’s protected islands so the second the people saw the Moby Dick, they were excited. It was always nice to see Pops welcomed with open arms, people who wanted to see him and his crew, his family. That’s what he’d be happiest about, the fact that all of you were welcomed and celebrated. As much as you enjoyed that people were excited to see you and not cowering in fear when you docked for food, the party was dragging on. Izou and Marco were arguing over something, both of them well over drunk and Rakuyo was still trying to challenge the other members of the crew to fights. No one would take him up on the offer, knowing if any of them did fight here, Pops would put an end to it. Saying it was rowdy was an understatement. But this was your family, the people you loved more than anything. Especially the man who stood near the bar trying to convince Duce and Saber that he didn’t fall asleep this time. He certainly had and he knew it, but he was prideful now that he was confronted about it.

Ace was pouting when he turned away from them, his eyes locking onto yours and the pout shifting to a wide grin. Returning his smile you motioned for him to join you in the only calm corner of the bar.

Quickly he patted the two men on the back before beelining it to you, eyes bright as he threw his arm around your shoulder instead of sitting across from you. “You were hiding.” He accused, which might not have been entirely a lie. “I almost thought you went back to the ship.”

His body was warm against yours as you leaned into him, the scent of alcohol not completely blocking out the natural comforting scent you’d become used to, but close. “You were having fun.” You’d had a few drinks yourself so you had no shame in nuzzling into his bare chest in front of so many people. “I needed to take a minute alone and didn’t want to drag you away.”

Ace had come a long way in accepting your affection and words. He was a touchy person when allowed, but romantic touch was different. His self worth issues were rooted deep inside him, getting those out even now took some effort. Usually he caught himself when he tried to pull away, but he relaxed into it. The alcohol was helping you both tonight.

Warm arms wrapped around your shoulders and the beads of his necklace hit your forehead. You tried to pull your head back but he held you tighter. “I have more fun with you. I missed you the whole time.” His lips pressed against the top of your head and he lightly swayed when he had to take a step back to do it.

Worming your way out of his hold you reached up and grabbed his face, “You’re drunk.” Pressing a quick kiss to his lips he tried to follow you but you held onto his cheeks. “You need to sober up enough to walk back to the ship. I’m not carrying you.”

He didn’t complain much as you stood from the table, steadying yourself before taking his hand and leading him out of the bar. The fresh air felt good on your skin and the smell was even better. You’d not realized how much the air inside had smelled of booze and sweat until you were out of it. One glance back at Ace let you know he was enjoying the air as well. If his devil fruit ever left him overheated you didn’t know, but the way he held his head up to the gentle wind it must have at least done something.

Navigating the Island wasn’t hard, you’d all been here a few times so finding the cliff overlooking the ocean was easy. Views like this were always something that Ace found for himself, it would be nice to be the one to show him one first. As drunk as he was though, you’d probably stop him from going too close to the edge.

Ace was glued to your back by the time you finally reached the cliffside. There was still a slight hum of music in the distance but you could only hear it if you really listened for it. Your lover could still hear it as evident as the offkey humming in your ear. It brought a smile to your face even if he’d rested almost all of his weight against your back.

“Oh hey. Look at the stars.” Ace stopped humming to stare up at the night sky, his eyes shining as they roamed over the scene before him. “I love the stars.” His arms slid away from you as he stepped back to look up even more.

Not wanting him far you followed him, your hand finding his. “That’s why I brought you here. You can sober up and watch the stars at the same time.” You didn’t mention that you could possibly sober up a bit yourself, you were tipsy. Ace had been drunk when you left the bar. Freckled face red and flushed from the alcohol. He needed it more than you. “And it gives us time alone away from everyone.”

His eyes fell from the stars to you, “Oh you want to be alone do you?” Both eyebrows raised as he slid his free arm around your waist. “Out here?” He wagged his eyebrows as you laughed, pushing his face away from yours.

“Absolutely not. You’re already all sweaty, you’re lucky I’m even touching you.” He laughed into your hand, “I’ll leave you here by yourself.”

He stepped away from your hand, still grinning as he practically threw himself on the grass. “Yeah no. I’d not embarrass myself like that. I’m way too drunk.” Ace held his hand out for you, waiting for you to join him on the ground. “I do want time with just you though. On the ship there are so many people… everyone is just around all the time. Sometimes I just want to be with you.” His words were still slightly slurred but the flush was going away. “Out here though… you and the stars. My favorite things.”

Humming you reached out and took his offered hand, not laying down just holding it. Grounding yourself in the sea of stars and wind. “A romantic drunk.” Drunk Ace really was a whirlwind, you didn’t know what you would get that day, romantic though, that was saved for you. Finally you laid down next to him, Ace pulling you close before you could do it yourself.

Adjusting yourself you moved to lay your head on his chest. His heartbeat thrummed in his chest, a sound better than any music you could hear. It was peaceful now, Ace’s hand trailing softly against your arm, the sound of the ocean and the wind mixing with the faint music in the distance. You’d not get angry if your boyfriend fell asleep now, he could fall asleep anywhere, this was the perfect time for it.

Your own eyes were getting heavy, surrounded by his warmth and heartbeat. “I love you.” His voice was quiet, eyes never leaving the sky above you. “Sometimes it scares me to love someone this much.” Resting your chin on his chest you stared up at him, “It scares me to feel anything so much. I know what I do when I get caught up in things.”

Reaching up you brushed your hand through his hair, knocking his hat off his head. “I love you too.” Finally he finally looked at you, “You don’t have to be afraid of this, you’re allowed to have good things. You deserve them.” Burying his face in your hair he pulled you on his chest, holding you tight. “And for the other emotions, i’ll be here for those too.”

#portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #one piece x you #my writing

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summerrivera777777 · 4 months ago

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So I saw Sinners fell completey in love with Remmick <3 😩

Sinners: “The Devil’s Lamb”  Part 1: Let Him In

Summer was alone in the house again, barefoot on the hardwood floor, the hem of her nightgown whispering around her ankles like an old prayer. The air was thick with the scent of burning wax and old books—her father’s sermon tapes still played like ghosts in the corners of the room. “The devil walks like a man, but you’ll know him by the way he makes you feel…”

She ignored the voice. She always did.

Her fingers drifted to the silver cross nestled between her breasts, the chain warm from her skin. It was the only thing her father ever gave her that felt like hers.

And that’s when the first knock came.

Three slow, uneven pounds against the old front door.

She froze.

The town was quiet this time of the day —nothing but crickets and the low hum of cicadas in the dark. This wasn’t a neighbor. This wasn’t human.

She opened the door.

The man standing there looked like he’d crawled out of hell. His skin was blistered, smoke trailing from every inch of exposed flesh. His shirt was torn, soaked in blood. His lips were cracked, and when he looked up at her, his eyes—green, glowing, ancient—pleaded without a word.

“Help me,” he rasped. “Sun got me… please…”

Summer, trembling, stepped back and let him in.

She didn’t ask herself why.

He stumbled inside, falling to his knees just beyond the threshold, hands clutching the wood like it burned. When she reached for him, his skin hissed where her fingers touched. He didn’t flinch. He just breathed her in like salvation.

Then came the second knock.

This one was hard. Urgent.

She opened the door to find a man—tall, brown-skinned, sweat beading down his temple, gun drawn and ready.

“I’m tracking someone,” he said. White male. Medium build. Looks... wrong?”

“You’d know if you saw him. He burns in daylight. He’s not… right.”

Summer blinked slowly. Her voice came out like velvet. “I haven’t seen anyone.” Summer blinked. The voice in her head screamed yes. But her lips said: “No one’s here but me.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “If you see him—run. He’s not what he looks like. You understand me?”

A pause. He stared at her, like he could smell the lie. But she just smiled, sweet and disarming.

The man cursed under his breath, turned, and left.

She closed the door.

When she turned around, the stranger the man she let in was standing now. was sitting in her father’s old sermon chair,

The wounds were gone.

His back was straight.

And his smile was inhuman.

blood soaking through the worn leather, steam still rising off his skin. Her father was at his feet—throat torn, eyes open. Dead.

Summer didn’t scream.

The man—no, the creature—smiled. Fangs flashed like ivory sabers in the candlelight. Claws. Eyes like burning red emeralds.

“You let me in,” he said, voice low and lilting. Not Southern anymore. Irish. Deep and old. “Most don’t.”

“My father said monsters would try to charm their way past the door,” she said, voice flat.

“Then he was right.”

She backed up. Her cross swung between her breasts.

Her trembling fingers reached for it, but he was already on his feet.

“I hate those things,” he muttered.

With a sudden motion, he ripped the cross from her chest, the chain snapping like thread. The cool metal left a red scratch between her breasts.

He leaned in, nose brushing her neck. “You smell like purity... like wine that’s never been sipped.”

“Let’s see,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her like fire licking at paper, “just how much of a sinner you really are.”

She stood her ground.

“You gonna kill me?” she asked.

The vampire rose to his feet, slow, deliberate. His shirt clung to his body, wet with blood and ash. His eyes drank her in.

He smiled—hungry and unholy.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Not yet.”

His hand lingered against her collarbone.

“I’ve tasted centuries,” he whispered. “Kings. Whores. Martyrs. But you… you smell like something that’s never been touched.”

Summer didn’t step back.

She stepped forward.

“In the name of the Father,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “forgive me.”

He laughed. Low. Wicked. Not kind.

“Too late for that, dove.”

Then his hand was in her hair, and she was dragged forward—not gently, but with purpose, the breath stolen from her lungs. His mouth crashed into hers, lips bruising, tongue forcing its way past hers like a storm through stained glass. She whimpered, but he didn’t pull away.

He groaned like it hurt to touch her. Like she burned him from the inside out.

“You’ve no idea what you just invited in.”

Her nightgown ripped like tissue in his hands. One vicious pull, and the fabric was gone—her bare body exposed to the flickering candlelight, to the creature that stood over her with his chest heaving and fangs glinting.

She shivered.

He smiled.

“Scared?” he rasped.

Summer shook her head. Her breath came fast, uneven. “No.”

“Liar.”

He shoved her back against the wall, her bare shoulder slamming against the wood hard enough to sting. She gasped, eyes wide, but he was already on her—grinding against her, teeth at her throat, clawed fingers bruising her thighs as he forced them open.

“You wanted a monster,” he snarled. “You get one.”

She cried out as he grabbed her hips and lifted her like she weighed nothing, impaling her on his cock in one brutal thrust. No warning. No tenderness. Just possession.

She screamed—and he groaned, deep and primal, biting down hard on her shoulder as he bottomed out inside her.

“Fuck,” he growled, head thrown back. “You’re so tight it hurts.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t slow.

He fucked her.

Hard. Fast. Cruel.

The wall shook behind her. Wood creaked. Candlelight flickered as her body bounced against him, as he took her like something owed, like her very soul was beneath his skin now.

“You let me in,” he hissed against her neck, fangs dragging lower. “You think that cross was gonna save you?”

She clawed at his back, moaning, sobbing, her body betraying her with every clench, every slick cry of pleasure.

“You think you were pure?” he snarled, thrusting harder. “You were waiting for me.”

Summer’s head fell back, tears streaking her cheeks—but her mouth opened in a scream as she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a damnation.

He wasn’t done.

He bit her.

Right where her neck met her shoulder—hard. Deep. She screamed again, more in ecstasy than pain, as her blood spilled into his mouth and he moaned, grinding into her as he drank.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned. “You taste like guilt and grace.”

He came inside her with a snarl, hips slamming forward as his nails dug into her thighs, his body trembling against hers, still feeding, still moving until she was limp in his arms.

And even then, he didn’t let her go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

#jack o'connell #sinners remmick #sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #michael b jordan #the-a-word-2214 #remmick #spikedfearn #vampire #horror #vampires

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tempelbeast · 1 month ago

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I got inspired by @bangermash Dark world Alpha and Beta kids. So I redrawn her's? his? their's? Bec Noir fight art. I made him the secret boss of Chapter 1 instead of Jevil. I also made him the ace of spades card in the light world. The other three are of course aces of the other three card suits.

When fighting him on pacifist route you have to get rid of the Corrupted Shades on his face since that's where he gets his power from and what changed him into this form. When defeating him aggressively you get the Slick Saber and Corrupted Shades and on a pacifist route you get the Spades Hat and the Corrupted Shades.

Now I should mention before I show what the description that I did change the family tree of the kids and guardians. Like the Guardians are not the alt version of the alpha and beta kids. The Guardians actually their parents/grandparents and the Alpha and and Beta kids are sibling's/cousin's. If you want to know how they are related I'll tell you later.

The Corrupted Shades a key item who's text reads: Shades corrupted by frustration and jealously of a lightner.

They can be uncorrupted into Bro's Shades who's description reads: An old pair of shades from the Strider brothers "Big Bro". It's too small to fit him anymore.

It inspired a lot other ideas for things like:

The idea that the oreginal 12 Trolls being Darkners that you find in other dark worlds they are two per chapter and you can recruit them but somevof them need another Troll to be recruited before hand. I don't know where I would put all of them but for those I do:

-Karkat and Terezi in Chapter 1

-Gamzee and Sollux in Chapter 2

-Vriska because she's a spotlight hog and Kanaya in Chapter 3

-Equius and Nepeta in Chapter 5

-Aradia and Tavros in Chapter 4

-And Feferi' and Eridan in Chapter 6

Now the light world forms of the Trolls: they are clay beads of a friendship bracelet.

Jade being a darkner similar Gerson, with the difference of not being dead. She disappeared 4 years without anybody knowing what happened to her. She is a soul in the light world, and when asked she has no clue where her body is and how she got into this state. But, what she does know is a vague prophecy about four heroes defeating the Heart of hatred and banishing it's curse? But unlike Ralsei she doesn't know the entire prophecy.

The Alpha kids have their own dark world adventures at the same time as the Betas. The first dark world would be the same but the Beta kids go towards Card kingdom and the Alpha kids go towards the other locked classroom. The other Chapters have them go through other dark worlds but they would share the same Chapter 7 Dark world.

At the beginning you choose if you want to be a boy or girl. This would make you play ether as John or Jane.

And for who would be the bosses and town inhabitants I only have a few ideas: For bosses:

Black Queen as chapter 1 main boss

Black King as chapter 2 main boss

Bec Noir as chapter 1 secret boss

Gamzee as chapter 2 secret boss

And thats it.

For inhabitans I'm useing the dancestors as back and side caracters:

Aranea is the school teacher for obvious reasons

Kankri is a cop because it would be funny

Meenah is also a cop because would be funny

Kurloz is the town mute priest

Cronus, Damara, Rufiohit and Horuss work at the pizzeria because would be funny

Meulin, Porrim, Latula work at the diner and Meulin is still deaf

Mituna brain is fried but supports his gf.

Kurloz's muteness, Meulin deafness and Mituna brain damege is caused by the same accident.

They would be humans and would not be the exact same characters as in homestuck, for example Kurloz had a dream of becoming a broadway star before the accident, Mituna wouldn't be… whatever you call that in homestuck, but do think that post-electric shock syndrome would make sense, Meenah would be less murders and more I'll put you in a hospital cop.

Now for the guardians:

Nana, Grandpa Harley and Grandma English are siblings.

Nana, Grandpa are dead.

Nana has twins. These twins are Dad Egbert and Dad Crocker.

John and Jane are cousins.

Jade's and Jake's parents left them both on Grandpa's doorstep.

Jake and Jade are siblings and grandchildren of Grandpa.

Grandma traveled most of her life and never married. She hasretired from traveling and now has a flower shop.

Mom Lalonde and Bro Strider are a divorced couple

Bro Strider is Bi. This is so this makes sense and to differentiate from Dirk (Dirk is still gay)

Dirk and Dave are twins (15) and Roxy is the oldest (17) as Rose is second oldest (16)

Mom gets the girls, Bro gets tjhe boys

Calliope and Caliborn are new kids around the block.

They are also twins.

Calliope is the nice on and a complete fanfic nerd and a artist

Caliborn is still a dick and a complete MMA fan and a artist

Doc. Scratch is the Mayor of the town. He's an older man and Jake's custodian after Grandpa's death.

Any thoughts?

#deltastuck #homerune #deltarune #homestuck #my art #digital art #pixel art #bangermash #God that took for ever

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rosachae · 3 months ago

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salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P2

PART TWO click for previous part ⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: hello all! if you didn't already know, i hit the 1000 block on my initial post of this here and as such needed to cut a few scenes. so, to get everything out, i'll be splitting the original version into parts. this is part two of the 'saur cut'. please read part one first. ⁍ wc: 14.7k ⁍ warnings: mentions of death, violent depictions. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel never meant to fall for the most disciplined padawan in the temple—it just sort of happened. caught between duty and feeling, two jedi have to decide what they’re really willing to risk.

22 BBY

the war had changed everything.

since geonosis, since the sand had settled around the petranaki arena and the galaxy realized what it meant to bleed, nothing had been the same. the jedi, once peacekeepers, were now commanders. generals. quiet figures caught in the center of a growing storm.

megan skiendiel had changed, too.

there had been slight alterations to her robes since polaris minor. deeper shades. heavier fabric. not quite what she was used to, but she wore them anyway. they felt closer to who she was now. not so much the girl who dove headfirst into chaos, but someone who thought before she moved. someone who had learned what it meant to lose.

but in the middle of it all, there was love. something steady. something that hadn’t faltered.

she and y/n had been together since geonosis. not in the way the jedi council would ever acknowledge. not in public. but in the quiet places, when the war hadn’t reached them yet. a shared glance in the temple halls. laughter muffled under temple sheets. megan brushing her fingers against y/n’s wrist as they passed in the archives. moments stolen, held tightly, never taken for granted.

and in those spaces, megan had come alive. not in the loud, reckless way she always had, but in something softer. more sure of itself. more her. no grand confessions. no oaths. just presence. closeness. they became each other’s still point in a world that kept turning.

and for megan, it was like something had unlocked inside her. she let herself be clumsy. silly. honest. the war might have forced her to grow, but love had allowed her to stay soft.

there were memories tucked into the months like pressed flowers.

she made y/n laugh whenever she could. terrible impressions during medbay check-ins, dramatic reenactments of council briefings that never failed to pull a smile. she once spent an entire week memorizing three forms of serenno dialect just to impersonate a particularly rude senator they’d encountered. she didn’t even regret it when it got her temporarily banned from the archives.

in the training rooms, she always pushed y/n harder than she pushed herself. soresu first, then djem so. not for competition, but rather for preparation. blades humming, sweat beading along her brow as she laughed through every sparring match.

“if we ever get split up,” she said once, flicking y/n’s saber away with a grin, “i want to know you’ll be okay without me. not that you ever will be.”

then there was the droid.

it happened after a long session at the senate tower, during one of their quieter assignments. y/n had lingered beside an astromech near the platform gates, kneeling to check a misaligned circuit. she didn’t say much, but megan could see it. the soft smile. the way she rested her hand on the droid’s dome like it was already hers.

when they left, she looked back once. just for a second. that was all megan needed.

senator avanzini had always been easy to talk to, especially after their conversation in the medbay on polaris. megan had come to appreciate those quiet moments with the soft-spoken senator. her warmth, her patience, the way she never pressed too hard. later, when megan told y/n about it while she was still recovering, y/n’s reaction was immediate. shock, then fear. she was terrified the senator might tell their master’s, that the secret of their arrangement would be exposed. low and behold, those fears vanished two days after y/n’s run in with the astromech when there was a soft knock at her chamber door.

megan didn’t even have to explain the full situation to senator avanzini. she simply said that it was “for her”, that it would “make her happy.” daniela didn’t need to hear anything more. by the end of it, daniela was beaming on the other side of the holocommunicator. she had the droid delivered to temple the very next morning.

it wasn’t quite the same droid, but it was close enough. r3-d4– arthree for short– showed up just after sunrise. a class two astromech, painted in soft greens and silvers, with an oddly polite chirp that almost sounded shy. megan handed him over with a grin, standing besides the little astromech on the other side of the door.

“his name’s arthree,” she said. “you looked like you missed the other one.”

“megan—”

“daniela insisted,” she shrugged, half truthful. there was zero chance she would admit to y/n how nervous she was when she made the call to their senator friend. how long she stood outside y/n’s door that moment then, trying to build up the courage to knock and gift her the droid. after a beat, she grinned. “besides, i thought we could use a new friend. anything to see that smile of yours.”

y/n looked left and right before grabbing megan by the collar and tugging her in immediately, pressing a long, meaningful kiss against the taller girls lips. arthree whirred besides them in surprise (the poor little droid needed a debriefing not five minutes later that it was imperative he kept their secret, to which he blipped and beeped in excited agreement).

when their masters asked about the droid, they said arthree was a thank-you gift for protecting the senator during the polaris minor incident. no one questioned it. it was almost too easy.

megan knew, though. deep down, pushed into the furthest reaches of her being, that it wouldn’t last forever. she just didn’t expect this reality to become numbingly clear so soon.

the soft beep of megan’s holocommunicator broke the silence, pulling her from sleep. the chamber around her was still and warm, dimly lit by the first hints of morning. like most jedi quarters, it was spare, simple, functional, and intentionally unadorned. no decorations, no keepsakes. they were taught not to cling to material things. but one object stood out. set neatly on the corner desk, a small carved stone rested in quiet defiance of the jedi code. smooth, pale, shaped into the likeness of a bird mid-flight. megan had found it in a vendor’s stall deep in the lower levels of coruscant and pocketed it without hesitation. she said it reminded her of y/n. she’d given it to her just a week ago.

morning light slanted across the stone floor of y/n’s chamber, soft and golden, filtering in through the narrow window and casting long shadows across the walls. her breath was warm against megan’s bare shoulder, slow and even, the steady rhythm of sleep not yet disturbed. for a long moment, megan didn’t move. didn’t blink. just watched her.

there was something sacred in the quiet. the way y/n’s brow stayed smooth in sleep, how the edge of her hand rested against megan’s ribs like it had always belonged there. it was rare, this stillness, this peace. and megan let herself soak in every second of it. her heart ached with it, full in a way she didn’t have words for.

she loved her so much it hurt. not in the loud, desperate way love was often written about, but in the quiet, unshakable kind. the kind that lived in mornings like this.

megan finally tore her gaze away, eyes drifting to the ceiling as the shape of reality began to settle around her, slow and heavy.

she should’ve slipped out hours ago. but she hadn’t. not this time.

not when y/n was still curled so close, lost in sleep, holding onto her like she never wanted to let go.

eventually, the insistent beeping of her holocommunicator refused to be ignored. megan let out a soft sigh, careful as she eased herself from y/n’s arms. her grip was firm even in sleep, and it took effort not to wake her.

she moved quietly, pulling on her robes with practiced ease, smoothing down her dark brown hair with quick, habitual sweeps. the communicator lit up in her hand, casting a faint blue glow as she angled it away from the bed, shielding y/n from view.

when the channel opened, her master’s face flickered into form. stern, tired, and not in the mood for conversation. master gun di gave a curt nod, skipping any pleasantries. his voice was calm but carried enough weight to make her shoulders square.

“padawan. y/n is needed in the hangar bay. gather her and come immediately.”

megan hesitated. her voice caught slightly as she tried, and failed, to sound casual.

“y/n...? she’s probably asleep in her quarters. have you tried calling her?”

gun di didn’t respond right away. his expression didn’t change, but the silence said enough. he knew. or at the very least, he suspected. the kind of quiet intuition a seasoned jedi couldn’t ignore. his gaze lingered, unreadable, and then he sighed.

“five minutes.”

the transmission ended with a soft warble, his image vanishing into static.

megan let the communicator drop to her side, slipping it into the front pocket of her robes. she turned, eyes falling back on y/n’s sleeping form, still curled beneath the sheets. part of her wanted to stay. to climb back in, tuck herself beneath the covers and forget the galaxy existed. just for a little longer.

but she knew better.

she leaned over, hands finding y/n’s shoulders with familiar gentleness. her grip was soft, careful not to startle.

“hey,” she whispered, just above a breath, as she gave the smallest shake.

y/n stirred slowly, lashes fluttering as her eyes blinked open. hazy, confused, still wrapped in the last threads of sleep. megan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. it was quiet and warm, the kind that slipped in without permission.

“good morning,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s cheek. “i let you sleep as long as i could.”

y/n hummed, voice raspy with sleep. “what time is it?”

“too late,” megan said. “gun di’s looking for us. something about the hangar bay.”

y/n groaned, rolling onto her back and draping an arm over her eyes. megan laughed, soft under her breath.

“come on,” she said, pulling back the covers with a dramatic sweep. “we’ve got five minutes.”

megan stepped back to give her space, but her gaze lingered, soft and steady, like it always did. only when y/n stood and reached for her robes did megan finally turn away, hands fidgeting, shoulders tense in that familiar, awkward way of hers.

y/n laughed quietly under her breath. it was one of the things she loved most about megan skiendiel. for all her fire and boldness, she never overstepped. always respectful. always gentle. always hers.

once they were both ready– robes straightened, boots laced, lightsabers clipped to their belts– they shared one last glance. a silent kiss passed between them. then they moved.

the corridor buzzed with the quiet churn of the temple’s early stirrings. somewhere along the walk, a small metallic blur zipped around the corner. arthree. the little droid let out a cheerful trill, servos whirring as he spun toward them, bumping lightly against y/n’s leg like an overeager pet.

“morning, buddy,” y/n murmured, giving him a fond pat.

megan grinned beside her. “he missed you.”

by the time the three of them reached the hangar bay, the space was already humming with activity. clones assembling in quiet formation, transport ships powering up, and mechanics shouting over the noise. the war never slept, and neither did its soldiers.

and then they saw him. master– no, general gun di stood before a group of clones. their armor was pale gray with soft blue accents, clean and lightweight with various tech-enhancements. he stood in conversation with one of them, a tall clone whose presence stood out even among his brothers. a dark kama draped from his belt, a crossbody pauldron slung over one shoulder, both markers of command. his posture was easy, but sharp-eyed. alert. he had to be the troops commander.

the very second gun di felt his padawan approaching, he turned. and for the first time since the war began, he smiled. so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. but megan saw it. she always did.

gun di had changed in the months since geonosis. the calm, introspective man who once quoted the code by heart now carried himself with the stillness of someone who had seen too much, too quickly. his robes were the same cut, but his wrists bore clone-style bracers, the durasteel lined with mesh, a large republic insignia etched into the left one. his blue eyes, once bright with patience, had dimmed to something steadier. more burdened. his mouth wore a permanent, unreadable line. war had hardened him, but not erased him. there was no mistaking his silent delight in seeing the girl he’s known since she was twelve.

general di stood with his arms behind his back, expression unreadable. whatever ghost of a smile had flickered there vanished as quickly as it had come. duty came first.

“knight y/n,” he greeted, his tone even, clipped. his gaze flicked to megan beside her, but his words were meant only for one. “your unit awaits.”

megan’s jaw tensed, just slightly. the word sat heavy in the air– knight.

she glanced sideways at y/n, who stood a little straighter under the title, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. pride, maybe. or nerves. maybe both. megan didn’t blame her.

she was proud. truly. she remembered the moment y/n told her, quietly, in the gardens outside the temple how the council had voted. how her knighthood came not at the end of a formal trial, but out of necessity. sinube would remain at the temple, overseeing younglings and archives. there were too few generals. too many battles. too much loss.

y/n, steady and capable, had been chosen.

megan had smiled when she heard. hugged her. kissed her, even. but that smile had a weight behind it.

because she was still a padawan. still reporting to gun di. still waiting.

in some twisted way, it felt almost unfair. megan was a skilled saber duelist. perhaps one of the best in the order, even. and for all the pride she felt, all the love she had for the girl beside her– it still stung.

gun di turned toward the tall clone commander, motioning to y/n with a short nod. “commander trace, this is your general.”

trace stepped forward. “sir,” he said, offering a sharp salute. his voice was calm, thoughtful. his eyes studied y/n for a moment, not judgmental– just observant. measuring. respectful. “we’re honored to serve under you.”

megan’s fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves, but she didn’t move, her gaze flicking between y/n and the clones. she could sense the weight of the moment, the subtle shift that was happening all around them. y/n was now a leader, a general, and she would have to guide them through the battles ahead. it was what she wanted. what she had earned. but megan couldn’t shake the feeling that, in some ways, this moment had been stolen from her.

gun di, seeing the moment had passed and knowing the need to press forward, motioned for the legion to fall into formation.

“your unit, general y/n. the 227th legion. congratulations.”

for a moment megan stood. y/n met her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. megan’s lips tugged into a soft smile, one that didn't reach the corners of her eyes. as gun di’s call echoed in the air, megan could feel the smile fade, the ache rising in her chest once again.

she was proud, yes, but it didn’t stop the sting from creeping in, a quiet resentment she couldn’t shake. she couldn’t help it. not for y/n, no. never for her. but for her master. for the council. she’d been waiting too, hadn’t she?

“general y/n,” she eventually said instead, stepping beside her with a crooked smile. “should i salute now, or wait until you start ordering me around?”

y/n glanced at her sideways, lips twitching. “now’s fine.”

“you’re not gonna make me call you that all day, are you?”

y/n tilted her head, amused. “depends. are you going to start listening to me?”

“absolutely not.”

y/n’s laugh echoed off the durasteel walls. and for a moment, despite everything, it felt easy again.

with a final, sharp nod to the legion, gun di turned on his heel, his cloak brushing the floor as he left them. only before he left, he finally turned his attention to megan, motioning for her to follow.

her gaze flicked back to y/n one last time before she turned, her footsteps light but lacking the enthusiasm she wished she could fake. it was wrong, she knew. she should be cheering, not feeling this knot twist tighter in her stomach.

but jealousy had a way of sinking into your bones, like a quiet whisper you couldn’t shake. and for all the love she had for y/n, it was there, present and undeniable.

as she followed gun di, her step was less than peppy, a stark contrast to the hopeful confidence that was supposed to be there. she hated how it felt, but the truth was clear. for now, all she could do was stand by her, even if her own heart twisted in places she couldn’t explain.

she loved y/n. that would never change. but sometimes, love wasn’t enough to silence the quiet ache of wanting more.

she didn’t want ‘more’ to happen at the expense of someone she cared for, however. only it was too late. the force had a funny way of responding, megan realized. it had its own sense of timing. cruel, deliberate.

it wasn’t even a month later that news had reached her. the message came without warning. one encrypted report, buried beneath dispatches and logistical updates.

master gun di, confirmed dead. killed in action on ryloth. no survivors.

it didn’t feel real. not at first. not even when she read the full transmission. not even when she saw his name listed beside captain keeli’s, among the dozens of others lost.

the rain on coruscant didn’t fall like it did on the rim worlds. it didn’t carve through dust or flood broken homes. it was filtered, processed, condensed and redistributed through repulsorlift towers that shimmered in the skyline. still, it found the temple. soft against the windows. quiet in the way grief often was. it was the kind of rain that didn’t cleanse anything. just filled the silence.

and megan had never felt so hollow.

megan stood just outside the council chambers.

knighted, they said. in the absence of her master. in honor of his sacrifice. the ceremony had been brief, formal. a few quiet words. a nod from masters she’d never trained under. no time for questions. no room for grief. just the hum of the temple continuing without pause, as if the war had simply absorbed one more name.

they gave her a title. a command. a clone troop waiting for her and whatever came next.

the ninety-second assault battalion.

they wore dark gray and faded crimson armor. scratched, worn. stripped of anything ceremonial. they were built for function, not for show. veterans of geonosis, of christophis, of campaigns she hadn’t even read the reports for. they didn’t salute when she walked in. they just looked at her. assessed. nodded like they’d seen too many new commanders already and knew better than to get attached.

commander jex had been the first to speak.

same scar on his chin. same deep voice. but different now. more hollow. megan remembered him from the shuttle ride home after geonosis, back when he’d cracked jokes and hummed low tunes over the comms. he’d looked her in the eye then. now he just glanced past her, quiet and watchful.

but still, he remembered her.

she wasn’t ready. not for the armor. not for the weight of command. not for the silence that came after being told to move on.

it was too much. all of it. too fast. knighted, reassigned, re-armed.

her master was dead. she hadn’t cried. not when they told her. not during the hollow ceremony. not when the title was given and the braid was cut.

she cried now. not loud. not broken. just silent. the kind of grief that lived in the chest and never made it to the throat. she leaned her head against the smooth stone wall and let the tears fall where no one would see.

she hadn’t been there. she hadn’t even known. not until the temple was already flying the flags at half-mast and her master’s quarters had been sealed for debrief. they called it honorable. they called it necessary. but they didn’t call it what it was.

a loss. a theft. a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. and she was angry.

megan didn’t remember walking back to her chambers. her feet carried her on instinct, down long stone corridors washed in temple light, past other jedi who bowed gently or said nothing at all. she barely saw them. couldn’t bring herself to look.

it wasn’t until the door slid open and she stepped inside that she realized where she was.

her own quarters.

hers, now. not the shared padawan dormitories. not y/n’s room, where she’d curled into borrowed sheets more nights than she could count. just her own. a small, circular space with clean floors, a narrow sleeping pallet, and a meditation mat that still looked untouched.

the door closed behind her. the silence pressed in.

for a moment, she just stood there. the hum of the temple walls was steady, unchanging. and yet, everything felt unfamiliar. this place hadn’t changed. she had.

megan crossed to the small shelf by the bed, fingers trailing across the simple objects still left from before. her old training saber hilt, scorched and cracked from a bad duel when she was twelve. a holocube from gun di, a gift given to her on her seventeenth birthday. she didn’t activate it. she couldn’t.

instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed and let her hands fall to her lap.

they had knighted her. told her it was a testament to her master’s sacrifice. a recognition of the growth he had fostered. a reward for resilience. they spoke in quiet, even tones. told her that loss was part of the path. that to love a teacher was natural, but attachment led to fear, and fear led to suffering– darkness. she’d nodded.

because what else was she supposed to do? but deep inside, the questions wouldn’t stop.

why didn’t he wait for her? why did he go alone? why didn’t anyone warn her? and why—why did they expect her to just move on?

was this what it meant to be a jedi? to stand tall in the face of unbearable silence and pretend that letting go didn’t hurt like hell?

she bowed her head and clenched her jaw.

there was no room to grieve. only duty. no time to process. only progress. and somewhere beneath the weight of it all, something inside her shifted. it was quiet. small. a crack, not a break. but she felt it. the start of something else. something colder.

she had thought she understood the code. she had recited it every day since she was a child. peace. serenity. no attachments.

but now? now it felt like a lie. like a rule meant to bind, not protect. like a reason to keep her heart locked away until it stopped beating for anything at all.

megan swallowed hard. she looked around the room– her room– and felt nothing but the echo of absence.

gun di would have hated this. he would have seen right through it. he would have told her to trust the force. to breathe. to wait.

but he was gone.

the door behind her slid open with a gentle woosh, but she didn’t flinch. she felt her before she even entered, her force signature practically engraved into her mind and heart. a familiar hum in the force– warm and grounding, wrapped in calm. soft footsteps. careful, quiet. not temple protocol. not someone on assignment. just someone who knew. someone who didn’t need to knock, someone who didn’t need a key.

the girl who already held her heart in the palm of her hands, tender.

y/n stepped into the room without waiting for permission. her robes were still neat, untouched by the day. not a single crease out of place. but her hands… megan caught the way her fingers twisted at her sides. the way she paused just long enough to breathe before moving forward.

“you should be resting.”

her voice was quiet. steady. megan didn’t turn. she didn’t have to.

“i couldn’t,” megan said quietly. her voice was rough, barely holding together. “i feel like if i stop moving, i’ll fall apart.”

footsteps padded closer across the floor. no hesitation. no pretense.

y/n came to her side and didn’t say a word. just stood close. shoulder brushing shoulder. the way she always did when words weren’t enough.

megan’s eyes stung. she looked down at her hands, like they might offer answers. like they could still hold something that wasn’t already slipping through her fingers.

“he didn’t even say goodbye.”

a moment of silenced passed before y/n gently shook her head.

“if he’d had the chance, he would’ve.” y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper. “you know that. he believed in the cause. in duty. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

megan let out a sharp breath, the edges fraying. “then why didn’t he stay? why wasn’t i enough?”

the room fell into silence. thick. heavy. y/n didn’t flinch from it. didn’t look away.

“he loved you,” she said again, quieter this time. “anyone could see it. and none of this—none of what happened—was your fault.”

“i was twelve,” megan murmured. “when he took me on. i thought he was invincible. like he couldn’t be touched by anything, like none of it could ever reach him.”

y/n turned to face her. close enough now that megan could feel the heat of her body, steady and grounding.

“he didn’t want it to reach you.”

megan laughed once, dry and empty. “it did.”

her voice cracked on the last word. she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, like she could push the grief back in. like she could pretend it hadn’t rooted itself deep inside her.

then she dropped her hands, curling them into fists against her thighs.

“they knighted me. no time to breathe. no time to feel. just gave me my orders and sent me out. said i was ready.” she swallowed hard. “i don’t feel ready. i don’t feel anything but hollow.”

y/n reached out. slow. deliberate. her hand brushed megan’s fingers, soft and searching. when megan didn’t pull away, y/n laced them together.

“you don’t have to feel okay,” she said.

“i don’t feel like a knight. i feel like a kid who lost everything.”

“you didn’t lose everything,” y/n whispered. “you still have me.”

megan turned toward her fully now, like she couldn’t hold herself upright without the contact. she leaned in. not because she wanted to. because she needed to. her forehead found y/n’s shoulder. her breath trembled.

y/n’s arms slid around her without question. without pause. she held her tightly, one hand at the back of her neck, the other curled around her waist. firm. safe.

“the order says we’re not supposed to grow attached,” megan said, voice muffled by y/n’s robes. “but how could i not? he was my family.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. just pressed her lips gently against megan’s temple.

“he was mine too,” she said. “not like he was yours, but… he looked after me when sinube couldn’t. i felt it too. just not like this.”

megan closed her eyes. let herself breathe into the shape of y/n’s hold.

“i met my new unit,” she said after a while. “the ninety-second. commander jex. i knew him, from geonosis. he used to joke. used to be warm. now he barely speaks. just watches everything. like he's waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“he’s not the only one who feels like that,” y/n murmured.

“the war has only just started and it’s already eating us,” megan whispered. “i don’t want to lose who i am.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached up and gently cupped megan’s face in her hands, thumbs brushing softly beneath tired eyes. she leaned in until their foreheads touched, the space between them folding into nothing. their breaths mingled, slow and uneven.

“then don’t let it,” y/n said, voice steady. “hold on to what’s still yours.”

“i don’t know what is anymore.”

outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. the lights of coruscant blurred through the mist, a city too bright to ever feel quiet, and yet the silence in the room was complete.

y/n tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against megan’s. grounding her.

“you’re not alone,” she said. “you never were.”

megan’s chest tightened. her next breath hitched. she blinked hard, but the tears still came, silent and slow.

“stay,” she whispered. “please. just… stay.”

y/n didn’t hesitate.

they moved toward the bed without speaking. megan crawled under the covers and y/n followed without hesitation, settling in close behind her. arms around her. hands gentle and grounding. the warmth of another body, solid and real and present, was the only thing that kept her from splintering. her eyes were open. the ceiling above blurred through tears she refused to let fall again.

“i won’t let it happen to you,” megan said into the dark. her voice was quiet, but full of iron.

y/n’s answer came after a pause.

“that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“maybe not. but i’ll die trying.”

“megan…”

“no. listen to me. i can’t lose you. i won’t.”

y/n didn’t argue. she just moved her hand until their fingers laced again, slow and certain. the words hung there. not romantic. but heavy. sacred. a truth born from grief and the ache of holding too much pain in too small a body.

megan closed her eyes. for the first time in days, she let herself breathe. somewhere outside the temple walls, the war moved on.

but in that moment, in that room, they stayed still.

19 BBY

y/n thought it all would’ve been over by now.

they were now three years into the war. three. at some point, time had almost started blurring together. she was tired. exhausted. the war was long and grating, and if she were being honest, some part of her doubted it would ever be over.

for three long years, she watched clones and fellow jedi fall around her—one by one. clones from her own battalion, clones from megan’s… it was never-ending. a cycle that held them in an iron grip.

she never meant to grow so attached to them. they were supposed to be soldiers. assets. lab-born on kamino and bred for war. but somewhere along the line, they became more than that. she tried not to dwell on the first time she met them, when their armor still gleamed and their eyes burned with purpose. time had weathered them all.

only one clone had made it this far with her. commander trace. maybe it was luck, or maybe sheer force of will. either way, the galaxy never stopped reminding her that clones were meant to be disposable. replaceable. but y/n knew that was a lie. deep down, she understood it was never that simple. and more than anything, she hoped trace would never be the next to fall. he was a reminder of everything they’d fought for, and everything they’d lost.

trace was more than a designation—more than cc-527. he was her brother. the one who dragged her out from under blaster fire on felucia, when a droideka had her pinned and she was seconds from death. he didn’t hesitate. just charged in, blaster drawn, like he always did.

he was her friend. a person she could count on when everything else was falling apart.

of course, second only to her.

so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did the day he approached her, footsteps careful, kama swaying with each hesitant step, helmet tucked under his arm like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“you love her, don’t you?” he asked.

she didn’t need him to say her name. she already knew.

every passing day made it harder to keep her relationship with megan hidden. and every moment they stole between missions, behind shadows, in quiet quarters when the galaxy wasn’t looking— it only deepened what was already there. it showed itself in the small things. like the time megan ‘accidentally’ grabbed y/n’s saber instead of her own, igniting that familiar green blade in the middle of a firefight on cato nemoidia. after the battle, when y/n asked, megan just smirked. called it a mistake. but they both knew better.

megan wanted the freedom to claim her. openly. boldly. in any way the war would allow.

it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. y/n was just glad it was trace.

she didn’t deny it. didn’t try to laugh it off or deflect. when he looked at her— gentle, understanding, and entirely unjudging—she answered honestly.

“i do.”

that was enough. he nodded. and for the first time in years, he smiled. a real one. the kind that softened his eyes and said everything he didn’t out loud. that even in the middle of so much ruin, she’d found something worth holding onto.

it was another joint operation, one of many since the war began. y/n’s 227th legion and megan’s 92nd assault battalion had been deployed to chandrila, a mission that felt too calm to be real. the dropship skimmed low through clouds heavy with rain, its engines a steady hum against the stillness. below, the fields of chandrila stretched wide and golden, rows of wheat swaying beneath the gray sky like they hadn’t yet heard the rest of the galaxy was on fire. everything was too quiet. too neat. like war had no business here.

megan sat near the back of the transport, gloved hands folded loosely at her belt. beside her, commander jex tugged at the straps of his chest plate, his crimson-striped pauldron dulled with dust and wear. he spoke in low tones, something about landing zones, strategy, fallback points.

megan nodded, listening. composed. focused.

but even then, she didn’t look away from y/n.

and y/n didn’t look away from her.

despite the armor, the war, the weight of command—their eyes always found each other. in every quiet moment between chaos, in every half-smile or lingering glance. unspoken words passed like breath between them. megan was utterly, painfully captivated.

and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“locals’ve got strong opinions about the republic,” commander jex muttered, voice gravel-thick with exhaustion. “too quiet out here. too clean.”

“i know,” megan replied, steady.

and she did. she’d read the intel alongside y/n, late into the night, datapads casting pale light across their faces in a dim field tent.

this wasn’t just another mission. this was a political fault line. chandrila had been a loyal republic world for generations, but even loyalty had its limits. as the war dragged on, fear spread like smoke. resentment festered. trust began to crack.

a rising political faction rooted in isolationist, nationalist rhetoric had started gaining traction among the local population. anti-republic sentiment was brewing in hushed meetings and public protests alike. and then the insurgency struck.

a high-profile kidnapping. the daughter of a prominent political leader, taken during what was supposed to be a goodwill tour through rural chandrila. according to a trusted diplomat—an old friend of the girl’s family—it was planned. targeted. a move meant to fracture what little faith remained in the republic’s reach.

now, they were en route to meet that same diplomat. an informant brave enough to speak up. she claimed the girl was being held in a secluded commune, far from the eyes of the capital.

“we need to be careful,” megan said under her breath, just loud enough for jex, trace, and y/n to hear. “we’re basically painting a target on our backs flying in on this dropship.”

her fingers tightened slightly at her belt. tension thrummed beneath the surface, but she kept her voice even. always sure. always calm.

only y/n could see the flicker of worry in her eyes. and only y/n could ease it.

jex looked at her—really looked at her—and she felt it. she felt the way his gaze followed hers, tracked that unwavering focus she had on y/n. the way his brow barely twitched, like he was putting the pieces together without needing to ask. it wasn’t judgment. wasn’t suspicion. just quiet understanding, with a question that stayed unspoken.

like trace, he knew.

not the whole of it. not the stolen nights, not the soft words exchanged in the silence between battles. but he saw enough. the way megan’s eyes lingered a little too long when y/n walked into a room. the subtle shift in her voice when she said her name. the way she froze during debriefs if y/n’s name came up in the file debriefings, ust enough to notice if you were looking.

jex gave her a single nod. firm, wordless, steady. then he stood as the dropship ramp began to lower, rain slicing sideways through the opening.

dust and wind whipped into the cabin as the ramp dropped, carrying with it the sharp, storm-laced scent of rain-soaked wheat. chandrilan air was rich and earthy, heavy with the promise of more rain.

the boots of the 92nd and 227th hit the ground in near-perfect unison.

kareth hollow didn’t look like a battlefield.

modest homes stood quiet, built from weatherworn permacrete and salvaged steel. irrigation towers loomed along the edges, their blades spinning slow under the weight of the overcast sky. wind turbines hummed steadily beside sleek water collectors. everything about the settlement was clean, efficient. sustainable. a town built to endure.

the main square was small, more of a shared space than a center people could conjugate at. a circular co-op building sat at its heart, part market, part administration. locals drifted through in quiet patterns. polite nods. brief glances. smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. greetings clipped just short of warmth.

too polite.

megan felt it the moment they stepped off the main road.

they were being watched. not by one person, not by snipers on rooftops or scouts in the trees, but by everyone. by the town itself.

she could sense their wariness, the kind born from secrets. the kind that said we know what this is but we’re not going to say it out loud.

and megan knew that kind of silence well. it was the kind that always came before something went wrong.

y/n moved quietly beside her, cloak drawn tight against the wind. her face was calm, composed, but megan saw the tightness in her jaw, the faint crease between her brows.

they hadn’t touched since arriving planetside. barely spoke, aside from mission parameters. but when their shoulders brushed in passing, megan felt it like lightning.

sure enough, there she was. a diplomat stood at the base of the co-op steps, flanked by two guards. young, no more than twenty-five, with the composed stillness of someone raised around politics. her silks were layered and fine, dyed the soft green of chandrilan governance. a diplomatic crest gleamed on her shoulder, catching the light as the wind shifted through the square.

“thank you for coming,” she said, voice low and steady. “we don’t have much time.”

without another word, she turned and led them inside.

the war hadn’t reached kareth hollow in fire or flame, but it had settled into the town in other ways. slow. quiet. ideological. like mold that crept into walls and stayed there, unnoticed until it was too late.

in the central chamber, she activated a display table. a flickering map filled the space—grainy, hastily rendered. outlines of farmland, irrigation lines, and scattered structures formed the shape of the commune. three red heat signatures pulsed near the edge of the map, close to an old water treatment plant.

it was in that room they learned her name. it was there that the plan took shape. the intel was broken down. roles assigned. their next steps made clear.

in hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake when megan suggested they split into teams. that she take her battalion and scout the west side of the commune, while y/n and trace took the east. maybe they should have stayed together. trusted their instincts. recognized how wrong the town felt the moment they landed.

maybe, too, she should’ve asked more questions. like how the diplomat even got her hands on that intel in the first place.

but she didn’t.

the wind picked up as they moved along the outer edge of the commune. tall grain stalks brushed against armor and boots, swaying in restless waves, just high enough to shroud movement from a distance. overhead, thick clouds rolled in, turning the sky a heavy, unbroken grey. everything looked washed out. muted. still.

the comms stayed quiet.

too quiet.

an hour passed. maybe longer. time blurred when nothing happened, when all you could hear was the wind. then the signal dropped.

megan felt it before she heard the static. her chest tightened.

“trace, report,” she said into her commlink, voice sharp with command.

nothing.

“y/n, do you copy?”

silence.

not the kind that meant interference. not the kind that meant distance.

the kind that meant something was wrong.

that silence lodged itself deep in her ribs, familiar in the worst way. it felt like ryloth. like geonosis. like the reports that came too late or never came at all.

she didn’t remember barking orders. didn’t remember how her saber found her hand, or how she covered half the distance between the commune and the field in seconds. only the sharp ache in her legs told her she was moving too fast, that the wind was cutting past her like a blade.

jex was already shouting commands behind her, calling for backup, for medics, for scouts to sweep the perimeter. the rest of the 92nd moved fast and clean through the commune’s edge, boots kicking up dirt, armor cutting through the swaying grain.

then—blaster fire. a spray of red light cut through the haze, and megan’s body moved before thought could catch up. she ducked low, slid across damp soil, came up behind the rusted shell of an irrigation valve. she counted the shots. heard the modulated whir of a droid’s servo. too smooth. too controlled. not local militia.

separatists.

she bit down hard on the rising dread.

it was a trap, and they’d walked straight into it.

then she saw it. wreckage. the remains of a signal repeater station, its outer panel blasted open and sparking faintly. a scorch mark carved across the ground. impact craters. the kind droids made when they rained down fast and hard.

then trace. he was the first thing she saw. he lay slumped half-covered by the body of a deactivated droid. like he’d taken it down with him. his blaster was still gripped in one hand, fingers frozen mid-trigger.

megan dropped to her knees beside him.

his helmet was cracked. scorched black across one side. blood pooled beneath his torso, dark and already drying into the soil. no pulse. no breath. nothing.

she didn’t speak.

she just pressed a hand to his chest plate. then the side of his neck. as if maybe, just maybe, something would come back.

megan stood, slowly, mechanically. her limbs felt too far from her body.

y/n.

she scanned the field, eyes catching movement—droids, collapsing under blaster fire from her men. and then she saw her. half-hidden beneath a section of torn tarp. bound. slumped. her cloak gone, robes battered. blood down one side of her face.

the world narrowed to a point.

megan crossed the distance in seconds, dropped beside her, hands moving without hesitation. she tore the bindings free, checked for broken ribs, a concussion, anything that would stop her from being moved.

“y/n,” she whispered, “i’m here. you’re safe.”

y/n stirred weakly, a sound escaping her throat. half a breath, half a warning. her eyes fluttered open, bleary. “trace…?”

megan’s breath hitched. she looked away.

“i’m sorry.”

that was the only answer she gave. she gathered her close, pressing her forehead gently to y/n’s. let the rain hit her back, let the wind howl through the grain. she could still smell fire in the air. smoke and scorched metal. it was always the same.

“med team inbound,” jex said quietly from behind her. “they’ll take her. she’ll live.”

megan nodded, but didn’t let go.

the area was secured within the hour. the field was clear. the remaining insurgents either fled or dropped their weapons and surrendered. the droids were scrap.

but it didn’t feel like a victory.

it felt like an ending .

trace. gone.

y/n. almost.

megan exhaled, long and low. there was a storm coming in behind her. wind twisting through the wheat. clouds dark with thunder.

she was speechless.

how could she let this happen?

the days after chandrila blurred into one long stretch of heavy silence. time seemed to shift around y/n, a constant pull between the past and the present. it had been weeks since trace had fallen, but the weight of it still hung between them, thick in the air. she had expected to fall apart, to break under the strain of losing someone she’d been so close to for so long. but instead, she found herself strangely composed. she grieved, yes—grieved for trace, for everything they’d lost—but she was steady. she moved forward, quietly, silently, as if trying to protect something fragile within herself.

megan, on the other hand, was falling apart in slow, agonizing pieces.

megan tried to move through the motions, to maintain that fierce, unshakable resolve she’d developed since the start of the war. but it was as if the battlefields of the galaxy had taken something from her, something irreplaceable. she wasn’t the same. y/n could feel it in the way megan’s gaze lingered on her longer than it should, like she was constantly watching, waiting. maybe it was because they had been through so much together, maybe it was because they were all each other had left, but there was something new in the way megan looked at her. something different.

y/n had noticed the shift in her immediately. the way megan’s once carefree smile had become a shadow of itself, how even in the quiet moments, she would always seem to be on edge, like she was waiting for something to happen. and maybe she was. after all, they’d lost so much. the scars of chandrila ran deeper than the ones that marked their bodies.

but it wasn’t just the loss of comrades. it wasn’t just the war or the constant threat of death hanging over them. megan was afraid, and it was a fear y/n had never seen before.

it started with the nightmares. megan would wake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, her body slick with sweat. the first few times, y/n had thought it was just a bad dream, a lingering trace of the chaos they’d lived through. but then it kept happening, over and over, and megan’s reactions grew more frantic, more panicked.

one night, y/n woke to the sound of megan’s desperate breaths. she was sitting up in bed, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness as if seeing something beyond it. y/n moved toward her, her heart pounding, unsure of what to do or say.

“megan?” y/n’s voice was soft, hesitant. she reached out, placing a hand on megan’s shoulder. it was warm to the touch, but her body was rigid, her muscles trembling with barely contained fear. megan flinched at the contact, and y/n’s chest tightened.

“hey… it’s okay,” y/n said, trying to ground her, but megan’s eyes were far away, lost in a memory or a vision that only she could see.

“no,” megan gasped, her voice strained, almost pleading. “no, y/n, please. i saw it again… i saw you—” she stopped herself, taking a sharp breath, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the image. “you died. i couldn’t… i couldn’t save you.”

y/n’s heart cracked at the words, the vulnerability in megan’s voice. it was like a wound that had been hidden, festering beneath the surface. she had never seen megan so… broken.

“megan…” y/n whispered, her hand gently cupping her cheek, guiding her to look at her. “you’re not going to lose me. i’m right here.”

but megan’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as if the words weren’t enough to chase away the terror that gripped her. the fear was deep, primal—rooted in something that y/n couldn’t fully understand. it was like megan was seeing a future that she couldn’t escape, a future where y/n wasn’t there.

“i couldn’t protect you,” megan said again, her voice shaking. “i couldn’t save you. it’s always the ones i care about. i—I failed you, y/n. i failed you just like i failed everyone else. i—”

y/n cut her off, pulling her into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her like a shield, holding her as if she could somehow erase the fear, the guilt, that had taken root in megan’s chest.

“stop,” y/n murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “stop thinking that. you didn’t fail me. you’re not going to lose me. not like that.”

but even as she said it, y/n could feel the cracks in her own resolve, the weight of megan’s words pressing down on her chest. she had never seen her like this before—never seen megan so terrified of losing the people she loved. and it was becoming clearer with each passing day: this war was breaking them, piece by piece.

megan’s hands trembled against y/n’s back, her breath still coming in shallow bursts as she tried to steady herself. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” she confessed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so scared, y/n. i’m scared that one day, i won’t be able to save you. that i’ll lose you, like i lost… like i lost everything else.”

the words cut through y/n like a knife, a reminder of just how fragile everything was, how fragile they both were.

“you’re not alone, megan,” y/n said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from megan’s face, trying to offer some small comfort. “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

but the truth hung heavy between them, an unspoken reality neither of them could ignore.

megan’s fear wasn’t something that could be easily soothed. it wasn’t just about the war, about the battles they fought or the losses they suffered.

it was about the possibility that, no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most to her.

the nights came more frequently, and megan’s nightmares grew worse. y/n could see it in her face. see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she flinched when y/n got too close, like she was afraid of the inevitable, afraid that someday, the nightmare would be real.

megan had once sworn to y/n that she would never let what happened to master gun di happen to her. that she would never allow herself to be weak, to be broken. but the fear had eroded her confidence. it had made her question everything she believed in, and y/n wasn’t sure how to fix it.

one night, after another nightmare that left megan trembling in her arms, y/n finally whispered the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could say to remind them both of the strength that was still there.

“i’m not going anywhere, megan. not today. not tomorrow. i’m not going anywhere.”

megan’s grip on her tightened, and for the briefest moment, y/n felt the warmth of a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, she could keep them both from breaking.

but it didn’t.

the nightmares didn’t stop. the fear didn’t fade. and no matter how many times y/n held her through the night, whispering reassurances into her hair, the darkness always came back.

megan began to withdraw. not from y/n—never from y/n—but from everything else. her laughter became rare, her presence more solemn. and when she wasn’t on assignment, she found herself drifting toward the jedi archives, somewhere she had barely spared a glance in the past. they had always felt too sterile, too quiet, too vast. she was never the studious type. everything she’d learned, she learned in motion. in the field, in training, in war. but now, the archives became something else entirely. a place to search.

she didn’t even know what for, not really. ancient records, prophetic scrolls, restricted transcripts. anything that might explain why her dreams felt like memories of something that hadn’t yet happened. she scanned records of force premonitions, of jedi who had foreseen loss. she read about padawan bondings, trauma bonds, the rare and painful consequences of attachments. she kept reading, even when her eyes blurred with exhaustion. even when the words stopped making sense.

megan sat curled in the dim corner of one of the lower archive rooms more often than not, her elbows on her knees, datapads stacked around her. she wasn’t supposed to be in this section—not without clearance—but she knew how to override the doors. master jocasta nu, the primary archive keeper, had stopped asking questions after the third week. she was always polite. always quiet. and always alone.

she had no one to go to. her master had died in the early stages of the war, and master sinube—y/n’s old teacher—was wise, yes, but distant. their paths had never crossed beyond a few formal exchanges. besides, how could she explain it? how could she look a council member in the eye and say: “i’m dreaming of the woman i love dying over and over again, and i think the force is trying to warn me.”

no one would understand. they’d remind her of the code. they’d warn her about attachments, about fear, about what came from holding on too tightly. but they didn’t see y/n’s blood on the duracrete floor. they didn’t wake to the echo of her scream in the back of their mind. they didn’t love her the way megan did.

so she searched.

she searched because it was the only thing that made the dreams feel bearable, like maybe she could outpace them, maybe she could find something that would help her stop them from becoming real.

she’d stopped meditating. every time she tried, all she saw was y/n’s eyes, wide and empty, her body cold in megan’s arms.

megan had always been brave. reckless, even. she’d faced droid battalions and warlords and death without flinching. but this fear was different. it was quiet, persistent, suffocating.

and it was winning.

one afternoon, long past the time she should have been resting, she sat with a heavy archive tablet on her lap, scanning a corrupted translation of a high republic-era text about shared force bonds. her mind was barely processing the words. her vision swam. her fingers trembled. y/n lied asleep behind her, her chest rising and falling withh every breath she took.

then, a soft beep cut through the silence.

her holocommunicator pulsed on the floor beside her. blue light flickered across the durasteel tiles, casting pale shadows against the stacks.

she blinked. frowned.

the signal was encrypted—official. high clearance.

when she picked it up and activated it, a hologram flickered into view. megan’s stomach turned to ice.

the last person she expected to hear from. and yet, there it was.

incoming transmission. priority level: elevated. sender: office of sheev palpatine.

megan’s stomach turned to ice. her hands went still against the surface of the archive tablet, fingertips barely brushing the blinking holocommunicator. the blue light pulsed steadily, casting a cold glow across her knees, the datapads, the walls around her that suddenly felt too close.

the office of the chancellor.

she blinked once. then again. maybe it was a mistake. maybe someone had entered the wrong identifier code, misrouted a message meant for a council member—someone who actually mattered.

she’d never even met the chancellor before. not even once.

she’d seen him, of course, from a distance. holograms flickering in the temple briefing halls, or on the steps of the senate building, flanked by guards and advisors, speaking in careful tones about unity and sacrifice and the burden of war.

but her?

the last time his name had even crossed her thoughts, it had been a passing mention in a mission debrief. the chancellor had been rescued. kenobi and skywalker had stormed grievous’s flagship and pulled him from separatist captivity, still alive. barely.

he was too important to lose. too important to be captured in the first place. and now—now his office was contacting her?

her throat tightened.

if anyone asked the masters who remembered her early days in the order, they would all say the same thing. she was stubborn, wild, full of fire. not the kind of jedi the chancellor would waste a moment of his time on.

the holocomm blinked again. awaiting response.

then, the message began to play.

the hologram flickered to life with a soft buzz, its form coalescing into the pale blue projection of a man she didn’t recognize. a chagrian male. his robes were rich, but understated. senatorial. he stood with the measured poise of someone used to being listened to, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable.

“jedi knight skiendiel,” he began, voice crisp and formal. “i speak on behalf of chancellor palpatine. he requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

megan said nothing. didn’t breathe. her gaze remained fixed on the flickering edges of the hologram, her mind scrambling to keep up.

“a matter of strategic insight,” the advisor continued, “and of personal interest to the chancellor. he would prefer to speak with you in private.”

that did it. her stomach twisted hard.

“why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “what does he want with me?”

the projection offered the ghost of a smile. not warm. not cold. just… practiced.

“his reasons will be made clear when you arrive.”

then, just like that, the hologram dissipated. the silence that followed was deafening.

megan sat there for a moment, her hands curled into fists at her knees, heart hammering. she could feel it now, a subtle tremor in the force. something unspoken, unsettled. a thread being pulled that she didn’t know she was tied to.

she’d spent so many nights buried in the archives, chasing shadows, trying to find meaning in dreams that didn’t fade when the sun rose. dreams where y/n died in her arms, where she was always a second too late. she’d pored over every case file, every ancient prophecy she could dig up that even hinted at premonition or fate. the council would’ve disapproved. they already disapproved of how far she let her feelings reach.

but this… this was something else.

no master to guide her. no council member to lean on. no one left who would understand how terrified she truly was.

only y/n.

but for the first time in her life, megan realized.

it wasnt enough.

megan stood in the doorway for a long moment before she left.

the room was dim, shadows stretched long across the floor of their quarters, soft moonlight slipping through the shutters and casting pale stripes across y/n’s sleeping form. she hadn’t stirred once. the healers said she was healing fine, and megan believed them, but still… she watched. just for a moment longer. listened to the steady rhythm of her breath.

“stay with her,” she murmured as she crouched beside the small astromech at the foot of the bed.

arthree chirped softly in response, swiveling his dome toward her. his photoreceptor blinked once in affirmation, then again, brighter—almost like a nod.

“if anything changes,” megan added, pressing her palm gently to the droid’s dome, “call me. don’t wait. don’t let her out of your sight.”

the droid warbled, a reassuring sequence of tones that filled the silence like a promise.

megan didn’t allow herself to linger any longer. the longer she stayed, the more the weight in her chest grew. like she was leaving something behind that she wasn’t sure she’d get back.

the halls outside were still and hushed, lit only by the occasional glowpanel and the quiet hum of nighttime maintenance droids gliding past on silent repulsors. she moved quickly, cloak drawn tight against her shoulders, hood pulled low. not to hide, but to brace. everything felt too quiet. like the galaxy had taken a breath and hadn’t let it out.

the senate district was never truly asleep, even at this hour. the senate tower rose like a monolith against the starlit sky, its spires gleaming pale silver in the artificial twilight that wrapped the upper levels of coruscant in a perpetual half-light. megan approached on foot from the speeder drop, cutting a straight path past the solemn statues of former chancellors and lawmakers that lined the main promenade.

for a moment, it felt like she didn’t belong here.

not because of her robes, or the saber at her hip. but because it’d been so long since she stepped foot in this place. that time, she was there with y/n. they’d ran into senator avanzini along the way, who practically beamed from ear to ear when she saw them. daniela didn’t even hesitate before walking over, leaving a forever composed senator bail organa behind her. she nodded, smiled, bowed her head. but it was in her eyes she could see everything she couldn’t say aloud.

“i’m happy for you. both of you.”

since that day, she’d never been called to its heart. never even exchanged words with the man who held more power than any other living being in the republic.

yet here she was, walking beneath banners that rippled in the sterile wind, flanked by the glinting eyes of robed senate guards who tracked her movements with silent precision.

when she stepped inside the grand atrium, it swallowed her whole. marble columns stretched up into shadowed vaults above, their surfaces veined with gold and polished so smooth they reflected the soft glimmer of chandeliers. a quiet hum echoed through the air. the sound of machines, ventilation, distant voices carried on secure lines.

a protocol droid approached, bowing at the waist. “knight skiendiel. the chancellor is expecting you.”

she gave a slow nod and followed.

they led her past security checkpoints, through narrow halls marked with runes of old republic governance, deeper into the inner sanctums where decisions were made and sealed and sent spiraling out into systems far beyond her reach.

the further they walked, the colder it felt.

finally, they stopped before a heavy durasteel door engraved with the seal of the chancellor. the droid turned, gestured toward it, and without another word, stepped away.

megan stared at the door, her breath shallow.

behind it waited a man she had never met. a man with too many titles. a man who somehow knew her name.

she swallowed hard, and stepped inside.

the door slid open with a hiss, revealing a chamber unlike any megan had ever seen. it was dark—not ominously so, but deliberately. the lights were low, the walls curved, designed to cocoon rather than command. soft amber glowed from sconces inset into the walls, casting everything in warm shadow. it was quiet, thick with a kind of stillness that made the air feel heavier.

and there, seated at the far end of the room behind a polished desk of dark wood and gleaming metals, was chancellor palpatine.

he didn’t look powerful. if anything he looked… tired. his eyes, sharp but sunken, lifted as she stepped forward. a small, almost weary smile curled across his lips.

“ah,” he said softly, his voice as smooth and unassuming as silk. “knight skiendiel. thank you for coming on such short notice.”

megan bowed, pulse thrumming in her ears. “chancellor. i—of course.”

he gestured to a chair with one hand, slow and deliberate. “please. sit. you’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?”

she hesitated only a second before sitting. the chair was too soft.

palpatine folded his hands on the desk, his gaze never leaving hers. “i’ve been following the reports from chandrila. most troubling. the loss of cc-527… it’s simply a tragedy. i understand you were close.”

her jaw tensed. “we all were.”

“yes,” he said gently. “and y/n. such a promising young jedi. i’m relieved to hear she’s recovering well.”

her throat tightened. “she is.”

he nodded, as if he could see more in her face than she was saying. maybe he could.

“i asked you here because i’ve heard your name before, megan,” he continued, almost absently. “not often. but always with interest. your master, gun di—an honorable jedi. i respected him deeply.”

her breath caught, just for a moment.

palpatine’s eyes narrowed, kindly. “i imagine his loss still weighs heavily on you.”

she said nothing.

he leaned forward slightly. “you’ve experienced more than most your age. more loss, more burden. and yet here you are—still serving, still strong.”

“i don’t feel strong,” megan murmured.

“of course not,” he said. “strength is not the absence of fear or pain. it’s what we do with them. how we endure.”

his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and soft, even as the words pulled at something deep in her chest.

“the jedi ask so much of you. sacrifice, silence, restraint.” he paused. “but they rarely ask how you’re truly coping, do they?”

her gaze faltered.

and yet he smiled again. gentle, understanding. “i asked you here not to reprimand, or to burden you further. but because i see potential in you. and because i believe you deserve to be heard.”

“heard?” her voice was quiet.

“your instincts. your fears. your dreams.” palpatine tilted his head ever so slightly, his voice smooth, measured. “you’ve been visiting the archives. searching for answers. about visions. about loss.”

megan went still.

her blood turned to ice.

he shouldn’t know that. she hadn’t told anyone. not about the hours buried in restricted texts. not about the ancient prophecy fragments or the scrolls that whispered warnings she didn’t understand. certainly not about her dreams. how could he know?

“it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said gently, as though sensing her pulse spike. “it’s only natural to want to protect those we care for. especially when the force grants us glimpses of what may come.”

her stomach churned. her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her robes, knuckles white.

he couldn’t know. he shouldn’t know. the council hadn’t even asked. she hadn’t even told jex, or y/n herself. and yet palpatine—the chancellor, the most distant, unreachable man in the galaxy—spoke as if he’d been inside her mind. watching. waiting.

he leaned forward, gaze softening as if to disarm her. “you’ve seen her die, haven’t you?”

her heart stopped.

“y/n,” he whispered, with such quiet certainty that it made her breath catch.

she blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the burn at the corners of her eyes. she hated how easily he saw through her. how he peeled her open with a few words and a smile.

he stood, unhurried, composed, and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had never once been told no. when he reached her, his hand settled gently on her shoulder. it was warm. steady.

and it made every nerve in her body scream.

“you are not alone in this, my dear,” he said softly. “not if you don’t wish to be.”

megan looked up at him, lips parted but no words came. she couldn’t speak. couldn’t move. every instinct in her screamed danger, run, get out—but she stayed frozen. the weight of his gaze held her in place.

“i can help you,” palpatine murmured, low and coaxing. “but only if you’ll let me.”

she didn’t answer. not with words. just sat there, heart pounding, mind spiraling, her silence pulled tight as a tripwire.

megan’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“how?”

her own question startled her. she hadn’t meant to speak. hadn’t meant to let him hear the desperation clawing its way out of her chest. but it slipped past her defenses, raw and trembling.

palpatine’s hand gave the slightest squeeze to her shoulder. reassuring. calculated.

“there are ways the force does not reveal to all,” he said, almost wistfully. “pathways… forgotten by the jedi. closed off to them by dogma. fear.”

megan’s throat tightened. she hated the way his words made sense. hated how easily they burrowed into the questions she’d been too afraid to ask herself.

what if the council was wrong? what if there was more? what if her visions were a warning—and no one would listen?

“you love her,” palpatine said simply.

she flinched.

he studied her face with something like sympathy. “attachment. it is forbidden, yes. but what is the point of power, of all this sacrifice… if we cannot use it to protect the ones we love?”

she looked away, but it didn’t matter. he already knew.

she did love y/n. so much it frightened her. enough that she woke every night gasping for air, seeing her crumpled body in the dust. enough that she hadn’t slept for more than a few hours since chandrila.

“tell me what to do,” she said, finally. the words felt like surrender.

palpatine offered a thin, quiet smile. the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“not yet.”

megan’s brow furrowed.

“the force moves at its own pace,” he continued, stepping back toward his desk. “for now, you must return to the temple. continue as you have. wait.”

“wait for what?” she asked, standing slowly.

his eyes found hers. dark, knowing, ancient.

“you’ll know,” he said. “when the time comes.”

and that was all he gave her. no answers. just a promise laced in shadow.

it all happened not long after megan left the senate tower. she hadn’t spoken a word since stepping out of the chancellor’s office, her mind spiraling too fast for speech. the corridor felt colder than she remembered. shadows stretched unnaturally long across the floor. she barely registered the senators and aides sweeping past her. something was wrong. the force whispered it—no, it screamed.

as she approached the wide staircase leading down toward the plaza, a figure passed her, headed the opposite direction. tall. purposeful stride. familiar. she recognized the fall of his shaggy hair, the deep hood of his dark robes left carelessly down. his face was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes distant. but there was something else—something roiling beneath the surface. he didn’t acknowledge her. he didn’t even glance her way.

but for a moment, megan felt it. that same wrongness. like a storm gathering behind his eyes. she watched him go, heart thudding as he disappeared into the lift bound for the chancellor’s private offices. everything in her tensed, as if the force itself was holding its breath.

nothing felt right. not the air. not the light. not the quiet voice in her mind repeating don’t trust him.

she made it back to the temple, but it didn’t bring her any peace. her thoughts chased themselves in circles. she paced her quarters for hours, sleepless, y/n’s name on the tip of her tongue.

should she go to the council? tell them what palpatine said?

but if she did… what then? they’d exile her. strip her of her rank. accuse her of weakness. they’d take her away from y/n.

palpatine said he could help her. and stars, she was desperate enough to believe him.

that would be her greatest mistake.

when the galaxy collapsed around her, it began with a whisper. a single transmission hailing from the office of the chancellor.

“execute order 66.”

megan didn’t need to hear the words in her own ears to know. the force told her first.

it hit like a shockwave, silent and shattering. threads that once hummed with life snapped all at once. across the galaxy, the presence of the jedi—so familiar, so constant—was torn away. they didn't just vanish. they were extinguished. each loss sent out a cry, not in words, but in pain. the force screamed with it, raw and endless.

some jedi fell in confusion, not understanding why. others resisted, bright and furious to the end. all of them were part of her, and all of them were dying.

grief surged before thought could form. it wasn’t sadness. it was drowning. the kind of sorrow that bends the spine and hollows the chest. the kind that changes you.

and then a familiar astromech droid came flailing into her quarters. arthee screeched and bleeped, his dome spinning in frantic circles, servos whirring at full tilt. he didn’t need to say anything coherent. the panic in his tone said enough.

he had promised her, not even a day ago, that if anything ever happened to y/n he would come find her. and now, he was here. megan felt her blood run cold.

she didn’t hesitate. she ran.

arthee raced ahead, weaving through the temple’s corridors, but megan didn’t need his guidance. she already knew where to go. the force wasn’t just nudging her forward. it was dragging her, heart first, through the chaos.

the temple was a blur. emergency lights flickered through the smoke, casting everything in flashes of red and shadow. bodies fell around her. blasterfire screamed through the halls, slicing the air with its heat. blood stained the stone, pooling beneath scorched robes. the scent of burning hair, fabric, skin… it clung to everything.

she didn’t stop. she couldn’t. even as her mind screamed in confusion. even as questions ran rampant through her mind. when she finally reached the courtyard, she froze.

the first thing she saw was jex.

he stood near the center of the courtyard, framed by smoke curling through the shattered archways. firelight flickered over his armor, white with blood red accents, scuffed and blackened by battle. the kama at his waist swayed gently with each breath. a satchel was slung across his chest, worn and streaked with ash. one shoulder bore a black pauldron, marked with soot and grime, the other bare but tense. he looked like he did any other day. the armor that had identified him as the commander of the 92nd assault battalion since day one.

except, megan couldn’t recognize him. even with his face covered by his clone helmet, she could feel the resentment that seeped out of him. cold, unfamiliar, gruelling. the dark visor on his face was painted with what looked like splatters of crimson blood. his blaster was raised. steady. unshaking. he was aiming at someone.

just a few feet away, there she was.

y/n.

she was hurt. blood stained her robes, dark and slick, and her stance wavered like she was barely holding herself upright. no weapon, no shield– only raw defiance in the squared set of her shoulders and something deeper, unspoken, burning in her eyes.

but she wasn’t looking at jex.

her gaze was fixed on megan.

through the chaos, through the ruins of everything they once knew, y/n’s eyes found her. and in that moment, the noise faded. the blaster fire, the alarms, the screams. it all disappeared. there was nothing but the two of them. the bond between them, frayed and ragged, but still alive.

megan’s mouth opened, desperate to call out, to reach her, to do anything— but before a word could form, the shot rang out. a single bolt, clean and merciless.

it struck y/n in the center of her chest.

megan felt her world cave in. the force still screamed and ravaged her body from the aftereffects of thousands of jedi voices crying out in fear as they were struck down by clone troopers. but, the grief that pronged through her in that moment rung harder than anything she’d felt before.

y/n jolted, eyes still on megan, and then her knees buckled. she crumpled forward, a soft exhale escaping her lips. her body hit the stone with a sickening finality.

her heart stopped. her mind raced, flashing through every moment she had been too late. the assassin’s shot on polaris minor, barely deflected in time. the stun grenade that left y/n unconscious. the night at kareth’s hollow on chandrila, when megan found y/n’s battered body beneath a tarp, with trace’s lifeless form only feet away.

trace had fought to protect her until his last breath. but the clones surrounding them now showed none of that warmth or mercy.

these clones… megan was furious.

she lunged forward, fury and desperation crashing over her. but she only made it a few steps before a new sound split the air behind her. the sharp, coordinated rhythm of synchronized boots. the hiss of blasters powering up.

blasterfire erupted again, only this time from behind.

clone troopers stepped into the open, surrounding her in a half-circle. their armor was familiar. marked with the colors of the 92nd assault battalion. her battalion. they didn’t hesitate.

she lit her saber.

the force surged through her. not calm, not steady, but violent and raw. she struck the first two troopers down before they could reload, leapt over another and sent him crashing to the floor. they kept coming. disciplined, coordinated. she kept fighting.

there was no time to think. only movement. only rage.

she briefly registered the sound of arthree’s beeping not far away, the small droid visibly scared as he pushed himself into a darker corner, shrouded by the flashing lights of the temple corridor. he whined, a deep, pained, guttural noise that megan had never heard emanate from a droid before. he was grieving. heartbroken. his processes replaying the image of y/n, his person, dying before his opticals.

megan didn’t hold back. didn’t calculate. every strike was faster, heavier, more brutal than the last. even as her muscles screamed, even as her heart shattered.

then a bolt hit her left arm. the pain was instant, sharp and searing. something tore inside, and her fingers went numb. the saber almost slipped from her grasp. nerves below the elbow were gone. just heat and blood and fire. she forced herself to keep going. she had to.

she turned, just in time to see jex lifting y/n’s body.

but he didn’t look at her. didn’t flinch. just walked away into the smoke, y/n in his arms.

megan screamed. tried to run after him, but her legs faltered. her vision blurred. her body wasn’t listening anymore.

and so she ran. not toward them, but away. the only direction left.

by the time reinforcements arrived, the courtyard was littered with the dead. the girl who had fought for peace, who believed in light, was gone.

something else had taken her place.

18 BBY

pain had a way of settling beneath the skin. not the kind that bled or bruised, but the quiet kind, the kind that rooted itself in the bones and stayed there. it lived in the spaces between heartbeats, in the breath that caught for no reason, in the silence after the storm.

grief didn’t howl forever. eventually, it grew quiet. but it never disappeared. it became part of her—woven into muscle and memory, stitched into every corner of her being.

heartbreak was not a single moment. it was a series of aftershocks. waking up and reaching for someone who was no longer there. hearing their voice in a dream and forgetting, for a heartbeat, that they were gone. walking familiar halls and feeling the air shift, heavy with absence.

her heart hadn’t just broken. it had fractured into pieces so sharp that trying to hold them only made her bleed. and every attempt to put them back together brought new wounds.

some pain heals. some pain hardens. and some pain simply becomes a part of who you are.

megan— no, that name belonged to someone else now. someone who had died in a courtyard soaked with ash and blood. someone who had once believed in light, in purpose, in the strength of the force. all that remained was the hiss of a lightsaber and the ruin it carved through anyone who stood in her path.

now, she was one of vader’s inquisitors.

every day since y/n fell, all she felt was pain. not just the ache of loss, but the kind that hollowed out the soul. the kind that never let her forget. every time she closed her eyes, the memories returned, vivid and relentless.

y/n’s smile. her laugh. the way she would fuss over every detail until it was perfect, while megan pretended to be exasperated, secretly in awe. her stubborn brilliance. her heart. the way she found goodness even in a galaxy unraveling around them.

and then, that final moment.

the look in y/n’s eyes as the bolt struck her chest. the sorrow. the silent goodbye. i love you, her eyes said. and then the world went dark.

megan remembered the corridors of the jedi temple. the way her arm hung useless, nerves shredded from a blaster bolt that tore through flesh and bone beneath her left elbow. remembered the blood, thick and hot, dripping onto the floor. remembered calling out, reaching—only to realize arthee was gone. she must have lost him somewhere in the chaos.

maybe it was for the best. even the droid’s presence made her soul ache.

then came the memory of the chamber, cold and sterile. lied down, restrained to a medical table before chancellor– emperor palpatine. not the chancellor anymore. not the kind-eyed manipulator. his face was different now. twisted. drawn and scarred, his features a mask of rot left behind by the battle with master windu.

he watched her closely as medical probes extended toward her ruined arm. no kindness in his expression. no sympathy.

the metal graft was cruel. it drilled into what remained of her bone with a shriek of durasteel, piercing into flesh without sedation. she didn’t scream. didn’t even flinch. pain had become familiar by then.

she barely noticed when the sedatives never came. they had taken everything from her—her name, her past, her light. but they could not take her grief. in its place, she built something colder. sharper. something that couldn’t break.

now, she was nothing more than the thirteenth sister.

it took a year before her search bore fruit.

a year since the prosthetic had been grafted to the ruins of her left arm. it wasn’t made for comfort. every movement sent sparks of pain through her nerves, a deliberate cruelty meant to remind her who she served.

a year since the dark jedi robes had been stripped from her, replaced by the black armor of the inquisitorius. the emblem of the empire sat heavy on her right shoulder, etched into the fabric like a brand.

a year since she was given a helmet—sleek, black, voice-modulated. it erased what little was left of megan and replaced her with something colder.

moff calder didn’t even bat an eyelash when megan took her tie fighter down from the obsidian star destroyer and set course for tatooine. the wretched hive of scum and villainy.

tatooine was cold that night. unnaturally so. the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, cutting through the usual blistering heat of the twin suns that scorched the dunes by day. the desert, for once, was still.

she moved like smoke. silent. relentless.

they hadn’t recognized her at first.

she found them in mos isla, tucked into the shadowed corner of a cantina that reeked of oil and sweat. a familiar woman, dressed in scavenger gear, sipping something cheap and bitter. her face was the same. older, maybe. harder. but still recognizable. she had no idea what was coming.

none of them did.

they were the ones who had orchestrated the ambush on chandrila. the ones who had shifted the course of everything in a single, brutal moment. they hadn’t known. not then, not when they gave the order—that killing cc-527 and leaving a particular jedi knight broken and bleeding in a decaying signal repeater station would plant the seed of their own destruction.

they had killed trace. but worse— they had beaten her.

and megan, whoever she had once been, could no longer speak her name. couldn’t even summon the memory of her face without something inside twisting to ash. it was too much. too sacred. too painful.

yet despite everything, despite the armor she now wore, despite the fury that lived where her heart used to be, one truth remained, unshakable.

she still loved her.

even now, as she stepped into the cantina, clad in black inquisitor armor that swallowed all light. even as she unclipped the saber from her belt, once blue but now a searing crimson. even as her gloved hand stretched toward the booth, and with a subtle clench of her fingers, four bodies lifted into the air. the woman’s guards. the same ones who’d stood with her that day.

they scrambled, flailed, choked.

the woman stared at her. wide-eyed. terrified.

and still, none of them recognized the figure standing before them. not this shadow in black. not this weapon with nothing left behind her eyes. not the thirteenth sister—vader’s blade. she’d even gone out of her way to kill them herself without her helmet. she wanted to see them with her own eyes. wanted them to look back at her and recognize the jedi knight they’d manipulated at kareth’s hallow so long ago.

one tried to plead. one tried to run. none succeeded. she didn’t speak. didn’t ask. didn’t hesitate. there was no mercy. only the low, hungry hum of her saber, and the sharp crack of terror in their last breaths.

and even as she painted that corner of the mos isla cantina in red and ruin, even as silence reclaimed the room and the woman’s body slumped lifeless at her feet—

she knew. she would always love y/n.

even if that love was the very thing that destroyed her.

they could’ve had it all. they could have gotten married on polaris minor, just like they said they would. y/n once promised that if megan gave her a little more time, she would say yes. they could have invited senator avanzini, because force knows how much she loved the two jedi as if they were family. arthree would’ve been there, chirping about happily. perhaps in a perfect world with no war and no restriction, tera sinube and gun di could have been there, too.

but life wasn’t perfect. war was inevitable.

she’d lost everything.

PART TWO click for previous part

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pergogoi · 5 months ago

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….she is everything to me….

[ID: TGCF fanart of fem!Hua Cheng, shown wielding her saber with a fierce expression. The piece is black and white with red accents from the coral bead in her hair, light streaking from her eye, and the artist signature. End ID]

#art #tgcf #tgcf fanart #cw genderbend #fem hua cheng #hua cheng #heaven official's blessing #doodle #天官赐福 #花城

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padawan-snack-packer · 4 months ago

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[Giving friendship bracelets, Jedi Edition]

✨Note: This is just for fun, pure chaos, and maximum love for all our Jedi faves! These headcanons are soft, silly, and based on vibes, not strict canon—consider this an intergalactic arts-and-crafts hour where feelings are allowed and glitter is the sixth form of lightsaber combat. 💫 Please imagine these with love and an alarming number of beads!

🌈 OBI-WAN KENOBI You present it to him like, “Master Kenobi, I made you something.” He smiles politely. “How thoughtful.” He opens it and freezes. It’s pale blue, copper, and gold—very tasteful—and the beads spell “KENOBI-WAN KENOBI.” He exhales slowly. “You… added the hyphen.” You nod, very proud. He stares at it for a full minute and finally says, “Well, I suppose that’s—charming.” Wears it under his glove. Touches it when he’s stressed. If anyone asks, he just goes: “It was… a diplomatic gift.”

🌈 ANAKIN SKYWALKER He is SO SUSPICIOUS. “Is it cursed? Does it track me? Is it laced with humility??” You just hand him a black, gold, and red bracelet that says “ANNIE” with a heart. He short-circuits. “Who told you that nickname??” You shrug. “The Force.” He’s flustered, loudly says he’ll never wear it… But Obi-Wan later catches him putting it on in the mirror and whispering: “Annie’s got style.” Starts making bracelets back. They’re terrible. They say “BADASS” and “HOT JEDI.”

🌈 AHSOKA TANO She cries. Fully. No warning. “Wait—this is for me??” You hand her a bracelet that’s orange, white, and blue, and has little star and leaf charms. It says “SNIPS 💫” in glitter letters. She gasps, tackles you into a hug, and immediately makes you three bracelets back. Later: ��I made one for Rex too. And one for R7. And one for that cool loth-cat I saw once.”

🌈 PLO KOON “Padawan. This is a… delight.” You made him one in burnt orange and cream, with a bead that looks like his goggles. It says “SPACE DAD.” He holds it very delicately like it’s an ancient artifact. He will not wear it—he suspends it from the dash of his starfighter like an air freshener. Every youngling in the Temple wants to make him one now. He has a whole tree of bracelets hanging from his quarters.

🌈 YODA You were scared to give it to him, but did it anyway. It’s forest green and says “LIL GUY 🐸.” He takes it. Stares. Nods solemnly. “Great power this holds. Mm.” You’re not sure if he understood or if he’s just trolling. He’s wearing it in full public view the next day like it’s a medal. Younglings follow him like he’s a friendship bracelet deity now.

🌈 MACE WINDU You expected to get Force yeeted. You made him one in purple and black with bold blocky letters: “BAD MF.” He looks at it. Then looks at you. Then puts it in his pocket and goes: “No one sees this.” A week later you catch him meditating with it wrapped around his saber hilt. If you say anything, he will deny it to his grave.

🌈 BARRISS OFFEE You give her a calming indigo and silver one with a tiny crystal bead and “BALANCE” spelled in runes. She nods respectfully. “I will meditate with this.” You later find her in the library just holding it. Has deep thoughts about friendship. Also probably journals about you like “this being is unironically healing.”

🌈 LUMINARA UNDULI You give her one with earthy greens and a bead shaped like a tree. It says “SPACE MOM.” She chuckles. “You’re incorrigible.” Wears it tucked neatly into her robes, only letting it peek out when she’s with other Jedi who also got one. Forms a secret Jedi Bracelet Society. Initiation requires a craft night.

🌈 KIT FISTO “COOL!!” You hand it over—sea green, black, with lil sparkly beads that say “BIG SMILE ENERGY.” He fist bumps you, then immediately makes you a necklace of shells. Everyone’s like “Kit, is that regulation?” Kit: “Regulation of good vibes, young one.” Doesn’t take it off even during battles. Claims it makes his lightsaber stronger (??)

🌈 SHAAK TI You approach carefully, unsure if this elegant, powerful Togruta would be into little string crafts. You: “So I… uh. Made you something.” She tilts her head. You offer a crimson, silver, and white bracelet with spiraled beads and one that looks like a lil tiara. It says “✨SOVEREIGN VIBES✨” She chuckles, low and warm. “I will treasure this.” Wears it proudly on her upper arm like a royal armband. Will absolutely deflect blaster bolts with the power of love and embroidery floss. Whispers “Thank you, little one,” like you gifted her a kyber crystal.

🌈 AAYLA SECURA You hand her a bracelet in azure and bronze, with tiny flower beads and the words “💙 COOLER THAN U 💙.” She smirks, turns it over in her hand, and says: “You get me.” Wears it immediately. Flashes it at Anakin like “see, I have friends.” 100% joins Kit Fisto’s chaotic arts and crafts night. Makes you a matching one that says “CHAOTIC PADAWAN ENERGY.” Teaches you secret Twi’lek bead symbolism. You now speak bracelet code. You’re bonded forever.

🌈 DEPPA BILLABA You go soft on this one. It’s calm green and light yellow, with little pearl accents. It just says “HOPE.” She holds it gently, like it’s made of light. “Thank you. This means more than you know.” Caleb Dume sees it and immediately asks you for one too. You make him a tiny baby-sized one that says “NOT A MENACE” (he is a menace). Depa wears hers on tough missions and says it gives her strength. Caleb chews on his. This is fine.

🌈 JOCOSTA NU You nervously approach. “Master Nu, I uh—made you a bracelet. Don’t ban me from the Archives.” It’s aged gold and dusty blue, with tiny book charms and a single bead that says “SHHH.” She raises an eyebrow… then laughs softly. “You are ridiculous. Thank you.” Immediately reorganizes the banned Holocron section with it on her wrist. Also makes you a Library ID with “CRAFT MASTER” as your Jedi title.

🌈 LUMINARA UNDULI (part 2 because she deserves it and I love her) You give her a new one. Forest green, matte black, and a golden sun bead in the center. It just says “💚💀💚” She raises a brow. “What… does this mean?” You: “Balance. Inner peace. Also you’re cool as hell.” She hums and nods. “Acceptable.” Meditates with it daily. Accidentally starts a new Temple aesthetic called “morbid peace.” Younglings love it.

🌈 TERA SINUBE You hand him a soft pastel blue and silver bracelet that says “COOL OLD GUY.” He beams. “It’s been a long time since someone made me something like this.” Tells every youngling who’ll listen. Wears it on his cane. Claims it improves his balance. (It does not. But he believes it and that's what matters, besties.)

🌈 BONUS ROUND – YOUNGLINGS You hand out mini bracelets like Oprah and they LOSE THEIR MINDS. One says “TINY CHAOS.” Another “FUTURE MENACE.” One simply reads: “💥💥💥” They trade them like Pokémon cards. You walk into the Temple like: “My impact is felt. My glitter reign is eternal.”

Conclusion: You have personally created a new Jedi Order custom: Bracelet Offering Ceremonies. The High Council is confused but too emotionally stunted to stop you. Yoda’s got ten. Ahsoka’s wrist is full. Obi-Wan pretends not to care but has them in chronological display order. The Temple is glittery now. Kit Fisto hosts craft night. Mace Windu has a friendship charm on his saber. The galaxy is healing 💖

You have won. The Force is strong with your rainbow chaos 💫

PS: I'll have the Clones Edition for this asap!! Lemme know if you want others versions as well or if you have headcanons or requests!

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city-of-ladies · 8 months ago

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"The individual SH-63 was found within the Sárrétudvari–Hízóföld cemetery, which is the largest 10th-century-CE cemetery in Hungary and contains a large number of burials containing weapons and horse-riding equipment. It was in use during the Hungarian Conquest period, in which many mounted archers conducted and fought battles across Europe.

Despite not having many particularly "wealthy" grave goods, the burial of SH-63 was unique for its grave goods composition, says Dr. Tihanyi. "Male burials often contained functional items, such as simple jewelry (e.g., penannular hair rings and bracelets), clothing fittings (e.g., belt buckles), and tools (e.g., fire-lighting kits and knives). Their most distinctive grave goods included weapons, usually archery equipment, with two graves containing sabers and one grave containing an axe.

"Horse-riding equipment and, in some cases, horse bones (e.g., skull and extremities) were also found. Female burials, in contrast, more frequently contained jewelry (e.g., hair rings, braid ornaments, bead necklaces, bracelets, and finger rings) and clothing fittings (e.g., bell buttons and metal ornaments). Tools, such as knives and awls, appeared less often.

"The grave goods found in the burial of SH-63 contained a mix of these characteristics. Compared to other graves in the cemetery, its inventory was relatively simple, including common jewelry and clothing fittings."

More specifically, SH-63 was found together with a silver penannular hair ring, three bell buttons, a string of stone and glass beads, an "armor-piercing" arrowhead, iron parts of a quiver, and an antler bow plate.

Meanwhile, the three major traumas identified in the upper limb bones were likely the result of a fall onto an outstretched arm or onto the shoulder. These injuries never fully healed and could have been caused in daily life.

However, one factor does speak to the woman perhaps having lived a more active life. Various joint and ethereal (where bones and muscles attach) changes were observed. These changes were most prominently observed in the upper right-hand side of the body, and similar changes have been found in other graves containing weapons and/or horse-riding equipment.

This suggests these individuals, including SH-63, were likely engaged in similar daily activities, which may, in turn, explain the high number of physical traumas seen throughout the Sárrétudvari-Hízóföld cemetery.

While the researchers cannot definitively conclude the female was a warrior, they were able to positively identify this as the first-known instance in which a female was buried together with weaponry in the Carpathian Basin during the 10th century."

#history #women in history #warrior women #women warriors #10th century #archeology #hungary #hungarian history #european history

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adragonsfriend · 1 year ago

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Having an incredible vision of a world where "igniting a lightsaber" is a bit more literal of a phrase, and lightsabers are like blowtorches, where you turn on the gas and then light it with another flame.

Please just imagine count Dooku with a fancy metal cigarette lighter for this purpose,

Anakin always loses his lighter and has to ask R2-D2 to light his saber with the flamethrower he installed,

Obi-Wan always just pulls a single match out of his pocket and holds it up like it's the last one he has but it never actually is

Qui-Gon and Yoda have both lit their sabers with a blunt at some point (idk if actually possible i am not a cool kid but shhh they are space wizards)

Initiates all have to line up to have an instructor light their training sabers

Going to Ilum to get your kyber crystal is accompanied by (another) lesson on fire safety

Wookies and other furry species have some kind of safety lighter probably

Aquatic species use some other form of weapon i guess? or have like sci-fi greek fire idk

Some Jedi believe that if there is no naturally available source of flame than it's not the will of the Force to light their sabers at all

A common gift from masters to padawans is their first lighter or maybe there would be a pair of beads designed to create sparks (kept on padawan braid/strings as a back up)

Mace always uses the spark beads (shatterpoint imagery you get me)

Depa does the same as Mace, for the aesthetic (she didn't get a purple lightsaber but she can have this ok), and teaches Caleb the same (he keeps his beads into the empire, even though he has to hide them)

Luke also uses R2,

Pre-war Jedi don't even light their sabers that often, and this is why those rumors about Jedi all using death-sticks started, since very few outsiders know why they actually carry lighters

Sidious lights his with lightning (which sounds cool but actually it backfires and blows up in his face at least 50 percent of the time)

Maul just has an actual blowtorch he uses to light his saber, which

If the Jedi try and deny the death stick rumors than new rumors start that they're all pyromaniacs, so they don't really bother.

#star wars #star wars crack #jedi #lightsabers #blowtorch #fire!#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #mace windu #count dooku #sith

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kirlenawrites · 21 days ago

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Prompt: At sixteen, Anakin and Obi-Wan are still figuring out lightsaber forms, meditation techniques, and the Jedi Code. What they definitely weren't prepared for was figuring out how to kiss without bumping noses. Some lessons aren't taught in the Temple halls.

***

The training room falls quiet as the last echoes of lightsaber practice fade away. Sweat beads on both their foreheads, and Anakin can't help but notice how the late afternoon light catches the copper threads in Obi-Wan's hair. They're both sixteen now, both still learning, both still growing into the Jedi they're meant to become.

"You're staring again," Obi-Wan says softly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he clips his training saber to his belt.

Anakin's cheeks flush, but he doesn't look away.

"Can you blame me?"

They've been dancing around these feelings for months now, stealing glances during meditation, finding excuses to train together, sharing quiet conversations in the Temple gardens when they should be sleeping. It started as friendship—two Padawans who understood each other in ways their Masters couldn't quite grasp—but somewhere along the way, it became something deeper.

Obi-Wan steps closer, close enough that Anakin can see his blue-gray eyes clearly.

"The Council would—"

"The Council isn't here," Anakin interrupts gently, reaching up to touch the thin braid. The hair is softer than he imagined, silky between his fingers. "It's just us."

Obi-Wan's breath catches as Anakin's fingertips trace along the length of the braid, from where it begins behind his ear to where it ends just past his shoulder. There's something mesmerizing about it—this symbol of dedication, of learning, of the path they're both walking together.

"I've wondered what it would feel like," Anakin admits quietly, "to touch it. To touch you."

"Ani," Obi-Wan whispers.

And then they're both leaning in at the same time—except Anakin tilts his head the wrong way and their noses bump awkwardly. They both laugh nervously, and Anakin's face burns with embarrassment.

"I don't really know how to—" Obi-Wan starts softly.

"Neither do I," Anakin admits, and they both pause, looking at each other uncertainly.

They try again, this time both tilting their heads to the right and nearly missing each other's mouths entirely. Anakin overcorrects, pressing too hard, too eager, and Obi-Wan makes a muffled sound of surprise against his lips. When Anakin tries to adjust, he accidentally catches Obi-Wan's bottom lip with his teeth.

"Ow!" Obi-Wan pulls back, touching his lip.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

But instead of pulling away, Obi-Wan starts to laugh—a soft, breathless sound that makes Anakin's heart skip.

"We're terrible at this."

"The worst," Anakin agrees, grinning despite his mortification. "Maybe we should—"

"Try once more?" Obi-Wan suggests, his cheeks pink but his eyes warm. "Slowly this time?"

This attempt is gentler but no less clumsy. They manage to avoid collision, but Anakin opens his mouth too much too quickly, and for a moment they're just breathing against each other's lips, unsure of what to do with their tongues. Obi-Wan tries to follow Anakin's lead but ends up pulling back when their teeth click together.

"This is harder than lightsaber forms," Obi-Wan mutters, and Anakin snorts with laughter.

"At least when we mess up those, we don't knock heads."

They're both giggling now, foreheads pressed together, and somehow that makes the fourth attempt easier. It's still messy—too much saliva, uncertain pressure, Anakin's free arm wrapping around Obi-Wan's waist so clumsily that he nearly pulls him off balance—but there are moments where their mouths move together in something approaching harmony. Brief, sweet seconds where it feels like they might actually be getting the hang of it.

When they finally break apart, they're both breathing hard, faces flushed and lips slightly swollen. Obi-Wan's braid is thoroughly disheveled from Anakin's nervous fidgeting, and there's dampness on both their chins that neither wants to acknowledge.

"That was..." Obi-Wan trails off, touching his lips with wonder.

"Messy," Anakin finishes honestly, still not letting go of the braid. "Really messy."

"Terrible technique," Obi-Wan agrees, but he's smiling.

"Want to practice more?" Anakin asks hopefully, then quickly adds, "I mean, we're clearly going to need a lot of practice to get good at this."

Obi-Wan's laugh is soft and fond.

"We should be careful," he murmurs, but he makes no move to step away, and his hands are still resting on Anakin's shoulders.

"We will be," Anakin promises, pressing a gentle, careful kiss to the crown of Obi-Wan's head—this one he manages without incident. "But not right now. Right now, it's just us."

In the slanted light of the training room, two Padawan braids catch the golden rays of sun as they hold each other close, taking comfort in the warmth and certainty of young love, even as they know how complicated their path will be.

For now, this moment is enough. This tenderness, this connection, this promise of something beautiful growing between them—it's enough.

#obikin #my writing

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softlymellow · 3 months ago

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The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 8

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.2k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

"You knew nothing."

Obi-wan sat across a seemingly asleep Dev. His eyes carefully watched the way his chest would rise and fall, rise and fall.

He couldn’t help but feel for the poor boy. A path led astray because of despair. Agony. Pain from losing loved ones. Dev felt the things that Jedi shouldn’t be feeling. He could pretend he was okay but those feelings would never go away. Not really.

Dev’s hair fell across his face, his blonde hair appearing much darker than it is. Dev’s hands remained cuffed but under his head.

Obi-wan didn’t believe in surface level peace. Not anymore.

Obi-wan stared at Dev for longer than he should, his eyes studying his behaviour until it crept towards the corner where a bag was. The force was quiet but he still felt it poke him.

Getting up, he crept to the corner of the room where Dev’s satchel was tossed when he was brought in. He crouched, his fingers brushing against the leather fabric.

It felt heavier than it looked.

Carefully, he unzipped the main flap. A cloth wrapped around a cylinder.

Obi-wan paused. He unwrapped it.

And inside was just as he suspected.

A lightsaber.

It was worn. Dark. It was scarred. Not like how a Jedi would maintain their lightsaber. Obi-wan’s hands moved to ignite the lightsaber— A flicker.

The force had shifted and there was a clatter on the ground.

The saber flew from Obi-wan’s grasp with a fast whiiiiip. Obi-wan’s eyes widened as he spun his body around only to see the saber in Dev’s cuffed hands. No longer cuffed as he speedily cut down his restraints.

With no time to waste, Obi-wan immediately reached for his own saber but Obi-wan’s lack of anticipation was no match for Dev’s patience. Dev’s foot slammed onto chest, sending him flying back against the wall.

Smirking, Dev spun his saber with his left arm. Having not spun his saber for a while, his wrists twisting felt more relieving than it did when it was cuffed. The room illuminated in an old blue as Dev menacingly walked up to a groaning Obi-wan on the ground. Ready to strike.

–-------

You felt the force stir you awake. Your vision was groggy and your muscles were aching.

The sound of a loud crash jolted you completely awake and you sat up immediately.

What the hell is going on?

Another crash.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart thumping and your hand hovering over your blaster pistol.

Anakin came running in, his own electrifying blue lightsaber on and ready for battle.

“Stay here!” He snapped, without looking at you and already making his way into Dev and Obi-wan’s room.

You followed anyway, your heart thumping against your chest and sweat beading off your forehead. You weren’t expecting to see Obi-wan pinned to the floor but his lightsaber out just in time to block against Dev.

Blue on blue.

The two lightsabers clashed and sparks of light burst everywhere. The sabers continuingly made a cracking sound as Obi-wan tried his hardest to push back Dev’s lightsaber — Dev being above him made this extremely difficult.

Dev was snarling and Obi-wan gritted his teeth as both men pushed against each other.

“DEV!” You shrieked, your eyes widened at the sight across you.

For a split second, your voice was enough to distract Dev. Obi-wan took the advantage and shoved his hand out, the force pushing him away. Dev stumbled back before regaining control of himself.

It was then, his face transformed. His lowered eyebrows and his squinting blue eyes directed towards a now standing Obi-wan were instead pointed to you, but his tightlipped mouth changed to a mocking smile.

“You really are just a dumb little Jedi,” He chuckled without any humour.

“Dev?” You watched as he took small, but carefully planned steps towards you. “What are you doing?”

Your eyes moved towards the lightsaber, the way he gripped it with familiarity. The way his wrists twirled the lightsaber once —lazily and effortlessly— like he had done it a million times before.

“You really thought I would help you Jedi scum?” His eyes narrowed in flames. “Like I gave a shit about you in Jakku?”

“What?”

“The Jedi betrayed me!” He snarled, causing you to flinch. His lightsaber waved around like a crazed man, pointing between all three of you. “I lost the ones I loved because of them!”

“-And you led me straight to them.” He menacingly said.

“Dev, stop. What are you talking about?”

“I was once just like you.” He admitted.

“Dev…” You shook your head ‘no’, making steady steps backwards as Dev continued to make steps towards you.

“Now I’ll finish off what I started.” He tilted his head, his eyes sharp.

“Get behind me.” Anakin instructed, his much larger and more built figure stepped in front of you, his lightsaber ignited and ready for battle.

The air felt sharp and tension bounced off the walls.

Dev pulled his arms back high, ready to strike.

And you?

You just stood there. Useless. His words hit you like a brick wall. How had you not noticed? Those moments where he would say something with hidden meaning. When he recognised almost immediately that you were a jedi. Calling the Republic corrupt. Saying that he knew more than you. You were so trapped in yourself that all those moments flew past you. And now you were paying the consequences.

Dev brought his lightsaber down to Anakin, and with no time wasted they began to battle.

It was strike after strike. He kept pushing Anakin with fury that it almost felt mechanical. Their lightsabers screamed and their boots scuffed against the floor. Energy crackled at every collision. Anakin held himself back slightly, he is a Jedi, but Dev did not. Yet still, they were even.

“You’re only making this worse for yourself!” Anakin yelled, gritting his teeth as he fought back.

Anakin ducked below as Dev let out a deep frustrated growl and his saber came swinging above his head before he brought it down by his side.

Without hesitation, Obi-wan joined him, catching the blow that would’ve split Anakin in half. Dev grinned as both Jedi began to make their advances towards himself.

The three bodies moved like lightning. Anakin was aggressive. Obi-wan composed. But Dev was angry.

This wasn’t the same Dev you knew and grew to trust. The Dev you knew was the Dev that celebrated your one year working together a couple nights ago. It was the Dev who took her in and covered her with his jacket on a cold night in Jakku. But here, he was snarling and ignited a blade that was meant for her.

Dev spun low, aiming for Obi-wan’s legs. He needed either one of them. At least one of them alive so he aimed for the non vital organs. Obi-wan lept, twisting up above and landing behind Dev. Dev barely brought his blade up in time. It was then that Anakin lunged in a heartbeat.

And Dev…

Dev struggled, catching both blades at once. An electrifying hum rattled the room. Both Jedi’s sabers forced Dev’s own saber down. Inch by inch.

You just stood there.

Not cumbled and not crying. Just frozen.None of this was real. You could fight and you knew it. You could pull out your lightsaber clipped onto your belt, leap in and draw it. But you couldn’t fight him. And that was worse.

“You were going to kill her,” Obi-wan said, breathless.

“I was going to use her,” He seethed.

Anakin moved before the words could even leave his mouth. He deliberately slammed his boot against Dev’s limp knee and watched as he staggered back on the floor. His lightsaber fell from his grip and without a second thought, Anakin snarled and his heel connected with the hilt of the saber. The saber skidded away before Dev could grab it and rolled across the floor by your feet.

“You think this is funny?” Anakin growled. “You think this is a game?”

Dev was panting, the palm of his hands scratched and scraped with blood. “I was going to let her live, you know,” he coughed, “after I got my bounty.”

Anakin stood over Dev, his chest heaving and the tip of his lightsaber inches away from his face. Dev’s face illuminated with blue, yet it made the shadows of face darker.

Obi-wan gently pulled Anakin back, his lightsaber off. “We need him alive. This is not the Jedi way.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as he fought himself back from delivering blows to his face with his own fist. Instead he kept his lightsaber drawed near him, afraid that he would take advantage of this moment.

Looking down by your feet was Dev’s lightsaber. Kneeling down, you picked it up. Your fingers caressed the scars left on the hilt. Both physical and mental.

Your eyes met with Dev, his gaze on you. It was direct. Almost apologetic. But you didn’t know anymore. There was nothing you knew.

You knew nothing.

You turned your back on him and into the hallway. You weren’t going to cry. Or ask why. You were done doing that.

You didn’t owe him anything.

You just buried another part of yourself, that’s all.

You’ve done that before.

The constant humming of an alive and healthy engine was soothing. It felt much calmer and peaceful than the ships Dev and you would take, it was almost nostalgic in a way. The Republic’s tax money was being put into good use.

You sat by the view port at the back of the ship, your knees brought to your chest and your arms resting on top. Your eyes were fixed on the blur of stars outside.

Dev was two corridors back.

The Jedi cruiser had a red-lit forcefield cell, perfect for prisoners.

The walk to the cruiser was silent. Dev was fully restrained and patted down by Obi-wan. Making sure he had no other tricks up his sleeves. Anakin still won’t talk to you, not that you wanted to anyway. Obi-wan also didn’t talk to you, but for different reasons. It was rather to give you your own space, understanding that the shock of Dev’s betrayal would have hit you hard. The protests had died down. Padme had contacted both Anakin and Obi-wan that the Senate was making a statement about Corellia and were now putting forward plans for a speech and aid relief.

Thankfully, Obi-wan made the decision to fly after the protests died down. If he hadn’t, the hyperspace travel would have been over eight hours to reach Coruscant with congested lanes and tight security. The trip now had an estimated time of arrival of 2 hours. It was a regular military exit after a mission and not at all a priority jump. Yet still, Obi-wan and Anakin’s military and Jedi status did give them a hot ticket to the top of the line.

You were okay though, really. Just numb. You handed Dev’s lightsaber to Obi-wan without a word, just wanting to get it away from you as fast as possible. He wasn’t who you thought he was. If anything, you almost felt embarrassed that the one person you had trusted with your life would pull a stunt like that in front of Obi-wan and Anakin. It felt belittling.

Obi-wan and Anakin were in the cockpit, the complete opposite end of the ship from you. But it was a small cruiser, so it was much closer than you thought. Obi-wan played with the control panel, rerouting through Jedi clearance codes. Anakin sat beside him, he was the better pilot but this was a quiet trip back home. He stretched his arms above him, his muscles and his mind aching.

Anakin had made the decision to no longer acknowledge you or your presence. You were here —yes— but a different person. He did feel conflicted though. He felt almost protective of you still, especially with the way Dev approached and spoke about you.

You played with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, in front of you were additional security hologram displays; one at the front of the ship and one at the back. The hologram illuminated the room with a dull blue and on it were many different viewpoints.

The entrance. The exit. Corridors. Dev’s holding cell where he was slumped against the wall. And the cockpit. Where Obi-wan and Anakin sat.

You weren’t supposed to be watching at all, but the console was still logged in with Obi-wan’s credentials. And it was transmitting live. Tapping on the screen, you enlarged the view.

Onscreen was the cockpit, but away from the control panel was a circular table. And on the table was another hologram. But what piqued your interest was Obi-wan and Anakin moving away from the panels and towards said hologram. As if on queue, a projection of the Jedi council was brought to life.

Mace Windu. Plo Koon. Master Yoda. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Saesee Tiin.

The human sized projections of them came to life as they all individually surrounded said table, but instead they were transparent blue.

You watched as Obi-wan and Anakin mouth moved as they spoke to the council. The video was mute, you could turn it up but part of you still had morals, so you decided against it.

Mace Windu crossed his arms, his own mouth moving with Yoda nodding to whatever he was saying. And then, with a flick of the wrist by Obi-wan, an image of you came to life. Your portrait taken when you first joined the Order as only a padawan.

Fuck that.

You twisted a small knob on the bottom right of your own screen, the sound filtering in.

“-She has clearly strayed,” Mace said. “Whether or not she was manipulated is irrelevant.”

Scoffing, you knelt in closer, your teeth gnawing at your lips nervously. You didn’t really like Mace so this didn’t hurt you much, it just felt offending.

“She never returned, she is not a Jedi anymore.” Ki-Adi-Mundi added, his fingers stroking his beard, deep in thought.

“We aren’t sure what her motives are now,” Mace Windu added.

The image of you flickering, like a memory nobody wanted to claim. And then, Obi-wan spoke.

Obi-wan furrowed his eyebrows, he glances at Anakin before speaking. But he spoke calmly. Controlled. “She’s not a threat.”

“She was working with one,” Mace Windu said flatly.

“With all due respect, she is a Jedi.” Obi-wan said, but concern etched onto his face. “This is not some stranger.”

“Too much time among criminals may blurr her loyalties.” Saesee Tiin added, arms folded. “The Jedi code isn’t something you can abandon and return to at will.”

The room was turning and you were being picked apart. Judged and dissected. Yes– it wasn’t an official meeting for judgement yet it felt like it.

Your own face stared back at you. Younger, softer, a small smile projected. Hopeful. You couldn’t recognise her.

Obi-wan didn’t speak again. Instead his eyes lingered on the image of you longer than the others. Trying to find a lie. But it wasn’t there. He kept replaying the moment when he walked alongside you captured, how you didn’t protest or fight back. The way you flinched when Dev yelled at you. How you willingly gave back his lightsaber.

Obi-wan had checked on you more than he needed to. Because he didn’t believe you were a threat. Part of him didn’t know what to do anymore as the masters beside him spoke like they had already sealed your fate. Funnily enough, no one had mentioned Dev once. It was because his outcome was predetermined -being a known fugitive- while yours was unexpected.

And then, Plo Koon who has been silent —his arms folded and his eyes weighing with memory — steps forward.

“We failed Ahsoka by letting her walk alone. We will not do the same here,” He inhaled deeply. The thought of Ahsoka aching him, the same girl who he helped raise. “Y/n, was a child of the Order. She was raised in our halls, she fought alongside us, she followed our teachings.”

His voice lowered. “We lost her. We owe her a path home.” No one interrupted him. Not even Mace.

Plo’s words hung heavy in the room. They were carrying a sense of redemption, but not only for Y/n, Ahsoka too.

Deep down, Obi-wan wondered. If they had allowed Ahsoka to leave so easily and turned on you just as fast…how long until they turned on everyone?

There was a beat of silence. And Anakin’s gaze flicked to the hologram of you. The same girl who he grew up with and fell in love with. It was just a flick. Then away.

And then—

Anakin spoke.

“You’re wasting time defending someone who wouldn’t hesitate to leave again.”

It was like a stab in the gut.

Anakin’s chest burned. He could feel all eyes on him, heavy, questioning. He forced his chin up, trying his hardest to look composed. When Anakin spoke it was like his voice had been pulled from somewhere far colder.

“Let her answer for her own actions,” he clenched his jaw.

Your breath hitched as you watched the way Anakin spoke about you like you were a nobody. Like you were a traitor. Like he didn’t know you.

“Conflicted, she is…But lost…perhaps not.”

Yoda said, breaking the tension.

You leaned back into your seat, your eyes wide and your throat tightening.

You turned off the transmission, not wanting to hear anymore. Rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, you groaned. He didn’t even defend you. He didn’t say you were innocent. It sounded like he didn’t even want you back.

There was nothing more you could do. You would just let the council decide your fate. It seemed fifty-fifty as of now. But you at the back of the cruiser instead of a cell locked away told you enough.

But now you would just rest. Rest until you reached ‘home’.

-----------

Anakin rested in the small compact sleeping quarters, one arm under his head and the other across his chest. It wouldn’t be more than an hour until they reached Coruscant but his mind was racing nonstop.

He could feel your presence in the next room over. He would be lying if he said it didn’t feel awkward or strange. The one person he was longing for was finally here and he wasn’t able to reach out to you in the same way.

He could still see your face when he closed his eyes.

He remembered how you used to talk in your sleep. Shift under the covers and mumble his name. The way his fingers would caress the sides of your face as he would look at you lovingly.

But now?

He didn’t know if you still dreamt about him.

He hated how much he wanted you to.

And worse–

He wanted you to feel the same pain he went through. He wanted you to feel what he felt. When you had just abandoned him. When he tried his best to search and search for you everyday, when he would speak to comms at the late of night expressing his love for you. He would yearn for the moment the device would blink orange and he could hear your voice through the machine.

He wanted you to know that while you were out doing dirty work he was using every free second to search for you.

And what confused him the most was that he wasn’t sure if you still would want him back.

Not after what he has said to you.

Not after her.

Not after everything.

A/N: i hope u guys like it !!!!!!! also lowk love obiwan so much hes always looking out for y/n anakin is such an angsty teenage brat LMK WHAT U GUYS THINKKKK!!!!

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

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⋆˖⁺‧₊𓆩𓆩 ❝ stranded. ❞ 𓆪𓆪₊‧⁺˖⋆

-ˏˋ꒰ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE - ! ꒱ PART ONE ✩ PART TWO ✩ PART THREE MINORS DNI 18+ SUMMARY: be a part of the story! vote on the poll at the bottom. WARNINGS: your vote affects how the story continues | the winning decision affects how the story ends | f!reader | eventual smut | semi-established relationship | romance | suggestive | eventual conflict.

! ── PREVIOUSLY: You and ANAKIN SKYWALKER are stranded on a seemingly deserted planet. He asks you how to proceed because he trusts your judgement.

You consider his question, rubbing your bottom lip thoughtfully with your finger. The responsibility he’s given you is not one you take lightly, and you phase through the options until you decide the smartest route. “Where’s your communicator?”

Anakin's lips press together as he nods. It’s uncharacteristically submissive of him to relinquish control like that, and part of you wonders if this is his way of calming your nerves caused by the situation. He retrieves the communicator in question from his sea of robes, and when his gloved hands brings it to both of your views, it sparks.

He flinches, protecting his eyes from the device if it sees fit to explode in his hand. Fingers fiddle nimbly with its buttons, and its silence doesn’t bode well for your plans. You approach him, watching the little mechanism sit idly in the palm of his hand. “Can you repair it?” you ask, peering up at him. He doesn’t look at you.

“We’ll have to find out.”

As he works on it, you lose track of time, but the sun does not forgive. It beats down on the two of you as you try to shade yourselves in the minuscule shadow of your totaled ship. He remains in his uniform, and beads of sweat fatly roll down his forehead. That concentrated crease in his brow makes him look older than he actually is, glaring down at the communicator as he pinches wiring together with his meticulous touch. You swallow, mouth dry, and you incline into his direction.

“Anakin, maybe you should shed some layers—“ you begin to suggest, laying a familiar hand on his arm. He tenses under your contact, and perks up at attention to hear someone call out.

“You two look a long way from home.” a gutty and baritone voice leers, and Anakin’s jaw sets. His lightsaber is hidden from view by his robings. “Did’yer ship take a tumble?” The joking tone goes unappreciated as the two of you raise your heads to see a native of the planet. Relief washes over you that you aren't alone, but Anakin does not seem convinced, wary this local is unfriendly. He's seated high up on an animal with flat feet and spindly legs, one you don't recognize at all. Its trunk is stout, and wiggles absently as it disinterestedly awaits its owner to decide on whether or not to pass on. The native wears thin clothes with a strap across his chest, the bag of water sloshing at his side as he swings to a halt against his hip.

"Engine failure." Anakin replies, vague and curt. It's a lie, and one you bite your tongue on correcting. Your eyes meander the large stranger, a flat bedded wagon with heaps of fabrics is hauled by his mount, but you know those veils are just to conceal whatever he's got underneath them. "Is there a town around here?"

The local leans forward on his saddle, propping himself up on the grip with an amused and removed grin. "Naw, not for miles." Out of the corner of your view, Anakin's hand slowly disappears under his robe. "Why don't you climb aboard? I'll take you in. S'long as I get what's left of yer ship."

Anakin glances to you, but ultimately decides he'll work on the communicator during the ride. His saber remains clipped to his belt, hidden. However, his senses aren't dulled. There's something about this stranger that tells him he can't get too comfortable, but this is progress. Regardless if there's a town at all. The two of you collect the emergency supplies from the vessel, and climb aboard the wagon. It sinks into the sand from the extra weight, but when he spurs his mount on, she doesn't have a problem in tugging it.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, the name's Drice. S'lucky I came through, followed the smoke trail of your ship. Can smell it on the two of you." You and Anakin exchange eye contact, silently agreeing he'll be talkative the entire trip. "Yep, this nose never lies." His finger raises to tap-tap the side of his nostril. "What were y'all headed for? Before, y'know, the 'engine failure.'" You furrow your brows at the way he quotes the statement, as if he's suspicious Anakin was dishonest. "I could'a taken a look at it if it didn't have such a rough landing. S'lucky I want the parts. I'm a mechanic by trade."

Anakin doesn't respond, instead fishes out the communicator to continue his inspection. Its guts spill out, and he carefully pools it onto his lap. "The Adega system." he replies, again another lie.

Drice emits a noise of confusion. "That's a long way to travel for a ship that size."

"That's likely why we crashed." Anakin responds, and you can hear in his voice that growing annoyance.

The reticence from the back of his vehicle unnerves the local, and he continues to try to muster up some conversation. "You two are real cute together, y'know. A real pair. How long have y'all been together?"

Anakin's gaze flickers to you.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

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jetii · 9 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-One: Cascade

Chapter WC: 10,188

Chapter Warnings: um? general emotional turmoil

A/N: This one kicked my ass. Like genuinely probably the hardest chapter I've ever written, and I'm not sure why. But I'm very much looking forward to next week's chapter!

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

Yaddle's lightsaber hovers in the air before you, the blade humming softly. It's been a week since the Council's decision, and you've yet to leave your rooms. The lightsaber has become a focal point, a symbol, a reminder of what was taken from you. It's also a comfort.

Your connection to her.

Your eyes narrow, and you focus, the energy gathering in the pit of your stomach, the power building. The saber spins, the green blade rotating slowly. A bead of sweat drips down your forehead, and your hands begin to shake, the exertion taking its toll.

You're not even sure what you're doing. You're not practicing. Not really. You're just...playing. Trying to distract yourself. Trying not to think.

You've been doing a lot of that lately.

The hilt tilts, and the blade nicks the side of the chair, slicing through the metal. You curse and lower your hands, and the lightsaber clatters to the ground, its light extinguishing. The sound echoes in your rooms, and you grimace, running a hand over your face.

"Kriffing hell," you hiss. You sigh and cross the room, kneeling to pick up the lightsaber.

You're getting worse. You're barely sleeping, the stress taking its toll, and your emotions are all over the place. You can't seem to focus. It's as if everything you touch, everything you try, is doomed to fail.

You've never felt more useless.

You run a hand through your hair and slump, dropping onto the couch, your head falling into your hands. The tears sting, but they won't come. They haven't for days. There's a hollow ache in your chest, a dull pain that refuses to fade. Your throat is tight, and the guilt is threatening to swallow you whole.

You don't know what else to do. For so long, all you've wanted was to bring justice for Yaddle. To find the truth. But now that the truth has been uncovered, and justice has been denied, there's nothing left. Nothing except this hollow, empty ache. And a lingering feeling of betrayal.

You know you were out of line, but you can't bring yourself to regret it. Obi-Wan shouldn't have kept quiet. He shouldn't have just stood there and watched, his eyes averted, his face impassive. He could have said something. He should have said something. Anything. Instead, he did what he always does. He went along with the Council, playing the dutiful Jedi. Never challenging, never questioning, never speaking his mind. Always keeping his mouth shut. Always toeing the line.

The line of thinking that had been torturing you for days doesn't bring with it the usual anger or frustration now. There's nothing left. No emotion, no energy. Nothing. Just the cold, numbing pain.

You've never felt more alone.

Obi-Wan had tried to reach out, had tried to contact you, had even come to your door. But you hadn't answered, and you know the lack of communication is hurting him. You can sense it. It's a constant nagging at the back of your mind, a tugging in the Force.

The bond between the two of you is frayed, the threads pulled taught, the strain threatening to snap. But still, you can't bring yourself to speak with him. He's reached out to you countless times, and you've refused him. Each time, he's recoiled, the pain and confusion radiating through the bond. It's a physical blow, and each time it hits you, it knocks the wind out of you.

You know it's hurting him, and that hurts you, but you can't bring yourself to end the silence.

Rex has called, too. You haven’t answered. Not once. He doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what went wrong. He hasn’t stopped trying, though.

Every day, multiple times, calls and messages coming in over and over, the light of the screen flickering in the dark of your rooms. After the second day, you buried your comm underneath a pile of dirty laundry. By the third day, the battery had died from its constant use, and the room was cast into silence. You've heard nothing since then. Still, the guilt lingers. And the longing. And the regret. You miss him. You miss him, and you want him here. You want him next to you.

You know what you’re doing. It’s a reflex at this point, as easy as the basic combat forms drilled into you, as mindless as running. Pushing people away. Drowning your feelings. Hiding.

Running away.

Your eyes flick to the saber in your hand, and you run a finger over the hilt, tracing the intricate design, the ridges and curves, the dips and angles. It's familiar. It's comforting.

A part of you is still clinging to the hope that the Council will change their minds, that they'll realize their mistake, that they'll come to their senses and seek justice. It's a foolish hope. A childish hope. But, it's the only thing keeping you from giving up completely.

The truth is, you don't know what else to do. You're at a loss.

Your gaze moves past the saber, your eyes focusing on the viewport, on Coruscant's skyline. The buildings are a blur, a mass of lights and colors, a sea of endless noise. It's beautiful, in a way. An ever-moving, ever-changing kaleidoscope of life. But it's overwhelming, too. A reminder of what's out there, of what you're missing.

You've been cooped up in your rooms for too long. The walls are starting to close in on you, and you can feel your anxiety building, a low thrum in your chest. You need to get out, to go somewhere, to do something. Anything.

You stand, and a wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to grab hold of the back of the couch, steadying yourself. You're weak, and lightheaded, and exhausted. You've barely eaten, and you haven't slept, not really.

Not since.

Since.

The images flash through your mind, unbidden, unwanted, and your stomach lurches, bile rising in your throat. You swallow, forcing down the nausea, and the tears well up, hot and burning.

You can't stop it, can't control it.

"Fuck," you hiss. You throw the lightsaber across the room, the hilt bouncing off the wall with a satisfying thud. It clatters to the floor, and you stare at it, breathing heavily, the anger and frustration boiling over. "Fuck. Fuck."

It's not enough. Nothing is.

Your hands ball into fists, and you clench your jaw, a surge of fury coursing through you. It's like a drug, and it's an instant rush, a brief respite from the pain, but it brings with it a shift in the Force. A tremor, a vibration, a change in pressure that's too intense to ignore.

You close your eyes, and you focus, reaching for the energy, letting it flow through you. But the more you focus, the more you grasp, the stronger the energy becomes. You're not controlling it. It's controlling you.

It's too much.

Your eyes fly open, and you cry out, your hands moving of their own accord to the sides of your head. The pain is intense, white-hot, blinding. It's as if someone has pressed an iron spike through your skull, and you scream, unable to hold it back. You can't move, can't think, can't breathe, can't see. All you can feel is the pain, the agony, the torture. And it's everywhere, consuming you, tearing you apart.

One of your hands pulls away from your head, and you watch it happen as if in slow motion, as if through a fog, as if through the eyes of another. The criss-crossing pattern of scars on your palm seem to pulse and glow, the flesh reddening, the skin rippling and bubbling. You stare, mesmerized, transfixed.

And then you turn and release it all. Directed outwards, away from yourself, the Force is a violent blast, a burst of raw energy. It rips through the room, shifting furniture, shattering a lamp, and knocking a shelf clean off the wall. The items go flying, and a vase explodes on impact, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor. You don't notice. You're too focused on the destruction, the release, the relief. It's like a high, and the euphoria is overwhelming, a heady rush of adrenaline and endorphins and power.

"Fuck," you gasp, the word coming out a strangled hiss. You take a step back and stumble, the pain finally subsiding, leaving a dull ache in its wake. Your knees hit the couch, and you slump, falling onto the cushions, breathing heavily. The anger has ebbed, and the adrenaline is fading, leaving behind the familiar emptiness, the bone-deep exhaustion, and a new wave of guilt.

You've haven't lost control like that in years, and it frightens you. This…whatever it is, this thing that’s been building inside of you since Dooku attacked you a decade ago, it's getting worse. And you have no idea how to stop it. No idea how to contain it. If this is what's going to happen every time the pain becomes too much...you can't keep doing this.

You need to get out. You need fresh air.

You need help.

The thought makes your skin crawl, and you grimace, pushing it away, refusing to acknowledge it. You don't need help. You don't want help. You just want this all to stop. To go away. To be gone. But, the Force isn't listening.

"Get ahold of yourself," you mutter. "You're better than this."

But, you're not. Not anymore.

The words are a familiar mantra, something you've repeated over and over, day after day, since you were a child. Since you first began training. It's not enough. You're spiraling, and you know it, but there's no one to pull you back, to ground you, to keep you from falling.

You grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms, forcing yourself to breathe. In, out. In, out. You will yourself to picture a serene place, a calm place. Somewhere peaceful. A forest. A lake. A field. None of them work. The images are hazy and distorted, and the pain is still there, a low throbbing ache. You can't make it go away. Can't make any of it go away.

The golden field from your dreams is suddenly thrust to the forefront of your mind, and a strange warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, the pressure slowly easing, the tension ebbing away. You haven't had the dream since Saleucami, and you haven't thought about it since. Until now.

The sun is warm on your skin, and there's a breeze, and you can smell grass and flowers and dirt. The scent is familiar and calming, and it fills your senses. It's real. More real than it's ever been. There's the murmur of voices, children laughing, someone calling your name. You look around, searching for the source, but no one's there. Only the field, the sun, the breeze. And the sense that, somewhere, something is waiting. Someone who needs you.

You feel a hand settle on your shoulder, warm and gentle and strong, and you turn to face the figure beside you. But, the moment you do, the sun fades, and the warmth is gone, and the voices are muffled, the laughter muted. And, then, everything goes black.

You open your eyes, and you're met with chaos.

Your rooms are a mess. The broken lamp is lying on its side, the cord dangling. The shattered remains of the vase are strewn across the floor, the water from the flowers spreading, soaking into the carpet. The shelf is in pieces, and a datapad has joined the mess of objects that were previously displayed. There's a dent in the wall where the hilt of Yaddle's lightsaber struck it, and the door to the refresher is open, the lights on and flickering.

It's a disaster.

You slump, the exhaustion setting in. You're not even sure how long you've been cooped up here, alone. It's been days, at least. Maybe a week, maybe longer. It's hard to keep track. Time seems to lose all meaning when you're locked away like this.

Your gaze lands on Yaddle's lightsaber, and you wince, guilt gnawing at your stomach. She'd be disappointed. She'd tell you to pick yourself up, to get back out there, to move forward. She'd remind you of the Jedi teachings, of the Code, and she'd tell you to embrace the Light.

But she'd also tried to leave. She'd tried to get away from the Order, from the Code, from the war. She'd wanted something else, something more.

Something better.

Your eyes narrow, and the decision settles in the pit of your stomach, sinking deep into your bones. Maybe it's time to do the same.

It's not like you have anything to lose. Obi-Wan will survive. He has Ahsoka and Anakin. And Rex...Rex will be okay. He'll be fine. He’ll be better off without you, anyway. He doesn't need the drama. He deserves better. You'll miss him. A part of you will always long for him. But, he's not yours. And he never will be.

It's a coward's move, and you know it. It's selfish. But, maybe that's what you are. Maybe that's all you've ever been. Maybe that's all you'll ever be.

Maybe it's time to accept it.

You've just finished packing when a knock sounds on the door. You frown, and your eyes narrow as the sound echoes in the room. You weren't expecting anyone. There's no way Rex could get inside the Temple without clearance, and you would've sensed Obi-Wan before he got close enough, even in your state. But the person behind the door is radiating concern, worry, fear. You know that signature, know the energy. It's one you'd recognize anywhere.

The door slides open without your prompting, and the light from the hall filters in, blinding you. You wince and squint as a figure appears in the doorway, a shadow against the light.

"I locked the door," you say flatly.

Anakin snorts. "And?"

He steps inside, the door sliding closed behind him. His gaze travels across your room, and his eyes widen, taking in the destruction. You've done what you could to right everything, but there's still evidence of your tantrum. There's water on the floor, a few pieces of glass, a dent in the wall, clothes discarded on the table. You grimace and run a hand through your hair, pulling at it.

Anakin’s eyes fall on Yaddle's lightsaber on the floor, and you quickly summon the weapon, the hilt flying into your palm. It clatters onto the desk in front of you, and you turn, avoiding his gaze.

"And, what are you doing here?" you mutter.

"What am I doing here?" Anakin repeats, and he walks forward, his eyes wide, his voice incredulous. "What are you doing here? You weren't answering my calls. Or Obi-Wan's. Or Ahsoka's. Or anyone's. I thought something might've happened."

"I'm fine," you say stiffly. "Nothing happened."

"Clearly," he deadpans. He reaches down and picks up a piece of glass, and you watch as he tosses it into a small trash bin. "Other than a complete breakdown."

"I didn't have a breakdown," you snap. You wince, and your voice softens, dropping to a whisper. "I didn't."

He raises an eyebrow, and his eyes scan the room again, pausing on the dent in the wall, before moving back to you. The judgement is obvious, and you glare at him, daring him to speak. He doesn't. He just stares at you, his eyes boring into yours, the worry evident. After a moment, he sighs, and his shoulders sag, the concern radiating through the Force.

"I didn't," you repeat. You cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself.

"Then, what happened? And why is Rex, of all people, asking me if you're okay?" Anakin asks. He gestures around him, his gaze landing on a pile of dirty dishes, an overflowing laundry basket, an open duffel bag on your bed. "Or, better yet, why are you packing a bag?"

The mention of Rex's name sends a sharp pang through your chest, and you flinch, trying to hide it.

"I'm not," you lie, and his expression turns to exasperation.

"Right," he says slowly. Anakin leans against your desk, his arms folded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Because we both know you're just standing here, in front of a packed bag, for fun."

"Shut up," you mutter as you return to packing. You shove a shirt into your bag, not bothering to fold it, and you turn away from him, heading for the refresher.

Anakin's eyes widen, a strangled sound escaping his throat as follows after you. He rushes to block the door before you can get any further, and his arms cross, his body a wall.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not getting out of this," he says.

"Anakin, move," you order.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Move," you repeat, and you raise a hand, shoving him aside with the Force. He stumbles, and he lets out a noise of surprise, his eyes wide, his mouth dropping open. You step into the refresher, and you grab the rest of your toiletries, tossing them onto the counter, your movements sharp and jerky.

"Okay," Anakin breathes. His eyes narrow, his gaze darting around the room, taking in the mess. He spots a broken perfume bottle on the floor, the contents dripping down the wall, and he winces. "That bad, huh?"

You're silent, ignore him and returning to packing. The bag is almost full, and you curse, realizing you'll have to take a second. You didn't think this through. You should've started packing yesterday. Or last week. Maybe last month.

"Where are you going?" Anakin asks. He's leaning against the door frame, watching you with an intensity that's unnerving. "Are you going somewhere? Where?"

"Leave me alone," you snap, and you turn, shoving him away, but he catches your arm, stopping you. His grip is firm, but gentle, and he holds you there, his brows knit together.

"Look, I'm not here to fight. I'm not here to yell at you, or lecture you, or whatever it is you think I'm here to do," he says softly, his expression sincere. "I'm here because I care. I'm here because Ahsoka cares. And Obi-Wan—"

"Stop."

"—is worried sick about you," he finishes, ignoring your interruption. "Whatever's going on, whatever's happened, we can help. Just talk to us. Tell me what's going on. Please."

You look away toward your desk, your eyes falling on Yaddle's lightsaber. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you swallow, fighting back the tears.

"Come on," he urges. His hand moves, squeezing your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin.

You let out a shaky breath as your defenses crumble. You're tired of holding everything in, tired of hiding, tired of pretending. The fight drains out of you, and you deflate, your shoulders slumping, your eyes falling to the ground.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice low. "You're not usually...this. At least, not lately."

"No," you agree.

"So, what is it? Did you have a fight with Obi-Wan?"

"No," you say, and you wince. "Yes. Not exactly."

"Then, what is it? You can tell me," he says. "I'm not going anywhere. No matter how much of a pain in the ass you are."

You scoff, the noise muffled by your sleeve as you wipe your eyes, and a smile tugs at your lips. "Asshole."

"Brat," he replies, and his hand drops from your shoulder. "Now, talk."

"It's not that easy," you mumble. You sniff, and your gaze flickers to him, taking in his expectant expression. "There's just...a lot. I don't know where to start."

"Start at the beginning," he says. "Just tell me. Whatever it is, I'll listen."

You walk away and settle back on the couch, and Anakin follows, sitting next to you. He watches you and waits, his silence urging you to speak.

You take a deep breath, and you begin.

You tell him everything. Starting from the moment you met him on Naboo, ending with the Council's decision, the entire story tumbling out of your mouth, the words flowing freely. The only thing you leave out is Rex. Your friendship with him, the attraction, the connection. It's too personal, too private, too intimate. That secret will stay between the two of you.

Anakin listens. He doesn't interrupt. He doesn't speak. He doesn't offer advice or suggestions. He doesn't say anything. He just sits there, letting you speak, listening to every word, hearing every syllable.

Somewhere along the way, you start to feel it again. The anger and the frustration rising up, threatening to break free. It's only when it's nearly pouring out that you realize it's not just your own feelings. Anakin's anger is mingling with yours, and his face is dark, his jaw clenched. The shadows in the room seem to lengthen the longer you talk, and he's breathing faster, his hands curling into fists, his muscles tensing.

By the time you're finished, you're both fuming. The energy in the room is thick, the anger almost tangible. You feel your skin crawl, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, and you shift, trying to alleviate the discomfort. Anakin's gaze is fixed on the floor, and he's staring, his eyes hard.

"This isn't the first time the Council's done this," he says quietly. "Taken credit. Made decisions behind our backs. Put their agenda ahead of ours."

"I know," you murmur, and you run a hand through your hair, a bitter laugh escaping. "It's not just me. They're always like this. Always."

"That's not how it's supposed to work," Anakin growls. His eyes are narrowed, and he shakes his head, his frustration seeping through the Force. “This is bullshit. All of it. I can't believe they did this to you."

"I shouldn't have expected any less," you sigh, and you shake your head, the tears starting again. You scrub at your face, and your hands fall to your lap, fingers twisting together. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I knew better. I know better.”

"Don't," he snaps. His head turns, his gaze finding yours, the intensity of his eyes almost startling. "Don't do that. This isn't your fault."

"I just...I thought that bringing evidence would make a difference. That it would mean something. That it would actually count," you mutter, and you look away, staring out at nothing. "I didn't want to give up. I didn't want to quit. But it's not my place. It's never been. I'm not..."

Your voice trails off, and Anakin scoffs.

"If you're about to say you're not good enough, I'm going to punch you," he threatens. "Hard."

You snort, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "You're so violent."

"I'm serious," he says, and his eyes narrow, his face turning solemn. "Don't let them do this. Don't let them push you around, or guilt trip you, or whatever it is they're doing. You're a Jedi. Just because they're not willing to fight for justice doesn't mean you can't."

"They're not going to change their minds," you say. You rub your eyes, and a shuddering breath escapes. "They won't."

"So what?" Anakin argues. He turns toward you and leans forward, his hands braced on his knees. "So what if they don't? Who cares? You said it yourself. She was a mentor to you. And now, her killer is out there. Free. And you're not going to do anything about it?"

"It's not my place," you repeat, avoiding his gaze. "She's dead. She's gone. Nothing I do is going to change that. What's the point?"

"The point is she was your Master, and she was murdered," he says sharply. "You can't let this go. You can't just walk away. You can't leave it like this."

"Why not?" you mutter. Your fingers twitch, and you clench your fists, trying to calm yourself. "It's not as if there's anything I can do."

"There's plenty you can do," he argues. He sits forward, his hands braced on his knees. His face is flushed, and his voice rises, his words growing more and more passionate. "They gave you a whole legion of troopers, ships, unlimited resources. They gave you everything. So, use it. Do something. Anything."

"They did it because they thought I needed a distraction," you say. You can't look at him, can't meet his eyes. It's too much. "Because they were worried I'd do something stupid."

"Or, maybe they just finally realized that you're more than capable," Anakin counters as he sits back, his tone softening slightly. "They wouldn't have given you a position of power if they didn't think you were worthy of it."

"Worthy?" You scoff, and you shake your head, a humorless smile forming. "That's a first."

Anakin lets out a frustrated noise, and he slams his hand on the table, the noise reverberating through the room. You flinch, startled, and he sighs, running a hand over his hair.

"You're being difficult," he complains.

"Yeah, well, that's me," you say. "Difficult."

"This is serious," he says firmly. His expression is grave, and his eyes find yours, holding your gaze. "Look, I'm not going to force you to do anything. But, I think it's a mistake if you don't."

"I know," you admit. "But, it's not as easy as you think. I can't just go after him. I have no idea where he is, or where to even start looking. Besides, I have a job to do. I'm a general. I'm supposed to be leading my troops into battle, not hunting down one man.”

"And, who said you can't do both?" Anakin asks. He arches an eyebrow, and a smirk spreads across his lips. "It's not like you haven't done it before. Besides, he's made it pretty clear that he wants to get your attention. You might not have to look very far."

You frown, and you bite your lip, mulling over his words. It's true, and you both know it. Dooku's not trying to hide. He's practically taunting you, his presence lingering in the background of every encounter. It's only a matter of time before he crosses your path again, whether you like it or not.

"I can't," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

"You can," he insists. He's leaning forward again, his elbows on his knees, his face close to yours. "You can, and you should. You have a choice. You can do something, or you can run away. Which is it going to be?"

"Anakin," you say, but you can't manage more than his name, and it falls flat.

"I'm serious," he says. "Make a decision. Right now. Stop sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, and do something."

Your hands ball into fists, your nails digging into your palms. You stare at him, your gaze darting over his face, taking in his determined expression. He's right. He's absolutely right.

"Do something that matters. If not for you, then for her," Anakin presses, his voice quiet, his eyes fixed on yours. "She deserves that much."

"Anakin—"

"What would she want?" he asks, cutting you off. "If she were here, right now, what would she tell you to do?"

You're silent, your mouth opening and closing. Your eyes fall back to Yaddle's lightsaber, and a knot forms in your stomach. You don't have to think about it. You already know. You've known for years. She would've done whatever she could, no matter what.

As much as you'd like to believe she would've walked away from this, you know that's not true. She wouldn't have turned a blind eye, wouldn't have ignored her duty. She would've fought, tooth and nail, until she couldn't fight anymore. Until she couldn't draw another breath.

And she did. She died fighting. You know that much.

Anakin is watching you, waiting for your answer, and your throat tightens, your eyes burning. You swallow hard take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You're still angry, still hurt, but you can't deny his words. Can't ignore them.

"You're right," you whisper. You close your eyes, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself. "I want to help. I have to."

"Then, do it," he says, his tone resolute.

You open your eyes and find him smiling, a gleam in his eyes. You can't help but grin, a spark of hope igniting in your chest. He's right. You can do this. You have to try. You owe it to her to keep going.

"Thank you," you murmur, throwing your arms around him and pulling him into a hug. Anakin stiffens, and he awkwardly pats your shoulder, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably go crazy," he jokes, and he pauses, adding, "Crazier. If that's possible."

You laugh and pull back, shaking your head. "I'm serious."

"I know," he chuckles. He slaps his hands on his knees and stands, a grin lighting up his face. "So, do you need a ride to Kamino?”

"Yeah,” you sigh. “I'd appreciate that."

"Consider it done.” He looks around the room and nods. "We're heading back out tomorrow anyway. Gotta pick up some more men before we head out to Bothawui. You can come, meet your troops." He smirks, his gaze dropping to the saber. "See how they measure up to the 501st."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll do just fine," you say dryly. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Anakin gives a nod and heads towards the door, his movements smooth and quick. He reaches for the pad, but the door slides open before he can touch it. You sense him at the same time Anakin does, and both of your heads snap to the left, toward the hall.

Obi-Wan freezes, and he takes a step back, his eyes widening as his gaze falls on the two of you. You hold your breath as he scans the room, taking in the bags on your bed, your disheveled appearance, and the broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor.

His face turns white, his expression stricken, and the bond between the two of you begins to hum, the energy buzzing. It's overwhelming, and it makes your stomach lurch, a lump forming in your throat.

"Ah," he says, his voice tight. "Am I interrupting something?"

Anakin glances at you, and his eyebrows raise.

"No, no. Just leaving," he says quickly, his voice bright and cheerful. He moves forward and claps Obi-Wan on the shoulder, and he glances back at you, giving you a quick nod. "See you tomorrow, Goldie. Bright and early. And, uh, sorry about the lock. I...I'll pay for it."

"Uh-huh," you mumble. Your gaze never leaves Obi-Wan, and his doesn't move from yours. You can feel his anxiety, his tension, and it's a weight in your chest, a physical pressure. Anakin's voice filters through, but his words are lost, and you don't bother to listen. He's moving past Obi-Wan, heading down the hall, and the sound of his footsteps fades until all that's left is silence.

You stand, and Obi-Wan inhales sharply, his eyes flickering around the room, finally landing on Yaddle's lightsaber. You're suddenly hyperaware of the mess, the state of your clothes, the darkness under your eyes, and you cringe, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He walks into your rooms, his steps slow and cautious, and he stops, a few feet away.

"I..." Obi-Wan starts, and his voice trails off, his mouth open. He closes his eyes, his brows furrowing, and he takes a deep breath, collecting himself. "I've been trying to get a hold of you. For a week."

"I noticed," you mutter.

"I came by, a few times," he continues. His hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and his eyes flicker around the room, looking anywhere but at you. "I wanted to talk. About...about what happened. What I said."

"Nothing to talk about," you say, and his eyes meet yours, a flicker of anger in them.

"Nothing?" he asks, and his tone is incredulous. "We haven't spoken since—since it happened. The Council's decision, everything, and now, I find you packing a bag? I would think there's plenty to discuss."

"I'm not—" you start, and you bite your lip, stopping yourself.

"You're not what?" he snaps. He gestures around him, his hand waving at your bags, his gaze darting from your desk, to your bed, to your wardrobe, and back. "Packing? Leaving? Running away? Which one is it?"

"I'm not running away," you say, and you can't hide your annoyance. Your shoulders straighten, and you square off, facing him, your hands falling to your sides. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Not my business?" he repeats. Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise, and he scoffs, shaking his head. "Of course, it's my business. You're my friend. You're my—" He cuts himself off, and he winces, his mouth twisting. "I have a right to know what's going on. What happened."

"Why? So you can run and tell everyone else?" you shoot back, and his eyes widen. "So, you can report back to the Council and let them know how unstable I am?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he hisses.

"Then, stop making it so easy," you snap.

The two of you stare at each other, neither of you saying anything, and the anger builds, the tension rising. You can't tell who's more upset, him or you, and the bond between the two of you is humming, a steady vibration, the energy almost tangible. It's making your head hurt, and you wince, rubbing your temple. His gaze softens, and he takes a step toward you, but stops.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, his tone low and concerned. "What are you doing? Packing a bag, shutting yourself in here, not answering my calls, not speaking to anyone? Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe I have," you growl, and his eyes narrow, his mouth falling open, as if to argue. You cut him off before he can. "But, maybe it's none of your business. Maybe I can take care of myself."

"Clearly," he says, and his eyes move over the room, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes, you seem to be doing quite well on your own."

"Obi-Wan," you groan. Your fingers press into the side of your head, and you close your eyes, breathing deeply. You can't do this. You can't. You don't have the strength, the energy. You're exhausted, and you just want him to go away. To leave you alone. "Just leave."

"Not until you explain yourself," he argues. Obi-Wan moves closer, his arm reaching out, his fingers brushing against yours. "This isn't like you. I know things haven't been easy, and I'm sorry, I really am. But, this isn't you. I thought you were getting better."

"Better?" you scoff, and his jaw tightens, a muscle twitching.

"You know what I mean," he says stiffly. "The nightmares have been less frequent, the visions. You've seemed more stable. Less volatile. Or, at least, not as bad. You haven't had an episode in months." He pauses, his gaze searching yours, and his fingers tighten around yours, squeezing. "What happened? Tell me."

"Maybe I'm not getting better," you say quietly. You shrug, and your gaze moves past him, staring out the viewport. "Maybe I was just hiding it. Pretending."

"You're not," he says firmly. His voice is steady and sure. "I would've noticed."

"You've noticed a lot of things lately," you mutter, and your eyes find his again, the pain flaring. He winces, his shoulders sagging. "And you've done a great job keeping them to yourself."

"That's not fair," he says quietly.

"Isn't it?"

"It wasn't my decision to give you your own command," he replies, shaking his head. “I know you think it was, but it wasn't." His eyes move over your face, and his voice lowers, a note of regret coloring his tone. “For months, I tried to change their minds. For months, I argued, pleaded, fought, everything. But, nothing I said or did worked. The decision was made. I’d only succeeded in delaying the inevitable.”

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, your voice breaking, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why didn't you just talk to me?"

"I was trying to protect you," he says softly, and his eyes close, his face turning away from you. "You'd just started feeling better, and I didn't want to upset you, or set you back." His jaw clenches, and his eyes open, his gaze finding yours, the pain visible in his expression. "And, I was worried you'd do exactly this."

You let out a humorless laugh, and you step away, his hand dropping from yours.

"So, what? You thought ignoring the issue would fix it?" you say, your voice rising, and his eyes widen, his brows furrowing, confusion written across his features. "Keeping me in the dark was going to help? What did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know," he sighs. He runs a hand over his hair, and his hand falls, gesturing weakly. "I was hoping...that maybe if I could stall long enough...maybe they'd change their minds. Maybe the war would end, or you would find the closure you needed."

His eyes meet yours again, and the regret is plain on his face, his words coming out a whisper. "I was trying to give you a chance."

"And look how well that turned out," you mutter bitterly, and you can't hold his gaze, your eyes dropping to the floor. You turn and walk toward the window, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield yourself from the cold.

“It was a mistake," Obi-Wan admits quietly. He lets out a frustrated noise, and the room falls silent. After a moment, his footsteps approach, and he appears next to you. “But you can’t leave. Not now. There's a war going on, in case you haven't noticed. There's too much at stake."

"I'm not leaving," you insist, and his expression turns skeptical, his eyes narrowing. You roll your eyes, a bitter laugh escaping you. "Not that I hadn’t thought about it."

"You can't," he says firmly. "Whatever it is, we can work through it. We'll figure something out. I promise."

"There's nothing to work through," you say. You run a hand over your hair and glance at him, avoiding his gaze. "Anakin talked some sense into me. He...he helped."

"What do you mean?" he asks, and his brow furrows. He looks confused, his expression bewildered, and he shifts, crossing his arms. "What did he say?"

"Just...that I can't leave it like this," you mumble. You look away from him and out the viewport. You can see the sun beginning to set, and the sky is painted with hues of orange and red. "I have to do something."

"Something," Obi-Wan repeats, his tone wary, and you nod, avoiding his eyes. "Like what?"

"I'm not sure yet," you admit. “But for now, I’m going to Kamino. I’m picking up my troops. I’m doing what you wanted. I'm getting back out there. Back in the field. That's something."

"Is it?"

"Yes," you say, and the word comes out sharper than intended.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to reply, but his voice catches, and he shakes his head. His gaze drifts to the floor, and his eyes narrow, his forehead creasing, his expression conflicted. You wait, watching him, and you can feel his emotions warring with each other, the battle playing out on his face. It's a whirlwind, and you can't tell which one is winning. Anger. Frustration. Worry. Fear. Guilt.

After a long moment, his face falls, and he nods, his shoulders slumping, his muscles relaxing.

"Fine," he relents, and his voice is low, resigned. "Fine."

“Is that what you wanted to hear?" you ask sarcastically, and his jaw tightens, a flash of anger flickering in his eyes.

"What I want is for you to be safe," he snaps, and he turns, glaring at you. "What I want is for you to be okay."

"Well, tough," you mutter. You move away from the window and cross your arms over your chest, your fingers digging into your arms. "Because neither of those things is likely to happen."

"You have no idea how much I wish things were different," he says quietly, and his face falls, his expression solemn. "That none of this had ever happened. Despite what you might think, I do care about you. Very much. I want what's best for you."

"What's best for me?" you repeat. Your lips twist into a sneer, and a harsh laugh escapes. "I'm not sure that exists anymore."

"You don't believe that," Obi-Wan chides gently. He's staring at you, and his voice is calm and even. "You know better than anyone that the Light is always there, no matter how far you fall."

"I used to," you say bitterly. Your throat tightens, and a lump forms, tears burning your eyes. You can't look at him, can't stand the concern in his gaze. "It's not like it matters, anyway. The Council's made its decision. Yaddle's killer is still out there, and we're just going to pretend like nothing happened. Just like we've been doing for years."

"That's not true," he says softly.

"Isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be like this," he argues. His voice is quiet, and he steps forward, closing some of the distance between the two of you. His hand reaches out, and he gently touches your arm, his thumb brushing against your skin. You stiffen at the contact, but you don’t pull away, and his fingers move, trailing up to your shoulder, coming to rest there.

"The Senate is building a case," he murmurs. "They're gathering testimony, evidence, anything they can find. Once Dooku is captured, they'll bring him before a tribunal. There will be no denying what he's done. No escaping justice. It may take time, but it will happen. And, when it does, Dooku will pay for his crimes."

Your eyes narrow, and a part of you knows that he's telling the truth. But, it's not enough. You can't just sit back and do nothing, and a dark, selfish part of you wants him to suffer. To pay for what he's done. To hurt as much as he's hurt you. And, a larger, angrier, more violent part of you wants him dead. It doesn't matter if it's justice. Doesn't matter if he's brought to trial. Doesn't matter if he confesses. You want him dead. And if that makes you a bad person, so be it.

"He's a traitor," Obi-Wan adds. His expression hardens, his mouth thinning, his grip tightening. "He betrayed everything we stand for, and he deserves whatever punishment they deem fit. He'll pay."

"Will he?" you ask. You shrug off his touch, stepping back, and his hand falls to his side.

"You don't believe me," he states.

“I believe that it's what you want to happen," you respond, your voice quiet. You move around him, going to your desk and grabbing your lightsaber. You hook it onto your belt, and you reach for Yaddle's saber, your fingers curling around the hilt. The cool metal is comforting, and a feeling of calm washes over you. You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and turn, finding Obi-Wan staring at you.

"You want justice," you continue, and you pause, swallowing, pushing down your doubts. "So, do I. But, we both know how these things end. We've seen it happen, again and again. Dooku will escape, or he'll be released, or he'll plead innocent, or he'll disappear, or—" You cut yourself off, shaking your head. "It doesn't matter. The result will always be the same. He'll walk free. It's how these things work."

"You're wrong," he says, his voice hard. "Things are changing. The Separatists are growing bolder. The Senate is more unified than ever before. Even the Chancellor has taken a stronger stand against them."

"Forgive me if I'm not reassured," you snort, and his mouth twitches, irritation flashing across his face. "Chancellor Palpatine is a politician. A career politician. And politicians aren't known for their honesty or their integrity. Or their ability to put others first."

"Master Yoda believes it," he points out.

"Well, then, I suppose that settles it," you deadpan, and you can't hide your sarcasm. "If Master Yoda believes in it, then, it must be true. Because he's never been wrong about anything. Ever. In his entire life. Certainly not his Padawan. Right?"

Obi-Wan's expression hardens, and he crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Now, you're just being difficult."

"Maybe," you concede. "Or, maybe I'm being realistic. Maybe, just this once, I'm seeing things for how they are, instead of how I wish they were. Is that such a crime?"

"No, it's not," he says. His stance relaxes, and his arms fall to his sides, his shoulders slumping. "It's not. I understand why you're frustrated. You're allowed to be. But, this isn't like you. You're not usually this...this..."

"This what?" you ask, and his brows draw together, a crease forming on his forehead. "Say it. You'll feel better."

"Selfish," he snaps, and his gaze holds yours, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand. "Is that what this is? Are you angry because the Council decided not to pursue the killer of your Master? Because you didn't get to hunt down and kill him yourself?"

"What if I am?"

"Then, it's a good thing we stopped you from running away," he mutters, and you scoff, turning away from him. You pace around the room, trying to quell your anger, and his eyes follow, watching as you move, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "It's a good thing Anakin was able to talk sense into you."

"Sense?" you snort, and you stop, facing him. Your hands fall to your hips, and you lean forward, your gaze hardening. "How is this making any sense? How is letting a murderer go free make sense? How is sitting around and waiting for justice make any sense? How is any of this making any sense?"

"It's not," he agrees. "None of this is making sense. None of this is right. But we're doing the best we can with what we have."

"And, what if that's not good enough?"

"It's going to have to be," he says softly, and his head shakes, his gaze drifting to the ground, his expression weary. "That's all we have. All any of us has. It's the best we can do.

"I know," you mutter.

"Do you?"

"Yes," you sigh. You rub a hand over your face and run a hand through your hair, tugging on the strands. "I'm just...frustrated."

"I can see that," he says dryly.

"I want him dead," you confess. You can't look at him, can't meet his eyes, can't face his judgment. "I know that's not right. I know that's not how it should be. I know that I should want him brought to justice. But, I don't. I just want him gone."

"I know," he murmurs.

"But it's not going to happen," you continue. Your eyes find his, and his face softens, his gaze gentle. "Is it?"

"No," he admits. "It's not."

You nod and avert your gaze, your eyes falling to the floor. You can't keep looking at him. Can't stand the disappointment, the sorrow, the guilt. You’re exhausted, the conversation draining what little energy you have left, and your shoulders slump.

“You should go," you whisper. "I'm not good company right now. And I have a long day tomorrow."

"You need to eat," Obi-Wan says softly. His footsteps echo on the floor as he walks towards you. His hand brushes against your cheek, his palm cupping the side of your face, and he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. "And sleep. Please."

"Not hungry," you mumble, and you step back, breaking the contact. "Not tired either."

"That's not the point," he argues, and he takes a step toward you, reaching for your hand. "You need to take care of yourself."

"Don't," you snap. You move away, and his hand drops, his expression stricken. "Don't try to pretend like you care. Don't try to act like you know what's best for me. Because you don't."

"I..." Obi-Wan trails off, and he frowns, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing, his gaze darkening. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, and he stares down at you, his face inches from yours.

"I do know," he hisses. "You're the most important person in my life. I've cared about you since the day I met you. I've fought for you. Loved you. Supported you."

"Obi-Wan," you start, but he cuts you off, his eyes blazing, his face turning red, his tone sharp.

"No. You don't get to pretend like I haven't been here, every step of the way. You don't get to act like this is all on me," he says fiercely. "Because it's not. This is both of us. This is our fault."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to," he snaps. He's shaking his head, his voice rising, and his hand lifts, gesturing wildly. "You've made your opinion quite clear. You blame me. Fine. I can take the blame. But, you have to admit, this is partly your fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about," he says. He's moving, pacing, his voice rising with each step. "We've been doing this dance for years. Going in circles. You and I. We've been playing this game since we were kids. Since the day we met."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do," he cuts you off, and he stops, turning toward you, his eyes flashing. "You've been doing this, using me, for as long as I've known you. You know that."

"Using you?" you repeat incredulously. "I'm not the one who used our friendship as a tool."

"I never—"

“You mean you haven’t kept tabs on me? Or monitored my activities? Or reported them to the Council?" you snap. "Or tried to control every aspect of my life?"

"I have only ever wanted to help you," he insists.

"And, that's all this is, isn't it?" you mutter. Your hands fall to your hips, and your eyes narrow, your gaze fixed on his. "You're trying to fix me. You've always been trying to fix me."

"Of course I am!" Obi-Wan snaps, and his eyebrows rise, his expression incredulous, as if you've said something ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's not your responsibility," you say through gritted teeth. "You can't fix me. And you certainly can't save me. No matter how much you might want to."

"Maybe not," he agrees quietly. His eyes find yours, and his shoulders sag, the anger fading from his expression. "But, that doesn't change the fact that I care about you."

"You say that," you mumble.

"And, I mean it," he replies. “You're one of my closest friends. My only friend, really. And if you're hurting, I want to be there for you. I want to help. I can't do that if you won't let me."

"You can't help me," you say, and his expression shifts, hurt and confusion crossing his face. You shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. "It's not your fault alone. I know that. And you’re right. We’ve been playing this game for years. I've relied on you too much. But that has to stop. I can't let myself depend on you anymore. I have to...to fix myself. If I don't...if I don't..."

"What?" he presses.

"I'm going to lose myself," you finish. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. When you open them again, he's staring at you, a sad look in his eyes. “I think you know that already. That's what scares you."

"Of course it does," he sighs. He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, fixing you with a firm stare. "I've seen what you're capable of. What you can become. What you're still capable of. I've felt it, and I'm not going to lie, it’s frightening. The things I've felt...from you...from within you."

"You're scared of me," you state, and it's not a question.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes," you answer honestly.

"And, yet, here we are," Obi-Wan says softly. His eyes are locked on yours, and he shakes his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Neither of us can walk away."

"I tried," you murmur. "You can't imagine how much."

"I have a fair idea." His hands fall to his sides, and his shoulders sag. He lets out a weary sigh and shakes his head, his mouth turning down, his brows drawing together, a troubled look on his face. "This isn't...what I wanted. It's not what either of us wanted."

"What did you want?" you ask. Your voice is soft and low. "When we were kids. When we first met. What did you want?"

"You know the answer to that," he says.

"Tell me," you press.

"I wanted...more," he answers, his tone careful, measured. "I wanted us to be more than friends. More than...this."

"So did I," you admit.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I hoped," he confesses. His eyes meet yours, and his mouth twitches, his lips pulling into a grim smile. "I hoped for a lot of things."

"Me too," you whisper.

"Things have changed," he continues. "I know that. I understand that. You're not the same person. And neither am I."

"No, we're not," you agree, and a part of you is sad, a bittersweet ache forming in your chest. "We're not the same. And I think it’s time we stopped pretending otherwise."

"I suppose it is," he concedes quietly.

The two of you are silent, neither of you speaking, neither of you wanting to break the spell, the fragile moment. The bond between the two of you hums, the energy vibrating, and you can feel his emotions, the conflicting feelings, the war raging within him. You wonder if he can sense yours. If he can feel the pain and sorrow and longing that's swirling through you.

After a moment, Obi-Wan clears his throat and runs a hand over his hair, straightening himself. He steps back, putting some space between the two of you, and he crosses his arms, his eyes meeting yours.

"You'll be careful," he states.

"I will," you promise.

"And if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first person I call," you finish.

He nods and looks away from you, his eyes finding the ground. His gaze falls to Yaddle's saber, his forehead creasing, a hint of worry flitting across his face. He stares at it for a long moment, lost in thought, and when he looks up again, his expression is resigned.

“Have you heard from Rex?" he asks, and his voice is light, his tone casual. It does nothing to assuage the sudden spike of anxiety in your chest.

"What?"

"Rex," Obi-Wan repeats. He turns slightly, facing you. "He cornered me after a briefing yesterday. Asked if I'd heard from you. He seemed very concerned. About you.”

"Oh," you mumble, and you glance down, your cheeks burning. You fiddle with your lightsaber, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, um, no. I haven't talked to him. Not since the diner."

"Really?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm, and your stomach flips, a lump forming in your throat. "That's surprising. You seemed quite...cozy, when I called on you."

"We were just talking," you say, and it's not a lie, not really, but the words sound weak, even to your own ears. "He...he knows about Yaddle.”

"I'm not surprised," he murmurs. "He was quite upset. It was almost amusing, watching him try to act professional and hide his concern." He pauses and gives you a pointed look, his eyebrow arching, his tone teasing. "You're lucky I didn't tell him about your propensity for running away."

"Lucky," you repeat weakly. "What did you tell him? About me. About what happened."

"Nothing," he replies. His eyebrows rise, and he shrugs, letting out a small laugh. “I told him you would speak with him when you were ready. Why? Did you want me to say something else?"

"No," you say quickly, and his smile widens, a knowing glint in his eye. You bite your lip, a sigh escaping you. "I mean, it's not that I don't...it's not that I wouldn't want..." You trail off, frustrated, and your shoulders slump. “He's worried about me. I get it. It's just...not necessary. That's all."

Obi-Wan stares at you for a long moment, studying you, his eyes narrowed. After a minute, his face softens, and he gives you a wry smile and shakes his head.

"You're an idiot," he declares, and you scowl, your mouth opening to argue, but he waves a hand, cutting you off before you can start. "Don't even bother. It's pointless. You know I'm right."

"I'm not—"

"If there's anything I've learned in all the years I've known you, it's that you are the most stubborn, single-minded, foolish individual I've ever had the displeasure of meeting," he says flatly. "It's exhausting, being around you sometimes."

"Gee, thanks," you mumble.

"And, yet, despite your many, many flaws, you have the uncanny ability to draw people to you," he continues. His gaze meets yours, his expression serious, and his tone turns thoughtful. "You've always had that. Even as a youngling, before the incident, you were charismatic, charming, and people gravitated toward you. You could make anyone like you. And I think it's the reason you have so many people that care about you. Including me."

"Obi-Wan—"

"What I'm trying to say," he interrupts, his voice rising, "is that I know Rex cares about you. Very much. That man is completely enamored by you, and has been for a long time. Anyone can see it. Anyone except you."

"That's not true," you argue weakly, but it's a lie, and the both of you know it.

"It is," Obi-Wan retorts. He shrugs, and he glances over his shoulder, checking the hall. When he speaks again, his voice is lowered. "You should talk to him. Before you leave. You might not get another chance."

"Why would I...I don't..." you stammer, and your hands fidget, twisting in front of you. “You know why I can’t—why it can't...why I can't do that. You know."

"I do. But, maybe that doesn't matter," he says. His eyes meet yours, and a sad smile forms. "Don't forget, we're in a war. Anything could happen. You should be happy while you can."

"Obi-Wan," you mutter, your tone scolding.

"You should talk to him," he repeats. His gaze moves, scanning your rooms, and he nods toward your bags, his voice becoming softer. "While you still have a chance. Take it. While you can."

"You're a romantic," you joke, and he laughs.

"So, they say," he replies. He sighs, and his expression shifts, growing serious. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yeah, I'm set," you nod.

"Then, may the Force be with you," he murmurs. He looks at you one last time, and then turns, heading for the door.

You watch him walk away, a heavy feeling settling in your chest, and you open your mouth, about to call after him. To tell him that you'll miss him. That he's been the best friend you've ever had. That you don't know what you'll do without him. That you wish things could be different.

But, you don't.

The door opens, and he walks through it, disappearing down the hall. The bond between the two of you flickers, and a dull ache forms in your stomach, spreading outward. It feels strange, like an emptiness. A hollowness. You take a deep breath and exhale, pushing the feelings aside, and the ache dissipates, the pain fading.

You're not sure what you expected. This is how things are between the two of you. Maybe this is how it should be. Maybe this is what's best.

You're not sure. But, a part of you knows it's better this way. That, as much as you care about him, as much as he cares about you, the two of you have come to an impasse. He can't help you. You can't help him. And trying is only going to hurt the both of you.

You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Your eyes fall on Yaddle’s lightsaber, the metal glinting in the dim light.

Tomorrow, you'll pick it up, and you'll leave. You'll go back out into the field. Into battle. To save lives. To win the war. It's a noble goal. Something worth fighting for.

Maybe the Council was right. Maybe this is what's best. What's right. Maybe this is what's needed. What the Republic needs.

Maybe.

You can only hope.

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#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #okay so next week's chapter might be early?#it's done but i keep messing with it #but i'll be on vacation for a little over a week after that #so expect to not receive the next one until christmas #lov u all thank you for the well wishes last week!

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wickedwitchofthegalaxy · 8 months ago

Text

☞𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒☜︎

☠︎ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝑅𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 ☠︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏(𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒔)𝑿 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Physiological Manipulation, Mature Themes, Mentions of Past Events

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5.3K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: This chapter teeters on the edge of transformation, where the promise of something greater begins to feel more like a curse than a gift.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Soooo this was totally unplanned but I thought I’d give it a go and see how y'all felt about continuing this storyline and possibly expanding it. Let me know what you think!

As always, banners done by @cafekitsune !

Enjoy 🖤

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the training room as you wiped your sweat-drenched face off. The room was crowded, more than usual, as trainees gathered in small groups, chatting quietly as they ran through drills.

“Come on, I didn’t even hit you!” Your friend, Lex, called from across the mat, her grin wide as she swung her training saber, trying her best to make the saber move effortlessly. Trying, being the hint word.

“Lex, you’re a maniac.” Your other friend, Abby, calls out from your side, her face also covered in beads of sweat. She takes deep, dramatic breaths, her back hunched over and hands on her knees as her head falls.

You gave her shoulder a gentle nudge as you passed her, stepping onto the mat.

“You’re getting more and more cocky, Lex. It’s actually becoming quite toxic.” You joke, swinging your own saber around in a quick, fluid motion, mimicking what Lex was attempting to do.

Lex scoffs, watching the way you swiftly twisted the saber in your hand before she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Toxic? Me? I’m the least toxic person here. I’m like... the chamomile tea of this group.”

“Chamomile tea?” Abby repeats, arching a brow as she dusts off her robes. “Lex, you’re more like... a bottle of spice syrup someone accidentally knocked over into their drink. Chaotic and hard to swallow.”

“Wow, rude,” Lex shoots back, feigning offense as she takes a mock swing in Abby’s direction. “If I was so toxic, wouldn’t I have caused more… I don’t know… damage?”

Abby sidesteps easily, throwing her arms wide. “If we’re talking about damage, I’d like to remind you of the time you thought it’d be a great idea to duel Master Purn to ‘test his reflexes.’”

Lex cackles, the sound sharp and unrepentant. “In my defense, his reflexes needed testing. How was I supposed to know he’d use the Force to flip me into the meditation pool?”

You grin, sliding into your own stance and raising your saber, bringing Lex’s attention back to you. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s a Master and you’re... well, you?”

Lex points her saber at you, her grin widening. “Bold talk for someone who got ‘accidentally’ locked in the supply closet last week. Who was behind that again?”

“Oh, definitely an accident,” Abby threw over her shoulder as she walked around the edges of the mat, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Totally not orchestrated by someone who thought it’d be hilarious.”

Lex shrugs, clearly unbothered as you both start circling. “Hey, you needed some alone time to reflect. Consider it... a gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Some gift. I was in there so long I memorized the Jedi Code backward.”

“Wow,” Abby says, clapping her hands slowly. “A true scholar emerges. Next thing we know, you’ll be reciting Master Purn’s lectures for fun.”

“Okay, let’s not go that far.” You reply, spinning your saber before faking a quick step towards Lex. She takes the bait and quickly steps back, giving you a small look when she recovers. You grin as you continue, “At least I didn’t blow up the training dummies during practice.”

Lex holds up a hand. “Hey, those dummies had it coming. I was innovating.”

“You overloaded the power cells,” Abby says flatly. “They exploded.”

Lex lunges at you, her saber coming down in a wide arc. You block it easily, the clash of the sabers sending a soft clunk echoing through the room. You push back, stepping into her space as you twist your wrist, forcing her saber downward.

“Come on, Lex, who taught you that move?” you taunt, grinning as she huffs in frustration.

“Give me a minute!” Lex retorts, stepping back and resetting her stance. “I’m just warming up.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you reply, glancing at Abby, who’s watching with an amused expression.

“Admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t here to spice things up.” Lex adds, beginning the circling again.

You follow her lead, as Abby sighs dramatically from the side. “It’s like being friends with a hurricane. A very talkative hurricane.”

“A hurricane with style.” Lex corrects, striking a mock heroic pose.

The banter was easy, familiar—a rare pocket of normalcy in a routine that had grown more intense with each passing week. You could feel the eyes of the instructors watching from the edges of the room, their silent appraisals heavy with expectations.

It had been four weeks since you snuck out to the Underground with Lex and Abby. After the long and painful solo walk home, you had given the two of them a call to let them know you got back to your room before you let the anxiety of the upcoming trials and tests for graduation overtake and consume your thoughts, pushing down anything to do with that man or that bar.

You knew you were close to graduating, closer than most of the others here, and that only made the pressure more tangible. Every step forward felt like a test of its own, every glance from your instructors a challenge you had to meet.

Starting your training late hadn’t done you any favors either. Most Padawans began their journeys as young children—eight, maybe ten if they were late bloomers. At eighteen, you were among the oldest in the academy, and though your peers shared the same delayed start, the stigma wasn’t easy to ignore. It was a constant reminder that you were running out of time to prove yourself.

Before Lex can make another move, the door to the training room slides open with a sharp hiss, and a mechanical voice erupts in the large space.

“Apologies for the interruption,” the protocol droid states, its metallic tone cutting through the lively chatter of the room and echoing off the tall walls. Its polished bronze exterior gleams under the overhead lights as it strides forward. “Trainee Y/N, you are requested to report to the Council Chamber immediately.”

Silence.

You freeze mid-motion, lowering your saber as every eye in the training room turns toward you. Even Lex and Abby look momentarily stunned, the playful energy dissipating like smoke in the air.

“Uh…” Lex starts, lowering her own saber and glancing at Abby. “What’s this about?”

The droid doesn’t answer, its expressionless face making the moment feel draining.

A few whispers broke out among the other trainees, but they were quickly silenced with a sharp look from the instructors.

You shift uncomfortably, a knot forming in your stomach. “Is there a problem?” you ask, directing the question to the droid.

“I am not privy to the Council’s intentions,” it replies curtly, its head tilting slightly as if to gesture for you to follow. “You are to come with me immediately. No delays.”

Abby takes a step forward, her brows furrowing. “We’ll come too,” Lex offered quickly, Abby nodding in agreement as they both moved toward you.

The droid swivels its head toward Lex but doesn’t answer directly. Instead, it turns back to you. “Only Trainee Y/N is required. Please proceed now.”

Lex steps closer to you, her hand brushing against your arm. “Y/N…” she starts, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain and strangely quiet.

You force a smile, masking your own unease. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” The girls exchanged a worried glance, but they stayed where they were, clearly reluctant to let you go.

You nodded, offering them a small, reassuring smile even as your mind warred. You could feel the collective gaze on you as you followed the protocol droid out of the room. The absence of their warmth feels immediate, almost jarring, as if you’ve stepped into another world entirely.

The door hisses shut behind you, leaving the hum of training sabers and soft murmurs far behind. You’ve walked these hallways a hundred times, but now every detail feels magnified, every shadow stretching farther than it should.

The halls are quieter than you’d expected, the usual foot traffic subdued as you walked in step with the droid. “What’s going on?” you asked after a moment, unable to keep the question from slipping out.

The protocol droid doesn’t stop or slow its pace; its polished exterior gleams faintly under the breezeway lights, which is your only form of an answer until its robotic voice speaks up.

“The Council has made a decision regarding your future,” it replies simply, its tone infuriatingly chipper. “How exciting!”

You barely register its response, its tinny enthusiasm clashing with the growing tension in your chest. A decision? Regarding my future? The possibilities churned in your mind as you followed it through the long, polished hallways of the Temple.

The soles of your boots echoed softly against the smooth floor. Each step feels heavier than the last, the sound amplified in your ears like the steady beat of a drum, like each stride was a chance, a choice.

You force yourself to breathe evenly, to concentrate on the familiar surroundings: the intricate carvings lining the walls and the faint scent of incense wafting through the air. The arches and curves loomed larger than usual, their designs etched in stark relief against the soft glow of the lights.

Calm. Control. Focus.

The mantra comes unbidden, but now it felt like trying to hold water in your hands. Your thoughts were as scattered as the low chatter of the trainees you’d just left behind.

The Council’s decision could mean anything—had you done something wrong? The twisting in your stomach tightened with each passing thought as the droid led you around a corner, the Council Chamber doors now in sight.

They appear more daunting than ever; the entangled carvings in the wood glow vaguely, and for some reason this was the first time you had really given it a good look. They seem alive, almost springing with the burden of the decision waiting on the other side.

The droid stops a few paces from the entrance, turning to you with its usual brisk formality. “You may enter. The Council awaits.”

You hesitate, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you think of Lex and Abby, their worried expressions still fresh in your mind. I hope they’re not freaking out too much, you think, a faint smile tugging at your lips before it vanishes.

The heavy doors slid open with the familiar faint hiss, revealing the ominous circular chamber. Your heart rages in your chest as you step inside, the air noticeably cooler.

The semicircle of Council members sits before you, their faces calm but indecipherable. Master Yoda’s small frame is centered among them, barely filling the chair’s width. Beside him, Mace Windu’s gaze scrutinized you with a discreet vigor. Other familiar faces—Obi-wan, Kit Fisto, Plo Koon—flank them, their postures serene and suave while their eyes oozed judgment.

Your steps falter as your eyes catch movement. Seated beside Obi-Wan, arms crossed, is Anakin. His presence was unmistakable, a magnetic pressure that bends the air and shifts the room’s energy, or perhaps just your own. His expression is a collision of smug satisfaction and simmering impatience, the corners of his mouth hinting at something unspeakable.

He wouldn’t be thinking about that right now, would he?

The question roams in your head, but it’s quickly snuffed out by flashes of that night. The scent of bitter blood of the past erupts; you can practically taste it. With a swirl of your tongue, you find it’s not your imagination—the taste of copper is real; you had bit down into your cheeks, the red liquid pooling in your closed mouth.

“Step forward, Y/N,” Master Windu’s voice breaks through the silence, his tone firm but sympathetic as it echoes off the high, windowed chamber walls.

You obey. What else can you do? Taking measured steps, you stand at the center of the room, the Council’s combined stare resting heavily on you. The circle of them feels infinite; their eyes are oppressive as a black hole—nearly strangling, leaving you choking in its merciless pull.

And then there’s him.

Anakin’s eyes are magnets, pulling, trapping, forcing. Though he says nothing, his peering eyes are impossible to ignore. The memories of those eyes—the appetence, the control—crawl over your skin like insects. You resist the urge to recoil, but every step toward the center of the chamber it feels like stepping deeper into his shadow.

Master Yoda begins, his voice low and cracking, as if he were whispering a prophecy. “Decided, your future has been.” His ears twitch slightly as he regards you with wise, ancient eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and ragged.

Decided? Already?

You fight to keep your expression neutral, the words and thoughts racing wildly in your mind.

Acid boils up your throat, dissolving the soft tissue it touches, as if your body is rebelling against the air itself. It takes everything in you to swallow it back down.

Master Windu leans forward, his words unforgiving in their clarity. “Your performance has been exceptional, Y/N. The Council recognizes your dedication and skill, and after much deliberation, we have decided that you are ready to take the next step in your training.”

The phrases landed like a gavel.

Ready. The next step.

You blinked, trying to process what this meant.

“You are to be assigned to a Jedi Master,” Windu continues. “A rare honor, especially considering your age and the limited number of Knights available to train Padawans at this time.”

Your heart convulses—a sudden, erratic spasm of exhilaration and disbelief. This is it. I’ve been chosen. The toll of the moment presses hard against you, grounding your excitement, and the master’s next words only bring the cold reality crashing down even harder, the bile rising back into your throat.

“However,” Windu says, the single word slicing through the fragile shell of your nausea as his voice dips, “it has not been an easy decision.”

Your eyes flicker toward Anakin, a mistake. His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching as he shifts in his seat. His eyes trace you—not with curiosity, no, he knows exactly what’s under your robes. He’s cataloging you, committing every movement to memory. His earlier smugness has curdled into something darker, the edges of frustration sensuous against his expression.

“Suggested, Master Skywalker did,” Yoda said, his tone soft but pointed, “that to him, assigned you be.”

Your gut tightens, a vehement twist of nerves, as your blood pummels through you. Your skin suddenly starts feeling unwelcoming, and each breath is a chore, the air scraping against your lungs—a visceral rejection of the words as they take root in your mind.

“But we’re not entirely in agreement on that.” Windu interjects, his hand rising, gesturing broadly around to each of the Council members.

You barely have time to process what Windu’s words might mean before more movement draws your attention.

Anakin’s fingers flex and uncurl against the armrests of his chair. He leans forward slightly, the tension in his shoulders coiling.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. His voice was hushed and venomous, carving through the space with a lingering chill. “She belongs with me. You all know that.”

Wait—what did he say?

You glance at him, your eyes widening despite yourself. There’s a moment of silence, a heavy pause as the oxygen is eaten up by electric tension. Anakin’s eyes burn into Windu’s, his anger visible, and Windu returns it with a narrowed gaze.

“The decision has been made, Anakin. Your role now is to focus on the war. Not on training a Padawan.” Master Windu’s voice cuts in, his tone stern and slightly annoyed, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to tell Anakin this.

Anakin doesn’t flinch at the rebuke, but his knuckles whiten as he grips the armrests. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, barely contained fury leaking out in the subtle tremors of his movements. His eyes twist to Yoda’s, “I can do both,” he insists, his voice pointed and more stubborn. “I’m more than capable.”

The Masters exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Capable you are,” Yoda replies, his tone taking on an unyielding undertone to his usual laid-back manner. “Ready, you are not.”

Master Windu’s eyes grow empathetic as he tries to find a middle ground. “Anakin, you know we’re considering another master for her. One who has more time and is better prepared for this—”

Anakin stiffens in his seat, his head snapping toward Windu. “No,” he roars, his voice sharper this time, his frustration growing and becoming even more obvious to the other Council members. “You’re shipping her off to sit on the sidelines; she’ll never reach her full potential without the guidance of someone willing to—“

“Assigned you are—to Luther Koth. Final, it is.” Yoda insists, his voice rising and eyes stabbing daggers into Anakin. The whole room seems riled by his defiance, and the feeling seems to be directed at you.

The room tilts slightly as Yoda’s words sink in.

Luther Koth?

You’ve heard the name in passing, but you’ve never met him. The thought is disorienting, a crack splintering through the precarious balance of your emotions.

“Master Yoda,” Anakin persists, his voice rising slightly, and he half-stands, his body looming like a storm cloud ready to erupt. “you can’t just—”

“Enough, General Skywalker.” Yoda interrupts sharply, his eyes burrowing deeper on Anakin, “Strong in the Force, you are, but in check, your influence must be. Your path in the Republic is not to train Padawans at this time.”

“At this time,” Anakin repeats in a low mock, barely above a whisper, as his expression darkens while looking between the Masters. “This isn’t about my ability to focus; this is about her and her future—”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice is like a whip crack, startling in its incisiveness. He rises from his seat, his hand raised in a silent command for Anakin to stand down. You glance at Obi-Wan, your heart hammering. His posture broadens and his eyes flash with warning as he continues, “This isn’t the time or place for this argument. You know better.”

Anakin doesn’t back down. His gaze flicks to Obi-Wan, then back to Yoda, his jaw tightening further as if clamping down on whatever he wants to say next.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin snaps, his head swiveling back to Obi. His vexation is evident in every muscle, every twitch. He looks like he’s about to snap. “I’m insisting.”

“No, I’m insisting.” Obi-Wan steps forward, his body angled slightly toward Anakin as if preparing to physically block him from advancing. His voice is low and punctuated as he follows up, “You need to step back. This isn’t about you or her right now.”

Your breath catches as Anakin’s eyes sweep back to you, searing into you with an intensity that feels almost physical. For a moment, the room fades—the Council, the chamber walls, even the low hum of air. All that remains is the haze of his stare and the unspoken promise it carries.

What the hell is he thinking?

“General Skywalker,” Windu cuts in, his voice colder now, expression solidifying into stone as he leans forward, like he too is getting ready to physically stop Anakin. “This discussion is over. You are out of line.”

Anakin straightens to his full height, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as his cold edge sliced through the room. For a moment, it seems as though he might say something else, his lips parting—but then he stops. His breath hisses through his teeth as he crosses his arms. His rage coils beneath his skin, snarling, seething to break free, primed to explode.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. You’ve seen that look before; you’ve seen it up close. You wish you could disappear into the stone beneath your feet, to be anywhere other than here.

“You’re wrong,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words slam into the room, and they’re thick, as if they were made of lead and everyone was being forced to breathe them in. “All of you.”

For what feels like the longest five seconds of your life, Anakin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, his eyes flickering between the Council members before finally settling on you. The room holds its breath.

And there it is again—that unspoken promise.

Your feet feel numb, like you have a gaping wound and are too far gone; the pins and needles feeling of blood loss. If the Council dismissed you right now, there would be zero chance you could pick up your legs and actually walk. That’s what his gaze did; it made your knees jelly and your spine snap in on itself. You weren’t sure if it was the Force or something deeper, nor did you have time to think about what reasons Anakin’s gaze was so different.

He exhales sharply as he lowers himself back into his seat, the large chair scraping against the floor with a dissonant screech. He rolls his shoulders, relaxing them as if dismissing everything that just happened, brushing the entire encounter off, as if the air didn’t crackle with the residue of it.

It's like he’s discarded the weight of the confrontation like a loose garment—yet there’s no mistaking that it’s still there, a rancid pulse between you all, stifling every breath. The others exchange looks, the tense stillness now broken only by the soft shuffle of robes as they all settle back into their seats.

You want to scream; you want to cuss him out like you should have that night; instead, you break the everlasting silence the rest of the council has been stunned into, your voice surprising even you with the confidence it carries behind it.

“If I may,” you state, not waiting for their full attention as you continue, “I’m honored to be assigned to Master Koth, and I don’t take this recommendation from the Council lightly. I will serve the Republic with everything I have. The stars will bend if those are my orders.”

Shock carves itself into the faces of the Council members, all their eyes dawning in on you. Anakin’s eyes are the harshest; you can feel them burning into the side of your face like twin suns. You keep your focus forward, refusing to turn toward him again.

“Strong words these are. Confidence you show, but prove yourself, you must.” Yoda’s tone carries no reproach, only an obstinate expectation, like the galaxy itself will hold you accountable.

“Indeed,” Master Windu adds, his presence back to the practiced ease that all the generals and masters plaster on their faces. “Serving the Republic is not just a matter of bending stars or showing resolve—it requires understanding, discipline, and the ability to make difficult choices. Master Koth will demand nothing less from you.”

You nod quickly, instinct taking over as you bow your head. “I understand, Masters. I won’t fail.” The words spill out, firm but automatic, and you’ve never been more proud of yourself.

Master Obi-Wan, still recovering from the heated debate, sits forward slightly. His tone softer than the others, but his words carry no less gravitas. “Master Koth is a man of principle and precision. He’s demanding but fair. Under his guidance, you’ll learn to navigate not just the battlefield, but the intricacies of what it means to truly be a Jedi.”

And then, like clockwork, Anakin shifts in his seat. His posture is casual, almost disinterested, but his energy is anything but. His gloved fingers drum once against the armrest before his voice cuts through the Council's focus on you. “She’ll be fine,” he says, his tone deceptively glassy. His eyes flick toward you, and you feel the sting of his stare as he adds, “After all, she’s earned it.”

The words stick to you like barbs, digging into every insecurity you thought you had buried. You didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to have it confirmed that the exact and only reason you’re standing in the middle of the greatest Jedi of this century is because you were a slave for a night.

It’s not praise. Not really.

You feel your heart thud painfully against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like.

Earned it.

The phrase clings to your thoughts like oil on water. His words weren’t an endorsement; they were a reminder, a branding. A mark that would be with you forever, no matter what path you take.

You hold yourself still, despite your mini heart attack, your lips forcing a polite smile, and the quiet resolve in your chest swells just enough to remind you that you are here for more than just Anakin’s twisted perception of you.

The silence stretches until Master Yoda speaks, his voice cold and drained. “You may go. Prepare for your meeting with Master Koth. Tomorrow, it will be.”

You bow again, a little deeper this time, feeling every eye in the room on you. The finality in Master Yoda’s voice motivates your previously jellied legs into a half jog until the heavy doors close behind you. Even then, you don’t stop, your jog turning into a full sprint. Your arms pump furiously, pushing your body forward.

Earned it. Earned it. Earned it.

His voice—the phrase—is a poltergeist, a haunting in its own right. You try to push it away, but Anakin’s words seem to cling to you, like a shadow you can’t outrun, but you’ll be damned if you won’t try. Your feet put more distance between you and the Council’s chambers, but your mind is still trapped in the middle of it.

As you round a corner, you come face-to-face with your two friends. Nearly toppling over them as their arms secure you, both of them speaking too quickly for your already racing mind to grasp.

“Whoa, slow down, Y/N. What happened?”

“Yeah, are you ok? Did they find out about us sneaking out?”

You want to tell them everything—the drunken spill, the velvet-lined back rooms, the violence, the desire, the new position—but the words never leave your lips.

Tell them! Why are you questioning their intentions? They’ve never betrayed your trust. They’ve never done anything to ever insinuate that they would be anything but forgiving.

“Yeah,” you say, the smile you force out too tight, too strained. “I’m fine. Just… just…”

Tears prick at your eyes, and within seconds both girls are steering you to the dorms, both their arms wrapping tightly around either side of you like a blanket of protection.

The familiar, comforting warmth of their embrace is almost enough to make the tears pour out, but the words still lash at your insides, louder now than before.

Earned it.

Your blood pumps furiously through your veins, pulsing in your ears to the point where your friends voices are muffled, their words a jumble of vibrations. You feel the walls closing in, your lungs shrinking with each breath. But you can’t say it. You can’t tell them everything; you can’t shatter what little remains of your dignity. You need to keep it together.

Lex’s voice cuts through the haze, and though her words are soft, they pierce the growing fog around you. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. Whatever happened in there… you don’t have to keep it all in.”

You stiffen, a rush of panic flooding your chest.

How did she know?

But before you can respond, Abby adds, “We’re here for you. Screw them.” Her voice is quieter than Lex’s and holds a hint of humor but is equally concerned.

You find yourself retreating even further inward, madly trying to build barriers, to lock every detail away where they can't see it. Where you can’t feel it. You want to tell them, to let them help, but you can’t bring yourself to. You don't know how to explain the tangled mess inside you.

Your throat feels tight as you give them a small, weak nod, not trusting your voice to sound anything but broken. “I know... thanks, I just... I need some time.”

They guide you to your bed, sitting beside you and just letting the silence fill the space between you.

But even in your safe spot, next to your best friends and a good distance away from any higher up, Anakin’s words continue to reverberate through your mind.

Earned it.

Each time it echoes, it feels like another wound is being sliced into your back, like the physical embodiment of betrayal.

“Whatever’s going on... we’ll figure it out together.” Lex’s hand rests on your shoulder as she shuffles closer to you. You want to believe her. You want to, but you don’t. It’s like your body is trying to protect something, some part of you that’s still... untouched. Maybe it’s your pride, maybe it’s the fear of being completely vulnerable, but either way, the words won’t come out, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that your life has just been uprooted in the worst way possible.

Instead, you lie back against the bed, your hands gripping the edge of your blanket, and just stare up at the ceiling.

Abby leans in slightly, her face in your view blurring as your eyes unfocus. “We know something’s up. You don’t have to tell us what happened in there, but if you ever want to talk... we’re not going anywhere.”

The words don’t land as they should. They don’t wrap around you the way they always have. They just make you feel heavier, more guilty. It’s almost worse, in some ways—being so close to the answers you can’t bring yourself to give.

Anakin’s words continue to torment your dazed mind, like a private torture session.

I bet he’d love this. Love to know how completely frozen you were. How fucking pathetic.

You turn your head slightly to the side, staring at the wall as if it could give you some reprieve from the chaos in your mind. But it doesn’t.

Earned it.

With every second that passes, that feeling of being trapped deepens. There’s no escape from his voice in your head, no hiding from the truth that it’s now a part of you. But somewhere, deep in the hollow ache in your chest, something else stirs. A sensation, too fresh to name, but oh so familiar.

It’s the flicker of something perilous, something dark and twisted, something that has been waiting for this moment. You try to ignore it, but it's there now, and maybe it always has been, crawling just beneath your feeble ego. It fills the space in your veins that his words froze with a fever that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

Earned it.

For the first time, you let yourself wonder if there's truth in it. Not the way Anakin intended, not the way he made you feel small, but a different truth, a truth that’s far more unsettling: What if you did earn it? What if everything that happened—that night, the Council, even this—was a consequence of destiny, true destiny?

What if you were already changed, and you just didn’t know it yet?

You sit up suddenly, the movement enough to make them both jump. The words you've been holding back, the questions, the doubts—they spill from your lips as they form in your mind.

“I don’t think I can be the person I was anymore,” you whisper, not meeting their eyes, because you know if you do, you’ll see the pity. You can’t bear that.

Anakin’s words have taken root in you, not just as a form of self-torture but as something far more insidious. A seed planted in the fibers that are you, ready to grow into something more dangerous than any of you can imagine.

Something alters. Not in the room. Not in them. But in you. It’s a momentary flicker, a beam of clarity—a glimpse of a hunger that was deeply buried.

You straighten your back, standing abruptly. You feel the energy change, like a charged current is propelling you forward. You turn and face the two of them, their eyes two pairs of shock and confusion as you speak, your voice more confident and certain than ever before.

“But I feel good. Yeah, I feel great.”

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