#sw fanfition

[holdingonforheaven]

WIP Titles Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

@cyarbika posted this with open tags a couple days ago, so I'm taking the opportunity to tag myself in!

Current WIPs:

Not Alone

Fallout

Out of the Mouths of Babes

With Love

Something in the Air

It's Nice to Have a Friend

A Cold Day on Hoth?

RELG 224

King of the Hill

no pressure tags @here-be-bec, @stardustloki, @just-here-with-my-thoughts, @kybercrystals94, and @split-spectrum, plus anyone else who'd like to play ☺️

[grumpyhedgehogs]

(you taught me) the courage of stars pt. 3

Summary: “I know what it is like, Ahsoka.” Obi-Wan tells her. “I know what it is to leave the Jedi with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the knowledge that you are doing the right thing.”

 Or: Ahsoka Tano flees after a warrant for her arrest is issued, but not before receiving aid from an unexpected ally. (Ahsoka proceeds to go on a road trip filled with a bunch of strangers who all say the same thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi is much more than he has ever appeared to be.)

Warnings: Canon typical violence, abuse (childhood, emotional, physical, mental), mind control.

Pt. 1, Pt.2, AO3

Nautical Dusk

Coruscant’s skies open above Anakin’s head. The deluge pounds down, weighing on his shoulders even further, trickling into his collar, seeping into his bones. He is alone. He is alone. His thoughts swirl, his own storm all locked up inside his skull, a fragile pantomime of the downpour around him. The landing pad is soaked, reflecting the hazy neon lights from the buildings around the Temple as Anakin waits.

If you’d just tried harder--if you’d just protected her better--if you’d just run after her faster--

His head aches as Anakin shakes it savagely, ignoring the strain he puts on his tendons. Ahsoka is gone. She’d bolted before he could--he could--

What could you have done, my boy? Palpatine had asked gently when Anakin called him hours ago. The rain, which had flickered on and off throughout the day, provided a cacophonous background symphony to the call. Palpatine’s face was deeply troubled, even pitying. Anakin doesn’t know why he even tried talking to the Chancellor--only that Ahsoka was chased away from him by authorities and his mentor may have been able to help. It is not your fault that this has happened; it was your student’s decision to flee. You can’t expect to help her if she is gone.

Anakin’s fingertips are numb. His spine is brittle, threatening to snap under the weight of what has happened. There are no other Jedi in the hangar; they’d cleared out when he’d entered, sensing the destructive spiral of the Force around him. It wraps around the Knight darkly, seething--he can’t seem to stop it. His throat is so tight he chokes on air. It feels as if the world is crumbling around him without Ahsoka’s foundational presence to shore him up.

Usually, when someone runs it is because they are guilty. Not that I have anything but the utmost faith in anyone you have trained, of course. I’m sure not everything is as it seems in your Padawan’s trial but unfortunately this is in the Jedi’s jurisdiction, not my own. If only I had a little more pull within your Order, I may have been able to help…

Why does he always want more pull within the Temple? A voice in Anakin’s head had whispered then, but Anakin had shoved it away with a vicious snarl. That call was the only time he can remember hanging up on the Chancellor without so much as a goodbye. Palpatine could not help him, could not help Ahsoka. It was useless to try.

The sound of a speeder’s engine cutting off shakes him from his thoughts, and Anakin jerks to attention, hardly realizing how far his mind wandered. It has been hours since Obi-Wan slipped out, surrounded by Coruscanti Guards; his master’s hood is up, plastered to his head with rainwater. He moves slowly, gingerly, as if sore. He is alone, a singular miserable figure against a disgustingly empty horizon. Anakin’s chest constricts but he rushes forward anyway, crowding into his master’s space.

Over the rush of rain and sleet, his voice is weak. “Did you find her? Did you find Ahsoka?”

Obi-Wan swings himself the rest of the way down from the speeder. His hood hides his face in shadow and he shakes his head, motioning towards the shelter of the hangar. “Let me inside before we discuss anything, Anakin. This rain won’t do anything for our health.”

The hallway is too bright, light digging into Anakin’s eye sockets as they walk. His head renews its throbbing.

I may have been able to help...

Temple guards look up curiously as they pass, but from the corner of his eye Anakin catches Obi-Wan shaking his head deliberately. They are allowed back to Obi-Wan’s quarters unmolested.

The words explode from his mouth mere seconds after the door closes. “Where was she? Why didn’t you bring her back--”

“Ahsoka is gone.” Obi-Wan strips his robe off, and, in a move Anakin has never seen from him before, checks the lock on the door. When he turns to face his former padawan, Anakin really sees him for the first time tonight: Obi-Wan’s face is torn and worried, crow’s feet at his temples and wrinkles digging deeply into his forehead. His mouth is set in a thin, firm frown, and his hair hangs lank with dampness over his brow, which furrows tightly. “I tried to catch up--there were so many guards that I had to--”

Anakin feels his fists clench almost independent of his will. “You lost her! You were too busy following the rules and regulations that you lost Ahsoka!”

“No, I--”

“Why would you even bring so many guards with you in the first place? You’re treating Ahsoka like she’s some common criminal!” Anakin whirls, pacing the living room’s length. He bumps into a small coffee table as he whirls back. Quite unknowing of what he’s doing, temper piqued and red descending over his vision, Anakin lifts a boot and shoves at the table’s edge. It topples with a tremendous clatter; a forgotten mug shatters against the back wall, splattering cold tea across the floor as the table flips, crashing onto its side. The only other ornament on the table, a smooth rock which hums in the Force, scatters away in the wake of Anakin’s anger, and, like a candle, his temper blows out quite suddenly.

(He used to play there when he was young, taking apart a mouse droid only to rebuild it perfectly, Obi-Wan’s indulgent smile visible over the edge of a datapad.)

“ Anakin .”

Rather than apologize, Anakin drops his face into his hands, a sob hitching at his chest. “She ran. Why would she run from me? Doesn’t she trust me to help her?”

“She has lost faith in the Order,” Obi-Wan replies. His face is more lined than Anakin ever remembered it being. He won’t meet Anakin’s eyes: it makes the heat of rage flame in Anakin’s chest where it had been burning down to embers.

“And why shouldn’t she? The Jedi have done nothing for her! They have failed her!”

“ We have failed her.”

Anakin pulls up short. Nearly chewing the words, he spits, “What? What are you talking about?” He hadn’t--he’d wanted to help her, take her back to the Temple with him and make the Council listen --

“ We have failed her.” Obi-Wan repeats; his eyes flash to meet Anakin’s, steel in his voice. But his stance is open as he moves further into the room, standing broad-shouldered, unshakable, across from Anakin. He stands as if the sky hasn’t fallen down around their ears. “Have you forgotten that you are a part of the Jedi too, Anakin?”

Anger roils in his gut, makes him snarl. The Force rises around them, threatening, until Obi-Wan’s Force signature (cool and calm, steady as rock and soft a velvet) pushes it back, soothes the storm. It almost allows Anakin a moment of calm, but his nerves jangle in the back of his mind, refusing to let him rest.

“We are not infallible, Anakin. We make mistakes--sometimes big ones. Sometimes catastrophic in measure.”

“Ahsoka isn’t a mistake.”

“No. She is not. But what has happened to her is, and we will not be able to help her fix it if we are too busy fighting amongst ourselves. We’ll only be able to clear Ahsoka’s name if we work together.”

What could you have done, my boy?

“What can we do without her here to give her side of the story? Not even the Chancellor can help us, it’s in the Jedi’s jurisdiction and they’ve already pronounced her guilty!” Helplessness floods him, insidious. Obi-Wan’s voice sounds very far away.

“The Chancellor--?” Obi-Wan starts, but cuts himself off quickly. “Never mind that. Listen to me carefully. The trial and Ahsoka’s fleeing her sentencing is not the end of this, Anakin. The Council will listen to reason if we can provide evidence of Ahsoka’s innocence; they’ll even accept her back if she wishes to return. We can help her, but we have to work fast. She’s out there alone --”

Anakin scoffs, his hollow chest making the sound ring out around them loudly. He turns away, but before the door slides close behind him, snaps out a parting blow. “What would you know about being alone?”

He chooses to leave rather than give Obi-Wan the chance to answer.

Someone is waiting for Ahsoka before her ship lands.

The Force pulls at the young trogruta’s senses, leading her through the merry throngs, families reuniting and friends embracing. Her chest aches, skin practically crawling with need, with grief. Nonetheless, the Force calls to her, and Ahsoka answers.

Her senses pull her towards a person who waits beside the west exit, hood up and hands clasped before them patiently. The Force ripples about them, curling fondly, light with song. It’s almost enough to make her relax--until Ahsoka catches herself and tenses her shoulders again. She’d thought she was safe before, that people who raised her were actually there to protect her. She was wrong.

She pulls up short before the person and does not speak. A trick Skyguy taught her: desperate people will usually spill their souls to you if you are quiet enough.

The hooded person before her tipped their head towards her after a moment in which they both fall stalk still. The crowd unknowingly gives them a wide berth, responding to the inherent prompting of the Force.

“Hello there.” they greet Ahsoka gently. She still finches at the familiar phrase. “What brings you to our humble home?”

They are testing her. Ahsoka’s spine wants to snap straight, but she refuses to yield, to show the emotions that roil in her gut. She has to be calm. She has to be collected. Master Obi-Wan’s blank sabbac face flashes through her mind and Ahsoka’s gorge rises in her throat. She swallows it down, grits her teeth until she thinks her voice won’t shake too much. “A friend.” The words do not feel as vile as she’d have thought they would, and with a startling drop of her stomach, Ahsoka realizes she isn’t lying.

The person hums; they’ve gradually turned their back on the crowd--only Ahsoka looks directly at them now. “We as a people are not known for having many friends. Certainly not many of those who would send newcomers to seek us out.”

This time, Ahsoka keeps quiet. The Jedi are not the only Force-users in the galaxy. With how strangely this person is acting, unknown to her as they are, she’s not willing to give out any names. Her lineage is particularly good at resisting Force suggestion but Ahsoka is self-aware enough to know her shields are not at their best in this moment.

The stranger’s head tilts and Ahsoka feels eyes scanning her from head to toe. She nearly snarls. “Kenobi sent you then.”

Old protective suspicion makes Ahsoka’s hackles rise. She doesn’t mean to speak again but before she knows it, words fall from a sharp tongue. “How do you know him?”

“He is a very old friend.” They lift their hood from their face; the woman underneath is older than Ahsoka expected, with smile lines dug in deep into her skin. “My name is Wila,” she says. “Welcome to Gala.”