#char: Ahsoka Tano

[groundrunner100]

Share your FAVORITE episodes in reblogs!

[saricess]

This would have been such an interesting arc

[spaceschist]

@actiongal asked "couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes, huh" // for anakin

Obi Wan's previous observation lingered in the Jedi's mind like a whisper, reminding Anakin that his apprentice was becoming alike to him. A subtle surge of pride swirled at the notion; witnessing his apprentice, with her independent spirit and inclination to question authority, mirrored certain aspects of himself. Yet, an undercurrent of concern rippled through his thoughts. Would she absorb not just the strengths, but also the flaws he carried? His impatience, the swift journey to anger—traits he wished to shield her from. He aspired for her to surpass him, to emerge better. She needed to be better, more resilient if she wanted to outlive this war.

Her trick, or more accurately attempt to skip training tugged at his Jedi sensibilities. He understood her reasons, but the wisdom that came with being older and more experienced told him that it wasn't a path to improvement. Training was necessary for her survival.

"Who do you think came up with that trick?" he quipped, a warm smile softening the edges of his admonishment. His gaze locked onto hers as he added, "I wouldn't try that with Obi Wan either. He figured it out by the second time I did it."

He extended his hand by his waist, using the Force to unclip his lightsabre from his belt. The hilt glided into his grasp, but rather than igniting it immediately, he commenced a deliberate display. Waving the hilt, he focused on his footwork—a silent directive for her to follow his example.

"Back to basics, Snips."

[exitiosae-arch]

HOW DO YOU NEED TO BE TOUCHED?

fervently. you crave a hug that cracks your ribs... the feeling of your wandering soul being crushed back into the bones that can't seem to hold it. you need a hand gripping yours so tightly you almost fear it may leave a bruise, a reminder that you are here. and that you are not alone.

[atinylittlepain]

YCMQ - Chapter Three

din djarin x jedi!reader

series masterlist

wordcount: 5.4K

warnings | 18+ smut, canon-typical violence, angst

a/n | i've had this chapter in my google docs for months now and finally just decided to put it out there. who knows if i'll keep writing this tbh i kinda like where this ends :)

..................................

“You didn’t tell me it was a Mandalorian you were traveling with. How curious.” With that, master Tano releases Din from the cage of her sabers, sending him stumbling forward into the ground of the scorched woods with a groan. Not exactly the greeting she was hoping for from her master. She swallows hard, slipping off her pack to reveal the child tucked inside.

“Master Tano, we have brought you the child so you may begin his training.” Ahsoka looks between her and the child, something unreadable in the subtle squint of her eyes. 

“We will see. I need to speak to you both first.” Having gotten up to stand beside her, Din goes to speak, but Ahsoka cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“Not you, Din Djarin. Them.” She furrows her brow at her master’s words.

“But the child does not speak. Not really.” The kid coos at that, tilting his head up to look at her, and Ahsoka smiles.

“Maybe not in the sense you are thinking of. But there are other ways to communicate. Come, I will show you. But you, Din Djarin, must remain here.” Din doesn’t seem to like that one bit.

“Absolutely not. I am not going to–” She silences him with a hand pressed firmly to his chest plate, eyes pleading into the visor of his helmet.

“We’ll be fine, Din. Please, do as she says.” A crackled sigh comes through his voice modulator, but he nods as she steps away to join Ahsoka with the child. As she follows her master deeper into the scorched woods of Corvus, she feels Din’s eyes following her until they slip into a thicket of charred trees.

“You’ve grown attached to that Mandalorian.” She opens her mouth to protest, but her master silences her with a firm look.

“Do not try to deny what is so clear. It is only a problem if you let it continue, though it will be difficult to say goodbye to him after today.” Her heart sinks at her master’s words. She hadn’t considered that this would be the end of their journey together, her quest completed, his Creed fulfilled. She doesn’t have long to sink into dismay at this realization before her master is speaking again.

“There is a great deal more power, more energy, concentrated around you than when you departed.” 

“Master Tano, I have to confess something. I–”

“I know what you did, my student. Afterall, everything in this galaxy is connected.” Her mouth goes dry at her teacher’s words, but Ahsoka offers her a simple smile.

“Master, I-I lost control. I am beyond repentant for what I did.” “I know you are. What you did– you must never do again. But I do not think that will be difficult once you part ways from that Mandalorian. Once you are knighted as a Jedi.” She can’t believe the words leaving her master’s mouth.

“Do you mean to tell me I am not condemned?” Ahsoka shakes her head.

“You are not. You have completed the quest I gave you. It is time for you to walk this path, not as a student, but as a Jedi.” She feels dizzy from this news, a giddy relief sweeping through her and lightening the heaviness she has been carrying since Nevarro. 

Ahsoka motions for her to sit on an ashen tree stump, taking the kid from her arms and moving him to sit on a small boulder across from her.

“Now, I believe this little one has a story to tell you.” The kid tilts his head at her, letting out a few quiet babbles. She turns to look at her master who stands to the side of them. Ahsoka gives her a slight nod.

“Let the Force connect you. Speak with energy, not words.”  She turns her attention back to the kid, his eyes watching her intently. An inhale and an exhale to find the thread of energy connecting them.

…

Din is worried. He managed to get a bit closer to the copse of trees they’re sitting in, but Ahsoka had fixed him with a steely look before he could get any nearer, only catching a glimpse of her and the kid, seeming to just be sitting quietly, looking at each other. He had seen her in meditation a few times in the hold of the Crest, something about the stillness always unsettling to him. That’s how he feels now, unsettled. He sits down on a fallen log, his mind racing as he wonders what they could possibly be doing. 

Their entrance on Corvus had been under false pretenses, pledging to the Magistrate of Calodan that they would dispose of the Jedi who has been “plaguing” her town. Though it seemed to Din that the real plague on the city was the Magistrate herself. And then, he had almost met his Maker when Ahsoka came down on him in a whirl of saber light. What most bothered him about this wasn’t how close he came to death, but how, as Ahsoka knocked him around, she had stood by, passive and unmoving. He knows it’s presumptuous, maybe even plainly wrong, to be upset that she would side with her master over him, but he’s gotten used to her having his back, and to see so clearly where her allegiances really lie has a sadness settling heavy under his armor.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of nearing footfall, and when he looks up to see them coming toward him, he notices the strange expression across her face, but he doesn’t have long to study her when she is already speaking to him.

“We need to test Grogu’s abilities to see what he is capable of.”

“Come again?” She smiles lightly at him, glancing down at the kid in her arms.

“That’s his name. Grogu.” The kid’s head immediately whips up to look at her, eyes wide in recognition. Din tries the name out for himself, saying it quietly, and the kid turns his attention on him, letting out a questioning babble. Her laugh calms his edgy nerves and he follows them into a clearing. 

She walks a few paces away from him and Ahsoka, setting the kid - Grogu - down before returning to them. Ahsoka steps forward, presenting a small rock in the open palm of her hand to Grogu.

“Grogu, I want you to use your mind to take this rock from me. Can you do that?” The kid tilts his head at her words, his eyes squinting as he holds out his palm. 

“C’mon, kid.” He mutters it without really knowing, only realizing he spoke when she turns her head to give him a furrowed look before turning back to watch Ahsoka and Grogu. The kid seems to be struggling to do something Din saw him do not too long ago with total ease, his small hand dropping with a frustrated huff, gaze turning away from Ahsoka and onto them. Ahsoka sighs, also turning to look at them, but Din is quick to defend the kid.

“He can do it. I know he can. I saw him do it just a few days ago–” He cuts himself off, an idea quickly forming in his mind. He steps over to Ahsoka, motioning toward Grogu.

“May I?” She nods, stepping back alongside her student who has a similarly perplexed expression across her face. He turns to face Grogu, slipping something out of a side pocket of his flight suit that immediately captures the kid’s attention. 

“Kid–”

“Use his name, Din.” He looks over his shoulder at her, Ahsoka standing mutely beside her. She gives him a reassuring smile and he nods, turning back to face the kid. 

“Grogu, do you want this?” He hadn’t screwed the metal ball back into the shifter handle, having forgotten to in their haste to get to Corvus, and now he’s grateful to be holding it in his outstretched palm for the kid, who is looking very intrigued by his question.

“Well, go ahead. Take it. It’s all yours if you can take it from me.” He can tell that Grogu’s gaze is flitting between him and her, finally settling on the ball. It looks nearly effortless, his little green palm lifting and the ball quickly flitting over into it. Din can’t help the proud laugh he lets out at the sight. 

The two women step forward alongside Din, Grogu busy mouthing at the ball. Ahsoka sighs.

“It’s impressive. But I cannot train him.” Din’s stomach drops.

“What? Why not?” 

“Grogu has become attached. To you, and to her.” Din glances over to her, face slack and pale at her teacher’s words as she continues to speak.

“This kind of attachment comes with strong emotions. Emotions that corrupt a Jedi’s connection to the Force. Training Grogu would be a gamble I cannot take.” 

“Please, master Tano, there must be something we can do. He needs to continue his training.” She rests her hand on her master’s shoulder as she pleads.

“I suppose he could be taken to the temple ruins of Tython to sit amongst the seeing rocks. If there is a Jedi willing to train him, Grogu could connect with them there.” She nods at her master’s words, glancing at Din before speaking.

“Then we will go to Tython as soon as possible.” Ahsoka looks at her, unblinking.

“Not you.” Her hand falls away from her master’s arm.

“What?”

“Your quest is done, as is your time with these individuals. It is time for us to conclude your training, for you to become a Jedi.” Din wants to say something, anything, but it feels like his throat is closing, his chest crumpling. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that this would be it, the last time he would call her his– well, whatever she is, was. He tries to tamp whatever he’s feeling down as she picks up the kid and brings him over to Din, passing Grogu into his arms. She keeps her eyes distant, looking somewhere over his shoulder as she speaks.

“You’ll take care of him, right?” Din coughs harshly before speaking, afraid of the warble that might be there.

“I will. I promise.” She gives one firm nod before stepping back next to Ahsoka.

“Thank you, Din Djarin. For traveling with my student and keeping her and Grogu safe.” He nods at Ahsoka’s words.

“I was happy to.”

“Might I ask you to stay for just one more day? I have something I could use your help with.”

…

Her night is restless, the image of Din walking back to the Crest with Grogu, without her, replaying again and again in her mind. She’s bleary-eyed when they meet Din at the perimeter of the walled town, just before dawn. Her skin is prickling under his gaze. Even through his helmet, she can tell that his eyes are following her as they lay out their plan, Ahsoka departing first to take out the guards on patrol. As they wait in the treeline, she finally can’t stand it anymore, turning to him and huffing.

“What is it?” He seems surprised to have been caught staring, a stuttered breath coming through his voice modulator before he answers.

“You look– different.” Oh. She supposes that this is true. While traveling, she had gotten used to her baggy thermals and tac pants, and it had been a relief when her master handed her what had been her normal attire, dark gray wraps of fabric over a close-fitting tabard and leggings, her forearms traditionally wrapped. She hadn’t felt this free to move in ages. She squares off her shoulders to look at him.

“This is what a Jedi should wear.” His helmet tilts at her, ever so slightly.

“And is that what you are now?”

“I will be soon enough. After we take care of this business.” And after you leave, she silently adds to herself. Before either of them can say anything else, the still morning is disrupted by a harsh, resonant clanging that can only be the large gong atop the gate collapsing to the ground, the signal for them to move in and get to work.

They move quickly and quietly, freeing the prisoners that the Magistrate was keeping strung up outside her palace while Ahsoka drives the guards away, picking them off one by one. What she assumes is the Magistrate’s right hand man seems to be the only guard left, sizing up her and Din where they stand outside the gates of the Magistrate’s compound. Din turns to her, nodding to where Ahsoka had just leapt into the compound.

“Go. Help her. I’ve got this.” She glances at the quickly approaching guard before nodding to Din, bounding up over the wall to aid her master.

It feels natural, fighting alongside Ahsoka, giving the Magistrate a run for her money, even with her beskar spear. They move in sync, sabers swirling through the foggy air but she comes to a startled halt when the sound of a man’s scream resounds from just outside the compound walls. Ahsoka barely glances at her in confusion before picking up the fighting again as she leaps back over the compound wall. 

She drops down into the town square, ready to drive her sabers through whoever may be harming Din. When she sees Din standing, unhurt, over the guard who lays dead on the ground, her stomach drops at the realization of what she just did. All she can do is stare at Din, who stares right back, both of them startling when the gates to the compound open, revealing Ahsoka who proudly carries the Magistrate’s spear. 

As the citizens of the city come out into the streets to rejoice at their liberation, she’s never felt such complete despair, knowing that she is going to have to make a choice that she never wanted to face.

…

“We’re gonna leave soon, kid. You gotta settle in, ok?” Grogu has been inconsolable since Din got back to the Crest, letting out whimpering cries and trying to slip out of his bassinet. When the kid made it all the way down the ramp to the hull and back out into the woods, it finally sunk in for Din that he was searching her, crying for her. He’s trying to let his frustration at Grogu’s antics stifle the real dismay he feels, but it’s hard to ignore the startling truth that he already misses her too. 

He had been shocked that morning, seeing her in such different dress. The dress of a Jedi. And then, an ember of hope sparked up in his chest when she joined him in the courtyard, hope that maybe she was choosing him over her master. But that was a ridiculous wish, he knew it, as she stood by her master’s side and he walked away, disappearing into the mist and back to the Crest. 

Grogu seems to have finally given up, slumping down into his bassinet with a despondent whimper. Din lets out a ragged sigh as he sits down to the Crest’s control panel, beginning to chart their course to Typhon. His attention is drawn to the beeping of the ship’s radar system, showing something, or someone, moving toward the back of the Crest. He huffs, grabbing his blaster and telling Grogu to stay put as he slinks down to the hull to see what’s going on.

He steps tentatively down the ramp from the hull, peering around into the hazy forest. As if from thin air, a figure in a dark, hooded cloak appears, Din aiming his blaster at it as it comes near. He nearly drops his gun when the figure pulls back the hood of their cloak.

“You got room for one more?” He has to remember to breathe as she steps closer, toeing at the foot of the Crest’s ramp.

“What are you– why are you–” He’s not completely sure what he wants to ask her, but she saves him from any more floundering, resting her hand on his forearm as she steps closer.

“I’ve had a change of plans. If you’ll have me, I want to join you and Grogu on your journey to Typhon.” Din clears his throat to stop himself from saying what he really wants to, that he’d have her any way she’d let him. Instead, he offers her a brisk nod.

“Another set of hands would be helpful.” Maker, that was smooth. She pays no mind to his awkward choice of words, smiling as she steps up into the hold.

Her reunion with Grogu is practically cataclysmic. Din has never heard the kid shriek so loudly as when he sees her step into the cockpit, immediately reaching for her from his bassinet. 

“I’m sorry, Grogu. Just couldn’t let you go.” Her voice is a low murmur to the kid whom she had quickly scooped up, his small hands coming to splay across her cheeks as he babbles excitedly at her. She glances up at him, and Din catches the glint of sadness in her eyes. He slowly starts to realize what her choice really means, piecing it together with what Ahsoka had said about attachment.

She has chosen them, not in tandem with her path as a Jedi, but in place of her path as a Jedi.

…

She’s not sure what she just did, her mind whirling with anxiety as she replays her last conversation with Ahsoka.

“It is your decision, and I cannot stop you. But if you choose this now, it is likely that you will never return to this path again.” 

Her hands are shaking in her lap where she’s sitting on the edge of her bunk, the smoothness of hyperspace providing no explanation for the tremor. Did she just make the biggest mistake of her life?

“He’s finally out, I guess he finds me a lot more boring than you.” She’s startled out of her mind by Din’s voice as he steps down from the ladder into the hull. She offers him the best smile she can muster, tucking her trembling hands under her thighs as he comes to sit on a crate across from her.

“So, you coming with us– does that mean–” she cuts off his hedging question with a nod.

“I have renounced the path of the Jedi to travel with you.” She certainly hadn’t expected Din to react in anger, but he seems to be, getting up with a huff as he paces the length of the hold before finally looking at her again.

“You– you shouldn’t have done that.” Her heart sinks and she starts to think that maybe this really was a mistake.

“What? Din, I did it–”

“No.”

“I did it to–”

“No. Do not tell me you did this for me– I couldn’t bear it.” That upsets her enough to get her up on her feet and in the visor of his helmet, seething at him.

“Well that’s too bad. Because I did do it for you– and for him.” Din makes a sound low in his throat, turning away from her with a bitter laugh.

“You threw away your future– I can’t let this happen. I-I’m turning the ship around.” She can’t believe him, snapping into action when he actually starts to move back toward the ladder up to the cockpit.

“Din, wait! Just– will you listen to me? Wait– stop.” She grabs him by his shoulder, her hand sliding down his arm to tangle with his as he turns back around to her. She sighs when he doesn’t move away.

“I-I couldn’t continue on the Jedi path even if I wanted to. Not with the way that I feel– it would be too dangerous to become a Jedi with these– emotions that I can’t control.” His fingers flex where they’re entangled with hers.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I feel a lot of things. Things I shouldn’t feel. For Grogu– but also for you.” A heavy silence falls after she speaks. She nearly jumps out of her skin when he brings his other hand to graze over her cheek, the warm leather of his gloves sending a shiver down her spine.

“Dral tracinya.” She knows it’s Mandoan, but she’s never heard these words before, and she furrows her brow at him. She can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again.

“It means bright flame. That’s what you are, I think. Not a Jedi, or an apostate. Something entirely of your own making.” She untangles her hand from his, letting both her palms splay over his chest before sliding up to the edge of his helmet. His hands circle her wrists and she stills.

“Will you let me see you, please?” He doesn’t say anything, but his hands slacken and she gently slides his helmet off, carefully setting it on the cargo crates next to them before really looking at him. Those brown eyes she had been holding in her mind now gaze down at her, fluttering closed when she brings her palms to cup his face. 

When she kisses him, it occurs to her that this is something Din has probably never done with anyone else, what with the whole helmet situation. It shows, in the unsure way his hands hover at her waist, and how she has to coax him along, her lips molding to his until he melts into it. When she pulls away, his eyes are wide and impossibly dark.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up at his breathless question.

“I was training to be a Jedi, not a nun.” The next kiss is more certain for them both, Din’s hands finding purchase on her waist as they move together. She can feel energy pooling, burning along her spine as Din’s lips become more insistent against hers. He’s a fast learner. She pulls away with a gasp and he chases after her to steal another smacking kiss, resting his forehead against hers afterward.  

“You need to know– I feel a great deal for you too, tracinya. I made a vow to you, and I intend to keep it.” Her smile broadens at his words as she steps out of his hold, only slightly enjoying the furrowed look that washes over his face at the new distance between them. 

She raises her palm, each small wave of her wrist pulling away another piece of Din’s armor, gently floating them down to the floor around him. When he’s left before her in just his boots and flight suit, she begins to work at the knot at her waist, her eyes never straying from his as she leaves her tunic hanging loosely over her body. 

Din makes quick work of his boots before quietly padding toward her. His bare hands ghost over the parted fabric of her tunic, and she shudders when he finally slips it off her shoulders, leaving her bare from the waist up before him. She can hear the catch of his breath as his gaze washes over her. The only sound is the low thrum of hyperspace mingling with their sharp breaths as she guides his hands to splay over her collarbones. His rough palms tentatively start to wander, ghosting over the tops of her breasts, along the dip and swell of her sides, his eyes following the path of his hands, dark and hazy. 

No longer able to stand the tease of his touch, she twines her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that’s quite different from their first two. This is a kiss that gives everything, and demands everything in return, a low noise thrumming in Din’s chest when she licks hotly into his mouth. Her hands slip down to fumble with the zipper of his flight suit, and he quickly gets the hint, batting her fingers away to undo it enough to shrug out of the sleeves, the fabric hanging loosely around his hips. It makes her dizzy, how solid he feels under her roaming palms, warm skin scattered with silvery scars that she traces across like constellations. Din doesn’t give her much time to explore before he’s stealing her lips in a hard kiss, swallowing the gasp she lets out as his tongue finds hers. He’s a really fast learner. 

He starts to walk them back, guiding her to lay out in her bunk. It’s tight quarters, her knees brushing along the walls where she has bent them to frame his waist, and it feels like he’s everywhere as his mouth begins to wander, smearing down her neck and across her chest. She takes a sharp inhale, arcing up into his mouth when he grazes his teeth over the peak of one of her nipples, his eyes flickering up to her in clear amusement. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” He chuckles, sitting back on his knees as his fingers fumble with the lacing of her pants.

“I was a Mandalorian, not a monk.” Her laugh dies in her throat as he roughly tugs her pants down her legs, standing back up to pull them all the way off, leaving her completely bare before him. She can practically feel the heat of his gaze as his eyes roam over every inch of her. Din absent-mindedly shrugs his flight suit the rest of the way off, his eyes not once leaving her body. It doesn’t exactly surprise her that he wasn’t wearing underwear, but her eyes still widen at the sight of his cock. He’s big, there’s no two ways about it, and dizzyingly thick, a pretty pink flush at his tip that matches the heat blooming across his chest. 

Before she can stare at him much longer, he’s kneeling back between her spread legs, palms wandering down the insides of her thighs before resting at the hitch of her hip bones. She brushes his brown mop of hair out of his eyes and he turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of her palm, shocking her with the sweetness of it.

“Will you let me touch you, tracinya?” She nods, but from the way his fingers flex into the plush of her hips, she knows he wants to hear her say it.

“Yes, Din, I want you like this, please.” He leans down, the crooked grin he kisses her with coaxing a smile out of her as well. She’s only slightly embarrassed by the gasp that leaves her when he finally swipes the rough pads of his fingers through her folds, throwing her head back when he’s quick to find her clit and trace tight circles around it.

“So wet– is this all for me?” She breathes out a raspy yes to his question, her hips canting up into his hand when he slips two fingers inside her. As a student traveling with her master, she had engaged in meaningless trysts from time to time, but nothing has ever felt like this, like her whole body is a live wire, energy coursing through her with each stroke of his fingers. 

He keeps his other forearm framing her face, hovering over her and swallowing her sighs with open-mouthed kisses as he coaxes her closer to the edge. 

“Let go for me, ner tracinya. That’s it- let me see you burn.” My flame, she knows enough Mandoan now to understand that’s what he just called her, and the thought of it is enough to send the energy pooling in her spine scattering through her body as she comes, a cry of his name the only sound she can make. 

The overhead lights of the bunk flicker as she rides out her high and Din’s eyes dart around in worry, pulling away only for her to tug him back down as she laughs around a kiss.

“Was that– was that you?” She grins, her fingers grazing up and down his shoulder blades.

“That was you– what you did to me.” His lips part, wonder a clear wash across his face and she can’t help but laugh again. He chases after the sound with a hard kiss, both of them sighing when the heat of his cock settles along the softness of her thigh.

“Let me have you, Din. I want you just like this.” He fists the base of himself, hissing as he draws his tip through her heat.

“You have me– however you want me– I’m all yours.” She digs her nails into his shoulders when he finally presses into her, her eyes scrunching shut at the stretching ache that singes pleasure into her bones. When his hips finally fit with hers, he groans, his forehead pressing down into her sternum as she draws her ankles to twine around his low back. She presses a kiss into his damp hair, coaxing him to look up at her.

“Move for me, Din. Let me feel you.” She didn’t think she’d ever hear a Mandalorian whimper, but that’s the exact sound he seems to make, low and broken in the back of his throat, as he pulls his hips back only to roll into her again, finding the push and pull of it amidst their shared sighs and gasps.

The lights begin to flicker again as she feels the flames of pleasure building, preening into Din’s thrusts as his mouth smears over whatever skin he can reach. 

“Need to feel you, tracinya. Come for me, please.” His hand skates down to rest warm over her stomach, fingers finding her clit in a lazy swirl that has her clenching hard around him. She whines out his name and he shushes her, murmuring lowly in her ear.

“Just like that– so beautiful– perfect– perfect for me– let go– that’s it–” He eases her into this high with his gentle coaxing, but the pleasure burns bright and hard once it hits, her nails digging into his shoulders as she lets out a gasping cry. One of the lights bursts, fine shards raining down on them as Din pulls out of her spasming cunt with a harsh groan, hovering over her as he finishes with a few weak thrusts into his hand, his warmth painting her stomach. 

He slumps over her, both of them heaving in a tangle of sweat and pleasure as they try to steady their breathing. She finds one of his hands with her own, twining their fingers together. Din squeezes her hand, pressing a kiss to the juncture of her neck before lifting himself up to look at her.

“That thing with the lights– does that– normally happen?” She sputters out a laugh at his obviously earnest question, bringing her other hand to trace his nose, the arc of his brow, the curve of his lips. Her own map of him on her fingertips.

“I have never experienced anything like that. Does that answer your question?” He seems to like her response, a smile threatening the crook of his lips as he gazes at her. She arches her neck and he seems to get the hint, dipping down to press a chaste kiss to her lips before he slumps over to the side, his arms still lazily draped over her, their legs still tangled. She lets out a long sigh, her eyes not leaving his.

“We should probably get cleaned up. The kid somehow always ends up in my bunk at night and I’d really rather he didn’t find us like this.” Din huffs at that, pressing his face into the inside of her bicep.

“Just a few more moments like this, please.” She hums, musing that his words hold more meanings than just one. Just a few more moments like this, without the worry of whether Grogu will be able to continue his training, without the worry of Moff Gideon potentially still searching for them, without the worry of what this all means, this new path they have just gone hurtling down. Just a few more moments in which all that matters is the way her fingers are trailing through his hair and the way his lips keep grazing over the slope of her shoulder. Just a few more moments of sweetness before they return to reality. 

“Alright, Din. Only a little bit longer, though.”

“Whatever you say, ner tracinya.”

[jadegretz]

The Resilient Padawan by Jade Gretz

Ahsoka Tano surveyed the desolate battlefield with a frown etched on her face. Skrell Sector, once abuzz with the clash of droid armies and the stoic resolve of the 332nd, was now eerily silent. The air, thick with the metallic tang of burnt metal and the cloying sweetness of decay, hung heavy on her shoulders. Gone were the standard-issue blasters and charred droid husks she expected; instead, the ground was littered with shattered visors and mangled armor, eerily devoid of the bodies they once housed.

A shiver skittered down her spine. Her training had taught her of the horrors war inflicted, but this felt different. It was an absence, a chilling void where life and camaraderie should have pulsed.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. A lone trooper, his blue armor cracked and blackened, lumbered from behind a shattered turret. His posture was stiff, unnatural, his movements jerky and devoid of the grace she associated with clones. As he drew closer, the horror solidified. His vacant eyes, milky white orbs within the scarred helmet, stared ahead without seeing. His skin, visible through the cracks in his armor, was a sickly pale, stretched taut over sharpened cheekbones.

He stopped before her, the silence broken only by the rasping sound of his labored breaths. His gaunt hand twitched, brushing against the blaster at his side. Ahsoka reached out, her palm outstretched in a gesture of peace.

"Soldier," she called out, her voice echoing ominously in the deserted landscape. "Identify yourself."

The trooper remained motionless, his vacant eyes staring through her as if she were a phantom. Then, with a mechanical click, he raised his blaster and aimed it at her chest.

Adrenaline spiked. Ahsoka, her lightsaber already humming to life, deflected the shot with ease. The blaster bolt ripped through the air, carving a glowing furrow in the sky before detonating harmlessly against the distant ridge.

The trooper remained unfazed, his aim relentless. Ahsoka danced through a hail of blaster fire, each shot painting the air with streaks of emerald green. The air crackled with the c …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter Four: Reverse Appliqué

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

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Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 7,979 Chapter Summary: Boba prepares to go to Kamino, Rex and Cody meet Taarak, and Ahsoka tries to bond with her new charge.

The rec room was quiet except for the gentle, achingly familiar snoring coming from the clones and an alien rumble coming from Tano that reminded Boba of an old speeder engine that needed white grease on the char scrubbers. He laid there quietly and just listened. It was still early, and there had been a stampede of troopers into the bunks a few hours ago. Some were milling around being loud, still drunk from their night out and in search of food. Several times the rec room door had opened until Tiarek had finally gotten up and locked it, then there was a procession of identical men squinting through the transparasteel window that would nod when they saw a pile of sheets and pillows on the floor and move on.

Someone down the hall was singing loud and off-key. "Fives," Tano mumbled, raising her big head from where it'd been pillowed on Jesse's chest. Her face was all squished and creased on the side that she'd been laying on. "Shut up, par shab'jorbe."

Boba flexed his toes and wiggled his fingers. Despite the noise, or maybe because of it he'd slept like a rock, and it felt like he hadn't moved a muscle in hours. Robert had become trapped underneath him at some point and his duro-plastic eye was poking into Boba's ribs.

Tano sat up with a struggle and yawned loudly. "Gotta pee," she said sleepily, creeping out of the fort and towards the door on all fours. "Be right back. Stay, Boba."

"Mmph." He put his head back on Tiarek's chest and closed his eyes. He didn't want to get up. It'd been so long that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up warm and safe.

" –in the morning and I step outside, and I take a deep breath and– oh hey, Commander! How'd–" The door slid shut and cut off the rest of whatever Fives was going to say, but there was a muffled yelp and a thump.

Tiarek snorted underneath him. Boba opened his eyes and saw he was looking back, smiling. "Morning." He patted Boba on the back. "Sleep alright?"

Boba hadn't slept so well since before he'd left Kamino. "Mm."

Tiarek chuckled. "Good."

"Nnnnng." Boba curled up a little tighter in a ball.

Kix at his back yawned and stretched. "Time?" he asked drowsily.

Tiarek glanced at the chrono above the door. "Oh-five-twenty." He scratched Boba's scalp gently with his fingers. "We should get up. You leave at oh-six."

"No," Boba mumbled.

"Yes. Come on." With a groan, Tiarek sat up and brought Boba with him like he was a reluctant tooka refusing to abandon an old woman's lap. "Big day."

"I don't wanna go to Kamino." Boba slid back down and stretched along Kix's back. The medic let out a sleepy chuckle.

"Yeah, I don't blame you." Tiarek patted his leg sympathetically. "Just stick with Ahsoka. She'll bite any longneck that tries to touch you."

Tup snickered. "She'll bite 'em just because. She's not too fond of the kaminiise."

"Why?" Boba asked.

"She, ah…" Tup sat up, his hair falling neatly around his face. Boba had to wonder how he got it to do that. Even though his hair had never been as long as Tup's, when he still had some it had always looked like a bird's nest when he woke up. "She doesn't like how they consider us products."

"She really doesn't," Kix snickered. "Don't get her started on the non-sentient thing either, unless you want to hear her cuss in every language she knows. Shyriiwook included."

"She speaks Shyriiwook?" Boba almost laughed.

"Yep."

"And if you do anything to get her in trouble while you're at Kamino, cyar'solus, it's not the longnecks you'll need to be afraid of." Jesse's eyes opened and he glared right at Boba.

"Jesse–" Tiarek growled.

"I don't care if he's–" Jesse began heatedly, but was interrupted by the door sliding open.

Ahsoka walked back in, yawning and stretching and holding a brown paper bag with handles. "Wolffe was just here. Plo got these for you." She tossed the bag down at the entrance of the fort and put her hands on her hips. "Now what could have possibly happened in the ninety seconds that I was gone to make this room so damn red?"

"Red?" Boba asked, confused.

"Don't worry about it, Commander," Jesse replied. He scooted out of the fort, got to his feet, then kissed her on the forehead. "Good luck at Tipoca City. Watch your back."

"Will do," she said, and watched him leave with a frown.

Kix gave Boba a pat and then crawled out after Tiarek. "Nice meeting you, squirt. Don't break any more ribs."

Boba's cheeks reddened and he dug through the bag Tano had dropped. Inside were a pair of black canvas pants with loads of pockets, a matching jacket, gray leather boots, and a soft blue tunic that matched Tiarek's battalion colors. He tried not to smile. He was glad he wasn't going to have to keep wearing the dumb cadet blues.

"I'll meet you in the hangar," Tano said, then glanced at Tiarek. "I'm gonna go talk to Jesse, quick, okay?"

Tiarek nodded. "Good luck," he intoned, smiling softly.

Boba glanced between the two. Were they fucking or not? They certainly gave each other a lot of lingering looks for people who weren't fucking.

Aurra had never looked at him like that, he realized. There was a dull ache in his chest that felt like jealousy.

"Well, get dressed," Tiarek yawned. "I'll go kit up. You too, Private, PT starts at seven."

"For the record, I volunteered to come," Tup smiled at him before crawling out of the fort.

Boba watched him leave and then shook out his new clothing. "So you and Tano," he said casually. "That a secret? You could have told me, I'm not a snitch."

"Wh– no, Boba." Tiarek crossed his arms, rolled his eyes and turned pink. "It's not like that with us. She's my vod'ika and my commanding officer. I've known her since she was fourteen, and–"

"And you were what, eleven?" Boba shucked his blues and hopped into his new pants.

"Ten," Tiarek said dryly. "Not relevant. That's not how it works with us, you know that. Our brains grow just as fast as the rest of us."

From somewhere nearby came the sound of a crash, hysterical laughter, screaming, and then rapid thumping as someone hoofed it at top speed past the rec room; it was closely followed by muffled cursing and a demand to give it back shabuir!

Boba rolled his eyes and kept dressing. " 'Kay."

"If I go kit up while you're wasting time, will you run off?" Tiarek asked. His cheeks were getting darker by the second.

"And miss breakfast?" Boba reclined back in the pillow fort, fully dressed.

Tiarek smiled. "Be right back." The door slid shut behind him. He didn't lock it.

Boba considered his options. He had a fresh set of clothing, no supervision, and plenty of gear he could steal and pawn for a quick buck to get off-world. He could head to Eburnea, Shaddy was probably still guarding the backrooms of that Neimodian restaurant. Grab a fake ID from the lower levels, hold onto a deece… it'd be easier than skinning a womprat.

These Jedi trusted too easily. He'd played along with them for less than a day and they thought they had him domesticated. Tiarek, though, would never forgive him for–

Boba sat up with a jolt as he remembered. He couldn't run. Going to Kamino was his last chance of getting it back.

"Boba!" Dad called from the cargo hold. "Boba, where's my lockbox?"

"The lockbox?" Boba swallowed hard. "You didn't say–"

"What?" Dad looked up the ladder at him. "You forgot it?"

"I'm not supposed to touch it," Boba said, eyes wide. "You said never to–"

"I said to grab our things!" Dad roared. He kicked the ladder with his beskar boot and the whole thing rang like a bell. "What is wrong with you? Why would you leave it?"

He'd been so caught up in his quest to kill Windu that he had forgotten to even look the last time he was there. If Tiarek said that he could trust Tano to not sign him over to the longnecks then he'd just have to trust her. It was his last chance to get that lockbox. If he got it, maybe he could show Tiarek and he'd remember him again.

Plus, he kind of wanted to see Tano bite a longneck. He'd heard stories about Tog venom. She could tell him if it was really just a myth.

He laid back down and pulled Robert under one arm. He'd missed his window if he was going to run. He was just going to have to see this through.

"Ready to get going?" Tiarek asked, poking his head around the door. The angle of his head caught the light just right and made the scar on his chin shine.

Boba swallowed hard and looked at Robert. "I guess."

Boba avoided the stares of the clones they passed on the way to the hangar. When he'd been sprinting through the halls yesterday, most of them had assumed he was just a cadet. They all knew exactly who he was, now, and most of them looked at him the same way that Jesse did.

Tiarek didn't give a damn. He kept a hand on Boba's shoulder and met the eyes of every man who threw a glare at him. Koon, Tano and a quartet of clones in gray armor were waiting for them in the hangar. They weren't alone, there was a bald Jedi with horrible razor rash and bloodshot eyes standing near them.

It took him a solid five seconds to recognize that it was fucking Kenobi without the beard.

"Boba." The bastard gave him a short bow and a simpering smile. "I'm glad to see that you're alright. I'm terribly sorry for not acting immediately to ensure your release."

Tano had that pinched look on her face again and her rear lek was wiggling back and forth like a tooka's tail right before it pounced. Boba remembered an old Togruta merc Dad had told him about once. The man ate raw meat, liked to play games with his bounties while he hunted them, and had a habit of pissing on people's boots to 'claim' them. He'd laughed and said that the only real difference between him and a tooka were the feet.

From what he'd overheard at the diner, Kenobi had pulled some shit that devastated both her and Skywalker on an undercover mission. She probably wouldn't be too mad if he socked the fucker in the nuts, but Tiarek's hand was very heavy on his shoulder.

"Well, we need to stay on schedule," Tano said, like they weren't still twenty minutes away from their departure slot. "Thank you for seeing us off, Master Kenobi."

"Now wait just a moment, Padawan Tano," he replied with narrowed eyes. "Did you obtain permission from your Master to travel off-world?"

Tano glared at him. "I am under the direct supervision of Master Plo."

"That's not what I asked," Kenobi smirked. "Did you obtain permission from Master Skywalker to escort Boba Fett to Kamino?"

"No," she answered shortly.

"You are not allowed to leave the planet without it." Kenobi crossed his arms.

"Master Kenobi, is this really necessary?" Koon asked wearily.

"I'm simply abiding by the guidelines of the Order, Master," Kenobi said in a smarmy voice that made Boba want to kick him in the kneecaps.

"Are you now?" Tano nearly spat at him.

"Yes, dear." Kenobi smiled, and it wasn't nice. "After all, it is my responsibility to prevent egregious harm from befalling any child of the Order."

"Fine." Tano pulled her commlink up and dialed a frequency.

Kenobi snorted. "Oh good luck, he's ignor–"

"Hey Snips, what's wrong?"

Kenobi looked offended.

"Hi, Master," she said sunnily. "Nothing's wrong. Can I go to Kamino with Master Plo? We won't be long."

"Yeah, sure– ow, ayi, Taarak! Palibe kuluma!"

"Thanks, Master. See you in a few days."

"Now wait just a–" Kenobi began angrily, but Tano had already closed the channel. "Ahsoka!"

"He was busy, Master Kenobi!" Tano said innocently. "We really must be going. Thank you again for seeing us off."

"You're not going anywhere until I speak to you about your attitude," Kenobi snapped. He reached for her left arm but she was too fast and spun it out of reach.

"Don't," she said, ice cold.

Boba narrowed his eyes. "Hey, fuckface," he interrupted. He didn't like whatever power play was going on here. Tano was too nice for her own good, she didn't deserve to be jerked around. "You know they make creams for that, right?" He pointed at the bastard's bright red scalp with his lips.

Kenobi's mouth dropped open.

"Boba, please don't swear at Master Kenobi," Tano squeaked, trying not to laugh.

Tiarek squeezed Boba's shoulder threateningly. "Stop," he said in a low voice.

"I've got fucking freedom of fucking speech, remember?" Boba asked blithely. "We're leaving, Kenobi. Fuck off."

Kenobi looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "Now see here, young man–" he began heatedly.

"Go find a tree to scratch your clappy head on, cunt," Boba said casually.

Tano's eyes bulged and she slapped a hand over her mouth a second too late to cover her shriek of laughter.

"Boba!" Tiarek barked. "Do not speak to General Kenobi like that. Apologize."

Boba smiled. "Sorry your head looks like–"

"Boba!" Tiarek hissed.

"What, I said sorry!"

"Enough," Koon boomed in an unexpectedly loud voice. He strode over and rested his hands on Tano and Kenobi's shoulders, then looked at Boba. "Boba, as a ward of the Republic you do indeed have freedom of speech. This freedom does not mean that others are obligated to accept abuse without question, or even to listen to you. It means that you cannot be arrested for it." He turned to look at the walking collection of ingrown hairs. "Master Kenobi, Ahsoka has obtained permission from her Master to travel and we will be taking off momentarily. There is no valid reason for her to remain. The two of you may speak upon her return."

Koon gave Kenobi's shoulder a squeeze and he looked down. "Safe travels, Padawan," Kenobi said finally, backing up out of Koon's grip. "I hope you find what you seek. May the Force be with you."

Tano looked like she wanted to cry. She stared at her feet. "And you, Master," she mumbled.

"Go ahead and say your goodbyes, young man," Koon said over his shoulder, walking back to the fueling station.

"Come here, you little stinker." Tiarek spun him around and lifted him into a big wampa hug. "Behave. Please."

"Fine," Boba grouched while hugging him back, maybe a little too hard. "You sure you can't come with us?"

"You don't need me." Tiarek set him down and smiled. "Just trust my vod'ika. She'll take care of you."

Boba eyed the Tog wringing her hands. "If you say so," he said dubiously.

"I do." He reached over and pulled Tano into a one-armed hug. "No walking off with any tubies on Kamino, littl'un. Longnecks don't appreciate shoplifting."

Tano snickered and rubbed her lek on his cheek. "Buzzkill."

"But if you get a chance…" Tiarek hesitated.

Tano gave him a sad smile. "I'll try. I doubt they'll let me, but I promise I'll try."

"Try what?" Boba asked.

They exchanged looks. "Just tell him we haven't forgotten," Tiarek said quietly, then ran his hand over Boba's stubble. "No running off, you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Oh!" Tano pulled Tiarek's head to her mouth and whispered something in his ear.

He flushed. "It's a flower from Mandalore. It's slang for blond." he mumbled.

Boba looked at his new boots so Tiarek wouldn't see the hurt look in his eyes.

"Ah." Tano gave Tiarek a gentle hip check before walking Boba up the docking ramp. "Come on, help me find Plo's box of nerf jerky," she said with a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes. "If Wolffe finds it first, it'll be gone before we hit the Rishi maze."

Rex remembered the day he discovered his General's secret marriage like it was yesterday. He'd been invited to meet Skywalker in the small, unfinished lounge that served as his personal meditation room at 1100 for his post-mission debrief since it involved a higher level of clearance. The room wasn't off limits by any means, but Skywalker and Ahsoka reserved the right to kick anyone out for a bit of peace and quiet. The problem was that it was early in the war and they were still getting to know each other. He hadn't known yet that his Jedi had the short-term memory of a Mon Cala polar oyster.

Now, of course, he knew Skywalker well enough to never walk into even a public room that he'd been alone in without knocking first and giving him at least ten seconds to pull his pants up and end his holocall with Senator Amidala. It would be a lesson that he would never forget, despite his best efforts.

The trauma that his naivete had inflicted had come with a distinct upside for the 501st, though; the patronage of an independently wealthy former Queen. At first it'd been higher quality rations from Karlinus, then little gift boxes of sweets and games, but she'd escalated into full-on bribery. They had holos and games from all over the damn galaxy, junk food from planets Rex had never heard of, and best of all, beer. And not the cheap stuff, they got craft osik shipped straight from Naboo. He had to assume that it was to ensure that even if he opened his mouth and blabbed up the chain of command, the rest of the boys would be so endeared to the Senator that they'd side with her.

That wasn't how it worked, obviously, but Rex wasn't about to tell her that.

"So." Cody popped open the bottle of Blue Veruna that Rex had brought over after Ahsoka had left with Boba and the Wolfpack, then plopped down next to him on the stupidest piece of furniture that had ever been designed; another gift from the Senator, a neon-orange sofa that felt like a cloud but looked like it had hemorrhoids. "I need to talk to you about something… sensitive."

Rex narrowed his eyes. "Sensitive how?" he asked, taking a suspicious swig of his own drink.

"About Skywalker and Ahsoka." Cody looked uncomfortable, and Rex really didn't like how his ori'vod had phrased that.

"Spit it out, Codes." If he was about to imply something untoward then Rex needed to set him straight as soon as possible. Shabla haran, it seemed like the kid couldn't so much as sneeze in a man's direction nowadays without being accused of doing something else with him. It stung, coming from Cody.

"Well, I know his teaching style is a little…" Cody hesitated. "Unorthodox. But has he ever–"

" –not the point, Obi-Wan! You never listen to what people are actually saying to you without planning on how you're going to make them feel like an idiot the whole time they're speaking!"

They looked at each other, stunned at the unexpected sound of an angry General Skywalker.

"When did he get back?" Rex asked, overlapping Cody's bewildered "Why is he here?"

"I'm at my limit, Padawan, I really am. I have never been disrespected like this over and over again, in public no less!"

"Oh please, Ahsoka's being formal with you and not letting you scratch her head, cry me a river."

"Don't minimize what she's really doing!"

Skywalker stormed into the officer's lounge with a ruddy orange Togruta toddler on his hip and an even ruddier Kenobi practically foaming at the mouth right behind him. "Watch him for a minute, he's getting upset by all of the yelling," Skywalker growled, "Which I don't see stopping since somebody won't leave me the hell alone." He handed Rex the toddler, threw a leather satchel that had been converted into a diaper bag on the couch beside him, then stormed out with Kenobi still sputtering.

"Uh–" Rex held the blinking kit like an expensive vase. "Sir, I–"

"She said egregious, Anakin, do you know how humiliating it is to be accused of egregious child abuse in front of–" their voices died off as they made it down the hall.

"Well then." Cody took another swig. "Looks like Skywalker's back."

"Cody, what do I do," Rex asked, his voice getting higher. "He's… he's tiny."

The kid's lip began to quiver.

"Cody, please," Rex said faintly.

"Give him here." Cody put his beer down, took the toddler from Rex and cuddled him against his chest. "It's a baby, not a bomb, calm down."

"It's a baby jetii," Rex said, relieved. He took a swig from his own beer to calm down.

"Yeah, and?" Cody rubbed the kid's back. "Udesii, ad'ika, you're alright. No tears. Skywalker will be right back."

The Togruta whimpered and snuggled against Cody's chest. He looked up from under his lashes at Rex.

"Hi, ad'ika," Rex said hesitantly, waving his finger at him.

The toddler broke out into a tiny, needle-fanged smile, revealing a deep set of dimples."Hi," he squeaked. "Hi. Hihihi."

"There we go." Cody smirked at Rex. "Since when are you scared of babies? I distinctly remember you carrying tubies around by the head."

"I'm not scared," Rex said defensively, "I just don't… It's a Togruta baby. I don't know how delicate they are."

"They're more durable than humans." Cody rolled his eyes and gently patted the kid's montral nubs. "They come with a built-in helmet, remember? I'd think that you'd be used to baby Togrutas anyway."

Rex snorted. "Ahsoka isn't a baby."

"Debatable."

Rex frowned. "What were you asking about before?"

Cody looked uncomfortable again. "Has Skywalker ever…" he paused. "Hurt her? When he was in a mood?"

Rex burst into shocked laughter. Was he insane? Skywalker adored his Padawan. "No," he wheezed. "I mean, the stunners were hard on her at first and he's flipped her rough a few times when sparring, but he would never hurt her, not on purpose. Not unless it was absolutely necessary for training. And if he did it accidentally, he'd beat himself up over it and carry her like a baby to the medbay if he didn't just heal it himself."

"Has he taken her to the medbay lately?" Cody bounced the kid on his lap, who had started to purr.

Rex's grin faltered. "Why are you asking me this?" he asked with an uneasy, tight feeling in his chest.

"Something happened to her arm," Cody said quietly. "Something she doesn't want anyone to notice. I had to order her to tell me what happened and she claimed it was an injury from a classified training exercise. We both know that they weren't running any training exercises last week, not with everything going on."

Rex couldn't think of anything that she'd been involved in that would fit that description and felt his chest somehow tighten even more. "Maybe she just… did something embarrassing," he offered lamely. Boba's defensive eyes in the locker room flashed in his mind's eye. He knew Boba was lying then, too.

"Rex." Cody gave him the ori'vod look that drove him insane and made him feel like a cadet again at the same time. "You know I wouldn't bring this up at all if I wasn't actually worried."

"What were her exact words?" Rex demanded.

Cody sighed. "I asked her what happened. She said it was a training accident with mechanical ordnance. I asked who was supervising it and she said it was classified and only Skywalker could release that information."

Rex looked away. That was a cagey lie or a half-truth at best, and sounded exactly like something Ahsoka would say if she had been injured by someone and was trying to hide it. He felt sick when he realized that a mech hand would qualify as mechanical ordnance.

Cody looked unhappy. "I only served with him for a few months before he was knighted and made a general," he said quietly. "I don't know him like you do, but I remember that he had a hair-trigger temper, especially when he's stressed. And he and Kenobi are practically sewn together at the hip. We both know he probably didn't handle the Hardeen operation well."

Rex had an inkling about how well his General had handled it. He'd only seen Ahsoka for maybe five minutes during the whole ordeal. The dozens of messages he'd sent had gone unanswered for hours, only for her to message him back in the middle of the night to say that she was fine but she needed to stay with Skywalker. "But why would he hurt Ahsoka?" Rex asked bitterly. He stood up and started to pace. If… if Skywalker actually had hurt her, what could he do? His job was to protect his Jedi, yes, but did that also mean from each other?

"I don't think he meant to, but I think something happened." Cody gave him a sympathetic look. "I know that it's the last thing you'd want to consider, Rex, but I think we owe it to Ahsoka to at least try to find out."

"Then what?"

Cody bit his lip and looked away. "I don't know." The kid made a distressed whistle and reached for Rex. Cody chuckled. "I think he wants you, vod'ika."

Rex stopped pacing and gingerly took the toddler from Cody. He cooed and rested his fat little head right over Rex's heart, then patted his chest softly. "Inn-day, inn-day," he sang softly.

Rex didn't know what it meant, but he got the impression that the kid was trying to comfort him.

"Yeah, kid, inn-day." He sighed and looked at Cody. "I'll ask. I have no idea what I'm going to say, but I'll ask."

"Good man." Cody stood up, clapped him on the shoulder, then made for the door.

"Where are you going?" Rex asked in alarm.

"Gonna find some meat for the little biter." Cody grinned. "He's too young for beer. I think Os'ika still has landjaegers in the mess freezer. Try not to drop him for five minutes."

Rex looked at the kit. The kit looked back with big, dark blue eyes. He felt his nerves start to relax and he smiled at the toddler. He really was a cute little thing, with red-orange skin and little stubby blue lekku. Was he from the southern continent like Ahsoka? He could have sworn that Skywalker said that he was going to Toydaria, but this was clearly no Toydarian. He smelled warm and spicy, like musky pollen. It was similar to how Ahsoka smelled but completely different at the same time.

The toddler made a little meowing noise and rested his head on Rex's chest. His little white ink blots were in the center of his cheeks, reminding Rex of Senator Amidala's makeup when she was Queen of Naboo, and then one right in the middle of his forehead.

"So what's your name?" Rex asked, swaying gently back and forth.

The toddler smiled his little toothy grin again and reached for the holotags around Rex's neck. "Wooo-waaa-laaa," he sang softly. He traced the round tag with his finger and sighed happily. "Monnngo eeeee-nuuuu."

"Heh." Rex had no idea what that meant but he continued to sway back and forth, happy to just watch the little boy.

"Alright, sorry that took so long, I had to fight Wooley for the shabla zapper." Cody brandished a sausage at the toddler and he squealed in response.

"You were barely gone a minute," Rex frowned.

Cody turned and looked at the chrono above the door. "More like ten." He bit off a piece and chewed it in preparation.

Rex glanced at the chrono to confirm and then looked at the kid in his arms with suspicious eyes. He blinked at him adorably, purring like a kitten.

Maybe that rumored Togruta baby hypnosis was real after all.

The consular cruiser was the favored vessel of Jedi and diplomats long before the war. Painted bright red to signal both its origin from Coruscant and its neutral status as a humanitarian vessel, Ahsoka thought it resembled a freshly-steamed shrimp when viewed from above. The brand-new turbolaser cannons were enormous. When she'd excitedly plopped into the operator seat Master Plo had immediately shooed her away for fear of her being unable to resist temptation. It was only a little insulting, mainly because he wasn't actually wrong.

The cabin with the Dorin gas pod was reserved for Plo. Ahsoka, Boba and the Wolfpack planned on hotracking the remaining two for the duration of the mission. After dropping off their things in their lockers and jumping into hyperspace, they left Plo's Arseven in charge of navigation and gathered in the salon pod. It was nicer than Ahsoka had expected; Plo had been able to beg the cruiser off of a Kel Dor diplomat and it had recently been refurbished. The salon pod had dark gray walls, a soft red carpet, a massive white sofa that spanned the length of the room, and a brand-new enth-cube holoconsole in the center of it all.

The Wolfpack took sprawling seats across the couch while Plo started floating in the corner, presumably to meditate. It was a clear and open invitation. Ahsoka wasn't in the mood yet, not so soon after having to fight off kriffing Master Kenobi again.

Wolffe ripped open a bag of nerf jerky and began inhaling it. The bastard had already hidden it before they'd gotten on board. Ahsoka watched Boba fling himself onto the opposite side of the sofa from the Wolfpack with Robert under his arm. "Not bad," he said appreciatively while looking around the pod, his aura gone a quiet, dim blue with contentment.

Ahsoka was glad to see it. He was all over the place with his emotions, it was exhausting. She just wanted him to be happy for a few minutes, was that so much to ask? He'd been through so much. She couldn't stand seeing so much hurt in a little boy.

The slumber party had helped. She knew it would. Boba might have been raised apart and unaltered, but he was still a clone. The clone pile had returned the green tint to his natural aura that Ahsoka had feared was gone for good after she'd put her foot in her mouth with the sleepover comment, and it was even stronger than before.

She still couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with him and Rex. They were way, way too familiar to be the mildly-pleasant acquaintances Rex had made them out to be, but Boba didn't seem to want to talk about it any more than he did. She was afraid to push. He was on the precipice of a breakthrough, she could sense it, and he could either fall into her arms or shatter on the wrong side and become totally unreachable.

She just had to play it safe. Keep him in a good mood, try not to make him feel awkward or unwelcome, and be supportive. Easy peasy, except the Wolfpack apparently shared the same opinion of Boba that Jesse did. She couldn't really blame them, not after Abregado, but zisiyeni if it didn't make her goal harder. And Boba was picking up on it, too. He didn't have to be an Empath to be able to sense that she and Plo were the only ones who wanted him on board.

There was a minifridge in the corner that Ahsoka poked her head in; Plo had already stocked it with unsweetened fizz for her and tartro for the boys. She pulled out two bottles of tartro then took a seat in between Boba and the Wolfpack, tucking her legs underneath her. She handed a bottle to Boba with a wink and popped the seal on hers.

"Oh." Boba went green with curiosity, sat up, then took a swig of the sweet indigo fizz. His eyes went wide. "The fuck is this?"

"You drop another forn-word in front of the General and you're getting smacked," Wolffe drawled from his reclining sprawl on the opposite side of the sofa.

Ahsoka glared at him. "Nobody puts a hand on him," she said sharply. "That's an order."

"You forget, Ahs'ika, you don't outrank me," Wolffe smirked. "I don't have to take your orders like ol' boy back home."

Ahsoka growled in warning at her vod. "Which means that if you go for my ad, I'll flip you on your shebs and bite you akay gar haai'piruni."

Boba's aura flared a little bit with white surprise.

"Oh really," Wolffe grinned, slithering even further down in his seat. His aura went bright orange with excitement-violence. "Bet the nerf jerky I get first pin."

"Oh you're on, Af'ika," she sneered, and they both stood and started dropping plastoid.

"That's quite enough out of you two," Plo sighed, still floating in a lotus position. "No sparring in the salon, and we will respect the vessel which has been so graciously loaned to us. I do not want to see a single dent or popped panel because one of you decided to test the strength of your skulls on it."

"Yes, Master," Ahsoka mumbled at the same time Wolffe grumbled "Sir, yes Sir." They retrieved their shed armor pieces and redressed.

"Anyway, this is tartro," Ahsoka answered Boba.

He took another swig and nodded. "Not bad."

"Our tartro," Sinker mumbled with a red smudge of resentment.

"It's for everyone," Ahsoka said primly, but she floated her bottle over to Sinker with the Force and gently bonked him in the forehead with it, giggling.

Sinker snatched it out of the air and took a big swig.

"So, uh…" Boba started peeling the label off his bottle. "What did you mean before when you asked why the room was red?"

"Oh," Ahsoka said, surprised. She had forgotten completely to explain her Empathy and synesthesia to him, hadn't she? She was just so used to it being common knowledge among the clones that it didn't even occur to her. "Well, that's from my Force talent. I was born a natural Empath."

"What?" Boba's brows furrowed in light green confusion.

"The ability to feel other people's emotions. All Jedi can do it to an extent, but I was born with a strong affinity for it. I could always do it, even without training."

"Oh." Boba scrunched his nose. "But what does that have to do with the room turning red?"

"Well, my Empathy manifests in a sort of…" Ahsoka's hands twirled in the air, searching for the word. "Unique way. I also have synesthesia, do you know what that is?"

Boba shook his head.

"Well, it's when one of your senses is stimulated, another one is at the same time. The most common type is to see numbers and letters as colored, both when you're thinking about them and if you see them written. For example, you'd see an aurek and perceive it as yellow, even if it's printed in black."

Boba raised an eyebrow. "Weird."

Ahsoka laughed. "The kind that I have means that I experience the emotions of other people as a… a sort of colored aura through the Force. It used to be a lot more intense, I would feel everything. I'd block everyone out and not see colors at all when it got too overwhelming. My Master showed me how to rebuild my mental shields in a way that lets me see emotional auras without actually feeling the emotions unless they're incredibly strong. It's a lot easier to manage now."

"Would you still have it if you weren't a Jedi?" Boba asked curiously.

"You mean if I wasn't Force sensitive?" Ahsoka shrugged. "I'm honestly not sure. I know that the auras I see manifest in the Force, not in my actual vision, and I don't really experience synesthesia in any other context. Sometimes I taste bitter or sour if someone is really upset, but that's about it."

"So when the room turned red…" Boba said slowly.

"Rex and Jesse were getting pissy over something," Ahsoka finished. "I see anger as red. Grief is purple, jealousy is green, love is red and pink but also copper if it's platonic, humor is gold but embarrassment is yellow… there's a lot of nuance, actually. And then people have their own natural aura color that stays around them all the time." She pointed at the serenely floating Plo. "His natural aura is copper. Wolffe is a dark orange, Comet is a sort of creamy orange, Boost is red and Sinker is pink–"

"I'm pink?" Sinker squeaked while Comet and Boost cackled at him. "You never told me I was pink!"

"You never asked." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Whatever." Sinker crossed his legs and pouted. "How do I make it more manly?"

"How is pink not manly?" Boost snickered, going rich gold with amusement.

Sinker pouted. "It's pink."

"You can't change your natural aura on your own," Ahsoka said.

"Is he dead?" Ahsoka joked bitterly under her breath, watching the murderous piece of garbage on the bed closely. His aura was an ugly, muted yellow, and he smelled so strongly of cheap alcohol that she could barely breathe.

"He's about to be," Anakin snarled, cracking his knuckles. Ahsoka kept a soothing hold on the edge of his dark, furious aura like a mother holding a child's hand, refusing to allow her own desire to rip the bastard limb from limb for what he did to Obi-Wan bleed through their bond.

"It can change if you go through a lot of emotional trauma," Ahsoka continued, shaking the memory away, "But it's not something that you can pick. Usually. Unless you specifically learn how to do it, and you'd only do that if you were trying to trick me."

Boba snickered. "That happen a lot?"

"Well, if I had a credit for every time it happened, I'd have a credit." Ahsoka retrieved her tartro bottle from Sinker's loose hand and took an aggressive swig. Master Kenobi didn't like it when she drank sugar, either.

"What's mine?" Boba asked hesitantly.

She examined his aura for a moment. It was still very gray, but the green was becoming more and more vibrant. She was getting a good idea of what it had been before the galaxy made him shut down. Being around the other clones was good for him. He wasn't meant to be alone. None of them were. "Green," she said decisively. "Like… like a dark, tropical leaf. Very pretty." She winked at him, took one last sip, then gave the bottle back to Sinker.

Boba eased bronze with flattery and he nodded. "Not bad," he said to himself, then snickered. "Better than pink, at least."

Sinker glared at him.

"So how'd you get that scar?" Boba asked, looking right at Wolffe's bisected eye.

The question hung in the air like a stinky fart and the room went awkwardly silent. Sinker cleared his throat and looked at Boost, who made a face at Comet. Boba noticed, blushed, and went nearly neon yellow with embarrassment.

"None of your business," Wolffe growled, his own aura gone bright yellow.

"Nevermind," Boba said harshly. "Didn't know soldiers were so fucking touchy." He popped off the couch and left the room in a visible huff with Robert under his arm.

"Boba, wait!" Ahsoka protested. She heard their cabin door slide closed.

"Nosy little biter," Wolffe grumbled.

"Can you guys please give him a break?" Ahsoka begged. "He had no way of knowing that's a sensitive subject." She stood, squeezed her lekku stressfully, then released them with a wince. They were still sore from her meltdown at the barracks.

"We're not trying to be hard on him," Sinker protested, his aura going orange in offense.

"I'd say we're being downright nice, all things considered," Wolffe mumbled.

Ahsoka picked up Boba's abandoned tarto bottle, got unsweetened fizz from the minifridge, then plucked the bag of nerf jerky from Wolffe's hand. "I'm going to go check on him. You boys stay here."

"Do not push too hard, Ahsoka," Plo warned her back as she left the room. "I know that you cannot stand witnessing distress, but you cannot use your powers to solve every emotional crisis."

She didn't even know how she'd use her powers to solve this emotional crisis. Her ability to glean strong emotions from others and relieve them of their impact was nothing more than temporary relief from whatever was overwhelming them. For deep trauma, like what the men had gone through after Umbara or what Boba had seemingly been through since Geonosis, gleaning was about as helpful as a single staple over a hemorrhaging wound. What she'd done for Rex in the aftermath of Umbara when he'd had that panic attack was just that, temporary relief. He still needed to process it all and come to grips with it on his own, she had just made the moment easier.

Though in Anakin's case, it'd almost been an emotional tourniquet.

Ahsoka slid the cabin door open with her jerky and their bottles of tartro in hand. "Hey," she said gently.

"Hey." He was in a ball on the corner of his bunk, clinging to Robert and stewing in yellow embarrassment. Despite his rough edges, he was so sensitive and awkward. He might say otherwise, but the opinion of the other clones mattered to him. It made Ahsoka want to snatch him up and glean every bad feeling that surrounded him away and then put Wolffe in a headlock.

"You know, Kix would make me do laps around the ship if he saw me drinking tartro," she said, handing him his bottle with a smile. "He's always on me about how much sugar I eat."

"You can't have sugar?" Boba asked, looking up.

"I can have a little bit, but Togrutas are obligate carnivores. My pancreas can't release enough insulin to handle an omnivorous diet." She took a sip of the sakura fizz and sighed in disappointment. "Processed sugar is the worst."

Boba nodded and started playing with the label again.

"Wolffe is a proud man," she said quietly. She took a seat on the bunk beside him. "He got his scar from a fight that should have killed him. He doesn't like to talk about it because he thinks it makes him look weak. You couldn't have known."

He nodded again. "I didn't mean to make it weird," he mumbled. "Dad always told me not to say more than necessary. I should have just kept my mouth shut."

Ahsoka's heart broke. "It's a big scar right on his face, it's perfectly natural to be curious about it." She sent him a reassuring green tendril of serenity and set her can down on the floor. "So, how about a less serious topic?"

Boba looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what kind of music do you like?" She leaned back and smiled. "Come on. Let's get to know each other like normal people, or this is going to be a boring fourteen hours."

"Oh." Boba's aura was pale blue with surprise, and Ahsoka inwardly kicked her hands and feet with glee. Blue was good, it meant a pleasant surprise. She was getting through to him. "I don't know."

"Did your dad listen to any music?" She felt safe bringing up Jango since he had first.

"Yeah. Stuff from Concord Dawn, mostly, I think it's called skiffle? It's got quetarras, gutbuckets, onion flutes, that kind of stuff. And singing, obviously."

"Nice. I listen to Pantoran pop, usually," Ahsoka grinned. "Drives my Master nuts, but it's fun."

"Pantoran pop?" Boba's nose scrunched up. "That's so cheesy."

"It's fun to dance to, though," Ahsoka shrugged. "I like dancing. Most Togrutas do."

"I don't know how to dance." Boba's fingers played with Robert's nose ring.

Ahsoka got an idea. "Do you want to learn?" she asked.

Boba rolled his eyes. "Not really," he said, and Ahsoka watched smoky, silvery deceit rotate around the edge of his aura.

"Are you sure? It's pretty easy. Here, watch me and you can decide for yourself." Ahsoka stood and went to her satchel to retrieve her datapad. The audio on it wasn't impressive, but it was loud enough for them both to hear in the tiny cabin.

Ahsoka started up the latest album from Esper then pointed to her feet. "Now," she said loudly over the bright beat and fast-paced Pantoran lyrics, "This is the most important move, the foundation for everything. Basically you're running in place but sliding at the same time, so lift your right knee and step forward with your right foot, then as you slide your right foot back, you do the same thing on the left." She grinned as she demonstrated.

Boba's aura went a mellow gold with humor-fun.

"So that's it, super simple," she giggled, then did a little spin and clapped. The music was so bouncy; even though she didn't speak Pantoran and couldn't understand the lyrics, listening to it always lifted her mood. "Come on. Do it with me."

"I'm good," Boba said flatly, trying to fight a smile and failing.

"Suit yourself." She continued to slide and bounce, singing along with the lyrics softly; well, an approximation of what she heard, anyway. She started doing a tesh-step to the side, twirling every time she returned to her original position for a little flare.

Boba rolled his eyes and snickered. "You gonna dance the whole way to Kamino, Tano?" he drawled.

"Yep." She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him. "All by myself, apparently."

Boba heaved a heavy, theatrical sigh. "Fine, shit, I'm getting up."

Ahsoka didn't bother to hold back her delighted trill. It was working. He was finally flush with warm blue happiness.

She transitioned back into the slide-run, and did it at half speed so he could see. Boba watched her legs carefully, then after a few false starts picked up the move seamlessly.

"See, you're dancing!" Ahsoka laughed, and spun again.

"You looked like an idiot doing it alone," Boba said, grinning so wide that his gums showed. "Now show me how to do the other thing."

Ahsoka's heart swelled inside her chest until she could barely breathe from the space it took up. "Gladly," she said.

Notes:

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS vod/vod'ika/ori'vod: sibling/lil sib/big sib par shab'jorbe: for fuck's sake kaminiise: Kaminoans cyar'solus: beloved one (derogatory) shab/shabla/shabuir: fuck/fucking/motherfucker haran: hell udesii: calm, easy ad: baby/child under 3 Ahs'ika: diminutive for Ahsoka Af'ika: diminutive for Wolffe (Specific to Ahsoka, and because it rhymes with ad'ika [baby] she's rhyme-slanging him into Puppy lol) akay gar haai'piruni: until you cry tiarek: a pale, white-yellow flower native to Mandalore. Slang for a natural blond, akin to ginger for a redhead TOYDARIAN TRANSLATIONS Ayi: No Palibe kuluma: Don't bite OTHER NOTES Togruta babies hypnotizing their caregivers with the power of cute is not a headcanon I will ever give up btw, and reminder that Jango was a fuckin hick ass piece of cornbread from Concord Dawn of course he likes skiffle. Pantoran pop is essentially k-pop. Ahsoka is doing the Melbourne Shuffle to this song lol lol

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[astraphelwrites]

𝙵𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝙵𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Character(s) | Trope | Words 🔞 = NSFW Char x Char GN!Reader-Insert

Master List ✰ Main ✰ Daily GIFs

・Assassin’s Creed・ 🔞 F!Eivor | Virgin | 400 ・Attack on Titan・ 🔞 Levi | Mission Sex | 50 ・BNHA・ Bakugo Katsuki | Evil Twin | 250 Yamada Hizashi | Accidental Marriage | 500 ・Cardcaptors・ Touyuki | In Vino Veritas | 250 ・Cyberpunk 2077・ Takemura Goro | Massage | 400 ・Death Note・ L Lawliet | Sickfic | 50 ・Demon Slayer・ Akaza | First Meeting | 450 Douma | Love Confession | 50 🔞 Himejima Gyomei | Prostate Introduction | 350 Kanroji Mitsuri | Bed Sharing | 200 Kocho Shinobu | Pining | 250 Rengoku Kyojuro | First Kiss | 150 Shinazugawa Sanemi | Skin Hunger | 100 Tomioka Giyu | Hanahaki | 500 ・Fallout・ 🔞 John Hancock | Friends to Lovers | 200 ・Hunter x Hunter・ 🔞 Kite | Sex Magic | 300 Immortality | 200 ・Interspecies Reviewers・ Skin Hunger | 200 ・Kino no Tabi・ Hermes and Kino | Huddling for Warmth | 300 ・Legend of Korra・ Korrasami | Est. Relationship | 300 ・Mass Effect・ EDI and Joker | First Time | 500 ・Mob Psycho 100・ Serizawa | Bound Together | 350 ・Outlaw Star・ Gene Starwind | Futurefic | 250 ・Paradise Kiss・ Yamamoto Isabella | Pining | 250 ・Samurai Champloo・ Mugen | Enemies to Lovers | 100 ・She-Ra・ Razz and Swift Wind | Stranded on an Island | 400 ・Star Wars・ Ahsoka Tano | Let Me Sleep | 250 ・Yu Yu Hakusho・ Botan | Elevator | 350 Hiei | Bound Together | 250 Kurama | Finding Out | 500 🔞 Mukuro | Voyeurism | 75 Shizuru | In Vino Veritas | 150 Touya | First Time | 200

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[weyrwolfen]

Eidola: Chapter 14 - CT-227-913 Char

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

“How’s your appetite?” Panz asked, looking down at the datapad he had balanced on the crook of his knee.

The question sounded casual, but Char was perfectly aware that it was anything but. He’d been on enough of the 501st’s more questionable missions that he knew a post-op psych eval when he saw one.

“Fine,” Char answered evenly. He wasn’t lying, but it was hard to get worked up about processed rations. “The fresh stuff is a nice change of pace.” Solid anything was a nice change of pace; apparently liquid rations were easier to store and cheaper to produce. Or at least that was the line of osik they’d been served when the Empire had changed their rations.

“Then why aren’t you taking your full share?” Panz asked in the same bland tone, but his gaze was sharp.

Char didn’t wince, he was better trained than that, but he wanted to. He should have known that somebody would rat him out to the medics. Might as well stick with the truth, for now at least. “Doesn’t seem right, taking more when I’m fine and everyone else is on short rations.”

The look Panz gave him was deeply unimpressed. “You’re underweight, and your bloodwork is still a mess. You’re on full rations until I say otherwise.”

When Panz only responded to Char’s admittedly sullen silence with a single raised eyebrow, Char just grunted, “Fine.”

Panz typed something into his datapad and asked, “Sleeping okay?”

“Mostly,” Char replied. He still woke up with nightmares half the time, but that was hardly worth mentioning. He barely remembered his dreams, once the initial surge of adrenaline passed. Hat Trick and Link had it worse, and everybody woke up when Feral had a bad night. Whelk was handling it within the squad, no need to give Panz all the sordid details.

Then again, Panz probably already knew, and Whelk was probably the one who’d told him. Same with knowing Char wasn’t eating all of his rations. Karking medics seemed to live by their own code.

“Had a chance to think about what you’d like to do, after you’re fully cleared?”

Char paused for a second, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he wasn’t sure how it was going to be received. “I’d like to try out for the Reapers,” he finally said, because not answering truthfully was potentially worse.

Panz didn’t immediately respond, and the look he was giving Char was hard and unreadable. He met the medic’s gaze with every bit of calm his trainers had taught him to fake.

“You sure you’re ready to jump right back in like that?” Panz finally asked, still in that same easy tone of voice. Like Char didn’t already know he was dealing the hardest shabuir on the base’s med team. Just his luck.

Calm. Breathe through the nerves. He didn’t need to lie. He just needed to refrain from mentioning the entire truth. Slow breath in. Half breath out.

“I’m a sniper, it’s what I’m good at,” Char said evenly. “I would be useful on a Reaper team.”

He would, too. Sniper wasn’t the most common specialization in the G.A.R., and Char had been a karking good one.

“I’m sure you would be, but is that what you want?” Panz pressed, putting an odd emphasis on the last word.

What Char really wanted wasn’t something he was about to voice in front of a medic mid-psych eval. He wanted his armor and weapons back. Sitting here, in loose pants and a poorly fitting tunic, he felt naked, exposed. Vulnerable. He hated it. “I want to help get our brothers out,” he said instead, which was also true. It was. He’d left too many brothers behind, enslaved to that–

Calm. Breathe. Slow your heat rate. Slow breath in. Half breath out.

Char only just managed to keep his expression under control. He was so angry, but he needed to keep that under control too. Anger could be a useful tool, but rage made you stupid. Made you reckless. He couldn’t afford rage, no matter how much he might have earned it. Not when it would affect his decision making, and not where anyone else could see.

Panz just looked at him, obviously weighing something. Char met his gaze and held it, defective irises, a brown so dark it was nearly black, locked on the medic’s more clone-standard, dark amber. The Kaminoans had reviled that imperfection, but they’d also determined that the flawed color was partnered with above average vision. His brothers sometimes found his eyes a little disconcerting and hard to read, and natborns, at least according to one puffed-up major back on Coruscant, found them creepy. Char wasn’t above letting that fact work for him, from time to time.

Panz seemed wholly unmoved though.

“Nobody’s going to be joining the Reapers until the situation on Wadj stabilizes,” he finally said, apparently coming to some kind of decision. “But I’ll make you a deal. Prove to me you’re taking better care of yourself, and I’ll clear you for range practice.”

Char nodded. Those terms were acceptable.

Exhale.

“So, what were you doing all the way out on Hadros?” Panz asked, setting his datapad on the desk and resting his hand next to it. Even from this angle, Char could see the little, blinking icon that signified a recording in progress.

So it was going to be that kind of an interview. At least Panz wasn’t asking him about the color and texture of his literal osik again.

“The official request said they were having trouble with insurgents, but really, the Imperial governor just wanted rid of his Republic predecessor,” Char answered, turning slightly so that he was angled towards the datapad. Might as well make sure the Corries got the clearest audio possible. “He had gotten a platoon of natborns shot to ribbons in a botched attempt to arrest her and her whole family on some trumped up charges. We were just the replacements.”

“So, just some backwoods posting?” Panz asked, slowly tracing an abstract pattern on the desk with the tip of his middle finger. “Nothing more significant than that.”

“Haven’t you heard? Clones don’t get the good assignments anymore. We’re last gen tech.” Char said, and even if his tone was light, almost joking, something in it made Panz’s expression cloud.

There was a trip line here, a boundary Char couldn’t see but needed not to cross. If Panz was asking questions like this, then the medics had decided Char was stable enough to answer them without breaking. His brothers clearly needed this intel, so Char needed to deliver it without getting flagged as a liability again.

“Still,” the medic said, schooling his expression into bland neutrality. “Seems a little low profile for the 501st.”

Char couldn’t fully suppress a tiny, bitter smile. “We’re not 501st anymore. The Emperor likes to punish his pet by taking away his toys,” he answered, mostly managing to blunt the venom in his tone. “Some mission we weren’t even on went bad, and so the eight of us got unceremoniously shipped out to the shebs-end of the galaxy. At least none of us were just summarily executed. That’s happened a couple of times, too.”

Panz wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as some brothers. For a fraction of a second, the medic looked murderous.

That level of honesty had been a mistake. Char needed to keep his answers strictly professional if he ever wanted to get cleared to do anything except pick vegetables and report to medical every third day.

“And how many times has that happened?” Panz asked, sidestepping some of the more obvious follow-up questions.

Char was grateful for that. He was pretty certain the medics – kriff, probably the entire rest of the base – already knew who he really was. That betrayal cut deep, and Char probably wouldn’t have been able to keep a tight handle on himself if Panz had asked for more details.

“Two executions. Unless you mean the transfers, and then four that I remember,” Char finally said in a scrupulously even tone. “You should ask the others if they remember more.” Panz had grilled him on the state of his memories last week, in teeth-gritting detail. The truth was, Char’s head was shot through with holes, even more so than his other brothers, if their minimal efforts to compare notes could be trusted. There were so many missing brothers, present in one brief memory and gone the next, with no connective tissue to hold the series of events together.

He was… pretty certain Appo was still alive. At least, Char couldn’t remember calling anyone else Commander, so no one had been promoted into an empty position. But Toggle, Cuffs, and Venom were just gone, present in memories early on, when everyone had still had their old armor and paint, but notably absent once they’d all turned in their gear for stormtrooper white. Had they been transferred? Did they get…

And Baker was even more of a mystery, because Char remembered being deployed to Ryloth twice, and Baker was present in one set of memories, but not the other, and Char couldn’t remember which mission was which. Had the one during the planet’s brief rainy season come first? Baker had been there for that one, but maybe the other mission, the dry one when Char had somehow cracked his left cuisse, had come first? Char couldn’t remember.

It could be worse, he guessed. He could remember events like the Temple in the same, perfect clarity that haunted the others. What Char could remember was bad enough. This way, he could pretend that most of his missing brothers had been sent off on boring, comparatively safe postings, all around the Outer Rim.

It was a comforting lie.

Char wasn’t expecting Panz to be waiting for him in the hallway, outside of the room the medics used for… whatever these meetings were. Debriefings, mind healing sessions, and parole check-ins, all rolled into one.

The medic had been leaning next to the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. He pushed himself away from the wall, letting his hands drop casually to his sides when Char turned the corner and spotted him. “I’ve got a cadet trainee shadowing me today,” Panz said, by way of a greeting. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Kark yes, that was going to be a problem.

Captain Rex and Commander Tano were both missing, and there were Mandalorians in the mess hall.

Char was on edge, and he wasn’t alone. There was a grim kind of anxiety hanging over the whole base. Even the kids down in hydroponics had been subdued during Char’s morning shift. Normally that might have been a relief, but now it just sent constant prickles of unease down the back of his neck.

Captain Rex had been the brother they’d all looked up to in the 501st, beyond just being the highest-ranking clone in the battalion. And now he’d disappeared into some Force-cursed Jedi temple, and nobody had any idea when, or if, he was going to come out.

And that whole situation was all tied up with Commander Tano, because of course it was. The Jedi had spent the entire war dragging Char’s brothers through their nonsense. Why would now be any different?

That line of thought was accompanied by an uncomfortable twinge in his gut, but was that guilt over misplaced resentment, or was that just the Kaminoans’ programming, telling him to submit to the nearest commanding Jedi, to obey without question?

Breathe. Slow your heart rate.

He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to risk talking it out with anyone. Especially not with Panz, not when even hinting at it would jeopardize the small amount of freedom he’d been granted by the Draboon VIII medics.

Everyone on base seemed to worship the ground Commander Tano walked on. Char had too, once. She’d been the 501st‘s commander, their feisty little sister. They had loved her, then, but they had loved her master too, and look where that had gotten them.

But he had stayed with the Empire of his own free will, snapping to attention whenever the Emperor called, and forcing Char and his brothers to…

To…

Slow your heart rate. Slow breath in. Breathe.

And he had trained her, and now she was off risking Char’s brothers lives, again, dragging them into some Force osik they should never have been asked to handle in the first place.

But that wasn’t exactly how it had happened, was it? At least, not if the rumors around base were to be believed. She’d gone in first, alone at her own request, and the others had followed later, only after something had gone wrong. That had been their choice, hadn’t it?

And she had run where her master had stayed, setting up an operation which seemed solely interested in rescuing clones from the Empire, in getting Char and his brothers out.

But she’d also run once before, hadn’t she? Abandoning them all, back when an extra Jedi on the front lines could have saved so many lives.

Except that had all started with the Jedi had thrown her to the mercy of the Senate, and even after that, she’d eventually come back. Not for Char and his brothers. Not for mere clones. For a cause. She’d come back then, and she’d come back this time too, even after his brothers had tried their level best to kill her. And how many of them had she killed herself, by turning their Sith captive loose as a distraction? He hadn’t even heard a treasonous whisper of another Jedi trying to save clones after the Order had gone out. They’d all either fought or died. All except for him, and what he’d done to Char and his brothers was objectively worse.

Get control of your heart rate, Trooper. Right now.

Char didn’t want to be here. He wanted to find somewhere quiet, somewhere private and sort through his spiraling thoughts. So yeah, having some kid sitting in on today’s session was pretty karking far from ideal.

“So?” Panz asked casually, as if Char’s protracted silence hadn’t already gone on an incriminating length of time.

Slow breath in. Half breath out.

“No. No problem,” Char replied, as if he could give any other answer.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Most of their brothers called every kid on base a cadet, old habit from Kamino, but they all seemed too young. Anyone training to be a medic had to be older, whatever the natborn equivalent of a seven or eight year old might be. Maybe one of the people the Raiders had picked up in their last mission had a knack for healing. Not that he wanted to deal with a natborn either…

Panz turned and opened the door, answering Char’s question.

Oh. Well, that was interesting…

He’d never met this cadet before, but he still recognized her on site. After all, there was only one person who could possibly have a younger, softer version of Jango Fett’s face, partnered with the lanky frame of an early-adolescent girl.

“Hi!” Omega said, a datapad pressed against her chest under tightly crossed arms, perky cheer just a hair too forced to be real.

Char felt himself tense in instinctive defense, immediately assuming she was reacting negatively to him, personally, but then he remembered one extra detail, which had been included in the morning’s gossip. The Bad Batch had made up the bulk of the team who had followed Captain Rex into the Wadj temple and disappeared.

And Omega was a member of the Bad Batch. Her squad was missing.

Char stepped a little further into the room, forcing himself to unclench his fists and assume an easier stance. Whoever’s di’kutla idea this had been, he wasn’t about to add to the kid’s troubles if he could help it. She was his, well, not his brother. Obviously. Sibling then. A real little sister, in training, blood, and bone.

“Hello,” he said, knowing he sounded gruff and awkward.

Panz ducked around Char, eyeing them both like he was expecting an explosion at any moment. “Go ahead and take a seat. Omega will be walking you through the first portion of today’s check-up,” he said, giving her a pointed, critical look.

The cadet, Omega, nodded, turned to set her datapad down on the room’s small desk, and picked up a handheld mediscanner with what was obviously a steadying breath.

For the first time, Char considered the possibility that this karking awkward farce hadn’t actually been constructed to test him alone.

He sat down in his usual chair, trying to project at least an outward approximation of calm.

“May I take your vitals?” she asked, squaring her shoulders in a halfway decent attempt at cool professionalism.

She sounded so earnest, which managed to catch Char utterly by surprise. He had to work to keep from snorting.

Unfortunately, he must not have been as good at concealing his reaction as he had hoped, because the cadet’s face fell a little, and she glanced at Panz in an obvious attempt to figure out what she’d already done wrong.

Char forced himself to not wince. He was already making a hash of things. “Been a while since a medic just asked nicely,” he said, trying to explain. “I thought you medics were trained to jump straight to the threats.”

It was a pretty poor attempt at a joke. Char’s sense of humor had always been a little questionable, and he was rusty, dealing with younger siblings. Omega just stared at him, then turned to Panz, as if asking for a little guidance, except the medic had reached up to rub his forehead like he felt a headache coming on.

Finding no help on that front, she just considered Char for a long moment. “Your file says you’re interested in trying out for the Reapers, right?” she finally said, expression brightening. “Well I know the top three candidates being considered for the new team leader. What’s that information worth to you?”

Char stared at her for a second, but only for a second, before silently extending his right arm, wrist up.

Panz made a choked, gurgling sound, like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to laugh or groan. “Shark?” he asked, incomprehensibly.

Omega moved the mediscanner over Char’s wrist, getting an initial reading, and then started up his arm, a small smile on her face. “Yeah,” she said, but the word sounded a little brittle.

“He’s gonna be fine, kid,” Panz said, and then explained for Char’s obvious benefit. “Shark is one of our ARCs. Got caught in an explosion on Wadj, but he’s up and in physical therapy now.” He snorted, glancing back at Omega. “Driving Kix up the walls, last I heard.”

Her answering smile was still watery.

Char wasn’t sure what to say to any of that, and so he kept his mouth shut, but he wondered about, well, a lot of things. How a half-grown, female cadet ended up assigned to an elite team of active-duty, genetically-modified troopers. About this mystery, injured ARC she was so torn up over.

About what the kark Panz was entering into his datapad, and whether he was writing more about Omega’s performance, or Char’s own reactions to it.

Omega glanced up at him, then back down at the readouts on the back of her scanner, and answered at least one of the questions Char hadn’t asked. “We play sabacc,” she said, panning the device up and around Char’s head, and then starting down his other arm. “He tells me stories.”

Char might not know how to respond to that, but apparently Panz was more upfront with his thoughts.

“He’s a menace,” Panz said dryly. “Never play him at cards. Never play her at cards.”

Omega’s grin was all teeth.

“You’re that good?” Char asked carefully, painfully aware that he needed to say something if he wanted to maintain any kind of a pretense of normality.

“I guess,” she said, sweeping the scanner over his chest and stomach before stepping to one side to move the scanner down his right leg. “Do you play?”

“Not since before,” he said, without elaborating. Everybody on base knew what was meant when any clone said ‘before.’

“Well, if you want to brush up, I’m stuck here for a while,” she said stiffly, finishing up the scan of his other leg and standing up to press a couple of buttons on the device.

Char knew he should probably say something, thank her for the offer, tell her that her squad was going to be fine, but the mediscanner rescued him from that by beeping in Omega’s hand. She frowned down at it, which didn’t seem like a good sign.

“Talk me through the results,” Panz said, stepping a little closer to her to look over her shoulder at the readout.

“One point three standard deviations underweight, but trending upward,” she recited, pointing out something to Panz on the device. “Elevated lead levels are resolving without chelation therapy.”

Wait, elevated what now?

Panz’s face was angled down at the screen in Omega’s hands, but Char caught his brother watching out of the corner of his eye for any reaction to the girl’s continuing litany of ailments and injuries. Char had been told about some of these issues before, but when had he cracked four of his ribs? Why were the medics worried that he kept breaking his fingernails? And what even was ‘mild anemia?’

Char never did get to find out how long his list of injuries and ailments might have gone, because Panz cut in right after Omega had covered Char’s various bone density issues.

“I think we can stop there,” Panz said, sounding slightly amused for some reason. Omega looked up at him, wide-eyed and apparently surprised by the interruption. “Most of your patients aren’t going to need or want every little detail, no matter what Tech’s been telling you. Recommended course of treatment?”

“Continue existing medications, continue existing diet and exercise programs,” she said almost mechanically, like she was reciting something from rote memory. “Consider adding movement-based, mental techniques to counter stress-based hypertension and insomnia.”

That made Panz smirk. “What do you think, Char? Are you willing to take a page from the Jedi’s playbook and try some meditation?”

Char was very certain that the question was meant to be rhetorical, and the suggestion did sound like the very definition of boredom, but he still considered it seriously. “Would it get me a range pass and a set of replacement armor any faster if I said yes?” he asked, deadly serious.

Panz apparently hadn’t been expecting that answer, because it took him a minute to finally say, “Yeah, probably.”

“Then yes.”

Panz blinked. “Kark, kid. If you can convince ten more troopers to join in, I’ll teach you how to use the field cauterizer.”

Her smile was very sharp. “If I convince twenty, will you show me how to run the surgical pod?”

“Thirty,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “From a list of my choosing.”

Omega’s grin was somehow innocently joyful and terrifyingly predatory. “Deal,” she said.

“Go on,” Panz said, making a shooing gesture with his hands. “Run that report to Sling. I need to have a chat with Char, brother to brother.”

The kid basically bounced out of the room.

Char waited until the door shut behind him and Omega’s footsteps faded out of hearing before saying, “I hope you realize she just played you.”

The medic just sighed. “I know,” he said, sounding almost fond. Char was pretty certain he’d never heard the medic sounding so soft. The kid obviously had him wrapped around her little finger. “But if she can get you di’kute to take better care of yourselves, I’ll let her practice surgical techniques on my kriffing face.”

Char should probably be offended by the implication, but after the roll call of ailments Omega had just rattled off from his scan, he wasn’t sure he had much of a leg to stand on. “So, are you going to translate the back half of that?” he asked instead.

Panz pulled a sour face. “You’ve got a bunch of dietary deficiencies, and some other osik in your system you shouldn’t have been eating, but nothing irreversible with access to decent food. I’m willing to bet significant credits that natborns aren’t getting the same osik rations as clones,” he said, tone laced with contempt.

Char should probably feel something about that, but honestly, given everything else he’d experienced over the last two years, sub-standard rations barely registered.

And so, he just snorted and said, “Cheap Imp shabuire.”

Panz made a vague noise of angry agreement. “Do you have any other questions?” he asked.

Char knew perfectly well what Panz meant, but instead of asking anything about his varied health issues, he went for, “What do the Mandalorians want?”

That earned a thoroughly unimpressed look, which Char just met glare for glare.

For once, it was Panz who relented. “Kark if I know,” he admitted, leaning back against the room’s small desk and crossing his arms in obvious frustration. “Kryze has her people unloading a kriff-ton of armor and weapons salvage, and she wants to talk to Commander Tano. I don’t see them leaving until they get what they want, so we’re stuck with them for however long that’s going to take. The Corries are handling it.”

Char was abruptly glad he wasn’t a Guard.

“You kept your blue,” Panz commented idly, reading through the results of Char’s latest scans.

Char looked down at his new armor. A brother named Buckler had delivered the set yesterday, along with instructions on where the base kept its paint stores. His new design didn’t exactly match his old paint job, but it was close enough. “It’s what I’m used to,” he said flatly.

He knew some of his brothers had picked a different color, but he hadn’t even considered it. The blue just felt right. And he didn’t want to volunteer that painting the bubbling, blotchy textures around the seams of each plate, an effect he’d figured out how to make by adding blaster oil to a little paint and sponging the mixture on with a wet rag, had made him feel more settled in his own skin than anything else he’d tried.

“Is that one of the sets the Mandalorians unloaded on us?” Panz asked.

There had been a lot of phase two sets, mixed in with the stormtrooper gear in Kryze’s diplomatic ‘donation.’ All of the recently de-chipped clones were suited up again, not just Char’s other brothers from Hadros, but also the trio Jesse’s Reapers had brought in, and those four who had been stationed on some Imperial relay station the Draboon VIII brass had decided to covertly wreck. “Everything except the helmet,” Char admitted, because none of the salvaged gear had included the long-range reticle he’d wanted. Fortunately the quartermaster had been able to scrounge up the specs for a sniper’s bucket without too much trouble, and there had been plenty of other salvage to run through the recycler to make the necessary modifications. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Panz gave him a sharp, amused look. “Up in the hanger bay,” he said. “Her squad should be arriving any minute now.”

Which meant that Captain Rex would also be arriving soon.

And Commander Tano.

The sheer amount of relief he’d felt, when he’d heard that everyone had made it out of the temple alive, had been like a punch to the gut. And yeah, he meant everyone, apparently including the Commander.

Which he also didn’t want to discuss at the moment.

If the morning’s appointment was just going to be stumbling from one conversational landmine to the next, he might as well go for broke. “When are you going to clear me for range practice?”

Whelk had been cleared for light duty in the infirmary last week.

Pike’s request to transfer to engineering had come through yesterday.

What the kark was the holdup? Char was eating when he was supposed to eat, sleeping when he was supposed to sleep. He turned up for his assigned duties on time, and performed any task given to him, boring as he found vegetable picking and food processing to be. He’d even started trying to figure out the karking meditation practices the kid had suggested.

Panz didn’t even look at him, he just kept scanning his datapad, and said, “When are you going to drop the karking act and stop pretending you’re not a complete headcase?”

The flippant question hit Char like a punch to the gut. His hands curled into tight fists, gauntlets creaking at the sudden pressure. He thought he’d been doing so well, keeping his issues under wraps.

Apparently not.

Panz sighed and dropped the datapad back on the desk. “Look,” he said, sounding serious and more than a little tired. “Let me let you in on a little secret. Every brother on base is a complete headcase. Even me. But if you won’t talk about it, then we don’t know what to watch out for. So stop karking with me. Stop pretending you’re fine. You’re not fine, and nobody expects you to be.”

Char just stared, something sharp-edged and dangerous growing in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

That wasn’t how things had worked on Kamino, and it definitely wasn’t how things had been with the Empire. If a clone was too sick, or too injured, or too karked in the head to do his duty, then he was dead weight. And if anyone higher up the chain of command caught on to that fact, then he was just dead.

And sure, he and his brothers had covered for each other as much as they could, but you didn’t just talk about this osik. Not with eyes and ears and kriffing cameras everywhere, with recordings any natborn officer could review at their leisure. And maybe he hadn’t cared much about that kind of stuff back during the war, but his master certainly had. And maybe he wasn’t here, but his padawan was, or she was about to be. Talking about any of this stuff, it wasn’t safe.

Breathe. Control your heart rate. Take a breath. Why isn’t it working?

Except, pretty much all of the people here who might check a recording were brothers, and Commander Tano already knew about most everything anyway. She’d stopped by the infirmary a few times before she’d shipped out to Wadj, back in the beginning when they’d all been at their absolute worst. So, maybe it was safe? Or, at least safer.

Panz wasn’t going to let this go.

“You have no idea what you’re asking,” Char heard himself say, in a ragged tone he barely recognized as his own. “Do you want to know the age cutoff we used to decide which Jedi younglings we killed and which ones we delivered back for the Emperor’s special training programs? How about the number of unarmed civilians I shot on the mission that earned the 501st the nickname ‘Vader’s Fist’?”

Panz didn’t say anything, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch away from Char’s words either.

“You want to know what I want to do, once you let me off your leash?” Char said, and he knew he shouldn’t keep talking. Shouldn’t be admitting this out loud, but now that he’d started, he found that he couldn’t stop. It all kept pouring out, like blood from a slit artery. “I want to kill Skywalker. I want him dead, and I want to take my time about it, and I want it to hurt.”

Panz didn’t interrupt and seemed to wait a second, to make sure Char wasn’t going to continue before answering. For Char’s part, he felt like he was balanced on a knife’s edge, holding his breath, waiting to see what his brother, who’d had it so much easier after the Order had gone out, had to say to that. Waiting to see if he’d just run any chance he’d had of a little extra freedom off of a cliff.

“I think,” Panz said, obviously picking his words slowly and carefully, “That when the time comes to go after Skywalker and Palpatine directly, nobody’s going to argue about letting the 501st get at the head of the line. But in the meantime, we’re keeping things quiet and getting our brothers out of the line of fire, until we’re strong enough to hit them and make it stick.”

The brittle thing behind Char’s sternum started to crack. He’d been expecting more judgement. A reprimand. Something. “Yeah, and what does the Commander have to say about that?” pushing his non-existent luck one more time.

“She knows who’s sitting on the other side of this dejarik board,” he said, very seriously. “You know, she locked herself in her quarters for three days after we all figured it out. Kix wanted to take a laser cutter to her door after day two, but the Captain said she just needed more time. He said that she blamed herself for pretty much everything, that she’d already been hanging on by a thread, even before we put the pieces together.” Panz huffed a little, but Char couldn’t figure out what was so funny. “The room looked like it had been hit by an ion cannon when she finally came out, but her eyes were still blue. Surprised the haran out of all of us, we’d been bracing for yellow.”

Char didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. His breath was still ragged, humiliatingly unregulated, but the rush in his ears was beginning to fade a little.

“Things are going to be hectic around here, at least until Kryze and her people clear out,” Panz said, and the transition was almost jarring until he continued, “But she’d make time for you, if you ever wanted to talk.”

That seemed like something to work up to later. A whole lot later, after a lot of thinking.

“Maybe later,” Panz said, as if he could read Char’s mind. “In the meantime, Tenor’s been working on repairing some of the salvaged blaster rifles, but he’s having to custom machine some of the missing parts. He’d be able to finish up faster, if he had another specialist to test his repairs and make sure they’re all performing up to spec. As long as you keep improving, I could be talked into giving him your name.”

That bribe was terribly tempting, but it felt a little too perfectly crafted. It smelled like a trap. “Are you seriously trying out the kid’s method of managing problem patients?”

“If it works,” Panz said, shrugging unapologetically. “So, do we have a deal?”

“Take a breath, Doc.”

AN: Other chapters are available here.

Dividers by freesia-writes using helmets by lornaka. More designs available here.

[writing-ro]

Fictober 19-4: “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

@fictober-event //  Set in a Multi-fandom Fantasy AU where most if not all kinds of fantasy creatures exist alongside humans, though the two cultures stay fairly separate, with many humans being afraid or prejudice against creatures.

Rating: T Fandom: Star Wars, Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Arista Amara (OFC), Oren Revik (OMC),  Additional Tags: Magical blood powerups, Mentions of Merrill (Dragon Age), Sequel to Day 3, elf!Ahsoka, dragon!Oren, Oren is a bit of an ass, Ahsoka is a proto-tsundare, 

When Ahsoka woke, she saw a tent canopy above her head. One she knew well, after staring at it every night for the last two weeks. 

She tried to push herself up, but a soft hand on her chest stopped her. “Slowly,” Arista said. “You’ve been out for a whole day. Here.” She grabbed a bedroll and tucked it behind Ahsoka as she pushed herself into a half sitting position. Arista helped her sip a cup of water, and then about half a bowl of broth before she let Ahsoka push her arm away. 

“Merida and Tamlen, are they?...”

“Nearly die and your first question is about others.” Arista shook her head, first fondly, then sadly. “We’ve seen no trace of them. Merrill’s set wards around the mirror, so no one else can touch it. And she tuned it to their possessions, so if they show up, they should be able to get out without any more of those monsters following them.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Good.” She looked down at herself and saw she was in one of her training tunics, and she could see bandages wrapped around her chest through the opening of the collar. She remembered the arrow, and the horde on their heels, and then fire, then black. 

“How did we escape?”

Arista’s cheeks actually pinked a little. “First, you have to promise not to aggravate your injury by going after him.”

Ahsoka raised a brow. “Him?” She thought she remembered a man, but it could have been a hallucination, right?

“Promise first.” Arista raised a brow back, and adopted her “I am your healer and you will do what I say” face. Much like her “I really really really want to do this thing please” face, Ahsoka couldn’t go against it.

“Alright, I promise not to aggravate my injury. Who was it.”

Arista took a deep breath. “His name is Oren Revik. He was the dragon who spied on us a few months ago.”

Ahsoka blinked once, twice, then moved to toss the covers off her, only to be pressed back down by Arista. 

“No! You just promised you wouldn’t aggravate your injury.”

“I’m not going to. I’ll use my left hand to slap him in the face.”

“Oh really?” a man’s voice sounded from the tent flap and she looked past Arista to see the dragon standing there. He was wearing similar clothes to the night they had met, except his shirt was slightly scorched in some places, which told of the intensity of the flames he had to be in, since dragoncloth was renown for being nearly completely fireproof. “Is that anyway to treat the man who saved your life?”

“It’s the way to treat the man who spied on a private evening with me and my lover,” Ahsoka retorted. 

The dragon - Oren - scoffed. “Okay, but did you encounter an arachne pack on the way back to your village?”

Ahsoka’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Yes. It’s still not an excuse for being a pervert.”

Oren shrugged. “What can I say, I was bored, and you were providing such a lovely show.” He came in and knelt by Arista, his wings tucked as close to his back as possible. “Now, let me check your arm.” He reached for it, but Ahsoka snatched it away, biting her tongue to keep a hiss of pain from escaping. 

She looked down at it, and found a bandaged wrapped around it. She started to unwrap it, only for Arista’s hands to take over for her. On the underside of her arm was a long scar, from her wrist to halfway up her forearm. She did not recall getting injured there in the battle.

“How did this happen?”

“Well, you see, by the time I got to you-”

“Wait, how did you even know we were here in the first place?” Ahsoka asked. “Our clan hasn’t done trade with the dragons in centuries, and we certainly never contacted you.”

“Again, bored, so I decided to take a flight and see what I could find. Found you guys about five days ago and decided to hang around, see what you find. When I saw seven go in and three come out looking like they ran through a death course, I had to find out what happened. I gave your mages lyria potions and they managed to make a barrier strong enough to keep the ra’zac horde in and-”

“Ra’zac?”

“Merrill found an old reference,” Arista said. “They’re creatures of decay and blight, who were fought by the ancient elves of long ago. But she still can’t find out anything about the mirror. We don’t know if it was meant to trap them, or if they somehow corrupted it or what.”

“As I was saying,” Oren said with a slight drawl that he was getting irritated at the interruptions, “I hit them with firepower and burned all the ones in the room to ashes, then I saw them fleeing down the passageway you opened. I came up on their rear and burned as many as I could, though a lot disappeared down the side passages. When I reached you two, you had passed out in Arista’s arms, and were starting to turn grey. I carried you out and had your healer look you over.” He grimaced. 

Arista took over. “Turns out the Ra’zac coat their weapons in their own - not blood, but closest we can determine. It was thinning out your blood so it ran out faster, and then poisoning the rest as passed over. With how hard we were running, it was… bad. Possibly not even Marethari could have healed you and you’d be long dead before we got home to try.” 

“The only way to save you was to transfer blood compatible to your own that could burn out the poison.” Oren rolled up his sleeve and showed a similar cut on his own wrist, though the scar was much less obvious. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Ahsoka stared at the cut. “That can’t have worked. Dragonblood burns out almost everyone who tries to use it, even given freely.”

“Well you seem to fall in that gap between ‘almost’ and ‘everyone’,” Oren said. “It saved your life, and now you get a few little bonuses to go with it.”

Ahsoka clenched her fist. It was the reason a Dragonslayers’ Guild had existed a century ago, before the Dragon King destroyed their Hall and a Kings’ Conclave banned such a guild from forming again. For those few who could survive the ingestion of the blood, they were given special powers, based on the dragon who gave it. An old legend told of an elven sorceress who had been given the blood of the Dragon King and his Consort, and she became the most powerful sorceress in the world, with the ability to command very powerful fire and ice magics at the same time, and in some versions even sprout wings and fly. One version of the tale said she became the leader of a collation of clans and ruled as a Queen for years, until the Dragon King and his Consort asked her to marry them and took her to their mountain home. Another was that she grew corrupt on power, and attempted to subjugate the entire continent, only to lose in battle to the Demon King. The Dragon King and his Consort retrieved her body and took it to be laid to rest in some secret location, so none might try to use her body for evil. 

“So what effects am I likely to get?”

“Your body temperature is already starting to rise,” Oren said. “It will settle out in a few weeks to about halfway between your old standard and my own. Basically, you’ll constantly feel like you’re having a fever. On the plus side, you’ll never get those again, you’ll just burn the sickness out. But you’re also now susceptible to dragon sicknesses, though that’s no matter as long as you stay away from the mountains until you built up an immunity. You’ll have an affinity for fire magic now, so we’ll have to work with you on taming it. Advanced healing - well, advanced for your people. You can see in the dark much easier now, and possibly your vision spectrum will shift a bit. Maybe you’ll get physically stronger. That’s all I can think off the top of my head, I’ll write to Parthanax for a full list of possibilities. Of course, it’s gonna take a few weeks for these changes to happen, plenty of time to get me settled.”

“Settled?” Ahsoka’s brow went up again.

“Oh, right, we didn’t say it yet.” Oren grinned. “Since you need a teacher to help you handle your new dragon abilities, I’ll be going back with you.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t be learning a thing from you.”

“Too late, already sent a message informing the King of my decision, and your mage sent a message to your clan leader last night.”

“Send another saying I refuse you and want another teacher, if I have to learn anything.” Her hands clenched the blankets. “I can get by, I always have.”

“Ahsoka!” Arista spoke for the first time in a while. She unwrapped Ahsoka’s hand from the blankets and and held it in hers. “I know you didn’t ask for this, but this is what happened. And even if Oren didn’t want to teach you, he’d have to. Dragon Law says that the dragon who caused the change has to train their charge for at least a half year before they can hand them off to anyone else.”

“Yup, helps teach us responsibility or something like that,” Oren said, then held up his hands in surrender when she shot her “Healer’s Look” at him. 

“So, please, don’t fight this.” She turned back to Ahsoka. “I know it’s not your first choice, but is it really that much of a price to pay?”

Ahsoka rolled it over in her head. Arista was right, Oren did save her and Arista’s lives, putting up with a pompous ass of a dragon would be adequate repayment of the debt. 

She shot Oren a glare. “If you spy on us again, I’m running you through, training or no training.”

Oren just smiled. “I’ve survived worse, fledgling.”

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

I would just like to point out that Ahsoka played the Dashing Knight to a Royal not one time, not two times, but three times - with the nephew/adopted son of a Duchess, the son of a Senator, and a Crown Prince. 

I like it. We as a fandom have been sitting on the possibility of happy AUs where a gaggle of princelings pine (platonically or otherwise) after the Jedi who inspired them to take action, to be better versions of themselves, or to never lose hope - all while Ahsoka remains blissfully unaware that she’s a nobility magnet.

[dukeofriven]

If memory serves, this is the worst goddamn arc in the entire Clone Wars and watching it will feel like dying very, very slowly. Not much to say about the previous episodes o.e. the Season 3 finale. -Ahsoka gets kidnapped and we see a child get murdered. One problem I do have is that the already capricious-nature of the force’s morality is made even worse by the demands of Broadcasting Standards and Practices, wherein you can’t have a child force-choke a man who is trying to murder said child because A) That would be EVIL and B) you can’t show a child murdering folks but there’s nothing amoral about using the force to throw a guy off a high ledge to plummet to his death. And then you have frequent scenes of the bad guys having guns, dropping the guns, and no children picking up the guns and shooting the bad guys because BSnP thinks that’s amoral. You can kill a child with a gun in a kids show, but you can’t have children shoot back with guns - presumably because you don’t want kids doing copycat actions and killing people with guns, as though that wasn’t already a systemic daily issue in America that a visual of a tentacle alien girl zapping a lizard man with a big laser rifle really wasn’t going to materially alter. But the daily gun deaths thing isn’t the fault of structural culture illness in America owing to a grotesque gun fetish civic religion - it is cartoons with lizard men and laser swords. BSnP is the bulwark against anarchy. Anyway, King Mon Cal’s three-part arc is, in my memory, the worst time I ever had with this show. Who knows, maybe I’ll like it this time around. Wait, is Jar Jar in it? Oh for fuck’s sake, Jar-Jar is in it, isn’t he?

[cockbiteproductions]

hearing news about the la ahsoka spinoff is always going to elicit the angry guy throwing his hands up in the air and yelling “i guess” meme in me.

[aeneidpdf]

wait y'all is Ahsoka in the mandalorian... do I like have to watch that now

[exitiosae-arch]

.

[lunalovegood2]

You don’t have to carry a sword to be powerful. Some leaders’ strength is inspiring greatness in others.

Ahsoka Tano, Star Wars The Clone Wars 4x02 "Gungan Attack"