#smudge the trooper padawan

[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter One: Ripped At The Seams

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: 6,751

"And then Grey was like skoosh skoosh skoosh–" Caleb held up an imaginary carbine and let loose a series of blasts, so enthusiastic about his reenactment that he nearly fell off of the courtyard bench. " –and the SBD just exploded! He got him right in the power core! And then-and then-and then I did a backflip off of his shoulder, and I cut three B1's in half! It was so wizard."

"You did?" Mace gasped, theatrically placing a hand on his chest in feigned shock. He had a reputation for being overly stoic, cold even, but there was nothing that defrosted the Master like his Padawans. Depa had dropped off young Caleb to have lunch with his Grand-Master with a weary gratitude that Obi-Wan remembered well; ironically, it had usually been Mace that would give him a break from Anakin more often than not, back then.

"Sure did," Caleb raised his chin proudly. "Have you ever done that with your commander, Master Obi-Wan?" he asked eagerly, looking at him from the other side of Mace with bright turquoise eyes.

Obi-Wan swallowed his mouthful of salad. "Unfortunately, no," he said with a smile. "I think I might squash poor Cody if I tried, though, I weigh a bit more than you."

"Is that why you're watching your figure?" Mace asked wryly, looking at Obi-Wan's bowl of fresh greens.

"I don't care if they're nutritionally complete, human beings were not intended to survive off of ration bars alone," Obi-Wan grumbled into his salad.

"I didn't jump off Grey, I jumped off the battle droid!" Caleb giggled.

"Ah," Obi-Wan said. "Well, the answer is still no, but I'll make sure to bring it up to him before our next strategy meeting."

"Good idea!" Caleb said with a grin, then shoved a handful of fried tatos in his mouth. His nerfburger had been inhaled two meandering stories ago.

"Well, I'm impressed. That sounds like a very successful first mission." Mace gave him a pat on the back then added an unholy amount of orbakradish paste to his bowl of red turu rice, green peppers and bantha strips.

"Can I have some?" Caleb asked curiously, staring at the bright green bottle his grand-master had pulled from his pocket curiously.

"It's very spicy," Mace warned before leaving a tiny smudge on the boy's plate, then took a stoic bite of his rice bowl.

Caleb carefully dipped a corner of his fried tato in the orbakradish and took a bite. His eyes went wide. "Ow," he said faintly, and held his mouth open. "Aow. Aow."

Mace chuckled, dipped a tato in the cup of vinegar on the other side of Caleb's plate, then popped it in his open mouth. "I did warn you," he said as Caleb furiously chewed. "Orbakradish isn't like capsaicin. For that, you need some sort of cream. To cure this, you need vinegar."

Caleb sighed with relief. "Thanks, Master." He hurriedly popped another vinegar-soaked tato in his mouth, then finished off the rest of the plate with the speed that only eleven-year-old boys could manage without making themselves sick. Mace and Obi-Wan exchanged amused looks while they ate their own meals at a less tornadic pace.

"Go on, Padawan. Time to meditate, then practice your forms at the training salle." Mace patted Caleb on the back and took his empty plate once he'd licked it clean.

"Will you come and– I mean, I would be honored if you would spar with me after your Council meeting is done, Master." Caleb said bashfully. "If you want to. I, um, I know you're busy."

"I'm not sure how long I'll be, but I'll head down to the salles as soon as we're done. I'd be happy to spar with you, Padawan." Mace patted his cheek fondly and winked.

"Okay!" Caleb bowed hurriedly to Mace and then Obi-Wan. "Bye, Masters!" He took off at a run, almost tripping on his robes twice before disappearing around the corner.

"I miss that age," Obi-Wan said forlornly. "They're still so enthusiastic about everything. Once they hit puberty…"

"The attitude, I know," Mace said knowingly. He took a final bite from his rice bowl and reached a hand out for Obi-Wan's dish. "I'm grateful for Depa and Devan. Echuu was a handful. Girls are easier."

"Girls are not easier," Obi-Wan snorted, then rubbed his bald head, textured with a thousand offended bumps. The whole thing was so damn itchy, he'd had to meditate three times that morning just to keep his sanity. Perhaps Lace had some procaine cream in the medbay that he could borrow until all of the hairs had poked through the skin.

"Mine were," Mace shrugged.

"Yours aren't vindictive," Obi-Wan sighed.

"Why would they be?" Mace asked blithely. "I trained them well. They are above pettiness."

Obi-Wan glared at the sky instead of Mace. "Lucky you," he said to the speeder traffic above the Temple.

"I warned you about the consequences of leaving Anakin and Ahsoka out of the loop," Mace reminded him. "You insisted."

"I know." They both stood and began the long walk to the Council chambers elevator.

Mace passed their bamboo dishes onto a waste droid when they passed one then fished around for something in his pocket. "And you are the one who suggested that they go on the mission that 'killed' you," he pointed out, then popped a mint candy into his mouth.

"I know," Obi-Wan huffed. "I understand that my actions have consequences, Mace, I'm not a child."

"Then why are you so upset?" Mace asked.

"I'm not upset," Obi-Wan said automatically.

Mace rolled his eyes. "You aren't at peace, that's for certain."

"I–" Obi-Wan raised his hands and let them fall. "Ahsoka's never been one to hold a grudge at all, let alone at me. I expected the cold shoulder from Anakin, but not her."

"Ah. She's still hurt, then."

"She's got no reason to be hurt," Obi-Wan insisted.

"She discovered your 'corpse,' my old friend," Mace said.

"Please, p-please Bobi, open your eyes, open your… no, no, no, please no, Bobi please–"

"Would you really be so unmoved if you'd discovered hers?"

She fell to the ground like a ragdoll, dead from a single touch. Her limbs were twisted and her yellow eyes stayed open, filmy and veined with black like the rest of the Dark Side corruption that covered her.

He banished the memories. "That's different," Obi-Wan insisted. "We are not meant to outlive our Padawans."

"Yet we do." Mace called the elevator. "More and more often, it seems. And I do not see that changing until this war is over."

That reminded him. "Have you discussed your idea with Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.

"It's difficult to find a good time to propose an assassination," Mace answered. "Especially the assassination of his old Padawan."

The elevator arrived. The two Masters stepped on and began the journey up.

"You've discussed it with Quinlan?" Mace asked.

"I have. He's not unwilling."

"Good to know."

The two fell silent, and Obi-Wan commanded the mental image of Ahsoka's corpse lying at the feet of her killer to stop popping into his thoughts. The encounter on Mortis felt like a dream. He still wasn't sure what had actually happened, what was real and what was a vision, but the memory of Anakin's yellow eyes and his little girl lying dead and corrupted by the Dark side haunted him at the most inopportune moments.

May he become one with the Force before ever seeing such horrors again.

The elevator opened. The two walked down the hall to the inside of the Council chambers and took their seats in companionable silence. They were still a bit early, and no one else had yet arrived.

"Caleb was not supposed to be in active combat yet," Mace said after a few moments. "In case you were wondering. The mission he was assigned was a scouting mission. The droids were a surprise."

"Do you think I'm judging you, old friend?" Obi-Wan asked with a raised brow.

"No, but I thought you may want to know." Mace leaned back with an unreadable expression on his face. "He is very skilled, but I personally would prefer he not be on the front lines until he gains more experience."

Obi-Wan remembered Ahsoka eagerly bouncing off of the transport and straight onto the front lines of one of the most gruesome campaigns of the early war. "I understand," he said gently. "Unfortunately, there's only one way to get experience."

"I'm aware." The muscle in Mace's jaw worked a bit before he settled into his usual serenity.

"Greetings, Master Windu. Master Kenobi." Shaak-Ti's hologram flickered into view and she bowed her head.

The two men bowed theirs in return. "How fares Kamino?" Obi-Wan asked lightly.

"Sunny, for a change," Shaak-Ti said with a small smile. "The cadets have been training outside all day on the landing pads."

Mace smiled at her. "I'm happy to hear it."

"As am I," Plo said pleasantly. He and Depa bowed from the entrance, Yoda hobbling beside them. Depa spared a fond smile for her old Master as she took her seat, which Mace returned.

More holograms popped up; Kit Fisto, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, Coleman Kcaj, Luminara Unduli, Oppo Rancisis, and Stass Allie were all still on the front lines. Kit's hologram was cross-legged and floating subtly, broadcasting underwater from the ocean world of Klarn.

"Begin, we shall," Yoda said after clearing his throat. "May the Force guide us as we proceed."

Murmurs of agreement followed him.

"May I be the first to compliment Master Kenobi's haircut," Kit's hologram grinned at him.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan deadpanned, resisting the urge to scratch his blasted scalp again.

"We are all very glad to see you alive and well," Shaak-Ti added with a twinkle in her eye. "You should stay close-shaven. You look twenty years younger."

Obi-Wan sighed. He was very aware; it was half the reason he had grown the beard in the first place. Shaak-Ti's tinkling giggle rang like a bell at his reaction.

A round of chuckles echoed her and Mace held up a hand to quiet them. "Our first order of business," he began with a smile, reading off a datapad, "is– oh." His smile disappeared and his eyebrows went up as he glanced over at Obi-Wan. "Padawan Ahsoka Tano has requested to speak with us."

Obi-Wan sat at attention. "She has?" he asked, surprised.

"Go ahead and send her in," Mace said into the comlink in his chair. "Do you know what this is about?" he asked Obi-Wan curiously.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I've no idea," he answered.

The chamber doors opened and Obi-Wan watched Ahsoka step primly inside, pointedly not looking at him despite his centrality in her line of sight. He crossed his legs and frowned.

"Koh-to-yah, little 'Soka," Plo said. "Why have you come before us today?"

"Koh-to-yah, Master Plo. And thank you for allowing me to speak with you on such short notice, Masters," Ahsoka said politely. She made a deep bow and stood with perfect posture, her hands clasped in front of her. "I wish that this was not necessary, but as a Jedi I am a mandated reporter of abuse. If I witness the mistreatment of a child, I must speak up."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, his ire easing. "What did you witness, dear?" he asked, the epithet slipping out automatically.

Her eyes slid onto him and he was immediately taken aback by how cold they were. "I need to report that there is a twelve-year-old human child being held in a maximum security prison facility alongside murderers, rapists, and violent criminals of all sorts right here on Coruscant," she said icily.

Obi-Wan's stomach dropped. He already knew who she was referring to, and cac, it should have been him reporting it. He'd completely forgotten about his encounter with Boba Fett. He had been so consumed with not just keeping his cover and managing Bane, but blocking the Force bond he shared with his Padawans in order to sell his death that Boba had simply slipped his mind. Force, the shock of seeing a twelve-year-old clone in the middle of supermax dissipated almost as soon as it had struck and Obi-Wan had just… left him there. He felt an alkaline knot of guilt twist around his belly.

There was a smattering of surprised gasps among the Councilors.

"Who is this child?" Depa demanded.

"What could he have possibly done to be imprisoned?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, bewildered.

Master Luminara shook her head. "We must contact the Guard at once, surely there was an error–"

Ahsoka held up a hand. "The boy is Boba Fett, Masters. After his failed attempt on Master Windu's life, he was sent to the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

Looks of grim understanding passed between the Council members. Mace leaned forward. "He's in an adult prison?" he asked, anger coloring the edges of his voice. "Has he been there since he was taken into custody?"

"It would appear so, Master, yes."

Mace sank back, frowning severely. "I recommended leniency," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Chancellor assured me his age and his trauma would be taken into account. I believed he'd be sent to a juvenile facility at worst."

"As did I," Plo said heatedly. "Adult prison, for a child. This is not justice."

"Padawan Tano, find out this information, how did you?" Yoda asked, frowning.

"Well, Master," she said, turning, and Obi-Wan was slightly mollified to hear her address Yoda with the same frostbitten tone. She still hadn't forgiven him for Dogma. The clone was thankfully still alive, as Shaak-Ti had made enough of a fuss on Kamino to have gotten him imprisoned instead of immediately euthanized, but Ahsoka wouldn't be satisfied until he was back in the 501st. "I was viewing the helmet-cam footage from the prison riot that Master Kenobi participated in, and–"

"Is that footage not classified?" Ki-Adi-Mundi interrupted, frowning.

"The report is, but the footage was not, no," she said. "I watched it multiple times, and after I saw Master Kenobi fighting Boba I checked his report." Her eyes flicked onto him and then back to Ki-Adi-Mundi. "There's no mention of Boba in the non-redacted portions."

There was no mention of Boba in it at all, because Obi-Wan had forgotten about him like an idiot. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. A dozen heads turned and stared at him, and he'd never missed his beard more than he did at that moment.

"You fought Boba Fett?" Plo asked him sharply.

"Moralo Eval paid him to start a brawl with me in order to provide a distraction for his and Bane's escape," Obi-Wan said, staring at Ahsoka. She was very carefully studying her boots. He'd bought her those boots. "After I inserted myself into the escape party I… lost track of him."

"He is very small for his age," Ahsoka said with false sympathy. "I know you had bigger concerns at the time, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan's skin crawled like it was covered in ants. All of the extra blood rushing to his face was making his stubble itchier than ever.

"We will contact the Chancellor regarding Boba immediately, Ahsoka," Plo insisted, on the edge of his seat and visibly displeased. "We will ensure the boy is placed into a foster home and receives mind healing. Thank you for your diligence, and for bringing this injustice to our attention."

"Thank you, Master," Ahsoka said with a smile, then bowed to him. Obi-Wan felt irrationally jealous of the warmth in her tone. "But I am not sure that a foster home would be the best fit for Boba. He's young, but skilled at both combat and subterfuge. I'm concerned that he would escape and be at just as much risk on his own." She frowned. "He would likely seek out his father's old compatriots again."

"A fair concern," Kit conceded, his smile long gone.

"Do you have a suggestion?" Depa asked mildly.

Ahsoka clicked her heels together. "I would like to volunteer to serve as Boba's temporary legal guardian until I can reunite him with his family," she said solemnly.

The Council chamber went silent in surprise.

"You're only sixteen," Obi-Wan said faintly. "You can't–"

"Actually, as sixteen is the age of responsibility on Shili, I can," she said frostily. "I am a legal adult."

"It's seventeen on Coruscant," he argued. "You–"

"I believe that if I am trusted to lead a battalion of clone troopers into combat, I should be trusted to safeguard the well-being of a single child," she said, speaking over him. "And according to the most recent immigration statutes passed in the Senate, as a full, dual citizen of both worlds, I am actually considered a legal adult on Coruscant." She smiled at him, all teeth.

"Does he have a family?" Saesee Tiin asked. "I was under the impression that Jango Fett was a loner."

"I spoke with the older clones before coming to the Council, Master," Ahsoka said with perfect poise, and Force did it irritate Obi-Wan to see her use her manners for once. "They informed me that there were members of the Cuy'val Dar – that is, the Mandalorian trainers that Jango Fett recruited to train the clones for war – several of them were very close to him. Under the Mandalorian tradition, some could be considered family."

"What an excellent idea, Padawan," Plo said. "I would be grateful if you would come with me to meet with the Chancellor. I'm certain that you will be able to help me persuade him of the right course of action. We will seek out these Cuy'val Dar together, and reunite young Boba with what family remains to him."

Ahsoka bowed again. "It would be my honor, Master," she said sweetly.

Obi-Wan continued to silently seethe.

"Thank you again, Masters, for taking the time to speak with me," she said warmly, then her eyes flickered over to Obi-Wan. "I do hope that Master Kenobi is not censured too severely for failing to report such egregious abuse of a child. I'm certain he was simply preoccupied with his mission."

That was it. Ahsoka did not get to march into the Council chambers wearing boots that he had bought for her and humiliate him in front of his peers out of childish spite. Obi-Wan's hand slammed down onto the arm of his chair, startling everyone. "A word, Padawan," he said through gritted teeth.

"Of course, Master Kenobi," she said serenely.

He stood and led her brusquely from the Council chamber by her right bicep, ignoring the whispers of his fellow Council members behind them.

"An deach thu às mo chiall?" he hissed once the doors had closed and they had a spot of privacy. He released her arm and glared down at her. "Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?"

"Apologies, Master Kenobi," Ahsoka said politely. "I didn't intend to publicly disrespect you."

He stared down at her. Her refusal to speak Maor-Grásta back to him hurt more than the silent treatment. That was their language. No one else at the Temple spoke the indigenous language of the planet crudely known as Stewjon, not even Anakin, though he had tried to teach him. "So this is how you're going to be, then?" he asked finally.

She blinked at him. "I'm not sure what you mean, Master."

"You damn well do," he snapped, and finally gave in to the urge to scratch his damn scalp. "This is childish of you, Ahsoka. You're better than this."

"Better than what?" she asked, cocking her head. "I've been nothing but polite, Master, but if you find my conduct unbecoming then I apologize. I will meditate on our interaction until Master Plo calls me to meet with the Chancellor." She bowed and turned to leave.

Obi-Wan caught her by the left arm and spun her back around. She hissed in pain and ripped her arm away.

"Please refrain from putting your hands on me, Master Kenobi," she said frostily.

Obi-Wan stared at her, knowing that if he asked what was wrong with her arm he'd get no answer. "I'm not putting my… Ahsoka, please, stop this."

"I'm not sure what you wish me to stop, Master."

"Stop acting like you've never met me before!" Obi-Wan said, raising his voice in frustration.

For just a second, her placid mask crumbled and he saw the devastation she was hiding underneath. The mask reappeared and she looked away, pursed her lips and shrugged. "Recent events have shown that I haven't, Master," she said quietly. "Not really."

Obi-Wan sagged and this time, he didn't stop her from walking away.

Ahsoka went through her mental checklist again. She couldn't muck this up. If she somehow pissed off Chancellor Palpatine or failed to convince him that Boba didn't belong in supermax, the kid was screwed.

"Do not be nervous, little 'Soka," Plo whispered, squeezing Ahsoka's right shoulder reassuringly. They sat together on a plush bench in a waiting area right outside the Chancellor's office.

"I can't help it, Master," she whispered back. "What if I make it even worse, somehow?"

"I would advise you, respectfully of course, to think of what your Master would not do and try that."

Ahsoka snorted. His aura was a little too gold with humor for the seriousness of the situation.

"Trust in the Force. We are in the right, here, and we know this."

She nodded. "Yes, Master."

"You may enter," one of Chancellor Palpatine's secretaries called from the doorway; a short, plump Human woman with black hair shorn down to the scalp and the pale skin of someone who worked and lived exclusively indoors.

Ahsoka took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then followed Master Plo to the Chancellor's office. He was still sitting at his desk, writing something with an electric pen that showed up as a language she didn't recognize on the left side of his desk.

"Master Koon," the Chancellor smiled, and bowed his head. "And Padawan Ahsoka. My, how you've grown since I last saw you! I must say, Anakin raves about you every time we meet. He is very proud of you."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Ahsoka said sheepishly, ducking her head. There was nothing specific about the Chancellor himself that put her on edge, it was the office. There was just something unnerving about it. The statues of the Four Sages seemed to watch her from their posts bordering the room, and some of the art vibrated weirdly in the Force. Nothing she could pin down, just off.

She peered down at the unfamiliar writing on the Chancellor's desk. "That's a beautiful script," she said, projecting her aura out over the room with green serenity-amiability. It helped block out the weird vibrations of his artwork. "I don't recognize it."

"It's the poet's script," the Chancellor said, his naturally violet aura gone blue with appreciation. "It's an old traditional practice on Naboo. It's never been a spoken language, but one used solely for the arts."

"That's fascinating," Ahsoka said, returning his smile. "Do you write poetry, Chancellor?"

He chuckled and looked down, darkening with humility. "Oh, I dabble," he confessed with a smile. "It's a bit self-indulgent, of course, but it calms my mind."

"Nonsense, Chancellor," Plo assured him. "It is good to know that even in this period of war and violence, our leader makes time to create something beautiful for the galaxy."

Ahsoka was impressed. Plo could give Ob– Master Kenobi a run for his credits when it came to schmoozing.

"Ah, well," the Chancellor shrugged, his smile widening. "I doubt you called for an emergency meeting to discuss my poetry, dear. What can I do for you?"

Ahsoka sat up straight. "There has been a grave miscarriage of justice, Chancellor," she said solemnly. "Boba Fett has been placed into supermax alongside adults instead of a juvenile facility. He is a Fett clone, yes, but totally unaltered. He ages at a normal rate, not the accelerated rate of the troopers." She adjusted her projection to include a yellow ribbon of pity. "He's only twelve, Sir. Every second he spends in that place his life, his- his bodily sanctity is at risk."

Chancellor Palpatine went gray with surprise. "Oh, goodness," he said, immediately swiping away his poetry and summoning Boba's file up to the holoscreen of his desk. "Let me see here– ah." His holoscreen filled up with copies of legal documents, medical records, and crime scene holopics. "It seems that the judge presiding over his case determined that he was too dangerous to be kept in a juvenile facility." He glanced at her. "I cannot say that I disagree. He is unnaturally skilled for a boy his age, from what I have heard. He killed a Marshall Commander."

"Respectfully, Chancellor, Commander Ponds was murdered by Aurra Sing. Boba could not pull the trigger," Master Plo gently corrected.

"I understand the risks, Chancellor," Ahsoka said. "I would like to volunteer to serve as his legal guardian until I can reunite him with his father's Mandalorian family."

The Chancellor's eyebrows almost hit his hairline. "Jango Fett had family?" he asked, going a lighter gray with shock.

"In the Mandalorian tradition of found family, yes," Ahsoka nodded.

"So young Boba would escape punishment for his crimes against the Republic?" the Chancellor asked after a moment of curt silence.

"Boba Fett is but a child, Chancellor," Plo said peacefully. "He was manipulated by individuals that were once acquainted with his father and they used his grief to their advantage. They abandoned him at the first opportunity."

The Chancellor nodded, thinking. "That may be so, Master Koon, but he did kill hundreds of his fellow clones through his actions."

"He did, Chancellor, that can't be disputed," Ahsoka said softly, projecting strong amber amenability at him. "But he's an orphan, and he's twelve. He's exceptionally vulnerable to manipulation by adults that knew his father. They're the only connection he has left to him."

"The cadets that he infiltrated reported that he seemed reluctant to leave them to their fate," Plo piped up. "While his quest was misguided from the start, his target was Master Windu. The loss of clone life and the destruction of The Endurance was wholly unintentional."

"While sabotaging the hyperdrive of The Endurance, he had an opportunity to end the life of clone trooper Rivers," Ahsoka added. "He spared his life and stunned him instead. We truly believe that if not for the presence of Aurra Sing, Castas, and Bossk, he never would have taken that step."

"So you propose instead that I pardon the one who killed hundreds of clone troopers, naval officers, and support staff on account of his age?" Chancellor Palpatine steepled his hands underneath his chin and looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I cannot in good conscience do such a thing. Aside from the morality of it, the boy could wreak untold damage if he escaped your custody."

"I promise he won't!" Ahsoka exclaimed, leaning forward. "Please, Chancellor. I know he made a terrible error in judgment that cost many lives, but he's twelve."

"So you've said," the Chancellor said dryly, lowering his hands. "Ahsoka–"

Ahsoka impulsively reached across his desk and clasped his hands. "He needs rehabilitation, not a life sentence before it's even began," she said earnestly. She wouldn't go so far as to try and mind trick him, not with Plo right there, but her Empathy was stronger with physical touch. She let burnt-orange supplication roll down her arms and flow from her hands onto his. "Please, Chancellor," she said, popping her porg eyes. "Just give him a chance."

The Chancellor's aura flushed copper with affection-agreement. "You do make a compelling argument," he said fondly, withdrawing his hands after giving hers a squeeze. "The Great Negotiator has taught you well."

Ahsoka ducked her head with a small smile, trying not to let him feel the cold shock of hurt that Master Kenobi's nickname triggered.

"Very well." He raised his chin to look over Ahsoka's shoulder at his secretary. "Go fetch Commander Fox, please."

"Right away, Sir." The secretary scurried off and the Chancellor drew up a document.

"I shall grant Boba Fett a full pardon, effective immediately," he said, then glanced up at Ahsoka with a smile. He transferred something onto a datapad and handed it to her. It was a legal certificate declaring her the legal guardian of one Boba Fett.

Oh, kriff, she hadn't actually let herself believe that she'd get this far. She had a kid. She had a shabla kid. A shabla clone kid.

"Congratulations, my dear, it's a boy," he said with a small chuckle and a wink. "I do hope Anakin isn't too cross with you. I can't imagine that he expected to become a grandfather quite this early."

Ahsoka's stripes went hot. Her Master… was not going to be pleased with her, to put it lightly, but she just couldn't leave Boba in there a second longer than necessary if she could put a stop to it.

"Please, 'Soka, you have to get him out of there," Rex pleaded, staring at the screen with an aura gone stark white with shock-horror-outrage. "He's so little. They'll kill him, they'll– osik, what have they already done to him–"

She would have done it anyway, but Force if Rex's begging wasn't compelling. She'd break Boba out if she had to.

But really, Anakin was going to kill her once he got back from Toydaria with that Force-sensitive toddler.

"Commander!" Chancellor Palpatine said brightly over Ahsoka's shoulder. "Please escort Master Koon and Padawan Tano down to the detention center. Boba Fett is being released into her custody, effective immediately."

"Oh. Interesting. As you say, Sir," Fox said, then turned to Ahsoka and Plo. "Ready whenever you both are," he nodded.

"Take care, Ahsoka," Chancellor Palpatine said warmly, standing along with them. "And do be on guard with young Boba. From what I understand, the boy is quite crafty, despite his tender age."

"Oh I will, Chancellor, don't worry. I remember how much of a handful he was." Ahsoka bowed and tried to ignore the way the statues of the sages stared at her. "Thank you again. You've saved a life today."

"And my thanks as well, Chancellor," Plo added, bowing after her. "We appreciate your expediency."

"I wish you luck in your endeavor, my dear." Palpatine winked at her. "And don't be afraid to visit more often. I've got some stories about Anakin as a youth that you might enjoy."

Ahsoka's stripes flushed again and she picked at her thumb's cuticle.

"Alright, General, Commander. Let's get you over to the prison before sundown." Fox slung his carbine over his shoulder and led the way out.

Boba curled up tighter on his side, willing the pain in his sides to go away. After he'd jumped Hardeen it had been chaos. He wasn't sure if it was the guards or the other bastards he was locked in here with that had broken his ribs, but it didn't really matter. He needed to get better. He couldn't afford to look weak. Prison was worse than a jungle, at least an animal just killed you and was done with it. The predators here liked to play with their food, first.

"Come on, little man, come bunk with me. I know it gets cold at night, you must be shivering with only a lizard to keep you warm–"

At least in solitary Boba could focus all of his energy on healing instead of defending himself. He chewed on his split lip and readjusted his face against the wall so that his black eye was pressed directly against the cold surface.

"Time to go, Fett."

Boba was sitting upright and ready to respond in under a second. Nobody would know by looking at him that he was holding his breath so as not to scream from the pain. One meiloorun, two meiloorun, three meiloorun–

"Go where?" he asked after a few seconds, cool as a caniphant. Fox, on the other side of the bars, had two DC-17 sidearms, a DC-15A carbine, and two vibroblade hits sticking out from his gauntlets. Two pairs of cuffs hung from his belt next to a small canister of capsaicin spray.

Boba could get to the spray the easiest, kick the back of Fox's knee, twist his arm and grab the blaster–

"It's your lucky day, cyar'solus," Fox said, undoing the biometric locks on his cell.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. Damn it, Boba didn't want to go back to genpop yet, he was still too injured. The guards tried to watch out for him; some of them did, anyway, the ones who didn't hiss vod'kyramud when he passed them in the halls. Bossk usually stuck up for him but he was just one man. Boba already had a size disadvantage, but with his ribs fucked his speed suffered. He eyed the capsaicin spray at Fox's belt again. He'd get his ass kicked if he went for it, but they'd keep him in solitary longer. Fox had the frame of a gundark but he wasn't a shabuir, he would just give him another lump or two before locking his cell again instead of rebreaking things on purpose.

Fox snickered. "I'll call you whatever I want. Now face down on the floor, you know how this works."

Yeah, he did. Boba swallowed hard and carefully got on his belly, watching the canister of spray swing closer. The floor was hard but the cold felt good. He took a deep breath and prepared to make his move.

As if Fox knew what he'd been thinking, he walked around him in a wide circle and approached from behind before cuffing him. He pulled Boba to his feet, gentler than he expected. "You're being given a second chance, kid," he said quietly. "Don't kark it up."

"The fuck does that mean?" Boba asked faintly; even with Fox's careful grip, he wasn't able to draw in air properly with the way his ribs were screaming.

"You're getting out."

"What?" Boba tried to spin around and look at Fox, but he kept a firm hold of his cuffed hands and kept him from turning.

"Walk, squirt," Fox said in a bored voice.

Where was he going? Where were they sending him? It hit him then, what had to have happened; Aurra. He knew she wouldn't abandon him. She'd had to make a tactical retreat, that was all. Somehow she'd pulled in a favor or used her connections in the guild, or maybe even kidnapped a judge. He fought down a smirk as they walked past the other inmates, all howling and hissing and complaining about his special treatment.

He was foolish to have given up on Aurra. She really did care about him.

"Stand here." Fox started undoing the locks to the hall that led to the private interview rooms, the ones that prisoners used to meet with their attorneys.

Boba never had an attorney. He had gone through sentencing on his own.

"Alright, walk." Fox took him by the cuffs and shoved him forward through the door. "And be respectful."

"Respectful to who?" Boba grouched.

"Your new mum," Fox snickered, stopping in front of a door halfway down the hall. "Congratulations. You've been adopted."

Boba whipped his head up so fast that black spots appeared in his eyes. "I've been fucking what?" he squeaked.

Fox pushed him inside of the interview room while he was still reeling. Instead of Aurra, the two Jedi who had arrested him were waiting inside; a Kel Dor who towered over everyone, even Fox, and a scrawny orange Togruta with big blue bug eyes and two sabers on her belt. She was taller than he remembered.

"Koh-to-yah, Boba Fett," the Kel Dor said, bowing to him. "I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, and this is Padawan Ahsoka Tano."

"The fuck do you cunts want?" Boba spat, furious at himself for being so stupid that he thought Aurra would come for him. He was such a gullible di'kut. Of course she didn't really care. He was never anything but clout to her, just something of Jango's that she could show off.

The Tog blinked at him, obviously shocked. The little princess obviously wasn't used to bad language. "I, um, I…"

"Go ahead, Ahsoka," the Kel Dor said with a little pat on her back.

She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and then smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt the tension in his back muscles ease a little, weirdly enough. "I want to get you out of here, if that's alright with you."

"Why the fuck should I go anywhere with you?" Boba asked suspiciously, then backed up so he could keep the both of them in plain view. "You're the cunts who put me in here. Why do you care?"

"We never meant for you to be placed in a place such as this, young man," the Kel Dor said apologetically.

"We want to help you find your family, Boba," the Tog said earnestly.

"Are you both fucking stupid?" Boba snapped. "I don't have any family. The Jedi killed the only family I had."

The Tog and Kel Dor exchanged looks. "I know, Boba," the Tog said. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

Boba looked at his feet.

"Why don't we be on our way?" the Kel Dor suggested. "We have much to discuss, but there's no need to do so on an empty stomach. I find myself craving a milkshake."

"Oooh, I could go for a milkshake," the Tog said with her brow markings raised. "How about you, Boba?"

"I don't want a fucking milkshake, I want to know what's going on!" Boba said, backing up into Fox. He… he needed to get away from these people. They had some sort of weird plan for him, he was sure of it. What if they wanted to send him back to Kamino? Maybe they wanted to string him up in a lab and use him to make more of their precious troopers. Without Dad the longnecks couldn't make them like they used to, and Boba was a perfect copy. "What did Fox mean? He said I was going to meet my new mum, what did he mean by that?"

The Tog bit her lip and looked at him. "That, um, that would be me," she said sheepishly. "I… I'm your legal guardian."

"You're my legal guardian?" Boba stared at her. She looked barely older than him, though she was a lot taller than he remembered.

"Yep," she said happily, rocking back on her heels. "So, what do you say? Ready to go?"

Boba glanced up at Fox, who gave him a reassuring nod. "Not like I have a fucking choice, do I?" he asked sullenly.

"No, you don't," the Kel Dor – Koon, Boba remembered he said his name was – said gently. "But I imagine that you would choose to leave the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

"Obviously," Boba said, frowning.

"So." Koon shrugged. "Shall we?"

The Tog smiled brightly at him. He realized that she was nervous, and for some reason that made him feel better.

"Fine." Boba rubbed his wrists after Fox unlocked his cuffs. Whatever. Fox didn't need to help him, he could do this on his own. He just had to stick with them long enough to get out of prison. The second the idiots turned their backs, he'd be out of there. Boba glanced up and met the Tog's nervous gaze. "But I'm not calling you fucking Mum."

Author's Notes:

MAOR-GRÁSTA TRANSLATIONS An deach thu às mo chiall?: Have you gone insane? Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?: Why are you disrespecting me? MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS cyar'solus: beloved one, the clones' nickname for Boba since he was a special snowflake chosen baby (Thank you Squid_Ink 😘) shabuir: motherfucker vod'kyramud: brother-killer osik: shit OTHER NOTES Mace has a picture of all of his padawans and grand-padawans in his wallet and he shows everyone constantly. It's canon, George Lucas actually told me himself. Palpatine was pretty easy to convince, wasn't he? It's almost like he likes sowing discord between Anakin and his loved ones hmm odd yes very odd indeed Ponds was promoted for plot related purposes ✌️

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

[greentrickster]

Happy Star Wars Day from the 734th! ^U^

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

[fandumb-thoughts]

First-Sentence Breakdown

I saw this on my dashboard and I thought I might as well try it for the hell of it. The rules were “List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag some of your favorite authors!” I don’t know any authors on tumblr, really, but I’ll be doing everything else lol.

1 - Untitled WIP fic where Obi-Wan was never freed after he was enslaved at 12/13-ish and ends up on Tatooine with Shmi and Anakin.

“There’s a storm coming,” said the boy who burnt as bright as a thousand stars, eyes so blue and vast that Qui-Gon might call them endless.

2 - Chapter 17 of my Castlevania fic A Backwards Fate, still being written, titled “The Speakers in Action!”

The stink of death hung heavy in the air.

3 - Chapter 2 of my Star Wars soulmate au Mosaic (Obi-Wan), which is the first of many fics that I plan to write within this au.

Obi-Wan was nineteen when he first saw the color green.

4 - Chapter 6 of my Star Wars time travel fic Companion of the Ancestors titled “He cut off my HAND”

Padawan Yan Dooku scowled fiercely, knowing that his master couldn’t see it from his perch on Yan’s shoulders.

5 - Untitled scene in which Obi-Wan briefly reunites with Neild (from the Melida/Daan arc) during the Clone Wars Era

Obi-Wan thought often of his time on Melida-Daan.

6 - Chapter 6 of my Senator Skywalker/role swap au Our Paths They Will Converge, titled “Bentu Depuraak”

Anakin made it across the desert, that first night.

7 - A scene that I wrote based off the fic Ib’tuur Jatne Tuur Ash’ad Kyr’amur in which Maul and Obi-Wan have a shared vision of the canon future while in the generator room in The Phantom Menace titled Today is the Day that Nobody Dies.

Qui-Gon stared at the datapad.

8 - Chapter 11 of my media-centic Clone Wars fic The CloneNet, titled “Showing Off” This one is a little weird to pick a first sentence for due to structuring.

A group of young troopers are in the middle of painting their armor for the first time.

9 - Final chapter of the three-part Castlevania fic Pining Idiots, titled Strawberry Blonde.

Sypha was yelling something at Trevor, halfway across the castle.

10 - First WIP chapter of what I call my Skywalker Time Travel au, very similar premise to Companion of the Ancestors.

Leia was going to scream.

11 - A (likely going to be unfinished) scene in which Valkyrie realizes that Thor and Loki are extremely young in Asgardian standards and reacts appropriately.

It was hardly anytime into their journey to Midgard when Valkyrie took Thor by the arm and all but physically dragged him to a private hallway.

12 - Chapter 4 of my aged-up Percy Jackson HoO fic (it’s been a decade since the Titan War, but the new characters are all their original canon ages) The Heroes of Tomorrow Follow Those of Yesterday.

Hazel finished introducing Percy, but Nico couldn’t move.

13 - The start of the second part of my omegaverse Star Wars fic (completed!) titled Trouble Comes in Pairs, and it’s Not Always Bad.

Vader nearly left Bespin with the nine troopers that he had allowed to remain with him.

14 - A poem titled “on napping”

I took three naps today / while the girls next door moved out.

15 - A prose poem titled “to the boy”

who said “she could suck my dick.”

16 - A poem titled “heart, pounding”

she escorted me like a princess, / along the curb I balanced on, / sky darkening / from evening to dusk to night.

17 - A poem titled “girls of bone”

i was never fat— / barely even chubby— / but i always felt like i was.

18 - A poem titled “rapunzel”

there’s a smudged handprint / on the outside of my window / eighty-five feet off the ground.

19 - A poem titled “A Baby Cried And”

I think, ‘I must have been a mother once.’

20 - An untitled prose poem:

A girl slipped and fell in some loose gravel, or maybe it was a tiled floor—a stray root in her path, a raised step, an abandoned toy, or just because she was off-balance.

I definitely seem to favor either dramatic, short first sentences or long descriptions as I jump in mid-scene. I think that my poetry is a little bit more towards the second, although the first “line” (which might be the first sentence?) tends to be quite short and sharp. 

Also I write a shit ton of Star Wars fics lol.

[littlespaceporgs]

i have a need for more soft plo my dear 💕 how abt “i wanted to say ‘i love you’ for the first time without stuttering, but that failed” with everyone’s fave kel dor? also i love you to the moon and back and am super proud of you

A/N: Yeah that’s right, I’m back mostly fully now and yes I am writing the requests I have! JJ - I hope you like this! I LOVE U TOO! It’s funny to start off with and then goes angsty and then goes super fluffy and is an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish. I was aiming for a little 500 word blurb... it stands at 1.7ish i think 💀

So if you haven’t been reading my Clone Wars Reacts series, you probably aren’t aware that I am a massive simp for Plo Koon (and others characters 🤦‍♀️)and if this is you deciding to read them here’s the link to my masterlist, which has all the parts posted already.   

Glimpse

Word Count: 1.7k Pairing: Plo Koon x Jedi!Reader Summary: Anakin running late, an awful sense of foreboding, and one thing that you were yet to say, mixed with a glimpse of a future you couldn’t have. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags for my loves: @peacelandbread @clonewarslover55 @libradusk @catsnkooks @mcu-padawan

The reasons why you agreed to go on a mission on Skywalker seemed to escape you at the moment. His plans, though working occasionally, had the reputation of heavy damage and being absurdly reckless. You did however, enjoy working with Ahsoka, though she could be just as bull-headed as Anakin on occasion. Maybe it was for her sake that you joined the mission?

The plan had originally been for you to lead a small troop of men in quietly, retrieve the data you needed, and then Skywalker would swoop in and distract them so that you could escape. The entry went well, and collecting the data happened without a hitch, but you were spotted on the way out and Skywalker was late. Again. And to make things worse, your comms stopped working a very long time ago.

“If you concentrated on getting out instead of what you’re thinking, we might just survive.”

Ah, that’s why you came on this blasted trip.

“Well maybe if you focused on this, instead of your sarcasm, we may live past the next 10 minutes, Plo.”

You’d known the Kel-dor for many years, almost as long as you’d been a Jedi, but the feelings you had for him were only a few years old, and started shortly after you began going on regular missions with him. He always had put the wellbeing of others ahead of his own, which was frustrating to no end, but endearing all the same. He knew that you had a way of overthinking every situation and very quickly becoming a ‘stress head’, so he always simplified the instructions and looked for the tell-tale signs of you steadily becoming unstuck. Always waiting for the clones to get on board an escape pod, making sure there were enough supplies, somehow always having all the answers and a witty response. It was the little things at any rate.

Like now for example, as you both knelt behind a box, trying to catch your breath, and he was trying to use humour as a way of distracting you from the very real possibility of dying by the hands of a droid.

You stretched up from your crouch and turned to look over the box. Oh shit, there’s an entire battalion of droids just a few meters – oh, and that one’s pointing- oh.

With a sharp tug, Plo pulled you back down, the blaster bolt whizzing past where your eyes had been only half a second ago. Despite not being able to see his eyes and mouth, he still gave you an exasperated expression.

“Be more-”

“I was fine! I saw it coming and I was going to move!” The Kel-dor ran a hand across his forehead, although, at this point he should be used to this type of behaviour from you.

Despite the joking and poking fun, your stomach was sinking further by the minute. As you just realised, if you stepped out, you would surely be shot instantly. A vast majority of the clone troopers had long since been torn apart. Swallowing, you closed your eyes, and leaned back resting your head on the box. There is no way either of you are going to surrender and get captured, but you both were aware of the fact that you likely weren’t making it out of this either.

Your shoulder was burning, and your ribs and abdomen ached, and there was a blaster burn on your leg. Another hand wrapped around your own, and squeezed it tight. Trying to stop shaking, you spoke.

“I – we’re not getting out of this one…” You turned your head and opened your eyes, finding his face. His eyes were turned down at the edges, and his shoulders were slumped the smallest bit. “Are we?”

Plo turned and took a similar position to you, not letting go of your hand.

“We must not think like-”

“Be realistic we-”

“It’s going to be-”

“Don’t- don’t you dare say it’ll be fine-”

“Skywalker-”

“isn’t coming! Or- or if he is, he’ll be too late!” you couldn’t stop your voice from shaking now, stuttering more with every word that came out.  Plo’s head hung and you could see the weight of your words hanging on him.

“At um – at least we’ll go out as we are, teasing the s-shit out of each other, you old man.” He let a laugh drift out of the mask.

“Don’t call me old, youngling.” You laughed back, smirking all the while. If you’re going to die here – if technically you wouldn’t be jedi – your heart raced at the thought. The code was – well if you’re dead you can’t very well follow the code, now can you?

“I- I um I love you.” As soon as it was out, you felt lighter and heavier all at once. His back straightened so fast the back of his head nearly whacked the crate. When he finally turned to you, his brows were sitting much further up on his face than what they had been before, so you traced every corner on his face with your eyes, just in case. His hand squeezed yours tighter.

“I- well I wanted to say it without stuttering, and preferably when we weren’t a few minutes from death, but well- I guess there’s really no time like the present?” He still hadn’t moved, frozen and staring at you. Oh, no. You waved your free hand in front of his face, trying to break his stupor.

“Plo? Are you-”

“I love you too.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your hand moving to his face instead, moving your thumb across his cheekbone. Idly, you noticed that he hadn’t let go of your other hand yet. His hand moved the hair from your face, smudging the ash and dirt also. With a hand on the back of your head, he gently pulled so your foreheads pressed together. Your eyes slid shut, and you concentrated on the feeling of warmth and light that this brought. If this was the last thing you remembered before death, then you would die happily. For now, you savoured the few seconds you had sitting there. You sighed, and opened your eyes.

“I – just-”

“I know.” You pulled away, and despite the happiness of a few seconds before, a sense of foreboding sat heavily in your chest. You swallowed harder, and moved to grab your lightsaber. You grasped it tight, and ignited the glowing blade. Next to you, you heard his blade reveal itself. Your muscles in your legs tensed, and you braced your shoulders. One more time. When you turned to him, he was still looking at you, with a sad expression that rivalled your own. You shuffled so you were instead in a crouch, ready to fight. Might as well go out swinging.

You took a deep breath and steeled your nerves. For a second before you stood, you couldn’t hear anything. When you thought back and remembered it, there was the sound of droid’s legs and chatter, of occasional blaster fire of those who were left, and your lightsaber humming in your ear. At the time, there was nothing. You just kept staring at Plo, hoping that somehow, you’d get more of this, more than 5 seconds.

Faster than a blink, you got a glimpse of a future that could have been. Cold nights on Coruscant, wrapped up in blankets, watching the night sky past by. Daybreak, curled up in each other’s arms, feeling the glow of sun come in. On missions with small troops of trusted clones, being able to be open with your relationship. Sneaking around before council meetings, trying to savour what moments you could before missions. Feeling like young padawan’s again, running around quietly. Visions of you leaving the order, years from now, quoting being unable to stick to the code, Plo following shortly after. Of you building a home, your stomach steadily growing outwards.

And just like that it was over, and you were stuck with a reality of death.

Your throat burned and your vision blurred. Now.

And then Plo’s hand desperately grabbing yours and pulling you down again, a shrill beeping coming from his wrist. Your heart pulsed in your ears and you looked to the sky. Of course.

“Sorry, we were busy dealing with Ventress! How are you holding up?” A scathing laugh burst out of your throat. The droids were falling back, away from your position at the sight of the sheer number of Republic soldiers. You laid back on the dirt, feeling the sun on your skin, soaking up whatever light you could. It was only now that you felt the weight lift, where the light feeling of relief took its place. Plo begun to answer Anakin. You cut him off with a venomous tone.

“We’re a-”

“We’re alive, you’re late, and I am going to kill you, Skywalker.” There was an audible sigh that sounded suspiciously amused from Plo as he made to stand.

“I wasn’t that la-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.”

Plo’s hand reached down and hovered near your face, though you ignored it and shot up on your own, winding your arms around his neck. He softly grunted as you laughed and the realisations began to sink in. Maker, we nearly died. We were very nearly dead. You nearly had to watch the man you fell in love with die.

Whilst your mind rambled, he pulled apart, and was still brushing the hair from your forehead again. You hadn’t noticed, but he was taking in every freckle, wrinkle and scar you had, like you had been doing to him not too long ago.

You nearly died. Plo nearly died. You almost didn’t get to say – oh, no. You told him. You thought you were going to die and you told him. But now you’re not going to die. And he said it back.

He said your name and whisked you from the spiral. His leathery forehead leant down and pressed against yours.

“I love you.”

Maker, he said it again. You grinned, and pulled him closer. You wanted to say it one thousand times at the top of your lungs, and suddenly the glimpse didn’t seem as far out of reach as it had a few minutes ago.

“I love you too.”

[the-and-sign-anon]

Escape From Fire

Word count: 1,035

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

The burning surface of the Outer Rim planet seemed to choke her. The transports were gone, she knew that much. The people were gone, the troopers, her master. She was alone with nothing but her lightsaber and her pounding head and the burns she could barely feel now. Magnolia Rhodes was on her own and she was certain she was about to die.

She did her best to get her bearings, then started walking. There were few places she could go, but she remembered seeing a small shipyard a short distance away. If there was any chance of getting away, it would be there.

It was slow going. The fires seemed to pop up everywhere, singeing her hair and making her eyes water. When she saw the fence around the shipyard, she broke into a run, reaching the perimeter in moments.

She hopped over the fence, took a quick look around, and made her way to the nearest ship. It was easy to break the locks, and she was out of the smoke in a minute. Then she made her way to the cockpit and tried to make sense of the controls.

“Come on, I’ve flown a ship like this before. I’ve just got to have a clear head.”

Magnolia stood still for a second, letting her mind go blank. She couldn’t worry about trying to contact anyone yet. She just had to get off this planet before things got any worse. So she sat at the controls and got the ship in the air.

The engines sputtered and the whole thing shook violently as she broke out of the atmosphere, but all was still once she was in open space. The distant stars and the moon orbiting the planet looked so peaceful. As if no horrible mistake had been made on the surface below. As if an innocent young padawan hadn’t just been stranded there.

When she was sure she was safe to drift, Magnolia focused on the controls and the wiring beneath them. She had to check if this thing even had a hyperdrive, then if it worked well enough to get to a planet where she could get help. She was elbow deep in the wires and switches when a beeping sound started.

She popped back up and rushed to swerve out of the path of a passing ship. She’d had enough momentum to drift beyond the planet and its moon, leaving them looking like smudges on the small viewport. The cargo ship had been headed straight for her, but she dodged it and sat in the pilot’s chair again. For a moment, she closed her eyes and reached out with the Force as Master Plo had taught her to do.

When she was unable to feel anything, she tried harder. She was too far away from any Republic troops or Jedi to reach them. Using the Force like that had always drained her and she was already exhausted, so she pulled back and opened her eyes. In a minute, the engines were on again and she set coordinates for a fueling station nearby.

As soon as the ship landed, Magnolia realized she had no credits. She took a second to search the vessel, coming up with a small handful that would hardly buy a thing. What she really needed was communication anyway. Her comlink had been melted in the fires, prompting her to rip it off her wrist and rub at the blistered skin there.

“Excuse me, sir?”

An innocent looking pantoran turned around as Magnolia spoke up behind him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need help.”

“What happened to you?”

He was taken aback by her soot stained skin and little holes in her robes. If he noticed the lightsaber hanging at her belt, he didn’t react to it.

“I got caught in a fire. I was separated from my… friends.”

She hesitated for only a moment when she said it. The troops of the 104th were indeed her friends, and so was her master, but she felt odd to call them that. She knew she couldn’t go around advertising that she’d lost her battalion though.

“You’re lost?”

“A bit. Can you help me send them a transmission? So they know where to find me?”

He nodded and gestured for her to follow him. With one hand resting on her saber, she did so. The man led her to a small, sleek ship and ushered her in.

“I trust you know how to send your transmission, miss?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He waited outside the ship, which she was grateful for. Even as a youngling, she’d always been wary of strangers and only allowed herself to be alone with one when it was absolutely necessary. She figured this qualified.

When she tried to send a message to Master Plo, it wouldn’t work. She pressed a few different buttons, tried a few different frequencies, and finally thought she had something. There was nothing she could do to confirm that anyone had gotten it, but she’d just have to trust that someone would find her.

“Thank you so much, sir.”

“I’m happy to help, miss. Is there anything else I can do?”

“I think I’ll be alright, thank you. My friends should be here soon.”

He nodded at her answer and took off in his ship a few moments later. With nothing to do but wait, Magnolia made her way back to her ship and busied herself looking for spare clothes and any more loose credits. She did manage to find a gray cloak that fit her, but there was nothing to be done about her robes. The burns and small tears would have to be left as they were until she got back to her room at the Jedi temple.

For two days, Magnolia waited patiently. No one came. A gruff Rodian who ran the station told her she would have to move her ship after that, so she was on her own again with no destination. She knew she still had half a tank of gas, but she doubted she could get back to the Republic with that. For the time being, she was alone. Then the pirates came.

[capricornus-rex]

Worth Protecting (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

First | Second | Fourth | Masterlist

3 of ?

The tunnel’s height was enough for both of you to stand up straight and lose the risk of getting backaches. Courtesy of BD-1, he kept the holomap on while you tread through the tunnels.

“Just straight ahead,”

“Did you know this existed, [y/n]?”

“No, did you?”

“No…”

Your voices echoed through the hollow passages, every step was light and inaudible as possible, the small flashlight you have in your hand plus the holomap were your only sources of light. The only encounters you’ve had so far were vermin that have made a home out of the unused tunnel network.

“I wonder where do the other twists and turns lead to?” You thought out loud.

“Other parts of the city, perhaps,”

“Perhaps… are we close, Cal?”

Cal stopped walking to review and retrace your steps. His finger hovered over the green line leading to the eastern garden courtyard until he pointed a part of the path where there’s a corner.

“Yes, we’re close. Just two more turns: a left but it’s the first one out of three left turns in that side, and then a right—the second one,”

With haste, you carefully find that first left turn and then the right turn. Not giving in to eagerness and impatience, you would review the holomap before you would make any turn.

“[y/n], we’re closing in on the entrance to the gardens!”

“It’s about time we’ll see some sunlight!” you exclaimed in glee.

When you found the doorway, on your side it was nothing but stone but you saw the cracks following its frame. Before opening it, you heard some unfamiliar voices chattering from the other side.

“Looters, you think?” You whispered to him.

“Maybe, or maybe troopers—be careful,”

Through the crack in the door, you were able to peek through—although you could only see very little—and silhouettes would the light through the crack; you could see the red pauldrons faintly and a vague glimpse of the armor design. Patiently, you watch their walking pattern before you could even mount an ambush.

“Well, [y/n]?”

“Three or four of them, give or take. Anytime you’re ready, Cal,”

“Come on, let’s do it,”

Using the Force with a wave of your hand to the side, the door slid open and without waiting for the reactions of the intruders, you and Cal completely caught them by surprise. There were four skinny Weequays, they blasted recklessly while you sprinted and deflected their shots until you were close enough for a killing blow.

“Where are reinforcements!?” One panicked Weequay shouted before Cal cuts him down.

Two more Weequays wielding vibroblades come running out of the main building, but Cal had robbed them the chance of fighting by Force-pulling one of them and throwing him to his companion.

“Cool bank shot, by the way,” you complimented.

“Thanks, I’ve been working on my aim,”

“You’re getting better at it, then,”

Looking around the mess, you two examined the current state of the garden after not being here in a long time. The stone benches were shattered to shapeless blocks, most of the plants have wilted and dried due to lack of care, and you discovered that the secret door to the tunnels was concealed by the foliage forming on the wall.

“This is bad,” you say out loud. You turn on your commlink, “Cere, we’ve arrived in the gardens but there were some scavengers in here.”

“That is a problem, just make your way to the main hall and head for the Archive,”

“Do you think it’s the Haxion Brood?”

“I’m not really sure. The Brood is more interested in kidnapping people and droids for their ring fights, this must be a different syndicate, be vigilant.”

The communication stopped there, while you were speaking with Cere, Cal found the same helmet used by younglings during lightsaber practice. This was the kind of helmet whose rim was so low that it practically blindfolded you from seeing the remote droids. He felt the Force from the helmet and he could hear a familiar voice,

“Your feelings you must use, when clouded your vision is,”

“But shouldn’t it be better if we could actually see?” an impatient Padawan groaned, his frustrated growl echoed in Cal’s head.

“Senses you always use, yes—but deceive you, they do! When trusting and feeling with the Force, never fail you it will, hmm.”

The sounds that the droids make and the humming of many lightsabers all at once felt fresh in Cal’s ears, it’s as if he’s witnessing it happen for real in front of his very eyes.

“Cal?”

“This is where the younglings were sometimes brought to for lightsaber practice, Master Yoda would personally proctor them.”

You walked up and knelt beside Cal, you gingerly took the helmet from his hands and examined it closely: the smudges of dust and soil obscured its original white color, there were cracks on the edges—an indication that it was dropped at some point—and a shattered eye shield.

“The poor things,” you muttered, your heart felt heavy when you turned your head to the secret door. “They would have made it.”

“Come on, [y/n], we have to go,”

You gently put down the helmet where Cal found it, he took you by the hand and helped you stand up. He sensed that it was too heartbreaking for you, he felt the slightest tremble in your fingers, and your sadness infected him. You knew some of these younglings, most of them called you, “Big Sister,” and called Cal, “Big Brother.”

You headed for the main building. Now that you’ve discovered that the thieves have made their way into the Temple, your caution and vigilance doubled, and lightsabers always at the ready.

[obianidalasuggestion]

Fic: make short the miles between

@pomrania submitted to obianidalasuggestion: Long-distance fluff prompt

It’s rare for all three of them to be able to get together, so when only two of them are together, they make sure to share and describe, with the third, all the fluffy comforting bonding activities they did. Think “dirty talk”, but without the smut.

“You should have seen how his eyes lit up when he saw the cake.”

“Her hair is so soft, I wish you were here to braid it with me.”

“He made an adorable little purring noise as I wrapped the blanket around him.”

What a fluffly prompt!  The ficlet might have wandered away from the original idea a bit but I hope you still enjoy.  

___

All her attendants and aides have left for the day when the Jedi master comes.  For that if nothing else Padme is grateful, even as weariness hounds her, the buzzing of all that is yet undone and all she must do rattling around in the back of her skull and pressing down upon her shoulders.  

Obi-wan’s robes are scorched.  They stare at each other across the apartment.  

“General Kenobi,” she says warily.  

He cocks his head, reaching out for something she cannot see.  “Padme,” he replies.  

No bugs.  Her posture sags with relief, and when she opens her arms Obi-wan falls into them wordlessly.  

There’s no heat in their embrace or the exhausted kiss they give each other before practically falling onto the couch - her comfy one, not the brocade monstrosity in the formal receiving room.  His head rests on her shoulder as she holds him, the smell of char and ozone filling her nose and mingling with the scent of ink, recycled air, and day old perfume.  

“How is he?” she finally asks.  

Obi-wan’s voice is muffled by the soft fibers of her house robe.  “Tired,” he says honestly.  “Angry.  Brilliant, as always, despite everything.”  Quietly, after a moment, “Sorry that he can’t make it back here with me.”  

I’m sorry too, he doesn’t say.  Padme smooths back his hair from his face, frowns at a smudge across his forehead, licks her thumb and tries to rub it away.  Obi-wan bats it away with a snort.  “Not you too,” he grumbles, startling a laugh out of her.  

“I picked it up from him!”  

Obi-wan gives her a wry look.  “Really.  Because he says the same about you.”  He shakes his head, mutters something suspiciously like “…deserve each other.”  

The thought of it - Ani leaning down over their third, fussing over him like a mother nexu - makes her dissolve into hysteric giggles which may or may not be born from lack of sleep.  “If I taught him anything about personal grooming it’s a boon to all three of us,” she finally retorts, though there’s no sting in it.  “You’ve been a terrible influence.”  

“I beg pardon?”  

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten that haircut, Obi-wan.”  

“It was a perfectly acceptable styling choice!”  

They lapse into silence, disturbed only by the humming of the temperature generator.  “Tell me about him,” she finally says.  “Just- anything, anything at all.”

He hums for a moment, breath tickling her collarbone.  “His hair is longer now - he uses the hair tie he stole from you to pull it back.  Sometimes when I comb it out for him he’ll fall asleep with his head in my lap.”  

“Is it the blue hair tie, with little golden bells on it?”  

“Yes, that one - he’s very fond of it, probably trying to figure out where to buy more of them for your lifeday, knowing him.”  

She chuckles.  “He’s always been so odd about taking things and then trying to figure out how to replace them.  Did I ever tell you about the time I found him puzzling over our bed spread, because he had stolen your blanket and accidentally destroyed it with engine grease.”  

Obi-wan sat up.  “Is that where my blanket went?” he sputtered.  

“Um.”  

“Please don’t tell me the new ones that mysteriously appeared in my room was yours.”  

“It…may have been a spare?”  

“Anakin,” he groaned, as if the man in question could hear his exasperation from the other side of the galaxy.  

Do not laugh, Amidala, she told herself severely, do not.  “If…it makes you feel any better, I think the arrangement pleased him in a strange, round about way.”  

“What, that we were all under the same covers if not at the same time,” Obi-wan said flatly.  Paused.  “Oh Force, that’s probably exactly what he was thinking.  Padme stop laughing.”

“I can’t help it, your face,” she gasped, mirthful.    

Obi-wan buried aforementioned face into his hands.  “Why is our husband so weird,” he moaned.  

Padme grinned.  “Do you remember the time we all went out to eat and he frazzled the server by insisting on serving the food to us himself.”  

“And the way his face lit up when we just ended up dismissing the poor boy and ended up all serving each other,” Obi-wan added wistfully.  

She giggled.  “He does have a weakness for being taken care of.”  

“Doted on,” Obi-wan said with resignation.  “Like a lothcat.  Or how about the time he was ordered on medical rest and ended up making a nest of blankets in the Resolute’s common area.”  

“He did not tell me about this.”  

“Oh, it was a thing of beauty by the end of the day,” Obi-wan conceded.  “Five mattresses, sixteen pillows, and ten napping troopers and a padawan later Kix ordered it disbanded.  Something about Anakin doing debriefs and resting only on a technicality.”  

“Oh gods.  That poor man.”  

Obi-wan looked over at her in askance.  “Who, Anakin or Kix?”  

“Yes,” she said firmly, bringing them both into another fit of slightly hysterical laughter.    

“What about the time you surprised him with Alderaanian foam cakes and he thought it was soap?”  

“Better than that time you took him out for Mon Calamari cuisine and he ended up being allergic!”  

“Oh Force, I’d almost forgotten about that one.”  

The mood in the room was tangibly lighter now - a safe haven, worries and strategy and the body politic all forgotten outside of this moment.  Tomorrow, there would be the Senate, the war, and the secrecy that dodged their heels, love and devotion tucked deeply away behind what duty required of them.  

For now though in this place of safety the two of them leaned into each other and reminisced, the memory of their absent third filling the space between them, the object of their mutual affections.  

[kyberled]

@duskisms​​ asked for the ‘lion face meme’ and my computer wigged out and published the unfinished draft so here’s take two(TM)

Send "🦁" and I will write a Drabble about my muse and an NPC || Accepting

There was something grimly satisfying about the end of a battle. ... No, ‘satisfying’ wasn’t the right word, it was more like ‘draining’. He was tired, but, he had to be grateful.

You could only be tired if you survived.

He sighed, brushing sweat-streaked hair from his face. His fingers came away smudged with dirt, and he grimaced to himself at the implication.

“I must be filthy,” he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair in a vague attempt to sort himself out.

“The good news is, the rest of us are, as well.” The rumbling beside him was comparable to shaking earth and groaning wood and the strumming of a great bass instrument, a far cry from the lilting mewl it had been in their nursery days. A faint smile passed over Braig’s face, and he shook his head before looking up to his friend, squinting against the harsh light of the setting sun. Hano took a seat on the edge of the mesa beside Braig, letting one leg hanging over the edge while the other was crooked to support his elbow, and settled with a huff.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Braig said, once again turning to look out over the lowlands again, where the transport ships looked like younglings’ toys and the men were no bigger than his thumb at largest. “You look positively stunning.” Hano’s mouth curled into a smile, lips parting just enough to give a flash of glinting fangs. The chuckle that leaves him starts as a chuff before progressing to something more human, though the rumble as Hano leaned back to support his weight on his arm, the way his whiskers twitched at the new scents carried on the breeze, was entirely Cathar.

“I always do,” he muttered, passing a hand over the mess of braids that spilled from the back of his mane. Braig let out a soft grunt of amusement, and the two padawans fell silent. Braig leaned forwards, propping his elbows on his knees and let his back arch to preserve his posture. A lock of hair fell in front of his face, and he thoughtlessly tucked it back behind his ear, fingertips kissing over the leathery stretch of damaged skin that painted the side of his face; he flinched away from the still foreign texture for only a moment before letting his fingertips press back down.

No, he still couldn’t feel a thing. He frowned, feeling the muscles in his forehead tense as his brow furrowed, and he let his eyes close for a few moments before he sighed, and his hand fell back to his lap with a faint plop. One of Hano’s ears swivelled in his direction, but, as no other reaction came, Braig dismissed it as a reflex, rather than a sign of concern. The silence between them stretched over a few long seconds, the softly-whistling wind carrying the scent of dry earth and beating sun up to them. Braig leaned forward, finally allowing his back to arch, and shielded his eyes as he peered down at the soldiers bustling around below. The white of their plastoid armour stood in stark contrast to the soft golds and browns of the desert and plains; though it was a few shades off, the rusted-copper tones of the 409th reminded him of the 212th’s orange, and he wondered how they were doing on their own mission (just his luck that they’d be called away right in the middle of Core World History Exams, but he supposed he should be grateful enough that he was allowed to tag along on this mission). He hoped that the men were doing okay; things hadn’t been easy for any of them, as of late. A frown crossed his face, though far more thoughtful than its most recent predecessor, and his gaze unfocused as his mind wandered. Movement beside him drew his attention, brown eyes flicking over to see solid muscle rippling under golden fur. A groan accompanied the motion as Hano rolled his shoulders, stretching his arm out behind him before scratching vigorously at the side of his neck. Braig wrinkled his nose, leaning away.

“I’m sick of all this dust,” Hano said, giving a shake that sent a puff of freshly-dislodged dirt and fur wafting through the air. “It keeps getting stuck in my fur. It itches,” he grinned and raised an arm in defense as Braig, who had not leaned far enough away to avoid being covered in fur, retaliated by plucking a handful of dry, dead grass and tossing it at him.

“I can see that,” Braig said, nudging his shoulder playfully against Hano’s side. “Are you going to shower when we get home?”

“I’m going to move into the sonic. They can hold my knighting there,” Hano decided matter-of-factly, rasping his tongue across his forearm. Braig shook his head, letting out a soft huff of amusement, then let his gaze once more settle on the horizon. A shiver of disgust rippled through the Force, and he tilted his head in confused concern. Hano frowned a silent apology, then held up his arm by way of explanation. A bright slash of crimson painted itself across golden fur.

“Are you okay?” Braig asked, sitting up straighter as worry lanced down his spine. He hadn’t noticed anything wrong with his friend’s signature, but then, he hadn’t been looking, and he had been tired after the battle, so he might have missed it... Hano shrugged and shook his head.

“No, it’s not mine,” he said, grimacing slightly. “I got lucky, this time. Singed, nicked on the shoulder, a few bruises, but, I don’t think it’ll even need bacta.” He sighed, and Braig nodded silently. “I just hate how this tastes.”

“Why’s that?” Braig asked, reaching to adjust his scarf before remembering that he’d lost it on that awful mission a few weeks ago.

“Sentient blood always tastes so much more electric, like ozone.” Hano said as Braig settled for adjusting his tunic collar, instead. “Can’t stand being covered in the stuff, though.” Braig nodded again, and silence once more lapsed between the two boys as Hano returned to his task. The only sounds were that of the chilling breeze (cool against drying sweat; Braig found himself brushing his hair to the side to allow the back of his neck to be soothed) and the voices of activity carried up from below.

“’S quiet down there,” Hano commented, scratching at the dark stain to dislodge a dried clump. “Think they’re getting ready to leave?” Braig blinked as he was snapped back to attention, then focused on the lowlands once again.

“Looks like it,” he said, shaking his hair back into place and scratching the back of his neck as he craned his head first one way, then the other. “We should head down. It wouldn’t do to make them wait on us.” Hano chuffed at this, and Braig glanced over in confusion.

“It would be uncivilised.” He said, and Braig scoffed and rolled his eyes as suppressed chuckles turned into proper laughter.

“You’re terrible,” Braig said, pushing off with his hands as he jumped from the cliff. He landed in a neat roll, Hano touching down beside him on all-fours before righting himself with ease.

“I’m surprised Master Eedai didn’t come up there to find us, tell us to hurry up,” Braig said, dusting himself off and pretending not to have noticed the burst of shock that radiated from one of the troopers behind them (Judging by the chuckles and teasing ‘they’re Jedi, what did you expect?’ his brothers weren’t being quite so generous; he must be new).

“He’s probably discussing some last-minute business with Lift,” Hano said, using both hands to push his mane, braids and all, behind his head, looking to the side to see if he could spot the Master-Captain duo amid the crowds; he couldn’t, but didn’t seem put-out by this.

“Or,” Braid said, grimacing as a familiar signature ebbed into the Force around them. “He’s hiding from the Magistrate.” Hano let out a groan, shoulders slumping and head falling back.

“Oh, Force, not the Magistrate,” he whined under his breath, closing his eyes before righting his posture and crossing his arms over his chest, whiskers giving an irritated twitch. “Probably avoiding him so we have to deal with it.” He snorted, then raised a brow. “Think this is our punishment for going off on our own?” Braig nodded, frowning.

“And what a punishment it is,” he muttered, tugging on his braid and thinking to himself that it might do to invest in a new scarf, once he acquired enough funds. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and straightened his tunic, plastering his best ‘serene Jedi’ face, though confusion knitted his brows together as he noticed a second presence, and indeed a second person, beside the pompous politician.

“Who’s that?” Hano muttered, voicing the question that was on both of their minds. Braig shrugged, folding his hands behind his back, and Hano copied the gesture as they approached the Magistrate.

“Here we go,” Hano said under his breath.

“Best foot forward,” Braig added, though by the time their presence had gotten the magistrate’s attention, they had both painted themselves as pictures of the most proper Jedi to have ever lived.

“Good day, Magistrate Vrix,” Braig said, offering a deep bow as Hano echoed the movement beside him. The Magistrate dipped his head in acknowledgement, making a shrill chittering sound that Braig had learned signified contentment. The person beside him was smaller (Braig didn’t have to look up to make eye contact with this one like he did the Magistrate), but otherwise shared the usual traits of their species: long grey ears (two sets, one large and one smaller one underneath, both ridged and pointed and fleshy), very large, very round eyes (hers were more blue-green to the Magistrate’s amber, and lacking the cataracts that plagued the elder’s vision), a mouth lined with rows of needle-like teeth, and tough, mottled, slate-grey skin. Where the Magistrate had horns shaped like inverted cones, large and hollow, this one had the ridge of bony plates along their nose and forehead that were specific to the females of the species. She smiled in their direction, and Braig had the uncomfortable feeling that he and Hano were being assessed. The Magistrate was far more open about his appraisal, and clapped his hands together, beaming.

“Ah, greetings, my friends, and as you said, a very good day!” He clapped Braig on the shoulder, and went to do the same to Hano before thinking better of reaching so high, and simply patted the Cathar on the arm, instead (Braig could feel a blip of amusement spiralling out from his companion’s presence, but neither of them said anything). “It is a marvellous thing that you have done for us today!”

“It is our duty to serve the Republic,” Hano said, nodding.

“We’re happy to help in any way we can,” Braig added with a smile. The girl beside the Magistrate grinned; Braig couldn’t tell which of them she was staring at more.

“And you have!” The Magistrate kept his jovial spirits high, throwing one long arm around Braig’s shoulders, looping his other arm around Hano’s in a loose facsimile of a hug. Braig let himself be pulled into the embrace, but otherwise offered no reaction aside from flicking his eyes to Hano, who hadn’t budged, and seemed to be increasingly amused by the conversation. Braig was glad that at least one of them was having a good time.

“Our people cannot thank you enough,” the Magistrate said as he stepped back, and Braig had to fight the urge to dust himself off. “It will be good to not hear those awful droids everywhere. They were giving me a headache!”

“Believe us, we know how you feel,”  Hano said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s why we call them ‘clankers’.” Braig said, and the Magistrate repeated the name to himself before laughing much too hard. The girl beside him tittered along with him, though the amusement Braig had felt from Hano was quickly dissipating, and the two padawans stood in awkward silence as they waited for the raucous mirth to subside. After a moment, the Magistrate collected himself, and wiped a tear from his eye (Though Braig had noticed no moisture at all, and that the gesture had been all for show), and sighed as he clasped his hands in front of his chest.

“Ah, we are forever grateful to you both,” the Magistrate said, dipping into a shallow bow. “You, and all of your men.”

“We are planning to sign a treaty with the Republic tomorrow, to make our joining be official,” the girl finally spoke, in accented Basic, and the Magistrate put his arm around her shoulders.

“This is my daughter, Tusii,” he explained, finally giving a name to the face before pulling the girl in to another hug. “She will be acting as our representative in the Galactic Senate.” Braig’s eyebrows raised, and he let out a soft ‘really?’ as Hano hummed his mild surprise. The girl - Tusii - nodded, and looked to her father with a shy smile before taking a step forward.

“It will be the first time we will have left our home, but if it will help my people be safer, I will do my best.” She said, folding her hands in front of her chest, and Braig and Hano glanced to each other, then smiled.

“You’re already doing a better job than a lot of other Senators,” Braig said, and Tusii smiled, chittering happily. Braig had been about to say something else, but a baritone trumpeting from somewhere on the horizon drew his attention. The Magistrate turned, as well, though he seemed far less concerned by the sudden noise than the padawans.

“Oh, that is just my brother,” the Magistrate said, and he turned away. “If you will excuse me, just a moment...” This time, the look the boys exchanged was one of alarm, and they turned away as well, clamping hands over their ears as the Magistrate turned, inhaled deeply, and blasted air through his horns to produce a similar trumpeting that was deafening in its proximity. Braig felt his shoulders  hunch and his muscles tense as the vibrations gripped at the marrow of his bones. He glanced to Hano, who returned his discomfort with a grimace, but they pasted on only slightly disgruntled expressions as the Magistrate faced them again, smiling.

“For now, I am afraid I must leave you,” the Magistrate said, reaching to clasp Braig on the shoulder and Hano on the arm. “But, I hope we can see each other again, soon, Master Jedi.” He turned to walk away, and Tusii lingered behind.

“You are welcome always in our village,” she said, smiling up at Hano before casting a friendly glance towards Braig. “You, and your young padawan.” She seemed proud of herself for pronouncing the strange word; so proud, in fact, that she failed to notice the way Braig’s brows twitched upwards or Hano’s jaw clenched in an effort to smother a surprised snort. Hano is successful in muting the sound, but not the surprised amusement that bursts like a firework across his signature, and Braig was quite certain that the bewildered irritation leaking into his own presence was enough to keep the silent laughter going. Tusii turned and loped off after her father, scaling the sheer cliff faces with ease and vanishing into the rocky horizon. Braig let his emotions show on his face, scrunching his features as he turned in practised synchronisation with Hano, each adjusting his stride to allow the two of them to walk side-by-side (Lengthening them in Braig’s case, and shortening them in Hano’s, meeting in the middle).

“Did she seriously think I was your padawan?” Braig asked, and the incredulity in his voice was enough to break Hano’s composure, and the Cathar’s steps faltered and his posture hunched as he was consumed by giggles.

“I’m three months older than you!” Braig carried on, struggling to keep his own grin at bay. 

“Keep your pride down, my young padawan,” Hano managed, and nearly snorted when Braig rolled his eyes with an audible scoff.

“I’ll amputate your shins, I swear it,” Braig said, scratching at his scar as his gaze slipped to the side. “I’m a medic, you know; I can do that.” Hano paused, folding his arms over his chest and cocking a brow. 

“Can you even reach my shins?” He asked, and grinned when Braig’s own steps came to a sudden halt.

“Okay.” Braig said, closing his eyes even as Hano started backing away, glowing in the Force with self-satisfaction and a hint of trepidation. Without a warning, Braig pivoted on his heel and launched himself in Hano’s direction. Hano responded by first jogging and then running away, dropping to all-fours to bound greater lengths, his chorus of ‘no, no, no!’ crescendoing into a spout of laughter. He wasn’t trying very hard to get away, as Braig was able to catch him easily. The result was an end-over-end tussle that kicked up an impressive dust cloud. Excess adrenaline burned brightly into energy, and in a flurry of limbs Braig found himself clinging to Hano’s back, arms looped around his in order to not fall, just barely able to peek over Hano’s broad shoulder to see Jedi Master Yokar Eedai, standing with arms crossed and face disapproving.

“Padawans,” he said curtly, and the Force around the two boys froze.

“Yes, Master,” they chorused as Braig dropped to the ground, both standing straight with hands folded behind their backs. Master Eedai said nothing, only jerked his head in the direction of their transport. If ‘uh-oh’ and ‘oops’ could have become emotions, Braig was sure that they were what he was feeling; judging by the look Hano was giving him, the feeling was mutual. After a set of mumbled ‘I’m sorry, Master’-s, they trudged onto the ship. However, though Master Eedai’s shields were up and concealing his signature, Braig was sure that he could pick up the faintest hints of a smile tugging at the weathered old Mon Calamari’s face. Once on the ship, Hano and Braig were subjected only to a halfhearted lecture on the importance of professionalism before being told that he was ‘too tired’ to deal with them.

Braig wasn’t so sure that was the case.

[greentrickster]

Welp, it’s that time of year - the leaves are turning, the air is getting colder, and it’s time for the 734th (and honourary members) to get together and help gather supplies for the coming months!

(These are pin oak acorns, if anyone’s wondering - I don’t know if you can actually make them into acorn flour or not, but please don’t tell the boys that, they were so excited at being able to help out, I don’t want to spoil their fun.)

[greentrickster]

Some happy photos of the 734th (and Link)!

[greentrickster]

Season’s Greetings from the 734th!

(Also did we put a bunch of our old stuffed animals under the tree to make it look extra whimsical this year? Yes, yes we did!)

[greentrickster]

Some rather striking nighttime photos from awhile back that I thought you all might enjoy!

[greentrickster]

Happy Valentine’s everyone!

[greentrickster]

It’s been super rough lately, so have some pictures of the 734th having fun!

[greentrickster]

Warm and healthy wishes to you and yours from the 734th, with the hopes that you still have something to make you smile even with everything going on at the moment! <3