#they just hear through their montrals in my mind

[rochenn]

What sort of ears do Togruta have anyway

[lamaenthel]

Good Big

Obi-Wan's morning meditation is interrupted by a little Togruta youngling who wants some attention.

|AO3|

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn

Total Word Count: 1,443

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Obi-Wan let his mind go as flat and tranquil as the surface of a still pond. It was imperative that he get his thoughts in order before his mission. He reached out, as Master Qui-Gon so often reminded him to do, to the Living Force; he surrounded himself with the soft, green whispers of the plants that echoed through the Room of a Thousand Fountains and used them to anchor himself to the present moment.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Despite his best efforts to stay in the here and now, doubt crept in like a fog around his presence in the Force. It brought a sticky layer of apprehension with it; was it a warning from the Force about his mission, or something else? It was frustratingly omnipresent. It felt like eyes were watching him from the dark, like bubbles of a cailpeach were breaking upon the surface of a loch. There was no definitive scream of danger he could identify, just a vague sense of dread.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine. The feeling of being watched intensified and split off into something more tangible; he cracked open his eye and glanced to the right. A bush of aura blossoms shook and he heard a distinct, tiny, ekekeke noise come from somewhere within. He bit down a smile and pretended not to hear it. The bush growled and shook again, then an orange and blue blur launched from within the iridescent flowers and landed on him.

"Hi Bobi!" Ahsoka said, giggling madly. She settled on her back in his lap like a tooka begging for belly scratches and blinked up at him with her big, blue-rimmed porg eyes.

"Hello, mo nighean." Obi-Wan gently booped her nose. "Were you hunting me?"

"No," she said innocently. "Just, um, just making sure nobody else was." 

"How very thoughtful of you." Obi-Wan lifted her up, recrossed his legs, then settled her upright in his lap. "And who should we expect to come looking for you? Plo, or Vereixem?"

"Vereixem," she admitted. "I can be here, though. He put up the squashes for me."

"The squashes?" Obi-Wan rapidly searched his memory for what she could possibly be referring to. 

"Full of meats." She pointed straight up; Obi-Wan followed her finger to a blue sǫnkë squash with pink stripes hanging from a tree branch high above their heads. He squinted and thought he saw a sausage poking out of one of the hollowed-out sides. "He said I can hunt 'em. I'm not 'posed to hunt the birdies because it, um, it hurts 'em, even if I careful."

Obi-Wan was impressed by the creativity of the casualty-free enrichment activity for the tiny huntress. "Would you like to meditate with me? I've a very important mission to prepare for."

"What's a mission?" Ahsoka asked, tilting her head. 

"It's a task that the Council gives a Jedi when they're grown up," Obi-Wan replied. "I'm headed to Naboo. Have you ever heard of Naboo?"

"Naboo?" She slipped her chubby little hand behind his neck and played with his Padawan braid. "I like that name. Naboooo—"

"Yes, Naboo," Obi-Wan chuckled. "Perhaps I should bring you along. We can use your Empathy to make trade negotiations smoother, hmm?"

"Negoshins?" Ahsoka asked worriedly. Her face screwed up in thought. "I don't know what they is." 

"It's when people want to do things in different ways, but they can only do it one way," Obi-Wan explained. "So they have to talk it out and decide what's fair for everyone."

"Oh." Ahsoka still looked worried, but she raised her chin bravely. "If you, um, you need my help with 'em, then I help."

"It would make things easier, but I believe Master Qui-Gon and I will be able to handle them." Obi-Wan rested his chin between her montral nubs. "I leave in a few hours. Would you like to help me meditate, or would you prefer to keep hunting your squashes?"

"How long will you be gone?" Ahsoka asked, disappointment heavy in the Force around her.

"I don't expect the negotiations to take too long. A few days, perhaps."

"Then I can help you, with, um, do this." Ahsoka closed her eyes and matched his breathing. "There is no emotion, there is peace." 

"Good girl." Obi-Wan pressed a kiss between her montrals before he closed his eyes and allowed the Living Force to envelop him again; this time, with a small, purring anchor in his lap emanating happiness in a way that felt oddly… blue. "Is that you helping, mo nighean?" he asked her with a quiet chuckle.

"You wanted help, so I give you special 'Soka help," she said. She brushed his arm hair back and forth against the grain with careful little fingers. "I not pushin', don't worry."

"I didn't think you were pushing, dearest," Obi-Wan assured her.

" 'Cause we talked about it and you said it wasn't nice." Ahsoka craned her head back and looked at him upside down. "I don't push feelings anymore."

"That's because you're a very good girl who listens." Obi-Wan kissed her nose, making her giggle. "But why are you giving me special 'Soka help?"

Ahsoka reached up and gently touched the mole on his forehead. "You got all buzzy and… and, um, light. White, I mean. Why you nervous, Bobi?" 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just have a feeling that something very big is about to happen."

"Bad big, or good big?"

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek. "Both, I think," he said softly. "It's hard to say right now."

"I think it'll be good big," Ahsoka decided. "It's gonna be really, really good, and it'll make us smile and make us happy."

"I certainly hope so." Obi-Wan suddenly felt the strong urge for a nap, but its abruptness made him suspect that it wasn't an urge that belonged to him. "Are you tired, mo nighean?" 

"No," Ahsoka lied, yawning.

"Mmm. I think maybe you're a little more—"

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was so unexpected that it made him jump. "Didn't you tell me you were coming here to meditate?" 

"I did, Master," Obi-Wan said defensively, immediately blushing. "I got a bit… distracted, is all."

"Mmm. You seemed to have picked up a little tick again. I did warn you about going through the brush, did I not?" Qui-Gon's hair fell forward around his face as he bent over. "Hello, Ahsoka."

"Hi, Kai-Gon," Ahsoka said cheerily. Though her Basic had strongly improved since she had come to the Temple a year ago, she hadn't quite mastered the first syllable of his Master's name yet. 

"Are you distracting my Padawan, little one?" Qui-Gon put his hands out to pick her up. 

"No, I helpin'," she insisted, settling on his hip. "Special 'Soka help."

"Ah. The very best kind." Qui-Gon rubbed his nose against hers gently and made her laugh. "Vereixem asked me if I'd seen her when I arrived. Given that I knew you had come here to meditate, Obi-Wan, I had a feeling that she wouldn't be far." He looked down his nose at her knowingly. "It's nap time for you."

"Not tired!" Ahsoka protested, fighting not to yawn again.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "That, little tick, is a fight you'll have to have with Vereixem. Now say goodbye to Obi-Wan."

Ahsoka reached a hand down to Obi-Wan. "Bye, Bobi," she said sadly.

Obi-Wan kissed her fingers. "Goodbye, little one."

" 'Member, it's a good big." She waved at him over Qui-Gon's shoulder as he walked away with her, taking away the warm blue feeling of happiness with them.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the Force. By the time his Master returned, he'd begun to gently float a few inches off the ground. "So what is this, ah, good big I've heard about?" Qui-Gon asked lightly as he rejoined him.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan answered honestly. "I have a feeling things are going to change, Master, but I'm not sure for the better."

Qui-Gon crossed his legs on the ground across from him with a quiet grunt. Obi-Wan could tell by the way he leaned to the side that his back was bothering him today. "Stay in the present, Obi-Wan. The Force decides what will come next. All we can do is make sure that we are in the place where it needs us the most, and that we let it guide our hands when the time comes."

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan bowed his head and ignored the way that the loch in his mind bubbled.

MÁOR-GRASTA TRANSLATIONS

Mo nighean: my girl

Cailpeach: an equine ambush predator that lives in lakes, native to Stewjon

MORE NOTES

Vereixim: Veh-RAY-shim

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[catboydogma]

cold weather company

tags: sickfic, cuddling / snuggling, caretaking, sick / hurt cody, no order-66, everyone lives / nobody dies, post-canon fix-it, fluff

wc: 1321

pairing: cody / obi-wan

cross-posted to ao3 !

“I’ll just sleep on the couch, then,” Obi-Wan snapped over his shoulder. The door to his bedroom snapped shut with a definitive click and he said, “fine!” in a way that sounded nearly the same.

“Can you take your domestic somewhere else, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked from the kitchen table. “I have to show Snips how to—”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan said, arms still full of their duvet and a sad-looking throw pillow, “These are my own damn quarters and I shall not—we aren’t having a, a domestic or anything of the sort—what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”

“You haven’t changed your code,” Anakin said in a tone that implied that if pesky padawans were to be kept out, then door codes must be changed to prevent their entry, and so this was all Obi-Wan’s own fault, really.

Never mind that it technically wasn’t Obi-Wan’s code but Qui-Gon’s, still, over a decade later.

“Skyguy’s showing me how to re-wire his phalanges,” Ahsoka said brightly, wiggling Anakin’s pinky with her own to demonstrate. “So I can help Echo with his.”

“That’s very kind of the both of you,” Obi-Wan said, dumping his armful onto the couch and rounding on the table and its occupants. “But that does not explain why the two of you are in my kitchen and not your own.”

Anakin and Ahsoka got the same look on their faces—and no, Obi-Wan had no idea where they’d gotten it from—as a massiff when asked what it was chewing on.

“Can it be fixed?” Obi-Wan asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Can you and Cody be fixed?” Ahsoka asked, tilting the tops of her montrals at the door behind Obi-Wan.

“We are not fighting,” Obi-Wan told her and Anakin with the last vestiges of his tattered dignity. “Marshal Commander Cody has contracted a cold and does not wish to inflict it upon any other persons within his vicinity.”

“So, he’s kicked you out to sleep on the couch.” Anakin motioned between Obi-Wan and the couch with a multi-tool. “Don’t worry, that usually doesn’t result in divorce. I have been told that I’m an outlier.”

“We aren’t married, first off, thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, starting to roll up his sleeves. “And I shan’t be sleeping on the couch just because Cody is being a bit silly.”

A string of hoarse invective came from under Obi-Wan’s bedroom door. Obi-Wan smiled beatifically in Cody’s direction and leaned over to where Anakin and Ahsoka were sitting; they were co-conspirators now, for better or worse.

“He always gets ornery when he’s feeling under the weather,” Obi-Wan confided. “I shall make soup.”

--

Cody woke to the smell of something delicious. It felt a little like the aroma—spicy, savory, strong as Sith hells—had reached up into his sinuses and scrubbed at least part of his frontal lobe. The door to the room cracked open and the smell grew stronger. Cody pulled the heavy blankets back over his cold shoulder and burrowed back into the pillows that were still covered in silky threads of Obi-Wan’s blond-auburn hair.

“No, no sleeping yet,” Obi-Wan chided him, voice a quiet murmur. “Get some soup and juice down and then we’ll see about sleep.”

Cody intended to suffer through this alone, thank you, and not drag anyone else down with him. He was captain of this ship and by the Force he’d go down with it if he had to—

A warm hand peeled back a corner of his blankets and wormed into the collar of his shirt to take his pulse, and then up to feel his forehead. Cody clicked his teeth at it and Obi-Wan had the audacity to laugh.

“Don’t want t’get you sick,” he rasped, indignant that Obi-Wan should be so careless with his own wellbeing. First it was the war and throwing himself in the path of IEDs, and now it was this, and Cody’s suffering would never end—

“Yes, yes, and you’re very brave and selfless for that,” Obi-Wan said, still laughing a little—Cody could hear it in the lilt of his voice, half-see it in the gleam of his teeth in the dim—as he leaned down to brush a whiskery kiss across Cody’s brow. “But I want to care for you regardless, Cody, and in any case, if I get sick, then it is the will of the Force.”

“You—” Cody swatted at Obi-Wan but his coordination was all shot; Obi-Wan caught his hand and pressed it to his own chest, uncurled each of his fingers so he could press a kiss to Cody’s too-hot, clammy palm.

“Me,” Obi-Wan agreed, still so awfully smug. “Up, up. It’s time for soup, my darling.”

Cody heaved himself up with the help of Obi-Wan, who bustled around the room while Cody was navigating his complicated relationship with gravity and wide-brimmed bowls.

The soup was good: it was hot and garlicky and full of seaweed and little tender pieces of thin-sliced bantha. Cody felt it warm his chest all throughout as he methodically ate. He wasn’t really hungry—hadn’t been since the onset of this miserable bitch of a cold—but the hot liquid felt good against his sore throat.

Obi-Wan aired the room out, though he kept the lights dimmed low and hissed threats at Anakin and Ahsoka in the kitchen whenever their voices got too high. He laid damp washcloths across the headboard of their bed and briskly swapped Cody’s blankets out for freshly-laundered ones, along with the pillow case and after a bleary few minutes of Cody bracing each hand in turns against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Cody’s own bedclothes. After the soup, Cody managed a glass and a half of cool, sugar-sweet juice before he leaned his head heavily against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and found that he was feeling well enough to not cough all over him.

“Kicking you out,” Cody said into the pillow when Obi-Wan had come back from rinsing out the bowl. It didn’t smell like Obi-Wan anymore, though it did smell of their laundry detergent. Cody snuffled a little and indulged in feeling badly for himself as he heard the door shut.

This lasted until he felt the bed dip beside him and Obi-Wan start at peeling back the blankets again.

“I won’t be leaving you to suffer alone, brave as you are for it,” Obi-Wan said, sounding as if Cody were making some great sacrifice and not just trying to quarantine himself as any decent-minded and strategic person might. He lay all along Cody’s side and pressed his face against Cody’s shoulder, away from where Cody might sneeze on him in retaliation—a smart tactic, Cody had to admit.

It felt—good. Cody had resigned himself to several days away from Obi-Wan choking down ration bars and sipping water to the tune of the alarms he’d set for such purposes and—as much as he wouldn’t admit it—he’d already begun to miss Obi-Wan’s soothing touch. Cody knew he served much the same purpose for Obi-Wan but to him, Obi-Wan was grounding, an anchor even in the best of times. Maybe especially in the best of times. They worked to balance the worst of each other: Obi-Wan’s suppressed anger and tendency to get overwhelmed, Cody’s pessimism and penchant for detachment.

Among other things.

“Feel better, my love,” Obi-Wan murmured, smoothing a hand all down Cody’s side with steady, relieving pressure. Cody felt himself melt a little more into Obi-Wan’s hold. In the dark, he pressed his brow to the crown of Obi-Wan’s head and reassured himself with the smell of Obi-Wan: a little spicy, a little of the soup he’d made, a little of woody shampoo and clean linens and Cody’s own slightly-sweaty cough-drop smell. The feel of Obi-Wan’s hands on his back and sides followed him all down into a deep, dreamless sleep, where he was held, and he was safe.

[redrobinhoods]

flinching | Febuwhump 2023

CW: None

Summary: Ahsoka’s clothing fails to protect her

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

“Don’t say it.” Ahsoka hissed as Rex moved her lek out of the way to take in the state of her left shoulder.

“I’m thinking it.” Rex responded.

Ahsoka brought up her right hand to rub her eyes as she sighed. She had pushed Master Skywalker to let her go on the scouting mission. It was supposed to have been general reconnaissance; fly in, reconnoiter, and fly out. Info hadn’t told them about the hidden anti-aircraft turrets. Ridge had tried to shield her from the impact, but Ridge had been wearing armor. Now, Ridge was picking fragments of gunship metal and gravel out of plastoid, she had to pick it out of her skin.

“Ridge did a good job of protecting your head.” Rex commented as he eyed the lek in his hand.

She shivered as she imagined what that pain would have felt like. Kix was overwhelmed enough without a half-deaf togruta in his care. It would’ve taken weeks of bacta to regrow the complicated structures of her montrals and lekku, assuming they could have fully recovered.

Rex sighed and let her lek fall back into place. “Hold on.”

Ahsoka didn’t turn to watch as he pulled out the medkit, but she could hear him rummaging through it. She tried not to tense up when he sat back down on the bed behind her, pulling the desk chair closer.

“Just relax.”

“Fuck!” She gasped as a piece of gravel was pulled loose.

“Mhm.” Rex hummed as he pulled out another one.

Ahsoka bit down on her fingernails to try to stop the stream of expletives that rushed through her mind with every tug, every flinch of her left arm that strained the already torn skin.

She cried out as a large piece was pulled free, trying to curl up on herself. The start of that motion was met with the thunk of a finger against her lek. “Don’t.”

She could feel rivulets of blood running down her shoulder from each piece of gravel pulled. “Could you wipe the blood off?”

“Is it bothering you?” Rex’s voice softened.

“It’s going to stain my shirt.”

She could practically feel Rex’s gaze fall to the thin back of fabric around her torso. “Oh well.”

The bubble of indignation in her nearly drowned out the pain of the next piece of gravel. “What do you mean, ‘oh well’?”

“It’s already red.”

“It’s maroon! It’s a completely different s-shit.” She hissed as another piece was withdrawn.

“It’d be a pity if you’d have to get a new shirt.”

“I have three.”

Rex paused. “Two, now.”

She groaned and brought her nails back to her mouth.

The next yank was better and worse at the same time and she flinched as the long piece of metal was withdrawn.

“Just a few more.” Rex reassured her.

She tried to focus on his steady, unphased breathing behind her, focus on that rather than the sharp pain of each metal shard as it left her flesh, or on the duller ache of the wounds the gravel had left behind in her skin. The trails of blood were starting to bother her now, starting to dry and tickle as her skin shuddered with each precise yank of the tweezers.

Ahsoka let out a sigh of relief when she heard the thunk of the tweezers returning to the medkit. She kept her gaze forward, dreading the next time she would have to turn her head and pull on the healing flesh, as she listened to Rex rummage for the bandages.

Ahsoka’s eyes widened as Rex clamped a strong hand on her right shoulder, holding her in place.

“Hold still.”

She screamed as the wounds burned, burned as if a flame had been touched to her flesh. The scent of anti-septic filled her nose and she grit her teeth as Rex’s hand kept her in the chair.

The wounds still burned as the cloth was tossed onto the hard metal floor and a bandage was wrapped around her shoulder.

“Go tell Ridge you’re fixed.” Rex said calmly, as if anyone listening outside the room wouldn’t have thought he was murdering her, as he clapped a hand on her right shoulder.

“And what about you?” She asked as she stood, testing out her left arm.

“I’m going to tell General Skywalker to start watching his tongue around you.”

-

The moment the boarding ramp lowered on Coruscant, Ahsoka left the ship.

Rex was waiting when she returned, as if he knew the cause for her absence. His face lit up when he saw her, eyes drifting towards the short white sleeves on her shoulders.

Ahsoka glared as she walked past him. “Don’t say it.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings

Word Count: 5680 Rating: T Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala ----

Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.

He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.

But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.

This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.

(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)

(His sister only laughs.)

It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.

"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.

"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."

"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.

He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.

"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.

(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)

(They no longer ask.)

"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."

Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"

"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."

He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."

"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."

"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"

"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"

"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."

Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.

She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"

"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.

"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.

"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.

Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.

----

"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."

He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.

"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."

"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.

"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"

"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.

Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.

Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."

Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"

Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"

Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"

"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."

"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"

"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."

Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"

"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."

"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."

Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.

"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."

"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."

Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.

"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."

She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.

The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.

Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.

----

It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.

"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."

Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.

Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."

Or not.

"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."

That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"

Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.

She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.

"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.

"Time for Shmi?" she asks.

Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."

"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."

"Don't start."

"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."

"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."

"You ended a civil war, sir."

Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.

"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."

"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."

"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."

"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.

"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."

"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.

"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."

"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."

"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."

Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.

She can do it.

It's just annoying.

Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.

----

"Can I see your fonts?"

Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.

"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"

"Mando'a, please."

He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.

She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.

Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.

Half an hour, and then Ben returns.

He points to a font. "This one."

"What's it going to say?"

"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."

"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."

She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.

"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"

"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."

"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."

"That too," she agrees.

When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.

"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."

Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.

He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."

He's such a polite child.

It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.

----

"Hi!"

Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.

That's new.

"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."

"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"

"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"

"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"

"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."

Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"

"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."

"Thank you~!"

----

Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.

----

Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.

His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.

Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.

Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.

"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."

Ben shakes his head. "No way."

"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"

"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.

"No!" both immediately yelp.

She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.

Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.

"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."

"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."

"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"

"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."

"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."

Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"

"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.

Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.

"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"

"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.

"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.

"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."

"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"

Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.

"No," Ben says.

"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."

It's a neat enough explanation.

It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.

She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.

"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."

Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.

"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."

"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."

"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."

"Is that why you want me to take that route?"

"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."

Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."

"Imagine his face, though."

Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.

"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."

----

Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.

There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.

Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.

"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.

"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."

"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"

"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.

She can almost feel the coming question.

It does not come from the human she expects.

"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.

She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"

"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."

"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.

"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."

It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.

"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."

He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.

Ben mimics his father.

----

She gets to attend the wedding, months later.

The food is very, very good.

(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)

(So does Shmi.)

(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)

----

"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"

Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.

"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.

Or until she gets bored.

"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"

They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.

At great volume.

(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)

"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."

"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."

"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."

"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."

Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"

"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"

"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."

"Ehhhh..."

Nope.

Not paying attention.

----

"These are House Kryze colors."

Ylliben's breath hitches.

He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.

"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.

"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."

Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.

"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?

"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."

"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."

Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.

They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.

"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"

"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.

She does not ask further.

----

"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."

Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.

Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...

"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.

"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."

"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."

Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.

"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."

She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."

"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"

"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."

"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"

Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."

"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"

Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.

"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."

Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"

"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.

"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"

"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.

----

As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.

(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)

There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.

For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.

Then, the Jedi and his children leave.

(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)

(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)

[stolen-pen-name23]

KATIEEEE THAT PROMPT LIST IS AMAZING YOUR MIND—

ahhh there are so many good ones okay maybe #15 with anakin and ahsoka??

FIONA MY LOVE I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER!!!! //from this prompt list// prompts now closed//

Here ya go!

---

Sickness looms thick in the air like humidity blanketing a coastline.

Refugee camps breed a lot of things – desperation, camaraderie, hunger – but disease is the most ruthless of its spawn. Ahsoka can feel the lives of these poor, tired souls blinking out like so many ancient stars.

Anakin walks beside her, and from the weary set of his shoulders, she knows he senses it too.

They are here to provide relief, but Ahsoka fears they are too late. Hundreds of people lie in sick beds, their emaciated bodies lacking the strength to fend off the virus that has circulated the camp.

The sour scent of bile and death fills Ahsoka’s nostrils and she grimaces. She shifts the heavy backpack full of medicines and vaccines on her shoulders and hears the vials clink against each other.

Anakin falters.

“What is it, Master?”

“Maybe you should go back to the ship,” he says nervously, eagle eyes scanning the hundreds of dead and dying.

“Why?”

“I don’t like the look of this disease.”

“It’s non-transmissible to Togruta. If anything, you should go back to the ship.”

Anakin waves off her protests but does not make her go back to the ship. Instead, he leads the way to a makeshift office area. A woman, haggard but determined, greets them.

“Are you the Jedi?” she asks, hope glinting in her bright eyes.

“Yes. We’ve come with the supplies. There is more on our ship, but we have some here to get started with,” Anakin says.

“Excellent,” the woman says. “We cannot thank you enough. These vaccines will save many lives.”

“Of course. It is the least the Republic can offer.”

Anakin returns to the ship to unload more supplies while Ahsoka stays and begins to help the woman organize the medicines and vaccines.

She pauses and looks around at the desperate scene before her.

These refugees all fled Separatist-controlled planets in search of asylum — in search of hope. Their hopes were dashed when disease broke out in the camp. Now, with every life-saving vial Ahsoka unpacks, she prays to the Force that their hope can be restored.

---

The Resolute has been in hyperspace for two days. Ahsoka knows the journey from the outer rim planet back to Coruscant is a long one, but this knowledge fails to stave off the boredom.

She knocks on the door to Anakin’s quarters impatiently. Ahsoka hasn’t seen him all day and quite frankly, she just needs someone to talk to. She is about to give up and try searching for him in the hangars when he opens the door.

He looks… disheveled.

“Ahsoka? Do you need something?” he asks, voice husky from sleep.

“Did you just wake up?”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me I need to sleep more?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Obi-Wan and honestly you should listen to him when he tells you to do that.”

“Whatever. Did you need something?” Anakin asks again.

“No, I was just bored. I wanted to see if you wanted to spar. But you look tired so…”

“No, no, I can spar. Just give me a minute to get changed.”

He gestures for her to step inside and she lets the door click closed behind her. His quarters are warm and stuffy and Ahsoka once again finds herself resenting the desert planet he was born on. Ahsoka liked warmth, but having the heater on this high was a tad ridiculous.

“I don’t know how you stand to have it so warm in here.”

“It’s a reasonable temperature,” Anakin says defensively, rifling around in his dresser drawers.

“It’s a reasonable temperature for lizards,” Ahsoka says unimpressed.

She takes a moment to step toward him and give him a closer look. “Are humans supposed to be this pale?”

“I’m not pale,” Anakin says. “Maybe it’s the lighting.”

“The lighting is fine,” Ahsoka says. “But you aren’t.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Anakin says with a conviction so strong Ahsoka would have believed him had he not stumbled forward as he said it. He manages to catch himself and stay upright, but Ahsoka isn’t fooled.

“Are you sure you didn’t pick something up from that refugee camp?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Anakin says. “We’re not as susceptible to contagious diseases, you know that.”

“Not as susceptible, but not immune either,” Ahsoka replies nervously.

It is true that a side-effect of Force sensitivity is heightened stamina and a higher immunity against illness, but that does not mean Jedi are invincible.

Anakin stumbles forward again. This time he puts a hand on the wall to steady himself.

“Master?” Ahsoka asks with concern.

“I’m fine. I’m fine… just a little dizzy,” Anakin says just before sliding down the wall to the floor.

“Anakin!”

Ahsoka rushes forward and grabs his shoulders before his head can hit the ground. “Master?”

“Ahsoka, I’m—”

“Stop saying you’re fine, you’re clearly not fine,” Ahsoka says, a frantic edge creeping into her voice.

“I’m dizzy,” Anakin mumbles. “Was gonna say I’m dizzy.”

This confirmation doesn’t make Ahsoka feel better. She presses her hand to his forehead and winces.

“I don’t think humans are supposed to get this hot,” she says. “I think you did catch something from that camp.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly, his eyes closing. “Just gonna sleep it off.”

“Master…”

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” Anakin insisted. “Just… just need to sleep.”

Anakin’s eyes close right there on the floor. Ahsoka groans. She does not want to drag him all the way to his bed or to the medbay.

“Promise not to get mad,” Ahsoka says as she pulls out her comm.

---

The steady beeping from the heartrate monitor is as comforting as it is annoying. Ahsoka has been listening to it’s rhythmic chimes for hours now, so when the pace changes just slightly Ahsoka shoots up in her seat.

“Master?” Ahsoka asks hopefully.

Anakin groans, his eyes open just a sliver and Ahsoka puts herself in his line of sight.

“Snips?” he asks softly.

“Hey Skyguy. How are you feeling?” Ahsoka asks.

“I feel alright. I told you I just needed to sleep it off.”

“Anakin, you were asleep for 26 hours.”

Anakin’s eyes widen. “Twenty-six?”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says bitterly. “Twenty-six. And no you did not just ‘sleep it off.’ Kix had to put you on an IV. You were lucky we still had some medicine after we gave so much of it to that refugee camp.”

Anakin shrinks back from her ire, but Ahsoka doesn’t have it in her to feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Snips, I didn’t realize it was—”

“Oh you didn’t realize it was that bad? You passed out in your room and I had to get Kix to send some clones to come and carry you here.”

Anakin looks around like he’s just noticing that he’s not in his quarters.

“Ahsoka, I’m sorry, but you need—”

“If you’re about to tell me to calm down, you can save it.”

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says softly. “Talk to me. What’s going on? I’ve been hurt much worse than this before. Why are you so angry with me now?”

Ahsoka huffs and crosses her arms. She looks away from Anakin.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says, his voice turning more commanding. “Please tell me.”

Ahsoka sits down on Anakin’s bed, but doesn’t look at him. “At the… at the camp. All those people… they were dying and so many of them were dead and I saw you collapse and you wouldn’t respond to me and I was just…”

“You were scared,” Anakin finishes.

Ahsoka keeps her gaze firmly fixed on the floor.

“It’s alright to be scared, Ahsoka. You just can’t let it control you.”

“I know,” Ahsoka sighs. “But I still don’t like it.”

“I know. I don’t like it either,” Anakin says.

They sit in silence together, tension still hanging in the air.

“You look exhausted,” Anakin says, breaking the still quiet.

“I’ve been here,” Ahsoka says.

“Come on,” Anakin says, gesturing for her to come lay down with him. “Let’s both get some rest.”

Ahsoka offers him a smile and climbs into the small medical bed. Anakin lifts the blankets and she slides in next to him, laying her head on his chest.

“Master?” she asks after getting settled in.

“Yeah, Snips?”

“Don’t do that again.”

Anakin laughs and the deep rumble of it in his chest reverberates through her montrals.

“I’ll do my best, Padawan.”

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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[flopsy-art]

i am having much 309th brainrot and would love to hear some fun (or not so fun) facts about them i love them all so much

Oop welcome to the brainrot! I have alot of stuff about them cause they take up brain space

Most of the ✨content✨ is in the 309th tag. We got a couple fics and all my art :3

I'm gonna rant about Okuzy cause I love him.

Okuzy is quite a bad Jedi (lol). He falls in love easily and doesn't handle loss well. He originally wanted to become a medic but found he had major fainting issues whenever he saw blood and essentially gave up his dream. His master Sajnálja (shy-nay-a) saw something in his future and decided to take him on as a padawan learner. Yoda saw something similar in Okuzy's future but did not want him to gain any power from continued training. He urged Sajnálja to not take him as a padawan (and later to not knight him) but she refused. Okuzy is about the same age as Obi-Wan but is knighted much later than Kenobi is. (I imagine they're friends and at one point he meets Anakin and Kenobi and all Anakin has to say about Okuzy is "master, that person is strange" and Obi-Wan just has to sigh and be like "yes, my young Padawan. He is.")

Okuzy is knighted a few days before the first battle of Geonosis. This battle is where his master dies. He does not handle her loss well (despite his best efforts to bottle up his grief) and this causes the council to dislike him further. Eventually he is enlisted in the war effort but the council only give him Jedi Commander rank (a rank usually reserved for padawans) and placed in charge of the 309th. The 309th is a smaller reserve battlation filled with mostly older clones deemed 'defective' for one reason or another. They have no colour and only have 3 companies instead of the usual 4. Here he meets Sap. An overtly emotional and mildly disliked clone who changes his life.

Here's a fun little bit:

---

'but I know nothing of command, masters. How shall I hope to lead these troops with the capability they deserve, with the ingenuity we need to win this war?'

"Avoided this long enough, you have. You shall only be a commander, not a general. Which may ease your mind, Knight Zishral. Trust in the force."

'I will. I do. May the force be with you."

In all of the twenty eight years Okuzy Zishral had been alive, he had always thought he was meant for something else. Sure, the force provided. It flowed through his mindscape, an itch impossible to ignore. It was a part of him, as much as his marigold stiped montrals or his tendency for attachment. There was never a more omni-present sense of that lingering doubt in his life's voyage than when he was assigned military duty. Stationed on a cold, massive (apparently it was one of the smaller battalion war vessels, Okuzy could barely believe it) ship called 'Incredulity' that stank of inhumanity and disconnect. He did not know how to make it home. What was worse, maybe, than the open hallways and the slowly receading parts of his soul, were the troopers. All so different and wonderful. People that flowed through the living force in bright colours from pinks like a sunset sky to the ever present green-gray of herol tree bark. But they turned stoic and solid at his approach, introduced themselves with numbers and ranks and apologies for delay. It was mildy insane, he thought. To be regarded by people, who in all means where stronger and smarter than he was. Most Jedi in the temple halls barely gave him notice, or if they did it was with a mild scowl.

A muffled "Sir?" threw him from his stupor and he looked up to see more of those white plated helmets. He sunk his fingers into the hilt of his lightsaber and tried not to think too much about why.

"Excuse my impropriety," he said, glancing at the nearest helmet. It had a scuff of light blue just along the top dome. "I was lost in thought. Would you repeat the last of the conversation for me please?"

"Sir," the closest nodded. "The commander has arrived shipside and is waiting for you on the bridge, sir. He told me to fetch you, since you have not yet received a commlink."

Ah. A commlink.

"Very well. Thankyou for informing me, take care," and then he was down the hall. Clenching and unclenching his hand like his life depended on it. He tucked his fingers together, hid them in his sleeves and breathed

---

Okuzy and Sap do survive order 66. However the lead up and follow through on that is quite horrible (Sap looses his leg to an infection and Okuzy temporarily looses his connection to the force.) During the empires reign they work as underground medics, Okuzy using his healing abilities to calm and Sap doing the more practical field medicine.

I have more omg I could talk about each individual clone for hours, thankyou for your interest ehehhehe 😖😌💕😀😁😘

[joel-millerr]

Choices Are Made in an Instant

Chapter Six of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.1k

Summary: You and Mando help Ahsoka in battle. Then, when you get back to the Crest, he starts acting weird. You couldn't have been prepared for what happens next...

Warnings: SMUT, dom/sub mentions, mild choking, (maybe a bit of edging?) aftercare, graphic depictions of violence, a sprinkle of fluff. mando is possessive af during sexy time

---

“What’s the plan, again?” Mando asks you, not because he doesn’t know the plan, but because he wants to make sure you know the plan.

Scowling up at him as you sit on the floor of the Crest, Grogu slowly falling asleep in your lap, you roll your eyes when you see Mando put his hands on his hips like he’s annoyed with you. 

“Seriously?”

His head tilts to the side, and then shifts his weight over to one leg. For someone who doesn’t like to talk about their feelings, he sure does wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mando’s body language is a dead giveaway as to what’s going on under that bucket of his.

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy.” You pick the kid up off the ground and hold him in your arm as you explain to Mando—for the third time, what’s going to happen.

“Ahsoka will storm the main gate and engage the guards. You and I are going to walk around the wall and find a way into the village without getting seen. The Magistrate—”

“Morgan Elsbeth.” Mando chimes in.

“Yeah, whatever.” Using your free hand to wave him off because who cares what her name is? “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted—Ahsoka needs some information from Elsbeth so she’s off limits.”

“Good. You remember.”

“You know—”

“Yes?” He probes.

Lips forming a thin line, and realizing he’s just trying to rile you up you shrug it off and bite your tongue, instead opting to put Grogu down inside Mando’s bunk. The Child looks up at you with his big eyes, babbling incoherently. You wiggle your finger in front of him, causing him to giggle excitedly.

“Are you sure he’ll be safe here, alone?” You ask Mando over your shoulder, continuing to play around the kid.

“There’s no one else out here but us, and I’m going to engage the ground security protocols once we leave.” He explains as he fiddles through his armory, gently placing his pulse rifle back on its hook, and reaching over to his jetpack and strapping it to his back. “Nothing will penetrate the Crest.”

It doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety but since Mando seems comfortable with this, then this must be the safest place for him to be. Air exhales through your slightly parted lips as you turn to the armory and grab a vibroblade from Mando’s stock, strapping it to your right thigh. As time ebbs on, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears becomes louder and louder, and you’re unable to stop the steady thumping of your heart against your ribcage.  This feeling reminds you of spice running. The rush, the excitement, the worry of not knowing what could happen or if part of the plan could go wrong; it’s something you’ve always chased after.

The plan is almost foolproof, so you shouldn’t worry. Of course, the thought of something going wrong is always there in the back of your mind, but how often do you see a Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a smuggler working together? You’re almost certain this is the first time in the galaxy that this has happened, so how could you fail?

As you make your way to the ramp, you feel a rough leather glove grab hold of your wrist, and turns you around gingerly to face the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, tone low and husky, and it strokes that part inside of you that forces you to rub your thighs together.

No matter how much time you two can spend being around each other, the moment you’re standing only inches apart—you can’t stop your heart rate from picking up. Your mouth dries up like the sand dunes on Tatooine, and the only thing you can focus on is how fucking intoxicating this man is.

“You can stay here with him.”

His hand is still on your wrist, and you look down to where leather meets your skin. His thumb brushes small, gentle circles on your wrist; an otherwise small token of affection, but taking into consideration that Mando is willingly giving you such a gesture, it makes you heart do cartwheels.

“And miss all the action?” A smile stretches across your face, arching an eyebrow at him. “No way, Mando.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

He whispers your name softly and drawls out exhale that cuts up through his vocoder, as if your name is his way of begging you to reconsider. The ‘T’ of his visor stays glaring at you, but it’s damn near impossible to sway you from doing something once you’ve set your mind on it, so no matter how he stares, it won’t make much of a difference. He knows this isn’t a battle he’ll win. Your free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his elbow, hoping your touch will help calm his apprehensiveness about you coming along.

“Mando, I’ll be fine. I know you like to worry, but I’ve been in plenty of worse situations and I’m still here.”

Making a noise deep in the back of his throat, he gives you a quick nod and lets go of your wrist. A groan threatens to escape through your lips at the sudden lack of touch, but you manage to keep it under control as he breezes passed you, hearing his boots hit the durasteel ground as he descends the side ramp of the Crest. Taking one last deep breath and looking at Mando’s cot where Grogu is resting, you walk over to the panel by the door, and whisper “We’ll be back soon, kid,” before pressing the button to close the door, watching it come down with a hum. You turn on your heel and march down the ship to meet Mando, who waits patiently for you to join him before using his vambrace to shut the ramp.

You tread towards the village in a comfortable silence. Nightfall is especially unnerving here. The air feels dirty, like dust and ash mixed together, trekking through large gusts of wind as it almost knocks you off your feet. The sky is a dark mossy green, glooming over you, almost like there’s an ominous presence watching the night unfold. Three clicks away from the wall is where you meet Ahsoka. She’s wearing a long robe that aides her in hiding within the shadows, the hood pulled over her montrals, cloaking them from being detected. Her lightsabers, not laser swords like you thought they were called, dangle off her waist. You eye them curiously, wondering how it must feel to wield one of them. The thought makes you chuckle. If you really wanted to know what it felt like to hold such a beautiful weapon in your hand, you just had to find someone to train you, and then you’d be privy to it. A problem for another time, though. Right now, you had more important matters to worry about.

Just as you reach the woodland edge, Ahsoka turns to you and Mando and once again repeats the Magistrate is not to be harmed.

“Save the prisoners,” She reiterates.

Offering her a nod and a smile of reassurance, her hand touches your forearm, squeezing it gently. Mando detaches his right pauldron—the one with his signet engraved and hands it to Ahsoka. It looks like a mudhorn signet. You’re reminded of what Grogu had shown you just a few days ago. Mando battling the ferocious beast, and the Child, watching him on the brink of death, feeling his need to save the Mandalorian.

“We’ll go around the perimeter,” He announces, shooting you a quick look that you acknowledge by dipping your head downwards. “Just make my death believable.”

The corners of Ahsoka’s lips curl upwards. “Don’t worry about that.”

You and Mando break off, choosing to go to her left. Being mindful of where you walk, and making sure not to rise any suspicions by making noise and accidentally stepping on a broken twig, your eyes shift constantly between the ground and the giant wall just a few metres in front of you. Given your experience with sneaking around, you’re basically a master at keeping to the shadows.

Once Mando’s content with the distance you’ve put between yourselves and Ahsoka, he scans the area of lifeforms with his helmet. Beckoning with his hand, he moves forward with you following closely behind him. You crouch over, making yourself seem as small as you head straight for the fortified village.

“We’re going to have to climb it.” He says, realizing the sound of his jetpack would be too loud and alert the guards.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak around,” You jest.

Mando lifts an arm towards the top of the rampart and a grappling line shoots out from his vambrace, flying right over the top of the duracrete wall and latching onto the parapet. Tugging the rope to make sure it’s got enough of a sturdy grip for both of you to scale, he hands you the wire to climb first. Blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing faster than the fathier races on Canto Bight, you take the line from Mando’s hand and pull on it hard enough until your body is leaning backwards.

Your left foot presses against the rampart, making sure to balance yourself properly before your other foot hits the wall, then you begin scaling it. Mounting it quickly, you make it to the top in just under a minute—you can’t help but be impressed with yourself.

Once you climb over the parapet, you crouch down immediately, head whipping to the left then to the right to make sure there aren’t any soldiers in sight. In the distance you hear cries of pain, whooshing, and a loud bang. Ahsoka must have engaged the guards by now.

Taking notice that the coast is clear, you beckon for Mando to join you, and he scales the duracrete wall, beating your time by just a couple of seconds. Show off.

The village is a good… maybe thirty or forty feet drop, and the thought makes you groan. Already you can feel the ache in your legs and knees, but better to get it over with. As you’re about to jump off the wall, Mando’s arm comes flying out across your torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers through gritted teeth.

Standing there somewhat dumbfounded, your eyebrows pull closely together. “I was going to jump?”

“And break your legs in the process?” He asks rhetorically. Then, without waiting for your answer, he coils the grappling line around his arm that you used to scale the rampart and drops it on the other side of the wall.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Your eyes dart over to Mando’s eye slit, narrowing them as you watch him climb down just as fast as he came up. When you hear him reach the ground and taking one last look around, you grab onto the line and head down into the village.

The fighting in the distance has stopped, you hope that means Ahsoka’s made it through the barricade of guards. Darting between alleys through the village, you can hear her voice echoing in the distance.

“Your bounty hunters failed.”

Making sure to keep your centre of gravity low as you continue to navigate through the huts, you follow Mando on his heels until you see Ahsoka in your sights. She’s standing just a few metres away from Elsbeth, who has her own platoon of armed soldiers behind her, holding the staff in her hand, alongside the gunslinger Lang.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Ahsoka says, voice calm and stern. “Where is your master?”

Elsbeth stays silent for a few seconds, scowling at Ahsoka, eyes burning into hers, rage all but spilling out of her words. “Kill her.”

Lang takes a step forward, hands gripping his gun fiercely as he says with amusement, “Love to.”

A blast of red shoots out from his gun, narrowly missing her as she jumps onto one of the roofs. Her lightsabers come to life, beams of white whirl around her as she blocks an onslaught of blaster fire. You want to help her, to take down just even one of the guards, and Mando seems to sense your urgency because he grips onto your arm as a warning. You can’t blow your cover, not yet. The guards need to follow Ahsoka and leave the prisoners alone so you and him can free them.

The Magistrate instructs Lang to take her battle droids with her before turning on her heel and stalking back towards her fortress. She orders the remaining two guards by her side to execute the prisoners. Shrieks and cries fill the air as the prisoners start begging for their lives, and then your feet move before your brain takes notice, running straight for the guards before Mando can pull you back into the shadows.

You come up behind the soldiers, just as one aims their gun to one of the men strung up. Your hand flies to your blaster, unholstering it and shooting him right between the shoulder blades. He cries and falls to the ground with a loud thud. The remaining guard pivots towards you, aiming his own rifle at you but is shot down by Mando before he can pull the trigger.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” He hisses through the helmet as he appears from behind one of the houses to join you.

“You were taking too damn long.”

“And why the hell is the safety on your blaster not on?”

Narrowing your eyebrows, your mouth opens to answer but you have trouble finding the words. “Uh—is that reallyimportant right now?”

He doesn’t answer, but sighs somewhat angrily. Okay…

In the corner of your vision, you see the elderly man from yesterday emerge from one of the huts. Out of reflex, you catch Mando pointing his blaster at him. The man’s palms fly up in defense and freezes. They exchange a series of glances, ending with Mando placing his blaster back in his holster. They make their way to one of the prisoners, trying to gauge how to free him without hurting him or themselves.

The sounds of gunfire in the background catch your attention. Looking over to Mando and the elderly gentlemen, you really want to go out there and fight.

What if Ahsoka needs backup?

Surely, you should help her, right?

Hands fidgeting at your sides, your body racing on adrenaline and the urge to make these soldiers pay for what they’ve done, you take one last glance over to Mando who instinctively looks back at you. By his body language, you know he understands what you want because he squares his shoulders and takes a tentative step towards you. Shaking his head, slowly but nothing shy of authoritative, basically warning you not to go after her. Giving him a shrug and lips forming a tight line, you whip your body towards the sounds of gun fire and disappear into the shadows.

“Get back here!” Mando’s voice come from the commlink on your wrist as you continue zig zagging through the city, following the sound of gunfire. Ignoring him, you turn the volume down on your commlink until it’s fully muted, as to not draw any attention to yourself. Your body is running entirely on the electricity pumping through your bloodstream right now. Senses heightened to a degree you’ve never experienced before. The wind brushing against your hot cheeks, hearing the thumping of your heart in your ears, you feel everything so much stronger, now. Maybe it’s because you’ve never being in such a gritty battle like this, but it’s so much more intense than any spice run you’ve ever done.

Navigating through the huts and keeping yourself hunched over, you look out for any potential threats, coming up on dead-end after dead-end. You’re running out of time, and need to find Ahsoka now.

A hand touches down on your shoulder, causing you to gasp a little too loudly. Reaching over your chest and gripping the hand tightly, you twist your body around to face them while pulling downwards on their arm, vibroblade flying into your free hand. Relief overcomes you when you see it’s Ahsoka.

“Felt like you were missing out?”

You give her a smile, tucking the blade back into its strap on your thigh, hand clutching your chest as you try to come down from the sudden alarm. “Little bit.”

The moment is short lived when a blast of red gunfire flies by the back of your head, missing you by only inches. Ahsoka wraps her arm around your back, pushing you behind her as her lightsabers come alight once again, using them to dodge and ricochet incoming fire. As she continues to block blasts, a guard emerges from behind you, giving you only a second of time for your blaster to come out of its holster and into your hand, shooting them down with two blasts. Just as his body hits the ground, a second soldier comes right for you from the left. Your free hand shoots up close to your body, palm facing him. Taking a step forward, your arm straightens out and the power of it sends the guard flying backwards, hearing his skull hit the ground with an echoing crack.

You don’t have time to process it, to think about the fact that you’ve just heard that man’s skull split because you propelled him so aggressively into the ground. Turning your body back towards Ahsoka, she continues to fight off blasts, one of them knocking a lightsaber out of her hand and sending it flying through the air, landing just a couple feet behind you. Without even taking a second to think about it, you dash for the lightsaber, gripping it with your hand just as you fall over onto your stomach. A black gloved hand grabs hold of your shoulder, flipping you onto your back. The man crouches down and presses his body into yours, each leg on either side of your body, pinning you to the ground. You wrestle for a few seconds, dodging some punches but ultimately taking a couple hits to your stomach. All of a sudden, a bright white light nearly blinds you—the lightsaber buzzes to life, and then you’re pushing it in your hand through the man’s chest, screaming as it impales him. The sound of flesh sizzling against the lightsaber makes your skin crawl, never before hearing such a foul noise. Maker, even the smell is agonizing. Something you never thought you’d ever experience. You’ve cauterized wounds before, but that was just kissing the skin. This? Fuck, this went through his body, burning his skin, bones, and whatever organs were in the saber’s way. Ego and pride aside, it makes you nauseous. Pushing his limp body off yours and rising to your feet, the smell still lingering in your nostrils, you attempt to shake it out of your mind and wrench your eyes shut for a moment. This isn’t the time to dwell on things.

Feeling the lightsaber in your hand, something in you changes. Everything stills for a moment. All of the insecurities you had about yourself, the feeling of having lost your way, not knowing which path to choose, it all comes together. The answer is around your fingertips, its power clearing your mind of the questions you so desperately wanted the answers to. For the first time in your entire life, you feel at peace, like you finally found your place in the galaxy.

A new power courses through your veins, enabling you to take down enemy after enemy with Ahsoka’s lightsaber. As you battle in between the huts, your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and it’s almost like she understands how you’re feeling. After cutting down the last guard, your chest is heaving, body shaking as it burns off the adrenaline that was exuding from your body just seconds ago. You head over to where Ahsoka is standing, a pile of bodies surrounding her. Mindful not to step on anyone, you tiptoe around them and hand her her lightsaber.

“And?” She asks, head cocked to the side.

You can’t even find the words. How can you even describe such a feeling? All your anxieties solved in just one moment. Jaw nearly dropping to the floor, you want to say something but the only thing coming from your mouth is a laugh. Ahsoka smiles back, but it quickly disappears, leaving you to look into her eyes, she seems…sad? You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you table it for another time.  

As you both make your way back to the main street of the village, she treks along the rampart of Elsbeth’s fortress. Once you clock the second gate ahead of you, Ahsoka leaps onto to the top of the wall, leaving you to meet Mando on the main road. Keeping to the shadows of the little houses around you, you see him standing just a few feet shy of the wall, hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his thigh. Towards the end of the cobblestone street is Lang, hands on his rifle.

No one speaks for a moment; Lang’s eyes shift between Mando and Ahsoka who stands at the top of the rampart. Your body is still shielded in the shadows, gauging Lang’s body language; waiting for the right moment to show yourself. Finally, Ahsoka turns her body and jumps into the Magistrate’s home, leaving you, Mando, and Lang behind.

“So, you threw in with the Jedi.”

Taking a quick look around, and noticing you to his right, he answers Lang, “Looks that way.”

Maker, you’ll never get tired of looking at him. Broad shoulders pushed back so his all-encompassing chest is on full display, practically toying with Lang because he knows they’ve lost, it’s not only intoxicating how much he turns you on, but it’s quite frankly obscene how your pussy gushes at the sight of him. His ability to stay calm, even when he’s seething with anger. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, but watching Mando in his element, full of gusto and brawn…It’s quite a shock that some people choose to fight a Mandalorian rather than save themselves the trouble and simply surrender.

Sounds of beskar clashing with lightsabers ricochet through the air. Cries from both women pierce your ears. You want to see Ahsoka fight, curious to see how a Jedi battles with a formidable opponent, but you’re too transfixed on Mando right now to tear your eyes away even if for a moment.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Mando doesn’t answer, just stays ever still, his cape flapping in the wind behind him. Lang takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then another. “Could be your side…” He taunts. “Could be my side.”

He’s getting too close for comfort; you think to yourself. Stepping out from behind one of the homes, you make sure Lang sees you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk over to Mando cautiously, keeping eye contact with Lang the entire time. Once you’re by his side, your arms rest by your thighs, one hand gripping on your blaster.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that you were left behind… or dead,” The last word drips from his tongue like venom.

Clamping down hard on your jaw to keep yourself from snapping back, your free hand balls into a fist, white knuckling so aggressively, you’re digging half-moons into your skin.

He takes one more step forward.

“I got no quarrel with you two.”

Another step.

“That’s far enough,” Mando warns, his hand coming up to stop Lang in his tracks.

The Magistrate’s cries blend in with Ahsoka’s. The silence between resonances of weapons colliding become more and more frequent. The fight must be nearing its end.

“You know, we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

What in the kriffing hell is this man talking about? To think that you or Mando could ever be similar to someone like Langmakes you scoff, an empty laugh expelling from the back of your throat.

“All of us, willing to lay out lives for the right cause.” He says orotundly then pauses for a moment, listening to the two women fighting on the other side of the rampart. “Which this is not.”

He can’t honestly think either of you believe him, right?

All of a sudden, you hear the beskar staff hit the ground, bouncing a few times before everything becomes jarringly quiet. Tilting your head slowly in Mando’s direction, his visor keeps to Lang.

“Looks like you guys win.”

Holding out his gun in front of him, he shows you the weapon and ever so slowly places it down on the ground, motioning his surrender. Mando’s hand flexes over the blaster, gauging Lang’s next move. Without skipping a beat, Lang’s hand flies to a blaster at the back of his waist, but before he can even take it out of its holster, Mando’s own gun flies into his hand and shoots him down.

“Did you have your safety on before you shot him down?” You ask sarcastically, darting an eyebrow at him as holsters his weapon.

“Is that really important right now?” He repeats, using that same mocking tone that drives you fucking crazy.

Eyebrows pulling together in a frown and rolling your eyes, you reply, “I hate you,” while also trying to hide the dumbass smile that’s sneaking up on your lips.

The elderly gentlemen, who has apparently been watching you this entire time, emerges from his home. One by one, the villagers come out, stunned that they’re finally free. They cheer and holler, walking over to you both to give their thanks. Seeing the instant smiles on their faces fills you with warmth and pride. All the pain, all the cruelty they were forced to endure is gone. They can live the rest of their lives free of tyranny.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone cries. In a nanosecond, panic sets in, whipping your head in every direction trying to find the threat. Looking at the roofs, there’s the faint silhouette of a battle droid, crawling on one of the homes, its gun aimed right at Mando.

“Mando!” You shout. The droid’s weapon then switches to you, a red beam of light flies from his gun, hitting you right in the shoulder. The force of the hit sends your body flying backwards, landing hard on your back, head smacking the ground hard enough to make you dizzy.

The pain in your shoulder is fucking intense, the smell of sizzling clothes and burnt skin quite literally burning into your nostrils. Hand flying to your shoulder and pressing down on the wound to ease the bleeding and hopefully the pain, you realize your shoulder has been taking quite the hit lately. First the bruise, now a fucking gash.

Mando rushes to your side, holding the back of your head with one hand as he eases you to sit upright.

“Are you okay?” Baritone pulling rough through the helmet, panic sits at the back of his throat. The hand cradling the back of your head travels down to your lower back, the other reaching for your hand that’s keeping pressure on the place where the droid hit you.

Unable to answer, you groan low in your throat and gesture that you’ll be fine with a simple nod of the head. When you finally look over to Mando through hooded lids, the corners of your lips curl upwards in an attempt to prove to him that you’re fine. Folding your legs at the knees and using his forearm to pull you to your feet, he helps you stand up, keeping his hand on the small of your back the entire time.

“Kriff, that hurt.” You groan through jagged breaths. When your hand finally moves away from the injury on your shoulder, you peek down to see just how badly you were hit.

Thankfully, it’s actually not that bad. There is a gash where the blast connected with skin, but the bleeding has stopped significantly, although your tunic and hand are drenched with blood. You could probably cauterize it right away to close up the wound and then put some bacta on it once you get back to the Crest.

Mando’s still holding you. It’s like he’s too scared to let you go, like he needs to protect you and the only way he can think of doing it is to keep holding you. In any other moment, you’d be absolutely loving this, but right now? His body heat mixed with the fervor and throbbing from the gash near your clavicle is making you burn up. It’s when you finally take a step forward that his arm falls back to his side, fist balling up like he’s fighting the urge to keep you in his reach.

“The droid dead?” You manage to say through winces of pain, hunching over.

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.

“Okay, good.”

As more and more villagers approach you both, they continue to give you their appreciation and continuously asking if there’s anything they can do to thank you. An elderly woman even retreats back to her home and comes out just a few minutes later with a medpac for your gash. Initially, you reject her kind offer, insisting that you can wait till you’re back on the ship for your wound to be taken care of, but after she continue to argue that you should accept a bit of help, you take it graciously. They seat you down on one of the cobblestoned steps, and begin wiping away at the dried blood, trying to be mindful not to touch the actual wound.

“We can’t thank you enough,” She says kindly.

“You’re—ah shit—” You try to thank her, but despite her best efforts, you’re still in quite a tremendous amount of pain. “Sorry. It’s our pleasure, really.”  

Once she’s done cleaning up the blood, you look down at your shoulder to see that the wound isn’t even as big as you initially thought. The blood splattered around your shoulder had made it seem much worse than it actually was. It’s barely the size of a Calamari Flan coin. It’ll definitely scar, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Your husband doesn’t ever take his helmet off?” She asks, trying to keep you distracted as she begins to spray bacta on it.

Completely taken aback by the word ‘husband’, you blurt out a laugh. “Husband? Oh no, he’s not my husband. We’re just…” Your voice trails off because in truth, you have no idea what your relationship to Mando is anymore. It doesn’t seem appropriate to say that you two are friends because your relationship has certainly developed passed that, but to go so far as to say you’re…together doesn’t really seem to fit your situation either.

“Oh, my apologies.” Shaking her head like she’s embarrassed by assuming the nature of your relationship, you place a hand over hers and smile.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”

“I just assumed that because of the way he was so concerned for your health after getting shot by that droid…”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mull over how Mando held onto you for a lot longer than he needed to when you finally got to your feet. How he stood so close to you, even when you assured him you were okay. How he still looks over to you every couple of minutes while he talks to Ahsoka, like he needs to watch over you.

You watch as Ahsoka hands the staff over to Mando, who seems to hesitate to accept it at first, but is eventually persuaded to take it. He takes a moment to speak into his commlink, your wrist comes alive to the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be okay here, alone?”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, and you attempt to hide it by biting down on your lip. Bringing your wrist up to your lips, you press on the talking button on the comm, “Yes, I’ll be fine, Mando.”

As Mando disappears into the forest, Ahsoka makes her way over to you, just as the elder is finished addressing your wound. She’s put a bacta patch on your laceration now, its cooling sensation untensing your muscles and relaxing you almost instantly.

“Thank you.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting you go, and hobbling back over to her home.

The city is full of life now, residents cheering and conversating. The children are running around, laughing and shouting with joy, even kicking a ball around the main cobblestoned road. It’s such a stark contrast from the city you and Mando had entered just two days ago.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you pat the dust and dirt off your pants and face Ahsoka.

“How the shoulder?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine. It was barely a scratch.” You joke. She laughs in response. The first moment of genuine happiness you’ve seen on her face since you two met.

You both begin to take a leisure stroll through the village, noting how different the villagers seem now the Magistrate is gone. It’s such a fulfilling moment for you. For most of your life, you’ve behaved selfishly, usually only caring about yourself and doing whatever was in ever was in your own self-interest, and now you’ve just helped hundreds of people. You don’t want to put yourself on a pedestal, but if you’re being entirely transparent, you’re pretty proud of the change that’s happening to you. This? You could get used to this.

“If I did want to train…”

Ahsoka turns her head to face you once you address her. “Yes?”

“Like…How would I go about doing that?”

She stops walking, looking down at the ground. “You need to learn to control your emotions before you can even think of training. You’re pretty reckless.” Her voice stays kind, but she’s very much warning you of the difficult road ahead if you choose to go down this path. “I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.”

You could argue with her, you could say that there is no such attachment, but if you were to be completely honest with yourself, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something there. It’s almost unbelievable to come to terms with the fact that you’ve developed some kind of connection with him, especially when you used to pride yourself on the idea that you had transformed into the type of person that did not become invested in someone else but Mando is different. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

He’s full of mystery. An enigma that you could learn about every day for the rest of your life and never even scratch the surface. Mando can be cold and callous in one moment, then tender and kind in the next. It quite literally makes your head spin. He can be so distant, and then all of a sudden, he can’t bear to be away from you. The inability to know what he’s thinking or what he wants just reels you in even more. You want to know everything about him, to feel like you’re a part of him, that you’re more than just someone passing through his life.

“Surely, the two can coexist?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes leave you to look up at the sky, as if searching the clouds for help. “Asking that question just proves that you aren’t ready to train. Attachments clouds the ability to see reason. If you let your attachments control you, you can never act solely based on the good for all. You’ll always put your loved ones first, and that’s something the Jedi do not do.”  

Your lips press into a thin line.

“If you want this, you have to realize what you’ll be giving up. What you’ll end up denying yourself later on.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “There will come a time when you’ll need to make a choice. To embrace the way of the Jedi, or walk away forever.”

“It’s just…” You begin shifting, pacing around as the words come to you. “Ahsoka, the darkness I feel inside me? It scares me, like I’m never actually in control of it.”

“The Dark Side is powerful. It’s something you’ll fight your entire life as a Jedi, but it’ll become easier to deal with as the training progresses.”

“When I held your lightsaber…” Voice trailing off, you let out a small chuckle. Her lips curl into a smile, she knows the feeling all too well.

“I know.”

As you both stand at the gates of the village, the newly appointed Magistrate—the old man that aided Mando in rescuing the hostages, approaches you both, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you again for saving the village.” His eyes are kind, the wrinkles on his forehead giving you an insight as to the many years of injustices and struggles he’s had to face, as well as the hope he’s held that his people would one day be free once again.

Dipping your head downward, he grabs your hand in his, shaking it twice before turning to Ahsoka. “The New Republic will be here soon for Ms. Elsbeth. If there’s anything else you’d like to question her about, now would be the time.”

“Mando should be here by now…” You remark, noticing that it’s been too long since he left.

Ahsoka nods in agreement. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.” She doesn’t wait for your response before following the Magistrate back into the city walls.

During the walk back to the Crest, you continue to go over everything Ahsoka’s told you over the last two days, weighting out your options. You’re not like Mando. You’re not a Mandalorian, nor are you a bounty hunter, so naturally you couldn’t expect to stick with Mando once you get all of this figured out. Going back to spice seems irresponsible, given that you know you were destined for something better. Moreover, now that you know why you’re different, it would see inappropriate to ignore that side of you and continue to live a life where your powers were wasted. Maybe this is something you could discuss with Mando. Maybe he’ll offer a different view that you hadn’t thought of before.

When you catch sight of the Crest, you suddenly feel a bit nervous, almost shy. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you near the ship, and clutch your chest with your hands when you see what’s happening inside the ship.

Mando’s sitting by his cot, one leg resting on the edge of the bed, Grogu seated on his thigh, and speaking gently to him. Even if you tried not to get sentimental about it, you’d never get tired of seeing how endearing Mando is with the Child. Every moment is more precious than the last, warming your heart and making you fall for the Mandalorian even more. You know he doesn’t need it, but you want to protect them both—to keep them both safe from anyone who would ever try to harm them, and on some level, you think Mando would do the same.

“Hey,” You announce as you get closer to the edge of the ramp, making your presence known so that he hopefully doesn’t think you spent the last minute gawking at them during their little intimate moment.

As you approach them, Mando rises to his feet and walks over to you, holding Grogu with both arms. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Much better. The bacta really helped,” You answer, keeping your voice low as to not wake him. Grogu’s eyes flutter open, head tilting to the side when he sees you.

“Hi, little guy.” Your index finger gently boops him on the nose, causing him to giggle in Mando’s arms. Although you don’t know for sure, you have an inclination that Mando’s watching you, and when you look up away from Grogu, sure enough the eye slit in his helmet is pointed at you.

“You’re like a father to him.”

Your turn your body around and see Ahsoka standing at the end of the ship, arms crossed against her chest. Mando heads down the ramp first, and you follow closely behind him.

“I cannot train him.” She says, a bit of disappointment hidden in her voice.

“We had a deal, and we held up our end.”

Letting out a deep breath, Ahsoka takes a step towards Mando and takes Grogu’s little hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his tiny claws.

“There is one possibility.”

“We’re all ears,” You reply.

“Have you heard of the planet Tython?”

“No.” Mando answers dryly.

“It has a strong connection to the Force. There you will find the ancient ruins of a Temple atop one of the mountains. Place Grogu on the seeing stone and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For Grogu to choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there is a chance that a Jedi might sense him and come searching for him.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before pulling her eyes away from the dirt to look at you. “Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.” He answers sincerely, then turns on his heel and heads back into the Crest.

You take a step towards Ahsoka and wrap your arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling again. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“This will not only be a test for Grogu, but for you as well. You will need to make a choice.”

“I know…”

Her head dips down, offering you a farewell smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Heading back into the ship and closing the ramp, you hear the Crest’s thrusters come to life, finally feeling like you now have a purpose.

--

“Do we have enough fuel to make to it to Tython?”

“We’ll have enough to get there, but not enough to leave. We’ll have to make a stop beforehand to refuel.”

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. You look out through the transparisteel and watch the stars change from small specks in space to giant rays of light as you beam passed them, and then cockpit is surrounded by waves of baby blues similar to the waters on Naboo.

“Hey, where are we headed?” You ask once Mando rises from the pilot’s chair.

“You ever been to Coruscant?”

Fuck. “There’s nowhere else we can go?”

He walks over to where you’re still seated. At this angle, your eyeline is pointing right at…that. Trying to look anywhere but there, you opt to tilt your head at high as it can go so you can look at Mando in the ‘T’ of his visor. Maker, don’t you dare even peak down there.

“Is there a problem with going there?” He asks in jest, head tilting ever so slowly to the side. When you don’t immediately answer, he takes an excruciatingly slow step forward. He’s now almost touching your knees with his, making it even more difficult not to look down and catch sight of his—kriff, pull yourself together!

“No—” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high. “I mean,” Clearing your throat in an effort for it to go back down to its normal octave. “No, that’s fine.”

Mando hums smugly in his helmet before disappearing through the cockpit door and descending down the ladder.

Uh… what the hell was that about? Was Mando acting…coy? No, surely you were misreading things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t joke around or act smug…right?

Sleep.

You should get some sleep.

Shifting around in your unbearably uncomfortable chair until you’re in a somewhat comfortable position—which is just you sitting upright in the chair with your leg crossed over the other, you fold your arms across your lap and close your eyes, hoping it won’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You can hear a light scuffle in the hull, and you try to ignore it, but now that you’re aware of the sound, it’s impossible for you to ignore it and try to get some sleep. All you can focus on is trying to ignore the sound which just makes the noise that much louder. Letting out a groan in annoyance, you move around even more in your seat hoping you’ll be able to find some kind of position that’s more comfortable, but to no avail.

Not only is the noise annoy the hell out of you, but you’re completely hung up on your interaction with Mando just a few moments ago. He usually doesn’t get that close to you unless he thinks you’ve been injured, but there he was, willingly getting closer and closer. Actually, it seemed like he was enjoying watching you squirm and get frazzled by how close he was to you.

Just when the sound stops, you hear heavy boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder. Great, he’s coming back.

You sense Mando reach the top of the ladder before you see him. Although, he doesn’t directly step into the cockpit. After a couple seconds of still not seeing him, you look over your shoulder to see where he might be, but you end up craning your neck to an uncomfortable amount and still no sight of him.

Fuck it. You jump to your feet and face the door to the cockpit, and see him standing like a goddamn statue. He’s still in full armour, but you definitely notice something different about him. His fists are balled up together at his sides, black eye slit pointed directly at you, and by the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breathing is uneven. As your eyes travel downwards from his helmet down to his feet, you can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. Shit.

Your mouth instantly goes dry, your own heartrate picking up slowly, heating pooling in your belly. This isn’t the first time you’ve both been in this exact situation. It happened before on Sorgan, but somehow this is a hundred times more intense. Maybe it’s because of the rush from today, maybe it’s because you’ve tasted him before, but whatever was on your mind right before this moment is totally gone.

Right now, you can feel the blood pounding in your ears, you can feel the fucking heat radiating off Mando, your panties sticking to you like glue because of your slick, causing your pussy to fucking throb.

You want to say something snarky, but words are something you’re not even able to come up with, you’re so fucking spellbound by him that nothing in this galaxy could pull you away. He’s got you entirely wrapped around his leather finger and he hasn’t even said a word to you.

A broken moan forms at the back of Mando’s throat, coming out rough and distorted. It reminds you of his sobs the night his cock was wrapped around your lips. You want to run to him, feel his big arms pull you closer to him, but you need to know he wants this as badly as you do, so you wait. You wait for him to speak, to make the first move.

“I—” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s struggling to find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.” You say breathlessly.

He takes a step towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. His own chest is heaving, his quick breaths cutting through his helmet. “Fuck.”

Realizing how hard this must be for him—admitting how he feels, you step closer to him. Now, you’re just arm’s length away. If one of you reached out, you’d touch the other and it’s becoming more difficult with every second that goes by not to jump into his arms, rip that helmet off his face and kiss every inch of his skin, but you won’t. You would never touch him in a way that would compromise his creed.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about bending you over that control panel and fucking you until you begged me to stop?” He nearly growls. Voice so rough and low, you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips.

Your pussy gushes in response. “Maker…”

He inches closer to you, taking his sweet, agonizing time as he continues to taunt you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I picked you up on Kijimi.”

Another inch.

“I thought about it in the alley with my hand touching your drenched, sweet cunt.”

Another inch.

“I thought about pulling you off my cock and pounding into you right against that wall.”

The heat coiling in your stomach is so fucking intense, you can feel it all over your body. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, jaw slacked so you can breathe in quick little bursts of air. He’s standing merely inches away from you, and you want to reach out and touch him. You want him inside you, but you’re frozen, unable to move. Unable to break free from the trance he’s put you in. All you can do is stand there helplessly as he continues to torture you with his confessions.

“But I was able to control myself.” He grits out, head tilting ever so slowly to the side.

“Mmm…” Is all you can say. Your mind is on fire, your body’s on fire. Everything’s fucking on fire.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”

Only one word comes to mind now. Once you say it, your relationship to the Mandalorian will never be the same. It’ll definitely make it harder to choose between Mando and following the way of the Jedi but quite frankly, right now, you really don’t give a shit. You want this. You want Mando, and nothing is going to come between you and him. “Good.”

Finally, he closes the tiny gap between your bodies and wraps a big arm around the small of your back, spinning you around and pushing you up against the door to the cockpit. You yelp at his swiftness when you feel metal hit your back, but it’s still not fast enough.

You want more.

You need more.

“Mando…” You moan helplessly.

The shakiness of his breath, kriff, you really want to drop to your knees and make him feel so good. His hands try to touch every part of you. They settle on your waist and he flips you around. Your face nearly smacks into the door but you’re able to catch yourself before your cheek makes contact, hands bracing up against the wall. He grinds his hips into yours, and you feel the outline of his cock nuzzle against your backside.

“If I’m too rough…” He begins to say, but you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I’m not fragile, Mando. Do what you want with me.”

“Fuck,” He punches out, fist hitting the door in front of you. “Y-you can’t say things like that to me.”

“I want you to,” You make sure to drawl out your words, to make sure he really hears you, so that he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

The sound that comes next is almost animalistic. It’s somewhere between a cry and a snarl, but it’s the sweetest, most arousing sound you’ve ever heard. It’ll be something you replay over and over in your mind.

His hands travel down to your hips, grabbing onto the waistband of your pants and yanking them down in one swift motion. A brown leather glove flies to your throat, using his thumb and index finger to press on that sweet spot right under your jawline. You sob brokenly as he continues to apply more pressure on your neck, but still gentle enough for you to know he’ll never actually hurt you.

“M-Ma-n-ndo…” You manage to choke out.

Mando hums in the back of his throat, pressing his body into you even more. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and your hands leave the wall to fumble around behind you, trying to touch him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of both your wrists and holds them in place behind you. “Let me take care you, pretty girl.” He purrs, his baritone dangerously low.

When his hand leaves your throat, you whine at the sudden lack of pressure. Cupping your jaw, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, your tongue darts out and tastes leather. Two fingers force themselves into your mouth, and Mando growls into your ear. “Bite.”

You obey like the good girl you are, biting and tugging on the glove until it comes right off his hand. He takes it from you and tosses it on the ground, revealing his beautifully tanned skin. It’s a little embarrassing how just the sight of his hand makes your pussy pulse, but everything about Mando draws you in. His smell, his stoic demeanor, even his fucking hand.

As his naked hand travels back down your body, fingertips barely touching your tunic, it’s driving you crazy. He’s taking his sweet ass time, reveling in the fact that he has you completely spell bound against him. You can’t move, you can’t shift under him and create more friction for yourself. No, you’re going at his pace, which is making you fucking dizzy.

When his hand reaches the edge of your underwear, sending shivers down straight to your throbbing cunt, your body is basically shaking from the lack and overwhelming amount of stimulation all at once. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough. A thumb begins to trace the skin around the waistband of your underwear, tantalizing you. Your broken sobs echo through the cockpit, and then in a second, his hand pushes passed the thin material and cups your sex.

“Fuck!” You cry out.

“Look how wet you are, and I’ve barely touched you,” He whispers.

Pushing your ass out and rubbing against his cock, you feel him twitch in his pants as you continue to tease him. The hand on your cunt disappears and wraps itself around your throat again, pressing into your flesh just enough for you to stop grinding your hips. When Mando speaks next, he growls through gritted teeth. “Do that again, and I’m stopping. Do you understand?”

Your throat is dangerously dry, and all you can do is moan in response.

“No, pretty girl. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?” He says again, this time in a much gentler tone, but without relinquishing any of his control over you.

“Yes,” You whisper breathlessly.

“Good girl,” He praises, and then his hand is back on your pussy. His fingers rub between your folds, sending shockwaves through your body as he starts collecting your slick on his calloused fingertips, and then he’s rubbing tight, quick circles around your clit. You mewl helplessly into the door, forehead pressed against door with such force, it’s actually starting to hurt, but in the best way possible. You wouldn’t dare move from the spot you’re in right now, not when Mando continues his agonizingly slow assault on your bud.

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now,” He begins to instruct, his head resting on your left shoulder. “And you’re going to be a good girl and keep them there, right?”

Your orgasm begins to build in your stomach, the rhythm on your clit never faltering. “Y-y-yes,” You answer, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Letting go of your wrists, you do as you were told and keep them behind you on the small of your back. You hear him fumble with his utility belt and pants. Panting and having to manually control your breathing because air just isn’t fucking coming into your lungs fast enough, your body starts to shake from the white-hot pleasure, causing your hands to clench violently. Mando thrusts his body against you once again, almost flattening you on the door, but now you feel his free cock pressing between your ass, feeling drops of precome graze your skin.

His hand drenched in your slick, you’re on the verge of coming. Breathing picking up even more, he must sense you’re close because his rhythm gets quicker and quicker, nearly pushing you over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna c-come, Mando.”

“Already? Hmm,” He hums proudly. A gloved hand comes up to your throat, using his thumb and index to choke you again. The pressure on your throat and cunt is making your head fucking spin. It’s too much all at once, your orgasm teetering right now. This is so much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Come for me,” He commands gently in your ear.

Head lulling back, your knees are about to give out, but he never stops. He develops a pattern now, rubbing even tighter circles on your clit and then brushing his fingers through your soaking folds, then back to your bud.

“Fuck fuck, fuck, Mando!” You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body. He doesn’t stop though. As you cry out, riding out your climax, he slams his gloved hand over your mouth, muffling your cries; still continuing his pace between your thighs. Practically convulsing from the overstimulation, your knees almost completely cave in, and you almost feel your body going limp, but Mando keeps you steady.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He praises.

You don’t even have time to come down from your climax before he’s thrusting a thick finger allll the way inside of you. Flexing it in and out of your pussy and body trembling, if you don’t grab onto something, you’re sure you’ll drop to the ground. Broken sobs stifled by leather, feeling the corners of your eyes getting wet with tears, your mind is going fucking blank. Maker, the Mandalorian is going to be the death of you.

Pushing a second finger into you, your eyes wrench shut. He eases them in and out of you at a deliciously slow rate, sometimes choosing to roll his fingers inside you before pulling out. One of your hands grabs onto his vambrace, using that as a means of staying upright because you’re hanging on by a thread right now. This is the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever even come close to making you feel the way Mando is, and you’ll never be able to be with anyone else after this. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you’re literally coming apart under him. He pushes two gloved fingers inside your mouth and orders you to bite down again. You do as your told and his hand yanks free of the glove, tossing it to the ground like he did with the other glove.

His precome continues to paint your back and backside, and you start begging and pleading.

“Please, Mando…”

“Please what?” He asks, and then he’s fucking curling his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You cry out again, feeling a second orgasm bubbling to the surface.

“Please, f-fuc-c-k me. Please, Mando I need you inside me.”

“Mmmm,” He drones deep in his throat. Flexing his fingers inside you once more time before pulling out, you feel suddenly empty.

Need more.

Need more.

Using the slick he’s gathered on his hand, you look over your shoulder and can barely make out him smearing it all over his thick length. “Gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up, and fuck that pretty cunt of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

All you can do is mewl back, a broken sound that he barely notices.  Mando grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down to your knees. One hand digging into your waist, the other holding his length, he starts to rub his cock between your sopping folds, gathering even more slick. Once he seems satisfied hearing your broken sobs, he angles himself to your entrance, and pushes just the tip into you.

Kriff, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to take all of him.

He stills for a moment, and then he’s back to pushing himself against your cunt.

Fucking unbelievable.

Mando’s teasing you, getting off on the sweet torture he’s putting you through. Every time you think he’s about to fill you up, he pulls away and continues to toy with you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, but then pulling away at the last second.

“Mando!” You whimper.

“Shhh…” He scolds, giving you gentle slap on your left buttcheek. “I want to take my time.”

He continues his gradual onslaught, and then finally, he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, and ever so slooowly eases an inch of himself in your entrance.

Maker, he’s huge. Even with just an inch inside of you, he fills you up, your walls clamping around him in an attempt to stop him from pulling away again. “Fuuck.” He drawls out through shuddered breaths. “You’re tight, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer because you can’t. Words are no longer a thing inside your mind. Just Mando.

“You’re mine.” He snarls, pushing another inch of himself inside you.

Something like a sob escapes your lips.

“No one else will ever get to touch you like this.”

Another painful inch. You can feel the veins around his girth pushing against your walls.      

“I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you, do you understand me?” Mando doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues to push himself more and more into your pulsating cunt. He must be almost fully inside you now. It burns, almost painful. It’s uncomfortable but it’s so fucking good, it feels so fucking amazing to be filled up by the Mandalorian. A delicious pain you’ll be thinking about for days.

With both hands on your hips, he seems to lose control for a second because the next thing you know, he stills for a moment, his helmet dropping to rest in between your shoulders, and then he’s grinding even more of himself into you. Kriff, how fucking big is he?

When Mando finally fucking pounds into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go blank, you scream out, feeling completely stuffed to the brim. “Fuck!”

He’s so much bigger than you thought. Your walls flex around him, your pussy is on fucking fire right now, pain and pleasure mixed together to form a delicious cocktail, you’re drunk on this feeling. Mando widens his stance to steady himself, and pulls out just enough for only the tip of his head touching your walls and then slams into you so hard, your entire body flattens against the door, his cuirass digging into your back.

“Ah shit!” He swears breathlessly. Mando’s barely began fucking you, and a second orgasm is seconds away from unleashing electricity through your entire core.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock, sweet girl. Are you going to come again?” He taunts deliciously, pulling out once more and snapping back into you with such force, it blinds you momentarily. Bending your knees and using one his hands to push down on your back so you’re arched with your ass out—almost sitting back on his cock, he wraps a hand around your throat and begins pounding into you like an animal. The sound of skin slapping skin pierces through the cockpit, you can’t even make a sound. Your pussy clenches once again, climax nearing.

Two rough fingers find their way to your clit, and rub tight circles on your bud, the sounds of his length thrusting in and out of you are downright obscene.

“Be a good girl and come for me again,” He orders, voice so deliciously low in your ear. You last only a couple more seconds before a second orgasm rips right into you. White-hot pleasure tears through you, the ecstasy so intense, tears are streaming down your face at a constant rate. He doesn’t relent, just continues to plow into you over and over and over again.

“Fu-ck, you feel so fucking good. I’m g-gonna, shit, I’m gonna c-come.” He pants, his rhythm beginning to falter as he approaches his own climax. “Wh-ere should I…?”

“Inside…please.” You choke out.

“Kriff, are, a-are you sure?” He punches out, thrusting deeper into you between each word.  

“Im—implant,” Is all you can manage to say, but it seems to be enough for Mando, because he uses the remaining strength he has to pound into you a few more times before his own orgasm hits him.

“F-fuck, pretty girl.” He grits out as his cock starts pumping his seed into your worn-out, swollen cunt. He sheathes himself one more time, reaching that sweet spot inside you before ever so slowly starting to ease out of you. Being the brat you are, using all the strength you can muster—which isn’t very much right now, you fiercely clench around his cock, causing Mando to cry out in the back of his throat.

“Maker, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” He says, shuddering but ending with a soft chuckle. “Well go on then, squeeze out every bit of come out of my cock like a good fucking girl.”

And so you do. You continue to squeeze down on his length, milking every single drop of his seed until you feel it trinkle down your legs. As soon as his hands leave your body, your knees cave in and you double over, nearly falling right on the cold metal floor, but Mando manages to wrap an arm around your waist before you do, holding you upright. Lifting you off your feet, he pulls you close to his chest, hooking his arms under your legs and around your back. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your cheek against his cuirass. Beskar cools the heat on your face, and you swear you could fall asleep right now in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filling up with the smell of sex and gunpowder, your eye flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet.” Baritone low and gentle. “We need to get you cleaned up first.”

“Mmm,” You mumble in protest. “ ‘M gonna sleep here.”

“Hey,” He repeats, this time more commanding. “You’ll need to climb down the ladder, can you do that?”

Pouting and wanting to resist, but knowing Mando won’t take no for an answer, you give in. “Fine,” You answer, petulantly.

He puts you down gently, making sure that when your feet touch the ground, you’re able to stand up straight on your own. He pulls your underwear and pants back up from your knees. His come mixed with yours sticks to your underwear, and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You definitely need to clean yourself up before falling asleep. Legs still buckling, Mando opens the cockpit doors and heads down the ladder first.

“Okay, come down.” He whispers kindly.

Kriff, your whole body is shaking. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it down those stairs without falling back. As you begin to descend the ladder, your grip on the rung loosens and you slip. Thankfully, Mando’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder and catches you in his arms before you could hurt yourself. Leaning on his pauldron is the only way you’re able to stand up, so you continue to lean into him as he guides you over to the fresher.

“Will you be able to clean yourself up?”

Looking up at the visor through hooded lids, you nod your head slowly. The possibility of you falling asleep in the fresher is very real, but you could try not to…

“Dank farrik…” He swears to himself. Mulling over his options with your half-asleep body leaning into him, he must realize there’s only one option available. “You’ll have to keep your eyes closed the entire time, okay?”

You look up at him sheepishly. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” He repeats. “You can’t—”

“I won’t look, Mando. You can trust me.”

A drawn-out sigh emits from the helmet, but he seems to be satisfied enough with your comment. Keeping yourself steady by holding down on his pauldrons, you watch as he carefully begins to remove your pants and underwear, gently telling you to step out of them and tossing them to the side.

“Lift your arms,”

He pulls your tunic over your head, and even though you’re absolutely wrecked and exhausted, being completely naked in front of the Mandalorian while he stands there, fully clothed and wearing his armour, you begin to feel a bit self-conscious, and try to cover up your body with your hands and arms.

“What…are you doing?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

“Feel so exposed,” You mutter.

“Now you feel exposed? Not when my cock was inside you?” He jests.

“Mmm, that was before.”

Mando sighs once again, the sound breaking apart like static through his helmet. “Get in the fresher, I’ll be there soon.”

“M’okay.”

Turning around sleepily, you head into the refresher and turn the water on. Kriff, it feels good. Standing directly under the hose, you let the water cascade down your body, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth that tickles your skin.

“Okay, eyes closed,” Mando says, voice no longer modulated by his helmet. Maker, his voice is heavenly. Curse the helmet he wears, covering up a sound as sweet as Mando’s voice. Smooth like silk, you wish you could listen to him for hours, undistorted and naked. Keeping your promise, your eyes wrench shut, palms coming out trying to find him in the small space you’re both sharing. You feel his hands meet yours, your own feels so small in his. Calloused fingers trail up your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and you purr into him.

And then, he’s gently massaging the bar of soap across your body, ridding your body of the grime and sweat from the day. It’s ridiculously intimate, and it’s actually quite surprising how gentle he’s handling you, given the fact that he kills people with those same hands, but it’s incredibly endearing. The entire time he cleans you up, your hands are resting on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, you feel him get closer to you, and you’re forced to back up, feeling the wall touch your bare back. Mando leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. You need to crane your head upwards to meet his, but it’s not uncomfortable. This is probably the first time his face has been touched by another being since…well you’re not sure when because you’ve never actually asked him when the last time he took his helmet off was, but you assume it’s been years.

“When’s the last time you took off your helmet in front of another person?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, not only because your vocal cords are shot from all the obscene noises you made before, but also because you’re scared that if you speak too loudly, he’ll dismiss your question.

“I was just a child.”

“You don’t ever want to show your face?”

The water trinkles over both your faces and bodies, hands carded together.

“This is the Way.” He answers plainly, but you sense a bit of uncertainty in the way he speaks. It’s almost like he’s lost the true reason for covering his face—that there came a time in his life where he began to question his Creed, but still feels like he has an obligation to adhere to it.

You want to see his face. There are so many questions that you wish you had the answers to.

Do the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he laughs?

Does he have any scars or dimples?

Have the many years of fighting and surviving aged his face beyond his actual age?

What color are his eyes?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know all those aspects of him because they’re simply just arbitrary details. Everything that you really need to know, you’re already aware of.

And what you know is, you’re in love with a Mandalorian.

[wasted-headspace-98]

The Unforgiven: Part II

Summary: After Order 66, everything was destroyed. The Empire left death and destruction in its wake. But one choice could change everything forever. The question is…is it the right one? Maul x Ahsoka 18+ For Eventual Chapters Warnings: Nonexplicit sexual content, slow burn, PTSD TW, inappropriate use of the force Collab fic with @lordofthenerds97

TW FOR THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES:

Panic Attacks

PTSD Flashbacks/Nightmares

Survivor’s Guilt

Mentions of Self Harm/Attempted Suicide

~*~*~*~

Ash.

Blaster fire.

Smoke.

She could hear footsteps pounding on the metal around her. The voices kept getting closer, and she glanced over her shoulder for what felt like the millionth time.

Pain.

Death.

Fear.

She felt it all, ripping through her like teeth. Golden eyes stared at her through the smoke and she gasped at the sight.

Jesse.

Kix.

Rex.

Screams and the sound of gunfire surrounded her on all sides. Her eyes widened as she tried to locate where it was all coming from.

Anger.

Hate.

Rage.

A cyclone of emotions tore through her mind. It didn’t matter if they were hers or not. The Force echoed with the suffering of her friends.

Her Masters.

Her comrades.

Her boys.

Ahsoka sat bolt upright with a scream. It echoed between the four walls of her cramped quarters, making her montrals hum with the noise. She winced at the sound, bringing her hand up to her forehead. Sweat dripped down her skin and she wiped it away with the back of her hand before rubbing her eyes.

“It was just a nightmare,” she told herself.

As much as she hated to admit it, she’d been having them more and more often. She wasn’t sure what had brought them on.

How long has it been? Two years?

She shook her head and sighed, untangling herself from the bedsheet. Her bare feet hit the cold metal of the floor and shocked her awake. She readjusted her shirt and made her way to the door. It opened on hydraulic hinges with a quiet hiss, retreating within to wall to grant her access to the rest of the ship. She quietly padded down the hall before stopping at another door. That one hissed open to reveal a refresher.

Ahsoka splashed the cool water on her face, her hands shaking.

Bodies surrounded her. She didn’t know if she was the cause of their death or someone else. But it sent pain rippling through her heart. Those were her friends.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bared her teeth, trying to fight off the memories. Even as she tried to suffocate the unwelcome images, she could hear them.

“Please,” she begged aloud, dropping her face into her hands and falling to her knees. She could feel it pressing in on her from all sides. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she tried to fight it off. “Please stop…”

Ignoring her pleas, Ahsoka felt them pressing in on her through the Force. Their voices whispered against her ears, fleeting touches caressed her arms. The sound of blaster fire assaulted her from all sides, leaving her no room to breathe. She felt her throat closing up and her eyes widened in panic. A weight settled on her chest and bore down on her. The harder she tried to fight it, the heavier it became. Her slender fingers wrapped around the invisible force on her throat, trying to stop it from suffocating her. She was choking on her own breath and had little control over it.

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out all sensations.

Deep breaths, she thought. You can do this. Anakin taught you how to control your emotions.

With her arms shaking, she forced herself to suck in a breath. She let out a sob as she forced another breath into her lungs, her chest expanding with the rapid intake of air.

You left them to die. Rex. Jesse. Kix. You deserve every ounce of suffering for that.

“No, it wasn’t my fault!” she shouted, trying to get that incessant voice to leave her alone. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place exactly who it was.

You left me, Ahsoka!

“Anakin!” she gasped.

He shimmered to life in front of her, his blue eyes glowering at her. Ahsoka didn’t want to know if it was his Force signature or simply her mind playing tricks on her. But she could feel his disapproval. Is this what you’ve been reduced to? he sneered.

Ahsoka felt her eyes will with tears and she stared at him. Or, her mind’s interpretation of him. “I…I don’t…”

Exactly. You don’t know. If you had just listened when you had the chance, you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

“No!”

Yes! You selfishly ignored the warnings you were given and lost any chance of a head start you might have had. The death of those men? That’s on your head Ahsoka!

She shook her head and let out a sob. Her arms went around her middle, hugging herself as she slid to the floor. “No…there was nothing I could have done…”

Bullshit!

“You don’t know that!”

The hell I don’t! You lost your chance because you didn’t want to listen to someone who so obviously wanted to help you!

Another sob took over her body as she collapsed, allowing herself to lose control. “It was wrong…he was a Sith…”

The voice of Anakin echoed through her head as he let out a mirthless laugh. Was he? Or was that what you told yourself to feel better about what you did?

Ahsoka continued to let her emotions roll off of her in waves. She knew Master Kenobi would tell her to curb her feelings and keep everything under control. But Anakin had taught her differently. He taught her to use her emotions.

If either of them could see what she had become, they would both be ashamed, that much she was sure of.

“It should have been me that died on that ship…” she choked out, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt flood her mind. “Why didn’t I die?”

She closed her eyes and fought back another round of tears as she tried to collect herself. She’d been replaying that night in her mind over and over again every single day for the past two years. There wasn’t a single moment that escaped her. She knew exactly why she was still alive. And she resented every minute of it.

The voices in her head wouldn’t stop assaulting her. It seemed that with every reason she was forced to hear that she shouldn’t be alive, she was forced to hear it from a different voice.

To die on that ship, your fate was. Defy the will of the Force, you have. Grave consequences, there will be. Master Yoda.

The faith that your friends placed in you was obviously placed without care. You were to face the fate of order 66. Master Windu.

You’re obviously not feeling the weight of your actions, Ahsoka. You left us. Obi Wan.

You left me to die, Ahsoka! If only you knew what was going to happen, you could have saved us. Oh, wait. You did know. Anakin.

The General is right. Your failure to act resulted in all of our deaths. Rex.

Ahsoka sobbed again as she listened to each of the voices. “You’re right!” she screamed. “I should be dead! I don’t deserve to be here!”

Her entire body shook as she let everything out. It wasn’t the first time she’d faced these types of accusations. But it was the first time that she felt they were right. That they were justified.

Exhaustion seeped through her, down to her bones, as her persecutors continued their onslaught. She slowly faded out of consciousness, allowing the black void to consume her. But as she drifted off into sweet oblivion, she could have sworn she heard a quiet echo.

Don’t listen to them, Ahsoka. You’re stronger than this. Fight them.

Before she could identify the voice, she was gone. Her mind had been sucked into nothingness, and she welcomed the silence.

~*~*~*~

“You’ve lost quite a lot of blood, Lady Tano. If I hadn’t found you when I did, I fear you wouldn’t have made it off that ship alive.”

Ahsoka groaned as she tried to sit up. Her montrals rang with an echo that was no longer there. Her head pounded as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the low levels of light that permeated the area.

“What?”

There was a sigh of exasperation somewhere to her left, and she put a hand to her forehead as she turned to look for the source of the voice. She noticed that her arms had been bandaged, and an uncomfortable pain shot through her shoulder as she moved. “Where am I?”

“Aboard my shuttle. Alive. And in one piece.”

The shadows spoke to her, and she narrowed her eyes to try and make out the form of who spoke. The voice sounded familiar.

It tsked her quietly. “I’d hate to think that I never at least made an impression on you, Lady Tano. Or, maybe you took one too many blaster shots to the head.”

There was only one person that deep voice could belong to. “Maul?”

“Obviously.”

Ahsoka sighed and tried to gather her bearings as she looked around. She found herself in a small shuttle, one that seemed barely big enough to house the two of them. She mentally took stock of her situation and quickly assessed that she had extensive injuries. She hissed when she tried to move her arm, pain shooting through her shoulder and down her back.

A quiet sigh came from him and he moved to help her. “You took quite the beating.”

“Obviously,” she said, snapping a glare in his direction. He chuckled.

“At least you haven’t lost your spirit.”

Ahsoka appraised him silently as he carefully helped her stand and orient herself. “How long…” Maul raised an eyebrow marking at her, and she shakily finished her sentence. “How long was I out of it?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment as his eyes softened. “Four days.”

Her eyes widened and her mind started to throw itself into a panic. Realizing what was about to happen, Maul set a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Lady Tano. You’re safe.”

She did as he asked, squeezing her eyes shut as she did. She couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. And not in front of Maul.

“I know this is hard,” he said softly. “You can take the time to grieve. Nothing is going to happen to you while you are in my care.”

Ahsoka looked at him with suspicion and curiosity. Why was he being kind?

As if reading her mind, he scoffed. “If I wanted to kill you, Lady Tano, I would have left you on that ship.”

~*~*~*~

Ahsoka slowly and warily opened her eyes, unsure of where she was going to find herself. But when she saw the metal grate of the floor of her ship, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. She pulled herself into a sitting position and eventually struggled to her feet. She looked at herself in the mirror, and she hardly recognized the person staring back at her.

Her face had thinned considerably. Probably because she hadn’t been taking the best care of herself. Despite her efforts, she somehow managed to stay alive. And her body was beginning to pay the price.

With a sigh, Ahsoka scrubbed a hand down her face and turned on the water. She dried her face with a towel before making her way back to her small quarters. The ship she was piloting, the Proxima, was big enough to carry her, another passenger, and some cargo. It wasn’t the fanciest vessel in the world by any means, but it did its job and got her across the galaxy. She had managed to send off a few secure subspace transmissions to Obi Wan, who she recently discovered was still alive. She’d tried to track him down, but he was good at not being found when he didn’t want to be. Ahsoka supposed that’s probably what kept him under the Empire’s radar for so long.

He had assured her that he was okay and offered his condolences when she told him that Anakin was dead. They managed to say their goodbyes properly and went their separate ways.

Ahsoka rummaged through her small storage bin, looking for some clothes that she hadn’t worn for weeks on end. She was running out of motivation to do anything, and that included her laundry.

When her comm link beeped a couple times, she paused, frowning for a moment as she looked at her wrist. Whatever the message was, it wasn’t fully translating on the portable link. She abandoned her search for clean clothes as she made her way to the cockpit. She dropped into the pilot’s chair and tapped a few buttons, waiting for the program to run the decryption and translation.

A few moments later, and a hologram of a woman appeared in front of her. She raised an eyebrow marking as she recognized her face.

“Jhas?” she muttered, frowning at the image.

“I know you might not get this for a while, Fulcrum. But I have some intel you might be interested.”

Part of the message glitched out after that, but Ahsoka widened her eyes and had to rewind it a couple times to make sure she hadn’t misheard anything.

“Come to Dantooine. There’s a small group of us here, and we need your help. Oh, and that intel? It’s about Maul.”

She sat back in her seat with a thud, eyes wide with shock.

She’d played it three times, and she knew she wasn’t hearing things.

Maul.

Maul is alive.

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[meandmyechoes]

AHSOKA’S LEKKU BIOLOGY

Part 2 on Kiros Togrutas and Comparison.

Part 3 expanding on Stripes and Stress.

Maybe this is a good time to finally write that weird post about how I IMAGINE Ahsoka’s lekku biology. (This is going to be a long photo essay with no attention to my usual level-headedness) EDIT/NOTE: Lek (singular) Lekku (plural)

I was looking into this matter all the way back in Walkabout when I noticed Ahsoka actually has two S7 models, not just outfits. The growth in her lekkus obviously signify she spent a period of time with Bo-Katan and the Nite Owls. I estimated to be 1-2 months, factoring in puberty growth spurt and the outer rim sieges. The time period is less relevant with lekku biology but more about her shifting moral compass under Bo’s influence, or the origin of her beskar armour. But that’s a story for another time.

The thesis: Are Ahsoka’s lekku, blue with white stripes or white with blue stripes? (yes the zebra question)

Before I delve into the growth patterns of her head-tails, keep in mind that the side-tails and back-tails are separate “organs”. Despite they are all connected, so are montrals and lekku.

Basically we know that montrals are hollow, and lekku soft. The lekku are much easier to observe flowing through the wind or turned upside down in the animated series. Togrutan hearing works on bone conduction relay from montrals into skulls, bypassing ear canals. But outside of naked eye observation, we don’t have a lot textual description or instrumental measures. The best ex-canon material I have with Togrutan biology is from a cursed panel of the Slaves of the Republic comic, in which Ahsoka received an unfortunate X-ray. It’s unbearable to even insert it here. Basically it tells us Ahsoka’s skeleton looks like a regular humans. There are no bones in her montrals or lekku.

Montrals & Lekku

Whether or not it’s laziness artistic liberty, montrals and lekku have no internal skeleton, but they have to support their weight as a Togruta reaches adulthood. Now meet my crustacean theory.

I’m borrowing just two features from Malacostraca for: 1) a hard exoskeleton (carapace) for Montrals and 2) a segmented body that is bilaterally symmetrical for side lekku. Think shrimps, with a segmented external shell surrounding a soft flesh. Togrutas don’t exactly have a shell but I imagine the very outside of their hollow montrals are made of something similar to keratin, like nails but without a need to trim like ivory. This could explain its rigidness and support as the montrals grew taller with age.

Montrals and Lekku grew in opposite directions, one up and one down, around a pivot that later segments. This is illustrated in the S3 model of Ahsoka as I annotated above. Togrutan women from Kiros, Shaak Ti and even Future!Ahsoka herself shows that. We will touch on Rebels!Ahsoka’s elusiveness of them later.

(photo courtesy of @skywalkersapprentice)

The numbering is weird but I’ll count from top anyway. Ahsoka’s 4th stripe grows downwards towards the lekku tip and eventually became a thinner stripe. We see the tip of the lekku are blue, and as they grow longer, so does the number of blue stripes increases. The emergence of new blue stripes led me to conclude, Ahsoka’s side-tails are white with blue stripes.

The Back-Tail/3rd Lekku

Now this reading serves me fine until S7 returns and the models have to line up with Rebels. See the annotated below.

The extra white stripe was the whistle-blower for a time skip between Walkabout and Siege of Mandalore. But it also disproved the previously established principle of lekku growth, suggesting the back-tail develops differently than the side-tails. The emergence of a single new white stripe and the shaping of the white arrow-like mark now suggest the back-tail is actually blue with white stripes, unlike the side-tails. Now I could easily attribute an in-universe reason to Togrutan puberty, hormones and genetics that caused the reverse. However it’s only realistic to recognize it as a step to bridge Adult Ahsoka in Rebels.

Bridge to Rebels!Ahsoka’s Model

(photo courtesy of @padmeamidela​)

That extra lump that causes the discrepancy in side/back tails is definitely an effort to lay foundation for the Rebels model. Rebels!Ahsoka has a much more angular back-tail, so is the arrow motif being more prominent. Future!Ahsoka has a calmer, striped back-tail instead of an angular pattern.

Comparing the teenage Ahsoka with the adult Shaak Ti, Togruta stripes do tend to thin out closer to the tips on either ends. Shaak Ti’s stripes are overall more evenly spaced than the teenager. Therefore, I think Rebels!Ahsoka’s thinner blue stripes makes sense as she reaches adulthood. They are even more evenly spaced than S7!Ahsoka’s some thick some thin pattern.

The montrals suffered the next most drastic change, in terms of TCW Future! to Rebels. I’d argue they are actually two different shapes, much like a different hair colour. TCW Adult’s montrals is arching inwards in a convergent build. Rebels!Ahsoka’s are divergent, a model fixed in the S7 version. Togruta montral/lekku morphology varies so much among individuals it’s almost impossible to cross-reference. Just looking at the Kiros population yield several unique shapes already.

The segmentation/separation of montral/lekku: I’d argue it’s there. It is the angular turn of Ahsoka’s side-tails. The segmentation was established in S3 and 4 when there were no plans for Rebels yet. The Rebels ver. is not as prominent as it was in TCW. But I’d attribute that largely to Rebels more “fluid“ art style. In Ahsoka’s case, the segmentation pivot seem to moved up the side of her face. It was by her cheek in S3-5 (the red dash line in fig.2 panel 2) but it moved to her eye level in Rebels. The moving-up can also be explained by following my own principle of side-lekku grow downwards.

Length: TCW’s Togrutas have significantly longer lekku, reaching well til their thighs. However, Rebels!Ahsoka’s barely pass her waist. This is again more an animation model thing, because the shorter lekku will give the more tightly-budgeted animators more flexibility and Ahsoka more agility. 

What causes Ahsoka’s stripes to fracture?

Frankly, this is open to headcanon. A popular one seems to be life experiences plays a factor in stripe development, kind of like how stress affects melanin production. The headcanon suggests Rebels Ahsoka’s fractured pattern a product of stress, citing the difference between it and the smooth evenness of TCW’s Future!Ahsoka’s. I personally like it but I’d also prefer it to be more fleshed out. I couldn’t really find canon/on-screen evidence to support it, but the possibility definitely exists and the implications intriguing.

[willowworkswithwords]

hello :) how about 12 for the dialogue prompts with snips & skyguy?

Anon, my sincerest of apologies for filling this so long after your request! I hit a bit of writer's block and lack of writing time, unfortunately. But I finally did it! I had a great time writing this, getting back into the groove.

Thank you for this request, Anon!!

I don't know which prompt list this one is from anymore, but my BTHB card is open!

--- or read on ao3 ---

Anakin’s heart dropped through his boots

“When? Are they critical? I’ll be there in three hours,” he said, flicking switches and yanking his ship into gear. Master Che sighed on her end of the holocall.

“Skywalker, when you get here, there’s something you need to know.”

Anakin hadn’t thought more dread could fill his body, but in that moment, he was drowning in it. He didn’t let himself look away from the controls, pushing he ship to its limit. Master Che seemed to understand that he was still listening.

“Young Ahsoka hasn’t left Obi-Wan’s side since they got here. She nearly bit the fingers off one of my padawan healers. I’m not sure how cognizant she is right now. She won’t eat and she won’t let us put in an IV. There’s nothing I can do when she’s withdrawn consent.”

Anakin closed his eyes, letting a rush of breath out through his nose, lips pressed in a thin line he knew resembled his master’s own fed-up grimace.

“You must not get angry with her, Anakin. Obi-Wan put himself in harm’s way to save her, but we lost him twice on the table and Ahsoka saw. She wouldn’t leave the room. All she believes right now is that her grandmaster is on the brink because he was saving her.”

Anakin opened his eyes and met Master Che’s.

“I’ll be there in two.”

He signed off and pushed his ship faster, praying to the Force equal parts in fear and thankfulness.

They’re alive, that’s all that matters.

---

He made it to the Temple in an hour and a half and parked the ship with the sound of sirens right behind him, but he ran into the Temple without looking back. For now the Temple Guard could deal with them.

Despite both himself and his master hating the Halls, Anakin knew how to get there from any point in the Temple, and he found himself in the entry faced with Master Che within minutes. When he was a child her towering stature was foreboding, but with age and height he’d learned she wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared.

Though she never did let him forget that she could and would stick him with hypos, any day any time. The same threat stood for Obi-Wan, and it seemed it might soon apply to Ahsoka too.

Now though, she had a grit in her eyes that Anakin knew meant trouble if the stubborn patient wasn’t dealt with soon.

“Follow me, Skywalker.”

The Halls were always busy nowadays. The war never slept and neither did healers; Master Che’s shoulders slumped, and her usual brisk pace was half a step slower than normal, which meant it had been a few shifts since she’d taken her own medical advice.

They came into the ICU, an open hall with privacy curtains half-drawn around all the beds. Anakin saw the orange of his padawan’s lek before he saw the state of his master. He felt the waves of grief and guilt from Ahsoka, confusion and pain from Obi-Wan. Anakin winced and Master Che sighed.

“We’ve given him all the painkillers we can for now,” Master Che said, slowing her walk to check around a couple curtains. “He’s been here for about thirty-six hours, and so has your padawan.”

“Thank you, Master Che,” Anakin bowed and sent her a tired smile. “I’ll so what I can for Ahsoka.”

She nodded his way, focus already resettled on another critical patient, this one with no visitors by their side. As Anakin walked away she pulled out a stool from beneath the bed and settled beside them.

Turning toward the curtained area with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, Anakin walked himself through a breathing exercise Obi-Wan had taught him years ago. Now was not the time to get angry or let his own guilt eat away at him. He needed to focus on Ahsoka so they could focus on Obi-Wan. His old master would never let him hear the end of it if Ahsoka’s health was cast to the wayside for his sake.

Anakin stepped around the curtain but Ahsoka didn’t move an inch. She was sat on the edge of the visitor’s chair, hunched over the side of Obi-Wan’s bed with his right hand tucked between both of her own, her forehead resting on top. Her eyes were closed but Anakin could still see the exhaustion, the tension threaded through her. She wasn’t asleep, but Master Che’s word rang in his mind.

I don’t know how cognizant she is right now. She’s refusing medical care.

Damn their stubborn lineage.

Anakin stepped closer to the bed. He saw her lek twitch a mere second before she whipped around, fangs bared and shoving herself in front of Obi-Wan so Anakin couldn’t see his face.

There was no recognition in her predator’s eyes.

“Ahsoka, it’s Anakin.” Anakin kept his voice slow and calm. “You’re at the Temple now, you and Obi-Wan are safe. Can I come sit by you?”

“I—n-no. No! Stay away from him. He’s not okay, he’s hurt, he’s sick,” Ahsoka said, eyes still flashing, boring into Anakin’s, fever bright.

The bandages on her lek and atop her right montral were stained with old and fresh blood.

“Alright, that’s ok. I’ll sit right here, ok? I won’t come any closer.”

Anakin held up his hands and slowly sank into a meditation pose on the floor. He made a clear show of closing his eyes and entering a light meditation. He waited, nearly holding his breath, for Ahsoka to sit back down. Her anxiety still rolled in waves, vast and deep, over Anakin and through the ICU. Her signature rattled with the jitters one only got from staying awake for far too long; she was pressing against his shields, which he let down slowly, trying to gauge the threat he posed to Obi-Wan. He let her probe, giving her as much time as she needed. She was scared and she was hurt. He’d been in her place too many times to count. He knew what kind of reassurance she needed, and it wouldn’t come from being overbearing.

But that didn’t mean every second of the wait wasn’t excruciating.

About as quickly as she’d jumped at him, her eyes finally saw him, and she slipped from her seat.

Anakin was just as quick.

He scooped her up before her head could smack against the ground, cradling it delicately to his chest, shushing her as she whimpered in his arms.

“Ahsoka, it’s alright now. I’m going to take you to our quarters, how does that sound?”

She could only nod.

Anakin stole a glance at his former master, still out cold, bacta-smeared back rising and falling. It gave him the reassurance he needed, and he turned his back before he could change his mind. He stepped quickly over to the curtain he’d last seen Master Che behind. She was still there, reading quietly to the Jedi laid out on the bed unconscious.

“Master Che, I’ve got her. I’m taking her to our quarters, she’ll rest better there. She’ll only get upset if she stays here. What do I need to do about her injuries?”

---

Anakin laid Ahsoka down on her bed, gently lowering her head and pulling her lek out of the way. He rested his mech hand on her face, hoping the cold metal would do its job.

Her face scrunched, nose wrinkling in a way that made him smile sadly.

“Mmmmph, Master?”

“I’m here, Ahsoka. Don’t try to move too much, ok?”

He went about reapplying bacta and changing her bandages, talking idly of his own mission until he was done. She was nodding off the whole time, but her eyes never stayed shut for more than a few seconds, always jerking back open and jostling her lek against the pillows, making her and Anakin both wince.

“Have you not slept this entire time, Ahsoka?” Anakin pulled the thick blanket up around her shoulders, resting his flesh hand near hers as he settled in the chair he’d pulled in when they’d first arrived.

“Master Obi-Wan needed me, I couldn’t leave him there. He hates the Halls,” Ahsoka said, voice rasping.

Anakin made a small chastising noise in the back of his throat that sent a pang through his stomach. He’d definitely picked that one up from Obi-Wan.

“He already chose to sacrifice for you, there was no use in you forsaking yourself in the face of his sacrifice, now was there, my padawan?”

His gentle tone still pricked her raw emotions and the guilt came rolling back through their bond.

“He, he almost died, Master. He almost died to save me.”

Her words came out a whisper.

“Well, he loves you very much, Ahsoka, as do I. Neither of us want you to do this to yourself.”

“Oh, but he can nearly get himself killed?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka had the sense to looked ashamed. Anakin bent down and kissed her forehead, skin still fever hot.

“Ahsoka, Obi-Wan made his decision. Now you need to let that go, to heal yourself and let me help you, so that when we go see him he can see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka grumbled but nodded her head. Her eyes were drooping.

“That doesn’t go to say that he’s off the hook, though. I’m gonna give him hell as soon as he’s better enough to sit up.”

Ahsoka giggled and Anakin knew he’d won.

“Rest now, Ahsoka. I’ll stay here until you wake, alright?”

“You’ll wake me if anything happens?”

“I promise.”

“Ok,” Ahsoka said, shifting and grabbing Anakin’s hand. He gripped it back just as tightly.

“Goodnight, Ahsoka.”

[wutroows]

the way (ahsoka tano x reader)

pairing: ahsoka tano x fem!reader warnings: mutual pining! god angst but SO MUCH FLUFF a/n: i love ahsoka so much so i knew i had to write something about her. this is super fluffy and just rly sweet overall. your master is also non binary and uses they/them pronouns!! hope you enjoy!! the reader’s species isn’t specified, but female aligned pronouns are used. requests are open! posted on november 27th, in honor of the new episode of the mandalorian! 

you knew it was wrong. 

you knew it was against the jedi code and everything you stood for, but when you met her all of the code flew out of your mind and the only thing you could think of was her. the way her eyes shown bright with determination and passion for learning, the way she carried herself with confidence and the grace and poise in the way she walked. the way she looked at you for the first time, welcoming and friendly, and the way her hand stuck out to meet yours. the way her hand felt warm, enveloping your whole body in a sense of comfort.

you knew it was wrong, but that didn’t stop you. 

her name was ahsoka tano, you learned from your master, the day you met her. it fit her well. she was beautiful. everything about her was. you were afraid your master would be able to tell that you liked her, but they never mentioned it to you. 

but you still knew it was wrong.

you knew it was wrong when you stared into her eyes as she spoke to you. you knew it was wrong whenever she playfully bumped her hip against yours. you knew it was wrong when you were jealous of that politicians son, lux bonteri.

the way she looked at him was the same as the way you looked at her. 

it made your chest tighten up and your fists clench at your sides, but you kept quiet. she never would love you, anyways. what was there to even say to her? you still would have her in your life even if she and that boy kissed, or even started dating. it would all still be the same.

except it wouldn’t.

ahsoka tano was not yours, and you understood that. you understood that when you saw her hand entwined with lux bonteri’s on onderon. you hated that, but you could never hate her for liking someone else. you never hated lux bonteri. he seemed like a genuine person, someone kind and loving. he was someone ahsoka deserved. she deserved better than you. he could offer her the life she deserved and you couldn’t.

ahsoka tano didn’t see the looks you gave her, the way your eyes would stare helplessly at her until someone would strike up a conversation with you. the way you hardly ever smiled around anyone else but her. she noticed none of it, and thought that you were just a really good friend. even after her quick romance with lux bonteri, she came to you for everything. you were her best friend, and she thought nothing more of it. 

then she left the jedi order.

it was painful to see her leave and you wouldn’t deny it, but you had to move on, and so you did. over time, your feelings for the togruta began to fade.

and then she decided to come back. 

she was taller now, montrals hanging over her shoulders and eyes still as fiery as ever. her smile was still kind and her personality still beautiful. seeing her brought back memories of the two of you, and now that you were older you realized that your feelings for ahsoka never really left. you just repressed them, pushed them into the back of your mind. 

when she was gone, you spent a lot of time with her master, anakin skywalker. he was a wreck, she was only gone because of a crime she didn’t commit and now that she was back she was no longer a jedi. 

she didn’t have to follow the code anymore, but you still did. you still couldn’t love her, no matter how much you wanted to. no matter how much your heart yearned for her, you could say nothing. you could do nothing to prove to her your love for her. 

you could remember the vivid feeling of her arms wrapped around your shoulders when you came back from a mission with your master. the mission wasn’t too dangerous, just some simple conversations with the leader of a planet the republic wanted to add to its allies, but this was how ahsoka tano greeted you every time you came back. the tips of her fingers would graze the back of your neck, and you could feel chills run up your spine. 

and then there was the way she would look at you.

she sits across from you now, lekku hanging over her shoulders and as she looks at you, you feel yourself want to disappear. she purses her lips, and takes in a deep breath. this would be the first conversation you would have alone since you were both young teenagers. “it’s been.. a long time.” you hear her mutter, and you nod. you can’t form words just yet. ahsoka stands up, and you notice how much taller she’d actually gotten. she was wasn’t taller than you as a child, but now your eyes stare at the tip of her nose. she sits down, next to you this time, and you can feel her gaze on you. 

“what’s it like?” you let out after a few moments of sitting in an awkward silence. “what’s what like?” ahsoka asks, and you finally look up at her. she’s staring right into your eyes, and you feel yourself wanting to kiss her again. “not being a jedi anymore.” you say, and she shrugs. “weird.” she says after a moment, and you nod. it’s silent again after that.

“how was he? after i left?” 

“hurting, but he was okay. he knew it was the best for you to leave.” you say. she’s talking about anakin, and from the corner of your eye you can see her nod, but only just. “and rex?” she asks. you turn to look at her again, and she looks deeply concerned. “rex was.. okay. the rest of your boys were too. they were upset, but they knew just like your master did.” 

she’s pursing her lips again, but she says nothing. “did you know?” you ask her. she looks confused, eyebrows furrowed together. “nothing.” 

“no, what? what are you asking me?” her voice is determined, and you know you’re caught. this would be it, the rejection and the embarrassment. “did you ever see how i looked at you then, ahsoka?” you mutter, just loud enough for her to hear and you can see her freeze. she almost looks like she’s buffering, but she thinks.

she did notice the way you looked at her, but she thought it was nothing. the soft glances exchanged in training as kids, and the way your touch would linger on her skin as if it were the only thing in the galaxy that she wanted. she noticed the way you would smile at her, your eyes would crinkle upwards they would sparkle the way she loved them to. 

but you never noticed the way she looked at you.

the way her eyes would always linger towards you and the way that rex would always point it out. the way that she would rest her head on the palm of her hand and admire you from the other side of a room and the way she’d be listening for your laugh. she loved the sound of it, and she loved everything about you. 

did you really feel the same way about her?

she looks at you, slack jawed and wide eyed. she’s speechless, and you stand up. you extend your hand out to her, and she takes it after a brief moment of staring at it. 

the familiar warmth of her hand in yours makes that comforting feeling explode in your chest and the way her eyes are pouring into yours makes you feel a bit dizzy, but you don’t let go of her hand. your other hand quickly finds hers, and you entwine your fingers together. 

this wasn’t with lux bonteri. this time, she was holding onto your hand. 

“and how were you..? when i left?” ahsoka manages to get out, and you sigh. “i was hurting really bad, soka. really bad.. but i pulled through. i spent a lot of time with your master after you left.. but we got through it, we knew what had to be done and you did it.”

“you’re courageous, ahsoka. you’re brave, you’re kind and you’re selfless.. and, god.. i don’t care about what the council says anymore.” you’re laughing, and she’s laughing, the two of you are pulling each other closer with every word you say. “and by the force, ahsoka tano.. i want you to be mine.” you finally say, and you can see a smile form on her face. 

“i will.” your heart feels like its about to explode as she speaks, but you wrap your arms around her neck, and she pulls you close to her by your waist. you’re chest to chest and your face is buried into her neck. she’s warm, and she’s beautiful. you don’t care if you can’t see her face, you practically have all of her features ingrained into your brain.

and now she’s yours. 

she pulls away from the hug and you can see her eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, and you start to laugh as she looks at you without any form of embarrassment showing up on her face. “what? can’t i stare at my girlfriend?” ahsoka says, and your heart speeds up at the use of the word ‘girlfriend’ coming from her mouth as she refers to you. “yeah, you can.” you say back to her.

her hands remove themselves from your hips, and they sit on your jawline. her thumbs run across your cheeks as she admires your features. you feel yourself starting to get shy as she admires you. its the way that she treats you as if you were a flower or a piece of glass, fragile, about to break in her arms if she weren’t careful enough. she holds your face in her hands and for a moment, it looks as if she were about to cry. she shakes her head, but she’s teary eyed. “what’s wrong?” you mumble, arms coming underneath hers to mirror the way she’s holding your face. the tips of your fingers trail across the white patterns across orange skin, and you feel yourself start to smile as you look at the beautiful girl in front of you. 

“i.. i’m okay.” she stutters, but she has a smile on her lips. “me too, ahsoka.. i never.. thought you liked me like this..” you mutter, and she stares at you, her face now devoid of emotion. “are you serious? i thought i was so obvious.” she states, and you start laughing again. “it definitely wasn’t!” you’re saying through laughter, and she bursts into laughter after a few moments of trying to hold it in. the sound of your laughter is music to her ears, and the smile on her face never fades as she stares at you. 

ahsoka, your ahsoka, is looking deep into your eyes, and you start laughing quietly. “why are you looking at me like that?” she rolls her eyes, “i just want to kiss my girlfriend, y/n, that’s all!” she jokes with you, but without missing a beat, you reply, “okay.” 

and she’s frozen. 

the two of you stand in each others arms, but she mutters, “really?” and you nod. you can almost feel your heartbeat pounding out of your chest as her gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips. “please, you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for this.” you say, and that’s all she needs to hear before her lips are on yours. 

you feel your breath catch in your throat, because her lips are on yours and she’s warm, and her eyes are closed and you’re standing there in shock even though you knew it was coming. you still thought this could’ve been just a huge, elaborate prank. she’s really kissing you, and you finally come to your senses. your eyes close after a moment, and you lean into her touch. this was your first kiss, and you were sharing it with the woman of your dreams. you can feel her smile against your lips, and you start to wonder what she’s thinking as her hands gently move to the back of your neck, fingertips running over the bare skin that you had been so used to before. 

the chills. 

and then she pulls away for a breath, but by the time you could say anything, she’s kissing you again. you couldn’t complain, you wouldn’t. ahsoka’s hands are warm and so are her lips, and they’re gently moving against yours. your hands gently move from her jaw to her waist where you pull her closer to you, if it were even possible, and you hear her sigh. 

she pulls away again, and you’re half expecting her to kiss you again. you wouldn’t mind, but instead her hand finds yours and she holds your entwined hands out in front of you. “i could get used to this.” she chimes, and you smile, pulling her into you again.

finally, being kicked out of the jedi order was in the back of your mind. you knew about anakin and padme being married, why would this be any different? you loved ahsoka, your girlfriend, and if you had to leave the order to be with her then so be it. 

it was the way she caresses your hand that pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“the.. council-” she says. she sounds upset, but you shake your head and put your finger over her lips before she could say anymore. “-is the least of my worries, right now. i have you here, with me. if you say the word, i’d leave the jedi order.” 

and it was the way you aren’t lying, and she can see it in the way you look at her. 

and the way your lips press to hers again. 

[anstarwar]

Another attempt at giving some backstory to the Bad Batch

Here’s Hunter

Here’s where they first meet

And below is Crosshair under the cut...with a silly quick doodle above for reference

Warnings: Mild bullying and implied death via decommissioning

Also, I wrote this last night at around 12:30am. Literally I was about to fall asleep and my mind was like “hehe HEY why do you think Crosshair doesn’t like “the regs” as he calls them.  Hey maybe write this down, not gonna let you sleep until you do ah ha ha” So...the grammar is wonky and it probably doesn’t flow well, but what can ya do?

Crosshair squinted against the brightness.  The fluorescent lights of the cafeteria illuminated row upon row of identical vod, overwhelming his senses.

He gripped his tray tighter, his keen eyes scanned the room, looking and hoping for an empty spot where he could eat alone, in peace.  He’d have to get used to it, he thought, the rest of his batch mates were...gone.

He could only guess at why. They had all been doing well.  Good scores on everything from physical endurance to marksmanship. You name it, they had all excelled yet here he was alone among them to...well, he’d rather not think about it.

What he did think about was this: it was his first time outside of his batch of clones. His first time in the general population cafeteria—the Kaminoans had kept the experimental commando batches away from what, amongst his batch, had been referred to as “the regs”—and he felt like the biggest target in the room.

Crosshair was taller and skinnier than most his age-about 8 by standard years-and his silver hair, while not singular to him, was rare enough that he felt stares as he walked down one row towards the back of the room.

As he made his way to an empty spot he felt a hand grab the back of his uniform and spin him around.

“What’s wrong with your face?” An older vod scrunched his nose at him.

Crosshair scowled “what’s wrong with yours?” He yanked himself out of the grip of the older clone and tried to continue on his way. Instead he felt himself falling, his tray flying out in front of him. Someone had tripped him.

As he lay on the floor he could hear the laughs of those around him as they got up and left, the scrapping of their trays would echo in his mind forever.

While he contemplated whether or not he should just stay on the floor for the remainder of his miserable life, soft footsteps padded up to him. His head turned to the side and he saw the edge of what he was pretty sure were Jedi robes.

Eyes widening, Crosshair jumped to attention and stared straight ahead.

“At ease cadet,” Shaak Ti smiled softly. Despite her montrals, she still managed to be slightly shorter than him. “Are you alright?” She followed.

“Ma’am I’m fine, thank you.” He replied flatly, still staring ahead, looking through her.

She studied him for a few seconds longer. “Well, please report it if it happens again. We can’t have fighting amongst the cadets.”

Crosshair nodded which seemed to satisfy her and she continued on her way. From a few rows over he could hear snorts and a mutter of “mama’s little cadet.”

He sighed, straightened up and walked towards the exit...

“...just a bunch of regs...” he thought, not for the last time.

———

On a walkway high above the crowded cafeteria Nala Se stood observing with another Kaminoan science officer.

“Another experimental unable to assimilate into the regular population,” she stated coldly. “Kada Lu, continue to observe that one. If he can’t integrate, add him to the list and deal with it.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Systems' Scourge

Chapter 2: Awaken

Yes. I am in fact continuing this when I said I wouldn't. Shhhhh.

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

Ahsoka wakes up, tense and ready for anything, well aware that she can not remember falling asleep, and certainly not in whatever this room is. She’s on her back, on a metal floor, and she can’t remember why.

It’s familiar. It’s not recent, but she’s seen dozens of rooms that look very much like this over the past eight years. Most star cruisers have this kind of room set up for commissioned officers. The details differ from one to the next, but the basic design is near identical. This one, judging by the style of ceiling hatch, is from a pre-Imperial Venator.

She sits up, rubbing at a montral; both of them feel like she’s suffered some vacuum pressure nonsense recently. It aches.

Door, clone wars standard. Desk, clone wars standard. Closet—

That was her belt. She remembered that belt. The beading had been unique, and she’d left it behind rather than wear it into battle, which meant that when the ship had exploded, the belt had been destroyed with it.

There’s burgundy fabric peaking out from the shadows. White leggings.

Sudden fear grips her, and she springs to her feet, wobbles at the way her head and montrals pound from the movement, and rushes to the en suite bathroom.

She is not seventeen.

She doesn’t look great, with the bags under her eyes and the scrape along her cheek, but she does look the right age; she is even wearing the right clothes, and decidedly does not look like the teenage girl that was wearing burgundy tunics and white leggings and that one specific belt.

This is the strangest possible relief, to not be shrunk to her teenage years, but she’s been through things like Mortis. She knows, more than anyone, that there is more possible through the Force than most people realize.

Okay. Venator from the Clone Wars, with her destroyed things in the closet. Time travel? Possibly. Investigation. No other Force Sensitive individuals aboard. Some non-sensitives. None feel hostile. They don’t know she’s here, then.

Desk. Drawers. Datapad with some old homework. She almost remembers this. Sort of. Mostly.

Her door slides open, and she’s turned with her sabers out before she’s consciously processed the movement.

Rex. He looks stricken, and—

“Why do you look young?” she asks.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and shrugs. “I don’t know?”

Great. Neither of them knows what’s going on.

“My stuff is here,” she says. “Redeemer and Defender were destroyed before I got those, but nothing of mine was on Tribunal, so… probably Resolute?”

Rex makes a face. “Probably Tribunal, actually. The General always hoped you’d make it back.”

That makes sense. It also kind of hurts.

“Let me see your head,” she says instead. “I look my age, but you look… mid-twenties? Like you did during the end of the war.”

“You think my chip might be back,” he surmises. “I already looked; the scar is there.”

“Mind if I check with the Force anyway?” she asks.

“Be my guest.” He watches as she puts her fingers to his temples, and she closes her eyes to focus.

She knows what she’s looking for. She’s never been much of healer, but she had to learn this for her own peace of mind, and for her safety whenever a new clone joined the Rebellion.

“Clear,” she tells him, and some of the tension leaves his body. She smiles, knowing just what that reassurance was worth to him. “Did you see anyone else in the halls?”

“No, but I heard other clones,” he says. “Do you think…?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “We need information first, and—do you hear that?”

Footsteps, sprinting. The door to the next room, Anakin’s room, slides open. There are several seconds of silence, during which Ahsoka reaches for her sabers again, and then the footsteps sprint to her door instead.

The door slides open.

Appo looks broken.

Ahsoka doesn’t know what to do, when he stumbles forward and lands on his knees, face flushed and wet and begging for… something.

Forgiveness. For her to be real. For an end to the hell of the past five years.

“Commander,” he whispers, and she thinks that right now, she just needs to know one thing.

She puts her hands on either side of his face, and tilts his head to the side. He lets her.

There is no surgical scar.

“Are you yourself?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and the desperation could make her cry. His hands come up to grip hers, and she shifts them to hold his lightly between them. “The emperor told us to take the temple, and General Skywalker was—he—we killed them all, Commander. The elders, the healers, the younglings. Babes in cribs. Why did—why did we do that? Why did I do that?”

“You had no choice,” she assures him, gesturing to Rex to see if he can get into the ship’s central databank and biosign sensors. They need to know how many are aboard. “There is a chip in your head, Appo. Rex knew about his, and even he could barely resist it before I got it out.”

Appo stares at her. She does not like the way he is knelt in supplication. She does not have it in her to make him stop. “A chip?”

“A chip,” she confirms. “Let’s get you to medical. I don’t know how many people are on the ship right now—not more than a few dozen, I think—and I don’t know if any are medics, but I’ve had a droid perform this surgery before, and it’s doable.”

Rex steps forward and tugs Appo to his feet. “Let��s get you down there, Commander.”

“Sergeant,” Appo says. “I’m—we got demotions, once more natborns entered the ranks.”

“Empire’s ranks are shit, Appo.”

“I don’t deserve that title,” Appo insists, and Ahsoka’s stomach lurches a little. “I don’t… I can’t. I betrayed everything, Rex, we—”

“You were betrayed,” Ahsoka snaps. “You did not do the betraying.”

Appo looks ready to cry. He looks so young compared to what she remembers, even though she knows that this is nearly identical to how he looked when she last saw him. She’s older now, though, and he should be older still, but he’s not, and that expectation runs up against reality with friction aplenty.

“…Command Sergeant,” Rex decides. “That’s what I’ll call you.”

Appo looks ready to protest, but Rex shoots him a look, and it’s enough to quell him.

“Med bay,” Ahsoka says, gently chivvying Appo to the door. “Let’s move.”

“I’ll take him,” Rex says. “You find the others.”

“You sure?”

Rex nods. “Figure out where we are, if you can. Shipwide comms announcement and a bridge visit?”

“Sound plan,” she says. She taps at her comm, and his lights up in response. “Good, that works. I’ll let you know if there’s a problem. Give me a ping if things get weird in med bay.”

He nods, and she turns, and starts sprinting.

Triage first.

Emotions can come later.

(Continue on AO3)

[sunnymiles]

febuwhump day 15

prompt 15- “run. don’t look back.”

@febuwhump

They were lost, Anakin and Rex were somewhere else in the tunnel system. Now, it was just Ahsoka and her grandmaster trying to find their escape. This was actually going fairly well, in comparison to their usual escapades.

“You think Rex is tired of Anakin yet?”

Obi-Wan gave her that haughty, disapproving look he had mastered. She knew it meant ‘I do wholeheartedly agree with you, Ahsoka, you great padawan, you. However, my title of Grand-Master does prohibit me from showing this positive affirmation to you in public.’

It was okay, she understood.

He must have picked up on some of those thoughts. The eyebrow raised in her direction seemed to indicate so.

Kriff, she needed to work on her shielding.

If Obi-Wan, ‘Gramps’ her mind lovingly supplied, could pick up on it, then surely Skyguy could.

Obi-Wan snorted his indignation at the nickname. Blast, her concentration was screwed if he was able to pick these thoughts up that easily.

They trudged through the dark for a few more moments, and Ahsoka felt his amusement at her antics. Sneaking a glance at him, only the small smirk tugging at his lips showed it. But she knew.

Might as well change the subject, remind him of his favorite target. Hers too. Anakin was just so easy to make fun of.

“Master…”

He seemed wary of her intent, and while she was flattered, this was truly a harmless question.

“You told me you would tell me about how Anakin actually got the scar.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He kept walking.

She was Anakin’s padawan, they weren’t exactly patient people.

“Well, are you going to tell me?”

Obi-Wan just hummed.

Of course. Finally, a story she actually wanted to hear, and this was how he treated it.

“Ugh, you’re enjoying this too much.” He chuckled at her impatience, but seemed to relent.

“Well, there are some who believe the lightsaber can be used for tasks other than fighting.”

She nodded. There were stories of welders in Coruscant’s underbelly who had bought lightsabers on the black market to use for their work. But what did that have to do with Anakin?

“Some like to experiment with its versatility.” There was a shine in his eyes, and she knew they were getting to the good part.

“Anakin decided to try to shave with his.”

Oh, this was what grandmasters were for.

Her cackling was echoing through the caverns. This was too good. She would have this over her master for years, she’d never let him live it down.

“This is so much better than I ever could have imagined.” Obi-Wan laughed.

“Yes well, Anakin is not known for his”-

He trailed off suddenly, and that was her only warning.

A large scarlet beast came barreling through the wall beside them. Rocks battered her skin with bruises and scrapes.

The beast though. It was the biggest thing Ahsoka had ever seen, rows of yellowing teeth snarling at them. And, was that venom?

Obi-Wan caught the thing in his force grip. His hands were outstretched, but she knew he was already fatigued from the long trek through these tunnels. The beast was massive, and was definitely pushing his abilities. She moved for her lightsabers. They could kill this one with him holding it and her stabbing it, but her montrals picked up what sounded like a stampede coming.

“Master, I-I can sense, there’s more coming! We need to get out of here.”

The animal lunged for them, clicking its jaws menacingly. Ahsoka added her own force-grip to help ward it back. Obi-Wan’s brow was beading with sweat and the rumbling of the incoming beasts was starting to increase in volume.

“Run Ahsoka, don’t look back.”

“Master, I-I’m not going to leave you!”

His arms were shaking with strain. When she released her grip, he wouldn’t be able to keep the monster at bay for long.

“Ahsoka go!”

Blue eyes pleaded with her urgently. Eyes that had guided her, loved her.

He gave her a small nod, his Force presence calming. “It’s alright little one.”

“No-No I can’t, I-I won’t.” The animals were shrieking their approach, the one in their hold writhing desperately at the sound of the call.

“You must.”

He managed to send her a strong “Go” in the force that reverberated in her mind, physically making her leave. Her vision was blurred by tears, but she still managed to catch a last glimpse of her stubborn grandmaster singlehandedly bracing for the creatures and their arrival.

Obi-Wan sent her a small smile, and she let out a sob. There were going to be too many of them- he would be overwhelmed, what was he doing-

Buying her time to get out.

Stupid, self-sacrificing Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka ran out of the cave, his command echoing through her. Go, go, go-

She didn’t turn back when she heard the creatures bust through the wall with a wail.

She didn’t turn back when his lightsaber ignited with a hiss. The normally comforting blue light gleaming forebodingly in the dark cave.

She didn’t turn back when he yelped, but her feet stumbled. The mud was slippery in her hands as she fought for purchase.

The Togrutan part of her wailed its dissent, recognizing a family member in pain. The Jedi in her respected Obi-Wan too much to disobey him.

A low groan. No, he was going to be fine-

Warm peace washed over her in the force. A familiar presence blanketed her in affectionate pride, chasing away her guilt. But that meant-

The creatures’ screech of victory prompted her legs to pump faster, her heart to race. Grief threatened to choke her.

Run, Ahsoka keep going.

So, she did.