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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Uncle Ben and Little Luke

AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go

EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry

So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.

So, here’s how it plays out:

We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.

We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.

Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.

Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.

Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.

Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.

Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.

Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.

He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.

So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???

Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.

(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)

Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.

Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.

He is not fine.

Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.

The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”

Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.

(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)

(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)

At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.

Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”

Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.

Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.

“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”

“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”

“Yes, but the gloves--”

They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.

Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...

They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.

Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.

(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)

The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.

Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.

Luke cannot get him to restart.

People are staring.

They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.

Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?

Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”

(Ben will not appreciate this.)

(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)

(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)

Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.

There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.

They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.

“How would I know? I’m six.”

They agree that this is a good excuse.

(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)

They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”

The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.

The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”

The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.

“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.

They ask Luke.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.

“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”

They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.

Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.

“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”

“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.

Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.

(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.

It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.

He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.

“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”

“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s pretty easy to explain.”

“It’s not my secret.”

“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”

“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”

This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.

“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”

“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”

“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.

“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”

“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”

“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”

Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”

After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.

(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)

#Ben Kenobi #Obi Wan Kenobi #Luke Skywalker #Qui Gon Jinn #Time Travel #De Aging #Phoenix Posts #Uncle Ben and Little Luke

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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Lost Luke Part Three

Star Wars Time Travel AU #19 (Wholesome Luke Time Travel AU) Part One . . . Part Two

One of the best things to imagine in this au is how the Skywalkers interact with Obi-Wan Kenobi because this is just before/interrupts the incidents that profoundly broke their faith in him but after he earned their unshakeable devotion (that is, to say, after he met them).

Anakin: “So you lived with your Aunt and Uncle but Obi-Wan was the one who actually raised you, right?” Luke, who has barely ever had a conversation with Old Ben: “No, I mean he seemed cool obviously but no. I mean he was around sometimes I guess...” Anakin, nodding knowingly: “Yeah, he totally raised you. He’s stealthy about that sort of thing.” Luke: ...?

Later on, as Luke is learning about the force and stuff, he starts to get a little bit more of a sense of how Ben had in fact been a feature in his life

(he’s been hired on as civilian mechanic with the 501st. Obviously this should be banned because a) that’s not a thing and b) attachment, but consider: He’s genuinely talented at everything, the Council reluctantly kind-of liked this one, Anakin pulled the slave card right when the council was at peak-slave guilt, Obi-Wan was quietly sure if they said no Anakin would quit, and also when Palpatine first heard about twin brother he went, ‘oh, worm?’ (The whole Luke vs Palpatine is a separate thing))

Pretty much everything he figures out about Ben on Tatooine is just- really sad. Like, he knew the Jedi were gone and Ben was upset about it but the Jedi are clearly Obi-Wan’s entirely family and culture oh my gods he really didn’t have anything did he.

And Luke doesn’t quite share Anakin’s conviction that Obi-Wan was on Tatooine just for him- it is in Hutt space, not a bad spot for avoiding imps. Luke was maybe a coincidence, or a bonus. Why else would he wait so long to actually introduce himself? It’s uncomfortable either way to think about this incredible Jedi Master and General fallen so low, an outcast and a drunk. But living on Tatooine for the sole purpose of being the same vague proximity as his dead friend’s son would be...yikes, pretty tragic.

The more he meditates and learns, the more he feels that something about Obi-Wan’s force-signature is familiar, but he can’t quite make it match up with his hazier pre-training memories.

It’s not until Obi-Wan is truly miserable- maybe a trooper Obi-Wan tried desperately to save dies in his arms- that Luke goes oh. Because the ozone-heavy-petrichor-aura of Obi-Wan’s grief is a lot more familiar.

The impression of Obi-Wan’s quiet sadness clung to the incredible hand carved ships Luke found on Shmi’s grave as a child, and ok that explains where those came from.

A few nights when he was young he tasted the scent on the wind, always when there rumors about Sand People Raids, and that also explained how their homestead sometimes seemed mysteriously protected, even if Owen’s irritation and anger about the fact still didn’t make sense.

One time while racing alone in begger’s canyon he had panicked at the rumble of a Krayt dragon beneath his speeder, only to nearly crash in relief when a mating call from over the ridge redirected it. He had even tried to describe the petrichor smell to his friends but everyone in town acted like he made the whole thing up, because Old Ben had even been seen leaving town around the same time and he didn’t look eaten either.

The time he most vividly remembers the force-impression was just a couple years ago, when he and Biggs were in trouble with some of Jabba goons over a complete misunderstanding- long story. Luke admitted that he might have been a little drunk- again, a total misunderstanding. He and Biggs were hiding under a filthy cantina table when they heard shouting just outside, one of the voices recognizable as a particularly sadistic enforcer. Someone entered the bar and approached the bartender to ask a question; the two tensed up in fear. Footsteps drew closer to their not-very-good hiding spot and a man sat down, inadvertently kicking Luke in the face.

Old Ben peered beneath the table, looking extremely surprised, “Luke? What in the core are you doing under there?”

Biggs shushed the drunk Hermit, desperately whispering, “Please Mr. Kenobi, Jabba’s goons are after this, you can’t let them know we’re under here.”

“Jabba’s goons?” Ben asked, sounding bewildered, “You mean those ruffians who were standing outside?”

Luke and Biggs nodded frantically.

“Oh, they left, you don’t have to worry about them.” Ben took a sip of his drink, leaning back with a smile.

The two boys exchanged a look, “Are you- are you sure? They seemed pretty mad.” Luke asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes. Apparently there was a break-in at one of Jabba’s warehouses and he’s extremely displeased at all of his servants for their failure to prevent it. I imagine whatever small quarrel they had with you will be totally forgotten in the fallout.”

The pair dragged themselves up to the bench across from Kenobi, slouching over in relief.

“Oh my gods- thank the Krayt! Let’s get out of here, Luke. See, I told you things would blow over.”

Luke punched Biggs in the shoulder, “Yeah, right. We got lucky, bantha brains.” Luke cleared his throat and addressed Old Ben directly, “Thank you- I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

At the time he had ignored the hair raising on the back of his neck, the surge of foreign mixed emotions, and the strangely familiar smell-that-wasn’t-a-smell he could never quite identify.

At 17, he was somewhat used to what his Uncle called his ‘damn bleeding heart’ and what Bigs called ‘being weird about other people.' He figured it was kind-of like how deep spacers got twitchy about crowds after spending months with just himself- he spent so much time on the farm that sometimes just being around other people was overwhelming. Plus he was a little drunk at the moment.

Ben cleared his throat, “Oh no, no need to thank me, I’m sure I had nothing to do with it.”

Biggs rolled his eyes. “...Right. Well, anyway, thanks for letting us know. Come on Luke, let’s beat it!” And they scurried out, not looking back.

Luke hesitantly tells Anakin about the almost-familiar force presence that clung to these memories and Anakin gets frustrated and sad and happy and confused because force why did Obi-Wan have to be so weird about feelings? He appreciates that he was obviously silently protecting his son for 19 years but he seriously couldn’t have talked to him? Luke quietly grieves a man he never really had the chance to know and who he’ll never fully understand while firmly attaching himself to the current Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan: Fucks sake, now they’re both clingy, what did I do to deserve this?

#star wars #my au #lost luke au #star wars au no 19 #i know i just posted part 2 of a different au so hopefully this isn't confusing #star wars fanfiction #star wars au #Luke: i guess Owen just really didnt like him #Anakin: well owen's an idiot then #Luke: HEY #Anakin: sorry sorry kidding #Luke: ...do you think maybe he noticed all the stalking and got the wrong idea #Anakin:#Anakin: obi-wan might be an idiot

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

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Idea: Cad and Irno’s daughter gets in trouble for beating up a boy because the little shit kept on trying to peek up her skirt. The headmaster calls both parents in to discuss this matter. Instead of reprimanding their daughter, Cad and Irno praise her, much to the headmaster’s dismay but he can’t really do anything about it because he is (rightfully) TERRIFIED of Cad.

not to be dramatic but i would die for this prompt because i punched a guy for telling me to suck his dick in middle school and that's basically how my parents reacted

The Bounty Hunter’s Guide to: School Administrators

Summary: In which the Little Lady gets in a little trouble. Pairing: Cad Bane x Reader Rating: General. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: None!

All things considered, Cad Bane is having a pretty good day.

He made breakfast while you got the Little Lady ready for school, then he played with the Boy for a bit before putting him down for a nap, and he's just finished going a few rounds with you under the covers.

He's quite content lounging with his head between your breasts, but then the comm on the nightstand goes off. He refuses to let you get up to get it, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight.

You squirm and wriggle, but you're no match for him. "If it's important, dey'll leave a message," he says. "Now c'mere--"

The answering machine goes off. He tries to tune it out, but he recognizes the voice.

"Hello, this is Headmaster Brahow," an older man says. He has a Core accent.

You both freeze. He raises a brow at you, but you look just as confused as he does.

Brahow continues. "I'm calling because there was an incident with Miss Mezerel at school today. Call back as soon as possible, please, so we can arrange a meeting later today or whenever is convenient for you. Thank you."

He dives for the comm at the same time you do and you smack heads.

---

Bane does not hate school as a concept nor as a location. Learning is good, and the place the Little Lady attends is bright and cheerful.

No, it's the fact that it's a "respectable" place. You made him put on his "nice" clothes and leave his blasters in the speeder. You tried to get him to leave the hat too, but he told you in no uncertain terms that he'd rather cut off his own leg.

You know the place better than he does and he lets you take the lead as you stroll inside, one arm linked with yours as the other holds the Boy. Stroking your fur coat calms him a bit.

You find the office quick enough, and the first thing he sees is the poor Little Lady sitting on a bench, looking utterly miserable. Her undereyes are puffy and tinged green. She's been crying.

Bane nearly crashes into you again as you both rush to her, but his legs are longer and he gets there first. "Hey, li'l lady," he says. The Boy trills at her, happy to see his sister.

He expects a smile. He wants a smile. She's always smiling. But instead he gets a sad, scared look that he hates. He never wants to see that look again.

"Hi, Daddy," she murmurs, voice quivering. She avoids his gaze, instead looking at her feet.

"What happened, donnina?" you ask, crouching beside her.

She blinks at you, then lets out a little whimper. She shrinks into her shoulders, trying to look as small as possible. She pulls her headwrap over her eyes in an attempt to hide.

Rage fills him. There better be a damn good reason she's cowering like this.

A door opens, and a portly Human steps out. "Mr. and Mrs. Hud?"

He blinks, then remembers the alias he uses on this planet. Baniss Hud. Handsome hunter. He thinks it's stupid. You think it's hilarious.

The Little Lady flinches as she sees Brahow. Bane decides not to like this man. "Dat's us, yeah," he says.

Brahow gestures for everyone to enter. He hands off the Boy to you, and he gently herds the Little Lady along. She clings to his pant leg, trying and failing to hide herself even more.

The office is decently sized, filled with knickknacks and tchotchke from a long career in education. You sit in one chair and he takes the other, guiding the Little Lady to stand by him, resting one hand on her shoulder.

Brahow sits behind the desk. "Has she said anything about what happened?"

You shake your head. "We only just got here."

Brahow nods. "During recess, she assaulted another student."

Bane's brows shoot up. That's not like her at all.

Your eyes go wide and a manicured hand goes to your mouth. "What happened?"

"I have an idea, but she's refused to say a word about the incident," Brahow replies.

Not giving a statement until your lawyers get here. Smart girl.

The Little Lady lets out another whimper and tries to slink over to her momma. He tightens his grip on her -- not enough to hurt, but a firm 'stay put' squeeze.

"Tell us what happened," he says gently.

The Little Lady shuffles her feet. She looks at him with pleading eyes, but he doesn't waver. She takes a deep breath. "Wurt kept flippin' up my skirt an' I told him to stop but he wouldn't so I told Miss Bhimi an' she tol' him to stop but he didn't an'... an'... an'...!"

The poor little girl bursts into tears, yanking her headwrap over her eyes. Hard sobs rack her little body.

Bane turns in his chair to pull the girl closer. "Keep goin'."

Between hiccups, she manages to get the rest out. "An'... An' he tried it again, so I..." She swallows thickly. "...so I shoved him off the monkey bars an' started hittin' him an'...!"

She devolves into sobs again. He places his hand on her head and gently rubs his palm along the crown, trying to soothe the poor girl.

He has some choice words for this guy -- making a little girl feel horrible for defending herself -- but you beat him to it.

"I don't see the problem here," you sniff. "She did nothing wrong."

Brahow is taken aback by this. "She assaulted another student. The boy had to get stitches--"

Bane huffs a laugh. "Good! Li'l shit got a lesson in consequences." He pulls away from his girl to adjust her headwrap. "Quit yer cryin', girl. You ain't in trouble."

The waterworks stop immediately. "I'm not?" she asks, eyes wide.

You shift the Boy to your other arm to pat her shoulder. "Of course not," you say. You give Brahow a pointed look. "Isn't that right?"

The man gawks at you. "Absolutely not!" he exclaims. "She assaulted another student! That is unacceptable behavior!"

Bane sneers. "An' flippin' up skirts is?" He crosses his arms. "I was a li'l punk an' even I knew I'd get smacked if I tried dat."

Brahow appears to be turning slightly purple. He stares at him, then turns back to you. "Mrs. Hud, please be reasonable--"

"I am," you say simply. "She told him to stop and he didn't. She got a teacher involved and that didn't do anything. So she put a permanent stop to it. Seems completely reasonable."

Brahow swallows. Bane can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. "R-Regardless of disciplinary actions at home, she'll still have this on her permanent record," he says, "as well as an in-house suspension."

That first part sounds bad, but he has no idea what the second one is. But based on the way the Little Lady slumps, it's nothing good.

Purely on instinct, Bane lets out a warning hiss. "No, she won't."

He stands slowly, drawing himself up to his full height. The Little Lady cowers a bit, but you look on approvingly. The color in Brahow's cheeks drain.

"Here's what's going to happen," Bane says slowly. "First, you're going to remove dis li'l incident from my girl's record. Then we take 'er home fer the day. An' once we're gone, ya call dat punk's parents in for a li'l sit down just like dis one. Figure out an appropriate punishment. Understand?"

Brahow blinks. "If you think you can threaten me, Mr. Hud--"

"Den I'd be correct." He turns to you and the Little Lady. "Let's go."

You nod and stand. "Make it happen, Mr. Brahow," you say simply. "Come along, donnina."

He doesn't look back, but he can feel Brahow's shock radiating off of him. He hears him activate his comm. "Mr. Tigo, p-please contact Wurt Vaster's p-parents..."

---

"Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

#thanks for the ask!#emberly speaks #dad bane #cad bane #cad bane x oc #cad bane x reader #catch us if you can #99 problems #irno favara #reader insert #x reader #x oc #emberly writes

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shadowhunterlegend · 3 years

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The Theft's Captive: A Star Wars Story

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Please note: This is the first time I'm posting some of my writing online. Let me know what yall think :D

When Carly, a smuggler dealing in information, gets captured by the First Order, she has no way to escape. After months of compliance she has gained some of General Hux's trust, giving her some freedom on Starkiller base.

Warning or triggers: Mentions of heart/medical conditions that cause episodes

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Pride swelled in her chest as she reached the entrance to the base before the Captain. She had been surprised when her request had been approved to take the speeders out for a spell, she was a prisoner on Starkiller base after all. Finally she would get some fresh air. Her cooperation had definitely made a difference.

She made a sharp turn at the entrance before bringing the speeder to a hault. Even though the icy wind cut through her during the excursion, she couldn't be any warmer. She pulled off her helmet revealing the proud grin on her face. She was glowing despite the cloud cover and snow, a result of the thin layer of sweat she had built up.

The thrill of the race mixed with the pride of winning caused her heart to race at an alarmingly elevated rate. She ignored the beeping of her wristband that she had been instructed to wear, ever since her last adrenaline episode. Her zombie-like state with the addition of her somehow escaping her cell alarmed General Hux and Captain Phasma especially. If Ren saw her in such a state or out of her cell, after numerous guard rotations and extra security measures, he would be the one to blow a gasket this time around. No, the wristband was a wise decision with little to no protest on Carly's part.

Her heart pounded in her chest and pulsated in her eardrums. This was exhilarating! She beamed when the captain arrived shortly after. "I told you I wasn't planning an escape," Carly jested. Her statement caused Phasma to chuckle. "I should have taken your word for it."

They both dismounted their speeders with Carly practically bouncing with every step. Her pupils had already dilated from the excessive adrenaline her body created. Her skin was tinged with a pink tone caused by her rising heat level along with the adrenaline. Phasma failed to notice these factors but the beeping caught her attention almost immediately, which was still unbeknownst to Carly. "How amazing was that? And in the snow no less. I guarentee that I would have hit a tree if it weren't for the handling on these bad boys," she chirped before she noticed Phasma's attention focused on her wrist. "What is it?" She asked but before Phasma could reply the medic and scientist from before burst into the hanger, sprinting the whole way, syringe and medkit in hand. The heart band wouldn't be successful without their help. Carly's glowing eyes and bright face beamed even brighter once the two entered the hanger. "I didn't expect to see you two again so soon. You must have heard about my outing with the captain. Wait, how did you know-" she was cut off by the medic taking hold of her wrist in order to turn Carly's arm over and inject the syringe. The scientist focused his effort on using an additional heart monitor and data pad to check her vitals and compare it to the wristband's readings. The both of them were panic stricken. Their breathing still hadn't evened out after their run from the medbay, most likely. "What are you two doing?" Carly questioned. However, the question fell on deaf ears as both ocupiced themselves with her wellbeing. "You two responded quickly," Phasma noted, almost as if wanting them to explain their quick actions. "Captain, we apologize for not greeting you sooner. We responded as soon as the data pad sent out its warning," the scientist replied, still testing the readings to see if the device hadn't malfunctioned. "Ms Johnson, we are on orders to escort you to the medbay at once," the medic hastily interjected. "But why?" Another question that wouldn't be answered as the medic shined a small flashlight into Carly's eyes. "On whose orders? I was to supervise her," Phasma questioned, suddenly suspicious of the timing. The pair looked at one another before replying in unison, "General Hux, Captain."

Phasma nodded. "Very well. I will escort you to the medbay," Phasma spoke to Carly. Carly only blinked in response especially after she had the small flashlight half blinded her. The medic spoke up once more while leading Carly by the arm, "Ms Johnson, it would be best to refrain from walking too fast. We don't want you getting worked up any further."

"Worked up?" Her face was etched into confusion, "Are you kidding? That was a blast! I can't remember the last time I took a ride on a speeder!

And why are we going to the medbay? I feel fantastic." Her words spilled from her mouth a mile a minute as her adrenaline levels spiked even further from remembering the exciting experience. The panic in the medic and scientist's eyes grew as the wristband beeped louder and faster. Phasma tried her best to take control of the situation by egging Carly on to walk toward the medbay, which was working, only for a short while unfortunately. Both the medic and scientist stayed on either side of Carly, the medic tightly grasping the medkit and the scientist with his eyes focused on the data pad. Phasma instructed Carly to focus on breathing rather than rambling on. They all strutted through the corridors of the base with small clusters of stormtroopers moving aside when they noticed the frantic specialists and especially their captain. They would give her a curt nod or a simple "Captain" as they proceeded to move out of the way.

Carly's brain ran a mile a minute. Keeping quiet helped with the breathing, however, the amount of thoughts racing through her mind made her head spin. The addition of the adrenaline made her feel sick to her stomach and only caused her body temperature to spike further. The medic and scientist gave each other a weary look. It's as if they had a brief telepathic conversation before the medic declared, "Let's take a rest. You should sit down over here, Ms Johnson. Edwin will bring you a wheelchair to take you the rest of the way." She helped Carly move over to a bench in the corridor while Edwin had already rushed off to get the wheelchair. "That's it. Nice and easy now," the medic soothed as she assisted Carly in sitting down. Carly gave a delirious nod before resting her head back on the metal wall behind her. "Will she be alright?" Phasma asked, an underlying tone of concern and slight panic evident in her words. The medic crouched down next to Carly, opening her medkit to retrieve another syringe. "The sooner we get her to the medbay the better, Captain. I can't be certain right now if she will be alright. Could you please help me remove her jacket?" The medic's honesty surprised Phasma. Phasma sat next to Carly, leaning her forward slightly in order to free her arms from the sleeves. Carly's head ragdolled forward over the captain's shoulder in her delirious state. "Why remove her jacket now? The last syringe you put in her wrist," Phasma observed. The more answers the better in the event that she would have to fill out an incident report. The medic signed and explained, "She's starting to overheat. Notice how the veins are becoming more prominent and her skin is turning red. The jacket could also make her feel restricted and, in her current state, the panic will only make the situation worse. A sedative will at least bring down her heart rate."

"Won't that effect her medication you gave a short while back?" After successfully removing the jacket, Carly was placed against the wall again. The medic administered the injection. This in combination with the cooler surroundings caused Carly to let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Captain. No, luckily it won't cause any issues. Ms Johnson here already explained what can and can't be used in different situations."

Just after the process had been completed, Edwin came around the corner, wheelchair at the ready. "Edwin, what are her readings?" The medic questioned immediately.

Edwin took out his data pad scanning over the new information. "I don't know what the hell you did but her heart rating is slowly stabilizing," Edwin replied, giving off a sigh after his frantic sprint down the corridors. The medic was relieved at the news.

"Let's get you into the chair," Phasma said to the sweating mess sitting next to her. "Did you hear me?" Carly ran a shaky hand over her face, blinking a few times before nodding in response. Getting her up and into the wheelchair proved quick and painless, thankfully, which made the rest of the journey to the medbay easier.

#star wars #kylo ren #general hux #captain phasma #starkiller base #first order

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intergalactic-padawan · 3 years

Text

Princess,

First of all, I would like to state that I'm NOT jealous of Chopper, as you tried to imply in your reply (Wow, that rhymed! If the whole jedi business doesn't work maybe I can try out for poetry?)

Anyway, I know you could never like him more than you like me. How do I know? Well, chopper just doesn't give you the best cuddles in the whole galaxy like I do! And good luck trying to deny it, princess, I heard you whispering it one time when you were falling asleep ;)

And, speaking of falling asleep, I hope you're not sacrificing your hours of rest for work anymore, or at least not so much - You know more than anyone how things can go wrong when you're sleep deprived. I know you wouldn't want another incident like the one with Commander Sato's cup of caf to happen again, so just remember not to overwork yourself, ok? You're doing your best, and that will always be enough.

I also realized that my fear of getting murdered by Chop stopped me from finishing my list of things we can do together, but when you sent me some of your ideas too, I was so excited! Of course I would love to take you to explore the rest of Lothal! I remember I used to play a lot in those fields when I was younger, so you better be prepared for the best picnic of your life. And, before you ask, I'm not so sure we can find meilooruns there; They're an import product, and boy do I have a funny story with Zeb about that...

So, maybe you can bring something back from your own planet? You've always loved comparing me to a blueberry, so I think it's the perfect chance to see how well they really match my hair color. We'll just have to watch out for the loth-cats though, they can be very sneaky when trying to steal food.

And then, since we would already be out in the open, I would take you to train (outside this time, we've learned our lesson from all of Kanan's lectures). I bet you forgot what I said about getting him on board with my plan to see which one of us has gotten better with a lightsaber too, but AHA! I didn't :)

You also mentioned going for a ride, and maybe if Hera's in a good mood we can take a speeder, since the magic carpets you talked about aren't really something we just have lying around. I heard one of the wookies get called a "big walking carpet" the other day, but I doubt they woud be willing to play that role, and having a third wheel around isn't really in my plans.

Love you very much (and so does the rest of the crew), Ezra

#ezra bridger #ezra bridger x reader #ezra bridger x y/n #ezra letter #ezra x you #rebels #rebels x reader #star wars

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

Text

Jealousy 3/?

Wolffe x reader / Crosshair x reader

Patching them up in the small medical tent was awkward. What was more awkward was that in the time it took the crew to set up said tent, they’d brawled twice more, until you’d threatened to use binders on the both of them if they didn't settle down. Crosshair had broken Wolffe's nose and you were pretty sure Wolffe had bruised Cross’s ribs. Both of them were worse for wear.

“Sorry, sorry!” you apologized profusely as you reset the commanders nose, cradling his head in your hands as he grunted in pain. Rubbing small circles by his temples, in hopes it would help somehow.

“Am I still handsome?” Wolffe asked, holding himself up with his hands on the table behind his back. And flashing you a smile that had definitely caused trouble in the past. Subconsciously you trailed your hands down to his jaw. Pretending you were still looking at his nose. But really just staring into his eyes.

“Bold of you to assume you were handsome to start off with, commander.” You told him, trying so hard not to lick your lips while you eyed his. He hummed at you, whether it was from the sass or the hold on his face that he was now leaning into, you couldn't be sure.

“Darling you wound me.” he mumbled up at you, giving you his best puppy eyes. You Stepped away from him quickly righting yourself and remembering the fact that you had another patient sitting a few paces away from you.

“Actually I fix the wounds wolffe. Remember that the next time you decide to attack one of your vod.” Crosshair chuckled, followed by a wince. Gently you lay him down on a cot and start to cut away his shirt. They both watch your concentration as you run your gloved hands across his chest, emotionless, your face still looks stunning. And for once the two of them aren't arguing with the other.

“I think they’re just bruised, a couple of bacta strips and you’ll be good as new.” You tell him firmly. Turning to your case and pulling the precious bacta.

“So you’re not gunna kiss it better?” Cross teases, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Too much bruising to kiss better.” You tell him applying the first strip.

“Kiss it more than once then.” He insisted, smirking at you while you applied the last strips and run your hands over all them again, checking for lumps or air bubbles. and you’re definitely not doing it because you like the way his muscles feel under your hands. Crosshair goes to sit up, but you gently push him back.

“While I Have you both here, I want to mention something.” You say softly trying not to sound as angry as you are. You make the excuse of fiddling with your supplies so you don't have to look them in the eye.

“Get into another brawl over something stupid again, you can patch yourselves up.” you tell them sternly, pausing to let things sink in. “get into a fight about anything to do with me.” You snap, anger coming through your calm face. “And I won't even supply you with the items to patch yourselves up. I’m not wasting bacta or stim shots on either of you because you're both so hot-headed you can’t keep it together. Got it?” You get a mumbled ‘yes’ from each of them and an even more mumbled apology. You turn to leave the medical tent without another world.

You find Sinker and Tech playing the game you taught them on the ship, and Wrecker and Warthog are already drinking something you guess isn't water. You join them around the fire they have set up in the little clearing you’re calling home for the night.

“Those di'kut’s okay?” Hunter asks sitting next to you on the ground, where you're planted yourself. He hands you a drink of some sort. And not caring what it is you accept.

“Yeah they’ll be fine.” You sigh. “I just really need them to pull it together.”

“They will.” Hunter says with a confidence that erases your anxiety.

“Meds!” Sinker calls dragging his chair closer to you and prompting Tech to follow him. Soon Warthog and wrecker follow suit. And Boost emerges from the woods holding on to an old piece from some kind of speeder. You asume with all this trash around here hopefully he’d stay out of trouble.

“Tell us an academy story!” Sinker says with a big smile, and you know now that he’s mentioned it the boys will never let it go. You sigh with a smile.

“Okay, okay.” Boost and Sinker whoop in happiness. Hunter looks at you suspiciously.

“I thought you were a perfect student.” He says squinting at you.

“I was!” You defend yourself, “there were just a couple of incidents that were less than according to regulation.” and you launch into a story about the time in med school when you had to stitch yourself up because the scalpel had slipped and cut your hand. But you didn't want the instructor to notice and stop your examination so you just sewed it up discreetly and kept going. Leaking Small amounts of blood onto the floor and only being able to use one hand for the entire racial exam. Which thankfully, was performed on a dummy. Getting so lost in your story you don't notice the two clones (who look nothing alike) standing outside of the medical tent staring longingly at you.

“Crosshair.” Wolffe grits out.

“Wolffe.” Crosshair responds, looking at him.

“Whatever happens, between either of us, or the battle, she stays outta it.” It’s a statement Wolffe gives, not a question.

“We keep her safe. All costs.” Crosshair affirms.

“All costs.” Wolffe sticks his hand out, knuckles still bloody from the right earlier. And Hunter turns around just in time to see Crosshair shake it.

taglist: @persaloodles @peacefulwizardfox @haloangel391 @mangoberry43 @the-silentium

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evabellasworld · 2 years

Text

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 32

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

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Summary: When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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“You still worked up about what happened in Palpatine’s penthouse?” Tori asked Dipper, who was focused towards his palms.

“I have a bad feeling that we were being watched,” Dipper shared his feelings, licking his dry lips. “Though I can’t tell how long they know about our plans earlier?”

“How can you say that we were being watched?” Commander Fox questioned him, one of his eyebrows raised.

The ARC Trooper shrugged, crossing his arms. “Intuition, I suppose.”

Riyo hummed to herself as she pondered on what he mentioned, recalling what she experienced at the penthouse. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with listening to your gut feeling. After all, they’re always proven right in the end.”

“They do?” Tori’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?’“

“Yeah, my mother always tells me to trust my guts, even when they never seem right. The best-case scenario, you’ll always be spared from danger.”

“Well, your mother is right, Ri. If only I’ve done that on Coruscant years ago.”

“What about Coruscant?” Tori wondered, her elbows leaning against the speeder. “What happened that made you want to trust your gut feelings, Foxy?”

“Remember the time where Coruscant lost power suddenly?”

“What about it?”

“Before the incident happened, I was guarding the power generator, as usual, when a few cleaning droids were entering the checkpoint. As usual, I identified them and I admitted them inside, thinking they were just there to clean up. But when they were about to head towards their business, I noticed something a bit off, something I could never put my finger on. But somehow, I ignored it and dismissed it as another mistake when a blackout happened. Then, it occurred to me that Separatist droids were sabotaging the electricity and that I ignored the red flags right in front of me. Stupid, isn’t it?”

Riyo placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “It’s not your fault. You did your best in protecting us back then, and I appreciated you and your sibling’s efforts to calm everyone.”

“Still though, if I’ve just listened to my guts like your mother, none of that would have happened. Coruscant wouldn’t have experienced a blackout and everyone else would be safe and sound.”

Dipper leaned against his seat, intrigued by the case. “I wonder why the Separatist attacked the power generator in the first place? I mean, what would they gain from that?”

“I’m not sure. It could be intimidation by the enemy.”

“That’s a weak motive, Commander. There has to be a concrete reason they disrupt electricity on that day. I mean, if they want to intimidate us, they could have just killed the top-ranking generals or even massacre an entire village or something.”

Tori squinted her eyes at his answer, feeling goosebumps when she heard about committing a genocide on innocent people. Perhaps Dipper has gotten too deep about something that has occurred in the past, though it makes sense. Why did the Separatists only sabotage the power generator in the first place?

“Riyo, on that day itself, what was being discussed in the Senate? Could you remember anything about it?”

“It was something about ending a war diplomatically,” she recalled, her head tilted upwards towards the afternoon sky. “Though I can’t remember the rest of the details, unfortunately. You’ll have to ask Padmé about that, since she was the one who brought it up in the first place.”

“We’ll do that when we get back,” Fox reminded himself, his eyes on the road. “Now, we’ll have to put that aside and discuss our findings about the Chancellor’s death. Riyo, what have you found so far?”

Riyo took a deep breath as her hands were clasped together before breaking the news to him. “It’s shocking, but someone killed the Chancellor using cyanide.”

Tori gasped at the news, her hand on her chest. “Holy shit, that is shocking? How did that happen? Who poisoned him?”

“From what Dipper and I theorised, someone gave something to the Chancellor to eat and that certain food was laced with cyanide, causing him to die in his residence before he was discovered by one of his servants.”

“Well, I’m surprised,” Fox expressed, wondering why he never gotten that far in the investigations earlier. “Do you know the suspect responsible for this mess?”

The ARC Trooper scrambled through the files as he searched for the list of suspects involved in Chancellor Palpatine’s death. As he found two documents that the Marshall Commander wanted, Dipper could only blink as he froze in his seat, wondering if he should tell them.

There were two suspects involved in the murder. One was a stranger to him, but the other one was familiar. Tori knows who the second suspect well, and she will be disheartened to learn the truth. But the truth was harsh, and he had to tell them everything.

“Who was it, Dipper?” Tori shook his hands gently.

Dipper took a deep breath and dropped the truth bomb. “There were two suspects that were identified by the ISB.”

“Who is it?” Riyo leaned forward, ready to listen.

“The first suspect is Maul. He was a Sith lord who was believed to have died decades ago, before the Clone Wars, of course.”

“So he’s Separatist?” Fox guessed.

He shook his head. “No, Maul is part of Death Watch, which is a terrorist group from Mandalore.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, though what were Maul’s motives to kill the Chancellor, anyway? Why go after him?”

“I’m not so sure. Maul is still being investigated by the ISB.”

“Bummer,” Tori sighed, resting her cheeks. “What about the second suspect? Anything about them?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Commander, but you know this person well,” Dipper’s voice rocked. “You’re not gonna take this well.”

Her heart raced as she did her best not to feed her paranoia. “Who was it? We need to know the truth if we’re going to solve this problem.”

“Okay then,” Dipper quivered. “It’s Vanya Doyvesky. She was the second suspect in the Chancellor’s murder.”

Placing her hands over her mouth, Tori stared at Dipper for a moment. He was not joking when he warned her she wouldn't take it well. She was a mother figure towards Lira and Eva, and a close friend to General Kenobi. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Vanya Doyvesky is the second suspect in the Chancellor’s murder.”

“I heard that for the first time, Dip,” she hissed. “This can’t be true.”

“That what it says there,” Dipper handed her the files, letting her look through just to prove that he wasn’t pulling her legs.

Glancing at the photograph, the commander couldn’t utter a single word. The last she saw her, Vanya was mourning for the loss of Lira and Eva, who were presumed dead after disappearing from the Temple for over 24 hours. The fact that Vanya had committed an atrocious deed didn’t sit well with her. “Please tell me that Vanya is still being investigated. I know her well. She would never do such a thing! Never!”

“I’m sorry, commander, but the paper said that it was confirmed. Vanya murdered Chancellor Palpatine on that fateful night.”

Fox hesitated, his fingers fidgeting on the steering. “I call bullshit on this. I know the ISB set her up. There’s no way that General Doyvesky killed the Chancellor at all.”

Riyo kept quiet the whole time. She doesn’t know what to say at all. Dipper didn’t want to believe it either, but a Jedi murdering the Chancellor makes sense to him. Tori turned away from him as she gazed at the clouds above her, which were floating in the blue sky. Did Vanya actually kill him?

As they arrived at their destination, the four of them got out from the speeders, not speaking with each other. Riyo and Fox held each other’s hands while Tori carried the files, with Dipper walking next to her. For now, she’ll have to worry about Frieda, who was with Padmé .

Stepping inside the Naboo senator’s apartment, Commander Fox and the others were surrounded by a group of armoured soldiers, with blasters pointed at them. “Freeze, Republic scum!”

“What the fuck?” Fox cussed, raising his hands. “Who are you people?”

“Talk or we’ll shoot,” they barked, leading them towards the living room. Padmé was huddled in a corner with Frieda, who was sobbing uncontrollably the whole time. Tori was about to rush towards her daughter, only to be stopped by those stormtroopers, whose armour was similar to clone armour.

Before she could demand what was going on, Agent Lenora Doherty stepped out from Padmé’s bedroom, her hands guarded. She examined Padmé and Frieda’s facial expression for a brief second, before marching towards the four of them, starting with Riyo Chuchi.

“So, you must be our former senator of Pantora,” she gleamed with a sickening sweet smile. “What an honour to meet you at last. I must say, you are one of the honest politicians, besides Senator Amidala here.”

“I could say the same for you,” Riyo rolled her eyes. “You must be an ISB agent that Senator Amidala was referring to.”

“So you heard of me?” Lenora clapped her hands. “You are smart. It’s no wonder you were chosen to represent your planet, before you betrayed us, of course.”

“I’m loyal to the Republic, not the Empire.”

“Of course you are. And you must be CC-1010, the mastermind behind all of this.”

“It’s Commander Fox to you, agent,” Fox corrected her. “And from what I can tell, you seemed worse than Agent Starros.”

“You dare compare me to that sloppy woman?” she gasped dramatically. “Commander, I am more likeable than that disgraced sociopath and yet you said I’m like her? How cruel of you.”

“Whatever, bitch,” Tori swore at her. “Just give me back my little girl, please.”

“You’re a terrible mother, CC-6231. Saying a bad word right in front of your daughter? It’s no wonder that brat cries too much.”

The commander stepped forward towards the agent, ignoring the stormtrooper’s blasters at her. “No one calls my daughter a brat, you fucking son of a b-”

“And I’ll be taking these back with me, thank you,” she said, snatching the files from Tori’s arms. “I can’t believe I actually caught all of you in a trap. I didn’t think you guys would fall for it, you know. I always thought Senator Amidala was intelligent enough to not steal these files until today.”

Fox smacked his palms against his forehead, realizing the worst situation he had to encounter on Coruscant. “I should have known this was all a set-up. Fuck, I’m better than this.”

“I’m so sorry, guys,” Padmé apologizes, rubbing Frieda’s back. “I shouldn’t have asked all of you to get involved in the first place.”

“How cliché,” Lenora groaned, looking at her nails. “Escort all of them to their cells, along with the senator and that crying brat.”

As the stormtroopers were dragging them out of the apartment, Dipper turned towards Lenora, who was watching them like a hawk. “Were you the one who sabotaged us while we were at the Chancellor’s penthouse?”

Lenora only grinned like a Cheshire cat at him, confirming his suspicions. “See you soon, handsome.”

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skysolorights · 3 years

Text

See The Stars

word count: 2.2k

summary: There was a moment of silence, and he could hear Luke take a few shaky breaths.

“Han?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“I think I’m falling asleep.”

warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, it gets really sad (oops), didn’t really beta read this so uhhh it could be very bad who knows

read it on ao3 instead

“Hey, Han? You got a moment?”

“Yeah, what’s up kid?” Han asked, smiling as Luke blushed at the nickname.

“I just wanted to see you,” the younger man responded, entering the room fully and flopping onto the bed in the corner of the room. Han got up to sit next to him, a warm feeling flooding his chest as Luke leaned his head down onto his shoulder.

“So,” Han said, looking down at him. “What do you have lined up today?”

Luke furrowed his brows momentarily.

“Not much,” he responded quietly, picking his head up from Han’s shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. “Just-” he paused, clearing his throat. “-just a supply run. I’ll be gone for a little bit, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

“Alright. I’ve got a few things to do in comms this afternoon, but after that, I’m free--would you want to, I don’t know...take some speeders out to the forest? There’s a full moon tonight, so it won’t be too dark.” Because that totally isn’t a date, Han scolded himself silently. Luke smiled softly, breathing in slowly.

“Yeah...yeah, I’d like that,” he said, finally locking eyes with the smuggler. “Han…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t...Just…” he paused momentarily, inhaling slowly. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Okay, kid,” Han laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re acting weird, is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” The Jedi smiled, tracing his eyes over the bend of Han’s nose, the way his eyelashes curled upwards, the gentle shape of his browbone, and how it blended with the soft lids of his eyes. Memorizing every little curve and crevice. “Everything’s okay.”

The two of them stayed like that for a while, just taking each other in. Luke smiled, pressing his lips tightly together. If Han knew better, he’d say he was trying not to cry.

“I should probably get going,” the younger man said quietly. “I’ve got a couple others waiting for me, wouldn’t want to hold them up.”

“Okay,” Han said, smiling. “Be careful, okay?’

Suddenly, the pilot was hugging him, his arms wrapped around his torso, so tight it was as if he’d never let go.

“...Kid?” He whispered, but Luke shook his head vigorously. Han slowly embraced him in return, resting his chin atop the younger man’s head. He could feel Luke’s hands shaking, and concern clouded his mind. “Hey,” he said firmly, leaning back and gently taking the Jedit by the shoulders. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me when you get back. It’ll be alright. I swear."

Luke nodded, smiling. “Right.”

“Sounds good,” Han said, grinning. He clapped the pilot on the shoulder, standing up and walking to the door with him. Luke turned to go but glanced back at him one more time.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m out.”

“You know that I will,” Han smirked, and Luke laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, I do…” he glanced down at the floor, smiling slightly. “Bye, Han.”

“Bye, Kid. See you tonight.”

Luke just smiled, taking Han’s hand briefly before dropping it and retreating down the hallway.

The smuggler glanced down. He could still feel the warmth of Luke’s palm in his. He felt his face flush red and cleared his throat before sitting back down at his desk and fiddling with an old hologram projector to pass the time until his next meeting.

***

Han glanced up from his datapad as the comm unit on his desk buzzed. Flipping it over to reveal the screen, he read the message displayed on its surface.

Communications. Now. Emergency.

It was from one of the technicians he had talked to earlier, Jen. He plucked his jacket off the back of his chair and made his way down the crowded halls to Communications, narrowly dodging a frantic nurse dashing towards medbay. He entered the room and his heart halted in its tracks as he saw Leia and several others clustered around a display.

“What…”

“Han,” Leia murmured, steering him away from the group momentarily. “There’s been...an incident.” He clenched his jaw. “He didn’t tell me,” she continued, closing her eyes momentarily. “That he wasn’t just going on a supply run.”

“ No,” Han said quietly.

“He went to Corellia to look into a lead about a missing pilot,” she sighed, and the smuggler’s hands shook. “There was…a run-in with some stormtroopers.”

“ No,” Han repeated, more a plea than anything else.

“We’ve...we’ve got him on the line, but something’s wrong--he’s not talking much, just-” Han pushed her aside, striding quickly over to the console and snatching a headset off the table. “Han-”

“Kid, can you hear me?”

Silence.

Han’s throat started to constrict.

“Kid, please,” he said, voice straining.

“Hey, Han,” came the muffled response. His voice. Luke’s voice.

“Kid,” Han breathed, relief budding in his chest. “Are you okay?”

“It’s cold here,” Luke responded. Han could hear the quiver in his voice.

“What do you mean it’s cold, it’s the middle of summer th-” Han could see Leia’s head snap up in his peripheral vision, and nearly dropped the headset, thinking back to the brief medical training he’d had when he was younger.

One of the most prevalent symptoms of blood loss is an absence of heat in the extremities.

“Luke, have you been--have you been hit?"

“I think so...it hurts, Han, they had these weird slugthrowers, and I-” he trails off, and Han can hear a clatter as Luke drops the comm unit.

Nonononononono-

“Luke, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Kid, please-”

“Han, have you ever noticed how many stars we can see at base? There aren’t many here. I can’t see them.”

“It’s because of the city lights,” the smuggler replied, voice shaking. “Too much light pollution.”

“Oh.” a pause, and then, “I wish I could see the stars right now.”

“You and I can look at them when you get home, okay?”

“Han, I don’t-”

“And the moon,” he continued adamantly, gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline. “It’s full tonight, we...it’ll be so bright. You always liked the full moon.”

“Yeah,” Luke said weakly. “Han, I’m so tired…”

“Luke, please, you can’t go to sleep, don’t-” Han shut his eyes tightly, a tear sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Kid, can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you find the moon?”

“It’s to my right,” Luke answered, groaning quietly.

“Ok. You can see it?”

“Yeah…” the younger man said. Han could hear the pain in his voice. Swallowing thickly, he peered through a small nearby window at the round, silvery planetoid casting a pale light on the tops of the trees surrounding the base.

“I’m looking at it too,” he said gently, knowing it wasn’t the same moon, but that didn’t matter right now. “We’re looking at it together.” Luke laughed softly, but it quickly dissolved into a quiet whimper.

“I feel...dizzy.”

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” the older man asked, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. He listened as Luke struggled to inhale, drawing several shallow breaths that were no doubt painful.

“...Han?”

“I’m here.”

“That’s good….” Luke sighed, and Han could hear him shift and moan in pain again. His heart seized at the sound. Luke was hurt. And alone, somewhere on Corellia. And there was nothing he could do about it. “You--I...can you keep talking? It’s better when I can hear your voice.”

Taking a deep breath, Han pushed a shaking hand through his hair, wracking his brain for something, anything to say.

“I was thinking about the day we were on Naboo earlier this morning,” he started softly. “You-” He let out a shaky laugh. “-you had never seen so much green. You started running around in that field, and I--I had never seen you so happy. Gods, Kid, you took off sprinting towards that forest…” Han smiled tearfully, his heart warming as he recalled the memory. He closed his eyes as Luke let out a breathy laugh. “I think that’s when I knew that you weren’t--you weren’t like anyone I’d ever met.”

“Han…”

“You just ran and ran and ran, trying to see as much of it as possible. You got mud all over your clothes, and Leia had a fit when we got back, but it was worth it.” he paused, more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It was so worth it.”

“Han,” Luke stammered, his voice tight. “I need to tell you, I-”

“Don’t,” Han interrupted, shutting his eyes tightly. “Just...just tell me when you get back, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Do you remember that afternoon when we first met? You were so worried about the Falcon,” Han continued, laughing quietly. “You called it junk, but you--you trusted me. To get you off that planet. For some reason. I’ll never know why, but...you trusted me. Thank you for that.”

“You and your stupid vest…” Luke muttered, drawing a small chuckle from Han’s lips.

“You know you like it,” Han joked, smearing tears across his face with his sleeve.

“Yeah, I do….” there was a moment of silence, and he could hear Luke take a few shaky breaths. “Han?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“I think I’m falling asleep.”

Han’s heart seized in his chest. No, he thought, starting to panic. Not now. Not yet. Please, not yet.

Not like this.

“Kid, I’m gonna need you to stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Please.

“It’s so dark here, and it’s cold…Han, I’m...I’m scared, I don’t-”

“It’ll be alright,” Han said gently, wishing he could be there, to hold Luke’s hand, hug him, anything. “Everything’s going to be ok. You’re ok...you’re ok.”

Maybe if he said it enough it would be true.

“Oh, look,” Luke murmured. “I can see the stars.”

There was a clatter of the comm unit being dropped, and then silence.

“KID!” Han yelled, frantic. “No, Luke, please, don’t do this…” he slumped against the wall, leaning on it for support. “Stay with me, please…”

Nothing.

He knew , he thought as he stared at the ground through teary eyes. He knew he might not come back. That’s why he came to see me this morning. He knew.

He stood there, trembling, feeling the weight of Leia’s teary eyes on his shoulders.

Stumbling, he dashed out of the room and into the hangar, brushing past friendly waves and casual greetings from pilots and the like.

Han made his way to the Falcon, tripping up the hallway to Luke’s room and freezing in the doorway. Slowly, he entered the space, gently sitting down on the bed, clutching the blanket to his chest. He breathed in slowly and let the scent of it wash over him; engine fuel and lavender and the faintest hint of leather. From stealing my jackets all the godsdamned time, Han thought. He sat like that for a while, just breathing, tears making tracks down his cheeks as they fell onto the mattress below him. He could hear people looking for him. He didn’t care.

He glanced up at the small bookshelf above Luke’s bed and smiled as he reached out and carefully plucked a small necklace off the surface. It was a simple silver chain, with two circular pendants dangling from it. Twin suns, for Tattooine. Luke’s home. Although he knew that planet never really was home for him. A cage, really. Home was where you belonged, and Luke...Luke didn’t belong on Tattooine, living on a godsdamned moisture farm. He belonged here. On the Falcon. With Han.

Home.

Slowly, he slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it into his shirt. The metal was cold against his skin, and Han couldn’t help but think about what Luke had said

It’s so dark here.

It’s cold.

I’m scared.

He hadn’t been there. He should have been there. Luke had been alone, and scared, and on an unfamiliar planet. And it was all Han’s fault. He should have noticed that Luke was acting weird, should have made him admit what he was going to do, shouldhaveshouldhaveshouldhave-

“I’m so sorry, Kid,” Han whispered. “I’m so sorry.” he felt a pang in his chest at knowing Luke would have scolded him for apologizing, would have told him it was okay, would have said that there was nothing he could have done. He exhaled shakily, relinquishing his grip on the necklace and falling backward, resting his head on Luke’s pillow.

Taking a deep breath in, Han stared up at the ceiling, letting his tears spill from his eyes and onto the pillowcase. He felt a warm presence at his side, and glanced down, but found nothing but crumpled blankets. He had never been one to believe in the force, and Luke knew that. But he couldn’t push away a feeling of not being completely alone. So, he spoke to whatever was there.

“Kid...I don’t--I don’t know what to do. Stars, I’m so mad at you, why-” he bit back tears, clenching his jaw. “-why didn’t you tell me?” the last part was strained, nearly silent as the smuggler’s throat grew tight with emotion. “And I know that’s not fair of me, you always have your reasons, that’s for sure, but...I would have gone with you, you know. Even to the end.”

Something that could have been a kiss brushed against his forehead.

“Especially to the end.”

That night I put my youth in a casket

And buried it inside of me

That night I saw through all the magic

Now I'm a witness to the death of a hero

#skysolo #skysolo fic #skysolo fanfic #luke skywalker #han solo #hanluke #hanluke fic #hanluke fanfic #angst #major character death #hurt/comfort but not really

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Part Four

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Two steps forward, one giant step back -or- Fox can't win for losing

A/N: You ever want to just press two people's head together until they kiss, like you did with dolls as a kid? wait, you didn't do that? Me either. That's why these two assholes still haven't hooked up. Cheers!

All parts can be found here on my Masterlist

The beginning of the week rolls around with new challenges, the least of which is the lingering stiffness Fox feels rolling out of bed. He wakes before his alarm and tries to work out the aches in a hot shower. He wants to get on his knees and thank the Maker for a private ‘fresher and never having to jockey with one of his men for the last of the hot water. It does wonders to relax the muscles that have seized up overnight. The bacta infusion in the wee hours of the previous morning hadn’t hurt much either.

As much as he’d voiced his displeasure, Wolffe had remained with him until medical had begrudgingly discharged him.

He wasn’t 100%, his ribs were still far more tender then he liked and the cut above his eye was barely fused together, but he knew if he spent any more time under the medics watchful eyes he was going to come out of his skin. His Ori’vod has come to bat for him and helped him back to his room after he’d convinced them to let him go.

The cross-eyed son of a nerf herder had also emptied his bottle of drink down the ‘fresher sink in front of him.

“I hear you haven’t been coping well.”

And just like that they were talking about CT-5555 and the incident and everything he’d have much rather let stew.

vod’kyramund

That’s what the trooper from the 501st had called him. It cut. It bled and festered. It hurt. Wolffe listened as he relived the night in detail, exhaustion nipping at his heels with each word he spoke. But he knew he needed to do it. To say it. He’d never admitted his lingering confusion about everything leading up to the incident to another soul.

Fox had never met a brother with his blaster set to anything other than stun. It was his default setting in any situation. Like he’d always told his men, you can’t interrogate the dead.

You also couldn’t go around shooting civvies without them distrusting you anymore then they already did.

He didn’t know how the blaster had been switched to lethal bolts. He didn’t remember when it could have happened. Damningly, he also didn’t remember reverifying the setting, something he always did before going out. Wolffe was the best set of ears he could have asked for. He didn’t say anything when Fox had to excuse himself to be sick.

Wolffe stayed until he’d fallen asleep, curling into him like they had as cadets during training. When he woke he was gone and so were the other three bottles of stock he kept squirreled away for emergencies. He’d cursed the other commander but knew why he’d done it.

It still didn’t mean he had to like it.

He’d allowed himself the luxury of sleep for the better part of the day, waking for the fresher and to make a memo to have Y/N pull up the incident report involving CT-5555. He needed to read it again if only to prove to himself that there was no other way for it to have ended, to find some sort of relief from the guilt that was gnawing at him.

He pushes Fives to the back burner and begins rounds on his men. He’d gotten the worst of it by far but the boys were feeling it.

Wren and Rule, his kits, both stumbled to the door to greet him with half a dozen questions. The pair had never been parted and hadn’t wanted to start when they’d been assigned quarters. Had he not looked back at their record, Fox would have thought them twins.

Thire has been less than happy to be woken up and Fox didn’t fault him for that, he sported a tender looking split lip and a black eye.

Ryk and Hound had greeted him, each far more chipperly then he felt appropriate. He left their rooms feeling a little disgruntled they weren’t as sore as he was.

He slept through the afternoon and into the evening. For the first time in a month and a half he didn’t dream about Fives.

He dreamt about his Little Mouse, the one who was not really his.

It wasn’t a dream he liked. He was merely swapping out one protagonist for the other in a nightmare where he was always the villain.

Pieces and parts were lost to him by the time he woke but, clear as can be, he can see himself holding his blaster, aiming center mass, as she held one shakingly at him. He’s yelling, the words lost to the sands of sleep, and tears stain her cheeks as she hiccups softly.

“Fox… it’s me”

His finger is wrapped tight around the trigger. Safety off. He exerts just a little pressure as the blaster wobbles in her grip. Something purrs at him, curls around him, encourages him to do it.

“Fox…”

He wakes up as the blaster echoes in his head.

———

0700 on the dot, Commander Fox strides into the office.

You can see the stiffness in his gait out of the corner of your eye. You find something incredibly interesting on the datapad in front of you. He doesn’t greet you and you don’t offer one of your own. An impromptu apology almost spills out of your mouth but you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop the flow of it.

His door slides shut with an almost inaudible hiss and you melt into your seat.

An hour passes.

Then two.

Then three.

Then he’s leaving without so much as a tip of the helmet in your direction.

This was better, right? This is what needed to happen because you could not continue to harbor an ill advised crush on your superior.

But...

This was not what you wanted. You wanted to see how he was fairing. You wanted to help him however you could. You wanted to forget about seeing him bloodied and remember the almost tender smile he’d given you when you’d leaned into him, or the way his hand felt guiding you through the crowd, fingers protectively spanning your lower back. You had spent the day before in bed remembering what his attention had felt like, tending the spark of the flame that grew a little more in your belly each time you allowed yourself to dwell on it.

You watch the seconds tick by on the chrono, the office maddeningly silent as you wait for him to come back. You wait the rest of the day. Fox doesn’t return.

The next day a file request is flashing on your datapad. Your work to pull up the case number and load it to the Commanders’s datapad.

By 0900 he still has not arrived at the office. You comm down to dispatch and they inform you that Commander Fox would be accompanying the Chancellor to the Senate for the day.

Fox hated the Senate floor. He hated it more than he hated being stuck behind a desk with paperwork.

While outwardly you knew all clones loyalty lay with the Republic you couldn’t ignore the times you’d heard the Commander quietly lament the character of the Senators they were tasked with guarding. Very few passed the Commander’s high standards of honor and integrity. Bodyguard duty at the Senate was comparable to slow torture, the only task he’d happily pass on to one of his men without a second thought.

You admired that about the Commander. The fact that he rarely refused to put himself in every job within his men’s jurisdiction from detention duty to traffic tickets, to interdiction. Now though, you find it irritating - even more so when Wren stops by your desk with a cup of caf and a pastry, his bucket balanced precariously across his forearm.

“Yummy treats for a yummy girl.”

You give him a sour expression and he laughs, “come on Mouse, it’s funny. I’m cute right?”

“Not nearly as much as you think.” You make a point of not looking at him.

The Sargent makes a wounded sound while you take the cup. He’s made it perfect and you can’t keep the stony expression on your face after you take the first sip and a contented sigh escapes you.

“Gotcha!” He leans against the desk and you offer him a tired smile “Least I can do with the Commander leaving you all by your lonesome.”

You nibble at the pastry. It’s honey sweet and sticky, the buttery layers flake and crumbs stick to your fingers.

You swallow each bite down with the strong caf he’s brought, likely from the pot in the speeder pool where it was often insinuated it could be swapped with the high octane speeder fuel and no one would be the wiser.

“I didn’t realize the Commander was pulling protection detail this week” you sniff glancing at a report on your datapad as if you weren’t supremely curious.

“He wasn’t supposed too, he swapped with Hound.” He reaches to snatch an uneaten piece of pastry and you slap at his hand but he’s quicker then you and has it in his mouth before you have a chance to snatch it back.

“Rude” you mutter lowly only earning a laugh.

“I’m glad you survived the other night with your good humor intact” you glance up to see a concerned look on his face “we were all a bit worried about you. Rule nearly had a kittens.”

“I mean, it turned out fine. Right?”

“Mouse?” His fist bumps into your shoulder lightly and you look up into a very concerned face. “We’re all ok. It’s no big deal, ok? It happens sometimes. Too much booze and battle stress and-” Wren shrugs. His eyes examine your face. His hand closes over yours, the gauntlet completely obscuring your hand underneath. “You were scared, weren't you?”

Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you were. You weren’t entirely sure. At the time it had been scary, yeah, but it wasn’t the Guards fault some drunk from the 501st wanted to start a fight. They were just protecting each other like they were supposed to. Maybe you were just more startled, that was probably it. Now, you just wanted to check in on Fox and make sure he was ok.

“I’m fine, Wren” you offer what you hope is a convincing smile “I think.”

The buzzing of his comms interrupts anything he was preparing to say. Wren frowns as you both listen to an all points coming through.

“I should probably head out” he offers another barely there love tap to your shoulder before he’s on his way.

Back to work, you pull up the schedule for the rest of the week while you pull up the HNE news feed on a seperate screen. you listen half-heartedly as the reporter drones on listing off casualty statistics, making a point to seperate the numbers of clones and non clone GAR personnel, like one mattered more than the rest.

The segway into the next segment slides across the screen with a quick montage of popular- and not so popular- senators speaking- and sometimes shouting- on the senate floor.

“And now in Senate new Chancellor Sheev Palpatine's overriding vote came as a shock to the gathered assembly...”

The clip disappears into a video from today. You freeze when you see the Supreme Chancellor presiding over the Senate. You tried to stay out of politics but something about Sheev Palpatine always put you off. It was his eyes. The politician's smile never reached them.

You continue to watch, only half listening as a wide shot brings into focus more of the Chancellor. Your eyes travel to the Coruscant Guard standing protectively behind the Chancellor. Thire is at his right and- your chest tightens- Fox is on his left. You don’t hear anything about referendums or treaties or the rising anti-Republic sentiment. You just see Fox.

———-

“Commander Fox. Come here”

Thire moves to take point as Fox falls back at the Chancellor’s request. “Is everything alright Chancellor.”

The old man waves dismissively, a smile pulling at his mouth. It makes Fox uncomfortable, “it’s fine. Everything’s fine, my friend. I wanted to have a word with you.”

Fox has never considered someone as influential as the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic to be a friend. The notion seemed wildly inappropriate like a tooka keeping a pet rancor. “Sir?”

“I sense something is burdening you, Commander.” The chancellor barely casts a glance toward him but Fox feels a prickle of something primal - sharp - in his belly. It was silly. He supposed but he was a Shock Trooper, a commander in the Grand Army of the Republic. He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. He was the picture of military excellence. Unless he was slipping. He glances ahead at Thire as they make the turn to the Chancellor’s office. His vod doesn’t look back.

“Sir, I’m not-“

Palpatine waves a hand, “you are not in trouble Commander. I simply wonder if there is not some way I can advise you?”

The question hangs in the air. Fox lets his head continue to scan from side to side, eyes assessing the transparisteel lined wall as they enter the office. He hated that wall. It offered far too many opportunities for a sniper with the right kit and time to wait.

“Maybe this is about the traitor? The clone?”

Fox is quiet, his back ramrod straight. Thire glances at him from his spot by the door and Fox offers him a small nod before the other Commander is taking up a sentry position outside the door. A smile plays at the chancellor’s lips.

“Or maybe it’s something different” Palpatine turns his attention to Fox and looks him over. The prickle in his gut gets worse, a biological warning that something wasn’t right. He feels like a bug under a microscope, about to be dissected by the smiling visage of the old man in front him. “Maybe a girl then?”

“Chancellor Palpatine, such things are expressly against regulation four-“ he’s interrupted from rattling off the exact regulation as the Chancellor sweeps away from him and toward the window, his robes flowing behind him. He stands against the window, the light around him casting him as a dark shadow.

“You are a man, are you not? Not just a meat covered droid as some would lead you to think. Clone or otherwise, it’s natural for you to desire. When this war is over I feel we will see a dawning of a new era. Have you thought about what will become of you after the Separatists are defeated?”

Of course he’s thought about it. Any clone who’d say otherwise was a liar. Some looked at the future with fear and apprehension, others a sense of hope, some only with mild curiosity. That being said he wasn’t about to admit to any of that to the chancellor.

“It hadn’t crossed my mind”

Palpatine turns, narrows his eyes. It's just a minute twitch that Fox is scarcely sure he’s seen before it disappears, melts back into the serene expression he typically wore.

“I suppose I will stay on with the GAR if they’ll have me.” He relents, “or find a civilian defense contract.”

“And what of family? I know you clones hold the term of brother, of vod,” it sounds like a dirty word coming from his mouth, “close to your hearts. Do you want for more?”

The Chancellor’s eyes bore into him, searching, prodding for something that Fox can’t understand. He tries to sound light as he speaks as if the line of questioning wasn’t sending up so many warning signals. “I don’t think the Senate would approve of their weapons starting families.”

Palpatine gives him a grin, it’s devoid of warmth, lifeless. More of an impression of a smile, meant to be inviting but only working to raise the hairs on the back of Fox’s neck . “Dear boy,” he offers an encompassing sweep of the hand and a light tone “I am the Senate.”

#commander Fox #commander fox/reader #commander fox x reader #tcw

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ahsokatanope · 4 years

Text

Battered and Bruised: Chapter I

(Un)friendly Encounters

Summary: It’s two years after the Clone Wars ended with the fall of the Jedi Order. As the First Sister, it is your duty to hunt down the Jedi that remain in the galaxy after The Purge. On what you believe is just another ordinary mission, you encounter your former best friend, Obi-Wan Kenobi and memories of your past come flooding back. After believing that he betrayed you and left you to die, will you kill him to get your revenge? Or will your feelings for him rekindle under unexpected circumstances?

Pairing: Inquisitor!Reader x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: some violence. decapitation. death. negative thoughts. (reader is v sad)

Note: Hi everyone! This is my first SW fic, so go easy on me! Feedback would be very helpful as I go on with this series! :) I’ve been wanting some more Obi content right after Order 66 lately, so I decided to make it come to life. Reader is an inquisitor, so beware of slow burn, untold feelings, and a bit of angst! Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! Enjoy!

The heat from the twin suns of Tatooine radiates off your black attire as you hop out of the top of your TIE fighter. You jump off your ship and when you land, the sand around you dusts up towards your eyes, but your helmet protects your face.

You hate this planet. There is nothing about it to like. It’s barren, hot, and full of uncivilized scum who’d do anything for credits. The last time you were here, you came as a Jedi Master at the start of the Clone Wars to negotiate for safe passage for Republic ships through the Outer Rim Territories.

Sighing internally, you make a mental note to make this visit quick. With your cape flowing behind you, you make your way over to the entrance of Jabba’s Palace. This time, not as a Jedi Master, but as the First Sister instead.

One of Jabba’s droids waits for you at the entrance of the palace. You give it the password and it accepts it, making a high-pitched beep sound. Waiting patiently, you wait for the door to open, but it doesn’t quite yet.

“No weapons allowed in the throne room.” It says, voice monotone. “The door will not open and you will not be permitted to enter until your weapons are given to me.”

You grudgingly call both of your sabers to your gloved hands with the Force and place them in the tray that flaps out of the droid’s rusting torso. “If I so much as see a scratch on them by the time we’re done here, I’ll throw you in an incinerator myself.”

“No need for threats, Inquisitor. They will be right here the whole time.” The droid says, opening the door and wheeling away from you. “Follow me.”

The throne room has not changed since your last visit. It’s still as grimy and dreadful as you remember. You didn’t think it was possible for Jabba to look even more slimy and disgusting, but here he is, more than surpassing your expectations.

He couldn’t even bother to be awake for your arrival? Disgraceful.

“Jabba! Glad to see that you are excited to be in my presence.” You state, sarcasm oozing from your words. You move to stand in the center of the room and all eyes fall on you.

He awakens suddenly and stares at you with his big, grotesque eyes. He slurs out a jumble of words you don’t understand and you wait for his protocol droid to translate, but a man to the right of Jabba does instead.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Inquisitor?” The man says smoothly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I came here to speak with Jabba. Who are you?”

“I am Plin Fazabar, one of Jabba’s negotiators.” He says with a smirk. “It’s quite rude to have a conversation with a helmet on, don’t you think? Why don’t you take it off and let us see if the rumors of the First Sister’s beauty are true.”

“I don’t have time for this.” You say, struggling to hold back the annoyance in your tone. “You reached out to the Imperial Inquisition to make a trade for intel on the whereabouts of a Jedi survivor. I’ve come for that intel. Why don’t we make this trade swift, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t be hasty, Inquisitor. What’s the rush? You’re not enjoying this quality time together?” Jabba’s droid translates while the Hutt chuckles.

“Are you afraid of being alone in a room full of crime lords and bounty hunters?” Fazabar adds, outwardly mocking you. You exhibit restraint to kill him right then and there.

“Afraid of what I may do if you don’t give me what I want, yes. Slightly.”

Fazabar hums and crosses his arms. “And how much would you pay for this information?”

“We agreed on 8,000 credits. The Empire will pay you generously.”

The tattooed man looks at Jabba before he nods. “Yes, yes.” He sighs before continuing. “There have been whispers of a hooded man in a cloak that looks eerily familiar to one a Jedi would wear. He was last seen at a cantina in Mos Eisley, where there are rumors of… a bit of an incident with a blue-colored laser sword.

Your fists clench with anger and your jaw tenses before you speak up.

“You mean to tell me that I came all this way, to a planet full of nothing, for rumors?”

“You should be thankful we gave you the information before we received our payment. Perhaps we should charge you double if you are not going to be grateful for our offering.” Fazabar walks over to the droid who holds your weapons. Your eyes follow his every step.

“Now, I know you most likely did not come prepared with 16,000 credits, but I’ll tell you what. Jabba and I are going to cut you a deal, aren’t we Jabba?” The Hutt grunts in agreement and the creatures that surround him laugh. “Why don’t we keep your lightsabers as a fair bargain and call it a day. They would more than cover the cost: military grade, custom durite metal… These are unlike any other Inquisitor saber I’ve seen or heard of. I’m sure they are worth a fortune. Tell me, Inquisitor. How many Jedi have you killed with these blades?”

Fazabar picks up one of your sabers and runs his fingers over the hilt lightly. You feel your anger well up inside you.

You narrow your eyes and lick your lips, looking around the room before your piercing gaze settles on the man. “21.”

“Well, that is an incredible feat! Maybe the lightsabers are much too sentimental for you to trade. I’m sure we can work out a different type of payment. One that would involve a bed and the absence of your helmet.”

He can’t see your expression behind the mask of your helmet, but if looks could kill, he’d already be 10 feet under.

Plin sends you a dark, twisted smile but before he can get another word out, you use the Force to pull him towards you by his throat, choking him. Simultaneously, you call the lightsaber he holds to your right hand. Releasing your Force hold on his throat, you allow him to breathe again and roughly grab Fazabar’s shoulder to make him turn and face Jabba while you ignite your red blade and bring it up to his throat.

The room goes silent and the bounty hunters that were lurking around earlier raise their blasters and point them in your direction. At this point, Fazabar’s demeanor has completely changed. You can’t see his face, but you can feel the fear radiating off of him.

Not caring about the blasters trained on you, you lean forward to murmur in Fazabar’s ear. “You didn’t really mean any of that, did you?”

Suddenly, Jabba starts to laugh and your eyes snap over to him over the man’s shoulder.

“What’s so funny, Jabba?” You ask darkly. “Did I miss a joke?”

The protocol droid translates what he says. “Surely, you’re not stupid enough to kill him in a room full of bounty hunters.”

“Surely, you’re not ignorant enough to try and scam an Imperial Inquisitor.” You spit, glaring at him.

Without tearing your eyes from Jabba, you push Fazabar into the red blade of your lightsaber, decapitating the man in a smooth, swift motion.

Gasps can be heard around the room and the bounty hunters tense up, waiting for Jabba to make the call to shoot. Their fingers itch to pull their triggers, but the call doesn’t come.

You call your second saber to you, and clip it to your belt. Keeping the other saber ignited, you pull out a sack of credits and throw it to the translator droid.

“This is only half of the original amount!”

Keeping your attention around you, you make sure you’re able to defend yourself at any moment. You begin to walk out of the room. Before you exit, you state, “You’ll get the other half when I kill the Jedi.”

And with that, you take your leave.

Jabba yells in anger, garbling something.

The translator droid says, “Initiate protocol 757.”

The bounty hunters in the room nod. One of them presses a transmitter on his wrist.

__________________

You’ve got to give it to Fazabar. The intel he gave you is accurate. There is a Jedi in Mos Eisley… you could feel it. His presence in the Force is faint, but it’s there. Something about it feels familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You’ve been tailing the Jedi through Mos Eisley, so when he gets in his rusty, run-down speeder and travels to a scrap yard on the edge of the port city, you follow at a distance. Silently, you watch the cloaked man hop out of his speeder from the top of a building nearby. As he walks towards the scrap yard, he takes a second to pause and check his surroundings.

The twin suns hang low in the sky as you wait for him to move on. You jump down from the building when he’s a good distance away and continue to tail him through the scrap yard as he looks for spare parts. You assume they are for his speeder since it looks like it’s about to break down at any moment.

As you get closer to the Jedi, his force signature grows stronger, but you can tell that he’s trying to conceal his presence as much as possible. He must have been a Jedi Knight or Master, judging from his ability to do this.

You patiently wait for the right moment to strike as you hide behind an old wrecked LAAT Gunship.

Suddenly, you feel a whoosh of emotions come over you as the concealed Force presence now intoxicates you. Your breath catches in your throat and you close your eyes as you struggle to push back your feelings as quickly as possible.

Flashbacks of your past flood your mind, overwhelming you. Feelings of pain, betrayal, laughter, sadness, and love all fill your senses at the same time, overwhelming you. Voices in your head begin to overlap.

“Master Y/L/N and I will be able to handle Grievous. We make a great team.”

“I see you decided to take a page out of Anakin’s book. That was reckless, Y/N! You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“You and me on a mission together again, Kenobi? I’m starting to think you’re swaying the council just to get a little more quality time with me.”

“Y/N! I’ve got you. Grab my other hand. No!”

Your eyes snap open and you take a deep breath.

“Obi-Wan.” You whisper to yourself.

You don’t let yourself dwell on your past for too long. Your fists clench when you’re reminded of what Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order did to get you to the point where you are today. They are traitors, the lot of them. And Obi-Wan is no different, as much as you once wanted to believe he was.

You hear boots hitting the dirt from a distance and a voice brings you back to reality.

The Jedi lowers his hood and shouts out, “Reveal yourself. I’m afraid you are not as stealthy as you think you are.”

You finally step out from the shadows and Obi-Wan’s eyes watch you, studying your every move.

He hasn’t changed a bit. Save for his slightly longer hair and beard, he looks exactly the same since you last saw him. When he let you fall to your presumed death. He’s still as handsome as you remember, but The Purge hadn’t done him any good. You can see the deep sadness in his eyes and you know by looking into them that he barely rests.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” You drawl, your helmet distorting your voice slightly. “You haven’t changed since our last encounter.”

He looks at you wearily before he cocks his head. “I’m quite embarrassed. I don’t seem to recall your name, how rude of me. Remind me of who you are again?”

So his wit surely is still intact.

He removes his cloak, revealing his robes and lightsaber hilt attached to his belt. You wonder when he used it last. You take a few steps closer to him, but keep your distance.

“They call me the First Sister. I’m the first of my kind, trained in the ways of the Dark Side by Lord Sidious and your fallen apprentice.” You state and you two circle around each other. “My Sisters and Brothers answer to me.”

Sadness flashes in Obi-Wan’s eyes at the mention of Anakin. “So, the rumors about the Imperial Jedi hunters are true, I presume.”

“They are indeed.” You chuckle darkly. “You had to have known you’d encounter one eventually, Master Kenobi. I sincerely hope, for your sake, that your lightsaber skills are still sharp.”

“I’m afraid you never answered my question. Who are you and why do you speak to me like you know me?”

You know the time to reveal yourself has come. Your hands reach up to take hold of your helmet and you pull it off slowly.

Obi-Wan watches with curiosity and as your face is revealed, inch by inch, his expression shifts to one of shock and heartbreak.

“Y/N…” He whispers and his body freezes, tensing up. “I thought you were dead.”

You smirk at him. “In a way, I am. Y/N Y/L/N, the Jedi Master who was loyal to the Order was weak and I replaced her with someone who is stronger and more powerful than she could ever be.”

He starts to shake his head slowly and the wind blows a tuft of his auburn hair to his forehead. “No… no, I watched you die on Utapau. You were shot and you fell to your death.”

“Believe what you want, Kenobi, but it’s not going to change the fact that you turned away your apprentice and your best friend. Nothing will change that!” Two years of pent up anger and hate flood through your system and fuel your every move.

Noticing your increasing aggression towards him, his eyes widen. “Let us talk about this. This is not who you are, Y/N.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Always the negotiator.”

You call your lightsabers to your hands and ignite them, the red light from the blades illuminating your face.

“Don’t do this, Y/N.” Obi-Wan begs, his blue eyes plead with yours. “Please. I do not wish to fight you.”

“Then this will be easy.”

You get into your fighting stance, your eyes not leaving his figure.

“You leave me no choice.” Obi-Wan says, broken and defeated. He unclips his saber from his belt and illuminates it.

You are the first to strike and both of your sabers strike against Kenobi’s. Blue and red clash together as you two move with grace and precision, an equal match for each other. You always were.

The power dynamic shifts back and forth, but you can tell that Obi-Wan is holding back.

“Why do you hold back, Kenobi? Are you afraid?” You spit out when your lightsabers are locked. “Don’t want to be responsible for my actual death?”

“You must know that I did everything I could to save you! I couldn’t stop Order 66 or you getting shot, but I still blame myself for it everyday!”

“You could have come back to see if I survived the fall, but you didn’t!” You push him back with the Force to create distance. “The Empire saved me instead!”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t!” Obi-Wan yells, trying to plead his case. His beautiful blue eyes start to well up with tears. “I had to stop Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side. I did—”

You cut him off by reaching your hand out to Force choke him. His feet slightly lift off the ground as tears fill your eyes.

“Yeah? Well, how’d that work out for you?”

Obi-Wan is finally at your mercy after two years of wanting him to pay for what he did. After two years of resenting his existence and taking your anger out on killing other Jedi and force-sensitives. You were trained to use the anger you had towards him as power, and you wanted to cause him as much pain as he caused you, but...

As much as you want vengeance, you just… can’t find it in yourself to finish him. Your feelings for him before The Purge came flooding back the moment you saw him and now, it’s making you weak.

You release your hold on his throat and he drops to the ground, but Obi-Wan had already flung a large piece of scrap towards you in defense. You couldn’t move in time and it hits you full on, knocking you to the ground and your lightsabers out of your hands.

You groan in pain as you fade in and out of consciousness. Struggling profusely, you try to get up and wobble on your feet, but fail to stand straight. Falling back to the ground, you attempt to drag yourself towards one of your lightsabers. You have no idea where Kenobi went, but you know you need to defend yourself.

Suddenly, there is creaking heard from above you. The tall pile of scrap a short distance away is beginning to crumble. Kenobi must have removed the perfect amount of scrap to make the whole thing tumble down.

As the pile starts to loom over you, you know, deep down that you won’t be able to make it a safe distance away. You could barely stand. So, instead of running, you decide to drop to your knees and close your eyes, your lightsabers lying forgotten in the sand. You welcome the death that awaits you. Maybe you deserve it, after all. You’ve done so much wrong by killing Jedi and innocent force sensitives across the galaxy. Years of letting your fear, hate, and anger drive your actions are finally catching up to you. Maybe, just maybe, after enduring all the pain and suffering in your life, you’ll finally find peace. Maybe peace isn’t a lie.

You jolt at the feel of strong arms starting to drag your body across the sand. You open your eyes and stare at the night sky to try and register what’s going on. Turning, you see Obi-Wan’s face etched in pain and concern.

“No,” you mumble. “Don’t touch me.”

You try to pull away from him and drag your heels into the sand, but he stops to pick you up over his shoulder and runs to safety. Struggling against him, you finally wriggle free and drop to the ground on your hands and knees.

“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get kriffing killed?!” Kenobi yells as the scrap pile crashes behind you, old fuel tanks exploding from the impact. The orange light from the glow falls on both of your faces.

“Get away from me!” You yell, slow to get up. You didn’t have any energy in you to push him back with the Force. You're finally able to stand on your feet, swaying a bit as you try to catch your balance.

“Y/N, please let me—”

Obi-Wan suddenly stops talking as a light thump emits from behind him. His eyes droop closed as his body starts to go limp and fall forward.

Witnessing this, your eyes widen as you see a dart in the back of Kenobi’s neck. You quickly glance around (your head spinning) and with newfound adrenaline, you call Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to you for defense and press the emergency communicator on your left forearm. Milliseconds later, you feel a slight pinch in your neck and you quickly remove the sharp object, but it’s too late. You feel the effects of the dart begin to take their toll, numbing your body and making your vision go black.

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mytardisisparked · 4 years

Text

When Sunrise Comes Early: Chapter 3

Obi-Wan sighed as he watched Anakin eagerly walk towards their transport, almost bouncing with excitement. He had woken his apprentice up early this morning to tell him they were leaving for Mandalore straight away, and Anakin had been overwhelmingly enthusiastic about the concept. Obi-Wan hadn’t seen the boy this excited since he took him to Ilum to get his kyber crystal.

Having not slept a wink last night, Obi-Wan was tempted to tell Anakin to calm down a touch, but after the events of the last three days he just couldn’t bring himself to squash his padawan’s joy.

“GoodmorningMaster!” Anakin yelled as he rushed forward and stood at the edge of the ramp leading up to the ship. “Are we ready to go?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Go ahead and get the engine fired up, I’ll be along in a moment.”

With one last gleeful look, Anakin raced inside, leaving Obi-Wan shaking his head fondly.

“It’s nice to see him smile.” Mace Windu walked up and stood next to the younger Jedi, staring at the spot where Anakin had disappeared.

The redhead turned to look at him, a bit confused. “Yes, it is.” Obi-Wan bit his lip. “Master, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you suddenly so invested in Anakin? Up until now, you have made it very clear that you don’t trust the boy.”

A flash of animosity passed through Mace’s eyes for a moment but it was gone in less than a second, replaced by something akin to regret. “This incident with the Chancellor has made me... more aware of the value of your padawan and of being invested in our young charges.” He looked Obi-Wan in the eye. “I’ve realized that children like Anakin need support; if that doesn’t come from us, then people like Palpatine will step in to manipulate them for far more nefarious purposes.”

Obi-Wan gave him a small smile. “That’s quite the revelation.”

Mace merely nodded. “Best of luck on your journey, Kenobi. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” Obi-Wan bowed and headed inside the ship, closing the ramp behind him.

Anakin had sucessfully started the engine and was relaxing in the copliot’s chair, tinkering with some small device. Obi-Wan settled into the pilot’s seat and carefully lifted off, following the traffic lane out of the atmosphere before setting their coordinates and entering hyperspace.

Once the stars were streaking past them, Anakin set his project down and leaned forward in his chair. “So, why are we going to Mandalore?”

“To meet with the duchess and see if she will allow us to use a Mandalorian Force-Prison,” Obi-Wan said as he fiddled with a few controls.

Anakin’s jaw dropped. “We’re meeting the Duchess of Mandalore?”

His master chuckled and turned to look at him. “Yes, but it isn’t like you haven’t met royalty before. Remember Queen Amidala?”

Suddenly, the boy turned bright red and couldn’t seem to meet Obi-Wan’s eye. “Uh, yeah, I remember Padme.”

The Jedi raised a brow, but decided not to ask. “Well, you will treat Duchess Kryze with the same respect with which you were taught to treat Queen Amidala. Maybe even more so; Mandalorians can be quite strict.”

Anakin looked less enthusiastic now. “Of course, Master, I don’t want to mess this up.”

Obi-Wan rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “I have every faith that you will do well.”

Myself, on the other hand... Obi-Wan thought. Let’s hope I can avoid any... awkwardness.

The flight to Mandalore was not incredibly long, though Anakin claimed it felt like their landing sequence alone took three hours. Once they had landed, they were greeted by guardsmen who lead them to a speeder and drove them to the palace.

As they flew above the streets of Concordia, Obi-Wan fidgeted with the edge of his robe. Mace had contacted the duchess before they had left and she was willing to meet, but that did not guarantee that she would, by any means, be pleased to see him.

The entire flight to the system, Obi-Wan had been wrestling with varying emotions. On one hand, he knew that the duchess was a passionate woman with a penchant for arguing who likely still held Obi-Wan in some level of contempt, based on how things last ended between them. On the other hand, the prospect of seeing Satine again excited Obi-Wan, stirring up feelings he had done his best to forget over the last 12 years.

Obi-Wan sighed for the 20th time that morning and rubbed his temples. He already had headache and he hadn’t even spoken to the duchess yet.

The speeder pulled up to the front doors of the palace and Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. “I will do all the talking once we get inside. Just follow my lead when it comes to bowing and be respectful if the duchess asks you any questions.”

Anakin nodded seriously. “Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan smiled and patted him on the shoulder before they headed inside.

As soon as the doors opened to the throne room, Obi-Wan’s heart stopped.

There she was, sitting on the throne before him, giving the Jedi the same condescending look she wore the first day they had met so long ago. She was a bit taller now, and her features had grown from girlish to womanly, but time and age had only made her more radiant.

Despite all of this, Obi-Wan, by the mercy of the Force, continued walking without a change of pace or expression, which he considered a definite victory, especially when considering the fact that Satine’s expression hadn’t changed upon seeing him whatsoever.

As the Jedi approached the throne, Obi-Wan dipped into a bow and was thankful to see Anakin following suit out of the corner of his eye.

“Welcome, Jedi.” Satine’s lilting voice seemed to pull Obi-Wan back up into a standing position. “I hope your trip here wasn’t too unpleasant.” Her tone was somewhere between bored and hostile, but Obi-Wan was, for the first time in his life, finding it difficult to read her true emotions.

“It was wholly unexciting, thankfully.” Obi-Wan gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We thank you for welcoming us, Duchess Kryze.”

At the mention of her title, Obi-Wan almost thought he saw her flinch, but she stood and stepped down from the dais quickly enough that he couldn’t be certain.

“Well, Master Windu said in his call that this matter you have come to speak of is rather urgent, so we will meet with my councilors in about an hour for you to present your case.” She opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a flash of red rushing into the room and skidding across the floor to come to a stop not far from where they stood. Obi-Wan was barely able to register that it was a boy a few years younger than Anakin before the excited child began to speak very quickly.

“Auntie! Come quickly, I need to sho-” The boy’s bright blue eyes suddenly grew wide. He quickly pulled himself up into a respectfully straight posture and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a meeting today.”

Satine took a deep breath and gave Obi-Wan a tight smile. “My apologies, Master Jedi.” She gestured to the boy and he moved to Satine’s side. “This is my nephew, Korkie.”

Obi-Wan smiled at the boy and bowed. “Hello there, I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Korkie grinned back and gave a little bow in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Satine didn’t quite smile, but her face looked a bit less severe. That minute shift in her aura made Obi-Wan’s heart race.

“Hi! I’m Anakin!” Obi-wan turned to see his padawan waving at the Duchess and Korkie with a massive grin on his face. “I’m Master Kenobi’s padawan.”

“Cool! What’s a padawan?” Korkie’s eyes lit up as he took in the other boy.

Anakin opened his mouth to reply, but the Duchess jumped in. “Why don’t we let Korkie and Anakin get acquainted while you and I take a walk to discuss things before the meeting?” She smiled at the two boys.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan gleefully as Obi-Wan nodded his consent. “Try not to get into any trouble, Anakin.”

“I never do, Master!” Before Obi-Wan could comment on the massive untruth of that statement, the two boys were headed down a hallway off of the throne room, chattering incessantly.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile after them. “I hope Korkie is prepared for Anakin to talk his ear off.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Satine stepped closer to his side, “unless Anakin is unprepared to answer hundreds of questions.”

He turned to her and found her smiling. He offered her his arm. “Well, shall we take a walk?”

She took his arm. “Yes, the gardens are this way.”

They stepped out into the bright sunshine, the scent of lilies enveloping them.

“It’s a warm day. We best stick to the shade, seeing as we both have fair skin and a proclivity to burn.” Obi-Wan smirked and lead them both to a shaded walking path.

Satine smiled. “Oh yes, I remember the days where we wouldn’t be able to sleep because we were utterly roasted by the sun.”

“And Qui-Gon would be sitting there, laughing at us as he just got tanner.” Obi-Wan chuckled. “And we just looked like tomatoes.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I could have kicked him for all his mocking.” She laughed, the sound warming Obi-Wan from the inside out, bringing back fond memories of sitting around fires and telling stories late into the night, irritating Master Jinn with inside jokes that they refused to explain. “Korkie was just like us, growing up, getting burnt at just the slightest touch of sun.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at her curiously, finding her suddenly blushing. “Korkie seems like a very nice boy. Is he Bo’s son?”

Satine turned her head to look at a long drooping tree. “No, he was my brother’s child. They died when he was a baby, so I have been taking care of him.”

“Ah.”

She turned back to him. “I didn’t know you took on a padawan.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking one quite yet, but,” he swallowed, growing more serious, “Master Qui-Gon made me promise to train Anakin before he died.”

Satine bowed her head. “I had heard about Qui-Gon’s passing. I was very sorry-” She swallowed and wrung her hands. “I know I knew him for only a year, but he really was like a father to me during that time.”

“We have that in common then, I suppose.” Obi-Wan gave her a sad smile.

She looped her arm through his again and they continued walking. “So, Master Windu said you were here about a matter that would effect the entire galaxy.” Just like that, she was back to being the perfect image of professionalism.

Obi-Wan straightened. “Yes, I can explain it all in the meeting, but we have captured a dangerous Sith Lord.”

Satine’s face grew grave. “That is... troubling news. I’m sure my council will be very interested to hear more about it.” They turned down another path, falling silent for a few moments. In the distance, they could hear Korkie and Anakin talking excitedly, which made them both smile.

As subtly as he could, Obi-Wan studied Satine’s face, noting the sadness she carried under that moment of joy. Ruling had not been easy on her, he knew that just from reading the Mandalorian headlines, but he was pleased to see that the criticism and opposition had not extinguished her fire, for within that sadness, he could see the same Satine he had known when he was a child. She was the same and, yet, somehow, even more.

This, however, was not the same Satine that had coldly dismissed him on the platform the last day he had spent on Mandalore. This was not the Satine that had insisted she did not care for him, no matter how she might have acted before that fateful day.

So what did happen the day we said goodbye? he wondered. Was all of that just an act to make parting easier? Or did she really not care for me as deeply as I cared for her?

“How old is Anakin?” Satine asked suddenly, shaking Obi-Wan out of his thoughts.

“He just turned 14. He has been under my care since he was 9. Qui-Gon found him on Tatooine during our last mission.”

“He was orphaned, then?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth straightened into a thin line. “Not exactly.”

Satine stopped and gave him a look. “So he was taken from his family?”

He sighed, turning to face her. “He and his mother were slaves of the hutts. Qui-Gon tried to bargain for their freedom, but he was only able to secure Anakin’s release.”

She scoffed. “So, what, you left his mother behind? You took the boy away from his family?” Her porcelain cheeks began to color.

Obi-Wan raised a brow and put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “We did, but Master Windu and I are currently attempting to devise a plan to free her.” Satine stiffened a bit at his touch, but the redness of her cheeks faded. He glanced down at where his hand was resting and quickly snatched it away, realizing his impropriety. After clearing his throat and regaining the little composure he had let slip, he went on. “We agree that Anakin will fare better knowing his mother is safe. The problem we are running into is that we cannot interfere with Tatooinian affairs, no matter how much we may hate slavery. If the Jedi go to free her, we risk starting a war with the hutts that may lead to more harm than good.”

Satine looked into his eyes, but he could tell that she wasn’t really looking at him; she was thinking. “If you were to send someone to the planet to purchase Anakin’s mother, someone not tied to the Republic, might that resolve your predicament?”

Obi-Wan fixed her with a hard look. “Satine, what are you suggesting?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he had used her first name without thinking, but he was far too concerned with whatever the duchess was plotting to correct himself.

Her focus seemed to snap back into the present. “I could go to Tatooine and purchase the boy’s mother, bring her back to Mandalore, and free her. Mandalorians are fond of bringing rescued people into their families, so I am certain we would find her a suitable place in our society where she would be loved and cared for.”

“I don’t dislike your plan, and I agree that it solves many of our problems, but I’m not sure that sending you personally to Tatooine is the best idea.” Obi-Wan took a step closer. “The hutts would have no qualms with kidnapping a high-profile politician for ransom.”

Satine raised a brow. “I know how to go about unnoticed, Obi-Wan.”

He eyed her massive headdress. “Do you?”

She scowled. “Need I remind you that it was you who drew attention to us when we were running from the bounty hunters on Darl? I never once gave our position away during that year.” She paced a short distance away. “I would go in disguise and keep this information to myself; the less people that know about this, the better.”

Obi-Wan walked up behind her, touching her elbow gently. “Are you sure about this? I would hate to put you at risk.”

She turned to meet his worried gaze with a soft, yet determined, look. “I will not stand aside while the mother of your pupil suffers. This is a risk I am more than willing to take.”

He gave her a small smile. “Then I know better than to try and stop you.”

“As you should.” She smiled back before straightening and stepping out of his touch. “We can work out the details of this later; it’s time to go meet the council and hear your story.” With that, she turned and walked back towards the throne room.

Obi-Wan watched her go, feeling strange emotions racing through his mind and heart. After a moment, he shook his head and followed her.

---------

Hello friends! This chapter was kind of an in-between chapter where not a lot happened, but I really wanted to take some time to set the tone of Satine and Obi-Wan’s relationship while also setting up some things to come.

I would really like to thank everyone who has been keeping up with this story; I received a lot more positive feedback on this than I ever expected. I am overwhelmed by all the support. Thank you all for reading and commenting! It means the absolute world to me ❤

#Star Wars #fanfiction #obitine #obi-wan #anakin #satine kryze #Korkie Kryze

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Someone Left to Save (14)

Photo from @calkestisisbaby

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 | Previous: Part 13 | Next: Part 15 | Masterlist

14 of ?

The throttle of the speeder bike parts the sand across the reddish-brown, arid expanse. Nothing but the noise of the motors roared across the wilderness and the whistling howl of the wind that burned your cheeks as you sped through. Feeling Cal's Force Echo on you felt nauseating yet intoxicating, you wanted more—not because of the essence of his ability, but of his touch—even in that stone-cold exterior you have carved out for yourself, you cannot deny that you yearned for the human touch that is inherently absent in the Inquisitorius.

Whether you like it or not: the real you still exists, bottling it all up just became five times harder after you encountered Cal—since the incident at the old Jedi Temple in the outskirts of Jeddah. You bite your lip to fight the tears, unconsciously spiking the speed of your bike forward, and all at once the sensation of his hand rubbed itself around yours—the faltering and abrupt jerk of the vehicle brought you out of your zoned-out state.

In the stillness of the surroundings, you afforded a moment to remove your helmet and catch your breath. You allow one tear to fall, only to wipe it right away with one gloved hand.

"Good thing I'm in the middle of nowhere or this would be really embarrassing!" You exhaled.

The engine growls back into life, you pick up the speed and head straight for the garrison.

By the time you've arrived to the base, the same Purge Troopers showed up sans the child. When asked, their answer was they've already went ahead and secured the baby in the medical bay—given that it's the only appropriate place in the entire garrison to keep it. They tell you the floor of the particular med-bay.

"Thank you, return to your post."

They bowed and turned their back on you. One of the Purge Troopers was foolish enough to lean in and whisper a comment to the other.

"Too polite for an Inquisitor, for my taste, at least,"

"You always notice the little, petty things,"

You ignored the words and proceeded to the said medical bay. The entire room is manned by medical droids of different variants—surgical, general medicine, and drone types. The closest qualifier to looking after the child is the GH-7 medical droid—basically, the all-around in terms of medical specializations.

A deadpan remark forms in your lips, "At least, you won't have that kid crying in your face every time you check on it."

Unable to detect the sarcasm, the droid plainly asks why. You didn't humor it for an answer.

"Nevermind." You sigh and roll your eyes with resignation.

You shifted your attention to the child who was settled in a makeshift bassinet, you couldn't figure out what the crib was before it was turned into a hovering, spherical pod that fits an infant, though it's of no importance. You ordered the child to be fed, cleaned, checked for vitals, and be given medicine and supplements if necessary. The droid obediently took note of all your orders before you retired to your own room.

Out of courtesy, some officers and cadets tipped the brims of their caps at you, accompanied by the utterance of your title—to which you responded with a curt, slow bow.

Finally, you've encased yourself in the solace of your quarters. The sensation of your body sinking into the mattress gave you a sense of comfort and relief, removing your gloves felt liberating; you shake your fingers to wring off the chafing and feel the skin against your fingertips again. A sigh escapes your lungs, you find yourself rubbing the hand that Cal had touched and inflicted his Psychometry—his grip was tight, but gentle so it doesn't hurt you, even in that intense interlock of your lightsabers.

You stand up from your bed so you seat yourself in the center of the room, you cross your legs together and straighten your back. Eyelids dropped and shrouded your vision in darkness, you recall the teachings the Inquisitors have beaten into your head, but something else is clawing for your attention—Cal. No matter how many times you decline it in your head, it just becomes more persistent by the minute, the influence of the Force Echo still ran fresh in your system.

Then his words came flooding into your mind, echoing and trailing off like a hollow gong.

“What have they done to you?”

“This isn’t you…”

“Enough…” you sobbed.

You curl into a ball, raking your scalp as you bury your face into your knees, resisting from succumbing into this haunting episode. You reply to the voices with great refusal and denial.

“It’s because you’re afraid…”

“STOP!” you cry out, alone in your room. After your outburst, you realize that you might have alerted some patrolling guards; you sit still, expecting a polite knock followed by a “Are you alright?”, none of them came—much to your relief. Although, Cal’s voice and words persists; you didn’t really notice until now that his voice and the collective voice of the Inquisitors constantly thrashed at each other like predators against one another.

“I didn’t abandon you. I looked for you…”

This is perhaps what prevailed the whole time. Cal’s tiny spark of hope in those words shone its way through the cold of your armor. You couldn’t help but feel betrayed by your brothers and sisters, they who groomed you into a killing machine with a red blade like them, and constantly gaslighted you into thinking that you were abandoned—by your friends and ultimately, by Cal—and that you owe your life to them , the Inquisitors.

“He… looked for me? He wanted to find me?” you mumble under your breath, clutching your chest as your heart calmed down.

You’re reminded of your bracelet that he wore around his wrist. You could only wonder how many time he looked at it, touched it with and without Psychometry, and just simply remembered you.

“He kept it, too…”

Your heart ached, and eventually so, you melted to the floor and reduced into a sobbing mess—all these feelings fighting in your mind, unsure which one to feel.

Anger? Yes, but for whom this time?

Sadness? For Cal and the life you’ve lost, most certainly.

Hope? Bleak but possible.

“You still have a choice…”

“Twelfth Sister?” the voice in your head trailed off the moment your gauntlet comms bleeped.

You jumped, startled by the sound. You recomposed yourself and cleared your throat prior to answering.

“We require your assistance in the war room.”

“Of course, Captain, I’ll be on my way.”

—-

Cal is exactly in the same predicament as you in the confines of his cramped room.

A while ago, he had picked up your outburst in the middle of his own meditation. He wondered what had slipped into your mind to put you in such an overwhelming mental state. All he could feel was sadness, his free hand trailed to the cord around his wrist and ran his thumb against the tarnished metal pendant.

Earlier, when he returned to the Mantis, he announced that you took a Force-sensitive child from the city, everybody was up in arms to concoct a plan—especially Cere, knowing full well what they’ll do to captive Force-sensitive children.

During that planning, the former Jedi held her finger, her expression in full, deep thought and then she marches to the communications station—her personal workspace—in the cockpit without a word to anyone. With her dexterous fingers, she fiddled with the dashboard, her arms and hands moving from one spot to another—acting on pure muscle memory and instinct.

“I found a signal,” spoke Cere softly, and she obligated to repeat herself when she assumed no one had heard her. “There’s a signal, coming from the reception tower of an Imperial garrison in the east. I’ve been keeping up with them through their comms; transport ships are frequently deployed there for various purposes—ration supply runs, troop deployment, pickup, you name it. No doubt, [Y/N] will have the child delivered to their fortress on one of those ships.”

She fine-tuned the frequency by slightly turning the knob back and forth until the audio went clear—the entire comms of the Imperial garrison plays through the Mantis’s speakers for everyone to hear.

“I just received word from the Twelfth Sister. They’re orders to request a transport ship to Mons Golotha.”

The crew collectively pulled their eyebrows together at the mention of an Inquisitor’s title and the name of a new planet, but they put aside the questions for later.

“Date of departure?”

“No word yet, she says she’ll personally see to it. I think it must be a heads up.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll process her request real quick. Inquisitors always get the priority here.”

“It’s almost like Lord Vader but less terrifying.”

Cere lowered the volume, and turned to Cal.

“Twelfth Sister?” Greez grumbled in a hybrid of disbelief and confusion.

“That’s [Y/N], she’s the Twelfth Sister among the Inquisitors,” Cal coldly answered.

An awkward silence befell between the Lateron and the young boy.

“Are you gonna burst in there like you did last time?” inquired Merrin.

“Well, it worked thus far,”

“And look where it got you.”

Merrin wins the banter of wits. Cal yields willingly, though he retained to the topic of how to rescue the child and you, without any sarcastic comebacks brimming with sound points. Cere presumed it ought to be a trap, reading between the lines of the last few sentences the Stormtroopers said; she made it clear that you are not to be underestimated, for an alliance with the Dark Side and the Inquisitorius, no less, has made you doubly unpredictable.

The adult woman hacks into the garrison’s systems again and produces a rough, three-dimensional blueprint of the complex to amp out their entry and escape. Using the computer’s projector, the holomap floats in the center of the cockpit, surrounded by everyone.

“Once we’re in the garrison yard, I can find a computer and hack it so we can get a map of the inside,” commented Cere.

Cal rotated the map so the back side of the garrison complex faces him.

“I can scale its southern wall and sneak past the guards there, which I think would be minimal, considering they’re in the middle of nowhere. I’ll create an opening for us—Cere, you’ll be the one finding the kid.”

“And I take it that you’re coming after [Y/N] then?”

Cal clicked his tongue at the same time he pointed his finger at Cere in the shape of a gun, while keeping a poker face. In response, Cere sighed and rolled her eyes, equivalent to the saying, “Of course, you will.”

He had a feeling that the transport was a front, he reminds himself of the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier; and so, he couldn’t afford to let another hour pass to let your plan succeed. He asks Cere to keep the comms on while their own signature is masked, it’ll be their only way of knowing if you’re on the move; it’s also his guilty pleasure of hearing your voice again, for he always thinks the moments you have together aren’t enough, it isn’t exactly docile either—given the current predicament.

While they were debating on the best approach for stealth, the speakers crackled again and drew everyone’s attention.

“Captain?”

Cal jumped on his feet as soon as he heard your voice at the first word.

“She on!”

“How long until my ship is ready for travel?”

“Not for long now, Inquisitor.”

Over the comms, the baby could be heard fussing in between your exchange with Captain Foros; another thing is the impending storm that’s gradually disrupting the signals, making it hard to piece together the conversation.

“Make sure… I leave… hour and a half…”

“Yes-s-s-s… Inquisitor…”

With everything they’ve gathered so far, Cal assumed that they only have an hour and half left to reach you before you get off-world.

“We have to go!”

Cal and Cere dashed to the door, the boy slams the same button that opens the contained door with the speeder. Cere drove the speeder, when they closed enough distance between themselves and the garrison, she scrambled the signal of the speeder as they approached the complex. According to plan, Cere dropped Cal at the backside of the garrison.

“Hey, Cal?”

The boy turned around before even taking his first step.

“Save her.”

There is a heaviness in those two simple words, Cal felt it in his heart, nonetheless the determination is there. He clenched his fist and looked at Cere straight in the eye.

“I plan to.”

22 notes · View notes

dibleopard-writes · 3 years

Text

Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down.

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship’s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent.

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do?

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis. As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and –

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?”

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?”

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!”

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar.

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’… clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark.

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms.

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard

#star wars fanfiction #star wars prequels #ao3 fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars

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shimmersing · 4 years

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Chapter Two: Hope

“You’ll join us in celebrating, of course?” The Duke spread his arms in welcome. “The children will so much want to speak with you, and I’m certain you have many tales of Jedi courage to share. And your crew as well!”

Standing next to Duke Charle Organa on a palace balcony, Jedi Consular Aitahea Daviin finally relaxed enough to let go of the sigh it seemed like she’d been holding in for months. The Force plague had kept her on Tattooine for so long she’d thought she could never bear sunlight again, but the familiar comfort of the alpine breeze and docile morning light was a soothing change from Tattooine’s punishing binary system.

Despite her sunburned cheeks, Aitahea’s eyes sported sunken shadows, her already delicate features too hollow. Her crew had doubled since leaving Coruscant; Tharan Cedrax and his assistant, Holiday, had decided to join Aitahea and Qyzen on the Luminous after their work on Nar Shadda had been completed. Adjusting to new allies and personalities was taking time, as expected, but Aitahea found herself appreciating the quiet busyness on board. It distracted from the worry and strain of their mission, a burden the consular stubbornly refused to share. Locating Master Sidonie on Alderaan should mean the end of this particular search.

The consular prided herself on entering every situation with the best intentions. What she returned with each time was something a little different; with each healing, each new link to Vivicar, another barbed hook anchored in her spirit. Just a little more.

Returning to Alderaan should have been a welcome respite, but with Vivicar’s Force plague intensifying across the galaxy, she had no time to rest. The Council was counting on her established connections with House Organa, but the nobility was not all-powerful. Her contacts were sending messages and holos in circles, leading Aitahea on a wild bantha chase instead of taking her directly to the at-risk Master Sidonie. It would be nearly a day before she could even meet her first contact.

Perhaps she should take a few hours for dinner after all.

“Thank you. I’m honored to be welcome at your table, Your Grace.”

The Duke smiled magnanimously at Aitahea, who suddenly felt a very great deal younger than she had a moment ago. “Good. We'll eat and drink and strategize and show the world we still have hope.”

Aitahea nodded wistfully. Hope.

As a youngling, coming to Alderaan after the chaos of the Sacking of Coruscant had been a privilege and a blessing. Her time here as an initiate had been filled not only with growth and change, but also a substantial and comforting structure that Aitahea had excelled within. The alpine valleys had swiftly earned her affection in place of the urban landscape of Coruscant, and she had felt welcomed and cherished in House Organa.

The formality of the royal houses, the pomp and circumstance of court, and the composed, powerful women of Alderaan had inspired Aitahea so much that she’d begun wearing her hair in the same manner, braids wound into a bright but less elaborate coronet. The struggle of maintaining both public and private lives in the face of Alderaan’s seemingly endless brawl for rule had seemed a magical dance that they completed with admirable grace, and Aitahea had watched them eagerly, nurturing a love for peaceful diplomacy.

She’d found a strangely familiar family in the Duke and Duchess, as well as in their children. The handful of other Jedi younglings that she’d joined in the enclave had welcomed and accepted her, but they had never quite become the family that her first clan had been. Nor her biological family, still residing on Coruscant. With the vastness of space now between them instead of just a quick speeder ride, her unique attachment to her parents and younger sister had languished.

She had also loved the stolen moments of silliness that had let her feel like an ordinary child, without the looming responsibilities of a swiftly growing initiate, without the memories of terror and fear that no child should have. The time she and the other younglings of the Jedi Enclave had snuck into a private revel and filched several bottles of wine that none of them had been brave enough to taste. Even her first kiss, hiding in an alcove during the very same thievery incident, in these very halls.

Lost in thought, Aitahea startled a little when the Duke tucked a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear, the motion gentle and paternal. “Child, what troubles you?”

The Duke’s concern enveloped her, even without the use of her empathic senses. She blinked back a sudden stinging in her eyes. “So many things, Your Grace, I scarcely know where I would even begin.” She turned, offering a sentimental smile. “But at the moment I was only recalling the fond memories I made here.”

“You are always welcome on–”

Aitahea turned as the sound of rapid footfalls came into hearing, alerted by the sudden urgent presence. Haley Organa, barely more than a boy when Aitahea had left for Tython, sprinted down the hallway to where Duke Organa and the Jedi stood. He slowed, taking a few deep breaths before speaking, brow creasing a little when he caught sight of Aitahea’s face.

“My lord? There's a call coming in on your secure channel.”

“Thank you, Haley.” He shifted slightly to include the now wholly composed Jedi. “You may remember Aitahea Daviin, now a full Jedi of the Order, formerly a member of our own enclave.”

Recognition flickered in the younger man’s eyes, followed by an efficient bow. “Master Jedi, welcome back to Alderaan.”

“Pleased to see you again, Haley. Let’s not delay.” Aitahea wondered as they turned to follow Haley if the command room was where she remembered.

As they walked, Duke Organa provided Aitahea with some of the more sensitive details about the strife between the noble houses, how the aggressions had accelerated in recent days, even prompting the involvement of the Republic military in an official capacity. The escalations hadn’t escaped Aitahea’s notice even while she continued on her own missions; Erithon’s messages had kept her apprised of information she might not otherwise have been party to.

Neither of them had been foolish enough to risk sensitive data in their communications, but Aitahea had a reasonable amount of faith that the Jedi Order’s slicers could keep her missives secure, and either way it was him. She’d been more disappointed than she would admit when they kept missing key starports by days, even hours once, ships literally passing in the unreal night of hyperspace. What she found herself most irked with at the moment was an unviewed holo practically burning a hole in her comm, but Aitahea hadn’t had a moment to herself since they’d arrived. It would be nice to hear his voice. To be fair she’d sneaked a peek at his service record just once a few weeks ago, curious when his birthdate was, purely for debriefing reasons and she hadn’t known his service holo was included in the file so that had been a nice surprise…

Haley was ushering them into the command room when Duke Organa paused to gaze closely at Aitahea, who found herself with her hands at her temples, disoriented. “Master Jedi? Aitahea?”

“Oh,” she gasped, lashes fluttering. “Forgive me, it’s nothing.” The Jedi shook her head, refocusing – if only there had been time for a moment of rest.

The Duke pressed a hand under Aitahea’s elbow, regret creasing his brow as he led her into the room. “I’m sorry that this will likely add to your burden. Introductions proper will have to wait. Master Aitahea; General Kashim.”

Aitahea nodded to the Mon Cal. “General, may the Force be with us.”

“Indeed,” he replied before turning back to the Duke. “Your Grace, by your leave.”

Charle Organa narrowed his eyes as the holocamera whirred. “Put it through, General.”

Aitahea found her fingers brushing against her lightsaber hilt and quickly clasped her hands at her waist, pulling in a steadying breath.

The holo flickered to life; the being’s size ridiculously exaggerated, it dominated the holotable, wildly disproportionate to the beings in the room. A human smirked down at the Duke and his advisors, a misplaced and blustering bravado coating his words. He spoke; “It's been a long time, my lord Duke. Who is your friend?”

Organa waved his hand impatiently. “If she should wish to speak to the Wolf Baron of House Thul, she’ll do so herself.” The Duke tilted his head and the holocamera swiveled.

Aitahea took a step forward, her demeanor vulnerable and gently diplomatic as she opened her hands beseechingly. “Baron Thul, my name is Aitahea Daviin, a Jedi Consular and friend to House Organa. Your Lordship, I’m told you ordered the land bombed and the turrets captured.”

Thul sneered, tossing his head back, but his gaze was still calculating. He answered leisurely. “I did, yes. Your Republic friends may have retaken the Spears of Organa, but they served my purpose – scattering your people and sending them straight into my hands.”

Aitahea struggled to hide a sharp swell of apprehension; she knew Organa had involved some military resources in returning the Spears into the right hands, yet this was the first mention from someone other than Organa himself. This in addition to the wild rumors of Sith on the ground in the highlands. It seemed like madness.

Organa drew himself up and glared at the holocamera. “What are you saying, Baron?”

The Wolf Baron scowled impatiently. “I’m saying that House Thul has taken three hundred Organa citizens captive.” The man’s lips twisted viciously as he savored their shock. “I thought you’d want to know.”

The Duke reeled back a step, and General Kashim gripped the edge of the holoprojector. After a breath, Aitahea lifted her eyes to the hologram again, her words low and measured. “Make your demands, Your Lordship. We’re listening.”

“Talk, Baron, before my patience runs out!” Organa snapped furiously. Aitahea remained still as a frozen pond, attention fixed on the holo while she flooded the Force around them with subtle patience.

Thul took his time smoothing his hands over his tunic before peevishly clearing his throat, all while Organa fumed and the Jedi waited with seemingly boundless tranquility. “I’d like to meet in person to civilly discuss the fate of my prisoners.” Organa bit back a snarl, while Aitahea stiffened at the words ‘my prisoners’. “I’m sending a time and coordinates now.

“In the meantime, your people will be treated well.” The Baron leaned back, hooking his thumbs into his belt as though he’d just pronounced some magnanimous gift, but a vicious glint remained in his eyes. “The incident with your son-in-law will not be repeated.”

The line went dead.

Aitahea’s practiced façade faltered as she tried to unravel the Baron’s final words. “With your… Your Grace, what does he mean?”

Organa stared at his clenched fist, unhearing. “Damn him! Damn his eyes!”

Kashim folded his arms. “I suggest you remain calm. This is the Wolf Baron’s trap.”

Organa rounded on his general, venting his frustration. “I’m not a fool! But a ruler who can’t protect his people is no ruler at all.” The Duke shook his head, squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply. Aitahea felt a twinge of irritation; the influences she had attempted to weave into the pattern of the Force were fading all too rapidly under Organa’s emotive tirade. “I have to go.”

“No, Your Grace.” Aitahea lifted her chin, an elegant motion filled with quiet confidence. “Allow me to handle the Wolf Baron.”

Organa turned to the Jedi, worry clear in his eyes. “My dear, I cannot place you at risk.”

“Your Grace, before I ever stepped foot on Tython, my training here prepared me for ordeals just like this. Your household equipped me for this very moment. The very least I can do is protect the house that so generously sheltered me when I was young.”

The Duke’s face softened. “My dear Aitahea – Master Aitahea – you are among Alderaan’s bravest daughters, and our best hope. You will not go alone.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. We will rescue your people. The Force is with us.”

“Lead the way, and I will follow. Sweep aside the Wolf Baron’s Black Guard, his assassins. He wants to meet? Let us meet on even terms.”

Kashim nodded severely. “House Thul will be massing its forces. I will prepare our troops while you confront the Wolf Baron.”

“Thank you, General. And Aitahea, I wish this were under better circumstances, but…” The duke straightened proudly and gave her a level stare. “I pronounce you a paladin of House Organa, my beacon in the dark.”

Aitahea felt something flutter in her chest and pursed her lips at the phrase before nodding her acceptance. “It is an honor, Your Grace.” Swept up in the solemnity of the moment, she dropped into a low curtsey, more elaborate and demonstrative than her usual motion of hand to heart, drawn directly from the customs of the court.

“Master Jedi.” Organa leaned forward to take Aitahea’s trembling hands and drew her back to her feet with an encouraging smile. “It is your valor I salute. Your word I believe. Clear the path, my friend, and let us look evil in the eye.”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars the old republic #jedi consular #republic trooper #alderaan #oc/oc #fluffy #awww they're precious #oc: aitahea daviin #oc: erithon zale #erithon/aitahea #ao3

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