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breakfastteatime · 5 months

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The Force has many ways of imparting its message. Sometimes it nudges. Other times it bellows. Now, very (very) early in the morning, the Force is a feather brushing across a bare foot. Jaro awakens with a smile and a certainty.

Cal needs him. Why, he does not know. It is not a bad feeling. Just the knowledge that Jaro’s presence is required.

Leaving the comfort of his bed, Jaro slips on his robe, clips his lightsaber to his belt, and heads out. Cal’s room is nearby, and the hallways are quiet this time of night, the distant and ever-present hum of the engines the only sound to hear.

Reaching Cal’s room, Jaro opens the door and immediately sees he has a problem. It is not an unexpected one, it is merely one he has not had to deal with before. It reminds him of how short a time Cal has been his apprentice. He had been warned the day he took Cal from the creche. Master Entola, noticeably red around the eyes, looked across her desk at Jaro with a fond smile.

“Cal will sleepwalk every now and then. There’s no avoiding it,” she told him. “Not far, and you’ll usually find him talking to a wall, but it is something you should be aware of.”

This morning, Cal has made good on Master Entola’s promise. He is not in his bed. He is not in his room at all. His blanket his strewn across the deck, along with a datapad. His boots are neatly placed alongside the rest of his clothes, meaning wherever he is, he is barefoot.

Knowing he can’t get into too much trouble – there are literally thousands of people aboard this ship, and Cal is likely to bump into at least one of them – Jaro does not immediately rush off or send out a ship-wide announcement telling everyone to keep an eye out for the boy. He shall spare his Padawan whatever blushes he can. Instead, Jaro reaches into the feather soft Force and seeks out Cal’s presence. Shrouded in sleep though he may be, Cal is still Cal.

He is also several decks below Jaro.

Curious, wondering what dream could lead Cal so far away, Jaro takes the nearest turbolift down to where Cal is. He nods to every clone he walks past, all of them snapping to attention and saluting. Jaro does not particularly like it, finds their pre-programmed reverence somewhat distasteful, sentients should be free to choose who they dedicate their lives and loyalty to, yet he does not ask them to desist.

The ‘lift deposits him in a cargo bay. There are many aboard the Brave, but this one is reserved for emergency supplies should they need to evacuate civilian populations. Winding his way through the crates, Jaro becomes aware of a small voice.

“…so tall, you can’t miss him.”

Jaro turns a corner and there he is, Cal, and as promised he is talking to a wall. Well, no, not a wall. A container, apparently containing emergency clothing supplies. From the big smile on Cal’s face, what he sees in his dream does not match the mundanity of reality.

…unless the boy has a fondness for ponchos and rainboots.

“Should I wake him when I find him?” Jaro had asked Master Entola.

“No. Best to simply take him back to bed. He will stay there once you put him back. One little nighttime stroll is all he ever seems to need.”

And so Jaro crouches down and speaks softly. “Cal?”

The boy looks up (and up) to Jaro, smiling brightly. “Here he is!” Cal tells the crate. “See? He’s very tall.” He nods as though the crate is passing comment on Jaro’s height.

“Come.” Jaro places a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “And bring your new friend.”

This, apparently, is precisely what Cal’s dream expects. He chatters brightly, telling his imaginary friend that they’ll be safe now, Master Tapal is a very good Jedi.

“What happened?” Jaro asks, guiding Cal onto the ‘lift.

“She got lost,” Cal tells him. “In the woods. She couldn’t find her family. She found me instead. And then we found you.” The sleeping boy frowns. “Or you found us. I’m not really sure.”

“The outcome is the same either way,” Jaro says as they board the turbolift.

The ‘lift arrives on the residential deck and he and Cal step out. The troopers all salute again, greeting Cal, but Cal is too busy talking about trees and getting lost to notice. Of course, he is also quite literally asleep on his feet. Given that he would have walked past all of them on his sleepwalk through a dream forest, Cal either said enough to silence any concern, or they assumed he was on Jedi business and let him get on with it.

Back in Cal’s room, Jaro steers him back into bed with lots of reassurances that his new friend will be safely escorted back to her family. He tucks him in and opts to remain in the room until, as advertised, Cal simply drifts off into standard Human sleep, the type where he remains in bed with his eyes closed and his voice silent. The Force settles around him, a quiet hum to match the engines, and Jaro finally feels it is safe to leave Cal for the rest of the night.

At a civil hour, Cal emerges from his cabin bright-eyed and completely unaware of his earlier excursion.

“Are you okay, Master? You look tired.”

Oh, to have the energy of youth. “I am well, Padawan.” And will be even better once he consumes a small bucket of caf. “You look very well-rested.”

“Uh huh!”

And, as Jedi tradition dictates, a Jedi Master is allowed to have a little fun in the name of education. “Perhaps you would like to go for a run after breakfast,” Jaro suggests. “A lap of the nearby cargo deck before we resume lightsaber training.”

“Okay!”

Jaro sighs. He cannot win. Perhaps when Cal is in his teens a task like that will result in much stifled complaining and malicious compliance.

#star wars jedi: fallen order #cal kestis #jaro tapal #jfo headcanon #jfo minific #inspired by that one toddler i had sleepwalk back when i worked in a nursery #cute kid but i nearly had a heart attack #he's about 16 by now #O_o

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antianakin · 5 months

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I keep seeing this frustrating post about how Anakin wouldn't have fallen if the Jedi made him a Creche Master because "babies need attachments!" No. Babies need support and love. Anakin would have SUCKED as a Creche Master. Because the Younglings would LEAVE. I have a feeling he would have sabotaged as many as he could get away with to keep them with him. Because he STILL has the flaw, he believes people belong to him. Not to themselves. He MAYBE wouldn't have killed ALL the Younglings. But he would have taken them to be raised as Darksiders and in Sith teachings so is that really better then death?

Sure I giggle about Creche Master Anakin as an AU. But when people start insisting it's the RIGHT PATH... yeah no. Those kids would have been miserable.

I've definitely seen posts about how the Jedi were terrible people for "forcing" Anakin to be a soldier instead of allowing him to be a Creche Master, as if Anakin wasn't saying from DAY ONE that he wanted to be a Jedi because he wanted to be a big hero who came back to free the slaves. That's not the kind of work a Creche Master does and the kind of work a Creche Master does doesn't seem like something Anakin would be too terribly interested in.

He reacts pretty negatively to being handed a teenaged Padawan and tells her not to "slow him down," so I don't really see him being particularly patient with little kids, personally, or happy to just sit around being nurturing and cleaning up messes and providing enrichment and dealing with temper tantrums. He'd HATE IT. He's honestly TERRIBLE as a teacher to Ahsoka, too. His early attempts at bonding with her suck, his idea of helping Ahsoka overcome a massive fuck-up that caused several people to die is to put himself in danger and force her to be the only leader in charge and if she fails, they literally all die, and he offers her zero support in that. He's late to what appears to be an important Jedi test and when she does well, he doesn't praise her at all and instead tells her that the test is inadequate. And of course the training he ends up giving her involves shocking her into unconsciousness in an unsafe environment for hours upon hours. When Ahsoka ultimately decides to leave the Jedi, his pleas for her to come back are all about HIMSELF and he practically accuses her of being an idiot for refusing to stay.

Nothing about his one relationship with a child in his care really ever shows that he'd be GOOD at handling children as his JOB. Or that he'd even WANT to. And like a lot of people have been saying about going into jobs like that in real life or about becoming a parent, this is the kind of thing you really should feel 100% committed to before making that choice.

I don't think Anakin would've intentionally sabotaged the Order by trying to make its children leave. He does obviously somewhat unintentionally encourage a mistrust of the Council and a judgment of the Order with Ahsoka, but he never wants her to leave. Like I said earlier, he actively insists that she has to come back to the Order when she tries to leave and makes her choice all about himself. He gets accusatory and tells her she CAN'T just throw this life away even though she's already said she feels like she can't trust herself right now. Anakin refuses to leave the Order himself, he doesn't really want to because he does want the things that come with it, he just doesn't tend to like Jedi teachings or the limitations that ALSO come with being a Jedi. He wants to have all of the positives of being a Jedi and none of what he'd consider negatives. So even if we pretend Anakin might've been willing to become a creche master of some kind, I don't see him intentionally sabotaging them. I don't think he even realizes he's doing that to Ahsoka at all, he's completely shocked when she runs during the Wrong Jedi arc and when she leaves at the end.

But I do think he'd have a negative impact on the kids, I do think he'd end up possessive of them. I think he'd probably play favorites and be overly harsh when having to deal with discipline or just actively neglectful towards some of them. I think Anakin would be constantly frustrated and annoyed by the kids if they weren't acting the exact way he wanted them to. I think he'd have a hard time trying to connect to them and would desperately want to pass them off onto someone else to deal with the worst problems. The concept of Anakin stealing some of those favorites during Order 66 to raise them as Sith or Inquisitors of some kind is absolutely devastating.

This is also why I giggle at those silly little board books about Darth Vader the father with baby Luke and Leia, but also like holy shit the concept of Luke and Leia being raised by Anakin, especially once he's chosen to be Vader, is HORRIFYING as a concept. It would NOT be this cute sweet little thing, Luke and Leia would be so fucking miserable and they'd probably both turn out really badly as a result of such a terrible upbringing.

I don't think anything in ROTS really indicates he wants kids, either. His reaction to Padme's revelation that she's pregnant doesn't exactly scream excited or happy and he never really shows any interest in the baby or their future as a family the way Padme does. Padme will wax poetic about how she wants to raise the baby on Naboo and Anakin's response is "you look so beautiful." He'll have a nightmare about Padme dying in childbirth and Padme has to literally prompt him to consider whether the baby survived or not. Palpatine gets him to turn on Windu by saying "I can help you save the ONE you love." What he yells at Obi-Wan on Mustafar is "You will not take HER from me" rather than "THEM." When he wakes up from surgery, he ONLY asks about Padme and not whether the baby survived. At no point does he ever genuinely seem to give a shit about the baby at all or show any indication that he WANTS to have kids. He doesn't fantasize about their future together as a family, he isn't brainstorming names with her, he isn't worried about how to raise a baby in secret.

And obviously the desire for children of your own is not the same as the desire to be a teacher, but I feel like the crechemasters are RAISING those kids, they're not just a daycare worker who passes them back to their real parents at the end of the day. So if Anakin doesn't even show any interest in raising his own biological children in canon, I don't see that he'd have any interest in raising the Jedi children. And it certainly wouldn't save him from going dark. It just means he's on planet more often and so probably spends even MORE time with Palpatine which means he might actually become a Sith even SOONER.

Even in the nicest possible AU where Anakin gets raised by the Jedi from a much earlier age and has no real issues with authority or attachments the way he does in canon, and he isn't influenced by Palpatine at all and genuinely does love being a Jedi etc etc, I don't see his personality as being someone who would be satisfied just being a Creche master. I feel like he'd still want something more thrilling than that, something that allowed him to go out and travel and do "bigger" stuff. I think he'd likely be a better teacher in general, he might be fine coming by the Creche once in a while to interact with the kids, and he'd be a lot better with his own padawan, but a Creche master as a career? Eh, I don't see it. Maybe once he starts getting really old and feels like switching things up a bit. We know through High Republic that this is an option the Jedi can take, they can move away from rougher field work and take up slower positions if they feel like they need to for one reason or another. So sure, maybe in the nicest possible AU, Anakin might one day in his twilight years decide to slow down enough to be a Creche master. But that's probably the only way I can see it actually happening.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin critical #anakin skywalker critical

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tennessoui · 8 months

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I LOVE the time traveler Ahsoka idea! I'm imagining her sitting the entire Temple down for a 200 slide powerpoint on the Obikin problem and the many, many ways she has tried to fix it and her eyes are getting crazier and crazier and she's like, please, Masters, I'm running out of ideas.

Funniest if this is Jedi Temple pre-obi-wan arrival or very recently post obi-wan arrival so baby obi-wan is playing peek-a-boo in the creche while Ahsoka is orchestrating a war meeting

The Jedi masters are like oh well if it’s really that bad for this obi-wan kenobi and anakin skywalker to meet, why don’t you just tell them that? Won’t telling them that they can’t meet the other and that millions of lives depend on this stop them from trying to seek the other out?

And Ahsoka is like ok so obviously you don’t know obi-wan “I’m made of sugar and spice and also scientific curiosity and bullheaded stubbornness” kenobi and anakin “don’t tell me what to do” Skywalker so you don’t know how stupid of a suggestion that was but holy shit that is a stupid suggestion that I’ve also already tried like 5 times!!!

#asks #obikin #time traveler Ahsoka au #ahsoka: the moment they hear they’re not supposed to talk to each other #it’s all they want to do #the ONLY time that this ALMOST worked is when I freed anakins mother and anakin and anakin felt indebted to me #AND THEN IT DIDNT WORK #because obi-wan was undercover using a fake name #and anakin thought ben Kenobi was soooo fine to fall in love with and be weird with instead #and do you want to know what happened?????#collective Jedi masters: ….they got weird about it?#ahsoka: death !! of the galaxy!!!! of the Jedi order!! of the republic!!!! and they were so weird about each other !!!!!

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toiwen · 2 months

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Love, Yet The Jedi Code. Foreword

Summary: Their friendship blossomed quickly. It felt as right and completely unexpected as finding your cyber crystal among many others in the Ilum caves.

How they first met was quite spectacular.

Obi-Wan was sure it clearly paved the way. However, the circumstances of their first encounter were unfortunate for him.

He was in trouble. But she helped him avoid punishment for some time. With grace and humor.

Needless to say, what a vivid impression she made on him, the initiate.

Over the years, she never failed to surprise him like she did even before they properly talked. It led them to a dangerous and unstable position where restrictions faded.

And the Jedi Code was broken.

Relationships: Obi-Wan/Original female character

Tags: hurt/comfort, slowburn, fix it, from friends to lovers, canon typical violence

Disclaimer:

English is not my first language. This fanfiction doesn't strictly follow the canon. And I'm a slow writer :)

I love reasonable criticism. So go ahead!

This fanfiction is also posted on ao3.

That's all. Enjoy the chapter!

***

A Jedi initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi walked out of a History classroom, looking pensive at notes on his datepad and then closing them with a tired sigh.

Master Aqwu finally moved from Evolution of AgriCorps to Jedi Code Establishment, which seemed a far more useful and captivating theme to Kenobi. He even asked for additional literature on the subject. However, the creche mates did not share Obi- Wan’s enthusiasm and continued to imitate writing down while they were actually sleeping. He could not blame them for lack of attention. Not when it was clearly visible that Master Aqwu preferred any tedious mission to teaching children the curves of history.

Though it would have been pretty nice to have someone who had heeded the lecture that day. Because Obi-Wan was not capable of shrugging off the incompleteness of the master’s words and texts that were given within the course.

He automatically rounded a corner to exit the Study Wing.

Master Aqwu said that Jedi numbers were much higher. About forty Jedi Temples and other objects like fortresses and libraries were built throughout the Galaxy. In a dozen of them, children were taught Jedi arts. Then the rise of the Sith came and left behind ruins.

Obi-Wan wanted to learn what had gone wrong.

“How did the Jedi of those times miss the increasing threat of the Dark Side?”, he asked Master Aqwu, almost interrupting her monotonous voice.

The master gave him a slightly exasperated look, he recalled. Obi-Wan’s curiosity was somewhat insatiable that day.

Kenobi knew he was slightly unbearable that day and did not stop.

Master Aqwu always praised interest despite her own lack of involvement. So Kenobi did not restrain himself from asking questions. It cost him several eye rolls from peers and a bit of overwhelming awkwardness, which did not really matter.

“As I mentioned before”, Master Aqwu stressed, “the techniques of the Sith had not been fully examined before this massive attack. For instance, merging with the Force and not being exposed was one of them. The Dark Side kept their whereabouts, relocations, and schemes in a strict secret as well. Even followers themselves didn’t know every detail. Few who knew didn’t dare to spread information, fearing awful consequences”.

Obi-Wan frowned.

“But to destroy Temples they needed a decent amount of support. It is impossible to control what so many recruits and allies say. Something might have slipped”

“Pieces of details did”, the master nodded.

“Operations were organised on the basis of it”, she added, noticing the inquisitive glances of woken initiates.

“I see. And what kind of operations?”, Obi-Wan enquired politely.

“Well, mostly collection of information, spying missions included. It was vital not to cause panic, so our predecessors adhered to quiet politics”.

“I suppose it was a way to handle the situation”, Kenobi agreed cautiously, and did his best not to give out scepticism in his voice.

Fortunately his attempt was successful. Aqwu smiled kindly and renewed the lecture.

Obi-Wan passed by the windows. Outside them, the metal and glass of Coruscant were blazed with sunset light. He glanced at the beauty of it.

Kenobi repeated the lesson in his head to clarify if he understood correctly. The Jedi were taken aback because they did not act against the Sith openly.

Did they only make sorties to enjoy the sight of the evil Sith doing their shady deals? This passive behaviour sounded unreasonable. Not the way of the Jedi at all. Obi-Wan hoped to find answers in archives and books. In this case, he wished to be wrong in his assumptions.

Kenobi decided to hold the reading and headed to the training rooms down the hall. They must be gone by now, but he did not mind being on his own.

However, he was not the first person to think that one late practicing was good that day.

Apparently, the first one was supposed to be Bruck Chun.

Kriffing Kenobi’s luck.

“Hello-hello, Oafy-Wan. What can I see? Have you come to train your saber skills? I’m afraid it’s useless, my dear friend. Firstly, you will be sent out soon. Secondly, let’s remember that you’ve been incapable from birth. Considering your midi-chlorians and all.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with anger. He was sick of the everyday mockery of him. Often his friends were caught in the middle of it. Bruck always slithered into his mind and bit vulnerable parts like a snake. It would have been wiser to cope with him as such.

Kenobi barely contained himself from a bunch of good insults.

“Well, if I’m incapable, what are you doing here? You were here before I came”, he replied curtly, clenching fists.

Obi-Wan turned on his heels for tactical retreat. He was not in the mood for a word fight.

Bruck was not either. He despised Kenobi and did not need more to ignite his lightsaber.

“I’m here because I was guided by the Force to beat your arse”, Chun snickered and lunged.

Obi-Wan expected it and grabbed his weapon just in time to strike away Bruck’s blow.

The opponent recoiled and targeted Kenobi’s leg. Obi-Wan met the other boy’s blade, stepped back to keep distance, and redirected his lightsaber to the opened left arm. Chun parried and moved towards the rival. Obi-Wan meticulously exchanged Bruck’s attacks to his blocks.

And the track of time was lost in sparring in the empty hall.

Bruck saw that Obi-Wan was choosing mostly to catch his lightsaber hits than to make onslaughts himself. Chun pushed harder. Kenobi stubbornly raised his blade again and again, meeting blows without a miss. He played the game of waiting and reacting, no matter how tiring it was. Obi-Wan knew for sure it would lead to the win when Bruck could not carry on at full strength.

Obi-Wan firmly ducked Chun’s saber and drew his weapon above the rival’s torso to strike hard. But he quickly discovered that he should have defended longer.

Bruck’s blade swirled swiftly and jabbed his opponent’s arm. Obi-Wan hissed in pain and suppressed the urge to grasp the injured limb.

He sensed Bruck’s triumph flowing around in the Force. Kenobi cursed his impatience and the fear of being punished for fighting. Obi-Wan ignored the bitterness inside. He tried to calm down. Kenobi repeated “there is no emotion, there is peace” several times and swung his blade to cross it with Chun’s.

Obi-Wan called the Force to assist him, gritting his teeth when it was for naught.

He clashed his lightsaber against the aggressive blade of his rival. Bruck’s forehead was wet from the sweat. Kenobi could make a guess that he was not in a better shape either. Especially when his arm began to ache more. But the hope of lasting enough to win was still with him.

Obi-Wan watched Chun’s attacks closely and tried not to lose faith. After multiple moves from Bruck, Kenobi’s opponent indeed appeared to be less and less precise. Obi-Wan allowed himself to feel a bit happy about it.

Then Bruck suddenly stopped strikes. He stretched his arm forward, trying to knock down Obi-Wan with the Force.

Kenobi barely stayed on his feet. Obi-Wan was about to meet the wall by his back as he desperately attempted to dive into the Force. Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He let the Force envelop and guide him. Kenobi took a deep breath. He found it.

Obi-Wan hit the floor harshly and jumped to the height of the huge doors which lead to the training rooms. He never leapt this high.

Kenobi flipped in the air several times. His head was clear despite the spins he was making. The Force hummed pleasantly. It assured Obi-Wan of the rightness of what he was doing.

So when Kenobi launched, he stood firmly. Chun’s stance gave him an opportunity, and Obi-Wan did not hesitate. He pressed his blade against Bruck’s dominant arm with an abrupt swing. Chun yelped. A boy who taunted Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan summoned it and smiled broadly, not believing himself. Bruck’s weapon laid heavily in Kenobi’s hand. Obi-Wan looked at Chun's lightsaber hilt. It was a blue, shining material with twisted vines on it. There were few scratches on the handgrip.

“What a scruffy guy you are”, Kenobi teased, raising an eyebrow.

Bruck’s shock was still evident on his face. Soon, it was replaced with his hot shame.

“Don’t think you’re the best if you win once, Kenobi”. Chun spitted out.

He snatched his lightsaber out of Obi-Wan’s grip and walked away mad. His strides were long, as if Bruck hurried to get out of this hall. Obi-Wan thought it was hilarious.

He smiled even more broadly when Chun kicked the carpet on the floor.

But right after it, Kenobi’s high spirits ended sharply.

He saw how Bruck’s figure was tilting. Chun stumbled, collapsing on the floor with a thud. Obi-Wan ran towards him. Kenobi shook Bruck’s shoulder and called out his name.

Silence was the only reply.

Obi-Wan panicked. The air was sucked out of his lungs. The skin of Bruck became bluish.

They were rivals, yes, but he did not wish Chun dead.

He looked around, disoriented, and lowered to Bruck.

"The Halls of Healing were pretty far from here," the reminder raced in Obi-Wan’s head.

He measured Chun’s pulse. It was unsteady.

“It means you must move, Obi-Wan”, Kenobi ordered himself, putting his palm on Bruck’s back.

“Alright, let’s get...let’s get you to...”, Obi-Wan whispered to no one in particular.

Kenobi pulled Chun’s body to take him, brushing aside the pang in his injured arm when someone with really long hair rushed past him.

It was a girl dressed in fancy robes. Surprise filled Kenobi’s eyes.

“Leave him on the floor”, the girl got down and rolled up her sleeves.

“I’ll help him”, her voice sounded so confident that he obeyed.

Obi-Wan did not know what to do with his hands.

What if he went too far in the sparring.

What if he should have let Bruck win.

The girl lifted Bruck’s legs and bent them at the knees. She slackened Chun’s collar of his Jedi apparel. The girl rested her hand on his chest. Obi-Wan, who stood frozen until this sight, turned away, feeling oddly embarrassed.

“How long does your friend have problems with his heart?”, she asked, almost demanding.

The girl met his gaze, which he had brought back to see the passed out boy. Her irises were yellow. Obi-Wan dismissed the stupid Sith association, thinking about what she had just said.

Worry sank in his mind. He frowned.

“What? The heart problem?”, he encountered himself struggling with words and cleared his throat.

Instead of continuing the talk, she closed her eyes. The air buzzed as the swarm of invisible insects dashed to the girl’s pressed palm. The Force concentrated around her fingers. Obi-Wan stared in awe as waves of energy seeped past him to her. The skin tone of Bruck was lightning to normal colour.

“His heart beats as it should”, the girl breathed out in relief and distanced from Chun.

Kenobi noticed the tremble of the girl’s hands before she hid them in the rich fabric of her clothes.

At the end of the hall, several figures accompanied by droids came out. A woman and a man floated graciously behind Master Yoda. Their robes were embroidered with the same patterns the girl wore.

The girl and Obi-Wan hurried to stand up.

Master Yoda spoke up first.

“Lucky we are today. All the missed children we at once have found”, he chuckled.

“Obi-Wan, what misfortune with Bruck has occurred?”

“He fainted, Master Yoda”, Kenobi said, deciding not to elaborate.

Obi-Wan realised his brevity was spotted immediately. However, he could not help but want to keep himself unexecuted longer.

“I see”, Yoda hummed, “to the Halls of Healing you should Bruck take”.

Obi-Wan bowed and moved to Chun, but the girl politely intruded.

“Master Yoda, if my experience, not so extensive as it is currently, is any indication of how to treat patients, you should leave the passed out boy on the floor for some time. Otherwise, it can lead to repeated fainting as the passed out boy evidently suffers from heart disease. He will need a rest and a full examination. I’m sure his friend Obi-Wan will give the boy a hand as he tried to do when I came here. He will take the passed out boy to the Halls of Healing when he wakes. I suppose it’s necessary as my parents and I are needed to take care of the health of one of your masters. I deeply apologise for causing an obstacle through my absence. I heard many wonderful stories about Jedi Temple and wished to see it personally as soon as possible”.

She deeply bowed, imitating Obi-Wan’s manner. Her parents shared a smile with each other, albeit secretly and not ruining their composure. Master Yoda seemed amused as well, rubbing his chin.

Obi-Wan was quite flustered. His thoughts were darting. The girl called Bruck “the passed out boy” several times, even though she remembered Obi-Wan’s name from Yoda’s words. Obi-Wan swore she mocked Bruck.

But most importantly, the girl saved him from being punished. Not entirely, yes, but she did it.

And she did it for him.

Obi-Wan blushed and tried to conceal it.

“I should apologise for my long talking as well, I assume”, she said sheepishly, “it might have been tiring to listen”.

“Long you were speaking but making good points you were”, Yoda calmed the girl.

“Your advice we should listen. Obi-Wan, wait when Bruck wakes up and to the Halls take him. And I our guests will lead”.

The group proceeded, now the girl closed the procession. She winked at him and turned away.

Obi-Wan strangely felt warm.

#ao3 fanfic #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #star wars #obi wan x reader #kenobi series

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dixieconley · 4 months

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In Which Anakin Was Chosen To Fuck Shit Up

Idea courtesy of @justafanwarrior: What i'm seeing is Anakin calling Padmé in panic because "I took down the Senate! It was an accident! Well not really they were allowing slavery, but I didn't mean to like, take over the Galaxy! Please help me manage things and uh not having to be in charge? Please Angel?" and @vaugemessenger: He would probably also take down the senate in the process for allowing the zygerrian slave empire to exist without consequences

Sequel to:

Rex (the one with the brain cell): You do realize that by killing the chancellor, we've essentially declared martial law, leaving you in charge of the Republic right now, sir? Anakin: ::anakin.exe has stopped working:: Rex: Sir? They want to negotiate a surrender. What do you want to do? Fives: Overthrow the patriarchy! Establish a fast food empire! What? I could really go for some fries right now. Echo: We're free and in charge. I guess that means the general really *is* the Chosen One.

[Flashback to two months after arriving at the temple: Obi-Wan: I want you to visit the creche, Anakin. The initiates there are your age and it would really be best if you had friends that aren't droids. (Everyone really hates C3P0. Vos is considering going dark side. 'Just to violently dismember it then melt its metal in the nearest sun. Then I'll come back. We can go to Dex's after and celebrate. It'll be fun!') Anakin: I really hate you right now. ::at the creche:: Initiate: ::::pissed that this dickhead somehow has a master and she's maybe never going to get one:: How do you rate a master, pipsqueak?:: (Yes, it's Barriss. Of *course*, it's Barriss.) Anakin: I'm the Chosen One! Initiate: Chosen for what? Fucking shit up? Anakin: … Initiate: Yeah. Thought so. Get back to me on that.]

Anakin: ::panicking:: Angel, Angel, I really need you. You have no idea how bad I need you right now. Padme: Well, okay, but this is a strange time for a booty call. Anakin: No, listen-- wait, what? …uh, what are you wearing? ::twenty minutes later and relevant explanations issued while relaxed and no longer panicking:: Padme: I was born for this.

Anakin: Master, please! I really need your help! Obi-Wan: What did you accidentally on purpose destroy this time? Anakin: Hey! That's so not fair! I… okay, so I *did* kinda take down the chancellor, but only 'cause he made me a slave master, and now Padme says I'm technically in charge of the Republic because he had all these powers and for some reason made me his heir plus they're kinda scared of what I'll do since I blew up half the Senate building. And Dooku called and I kinda maybe ordered the GAR to glass Serenno and guess what? Dooku, um, made *you* his heir which makes you technically in charge of the Separatists, so… Obi-Wan: … Anaking: Master? Obi-Wan: What I'm hearing is that the war is over and I can finally get some sleep. Anakin: Master?? Obi-Wan: ::already snoring:: Anakin: I really hate you right now.

Anakin gets named emperor and nopes out of the day-to-day side of running an empire. Padme's his wife, which makes her the empress, she can do this. She was a queen once, right? How different could it be?

But being emperor *does* give him power to give the GAR orders and a LOT of sway with the Jedi council. So Anakin takes up slaver hunting as a hobby. (Senator Free Taa, I'm looking at you.) The Zygerrians and the Hutts go on the endangered species list. So do the Kaminoans. Most of the GAR joins in gleefully. (They take holos for everyone who isn't be there when Tipoca City is destroyed then exploded then vaporized. They may be holding a grudge. There's a huge viewing party. And a yearly celebration.)

Fives is named the duke of fast food. Dex's becomes the official caterer for the royal family and entourage. And if that entourage coincidently happens to be officially defined as the 501st? He isn't the one who determines such things. (Echo is, and is in on it for the milkshakes.)

The Force bubbles with delight. It chose the right person to fuck shit up.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #crack fic #crack #anakin skywalker #sw clone wars #sw fanfic #captain rex #padme amidala #anakin takes over the republic accidentally #as you do #fives is duke of fries #arc trooper fives

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abiiors · 6 months

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ive been reading thru your whole master list and the matty imagine w the baby onesie made me think ab how any/all of the boys would react if you brought your baby to a show or an album release party in a onesie w the box on it😭

oh this is so so cute!! 🥹

judging by the new yorker article where matty talked about how when baby hann is backstage, the greenroom turns into a creche and how everything is a super family-friendly environment, i would say it's the exact same for when your baby's there.

she's about seven months old and quite chatty, in that she babbles and makes grabby hands and anyone who so much as even says one word to her. and you decided her first show should be the reading self-titled 10 year anniversary show, complete with her own little self-titled merch onesie that she looks absolutely adorable it. she has a little black bow on her head to match it. in short, you've got your own lil emo baby to match her dad.

matty is of course the first one to see it when you get her ready, instantly cooing at her and admiring her. he hasn't stopped cuddling her honestly and if it weren't for him having to strap her into her baby seat for the car ride, you suspect she would have been attached to him for the entirety of it. apart from matty, george is the first one to see it because he's right there outside, sneaking a quick cig before he has to go in but you've never seen this man put out a cig this fast before as he practically runs towards matty to get a proper look at her. he barely has the patience till matty gets her out of the car seat and hands her over to him. and you watch your tiny tiny baby wrap this giant of a man around her little finger while he bounces her around and compliments her every two seconds like "look at you, all ready to rock and roll aren't you?" and "the cutest member of the band ever!" she giggles when he blows a raspberry on her tummy and tries to grab a few of his shiny necklaces.

all in all, it's uncle george who carries her inside where everyone else is chilling and getting ready for the show. and you know once the rest of them see her, she's going to be passed around from one set of arms to the other like a lil parcel until everyone is done cooing over her and telling her that she's the cutest baby ever. you're also quite happy about the fact that she's wide awake and hopefully, she will be throughout the set even though you only plan on watching the show with her on one of the screens backstage since the lights and loud sounds might be too scary for her just yet. and she's too small to have a fitted pair of headphones 😭

anyway, once all her uncles and aunties are ready for the show, you take a few quick photos--one where she's sat on matty's shoulders, the box nicely visible on her torso, and surrounded by everyone also in black. absolutely adorable <3

#asks #blurb asks #matty healy blurb #dad!matty #matty healy #the 1975 #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann

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haven-is-happy · 6 months

Text

How Battle Changes: Don't Eat That!

Chapter 7

Pairing: Dogma x Jedi!reader, platonic Wolfpack,

Chapter description: A politician's dinner is rarely without consequences

Warnings: !!!unhealthy eating habits!!!, reader has very little mental health stability, angst, reader is at their breaking point

Wordcount: 2,3 k

Masterlist

Somewhere along the line, your statements went from “mildly controversial” to “assassination worthy”.

You’re not sure when exactly that happened. You don’t care. It just means you are focusing on the right thing, pissing off the people who should be exposed the most.

The thought should be frightening.

Key word: should.

“It’s times like these that I think about my parents. My birth parents, not the parental figures of the caretakers and creche masters at the Jedi Temple. Are they still alive? Was I welcome in their family? Did they wait with bated breath until a child came, tears of joy when I first screamed my lungs out to signal I am breathing and healthy and then reluctantly given with tears to the Jedi? Or was I an intrusion, an accident, an inconvenience they gave away with a sigh of relief?”

Another scripted speech. You poured your heart out during the nights between senate meetings, because the tears that filled your eyes when you allowed yourself to ask these questions are unbecoming of a public representative.

You basically threatened your way into the senate as a representative of the clones and jedi who wish to leave the rigidity of the places they were raised in. Threatened, not elected.

You bought your presence in the chamber by keeping silent about the carnage Krell was allowed to go on, even before Umbara, keeping silent about the Senate's knowledge about the Malevolence, long before it was discovered by your former master Plo.

No tears. No weaknesses. They will tear you apart.

And so the speech continues as you swallow the most likely answer. It burns on the way down. It might burn on the way back up after you permit yourself to throw it up from stress in the “comfort” of your home.

You’ve researched. You know the sector where you most likely came from, now deep in Separatist territory, being the place of several battles at the start of the War.

“I may never know, as the Jedi Master who brought me to the temple is dead. She died on Geonosis and took dozens of secret parentages of padawans, knights and younglings to her grave. At her pyre I cried for the small child not yet outside their cradle that might never know if those that bore them love them.”

You take a steadying breath. Those wonders have long since passed.

“Perhaps it is better not knowing.”

The Senate is deadly silent to your face, but you know there are mute conversations happening in hand signals across the expansive chamber. Their auras betray even the slightest change of emotions. The colours shift and bleed into another as information is passed.

Seems like they have forgotten you can read them better than an open book.

“I know how many of you feel,” you keep a second-too-long break between the words with an emphasis, “about the Order’s practices around recruiting. The truth is the parents get a choice, having both options explained clearly as day. Give the child away so it may prosper as a part of the Order, with the promise that one day the child will be given a way to contact them, or keep the child and face the difficulties of a force-sensitive toddler reigning chaos.”

Expertly, the diplomatic skill taught at the temple made you slot a joke after threatening your audience in not-so-subtle ways. The clueless laugh. The knowing shudder.

You do not want to be seen as cruel.

But if you aren’t, it leaves room for argument.

Next to you, Dogma checks his comm.

The several months of being your guard didn’t change his face one bit. The v-shaped pattern fits well on his face, accentuated by the widow's peak he keeps his hair in. His eyes scan each individual senate-pod in his field of vision, then flick over to you. You have to remind yourself you’re in the force-damned Senate chamber in front of thousands of influential people to stop yourself from lovingly brushing a hand over his cheek.

His armour has been repainted in vibrant colours. The helmet is forgone entirely to show him being proud of being a clone. Jesse next to him is an even more stark reminder, with the republic cog tattooed onto his face.

The tactic is genius. You’ll have to thank Fives for coming up with that.

“The truth is, the vague feeling of my birth parents is no longer even a memory. Can one miss a vague shape in the back of your mind? When you can’t articulate yourself in childhood, maybe, but as an adult, it is but a shape you will gradually forget with age.”

“Clones, however, never had that shape. Many of us have a warm feeling as the first memory of our parents. Being held, coddled and even loved. But the clones didn’t get that luxury. Forgive me for being a cynic, but if you have a problem with the Order’s practices of child-kidnapping - as I heard many put it - why are you not fighting for the clones to have an equal privilege to childhood?”

Your voice rings powerful and accusatory through the full auditorium. You sweep your eyes over the people at your eye level and below, before solidly locking them where Bail Organa stands in his senator-pod. He sends a nod.

Dogma next to you makes a very quiet sound, pitched low just enough for you and only you to hear. He clicks his tongue once, then pauses, and then clicks again.

A signal for news from the Wolfpack. Thank the Force your speech and time at the proverbial stand is coming to an end.

The entire interaction takes no more than three seconds. An uncomfortable silence to marinate most careless Senators in the implications you’ve made.

“My childhood was cut short after the hostilities on Naboo. I had to undergo more rigorous saber training, even as an empath, someone attuned to the living Force around us. A shadow warrior - a Sith of a lineage long-lost - stole any ability to live as a simple aura reader diplomat.”

“And yet that’s not even a fraction of the cruelty and hardship an average clone trooper goes through in a third of the time. As soon as they walk, they are taught combat. They rapidly age, Corellian Hells, THE OLDEST CLONES ARE THIRTEEN YEARS OLD!”

Your frustration poured out into the air around you. This is the closest you have gotten to yelling and losing your cool since you walked out of the Court Chamber at Dogma’s trial. You have no doubt that at least some of the senators or their aides must have a fraction of force sensitivity, at least enough to glimpse the carefully-masked rage you don’t let the average person see.

You lock eyes with the Chancellor on his high seat, the senator-pod that hovers in the centre of the chamber.

You stare at him with intensity unknown to an individual outside of the Jedi Order. Memories flick through your vision, a slideshow of your frustrations at the Senate, frustration shared by the Jedi Council, by your father Plo, by the Clones that have welcomed you into their dysfunctional humongous family.

The Chancellor smiles.

The dinner after resembles a blur of colours too bright to be real.

You barely eat. The worry of poison and backstabbing are ever present, loom over your figure like a mountain. You prod at the force to give you readings of everyone around you, even if they are in your eyesight for a fraction of a second.

The auras are overwhelming. Despite diplomats being taught to never let emotion show on their face, the different hues bleed into their body language.

One can only hide their true nature for so long, you suppose.

You’re sitting at the head of the table for dinner, the centre of attention as usual. As the minutes tick by, it’s become more and more likely that this will not end well. The jabs and replies thrown at one another have a sickly-sweet tone, with oleander-filled honey dripping as they fly at their target.

Dogma and Jesse stand behind you, each on one side as your guards. No matter how many times you try to convince them to eat with you, they insist.

“The life of a senator isn’t for me, but I still want to keep you safe” has been the reply from Jesse each time. Fives is just glad you never asked him, letting him instead stay at your apartment for these drab meetings disguised as dinners.

And your sweet Dogma would follow you to the ends of the Galaxy.

“I suppose if the children had more contact with their parents after getting accepted into the order, they would be able to form healthy attachments, as opposed to having no attachments altogether,” you say to a Nautolan representative sitting half across the table.

She narrows her eyes and nods, pausing to eat a bite out of her meal. “A friend of mine lost her son to the Jedi three decades ago. She still wonders why he never contacted her.”

Dogma searches in his memory. The only nautolan jedi he has heard of is Kit Fisto. It would perhaps fit the description of a son lost thirty years ago. He stores it as something to ask you about.

A mikkian senator sitting to your left looks over at your plate. The longer the supper goes on, the more apparent it is that you are not touching your food. The senator, some generation or two older than you, looks you over a bit before lowering his voice, so that only you and (unintentionally) Dogma can make out his words.

“Deary, you have not touched your meal. I sure do hope this affair has not sullied your appetite.” He adds a smile at the end of his statement, as if to deepen the few wrinkles his face has to make himself the caring older relative.

Your attention snaps to his face briefly, enough to not notice one of his head-tendrils outside your field of vision to twitch in the general direction of your plate. Had Dogma not been inadvertently alerted to his figure, he wouldn’t have noticed the tiny amount of clear, water-like liquid that flew off the tip of his head-tendril and landed at the edge of your plate.

He reacts before his brain catches up to his eyes.

“Don’t eat that!”

His yell makes the entire table stop whatever they are doing to look at him.

“The food is poisoned!”

His aura flashes red with swirls of white. The mix of danger.

Jesse sweeps the room over in less than a millisecond and directs his gaze at your food. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but he trusts his brother with your safety above all. He takes a half-step closer towards the table.

You strategically stand up slowly and turn to Dogma. “How do you know?”

“The mikkian senator flicked some liquid into it with his head-tendril.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the whole room shift. Colours turn muted and tinged with yellow, orange and black.

The aura of the person in question turns a stark black. Fear.

“Impossible! I have done no such thing, clone!” he barks out and gets to his feet abruptly, nearly throwing his chair back.

Jesse, who has so far been stone-cold, willing to not react unless necessary, calmly looks him boldly in his eyes, an act that would have had consequences if he was in the GAR.

“You should know that ambassador (Y/N) can tell if you’re lying,” his tone is even and calculated.

“Of course I know that! That’s because I’m not lying.”

The old man is adamant, even if his eyes widen a fraction.

Your eyes flick over the room and land on a tray in the corner, on a table reserved for decorational flowers.

The tray floats over as the uncomfortable silence settles over the room. Some of the dinner’s participants notice it and gasp, making the others stare in horror as the tray lands in front of you.

You vaguely feel the presence of three Coruscant Guards running down the hall. By the time you land a metal food cover over the plate, they slam the door of the dining room open.

Jesse and Dogma exchange a nod and Dogma nods. Jesse walks out to meet one of the troopers to exchange words. You barely hear the words they whisper, but “poison” and “food” must be at least a part of the conversation. Dogma stays right behind you with a hand on his blaster. You don’t even have to turn to feel his anxiousness.

On instinct, you reach out with the hand that isn’t holding the tray in the air to grip the senator by the wrist with the Force. You press harder and hear something drop to the floor, an item no longer held in an iron grip he had on it. The noises of protests fall upon your deaf ears.

A guard moves in to handcuff the old man, only to notice a blaster on the floor and feel resistance while he moves one of the wrists into the cuffs. The item he dropped.

Jesse, now returning to you, plucks the tray out of the air to bring it back to one of the clones.

You let go of the Force and feel a massive weight of exhaustion hit you. Tilting your hand back just a couple of centimetres is enough for Dogma to grip it tightly with the palm not on his weapon.

You look at the Coruscant Guard talking to Jesse. His aura is full of baby blue and camo green. Confusion and worry.

“Please, take the food with the plate for analysis. Don’t touch it or take it out of the cover unless you are in safe distance. I don’t know what it is,” you say slowly. The words coming out of you feel foreign and you have to push them out, too exhausted to expend any emotions into the tone.

Dogma squeezes your hand three times. An “I love you” for when you can’t speak.

When you leave the dinner behind and get into your personal speeder, you pass out from exhaustion.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#star wars #star wars x reader #the clone wars #tcw dogma #dogma x reader #clone trooper dogma #clone wars x reader #clone x reader #clone x reader bingo

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mandos-mind-trick · 10 months

Text

Corruption - Part 3

Summary: Mari's always had darkness in her, threatening to take over in the back of her mind. No matter how much the Jedi tried to train her, the darkness was always there. After the death of her first master, she finds herself under the tutelage of Master Kenobi due to the council's growing concerns about her well being. The sudden return of a certain enemy, however, has some things coming to light. Maybe the darkness was never hers to begin with.

Pairing: Maul x OC (only named, no physical descriptions given)

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, Force stuff, pregnancy, post pregnancy, postpartum issues, depression, Force psychosis sort of?, alien babies, nightmares, sleepwalking, flashbacks, PTSD, brief self harming behavior, Maul being Maul, angst with a happy ending.

A/N: So, we're at the end. A little sad, but I kind of like how this one ends. It was going to be a lot longer but I think I like it like this. It feels right, and it feels like a good ending.

< Previous | MASTERLIST

Mari stares down at the infant in her arms. She dare not move, lest she disturb him and cause him to cry once again. She had just gotten him to sleep after quite the riotous fit. She can’t blame him, though. It had pained her, watching the ritual. Maul had insisted, and also claimed they wouldn’t remember it happening.

He certainly didn’t remember his.

She gently traces the black lines along her son’s orange skin. The swelling has gone down, leaving behind flat lines dictating his heritage and his place in their small clan. His horns are beginning to come in, small, sharp tips beginning to poke through the skin on top of his head.

He’s constantly irritable and angry.

She can’t blame him.

Rage, his father had named him after a near ear-shattering crying fit that had lasted for hours just two days after his birth. They tried everything they could think of, and everything the droid had suggested, but nothing could calm him. Not until he exhausted himself, and all but passed out in her arms.

He had been a hard child from the start.

The pregnancy had made her ill, and not just physically. Her nightmares had resumed ten-fold, to the point she began sleepwalking. Many times she’d woken, lightsaber inches from Maul’s face. It had terrified her, to the point she tried to avoid sleep. That had led to delirium, and hallucinations. She saw things, things she wanted to forget.

Childbirth had been even harder. Her water had broken early, gushing with both amniotic fluid and blood. She’d labored and bled for nearly two days until the surgical droid had been forced to operate. Thanks to the droid, and Maul, all three of them made it out alright.

It had been a shock to find out they were having twins. Two babies born from the Force at once. She had wondered for nine months whether they would look anything like Maul. He had a hand in creating them, their combined power in the Force had allowed their creation, but physically he had no hand in it. Would they come out looking like her? Would there be any sign of Maul in them at all?

To her surprise, they had come out undoubtedly like Maul.

Mari rises from the bed, carefully laying Rage down in the crib next to his brother. Riot, Maul had named him, after he’d violently swung his tiny fists as he screamed with his brother. She runs a finger along his yellow skin, the inflammation of his tattoos having gone down too.

Mari moves back to the bed, sinking down on it once more. She’s tired. She’s never felt this tired before. No amount of training she had gone through, or battle she had fought, would compare to the strain of motherhood. She thought she knew what to expect after spending so much time among the younglings in the creche.

The thought sparks a pain in her chest. Tears blur her vision. Did someone help them escape? Or were they slaughtered in their beds too? So many families that had willingly parted with their children only to have them be killed so young. They wouldn’t have known, they wouldn’t have understood.

Mari presses the heels of her hands into her eyes like they might prevent the tears from falling. She still dreams of that day, running down that hallway desperate to escape. Except in her dreams she doesn’t make it. Instead she’s shot down by clones she’d known, clones she considered her friends, their faces in the front of her mind as she lay there dying.

Hands grip her arms, tugging them away from her face harshly. The scream dies in her throat as Maul’s face appears above her. Rage and Riot are screaming again, the sound registering in her ears not as her own, not as the screams of the many Jedi that had been dead for almost two years. The sides of her face by her eyes burn. She’d been digging her nails into the skin.

Maul hauls her up into a seated position, undoing the front of her robe. She’s leaking, her body responding to the cries of her children, even when her brain can’t. Maul picks up Rage first, securing him in one of her arms. He helps him latch on before grabbing Riot, securing him on the other side. She watches him numbly, her mind starting to clear a bit as hormones begin to flood her brain.

She watches as he leaves the room, heading into the ‘fresher for a moment. He comes back with a cloth, sitting in front of her on the bed. He holds her face with one hand, palm pressing into her cheek. She tilts her head into his touch, letting her eyes close. He dabs at the scratch marks on the sides of her face, the cold cloth burning the fresh wounds a bit.

“Maul,” She whispers, her voice shaking. “What’s happening to me?”

“You need to sleep.” Maul says, pulling away from you to take Rage as he finishes eating.

“I can’t.” She whispers, lifting Riot to her shoulder to burp him as he finishes. “The nightmares. They won’t stop.”

He says nothing, taking Riot from her and placing the two back in their crib. They begin to fuss quietly, tears burning in her eyes. She can’t even care for her children properly. Maul ties her robe closed, gently maneuvering her so she’s laying down. His hand presses against her forehead, the warmth of the Force easing around her. Her eyes slip closed as he puts her to sleep, unconscious before she even realizes it.

***

Mari wakes disoriented. Her mouth is dry and her tongue feels swollen. She’s bleary from too much sleep, rubbing at her eyes. Her arm brushes something soft, her hand lowering to feel the soft belly of one of her sons. She cracks her eyes open, making out the orange skin of Rage on the bed next to her. She reaches further, fingers brushing rougher skin, her fingers trailing up an arm.

Her vision clears as a hand grabs hers, lowering it gently. Maul is on the bed next to her, Riot sleeping peacefully on his bare chest. Rage is fast asleep as well on the bed between them.

“Maul?” She whispers, her voice rough. Her throat feels like she’s swallowed sand.

“You’ve been asleep for a day.” He says, turning his head to look at her.

“A day?” She asks, Rage and Riot stirring at her loud tone. “Maul-”

“I’m perfectly capable of caring for our children.” He interrupts her. “You needed rest.”

She lets her eyes close for a moment, taking a deep breath. She can feel the three of them in the Force, the softness of her sons blending into the harsh edges of Maul. She can feel the darkness swirling amongst them, reaching out for her sons, threatening to take over the light radiating from them.

She sits up abruptly, pressing a hand into her chest. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, taking a breath. She can feel the soft prodding at the back of her mind, her body going lax as Maul overwhelms her senses. She flops back onto the bed, mirroring Maul and Rage’s positions on her back. She lifts Rage, letting him settle against her chest. He nuzzles into her chest, settling back to sleep.

Maul reaches out, taking her hand. She traces the lines of his tattoos with her eyes, tracing them all the way up to his face. His eyes are serious as they stare at her, brows slightly furrowed, the face he makes when he’s deep in thought. She lets herself get lost in his eyes, in the red-rimmed yellow of his gaze. Her children will have golden eyes that glow in the dark like his.

There will be none of her in them. None that she can see.

***

Mari kneels in the dirt, a warm breeze blowing strands of hair across her face. It’s dark, aside from the red light of the four moons above her. She’d woken from another nightmare, lightsaber in hand, standing over the crib. Her sons had been sleeping peacefully, unaware of her. Once she’d come to, she’d felt sick, her lightsaber dropping from her hand with a clang against the stone floor. She’d run to the ‘fresher, splashing cold water on her face.

She’d nearly screamed when she looked in the mirror, red eyes staring back at her. Her face is horribly mutilated and changed, a reflection of the darkness within her. She’d run from the room, ignoring the cries of her children and Maul.

She’d run from the palace entirely, out into the dark night. The tears had fallen and dried, leaving her empty. She had thought it would stop once her children were born. It was their natural Force-sensitivity that had caused the incidents while she was pregnant, Maul had said. They were wielding the Force through her, even without understanding it. She had felt the change, late in the pregnancy when their brains had developed enough. She dreamed of them, quiet presences in the Force.

Giving birth hadn’t stopped it, though.

This isn’t her children’s doing. There’s something inside of her, something causing all of this. Maul had suppressed the nightmares to a point, but there was nothing permanent. Nothing could be done to stop it entirely.

She doesn't want to hurt her children. She doesn’t want to hurt Maul either.

She sinks her fingers into the dirt, feeling the ground below her. She can feel the pulsing of energy deep within Dathomir. Whatever power fed the planet, fed the Force within it deep below. She slides off her knees, landing on her back in the dirt.

Her body falls, feet failing her as she trips over them once more. She hits the ground with a thud, the air leaving her lungs.

“You’re distracted.” The voice of her first master says. “Focus. You cannot learn if you cannot focus.”

“I’m trying.” She huffs, pushing herself back to her feet, gripping the training saber in her hands.

She’s eleven years old. She’s only been with her master for a year now. She could fight droids, but dueling was harder. Droids were predictable. One could learn their patterns without needing to think too much. Fighting people was harder. They’re unpredictable. They require more focus. Focus she doesn’t have.

She blocks the blow coming at her, trying to strike back but he’s too fast, too experienced. He blocks her, swiping her legs out from under her. She hits the ground once more, a wave of anger and frustration washing through her. She lets out a yell, jumping to her feet and swinging at him wildly.

He easily blocks her hits, forcing her onto her back once more. He pins her down, letting her struggle until she’s exhausted herself. “Finished?” He asks once she’s given in, panting from the exertion. “Anger will not help you.” He says, kneeling next to her. “It will only lead you down the path of the Dark Side.”

“I can’t help it.” She sniffles, sitting up. “It never goes away.”

“No, I don’t think it will.” He says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You must learn not to give into it, but to accept it as part of who you are.” He stands, offering her a hand. “Come. I wish to try something.”

She takes his hand, letting him help her stand. He takes a few steps back, grabbing their training sabers once more.

“You are familiar with the forms of lightsaber combat, yes?” He asks, tossing her a training saber.

She nods, gripping the saber in her hands.

“You are most familiar with Form I as most Padawans are. I have been trying to teach you Form II as I thought it would suit you the best. But perhaps we need to consider Form VII.”

“Form VII?” She frowns. “I thought that was forbidden.”

“Restricted, not forbidden.” He smiles. “I will have to ask permission from the Council, but I think it may be helpful for you to learn to channel that darkness in a way that will help you instead of hinder you. It is not without risk, which is why the Council restricts its teaching and practice.” He begins to circle her. “It will not be easy, but if you can master it, it will help you beyond a fight.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She asks nervously.

“Close your eyes.” He says gently, still circling her. “I want you to picture something quiet, serene. Blue sky above you, soft grass beneath your feet. Feel the warm air, the faint breeze against your skin. There’s flowing water somewhere in the distance, trickling over rocks. Can you feel it?”

She can. It’s almost like she’s really standing there, feeling each individual blade of grass, the way the breeze brushes against her face. She feels calm, at ease. The darkness has abated for now, pushed back behind the wall she’s been building.

“Good.” Her master says. “I want you to use that. Whenever you feel the anger, the darkness beginning to rise, return to this place. Feel everything, see everything. Let everything pass by you, and focus on the light.”

Mari’s eyes snap open and she sits up in the dirt. Not much time has passed, the moons still in the same position above her. She pushes herself up to stand, brushing the dirt from her back. Her hands touch her face, finding it still as it normally was. Not mutilated and scarred like she had seen before in her reflection.

She heads back into the palace, making her way back to their room. Maul is up, trying to settle the boys still. She wordlessly walks over, taking one and then the other in her arms. She sits on the bed, holding them in her arms. They begin to quiet, quickly falling back asleep.

Maul stares at her for a moment before sitting on the bed next to her. She leans into him as he wraps an arm around her. Her lightsaber is still on the floor, still where she dropped it. She lets her eyes close, going back to that place once more. She can still feel it, the grass beneath her feet, the breeze against her skin. Only this time, she’s not alone. Her boys are in her arms, the weight of them grounding her. She can feel them, the light, the softness of them in the Force.

“I need help.” She whispers, pressing her face against Maul’s chest. “I need help.”

***

As the weeks pass, whatever had been twisting in Mari’s mind begins to ease. She sleeps soundly, only waking from nightmares, no longer acting them out.

The boys continue to grow quickly. They cry less and less, beginning to babble nonsense and crawl. Their horns have come in, sharp little spikes crowning their little heads. More than once they’ve caught her on accident with them. The inability to harm her did not extend to her children. Nor did it extend to Maul, who was still better at dodging them than her.

They’re beginning to show their abilities in the Force as well. Floating items were becoming normal, as was the occasional shattered window in a crying fit. Mari feels secretly proud that at least one of them is taking after her in that regard.

She feels closer to Maul too, not having realized there was a fissure widening between them. She feels less like she’s being controlled and more like herself once more.

She lays in bed with Maul, letting her fingers trace the tattoos on his chest for the millionth time. She could do it with her eyes closed if she wanted to. His eyes are closed, forehead pressed against hers. Her lips part in a quiet gasp as his fingers slip into her, thumb slowly working her clit. It’s been far too long since he’s touched her, since they’ve made love.

It doesn’t feel much different from their first time, the connection that had been shriveling between them being replenished once more. Maul’s mouth covers hers, swallowing the moan that slips from her lips. Her hips lift to grind against his hand, feeling close already. He’s been teasing her for an hour now, working both of them up.

He continues to kiss her, swallowing her moans as she cums around his fingers. His hips press into her side, groaning against her mouth as he feels the pleasure coursing through her. They continue to kiss, coming down from their highs. They fall silent, listening for just a moment.

The boys are still fast asleep in their crib, still refusing to sleep separately. They’re near inseparable, connected in a way only her and Maul can understand. Twins born of the Force, two beings formed from one in a similar way to her and Maul. They’ll be strong when they grow up.

The thought scares her. She knows the will of the Force is not something that can be changed. They can only guide them along the path. She knows Maul is anxious to begin their training as well. Mari has her hesitations, but having two untrained Force-sensitive children would be more dangerous than teaching them to use those powers.

“Maul?” She whispers, pressed tight against his chest. He hums, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Would you do anything I asked of you?”

“Yes.” He says, far too quickly for what she’s about to ask him.

“Even if I asked you to give up seeking revenge?”

He’s quiet for a moment before he sits up, pushing her off him.

She sits up quickly, putting a hand on his chest as she turns to face him. “So you wouldn’t.”

“Not revenge.” He says. “Revenge is all I have.”

She swallows the lump in her throat. “So I’m nothing then? Your sons are nothing?” She hits his chest with her palm. “Everything you’ve been working to build is nothing?”

“It’s not that simple.” He says, trying to move away, but she forces him back.

“It is that simple. Why can’t we be enough?” She curses the tears pooling in her eyes, the emotion thick in her voice. “You don’t have to be the hand to serve justice. That’s not your path.” She grips his shoulders, holding him still. “We made children when it should have been impossible. Twins. Your twins. Have you stopped to think once in the last year that this might be your path? They might be your path? I might be your path? I can’t lose you, Maul.”

He stares hard at her. He had refrained from mentioning his plotting to her while she recovered from childbirth. She had been suffering enough, he didn’t want to throw anything onto her that might make things worse.

“Let it go.” She whispers, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Let it go and stay with me. With your sons. Please. It’s not worth it. I don’t want to lose you.”

He stares at her silently, watching the tears slide down her cheeks.

4 ABY

“Mom?” Riot’s voice sounds from outside. He sounds concerned, his footsteps getting close to the open door. “What was that?” He asks, stepping into the kitchen. Rage is not far behind, following his brother.

Of course they had felt it. She had felt it too. Like a wave had washed over her, carrying away a heavy weight. A hole has been left, wide and gaping and open. It’s not unlike how the Force had felt after the purge, only this is different. It’s not a bad feeling. In fact, she feels more at peace than she has in a long time.

“Something’s happened.” Is all she can say, unsure of how to explain this to her boys.

Her grown boys, so much like their father. Rage, strong and determined and a natural leader. Once he sets his mind to something, he won’t back down. He won’t give up. Riot is quieter, softer. He’s not one to underestimate, though. He could be fierce when provoked, and would not hesitate to defend his family. He took more after her than Maul, but there was no denying his presence in both of them.

“Come,” She says, taking their hands, leading them back out the door.

She crosses the courtyard, leaving the palace. She walks down the well worn path through the trees and into the forest, heading to the clearing. They all frequented this path often, and even she could navigate it in the dark if she had to.

The trail ends, opening into the clearing. It’s small, a stream running along the far side. It’s quiet and serene, even for a place like Dathomir. It was a place Maul often found himself as the years passed. Many training sessions happened here, her own and then her sons’.

They had never managed to replicate it, creating life in the Force. They had toyed with the idea of more, but they could never make it happen. Two was what they were destined to have, two strong boys to carry on the legacy they’d leave behind.

Mari lets go of their hands, approaching the figure. She steps up next to him, his gaze focused on the sky visible through the gap in the trees. It’s red, as it always is in the daytime. The mists settled heavily here, painting everything in deep red hues.

“Maul?” Mari says quietly, placing a hand on his where it rests on his cane. “What is it?”

“He’s gone.” Maul says quietly, hand tightening its grip on his cane. “Sidious is dead.”

A smile tugs at Mari’s lips, her head leaning against his arm. “I’m sorry you weren’t there to see it.”

He hums quietly, letting his gaze drop to the top of her head. “I am sure it was grand. Precisely what he deserved.”

Mari lifts her head, turning to face him. She places a hand on his arm, trailing over the tattoos. “We all get what we deserve in the end.” She passes a glance over their boys watching the exchange. “Even if we think we don’t deserve it.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Maul’s lips. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading them back towards the path. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”

Taglist:

@bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @rosechi, @lune-de-miel-au-paradis

#star wars #star wars fic #darth maul #darth maul fic #darth maul x oc

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marvelstars · 4 months

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"I created Vaapad to answer my weakness: it channels my own darkness into a weapon of the light."

―Mace Windu to Obi-Wan Kenobi

Was reading the truly great fanfic "Force of Many Sights" by DAsObiQuiet which I truly recomend because it´s really well done for fans of PT legends and the OT. https://archiveofourown.org/series/62222

Without giving much spoilers there´s a part in which post ROTJ Vader who is still pretty much dealing with decades of Darkside usage, in the body of kid Anakin, asks Master Windu for training in Vaapad so he could learn his technique to use his light and dark side in balance so he is better able to fight off Palpatine in this reality and I loved it because it made me remember how Mace always has been an excellent choice for Anakin as a master.

In a world in which Anakin was sent to the creche instead of training with Obi-Wan from the get go, I believe Mace would have been the best choice to train him, this doesn´t mean I believe he would not have fallen in love with Padme because he already loved her or be tempted by Palpatine and if everything stayed the same it probably would not have saved Anakin´s mother if Windu keep the Jedi Council decision of not allowing contact between them but he in theory as part of the Jedi Council, could acompany his padawan to visit her and that could have prevented that but more than that Master Windu style would have done wonders for Anakin to truly balance the force and his experiences within himself.

This doesn´t mean I believe Obi-Wan didn´t try but my guess is that Anakin as a former slave needed to address his feelings of anger without feeling as if he had to walk on eggshells just for feeling angry, I understand Obi-Wan was just following and teaching what he learned and how he personally deal with those feelings but Anakin needed to be told that his anger wasn´t wrong, it isn´t wrong to feel angry at the injustice but this anger needs to be canalized and imo Mace´s Vaapad would have done wonders for Anakin´s mental balance in dealing with his past a lot better than being told over and over again just to let go of everything, when he had very legitimate reasons for feeling the way he felt.

Those are just my thoughts :)

PD: As a curious observation, it was Master Windu the one who actually admited Anakin in the Order after the battle of Naboo even before Obi-Wan made the appeal of leaving if Anakin wasn´t trained.

#anakin skywalker #mace windu #obi wan kenobi #star wars #fanfic rec #meta: Anakin skywalker #meta: Mace Windu

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blackjackkent · 1 month

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Minsc!

"Breathe deep, Boo! The small of hero sings from every stone in this place!" He claps Hector on the shoulder so hard that Hector rocks sideways on his feet. "To meet again where your journey began, my friend - an honor! For Minsc and his hamster both!"

Boo gives a trilling squeak and makes a circle where he stands on Minsc's shoulder.

The berserker pauses, gestures to a small and nervous-looking halfling who is busying himself with a table of wares behind him. "Oh, and for Happy, also."

"Yes, erm... honored, of course," the halfling says nervously.

Hector blinks, puzzled. "It's good to see you, Minsc," he agrees. "Boo too. And... Happy...?" He tips his head politely towards the halfling, a question in his eyes.

Minsc laughs jovially and slaps the unhappy-looking fellow on the shoulder. "Hah. See how your very presence snatches the breath from his chest," he tells Hector cheerfully. "And it is no wonder! It is just this day that Happy learned of your legend while we gazed down upon the very city you saved!"

"He d-dangled me from the High Hall," Happy says with nervous indignation. "Upside-down. For two hours."

Minsc shrugs. "The Guild should not go creeping in high places if they do not have the stomach for them, hm? It is well for Happy the strange portal appeared when it did. Minsc's arm was growing achesome."

Hector isn't sure whether to laugh or not and settles for an expression of mild bemusement. "You're still chasing after the Guild? I thought you'd made your peace with them."

"So I have!" Minsc says brightly. "Though it is a peace made more from blade and boot than it is any sense of brotherhood." He spreads his arms in a dramatic gesture. "Nine-Fingers forbade any looting of the illithid's fleshy vessels - and so Minsc guards what remains of the battle-site, even from her." He nudges Hector in the side. "But where Minsc might once have thrown any sneaking scoundrels from the tower-top, now I tell them of you! How you ruled the wickedness within. How they might do the same."

Hector really does smile now, albeit a bit ruefully. He still has little interest in his 'legend' and tales and songs of his exploits, but if he must be remembered, he supposes he would prefer Minsc's rendition - painting him as a master of inward control and stalwart against evil - than whatever Volo is likely to come up with.

"Yes, yes," the hapless Guild man puts in eagerly. "I'll rule it! I'll be better!"

"Though of course," Minsc says casually, "it is still for Boo to decide if they live or die."

"Oh. Oh, gods," Happy mumbles morosely.

"But enough, my friend!" Minsc says, turning back to Hector and summarily ignoring the little halfling. "I cannot tell your tale if I do not know the whole of it! Minsc and Boo would know where you have been, what you have done!"

"I've been in the Hells with Karlach," Hector answers promptly. "Fighting off devils and looking for a cure for her heart."

"Oh, Boo!" Minsc says excitedly. "Do you know what it would mean, to find a cure for Karlach's heart?" A loud squeak from Boo. "Exactly! Her heart would be cured!" He slaps Hector on the shoulder again. "When this day comes, you must come and bunk with Minsc and Boo. Fear not - we sleep in that sewer no longer. It is a *different* sewer, much less damp beneath the bedroll."

Hector chuckles noncommittally. Minsc looks down imperiously at his new charge.

"Now, halfling. Boo will not have you embarrassing him in front of his friends - so you ought to know the rest of the company you keep." He begins to gesture around the camp, pointing out each of his companions one by one.

"Wyll Ravengard, the Blade of Frontiers! Devil-horned and angel-hearted!"

"Lae'zel! Of Creche Killer! True Child of Gith and true friend to Boo - though she will 'CHK!' and say it is not so!"

"Astarion, who is banished by the sun itself for fear his spawnish soul might outshine it! (We visit with him much down in the dark places," he adds to Hector conspiratorially, "though he often moves his lair without remembering to tell Minsc where.)"

"Gale, the man-who-would-be-a-god, but-then-thought-better-of-it! Boo thinks better of *him* for it too."

"Shadowheart! Two gods tugged at her soul, but she managed to keep it for all herself in the end. Wait... Boo... did she do something with her hair?"

"Halsin, Archdruid of Arch-- somewhere. He is a much better man than he smells."

"And there, the champion of the Hells herself! Karlach Demonsbane! Devilsbane! Myrkul-, Bhaal-, and Bane-bane! Once the Guild is made of goodness once more, Boo shall scratch the hells wide open and find a way to bring her back!"

"And finally... Jaheira. If this is a name you do not already know, then not even Boo can save you!"

Hector grins to himself, listening to this litany of his friends. The halfling shifts nervously.

Minsc smiles . "Study them well, sneak-thief, for the best among them will be a guide for your Guild. Heroes, who put the city before themselves. Who never falter in their duty. And more than this--" He narrows his eyes pointedly. "Who never arrive to a party without even a gift for the host."

Happy swallows. "But-- wait--"

Minsc waves Hector off. "Go, my friend. Be among our friends; there is much work yet to be done before this one is fit to join them."

Hector wanders off, feeling - as he often does after talking to Minsc - incredibly bewildered.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #i love minsc <3 #(and boo <3 )

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breakfastteatime · 10 months

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Today's request is for @pennflinn who requested 'wake up':

Jaro Tapal reaches for the patience he is not known for. Master Yaddle worked so hard to inspire it within him. He sends an apology to her within the Force. He is a Jedi of action, not of waiting. Unfortunately, circumstances dictate that he stay put in the medical ward. Circumstances, and a healthy dose of guilt. The creche masters had warned him about this, told him of the dangers of psychometry and –

Jaro draws in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it. He reaches for the Force, allows it to take the sting out of his emotions.

It does not take away his need to move, to act, to do something. There is nothing he can do unless he suddenly develops a heretofore unknown gift for the healing arts. He can do nothing except wait.

Having an apprentice has changed many things in Jaro’s life. Many had warned him that his lack of patience would be a weakness that would need to be overcome. Today he finally appreciates that. He just wishes it hadn’t come at such a price. If only he had waited. If only he had not pushed Cal and then completely neglected to defend him.

Jaro struggles to release his frustration. He glances out a nearby porthole to the planet below, a mountainous world nearly totally decimated by a Separatist attack. The mission to protect the Republic made endless demands of the Jedi regardless of age or ability. Unfortunately for Jaro’s young Padawan, Cal possesses an ability that is frequently needed. ‘We come to serve.’ It is a mantra the Jedi will live and die by. Jaro would prefer not to see his ten-year-old Padawan die for the sake of a war he should have no part in. And although the information Cal relayed revealed the Separatists’ base location and saved what remained of this world, Jaro should have been more mindful. He should –

Footsteps approach. Jaro looks up and sees Healer Rania approaching. She is the only Jedi Healer aboard the Brave, and he is aware that she is due to be reassigned to a hospital outpost soon where the need for her abilities is far greater. Her presence and expertise will be sorely missed by all. She smiles and bows. “Master Tapal, I bring good news. Padawan Kestis is resting peacefully, and there will be no permanent damage to his arm.”

“That is excellent news,” Jaro says.

“And you are alright?” Raina asks, looking him over. “No injuries from the base assault?”

“None,” Jaro confirms.

“Good.” She steps aside. “Come with me. I will take you to him.”

Jaro follows Raina into the ward. He nods at the clones there, thanking them for their dedication to the cause. Thanks to them, the people of this world remain safe and free, their destiny in their own hands.

At the back of the ward is a small, curtained off area. While it is not for Cal’s exclusive use per se, it is also not a bed to be used regularly unless there is no other option. They have learned the hard way that medical bays are a special kind of torture for Cal if he does not have the chance to work through the echoes in advance. The bed he has been tucked away in is the only one to not be regularly drenched in others’ suffering.

Raina pulls back the curtain. “Stay as long as you need,” she says.

Jaro slips in. Cal is fast asleep in the bed, his right arm encased in a cast that runs from his fingers to his shoulder. Jaro sits, grateful someone has slipped a chair in here that is large enough for his frame. He reaches for Cal, his large hand resting over the boy’s head. Cal stirs but does not wake. Renewed guilt stabs at Jaro. This is his fault. It was his lack of patience that put Cal in this bed. The attack on the planet had been swift and vicious, and no one knew where it had come from. The answer would likely be found with one of the victims of a devastated Republic communications outpost, and there was only one person who could learn what it was. Thus Cal, lost in the depths of an echo Jaro demanded he witness, had been unable to defend himself when the Separatists attacked again. Jaro and the clones fought them off long enough for Jaro to grab Cal and make a retreat. Cal told him where the Separatists were hiding, his pain so great Jaro could barely shield himself from it. He’d ordered two clones to return Cal to the Brave, pushing the child’s pain from his mind as he led the counterattack and drove the Separatists from the world.

The least he can do now is stay with Cal until he awakens. Jaro slips into a light meditation, keeping his focus very much in the present. Cal is alive and will be well again soon. The Force chimes in agreement, and sometime later chimes with an alert.

Cal needs him.

Jaro surfaces from the Force. Cal stirs in the bed, mumbling incoherently. His cheeks are flushed, the tell-tale heat of fever splashed across them. Jaro reaches for him with a hand and with the Force.

“Wake up,” he commands.

Obedient as ever, Cal jerks awake. He blinks heavily, staring in confusion. His confusion thumps with the rapid beat of his heart. Jaro calls to him once more to gain his attention. Cal sees him and immediately begins to calm.

“Master,” he says. “You’re alright. Did you stop the Separatists?”

“Yes, Cal. The planet is secure, thanks to the information you provided.”

It’s faint and it’s tight with pain, but Cal smiles in relief. “Good.”

Jaro presses a button that will summon Raina. “You were very brave today,” he tells Cal, both because it is the truth and because he needs to distract the boy from his pain. “I am proud of you.”

It works like a charm, and Cal’s whole demeanour shifts. “And the clones are okay too?”

“They are well, and likely celebrating in the mess hall. You will join them once you are feeling better.”

“You can go, Master. You don’t have to stay with me.” He yawns. “It must be boring.”

Cal already knows him too well. “My place is right here at your side,” Jaro replies.

#fic requests 2023 #star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo headcanon #jfo minific #cal kestis #jaro tapal #i am in a mood #a master & padawan story mood #(⁠✷⁠‿⁠✷⁠)

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bettercostume · 10 months

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happy ao3 is down but we are dealing, here's some neymessi star wars au

Being assigned a padawan had been a surprise, especially since the high council preferred to pretend Leo didn’t exist outside of high-casualty battle situations.

“I’m Ney,” the boy said.The shape of the man he would be was clear in his body already. Taller than Leo and confident, tight curls just so, brown skin a clean contrast against the crisp white robes of an initiate.

“Uh, Leo,” Leo said.

“Wizard,” Ney said, flashing a grin. Leo looked away.

He muscled through the padawan braid, Ney kneeling on the hard stone. The temple rang with the presence of force-sensitives, high ceiling gathering clouds of excitement and fear. The whole place was as Leo remembered it, a mixture of vast and abrupt, the long ramp up through the columns lending a familiar ache to his calves as they climbed. The ceremony was exactly the same as his own had been. His hands shook, fumbling the thread.

This was the point, really, to tie you into generations of jedi that came before, but Leo had been alone for years and being back among the temple crowds, the bright hope in the force, was unbearable. The clean arch of Neymar’s neck, bent under Leo’s hands, seemed obscene.

Leo felt a headache building. Neymar, for his part, seemed unbothered by the surge of raw, unchecked emotions. He must be barely sensitive, Leo thought, watching Neymar wink at a Togrutan girl and then stick his hand out to her master to shake. It was a blessing. They had many long months of meditation and rock levitation in front of them; if they were lucky, Neymar would escape out from under his master's reputation and be placed somewhere safe and far away from the frontlines. He made Master Ploo laugh and Leo thought, maybe he’d do well in the archives. It made no sense to have been assigned to Leo, who was considered a war criminal on several planets. Maybe it was a punishment. He was bad at discerning that sort of thing until the blow landed.

“So now what?”

Leo looked around their shared quarters, sparse and worn at the edges, the dusty gray of ground-down stone. He had a single bag that looked as tired as the rest of him, patched at one end with the durafiber that the clones used for their base wear. Neymar had a brightly woven carry-all that practically glowed in comparison.

Better to get it over with quickly.

“Follow me,” Leo said.

The halls were still full but the excitement had died somewhat, fading into the bright, low hum that Leo remembered from his youth as the very fabric of the jedi order. It lifted his spirits somewhat. He had kept his own force signature tamped down from the moment he landed on Coruscant, and was doing the jedi equivalent of tiptoeing through the halls with a blindfold and earplugs in--still, he saw some of the more senior jedi stiffen as he approached and herd their charges away, felt a spike of fear break through his shields.

“So you grew up here?”

Leo started, and then realized Ney was of course speaking to him.

“Yes. From age 8,” he said.

“Wow,” Ney whistled. “That’s mad young.”

“My creche mates joined at 3 or four,” Leo said. “I was considered old.”

“So what does that make me, at 17?”

“Ancient,” Leo said. Neymar laughed.

“Hey, late bloomer,” Ney said. “Or at least, that’s what Master Be’Karr said when she recruited me.”

Neymar paused to peer into an arch as they passed, where a gaggle of youth were sitting in silence several feet off the floor. He waved to one, and then jogged back into step with Leo.

“I thought she was gonna be my Master, actually,” Ney said. “You know she stayed with my parents during the siege?”

“I didn’t,” Leo said. Be’Karr had already been a Knight when he’d been in the temple. She was hard to miss with the horns and the tattoos. All the padawans gossiped about her: she liked fast speeders, she practiced blind bareknuckle boxing, she had killed someone on one of the slave trading outposts in Huttese space. She came over for drinks with Dinho once, contained and cool in contrast to his contagious, building energy, throwing back shots with just the hint of a smile, the peep of a yellow fang. He’d watched her leave, tucked behind a wall in his pajamas, as secret as any stolen glance could be when you lived with force-sensitives. She’d deftly put her wrap-shoes on without losing her balance despite the litres of unsynthesized Jaddan grain alcohol she had put away over the course of the evening. The wink she’d sent his way just before the door closed had stuck with him, the potency of it unblemished so many years later.

Leo must be quite the disappointment in comparison.

“Yeah, she and the 601 stayed in the cliffs with us. She helped repair our balcony when it was all over,” Neymar said, distilling a 3-month offensive into an inconvenience the size of a seasonal dust storm. “You know what she said before she left?”

“What?” Leo asked, duitifully.

“She said she’d sensed me across the planet and wasn’t about to leave without me.”

Leo tried to imagine saying the same thing to Neymar and failed.

“You joined because of her?”

“Nah,” Neymar said. “I joined because of my sister.”

“Is she…”

“She’s alive. But we’re—our planet is kind of a mess,” Neymar said. “We’re a moon for what used to be a prison planet, you know. Nobody knows we exist.”

Leo looked over at him as they walked. Neymar strode with his chest forward and an ease in his limbs that belied combat experience. He really still seemed so young.

“Is this your first time offworld?”

“Yeah,” Neymar said. “So far it’s good, but we’ll see. But yeah, do you know why Master Be’Karr like, turned me down?”

He said it lightly, but Leo felt the disappointment.

“We don’t decide,” Leo said. “The council matches each padawan with a jedi they believe can teach them the most.”

Neymar thought this over as they continued onward, winding up to the drop-off over the practice ground. Leo felt his emotions settle with alarming quickness into something fond and warm. When he looked at the young man, Neymar was smiling at him. It was genuine. "Then you must be who I need the most," Neymar said. The cannibalization of the phrase, reversed and more intimate, made Leo stumble. "You must be even better than Master Be'Karr."

"I have the most experience on the front," Leo said, mumbling. "That's all."

#star wars au #neymessi #lmaooooo welp

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its-a-ittle-bit-cold · 11 months

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Trying hard to let go

1.6k words

Anakin Skywalker x reader

Waves masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part of the Waves universe, this is sort of a 0.5 story to introduce you to my version of the order etc.

Summary: While on leave, you adjust to life in the city and run into someone who you can never seem to stop finding

warnings: brief argument, grieving the loss of a loved one

a/n: another week, another addition to one of my series! I may find the energy to bust another one out tomorrow, but who knows! Happy reading!

It’s almost as if, since the official commemoration of Master Bosque, a new time period has started. It… feels as if everything that happened when he was alive is the before now, and everything since his death is after. This is strictly after.

You’ve tried and tried and tried to move on. It works sometimes, just distracting yourself, mediating, training the younglings at the Creche, plotting missions you won’t go on. Designing drills and challenges for jedi to practice with (especially Jedi who wield two blades, like you).

Becoming a Master Sentinel has also been an adjustment. After the death of Bosque, you had to take over as the head sentinel on coruscant, moving into an apartment in the highly populated domestic sectors, walking a beat, helping out civilians, catching runaway pets and showing off your lightsabers to small kids (they are always fascinated by the fact that you have, not one, but two white lightsabers, something different, something unique).

You’ve made friends, encounters frequent, while you’re on shore leave, which is how you’ve found yourself in the latest fix: a wedding.

You’ve never been to a wedding before, as all of your friends are Jedi, bound by the code, but your now close friend Callia needed a plus-one to a wedding of one of you other friends, and you weren’t about to let her go alone. So, you had set off to do something you’d never done before: shopping.

It’s a wonderful experience, shopping is. The shops overwhelm you with colors you’d never see in the jedi temple- the flashiest thing you wear is the custom beskar chest plate you’d been gifted after a battle with a high ranking Mandalorian house member. The rest of your attire is strictly shades of brown and the white-and-teal clone armor you wear on your arms in combat.

So the silks and cottons and lush fabrics of the dress shop you’ve stepped into are a shock to you. Callia- bless her- is a whirlwind who does al the work for you, picking out ten different dresses of varying styles and colors appropriate for a wedding, tossing them (and you) into a dressing room.

After a rigorous amount of spinning and pinching and hemming and “hmm”ing and denying scandalous dresses, you come out with two dresses, one, “just in case,” and to “build your wardrobe,” because Jedi, apparently “dress like colorblind grandmothers,” according to Callia.

This is how you end up sitting on the bathroom counter of Calia’s apartment, letting her pint your face with brand new makeup - the products she has wouldn’t work on the tone of your skin, considering that she is Pantoran, and therefore, blue.

She’s radiant, of course, with the golden Pantoran formal headdress adorning her light hair, big eyes, drawn in dark eyeliner, light purple dress draped over her thin frame. She won’t let you look at yourself until she’s done with you. She grabs your chin, dabbing a dark pigment on your lips, smiling.

“Okay, look.”

You turn, eyes widening as you take in the reflection of a girl- not a Jedi. Who you could have been, had you found your way to coruscant on your own, without the help of the Jedi.

could you be attending your own wedding?

no.

There’s no room for doubt and The Force.

You inhale. Was this a mistake?

No, because this is the duty of a Sentinel. Live among the people. Personify the Jedi.

Your dress, a simple sage green dress with a square neck that reaches to your mid-calf, is perfectly fluffy enough for you to hide your sabers under the skirt, thanks to your thigh holsters.

Your hair is pinned back, artfully framing your face in just the right places, and the makeup Callia has painted on is the perfect simple face.

Understated, she calls it.

the rest of the night is uneventful- aside from you struggling to walk in your heels, the misting of your eyes at the sight of the pure happiness passing in the bride and groom’s faces as they tie the final bow and celebrate their union.

It’s warm when the reception ends. You hug your friends whose wedding you’ve just celebrated, wishing them luck through the force, and the you and Callia begin the journey home. On the transit, though, you take off the heels that have been killing your feet, leaving them in plain white socks. It’s okay, because you and Callia are the only ones in this carriage.

The stops drag on as you sit in silence, eyelids drooping, the high fading from the great time you’d had tonight.

The doors slide open to a ruckus, shaking you awake, Callia also takes her head off your shoulder, glancing distractedly at the door. Clones.

More specifically, royal blue painted clones. The 501st.

Fives, one of your favorites of Anakin’s troops, catches sight of you and does a double take.

“General?” he calls out. You smile tiredly at the matching sets of brown eyes that land on you, suddenly feeling completely out of place without your armor, sitting here in civvy clothes coming from a civvy event.

“Hey, boys,” you say, standing up and bowing to them respectfully, just as you would another jedi. “I didn’t know you were on leave, too.”

“Wait! Hold the doors!”

Another clone voice, and two pairs of pounding footsteps, and then a blond trooper enters. Rex, and… Anakin.

You stop short, locking eyes with him, until Callia breaks your intense stare, nudging you with her elbow, clearing her throat.

“Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Callia. Callia, this is Fives, Jesse, Tup, Kix and Hardcase. Over there, the blond, that’s Rex, he’s the Clone commander for the 501st legion. And… that one,” you point at Anakin, “Is General Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi of the Grand republic, the one I told you about.”

The significance of this phrase is loaded for each of you.

To Anakin, you suppose this might mean you’ve told Callia everything. Everything that he said, that he did to make you fall apart.

To you and Callia, you’re referring to the one you grew up training with, your former best friend, though you’ve spared her the details of the argument that made everything go south.

Callia, ever the extrovert, strides forward and pumps Anakin’s hand.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Y/n’s other best friend!”

Well, maybe you left out the former part of the relationship.

“…hi?” Anakin shakes her hand with his glove on, eyes still on you. “Other best friend, huh?”

“Well, she told me how you two grew up together and stuff, so yeah!”

“Callia,” You say. “This is your stop.”

Indeed, her cue to leave is indicated by the holo over the door.

“Oh, well, it’s was nice meeting you guys!” Callia waves to the group of clones gathered awkwardly in the corner of the compartment. They all wave back, vaguely confused by the Pantoran girl who promptly bounces out of the transit vehicle, blowing you a kiss right as the doors close.

“Well, she seems nice,” Anakin tells you, grinning slyly.“Bestie.”

you groan.

How is it that, through the vacuum of space, miles and miles away, you can sense his presence, but on the public Coruscanti transit system, somehow you’re surprised by his appearance?

“She doesn’t seem to grasp that I’m not allowed to have any ‘best friends’.”

Rex shakes his head.

“Don’t know you were living with the civvies, General.”

you shrug.

“It’s new. just this leave I’ve moved into the city.”

Fives shoulders his way to you, face alight with humor.

“What’s got you all dolled up, General? I didn’t think the Jedi were allowed to wear anything but browns.”

“You know, gives, that’s exactly what my friends said when the saw me.” you wave your shows in the air. “I was at a wedding.”

“A wedding.”

“Yes, Skywalker, a wedding. That’s what civilians do. They go to weddings and they go shopping and do all these pointless things just for the fun of it.”

Anakin steps toward you.

“Civilians? But you’d been doing so well at fitting in, with your friends.” He sneers the last word. “Now you refer to them as others?”

You step towards him, too, narrowing your eyes.

“I can have civilian friends, you know. That’s what Sentinels do. We can’t all just swing out lightsabers and blow things up and walk away without consequences.”

“No, face it, Y/n, you’re running. Like you always do.”

“You’re one to talk about running, Skywalker.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming wave of weariness. You’re tired of arguing with him and the tense silences and the broken moments. Biting back a reproach, to tell him exactly what that means, you glance around.

The Clones are probably tired of it, too.

“Whatever, Skywalker. I’m not doing this with you again. It always ends with both of us going home hurting.”

Anakin’s perplexed by this, you can see it on his face. Behind him, Rex has a peculiar expression of relief on his face. He probably just wants to see Jex again without having to separate their generals from another screaming match.

Anakin’s shut up, at least.

“This is my stop. goodnight Rex, boys,” You pause, then, quietly, “Goodnight, Anakin.”

It’s not until you tuck yourself into bed and turn over that you realize that this has been the first day since his death that you’ve not thought of Bosque once.

Some part of you jolts at the notion of forgetting him, but how could you? He always was and is a huge part of your life, even in his absence.

And you will always hold him near, but that doesn’t mean you have to regret him all day every day.

You felt him today, you realize. Stepping back from the argument, bidding a polite goodnight to someone you could easily hate.

You can almost feel him hand on your shoulder, showing you the way.

———

Aaaaah starting off with the process of grief! Thanks for letting me ramble to you ;)

#anakin skywalker x jedi reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #imagines #star wars #clone wars imagine #clone wars #captain rex #grieving #moving on

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