imagine Darth Vader is a Karamatsu boy

Imagine Darth Vader dancing/singing along to “Tell me what you want”.

imagine Darth Vader eating bugs

I wonder if he can taste the sadness (Ahsoka Tano & Anakin Skywalker & Rex)

Summary: Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and— “Master!” she cries, leaping up. Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation. “Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?” In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved. She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”

Warnings: major character death, lightsaber wounds, lots of children die but only one is shown, canon genocide, canon divergence but only to make it sadder
Word Count: 1,826

Prompt:Angstpril Day 4 - Betrayal

Author’s Note: WOWWW why do I do this to myself lmfao. I was like ‘oh hey what if Ahsoka was in the Temple during Order 66 would that suck or what’ and then I. Wrote it. For some reason. I’m sick and twisted. Also, not to make you sadder or anything, but can you imagine Obi-Wan finding her body? Shit dude. Anyway, you might think Anakin wouldn’t go to the dark side if the whole Ahsoka thing hadn’t happened, but, like…he already murdered a village of Tuskens before the Clone Wars. I do not doubt that it would’ve happened somehow. I know this is super late but I wanna get all my Angstpril stuff written down no matter how late it is or else I’m gonna feel terrible about it. Title is from My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes. (Also, Jinnel, the Kiffar, and her future Master are my ocs. Zett is a canon character but he has barely any appearances so, uh, dibs.)

Read on AO3

*

“Master Nu! I was just looking for you in the archives.”

Ahsoka bears a wide smile as the old Master of the archives turns to her. The young Padawan, though not so young now she thinks, bears a couple of datapads, old ones she’d borrowed before her last assignment.

“Ah, Padawan Tano. Apologies, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

She gestures behind her, where a youngling Clan chatters excitedly. At the sight of Ahsoka, one Nautolan girl lights up and turns to her friend, whispering furiously.

Ahsoka smiles and waves a little, getting a few waves back. “Sorry, Master, I didn’t realise. I can come back later,” she offers.

“That’s quite alright.” Master Nu waves her off. “Just leave it on my desk, and I—”

She stops. Her gaze drifts to the far end of the hallway, but when Ahsoka follows it, she finds nothing there. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then she feels it, too: a roil of darkness and fear.

“What is that?” she whispers, unmoving.

The younglings finally notice, a long moment after their seniors, and begin speaking frantically.

“Is the Temple under attack?”

“What do we do, Master Nu?”

“What’s happening?”

“I have to go find my Master!”

With a raised hand, Master Nu silences them all. “Quiet.” Quickly glancing around, she spots a meditation room with an open door. “Quickly, into the meditation room. Padawan Tano, watch our backs.”

“Yes, Master.”

The younglings file into the room obediently, still whispering to one another. One girl, a young Kiffar, bursts into tears, so Ahsoka pulls her aside immediately.

“My Master left to go to the Senate Building,” the Initiate blubbers. “She doesn’t know we’re in danger! I have to find her!”

(She’s too young to have a Master, Ahsoka realises, and doesn’t have a Padawan braid. The Master must’ve found her on a Search and bonded with her.)

“See if you can contact her on your comm, but you need to stay here until we know what’s going on, okay?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t leave her!”

“I understand. My Master is out there somewhere, too,” Ahsoka tries to reassure. “But I can’t let you leave alone, either. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go find her together.”

The Initiate wipes at her eyes and nods, following the rest of her clan into the meditation room. Ahsoka looks back to Master Nu, who is glancing down the hall with wide, horrified eyes. Something has pulled in the Force.

Someone skids to a stop around the corner.

It’s a young human boy, a Padawan that Ahsoka has seen trailing behind Master Drallig for the last few weeks. On his sleeve, a scorch mark has burned through the fabric to his skin: a blaster wound.

At the sight of Master Nu and Ahsoka, his face twists in relief and he runs toward them.

“Zett,” Master Nu breathes out, taking his arm as soon as he’s close. “What’s going on?”

Through panting breaths, he speaks the impossible. “The clones—the clones are killing us!” he cries. “They got Master Drallig and I can’t find the Council—”

“What?” Ahsoka questions fiercely. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I really saw it! It’s the 501st, they have their armour and everything and they’re killing everybody—!”

Master Nu squeezes his uninjured shoulder. “Breathe, Padawan. I believe you.”

“What!?” Ahsoka turns on her. “They would never—!”

“It may be someone else in that armour, but you know he’s telling the truth, Ahsoka. You can feel it,” she says warningly. “Don’t let emotion cloud your instincts.”

She backs down, but her chest tightens. “Yes, Master,” she says quickly.

“How many of them are there?”

“All of them. Master Drallig—” Zett chokes on his name. “—he told me to go to the landing pad, to get out and find help.”

“I’ll go with you!”

Ahsoka jumps when the young Kiffar reappears, running up to Zett.

“I’m a good tracker,” she says quickly, “and I know where my Master’s going! We can find her!”

Zett looks to Master Nu at the same time she does, uncertainty in his bright eyes. The old archivist casts her gaze to the end of the hall, where the chaos is starting to get louder. With a deep breath, she kneels before the younglings, a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Do not stop, especially for anyone in clone armour. Don’t trust anyone you don’t recognise and whatever you do, do not return to the Temple until you are given the all-clear, do you understand?” When they both nod, she reaches for their hands and presses them together, letting Zett take the girl’s. Master Nu gives him a firm look. “Hold onto each other. Do not let go. This is not a game.”

“Yes, Master,” they say at the same time, equally shaky.

She stands. “Go.”

The pair run off, Zett tugging the Kiffar girl closer to him as they dash down the hall. Ahsoka watches them go, waiting until they’re around the corner to turn her attention back to Master Nu, who has apparently done the same. Before she can speak, the archivist puts a hand on her shoulder as well.

“Stay with the younglings. Lock the door behind you and defend them with your life,” she instructs.

The girl’s eyes widen. “What? You’re leaving?”

“If the Temple is being attacked, there are things I have to do,” is her grim reply. “No one can get their hands on the archives, Padawan, no one. I’ll come find you when I get the chance.”

If I get the chance. The thought is there, though unspoken.

Steeling herself, Ahsoka swallows roughly but nods. “Yes, Master.”

With a glance over the Padawan’s shoulder, Master Nu lowers her voice. “Above all, make sure they make it out.”

“May the Force be with you,” she says quietly, a hope more than a comfort.

Master Nu smiles, a little sad, a little proud. “It is always with us, Ahsoka. It is always with you. Be brave.”

Her words echo in the young Togruta’s mind even as she departs. When she finally pulls herself together, she rushes into the meditation room, counting heads and closing the door behind her. She enters a code to lock it down completely before turning back to her charges.

“I need you all to listen carefully and do exactly as I say, okay?”

There are scattered nods and ‘yes, Padawan Tano’s, so she gives out instructions.

They build barricades throughout the room, providing cover for themselves. Initiates with lightsabers pair up with those without and the latter group gets a few weapons from Ahsoka. Her clone troopers—the ones killing Jedi—gave her quite a few vibroblades and pocket blasters over the years and she’s kept them all. It’s more than a little useful right now, she thinks as she hands them to the younglings.

“Keep your heads down and trust in the Force,” Ahsoka orders, ducking behind a gathering of meditation chairs and tables with three Initiates. She places a hand on the shoulder of the youngest, a small Mirialan with teary eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

Footsteps thunder from the hallway outside. The younglings fall silent in an instant, poised for battle.

Something catches in Ahsoka’s chest. They’re ready for this. They’re children and terrified but they’re ready for a fight. Is this what her Master used to feel when he looked at her, 14 standard and standing on the front lines? Like something was desperately wrong with this picture?

“The scanners indicate life forms in this room, sir.”

Ahsoka freezes.

Itsounds like a clone, though she can’t place who. Could Zett have been right? Are the clones—the 501st, of all battalions—turning against them? What in the Force would make them do that? Something here is horribly, horribly wrong.

There’s some beeping on the other side of the wall and someone out there must have the codes, because the door starts to slide open.

Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and—

“Master!” she cries, leaping up.

Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation.

“Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?”

In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved.

She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”

Light washes over her, the stark blue of his lightsaber being lit. She glances down to get a look at where he’s pointing it, what he could possibly be defending her from in a room of younglings. But then pain strikes her abdomen, squeezing her lungs. A choked gasp drags itself from her lips and she finally sees it.

The saber in her chest. Anakin’s saber in her chest.

A youngling screams and blaster fire echoes throughout the room, but Ahsoka can’t see what happens. She can’t even cry out for the Initiates she was meant to protect. All she can do is look back up at him.

His expression is blank, untouched by her apparent agony. He stares down at her with those yellow eyes—

Yellow eyes?

Her mouth falls open a little, her legs wobbling. She loses her balance, falling into him. And he catches her. There isn’t any sort of purpose to the movement, but he catches her.

He has yellow eyes.

Ahsoka thinks of Dooku, of his last moments spent glaring at her and her Master, those burning yellow eyes. She thinks of his red lightsaber fitting perfectly into Anakin’s hand and how nauseous she’d become at the sight.

“Anakin?”

It’s weak, hardly there. She doesn’t even know if he hears it.

And then she’s falling, falling to the floor. He drops her, lets her crumble underneath him, unable to hold herself up.

He walks away.

Breathing raggedly, Ahsoka wants to reach out, wants to grab the bottom of his robe before he can leave her. But her hands won’t cooperate, her entire body screaming at the scorched wound she bears.

The meditation room has fallen silent, leaving the troopers to follow after Anakin. They start to leave, but one notices she’s still breathing, still trying to move.

He lifts his blaster and she finally sees him.

“Rex,” she breathes out.

The jaig eyes on his helmet, carefully painted, give him away instantly. He lifts his pistols and she wants to cry. She doesn’t have the strength for even that. But she doesn’t need any strength to see that his hands are shaking. Ahsoka will never know what’s going on in his head, what’s driving him to lift his blasters in her direction. All she knows is that his hands are shaking.

“It’s okay, Rex,” she says, sounding far from it. “It’s okay.”

He fires.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop&@mystoragehatesme

Reblogs are better than likes and deeply appreciated!

If you tag this as an Ahsoka ship, I will block you so fast.

Masterlist

Summary:On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings:Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude
Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like…the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

Read on AO3

*

Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, andfeeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around himnow, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lavaburns. It burns like shame, likefailure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force andfoldsthe two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so…so strong, sopure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hopeso.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because youdidsave me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except…you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin ishealing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’thorrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds…nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. Itaches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop&@mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

And they’ve already began forgetting, whether they know it or not (Cal Kestis/Hera Syndulla/Kanan Jarrus)

Summary: With Vader on their tails, Cal tells Hera a hard truth. She doesn’t want to hear it, but she needs to. The only question is, will Kanan ever forgive them for this?

Warnings: Angst, Fake Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Burns, Serious Injuries, Self-Sacrifice, Goodbyes, Nightmares, Scars

Word Count:2,343

Prompt: Angstpril Day 1 - “You have to let me go.”

Author’s Note: you know the Inquisitor!Cal concept I was ranting about? Yeah, this is the start of it lol. I saw that the first Angstpril prompt matched one of my lines of dialogue perfectly and lost my shit, so it’s basically destiny. I hope to continue this in the future as a series, but for now enjoy this terrible, depressing one-shot. :) Title is from Obituary Generator by Mariah Bosch.

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*

“Hera!”

She won’t stop running. Her body burns with the effort and Cal tugs her hand, trying to stop her, but she keeps going. She may not be able to feel the poison of Vader’s presence quite so literally as he and Kanan can, but she knows he’s not far away.

“They’re in the tunnel, it’s not much farther—” she manages breathlessly.

“Hera, stop!”

He stops cold, forcing her to turn and face him.

The lights flicker in the lifeless hallway, the pair the only people in sight. The floor is cold and the walls dark, the choking colour scheme of an Imperial fortress. Cal feels it more than she does; the Force here is entirely dark and threatens to drown him each passing moment. Maybe that’s why he’s more winded than his Twi’lek companion, or maybe it’s the lightsaber wound across his chest.

Hera had managed to save him from dying at Vader’s blade, but that scar will always remain. It burns into his skin like shame.

“If Vader catches up,” Cal gasps out, breath heaving, “he’ll kill all of us.”

“He won’t if we keep going,” she says sharply, ever sure of herself. “C’mon—”

He pulls her back before she can keep walking. “Hera.” It’s firm and fearful enough to keep her still. “I can distract him.”

BD-1, on the floor next to his feet, wails in distress.

Her eyes widen. “No. No! No, absolutely not—”

“I’m a liability,” he argues, unable to even gesture to his injury without wincing at the pull. “He can’t get his hands on the holocron. If you run ahead, you can get it to Kanan and Cere and the three of you can get the hell out of here.”

“He will kill you!” She grabs his poncho and holds him close. “Or worse, turn you into an Inquisitor!”

Cal cradles her face, his eyes shining with desperation. “My life for thousands,” he whispers. “Like my Masters before me.”

“I can’t let you do this, Cal.”

Already, she’s crying. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch and they both know it. The decision might have already been made, considering the ache she already feels in her chest. It’s not her choice and yet she feels guilt rise like nausea.

He reveals the Holocron, pressing it into her shaking hands. “Bring it to Cere. Protect it with your lives or destroy it,” he orders. “Give those kids the chance me and Kanan never got.”

The chance tolive. He thinks of Master Jaro, of Master Depa, Grey, and Styles. He thinks of his fellow Padawans, all cut down in the name of power. But most of all he thinks of the children listed in that Holocron, who have committed a crime all their lives without ever knowing it.

BD whirrs and it pulls in Cal’s chest. He gives a sad smile, crouching to the little droid’s height.

“Go with Hera, buddy, okay? She’ll take care of you.” He pets BD’s head, trying to ignore the whines he makes. After a moment, he looks back up at Hera. “I’ll hold him back as long as I can.”

A sob lodges itself in Hera’s throat. “Kanan will never forgive you.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but Cal shuts his eyes tight, pained by the thought as he stands again.

“And you will?” he asks with a rueful huff of laughter.

She puts a gentle hand on his cheek, caressing a scar that rests there. “I already have,” she murmurs.

He shuts his eyes again, that same grimace on his face as he rests his forehead against hers. Then, he kisses her. It’s gentle and drawn out, a lingering sensation against her salty lips. She takes it with an aching sort of grief, the pit of a forbidden knowledge heavy in her stomach. No one should know when their last interaction with someone is, but she does.

“That was for you,” Cal says when he pulls back.

He kisses her again, fiercely this time. It has a message, one she doesn’t understand.

“That was for Kanan.”

He’ll understand it, even if she never will.

Hera hugs him, burying her face in his shoulder as his hand rests on her back. One of her lekku twists around his wrist, as if reminding her of his steadily beating pulse.

Alarms begin to roar around them, a warning.

“Hera.” It’s gentle at first, but he must sense something because desperation catches in his voice. “You have to let me go. Let go. Hera, let go.”

He pries her off, taking her hands in his gloved ones. Though it’s ridiculous, he wishes that an Echo of hers would spark to life and give him one last memory to think of. Instead, he’s left wiping away the remnant of a tear from her cheek. He steps back after, pulling his lightsaber off his belt.

Hera swallows. “Cal, I—”

I love you.

She can’t say it. And she curses herself for it.

They’ve never needed words, but it would mean everything to hear it out loud, just once. Just once, she begs her own unmoving lips.

He smiles, knowing and sad and all the more infuriating. “Me, too,” he whispers.

Not too far away now, another lightsaber buzzes to life.

“Go,” he says finally, his face sharpening into something like determination. “Get out of here!”

She nods and tucks the holocron away into her jacket, allowing BD to hop onto her shoulder. Her first steps are in lead boots, but finally, she manages to shake herself out of her stupor and turn away, running toward the exit. It takes everything in her not to look back, not to seek out one last glimpse of that fiery red hair and the twin pair of yellow blades that snap and hiss as they activate. BD watches, though, a little light blinking on the side of his head. He chirps, almost like a goodbye, but Cal never hears it.

Opposite Cal, the shadow of the galaxy’s golden age looms. He brandishes his blood-red blade, bathed in red and yellow light. His rasping breaths haunt the air.

Though it burns more than anything Cal has ever felt before, he twirls his double-bladed lightsaber, letting its golden light wash over him, secure in the knowledge that his fate is his own.

Finally, the ghost speaks.

“Your attempts are admirable, but useless. You and your friends will fall at my hand. There is no escape.”

“Does it look like I’m running?” Cal asks, settling into a fighting stance. “Musty bitch.”

*

Hera flies up from bed, her throat burning like she’s been screaming.

A jerk away from the cold metal wall of her bunk sends her over the edge of it, right toward the floor. She has half a second to close her eyes and brace herself for the impact, but—

It never comes.

She opens her eyes, only to find the floor a few inches away. A green mist encompasses her body, holding her up and keeping her safe. Glancing at the door of her room, she sees Merrin in the doorway, her fingers smoking with that same green mist.

“You should think about installing railings,” the Nightsister says dryly.

Hera only huffs and tenses when she starts to move. With a wave of Merrin’s pale hand, she’s standing upright and is let down carefully. She steadies herself with a deep breath, unaware of the little droid at her friend’s heels.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, dusting herself off. Then, she glances up. “How did you know I was—?”

“I didn’t. Cere asked me to check on you. Lucky for your face.”

If Hera didn’t know her any better, it would be sharp, but unfortunately, she does. So, she snorts. “Lucky for the floor.”

She goes to stretch, her muscles sore with sleep. Instead, she stops abruptly, wincing when her lekku tingles. Lifting a hand to its end, she doesn’t notice the flash of concern on Merrin’s face until she speaks again.

“Alright?”

“Fine, just slept on it funny. It’s numb,” she admits with a rueful laugh.

Raising an eyebrow, Merrin wiggles her fingers, miming magick. “I can help,” she suggests.

Hera visibly hesitates. “…you can?”

Nightsister magicks tend to be dark, according to Kanan and, once upon a time, Cal, but that doesn’t mean they always are. They have the capacity to heal and, though aware of that, Hera didn’t realise they could help with numbness of all things.

“A touch of healing magick and a massage,” Merrin explains shortly. “It’s not rocket science.”

Hera laughs. “If it were, I’d understand it.” Then, she nods. “I’d appreciate it.”

They settle on the bottom bunk, which usually belongs to Sabine. However, the teen has been trying to barter for the top bunk and, with this latest fall, Hera is tempted to give in. The young Mandalorian is sturdier than she is and far less prone to night terrors.

Merrin has a surprisingly gentle touch, carefully interwoven with wisps of glowing mist. Despite her initial reluctance, Hera lets out a grateful sigh when the feeling starts to return to her lekku. It’s like walking around swinging a numb arm; intensely uncomfortable. While Merrin works, BD-1 approaches, beeping concernedly and nudging the Twi’lek’s leg with his head.

“I’m okay, BD,” she reassures gently.

After a moment, Merrin speaks in a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hera has to look away from BD-1, something in her chest wrenching. She shuts her eyes. “No,” she says finally. “Not really.”

Merrin must notice her reaction to their droid friend because after a long enough moment to be somewhat normal, she speaks to him. “BD, could you go find her head wrap? She might have left it on the Mantis.”

He leaps up, chirping determinedly. When he rushes out of the room, intent on helping, Hera can’t help but let out a breath of relief.

Still working away, Merrin sighs. “You should hang back when we get to Lothal. We could use a pilot in case things go wrong.”

“Greez already offered,” she reminds her, frowning.

“The Mantis isn’t exactly ideal for the type of cargo we’re…borrowing.” She pauses. “Besides, you need a break.”

“I’mfine.”

She scoffs. “Yes, falling from your bed in a fit of terror is the behaviour of a fine person.” At Hera’s silence, she sighs again. “Look, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Things have been difficult lately and whatever you see in your sleep isn’t helping. Just…let yourself rest, Hera. The galaxy won’t implode if you take a nap.”

Tell that to the Empire. Maybe they’d hold off on pulling the trigger, she thinks ruefully.

Eventually, she relaxes, and when Merrin finishes, BD reappears. This time, however, he’s not alone. Kanan stands a step behind him, eyes tight with worry. The weight on his shoulders lessens minutely at the sight of Hera.

BD ignores him, running up to the Twi’lek with her leather headwrap held tight in one metal foot. He beeps excitedly as he hands it to her.

She gives him as much of a smile as she can currently manage. “Thank you, BD. You’re my hero.”

He nudges her fondly before scampering over to Merrin, who huffs amusedly.

“C’mon,” she says, leaning down as she stands from the bunk so he can leap onto her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can’t coax Rabid out, hm?”

On their way out of the room, she sends a knowing glance at both Hera and Kanan before the door shuts behind her. Her voice, directed toward the devil droid on her shoulder, starts to fade after a few moments, growing more distant.

“I…” Kanan has to clear his throat, which is drier than Tatooine. “I felt your distress in the Force. Came back as soon as I could. You okay?”

Hera takes a moment to slip on her headwrap, grateful at the fact that her lekku are no longer tingling. “Better now, I think,” she admits.

He takes a step forward, asking. At her nod, he moves to sit beside her on the lower bunk and pulls her to his side. She rests her head on his shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she finally lets herself relax, knowing that she must be safe here, of all places. She takes comfort in Kanan’s touch and the way he runs his thumb across her shoulder, too. His breath of relief against her forehead makes her smile, just a little.

(And it certainly helps to clutch the stupid poncho he’s wearing in her hand. It’s an ugly near-white with black patterning that forms an arrow near the bottom. Outlander was what Cal called it. He loved giving them dramatic names like he’d made his own clothing line or something. Hera hates the Outlander one.)

“Nightmares?” he murmurs.

She nods slightly.

He hesitates, but finally asks what she’s anticipating. “The same one again?”

“Isn’t it always?” she retorts, more sad than sharp. There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks again and when she does, her voice wavers. “I can’t remember what he looked like.”

“Hera—”

“I know he had a scar on his cheek and across the bridge of his nose, that he had red hair and green eyes and the cutest karking smile in the galaxy, but I can’trememberit,” Hera says shakily. “I know what heshouldlook like, but I can’t…pictureit. And it drives me insane.”

Kanan squeezes her shoulder. “It’s been ten years. I forget, too.”

“I hate it,” she whispers.

The kiss to her temple is sweet and soft and it should bring her some sort of relief, but it doesn’t. It’s not nearly enough and Kanan knows that. There’s nothing he can do to soothe the ache in her chest where Cal used to live, because he can’t even soothe his own gaping wound.

All he can do is hold her close and say: “I know. I know.”

But, thinking of tear-stained, freckled cheeks and a bitter kiss goodbye, she can’t help but wonder if he really does.

*

River’s Tags: @mystoragehatesme&@hahaboop

Masterlist

Summary:Ponds is wandering the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, on his way to a meeting with his general, when he finds a crying youngling. He’s clutching his hands close to himself and Ponds abruptly remembers a mission with General Vos, who had an eerily similar reaction to a set of manacles. Ponds can’t help but kneel in front of the kid and offer him his pair of brand new gloves.

Translations:ad’ika - little one/little child (term of endearment), Jetii - Jedi (singular)
Tags:Ponds & Cal Kestis, Mace Windu/Ponds, mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos, Cal Kestis, Ponds, Mace Windu, Youngling Cal Kestis
Word Count: 1,247

Author’s Note: I’m not saying Cal becomes Mace’s Padawan in this AU but I did have Thoughts about it ajldksfj. Imagine babey!Cal being with Ponds when the bounty hunter shit happens and Boba has Emotions and between him and Cal somehow Ponds survives…god, it’s too tempting. Also!! Baby Caleb and Cal being friends because they’re family now??? And Depa being the best big sister??? God, I can’t think about it too much or else I’ll want to write more. Anyway, enjoy! I love Padawan & Clone Commander dynamics, they’re so soft. The title is from To A Rosebud by Eva A. Jessye.

*

The Temple is quiet. It shouldn’t be a surprise to Ponds now, with the number of visits to it he has under his belt. 

Not many vode can say they frequent the Jedi Temple, though admittedly almost every single one can claim to have been to the crèche at least once, but he is one of the few. In fact, ever since he and Mace cleared up their feelings—long story—he practically lives there instead of the barracks. Mace spends every moment of his time on Coruscant that he can spare at home and, as always, where he goes, Ponds goes.

What is a surprise is the little sniffling noise he can hear from around the corner.

He stops, frowning as he listens. It sounds…like an upset tooka. Or a crying youngling, which would make a lot more sense.

(He has plenty of experience with vode breaking down, but younglings? Not so much. He has a bit, though, given that Mace tricked the whole of Lightning Squadron into getting kidnapped by a youngling clan on their last leave.) 

Despite his lack of talent dealing with younglings, at least in his opinion, he knows that a crying kid shouldn’t be by themselves, so he turns the corner.

The kid is tiny. Ponds didn’t know much about how natborns age until Rex’s kid came along, but he can wager a guess that this one isn’t much older than 10 standard. He’s leaned up against the wall, clutching his shaking hands close to his chest as he sobs, body heaving with the effort. But what really catches the clone’s eye is that he’s being extremely careful not to touch anything, flinching when his fingers even get close to his robes.

Abruptly, Ponds is reminded of a recent mission with General Vos. He’d never seen a general break down like that, not until he got his hands on a battered pair of manacles and picked up the suffering of every person ever bound with them.

Ponds approaches the kid, unsurprised that he doesn’t even notice his footsteps or his presence until he’s kneeling in front of him.

The youngling jumps, a gasp slipping past his lips. “No—”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, ad’ika,” Ponds murmurs, sitting criss-cross to look less threatening. “Can you hear me?”

His lip quivers as he nods. “Can’t see,” he sobs.

Without question, he goes to tug off his gloves, a brand new pair after a trek through a jungle ruined his last ones. “Psychometry, right?” he gets a hesitant nod again. “You have a comfort item?”

(Vos had one of Kenobi’s old robes. Cute. Cuter in that it won Ponds that betting pool.)

He shakes his head. “Left it. Stupid—”

“Not stupid, just forgetful,” Ponds says instantly. 

He holds out his gloves, letting them skim his hands so he can feel it, seeing as his vision is overwhelmed right now. Vos always gets more feelings than visions, apparently, but Ponds did some research into the ability before working with him and found out that it isn’t uncommon. He grimaces. This kid must be going through hell right now.

“Here, they’re brand new. Only memory you might get is me smacking one of my sergeants over the head.”

The youngling laughs a little and Ponds smiles. Success, he thinks, like it’s some kind of mission to get him to smile. Well. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

He helps him slip on the gloves, careful not to touch him. “Better?”

“Mhm,” he manages, shutting his eyes tightly and opening them again. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. What’s your name, buddy?”

He rubs at his eyes and runs a hand through his fiery red hair, sniffling a little. “Cal, um, Initiate Cal Kestis.”

“I’m Ponds,” he introduces, holding out his hand for him to shake.

“Mast-Master Windu’s commander?” he asks, eyes wide.

He snorts. “One and only.” He sobers immediately. “I thought the quartermaster gave gloves to all Jedi with psychometry.”

“They do, but, um, I keep…losing mine,” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t wanna ask for another pair ‘cause I’ve already had three in two months and—well. I don’t want them to be mad.”

Ponds tilts his head. “I get that. People are scary when they’re mad, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tell you what, have you ever heard of the ‘CO Loophole’?” he asks. When Cal scrunches his face up, he snickers. “It’s something my shinies named. When you can’t find something for hours and you go to tell your commanding officer about it, they find it in less than a minute.”

Cal smiles a little and Ponds counts it as another win. “The crèchemasters do that, too!”

“Everybody who looks after somebody else can do it, I think,” he declares. “How about we see if you and I can’t find those gloves. If we can’t, I’ll take you to the quartermaster myself.”

The kid brightens almost instantly, but his face falls a second after. “You-you’re not busy?”

“Eh, General Windu fell asleep at our last briefing, so I think he can live with me being late,” Ponds says with a shrug.

(He’s not late to a briefing with ‘General Windu.’ He’s late to a lunch date with Mace, but oh well. Mace really won’t mind, especially when he meets this kid. Ponds knows he’s a sucker for kids—though not so much the ones that can’t talk yet—and he’s used it to his advantage.)

“Really?” he asks, gawking.

“Really. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Ponds holds out a hand—a bare hand, now, but he can’t find it in him to notice. Cal takes it without hesitation, his red-rimmed eyes brighter than before. Something tightens in the clone commander’s chest, realising that the kid has no problem trusting him. He wonders offhandedly what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been here at this very moment.

“You’ll have to show me the way,” Ponds admits to the boy as he helps him up. “I’ve only been once.”

Cal nods, dusting himself off without letting go of his hand. “To see Hawkbat Clan, right?”

“Yeah,” he remarks, somewhat amused. He leads the way down the hall, slow and steady so that the little one can keep up. “How’d you know?”

“They still brag about it,” he huffs. “We got to see the Wolfpack, but they’ve visited, like, everybody. They’re the only ones who got to see your battalion, though, so…”

Ponds hums. He didn’t realise younglings were aware of how much he and the vode have visited. In fact, he wasn’t aware that visiting was such a big deal. He’s always known that it was good for the vode, what with how strikingly relaxingit is to hang out with younglings, but maybe it’s good for the Initiates, too.

“Why don’t we take a detour?” he finds himself suggesting. “I know a squadron that wouldn’t mind some time off.”

He can message Mace on the way, he decides.

Cal lights up like a sun. “Really?” he asks again.

Ohno. He’s adorable. Holy kark, this kid could make the Separatists surrender with his grin alone. Ponds is smiling like an idiot, too. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to adopt someone so much, even when picking out shinies for Lightning Squadron.

“Really,” he laughs. “But if Commander Wolffe ever comes back to your clan, you have to tell him we’re your favourites.”

“Deal!” the boy chimes immediately, swinging their intertwined hands a little.

Wolffe can find another shiny Jetii. This one is his.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop&@mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

Robes and Rules - Obi Wan Kenobi

“Parting is such sweet sorrow” - Romeo and Juliet

You stirred at a sound of rustling. It was a strange way of waking. For after so long, you were used to being stirred by wandering hands and the dimness of the light’s morning setting, that bathed your quarters in a soft yellow glow. It was a colder way of waking that left you wanting.

And at the sight of Obi Wan is shrugging on his first robes, it’s chill grew. Your chest grew heavy and tension gathered in your shoulders. Every weight you felt, that of the world, the galaxy, this situation, shifted with you as laid on your side to watch your lover leave.

“Is it time already?” Your words came out horse, riddled with the leftovers of sleep and haunted by the blissed-out ghost of your voice from the night before. Obi Wan already slipped his arms through the sleeves as you asked. When he pivoted his stance to face you, you caught a glimmer in his blue eyes.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Pity,” you murmured, turning to rest on your back and face the cold, lonely ceiling. “Felt like there were things we could continue.”

“For both our sakes, I don’t think we should.”

“Careful,” you warned, flicking your gaze back over to Obi Wan. “You’re starting to sound more and more like the collective Council.”

“There are rules, Y/N.”

You nodded bitterly and returned your eyes to the ceiling. The moment you did, you heard Obi Wan’s boot clomp against the floor of your room. It took your every ounce of willpower to keep from watching him as he walked out your door. You simply stayed still, listening for the hiss that would come with the opening entrance and his dulled footfalls.

When the sound of the door never sounded, you turned your head and saw him. Obi Wan stood at your bedside, paces away from the exit, paces away from leaving. He was yours, for a few seconds longer. You reached out a lazy hand in the hopes he would take, prove that he was truly yours. That he would stay.

“There are feelings too, Obi,” you countered softly. “Unless there isn’t?”

“No, there are,” he whispered. Obi Wan took your extended hand and a trembling breath slipped past your lips.

Almost as if he heard the shaking in your throat, he moved to sit on the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, incidentally letting you fall closer into his warmth. His bright blue eyes drank in your features and you were thrust back into similar mornings. Mornings of pillow talk and careful caresses before someone’s comm chimed, tore down the peace you built in the peaceful hours of dawn.

“Then we continue.”

“Then we continue,” he replied, but his lips faltered down into a frown. “But you must know that my allegiances to-”

“The Republic,” you interrupted, giving his hand a soft squeeze. You and Obi Wan had talked so many times about this before, what would happen if what you had fell apart. “As are mine, as are all the Jedi.”

“Yes, but my allegiances to you will endure, whether we continue or not. Know that.”

As he spoke, Obi Wan leaned in closer, until his face was tantalizing few inches from your own. His warmth both put you at ease and stole your breath away. When you felt it soak into the sheets of your bed and to your exposed skin beneath, you also became suddenly aware of how vulnerable you were. But as Obi Wan’s free hand moved to cup your face, you knew he would not exploit that fact; he would protect you, always.

“I know now,” you replied once you found your breath again.

A soft silence settled between you then. Obi Wan’s hands remained on you: his left gave yours a gentle squeeze while the right traced your jawline. He drew you in and pressed the lightest of kisses to the corner of your mouth. You smiled when Obi Wan pulled away before you tugged his lips back to yours. He relented, kissed you harder than the last time.

His beard tickled your chin and coaxed your smile to widen. You felt his own mouth mirror your expression. At the sensation, you titled your head back and studied Obi Wan’s expression. How rare it was to see him smile. You leaned back and savored the sight.

“I’ll see you at today’s meeting?” Obi Wan asked, his tone low in a whisper. You merely nodded in response and he leaned forwards once more, pressed yet another kiss to your forehead.

He stood up then, gave your hand a last squeeze, and headed towards the door of your chambers. Watching Obi Wan leave was never easy. Even in those slow mornings of wandering hands, you always felt a pang of loss when he walked away. But then, that morning, with the tingling feeling of his lips on your yours and your skin lingering, it was lessened.

Though, as always, Obi Wan left with a part of your heart in his.

falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

Cassian Andor x reader

Word Count: 290

Kay was piloting.

Cassian was looking over documents regarding your latest assignment, making sure he knew the ins and outs of the identities you’d be assuming while planetside.

You were trying desperately not to nod off as you did the same.

Neither of you needed the refreshers on your IDs. Not really. Between these being well established and being a lie based in reality, it wasn’t hard to remember that the pair of you were going to be masquerading as a married couple.

“I don’t think it counts as reading if you’ve been staring at the same page for the last fifteen minutes,” Cassian’s amused voice commented.

You blinked rapidly, realizing that he was right. You hadn’t managed to read anything for the last while. A little grunt of irritation left you, and you tossed the datapad onto the table. “I’ve been awake too long. Haven’t slept since before the briefing.”

“Get some rest, then. Bunk’s all yours.”

“You’ve been awake just as long as me, Cass.”

“That is correct, Captain. In order for you both to perform your best, you shouldn’t be going over documents needlessly instead of resting.”

Cassian made a bland, exasperated face in the direction of the cockpit. “Thanks, Kay.”

“You’re welcome!” came his smarmy reply.

“Why don’t we call it for a bit?” you suggested. “We can brush up again when we come out of hyperspace.”

“Just a bit longer,” he insisted. Then he glanced down over at you, brown eyes tender and loving. “I promise.”

You sighed, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “Alright,” you agreed. “Just … elbow me or something if I fall asleep.”

You thought you heard him say something like, “Absolutely not,” but you faded too quickly to be sure.