#the Naboo queen is safe

[milkcioccolato]

How the phantom menace should have gone, imo😌

#Obi-Wan “I can fix him” Kenobi saves the whole galaxy by seducing the Sith apprentice #the Naboo queen is safe #the Sith’s plans are thwarted #long live the Republic! #milks artsies #star wars #darth maul #obi wan kenobi #obimaul #the phantom menace #Star Wars: the phantom menace

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 8

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni, some mentions of gore, guilt, trauma (who is surprised. please), angst, a shower scene but it's really unsexy except for anakin on his knees series will have eventual smut, canon level violence, etc etc.

a/n: tagging makes me feel a type of violence that is historic in nature. not beta read. any comments and reblogs and all are so so appreciated thank u so much for reading

You never realized how intertwined grief and guilt are before now. Anakin allows you to pretend that you’ve fallen asleep as he hoists you into the speeder with Obi-Wan, stroking your feverish forehead with his cool metal hand. He’s draped you in his cloak, hiding the blood on your clothes. If Obi-Wan knew you were awake, he’d ask you questions, questions that you wouldn’t have the strength to answer. Anakin lays you down gently with your head on his lap, a comfort you don’t think you deserve. 

You keep remembering the spray of blood on your face, its metallic, coppery scent staining you forever; you did that. You took away her life, forever, without hesitation, without stopping. While it felt like a blur in the moment, it feels crystal clear now: the sight of your hands, tangled in the roots of Reyna’s hair, blood muddying the sand as dark rivulets formed from the pool of blood forming from Reyna. And that lifeless look in her eyes, the one she had before you had actually managed to kill her… she wasn’t afraid. She knew you were going to kill her. She knew she was dead before her heart managed to stop beating. 

The thought of that alone terrifies you. So you cling tighter to Anakin’s thigh, a shiver running through your body as you try to hide from your guilty conscience. He says nothing, just holds you tighter; you imagine he’s doing the work of shielding both yours and his emotions from Obi-Wan. You feel guilty that you can’t even muster the energy to care. Reyna’s face haunts you in the dark space of your eyelids every time you blink. There is nowhere to hide from her, from your guilt. 

Anakin can feel your turmoil. He strokes the top of your head, hand shaking as he tries to hide his own sins. How many bodies has he buried, now? If he hadn’t been talking with Obi-Wan, distracted by the thought of you instead of living in reality, would he have been able to protect you from Reyna? That, too, scares him. When did death become his shadow? 

“It has been a long time since you last meditated, young Anakin,” Obi-Wan comments quietly, just barely audible over the hum of the machinery. Anakin wonders if Obi-Wan can see the movement of his hands, the way that he’s seeking comfort in you. He hates that Obi-Wan is right about this whole thing. This is attachment. He’d do—did— dark things for you. But if it’s so dark to keep you safe, to protect you, how can the darkness be all that bad? It’s tearing him apart. All he knows now, all that makes sense to him now, is keeping you safe. Whether it’s for himself or the galaxy is a question Anakin does not have an answer to. 

“How can you tell, Master?” Anakin asks. You’re restless on his thigh and, worried you’ll give yourself away to Obi-Wan, he quickly brings his hand over your face, willing the Force to send you into a dreamless sleep. Some peace for you, he hopes. Obi-Wan does not answer his question immediately, only giving him that knowing smile that drives him absolutely mad sometimes. 

“You forget, Anakin, that I know you just as well as I know myself. Even if you have hidden your Force Signature from the world for the protection of the Queen, you cannot hide your emotions from me. They are written plainly on your face,” Obi-Wan responds finally, placing a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He knows it’s meant to guide him, comfort him, but it just feels… oppressive now. All Anakin can think about is getting you to somewhere that no one can hurt you, where you won’t have to put yourself through what you did ever again. His selfishness tears through him, cuts into pieces his resolve and wish to be a good Jedi. “Anakin, I… I worry for you. In this lonely palace, with only the Queen to keep you company. The Force will never abandon you, Anakin, but you must take care not to abandon it. There is light within you, light that you must foster and protect.” 

“And what happens to that light if I’ve done something horrible, Master?” Anakin asks quietly, trying desperately to find that light within him. Maybe it was snuffed out long ago. Obi-Wan seems stunned by his question, but Anakin’s question remained. Everything that happened today has brought his past to the forefront of his mind. The Sand People, his obsession over Padme… maybe there never was any light in him. 

“It is never too late to turn back to the Light, Anakin.” Obi-Wan doesn’t press further. For his own sake or for Anakin’s, Anakin doesn’t know, but the guidance soothes him anyways. He’s tired. The cold of Tattooine’s desert at night has caught up to him, so many years later, sinking into his skin, threading through his tissues until his heart pumps sluggishly. 

“You and the Queen look unwell,” Obi-Wan observes. “Perhaps the both of you can get some rest, and I’ll talk to Padme to get a lead on which Ministers we can use.” 

“Padme’s here?” Anakin asks. He’s acutely aware of the unchanging pace of his heart, the steadiness of his breath and he realizes that his love for her has faded. All that remains is a genuine, pure fondness for her. It only makes him feel more hollowed. “Give her my regards, will you, Master?” Obi-Wan nods wordlessly as the speeder reaches the service entrance of the palace. Anakin rouses you quickly, the short window of time serving as cover for your silent departure.

Your bleary eyes take in the palace groggily, the beautiful stone walls seeming more and more like a prison as your knees buckle. Before you can fall, Anakin lifts you into his arms, hooking one arm under your knees and the other across your back. You feel safe in his arms, a temporary comfort as he sneaks the both of you back to your chambers. 

By some sheer luck, you reach the room completely undetected. Anakin sets you down and ushers you to the shower. Anakin had done his best to wipe the blood off of you, but it stains you still. The sight of it confronts you as you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, rings of blood and tired eyes staring back at you. Anakin, noticing the unforgiving scrutiny of yourself, turns you away from the mirror and begins to ease the clothes off your stiff form. He’s hesitant but there’s no choice— you aren’t in the state of mind to be able to take care of yourself, and the longer you stay like this, with the dirt of your crime still smeared on your body, the worse you get. 

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You ask him softly as he undoes the last piece of clothing, leaving you bare to him. The physical vulnerability does not cross your mind as he guides you into the steam of the shower, studying you for a moment before he realizes you shouldn’t be alone. Privacy is not a luxury you can afford right now. He washes his hands, still caked in blood and sand, and joins you in the shower. 

“No, my queen. I think you were forced to make choices that no one should have to make. I think you’ve done your best to keep your conscience,” Anakin responds. He washes his hands and brings them to your face, wiping the blood and dirt from your cheeks with his thumbs. Your eyes flutter shut from his gentle touch, overwhelmed by the intimacy of his care. He moves slowly to your shoulders and neck, easing away the tension in your muscles with each knead of his hand. Your eyes look downwards, to the foamy stream of red dripping off of your body, but Anakin catches the movements and directs your gaze back to his eyes. The spray of the water soaks his clothes, making it cling to his skin as he gently cleans your face. “Hey,” He says quietly. “Forget about that. Just look at me, okay?” You nod, and he quietly washes any blood from your arms. He does it delicately, keeping his eyes fixed on yours even as water drips from his eyelashes onto his cheeks. The shower stream drenches him, making his hair plaster to his forehead, but he doesn’t look away, even as he works down your body, getting to your legs. He’s respectful about it, doesn’t break his gaze away from your face as he kneels at your feet. And from your feet, looking up at you under the harsh bright light of the shower, he thinks that you look like a terrible goddess—powerful, so powerful, burdened with a task that will forever remain thankless. You are a remorseful goddess, the deity of those who never got to keep their humanity. Beyond the hollow sheen of your eyes, he sees it all; the guilt, the sadness, the knowledge that you’ve done something that will stain your soul forever. He cannot look away, captivated by you and the sheer energy you hold. To Anakin, this is right; this subservience to you, bowing at your feet because there is some part of your spirit that demands respect. 

But even goddesses stumble. The distant look in your eyes makes him stand without second thought, holding you up before you crumble into his chest. You shed no tears, merely closing your eyes as Anakin holds you to his body, surrounding you in warmth with the help of the warm water. The warmth of being next to you, the privilege of holding him warms him even as the soaked cloth clinging to his skin chills his bones. He hesitates before he slowly puts his chin on your head, holding you tightly as you breathe shallowly. 

“Remorse is a luxury few can afford,” you mumble into his clothes. Anakin knows you’re right, but Maker, if you don’t deserve that luxury, no one does. Your breathing slows and deepens as you regulate your emotions and distance yourself from it all. 

You are a monster. It couldn’t be clearer to you. Anakin’s handling of you as though you are made of glass only shows his revulsion. He must have held you out of fear, out of responsibility, but it’s a kindness you do not deserve. Is the value of a life worth so little to you? It wasn’t a clean death. It was messy, vengeful, and there was no walking back from this guilt. You killed someone. You’re no better than the woman you killed. 

And then you look into Anakin’s eyes. Eyes like the oceans, like the horizon of a clear blue sky. Eyes filled with compassion, softness, and you realize that you don’t regret your bloodshed. You’d do it again to protect him. To protect his goodness, and the goodness just like his, you’ll take the sins of the world as your own. You’ll become something awful, metamorphosize into something unrecognizable to those who loved you, but it’ll be worth it. Deep down, you’ve always known your fate was something like this; you are a lamb, raised for slaughter. You’ve been staring at the knife that will bring your death for so long. It only makes sense; the death of the Queen of Naboo would only serve the final blow to the people of Naboo. They’d be left defenseless, with no protection against the Separatists, who’d tear the planet apart. You’ll die at their hands or someone else’s, you’re certain. But here, you feel as though your death will mean something. To protect Anakin, to protect Padme, and all the others that you’ve loved in the small moments of kindness that you’ve borrowed from them. You’ll kill, again and again, and be killed, for their sakes. 

“I must see Padme and Obi-Wan,” You say, pulling away from Anakin’s embrace. Your movements are swift, methodical as you get dressed. You’ll act as though nothing happened. You’re a monster, you might as well act the part. You don’t want to see the expression on Anakin’s face as he watches you return to normalcy. You’ll protect him from your guilt, too. “Don’t stay in your wet clothes for too long, you’ll fall sick,” You add. You don’t deserve to care for him, but you care anyway. He’s silent for a beat before he responds. 

“Their meeting is secret. You’ll find them in the hidden passageways of the palace, known only to the Queens. Obi-Wan was led there, but I’m sure you know where to go,” Anakin states. He sounds tired, but you don’t have time to dwell on that. You bid a quick farewell, and head to find Padme.  

~~~

“Padme’s told me that the Political and Economic Advisor Horace Vansil is trustworthy,” Obi-Wan informs you as you join the duo in the shadows of the secret passageway. The lit beacons flicker some distance away from you, casting shadow on to your figure. You’re grateful for it. Padme can read you like a book, so you can only hope that the lowlight will obscure the numbness upon your face. 

“We’ll task him with increasing the import of grain and long-term food sources, then,” You conclude. There’s levels to your response, but you need to be prepared. And to be prepared, you need to be detached. Cool. Collected. 

You blink, and Reyna’s face, bloodied and bloated from death smiles at you in the darkness. She’s laughing, lips pulled into a grotesque, mocking smile. She’ll get away with it, she’s telling you. Listen, she says. Listen to me. You’ll fail. You’ll fail them all. We’ll kill you last, so you’ll have to watch them die before you. You shudder involuntarily. 

“...Milady?” Obi-Wan asks, snapping you out of your nightmarish trance.

“Apologies,” You say, blinking rapidly to refocus. Obi-Wan’s scrutiny is unforgiving, but you pay it no mind. “Yes. We’ll do it,” You respond absently. Padme also looks oddly at you, but says nothing on the subject. 

“There’s one more thing,” She adds. “Something is off about Chancellor Palpatine. I can’t place it but he seems more antsy these days. Getting much more involved in the business of not only Naboo, but nearly every planet and system that has any power in the Republic. It’s… odd, to say the least.” “Speaking of the Republic,” You respond, recalling the interaction you had with Darth Sidious, “there’s something odd that Darth Sidious said to me. He said our forces will be too occupied to help Naboo. I believe that like with the government of Naboo, there’s someone with great power in the Senate who is more than they seem.” Padme nods. “I’ve gotten the same feeling. Things are changing, and I don’t think we have much time left.”

“We’ll give them what they want, then,” You sigh. “If I can arrange a visit to Coruscant, I’ll be in a vulnerable-enough position for them to want to make a move. If we can draw out the mole, we can act.” 

“Padme, your suspicions of Chancellor Palpatine… will Anakin’s friendship with him jeopardize this in any way?” Obi-Wan asks. 

“On the contrary,” You smile bitterly. “I think it could be of great help.”

“It’s settled, then,” Obi-Wan sighs. “You’ll have to come back to Coruscant.”

#royal flowers series #distortionbobble's fics #my writing #fic #anakin skywalker series #star wars series #star wars fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x f!reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

[vodika-vibes]

if you don't mind, could I have topaz with crosshair in the summer please? ❤️

Enjoy The Show

Summary: Crosshair doesn't get to spend much time together with his kitten, what with the Empire hounding his every step, and having to go on missions for the Rebellion. But every now and then he makes it his mission to spend time with you.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 548

Prompt: Topaz - Affectionate Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, this is based in the AU that I'm half building where the situation in TBB is switched. So, Crosshair's chip never activated but the others did. Crosshair was forced to join the Rebellion in a desperate attempt to protect Omega.

The summer air is thick with humidity and the crowds of people moving around Crosshair hum with an excitement that feels inappropriate with the state of the galaxy.

His Kitten tells him that people need things to celebrate, or else they would fall into despair, and he knows that she’s probably right. She usually is about these things.

And while Crosshair would, usually, never dare to step foot on Naboo —it’s common knowledge that Vader watches this planet like a hawk— today is different.

Today is Queen’s Day.

And no one cares about one silver haired clone…or, more importantly, the woman he’s here to meet up with. 

Crosshair drops some credits at a food stall, ordering two pita sandwiches, and then follows the crowd of people for a time, before he veers off towards the lake. 

And…there. Sitting on the dock, her feet dipped in the water, her head tilted backwards to focus her gaze on the darkening sky. “Am I late?” Crosshair asks as he steps on the dock.

Her head tilts backwards, and she beams at him, “Not at all. I got here early.” Crosshair walks over to her and sits on the dock next to her, close enough that he’s pressed against her side.

“Not too early, I hope?”

“Hm.” Her smile is warm and fond, and Crosshair feels a surge of affection, “I spent the majority of the day with my family, Cross. No need to fret.” She takes the sandwich that he offered her, and then leans her head against his shoulder, “I’m glad you could make it.”

“As if I would miss a date with you.”

She laughs softly, and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. Crosshair flashes her a small smile and hooks his arm around her waist, pulling her into a tight side hug.

There are a lot of things that need to be said. Offers that need to be made. It’s only a matter of time before people start to realize that she’s the Rebellion’s inside person on Naboo, and Crosshair wants her safe before anyone figures it out.

But those are all conversations for later.

“Are we going to be able to see the fireworks from here?” Crosshair asks.

She nods, “Yeah, I think it’s the best location. No one comes here to watch them, they’d rather climb up to the roofs of the buildings.” She makes a face, “So it’s quiet. Private.”

“You just wanted to get me alone.” Crosshair teases.

She tilts her head to look at him, her smile soft and warm, “Well. You’re not wrong.”

Crosshair keeps his gaze locked with her as the first of the fireworks shoots up to the sky. Red and blue blossom across the dark sky, taking the form of intricate blossoms.

But he can’t tear his gaze off of her. 

Off the way she looks under the moonlight.

Off the way the fireworks reflect in her gaze.

Crosshair’s hand comes up to cup to her face, and he leans in to press his lips, gently, against hers.

He feels her sigh into the kiss, and he feels her relax against him as she allows him to control the intensity of the kiss, and Crosshair is pretty sure that he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves her.

#star wars #tbb #vodika-vibes 500 followers celebration #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[aurora-starwars]

Ooh I just saw a cute little AU prompt I wanna see if it can be used! So it’s the soulmate au where the reader shares eye color in one eye with their soulmate. I’d love it if you could do an angsty fluffy Anakin x reader would mate au with Anakin in his revenge of the sith era? Also, I was wondering if you write for Stargate or know any writer who does on here? There’s not enough Stargate love and it makes me sad 😞. Thanks lovely!

The Look of Terror In Your Eyes

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader; Soulmate au!!!!

Summary: Reader is one of padmé’s handmaidens, and while joining her on Mustafar, she finds a familiar pair of eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t be as red as they are…

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: fire, sobbing, sith, evil anakin, star wars stuff, related violence (not really) Idk, you let me know…

A/n: Thank you so much for waiting and requesting! Took a while to get out but I was feeling the angst after ep 7 of The Last Of Us. 😭😭😭 Also, sorry, I don’t know any writers for stargate! i had to look it up 😭😭, but if anyone has any recommendations, comment them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, sorry for the long break y’all!!! <33333333

P.s: I love the soulmate au trope!!!!! <3

Masterlist

[Name] always loved the idea of a soulmate. The mere thought of a perfect person for her, a soul that perfect for hers sounded marvellous. Two hearts connected by the grace of the universe, or as the Jedi believe, the force. Many people debated the origin of this special connection between organisms; specifically humanoids. Some thought it was their planet’s deity that blessed–and in some cases, cursed– the living beings with companionship, others thought it wasn’t real, that it was all just some trick of a decease or parasite. But most have concluded and agreed that it was the work of the seemingly magic that holds the universe together; the force.

[Name] was a big fan of any theory or story she could hear about soulmates. Free time was spent asking the people around her about their second eye. She always wondered how other’s knew which eye was whose, and she was always met with, “You only know when you meet them, when you lock eyes.” [Name] often liked to imagine what her soulmate looked like. Which eye would be her soulmate’s and which would be her own? What would her soulmate look like with a body around her matching eyes? Would they be brunette? Blond? Would they be a man? Be a woman? What would it look like when they eventually locked eyes? Would their eyes fill with the amount of love [Name] knew that she would feel for them?

Thoughts of her special someone flooded her mind every moment she had time to think. And as much as she loved to think about it, she hardly had time too. [Name] was a busy girl as she was a handmaiden of Padmé and often was travelling, doing one of the other girls make up or switching places with Padmé in order to keep her safe. The senator was the girls main priority and honestly, she was their pride and joy.

This busy job didn’t keep [Name]’s thoughts from wandering at night and like a magnet, her mind would gravitate to her soulmate. She only began to think more about it after a trip to Naboo, where [Name] learned of two of Padmé’s previous handmaidens who were soulmates and had met each other through the former Queen’s protection program. While a wonderful story, [Name] couldn’t help but think about if she would meet her soulmate on the job, if ever. It was a large universe and more often than not, soulmates die before they are ever able to meet the soul destined for them.

Days in the senate were quiet and beyond mundane. And while every once and a while Padmé and her causes would get a win, those times were few and far in-between. Majority of days were spent in the rooms that were provided for the senators, pouring over documents and finding information on how to fix the wrongs of the galaxy, diplomatically.

But these issues are never resolved overnight, and after years of tireless hours of dedicated work within the senate, [Name] found herself less and less hopeful of the wonderful life she pictured outside of the senate. She dreamed of a life with her soulmate, back on Naboo, where she could be with her family and friends. Somewhere nice, somewhere where she could live out the rest of her life out in peace surrounded by everything she has ever loved.

Those dreams always seemed silly once she was sat in the senate, watching over Padmé time and time again, no hope that this life would cease. That the war would end and they could go back home once they finally had did all they could in repairing the senate. That [Name] could finally live out her happily ever after with the one she dreams of, but knows nothing of. Nothing but what one of their eye’s looks like.

Although soulmates could come as romantic or platonic, [Name] never cared. [Name] would be happy to not be lonely. To have someone by her side for the rest of her life. That was all [Name] dreamed of. Not being alone.

That was why she took the job after all. Of course, when the former Queen calls, it is hard to decline the honour of protecting the one and only Padmé Amidala. But that deal becomes a whole lot sweeter when there is a promise of a group of girls accompanying you. A promise that you will not be alone. That was very incising for [Name].

And while most of the senate meetings were snore inducing and late nights reading and rereading documents was beyond tedious, it was made incredibly better by the girls who had also agreed to lay their lives of the line for Padmé. They had become a sisterhood of sorts, a unbreakable friendship formed between them and there was an unspoken understanding that while they worked with Padmé, they were in for anything. That meant life or death, they stood together in order for Padmé to prosper.

That security meant everything to [Name]. In fact, that was everything to [Name]. Since she joined Padmé on her trip to Coruscant all of those years ago, [Name] has practically forgotten who she used to be, and was convinced that a part of her lied in this job. And that part would be ripped from her if she ever left the job, and she would be left alone.

Her dreams of meeting her soulmate never died though. In fact, that is what got her through every day. Every day that she spent with the people she loved so much, every day she dreaded them being taken from her. Thoughts and dreams of a perfect world, with her perfect person. No war, no slavery, no crime, just two souls meeting and living out the rest of their lives, just one day at a time.

But as she stood in front of the mirror of the fresher, all of those thoughts flew out the window. Traveling with Padmé as her escort, [Name] ended up on a J-type Naboo star skiff headed towards Mustafar. [Name] didn’t know why they were going to Mustafar or what would be waiting for them on the old mining planet, but she did know that she wasn’t ready.

It didn’t matter what met them on Mustafar, because all that really mattered to [Name] in the moment, was her reflection. Or more specifically, her right eye that had turned a gnarly, fresh blood red, with irises the colour of acid.

It only took a matter of moments before [Name] found tears running down her face. She pulled at the skin of her cheeks, moving in closer to look if what she had seen was right before closing her eyes. It was a vicious loop; pull, look, cover. She wasn’t sure how long this went on for, finding herself heaving on the floor what felt like a century later. What was she going to do?

She had heard of Sith eyes. Many had, especially if one had spent any time on Coruscant. The tales of Jedi going to the dark side were relatively popular in the upper-levels of Coruscant. The nasty evil that had become a cataclysmic emergency in galaxy had ruthlessly killed millions with no regard for life. That was of course until the Jedi Order vanquished them. The nasty plague that was the Sith had been thought to have been defeated, extinct, as of many, many years ago. But yet, her [Name] was, with her right eye as bright as the sun, glowing so bright, it was as if it was haunting her.

What does this mean?

Am I going to die?

Am I Sith?

Will I hurt innocent people?

Am I evil?

Thoughts infiltrated her mind without mercy and terror tore through her brain like a violent hurricane. Her mind was spinning.

Millions of lives have been lost at the hands of the Sith. Millions of innocent caught in the reign of terror the Sith brought where ever they went. How could [Name] be like them?

Then it hit her like a freighter.

Her soulmate.

Her soulmate, the one she had dreamed and fantasized about her whole life, a Sith. Pure evil, working for causes that only bring harm to the universe. Lying on the floor, [Name]’s sobs wracked through her body, the only rest she got is when she started to violently leave heave before more tears and loud sobs found their way from her lungs.

It made sense though, she was never a Jedi, never force sensitive. So why would her pair of eyes be the distinct aggressive colour of the force sensitive Sith?

The Sith wasn’t her, so that only left her soulmate. Her wonderful, beautiful soulmate of which she has never met. And as she curls deeper into herself, [Name] questions whether she would actually meet them.

And whether or not she wants too.

Just as [Name]’s sobs and shook started to subside, [Name] felt the familiar jolt of the ship landing. A cool chill shot up her back as she made her way to her feet. Looking into the mirror once more, she found that both the eyes were back to how she remembered them to be. What they had always been her entire life. Wiping her eyes, [Name] tried to clear all evidence of her tears and break down.

[Name] closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. The sound of the ships engine shutting off reminded her of where she was. Right, Mustafar; the place where Padmé was rushing to in order to help a friend. Letting out a breath, she made a promise to herself to help Padmé out with whatever.

[Name] stood next right next to Padmé as the hatch lowered and the red hazed glow of the lava coated planet overwhelmed her vision. As she was momentary blinded, Padmé ran down the ramp towards a cloaked figure. From the distance, [Name] couldn’t hear much but she could make out a faint conversation as she slowly approached.

“I saw your ship, what are you doing out here?” The brunette man spoke as he leaned into the hug Padmé was giving him, before pulling away and holding on to the sides of her arms.

“I was worried about you, Obi-wan told me terrible things,” Padmé looked up at him, and from her tone of voice, something [Name] knew very well, it was evident that Padmé was very upset.

“What things?” He questioned, not harshly, but certainly not in a tone of voice one should use with a senator.

“He said that you’ve turned to the dark side. That you…” Padmé began, before pausing, struggling to find the strength within her to whisper the words.

“Killed younglings,” She muttered in horror. Terror was set in her eyes, but there was not quiver of disbelief in her tone, no indicator to [Name] that this man wouldn’t do such a thing.

“Obi-wan is trying to turn you against me,” The man spoke after a moment, his voice deep with the familiar feel of unnerve that Padmé and her handmaidens have become so used to in the senate.

“He cares about you, Anakin,” Padmé argued, although it didn’t sound like an argument, more like a plea. “He wants to help you.”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrowed, “Nothing can save me, only my new powers can do that.”

Padmé took a step back and [Name] took two steps forward.

“At what cost?” Padmé looked into his eyes once again, and as [Name] could see, she was begging. “You’re a good person. Don’t do this.”

“I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of,” Anakin's gaze was intense, his eyes narrowed on Padmé as if at any point she would stab him and run away.

“I am more powerful than the chancellor. I-I can over throw him,” Anakin began taking steps forward and quickly Padmé started taking steps back.

“And together you and I can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be,” Anakin stops moving, watching Padmé eagerly in hopes that she will agree.

Taking another step back, Padmé shakes her head, “I don’t believe what I am hearing. Obi-wan was right. You’ve changed.”

Anakin scuffs, shaking his head before raising his finger, “I don’t wanna hear any more about Obi-wan. The Jedi turned against me, don’t you turn against me,” That sounded like a command.

“I don’t know you anymore. Anakin, you’re my best friend, you are like my brother,” Padmé plead, her voice broken and littered with heartbreak. It might not have sounded like it, but those few words meant everything to Padmé. Those words were like a code that only one of her handmaidens could crack. That [Name] could crack.

The words whispered of betrayal, of heart break and of a familiar love that she cannot part with. She truly loved Anakin, the sister in her seemed to shine through as she spoke with the man.

“You’re going down a path I can’t follow.”

“Because of Obi-wan?”

“Because of what you’ve done,” Padmé sobbed, her voice raising as she neared her breaking point. [Name] finally made her way behind Padmé as she spoke again, “Because of what you plan to do.”

And as [Name] laid her hand on Padmé’s shoulders, bring her back slightly, Anakin’s eyes were back on the ship. [Name] rubbed Padmé’s arms gently in attempts to comfort the distressed girl and as she did so, it was almost as if she could feel the rage from the man behind her. [Name] tried to pay no mind, busying herself with the sobbing girl before her. Padmé’s head raised, looking up from the spot she marked on the ground, and gasped as she made eye contact with you.

“Liar!” Anakin yelled, bring the attention back to him. And when [Name] eyes drifted over to the simmering man, she found herself looking into a very familiar set of eyes.

Her eyes.

The same pair of eyes that stare back at her in her reflection every day, mirrored.

A gasp left [Name]’s throat, bringing his attention to her. As his gaze connected with hers, his eyes faded from one red, and one of [Name]’s to just infectious red. A wave of comfort went through [Name]’s body as she stared into the eyes that she has been dying to meet.

But instead of relief, or joy, [Name] only felt gutted. The harsh heat from the surrounding lava did nothing to sooth the soaring stinging in her eyes as she watches the man before her look behind her again. She hardly even notices when another man, a Jedi, passes her. As angry words were exchanged and she found herself losing focus, standing by the side as she watches the Jedi and the Sith duel to the death.

Her world just flipped its axis, leaving her body to adjust. Emotionally, physically. The biological reaction to meeting one’s soulmate was to release serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin, all chemicals in one’s brain responsible for happiness. But in this moment, those hormones were only adding to the increasing feeling of emptiness growing in her heart.

She had just watched her supposed soulmate turn to the dark side before her eyes. Choosing to assist the death of others rather than assist the quality of living for others. Everything [Name] and Naboo has ever help to fix in the senate could be destroyed in a snap of her own soulmate’s fingers.

How was she going to live her life know what she was tied to? Would he come back to the light? Would he die? Would she?

Or would she give up everything she has ever known for the chance of a life partner? Someone who will never leave her.

[Name] drops to her knees, a suppressed sob managed its way to the surface, bringing sharp tears from her eyes.

The famous Anakin Skywalker, former Jedi knight, [Name]’s soulmate, leaving tears in her eyes. And as she watches the blurry two duel, she finds that not only is there tears in her eyes, but also terror.

A/n: I got a little carried away with this, and it might have gotten a little off topic, but I hoped you liked it. I haven’t edited it yet, but I will get to it! Thank you so much for reading and waiting!!! <333333 Let me know what you think! Love y’all to the stars!

Master-list

Taglist: @luvlykrispy

#aurora-starwars #star wars x reader #anakin x reader #skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #angst #clone wars anakin #star wars anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker #anakin needs therapy #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker fic #anakin star wars #anakin skywalker x female reader #bad batch x reader #I love the last of us #x reader #star wars fanfiction #thank you for reading #mando season 3 #yayyyy #i am writing again #<33333

[hannibalzero]

Kid Anakin most definitely asked obi wan if he was an angel.

This is a canon event. Yes he also asked Padme but these are two different angels. Padme is a standard angel! Padme glows goodness, beauty and nature (always has since she’s the queen of Naboo) but Obi-wan is a archangel. Older subtitle, hidden in a cloak with a small smile. A kind word, a gentle hand, but ready to protect and fight at any moment.

Anakin hides in Obi-wan’s cloak peaking his head out of the soft brown homespun while they wait for Qui-gon-jinn as he does stuff. Anakin feels safe, something he doesn’t feel without his mother. lol padme gets a little jealous and asks if she could try hiding with Anakin.

Obi-wan amused by the Queen and little boy, opens his cloak and Padme hides inside with Anakin. Padme, strong and proud allows herself this moment. Giggles like a kid and relaxed with Anakin. It’s been a while since she has acted like a kid. Yeah she’s just 14…freaking 14 and a queen.

As for Shmi, this event is what made her believe the Jedi where the right place for Anakin. Not only freedom but love and kindness. A chance to be a child as well.

“No Master, I have not seen our Dearest Padme nor Anakin Skywalker. I’m afraid I have lost them.” Obi-wan said hands hidden in his sleeves as his robes giggled.

“Padawan mine, I believe you’re cloak is infested. What could it be?” Qui-gon-Jinn holds Obi-wan’s cloak open making both children scream and start a game of chase.

Okay so I might of went off on a ramble but this was a fun thought. A moment of fun before all the stars and the wars lol.

#star wars #obikin #my writing #answered asks #my asks #ask me stuff #sw padme #qui gon jinn #anakin skywalker #shmi skywalker #obi wan kenobi #are you an angel?

[writerbuddha]

The scene with Padmé and Anakin on the balcony always fascinated me. Because they are talking about their future as if they are going to run away together, but meanwhile we know the audience that would never be possible, even if Anakin didn't become Darth Vader.

Well, yes.

To be honest, the entire shared life Anakin and Padmé built on their love was characterized by them not thinking about how their actions will affect their lives. That's the reason why I love their love story so much: their love was this powerful, uncontrollable gravitational pull that eventually kicked them out of the driver seat and hijacked them. From the moment that Padmé, believing that their lives was about to get destroyed anyway, lowered her guard on Geonosis, they basically both cried, "hands up", as if they were on a roller coaster - but they were driving a car, and in Clone Wars, it was painfully clear that the car sustained some damages even before Anakin become Vader.

Padmé wakes up from time to time - they weren't prepared for the possibility of having babies, nor they were mindful of this possibility, and she asks, concerned, "What are we gonna do?" but Anakin yanks her back into this state by telling her, "We're not gonna worry about anything right now. All right? This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life." This leads up to the balcony scene, where they're doing exactly that: Padmé focuses on making plans: "Ani, I want to have our baby back home on Naboo. We can go to the lake country where no one will know, where we can be safe. I can go early and fix up the baby's room. I know the perfect spot. Right by the gardens." And later, when Anakin senses the future, Padmé, once again, tries to have that discussion: "This baby will change our lives. I doubt the queen will continue to allow me to serve in the senate. And if the council discovers you're the father, you'll be expelled-" But Anakin, once again, insists, "our baby is a blessing" and they're going back being happy about it, even though "Our baby is a blessing and I am happy" and "We should really think about what the birth of this child will mean and how it will affect our lives" are not mutually exclusive. So, this illustrates the problem with the way how they nurtured their love: they knew that it's a bad idea to get together and to marry and starting a family, but they did it anyway, and whenever the actual consequences showed themselves on the horizon, whenever the fruits of their karma started to grow on the branches of their lives, they threw a silk blanket of "we're so, so, SO in love" onto them.

#george lucas #anakin skywalker #padmé amidala #anidala

[random-thought-depository]

Come to think of it, how exactly does that "Naboo has a Queen and a Senator in the Republic Senate and they're different people" thing work? I get the impression the Senator is supposed to be a politically independent figure instead of just representing the Queen and taking orders from her, in which case it seems like the relationship between the Senator from Naboo and the Naboo royal family might often get interesting in the "may you live in interesting times" sense.

I kind of like the idea that the Senator is ostensibly supposed to be independent and the Senator being an elected office instead of some prince or princess of the royal family was a big concession clawed out of the royal family by a pro-democracy movement centuries ago, but it's degenerated into a "it's one big club and you aint in it" dynamic where the Senator is usually some rich person who got the position by networking with the royal family at the country club and sits in their Senate seat like a feudal lord for forty years and then hands the office to whatever successor they and the royal family and the other local bigwigs pick, not very different from how it works with some of those RL US Congresspeople in safe red/blue seats. I like the idea of that being Palpatine's background lol.

#Star Wars

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 8: Ancient History

Sometimes, you just have to tell a Mandalorian about everything you're running from. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-7 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of torture, canon-typical violence, death. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 3k

“My family had a history of service to Naboo,” you began, a familiar ache in your chest as you remembered your home. “My mother was a handmaiden to Queen and then Senator Amidala. But both of my parents were always politically active, both in opposition to the Emperor’s rise to power from the beginning. They were resistors early. By the time I was born, they were deep into a still burgeoning movement. My mother was well connected - she knew many diplomats from her time with Senator Amidala - and she decided she had to use that to push back against the Empire. 

“Bothese was the second language I learned, after Basic,” you took a drink. “So many spies were Bothen and a child was an excellent tool to move information. No one ever suspected me, I could translate and carry messages wherever they needed to go. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, just that it was very important and very secret, but I knew I was good at it. And kids get into places they shouldn’t all the time… Anyway, that’s how I got my start. Running information, carrying it to places my parents couldn’t be seen going, providing a buffer for the Rebellion.” 

You absently picked at the label on the whiskey bottle, watching as it separated from the glass, peeling away from the thing it was made for. 

“My childhood didn’t feel strange though,” you continued after a moment. “I had friends, including Sosha. She was the real talent, the one with promise. They sent us both to the Legislative Youth program when we were 11 and by the time we were 12, they’d recognized her potential. They wanted her to be queen one day and they started training her for it. But, on Naboo, queens need handmaidens.

“Sosha had been my best friend for years and as much promise as she showed in the skills needed to be queen, I was proving to be a good fit to serve as her handmaiden, just like my mother had for Amidala. I already spoke half a dozen languages, had a grasp on the political machinations of the Empire and how Naboo fit into them and Sosha and I loved each other. They knew I’d die for her and kill for her. Which is the most important role - protector. So they started training me that way, too. I learned how to fight, shoot, survive overwhelming odds - all to keep my best friend safe.” 

You took another drink. You could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes on you as you spoke, the tightness in your chest making it so you couldn’t relax at all. 

“I didn’t really think she’d get elected,” you said. The whiskey burned in your stomach. “I thought she’d be great if she could get it but we were 15 when she won. It was surreal, the galaxy was on the brink of war and suddenly people would want to kill my best friend and it was on me to keep her alive…. 

“Sosha wasn’t one to sit on the sidelines. She wanted to be involved - she’s a fighter pilot, you know? She was running to become queen and she just… became a fighter pilot. Because she wanted to do it herself. She hated the Empire but Naboo didn’t have much hard power, so she and I came up with a way to move around them. When you’re a queen, you’re going on diplomatic missions, you have excuses to be anywhere and everywhere. And anywhere you go, your handmaids go. She’d plan trips to places near where information was being supplied or was strangely lacking, the whole fucking royal convoy becoming a Rebellion information smuggling operation. And I… well, I spoke the most languages, was the closest to Sosh and I was the best at getting into places I shouldn’t be. I had practice.

“At first, it was easy,” you said. “Probably easier than when I was a kid even, being that close to power gives you a lot of cover. But eventually, we got into more trouble than we could really handle. The war was ramping up and we were on a diplomatic visit to Kamino when we got intel of a pet project of the Empire’s out of Scarif. Sosh wanted to check it out herself and right away, but we couldn’t find a good reason to go, there wasn’t any excuse we could come up with to visit Scarif or even just go to Rishi and see what we could learn as we passed at sub-hyperspace.” 

Your nails rapped against the glass of the bottle. 

“She flew,” you said. “I couldn’t fly for shit, still can’t. It was always Sosha or Dagres flying, never me… Anyway, we were almost there when we picked up an Imperial tail. We got into a dogfight and ended up crashing onto the surface of a moon that I don’t even know the name of. The air was barely breathable but we got lucky and we could get by for a bit. But the Imperials who shot us down came looking for us. 

“It was totally uninhabited and arid, not many places to hide but we dodged them for a few days. They found us but I managed to kill one and overpower the other. I knew, if we had any hope of survival, we’d have to take their ship and get off that moon. So I made him take us back to his ship - he was a lower ranking officer, he’d just had one trooper with him - and when we got there, he wouldn’t tell us how to get the damn thing going. It needed a code and he didn’t want to tell us what it was. I knew I had to get it out of him to survive, to keep Sosha alive, I didn’t have a choice so… I pulled it out of him. There was blood everywhere, just…” 

“How old were you?” The Mandalorian asked, his head tilted as he watched you. 

“Sixteen,” you said quietly. 

He just nodded slowly. 

“We made it back to Kamino and I was still covered in his blood,” you said. “I did my best to cover my tracks. Called on the secured com for a pickup on a nearby moon, ditched the Imperial ship with the body there. I hoped it would be enough that it wouldn’t be traced to us. Another handmaid, Nobé, stood in for Sosha so no one knew she was gone. I’d hoped that was the end of it but… the war was getting worse. The Empire destroyed Alderaan less than a year later, taking one of my most solid Rebellion contacts - Bail Organa - with it. 

“A lot of my usual channels for information started collapsing then. I started needing to break into more places and steal things. Sometimes the information was important enough that we’d capture someone and it would require… extraction. There weren’t many people who had the stomach for it - I’m not sure I really did, either. There were a few who did, but they were more heavy handed. They usually had a grudge against the Empire, just wanted to make someone hurt for it. I could keep them alive for longer, build trust, make them want to tell me. I’m not proud of it, but I know the information I collected saved lives. A lot of them.” 

You took another drink, hoping Mando wouldn’t mind if you drank him out of his liquor. 

“At some point, I got a reputation,” you continued. “One of the men I hurt was the son of an Imperial general. I’d known that when we’d taken him, he had information he wound’t have had otherwise. I snuck into a party - a lot like what we did - and I got everything I could from him. But I was seen, on camera. We didn’t have good enough coverage and his father was so powerful he could try to find me. And he did. He linked me to Sosha and came to the Battle of Theed after the Emperor died. He wasn’t there to win a war or even carry out the Emperor’s last wishes, he was there to make me hurt for the death of his son.” 

“I was trying to defend my home, Sosha flying which left me on the ground and he found me there. He brought a full column of troopers - I guess the Empire didn’t care about resource allocation when it’s a suicide mission and they’ve all but fallen - specifically to reach me. They were brutal, slaughtered everyone around me. We took down so many of them but they just kept coming and coming, their equipment alone overwhelmed us… He killed…” You swallowed closing your eyes against the memory. The Mandalorian gently, slowly, put a hand on your back, centering you. You took a deep breath. 

“Dagres was trying to protect me and he was so worried about watching my back he missed when they were coming for him,” you said. “I tried to save him but I couldn’t…” 

You remembered the moment the restraint you didn’t know you’d been showing snapped in you. It was sharp, an acute break in reality that happened as Dagres’ body fell to the earth. You picked up a second weapon and started firing almost blindly. You didn’t care if you got shot, you didn’t care if someone else got hurt. The General himself was in an armored transport and you ran up the stairs of the building you’d been sheltering behind, breaking out a window and leaping from it, not caring if you’d catch onto the transport or if you’d fall to your death. Either outcome would have satisfied. But you’d made the jump. You clambered up the side of the transport to the hatch and shot it open, dropping inside, everyone coming for you then. You managed to take down more than a dozen men before you were overwhelmed. The general cut you open himself, mimicking the wounds on his son’s body. You’d only survived because rebel troops arrived, pushing the Empire back and disabling the transport you were held in. You passed out from the pain and didn’t wake up until you were on Tatooine, having bacta applied to your injuries, the agony threatening to swallow you whole.

“The general took what he could from me,” you continued after a moment. “He slipped away when the Empire lost the city. He’s been after me since, wanting to finish the job, and I have some other choice Imperials who managed to avoid capture after the war. That’s why I can’t go back. Sosha couldn’t look like she condoned torture - the New Republic was supposed to be different from the Empire. Enough Imperials knew me that they could damage the tenuous grasp the New Republic has if I’m too close to anyone of note. And those same Imperials want me… well, not just dead. They want me to hurt and then they want me to die. I might deserve it…” 

“You don’t,” Mando said quietly. 

“Thanks,” you smiled a little, picking at the label on the whiskey bottle again. 

“Who was Dagres?” He asked after a moment. 

You thought for a moment, trying to quantify your relationship. How do you label something like that? 

You remembered the first time you’d met him, a pilot for the queen’s starship, when you were 17. He was a few years older than you and even the first time he looked at you, you could tell he saw you as more than Sosha’s handmaid. He’d let you into the cockpit for approaches to the planets you visited, pressed flower petals into your palm when he passed you in the royal residence on Coruscant and you were missing home. 

“Don’t get hung up on a flyboy,” Sosha had teased you one night when it was just the two of you in her chambers, no longer a queen and her handmaid but just two friends. “He’s a heartbreak waiting to happen.” 

He came to your room just two nights later. You were up late, reading, when he slipped in. 

“Here to fantasize about fucking a queen?” You’d asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Oh no, m’lady,” he said, crossing to your bed. “I’ve only been fantasizing about one woman for a while, and she’s not a queen. Though she’d be a great one.” 

You kissed him that night - your first kiss, more than a year after the first time you’d tortured a man to death. Soon, he was spending every night in your room if you weren’t watching over Sosha. You’d been so distracted by war and politics that you hadn’t had time for childhood crushes. Your first love had been all-consuming, both of you feeling the press of time, the galaxy crushing under the weight of war and death. It was easy to fall fast and hard when you felt you’d never have another chance. Dagres made it easy. 

“He was…” you paused, still not finding the words for what it meant to feel his lips on your forehead as your city burned around you before he went to die for you. “I loved him. He loved me. It got him killed, trying to save me.” You shook your head, trying to clear the cloud of memories. “No one else is going to die for me.” 

You glanced at Mando before sighing. 

“If you want to drop me on the next planet we get to, I don’t blame you,” you said. “I’m a danger, I know. And I’d understand if you didn’t want to have anything to do with someone who’s done the things I’ve done.” 

“You did what was needed,” he said. “And I can handle danger.” 

You smiled and leaned onto him, your head on his shoulder. 

“So,” he said after a moment. “I have a few names for you now. What do you like best?” 

You thought for a moment, taking another drink of whiskey. You were feeing it in your head now, but that was fine with you. You needed it. 

“Honestly?” You asked after a moment. “I think I like what you call me best.” He was silent, confused. “Doll. I think I like that better than any of my names.” 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Doll hasn’t let anyone down yet,” you said quietly. “No one’s died for her. No one expects anything out of a doll. A doll can’t fail because there’s nothing for her to fail at. I want to be something that can’t let anyone down.” 

“Doll,” he said softly, twisting a little and holding his hand out to you. You took it. “Nice to meet you, Doll. I’m Din.” 

“Din?” You asked. He nodded. It suited him. “Din. It’s nice to meet you, too.” 

You took another drink and sighed. You liked being here, with him. The armor that had set you on edge just a few weeks earlier was now a comfort, something familiar and secure. His voice, even modulated, was calming. When he was in control, things were safe. 

“Where do you want to go?” He asked softly. You frowned. “I have a… job I could use your help with, if you wanted to come. Or I can take you to Dantooine. Or anywhere else you want to go. I’ll take you anywhere.” 

“I’d like to stay with you,” you said softly. “At least for this job. I want to help, if I can.” 

He nodded and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. The room was spinning now, the tingling feeling of intoxication spreading through your limbs. You let yourself drift. It would have been easy to drown in memories, but you didn’t. He was there, a life raft in the storm. It kept your head above water as you fell asleep against him. 

***

Din hadn’t known what to expect from you when you’d started talking, but it wasn’t that. He’d known war, of course. He knew what it demanded, the things it took from the people at its center, whether they put themselves there or not. Working backwards, he’d put you at 23-years-old now. You’d carried a lot of weight for someone that young. He wondered, idly, how many people he knew would be dead if it weren’t for you. Just what had you stopped? Changed? 

You drifted off, whiskey bottle still clutched in your hands. He took it from you gently before it could spill and took another sip himself. Din had never considered what life would look like with someone else in it. You hadn’t been on his ship very long and it had only been a few days that he’d even liked you - even though the thought of something bad happening to you had scared him for longer than that. Since the day the lightning almost struck you on Crait, part of him seemed to be with you. There was always a corner of his mind that was stuck worrying. Afraid of seeing you hurt or worse, the sight of you still and lifeless on the ground. It got worse after Hosnian Prime, seeing you in pain. It was so bad on Coruscant that he wasn’t sure he could have driven the speeder away when you went back in. He’d have sat there as the building burned, unable to do what he needed to to save the girl in the back because there was a chance you were alive and he couldn’t leave you if you were. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there with you, asleep against him. Your breathing was a comfort. He didn’t want to not feel your chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm against his body. Eventually, he gently picked you up - you so out of it that you didn’t stir and he carried you to his bunk. You’d said before that you liked small spaces, that it was easier when someone slept beside you. So he put you in his bed and held you against him, centering himself on your smell and your warmth. 

No, he hadn’t thought about what life with someone else would be. But he wasn’t sure he’d need to think with you. He could just be, and that was enough. 

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Ugh but Chris and his space queen having midnight strolls. They stargaze and whisper about their love to each other. She is a really romantic flowy gown and he’s just in a loose shirt and trousers (I’m also getting like padme and anakin when they travel to Naboo, safe heaven gives me those vibes)

no but these two do that soooo often. it's their quiet couple time and the perfect moment to relax and connect with one another.

i actually wrote a drabble involving an evening stroll + full moons which is probably one of my favourite ones (i haven't posted it because tbh i don't even know if anyone's interested in those anymore but also because i've prioritised other stuff over polishing those 🤭)

also, i can totally see those padme + anakin vibes... without the whole dark side thing of course kjdhfskjdfh

#anon #ask #safe haven my beloved

[furious-blueberry0]

Having some thoughts about Madiha Akel, the Princess and Senator of the planet I created, Theret.

She is in her thirties, and she is the third of five children.

Since her big sister, Neha, will inherit the throne, she decided to pursue a political carrier as Senator, winning the election, and getting her seat in the Senate.

Like all her sibling, she did get a training in combat and self defense, and even if she is not as good as her younger brother, Mohsin, who became General of the Theretian Army, she still manages to use weapons like blasters, swords or knifes with relative ease.

The members of the royal family never show their faces in public, always rule established to keep their identity safe in case they needed to escape or hide. It’s also really useful to fake a death. Madiha also follows this rule, especially on a place like Coruscant.

She is really sarcastic and pretty mean to those who she cannot stand, but as long as you’re on her right side she’ll treat you with the same respect you give her, no more no less.

The only people who do not receive this treatment are her family, her wife, her handmaidens, and (sometimes) her wife’s family.

Like Naboo, she too has handmaidens who also work as bodyguards, a common tradition shared between the planets thanks to their ancient friendship.

Because of this history together, she and Padme actually collaborated a lot, be it for the Republic at large or for their planets friendship.

She was friend with Baheera Lee, a Jedi Archivist, with whom Madiha created a strong friendship when she discovered she too was from Theret, and had been on the planet quite a lot.

Her wife, Nurul Beshara, a renewed artist and architect, lives with her on Coruscant, but she has to travels back to Theret more often than Madiha, so between their respective works the time they can actually spend together is not much, and when the war starts it’s even less.

When the CIS attacked Theret they were both on planet, Nurul wanted to stay and fight, so Madiha stayed by her side and fought together against the invasor.

But after Nurul’s death on the third day, Queen Eshaal , Madiha’s mother, finally convinced her to go back to Coruscant, and convince the Senate to bring more troops to help them against the CIS.

She was part of the Loyalist Committee, and one of the first with Bail Organa and Mon Mothma to start the spark of the Rebellion.

Unlike her colleagues she had been too loud in her distrust of the Empire, and so she had to go into hiding in 8 BBY, when she continued her work in the rebellion by joining a Rebel Cell and fighting alongside them.

She then joined Mothma and the Rebel Alliance when she too fled from Coruscant.

#star wars #madiha akel #star wars oc #star wars clone wars #star wars prequels #my ocs

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Bond Between Us ~ 4

THE BOND BETWEEN US MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,800ish

Summary: The battle on Naboo. Your new friend is lost. Your and Anakin’s fate is decided.

Notes: This is the last chapter for The Phantom Menace.

You and Anakin quietly followed your two Jedi friends to the landing platform. You were shagging, disappointed at the fact that the Jedi Council refused to train you and Anakin. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were failing to quietly discuss the situation with the Council and their decision.

“It is not disrespect, Master, it is the truth,” Obi-Wan argued.

“From your point of view,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“The boy is dangerous—even the girl. She’s extremely powerful for having no training.” 

You jolted back, almost physically hurt by Obi-Wan’s comment. Obi-Wan could feel it but chose to ignore it. You began questioning if you could even trust the young Jedi. Just the other night he had promised to help you. Had that been a lie?

“They all sense it,” Obi-Wan continued. “Why can’t you?”

“Their fate is uncertain, not dangerous,” Qui-Gon argued. “The Council will decide their future, that should be enough for you. Not get on board.”

Obi-Wan glanced back, barely meeting your gaze before you snapped your head away. He could feel your hurt radiating through the Force and he was kicking himself for throwing you in with Anakin. You and Anakin were vastly different, Obi-Wan could already sense. He sighed before reluctantly boarding the ship, followed by R2D2. Qui-Gon headed over to you and Anakin.

“Master Qui-Gon, sir, we do not wish to be a problem,” Anakin said.

“Yes, Master,” you responded, agreeing with Anakin.

“You won’t be. I’m not allowed to train either of you, so I want you both to watch me and be mindful. Always remember, your focus determines your reality. Stay close to me and you will be safe.”

“Master, sir… I’ve been wondering… what are midi-chlorians?” Anakin asked.

“Midi-chlorians are a microscopic life form that resides within all living cells and communicates with the Force.”

“They live inside of us?” You questioned.

“In your cells. We are symbionts with the midi-chlorians.”

“Symbionts?” Anakin repeated.

“Life forms living together for mutual advantage. Without the midi-chlorians, life could not exist, and we would have no knowledge of the Force. They continually speak to you, telling you the will of the Force.”

“They do?”

“When you learn to quiet your mind, you will hear them speaking not you.” Qui-Gon looked at you, knowing that you had already been working on that.

“I don’t understand.”

“With time and training, Ani, you will.” Qui-Gon noticed the Queen was on her way over. “Y/N, go inside and help Obi-Wan. Anakin and I will greet the Queen.”

“Yes, Master,” you responded. 

You headed into the ship, using your senses to find Obi-Wan. He was in the cockpit, going over the flight plan with the captain. When he sensed you, he turned to glance your way. You could tell that Obi-Wan felt guilty about what he had said but that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. You diverted your eyes as you went to stand beside him. 

As Obi-Wan continued to talk with the captain, he tried to send you apologetic waves through the Force. You could feel them but weren’t taking them in. 

“Thank you, captain,” Obi-Wan said. “We will let you be.” You followed Obi-Wan out of the cockpit. “Little star,” he breathed out. “I didn’t mean—“

“Do you really believe I’m dangerous?” You asked. The way your voice seemed so small and afraid, threatened to break Obi-Wan’s heart. 

“I… What I meant… I didn’t—“ He cut himself off with a sigh. “Y/N…”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Your shoulders sagged, bearing the weight of what he said. “It’s why the Council doesn’t want me and Anakin trained… I guess we will be sent back to Tatooine.” You noticed the Queen and her party getting on the ship. “I’m going to get out of the way.”

You quickly went away, hiding in one of the available rooms. You closed the door and cried. So much had happened in such a short period of time, it was overwhelming. Obi-Wan had followed you to the room. He stood outside as you cried, feeling guilty for everything that was going on.

“What is going on here?” Qui-Gon asked, coming down the hallway.

“It’s Y/N,” Obi-Wan responded with a sigh. “I may have said something to upset her.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Leave her. She will have to learn to deal with her emotions. Besides, she is only nine and it has been a long few days. A little rest will do her well. Come, we must talk with the Queen about a plan for when we arrive at Naboo.”

“Alright, Master.” Obi-Wan glanced back at the door before following Qui-Gon.

~~~

Naboo was gorgeous. Lush green plant life, with flowing blue waters. It was so vastly different from Tatooine, you were beginning to question why anyone would chose that hot, sand planet to live on. You had landed in what they were calling a swamp, sticking close to Qui-Gon’s side.

“Jar Jar is on his way to the Gungan City, Master,” Obi-Wan informed Qui-Gon.

“Good,” Qui-Gon responded his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Do you think the Queen’s idea will work?”

“The Gungans will not easily be swayed, and we cannot use our power to help her.”

“I’m… I’m sorry for my behavior, Master.” Obi-Wan briefly met your gaze, sending a wave of apologies to you before focusing back on his Master. “It is not my place to disagree with you about the twins. I am grateful you think I am ready for the trials.”

Qui-Gon looked at him for a long, silent moment. “You have been a good apprentice. You are much wiser than I am, Obi-Wan. I foresee you will become a great Jedi Knight.”

~~~

When Jar Jar came back, he led the group to a clearing in the midst of old temple ruins. There they were met by the Gungan refugees.

“Jar Jar, yousa payen dis time,” the large Gungan who seemed to be in charge said. “Who’s da uss-en others?”

Queen Amidala stepped forward. “I am Queen Amidala of the Naboo. I come before you in peace.”

“Naboo biggen. Yousa bringen da Mackineeks… Dya busten  uss-en omm. Yousa all bombad. Yousa all die’n, mesa tink.”

“We wish to form an alliance—“

Suddenly, Padme stepped forward. “Your honor,” she said.

“Whosa dis?”

“I am Queen Amidala.” She pointed to the girl dressed like the Queen. “This is my decoy, my protection, my loyal body guard.”

You and Anakin were stunned. Looking out the corner of your eye, you noticed Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon give each other a knowing look. They must’ve sensed it the whole time.

“I am sorry for my deception,” Padme continued, “but under the circumstances, it has become necessary to protect myself. Although we do not always agree, Your Honor, our two great societies have always lived in peace until now. The Trade Federation has destroyed all that we have worked so hard to build. You are in hiding, my people are in camps. If we do not act quickly, all will be lost forever. I ask you to help us—no, I beg you to help us.” Padme dropped to her knees, getting gasps from her group. “We are your humble servants… our fate is in your hands.”

Slowly, Padme’s Captain and his troops bow down. The handmaidens are next, followed by yourself and Anakin and then the Jedi. 

The head Gungan began to laugh. “Yousa no tinker yousa greater den da Gungans,” he said. “Mesa like dis. Maybe wesa bein friends.”

~~~

“Little star,” Obi-Wan called for your attention as you had lost yourself to your thoughts and the Force around you. 

“Yes?” You responded, looking up at him nervously.

“Are you alright?”

“I am fine… just thinking.”

“Care to share?” You shook your head, still hurt by his comments before. “Little star, I am—“

“They’re here!” Anakin yelled, running over to Padme, the Jedi, the Gungan Generals, and yourself.

Four speeders pulled up to the group. Captain Panaka and a dozen or so guards pile out to join the group.

“What is the situation?” Padme wondered.

“Almost everyone’s in camps. A few hundred police and guards have formed an underground movement,” Captain Panaka explained. “I brought as many of the leaders as I could. The Federation Army’s also much larger than we thought, and much stronger. Your Highness, this is a battle I do not think we can win.”

“The battle is a diversion. The Gungans must draw the Droid Army away from the cities. WE can enter the city using the secret passages on the waterfall side. Once we get to the main entrance, Captain Panaka will create a diversion, so that we can enter the palace and capture the Viceroy. Without the Viceroy, they will be lost and confused. What do you think, Master Jedi?”

“The Viceroy will be well guarded,” Qui-Gon said.

“The difficulty’s getting into the throne room,” Captain Panaka said. “Once we’re inside, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“There is a possibility with this diversion many Gungans will be killed.”

“Wesa ready to do are-sa part,” the Gungan leader stated.

“We have a plan which should immobilize the Droid Army,” Padme told them. “We will send what pilots we have to knock out the Droid control ship which is orbiting the planet. If we can get past their ray shields, we can sever communication and their droids will be helpless.”

“A well-conceived plan,” Qui-Gon began. “However, there’s great risk. The weapons on your fighters may not penetrate the shields on the control ship.”

“And there’s an even bigger danger,” Obi-Wan added. “If the Viceroy escapes, Your Highness, he will return with another droid army.”

“That is why we must not fail to get to the Viceroy,” Padme replied. “Everything depends on it.”

~~~

Padme led the Jedi, yourself, Anakin, R2, and a group of Naboo troops to the main hanger of the palace. Captain Panaka led another group to the other side of the hanger. While the groups signal back to each other, Qui-Gon leaned over to you and Anakin.

“Once we get inside, you two find a place to hide and stay there.”

“Sure,” Anakin answered with a nod.

“And stay there!”

“We will stay there,” you confirmed.

The group began attacking the droid troops in the hanger. Anakin grabbed your hand as he pulled you to hide under one of the Naboo fighter ships. You watched as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon used their lightsabers to deflect some of the oncoming fire. Anakin and you ducked as rouge shots were sent your way.

“Get to your ships!” Padme ordered.

The pilots and R2 units run for the Naboo fighters in the hanger. One of the pilots jumped into the fighter that you and Anakin were hiding under.

“Better find a new hiding place, kids,” he said. “I’m taking this ship.”

You and Anakin ran. Anakin jumped into the next available ship while you took to hiding underneath it. R2 was pulled up into the droid seat of the ship. The star fighters exited the main hanger, quickly began taking on fire.

“My guess is the Viceroy is in the throne room,” Padme stated after the few remaining battle droids were overwhelmed. 

“I agree,” Qui-Gon responded.

“Hey! Wait for us!” Anakin called, going to crawl out of the  cockpit.

“No, you too stay there,” Qui-Gon ordered. “Stay right where you are.”

“But, we—“ You tried.

“Stay!” Qui-Gon pointed sharply at you.

As you watch them head for the exit, you notice the fighter from Tatooine standing in the doorway. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stepped forward.

“We’ll handle this,” Qui-Gon stated.

The two Jedi took off their capes and ignited their own lightsabers. Their opponent also took off his cape and ignited his lightsaber, both ends of it lighting up. R2D2 called for yours and Anakin’s attention, motioning to the far end of the hanger where six wheel droids rolled in and transformed into their battle position.

“Oh, no,” Anakin said. 

You looked at the Jedi as they were fighting with their opponent. You knew that they were too preoccupied to do anything about the droids that were now attacking Padme and her troops.

“We gotta do something,” Anakin added.

“What are you planning to do, Ani?” You asked. You suddenly jump away from the ship Anakin is in as he begins to move. “Ani!”

Using the ship he was in, Anakin began firing at the droids at the other end of the hanger. You leaned up against the wall, taking a few deep breaths. Suddenly, you heard something tell you to clear your mind. You closed your eyes and focused on cleaning your mind. 

Keeping your eyes closed, you began to walk toward the middle of the hanger, following what the Force was telling you to do. You stopped in the middle, facing the droids. You could feel the heat of the blasts as they zoomed past you. Shakily, you held out your arm and thought about what you wanted the Force to do. You wanted to stop the droids or at least keep them away from you and your new friends. You opened your eyes when you felt a wave of Force leave you and heard a crash. You had sent one of the droids flying back into a pillar, falling into pieces. 

You looked around to see that Anakin had shot down the rest of the droids and was flying away. You were now left alone in the hanger. Qui-Gon had told you to stay put, and you really didn’t want to upset him, so you decided to hide behind some supplies near a corner. 

You were resting your head on your knees as you held them close to your chest when you heard a ship enter the hanger and begin crashing into things. Peeking over the supplies you were heading behind, you noticed that it was Anakin’s ship. You had to stop yourself from running to him when you noticed more droids coming into the hanger.

Run, young one, you thought you heard Qui-Gon’s voice say, almost like wind whooshing by.

You looked back at Anakin, noting that he and R2 were doing just fine, before running out of the room. You had no idea where you were headed and it didn’t matter when you suddenly became overwhelmed with an agony that wasn’t your own. Falling to your knees, you gasped for breath. You tried to use the Force to search out what was happening. You only came back with that the feeling was Obi-Wan’s, which wasn’t good at all.

~~~

Jedi were supposed to be void of emotions, especially ones that were rooted in the dark side. But all he could do was scream as the anger filled him. Qui-Gon slumped to the ground as the electric gate opened, now allowing Obi-Wan to access the room that his opponent, Darth Maul, and his Master were in. Darth Maul attacked Obi-Wan relentlessly, with Obi-Wan just as easily attacking back. Even as he drew weary, Obi-Wan attacked until he was able to cut Darth Maul in half with his lightsaber. Darth Maul fell down the energy pit to his death as Obi-Wan rushed over to a dying Qui-Gon.

“Master! Master!” Obi-Wan called out, kneeling beside him.

“It is too late…” Qui-Gon rasped. “It’s—“

“No!”

“Obi-Wan promise… promise me you’ll train them…”

“Yes, Master.”

“One of them is the Chosen One…. They will… bring balance… train… them…”

Qui-Gon died in Obi-Wan’s arms. The Jedi Padawan cradled his Master as he quietly wept.

~~~

Obi-Wan carried Qui-Gon’s lifeless body back to the hanger, where Anakin was still in one of the ships. 

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin shouted, climbing out of the ship and running to the older Padawan. “What happened?”

Obi-Wan simply shook his head as he laid down Qui-Gon’s body. He looked around, noticing that you were not with your brother. “Where’s— where’s Y/N?”

“I—I don’t know. My ship flew out and I was having to fight and when I came back she was gone.”

“No.” Obi-Wan quickly ran. “Y/N! Y/N!” As he called for you, he started searching for you using the Force. “Y/N!” The Force led Obi-Wan to a small closet. Obi-Wan threw it open to reveal you crying into your knees. He immediately feared that you had been hurt. “Y/N.” He crouched down beside you. “Y/N, what’s wrong? What hurts?”

You looked up at Obi-Wan. “I… I felt something… something awful… something so… sad. I… it hurt…. It hurt so bad Obi.”

That’s when Obi-Wan realized that you had felt his emotions the moment Qui-Gon had been injured. “Oh, little star.” He pulled you into him, holding you carefully against his chest. “I’m so sorry.. that was all my fault… I am so sorry.”

Obi-Wan held you as you cried into him, tears slipping down his cheeks as well. Obi-Wan’s Force signature came around you, trying to help in comforting you. Yours responded in kind. You had no idea was you were really doing, but you followed Obi-Wan’s example. The two of you stayed that way until a group of Naboo guards found you two and told you that you two were being searched for. 

Obi-Wan had you stay close to his side as the two of you collected Anakin and went to meet the grander cruiser in the main hanger. The new Chancellor, Palpatine, exited with members of the Jedi Council behind him. Obi-Wan led you and Anakin to him. Following his example, you bowed but you couldn’t help but feel something very off in the Force.

“We are indebted to you for your bravery, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Palpatine told the young Jedi. “And you two, young Skywalker’s. We will watch your careers with great interest.” Palpatine headed over to Queen Amidala, your group following. 

“Congratulations on your election, Chancellor,” she said. “It is so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to be home. Your boldness has saved our people, Your Majesty. It is you who should be congratulated. Together we shall bring peace and prosperity to the Republic.”

~~~

The setting sun streamed into one of the palace rooms on Naboo. Obi-Wan was kneeling before a pacing Yoda.

“Confer on you, the level of Jedi Knight the Council does,” Yoda told Obi-Wan. “But agree on you taking the twins as your Padawan learners, I do not.”

“Qui-Gon believed in them. I believe in Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan responded.

Yoda sighed. “The Chosen One one of them may be; netherless, grave danger I fear in their training.”

“Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word. I will train both Anakin and Y/N…. Without the approval of the Council if I must.”

“Qui-Gon’s defiance I sense in you. Need that, you do not…” Yoda thought for a moment. “Agree the Council does. Your apprentice, one of the young Skywalker’s will be.”

“One? But they—“

“Attachments, the Code does not allow. The boy, your apprentice will be.”

“Master Yoda—“

“Powerful, the girl already is. Controlled by emotions, the boy is. Two different things, they need.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “How separated do they need to be? They are old enough to know that they are twins and have a relationship.”

“Name change, one of them will need.” Yoda paused. “Sensing one of them trying to listen in, I do.” Using the Force, Yoda opened the room doors to see you sheepishly standing on the other side. “Come in, young one.”

You came in and nervously stood in front of Obi-Wan and Yoda. “Master, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to listen in,” you quickly apologized.

“Understand the need for answers, I do. But patience.”

“I overheard that the plan is to separate my brother and I. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to offer to be separated and my name changed.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan breathed out in surprise. You could feel the tinge of hurt radiating from him. He had promised that he would help you, and he felt like he was failing you already.

“My brother is emotional and is already having a hard time with Qui-Gon’s passing and leaving my mother. Staying with Master Kenobi would be more beneficial.”

“Agree with you, I do, young one. Leave to talk about your new Master, I must.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” you replied, bowing slightly.

Obi-Wan and you remained silent as your eyes followed Yoda. He walked out, closing the doors behind him. Obi-Wan turned his attention to you.

“Little star, you did not have to offer yourself up like that,” Obi-Wan told her. “I promised that I would help you and I was going to fight to keep it.”

“By helping Ani, you are helping me, Obi,” you responded. 

Obi-Wan was in complete awe. For such a young age of nine years old, you were more powerful and mature than many of the other Jedi.

“You are very wise, little star,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile.

You shrugged. “I learned quickly to keep a calm head and be the voice of reason since Anakin often jumps into situations before thinking them through.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You should have to do that.”

“I promised my mom that I would do what I can to take care of Ani. I will hold to that promise, no matter what.”

~~~

You stood between Obi-Wan and Padme, with Anakin on the other side of Obi-Wan, as Qui-Gon’s body went up in flames. Many members of the Jedi Order, R2D2, Naboo troops, the new Chancellor from Naboo, Jar Jar, and other Gungan warriors, were all surrounding the burning body. Feeling Anakin’s uneasiness, Obi-Wan turned to him.

“What will happen to me now?” Anakin asked.

“The Council has granted me permission to train you,” Obi-Wan answered. “You will be a Jedi, I promise.”

“What of Y/N? Will you be training her as well?”

“Y/N will be trained by a different Master.”

“No.” Anakin shook his head. 

You came around and brought your brother in for a hug. “It’s okay, Ani. We’ll be okay. This is good for both of us.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you too.”

“It’s not goodbye. We’ll see each other around. I promise.”

next chapter >

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND ASKS ABOUT THE SERIES ARE ALWAYS WELCOME! I LOVE HEARING REACTIONS, THOUGHTS, AND PREDICTIONS!! 

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[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 3

series masterlist

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pairing: anakin skywalker x f! reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter (although it gets just a little steamy) but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings.

a/n: if anyone’s curious i based the combat style on judo! i’m no expert in judo i’ve just literally been watching “best judo fight” compilation videos so if anyone has any recommendations or corrections let me knoww okay thanks bye! 

You can’t sleep. 

It’s been hours since you came out of the bathroom, the makeup scrubbed off of your face, skin raw from the heat of the shower. Anakin hadn’t even looked at you, and had only offered a grunt of acknowledgement when you had murmured a timid goodnight. 

You think you’re gonna lose your mind. You sit up in frustration with the aim of going down to the kitchens to get a glass of water, rubbing your eyes as you mourn your lack of sleep. Anakin shoots up from his makeshift pile of blankets on the floor, hand already on his lightsaber as he prepares to respond to whatever threat may be there. When he sees none, he relaxes, but his eyes stray to your form and the outline of your body under the silk nightgown. 

“Can’t sleep either?” You ask dryly, making your way off of the bed. You muss up your hair just in case you run into someone on your midnight journey, just so that they’ll think you and Anakin have been up to something other than arguing. 

“No, milady,” Anakin responds quietly. A heartbeat passes before he speaks again, breaking the tranquility of the night. “I apologize for how I spoke to you. I took my frustrations out on you and disrespected you. Your demand is not a foolish one, it’s important and I know that.” 

“I appreciate that,” you respond. “And… about what you said earlier, I do want to learn how to keep myself safe. Of course I do. You won’t always be there, I know that, but how am I supposed to learn? Who would have taught me? My parents died when I was young. I was left in the care of Padme and her family, but that meant that I was part of politics. Running things in the background to support the people I love.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Anakin offers, and you sit with silence for another moment. You take the chance to look at Anakin, the dark circles under his eyes, the shadows on his face, the scar on his eyelid. You have the strangest urge to run your fingers over his cheekbones, over his scars, to know every part of him. You don’t know why, but in the moonlight, everything is so much softer. But you keep it to yourself, sighing and settling on the edge of the bed. You draw your knees to your chest, eyelids fluttering shut to give your eyes some rest. 

“I’ll teach you,” Anakin offers suddenly. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I’ll teach you to protect yourself. You’re right, I won’t always be there, but you should never be defenseless. You’re far too important for that.” Anakin offers a smile to you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile, so subtle that you might have missed it had you not been staring so intently at him. 

“Thank you, General Skywalker.” 

“Anakin.” 

“Anakin.” You smile back at him, a tentative truce drawn between the both of you. You have no doubt that you’ll clash with him soon enough, a matter of personality differences, but for now, it’s nice to have him on your side. “You know, I wouldn’t be offended if you came and slept on the bed with me. I’m sure you’ve slept on the ground plenty of times as a Jedi Knight, but I can’t sleep here three feet away from you knowing my guard is sleeping on the ground.” 

“I suppose there only is one bed, isn’t there?” He grumbles, drawing up the pile of sheets that he’s slept in and tossing it at the foot of the bed. Despite the distance between you, you can feel the warmth radiating from him as he slides into the bed. “We’ll start training tomorrow, milady.”

“Goodnight, Anakin,” you smile, facing the wall. 

“Goodnight, milady.” 

~~~

“Wake up, milady.” It’s still dark when you hear him call your name, jostling your shoulder when you don’t wake up immediately. 

“Anakin?” You ask, rubbing your eyes. It must be right before dawn, for everything is so dark that you can’t make out the details of his face. “Is something the matter?”

“You asked me to train you,” he says. You hold back a groan, wanting nothing more than to bury yourself in your blankets and sleep for much longer. 

“Anakin, that’s sweet, but when you said tomorrow I didn’t think you meant before my brain even turns on,” you whine, but he’s persistent. He slides an arm under your torso, quickly pulling you upright as you protest at the sudden loss of warmth. You shiver from the cold, instinctively huddling in closer to Anakin before you realize and pull yourself away. He looks at you with an odd expression on his face, but doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to slide out of the bed and pull the sheets away with him. He folds his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for you to get out of bed. 

“Milady, I must advise that we train now. We should do it in secret, so that your handmaids won’t notice— after all, they are part of the reason that you wish to learn to protect yourself,” Anakin responds. You groan but get up, throwing your hands in frustration. You’re partly convinced that he’s just doing this to be a little prick— there’s not a chance in hell that this was the only time that you could get alone time with him. You’re newlyweds, it’s almost expected that you’d be sneaking off to spend as much time as possible between meetings. But no, he had to wake you before anyone else would reasonably be awake. But it’s not worth the fight. 

“Alright, then,” you sigh. But instead of moving away from the bed, Anakin moves to stand on top of it, looking at you expectantly. 

“We’re going to start with several throws. Now, I’m not absolutely certain about this, but I think you wouldn’t enjoy being thrown down onto granite,” he says impatiently. You get on the bed, mourning the lack of sleep as Anakin eyes you up and down. “In that?” He asks, referring to your silk nightgown. 

“Oh, good grief,” you complain, throwing your hands up. “At this rate there won’t be a point of waking me up before dawn because everyone else in the palace will be awake already when we do start! Can we just do it?” Anakin shrugs, reaching out to position you the way he wants. Anakin positions you standing shoulder width apart, one hand placed on the back of your neck and the other on your arm. The warmth of his palms on your bare skin sends electricity through your nerves, and you blink at him wide-eyed at the contact. With quick footwork he sweeps you on to your back, knocking the wind out of you with the added weight of his body on yours before he swings himself to your side, effectively pinning you down to the ground. 

“Try to move,” he instructs you, but as you wiggle around on the bed, you realize that he’s able to still pin down your shoulders. “See? Doing this gives you leverage. First thing to know,” he says, getting up and leaving you sprawled on the bed. 

“I see.. Was it necessary to do it without any explanation, or was that for your amusement?” You grunt, hoisting yourself up as Anakin watches you struggle rather unsympathetically. 

“For fun. Now,” He breezes past the admission, grinning when you gape at him, “What you’re gonna do is put your hand on the back of my neck and my arm, like I did.” He nods when you’re in the correct placement, turning his focus to your technique. “Now, turn your body so the hand that’s holding my neck is the closest side. Step sideways once, cross the other foot and step towards me, and then use the first foot to sweep the knee on the side that you’re not touching.” 

You step as per his instructions, sweeping him down but when you land, body pressed firmly against his, the door swings open to reveal Reyna. She sputters when she sees the position you and Anakin are in—  Anakin half naked, his thigh slotted between your legs, his hands gripping your hips,  your tits hanging above his face with only the thin silk material to cover you. The immodesty of it all makes you blush, too. Anakin, however, used his quick thinking and craned his neck up to kiss the exposed skin right above your breasts. You know it’s only so that she doesn’t get suspicious but it feels good, dammit, and you can’t hold back the whimper that threatens to escape you when his teeth nip softly at your skin. 

“I’ll come back later,” Reyna squeaks, clearly mortified. 

“That would be best,” Anakin responds, looking at her with half-lidded eyes and a smirk that makes heat run up your spine. 

When the door shuts, he throws you rather unceremoniously off of him, blushing a bright pink. 

“Sorry,” Anakin apologizes. The both of you lay on your backs, furiously avoiding eye contact as the situation’s awkwardness makes you wince. 

“It’s alright,” you say, pushing yourself off of the bed. “So, I’ll, um, see you later today?” 

“Yes, milady,” he answers, sounding distant. “Later today.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin x reader #Star Wars fanfic #fic writing #Royal flowers series #anakin skywalker fluff #Anakin x f!reader

[vodika-vibes]

The latest Rynn drabble was heavy 😬 I expected it to turn into something like that though you know since it’s implied he murdered them for power and stuff—hopefully this helps their investigations?? 🤔

Hopefully, if nothing else it proves that Palpatine has been an asshole for longer than anyone believed.

Rynn sits on a bench as the team from Theeds moves through the hidden basement, claiming the coffins with the woman and child safely held within. Scorch is standing behind her, and both of them are watching the young woman, clad in the deep blue of mourning, watches over the young mother and child. "It saddens us," The Queen says quietly, "The death of a child is always a tragedy. To know that this child was murdered by her own father...it is an affront to everything Naboo stands for." "Respectfully, You Majesty," Rynn offers, "Sheev Palpatine hasn't represented what you, or your people, stood for for a very long time." The young queen closes her eyes, "Your words gladden Our heart, Master Jedi. Though We fear that most of the galaxy will not see things as you do." She presses her hand over her heart, "We will ensure that this young family is buried with full honors, and We will ensure that Sheev Palpatine is known for what he truly was, a monster who killed his own family in name of power." "It's for the best." Scorch murmurs, "This way no one will try to mimic him." "Just so," The Queen nods once, regally, and then turns and leaves the basement, followed by her handmaidens. "Now what?" Scorch asks as he sets his hand on Rynn's shoulder. "We continue our investigation." Rynn turns on the bench to look at him, "I haven't see anything that would imply who Palpatine's master was, have you?" His head tilts towards her, "No. I haven't." He offers Rynn his hand, "We'll keep looking, then."

#star wars #star wars au #competent jedi au #introducing the young Nubian Queen #I think the Royal Pronouns are all capitalized #I think

[velidewrites]

When the senator of Chandrila’s debts catch up with him at last, the Galactic Empire places a bounty on his daughter’s head. But Elain Archeron is cunning, and she will not go down without a fight—certainly not to the handsome Mandalorian hunter, intent on claiming his prize.

Notes: Part 1/2 of my contribution to Day 7: AU of @elucienweekofficial! Dedicated to @melting-houses-of-gold who patiently listened to my ramblings about this fic <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter!Lucien x Bounty!Elain

Warnings: None (filthy smut in part 2 as I am once again unable to write porn without feelings)

Read on AO3

Part 1

The ship is disturbingly loud.

Elain doesn’t know much about spacecraft, but the sputtering hum of her H-Type Nubian’s engines is concerning enough that she imagines anyone else in her position would feel unsettled. She should have expected the complications—she’d been warned about them, in fact—but she still shifts in her seat uncomfortably.

The yacht has been borrowed to her by Vassa, the former queen of Naboo and a longtime friend—and, for the past four years, a senator within the ranks of the Galactic Empire. Vassa herself had not been present on Naboo during Elain’s stay, called away by what she called a sham of a voting in the Senate, but her people had been informed in advance well enough to take care of the entire process.

Elain Archeron is being smuggled.

It is precisely why she’s been lent the H-Type. The ship is pre-Empire, which means it will—it should—fly under the radar, staying off the Empire’s scopes. It’s not that Elain is a fugitive—not yet, at least—but she has no doubt the Chandrilan government will alert the Senate of her disappearance once they realise Lord Archeron’s daughter has escaped. She isn’t important enough to have Destroyers sent after her, but Elain has never been one to take her chances. Especially not on a day like this.

Especially not on her wedding day.

She has been putting it off since the day she turned fifteen, and it was only the love Lord Archeron supposedly bore for his daughter that kept Elain from an arrangement to be put in place immediately afterwards, as per the Chandrilan custom. Now, though, at twenty-three…Elain had run out of excuses.

The message arrived while she was on Naboo, spending the summer with Vassa as she did nearly every year. A holo-recording of Senator Archeron happily announced her engagement to Graysen Nolan, the only son of Governor Nolan—perhaps the single richest man on Chandrila, Elain’s own family not even coming close in wealth. This will be good for us, Elain, her father said. Finally, the tide turns favourably in our direction.

Elain was not inclined to agree.

Vassa, thank the Maker, had helped her put the plan in motion almost immediately, arranging for safe, undercover passage to the Outer Rim through one of the old hyperspace lanes, abandoned by the Republic during the Clone War. Her intel claimed the route to be safe enough to pass through undetected, which, for Elain, was more than enough.

Graysen Nolan is not old or, superficial as it may be, unattractive by any means. He is quite handsome actually and, as her father so vehemently assured her, quite ridiculously wealthy—but the twenty-eight year old man has a flaw.

He’s an Imperial.

Elain would never dare voice it out loud—in the eyes of the Empire, she is all but a loyal subject, a pretty face to put on Chandrila’s posters and nothing more. But deep down, in a place deep and uncharted like the Wild Space itself, Elain despises them with her whole, insignificant being.

The Senator does not share his daughter’s sentiment, of course—he is a loyalist through and through. It’s what made Elain despise him, too—despise the coward hiding behind expensive gestures and grand speeches. The coward who’d chosen the Empire over his family.

Over the two daughters it had taken from him.

Elain closes her eyes and rests the back of her head against the yacht’s sleek wall, the cool metal doing nothing to ease the pain of the memory. The ship shakes slightly as it charts the course into hyperspace, sending tremors into her bones where it comes into contact with her body. This is one of the crafts with strong deflector shields, Elain reminds herself. As long as they manage to avoid the asteroid field, they will be fine. Probably.

The ship sputters again, and, once again, doubt washes over her in a surging wave. This is probably the fourth or fifth time in the past hour that she’s reconsidered this whole ordeal, the very first one nearly sending her into cardiac arrest as she first saw the ship, the once glistening silver now rusted and peeling off in certain places, as though damaged by battle. It probably was. Elain can’t even begin to count how many attacks on her life Vassa had endured during the Clone War, the controversial Senator constantly the subject of immense interest to the now-extinct Separatist leaders.

She looks around the space, the air suddenly tight. She knows this is going to work—has been assured of it a hundred times—and yet, for some reason, dread continues to build in her chest all the same. Through the wide viewport of the cockpit, even the stars seem to flicker in warning.

“Are we clear?” she asks the pilot nervously.

The pilot, a man Vassa has personally vouched for, half-turns to her from his chair. “We’re calculating the jump, my Lady.”

Elain shifts in her own seat. “How much longer?”

The ground shakes violently before he manages to open his mouth.

Her four guards—or Vassa’s guards, since Elain abandoned her own when she’d sneaked out from her bedchamber’s terrace—jolt upright, white-gloved hands wrapped tightly around their blasters.

“What is happening?!” Elain yells when the floor trembles again, the ship groaning loudly.

All the blood drains from the pilot’s face. “Someone docked in from below.”

Elain’s blood chills. “Impossible.” They couldn’t have realised it yet—she’d purposefully opted to run in the middle of the night, way after the Chandrilan guard conducted their security check. She expected them to find her bed empty in the morning—but not now, merely an hour after her escape.

The commander of her escort looks at his subordinate, his face tight and deep with what seems like thousands of creases. “Check out the disturbance,” he barks, the guard only nodding before he disappears from the cockpit.

“Empire?” Elain asks, the question no more than a whisper. The pilot shakes his head, looking at the beeping controls in disbelief.

“It can’t be—this ship is supposed to be invisible.”

Elain chokes on a breath. “Supposed to?”

The pilot seems breathless, too. “My Lady—” 

His words are interrupted by a singular shot of blaster fire as it cuts through the air. Then, a loud thud as a body falls to the metal floor.

Elain yelps.

One of her guards grabs her by the arm, his grip tight enough to crush the veins beneath her skin. “My Lady, we must hide.”

“Escape pods?” Elain pants.

The commander’s expression looks grave. “There are none on this ship.” He looks at the entrance to the cockpit, and a ringing silence ripples through the air as they all realise the guard has not yet returned—which means the body they’d heard was likely not the intruder’s.

“Hide her,” the commander barks to his remaining two men. “Seal the entrance.” And with that, he, too, disappears between the automatic door, the sharp whoosh of it closing foreboding in a way Elain can’t quite describe.

Not a single person in the cockpit dares to utter so much as a breath as they listen in to the commander’s steps, echoing through the passageway. One second passes, then two—then three.

There is a muffled sound of struggle before the blaster is fired again, yet another thud as what is undoubtedly the commander’s body falls to the floor.

What happens next is a blur to Elain.

The pilot sucks in a breath, and the two guards begin shouting at each other, one order after another as Elain is pulled back toward the small storage space hidden under the pilot’s seat. One of the men lunges for the door, his own weapon at the ready as he aims for the control panel. Elain squeezes her eyes shut, preparing for the shot.

Except that when the shot finally comes, it does not sound from her guard’s sleek, elegant S-5—the man hadn’t even managed to raise it toward the source.

No, it comes from a different pistol, rough and heavy, a trail of smoke hissing upward as the man’s body, too, slumps onto the metal.

Elain tears her gaze off her lifeless guard to look into the eyes of his murderer.

What she finds is a face covered entirely by beskar, the silvery helmet glinting even under the dying starlight.

The Mandalorian comes into view, his powerful frame scraping against the blast door as he takes a step forward, the sound as loud as the bodies of the three men he’d killed. Elain’s breath hitches in her chest, as though afraid to so much as graze the faded green of his chest plate, the metal she recognises as durasteel—hardly comparable to the sheer strength of beskar, but enough to keep the laser-like beams from piercing his heart—something many people have tried to do, if  the ashen marks staining the armour are any indication.

Elain’s own heart—one she suspects will not keep beating for long—thumps loudly in her chest as the Mandalorian man sheathes the blaster back into his belt, so many weapons strapped to its side Elain struggles to understand how he manages to walk with all that weight. He looks calm as he looks over the cockpit—over the three people still alive and waiting for his next move. Elain cannot explain how she knows this—but she swears she can feel his gaze pinned on her, even with his face hidden behind a black, T-shaped visor.

“Stand down, Mandalorian,” the last of her Nubian guards orders loudly, his blaster pointed straight at the masked warrior.

Elain feels his eyes drift away from her face, like a magnet releasing its hold as he looks over the guard with nothing more than an angle of his head. The man actually squirms under his scrutiny.

“I said,” he repeated, no longer able to hide the slight tremor in his throat, “stand down.”

To Elain’s complete shock, the leather-clad hand hovering above his belt falls loosely down his side. The guard, too, seems to release a breath. “This is a diplomatic mission you have disrupted,” he says. “You will be reported to the Guild—”

“I’m not with the Guild,” the response cuts in. It makes Elain shiver—his voice is low and deep, the helmet’s vocoder modulating it slightly, making it seem like a gravelly rumble from his throat.

Once the shiver passes through her spine, the Mandalorian’s words register. If he isn’t with the Guild…

“Hand her over,” he orders. “Now.” One word—deadly. He does not seem like the man to revel in hiding his threats.

The guard gulps, sensing it, too. To his credit, he still manages to tell him, “We will not.”

The Mandalorian’s vocoder sounds with a low hum, the sound seeping a scorching fire into her bones. “My orders are to leave witnesses,” he finally says, his metal-clad body entirely still like a predator fixed on his prey. “It’s a shame I happen to be forgetful sometimes.”

Elain’s heart threatens to stumble out of her chest. He came here for her, and the men sent to protect her—Vassa’s men—do not need to die trying to protect her from the inevitable.

It’s just her luck, Elain thinks bitterly, that the one and only time she’s ever tried to rebel, she has to be hunted by one of the most ruthless warriors in the galaxy. The Mandalorians are known for their violent ways and brutal efficiency—they are, after all, one of the Empire’s most loyal subjects, having allied themselves with Emperor Koschei the moment he came into power.

Since it isn’t the Guild, then, it must be the Empire who have sent this bounty hunter after her, which could only mean two things: her plot to escape her impending marriage had been discovered by Governor Nolan much earlier than she’d expected, or…

Or Father was in a lot more trouble than he'd originally made it out to be.

“It’s okay,” Elain breathes, placing a palm on the guard’s arm. “It’s okay—I’ll go with him.”

The guard shakes his head vehemently. “No—you can’t my Lady, we have been ordered—”

“It’s okay,” she repeats, then squeezes his shoulder. “Lower your weapon.” She turns to the Mandalorian. “I’m going to walk towards you now. Do not hurt those men.”

The bounty hunter does not move, and so Elain takes this as his agreement.

She takes a half-step—then another, crossing the space on shaky legs. She’s almost there—has almost reached that magnetic presence of his when she hears a light swoosh, and a click of metal.

“Lady Elain, duck!” the guard shouts, and fires his blaster.

Elain whirls back just in time to see him sink to his knees, his mouth agape, the hole in his chest sizzling with that same, smoky trail. She shrieks, running back toward yet another man who’d given his life to keep her safe—when a tight, steady grip on her wrists holds her back. “No more tricks, sweetheart,” his warning comes purring as her back hits the hard steel at his chest. Elain whips to face him again, anger stinging hotly at her eyes. “You said you needed witnesses!”

His helmet moves an inch as he seemingly glances at the pilot cowering in his seat behind her. “One is more than enough.” He jerks his chin at the trembling man. “Deliver the message to the Senator. He has seven rotations.”

Elain starts, “Do not—” but her words are cut short as the Mandalorian yanks her back. “Where are you taking me?” she breathes, her attention transfixed on the rough feel of his leather gloves against her bare skin. “Answer me right now, or I will not follow you anywhere—”

His steps come to a stop so abruptly she nearly slams face-first into his back. Slowly, he turns to look at her, silence passing through them in a tremor before he asks lowly, “No?”

Elain swallows. Hard. “No,” she says, accepting that the word might mean her death.

To her surprise, the Mandalorian lets go, crossing his arms over his chest instead, the silver vambraces clanking against each other with the movement. “Look, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname already making a flaming anger stir in the pit of her stomach, “the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: you either come willingly, or I make you.”

Elain grits her teeth stubbornly. “If you want to collect on your bounty, you’ll have to bring me in alive.”

His hands brace at his hips as he cocks his head to the side, and though the black of his visor is nearly impenetrable, Elain swears she saw a flicker of a smirk. “Lucky for me, my orders weren’t that specific.”

Elain’s blood chills.

“So what’s it gonna be,” he pauses, a hint of mockery in his modulated tone as he adds, “my Lady?”

Elain considers.

If Nesta were here, she would have opposed the Mandalorian without a shadow of a doubt, the cold venom in her words perhaps enough to melt through the beskar itself. But Elain had never been much like her elder sister—and so she thinks of Feyre.

Her heart clenches at the memory of her name, but Elain does not linger—instead, she listens to her sister’s voice the way she remembers it—calm and wise, far too knowing for a seventeen year old Padawan—and yet still unmistakably Feyre’s, blue-grey eyes twinkling with mischief as she spoke. Don’t worry, Elain, she had told her four years ago, they won’t see us coming.

No, Feyre, Elain silently agrees now, a plan already forming in her head. He won’t.

She points at the circular opening in the floor—at the ladder to the ship docked directly beneath. “Lead the way.”

—

Elain finds herself in the cockpit of yet another crumbling ship.

The Razor Crest is even older than the H-Type, the model predating the Clone War by at least four years. She supposes the advantage of staying off the scopes is worth it, though right now, she can’t possibly imagine why the Mandalorian working clearly on the Empire’s paycheck would ever need to avoid it.

She sits a breath’s distance behind him, watching as those leather-clad fingers press so many controls her mind begins to spin as they shoot into hyperspace, the blue-white blur of stars blending together a sight beautiful enough to appreciate even in Elain’s current predicament. The ship is fast, too, no doubt tweaked with improvements over the years. She wonders how long the Mandalorian has owned it, frowning as she realises she doesn’t even know how old the bounty hunter is.

She doesn’t even know his face, let alone his name. She would’ve guessed a bounty hunter of his skill would be renowned all the way to the Outer Rim. “What’s your name?” she asks him, curiosity getting the better of her.

He ignores her question entirely.

Elain huffs. “It is rude to ignore a lady, you know.”

No response.

That familiar frustration stirs inside her again. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to simply call you Mandalorian.” Her lip curls. “Or just Mando, perhaps—”

He turns back to her at that, and Elain realises triumphantly that she’d struck a nerve. “You are not to call me anything,” he tells her gruffly. “And besides,” his seat squeaks slightly and he turns to face the viewport again, “Something tells me that you are no lady.”

Her eyes dig into his back, and Elain sure wishes she could will a burning fire into them right now. When she realises it’s a futile effort, she asks, “Where am I to sleep?”.

“Here.”

“Here?” she frowns, looking at the chair, already groaning under her weight. “Where are you taking me?”

There is a brief pause—as if he’s considering how much he can really tell her. Then, “Chandrila.”

Elain’s eyes widen. “Chandrila?”

There is a raspy sound coming from beneath his helmet that Elain can only take for a chuckle. “I’m not taking you home, sweetheart. Sorry to disappoint.”

Elain squints. “So he does have manners after all.” When her hope of hearing a retort fades away, she asks again, “How long before we get there?”

“Too long.”

“Are you always this infuriating?”

He simply chuckles again.

Elain leans back into her seat. “I’m going to need a change of clothes,” she announces.

A glimmer of surprise passes through the space between them—as if whatever the Mandalorian was expecting, it was decidedly not this. “What?”

“I have to change,” Elain repeats, making a point of gesturing to her Naboo-fashioned gown as he turns to face her again. Then, doing her best to sound as bratty as he surely expects her to be—as everyone expects her to be—she says, “Travelling in these is uncomfortable.”

She looks into his visor, which seems to stare at her blankly. “You can’t be serious,” he then says.

Elain tilts her chin up in challenge. “Have you ever worn a gown, Mandalorian?”

“You know I haven’t,” he grumbles darkly.

“Then you have no right to tell me what’s comfortable and what isn’t. These fabrics are heavy—”

“Beskar is heavy,” he cuts in.

Elain stumbles over a breath, irritated less that he’s thrown her off her track, but more that the bastard Mandalorian is right.

Still, she presses, “You’re a Mandalorian, and I’m not. I demand we stop on the nearest planet so that I may—” she hovers a hand over her form, “adapt to the situation at hand.” She angles her head. “Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to attract any attention now, would you? I am a Senator’s daughter, after all.”

For a moment, the bounty hunter says nothing, simply leaning back in his seat as he assesses her. She tries not to shift under the stare she knows lurks beneath the helmet, her mind for some reason wondering if his eyes are the same green—or silver, perhaps—as his armour. She immediately dismisses the idea, though—he burns far too hot for his gaze not to blaze with that heat in some capacity. Not that she particularly cares—Elain has simply never had the chance to speak to a Mandalorian before, and those that she had seen had not seemed to share this one’s sentiment to stay perpetually hidden beneath the beskar.

She decides to flat out ask him, then—if only to satisfy that strange curiosity in her chest—when he surprises her again. “Alright,” he says, his visor seemingly focused on the thick folds of her gown. “We’ll make a stop.” Then, he adds, his voice rumbling with warning, “But no tricks, sweetheart. You won’t be able to escape me that easily.”

Elain has to bite back a smile. We’ll see.

—

A mechanically distorted cough stirs her from sleep.

“We’re landing up on Llanic,” he announces, and walks away.

Elain sits up, her back straining from the worn-out leather of her chair, the heavy dress not helping it at all. She curses herself—and not for the first time—for not thinking to wear something allowing more flexibility as she’d dressed in Vassa’s estate. Though, Elain now supposes, that same gown is the only reason she now has the opportunity to escape.

Soon enough, the Mandalorian lowers the Razor Crest onto a landing platform. Despite its proximity to Naboo, Llanic looks nothing like the planet’s vibrant, ethereal ecosystem. Everything here seems dull and grey—even the people opting for garments of pale blues and sulking whites as they move around the settlement.

“Llanic is the smugglers’ den,” the Mandalorian explains, as though reading the thoughts from Elain’s face. “All of this,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the view ahead as they step out of the ship, “is to help them stay out of sight.”

Elain looks to her own dress, the deep amethyst standing out almost ridiculously, already drawing more than a few pairs of eyes. The shiny Mandalorian at her side, Elain thinks with a sigh, certainly does not help.

The last thing she wants is the attention of more criminals.

“We need to get you a change of clothes quickly,” he mutters, making Elain look up at him with a smirk. “I told you—” she starts, but he’s already begun to walk off the platform, his gruff, “No time” her only invitation to follow along.

Her eyes scan her surroundings quickly, noting a cantina farther out back, already humming with a strange music she doesn’t recognise. He leads them left, though, toward what seems to be the market—one crowded enough that Elain can’t help but loose a breath of relief.

It should be easy to get rid of him here, Elain thinks. If, of course, she is quick enough.

Feyre would have thought this to be no more than an adventure. Elain smiles, the thought pouring a surge of courage into her chest.

They stop at an Ithorian merchant’s stand, one of the largest ones on the stony street, as he grumbles something to a bartering customer. Elain begins to fumble through his selection, her mind already tracking her route of escape. She’ll find some other, proper clothes later—the only purpose of these is to serve as her distraction.

She picks up a matching set of a top and trousers of dusted ivory, and a beige poncho to supposedly help her blend in. She’ll have to pick out something similar later if she truly is to disappear.

Elain is already side-eyeing the cantina, the copular structure practically calling out her name far at the street’s end. Perhaps she’ll be able to find a transfer there—someone to get her off-world and, hopefully, as far away from the infuriating Mandalorian and the Empire as possible

A warm, heavy presence appears beside her, and she chucks the clothes into the bounty hunter’s hands. He only stares back, confusion rolling off of him in waves.

She can’t help but snicker. “You’re impossible.”

“I…don’t understand.”

Elain huffs. “Well, my apologies if I forgot to remember to bring my credits as I was being kidnapped,” she sputters, the word making the elderly couple behind the Mandalorian turn to face her with a frown.

“Be more quiet now, would you,” the Mandalorian growls, the sound a deep rumble from his chest.

Elain narrows her gaze. “Just go buy these, yeah?”

He chuckles at the apparent drop in formalities, though his voice remains firm as he reminds her, “Don’t move until I’m back.”

She smiles sweetly, motioning to the streets around her. “Where else would I go?”

He seems to agree well enough, because the Mandalorian soon disappears between the hanging layers of cloth as he moves towards the Ithorian seller. When the familiar glint of beskar vanishes out of her sight, Elain turns and begins to run.

The amethyst dress and the tightness in her back is a strain on her speed, but the adrenaline surging through her is enough to keep her legs moving swiftly. Not for the very first time, Elain wishes she had the lithe speed and remarkable strength both of her sisters have always displayed, their movements carefully supported by the Force.

The thought leaves her as quickly as it arrived as Elain makes a sharp turn, pivoting into a darkened alleyway that she hopes will discreetly lead her to the back wall of the cantina. Her steps slow, as though the silent darkness compelled them to do so—and Elain quickly looks around, letting herself take a breath before she continues on again.

“Not so fast, princess,” a low, hissing voice sounds behind her.

Elain’s feet freeze into the ground.

“Don’t be afraid,” it croons, stepping in closer. “It will all be over soon.”

Elain’s breath quickens.

The man, unmistakably a Trandoshan, slithers beside her, his scaled, greenish skin finally coming into view—but it’s not his appearance Elain finds her gaze glued to, but the long, heavy Mortar Gun resting in his large hands as he points it directly at her face.

“Sssuch a shame,” he muses. “To ruin such a pretty face. But I find myself in a desssperate need of credits, you sssee.” He angles his scaly head, yellow eyes narrowing on her. “The Empire is paying quite the sum for you, little princess. If it was any lower…I might have taken some time to play with you firssst.”

“A shame indeed,” a voice agrees somewhere behind him. “Unfortunately, your time seems to have run out.”

A single shot booms through the air before the Trandoshan evaporates into dust.

A Mandalorian—her Mandalorian, Elain realises—stands a few metres behind where the reptilian bounty hunter stood a moment ago, a forked sniper rifle Elain had never seen before still pointed at the dissipating dust.

“Where did you get that?” Elain breathed. Has he been carrying that weapon this whole time? Could he have turned her into…into this?

He shrugs. “Had it lying around.”

He reaches her in a few quick strides, his head dipping as he appears to be sweeping his gaze over her, assessing. “Are you hurt?” he asks.

Elain shakes her head, her body slowly moving out of stillness. “No.” She clears her throat, begging the Force to bring clarity into her voice. “Thank you,” she rasps, then sighs, exasperated. The Force had never seemed to be her ally, anyways. “I’m…sorry for running.”

He hums. “I knew you would try something eventually. You got lucky.”

Elain blinks. “You would call this—” she gestures to the Trandoshan bounty hunter’s remains spread out over the stone ground, “—lucky?”

He nods, strapping the rifle to his back in one, swift movement. “There are others out there who would not hesitate to kill you on sight. I’d say,” he adds, “you got more than lucky to end up with me.”

“How very fortunate,” she mutters. He only chuckles, though she feels as his gaze lands on her again. There is a pause of quiet between them before he finally asks, the voice behind the helmet softer, somehow, “Are you, though? Alright?”

Elain sighs. “Yes. I’m…” she searches for the word. Tired. Confused. Lost. “Hungry,” she decides.

Another chuckle. “Follow me.”

The cantina beams a more lively song as they enter, though Elain, despite all that thorough education she’d received, can’t seem to recognise the language. They take their seats at a booth stuck into a dim nook before a waiter approaches, his gaze shining with curiosity at the unlikely pair. “What can I get you?”

“Spotchka,” Elain sighs, earning yet another amused huff from her companion. “And—whatever your special is today.”

The man nods. “That would be the stew.”

“Perfect,” Elain says, then turns to the Mandalorian, the waiter, too, looking at him expectantly.

“That will be all,” he says tightly, his tone enough to make the waiter scatter immediately out back. Elain frowns. “Are you not going to eat?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I’m not hungry.”

Elain counters, “I have not seen you eat since you put me on that rusted old ship.”

The visor seems to glower at her. “The Crest is fine.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not willing to discuss this, Elain.” She doesn’t think she’d ever heard his name fall from his lips.

Does he even have lips? Elain can’t help but wonder. He appears human, but beneath that armour, he really could be anyone. It’s not that she truly cares about his face—the curve of his nose or the angle of his jaw. But she wants to be able to see if his gaze burns as brightly as she’s been imagining it, like a hot, midday sun.

His tone does not invite such questions, though, so Elain gives up with a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Tell me your name, at least.”

“No.”

“I’m sick of calling you the Mandalorian in my head.”

“Then stop thinking about me, Elain.”

She throws her arms up in exasperation. “You are impossible!”

He seems to snicker at that. “So I’ve heard.”

Elain sinks further into her seat. “Are you able to answer any of my questions, at least?”

He hums, making a show of considering. “Probably not,” he finally said, earning yet another huff from Elain. “But perhaps you can answer some of mine.”

Elain feels her brows rise. “Oh?”

He laces his fingers atop the table. “What has your father done to get the Empire to put a bounty on your head?”

That, Elain did not expect. “I thought bounty hunters were taught not to ask any questions.”

“To their clients. The bounty is a whole another story.”

“How convenient,” Elain murmurs, and, once again, she swears she can feel his smile in her chest. “Very well. If you must know, he borrowed some money—too much of it for me to even begin to describe, and all of it from the wrong people.” She chews on her bottom lip before quickly releasing it from her teeth, a sharp exhale pushing past her mouth. “It’s why my…engagement was arranged in the first place.”

“To the Governor’s son. So I’ve heard.”

“Yes, well, they had money. But look how that turned out.”

“Do you…” his helmet cocks to the side, as though from this new angle, he can read the answer simply by looking at her face. “Do you regret it?”

“No!” Elain quickly says. “Kriff, no—it’s why you found me on the Nubian instead of the planet itself. I was…” she clears her throat. “I was escaping.”

Silence falls, broken only for a moment as the waiter arrives with Elain’s food. She begins digging into the warm stew, realising the conversation has most likely come to an end, the Mandalorian seemingly gazing off into the distance.

But then, a quiet sound reaches her, so indiscernible she initially thinks she must’ve imagined it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For disrupting your plans.”

Elain flashes him a cryptic smile. “My plans aren’t disrupted just yet.”

—

When Elain emerges from the Crest’s refresher, she finds the clothes she’d picked out at the market laid out on a new cot.

“We’re almost done refuelling,” the Mandalorian’s voice reaches her from where he leans against the ladder leading up to the cockpit.

Elain arches a brow. “What happened to not leaving your side for a moment?”

“Well, I trust you’re not reckless enough to jump out of our ship once we’re in hyperspace.”

Our ship?

Elain dismisses it as her mind playing tricks on her. “Thank you for getting these for me. Believe it or not, but that gown was uncomfortable.”

A grunt of agreement. “It sure looked like it.”

Elain takes the poncho into her hands, her palm smoothing out the fabric. “I’m sorry about nagging you earlier. I—I don’t know much about Mandalorians, I just assumed—”

“You assumed fine.” A deep sigh rattles through him as he bounces off the ladder, stepping closer toward her. “Not removing this,” he points to the shining beskar atop his head, “is my choice.”

Elain dares to ask, “Why, though?”

“Does it matter?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

No, Elain finally decides. Soon—within the next rotation or two, perhaps—the Mandalorian will hand her over to the Empire, a toy to toss over her father’s head. She’ll never have the chance to think about his face again.

Her expression must have told her enough, because his body seems to stiffen as he halts less than five feet away from her.

“Are they going to kill me?” Elain asks him openly.

Silence ripples through the air.

“The Empire doesn’t kill innocent civilians,” he says carefully. Elain can’t help but laugh. “Even if that were true, I am hardly innocent.”

He seems inclined to disagree. “Your father’s mistakes are not your own, Elain.” His words sound deeper than usual as he says them.

She shifts on her feet. “Still, I’m afraid my family’s sins are already beyond repair.” She sighs, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her, as though the words alone were enough to make her body feel limp. “My…” she can’t say it, her throat tightening on its own as she tries. Elain simply looks away.

But then, a few shallow breaths later, a heavy weight rests on the cot beside her. “My father is the head of an…important clan back on Mandalore,” he begins to tell her quietly. “He’s not a good man—to say the least.” He clears his throat. “I have six brothers, each of them worse than the last, as if they’re all competing to see which one of them can become cruel enough to finally catch Father’s attention.”

Elain turns to look at him at that.

He continues, “I never wanted to be like them—any of them. My mother is the only good thing about my family, and she was the only one not to send bounty hunters after me when I finally left.”

Elain’s eyes widen. “You—you escaped from Mandalore?”

His laugh feels bitter. “There is no escaping from my family. I’m the youngest—not important enough for them to keep on wasting credits to drag me back, but, I suppose, a reminder annoying enough to make my life miserable for as long as they wished.” His hand flickers up for a moment, then falls back onto the cot—as if he was going to run his fingers through his hair before remembering the helmet shielding them from view. “So I cut the best deal for myself as I could—and I’ve been picking up the Empire’s dirty jobs ever since. I don’t like most of them,” he admits, “but…” the words trail off. He does not need to finish them for Elain to understand.

But I’m glad I met you.

It is why Elain tells him plainly, “My sisters were Jedi.”

The Mandalorian goes completely, breathlessly still.

Elain nods. “Traitors to the Republic,” she adds bitterly. “To the Empire. My older sister—Nesta…” she fights back tears at the memory of her icy eyes, softening whenever the two of them got to see each other. “She was—she was on Corellia when…when the Order was given. And Feyre…Feyre was at the Temple on Coruscant.” She swallows the thick words in her throat. “She was—she’s gone,” Elain finishes, unable to speak the full truth. It’s too soon—it will never not be.

Her sisters were discovered late—Feyre at six, and Nesta at ten years old, when all the other foundlings had usually come to the Temple at no older than three. But the great masters had foreseen something in the two of them—something Elain had never quite been able to understand without the Force whispering to her the way it did to her sisters. Something with the potential to change the Galaxy as they all knew it.

Whatever her sisters’ purpose was, it would never be fulfilled. It had never even been given the chance to.

“It’s how I know my father will not come for me,” Elain adds quietly. “When you hand me over to the Empire. He’d aligned himself with them when it took not one, but two of his daughters away. Now, it will take away the third.”

Once again, the ship is enveloped in silence.

It had been so long since Elain had last spoken her sisters’ names that she isn’t sure she’d even talked about them to anyone since their death. The Mandalorian is a quiet presence beside her, strong and warm even through the hardened metal encasing his body. It feels relieving to her to know that he, too, lives in accordance with the Empire’s cruelty not by choice, but by the lack of it, hoping that one day, he will be free enough to leave and never look back.

But then Elain is reminded that neither of them are free just yet—and that, while he might still be able to harbour that dream, it is already too late for Elain. That the only way for him to get a step closer toward it, he has to make sure Elain never gets to reach it herself. There is something about the irony of it all that makes her want to weep—and yet, Elain can’t bring herself to feel angry.

“I hope the Empire pays you well for all of this,” she tells him earnestly.

He turns to face her then—as much as he can with the self-imposed containment of his beskar—and perhaps it is merely wishful thinking, but, for a whisper of a moment, Elain knows with the utmost certainty that she saw a flicker of gold beneath the darkness.

His voice is quiet as he responds.

“Not nearly enough.”

—

Once again, Elain is violently ripped from sleep.

They cannot be landing already—Elain can swear they’ve only just left Llanic’s atmosphere, her face hitting the cot the moment the Crest’s navicomputer was programmed and the stars blurred into a singular light again. Chandrila is still a long journey ahead, at least two, if not three more refuelling stops since the Crest is unable to withstand such a distance on a single tank.

They aren’t landing, Elain understands as the last remnants of her sleep sharpen into reality—into the loud, flaring sound echoing off the ship’s tight space. Into the red light blazing on and off, illuminating her shaky hands as the realisation finally sinks.

The Crest is under attack.

Elucien Week Taglist: @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @labellefleur-sauvage @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

#breaking news: velidewrites can't write a one-shot to save her life #breaking in the sense that we been knew #elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

[merrysithmas]

seeing Mon Mothma slay as a senator makes me sad for the life Padme could have had if she didnt get involved in the most toxic and deluded relationship with a dude who married her because he was projecting grief about his mother's death (lol anakin we love you, but no).

and she married him of course because she was desperate for some freedom in her life which had been utterly political since age 14 - she never got to grow or experience life as a child. she never really got anything but making war decisions as a literal child. of course she was a multifacted tragic character and fascinating - i mean she stood for so much good & law & order but then totally ignored/stayed silent on the murder of an entire Tusken village to get what she wanted emotionally. that's some really cool writing, honestly.

but as per the tragedy genre they were terrible together and truly didn't seem to know one another at all. they were one another's psycho-emotional crutch - not one another's spouse, and of course it ended as it did. not saying they didn't care for one another, they did ("There's still good in him", "Is she safe? Is she alright?") but they were obviously unstable and their dynamic wasn't built on genuine understanding or even true romantic love, imo. it was based on their own unsatisfied inner needs and projecting it on one another. a really interesting story dynamic that makes for compelling viewing.

Padme's political legacy as the Queen of Naboo/Naboo Senator/founder of the Rebellion is THE most important part of her character, and hopefully if she is alluded to at all by Bail or Mon this is mentioned. the fact that she began to mistrust the Senate/her marriage etc is such an important part of her character. i would love love love this!

super sad stuff! thanks star wars lol

#andor #padme amidala #actually what i really want is a Young Queen show about padme and her handmaidens #he family in naboo #the separation from the gungans #clovis! and her other LI that she mentioned to anakin in the lake country of naboo #was his name Palo? #i forget! #im not anti anidala i actually like their dynamic as it functions in a Tragedy and i think it makes for a cool story but they werent matched #they werent right for each other at all imo and TCW did a good job at showing that i think #i like their scenes and their weird little thing haha and how it condemns them #prime Unhappily Ever After viewing #and ofc if you genuinely ship them by all means im not hating i support u

[battlekilt]

What are your thoughts on Padme? I'm so curious about your take

I love Padme!

By herself.

Queen/Senator Amidala was a formative character in my early life, and definitely was a hyperfocus that ignited a life-long interest in fashion. She was an introduction of high-end couture and costume design.

(I have a lot of life-long interests, but such is the way of having ADHD).

That isn't to say that she is without points of criticism on my part, though they aren't criticism of her as a person or as a character, merely critical analysis of her choices and her actions. A lot of them revolve around her conflict of interest with her position as a politician, and her personal life. There are certainly plenty of parallels between her and Anakin, which is probably one reason why they worked for the canon narrative.

But, I can criticize my favorite characters until the sea cows come home because that's part of analyzing the characters. It is similar to how I show my life: I'll pick on them.

Though, it is for that reason why I have been much more critical of AnidaIa as a relationship, though my dislike of the relationship is nothing new. I have never liked Anakin and Padmé together, and their relationship is the core criticism I'd have to levy towards her. This is a case of, 'Not a good long-term fit for each other, and that is okay.' Which is why I put her in the same column as the Jedi Order when it comes to Anakin's life. Mostly, it would have been better for everyone involved if he just departed on amicable terms.

I'm Pro-Jedi and Pro-Padmé, along with my pro-Anakin stance. There is good, there is bad, there are things to be critical about, and there are things to be defensive about.

From the ROTS novel, which is now considered Legends, however I believe that it is entirely relevant as it was line-edited by Lucas:

Fundamentally, she was compelled from within to be a politician, though she had spent her early life dreaming of being a mother. Naboo tradition excludes these two ways of life. I believe that Anakin's life in the Order made him a safe bet for her to live out a secret fantasy life started in the sweep of excitement when the war started. However, as time went on and consequences began to be more tangible, I do believe that Padmé was forced at times to realize that her fantasy wouldn't be allowed to carry on forever. Sadly, it was inevitable that the bubble would burst, and there would be consequences for the actions both parties made.

Read more on my opinion and analysis of their relationship here.

There is no doubt that she is a bold and strong character, with enough conflicts within her to be interesting. However, she was handed a short string when it comes to the quality of her narrative. As a character, she is probably at her strongest the furthest away she is pulled away from Anakin.

From within the comics, all the positive and interesting traits of her seem to have been transferred over to her former handmaiden, Sabé. Which, good for her, I guess? But, would have preferred for Padmé to have tried to kill Anakin in ROTS, survived, and become the rebel leader she should have been—as originally conceived for her.

Padmé Amidala is a character that suffered more from time constraints cutting short a character's potential and letting it fall away onto the cutting room floor. I do think that if at the time of ROTS there was a stronger guarantee that more exploration would be had between EP3 and EP4, I do think that Padmé's story wouldn't have ended so anticlimactically as it had.

My apologies that I don't write as much for this kind of meta analysis as others might. But, I hope that these succinct thoughts are sufficient?

I invite more detailed and pointed questions for where more elaboration is desired, but insufficiently addressed here.

#bucket's answers #citizen: padme amidala #anidala critical #gffa meta #// i am 200 words away from my goal for the day #// though i do need to reach a certain stopping point #// so word count isn't everything #// man this med shortage is killin' me here