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I ended up planning for MC and Padme to first meet per phantom menace era with MC being made to tag along with Obi-wan and Qui-gon so she goes with them to Naboo for the blockade and meets Anakin along the way BUT admittedly she becomes closer with Padme through some sort of Jedi cultural outreach mission I came up with after the end of their first movie.

So that would put her on Naboo for a prolonged stay while they’re both young and I’d like to think that under the right circumstances Padme would develop a massive crush on someone like Mando!jedi!reader (or at least the way I’ve gone about writing her lol). Like—ok so I feel like Padme liked Anakin so much because they understand each other in a way maybe no one else ever really did because of their stations in life but it was also so rushed in the movies which IS the start of their romance which we see a lot more in clone wars but I digress. Being that she could have so much more one on one time to talk and connect with Mando!jedi!reader I could really see them connecting and having that type of bond before actual romance that Padme and Anakin simply did not get in the movies. It’s a slow burn for them versus the fast paced version we get to see between Padme and Anakin at the start of their romance. Part of the reason I decided to include Anakin in this relationship was because I felt that Mando!jedi could be a great bridge for what we lost in the movies and what we could have gained had Anakin been more well adjusted into the Order.

I’m ranting now but AS QUEEN Padme pretty regularly asks for Mando!jedi’s assist in any matter that a Jedi could help in. And this would be around a generally peaceful time for Jedi all things considered? Maul is presumed dead and she wouldn’t have been old enough to be involved in more serious matters regardless of her master.

She’s also close enough with Obi-wan to have seen how his relationship with Qui-gon was in that it wasn’t exactly great (legends stuff I won’t get into) so she sorta helps with easing the pressure he might feel of having to take on a new padawan right into his knighthood and after the death of his master. And if there’s anything we know about mandalorians it’s that they are #protectorsofchildren and yk with Anakin being literally groomed by Palpatine she would be trying to keep him as close as possible.

I really really really want to make it super clear in my writing of her as a character that she’s been put into this box of being a Mandalorian and a Jedi, two very distinctive ways of life and has trouble navigating them. She’s super calm and collected when it counts but really she’s always fighting this battle between her creed and the code. Anakin and Padme are also in some ways supposed to represent this difference in character, like her struggles personified. She feels deeply for the two and despite their very clear feelings for one another not only does she feel that she would be violating the Jedi code she’d also be turning her back on the way of life she had chosen over the creed that she was literally born into.

Very complicated feelings for a very complicated (but not rlly) character.

You are a horrible daughter. A rotten, no good, absolutely unlovable woman with the inability to show even an ounce of compassion for the man who had given you house and home.

You don’t lie, or cheat, or steal. No, you do much worse.

You speak to others in a manner unbefitting of a woman with money. You dish respect as though it were a scarce commodity, unwilling to part with it regardless of time or place. You deliver hit after hit, physically and emotionally, to those who matter most to you. You care little for their feelings, knowing that at the end of the day, they don’t care, so why would you?

Your brothers, however many you have now as you’ve seemed to lose count, can attest to this. They can agree, and you’re sure they will, in the sole fact that you are a horrible person and an even worse daughter.

You harbor an instinct to kill, unlike your youngest brother. You abide by your own codes and conduct as closely as your father does his own, with only a touch more of your own womanly conviction.

You regret nothing. You wish and pray to whoever is willing to listen that your greatest enemies will die by your hand, that they suffer tenfold what they have caused, and that their deaths have purpose. That their deaths mean something beyond the end of their lives.

These urges show blatantly on your face, in cold, dead eyes, and a bloody grin that unnerves those around you. You are not like your brothers. You are much worse.

Your father wishes you were like him, enraptured by his own moral code, the same way you have become so concerned with your own. You think that for all the pain he has caused, the divine has sent you down to earth as punishment for his wrongs.

He must think the same of you.

You are a horrible daughter. Always bathed in blood that isn’t yours, going too far and yet not far enough. You stand there, watching and waiting for a kill that will never happen because you are too scared, too loyal to a man who hates you to your core, you’re sure.

You are a horrible daughter, and in this moment, as you lie in a pool of blood that is finally yours, you become absolutely positive of that fact. Doubts that have previously plagued you, ones that involve your father’s conditional love and care, have washed away, flooded into the same Gotham city drain that your livelihood has trickled down.

He will not come for you. He does not want you.

You are a horrible daughter. Bruce knows it. He lives by this fact. You know, you will die by this fact.

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, admits that you are a horrible daughter, and though not having done so to your face, you feel it in every breath he takes and in every move he makes. Eyes of a bat, not of a father, follow you keenly, watching and waiting for something to give and break.

You find that in your hour of giving and breaking, he is absent. His love, his watchful gaze, and perhaps his hate are lost on you now.

And as you look up to the dim lighting of the room you know you will die in, you can admit wholeheartedly that you were a horrible daughter.

Bruce Wayne is your father, and he loves you. He thinks the world of you.

He has watched you grow, held you tightly as a baby in a way that he never had the chance to do with his other children.

Since your birth, you have been wholeheartedly his own child, a pride and joy that he carried on his shoulder earnestly. To show off to the world with a new sense of purpose. You were loved, you are loved.

You are his daughter, though no longer his only one. You are his and his alone.

He’s since resigned to the fact that he has shared his children among many parents. Richard, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, Damian, and however many more he’s seemed to pick up in his lifetime—he knows that they hold onto families far outside of his own, positive or otherwise.

Damian, who he knows is his child by more than just blood, still bears the weight of Al Ghul on his shoulders.

You are special, you are nothing like the others.

You are a Wayne and a Wayne alone. You carry the name with a grace Bruce has never seen before, perhaps has never acted upon himself. You do not bear the emotional baggage of a long-lost parent, nor do you find yourself craving that belonging to one. You are Bruce’s, and Bruce is yours.

You are his daughter, and he is your father, mother, confidant, and friend.

And yet in the ocean of faults and stresses cracking along the surface of his double life, he’s let you slip through the cracks.

You no longer watch shows together, no longer poke fun at the small and insignificant areas of life as you once did. No more do the two of you go out to the store in uniform and return home with a haul of snacks for the family.

Life has taken a toll on the both of you, and Bruce fears that he’s let you carry the brunt of that weight.

Bruce Wayne loves you. You are his daughter, there will never be anyone like you.

So when he sees you faltering, letting your hits connect heavier than usual, your posture curling in like a cryptid in the night as you wreak havoc on a dime-a-dozen criminal, he must say something.

He cannot let you fall into the same cycle of abuse and selfishness that he once did. Vengeance, or whatever it is that you seek, is what he makes it out to be. He knows this, it must be true.

The look in your eyes as he admonishes your actions throughout that night and the ones that follow will haunt him forever. They are not the kind eyes he’s seen in photographs and paintings, rather they are cold and calculating, filled with hate and a lust for blood. He fears what they mean, what they foretell for you and for him.

He wonders when you started looking at him like you hated him.

Yet, he finds himself missing those eyes as he stares at the blank ones on the cold slab of surgical steel before him.

Bruce Wayne loves you. He will pick your broken body up from the concrete floors, stitch you back together, and pray to a god he isn’t even sure he believes in. He will clean you, prepare you, clothe you, and keep you at the end of your life just as he did at the beginning of it. He will hunt down who has done this to you, hurt and betray his code a hundred times over if it means that you will look at him with hatred once more.