#firmly

Ahsoka wasn't allowed to sit in the passenger seat. Even when Rex wasn't occupying it as he currently was, she was always stuck on the bench in the back of the Twilight. Anakin was still convinced she'd slam into some controls during some evasive maneuver and leave him scrambling to compensate.

She huffed and crossed her arms in annoyance every time. And usually spent the flight complaining loudly to R2. Not today though.

She was injured. Not too badly. But enough to take the wind out of her sails. The bandages covering her exposed skin kept her mostly still, even in the even flight of hyper space.

Maybe in pity or maybe in reward, Anakin had let Ahsoka pick the music he simply had to have playing lowly through the flight console. On the stipulation that it was something they could all enjoy.

The music reflected her mood. Subdued and low. Crooning male singers with string instruments accompanying them. Rex didn't care for music as much as some of his vod.

He liked singing when he was in a group. When it accompanied dancing or drinking. When it was loud enough to drown out the verd at 79s. But he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with it.

Anakin did. He needed something to listen to when he piloted or worked with his hands. And Ahsoka liked it. Often having something playing softly when she sat down to do her temple work.

He rarely paid much attention to the lyrics. Half the time they were in a language he didn't recognize or they were overly poetic sugary nonsense.

But when her head tipped back, a wince in her brows from the stretch of her shoulder, and her mouth fell open, he expected a sound of pain. That's not what he heard.

There was a soft reverberating sound coming from deep in her chest, almost a purr but with too much voice in it. It pitched with the voice coming from the console. Raising and falling in tandem.

A sound like longing and trepidation. But soothing as well. Soft and firm.

And then words formed on the tip of her tongue. Too drawn to really be spoken. Like they were really forming deep in her chest before they ever reached her vocal cords. Like it was bubbling up slowly. Taking great effort for her to get out.

The words became more solid. Still soft, still quiet.

They were a promise.

He didn't need the force to read the emotion behind them. He could feel it. The resolve, in the face of fear. The assertion of control, like getting unsteady feet back underneath yourself. Like the promise laced with blood on so many other verd's lips.

"it's a good day for someone else to die." He'd heard it a hundred times. The mando'a butchered and remade by thousands of unworthy tongues. Until it meant something else to them.

The same thing that these words, hummed so soothingly meant to Ahsoka. "I'll be there."

It passes through the air soft as a whisper. Sweeter than the male singer could ever have said it.

He can't help the bolt of feeling that carves through him. It feels wrong in such a tender moment, to have his heart try to leap out of his chestplate. He takes a breath and tries to push the sting away.

Anakin casts him a look from the corner of his eye. It looks like mischeif and fondness.

It’s 2020 and I can’t believe we’re still dealing with this.

If you think it’s okay to harass, bully, or gaslight people for fictional ships please unfollow me.

And if you’re ever the victim, and decide to stop shipping something because that’s how’s you need to protect yourself, don’t trust people who come around saying stuff like “oh it’s good you’ve seen the error of your ways” or “it’s okay now bc you only -used to- to ship it”. That is a huge red flag. Suddenly because you’ve “come around” you’re off their blacklist... which similarly implies that if you misstep you’ll be right back on it.