“Well,” Kit says lightly. “This does seem to be a predicament, doesn’t it?” Pressed right up against him, gauntlets digging bruises into his almost-bare hips, Dogma squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I'm going to kill my whole squad,” he says, perfectly certain and resigned to it.

“I appreciate your willingness to indulge me, Commander,” Padmé says, keeping her eyes very firmly fixed forward as Tekla works. Just because she wants to stare doesn’t mean she will.

“Soon, padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and Obi-Wan doesn’t appreciate the amusement in his voice at all, but his disgruntled look doesn’t win him anything except a raised brow and the calmly bemused glance that always makes Master Windu eye Qui-Gon’s hair like he’s about to pull on it.

The general is asleep. Not his general, of course. At least not officially. But Cody still pauses at the edge of the camp, caf in hand, and watches Mace breathe for a long, long moment before he steps closer and glances around them, checking whether anything has changed in the handful of minutes he was gone.

Tup gathers his courage, leans in. With a flicker of humor, Mace dips his head to meet him, taking the kiss without hesitation. Behind them, someone chokes.

Fox, Padmé, and a conversation about armor.

“Are you really sure this is necessary?” Jon asks, faintly hunted.

“One more,” Alpha decides, and beneath him Jon can't do anything but moan, hitching and ragged.

“He hasn’t noticed yet, has he?” the little Chalactan girl asks cheerfully, pulling herself up to sit on the table. Myles, currently face-down on the wood and despairing of every moment he’s spent devoting his life and honor to an idiot, groans loudly.

“Are you sure about this?” Jon asks a little warily.

“Clan Wren sends its regards,” Ursa says, bowing, and by all rights Jaster should be paying attention to the Countess’s daughter, should pay his own respects to the heir to Krownest, but— He only has eyes for Ursa's brother, steady at her side.

“I cannot believe you,” Jaster says, muffled where his face is buried in his hands. “One week of leave and this—this—this is how you come back?” Myles weighs whether he should be ashamed of himself, considers that last time Jaster got himself kidnapped because he pissed off a culty group of guardians around an ancient shrine, and promptly decides he regrets nothing. “I was only the Sith Emperor for three days before true love’s kiss broke the spell, it was fine.”

This was supposed to be a vacation.

“I can’t believe you ruined my boots,” Leia says, outraged, and pushes Dooku’s face further into the mud.

“Oh,” Jaster manages, and it cracks right in half.

Jango's eyes flicker up, down, up again, and it’s meant to be dismissive, but Shaak knows wariness when she sees it, and it makes her smile just a little. “Lady, I just tried to put a slug through that fancy headdress of yours.” With a chuckle, Shaak takes a step closer. “Fett, I've been a Jedi for decades. If I held a grudge against everyone who had tried to kill me, I would have more enemies than you.”

“Barriss?” Ahsoka hisses, bewildered. Barriss, in a fancier dress than Ahsoka has ever seen her in, covered in tattoos and dripping jewelry, freezes stock-still on the stairs into the casino, and Ahsoka feels the bright-sharp flare of her panic a half-second before she spins to face Ahsoka.

“Well this is awkward,” Quinlan says, raising a hand to stop his nipple tassels from swinging.

A high, sustained, familiar scream rises above the treetops, and Rex pauses. He looks over at Cody, finds Cody already looking back, and does his absolute best not to grin.

"If you say I told you so, I'm going to feed you to a sarlacc," Jango growls, stalking right past Jaster and into the keep, trailing slime.

“Hells, 17, I think your lady friend is trying to show us all up—” “Shut your mouth,” Alpha snaps, though it’s a hell of a lot more true than he would like right now.

Bly's new wife is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and she's graceful and charming and funny and so far out of his league that he's about to die.

There’s a hollow thud, a sound like a gong, a war-cry that makes Alpha-17 freeze in his tracks, and Priest goes flying back into the window.

The first time she wakes up and doesn’t immediately want the world to go back to sleep with her, Fox is on the other side of the tiny room, bouncing Leia on his knee, with Luke asleep against his shoulder.

Depa takes one step into the council chambers and stops dead, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Quinlan can’t take it anymore, and if he sticks around for one more minute, he’s going to have a reaction that’s entirely inappropriate given the discussion that’s happening above his head.

“You're not very good at this, are you,” Fox says flatly. It has only passing resemblance to a question.

“Those are some thick gloves you're wearing,” Quinlan observes, light. “And here I thought the weather was actually behaving today.”

“That,” Quinlan says, faintly frazzled, “is not how the Force works.”