As far as I'm concerned, Ahsoka Tano is inarguably a bisexual icon. Am I aware this statement alone will warrant an endless argument from homophobes and Fake Straight Allies? Yes. But have I written a whole ass fanfic on her coming out to Anakin because the fact I couldn't find any related content? Also yes. If Ahsoka being a raging chaotic lawful bi isn't your cup of tea, spare us both the effort and kindly find yourself some satisfactory Hetero Ahsoka content instead. (That's really Not Hard.)
If some nice queer friendly Star Wars content is your vibe, then I hope you enjoy this little oneshot I put together! As always, a disclaimer that I'm not George Lucas or Dave Filoni, and I have zero claim over the Star Wars universe. Feel free to drop me any reviews or feedback, provided it's not hate. *peace signs out*
Also I haven't even proofread this because it's 12.51am, I've been jamming to Six the Musical, and proofreading is for the WEAK. Hence excuse any hiccups I've neglected to fix up yet.
Cheers for reading kiddos. - Cee
There was a sense of liberated giddiness that sat comfortably within her, as Ahsoka Tano killed the engine of her speeder and swung off it. It might have been the bleak hours of the early morning, but the Jedi Temple was well lit and the main passageways still occupied, even at this ungodly time. Ahsoka skirted around the foot traffic and opted to take the more vacated route towards her personal quarters. Things might get interesting, if somebody noticed the abundance of multicoloured glitter gracing her lekku and shoulders — it was eye catching, it was flamboyant, and it wouldn't be difficult for somebody to put two and two together, what with the televised parade going on in downtown Coruscant. It might not have been the worst thing that could possibly happen to Ahsoka right now, but it definitely was not preferable either.
But tonight was more than an experience — it was an indulgence, to attend that parade at all, let alone be a participant rather than security or whatever. The thrill of it had consumed her: an impossibly vibrant cacophony of colour and energy, everyone so readily jubilant that for a few hours, Ahsoka had forgotten about the war, had forgotten about duty and droids and death. The other participants of the parade had realised there was a Jedi youth in their midst, albeit one that was a little uncertain to be there, but they'd embraced her; had demanded what her colours were before affixing a billowing flag over her Temple-issued cloak, and somebody had smeared streaks of pink, purple and blue cosmetic paint over her signature facial markings. Then, as if there she could still be possibly identifiable as a Jedi, let alone Ahsoka Tano, she'd soon been doused in so much glitter and confetti that when she blew her nose later on, sparkly flakes had turned the snot into an appealing crusty substance.
Ahsoka had reached the doorway to her own quarters, mentally sketching out a simple plan of washing off what colourful tributes from the parade were still attached to her and collapsing on her sleeping pallet. Before she could shuffle in, the voice belonging to Anakin Skywalker interrupted her drowsy train of thought: "So you didn't invite me along for wherever you'd run off to?"
Ahsoka turned and faced her master, still feeling upbeat enough to not immediately brush him off. It looked like he'd taken a visit to the Temple's training rooms, sporting sweaty exercise robes, his presence in the Force sedated from the usual tempest to a more subtle thunder storm. Additionally, it smelled like he had, too. "That's rich of you to ask that, Master."
"Hey, I invite you on my excursions," Anakin protested. When she regarded him with a look, he amended, "Maybe not all of them. But you get way more of a share than Obi-Wan ever does."
"Is that a fair comparison?"
"I'd say it is." The humour was still lingering on his face when his gaze zeroed in the glitter, but he didn't look disapproving of the flamboyance. If anything, he just looked amused. "Decided to go and watch the parade downtown, did you?"
She'd been holding her breath, a silent nest of anxiety digging against her ribs, but as always Anakin can be counted on to dismiss the finer details. Typical, really. She should have predicted it, but the paranoia of being outed apparently got there first. "There's nothing in the Code against it, last time I checked."
"And there's nothing wrong with a bit of community participation," he said agreeably. "Maybe, uh, wash it off before you get some shut-eye. See you in the morning, Snips." His ending note is light, conversational, and above all completely disinterested in investigating why exactly she'd attended the parade. Ahsoka can't say she wants him to be feeling otherwise; it's laughable, for somebody who's as dominant in the Force as her master, that he can sometimes have the attention span of domestic livestock. Anakin reached up to squeeze her shoulder fondly, before dropping his arm and ambling away in the direction of his own quarters.
She watched him go, teetering between relief and disappointment. Ahsoka would have liked for him to know, that even though the Order and its codes was as fundamental to her life as the mechanical hand was to Anakin Skywalker's ability to pilot, that her tastes weren't restricted to the opposite sex. Now would have been the perfect time, if any, to tell him there and then.
There would be another time. There always would be.
"Another time" presented itself several weeks later, when following a victory against the Seppies on some distant planet in the Outer Rim, Anakin decided to get her properly drunk for the first time in Ahsoka's life. His unorthodox reasoning was simply that she'd know what her limits were should a situation ever call for it, and what better opportunity than when she was at a healthy sixteen years of age and under the supervision of both himself and the fine men of the Five-Oh-First.
(Her Master wasn't the only one to take advantage of the extensive supply of liquor that night, so the babysitting duties fell mostly to him.)
"I have the feeling this is one of those occasions that we don't tell Master Obi-Wan about," Ahsoka told her Master, her words slightly slurred, seated in the pocket of some backwater licensed diner and watching some of the clones perform some truly dreadful karaoke. Captain Rex stood close by with a recording device, compiling what could only be future blackmail material. She was on her third drink now and inarguably tipsy. The alcohol tasted like Hutt piss, but according to Anakin that was only because it was dirt cheap.
"This is definitely one of those occasions we don't tell him about," Anakin said. "Can you imagine the lecture?"
"Uh huh," Ahsoka drained the glass, cringing at the taste. She was definitely starting to feel the effects — her limbs felt alien and unreliable, her thoughts were rabbiting around a spinning mind, and her senses were beginning to malfunction. Should a situation call for her to engage in combat, she knew she'd be useless. Before she could think up of something intelligent to carry the conversation, she was interrupted by Jesse and Fives attempting to hit the high notes of some raunchy pop song. "Attempting" was too strong of a word.
"We could use that racket as a sonic weapon against the Seppies," she muttered, as Anakin gestured to a server for another drink. He'd wisely only consumed water that night. He caught her words and chuckled to himself.
"I'm sure that's a better option than letting them kick off a music career. How are you feeling?"
"Honestly, Master, I just want a nap by this point."
"Wouldn't have picked you as a sleepy drunk, Snips," Anakin mused sagely. He set down the fourth glass in front of her and Ahsoka blinked at it. He'd been ordering her a concoction of white spirits and fruity flavouring, insisting the wine was way too overpriced and the beer was even worse than what she was currently downing.
She gave him a disgruntled look as she raised the glass to her mouth. "And what kind of a —" to her displeasure, she paused mid-sentence to yawn widely, "— drunk are you, Master?"
Anakin rearranged his face into an innocent expression. "What makes you think I'd ever do something as reckless and un-Jedi-like such as drinking, my young Padawan?"
She can't help but scoff. Before she can think of a good retort, her body is suddenly convinced to yawn for a second time and set down her glass, sagging down into her seat. She pokes him clumsily. "You're not one for sticking to the rules, and we all know it."
Anakin doesn't even try to look innocent, and as he searches for an excuse Ahsoka pats him clumsily on the shoulder and swings gracelessly up onto two feet. "I need to pee."
He eyes her carefully, a protective suspicion sparking, but he remains seated and nods his approval. She nudges past him and in the direction of the refresher, though she's unreasonably tempted to curl up on the diner's floor and take a nap on the way there. The memory of navigating her way past clones and other customers is the last clear thing she can picture, before alcohol smears both consciousness and common sense —
— a wall at her back, another's body flush against her front, curves warm and inviting under her hands, lips fastened hotly to her own —
— when she next opens her eyes with a clear mind, Ahsoka immediately knows she's violently hungover. Her Montrals positively despise her in this current moment with the sensory overdose, a migraine is throbbing persistently at the rear of her skull, and her body feels like she's been plowed down by a Seppie droid transport. By the time she's finally pulled herself together, she finds she's been tucked into her bunk aboard the Resolute. There's a chair situated close to her head, with her lightsabers, a glass of water, and a generous supply of painkillers waiting for her.
In all honesty, she'd been expecting Anakin to make her recover unaided by the meds. She knocks them down gratefully, affixes her lightsabers back onto her utility belt, and waits for the painkillers to kick in before she ventures out in search of her Master.
She checks the mess hall first, where some of the 501 boys look just as bad as she feels. "How was your first experience with the grog, Commander?" Fives calls out to her.
"Don't think it's something I'll revisit any time soon," Ahsoka replies. "Any idea where General Skywalker is?"
"Last I saw him, he was in the hanger and crawling around the engine of his fighter," Echo offers after swallowing a mouthful of caf. Seeing the drink in the trooper's hands inspires Ahsoka to make a cup of it for herself, before navigating down to the flagship's hanger.
Sure enough, she locates Anakin scowling into the underbelly of his fighter, Artoo offering suggestions every time he sits back to reevaluate the mechanics. Sensing her approach, he throws a look her way. "How's the headache, Snips?"
"Awful. Hangovers and Togrutan senses don't mix well." Ahsoka gingerly lowers herself into a perch upon a nearby crate, cupping the caf with both hands.
He cringes sympathetically. "Sorry. Should have taken that into account." Then he dives back into the fighter's underside, wrench in hand and a stubborn look directed at whatever mechanical hiccup he's encountered.
"Can you bring me up to speed, on what I did, exactly?" Ahsoka says, her words mostly directed at Anakin's visible lower half.
A long pause follows this, and it's not because he didn't hear her. The Force gives away what he's thinking: the energy surrounding him adjusts to the same atmosphere when he's deliberating about whether or not to inform Obi-Wan of his latest mishap. "Ah. Right."
"You stayed sober for a good reason, Master."
"Of course." His indecision is obvious, prompting Ahsoka to cringe.
"Master."
"Well, you were just about to fall asleep on me when you decided to head off to the refresher." Anakin starts, his upper half reappearing from inside the fighter. There's a fresh smudge of grease streaking his jaw, and the hand unoccupied by a tool raises to rub the back of his neck. "By the time I put two and two together and tracked you down, you'd uh — found a friend."
"I'd found a friend." Ahsoka repeats skeptically, her brows arching, though distantly she recalled the drunken giddiness of another person's mouth and body fitted against her, momentarily passionate and curious.
Anakin offers a sheepish grin. "Let's just say it's the sort of thing you don't want getting back to the Council."
But he's not treating her any differently, his expression and his energy is what she'd expect from him. Just as Ahsoka's about to demand further details, he answers for her. "She didn't seem to be the worst choice to be having a drunken hookup with. Can't say it came as a surprise, after you snuck off to that parade on Coruscant a few weeks ago."
She feels strangely both deflated and liberated. "So you know."
"Snips, the Jedi might be practically abstinent, but that doesn't stop us from finding people attractive." Anakin said, his tone as wayward and conversational as ever, but his eyes held a different kind of fondness as they settled on her. "I might not be the most observant Knight, but I can at least notice that blokes aren't the only ones my Padawan oogles when she thinks nobody's looking. The parade only confirmed that."
A strange relief balloons in Ahsoka's chest. Anakin's brash manner is exactly what she expected — what she craved, for this kind of conversation. "So you don't — you don't think any differently of me?"
"Would I ever?" Despite the mirth in his words, his eyes are serious when Ahsoka looks into them, and she feels — accepted. Protected. Respected. It's all she really ever needs from Anakin. As long as he still has faith in her, then the rest of the galaxy is irrelevant for all she cares.