Chapter 1: The Force-Wedgie Spectacle
The air in the Jedi training room hummed, not just with the reverberation of clashing lightsabers, but with the latent energy of unspent mischief. Polished obsidian mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the frantic blue and green flashes in endless, multiplying recursion. Every slip, every stumble, was captured from a dozen unforgiving angles.Bultar Swan liked that. It made the consequences more fun.
She disengaged her blade and stepped back, wiping a streak of sweat from her brow.Her sharp eyes tracked the other combatants. Shaak Ti observed from the side, her long montrals giving her a regal, unruffled air, but a faint smile played on her lips. Rey Skywheeled through a complex Ataru sequence, her movements still a bit wild, raw power not yet fully refined into grace. And Barriss Offee… Barriss was a picture of calm precision, her pale green features a mask of serene focus as she parried an automated drone’s stun bolt.Too serene.
“Your footing’s off, Rey,” Bultar called out, not unkindly.“You’re over-rotating on the sixth pass. The mirror doesn’t lie.” She jabbed a thumb at the wall, where Rey’s reflected form was indeed a blur of slightly uncontrolled momentum.
Rey landed, puffing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s faster this way.”
“It’s sloppy,” Barriss corrected softly, not looking away from her drone.“Efficiency precedes speed. A principle you seem to chronically avoid.” Her tone was dry, academic, but Bultar caught the tiny glint in Barriss’s eye as she finally deactivated her lightsaber.The drone retracted.
“Maybe I prefer chronic avoidance,” Rey shot back, a grin tugging at her mouth. “It’s more exciting.”
Shaak Ti’s warm voice floated over. “The excitement of a bruised backside on these mats is a particular thrill, I’m sure.”
Rey just laughed, the sound bright in the vast room. The camaraderie was a tangible thing, a warmth Bultar craved as much as the thrill of the fight. It was why she didn’t mind being the butt of the joke sometimes.Well, didn’t mind much.
Barriss walked towards the hydration station, her robes whispering against the padded floor. As she passed Rey, who was taking a long drink, nothing seemed amiss. But Bultar saw it—the almost imperceptible twitch of Barriss’s fingers at her side, a subtle flex of the Force that was quieter than a breath.Rey choked mid-swallow.
Her eyes went wide, and her free hand flew behind her. A faint snap-thwip sound, entirely too familiar, echoed in a brief lull between training drones. Rey straightened abruptly, her posture becoming stiff and awkward.A deep, blush-pink flush crept up her neck.
Bultar bit the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.Shaak Ti elegantly turned a chuckle into a cleared throat.
Rey slowly turned her head toward Barriss, who was now innocently sipping water, her gaze fixed on the middle distance.The Mirialan’s tattoos seemed to emphasize her flawless composure.
“Really?” Rey said, her voice tight.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Barriss replied, her voice pure, polished innocence.“Is something… riding up?”
That did it. The indignation on Rey’s face melted into a razor-sharp look of determination. The earnest padawan was gone, replaced by the clever scavenger from Jakku who’d survived on wits alone.
“Oh, it’s riding up alright,” Rey muttered.
She didn’t make a big show of it.No dramatic Force gesture. She just lunged, not for Barriss, but for the loose folds of her outer robe. Barriss, expecting a shove or a shout, was caught completely off guard. Rey’s hands weren’t elegant; they were fast and practiced, flipping the heavy fabric up and over Barriss’s head in one brutal, efficient motion.
“Wh— Hey!” Barriss’s muffled protest was almost comical. The robe enveloped her head, blinding her, and Rey didn’t stop. She whipped the long sleeves around Barriss’s torso, knotting them tightly behind her back with a ruthless, sailor-worthy efficiency. Within three seconds, Barriss stood trapped, her arms pinioned at her sides, a wriggling, robe-shaped cocoon from the shoulders up.
The mirrors showed it all from every glorious angle: Barriss Offee, Jedi Knight, reduced to a flailing bundle of fabric from the waist up, and from the waist down… pale green legs and simple, grey undertunic shorts.
A stunned silence fell, broken only by Barriss’s frustrated wriggling. Then Bultar let out a sharp, barking laugh she couldn’t hold back. Shaak Ti’s warm, rich laughter followed, a sound that filled the room.
“Rey!” Barriss’s voice was strained, indignant.“Untie me this instant! This is undignified!”
“You started it,” Rey said, circling her now-helpless friend. The earlier blush was gone, replaced by a mischievous glow.She stopped behind Barriss. “You know, on Jakku, when someone got the drop on you, you had to make sure they remembered not to try it again.”
Her hand came up—not clenched in a fist, but open.Smack.
The sound was crisp and startling in the echoey room. A playful, stinging slap delivered right to the seat of Barriss’s shorts.
Barriss yelped, a high, shocked sound she’d never have made in a real fight. She jumped forward, but with her arms bound and her vision obscured, she just stumbled, wobbling precariously on her feet. The mirrors multiplied the image: a dozen Barrisses, tripping and blushing fiercely.
“Rey Skywalker, you stop that!” she squealed, her usual deadpan composure shattered into a thousand pieces. “Master Ti!Do something!”
Shaak Ti, still laughing, wiped a tear from her eye. “I am doing something.I’m appreciating the lesson in… cause and effect. And kinetic retaliation.”
Smack.Smack.Two more, a little harder. Rey was grinning now, the sheer absurdity of it bubbling out of her. This wasn’t malice; it was familial, a release of pure, silly joy. Having grown up with no one, she now had sisters to prank and be pranked by. The humiliation was the point, the shared, red-faced laughter the real goal.
Barriss hopped from foot to foot, her pale green skin now flushed a deep emerald where her tattoos didn’t cover.“Okay!Okay!I yield!You win! Just… please, stop. And get this off my head.” The last part was a muffled whinge.Rey relented, her hands gentler now as she worked the knot free. She pulled the robe down, revealing Barriss’s face—her hair was mussed, her geometric tattoos standing out against the deep blush of her cheeks. Her expression was a mix of outrage, humiliation, and the dawning awareness of her own defeat.
Bultar strode over, clapping a hand on Barriss’s shoulder.“Chronic avoidance, huh? Looked like Rey avoided your dignity pretty efficiently.”
Barriss smoothed her robes, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes for a moment.Then, with a monumental effort, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. The blush remained, but her voice regained its dry, analytical tone.“The data has been recorded. A surprise attack utilizing unconventional materials can overcome even a prepared defense. I will… adjust my parameters.”
She finally looked at Rey, who was trying and failing to look contrite. “And my rear end will remember your parameters for the next hour, thank you.”
Rey’s laughter burst out again, open and unguarded.She bumped her shoulder against Barriss’s. “You pulled my underwear over my head in front of everyone. We’re even.”
Shaak Ti moved to the center of the mats, her smile turning secretive.“An excellent study in aggression and response. And a reminder that the Force can be used for many purposes.” Her eyes twinkled. “Now, who’s ready for some actual sparing? Perhaps with a slight… handicap?”
Bultar felt the familiar competitive fire ignite. The mirrors awaited, ready to capture the next fall, the next triumph, the next inevitable, hilarious moment of friendly defeat.The game was never really over. It was just waiting for the next move.
It was just waiting for the next move.
Bultar ignited her lightsaber, the blue plasma casting a sharp glow across her determined face. “What kind of handicap?”
“A test of awareness,” Shaak Ti said, her hands tucked into the wide sleeves of her robe. Her smile was a mystery. “The three of you, against me. But we’ll use training remotes only. No blades.”
Rey groaned good-naturedly. “You’ll still wipe the floor with us.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps the chaos of multiple opponents will create… openings.” Shaak Ti’s montrals seemed to twitch with anticipation.
The training remotes hummed to life, four spherical drones rising from a floor compartment. They hovered, their single stun-bolt emitters pulsing a soft yellow. The rules were simple: avoid the bolts, tap the remote’s central eye with a finger to deactivate it. Last one standing wins.
“Ready?” Shaak Ti asked, not assuming a stance, but simply standing relaxed in the center of the largest mat.
“Go!” Bultar shouted, immediately diving to the left as a remote streaked past her shoulder, its bolt fizzling against the mat. She rolled, came up, and made a swipe for it, but it juked away with impossible speed. Rey was a whirlwind, using the Ataru acrobatics to her advantage, leaping over a low shot. Barriss moved with economical grace, swaying just enough to let a bolt whisper past her ribs.
Shaak Ti didn’t seem to move at all. A remote fired at her back; she tilted her head, and the bolt missed by a millimeter. Another came from the front; she took a single, gliding step back. It was infuriating.
Bultar focused, pushing down her impulsiveness. She feinted toward one remote, then used a short, sharp Force shove to knock a second off its path—straight toward Rey. Rey yelped, twisting in mid-air to avoid it, and landed awkwardly. The distraction was all Barriss needed. She darted in and tapped the remote Bultar had shoved, deactivating it with a soft ping.
“Hey!” Bultar protested.
“Efficiency,” Barriss said, the ghost of a smirk on her lips.
Then Shaak Ti joined in.
It wasn’t an aggressive move. It was subtle. Devastating. As Bultar lunged for the remote near Barriss, she felt a strange, insistent tug at the waistband of her leggings. It was a firm, upward yank, executed with surgical precision by the Force itself.
Bultar stumbled, her forward momentum abruptly halted by a sudden, severe wedgie. She gasped, more in shock than pain, her hands flying back. The remote she’d been targeting zapped her squarely on the thigh. A numb tingle shot down her leg.
“Oh, you did not!” Bultar sputtered, whirling to face Shaak Ti.
The Togruta Master’s expression was one of pure, innocent focus, but her eyes were laughing. She was still effortlessly dodging bolts, a serene island in the chaos.
Rey, seeing Bultar’s predicament, barked out a laugh. It was a mistake. A remote shot at her feet, and as she jumped, Shaak Ti’s fingers twitched. The belt securing Rey’s tunic loosened, then unspooled completely. It flew off, whipping through the air to land in a heap by the wall. Rey’s tunic flopped open, forcing her to scramble to hold it closed.
“Master Ti!” Rey cried, clutching her tunic with one hand and desperately batting at a remote with the other.
“Awareness, young Skywalker,” Shaak Ti chided gently, though her smile was now fully visible. “It encompasses all things. Even your own wardrobe.”
Barriss saw an opening. With both Bultar and Rey distracted, she focused on the last active remote, calculating its trajectory. She slid forward, finger outstretched for the disabling tap. She was a breath away.
Then she froze. Her robes, from the collar down to her hem, tightened suddenly, then cinched themselves together like a giant, invisible sack was pulled over her. The fabric pinned her arms to her sides. She teetered, off-balance and utterly confined, looking like a very dignified, very flustered green cocoon.
“I… believe this is a tactical oversight,” Barriss mumbled, her voice muffled by the cloth.
Shaak Ti finally moved. She didn’t run; she flowed. She stepped around the immobilized Barriss, gently tapped the last remote, and deactivated it. The hum of the drones died, leaving sudden, heavy silence broken only by Barriss’s faint wriggling.
Bultar was still picking at the back of her leggings, her face hot. Rey was retying her belt, shaking her head in bemused defeat. And Barriss stood utterly trapped, a living monument to her Master’s superior mischief.
Shaak Ti walked over to Barriss. With a graceful wave of her hand, the Force bindings on the robes released, the fabric falling into its proper folds once more. Barriss exhaled, her cheeks a deep, mortified emerald.
“The lesson,” Shaak Ti said, her voice warm but carrying the weight of truth, “is that the greatest opponent is often the one you assume is playing by your rules. Humiliation is a powerful teacher. It burns away arrogance faster than any flame.”
Bultar finally straightened up, the phantom feel of the wedgie still lingering. She couldn’t even be properly angry. It was too perfectly executed. “You’re a menace.”
“I am a teacher,” Shaak Ti corrected, her eyes twinkling. “And now, the next lesson begins. Whoever can land a single, solid spank on me, gets out of cleaning the refreshers for a month.”
She assumed a loose, ready stance, her empty hands held open at her sides. A challenge. A true one.
Bultar, Rey, and Barriss exchanged a look. A unified, silent understanding passed between them. Temporary truce. Shared goal.
The game was definitely still on.
The game was definitely still on.
The three younger Jedi fanned out, a triangle of shared intent aimed at their Master. The air, still charged from the remotes, grew thick with a different kind of energy. This wasn’t about lightsabers or bolts. This was about touch. A single, solid, humiliating touch.
Bultar moved first. Impulsive, direct. She feinted left, then dove right, hand arcing toward Shaak Ti’s flank. It was a simple, clean grab. Or it should have been. Shaak Ti didn’t so much dodge as she seemed to liquidly pour herself around the attempt. Her own hand snapped out, not to block, but to flick Bultar’s ear—a sharp, stinging little punishment that made Bultar gasp and stumble past, clutching the side of her head.
“Too loud, my dear,” Shaak Ti murmured. “Your body shouts its intentions.”
Rey came in low, using her smaller frame, trying to get under the Master’s guard. Shaak Ti simply stepped over her, the hem of her robe brushing Rey’s nose. As Rey scrambled to pivot, a gentle but insistent push of the Force sent her sliding three feet across the polished floor on her knees, coming to a stop near Barriss with a grunt of surprise.
Barriss was the picture of analytical calm. She watched, calculating, waiting for an opening born from her friends’ failures. When Shaak Ti turned to chide Rey, Barriss struck. It was a good strike. Silent. Fast. Aimed for the back of Shaak Ti’s thigh.
Shaak Ti’s montrals twitched. She dropped into a sudden, impossibly low crouch, and Barriss’s hand swiped through empty air. Before Barriss could recover, Shaak Ti reached back—not with any hurry—and delivered two swift, crisp pats to the front of Barriss’s thighs. The sound was absurdly genteel, the implication utterly infantilizing. Barriss jerked backward as if scalded, her pale green skin flushing a spectacular shade of violet.
“Predictable,” Shaak Ti said, rising smoothly. “You wait for the perfect moment, Barriss, but perfection is a slow target.”
The next minutes were a masterclass in gentle, thorough humiliation. Bultar charged again, only to have her own tunic belt unravel and loop around her ankles, sending her crashing to the mats in a tangle of limbs and fabric. Rey tried a Jakku street-fighter trick, a feint with a handful of phantom sand, but Shaak Ti caught her wrist, spun her gently, and administered three quick, playful spanks that, while not hard, echoed with a stark clarity in the room. Rey yelped, more from shock than pain, her face burning.
Barriss attempted a coordinated Force push to unbalance their Master, but Shaak Ti redirected the energy into the mirrors, making their own flushed, frustrated reflections shimmer and wobble bizarrely. Then, with a subtle gesture, she used that same energy to hike Barriss’s undertunic up her back, exposing the waistband of her shorts and a strip of green skin before letting it snap back down.
They were panting, disheveled, and utterly defeated. Not a single successful strike. Shaak Ti stood serenely in the center, not a hair out of place. She let the silence stretch, let them feel the sting of their failure and the heat in their cheeks.
Then she broke it with a soft, melodic chuckle. She turned slightly, and with a deliberate slowness that was pure provocation, she reached back and patted her own backside through the fine fabric of her robes. The gesture was casual, teasing, utterly outrageous coming from a Jedi Master.
“My,” she sighed, her voice a ripple of warm amusement. “Such lack of conviction. Do none of you wish to put a hand to these buns? The offer stands. No cleaning duties for a month.”
It was the spark that lit the fuse. Humiliation curdled into pure, collective determination. They shared a glance—no words, just a raw, unified understanding. This was no longer three individuals failing. This was a team with a single, ridiculous, vital objective.
Bultar nodded almost imperceptibly to Rey. Rey’s eyes flicked to Barriss.
They moved as one.
Bultar didn’t charge. She prowled, drawing Shaak Ti’s primary attention, her hands up in a mock-combat stance. “Come on, then. Show us how it’s done.”
Shaak Ti smiled, ready to redirect another clumsy assault. But Rey wasn’t coming for her. Rey was a blur of motion toward the wall, launching off it with a Force-augmented spring, not at Shaak Ti, but at the high, ornate sconce that held a glow-crystal. She kicked it, not to break it, but to send it swinging wildly on its chain.
The light in the room suddenly became a lurching, dizzying pendulum of shadows and flashes. Shaak Ti’s composure flickered for a microsecond—her montrals, sensitive to vibration and spatial awareness, were overwhelmed by the chaotic strobe effect.
In that microsecond, Barriss acted. Not with a physical attack, but with a precise, powerful Force grip on the hem of Shaak Ti’s outer robe. She didn’t pull it down. She yanked it up.
The rust-colored fabric sailed upward in a graceful arc. For a breathtaking, absurd moment, Shaak Ti was standing there in just her simple, cream-colored undertunic and leggings—and over them, a pair of shockingly brief, fitted scarlet shorts that hugged the curves of her rear.
“Ha!” Bultar shouted, seeing the opening, the undeniable target finally presented.
Shaak Ti, for the first time that session, looked genuinely startled. A laugh burst from her—a real, unfettered giggle of surprise as she felt the air on the backs of her thighs. She spun to face Barriss, the motion causing the raised robes to flare out like a strange, ceremonial banner.
It was the distraction Rey needed. She dropped from her height, not with an attack, but with a surrender, falling directly in front of Shaak Ti as if spent. Shaak Ti’s instinct was to step back, to maintain space.
She stepped back directly into Bultar.
Bultar didn’t aim for a pat or a slap. She put her whole body into it, a loud, open-handed smack that landed squarely on the scarlet fabric with a report like a snapped training strap.
The sound died. The swinging light settled. Shaak Ti froze, her robes still held aloft by Barriss’s unwavering Force grip. Rey picked herself up from the floor, eyes wide.
Bultar’s hand hovered in the air. She looked at it, then at the faint imprint her fingers had left on the red shorts. She’d done it. She’d actually done it.
Slowly, Shaak Ti lowered her arms. Barriss, releasing the Force hold, let the robes whisper back down into place, covering the evidence. Shaak Ti turned to face them, her expression unreadable. Then, a slow, dazzling smile spread across her features, her white markings curving with delight.
“Well,” she said, her voice rich with approval. “It seems you can learn.”
She let the victory hang for a beat, then clapped her hands together. “The terms are satisfied. No refresher duty for the next month.” Her eyes twinkled. “For Bultar. As for you two…” She looked at Rey and Barriss. “Your cleverness deserves reward, but your earlier failures require balance."