#Anakin thought he understood the clones

[workingchemistry]

Anakin is still debating what he wants to say when he takes a seat next to his captain on a temple balcony. The pain bleeding into The Force from Rex is intense enough that it makes Anakin’s breath catch in his ribs.

Rex makes the decision for him, staring out across the planet skyline, and breaks the silence. “He Named me.”

Anakin hadn’t known that. He doesn’t know much about how clones choose their names. He’d assumed that Rex had heard the name somewhere or that if someone else had named him then it had been Cody. The two are thick as thieves and it’s clear their relationship predates being deployed together.

“Shereshoy, Resh for short.” Rex continues on, thankfully not needing a response from Anakin. In fact, if it weren’t for Anakin’s knowledge of Clone environmental awareness, he might think Rex is entirely unaware of his presence. “Said anyone brave enough to wear their mutations had earned a name.”

Anakin understands slavery. He understands making impossible choices and putting your hope in someone who ultimately fails you. He understands how it feels both to leave and to be left behind.

He doesn’t think he understands this.

[floralpools]

My Bounty.

Warnings: Smut. Vaginal, unprotected sex, force play. Minors dni

Pairing: Clone Wars (single) Anakin Skywalker x Bounty Hunter reader

Summary: Anakin Skywalker goes above and beyond to make your life difficult, taking whatever he wants without explanation. So when reader confronts him, things don’t go exactly as planned.

Word count: 1.7k

…

The meddling nature of the Jedi was nothing compared to the nature of Anakin Skywalker. His darkness seeps its way into everything. His dark robe, gloves, boots, curls, eyes. He was the darkness enveloping me in a dizzying spiral of hate and desire. And he did it again. He stole my bounty just so he could give me that dark look.

His gaze observes the way my fists clench and how I chew my bottom lip. A wicked smirk dances on his face as clones praise and pat him on the back. He knew exactly what he was doing, watching me with an intensity, that had me shaking.

Finally, Anakin’s eyes move away from my figure, beckoned by his Master. He stalks towards Obi-Wan Kenobi and his mocking facade breaks instantly. I nearly scream at the sight. What was he hoping to achieve? Stealing my potential profits is certainly an interesting pastime, not one you would expect from “the chosen one.”

I huff out my frustration, deflating my tense shoulders. With his back now turned, I relax. Pivoting on my heel, I hurry away from the scene. On to the next hunt, before Skywalker gets the chance to take it from me.

Frankly, I have no clue how it started, his fixation with making me miserable. I almost feel paranoid, as if I’m making up the whole debacle. But from the way he looks at me, unspeaking, I know this truly is my reality. Anakin Skywalker hates me.

...

Now glaring at my reflection within the confines of my room, my restraint runs thin. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna confront him because that sort of thing always goes well.

I head out towards the Jedi temple where Skywalker is most likely training his Padawan. While marching over, I contemplate the arguments I will bring up when face-to-face with him. How I will look into those comet-like eyes and not get distracted by his plump lips.

Moral of the story, I’m going to put an end to this one-sided game we play.

Once my vision connects with his broad back, his name escapes me without hesitation, “Anakin.” Saying it takes me by surprise, seeing as though I’ve never said it before. But clearly, it shocks him more, as when he turns around, his eyes are vaguely wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Y/n,” he says back flatly, face becoming neutral. Now I’m really taken aback by the way my name rolls off his tongue. Quickly, I collect myself and remember my well-thought-out points.

“What are you doing?” And out the window they go.

Anakin quirks his head quizzically. His silent reply to my rather stupid question ticks me off further. I’m practically vibrating with rage. “That was my mark you stole today Skywalker, you realize that?”

As if he’s finally understood my inarticulate speech, his lips part dumbly in “awe.” There he goes pushing my buttons, silently watching me unravel. “You think I wouldn’t notice?“ My face flushes red as I elaborate. “All the crooks you’ve miraculously caught are always the bounty that I’m after.”

There's a beat of silence where he inspects the way my chest heaves in exasperation. Then he speaks. “About time you did.” He states matter-of-factly. My jaw drops. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve been waiting for you to notice,” he remarks with a bored look.

“Notice what?” I spit out, scowling at him.

“Me,” he finishes plainly. Silence engulfs us again and I take note of how close we’ve become. “Why would you want that?” I question, utterly perplexed.

“What do you mean?” Anakin’s brows furrow.

“I mean you’ve never spoken to me before.”

“Neither have you.” He counters. My fists tremble.

“Why then? Why do you need me to notice you?” I demand.

“What other reason can there be?” He grumbles while giving me a once-over, and then something clicks. My face falls.

“Those looks you give me-”

“Say just how much I want you, more than words ever could.” He ends my sentence, his face remaining stoic. My heart hammers wildly. I suspect he’s now waiting for me to make a move, to say anything, maybe even reject him. Instead, I hastily circle my head around, surveilling for bystanders before frantically grasping at his robe and pushing him into a nearby room. His facade flatters once again and I see puzzlement consume his face.

After I awkwardly turn the door knob and take us into the empty room, I shove him away. Anakin staggers back, looking completely disoriented, almost regretful. “Y/n?” He trails off. My anger is radiating off my body, and I know he can feel it.

“You should’ve said something,” I assert, seething.

“I’m-“ Anakin is abruptly cut off by my lips smashing against his. With my arms reaching around his neck, I can feel his body freeze. After a short moment, I start to peel away, dejected by his stillness. But Anakin instantly chases after me, no longer shying away.

He gropes my waist, and one arm pulls around it, while the other slides up my spine to rest between my shoulder blades. A moan evades my throat and is met with a deep groan.

His palms carve out my figure and fist at my clothes. Whines rush out my mouth as his tongue mingles with mine. He vigorously makes work of me, and I have to pull away. Though his lips instinctively follow me, I’m out of reach, so he settles for my neck. Sucking fervently, one may fear the spots he’s making, but in this moment, truthfully, I couldn't care less.

“Ani,” I whimper, and he growls against my nape in response. “Fuck, I need you,” I whisper. I feel his movements lurch and he mumbles something, but I can't seem to hear it over my haggard breathing.

He tears himself away from my neck, still keeping my body pressed against his. He then shifts his gaze around the room. “There’s no furniture here, I’ll just have to fuck you standing.” An audible gasp flees my mouth as Anakin slings my body around his torso, legs straddling his hips. His hands clench around my thighs as he hoists me up, securing me in place.

Fortunately, the short gown I threw on this morning made it easy for Anakin's crotch to caress my core through his pants. I push down on him and he groans at our proximity. "I was wondering when you would snap," Anakin mutters into my ear as his grip tightens. I whimper. "Screw you."

"Be patient. You will." He soothes. Digging my front teeth into my bottom lip, I drop my forehead to his shoulder as our lower halves grind against one another.

The sounds of our moans crowd the room and I can't take it anymore. "Kriff patience, I'm done waiting, General," I command in the most sensual voice I can muster. Evidently, my attempt to provoke him works because one of his hands leaves my thigh and clutches my hair in a fist, tugging my head back so his lips can crash into mine again. His other hand shifts down to his slacks. His breath hitches when he releases his cock, and so does mine when it springs up to my clothed clit. "Oh maker," I just about scream, head falling back.

His hands make quick work moving my underwear aside, and his member brushes against my folds. I shudder and screw my eyelids shut. I feel Anakin's gaze fixate on me. "Look at me." Hearing his order, I immediately obey.

Eyes fluttering open, I look into his lust-filled ones. Getting flustered by their heat, I squirm. "Y/n." He hushes, breath blowing across my face. Glancing at his features briefly, I nod, communicating what we both desperately need.

We both hold our breaths as he brings me down on his length in a slow glide. His cock pierces my entrance, and I clamp down on my incoming yelp. He was big. I hear him distractedly repeat my name, face buried in my collar. My eyes look to the ceiling in prayer.

His movements dissipate midway, and I feel his stomach clench. "You take me so well." He mumbles almost to himself. All I can do is bob my head in response. In this short pause, the pain disperses and all I feel is him - pleasure, darkness. His arms snake around my waist while mine harden around his nape.

Suddenly, he plunges into me, filling me up completely. My cry echoes throughout the room and I instantly sink my teeth into the cartilage of his ear. The growl that leaves him is next to primal. His rhythmic pounding begins to pick up speed, and I can barely keep up with each stroke. "Kiss me," he stammers out. Reeling back, I lock eyes with him before diving my tongue into his mouth.

His hips snap into my own, over and over. His stomach clenches once more and he pants into my mouth, "I'm close." Though I feel incredible, I'm not quite close to my limit, and he senses it.

One of his palms unravels from my body, steadily hovering over my center. Thinking he's going to touch me, I arch my back away from his embrace to allow space for his digits to meet my clit. But, as I wait, an unexpected pressure attacks my core. I gasp away from his lips and I peer down, leaning my forehead on his.

His hand isn't physically touching me, yet I feel as though I'm close to climaxing. Bewildered, I shoot my eyes from his floating hand to his lewd expression. His grin is strangely smug as he watches me. Then it registers: he's using the force to make me cum. Completely stunned, I simply bore my eyes into him, mouth agape.

Our orgasms come at once and wash over us at his charge. He puffs out a loud sigh of relief and continues to hold me, pumping slower than before, til the action ceases.

"Maker," I huff, "Next time, just use your words, and I'm yours." A smile forms on his face. He sheepishly nods, "Next time."

[estranged-archive]

“seven depraved days” — 18+ dd:dne by @estranged-girl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64336096

multi-chapter work in progress | 12.2k words

inspired by you by caroline kepnes — in which you are a jedi knight in the midst of the current clone war’s ceasefire; deployed for a simple diplomatic mission on the planet artemisium for a week.

there’s apparently a plumbing issue at the temple forcing everyone to use communal bathrooms, and despite not being very close, you kindly offer anakin skywalker the code to your quarters so he can take a warm shower.

what you don’t know is, anakin also happens to have a week off—to attend order-mandated ‘rebalancing sessions’—and he intends to spend that free time in your personal space without your knowledge, because you are what he calls his “muse.”

𓁼 warnings: dead dove: do not eat, dubcon/noncon elements, smut, non-consensual voyeurism, trespassing, invasion of privacy, male masturbation, scent kink, panty kink, clothing theft, power imbalance, men whimpering

— additional tags: canon divergence of revenge of the sith, unnamed reader (no ‘y/n’), pov anakin skywalker + first person, pov alternating + second person

— chapters with smut marked with “𓌖” in title

— excerpt from chapter 2: “7 days left”

A few clicks, a hiss, and I’m inside a chamber I’m sure no one else besides me has seen thus far. I’d say you were too naïve in giving me your security code. But I’m going to presume you gave it to me, I alone, and had anyone else asked, you would have shut them down.

Even though you’ve been gone for a few days already, your scent still wafts from the place, hitting me like a brick; your lingering has marked the space. I swear I’m getting drunk off of your air. It’s so potent in some spots that it instinctively makes me turn on my heel to search for you. Within these walls, you carry out your life, a life I can only speculate about. The game of speculation is sending warmth to my lower half. Given your detachment as a poster girl of the Jedi, I’m curious about the extent of your belongings. You’re my pure muse, but I’m sure you’ll have some flaw, some humanity, a struggle of some kind.

I’m just going to shower today. I’m going to respect your space. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. But I can’t help but make so many assumptions based on your quarters.

I always wondered what it would look like. You follow nonattachment to a T; the same clean lines, but you have taste, and no amount of flowy fabric can obscure your apparent beauty. But your quarters are surprisingly sentimental for such a non-attached person. You’re meticulous, but not cold. You’re real. Countless books and scrolls in an organized chaos. Keepsakes from different planets you’ve visited, huh? You must be planning to bring one back from Artemisium. Maybe a shell or rock of some kind, by the ocean. You have a desk and it looks like you’ve left your datapad there. A stylus is not far from it.

You’re not a messy girl, really; I understood that from a single glance around this room. You like to follow rules—you tidied up before you left, or maybe you have a disposition to cleanliness. Even then, you aren’t perfect. You don’t force your space to be ready for guests 24/7. Some books are collecting dust you haven’t feathered away yet, and you left things here and there, albeit very few, out of place. You probably forgot to put them back in a rush to leave. I don’t mind it at all; I’m glad you left some things out in the open so I can learn more about you.

Your bed is made, but the sheets are a bit rustled; you slept here last. There’s one pillow the length of your bed’s width, placed neat and taut, but there’s a clear indent on the side of the bed you prefer. I brush my fingers across the fabric of where you sleep, and you’re enticing me to the other side already. There’s only a simple linen sheet draped over the whole thing. Minimal and ascetic, as I thought. Classy. But I’m sure you must indulge in a worldly thing, something, anything. I know I shouldn’t, but the way you toy with me with this stilted perfection makes me want to find it.

[mypizzawizard]

I just felt like I had to share my experience rewatching rots in cinemas cuz it was so precious.

This has been my favorite sw movie since I first watched the movies nearly ten years ago. It’s from my favorite trilogy with my favorite characters who I feel most connected to, and I have always felt sad I never got to experience it on the big screen, the other day I was given that oppurtunity.

But what was equally as impactful as seeing Obi-Wan and Anakin battling it out on Mustafar, was also to see my best friend experience it for the first time and her reaction to it.

We talked about seeing it together for a month, she never had any interest in watching star wars but was up for it for my sake.

The weekend before she watched The Phantom Menace, thought it was okay but not without its flaws, the same with Attack of the clones although she seemed somewhat more invested in that one.

However she was mildly curious going into the cinema, I told her nothing of the movie or the plotlines or how great i and everyone else thought it was mainly because I wanted her to experience it for herself.

All she knew was that it was my favorite movie, I was jealous of her cuz she would see it for the first time on the big screen, and it was about how Anakin falls to the dark side and becomes Vader. Thats all she knew and I said nothing further about it, playing it cool and casual.

Now when the movie starts she probably doesn’t have that high expectations and she just quietly watches it, and she does have some sceptical reactions about Anakin executing Dooku.

We go forward with Ani's Visions, Palpatine's tale about Plagueis where she gave me a long look when she finally understood, watching Obi-Wan Vs Grievous with more interest and then the same with Windu Vs Palpatine.

This is where she gets REALLY into it when Anakin joins along and she looks at me several times obviously seeing my distressed reaction too, constantly asking if Anakin will kill him, then we obviously see him being declared as Vader while she is so stressed about his actions, not wanting him to turn to the dark side.

Once Order 66 is executed i can see she is completely blown away by it, and the movie and seeing her reaction on Anakin marching on the temple and order 66 was priceless. By this point she had curled up in her seat, gripping it while she watched in shock and sometimes slapped me on the arm when something shocking happened and giving me long glances.

AND HER REACTION TO THE YOUNGLINGS.

It was fr dead quiet in the cinema and up there on the back she audibly gasped "no", dropping her jaw conpletely on the floor while she just stared large-eyed at Anakin's actions.

We go forwards to the battle of the heroes, we see Obi-Wan duel against Anakin on Mustafar while Yoda takes on Palps, where she was so worried for Yoda and constantly asking if he was dead and so on.

At the end, she cried when we saw Padmes funeral, Anakin becoming Vader, and the twins being hidden away.

Once we got on the train she yapped constantly about the movie and Anakin's actions and she immediately asked me what will happen to him and I said thats what we see in the next trilogy where we follow Luke and Leia, and we talked about it more and she was so keen on knowing whether Anakin redeems himself.

One touching thing she said was that before she had an idea what star wars was about and that she thought it was just space battles and the usual, but she was so shocked it was really a love story, and how that just blew her away.

When she got home she called me and demanded that I give her an entire list of all sw media ever produced in chronological order so she could watch it, and she actually begged me quite stubbornly multiple times lol when I forgot it.

I just thought this was such a precious reaction for people who have never seen SW before and how great of a movie ROTS truly is to give such an effect.

Mind you, she can be quite picky with loving movies and shows, but I have never seen her actually get so into a movie before and I love how this experience and ROTS being the great movie it is, having made a new fan to the franchise and yeah im so glad its back in theatres cuz theres so many people out there who gets to experience it for the first time! :)

[lazerswordweilder]

I was falling off a cliff, surprisingly General Skywalker wasn’t the one who threw me off, worryingly that meant he wasn’t at the bottom to catch me. Ventress laughed at me, I ran through the scenario.

The wall was too far away for me to grab. The ground was the acid oceans of this planet. Even if I was wearing all my armour and it was in its best condition it wouldn’t save me. This isn’t something I can survive.

Suddenly Ventress was thrown to the side, someone jumped after me, a black blur fell down after me, a blue eye stared into my visor and a voice I recognised yelled “REX!” No. No way. General Skywalker can take falls, he can’t take acid.

Arms wrapped around me, padded fingertips gripped my blacks and claws were carefully stopped from piercing my skin. But then we went up, my helmet was pressed into the black fabric covering his shoulder so I couldn’t see what was happening.

The sound of wings flapping and cutting through air echoed, “I’m Anakin. Careful, don’t squirm, I don’t want to have to hurt you to keep you in the air.” a voice similar to General Skywalkers said, but there was something wrong, something that came through my helmet as static, it made my hand rest over my blaster incase this wasn’t just another General Skywalker thing.

My heart leapt into my throat as we went down and leaves and branches were suddenly scratching across me. I could hear the sound of feet hitting dirt, but General Skywalker didn’t let me move “You. You clone are used to non-human Jedi.” he said,

“Yes sir.” I replied to him

“So you wouldn’t freak out or think less of me if I wasn’t human, if I were dangerous, would you?” he asked

“No sir.” I told him

“You can speak freely Rex. Don’t lie to me.” he told me

“That was my answer sir, I would never.” I reassured him. He dropped me, and when I looked up I understood.

General Skywalker stared at me, horns growing out of his hair, like a crown, one of his eyes closed, hands behind him back, bootless with clawed feet, and wings behind him. Staring at me, he wasn’t scared, but had the same look I recognised from shinies meeting their Jetii(se) for the first time.

It was clear I needed to handle this well “Do you know where we are sir?” I asked

“Not specifically where we are, but camps that way, 6 clicks.” he gestured to my right, revealing clawed hands.

Later that day I talked with Kix,

“Do you know that General Skywalker isn’t human?” I asked, he was a medic he should know. Kixes eyes widened

“How’d you figure it out?” he asked

“He jumped off a cliff to save me, flew us away, had to show me himself.” I explained

“Flew?!” Kix asked “I found out because of a blood test, remember that time he got poisoned?”

“He seemed anxious about revealing it, I think he only did it to save me.” I added

“That makes sense. The galaxy is biased against non-humans, you think he’s a shape shifter?” Kix asked

“I thought it was either than or an illusion of sorts, Jetii mind tricks you know?” I told him

“A combination maybe? He’s had his back against walls, shots have missed him and gone past his back.” Kix listed

“Maybe. More importantly, show we push? Bring this up?” I asked

“It could help him, self esteem and all. I think General Kenobi and Commander Tano know.” Kix replied “But we shouldn’t push him.”

“He’s not weak.” I argued

“Even a small freak-out could prove disaster during war time.” Kix countered

“I don’t know.” I told Kix “Maybe we’ll ask the other Jetii, see if they have any other information.”

10 - Masterpost

[425599167]

A year later, Tales of the Empire remains frustratingly average. Since Barriss wasn't even alluded to in Season 1 of Ahsoka, and she doesn't easily fit into any known projects, I don't think there are plans to explore her further. TotE is all we're getting for the next year, probably a lot longer, until whenever they think of a story they want her for.

I have complicated feelings about how Barriss got handled in TCW, and I know a lot of my readers outright dislike it, but anyone who enjoys my writing should know I can trace nearly everything I did with Barriss back to something in her canon appearances. I will defend TCW's writing for that reason. Watching TotE, there's hardly anything for me to work with. I can come up with ideas, but they're me filling in completely empty space, not building on the text. Barriss's motives are hardly delved into, and the small hints wouldn't be understood unless you're already deeply invested in her character. A prime example is Lyn saying Barriss accused the Jedi Council of treason, which is not what Barriss said, informing us of Lyn's warped interpretation and contrasting it with what Barriss actually believes. Most viewers aren't going to understand that, and I don't blame them. At the very least include more of Barriss's thoughts instead of assuming an arc from 2013 is still fresh in everyone's minds.

The story doesn't build up anything or involve Barriss in larger events. In the middle of Rebels Season 2, Ahsoka was absent for a few episodes, implicitly investigating Vader after realizing who he was. It occurred to me that she might be going to Barriss, and I thought harder about it after TotE because Barriss had inside info on the inquisitors. But there's nothing in Rebels suggesting Ahsoka went to Barriss. Nothing in TotE suggests Barriss knew Vader is Anakin because they're never shown interacting beyond looking in each other's direction. Nothing implies Barriss and Vader interacted off-screen. Barriss knowing Vader is Anakin also raises the question of why she didn't already tell Ahsoka, and I came up with some plausible explanations before finally stopping myself. I wanted an interesting story so badly that I followed a series of baseless assumptions when there's the same amount of evidence the writers put no thought into any of this.

They forgot her hand tattoos. I'd like to study the visuals, but it's hard for me to believe in the creative team when they forgot a key aspect of Barriss's design on multiple character models. Mirialan tattoos mark achievements, they are important, and Barriss is missing several with no explanation. I tried to parallel Barriss's outfit with Ahsoka's in the same way Ahsoka took some cues from Barriss, but Barriss's final outfit looks boring. There are some similarities to Ahsoka's Clone Wars attire, like the belt, the white fur lining and hood sorta resemble lekku, and she's wearing red. Kinda. It's barely even a shade of red. The color is probably to make her stand out against the snow.

It just isn't worth the effort of analyzing. TotE was the most adequate, straightforward piece of Star Wars media I've seen in a while. That's why during the past year, even within the small niche of Barriss fans, the number of people with any passion for it was in the single digits. People generally accepted the story, but it wasn't exciting or intriguing enough to keep talking about.

[darth-jess]

To the Anti-Jedi/Pro-Anakin Crowd

Pt. 3 of It's Okay to Love the Jedi and Anakin at the Same Time

(See my other posts –> It's Okay to Love Anakin and the Jedi at the Same Time, and To the Anti-Anakin/Pro-Jedi Crowd)

The Jedi Order (regardless of whether you ascribe to Canon or Legends) is an incredibly beautiful religious order that survived for thousands of years with a philosophy of compassion and understanding, as well as a dedication to preserving life and protecting those who could not protect themselves.

When you think about who Anakin is at his core– someone who very literally risks his own life to help others with no thought of reward as a nine year old boy– he easily embodies what it means to be a Jedi, and Qui-Gon recognizes this.

For me personally, it doesn't make sense to love Anakin and hate the Jedi Order, because Anakin truly loved being a Jedi. And the only thing more important to him than being a Jedi was being with Padmé.

We pro-Anakin people can discuss all we want about how the Jedi wronged Anakin, but it will never change the fact that being a Jedi was his calling and he loved it. It was his passion. He felt like he was truly doing good as a Jedi. Which is why Padmé never asked (and never would have asked) Anakin to leave. She knew how much it meant to him, she understood the purpose it gave him.

We also cannot ignore the fact that the Jedi Order is not perfectly represented by its members. Just as we cannot pick out one single person from any religion and say, "All people from that religion are like this" we also cannot pick out one (or even a few) Jedi and say the same.

I think a lot of people are overly critical of the Jedi Order because there were many Jedi who were not perfect Jedi. Yet this is a bit of a ridiculous standard to hold anyone to. Every single Jedi, Master Yoda included, was often tested by their circumstances and sometimes they failed.

Even the very best do not always succeed.

Yet, the failings of the Jedi Order in the Prequels are not due to a flawed core ideology, they are due to the mistakes of good people with good intentions, under the intense pressure of war and the manipulations of a Sith Lord.

What it means to be a Jedi is an ideal that no one will ever fully embody. Because ideals, while perfect in conception, are interpreted and played out by imperfect people– because everyone is flawed, no one is perfect, it's a fact of existence. Jedi like Yoda and Qui-Gon are a few of the (many) Jedi who do a wonderful (if imperfect) job of embodying the Jedi Ideal. But then you have Jedi like Ki-Adi Mundi (at least in Legends) who is so emotionally distant he seems less compassionate and more cold.

I firmly believe it is unfair to judge the entire philosophy of the Jedi Order by its members who do a poor job of embodying the Jedi Ideal, or even on the mistakes better Jedi make.

The Jedi Order is not some cult that forces people into it– parents can decide whether or not to give up their child to the Jedi, and that child can choose to leave at any time.

Even in the Revenge of the Sith novelization, Anakin decides he's going to leave the Jedi Order when he finds out Padmé is pregnant. He could have left the Jedi Order at any time before that, he could have lived happily with his rich wife. But when Anakin makes this decision, he is not running from the Jedi, he is running toward his family.

If he could have remained a Jedi and had a family with Padmé, he absolutely would have.

Anakin truly believed in being a Jedi. He made it a part of who he was as a person, and even though he broke the Jedi code of conduct on multiple occasions, he still believed in it. It's why in the Revenge of the Sith novelization he feels so awful about the way he killed Dooku– he understood it was wrong, and not the Jedi way, and he doesn't feel good about it.

Nearing the end of the Clone Wars, Anakin may have lost faith in (at least some of) the decisions of the Jedi Council, but Anakin doesn't ever lose faith in the Jedi as a whole– until he's given no other choice, when Mace Windu is about to kill Palpatine.

(See my post –> Was Mace Windu About to Defeat Sidious? and my post –> Anakin's Breaking Point where I use quotes from the ROTS novelization and the movie to discuss Palpatine's terrifying manipulation of Anakin and the battle in the Chancellor's Office.)

The only reason he betrays the Jedi is because he believes it is the only way to save Padmé, and this is made abundantly clear in the Revenge of the Sith novelization. He doesn't hate the Jedi, but he cannot imagine living without Padmé.

Even when Anakin says, "From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!" in Revenge of the Sith, it's more because the Jedi are standing in his way. The Jedi would not make him a Jedi Master– and he didn't really care about the rank, it was more that he wanted to read the secret texts in the Jedi Archives that only Jedi Masters could read to find a way to save Padmé. And then, Palpatine will not teach him how to save Padmé until the Jedi are destroyed.

In conclusion to this three post series, the Jedi Order wronged Anakin in so many ways, and we can't overlook that. But it was less due to Jedi philosophy, and more due to Jedi politics and the interpretations of certain Jedi at the time.

Also, Anakin wasn't brainwashed by the Jedi– he regularly disobeyed the Council and carved out his own path. And yet, being a Jedi was still very meaningful to Anakin and we can't overlook that either.

I realize I'm probably leaving stuff out, but this post was getting too long. If you have any problems or concerns, feel free to send me an ask about it!

[awkward-tension-art]

Ruins of a Republic Chp. 1 (Rex x Reader)

Heyo! I wanted to have a little series with the 501st doctor and delve into their mental state after the rise of the Empire. Not entirely sure how long this specific fic will be, or what the real end goal is but I'll have fun with it! Minimally Proofread

Caduceus Series

Haunted

Warnings: Flashbacks, Depression, grief, hallucinations, reader is medic/doctor, reader, fall of the Republic, death, PTSD, trauma, reader is genuinely in an unsafe headspace, Reader x Rex, ANGST

“Hey Doc…” 

You looked up from your desk in the medical bay. General Skywalker was in the doorway, looking somewhat sheepish and concerned. 

“General!” You shot to your feet and saluted, “Do you need something?” 

“Uh…Yea. Kind of…” He looked around, making sure no one was in the medical bay. Once cleared, he stepped forward, giving the two of you privacy, “I wanted to say I’m sorry, for splitting you and Rex up.” 

Ah…This was about the Siege of Mandalore. Your General thought it best that your medical expertise remain with the 501st instead of being split off to the 332nd Company. You wanted to remain by your cyare’s side, but Skywalker thought it best you return to Coruscant with him and his men to help the people here.

“It’s alright, I understood your reasoning,” You gave him an understanding smile, “I trust Rex. I know he’ll return to me.”

“Me too.” The Jedi, despite looking tired, returned a small smirk, “But…There’s one more thing. Can you…see Padme? Make sure she’s OK?” 

Was Senator Amidala sick?

You were in the military base, in the medical bay dealing with the wounds of those who survived the temple attack. Your emotions had shut down, leaving you numb. And based on the look of the Clone Troopers around you, they were too.

The only thing you felt was the ache and sting of your arm. The pain from Umbara would flare up when you’ve overworked yourself. With Rex somewhere unknown and General Skywalker gone…It was easy for you to swallow your pain and keep working.

“Doctor.” A familiar voice, Senator Organa, roused you from your thoughts enough to make you look up from giving Appo painkillers. The last you saw of the senator was his panicked fleeing from the Jedi Temple.

It’s been…how long?

Days? Days. How many days? Two at most. Has to be it.

It was hard to remember how many days since the Empire was formed on the bodies of the Jedi. Of Clones. Of those lost to the war.

He gave you a small bow, greeting you politely. He stood stiffly in the doorway, “I need to speak with you.” 

“Are you injured, Senator?” Your voice didn’t sound like yours. It was flat. Empty. Void. Since the news of the Jedi, your General included, becoming traitors and sentenced to death, your grief has been near overwhelming. Anakin and Obi-wan were your friends. As close to friends as your status allowed.

And now they’re gone, with the others. However, Ahsoka was still missing. As well as Rex. So you clung onto that hope desperately.

You approached him, holding a glass bottle of bacta in your hand. Your gaze roamed him up and down, trying to find out what ailed him.

His eyes, tired yet kind, looked you over, “Have…you slept?” 

“Are you OK, Saenator?” You bypassed his question about you, “What do you need?”

“Senator Amidala…is dead.” 

The bottle slipped from your fingers and shattered on the floor. 

Padme sobbed behind you. It seemed just a few hours ago you told her the news of twins. Two babies in her womb. There was joy. Happiness and laughter as she hugged you tightly. 

And now, the both of you stared, helpless as the Jedi Temple burned in the distance. 

“Padme,” You gasped her name, “I…I need to…”

“Go!” She nodded, hand rubbing her baby bump in stress, “Go…” Before you could leave, she grabbed your hand and squeezed, “Be safe, my friend. Please.” 

You nodded and rushed from her quarters to get a speeder to the temple. You had to find General Skywalker, he would know what was going on!

Haunted. 

That's what your friends and family called you now. 

Haunted. 

War would do that. Turn you into someone else. Someone you weren’t supposed to be.

Now that the war was over, what was left? 

Senator Amidala Funeral to be Held on Naboo in 3 Standard Days

She was gone. She and her babies…gone. 

With Obi-Wan…With Anakin…With the other Jedi you had known…

All gone.

You knew grief. Of course you knew grief. But this? This was….

It left you empty. Hollow. A shell of your former self.

The Empire was 5 days old now. The Republic, and your Jedi friends, have been dead for 5 days. Time had slowed down. Yet, it also sped up.

What have you done since Organa had ordered you home while the military transitioned to Imperial? 

You desperately clung to the hope that Rex would return to you.

The barracks were empty when Cody spoke those words to you. 

“I’m sorry…He’s gone.” 

His words didn’t form properly in your head. The shock refused to let them make sense to you.

He had returned to Coruscant from Utapau, looking as broken as you did. As haunted as you. As empty. Not only did he come confirming the news of General Kenobi’s death, he brought news on Rex, Jesse and Ahsoka.

Rex…went down with the Tribunal. 

Something inside of you broke in that instant. 

How…

How?

He survived worse. Countless battles. Countless near-death experiences. 

And he goes down with a ship…?

It didn’t make sense to you. Something was computing in your overwhelmed brain.

Rex, your soul, your heart, your love, was dead. 

Dead.

Dead. 

Dead. 

Something inside of you broke. 

What was left for you in this Empire? 

Among the death of those you loved and cherished. What remained?

An injured arm that would never properly heal, reminding you of Umbara.

Comrades you no longer recognize, who lost their names to numbers.

Through the Commander's words, you realized something about your surroundings.

Fives was sitting on the bed across from you, beside him was Tup. Hardcase was leaning against the wall, watching something down the hall. Kix was looking over one of the sleeping troopers, Ahsoka next to him. Padme was lying on an empty bed, with Anakin brushing her hair out of her face. 

Rex, your love, was beside Cody. His beautiful brown eyes looking over your sleepless form. 

Hallucinations. 

You recognized what broke. What can never be repaired.

Your mind had shattered. 

“She spoke of you, you know.” Senator Mothma informed you kindly as you stepped onto the ship to Naboo, “She considered you a friend, despite how infrequently you two spent time together.” 

You were invited to the funeral along with some of her friends. To watch Padme be put to rest. Along with her children. 

It's been 7 days since this Empire was born. And 2 days since your heart was ripped from your chest.

“She was a friend.” Was all you could say as you took a seat on the ship. Kix sat down to your left. Rex was at your right. Fives was across the deck, leaning against Hardcase. The two of them were getting comfortable, intending to sleep the entire trip. 

You watched them settle, breathing slow. Calm. 

Someone, Jar-Jar, Called your name, snapping you to attention. 

“Yousa lookee winkin.” The Gungan said, preparing to sit down on your left. Kix quickly stood, moving to sit back down next to Rex. 

“It’s been a long few days, Jar-jar.” You answered him, continuing to watch Fives and Tup, “Everyone is gone.”

“Me heard about Captain Rex. Me am sorry,” He put a kind hand on your shoulder, “Me could tell hesa liked yousa. Especially when yousa cured da blue shadow virus. Good palos, yousa and hesa.”

Hiding the relationship didn’t matter anymore. He was gone, and no one could hurt him.

“I loved him, Jar-Jar.” You finally spoke those words aloud, for all those on the ship to hear, “He and I were together.” 

Despite keeping your blank stare ahead, you knew the others, senators, admirals…they stared. 

You didn’t care. You didn’t have the strength.

Jar-Jar tilted his head slightly and nodded, “Did yousa wanten to marryen him?”

Did you?

Clone life-span was short. Half of yours. Would you have swore yourself to him? In love? In marriage? 

“Yes, Jar-Jar. I did.” you responded with no hesitation.

He squeezed your shoulder in sympathy, “Yous were his and hesa was yous?”

“Yes, Jar-Jar.” You still stared ahead, haunted by those you’ve lost. 

Rex squeezed your braced hand, and you swear you could feel it.

[yoitsjay]

Mom?

Pairings: platonic 501st x older! Reader

Summary: your the 501st's chief doctor, and mother figure.

Warnings: fluff fluff

Word count: 767

You were senior Chief medical practitioner, which meant you were in charge of all the battalions.

However you couldn't manage your life with such a huge responsibility, so you demoted yourself to chief medical practitioner, and started working for the 501st. Having clones so ready to help you with whatever you needed was nice, and eventually you had built up a separate squad, entirely based on medicine and war injuries.

You were so soft and caring towards the clones, acting like a mother to a lot of them, which they didn’t really have. You were a tad bit older than Obi-wan being thirty seven, but you were very athletic for your age and never slowed anyone down. Though you stuck to the backlines because you didn’t want to get hurt, and obviously the 501st didn’t want you hurt since you were the kindest and gentlest doctor they’ve had.

Tup called you mom once when you had bandaged up his bruised knuckles, he got them from punching a droid, obviously, and you scolded him as you wrapped his end. Though he was smiling and laughing you were dead serious. But the look on your face when he got up and said. “Thanks mom!” With no hesitation before leaving?

Yeah you kind of cried, a lot. Like so much that Rex heard you wailing from the mess hall so he came to check on you. When you told him Tup kind of called you mom he laughed a bit, and wiped your tears before helping you sit down.

After that you noticed a lot more clones slipping up and calling you mom or momma, every time you teared up a bit but carried on with your work. Anakin Skywalker had been in the mess hall when you had surprised a clone batch with a cake for their “Birthday” after praying to see what day they were created, and then celebrated that respective day.

None of the clones had ever experienced birthdays, but you wanted to inspire them, inspire them to fight harder, be more meticulous so that they could survive to the next birthday. A lot of them did, and throughout the long years of the clone wars, you helped many clones celebrate their “creation day”.

Anakin was grateful for all you were doing, despite it being somewhat questionable to the kaminoans and the republic. You didn’t really give a rats ass to what they thought though. You had your boys, and that was enough.

You never got married, or had kids, nor did you want to, because of a lot of these men. You had even taken Anakin under your wing, you understood that he had lost his mother, yet despite that you made sure he was loved and cared for just as much as he would have been with his mother. He was grateful for you too. The mom of the 501st.

So when your fortieth birthday came around, and you were feeling old and slow, Fives, Echo, Rex, Jesse and Kix all took you out to 79’s, and then to a shooting range where they taught you some things. Then they had taken you out for a really nice dinner downtown, courtesy of Anakin and his credits.

By the end of the night you were crying into their group hug, kissing every one of their cheeks before you pulled away.

“Oh my beautiful boys. Thank you.” You spoke up softly, seeing them all grinning down at you. “Anytime momma.” Fives beamed, laughing as you pinched his cheek. They brought you back to your apartment on Coruscant, which was a beautiful penthouse you got to live in for free, and they all said good night to you.

Somehow, you found Anakin in your apartment with a bottle of your favorite wine, and some desert, which also happened to be your favorite and native to your home planet. “Anakin! you didn’t need to do anything like this!” You exclaimed, walking to him as he embraced you tightly.

“I wanted to, you’ve cared for me, for everyone in the 501st, so much. You’ve become our- well- our mom.” He said honestly, albeit a little bashful. You smiled at him, cupping his cheek gently. “Oh Anakin, your mother would be so proud of you, I hope you know that.” You whispered, and he nodded, closing his eyes for a moment before he pulled away and poured the wine, and then cut up the desert.

It was the best birthday you’ve ever had. and who knows, maybe you just prevented Anakin becoming darth vader, maybe you’ve saved billions of lives.

Maybe.

➺

Tag list:

Rex:

Fives:

Jesse:

Tcw:

All:

@moomoog017

[padawanlost]

Is there a Star Wars book when anakin watches Shmi get beaten up in front of him and if there is what book is it

We don’t get much in terms of Shmi’s pov. Most of what we know of their time with Watto comes from unreliable narrators, mostly Anakin. So, no, I can’t think of any scene right now where we witness Watto physically abusing her in front of Anakin.

That being said, we do have proof that Watto was physically abusive to Anakin:

“He wasn’t sure how he would feel about seeing the slaver, even if Watto had nothing to do with bringing any harm to Shmi. Watto had treated him better than most in Mos Espa treated their slaves, and hadn’t beaten him too often, but still, it hung in Anakin’s thoughts that Watto had not let Shmi go with him when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had bought out his slave debt. Anakin understood that he was probably just deflecting some of his own guilt about leaving his mother with Watto, who was a businessman, after all.” AOTC Novelization When Count Dooku flies at him, blade flashing, Watto’s fist cracks out from Anakin’s childhood to knock the Sith Lord tumbling back. [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith] Physical pain he could have handled even without his Jedi mental skills; he’d always been tough. At four years old he’d been able to take the worst beating Watto would deliver without so much as making a sound. [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith] “Anakin wasn’t entirely wrong about him. He’d never been a slave. He’d never been beaten for making a mistake. Never crawled beneath threadbare blankets, starving, and fallen asleep with his mother’s tears on his cheeks. He didn’t remember his mother. He’d been raised in the Temple, safe and loved. I have compassion. I have empathy. What I don’t have are scars.” Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth

One could assume that a being who has no problem slaving people and beating up a little boy wouldn’t have any problem beating up his mom.

So, I can’t think of any factual evidence that it did happen. However, considering their circumstances, I do believe at some point in his childhood Anakin witnessed his mother being, if not physically, at least verbally abused. Sadly, we are talking about slavery here and there’s nothing good or positive about it.

[leapingbadger]

Back from the Dead (A CodyWan Story)

I feel the need to apologize for how frequently I'm posting about these two! I just love them so much. Just in time for Valentines Day, a little fluff and love for my favorite ship! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Obi Wan is dealing with the ramifications after faking his death and going undercover as bounty Hunter, Rako Hardeen (TCW S4E15-18). While relationships are strained with Anakin and Ahsoka, Obi Wan desperately wants to make things right with Commander Cody. Through these unusual circumstances both men have learned how important the other is to them

Obi Wan sighed as he took in his reflection in the mirror. He ran his hand over his short, buzzed hair. It hadn’t been this short since he was a padawan. The stubble of his beard was also short and scratchy as he ran his hand over that too. He struggled to see himself looking back at him and hoped more than anything those important to him wouldn’t struggle in the same way.

He had been back in Coruscant for a couple of days since his undercover ordeal as Rako Hardeen. Impersonating the bounty hunter had been a means to an end but he had underestimated the quake of grief and disruption he would leave behind.

Anakin was still struggling to be in the same room with him without scowling or outward aggression. Even Ahsoka, who had been much more understanding, didn’t look at him the same way as before.

Today was the first day he would be rejoining his battalion after some much needed rest and Obi Wan took a deep breath to try and steady the nerves that fluttered in his stomach. He hadn’t seen his men in weeks. It had been longer still since he’d seen Cody.

Things had been good between them, before all of this. Stollen kisses after battle briefings, dinner dates in Coruscant’s underbelly, warm evenings in Obi Wan’s quarters in the Jedi temple. He felt a pain in his chest at the thought that it could all be lost at this point. The trust broken, never to be repaired.

He sighed as he adjusted his robes, clipped his lightsaber to his belt and stood back. He pulled a face in the mirror; he couldn’t wait for his hair to grow back.

The news of Obi Wan’s survival had spread as quickly as the news of his premature death. By the time he set foot on the Venator, the clones of his battalion were already smiling widely at his return. Those wearing their helmets waved happily.

“Good to have you back, Sir.” One said as he passed.

“Glad you’re still with us, Sir.” An officer said with a salute.

Obi Wan felt another pang of guilt for his deception. No matter how many times he told himself he did what he had to do, the regret persisted.

The Jedi breathed deeply as he made his way to the bridge. The flutters in his stomach only grew with the knowledge that Cody would be there. Obi Wan’s stomach flipped as he pressed the door release and entered the dimly lit room. His eyes searched for the familiar white and orange armor. He deflated slightly upon realizing it wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.

“Ah, General Kenobi,” Admiral Yularen said as he crossed the room, “welcome back.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” Kenobi responded pleasantly, trying his best to keep his eyes from searching the room further.

“We will be jumping to hyperspace momentarily.” Yularen said, turning his attention to one of the consoles.

“Understood. You wouldn’t know where my Commander is, per chance?”

Yularen looked around distractedly, “I can’t say I’ve seen Commander Cody yet today.”

Obi Wan nodded his understanding “I should ready my men,” he said, leaving the bridge and continuing down the hallway towards the barracks in his search of his Commander.

***

Cody stopped abruptly at the site of swishing Jedi robes at the end of the corridor. The hood lowered to reveal a Jedi knight he only recognized by site. He knew Obi Wan was on the ship somewhere. He had been stopped numerous times by his brothers celebrating the return of their General.

Cody, of course, wanted to celebrate too. His desperate desire to find Obi Wan and throw his arms around him, bury his face in his neck, and kiss him deeply and in front of everyone was stemmed by his complicated feelings.

There was frustration and even anger. He had wanted nothing more than to murder the man who had taken Obi Wan from him. To watch as the light faded from his eyes. He hadn’t been sure where to redirect those feelings since he’d discovered the truth. The Jedi Council? The Republic? Obi Wan himself?

He was a soldier. If anyone understood Obi Wan needing to disappear, to fake his own death for a mission, it should have been Cody. And still he struggled, not only with the supposed death itself, but how it had made him feel.

Cody had mourned his General, his Jedi, deeply and privately. He hadn’t been able to show the outward grief of Ahsoka or Anakin, had only been able to nod mournfully as the Jedi discussed his untimely death as the “will of the Force”. He hadn’t even been able to attend the funeral.

The reality of the pain he had felt, the physical pain, in thinking Obi Wan was lost from the Galaxy was something no blaster bolt of vibroblade could ever cause. The alarming thing about Obi Wan’s death had been how starkly it had shown Cody the depth of his feelings for him. And how he couldn’t possibly be without him. It was frightening to love someone so much and know you could never truly have them.

“A credit for your thoughts?” a smooth voice sounded behind him.

Cody swung around and pulled his helmet off so he could look at Obi Wan with his own eyes. The Jedi stood with his hands clasped around his back.  His hair was shorter than Cody had ever seen, his ginger beard shaved close to his skin. Cody’s fingers itched to reach for it, but the constant movement in the corridor made him think better of it.

“Hello, Sir,” Cody said as last, breathlessly. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. Obi Wan may not look like himself, but he was still a sight for sore eyes. The Jedi’s smile could still make his knees weak.

“It’s good to see you, Commander.” Obi Wan said, the smile on his face made the corners of his eyes crinkle pleasantly. He stood a step too close for a casual conversation with his Commander and Obi Wan knew it. It was deliberate and he didn’t seem to care.

“You too, Sir. I’m…I’m glad you’re…here.” Cody finished lamely. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, what he’d planned to say since he’d been informed of Obi Wan’s survival, but he supposed it would have to do.

“As am I, Cody.” Obi Wan said. “Shall we?” he asked.

They made their way to the bridge and spent most of the day camped in front of the holotable with other clones, looking through battle plans and coordinating with other ships.

Cody found himself looking at Obi wan out of the corner of his eye, as though making sure he was still there. The blue swirls of hyperspace gave the Jedi a pale pallor of death and Cody couldn’t help but shudder.

“Are you alright, Commander?” Obi Wan whispered to him.

“I’m fine.” Cody said dismissively. He continued to feel Obi Wan’s eyes on him.

By the time shift change rolled around, Cody was ready to escape. Every feeling was bubbling inside him and making it impossible for him to keep them straight.

“Would you care for a nightcap, Commander?” Obi Wan asked as they made their way through the quiet corridors.

Cody paused. He wanted nothing more than some alone time with Obi Wan, but for some reason he hesitated.

“I…um…I think I need to get some rest, Sir.” He said formerly. He tapped his fingers on the edge of his helmet that was tucked under his arm nervously.

“I understand, Cody. But I have something I would like to say, and I would be most advantageous if it were said in private.”

Cody nodded and wordlessly followed as the Jedi led him down the corridor to his quarters. He watched as he punched in the code and followed him into the dark room.

Obi Wan turned on a low light, took off his outer robe and threw it casually onto his bed. Cody stayed just inside the door, unsure where to stand in a room he had once been so familiar with.

“Would you like a drink?” Obi Wan asked, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid.

Cody shook his head, “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Sir.”

Obi Wan raised his eyebrows, “Sir?” he asked questioningly.

“Obi Wan,” Cody corrected.

Obi Wan sank onto the edge of the bed and sighed, “I feel I have done greater damage than I could have ever anticipated with my deception, Cody. I am sorry for any pain I may have caused you. I would try to justify it. But if my recent experience is anything to go by, it won’t do much good.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Sir. You were doing your job.”

“I am not apologizing to you as your General, Cody. I’m apologizing to you because you’re…”

Obi Wan paused and Cody let the silence hang in the air. What was he to Obi Wan? He’d never really asked. He knew the Jedi cared for him, wanted him, but he wasn’t sure what any of it meant. Could Jedi love? Was that even allowed?

“What? What am I, Obi Wan?” Cody prompted softly as the silence continued to linger.

Obi Wan took a deep gulp of his drink and set it aside. He got up and crossed to the Commander, taking his helmet out of his hand and tracing the scar on the left side of his face ever so lightly with his fingertips.

“My lover. My dear. My everything.” He said quietly, punctuating every word with a kiss, first on the forehead, then on each cheek. His lips lingered above Cody’s as though waiting for permission.

Cody let out a shuddering breath and pulled the Jedi to him. The heat radiating from the kiss could have turned a star supernova. The Jedi’s lips pulled all of Cody’s anger, hurt, grief, and loss out of his body. He was reborn as Obi Wan had been reborn.

Cody’s hands reached for Obi Wan’s hair, hoping the rake his fingers through it as he had done so many times, he felt the stubble of his buzz cut and paused, pulling his lips away just enough to say, “I hate the haircut.”

He heard a chuckle rumble in Obi Wan’s throat, “So do I.” He said before pressing his lips back on Cody’s hungrily. Cody held Obi Wan’s face in his hands, “but the stubble, I like,” he said with a grin.

“Do you now?” Obi Wan purred.

Cody chuckled and nodded.

“I will take that under advisement, Commander.” The Jedi said.

***

Obi Wan shifted in bed and felt Cody’s strong arms close tighter around him. He was sure this was not what the Jedi council intended when they supplied larger beds for the Jedi. But what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them he supposed.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere, Cody.” He whispered quietly, unsure if he was awake or not.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Cody murmured in return, wrapping both arms around his Jedi.

“I feel the need to point out that I did not invite you here for…this.” Obi Wan said, his cheeks blushing slightly, “I merely meant to apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” Cody said, kissing his cheek and nuzzling into the side of his neck.

Obi Wan turned to face him, his fingers again finding the scar on the side of his face. For some reason he gravitated towards it. It wasn’t the only thing that differentiated Cody from his brothers, his soul radiated in the Force like an independent star system, but it was the most outwardly obvious distinguisher and something Obi Wan had come to love in the same way he loved his chestnut eyes or the way his lips fell into a line when he was angry.

Love. He did love Cody. He shouldn’t, he knew that, in the same way he shouldn’t have loved Satine. He had trod the thin line as a Padawan, keeping his feelings at bay just enough to continue the relationship with the Duchess.

He was stronger in the force now, stronger in himself. Obi Wan was able to play the line between love and attachment like a musical instrument, at least he thought he could, until Cody.

Obi Wan had never felt a pull so strong to any other being in the galaxy before. He would have been scared of it, perhaps should have been, but he trusted in the force to guide him. And if the force was telling him that Cody was the one with whom he should share himself, his soul, then who was he to argue.

“What are you thinking about?” Cody asked, his eyes fluttering as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Obi Wan sighed and kissed the Commander’s nose. “Just you, my love. Only you.” He said quietly.

Cody’s eyes shot open, a smile spreading onto his lips.

“Love?” he said, questioningly.

“Oh, come now, that can’t be a surprise, can it?” the Jedi said, patches of pink climbing to his ears as the realization of his comment took hold.

Cody pulled him into a kiss, his hand softly tracing the stubble on Obi Wan’s face. The Commander pulled away, his eyebrows knitted together questioningly, “Can Jedi love?” Cody asked.

“Yes,” Obi Wan responded with a smile. “Attachment is what is forbidden.”

“I’m…I’m not sure I understand.” Cody said.

“There is a thin line between the positive side of love, and the negative aspects. It is those things, grief, fear, that can lead to the dark side and could be dangerous for a Jedi.”

Cody was quiet for a minute; Obi Wan studied his face as his brow furrowed and eyes flicked this was and that.

“Does that mean…could our relationship, our love, lead you to the dark side?” he asked, the concern obvious in his voice.

Obi Wan smiled and brushed his cheek. “Our love?” he asked, unable to keep the smugness as bay.

“That shouldn’t be a surprise, either,” The Commander said, his dark skin flushing. Obi Wan couldn’t help but pull him close and kiss him deeply.

“Cody, if there is anyone who can keep me in the light, it is and will always be you.” Obi Wan said.

Cody’s arms tightened around him as his lips found him again. And Obi Wan once again found himself drowning in the light of his very own star system.

[blushing-in-space]

Deception

-> anakin skywalker

Summary: [Based on Clone Wars; S4 Ep15] As a Jedi Knight, it’s part of your duty to follow the orders of the Jedi Council, no matter how taxing or dangerous the task. You are given a highly classified mission that not only may end in your death but requires complete secrecy from everyone- Even your lover Anakin Skywalker.

Warnings: ANGST, Death, murder, blood, slight gore, loss of loved ones, grieving process. Probably inaccurate use of the force and force healing

-> I looked at the message before me, brows furrowed. No, this couldn’t be right… Would the Jedi Council ask this of me? Something so classified sounds like it should be a mission of a Jedi Master, not a knight like me.

Mace Windu’s face was all the answer I needed. His eyes were slits as he looked down at me, face set seriously. His fellow council members had a similar expression.

“It is of the utmost importance no word spoken here leaves this room. Is that understood, [name]?” Windu repeats to me.

I have no choice but to nod my head. I serve the Galactic Republic, I cannot let my relationships meddle in my duties as a Jedi Knight.

I bowed my head, “Yes, masters. It will be done.”

——

“What’s the big rush?” Anakin smirks as I carry myself hastily down the dimly lit alleyway we always take when returning to the Jedi Temple from the port.

Ahsoka trails behind us both, thankfully oblivious to Anakin’s wandering hands. I did not agree to her being here and had suggested she take the shuttle home, knowing it would be safer for the young padawan. But like her master, Ahsoka was stubborn and determined to join us for the meeting I had lied about. I feared for her safety- I hope she will not be there when the time comes.

I glance over at Anakin, forcing a playful smile to adorn my lips as I would have in normal circumstances. “I’m not rushing. I’m just trying to get to the council meeting on time.”

I ignore Anakin as he rolls his eyes. “I can see it now- another boring debate I’ll sleep through,” he sighs, though his eyes linger on me and I can’t help but notice it.

We fell for each other when we were just padawans, and have remained loving by one another’s side for almost four years. While I was fairly good at hiding stolen looks and the brush of our hands, Anakin on the other hand doesn’t seem to understand the strategy of hiding our relationship.

He struggles more than I do with our relationship. It frustrates him so easily when he cannot pull me into a kiss after not seeing me for weeks, or to just wrap his arm around me as we walk as I can tell he wants to do now. I’ve known from the start about Anakin’s unusually strong emotional side for a Jedi. That is what makes me especially nervous for tonight.

“Luckily I’ll have you to keep my company,” Anakin mutters to me in a quiet and husky tone, his hand reaching to touch the crease of my waist.

I shoot him a look of warning, glancing over at Ahsoka who was just a few steps behind him. He’s lucky she happened to be looking away and had not looked too deeply into his words.

“If it's so boring for you, would you rather them call you in to train younglings?” I look smugly over my shoulder to Anakin, who grimaces at my comment while Ahsoka huffs a light laugh.

“I think you would enjoy that, master,” Ahsoka quips sarcastically as she steps to Anakin’s side, and he scuffs and looks away from his apprentice.

“As I thought.”

I try to keep up a high-spirited mood while with Anakin before my time comes to act. I see Anakin smiling, his lips parted to make another smart-assed comment. I give him a cheeky smile. After tonight I won’t see him again for yet another long week. And I know that week will be devastating for him.

He doesn’t hide anything from me. He’s told me how he held his mother in his arms and watched the life drain from her eyes. I’m aware he fears the same fate will reach another of his loved ones. Every time I leave for a battle I promise to him I’ll be safe and will return safely to his arms. Now I have been gagged by the Jedi Council from telling him the truth of what I must do. The guilt is almost unbearable having to keep such a secret from my own lover.

Anakin’s blue eyes search mine, I feel him wield the force to poke into my mind. I raise a brow at his perceptiveness. Does he know? I shake him, cutting off his access to my mind through the force. I don’t like it when he does that and he knows it. His brows furrow as he feels the loss of our connection, but he does not pry at my barrier. I nod to him in a silent already broken promise that we will talk later.

Our unspoken words distracted me so much that I almost wouldn’t have sensed the blaster shot coming toward me if Ahsoka had not warned me.

I roll to the side, taking cover behind the nearby crates. I whip my head around to see Anakin and Ahsoka have done the same, both of their backs pinned to the crates opposite of me. My blood pumps furiously through my veins. I should have let the shot take me down. The first and undeniable worst part of my mission would already be over.

“Where’d that shot come from?” Ahsoka yells, voice riddled with panic as she looks from me to the roof of an apartment building in the distance.

I show no concern as I peek my head over the crates, catching a glimpse of the bright blinding light of the sniper who had tried to kill me just then. Who I should have let kill me. My heart would be pounding in my chest if it weren’t for the drug I had taken before leaving that would suppress my heartbeat.

I shake off any fear. I won’t die today- I’m following my orders. My duty as a Jedi comes before anything else. Anakin will understand that when I return. I glance over at him and Ahsoka behind the crates opposite of me, and single them to follow my lead. Neither of them questioned my plan for us to split up over on the rooftop.

I feel Anakin trying to push into my mind as I roll behind the next set of crates, another blaster shot barely missing me. I feel his anxiousness about the situation, either for me being in danger or his padawan, I’m not sure. I just feel guilty for what I’m about to put him through.

I climb to the rooftop, keeping my cover as I deflect a shot back at the assassin to not rouse suspicion. I see Anakin has done as I asked him, for once in his life, and spot him heading to flank the shooter. Ahsoka jumps from rooftop to rooftop, taking the back approach to the shooter. I realize my time is running out to start this mission.

Anakin races on the rooftop across from me, taking cover at the same time as I do. He catches my eyes, blue eyes blazing across the darkness of the Coruscant alleyway. He’s going to dart around to get the shooter. I know he is.

“He’s behind the building!” Ahsoka coms to both me and Anakin, and I know this is where I must end this chase.

Anakin’s head whips around to the building across from us, eyes narrowed and his hand goes to grip his saber. I suck in a breath, closing my eyes as I prepare for the pain. I pray to the Maker the blaster-proof vest will be enough to save me from the real threat of death.

I block Anakin completely from my mind before stepping into the wide-open space as a red light hits my chest.

“[name]!” I hear Anakin scream as the assassin's blaster finally hits me, unexpectedly knocking me so far back I fall from the edge of the building and into sudden darkness.

Ahsoka’s heart sinks seeing Master [name] fall from the edge as she rounds the corner. She looks up to see her Master immediately trying to follow [name], attempting to run from his cover but having to soon duck as a blaster shot flies past his face.

“I got her! Go!” Ahsoka called out to Anakin, hiding the fear in her voice as she looked up at him.

Anakin’s eyes widen as he looks down at her, and his face seems to drain of color for a moment. He’s afraid. Ahsoka so rarely sees real fear on her master's face. No matter the battle or injury. His demeanor never falters. His expression is always lax and words smooth, even as he’s faced with danger, but in this moment Ahsoka does not see that familiar bravery in her master now. That is what scares her the most.

She doesn’t watch long enough to notice how Anakin hesitates for far too long before he chases whoever shot [name], she has no time to do anything but rush to the Jedi Knight's side. [name]’s body is completely limp in a pile of boxes and trash, left arm twisted unnaturally. There’s no blood, but a black mark is burned into the knight’s white-robed chest.

Ahsoka pulls [name]’s body from the rumble, panicking when she does not awake. She lifts the knight's head into her lap but freezes her finger above [name’s] neck to check for a pulse. She fears she knows the answer. Ahsoka has watched people die. Despite her age, she’s a commander- she sees death every day. But never someone so close to her. Someone she regarded as a friend. As a sister.

“Master?” Ahsoka whispers as she finally puts her fingers to the soft spot on [name]’s neck. She gulps as she feels nothing, then tries the curve of her wrist. Then feels nothing again. She sucks in a breath as her eyes become glassy at the sight.

Ahsoka hears Anakin drop from the roof and run down to her. “How is she?” He pants, wild blue eyes looking down at them.

Ahsoka can barely move her head to look up at him, and when she does, she nearly lets tears fall. She doesn’t know if she has the words to say it. She knows Anakin and [name] were padawans together. She knows how close the pair are. She only pretends to be blind to her master’s deep attachment to the other Jedi knight for his sake. That’s why she can hardly hold it together when he crouches down to see [name] completely unresponsive.

“[name]?” Anakin says, voice rattling.

Ahsoka doesn’t fight him as he takes [name] from her arms and holds her in his. He brushes her hair away from her face to reveal her eyes closed with death. Ahsoka watches her master's eyes fill with grief as he clutches her body to him.

“[name]!” He yells louder this time, desperately shaking her shoulders. He puts his hands over the black mark on her chest and continuously presses down on it in a failed attempt to start back [names] still heart. Ahsoka can’t look anymore. She can’t watch her master hopelessly revive a dead woman.

Ahsoka stands and runs away when Anakin calls out her name again, tears now falling from his eyes as he stares at his lover's dead body.

He had to hand her body off to the authorities when they arrived. He had to explain what happened all while pretending he didn’t just lose his wife.

The hardest challenge of his life wasn’t fighting Count Dooku or leading the largest battalion in the Republic Military- it was returning to the Jedi Temple with nothing to show for his lover's existence but her blood on his robes and her lightsaber.

[name] was supposed to come to his quarters tonight after the meeting. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, each being assigned to different planets, but each immediately returned to the other, as always. His fears of her usually vanish once he is reunited with her after their respective missions. He always assumes she’s safe when she comes home. He’d never thought of the possibility of her dying on his watch.

He wished he could have been with her body longer, but as soon as he saw the flash of red and blue lights he had to wipe his tears and place her body on the stretcher and watch as the medics pulled the sheet over her. Once the door to his quarters hissed shut he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He sat at the edge of the bed, and unclipped [names] lightsaber from his belt. He ran his flesh hand along the customized hilt and ignited the saber of his lover. He could almost picture her beautiful face behind the [color] glow, a smirk on her lips before she jumped into battle. His eyes filled with tears as he un-ignited it and the color vanished.

It felt like when his mother died all over again. Again, he failed to protect someone. Again, someone he loved died in his arms. The only difference was there was no one he could get revenge on for the needless death. The assassin had retreated like a coward after firing the blaster. Anakin’s not even sure if the assassin killed her instantly. Perhaps it had been the fall that took her life.

Anakin’s heart ached when sleeping alone that night. He had been looking forward to feeling the warmth of [name] beside him since he had first been sent to Krios. Now he’ll never feel [name] again. If he had just got to the assassin in time she’d still be here!

Anakin’s eyes burned with tears of fury. He had no idea who the shooter was but he would hunt the bastard down after [name]’s funeral. To hell with the Jedi Code- revenge was the only way Anakin could bring himself and Eria peace!

Anakin felt himself slipping, but he had no motivation to crawl back toward the light when [name] wasn’t there waiting for him.

Eria thought she had severed her connection to Anakin, but when she finally woke up she felt the overwhelming grief and anger of her husband. It was so strong for a moment she confused it as her own. Those emotions were quickly replaced by the ache in her chest and the pain of her defiantly broken arm.

Her tears were gulped down as the medical droid healed her wounds. The droid asked if she was experiencing emotional pain, and she had to lie and say it was just her arm. All she could think about was when she fell. She heard Anakin’s scream and felt his tears on her as she played dead in his arms. It took every part of her being to not open her eyes and apologize for what she had done.

The door to my medical room hissed open, and I glanced over to see Master Windu and Master Yoda in the white light.

“I hope my funeral went well,” I mutter as the door slides shut behind them.

I see Master Windu’s eyes narrow at me as I quickly cover my emotions and dry my tears. I had been specially chosen for this classified mission out of everyone else in the Jedi Order, and I wanted to act professionally with the Council member who picked me. Especially because Master Windu was known for his intense belief in the Code.

“A great performance, your corpse played,” Master Yoda says.

I well as funeral can go, I want to add, but am silence by the medical droid sticking a numbing substance into my arm. I looked at the deep bruise on my twisted arm and for a moment wondered if this would even work. I was sacrificing so much just to learn information that may not even be true. Will Anakin even forgive me once this is all over?

“Will go well, the plan will,” Yoda says, sensing my doubt.

“I fell from the top of a building- It better go well,” I huff in pain and remove the blasterproof vest that saved my life.

“Survived worse, you have,” Yoda comforts, and though I know the Jedi Elder is right, it doesn’t help much when my back has turned into one massive bruise.

“Young Skywalker knows this,” Windu says in a firm voice, arms crossed and eyes looking down at me. As if testing to see my reaction.

I breathed deeply and held strong. I wanted to beg for them to let him assist me in the mission or ask how he handled the funeral, but most of all, I wanted to beg to just see him. But it was vital to the integrity of the mission that no one knows- Especially Anakin, who would flare up in anger if he knew I would be walking into the role of a bounty hunter and disguising myself among them, armed with nothing but a blaster.

I know that Master Windu is testing me with his words. Though he picked me for this, I was quickly made aware of his doubts in me when he had to clarify Anakin to me in private not even Anakin may know.

“I took the vital suppressors, you instructed of me, Master. When Anakin moved my body… I was dead to him. It’s impossible that he knows I’m alive,” I assure both of them, though it was clear in my tone it weighed heavily on me to do so.

Yoda hummed in agreement, “Yes- but sense he will, that something is not right.”

I wanted to add that Anakin will have no contact with me as I understand how important it is he is left out of this, but a Jedi Healer enters the room and bows his head, interrupting the conversation. The healer comes to my side to mend my broken arm, and I nod to the Jedi Masters.

“Anakin’s reaction sold the sniper of my death. What has been done is done, and I will carry out the mission as has been asked of me,” I say to Windu with no hesitation and my head held high. He seems surprised for a moment but turns to leave.

“What’s done is done,” he repeats as the healer snaps my arm back into place.

The healer seems to also understand this meeting should remain in confidence. He bows, then leaves soon after I am healed. Finally alone, I begrudgingly accepted it was time to put on the masked disguise of the assassin I will be taking the place of.

I reach down to remove my lightsaber from my belt but feel nothing of the familiar grip I built myself. I look down to see its holster empty but find for the first time since my fall, I feel an absence of worry. I let a sad smile curve my lips as I realize who took it.

I know it’s safe with Anakin.

Notes: Part 2 coming soon! I'm sorry this is a little confusing if you've never watched the episode this is based on 😭

[padmesweetheart]

The Garden We Grew Together

Pairing: Padmé Amidala x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance Hurt/Comfort.Canon Divergence. Emotional Slow Burn

Authors Note: I absolutely loved writing this.

The Garden We Grew Together

Naboo was a planet of water and peace, but your earliest memories of it were tangled in laughter and petals. You grew up alongside Padmé Naberrie in the quiet lake country — not quite royalty, not quite nobility, but close enough in grace and brilliance to become something the galaxy would remember.

As children, you and Padmé had shared everything: lessons beneath the blossom trees, secret snacks during long council lectures, dreams whispered under starlight. She had always been radiant with eyes like twin moons and a heart too large for any one world to hold.

She was destined for greatness. You saw it before anyone else.

You followed her to Theed, her first campaign trail, her queenhood. Not as a handmaiden, but as a quiet companion — the one who knew her before the regality. The one who held her hand when the crown felt too heavy.

But as her light grew, you pulled back, always just far enough not to cast a shadow. Because you loved her. And she didn’t know.

Or maybe… she did.

Coruscant:Years Later

You came to Coruscant during the early days of the Senate, working quietly under a delegation from Naboo’s countryside, always within a breath of her orbit. She never stopped calling you for tea. For walks. For hours spent talking about nothing.

And then he arrived.

Anakin Skywalker. The Jedi protector. The chosen one.

You watched her smile shift. Watched it bloom in new ways — nervous, aching, drawn to a danger she never had the luxury to entertain before.

He was intense, and you well, you couldn’t compete with the legend.

So you said nothing. Not even when she looked at you with uncertainty in her eyes. Not even when she would brush your fingers a little too long or when she clutched your letters to her chest after every deployment.

You held her in friendship (broke quietly every time she left.)

War and Silence

The Clone Wars were cruel. You stayed on Naboo, working in diplomacy, away from the blood and the battles. But your heart was still at war — watching the woman you loved suffer, standing behind the veil as her world crumbled.

You didn’t even know she was pregnant.

No one did.

And then, as if the Force had gasped — she died.

Or so you thought.

You grieved her. Mourned her like the galaxy did. Padmé Amidala, dead with the Republic. Another casualty in a war of shadows.

You cried every night for a month. And then, because grief is strange, you planted a garden.

The same one from childhood. In the same Lake Country villa. You made it exactly like she liked it — moon lilies, flame trees, water-vines curling over the pergola.

You visited it every day. You talked to her.

Until she answered.

Three Years Later: The Garden

“You’re real,” you whispered the first time you saw her again. Frail, hidden under a cowl, standing in the garden like a ghost with a heartbeat.

“I had to disappear,” she said. “I had to protect them.”

Them?

Then, from behind her skirts, two small children peeked out. A boy and a girl. Wide eyes. Curls like hers.

You almost fell to your knees.

“Twins,” she said quietly. “Luke and Leia.”

You didn’t ask about Anakin. She didn’t offer anything more.

What mattered was she was alive. And she had come home.

The Long Healing

Padmé didn’t expect you to stay. But you did.

At first, it was just visits. Helping with the twins, soothing nightmares, planting more flowers. But over time, your visits turned into weeks, then months. Then she asked you to stay — with tears in her eyes and a quiet confession:

“I loved you before I even understood what love could be.”

And you — you had waited a lifetime to hear that.

Kisses were shy at first. Gentle. As if the world would crack beneath the weight of joy. But love bloomed between you like wildflowers — resilient, tender, eternal.

The children called you their mother within a year.

The Wedding

It was simple. Private. Just Bail Organa, Sabé, and the children holding flower crowns they made themselves.

Padmé wore a dress she had saved from her time as Queen — a symbol, she said, of the woman she was when she first loved you. You wore something she had sewn from Naboo silk and laughter.

When she said, “I do,” her voice trembled. Not with fear. With certainty.

“I’ve waited my whole life to come home to you,” she whispered as she kissed you. “You are the peace I never found in politics or war. You are the garden I grew my hope in.”

Now

Years later, the garden is bigger. The twins run through it barefoot, laughing. Padmé reads to them in the afternoon sun, and you watch from the bench with a cup of sweetleaf tea, heart full.

She still reaches for your hand when she’s nervous. You still leave pressed flowers in her books. Some nights, she cries — for all she lost. But now she never cries alone.

“I never thought I could have this,” she murmurs one night as you rock Leia to sleep.

“You always deserved this,” you say, brushing her hair back.

And she smiles — that soft, radiant smile she used to hide behind politics.

You are no longer waiting.

You are living the life you both dreamed of when you were just girls in the garden.

And in every petal, in every breath of warm Naboo wind, the Force sings:

This is love. This is home. This is forever.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Hurry up and Wait

I love the trope that Obi Wan gets visions of the future (the CW, Order 66, and later) and through these visions he (accidentally or otherwise) saves the galaxy. Let's take a walk through a twist in that. 

Obi Wan gets those visions of the future, but never consciously remembers them.  Only a lingering sense that he needed  to be a Jedi knight (so that he could be in a position to find the clones). Subconsciously, however, he falls in love (platonically) with the clones in general and falls in love (romantically) with Cody in particular, even though he has no memory of it.

As a consequence any Force user with even a hint of a connection to the unifying Force can tell upon meeting Obi Wan that the Force has a Plan with a capital P for him. 

This changes nothing about his Padawanship (From which I cherry pick parts of anything I can get my hands on, assume that anything that is known that does not directly contradict what is in here is in play). Qui Gon Jinn’s connection is exclusively to the Living Force, as is Yoda’s. 

You know where it starts changing things? When Obi Wan takes Anakin as a Padawan. Anakin, as a child of the Force, got an even clearer sense of the Force Plan. He could sense that Obi Wan would find something(someone) and leave the Jedi before Anakin’s padawanship was finished. He could sense that this would be important, changing the tides of the galaxy kind of important. 

So before Anakin could ever become attached to Obi Wan, he is dissuaded. In this Obi Wan is not Master/Teacher/Father/Brother. He is viewed as a tutor, or favored babysitter, until it is time for Anakin to go to his actual Master.  And Obi Wan never begrudges teaching Anakin, never lets Anakin think that there was somewhere else Obi Wan had to be, because there wasn’t. Not yet. 

Perhaps in another universe Palpatine would have been able to step into the space Obi Wan never realized he made. Except the first time Palpatine pushed to meet with Anakin, Obi Wan had an unexplainable (to anyone who did not know the future he was seeing in his dreams) panic attack strong enough that he needed to go to the healing halls.   This panic attack, and the subsequent smaller ones he has whenever he thinks too long about Palpatine being alone with Anakin have two major consequences for Anakin specifically and one for the Order overall. 

The first is that Anakin never grows to trust Palpatine. He meets with him, because Palpatine made some fairly heavy-handed implied threats to the Jedi if they did not provide him with the company of a small boy, but he never really lets him in. This Anakin never forgets the lessons that he must have learned as a young slave, particularly ‘never trust a smiling, kindly man in power’.  Anakin, at the insistence of the High Council, Obi Wan, and his own instincts is required to see a healer and a mind healer after every session with Palpatine (for fear that was grooming Anakin-which he was, just not the way the Jedi thought).

The second consequence is that the High Council as a whole, and Mace Windu specifically, keeps a closer eye on Anakin. It is to Mace that Anakin begins to turn as a Mentor, whom Anakin is sure will be his Master when it is time for Obi Wan to leave.  So, much like with Ahsoka in Canon, Mace and Obi Wan end up co parenting Anakin. And it is understood, and has been exhaustively discussed by all three (to the extent that Anakin's age allows to reasonably be part of the discussion), that Mace is Anakin’s master, though Obi Wan may be considered so on paper (Mace, as head of the Order, cannot take on a too young Padawan.  When Anakin is older, certainly, and if Obi Wan leaves early, sure, but for now the day to day is handled by Obi Wan).

The order as a whole, and the High Council in particular, had no actual idea that the Chancellor (and possibly other Senators or representatives) can effectively make the Jedi Order deliver a 9 year old boy to his office and leave. They immediately set a mixed group of Archivist and Shadows to go through all of the treaties, laws, and Senate rulings that can possibly refer to or affect the Jedi. Going through all the laws and rulings and things that should not have affected the Jedi but do(because of a confluence of three, or four, or six different laws that separately don’t do shit to trap the Jedi but together create something that is Ironclad and razor sharp) takes several months. The results are so horrifying that several shadows have to be talked down from the ledge of taking over the Republic entirely. 

The High Council decides that they will begin to untangle themselves from the control of the Republic, but that they must do it quietly. There is concern that if they bring attention to the potential for abuse of the Jedi Order, there are beings that would take advantage. They do not realize that they are caught in a Sith Plot (one that in Canon would see them forced to be generals of a slave army). Instead they believe the laws that entrap them to be, not quite coincidence, but that their effect on the Jedi is secondary.  So that is going on behind the scenes. 

We come to the mission that would get the clones discovered, the one that was supposed to spark a war. Palpatine fully believes that everything is on track with Anakin, as he has not clocked onto the fact that Anakin is humoring him and does not trust him.  So Palpatine enacts his plan to get Anakin alone with Padme, hoping that something Jedi code breaking will result (Palpatine does not exactly have control over Padme-Though he certainly thinks he has more than he does-however she is exactly the kind of reckless that he needs to get Anakin into com kind of trouble) while Obi Wan is sent on a chase for the assassin, Jango, which will lead him to Kamino.

Obi Wan arrives on Kamino and knows the instant that he is shown the clones that this is what he has been waiting for. He still does not consciously remember his lifelong visions, but he knows that he has found his people.  He very calmly sends out a message to Anakin and Mace to the effect of ‘I have found my people. May the Force be with you. Peace Out’ then goes back and uses every ounce of his cunning and negotiating skill to take command of the clones, the ships, and all the supplies for what should have been the Republic's Army and fuck off to a planet in Wildspace (That Obi Wan owns. Until that very moment he did not know why the Force had encouraged him to acquire the planet). 

Jango, who is very intrigued by the pretty red headed Jedi who had just politely browbeaten a bunch of Kaminoans (It is a very much one sided attraction, since Obi Wan is very much in love with Cody-even if he doesn’t know it yet), and Boba go with them. 

No just picture this. Dooku is waiting on Geonosis for Jango Fett to lure a Jedi,  specifically to lure his grand padawan to the planet so that war can get started. And Waiting. And Waiting. Meanwhile the Geonosian Queen is hovering in the background, starting to make noises that are the equivalent of ‘well, don’t let me keep you’ (and other such saying that were polite-as this was still a potential ally- for ‘Get fucken out of our house already’).

Another Meanwhile, due to a combination of the lack of needing to go to Geonosis to rescue Obi Wan, the lack of a need to go to Tatooine (By sheer happenstance Shimi was not captured by the Tuskens, thus no visions for Anakin), and the goodby message Obi Wan left (which indicated that the current assassin would not be bothering Padme for at least a few weeks), Anakin and Padme get back to the Senate in time for the Separatist Vote.  While not unanimous, it is an overwhelming majority that voted to allow the Separatists to leave (Mainly because most of them wanted to be able to leave themselves if need be).

Everyone, Separatist and Republic alike, stares at each other awkwardly in the aftermath of the Vote. For some reason everyone feels as though there should have been a different outcome and no one(outside of Palpatine and his minions) can tell why. Eventually the Separatists turn and walk slowly from the room.  Those who wanted the war were seething internally, but not able to show it externally.  

Palpatine has to work hard to keep his screams of frustrations internal later, when he calls Kamino and finds that his shiny new army is not where he left it. Then there is the repeal of a seemingly insignificant law and it takes him nearly three weeks to place why (that one law neatly disassembles most of the legal trap that the Jedi were in, because it was the connecting law between that laws with the really harsh punishments and that laws that specifically mention the Jedi). 

Back with Obi Wan and the Clones…Things are a bit strange. In the first place Obi Wan still does not consciously remember any of his visions, but subconsciously knows all of the clones and can tell them apart. So he calls the clones by name rather than designation. For some of the clones before they even choose a name.  He also knows without knowing why hobbies and interests for most of the clones.  

And for all that the Clones have been primed through propaganda to love the Jedi, they don’t actually fully trust anyone who is not a clone, not yet. This has the effect that Obi Wan is, without realizing it, acting very informally with clones who do not know what to make of him.  This is compounded by the fact that Obi Wan sees Cody and is instantly smitten. Cody does not know what to do with this. 

Hilariously this has the effect of making Jango jealous of Cody. Jango is attracted to Obi Wan, who only has eyes for Cody.  So Jango is off to one side making passive aggressive comments about Obi Wan settling for a badly put together copy when he could have the original, muttered low enough that Obi Wan cannot hear.  When Obi Wan does over hear one of the comments, the resulting rant on Jango failures as a person (this was before they discovered the chips, but after the realization that Jango had effectively sold his children into slavery) and how Cody is clearly superiors in every way, does help to endear the clones to him. 

His visceral horror when they find out about the chips helps too. 

I am not sure where it would go from here, though I imagine it does end with the Jedi, in clumps of two or three, just sort of arriving on the planet.

[angelseraphines]

ATTACK OF THE CLONES | CHAPTER SEVEN

“when loyalty bleeds.”

the room shimmered faintly with the lingering silence that had followed vasharre’s delicate greeting. though no one moved, it felt as though something immense had shifted beneath the floor, an invisible seam reawakened, splitting time cleanly between before and now. obi-wan kenobi stood upright, his hands lightly clasped before him in the posture of ease that masked constant awareness, but behind his composed expression the memory of her serene voice, her elegant form, her alluring presence, echoed with too much force for comfort.

he had not remembered her as this. he had remembered a child in silk, grave beyond her years, with eyes like obsidian glass and hair too dark to be described as anything but night. now she was composed into something far greater, celestial, luminous, and otherworldly in a way that caught at the edges of his thoughts and threatened his balance. the midnight blue gown she wore shimmered subtly in the light as she moved, and the nova star that rested against the bare porcelain of her collarbone gleamed once more, daring, constant, impossibly close. he did not look at it. not presently.

anakin took a step forward, drawing them all back into movement.

“vasharre,” he said, voice far more relaxed than it had been in the elevator, touched with something unmistakably warm. “you look… very different.”

the smile she gave him now was far less formal than the one she had offered his master. it softened her entire expression, curved the corners of her rosy mouth in amusement, and made her eyes seem younger, nearly teasing.

“and you look exactly the same,” she said, folding her hands behind her back. “a little taller. but full of boyish nerves.”

anakin laughed, the tension in his shoulders diminished. “i am not full of nerves. i’m full of wisdom now. ask the council.”

“i’m sure the jedi council is overwhelmed with your maturity.”

“every day,” he replied, and for a moment it was as though they had never parted. their shared memory of that strange adventure on tatooine, his victory at the podrace, her astonishment at his bravery, lay just beneath the surface, understood without needing to be named. he stepped a little closer, then bowed his head slightly. “i’m glad you’re safe, my lady.”

“and i’m glad you’re real,” she said. “i thought perhaps i imagined that sun-burned boy on tatootine all those years ago.”

obi-wan watched them, noting the ease with which vasharre shed her courtly shell in anakin’s presence. it was not unbecoming, only strange. revealing. though her posture was still that of a lady of naboo, there was no stiffness in her regard toward the younger jedi. the fondness she showed was unforced.

before anything more could be said, the chamber doors slid open again with a dignified sound.

obi-wan turned, his senses sharpening instinctively as a new presence entered the room.

he recognized the figure at once, though the face, the bearing, the very breath of him, had changed so thoroughly that for a moment, it was akin to beholding a ghost.

former senator of naboo, lord naem rharrellis, stepped slowly into the antechamber, his robes stately and embroidered with the crest of his house. once a man of commanding presence, silver-tongued and brilliant, the voice of naboo’s most ancient line, now he seemed carved from ice, ethereal and cold. though only ten years had passed, the difference was staggering. his hair, once streaked with iron, was now a crown of full white, gleaming under the chamber lights. his face had hollowed slightly, the cheeks grown sunken with wear, and his skin had faded to something nearly as pale as his daughter’s but far more sallow. his eyes, a pale arctic blue, surveyed the room not with the quicksilver brilliance of a politician, but with the weariness of someone who had seen things fall apart, and had not yet found a way to speak of it.

he paused as he entered, and his gaze landed on obi-wan.

then his entire posture changed, subtly, but completely.

“master kenobi,” he said.

obi-wan bowed respectfully, his voice courteous. “lord rharrellis. it has been too long.”

naem crossed the floor without hesitation, his robes whispering behind him. and then, surprisingly, he placed a hand over obi-wan’s forearm, pressing gently, a gesture almost paternal. “far too long,” he said, and his voice, though more hoarse now with age, still bore its distinctive timbre, the sound of someone used to being heard and obeyed. “you saved my daughter once. you saved my planet. and now you come again in our hour of need. i am… grateful. deeply so. beyond what i can ever express.”

obi-wan looked into those frost-pale eyes and inclined his head. “i am honored to serve you, my lord.”

but even as he said it, something provoked within the jedi knight.

naem’s words were too grave. too rehearsed. he had not greeted anakin. had not acknowledged padmé. his eyes remained fixed on obi-wan, and in those pale irises was something held in check, buried under etiquette, buried under control, but unmistakably there. dread? guilt? some unspoken grief?

obi-wan had seen it before, on soldiers who had lived through defeat, on senators who had traded integrity for survival, on jedi masters who had outlived their padawans.

but this was different.

this was secret.

“you honor me, my lord,” obi-wan said amicably, and watched as naem withdrew his hand.

“you are both here,” naem said, his voice lifting as he addressed them together now, gesturing toward both jedi. “and with young kraen on his way to naboo, I feel… for the first time in many weeks… that the odds might not be entirely against us.”

he turned toward his daughter, and she stepped toward him gently, her face softening as he looked at her. he touched her cheek with the lightest brush of fingers, then turned back to obi-wan once more.

“we are in uncertain waters, master kenobi. all of us. and the stars are not as constant as they once were. but for the sake of what stands strong… I thank you.”

obi-wan bowed again, slowly this time, and as he did, he allowed himself one more glance at vasharre.

she stood now near her father, poised and peaceful, but her eyes.

her eyes were on him.

not unkind. not expectant.

but knowing.

as though she, too, had sensed something in her father’s voice that had yet to be named.

and something in obi-wan’s quietude that had not yet found its words.

a rustle of fabric, swift, intense, announced her entrance before she even crossed the threshold.

lady hiarmen rharrellis swept into the chamber like a descending blade, her presence metallic, commanding, and coldly refined. she wore a high-necked gown of steel-gray velvet that shimmered subtly with every movement, the sleeves slashed with silver-threaded lining, her bodice structured like armor, gleaming at the seams. her hair, as ever, was coiled high and intricately pinned with silver combs, not a strand out of place. where vasharre was moonlight and mystery, hiarmen was the blade that severed solemnity.

she stopped just inside the room, her heels clicking against the marble, her pale gaze sweeping over each face in turn.

“padawan skywalker,” she said briskly, dipping her chin a fraction, just enough to qualify as polite, though her tone made clear it was no more than necessity.

“my lady,” anakin replied with a small, awkward bow, straightening rigidly as though unsure whether to relax or remain formal. his shoulders squared automatically.

then her stare found obi-wan kenobi.

and her expression shifted into something else entirely, a coolly amused smile that curled at one corner of her mouth but never reached her stormy eyes.

“and master kenobi,” she said, voice low and satin-smooth, laced with a tone that hovered between sarcasm and ceremony. “how fortunate we are to once again find ourselves under your moral and honorable supervision.”

obi-wan, perfectly disciplined, bowed politely. “lady hiarmen.”

she raised a brow ever so slightly, as if in approval of his restraint, or perhaps as if disappointed he would not spar. then she moved past them and took her seat beside her cousin, offering no further commentary.

vasharre, visibly tense for the first time since the reunion, turned toward obi-wan with an apologetic glance. “please forgive her,” she murmured softly. “hiarmen speaks as she breathes, vicious and severe.”

obi-wan’s lips twitched in the vaguest hint of a smile. “i have encountered diplomacy in harsher forms.”

vasharre gave the smallest laugh, graceful, reluctant, and the room, for a split second, soothed in tension.

as they began to sit, the doors slid open again.

captain typho entered, posture rigorous and alert, his good eye sweeping the room with practiced assessment. clad in the standard uniform of the naboo royal guard, dark burgundy armor trimmed with black, utility belt fastened tightly at his waist, he moved with efficient precision toward padmé’s side.

“senator,” he said with a clipped nod. “all perimeter scans report no anomalies. coruscant security has cleared the lower levels. we are secure.”

“thank you, captain,” padmé replied, but her voice was already heavy with purpose. she gestured toward the small semicircle of seating arranged in the room’s center. “please. we should begin.”

they took their seats.

obi-wan chose the chair nearest to vasharre but at a respectful angle, while anakin took one beside him, sitting forward with a lean, visibly restless. hiarmen reclined in her seat like a judge in shadowed observation, while padmé remained composed at the helm, the lines of her dress falling like robes of state. vasharre crossed her ankles delicately and rested her white hands atop her lap, each motion controlled, polished.

padmé was the first to speak.

“i want answers,” she said. her voice was clear, but not demanding, measured, but urgent. “someone tried to assassinate me. and someone tried to abduct lady rharrellis. who is behind this? and why?”

“the council does not yet know,” obi-wan said evenly, hands folded neatly. “we are not here to provide conclusions, only to protect until an investigation can proceed.”

padmé exhaled sharply. “that isn’t enough.”

before anyone else could respond, vasharre spoke.

“perhaps,” she spoke, her voice silk-bound steel, “the question must not be who ordered the strike, but what message was meant to be sent by it.”

they all turned to her, obi-wan included.

her posture remained graceful, but her gaze was firm. “two women from the same world, both known symbols of resilience in the senate, both returning at the height of a decisive vote, attacked in tandem. it may not be personal. it may be theatrical. a gesture designed to unsettle naboo. or the galactic republic at large.”

obi-wan studied her carefully. her diction was flawless. her cadence was slow andpurposeful, her every word chosen with surgical precision. there was no quiver in her voice, no outward sign of trepidation. she had become more than a noblewoman. she had become a rhetorician.

“well said, my lady,” obi-wan said after a pause, sincerely impressed. “and very possible.”

anakin shifted in his seat.

“and what if we’re waiting while the attacker strikes again?” he said suddenly, voice rising with narrowly restrained haste. “we’re already here. we could find the ones who did this. we could track them.”

obi-wan turned to him, brows drawn.

“anakin.”

“why wait for the council to move?” anakin pressed. “the longer we sit idle, the more time the attacker has to prepare. we’re jedi of the order, we’re not meant to be bodyguards.”

obi-wan’s voice came sharply now, low but precise. “we are protectors. that is exactly our role. not to act without jurisdiction. not to act out of impulse. we do not operate without sanction.”

“but we could,” anakin said. “we should.”

“that’s enough,” obi-wan said, his tone edged now, not with anger but control. he turned to the others, his expression now firmly diplomatic. “my padawan speaks from concern. but we will obey the council’s instruction. our role is to ensure safety. not to wage war.”

the room fell devoid of discussion for an instant.

padmé looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed.

vasharre’s dark gaze lingered on obi-wan a second longer, enthralled, thoughtful.

hiarmen slanted her head to the side. “so. the former slave boy and child soldier has grown into a philosopher.”

obi-wan kenobi ignored her.

anakin leaned back slowly, lips pressed into a tight line, clearly frustrated but yielding, for now.

“we will stay close,” obi-wan said calmly. “until further instructions are received. no more. no less.”

and with that, the matter, at least formally, was officially closed.

but the fault lines beneath the words continued to tremble, and everyone in the room felt it.

the absence of conversation following obi-wan’s stern words hung in the room like dust caught in a sunbeam, glinting and fragile. tension still radiated from anakin’s shoulders, though he had managed to rein in the sharp trims of his frustration. padmé watched the exchange carefully, saying nothing, her mind clearly racing behind the measured calm of her face. hiarmen, as ever, sat reclined and amused, while vasharre was poised but unmoving, her eyes lowered only scarcely in thought.

and then, lord naem rharrellis spoke.

his voice came gently, yet with the resonance of someone long accustomed to command. despite his weariness, his tone surged through the tranquillity like a steady hand over turbulent waters.

“then it is decided,” he said, gaze sweeping over the room with hazed clarity. “given the circumstances and the sensitivities surrounding both my daughter and the senator, I propose the following assignment.”

he turned his pale gaze first to anakin. “padawan skywalker, you will remain close to senator amidala. her suite is large enough for discreet protection, and she will be placed under constant surveillance. your role is not to interfere, but to ensure no harm comes to her directly.”

anakin blinked, the tension in his frame slackened almost instantly.

“of course, my lord,” he said quickly, perhaps too quickly. there was anindistinct lift in his voice, a thread of energy hardly concealed, and obi-wan immediately noted the change.

his apprentice’s entire posture shifted, he was suddenly more alert, more upright, more eager. there was the glisten of something in his eyes now, not a thoughtless joy, but a spark of hope. obi-wan recognized it too well.

and he did not like it.

naem turned now to obi-wan.

“master kenobi,” he said, and this time his voice lowered, grew more volitional. “you will be tasked with guarding my daughter, the royal lady vasharre rharrellis.”

obi-wan inclined his head slowly. “i understand. and accept the responsibility.”

and he did. deeply. for without the formal wording, the duel of fates lived behind his eyes like a shadow cast in firelight, vasharre, ten years ago, a girl of eight clutched in the grip of a demon cloaked in crimson, nearly taken by the same darkness that had killed jedi master qui-gon jinn. she had been spared by luck, by timing, and by the thinnest strike of fate.

and no one outside the jedi order, not the senate, not even padmé amidala, had ever been told. only naem had been entrusted with that truth. it had been deemed too volatile, too dangerous, to admit aloud that a sith lord had reached so near to the political heart of naboo. they had all agreed to sworn secrecy.

obi-wan’s eyes wandered to vasharre. she remembered. he could see it, buried in the poised placidity of her hands, the faint severity in her posture when her father named him. not terror. but something older. something archaic.

but before he could speak again, vasharre did.

her voice was calm, but it carried a dissonant undertone, concern wrapped in stateliness.

“my lord,” she said, not as a daughter but as a courtly figure addressing a sovereign. “with respect… I must question the wisdom of this arrangement.”

anakin turned to look at her, shocked.

padmé, too, turned to the heiress of house rharrellis.

vasharre did not flinch. her dark eyes went toward naem, then shortly toward anakin, before returning to her father. “is it wise to entrust a senator’s life to a padawan? even one as capable as master kenobi’s apprentice?”

anakin stiffened. obi-wan said nothing.

naem gave a melancholic sigh, but his eyes were gentle as they landed on his daughter.

“i have not made this choice without much careful consideration,” he said. “but I believe it is correct.”

“then why?” vasharre asked, her voice softer now, formal, but laced with restrained emotion. “why not assign master kenobi to senator amidala as well, and let the guards tend to me?”

naem shook his head. “because the threat made against you, sharre, was not against your name alone. it was a message. and a continuation. ten years ago, your life was nearly taken by a force none of us understood. now, it resurfaces. and I would not risk placing your protection in the hands of anyone less than a full jedi knight.”

the words landed akin to a stone cast into secluded water.

vasharre looked down. only for a short while.

then she turned her gaze slowly toward obi-wan.

and the expression she gave him, delicate, searching, interwoven with the vulnerability she dared not speak aloud, was not one of protest, but of understanding. acceptance.

obi-wan held her gaze, his posture untouched, but inside, something in him grew still. she was no longer the child he had pulled from danger. she was a woman now. and she was asking, without words, can I trust you again?

and he answered her, without speech, with the steadiness of his gaze alone.

you can, my royal lady.

naem turned then to the others. “this is our implemented course. I ask only that you honor it.”

hiarmen, naturally, said nothing. but her potent gaze rested on obi-wan for a beat too long.

anakin, unusually quiet, turned toward padmé as if the words had not yet fully registered. then, slowly, a grin curled across his mouth, half joy, half pride.

anakin was to be with senator amidala. every waking moment. for days. perhaps longer.

obi-wan saw it at once.

and alarm rang like a cold bell behind his chest.

the code, the jedi code, he had warned him. he had watched his gaze during the reunion. seen the light in his face shift like a boy’s first sun-struck hope. and now it would be given fuel. proximity. temptation.

“we will proceed cautiously,” obi-wan said aloud, though his eyes were still on his padawan. “and according to council instructions.”

anakin only nodded.

but obi-wan kenobi knew that, in his heart, anakin skywalker was already dreaming.

the chamber began to quell. the discussion, once taut with political tension and buried emotion, had now moved into the realm of settled decisions, however uneasy their terms may be. the arrangements had been made, and though there were no public objections left to air, the atmosphere remained charged beneath the surface, as if some deeper current had not yet broken. the golden light filtering through the tall windows had begun to shift, growing cooler with the descent of coruscant’s distant sun. time moved on, and the responsibilities laid out now took form.

obi-wan kenobi straightened in his chair, folding his hands neatly at his waist as he inclined his head toward the group. his voice, as always, was even and formal, but it carried a faint current of finality, an audible signal that the meeting had come to its close.

“with everything agreed upon,” he said, “anakin and i will escort senator amidala and lady vasharre to their respective quarters shortly. we’ll remain close at all times. coordination with the senator’s guard will ensure transitions are seamless.”

padmé nodded in acknowledgment, her face solemn, though she seemed less tense now, whether from the clarity of the arrangements or from the familiar comfort of anakin’s nearby presence, it was difficult to tell. typho made a note on his datapad and exchanged a wordless glance with one of the naboo guards at the door.

as the participants began to rise, exchanging farewells and preparing for departure, vasharre remained seated for a moment longer. her hand lingered at the base of her pale neck, her fingers brushing lightly across the nova star pendant that glimmered just above the neckline of her midnight gown. then, with practiced grace, she stood and took a step toward obi-wan.

her movement drew no attention from the others, no one but naem, who turned his pale eyes toward his daughter and regarded her with an unreadable repose, a kind of breathless solemnity that obi-wan felt before he saw.

vasharre stopped before him. her hands were loosely clasped before her, her chin held proudly, though not arrogantly. her black hair gleamed in the falling light, and her voice, when she spoke, was soft yet unmistakably clear.

“master kenobi,” she said, dipping her head with formal precision. “once again, I find myself under your protection. i thank you. deeply. and though i did not ask for this… i am honored that it is you.”

obi-wan met her gaze, his posture as reserved and upright as ever. but in his heart, something pulled. her tone was not decorative. not courtly. there was something within it that he felt, faint but rooted. something that was true.

he bowed, not too deeply, but with careful intent. “my lady,” he said quietly. “it is my duty to see to your safety. i will not fail in it.”

she tilted her head scarcely, her lips parting as if to speak again, but hesitating.

and then he added, his voice grave and without embellishment, “as long as I draw breath, I will uphold that duty. for as long as it is needed. for as long as your safety demands it.”

the words hung between them.

vasharre blinked once. she did not smile sweetly as she often did in his presence. but her expression changed, imperceptibly. as though the air between them had crystallized with something unspoken, and now neither were bold or brazen enough to breathe it in.

naem rharrellis was seated a short distance away. he had said nothing. made no motion. but obi-wan could feel the intensity of his eyes on them now, unblinking, keen, and observant. not suspicious. but watchful. there was something in his gaze that obi-wan could not decipher fully, and it hung back long after vasharre stepped lightly back, inclining her head once more.

“then may the force be with us both, master kenobi,” she said, and turned away.

obi-wan said nothing. he only watched her go until she reached her father’s side.

anakin stepped beside him then, speaking nothing, his posture once again composed, though obi-wan noted the tension in his movements had not entirely subsided since learning of his new assignment. without another word, obi-wan nodded to captain typho and to padmé, then turned on his heel, cloak sweeping behind him.

anakin followed.

they stepped through the carved durasteel doors, out into the corridor of the senatorial tower. it was quieter here, lit with the golden haze of mid-evening, the lamps already beginning to rise to life along the polished walls.

the doors closed behind them with a soft but final hiss.

the hallway was long and lit with the steady hush of coruscant’s artificial dusk, tall fixtures along the wall casting narrow pools of amber light across the smooth stone floor. it was quiet here, insulated from the noise of the city and the layered tension of the meeting they had just left behind. obi-wan kenobi walked a pace ahead of his apprentice, his cloak trailing in clean, steady rhythm behind him. his expression was unreadable, his shoulders taught with a kind of restrained urgency he rarely allowed to show.

anakin walked behind him, slower, more uneven in his stride, his gaze flickering from the walls to the floor and back again. he said nothing, but his silence was not the silence of peace, it was the silence of someone waiting to be scolded.

and obi-wan, as always, knew.

he stopped just beneath the arch of a column, turned on his heel, and fixed anakin with a gaze that was firm but not unkind.

“that,” obi-wan said, his voice hushed and deliberate, “was not how we conduct ourselves.”

anakin folded his arms defensively. “i was only speaking sense. we could be investigating…”

“that is not our mandate,” obi-wan interrupted, sharper now, not shouting, but close enough to it that the words struck. “we are here to protect, not to chase shadows. the council did not assign us to wage war. you disrespected the structure of the mission, the authority of the council, and you undermined my word in front of a senator and a royal house.”

anakin’s jaw clenched. “master, i wasn’t trying to disrespect you…”

“but you did,” obi-wan cut in again. “and it must stop.”

anakin opened his mouth, then closed it again, turning his head slightly to glare at the far wall. his fingers twitched where they gripped his elbows. obi-wan watched him a moment longer, then took a breath and continued, more controlled now.

“you cannot let your attachments cloud your purpose, anakin. you know this. we are jedi. the code is not just ritual… it is what keeps us from falling.”

anakin turned back toward him, his brow furrowed in growing frustration. “so I’m just supposed to shut off everything I feel? is that what you’re saying?”

obi-wan’s tone remained measured. “you are supposed to know when a feeling serves the light… and when it begins to serve you.”

anakin shook his head, a bitter half-laugh escaping him. “you think I don’t see it? you think I don’t notice the way you speak so calmly about the jedi code while looking at her as if…”

he stopped himself mid-sentence. obi-wan’s expression had not changed, but anakin pressed on, as if the words had broken loose without his permission and could not now be stopped.

“you looked at her,” he said, slower now, his voice quiet but potent with something raw beneath it. “you looked at lady vasharre rharrellis like she was the most divine being in the galaxy. as if the royal lady was something sacred. something remembered. don’t talk to me about attachment, master, if you’re going to pretend you don’t feel anything.”

a long pause followed.

obi-wan did not move. for an instant, his face was unreadable. then something subtle flashed in the blue of his eyes, not shock, not anger, but something colder. something that looked almost like pain.

“i felt nothing inappropriate,” he said at last, quietly. “what you witnessed was respect. nothing more.”

anakin stared at him.

“you were… enchanted,” he said. “and you know it.”

obi-wan’s voice remained calm, but forceful now, more harshly drawn.

“enough.”

anakin took a breath through his nose, then exhaled slowly, dropping his arms and looking away again. the silence that followed was different now, no longer charged, but weary.

obi-wan turned again, his voice more a whisper than before. “we are jedi, anakin. we cannot afford to be anything else.”

and with that, he continued walking down the corridor, his steps even, but his shoulders only a little tenser than before.

anakin walked a pace behind his master with embittered disinclination.

but the question hung in the air behind them, unanswered, unresolved.

as it always did.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

vasharre stepped into her private chambers with a motion as fluid as silk drawn through the air, the embroidered skirts of her midnight gown catching faint candlelight as she crossed the threshold. the doors whispered shut behind her, and the second they did, the aura she had worn in the receiving room, the composure of nobility, the polished eloquence, the diplomatic serenity, softened into something less guarded. she did not sigh, but she might as well have, her limbs moved with a lightness that betrayed her private joy, her dark eyes glimmering with something less performative. there was delight in her face now, hushed and unadorned, her steps slowed as if she wished to linger in the feeling that still clung to her skin like perfume.

obi-wan kenobi had gazed upon her.

not simply seen her, but gazed.

as though he remembered. as though he had felt the sentiment of that memory.

she floated toward the tall, mirrored wardrobe near the side of the chamber and let her fingers rest against its carved handle. her gaze studied her reflection, not with vanity, but with subtle exactitude. a few strands of hair had come loose from the wave-like cascade that fell down her back, and she began gently adjusting them into place, each motion patient and precise.

across the room, ebos was pouring wine into a glass of thin painted glassware, the pitcher catching the golden light from the ornate sconces above. she had not been present at the meeting, having remained in the chambers to prepare the room and see to the logistics of the lady’s new security assignment. but now, upon catching sight of vasharre and the very specific gown she nonetheless wore, especially from the plunging neckline down, her entire posture veered.

she paused, slowly setting the wine down on the tray with a tender clink, her brows rising in exasperated disbelief.

“i told you not to wear that gown,” ebos said flatly, folding her arms. “especially not in the presence of jedi of the order.”

vasharre, still studying herself in the mirror, reached to adjust the nova star pendant so it lay perfectly over her collarbone. “you said many things.”

“yes. and one of them was don’t wear the dress that looks like a salacious royal mistress during wartime.” ebos approached now, her voice pitched low but serious. “the neckline alone would send any temple initiate into scandal. and the fabric, it’s nearly liquid. you wore that to greet them?”

“it’s traditional,” vasharre said airily, smoothing the dark velvet of her bodice and watching how the starlight embroidery caught the gleam of the chandeliers. “in older naboo dynastic circles, gowns that revealed the bare chest were considered regal. a sign of dignity. restraint only in posture, not in beauty.”

“in this era, it’s a sign of provocation,” ebos muttered under her breath, moving to the dressing table and beginning to realign the various perfume vials and combs scattered across its surface.

“and yet,” vasharre replied, admiring the way the glowing pendant caught the lovely light, “i felt quite respected.”

ebos stopped, staring at her. “you mean looked at.”

“looked at. respected.” vasharre shrugged a delicate shoulder. “semantics.”

ebos sighed, dragging her hands down her face for a moment before exhaling sharply. “i’m not trying to be cruel, sharre. i just… i know how you are when master kenobi is near. i see the way you drift. i hear your voice when you pretend it hasn’t changed. you go very still. and then you get that… look. like you’re already imagining something you should not be.”

“how imaginative you think me,” vasharre said with an arch smile.

“you are,” ebos said, soft but stable. “you always have been. since you were a child. when you read those naboo epics and believed in jedi knights and vows and destinies… and then he arrived all those years ago.”

vasharre turned now, slowly, but said nothing.

ebos continued, more gently. “you need to tread carefully. he’s not yours. and he never will be. he belongs to the jedi order.”

vasharre held her gaze. then, with her elegant countenance, turned back to the mirror and resumed adjusting her earrings, moonstone drops that hung beneath her earlobes.

“you’re wrong,” she said, voice soft. “he’s not anyone’s.”

“that’s exactly the problem, my lady.”

vasharre didn’t answer.

but she made sure, with the utmost vigilance, that not a single strand of hair was out of place.

the soft glow of evening poured through the wide latticework windows of vasharre’s chambers, diffusing the city’s neon brightness into pale blue and violet shadows that danced across the marble floors. vasharre stood in the middle of her vast sitting room now, no longer clad in the formal midnight gown she had worn for the diplomatic assembly, but in a different creation altogether, one that balanced opulence and daring, ceremonial beauty and a private vulnerability she rarely showed beyond these walls.

her new attire was a flowing robe of pale amethyst and deep indigo silk, the fabric layered in transparent veils and edged with intricate beadwork, shimmering whenever she moved. the gown’s neckline dipped in a gentle sweep, baring her shoulders and much of her back, with the sleeves falling away from her arms like wings. at her waist, a soft sash of lilac cinched the ensemble, embroidered in subtle silver threads that traced the old rharrellis crest. beneath the draped fabric, her skin glowed almost luminously, pale as starlight. her hair, now brushed and let down in loose, romantic waves, tumbled over one shoulder, adorned with small gemstone pins. her nova star pendant hung at her neck, glinting in the hollow of her throat, luminous against her bare skin.

ebos moved about the room, folding the previous dress and laying it carefully in a lacquered chest, casting a sidelong glance at her lady every few minutes, half worried, half in awe. she paused, dusted invisible lint from a chaise, and straightened a bowl of floating flowers on the low table, the movements practiced, designed to soothe both her mistress and herself.

the door chimed, and before either could call out, it slid open with a dignified thud.

obi-wan kenobi entered with his customary composure, the edge of his brown cloak catching the violet light, his boots perfectly silent on the marble. he paused just inside the threshold, taking in the change in attire, and the altering in atmosphere that hung in the air. for a brief moment, he seemed struck, but he bowed his head, recovering his impeccable formality.

“forgive my lateness, lady rharrellis,” he said, his voice gentle but distant, as always. “after seeing my padawan to the senator’s quarters, i spoke with captain typho to discuss additional precautions for your rooms.”

vasharre turned to face him fully, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, the gesture slow and graceful. the soft layers of her gown fluttered around her, catching the light akin to a constellation.

“you need not apologize, master kenobi,” she said, her tone warm with genuine gratitude. “you have already done so much. thank you, for taking such care.”

ebos, never as verbose as her mistress, dipped her head in acknowledgment. “we’re appreciative,” she said, the words simple but sincere.

obi-wan glanced at her with a courteous nod, then returned his attention to vasharre. “it’s my duty,” he said, “and my privilege. the senator’s rooms and yours will be watched at all hours, and the guards will rotate twice per standard cycle. i’ve made it clear that any request or suspicion should come directly to me.”

vasharre offered him a delicate, sweet smile, her eyes softening. she wavered for a second, then, as ebos left unhurriedly for the adjoining dressing room, she spoke with an innermost vulnerability.

“i am glad for your vigilance. but… i worry.” her gaze dropped, lashes sweeping the high arc of her cheek. “not for myself…” she hesitated, choosing her words, “…for senator amidala. your padawan… anakin. he is gifted, of course, but very young, and the danger seems so… ancient in nature.”

obi-wan’s expression remained steady, though there was an undertone of empathy in his cerulean gaze. “your concern is not unfounded,” he said gently. “anakin is indeed young, but he has proven himself on the battlefield many times. his abilities are exceptional, and his loyalty is fierce. i would not have entrusted him to this duty if i believed otherwise.”

she studied his face, as if weighing the truth in his words. “and yet?”

obi-wan smiled faintly, the gesture sad but kind. “and yet, i will be close at hand. i promise you, lady rharrellis, if there is danger, you will not face it alone. nor will she.”

vasharre’s features relaxed, though not entirely. “you give comfort easily,” she said quietly. “but i worry too much hope can be dangerous in its own way.”

obi-wan inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes lingering on hers for a heartbeat longer than protocol would allow. “then let us temper hope with vigilance. and trust that together, we will keep both of you safe.”

vasharre looked down, touching the nova star pendant at her throat. “thank you, master kenobi,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “i do trust you.”

the words lingered in the tranquil, gilded light, delicate and unspoken in all the ways that truly mattered.

for a single, fragile breath of time, the room was suspended.

obi-wan kenobi stood a few paces from vasharre, cloaked in the calm solemnity expected of a jedi knight, but beneath the folds of duty and order, something in the air pulsed differently. vasharre stood before him in her open, silken robes of amethyst and indigo, the soft fall of the fabric framing her body akin to how light framed a star. her eyes, those deep, obsidian eyes that caught light without ever truly reflecting it, were locked on his. no sound stirred between them. no tendency broke the space. only the faded scent of neroli blossoms from the floral basin nearby marked the moment, delicate and tender. her fingers lingered lightly on the nova star at her white throat, and his gaze, merely for the briefest second, fell to it before he roused his eyes again.

neither of them spoke.

it did not need to be spoken.

the significance of a shared past, of memory sealed in silence, curled between them like smoke, there in the soft glow of the chamber, where the war outside had not yet crept in, and all that lingered was the knowledge of what had once been narrowly avoided and what might now rise inconspicuously.

then, precisely when the moment might have deepened into something more, obi-wan, ever the sentinel, gently stepped back into his role.

his voice, when it came, was soft, reassuring. but perfectly formal.

“you may sleep peacefully tonight, lady vasharre,” he said. “i’ll be posted directly outside your door. padawan skywalker will be stationed outside senator amidala’s quarters. if anything stirs, even the faintest tremor in the force, we’ll be ready.”

she listened, the calm return of etiquette smoothing the curve of her mouth. “you think there will be more tonight?”

“i hope not,” he said, “but we’ve learned that hope alone is rarely sufficient.”

vasharre’s expression grew quiet. “no… no, it isn’t.”

obi-wan took a careful step toward the chamber’s tall doors, though his voice gentled further as he added, “if there is any reason to fear, any shadow of doubt, even in your thoughts, come to me. do not think twice. not for formality, not for dignity.”

vasharre inclined her head, regal but soft. “then you’ll forgive me in advance, master kenobi,” she said, “should I find my steps straying too near your position before sleep takes me.”

obi-wan bowed, and this time the gesture was not purely ceremonial.

she watched him cross the room, each step measured, every movement betraying the gravity he carried even now, never unarmed, never unwary. his cloak, trimmed in light and shadow, swept past the hem of the rug as he reached the doors. he paused, hand to the control panel, then glanced back, only once.

vasharre stood exactly as she had before, the sheer fabric of her sleeves caught in the air from the chamber’s gentle circulation, her face unreadable but no longer composed in diplomatic polish. something softer lived there now. something only he had seen.

obi-wan offered no further words.

and then, with a whisper of parting metal, the doors slid open, and he stepped out into the hall.

the corridor was quieter than before. the guards were posted, rigorous and armored. the lights had dimmed to their nighttime glow, and in the hush that followed his departure, he allowed himself, for just a minute, to breathe as a man rather than as a jedi.

the nova star beneath his tunic felt heavier than it had in these ten years.

his thoughts were clouded. not turbulent, not dangerous, but unquiet.

her lovely voice, obi-wan kenobi thought. the way she looked at me.

he pushed the thoughts down.

he pushed everything down.

and took his place outside her door, as the city fell deeper into night.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

night had fully unfurled its shroud across coruscant’s endless skyline. the towers gleamed with a colder, paler light now, illumination not from the sun but from circuitry and traffic lanes, from ships sliding silently through the dark like stars in motion. shadows swam along the walls of the senatorial residence, broken only by the occasional flicker of blue light from a passing speeder or the rhythmic pulse of security beacons at each guarded post.

on the upper floor, outside the chambers of senator padmé amidala and lady vasharre rharrellis, two members of the jedi order stood watch beneath the arch of an open corridor. the air was still, held in that particular solitude that comes after a long day’s tension, when the decisions had been made but the consequences had not yet arrived.

obi-wan kenobi stood with his hands folded loosely before him, his eyes gazing toward the horizon, unblinking. his senses were extended into the force, reaching, attuning, listening for any disturbance, no matter how subtle. but even in his meditative posture, he was aware of the young man ridden with strain beside him.

anakin was moving again. not pacing, he knew better than to pace when on duty, but shifting from foot to foot, adjusting his gloves, glancing at the sealed doorway to padmé’s quarters with more frequency than necessary. his brow was drawn, not in alertness, but in thought. his eyes were too clouded, too distant.

obi-wan spoke calmly, without turning.

“you’re troubled.”

anakin hesitated, as though deciding whether to deny it.

then he sighed, meager and tired. “i can’t sleep. even if i wanted to.”

obi-wan looked at him now, his gaze steady but not unkind. “is it the assignment? or something else?”

anakin’s voice, when he finally replied, was hushed, like admitting the truth aloud might give it more consequence.

“my mother,” he said. “the dreams haven’t stopped. they’re getting worse.”

obi-wan’s posture shifted slightly. not in alarm, but in response. he knew the pain that lingered behind that name, shmi skywalker. a maternal figure from the distant deserts of tatooine, long vanished from their daily lives, but never from anakin’s heart.

“you’ve had dreams of her before,” obi-wan said gently.

“yes,” anakin replied, eyes cast downward. “but these feel different. stronger. more frightening.”

a pause.

obi-wan considered this carefully. then, “nightmares pass, anakin. not every vision is a warning.”

anakin shook his head. “but what if this one is? what if she’s in pain? what if my mother needs me and…” he cut himself off, jaw clenching. “how can I ignore that?”

obi-wan exhaled slowly. “i’m not asking you to ignore it. but you must not let it rule you. fear… even for someone you love, is the path to darkness. the jedi code doesn’t deny emotion, but it asks that we master it. that we act in service, not in desire.”

anakin looked away, his fingers flexing unconsciously at his sides.

“it’s just…” he hesitated. “how do you stop caring about someone who raised you? who loved you?”

obi-wan’s face softened, if only by a little. “you don’t. but you must learn to care without possession. to feel without attachment. it’s not easy, I know that. but it’s the only way to stay whole within the force”

anakin didn’t reply. he nodded once, stiffly.

but the lack of conversation concerning the jedi code didn’t last.

after a few moments, he spoke again, his voice lower now, more uncertain.

“and what about padmé?”

obi-wan’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly, he braced.

“what about her?”

anakin’s eyes were fixed on the distant towers now, his voice half-lost in the hum of the city. “she’s changed. she’s more poised now. more… guarded. but she’s still her. i can’t stop thinking about her. since the day we landed… she’s all i think about.”

obi-wan turned toward him more fully, his brow furrowed now in quiet concern. “anakin…”

“i know,” anakin interrupted quickly, voice rising in tension. “i know what you’re going to say. the jedi forbids it. attachments lead to fear, fear leads to the dark side. yes, i know. but I can’t stop it. i’ve tried. i’ve meditated. i’ve focused. but she’s still there, in my head, in every breath i take.”

obi-wan did not say anything for a long beat.

then, gravely but without sharpness, “you must let it go.”

anakin’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp. “did you let go of every feeling you’ve ever had?”

obi-wan didn’t answer.

the divide between them deepened again. this time heavier, more tense.

anakin turned away.

“i thought so.”

anakin’s voice carried the bite of accusation, but beneath it, obi-wan could hear something deeper, hurt, confusion, that relentless need to understand why the rules applied to him and not to the man who had raised him into the jedi he was.

obi-wan turned his head but did not yet speak.

anakin pressed forward, tone lower now but no less sharp. “you don’t get to lecture me about attachments when you’re standing outside her door like a sentinel out of a romance saga.”

obi-wan’s gaze hardened. “my duty has nothing to do with sentiment.”

“please.” anakin scoffed, stepping a pace away and throwing a hand out toward the skyline. “you spoke to her like you were kneeling at an altar. i’ve seen less reverence in the temple archives.”

obi-wan looked at him fully now, the sharpness in his eyes still contained, but clear. “you are letting your emotions speak louder than your reason.”

anakin snapped back, “so are you. only difference is, you pretend yours don’t exist.”

that landed like a strike. a period of time passed.

obi-wan said nothing more, his posture rigid as he turned his gaze back to the skyline, where night continued to thicken around the lights of coruscant.

the solemnity held. but now, it was full of everything they could not say.

it began not with sound, nor with movement, but with a breath of change in the air, an invisible ripple in the force, like a string suddenly pulled taut between two points across a vast distance. obi-wan kenobi felt it first, a cold sliver sliding down his spine, the unbearable constricting in his chest. his head turned, eyes narrowing as the lights of coruscant seemed to slow, to fade, as though the city itself were holding its breath.

anakin felt it next.

he straightened abruptly beside him, all earlier tension vanishing into pure instinct. the dread in his voice was sharp, urgent.

“padmé.”

he was gone a heartbeat later, dashing toward the senator’s quarters, his boots pounding against polished floor. obi-wan didn’t stop him, not because he approved, but because he couldn’t.

because at that moment, he felt it.

not in the senator’s chamber.

in vasharre’s.

a sudden, violent flare of terror, raw and electric, so loud in the force it nearly dropped him to his knees. he had felt many kinds of fear in his life. battlefield fear. desperate fear. dying fear. but this, this was something primal.

“vasharre…” he breathed, already turning, already running.

he raced through the corridor, his cloak billowing behind him, every step drawn by the unmistakable pulse of her terror. he rounded the curve, skidded toward her door, and even before his hand reached the panel, he heard it.

a shriek, high, anguished, shattered.

“help me… please…obi-wan!”

the doors slid open, and the sound hit him like a blade.

the chamber was chaos.

the scent of broken glass and scorched metal filled the air. wind howled in from the shattered window, curtains whipped violently in all directions, and moonlight from coruscant’s towers cast jagged shadows across the floor. somewhere to the left, a vase had exploded, its porcelain shards littered across the marble in white fragments.

and at the center.

vasharre rharrellis.

she was on the floor in a crumpled tangle of silk and skin, her dark hair disheveled, the sheer folds of her robe fluttering madly in the storm of air. her hands were pressed to her ears, her eyes wide and wet with terror, her mouth still open in a voiceless scream. the nova star at her throat shook wildly, catching the flicker of light like a small, desperate flame.

obi-wan’s saber ignited with a snap-hiss, the blue blade casting long shadows across the room. he stepped in front of her in an instant, eyes scanning the darkness. the broken window yawned open before him, jagged glass still pouring like rain.

and then he saw it.

the droid was already rising, an insectile thing, all legs and mandibles and coiled tension, its repulsors barely whirring beneath its gliding frame. its sleek black casing glinted like oil. its needle-thin proboscis glistened from the attempt. it darted toward the open air, a hiss of propulsion lifting it from the sill.

no.

obi-wan moved before he thought.

with a burst of motion, he sprinted to the window and leapt.

the wind hit him like a wall, cold and fast and endless. his saber extinguished in a flash of blue as he hurled himself into the open air, reaching for the metal legs of the droid with every ounce of control he had left. for a half-second he was falling.

then his hands caught.

metal. thin, whirring limbs. the droid shrieked in static as he gripped it, and for a moment, it lurched wildly, trying to shake him off. obi-wan held fast, his cloak whipping violently behind him as they soared above the upper avenues of coruscant, the traffic lanes glittering far below like rivers of light.

wind tore at his face. sparks burst from the droid’s propulsion vents as it struggled to balance with his weight. he grit his teeth, fingers straining, muscles screaming. the city was a blur of motion and sound, speeders honking in alarm as the droid twisted between lanes.

his body was half-dragged, half-flung, hanging onto the thrashing droid with both hands, feet kicking against the open air.

but all he could think.

all he could hear.

was her voice.

“please… obi-wan!”

and the look in her celestial eyes.

obi-wan kenobi would not let it go unanswered. not this time. not ever.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the chamber pulsed with the sound of her horrified scream, though her voice had long since fallen silent.

vasharre remained frozen for a moment on the floor, the air roaring past her from the shattered window, her trembling hands clutching at the fabric pooled around her. the night was no longer peaceful. it was a cacophony of brokenness, the sharp hiss of wind, the faint whine of speeders far below, the soft drip of something overturned and forgotten in the chaos. the room was in ruins, her sanctuary torn apart as if it had never been sacred. glass sparkled across the marble like a heavenly alignment of stars, cold and glinting. fragments of the outer pane still hung jagged from the arch, the curtains twisting like wounded wings in the wind.

but none of that held her attention.

not the broken vase. not the torn silks. not the open night.

only him.

obi-wan kenobi.

gone.

out the window.

out into the abyss.

her mind reeled. the memory, not even a minute past, flashed again, his silhouette, blade ignited, stepping in front of her like a wall of light. then, without pause, without hesitation, leaping. his cloak vanishing into the air. the wind swallowing the sound of his body as he disappeared into the city’s endless drop.

her heart pounded. not just with fear. not even with reason. it beat with that terrible kind of panic that split through every lesson she’d ever learned in restraint, dignity, or obedience. her fingers dug into the floor as she rose to her knees, then her feet, staggering against the velvet folds of her gown.

“he… he’s out there…”she gasped aloud, half to herself, staggering toward the ruined window, the glass crunching underfoot.

but as she crossed the threshold of her bedchamber, a hand seized her wrist.

“my lady… vasharre!” ebos’s voice cracked through the storm of sound, hoarse with fear. she had entered barely minutes after the jedi knight’s leap, emerald eyes wide at the carnage, her sleeves pushed back as she reached for her mistress. her fingers were grippwd, desperate. “stop! you can’t… master kenobi told me to keep you inside. he said you were to stay. that you would be safe…”

“i cannot stay!” vasharre cried, her voice sharp, raw, not with ignorance but desperation. “you didn’t see… he just… he jumped. out the window. without thinking. without…” her words broke apart as her breath caught. “he could die, ebos. he could die. and I stood there and screamed like a foolish little girl.”

ebos strengthened her grip, pulling vasharre away from the glass-strewn threshold. “you are not a child. you are the daughter of lord naem rharrellis…”

“and what does that matter if he falls?” vasharre’s voice cracked now, too close to something she couldn’t name. she pulled her arm from ebos’s grip, wild strands of hair now whipped across her pale cheeks by the wind.

“please,” ebos said again, her voice shaking but steady. “you must stay here. that’s what he wanted. you’re safe here. he’ll come back. he always comes back.”

but vasharre was already shaking her head.

“no,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes, not the tears of helplessness, but of that reckless, overwhelming dread that gripped her chest like iron. “i won’t wait like this. not again. not in silence. not in ignorance. i can’t be locked away while someone…. while obi-wan… is out there because of me.”

she stepped back, her feet slicing lightly on the glass, not caring, already moving across the ruined floor, silk and bare skin trailing behind her like water through debris.

“vasharre!” ebos tried to grab her again, voice taut with panic.

but it was no use.

vasharre had already crossed the threshold, fleeing down the hall barefoot, blood and silk and terror in her wake.

the halls of the senatorial residence were a blur around her, stone and glass and shadow smeared into streaks by her velocity, her panic, her refusal to be left behind. vasharre flew down the corridor barefoot, the long, flowing folds of her silken gown tangling around her legs, the hem already torn and streaked red from the shallow cuts blooming along her feet. but she did not feel the pain. not now. not when the only image in her mind was the way obi-wan had vanished, his silhouette swallowed by darkness, his body flung into open air with nothing but his will and the force to hold him.

she raced past startled guards who shouted after her, past corridors that twisted upward into balconies, through doors that hissed open in warning rather than invitation. the city howled outside. the storm of speeders and starships had thickened, and the whine of high-altitude repulsorlifts shuddered through the durasteel walls. the pursuit had begun. she could feel it in the force, faraway and ragged, the echo of him, clinging to that droid like a comet clings to its flame.

then, movement ahead.

anakin skywalker.

he was a flash of dark robes and urgency, sprinting across the durasteel platform beyond the eastern docking hangar. the door had barely slid open when he was already inside, vaulting onto the access ramp of a small republic speeder, fast, lean, modified for aerial pursuit. one of the newer models, trimmed in crimson and silver, its rear propulsion coils already glowing faintly in the darkness. a naboo guard tried to stop him, shouted something, but anakin shoved past him with no difficulty, determination etched into every line of his face.

vasharre didn’t wait another second.

“anakin!” she called out, her voice carrying above the engines, breathless but strong with intent.

he turned in his seat, just as he was prepping the ignition. his mouth opened in disbelief. “vasharre? what are you..?”

she climbed up the ladder with swift, ungraceful urgency, hoisting the remnants of her torn gown into the cockpit, ignoring the trail of blood she was leaving on the hull. she threw herself into the co-pilot’s chair beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the console.

“get us in the air,” she ordered, voice brisk, commanding. “now!”

anakin stared at her, caught somewhere between outrage and shock. “you’re not coming with me! master kenobi will kill me if I let you come…”

“and I’ll kill you if something happens to him,” she snapped, eyes blazing, her voice cracking on the last syllable. “do you understand me, anakin? get us off the ground.”

anakin blinked.

then, despite himself, he smirked.

“fine,” he muttered, hands flying over the console as he powered the repulsors, flipped the stabilizers into pursuit mode, and shifted the gear into full forward thrust. “but if we crash, I’m telling him this was your idea.”

the ship roared beneath them.

vasharre gritted her teeth, clutching the edge of the dash as the speeder peeled away from the platform and shot into the open sky. the city erupted around them, lights and steel and blur, towers melting into streaks of gold and blue as anakin veered into the upper lanes. below them, coruscant yawned wide, endless and starless, and somewhere in that vast expanse, obi-wan kenobi clung to a fleeing assassin droid that was trying to disappear into the heart of the city planet.

and she would not, would not, be left behind.

the speeder ripped through the coruscant night like a shot fired from a silent cannon, sleek, high-powered, merciless in velocity. buildings blurred past in a riot of blue and gold, towers rising and falling like titanic pillars beneath the arc of their flightpath, light and shadow slicing across the cockpit as the ship surged forward through the air lanes. artificial wind shrieked past the glass as anakin pushed the speeder well past its standard safety limit, and the vessel shuddered with raw, biting speed.

vasharre sat in the co-pilot’s seat, her knuckles white as she clutched the frame beside her. her dark hair whipped wildly around her shoulders, strands catching in the air vents, lashes fluttering against the rush of pressurized air that hissed through the cockpit. her gown had been cinched hastily by the belt at her waist, but the sheer veils snapped violently in the turbulence, catching the city’s lights like storm-torn silk. her chest rose and fell quickly, not from exhaustion, but from sheer disbelief.

the city, coruscant, it was alive.

she had never experienced this before. she had ridden in ceremonial airspeeders, yes. enclosed vessels, smooth diplomatic transports, gentle gliders over naboo’s serene lakes. but this, this was something else. the whole planet spun below her in a galaxy of lights and engines and raw movement. the speeder dove between lanes, threaded itself through columns of speeding traffic, swerved sideways through narrow gaps between scaffolding. the stars were above, and below, and around. her heart hammered against her ribs with a rhythm that was half fear, half rapture.

she gasped as the speeder banked suddenly, slamming her shoulder gently against the seat.

anakin glanced sideways, grinning like a madman. “never flown like this before, my royal lady?”

vasharre gave him a withering glare, but her pale lips parted as another sudden drop launched them downward. “it’s not flying,” she managed through the breathlessness. “it’s falling sideways!”

he barked a laugh. “welcome to coruscant!”

up ahead, the assassin’s droid shot through a tunnel of traffic and plunged vertically, steeply, toward the lower levels. but it wasn’t alone.

obi-wan was still clinging to it, his form taut and controlled, cloak thrashing behind him like a banner. his grip remained locked around one of the droid’s exposed arms, the force sustaining him, guiding every motion as they swerved dangerously close to an infrastructure beam. then, without warning, a slicing metallic burst cracked through the night.

a shot.

an explosion of smoke and sparks erupted from the droid’s undercarriage.

the droid spun erratically, limbs flailing, propulsion coils spasming in failure. it dipped hard and obi-wan slipped.

vasharre’s scream was caught in her throat as she saw him fall.

“anakin! do something!” she cried.

but anakin had already moved.

the speeder dove with masterful precision, metal groaning as he yanked the controls down and twisted the stabilizers. the vessel cut through traffic like a blade, tilting sideways as it spun through an oncoming column of transport freighters. vasharre shouted as inertia slammed them back, but she kept her eyes locked on the figure spiraling toward the street levels far below.

anakin narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched.

“come on. come on!”

obi-wan contorted midair, one arm flailing toward the force as he fell.

and then, the speeder banked under him.

obi-wan dropped hard onto the rear engine bay, rolled once, and grabbed hold of the back stabilizer bar with both hands. his cloak flared behind him as they surged forward again, barely slowing. the speeder dipped slightly from the impact, then recovered, engines screaming as anakin corrected the flight path.

vasharre turned around in her seat, heart in her throat.

obi-wan was gripping the edge of the speeder with both hands, breathing hard, his face unreadable, but alive. he alive.

he looked up.

his eyes met hers.

she swallowed.

“anakin!” obi-wan barked, his voice hoarse, wind whipping past his face. “what is lady rharrellis doing here?”

anakin winced. “apparently, saving you, master.”

obi-wan climbed into the back seat with a smooth vault, pulling himself forward until he was half between them. “you disobeyed a direct order. i entrusted you with her safety! not with her company on a high-speed pursuit through an unsecured district!”

anakin scowled. “i tried! she threatened to kill me!”

vasharre turned, her voice more serious now. “you were falling through the sky, master kenobi! i wasn’t going to sit and writhe in misery while you died!”

obi-wan turned to her now, not with anger, but with that solemn, disappointed gravity only he possessed.

“my lady,” he said, lower, steadier, though still cutting. “i asked you to stay where you were because i knew this would happen. this isn’t a game. this isn’t a scene for court or poetry. this is real.”

vasharre’s chin lifted. “i know it’s real. and that’s why I came.”

obi-wan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. he didn’t speak again, but he did not break her gaze for a long while.

he turned toward the front.

“we’re not done discussing this,” obi-wan said, more to both of them than to either.

“oh, joy,” anakin muttered, redirecting the speeder into a hard turn.

the city opened before them again, wide and infinite. ahead, a flash of silver, the escaping assassin’s ship, smaller than expected, darting between towers as it vanished into one of the city’s deeper shafts.

obi-wan leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“there,” he said. “follow it.”

and with one hand gripping the edge of the dashboard, the other resting on the hilt of his saber, he braced himself.

the hunt was not over.

and neither were the consequences.

the speeder screamed through coruscant’s night like a meteor on fire, darting between spires and glowing lanes, tailing the assassin’s ship as it plunged lower and lower into the underbelly of the city. the air was thick with the fumes of passing transports, the haze of perpetual twilight thickening as they descended into the lower levels, where the artificial lights dimmed and shadows stretched long over steel walkways and alley vents.

obi-wan leaned forward beside anakin, both of them braced against the force of the wind and inertia. his eyes were locked on the fleeing vessel, its black hull scorched from the earlier exchange, trailing smoke as its stabilizers gave intermittent bursts of light. it weaved desperately through the traffic, veering left past a maintenance scaffold, then right through a narrow passage under a commuter bridge.

“they’re losing control,” anakin muttered, hands white-knuckled on the controls.

“let them,” obi-wan replied, his voice clipped. “we’ll pick through the wreckage.”

behind them, vasharre sat silent, though her posture was anything but still. she had her hands braced on the far end of the seat, dark eyes narrowed with ferocious intensity as she stared at the ship ahead. every inch of her being was furious, furious, at the figure who had dared enter her chambers, who had threatened padmé, who had put her father and cousin in danger. the taste of helplessness soured her tongue, and now that she was out here, with the city screaming around her, she could do something.

she could act.

suddenly, the assassin’s ship banked hard left, too hard.

a series of sparks burst from its hull, the engines sputtered.

impact.

the vessel slammed into the side of a cylindrical durasteel tower with a sickening, metallic shriek, its body twisting violently as it careened downward in a shower of fire and broken panels. it hit a lower platform, scraped, then skidded sideways before exploding against a service stack, the fireball erupting in a short, blinding pulse. debris rained down, scrap, oil, half-melted hull plating.

“there!” obi-wan shouted. “bring us in!”

anakin was already steering toward the impact zone when vasharre moved.

too swiftly.

too recklessly.

“vasharre…!” anakin started.

but she had already thrown herself from the speeder.

her figure vanished downward in a rush of violet silks and wind, limbs poised like a diver mid-plunge, eyes locked on the burning wreck below. the air howled past her ears, pressure slamming against her skin, the city racing up toward her faster than she could comprehend.

she reached out.

not with her hands.

with the force.

it was unpracticed. uncertain. she had barely used it in a decade, not like this. not to survive.

please, please catch me, please save me.

her descent slowed, but only somewhat. the invisible weight of the force caught her like a fragile net, shaking beneath her in unstable bursts. her feet struck the edge of a landing scaffold with a hard jolt, sending her stumbling into a roll that shredded the side of her gown and left her palms bloodied where they scraped the metal. she crashed against a railing and gripped it with both hands, chest heaving, hair flying into her face.

she cursed under her breath, staggering upright, eyes glistening.

the disguised assassin was gone.

“no… no, no!”

another thud behind her.

anakin skywalker landed with the easy grace of someone trained for chaos and catastrophe. he stood straight, brushing a fleck of ash from his sleeve, eyes scanning the ruins.

“i told you not to jump,” he muttered, breath sharp. “you really don’t listen to anyone, do you?”

vasharre didn’t answer. she was pacing now, barefoot over the heat-warped metal, her eyes sweeping every corner of the platform, every shadow.

“they were here. they fell. they couldn’t have gotten far…”

“look around,” anakin said, pointing past the railing. “we’re not exactly alone.”

she followed his gaze.

below the crash zone was a densely packed pedestrian level, neon-lit, noisy, teeming with movement. hover-ads flickered against stone facades, locals filtered in and out of storefronts, and high above one of the nearby terraces, a glowing red sign flashed in repeating aurebesh letters.

outlander club.

anakin narrowed his eyes.

“of course,” he muttered. “perfect place to disappear.”

vasharre’s eyes broadened in bewilderment. “you think they went in there?”

“i would,” he said. “plenty of exits. too many faces. no one notices a hooded figure in a place like that.”

he turned toward the club, already on the move. “come on. they’re in there.”

vasharre followed, lifting the shredded folds of her gown. her bloodied feet left faint tracks on the stairwell as they disappeared into the press of the lower city.

above them, smoke continued to rise, but the true pursuit had only just begun.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the speeder banked in hard, engines whining in protest as obi-wan forced the vessel into a tight descent between two rust-streaked towers. smoke from the crashed assassin’s ship still hung low over the platform, mingling with the rising mist of coruscant’s lower atmosphere, making visibility hazy at best. he brought the speeder down with practiced control, the stabilizers shrieking as the hull kissed the landing scaffold with more friction than he’d have liked.

he shut the controls off with a snap and exhaled, once, slowly, through his nose.

he had not yet exited the cockpit, but already his shoulders were braced. there was no point in pretending calm, not with these circumstances. he could feel the reckless heat of it still abiding in the force, the twin pulses of skywalker and vasharre akin to twin comets crashing through his awareness, urgent, uncontrolled, infuriating. he drew in another breath and climbed out of the speeder, his boots landing with a metallic thud on the damaged platform.

the wreckage of the assassin’s ship still smoldered. ash and broken plating curled in heat around his path, but he moved past it with barely a glance. he knew neither of them had been caught in the blast. they had leapt, leapt, for stars’ sake, into the open chaos of coruscant’s pedestrian lower level like a pair of half-trained initiates chasing a story.

he spotted them at once.

up ahead, just beyond a narrow stairwell leading into the streaming lights and noise of the outlander club, stood anakin and vasharre, shoulder to shoulder, silhouetted against the flickering crimson signage. they weren’t looking back at him. they hadn’t even noticed the speeder land. they were facing each other, speaking too softly for him to hear.

he slowed.

anakin leaned in, said something that seemed to amuse her. vasharre nodded her head, smiling kindly. then, casually, instinctively, anakin raised a hand and placed it on her bare shoulder, whispering something else only for her.

obi-wan stopped walking.

the gesture was nothing. harmless. familiar. shielding.

but it lodged in his chest like a jagged stone.

he wasn’t sure why.

he exhaled once and started forward, his pace brisk now, the weight of frustration settling deeper with each step. he reached them just as anakin was turning back toward the club entrance.

“anakin,” obi-wan called, tone clipped. “a word.”

anakin turned, half-wincing in anticipation. “yes, master?”

obi-wan came to a halt in front of them, arms folded neatly across his chest, his gaze going shortly to vasharre, just enough to confirm she was unharmed, before fixing squarely on his padawan.

“let me see if i have this correct,” he said slowly. “you allowed the daughter of a high-ranking naboo politician and the senator’s closest companion to hurl herself into open air, plunge through three levels of coruscant traffic, land in the middle of a burning wreck, and then you decided the best course of action was to join her, in pursuit, without any backup, in a crowded district known for its criminal activity and illegal black-market weapons trading.”

anakin shrugged. “technically, she jumped first.”

“that’s not…”obi-wan stopped himself, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “that is not the point.”

he looked between them, exasperated but composed. “you both could have been killed. or worse, used as bait. there are people in this city who’d pay a fortune to get their hands on you, lady rharrellis. this…” he gestured toward the club, toward the smoke, “…this is why I told you to stay put.”

vasharre lowered her chin, but said nothing. her black gaze remained steady, unreadable.

obi-wan exhaled slowly and turned back to anakin. “i swear, one day you will be the death of me.”

anakin’s expression softened.

“don’t say that,” he said, far more hushed now. “you’re the closest thing i have to a father.”

obi-wan paused.

his face softened too, but only momentarily. he looked at anakin with something weary behind his eyes. “then listen to me when i give you a command.”

anakin nodded. “i understand, master.”

they turned toward the club together, the thick air pressing closer now, filled with the thrum of music and the buzz of low conversation. people filtered in and out of the arched entrance, bathed in the flickering hues of neon signage. the outlander club loomed ahead like a hive of noise, stench, and anonymity.

obi-wan turned to vasharre, lowering his voice. “stay close. don’t wander. if you see the assassin, say nothing. point them out to me or anakin, and then fall back.”

vasharre nodded, her lips pursed.

“i mean it,” he added, eyes narrowing. “no heroics.”

“as you command, master kenobi,” she said, formal, but still defiant in the glint of her eye.

anakin was already stepping toward the entrance. “so what’s the plan?”

obi-wan’s gaze narrowed on the crowd inside. his voice dropped. “they’ll be in there. blending in.”

“you think they survived the crash?”

“no doubt,” obi-wan said. “and if my senses are correct…”

he looked deeper into the shadows of the club.

“they’re not merely disguised,” he added grimly. “they’re a changeling.”

anakin raised an eyebrow. “great.”

vasharre, behind them, said nothing. but her hands curled lightly at her sides.

and together, they stepped into the chaos.

the outlander club opened up around them like a shifting dream, loud, humid, and awash in color. the lights blinked red, violet, and acid blue across every surface, refracted by haze from vaporized liquors and sweat-dampened air. the music pounded from somewhere overhead and beneath, rhythmic and mechanical, vibrating through the floors like a second pulse. the ceilings were low and coiled with pipes and fans, and the room itself was carved out in layers, staggered tiers of steps, alcoves, and spiraling booths. alien species mingled in every direction, heads adorned with fronds or horns or feathers, bodies wrapped in silks, leathers, exposed bioluminescent skin, languages barked and purred in waves. everything moved.

anakin walked at a brazen pace ahead of them, eyes scanning the room with barely contained urgency, his posture tight with restless energy. he passed a pair of brightly painted twi’leks without noticing them, his gaze darting through shadows and over hoods, searching for movement. his voice carried over the music, tense and frustrated.

“we’re wasting time. the assassin’s in here somewhere. i can feel it…”

“then feel it patiently,” obi-wan said over his shoulder. his voice, though low, was sharp with restraint. “they’ll reveal themselves. you’re reacting like a sensor beacon with its wires crossed.”

anakin turned, exasperated. “you’re just walking around! where are you going?”

obi-wan raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “to get a drink.”

anakin blinked.

“seriously?”

“yes,” obi-wan said, already weaving toward the glowing crescent-shaped bar at the center of the room. he cast a glance behind to vasharre, who had followed wordlessly, her expression unreadable but her eyes wide as they swept across the crowd. “and i’m getting one for the lady as well. we’ve earned it.”

vasharre looked at the jedi knight, perplexed. “we have?”

“my lady, you jumped off a speeder hovering in midair,” obi-wan said. “you deserve something with flavor to soothe your sense.”

the bar was bathed in cool blue light and manned by a humanoid bartender with luminous eyes and metallic fingers that moved rapidly over mixers, taps, and polished glasses. behind him stood an endless display of off-world liquors, some of which glowed faintly or shimmered like oil under the lights.

obi-wan leaned against the counter with practiced ease, nodding once to the bartender. “jogan fruit cocktail. and a lum. something mild, but with a clean finish.”

the bartender gave him a skeptical glance, then set to work. vasharre stood beside him now, her arms crossed loosely beneath her chest, her hair still half-loosened from the speeder’s wind, her cheeks flushed from the pulsing adrenaline. her dress, tattered and wild from the pursuit, gleamed under the ultraviolet light, the silk near translucent in places, the embroidery catching sparks of every color.

“do you always act like you’re on a diplomatic holiday when you’re hunting assassins?” she whispered.

obi-wan glanced at her, bemused. “only when i need the assassin to think they’re being ignored.”

before she could reply, a figure slunk forward from the periphery of the bar, a wiry humanoid with greasy skin, twitching eyes, and long, skeletal fingers. he wore a faded jacket with chemical stains and a half-emptied vial necklace that jingled faintly as he leaned in.

“you wanna buy some death sticks?” the man hissed, a sour grin stretching across his face. “cheap. clean. very strong. good for nerves… real good for nerves, especially after crashes and flames…”

vasharre recoiled, her lip curling in visible disgust.

obi-wan turned toward the man calmly.

then, with a smooth wave of his hand, his voice softened into something rhythmically gentle. “you don’t want to sell me death sticks.”

the man blinked.

his grin faltered.

“…i don’t wanna sell you death sticks.”

“you want to go home and rethink your life.”

“i want to go home and rethink my life,” the man mumbled, already turning around like a sleepwalker, stumbling off into the crowd with his stained jacket trailing behind him.

vasharre turned to obi-wan, stunned.

“master kenobi…”

“a jedi mind trick,” he said, almost absently as the bartender returned with their drinks. “works well on the weak-minded.”

she accepted the glass he offered her, a pale violet liquid that shimmered as it swirled. she brought it to her lips and drank, not a sip, but a long, impulsive swallow, still not quite steady from the evening’s chaos.

it burned delicately on the way down. she blinked. “that’s… dangerously pleasant.”

obi-wan arched a brow. “so is most of coruscant.”

she lowered the glass, looking at him now with a slightly looser expression, her limbs a little less tense. “and what if i’d said yes to him?”

“then i would’ve used a jedi mind trick on you,” he said dryly. “though, with your strong will, my lady, i question if it would work.”

vasharre laughed.

and for a brief moment, despite the chaos beyond the bar, the assassin lurking somewhere in the club’s thumping shadows, the trauma of the night, the hunt unresolved, there was something oddly still between them. not safe. not tranquil.

but steady.

and it would not last.

the instant came with no warning.

obi-wan had been halfway through lifting his glass, the cool rim barely brushing his lower lip, when the air shifted. not in sound or motion, but in the force. an abrupt surge, tight and violent, pressed into his awareness like a knife through mist. the light around him seemed to draw inward. the colors of the club, neon red, deep cerulean, pulsing gold, blurred into static. time slowed. his body moved before his thoughts did.

he dropped the drink in his hand.

his hand reached for his saber in one fluid motion, the hilt already in his palm, fingers curling with practiced precision. the snap-hiss of ignition rang out like thunder in the muffled haze of the music, and the blue blade flared to life, casting harsh light across the bar’s polished surface.

vasharre startled beside him, instinctively turning, only for her eyes to broaden.

the changeling was already moving.

one of the patrons at the end of the bar, a lithe female twi’lek in a dusky cloak, face partially hidden, had risen, but her motion wasn’t casual. it was coiled. too fast. too precise. her hand flicked from beneath her cloak, revealing the glint of a blade, not a blaster, not a saber, but a long, curved vibrodagger laced with glimmering venom compound along its edge. her eyes, now darting, unnatural, locked onto obi-wan’s for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, the illusion shattered.

the changeling.

“down!” obi-wan shouted, sweeping his saber in a tight arc toward her as she spun backward, narrowly avoiding the strike.

patrons screamed. the club erupted.

she bolted.

chairs flipped, glasses shattered, bodies scattered in panic as the changeling leapt over a group of startled drinkers and vanished into the chaos, moving like liquid shadow through the press of the crowd. obi-wan was after her in an instant, saber glowing in front of him, his cloak trailing behind him in the storm of movement.

“anakin!” he barked.

anakin was already on his feet, igniting his own saber, brilliant sky blue in contrast to the hazy neon that bathed the club. “i see her!”

vasharre, heart hammering in her ribs, vaulted after them with no regard for danger, lifting the hems of her battered gown as she sprinted through the shattered crowd. bodies crashed past her, music still roaring in the background, but her focus was singular. obi-wan.

the changeling burst through the rear door of the club, slamming into the humid night outside. the service exit opened into a narrow catwalk above a transit lane, and she leapt across it like a feral animal, her cloak flaring out behind her, form already beginning to shift. her limbs lengthened, skin mottled and glimmering as she transformed into something leaner, stronger, her eyes stretching and changing hues. her entire frame metamorphosed.

she’s becoming someone else.

obi-wan reached the walkway just behind her and leapt without hesitation, the force driving his motion. he flipped once mid-air and landed with both feet slamming against the durasteel. anakin followed seconds later, blade humming as he charged forward.

the changeling spun and threw something.

a flash of silver. a flash of poison.

the blade arced, not toward the jedi.

toward vasharre.

time shattered again.

obi-wan saw it.

he didn’t think.

he moved.

he stepped directly into the blade’s path, sweeping his arm around to shield her just as it struck.

a searing sound. then pain, deep, agonizing, immediate.

the blade pierced through his outer cloak and into the muscle of his upper arm, just beneath the shoulder. he exhaled sharply through his teeth, stumbling back a pace, lightsaber faltering in his grip for only a moment. the pain bloomed hot, but he didn’t fall. he didn’t stop.

“master kenobi!” vasharre gasped.

he grit his teeth, pushing her gently behind him. “stay there.”

anakin surged forward.

with a battle cry, he clashed sabers with the changeling, his strikes fast and aggressive, his movements shaped not only by training, but by the sheer rage of having seen his master wounded. the changeling parried, her tendencies slippery, animalistic. she twisted free of one strike, dodged another, lunged with unnatural speed.

but obi-wan caught her.

his blade came down in a diagonal slice, pinning her between anakin’s aggressive charge and his own precision. the changeling reeled back, then stumbled.

anakin swept his saber down in a controlled slash, stopping just short of her throat.

the changeling hissed, collapsing to her knees. obi-wan pressed the point of his saber to her chest, cautious, measured.

“you’re done running,” he said, breath ragged.

the lights of the city glinted across the blood already soaking into his sleeve.

behind him, vasharre stood frozen, her hand trembling at her lips, her eyes wide, not with fear.

but with fury.

the changeling knelt between the two men, her chest heaving, her form flickering vaguely with the last vestiges of transformation. her breath rattled in her throat, her hair matted to her brow with sweat, her arms trembling from the weight of defeat. obi-wan held his lightsaber angled low but ready, the glowing edge illuminating the blood that dripped from his wounded arm in a slow, steady rhythm.

anakin hovered just behind her, his blade burning and lit, casting harsh shadows across the ground. he leaned in slightly, his voice hard with urgency.

“who sent you?”

the changeling lifted her eyes, and for a split second, she waited, something like terror curling into her expression. she opened her mouth.

and then a sharp crack echoed from above.

obi-wan’s eyes widened. “anakin!”

but it was too late.

the shot pierced cleanly through the changeling’s shoulder, center mass, exploding through her chest in a sharp burst of flame and plasma. her body jolted backward, collapsing to the metal ground like a dropped marionette. her form spasmed once. then stilled.

vasharre screamed.

anakin’s saber was up in an instant, eyes flashing toward the rooftops.

obi-wan scanned the skyline, senses flaring through the force.

there. high above, between the towering neon signs and industrial scaffolding, a black-armored figure hovered in the dark, framed by the rising smoke of the crashed speeder. a long-barreled rifle still glowed red in his hands. his face was hidden behind a faceless visor, polished and featureless, catching the lights of coruscant like a mirror. his boots hissed with compressed air, a jetpack roaring to life at his back.

“go!” obi-wan snapped to anakin, but it was too late, already, the figure turned and shot upward, disappearing into the clouds of traffic above, vanishing between passing freighters and ad-rigs.

anakin lowered his saber with a growl of frustration. “we were so close.”

obi-wan didn’t answer.

because vasharre was already rushing toward him.

she dropped beside him as he stepped back from the body, her hands catching at his uninjured arm, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in wild, wind-tangled strands. her black eyes searched his face with mounting dread, her fingers brushing over the blood-drenched fabric of his sleeve.

“obi-wan…” she breathed. “you’re hurt. you’re hurt. she threw it at me, and you..”

“it’s nothing,” he said sharply, but the pain in his body hushed the words. “a graze. a shallow puncture, nothing more.”

“you bled through your robe.”

“i’ve bled through worse.”

she gave him a look, equal parts rage and worry.

he exhaled.

“truly. i’ve had deeper cuts in training. it missed the bone.”

she looked unconvinced.

he placed a blood-slicked hand gently over hers, steadying her. “my lady,” he said. “this isn’t over. and we’ve lost the lead. our priority now is getting you back. you and the senator are still targets. and whoever shot her, whoever killed her, knew exactly when to do it. you need to be somewhere secure.”

she looked as though she might argue,!but then she saw the look in his eyes.

not cold. not commanding.

protective.

and so, at last, she nodded.

obi-wan turned to anakin. “alert captain typho. get a perimeter on the senator. then meet us at the landing pad. we’re taking her back to the residence now.”

anakin nodded, his face grim. he turned toward the shadows and disappeared into the street, his cloak flaring behind him.

obi-wan wrapped his good arm around vasharre’s shoulders and guided her away from the scene, the blue glow of his saber searing and lit at his side, casting long shadows as the city swallowed them once more.

the changeling’s lifeless corpse was left behind, cooling under the stars. a question cut short.

and a warning yet to come.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the lift doors parted with a quiet hiss, revealing the upper residence floor bathed in low evening light, now dulled and tense with the hindrance of what had passed. the hush that fell over the grand corridor as obi-wan and anakin stepped through, vasharre between them, was not silence, but that particular serenity that only comes when fear has given way to anger, and relief has not yet found purchase.

vasharre moved slowly, though she refused to let it show in her expression. her hair had been smoothed but still bore traces of soot and wind, the long veil-like ends of her tattered gown trailing behind her like war-torn silk. blood, now dried, marked her feet in faint lines. beside her, obi-wan walked with poise despite the growing stiffness in his arm, the wound beneath his robes bound but not forgotten. his presence, steady, composed, grounding, was all that kept the quivering from her fingers. anakin trailed only a foot behind, his angular face drawn severe with unshed frustration.

they were not alone.

the drawing room had been transformed in their absence. bright lighting spilled from the high sconces, the table cleared, the cushions gathered hastily to form places of rest and vigil. standing near the window, posture rigid, was senator padmé amidala, her regal white gown catching the polished light like armor. her hair was braided in naboo coils down her back, but strands had come loose, proof of pacing, of worry. further back, seated in one of the low chairs, was ebos, her expression locked between relief and restrained fury. beside her stood hiarmen rharrellis, arms crossed, her metallic robes glinting under the lights like coiled steel. she said nothing, but her eyes were sharp and sweeping. and at the far corner, half in shadow, lord naem rharrellis stood still, his pale hands clasped in front of him, his expression obscured.

but it was senator padmé amidala who stepped forward.

and spoke first.

“vasharre.”

the name was not shouted. not cruel. but grace.

it cut through the room like a polished blade.

vasharre lifted her chin. “padmé…”

“no.” padmé’s voice rosec not in volume, but in emphasis. her copper eyes were wide with disbelief, her hands trembling as she took another step closer. “you were told to stay in your chambers. you knew there was a risk, an active threat. and you still chose to throw yourself from a speeder in the middle of a chase across coruscant.”

vasharre’s tensed, but she held her voice steady. “i couldn’t bear the thought of him, master kenobi… falling to his death without…”

“this isn’t about obi-wan!” padmé’s voice cracked now, raw with feeling. “this is about you. about your position. your family. our security. we were targets, sharre. you were nearly killed. and instead of staying safe, staying smart, you decided to jump into a burning city because your heart was louder than your head.”

vasharre’s breath caught. “i didn’t do it for me. i did it for you,” she said briskly, not defensive, but serious. “i couldn’t sit in a room and sip wine while someone hunted you like prey. while someone threatened my family. i wasn’t going to wait again. not like last time. never again.”

padmé’s face softened just slightly, the mention of last time, of naboo, of the trade blockade, of all they had endured as young girls, clearly landing. but the resolve returned quickly.

“and what if you died?” she asked. “what if your recklessness cost more lives than it saved? what would you have me tell ebos? or lord rharrellis? or obi-wan, if he hadn’t saved you?”

vasharre turned away, her expression strained.

that was when obi-wan stepped forward, his voice measured, carefully dignified.

“if there is blame to be placed,” he said, bowing toward padmé, “let it fall on me, senator amidala.”

padmé looked at him, frowning.

“i was responsible for her safety. i failed to contain the situation. i underestimated how far she would go to protect those she cares for. and i failed to consider the emotional weight these threats have placed on all of you. including her.”

vasharre’s gaze went toward him, startled but she did not speak a single word.

padmé’s shoulders lowered. only by a tad.

anakin finally broke his silence, stepping beside obi-wan, arms crossed.

“we were so close.” his voice was less intense than usual, but tight. “whoever was behind this… they sent a sniper. they killed the assassin before we could get anything. it wasn’t just a hired hand. it was a cover-up.”

“and you’re certain she was aiming for my royal cousin?” hiarmen asked coldly.

obi-wan nodded once. “her final strike was meant for the lady rharrellis. i took the blade in her place.”

ebos gasped softly from her chair, a hand to her mouth.

padmé looked between them, her expression was stormy, but tempered now by the gravity of what had nearly been lost.

she stepped closer to vasharre, finally. “you’re safe now,” she said. “but if you ever do something like this again…”

“i won’t,” vasharre said.

obi-wan exhaled.

naem said nothing.

but his eyes, those pale, glacial eyes, were fixed on obi-wan kenobi.

and they saw everything.

the atmosphere was was dense and serrated, its rims catching on every breath not yet exhaled. the room had settled again, physically, at least, but the air trembled with tension, like an instrument strung too far back. outside the window, coruscant’s endless traffic hissed by in cold rivers of light, uncaring of what had just transpired. but within the residence, there was a stillness that bordered on suffocating.

hiarmen rharrellis, who had remained perfectly still through the entire exchange, let out a slow, shallow breath through her nose. she did not sigh, hiarmen never sighed, but her lips parted as if she was exasperated, and when she spoke, her voice was cool, crisp, and sharp as crystal.

“and this is what passes for guarding in the jedi order?” she said, gaze fixed not on padmé, nor even on her bloodied cousin, but on obi-wan and anakin, her arms crossed beneath the folds of her metallic robes. “you were both assigned to protect the senator and my cousin, not to shepherd them through deadly duels and nightclub chases.”

anakin flinched, he held back a retort. obi-wan said nothing.

“she was almost impaled. the senator was almost widowed without ever having been married,” hiarmen continued. “and the assassin escaped… again. whatever righteousness you hold in your order seems to make no difference when people are bleeding and severe.”

her voice was not raised. it didn’t need to be. it was refined, vicious, and honed like a knife dulled only by exhaustion.

before anakin could open his mouth, his posture already rigorously straight, jaw set for a sneering reply, it was lord naem rharrellis who spoke.

“enough.”

his voice was ominous. eerily ominous.

but it quieted the room with more force than any shout could have managed.

the elder rharrellis did not look at anyone. he remained standing at the edge of the room, half-shrouded in the lamplight, his long dark robes still immaculate, though his face was drawn and waxen beneath the sharp cast of the lighting. his white hair caught the light like ice.

“there has been enough injury tonight,” he said softly. “enough chaos. enough doubt.”

slowly, he turned his head, first to hiarmen. “your fury is not without reason, niece. but you will speak no further.” then, to obi-wan kenobi.

and here, his voice changed.

“master kenobi,” he said, and the words were thick with something deeper than formality, heavier, older, and layered in ancient reverence. “you saved my beloved daughter. my royal heiress. once again.”

obi-wan stood where he was, blue eyes locked on naem, his posture upright though his wounded arm ached.

“you saved her,” naem repeated, “when she was eight and the shadows first descended on this galaxy. and again tonight, when they returned, colder and more certain than ever. you threw yourself from a flying speeder to stop the one who hunted her. you took a blade meant for her beating heart. you shielded what is most precious to me not out of reward or obligation, but because of who you are.”

the room was motionless. the sound of traffic outside dulled.

naem’s pale eyes met obi-wan’s fully now.

“i have known many men, master kenobi,” he said. “in the galactic senate. in my family. in the jedi order. i have seen men rise with fire and fall with dust. but i have never… never in all my living years… known one who has carried the burden of duty with more honor and respect than you.”

vasharre swallowed, barely breathing.

obi-wan inclined his head, voice low. “my lord, your words are more than i deserve.”

“perhaps,” naem replied, “but you shall hear them all the same.”

then, he straightened somewhat, his back still regal despite its age.

“and yet,” he said, “even with all that you’ve done… there is more.”

his eyes darkened. not with fear. but with something closer to mourning.

“another transmission was received this evening.”

everyone in the room turned toward him now. hiarmen’s arms fell slowly to her sides. padmé took a slow breath. even ebos stiffened from her place near the hearth.

naem continued, tone grave.

“count dooku of serenno sent it. a direct communication to my private console in the diplomatic wing. no intermediary. no encryption mask. bold, as ever.”

his words were measured, but behind them lay a terrible devastation.

“the message was not long. it did not need to be. he stated, plainly, that if the hand of my daughter is not offered willingly, if the marital union he demands is not secured, then the next target of the separatist movement will not be her chambers… but all of naboo.”

the atmosphere was one of ruination.

“he invoked her name not as a woman, but as a symbol. he called her ‘the thread that binds the old world to the future.’ and he made no secret of what he would do if that thread is not tied to him.”

padmé turned away, her beautiful, noble face cast in despair.

anakin looked between them all, fury mounting.

but it was lord naem rharrellis who spoke again.

and here, his voice broke for the first time.

“count dooku was my friend,” he said softly. “before the war. before the separatist crisis. when he was still counted among your jedi order, master kenobi. when he still walked the halls of the temple and debated with my senate committees on matters of intersystem law. he was idealistic. principled. we disagreed… but i admired him.”

he looked down, cloudy eyes lost somewhere in a time many years before this day.

“and now he speaks of conquest and marriage as if they are the same. as if she…” he glanced at vasharre, “…is merely a key to his campaign. a hostage to be used as political leverage.”

his voice became more enigmatic.

“i do not understand this betrayal.”

and no one answered. because no one could.

vasharre said nothing.

as the final words of her father fell into the solemnity, his admission of grief, his mourning for a friend long lost to shadows, she stood rooted near the center of the chamber, her shoulders held high, but her hands curled into themselves where they gathered the tattered edges of her ruined gown. her bloodied feet pressed into the marble, and despite the softness of the lighting, she seemed carved from alabaster and storm-cloud silk, as though her body remained present, but her mind had drifted elsewhere. her thoughts were spiraling, replaying the glint of the blade in the assassin’s hand, the loud whine of the blaster that struck her down, the way obi-wan had thrown himself between death and her without a single second to spare.

once again.

his face had not changed. neither ten years ago nor tonight.

that discipline. that wisdom. that courageous resolve.

he stood now across the room, speaking lowly to padmé and anakin, answering naem’s questions with clipped, careful tone. his wounded arm was bound in a strip of fresh linen, blood already soaking through where the blade had struck deep. yet he bore it without flinch or complaint. even now, his only concern was protection. strategy. survival. and not once, not once, had he acknowledged the significance of what he’d done for her.

and that made it worse.

“my lady…”

vasharre blinked.

a gentle hand had found her arm.

ebos onvene.

the handmaiden stepped close, her brows drawn with tender, practiced worry. her own maroon clothing was still rumpled from the chaos of earlier, her brown braid half-undone, but her voice remained stanle.

“you’re shaking,” she whispered.

vasharre hadn’t realized she was.

“you’re wounded,” ebos continued. “and you haven’t sat since we arrived. your feet are… stars, sharre, your feet are cut open.”

“they’re superficial,” vasharre murmured. “the nerves are intact.”

“the nerves don’t matter if you bleed through the floor.”

vasharre attempted to dismiss her with a shake of her head, but ebos’s grip compressed, her voice dropping into something immutable.

“you must rest. your father is still speaking with the jedi knight and his padawan. senator amidala is safe. no more will happen tonight. you need your legs under you when it does.”

vasharre thought twice.

across the room, obi-wan’s face was turned from her, but her dark eyes were locked on him. he stood beside anakin now, shoulder to shoulder, his voice measured but deep. the arm she had watched take the blade, bleeding and limp.

she wanted to go to him.

to thank him. to shout at him. to ask why.

but she did not.

instead, she nodded once to ebos.

“…as you order, handmaiden.”

ebos exhaled and moved to her side.

she guided vasharre gently from the center of the room, supporting her lightly at the elbow. their footsteps echoed in soft succession as they crossed the marble and passed beneath the arch of the outer corridor, the fabric of vasharre’s gown whispering behind her like the end of a song. she did not look ahead.

she looked back.

and as vasharre rharrellis was led away by her dutiful handmaiden, her gaze never once left obi-wan kenobi.

[marvelstars]

I usually like to talk about star wars in general and I don´t like to demonize any character be it one of my faves or not but tbh some fan takes really make me mad, takes like:

"Ahsoka wasn´t being fair in her judgment of the Order"

I am like "The Jedi Council, Obi-Wan and Plo Koon included" sentenced her to face a military trial that most definitely was going to end in her execution.

Again, a 16 year old whose only support/family/people she knew in her life abandoned her to be executed by the goverment she fought for three years as a child soldier.

Sorry but considering this, any take she has on the Order, the obvious love she still has for Jedi´s ways, people and life but also the criticism is completely valid on her part and she should say it, in fact I believe she was quite calm in her reaction considering all of that.

Same with her warm dedication to Anakin´s memory as her "older brother" you know given he was the ONLY ONE who thought about getting her a lawyer and solve the mystery to keep her from being executed by their own government, he was her master and treated her like actual family and didn´t break his links with her after the Order expelled her on circunstancial evidence or thought she was wrong for leaving after all of that like Obi-Wan did.

There´s Jedi unreasonable hate and there is reasonable, based in the story criticism and this is part of it.

Another fandom take that really gets on my nerves is:

Anakin was a child problem for loving his Mom, his Mom was like a Jedi and understood she had to "let go of him"

I am like: Shmi was a literal slave whose only way to keep Anakin from sharing the same fate as her was to give him up to a bunch of strangers, Shmi didn´t know anything about the Jedi but knew being free was better for Anakin than being a slave.

Anakin loving his mother and missing her isn´t attachment, it´s normal for a 9 year old to miss his mother, he also had a right to be mad with the republic for allowing slavery out of convenience and with the Jedi for supporting the republic on this instance because it wasn´t jedi bussines.

"Anakin was an incompetent leader"

Anakin was one of the best Jedi leaders out there in the clone wars, that´s why He and Obi-Wan got the harder missions dealing with Grievous, who killed a lot of Jedi or Count Dooku who also killed Jedi.

He got the moniker "hero without fear" out of the sheer victories he got for the republic and the many planets he helped free from separatist attacks, he also established training for what would become the first cells of the rebel alliance.

He wasn´t just a competent leader, he was a brilliant general, recognized by his enemies and friends alike.

"The clones are not a slave army"

The Clones were purchased with republic credits by a Jedi Master, that makes both the Republic and the Jedi Order their owners, this is canon in Attack of the Clones and in the Clone wars.

They dont get a salary because they are merchandise, property of the republic and the Jedi Order.

The Jedi Order didn´t know about the purchase but the fact they didn´t say anything post fact about the clones being slaves doesn´t give them a good look as "peace keepers to the galaxy" they were more, in this instance, supporters of the status quo.

And no, nothing of this makes valid Order 66, the Jedi Order didn´t deserve to be anhiliated for all of this but the Jedi Order definitely were a flawed organization made up of people with virtues and flaws who unfortunately supported blindly a corrupt system. The Republic was the mother of the Empire after all.

I feel like sharing some of my problems with fandom takes, rant over :)