#I like the idea that the Jedi would have different sorts of clothes they would wear on a day-to-day basis at home

[lieutenant-teach]

‘Master & Apprentice’ book – a Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan story, featuring Rael Averross. From the outside, it looks like a quite Jedi-positive book – it’s written from Jedi’s POV, Jedi are protagonists. But during reading it’s clear that the book is haunted by typical for many Jedi-centric fics and books false takes; more specifically in this book, they are – shitting on the Jedi Council, ‘love vs attachment’ problem, ‘it’s not how the Force works’ problem, repeated fanon interpretations, ‘child-stealing’, and more.

Now on each of the points above. Spoilers ahead.

1.The Jedi Council is depicted (as per our ol’ nice familiar pattern) as full of bureaucrats who allow all bad things in the Galaxy happen (as they probably sip wine in the Temple scrolling holo-pads with space TikTok, I guess). And, of course, Qui-Gon is the only one who remains close to the Force as a True Jedi ™ should. “Qui-Gon knew the Council to be wrong about many things. He felt they’d allowed the Jedi Order to become a sort of chancellor’s police, rather than concentrating on knowing the Force. Yes, they were wise to refuse to rule—but unwise to simply accept the status quo. Short-sighted, to lose touch with the living Force by spending so much of their time and energy on enforcing laws that could as easily be left to civilian authorities. Immoral, to refuse to act against evils such as slavery.” I would be very glad to have it attributed to ‘unreliable narrator’, but I haven’t seen it debunked in the book by Qui-Gon himself or anyone else. So I conclude it’s supposed to be ‘the objective truth’.

2. Rael Averross is a very much clear foil of Anakin (was taken too old, has problems with attachments, dangerously reckless – had to kill his Padawan because he ignored the Council protocols). He’s also depicted as ‘so different from the other Jedi because he wears casual clothes & keeps his accent’ – bullshit. Depa Billaba also appears in the book and she wears her traditional make-up! Also others from different SW media have some markings of their cultures – Shaak Ti and Ahsoka wear Togruta headdresses, Luminara and Barriss have whole Mirialan outfits and tattoos, Quinlan also has Qiffar tattoos of his clan, and these are only the most prominent examples. Same as Ayala Secura keeps her Twi’lek accent – so again, Rael isn’t so special. Even within the Council – Mace and Obi-Wan have different accents, and Yoda has a whole different speech pattern.

Of course, the question of ‘love’ is touched heavily upon. Rael claims that the Jedi shouldn’t love – but at the same time he says the Jedi love their Padawans/friends/etc. Choose the stance you stand on, author – can Jedi love or not? Especially taking in consideration that Rael’s attachment to his mistake with his Padawan blinds him to the point he’s ready to sacrifice the planet’s people in favour of ‘righting’ his own past failure attributing it to Fanry. Also, I think Rael confuses ‘love’ and ‘fucking’, claiming Jedi are not allowed to fall in love. What did Obi-Wan say in TCW? “It’s not that we’re not allowed to have these [romantic] feelings, it’s natural”. The Jedi shouldn’t allow feelings cloud their judgement, that’s it. Either the author doesn’t understand it, or Rael.

3. In this book we read the whole prophecy about the Chosen One. Aaand it tells about ‘Jedi sins’ – again this idiotic idea from Legends that Jedi were at fault of their destruction! ‘It will bring balance of light and dark’ – it’s not how the Force works! It’s not Yin/Yang!

4. Dooku didn’t leave the Order because he disagreed with the Jedi! He left because he disagreed with the Senate! Come on, it’s right in the main media! It’s so fucking infuriating when official authors blindly repeat fanon interpretations.

And then some say ‘the books are printed, therefore canonical’. No, if they claim smth that is outright different in canon – they’re ‘paid fanfiction’, nothing more.

5. A weird moment when the child stealing argument is brought up, and not only Qui-Gon doesn’t refute it, but says he didn’t have any voice in choosing the Jedi way of life, although he loves it now. And it’s portrayed as sad and melancholic. So, in my eyes, this book proves that Jedi are ‘baby-stealers who indoctrinate kids’.

6. How old is Qui-Gon? Lucas says 60 in TPM. Wookiepedia – 48 in TPM. The book claims Liam Neeson’s age during TPM – 48, and is set 8 years prior to TPM, as Obi-Wan is said to be 17, so according to the book, Qui-Gon must be 56 in TPM. Who to believe?

The only point I LOVED without any qualms – how Obi-Wan began to hate flying. Awesome story!!!

[jedidryad]

Six Sentence Sunday: Conversations that should have happened.

I don't do this particular tradition much. I have enough trouble managing WIP Wednesdays, and I'm pretty sure this segment is more than six sentences so I'm messing with the tradition as I attempt it which might be poor form.

While working on this Mara memoir, I have sometimes found my brain wants the story to go in a different direction than canon allows. Some of these imagined sequences can turn into other "Luke and Mara get together stories" and some of them don't really merit that but still demand to be typed into a doc in black and white so I can stare at them and think of how different canon would have gone if the conversation had happened. This one is a brief snippet from a far more rambling discussion that might have happened if, instead of scolding and abandoning Mara after Kyp stole her ship on her first night at the academy, Luke had the insight to pull back after his outburst and ask Corran to escort Mara to his office and get her a cup of tea. If he had promised to meet her there after he calms the students and does post-Kyp damage control.

Maybe something like this could have happened...

Mara glanced up from the cup of elba she’d been holding in a death grip.

Luke stood in the doorway, robe hanging off his shoulders. His white sleep clothes made him look less imposing but also reminded Mara of just how good he had looked in an undertunic on Myrkr

He hesitated at her baleful expression but didn’t let her continued silence deter him. He entered his office, and sat down in the chair next to hers rather than circling around to his desk.

“I thought when I sensed your emotions that it was a…” he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully, “more the sort of danger that meant everyone needed to evacuate,  instead of something more personal.”

“So you sounded the alarm.”

“Yeah. and then I had to come up with some sort of explanation…”

“I embarrassed you.”

“I embarrassed me, Mara.” He sighed, “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I’m not really feeling much like a confident Jedi these days.”

“Great,” she muttered, “Karrde sent me here because he thought a confident Jedi could help  me with my mess. Now what’ll I do?”

Luke’s gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders drooping. He seemed  to fold in on himself.

Mara grimaced and set her mug on the small table between them: “Okay, not funny then.”

He glanced up at her, clearly trying to read her gaze from under the hair that was now falling into his eyes.

“You were trying to be funny?”

“I’m not my best self right now, Skywalker.”

“Neither am I.”

“Great."

“The whole galaxy knows what’s wrong with me. What’s up with you?”

“They don’t." She picked up her mug again and tried to let the warmth soak into her, "they really don’t. No one who didn’t sense you had any idea.”

“You sensed it?”

She nodded: “You and Kyle took a dip at the same time. I was with him. I sensed you.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“Why is that? You want to be some all-powerful master?”

He snorted ruefully.

“No, but I didn't particularly want to lose your respect.”

“Skywalker, I served a Sith Master for my entire childhood. Do you think slipping for a little while would be enough to lose my respect?”

“I wasn’t sure. Master Yoda said ‘if once you start down that dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny’.”

"And he never did anything wrong?"

He smiled. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“You are?”

“I meant it when I said it earlier.”

Mara took a deep breath, “I don’t think I’m in any state to train to become a Jedi.”

He looked at her for a moment.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sure, it’s not like we can fly anywhere.”

[antianakin]

So this post has been floating around my brain for a bit https://www.tumblr.com/coupleofdays/746467882552180736/in-the-republic-commando-books-author-karen?source=share

where op mentions force induced HRT. What are your thoughts on the idea? Do you think the jedi even considered bio sex as important considering their luminous beings who don't really value crude matter as much? Granted, Star Wars doesn't really handle gender issues that well, but the core of jedi beliefs seems to be firmly based on ideas that are very pro-lgbtq and anti-discrimination. Sorry if this is out of your usual area of expertise, but I figured you know a lot more jedi lore to confirm if it's accurate

I wouldn't consider myself a massive expert in Jedi lore or lore about the Force, but Karen Traviss's books are pretty non-canon at this point, so we have to start from there.

Force healing is something of a controversial topic as some people feel like it makes a lot of sense for them to be able to do it given what ELSE they can do and other people feel like it makes the narrative a little nonsensical to introduce the concept of healing with the Force when we never see Jedi in Lucas's canon being able to utilize that skill even when it would be pretty helpful to do so. Obviously the Sequels chose to bring it in, but they were able to sort-of give the caveat that these two people were the ONLY ONES who could do it because they had a dyad which gave them access to additional power for healing or something like that. The Mandalorian then also tossed it in where it was used in a more GENERAL sense, so at this point you can argue that it's canon in Disney's canon, and more specifically it's canon to the Mandoverse canon. But it was not and has never been a part of Lucas's canon.

As for what the Jedi would've actually thought about things like being transgender, I firmly believe the Jedi were very open-minded about all of those kinds of things. The Jedi are the most diverse organization in the entirety of Star Wars, bar none, and like you mentioned, they have a focus on who a person is beyond "that crude matter" of the physical body. Yoda says something similar to the clones in episode 1 of TCW where he tells them your eyes can deceive you and that, regardless of what they look like, they are each different in the Force. We see the Jedi consistently respect the clones as individuals throughout TCW, too, indicating a respect for the clones' personhood that goes beyond just what their body looks like. We also know from TCW that the Jedi encouraged the clones' "independence" and expressing their individuality, which we see includes things like different hair cuts and hair colors, different painted designs on their armor, tattoos, etc. Among their own members, we see plenty of differences in personal expression among the Jedi, too, from hair styles to clothes to tattoos. The Jedi are demonstrated within higher canon to be very accepting of how people choose to identify themselves and don't see the physical body as the primary defining trait for a person's identity.

I also honestly find the concept of transphobia and homophobia in the GFFA a little ridiculous given how normal it is to be interacting with multiple different alien species, some of which aren't even really humanoid at all. So while I imagine the Jedi themselves would be quite open-minded about all of this, I tend to headcanon the GFFA as sort-of free of transphobia and homophobia just in general. There's never any indication that it exists in higher canon, which is primarily due to a lack of any representation in higher canon and straight being the default, but there's no indication that Vel and Cinta are treated differently or have to hide their relationship specifically due to homophobia.

[hastalavistabyebye]

I have more Coruscant culture thoughts... So I've already talked about the artistic aspect here (possible bad aspects of the Elite's taste in arts, in reference to Bernard Palissy and Benvenuto Cellini, two Renaissance artists) and here (more focused on the mediums used, especially by the lower levels people).

But I haven't talked about religion and its artistic productions much yet. And now I have ideas.

Well, first, everybody on Coruscant (and the Core at large) would know about the Force because, obviously, the principal Temple of the Jedi Order is there. But that doesn't mean everybody believe in it in a spiritual/cultual way (what I mean is that it won't necessarily be part of people's religion, even if they know it exists). But it could lead to some interesting beliefs fusions and assimilations (in the same spirit as the take that the Manda and the Force are one and the same). But that's another subject.

To that, is added the multiculturalism of Coruscant, especially its lower levels. People came to this planet and have bring their culture with them, which also means their religions and cults. And then they were all mixed together so there would be cultural exchanges and influences, including as I said with the Force. It won't necessarily be systematic at all, but it could frame the evolutions and enrich the practice and traditions.

Coruscant's levels would be recipients of so many different celebrations and holidays, some would merge together (especially solstices celebrations, and different traditions could be mixed together depending on the resources on hand or just the families and levels). Good luck trinkets and talismans and other little amulets and spiritual objects, divinities figurines, of so many different cultures and homeworld would be sell in the markets and the streets. Maybe some levels have temples of those various religions (or the equivalent spiritual place).

Little homemade and customized altars could be find at the corner of two streets, or hidden in nooks formed by Coruscant's eclectic organisation. Sometimes a few people stops in front of it to add some offerings or pay their homages or pray.

Little solaces of devotion hidden in everyday's landscape.

But it could also be non religious. Just like sometimes we put marks on the places we lost a loved one to a roadkill (in Greece it's sort of little altars, small constructions that are lit up with a candle at night to mark the spot, in France it's often flowers or a sign, it can be with a photo of the lost one or just a mark of love like hearts or such), maybe there is such reminders adorning Coruscant lower levels. It could be because of a speeder accident, gang wars, a bounty hunter that don't care about casualties.... Still, there would be proofs of loved ones being lost all around the lower levels, warning of the dangerous places for others. It could be in the forms of holos sure, but maybe people from a more aquatic world would decorate those places with shells and synthetic pearls and sand. Species from forest planets would always carve a piece of wood in honor of their deads. Some knit and sew pieces of fabrics and change those regularly so that this sort of altar is always covered by resistant and clean clothes.

Maybe some of those places with spiritual or personal significances would be important for many different species and cultures, and as such would be covered in vastly different creations and arts, proofs of various practices unified by one place, one person, one belief.

But yes, in between the flashy adds and enormous metal constructions, in the middle of all this display of cyberpunk that Coruscant can be at times, little places for faith and love and grief and hope, covered in traditional or less traditional art and productions. Just people, common people, living on that planet and marking it as theirs, putting hints of their lives everywhere they can and want.

[burnwater13]

Trigger Warning: This story contains references to blood and theft. It's not gory or gruesome, but I get how some folks might not care for it. You have now been warned. Proceed at your own risk and don't worry. Grogu is fine.

Grogu had very mixed feelings about Moff Gideon’s recitation of his better qualities. Yes, he was gifted. He’d heard that from his masters at the Jedi Temple more than once. Yes, he’d been told that he would be able to bring order back to the galaxy. He was surprised that a person as completely devoid of kindness, consideration, and the ability to care about others was saying anything that seemed that nice about him. It was completely out of character. 

But what was within character was the real context of that statement. Moff Gideon wanted to use Grogu’s special qualities to benefit himself and his strange vision of what the galaxy could be. That’s right. He wanted to steal more of Grogu’s blood. More of it because he hadn’t stolen enough of it already. Poor planning on his part is what Grogu had grumbled under his breath.

Grogu could deal with all sorts of theft. Steal his food, well, you’re probably pretty hungry. Dung worms aren’t for every one.  Steal his clothing and again, you must be looking for something a very small baby could wear or needed to outfit a dozen Anzellans. But to steal his blood just meant that you were a thief. It had no other use for you and while Grogu wasn’t a huge fan of nudity, if someone else needed his coverall he’d be glad to let them have it, but he was using his own blood and didn’t really have much to spare and Dr. Pershing had already taken that amount. 

Grogu understood some of the basic uses for another person’s blood. There were things in it that might help other people get well if they were sick. You might use to certify a pact made with another person, like the time he and his friend Ian were running around and fell and both got abrasions on the palms of their hands. They thought it looked cool, even if it hurt and when Ian helped Grogu to his feet, their palms touched and their cuts healed. That was very cool. They swore not to tell the masters about it because neither one of them wanted to heal the blisters that a certain librarian was constantly complaining about because the two boys were running her off her feet. But if you were tired of having your cheeks pinched then you needed to run. You just did.

At least this time the Mandalorian understood what was at stake. He understood that the Imps wanted to conduct experiments on him and that they had almost killed him the last time. That had really ignited something in the bounty hunter. Grogu supposed that if what the Mandalorian had seen when he returned to the Client’s base of operations was Grogu reunited with his family or playing with other children or even eating a big pile of froglets, the bounty hunter would have been content and gone back on his way. 

But as soon as the Mandalorian saw the crumpled up pram, he knew that something was wrong. Then he confirmed it. Grogu had been rescued and the Mandalorian had become his de-facto protector. Grogu supposed that even a Mandalorian bounty hunter realized that using children like that was not ‘The Way’. 

Now the bounty hunter was putting up with Moff Gideon giving him a recital about stuff he already knew and understood. Grogu was special. He was unique. He was blessed. He had a metric ton of potential. But Grogu was pretty sure that Moff Gideon and the Mandalorian had very different ideas about what those qualities actually were.

Grogu had saved the bounty hunter from being crunched by the Mudhorn, even though he had barely known the human then. He had healed the Mandalorian’s injuries. He had annoyed and amused him by taking the silver knob from the Razor Crest. They had become friends over time and while it was clear to Grogu that the Mandalorian made friends easily enough, none of them traveled with him and Grogu could sense how lonely the human was. He was happy to cure that problem.  

That’s really what they meant to one another. They were friends who sorted out each other’s problems. Which they both liked and appreciated. No matter what else Moff Gideon said, it was completely clear to anyone present that what the Moff wanted wasn’t friendship. He didn’t want kindness. He didn’t want a companion. Nope. He wanted power and the silly thing was that everything he turned his back on was real, lasting power. The power to connect. That was what the Force was all about. Connection between all living things. And Grogu knew that his connection with the Mandalorian was what was best for the both them and the galaxy. It was also pretty great to have a dad now. He’d been missing one of them.

[kryzobi-wan]

The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 9/20: A Very Fine Jedi

Read on AO3

<;< Chapter 8

Obi-Wan had been pacing back and forth relentlessly when the door to his room finally slid open, allowing Anakin entrance. He walked in carrying a big bag, which he set down on Obi-Wan’s bed. As he began to unzip it, Obi-Wan broke his anxious silence.

“Anakin, what are you doing here?” he said, wringing his hands. He had not expected to see his young friend anywhere near Mandalore. It was sort of like two very different worlds colliding and his brain couldn’t make sense of it.

“Senator Amidala asked me to escort her,” Anakin answered with a poorly concealed smile. “I wanted to see what you were up to. And she thought you might need some help socializing with the elite of Mandalore.”

“I take offense to that,” Obi-Wan replied, though the words held no bite. His mind was in panic mode, and any high-level thought seemed decidedly impossible at this time. “H—how are things at the temple?” he asked, “The war—”

“It’s good,” Anakin said reassuringly. “I might be getting a padawan soon!”

“What?!” If his eyes could have popped out of his skull, they would have.

Anakin began pulling out some finer clothes from the bag, and as he did, Obi-Wan expressed his concern. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, I highly doubt anything of yours will fit me.”

“They’re not mine, they’re for you. Another of Padmé’s brilliant ideas.” Anakin grinned, “We picked them up just in case, and it looks like we were right. Did you really not bring anything nicer, Master?”

“You’ll forgive me if I wasn’t expecting to be attending a high-class party while assigned here as a teacher.” Obi-Wan thought for the second time tonight about the whole reason he’d been sent away in the first place: his attachment. In the eyes of the council, that meant his attachment most of all to Anakin. “Did the council really approve of your being sent to visit me?” he asked, glancing doubtfully at his young apprentice.

The look Anakin gave was all the answer he needed. “Well, maybe not specifically. Technically I am on a meditative retreat.”

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. This boy would be the death of him.

“Here,” Anakin said, placing an elegant set of navy-blue clothes with silver accents in Obi-Wan’s arms. They were Mandalorian in design, and much more form fitting than his usual robes, though still loose enough to move around comfortably.

“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely. I’ll see you down there, Master.” Anakin clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder, who could only stare back as if stunned, and Anakin exited the room.

“Always on the move,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself, sighing as he laid out the clothes on the bed. Well, might as well get this over with.

After putting the clothes on, Obi-Wan surveyed his appearance in the mirror, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt and his sleeves. He was used to much wider sleeves, and these ones almost itched with how close they were to his skin. They were nice enough, though. The dark navy cape with a powder blue lining resting on his shoulders was a fine touch. He would definitely fit in with the party.

A knock came at the door, and Obi-Wan called out that it was okay to enter, wondering what Anakin could possibly want with him now. Instead, Tal Merrik came in, taking in the Jedi’s appearance as he did.

“You clean up nice, Kenobi,” he observed, just a hint of something hidden behind his compliment. Before he could even process that the Senator had invaded his room, he spoke again. “Satine won’t be able to keep her eyes off you.”

Obi-Wan froze for a moment, ice filling his veins. What had given him that idea? He averted his gaze and began to fold his old robes up, placing them on the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Is there something I can do for you, Senator?”

“Oh, please,” Merrik sneered, “Nobody is that clueless, especially not a Jedi. That much I know.” When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, he continued. “She could hardly look away when all you wore were those drab beige rags, imagine how she’ll behave now you’re dressed as well as Mandalorian royalty!”

“She looks at me no differently than she looks at anyone else,” Obi-Wan continued to deflect, finding it suddenly very difficult to breathe. “She is a very kind and generous ruler.”

Merrik raised his eyebrows. “There’s no need to be so defensive, Master Jedi, you two clearly have a history. You’re a powerful Jedi in the prime of his life, I’d be concerned if Satine didn’t notice you. Who doesn’t love a good forbidden romance every once in a while?”

“I do hope you’re joking,” Obi-Wan said, trying to force a laugh but failing miserably. Fear, instead, took root in his response.

“Not at all. There is nothing more irresistible to a woman than a man who is in love with her.”

Obi-Wan felt his stomach give a sickening twist. “In love with her?” he said with a rasp.

“It’s quite obvious, Master Kenobi,” Merrik said innocently, “Oh, but I forgot… you Jedi are not supposed to love. How unfortunate, especially because she thinks she’s in love with you.”

The floor dropped out from beneath Obi-Wan. He couldn’t breathe. What he was saying couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t.

“That’s impossible,” he countered, forcing himself to believe the words. “Any feelings she may have had ended a long time ago.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” the Senator spoke.

Could he be telling the truth? They had done practically nothing but argue since he arrived. It had been well over a decade and a half. They were different people now, had different responsibilities. His mind ran off with him.

“In any case, I am sure she’ll get over it soon enough,” Merrik finished, “She is a duchess, after all.”

Oh, yes, she was the Duchess.

And he was a Jedi.

Obi-Wan was mortified. Not only had he been personally struggling with his attachments—the entire purpose for him being here—he had evidently been so obvious about it, that even a total stranger had picked up on it. Did everyone see it? Had they been whispering about his infatuation with the Duchess behind his back all this time? And where was this idea that she was in love with him coming from? He couldn’t allow himself to think about it.

Already, he had failed the Jedi Council—failed the mission they sent him on and the personal growth they’d hoped he would achieve. If anything, he was in worse shape than he’d started out in.

He knew he shouldn’t blame the Council for sending him headfirst into an environment that would inevitably reignite his feelings for Satine, but what did they expect would happen? He hadn’t been near her in so long, he could have forgotten about her, never seen her again. Perhaps that would have been better.

Leaving her the first time was one of the hardest things he’d done, it was foolish to believe that sending him to Mandalore wouldn’t dredge up old hurt. He had been foolish to think he’d be able to manage it.

“I cannot stay here,” he said, immediately turning to grab a stack of his clothes to throw in his luggage crate. For once in his life, he was listening to his instinct to run instead of fight. This was one problem that couldn’t be solved with a lightsaber, and he didn’t trust himself to solve it diplomatically. Not right now.

Merrik watched as he threw things haphazardly in the box. “I’ll be sorry to see you go. It’s a shame that things had to turn out this way. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, still utilizing that nasty false friendliness that Obi-Wan was now starting to pick up on. This man was jealous. He had intentions with Satine, and he saw Obi-Wan as a threat.

There were so many things wrong with that, that he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Words—one of his most reliable weapons—for once failed him, so he shook his head no. He had revealed too much already. He required deep meditation to move past what Merrik had revealed to be the truth:

That Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was still hopelessly, madly, every bit in love with Satine as he had been all those years ago.

He couldn’t possibly leave fast enough.

“I commend you Jedi,” Merrik spoke idly, “to swear a life of no attachment, to deny oneself of one’s deepest desires… it is truly a sacrifice to be commended.”

It took all of Obi-Wan’s restraint not to throw Merrik forcefully from the room. He did not want to hear any more about how he was supposedly the ‘perfect Jedi.’ He didn’t. He’d come all the way here to work past his attachment problem, and had only made it worse. If word of this got back to the Jedi Council, he’d be in deeper trouble than he already was.

“Say nothing of this to Satine,” he instead ordered in clipped tones.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Merrik replied, suppressing a smirk as he turned to exit the room. “Goodbye, Master Kenobi. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine member of the Jedi Council.”

After he had gone, Obi-Wan slung his Jedi robe over his fine clothes, concealing them mostly from view. Leaning heavily against his luggage crate, he forced himself to take a moment to breathe. That conversation had taken so much out of him, and it completely upset the balance he thought he’d finally found.

He remembered all those years ago, those last few hours spent with Satine. He’d told her he loved her. She said it too. And yet, they both agreed he would have to leave. Sure, they had entertained the idea of him staying for a while, but it was in the way that children spoke of traveling to some far-flung galaxy beyond the unknown regions. It was impossible, but it was such a nice thought that they pretended it could be true right up until the very end. When it came time to leave, he had prayed that she would say the word, that they could live in their childish fantasy, but the ramp to their shuttle closed and she disappeared from view. He had never been so unbalanced in his life.

It took a great deal of counseling, mostly from Qui-Gon, to regain some semblance of the Jedi Padawan he’d been before he ever met her. He flung himself back into his studies, into following the Jedi Code to the letter, much to the chagrin of his old Master. He convinced himself that he was unattached, all while ignoring those strings of his heart that remained connected to Satine, and even some to Qui-Gon. Those he hadn’t truly noticed were there until suddenly they weren’t, severed in a reactor core on Naboo.

Now that balance was gone again. All that work, for nothing. Tal Merrik had seen right through him, perhaps even seen him more clearly than he saw himself. He realized now that he’d been fooling himself for the last sixteen odd years. He’d never stopped looking for her. He watched every single speech she made on the HoloNet. He kept a box of keepsakes from their year together under his bed.

Now try telling him that that was the behavior of an unattached Jedi. You would be wrong.

The only thing there was to do was leave. Now. Before it could go any further than it already had. He had made a promise to the Jedi. A promise to himself, and to her. This was the way he could do good in the galaxy, and the galaxy needed him now more than ever. He would go back to the Temple and do whatever it took to get past this. He had to.

He didn’t know who he would be if he didn’t.

-.-.-

When Senator Merrik returned to the party, he came up beside Hondo, who was now being forcefully held at bay by a guard. For reasons unknown, he was still being allowed to sip serenely from a glass, enjoying the celebration from afar.

“Oh good, you’re back,” he said to the Senator, “I’m hoping that Jedi can use his mind tricks on the Duchess. I want those children in the competition.” Merrik rolled his eyes, accepting a glass from one of the servants that passed by. “For Mandalore, of course. You have to do it!” the pirate finished, grabbing two more glasses of his own.

“Wouldn’t do you any harm either, now would it, Mr. Ohnaka,” Merrik responded sarcastically.

Hondo chuckled, proud of himself. “You know, I did think of that.”

They were silent for a moment, observing the Duchess as she spoke with Merrik’s fellow Senator from Naboo.

“I do think it would be good for her,” Merrik mused, “She spends entirely too much time in this palace. I think it’s time we get her away from the stresses of Mandalorian politics for a moment, surely no harm can come from that.”

“Precisely my opinion,” Hondo agreed.

Merrik handed off his now empty glass to Hondo, who was starting to struggle juggling four glasses at once. “I shall talk to her,” he stated, “No need to involve the Jedi.”

With that, he headed off to find Satine, interrupting her conversation with a bow.

“May I have this dance, Duchess?” he asked, reaching his arm out toward her.

Satine hesitated for only a moment before bowing in return and excusing herself from her other companions. She accepted his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to the center of the ballroom and away from the others.

Obi-Wan could hear the gently flowing music as it echoed down the deserted hall. His luggage crate hovered behind him, struggling to keep up with his quickened pace.

As he turned the corner, he just about ran into Anakin, who exclaimed, “Woah, Obi-Wan!” placing his hands on his shoulders and immediately noting the brown outer layer he wore. Obi-Wan stopped. “Where are you going with that on? You know you don’t always need to be wearing your robe, right?” his young friend said teasingly, fiddling with the rough fabric of the collar.

“Anakin, I need to leave,” Obi-Wan said, offering no further explanation.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder to scan for Padmé, but he couldn’t see her at the moment. “Right now?” he asked, studying Obi-Wan’s face. He looked anguished.

“Please, Anakin, I can’t stay here.”

His pained eyes pleaded with Anakin, betraying more emotion than he’d ever seen from his old Master, which silenced any further questioning he might have let escape his mouth.

“Okay, just let me go get Padmé, I’ll meet you at my ship.”

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, his eyes strangely out of focus. Anakin was unsettled enough by this behavior to assume whatever was happening was of the utmost urgency, and he’d do whatever he could to help his distressed friend. Anakin patted Obi-Wan on the shoulder and rushed off to find the Senator.

The throne room had been vacated in favor of the ballroom by this point in the evening, and Obi-Wan stopped in the center of it. His hands fiddled with a small device containing a holorecording before he worked up the courage to place it on her throne. He took one last look around the chamber, resting for just a moment longer on the stained-glass detailing before turning and exiting through the grand entry doors.

They closed behind him with a thud.

He was leaving. Here on Mandalore, he’d been suffocating, unable to draw a breath. And now, he truly believed that the only place where he could be saved was back at the Jedi Temple, forsaking his mission and even his direct orders from the Council.

He’d never tell them what led him to behave so uncharacteristically, not unless forced. But he had to get back, and soon.

Until then, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

-.-.-

Chapter 10 >>

[kyberled]

send 🌱 and i'll talk about my muses family tree! || ACCEPTING

@gwiazdowe asked: 🌱 ! 

Braig’s biological family is… Interesting. That’s the best word for it. On his father’s side, he has two half siblings. Sort of. There’s his older brother, Karvan Nel. This is Braig’s only ‘actual’ biological sibling, in the traditional sense. He was born before Eadric and Shiv met. The result of a one-night stand at a bar while Eadric was stationed off-world; he doesn’t even know Karvan exists. Karvan, for his merit, also has no idea who his father is. He doesn’t really care, either. He’s gotten on just fine without the guy. He’ll keep getting on without him, too. 

Braig and Karvan have met once before, mostly by chance. The verdict is they don’t like each other, and have no idea they’re related. Karvan is… Kind of a slime ball, to be honest. Karvan lives in the Outer Rim. He’s been there his whole life, and doesn’t know anything different. That’s part of why he’s so resentful to Braig when they meet - Braig grew up on Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple. Karvan took one look at him and thought he was some spoiled core world brat. Never worked a day in his life.Braig, for his part, thought Karvan was a sleemo. The fact that Karvan tried and failed to sell Braig for spice didn't help that image. (It was a bad first meeting.) Karvan used to be a part of a spice-running gang. Not one of the big ones, mind, but they made money. Karvan ends up married with three kids (a son and two daughters), gets a better job. He’s still kinda sleazy, but he moves up in the world and becomes a foreman of a ship yard. His kids are fed and clothed (which is a lot in the Outer Rim), he supports them and his partner, and they’re happy enough. 

Then there’s Braig’s other…. Brother. Brean Claermoore. They’re not really siblings, even in the ‘half’ sense. Brean is a clone of Eadric, Braig and Karvan’s father. This is ironic, because Eadric hates clones. He HATES them. He has his ‘reasons’ for this, but, yeah. He hates them all. He had Brean made so he would have a successor, so the family fortune doesn’t go to his sister. Yeah, there’s a lot of drama on that side of the family. Brean and Braig don’t know each other. Braig doesn’t know he has any siblings at all, but he definitely doesn’t know about Brean. For Brean, he doesn’t know Braig, like I said. He doesn’t know Braig is his family. He does know that Braig exists, and this, like a lot of things, is their father’s fault. Through a convoluted series of events I talked about before, Brean thinks Braig killed ‘his’, as in Brean’s, mother. Brean doesn’t have a mother. Brean also doesn’t know that he’s a clone. It’s a long story. Not a fun story, mind, just a long one. (Braig still doesn’t know that Brean exists, let alone that they’re related. He doesn’t even know he’s related to Eadric. He doesn’t particularly care, either - he knows who his family is.) 

He has an aunt and cousins on that side, too. He doesn’t know them, either. I don’t want to go too in depth, because this would get too long and nobody would read it, so if you want to know more about them, send me another family ask. Instead, let’s do a quick rundown of his mom’s side of the family. They’re the exact opposite of his father’s side. Whereas his father’s side is Core World as far back as you can trace, his mother’s side came from all over. Where his father’s side is - as far as they know - strictly human, his mother’s side cared a lot less (this is why Braig’s eye teeth are sharper than normal). His father’s side was rich, his mother’s not so much. So on and so forth. Braig doesn’t know them, either. And again, he doesn’t care to. Shiv wishes she could know him. I’ve been over this one before. He has a LOT of cousins on this side - no half siblings, though. Shiv decided she was done with all of that after the trauma that followed Braig’s birth. 

It’s also important to note that not all the cousins on this side are biological. His maternal grandparents had more than a few adopted children. In a way, they had a very Jedi-like mentality - family is who you make of it, and if you can help somebody, you should. Braig would have gotten along with them well. 

Shiv, Braig’s mother, was a doctor for the Republic’s navy. That’s how she and Eadric met. (Sometimes, she’ll say he was different back then. Others, she says she never actually knew him. It’s a back and forth.) Following a series of events (that were rather unfortunate), she defected to the CIS. She stays there as a medic until Operation: Knightfall. Seeing what the Empire did to the Jedi - to her son - drove her to the Outer Rim. She was done with all of it. She stayed quiet for a while, then eventually joined up with the Rebellion (informally). She worked as a medic for them again before eventually passing away quietly on some little, largely ignored planet. 

Of course, as I said a few times, Braig doesn’t know any of them (except for Brean later in life, and neither of them know they’re related. Braig also kills Brean, but that’s besides the point.) 

If you ask Braig, though, he thinks the Jedi are his family. He doesn’t really care about biology or anything like that; they’re his brothers, sisters, siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles… 

He doesn’t need anyone else. 

… Except, you know, the countless tag-alongs he’s decided are ALSO his family over the course of his adventures.

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 11)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 10

Warnings: soft ani, angst (nightmares!) 🥹

Summary: You, Anakin, and your Masters are assigned to protect the senate apartments; Anakin has a bad dream

Word Count: 3.7k

Anakin stood waiting in the courtyard, his hands behind his back, trying to contain himself. They'd returned to the Temple so Master Obi-Wan and Master Yuma could speak with the council. Anakin had used the opportunity to take a very much-needed visit to the refresher, and to don fresh clothes. A normal person would have wanted to savor the time spent in the hot water, a chance to relax a bit after so long of sleeping on ships and in haphazard camps. Anakin, however, raced through the process of cleaning himself, brushing his teeth and changing as quickly as possible. Now he waited in the Temple's courtyard, where he was supposed to meet his Master after their meeting, and where you were supposed to meet yours.

       Anakin wasn't able to explain away the jittery, impatient mood he was in, even in his own mind. To get to be assigned to a mission with you, after so many years...the idea of proximity alone overwhelmed him. He felt both blissfully happy and completely panicked—he thought you'd seemed pleased to see him, but he could never be sure with you, and now he was facing some uninterrupted time in your presence, time to talk to you, time to look upon you, time to tell you how he really felt, finally, and to see if you felt the same way. Fear rocked through him. What could he say? How would he go about it? Anakin looked around the courtyard. A group of younglings sat nearby, playing a game with their hands. Anakin got distracted, watching them. He remembered standing in these very same gardens, walking up to a group of younglings back when you had been among them.

       "You again," he heard, in your familiar, soft voice. He felt as if the vibrations from your speech went all the way through him. He often felt this way, hearing you speak. In those rare moments when you said his name, the effect was even more pronounced.

       "Back so soon," he smiled, looking upon you with glee. It was so peculiar—you looked different, that was certain, and yet your presence felt the very same to Anakin after all this time. You'd grown a bit taller, and though you were still small, your age had caught up with you—you no longer looked like a child, your body composition having changed into a woman's. Your face looked older, too—Anakin noticed subtle changes in the shape of your cheeks, in the way your eyes moved up on your forehead. The changes suited you. Anakin swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry. Though you'd grown up, he felt same sort of aura coming from you, the same distinct personality, the same specific sensation coming from your being in your presence. And the way you looked at him now—there was no denying it. You were happy to be in his presence, too. Anakin resisted the urge to put his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. That would look childish, he knew. He stood up straight, hoping his height would help him to appear impressive.

       "I half expected you to disappear for another couple of years," you joked, your features casually flippant.

       "I half expected the same," Anakin admitted. But your conversation was interrupted by the younglings, who, upon seeing you, had run over to tug on your robes.

       "Y/N! Y/N!" the smallest one chanted, trying to hug your leg. You laughed.

       "Do the thing!" another youngling chimed, looking up at you, pleading. "Come on Y/N, do the thing!"

       "Okay," you said, laughing. "Who wants to try it?" All of the younglings raised their hands, tripping over each other in excitement.

       "Me, please! I have a good one," one of the younglings trilled. You nodded.

       "Okay, okay. Tell me," you agreed, bending down to the little one. "But remember, it has to be an image, okay? A place, a person, an impression; not a word."

       "We know," one of the older younglings babbled, clearly excited. The youngling that spoke first was whispering something into your ear. You giggled.

       "Okay," you said, standing up. "Who wants to try to read my mind?" All of the younglings jumped up, raising their hands into the air. You looked around at them all. Anakin observed you, regarding your playful gestures. He felt almost as if he were one of these younglings, watching you with admiration, wishing to be chosen.

       "Botu, how about you?" you asked, and one of the taller, more timid younglings stepped forward, beaming. You made a show of putting your finger to your temple, and closing your eyes. Anakin saw you concentrate, felt your effort moving through the Force, and he felt something, passing between you and Botu, but he couldn't identify what it was.

       "Okay, Botu, what do you see? Look inside your mind," you instructed, grinning.

       "I see...well, I feel comfort, and quiet. I see the color green. And it's...wrinkly," Botu erupted into giggles. "Master Yoda?!"

       "Yes!" shouted the youngling who had whispered into your ear. "You got it!"

       "How do you do that," one of the other younglings said, looking at you in amazement.

       "Me next! Me next!" one of the other younglings said, tugging on your robes.

       "I'm sorry, but this game of...Force telephone will have to continue another time," Master Yuma said, striding up behind you, Anakin and the younglings. All of the younglings bowed to Master Yuma, looking quite disappointed.

       "Next time," you told the youngling who had been tugging on you, bending down to look her in the eye, "you can go first." The youngling smiled.

       "So it's like your ability to intuit, but in reverse?" Anakin asked, having watched the scene unfold in awe. "You can put emotional impressions into someone else's head, instead of reading their own?"

       "Sort of, yes," you said humbly, turning back to face Master Yuma and Master Obi-Wan, who had just entered the courtyard. "It's not an exact science, but—"

       "We've been working on manipulating Y/N's natural gifts," Master Yuma told Anakin softly, "experimenting, trying to see what else she might be able to do, with enough practice."

       "It was actually you," you said to Anakin, your face flushing red, "who gave me the idea. When you started thinking of specific impressions, on our way back from Hoth..." Anakin watched as you looked down, as if you were embarrassed by something. "You chose what to think of, what to put into my head—so I thought that maybe I could do the same. You know, put impressions into someone else's mind."

       "That's quite impressive," Master Obi-Wan said, looking interested.

       "What else have you learned to do?" Anakin asked curiously, as the four of you walked out of the Temple's main entrance, toward the bottom of the stairs where a transport awaited to take you to the senate apartments.

       "Well," you sighed, looking to Master Yuma with mild discomfort, "I've also been practicing blocking others out of my Force presence—making it so that others can't sense my feelings, or even my presence at all." You looked forward as you walked, as if you were looking somewhere else, to another thought. "It will likely come in handy, at some point, to be able to disguise myself."

       "Certainly," Obi-Wan said, looking at you, and then back at Anakin.

       "She has advanced quickly," Master Yuma said delicately, looking back to you. "I'm not sure how much more I have to teach her."

       "Nonsense," you uttered, reaching out to take your Master's arm. "You have endless things to teach me, still."

       "My Padawan could take a lesson from you in modesty and humility," Obi-Wan joked, sliding his eyes over to Anakin. Anakin felt himself grow frustrated, but tried not to show it on his face.

       "And my Padawan could take a lesson from yours in candor, and openness," Master Yuma countered, smiling to herself. Anakin saw your face turn an even brighter red, and felt your familiar presence shrink back in the Force, as if you yourself were withdrawing it from the air. This displeased him—Anakin didn't want your Force presence to vanish, not when he was finally able to feel it again. Looking upon you, but feeling nothing in the air, nothing of your familiar aura, was unsettling. While he pondered over what Master Yuma meant by her comment, they reached the transport, walking up the steps of the open ramp.

       "We have been assigned to protect Senators Farr and Harrow, as the Chancellor requested," Obi-Wan told you both as you stepped into the transport, putting your hands up to hold onto the rail. "There will likely be other Jedi filtering in and out, watching over some of the other senators. The council agrees with the Chancellor's fears of retaliation from the separatists."

       "Simple enough," Anakin said, hoping his lean against the upper handle bar looked casual. The sun was setting outside, casting an orange glow through the windows.

       "No assignment is ever simple," Obi-Wan retorted. "Not with you, Anakin."

You followed Master Obi-Wan and Master Yuma through yet another basement hallway of the large and luxurious Senate Apartment Complex. Most senators lived in the lavish suite-style apartments housed in this building, and you'd just been given a very long and very extensive tour of the structure, its nooks and crannies, any spot that a potential attacker might be able to squeeze through. The head of security had just led you through the control center, the basement room full of holoscreens showing the viewpoints to every entrance and exit, and every floor's hallway. You couldn't believe how the senators lived—though living in the Temple was not by any means roughing it, the amount of space and luxury afforded by these apartments was astounding. You wondered over the ethics of it all—that public servants, those who made decisions that impacted the lives of the Republic's citizens, should live in far nicer accommodations than most normal people. Jedi, who also considered themselves to be public servants, refused possessions and fancy accommodations. Not everyone, you reminded yourself, believed in the Jedi code so fervently as you did. Still, it was hard not to judge these senators, when their lifestyles were far more extravagant than the lives of the people they served.

       "We've prepared a room for you to rest, when you're not on guard duty," the security officer was saying. "It's not much, but we don’t have much space to spare down here, other than a few cots."

       "That will be fine, thank you," Master Yuma said graciously, as you were led into a small room without any windows, with three cots on opposite walls. You gulped. On missions, you were used to sleeping in the corners of the ship, or on the hard ground under the open sky, or in a tent on some faraway planet, in the midst of formidable storms or harsh climates. Having a room with walls and a cot was luxurious, by Jedi standards. Still, these communal accommodations meant that you would have no door to close between Anakin and yourself, and thus, you would not have a moment to rest, would not have a moment that did not necessitate you trying to make sure none of your emotions escaped your Force block. It was normal for Jedi to sleep in such close quarters; what was not normal was whatever was causing your heart to beat so loudly against your ribs. You sighed, audibly, and then felt flushed, fearing your reaction had been ill-mannered.

       "There are only three?" Anakin asked, and you saw that he too was blushing.

       "We'll be on duty, most of the time," Master Obi-Wan answered. "Patrolling outside the apartments of the senators. I doubt there will even be three of us, sleeping in here at one time." You nodded. This made sense, and though it was still early, you felt tiredness weighing you down.

       "Obi-Wan, Anakin, since you've both just returned this morning, I'm sure you're exhausted," Master Yuma said assertively, looking to you. "My Padawan and I will take the first watch."

       "Actually, Yuma, I'd like to get the lay of the land," Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard. Master Yuma was right—he did look quite tired. "Let's let our Padawans get some rest."

       "Are you sure, Master?" you asked him, seeing the redness in his eyes. He nodded.

       "I'll wake you for the next watch," Master Yuma told you, handing you your comm. "We'll signal if there's anything amiss." You took the comm from her hand, and she, Obi-Wan, and the security officer left the room.

       "A bit weird, isn't it," you asked thoughtfully, feeling the hum of Coruscant above you, wishing this basement room had a window. Anakin froze.

       "What?" he asked, looking at you with a twinge of fear.

       "Being out on assignment, but still on Coruscant," you replied, looking at Anakin, feeling awkward and self-conscious as you stood in this small room, alone together. "Being on mission, but still on world."

       "Yeah," Anakin said, looking relieved, sitting down on one of the cots. "It is a bit weird, to be back here, but not at the Temple."

       "You've been gone a long time," you observed, sitting down on the cot farthest from the one Anakin chose, across the small room. "Was it hard, to be gone so long?"

       "Yes," Anakin admitted. "I felt cut off from everyone, everything...except Obi-Wan, of course."

       "Isn't that the Jedi way, though?" you asked, pulling the blanket from the cot around yourself. It was cold, in here. "To cut oneself off from the familiar, from attachments, and to focus only on the mission at hand?"

       "It's easier said than done," Anakin responded. You nodded, watching his face, the shape his lips made in a small pout.

       "We're never really apart from anything, though," you observed quietly, looking at Anakin sitting on his cot. "The Force binds everything together. Nothing is ever really separate."

       "You make it sound so romantic, when you say it like that," Anakin said, smiling, turning to look you in the eyes. You swallowed.

       "Well," you managed, struggling to get the words out, "it is romantic. Not in the, like, falling in love way," you continued, your face flushed, "but in the like, idealistic, sentimental view of life way." You smiled in spite of yourself.

       "I think it sounds a bit inhumane," Anakin countered, speaking carefully. "To deprive oneself of all attachments? It works in theory, but not in practice. I mean, look at you and Master Yuma. Or you and Eha. Clearly, you are very attached."

       "In a way, I suppose..." you conceded, looking down at the floor, sensing that there was more weight to this conversation than either of you were letting on. "But though the connection I feel to Master Yuma is deep, I also know that it is temporary. It makes me sad to think about it that way," you continued, looking back at Anakin, "but also, it's a sacred kind of sadness. Because I know we'll never truly be separate; because I know we will always be together, bound by the Force, even after one of us is gone..." you sighed. "It's connection, but not possession. It's the understanding that all things pass, in time."

       "You sound like Obi-Wan," Anakin said, his eyebrows pulling down in a slight scowl. "Are you cold?" he asked, seeing you shivering beneath your blanket. You nodded. Anakin got up, taking the blanket from the remaining cot and walking over to you. "I think you're wrong," Anakin said, meeting your eyes as he wrapped the second blanket around your shoulders, slowly and carefully. "I don't think all things pass." You looked up at him, mesmerized, for a moment, by the intensity of his gaze. He kept his hand on your shoulder for a bit too long. You shook your head quickly, out of habit, looking away from him. He pulled back his hand.

       "Are you tired?" Anakin asked. You felt the tiredness in your body, though you had done nothing today but attend a senate meeting. You nodded. Anakin walked back over to his cot. He took his comm out of his pocket and placed it on the floor next to him. You did the same. Jedi often slept in their clothes and boots while on assignment—you needed to be ready, at all times, to spring into action. You moved both blankets around so that they lay on top of you, trying to warm yourself. You were cold more often lately. It was puzzling.

       "Goodnight, flea," Anakin said, uncertainly, as he lay on his side, looking at you from his cot. You blushed. He hadn't called you that in a long time. You couldn't fall asleep like this, when he lay there, watching you, his blue eyes gleaming in the low light like your own personal stars.

       "Goodnight," you told him softly, pulling the blankets up over your head.

You awoke with a gasp, hand on your saber, taking in your surroundings, the sounds you'd heard filling you with a horrible fear. You looked around the dark room. You saw no danger.

       Anakin was thrashing in his sleep, making whimpering sounds. You inhaled and held your breath in, sitting up in your cot, watching him move back and forth, his blankets a sweaty mess around him.

       "Ani?" you asked softly, but he continued to whimper and moan, his face screwed up as if he were in pain.

       "No," he sobbed, his eyes still closed, his face wet, his hands grabbing at the sheets of the cot. "No, mom, no..." he cried. You stood up quickly, walking over to his bedside and kneeling beside him. Your heart was breaking in half. You'd never seen Anakin cry, never heard him make sounds like this. They filled your body with a horrible emotion, and you felt it coming off of him. It was fear, grief...agony. You felt in his mind the impression of a face, the face of a pretty, middle aged woman with brown hair and kind eyes. You saw, with him, as she was hit over the head by a large staff of some kind, watched her crumple to the ground.

       "No!" Anakin cried out, thrashing back and forth.

       "Ani," you begged, putting your hands on his arm. "Ani, wake up, please, you have to wake up." You tried to keep your tone calm, and gentle, though intuiting Anakin's feelings was making you shake on your knees.

       "No, mom..." Anakin whimpered, tears streaming down his sleeping face.

       "Ani, please, Ani, wake up," you shook him fiercely, wanting to stop his pain, but not knowing how. "Ani, wake up!"

       Anakin sprung up in bed, breathing heavily, gasping for air, and you knelt beside him, your hands on his arm. Sweat soaked through his tunic.

       "Ani, it's okay, Ani," you tried to shush him as he looked around, looked down at you, confused. "It's okay, it was just a nightmare." Through Anakin's heavy breathing you relived the emotions with him, felt the passing images and impressions in your mind.

       "Jedi don't have nightmares," Anakin scoffed, suddenly looking angry, shoving your hands off of him and turning to face away from you. You leaned back, startled.

       "Anakin..." you responded, watching his huddled figure working his way back to himself through heaving breaths.

       "Just leave me alone," Anakin retorted sulkily, keeping his head turned away from you, and you felt as if he'd slapped you, felt the stinging of this snub through your Force presence. Tears came behind your eyes, and you worked hard to keep them from spilling as you stood up and backed away. You felt Anakin's presence shift, his moment of anger souring into a bitter remorse, into humiliation.

       "I'm sorry," Anakin said quickly, turning back to face you, trying to breathe deeply, to calm himself. You saw the tears on his face shining in the low light of the dim lamps. "I didn't mean that, I just..."

       "It's okay," you said softly, standing in front of him, trying to inconspicuously wipe your own tears out of the corners of your eyes. You and Anakin were silent for a moment, your bodies very still, neither of you looking at the other, both of you unsure of what to say.

       "Was that...was that your mother?" you asked gently, taking a tentative step toward Anakin. He winced, then nodded. You sat down on the edge of the cot, watching him cautiously.

       "I don't know...I haven't dreamt about her in so long," Anakin admitted, looking fretful. "I don't know what that dream meant, why she was hurting so much..."

       "It was just a dream, Ani," you said soothingly, reaching out to put your hand on his arm again. You felt his Force presence tick upward, felt the agony and fear he felt mixing with something else.

       "I don't know," Anakin repeated, shaking his head, "it felt so real."

       "But it wasn't," you said bracingly. You took a deep breath, concentrating your efforts, and began to project your thoughts outward. You focused hard on specific impressions. You saw the sun moving between the clouds, remembered the feeling of cool air on your face; you pictured peaceful blades of grass struggling under the weight of morning dew; you imagined the feeling of racing a speeder through the air; you called into your mind the impression left by laughter. They weren't specific, but you knew that these types of emotional impressions were, for the most part, universally calming. These were the sounds, sights, and feelings of being alive; of being at peace.

       "I know what you're doing," Anakin said, moving to face you, taking your hand from his arm and holding it between his fingers. "Thank you, but I don't need to see elsewhere, to calm myself," he continued, looking you straight in the face, his breathing finally having returned to normal. "Not right now." He watched you, holding your hand, and the look in his eyes was overwhelming. There was such tenderness in his features, features which only a few moments ago had been screwed up in anger. You felt a great conflict within yourself. Anakin started to lean his face toward yours.

       "I—" you said quickly, dropping his hand, jumping up. "I've—got to go find Master Yuma." You turned around, your hands shaking, reaching for your comm. "It's—it'll be close to time, to switch the watch." You hurried from the room without looking back, trying to ignore the feelings of hurt and disappointment you felt reaching out to you through the Force.

************************************************************************

Chapter 12 is out now!!!!

bonus content Shmi 🥺

divider credit to @racingairplanes

taglist: @iyoogi @cluelessgurl @layazul @annadastra @graciexmarvel @galaxiasy @organasith @indigoblues1207 @outoftheregular @katsukiswrld @prettyboyrryy @jellydodger @wildflower57 @lydiamartinslover @em-asian @heavenseraph @iloveinej @leapofblank @sahverah @elsyyie @usuallyunlikelyfox @jadeonce @papadragun @dopejellyfishfury @stxrrielle @lilianashomaresparza @prettylittlecarstairs @deadunicorn159

p.s. my tags haven't been working properly--I'm working to get it solved, but in the meantime, let me know in the asks if your tag isn't notifying you, and keep checking back for updates!

[obislittleone]

House Of Memories (49/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: fluff, just fluff

Summary: The festivities have begun, and the anticipation is getting to Obi-Wan.

A/n: ATTENTION PLEASE, since I updated so late, there will not be another update tonight, or tomorrow since I have to work super late... BUT there will most definitely be a very long episode dropped on Saturday and oop- 50 is going to be a massive win for obi and his little one

also y'all if you like the story, maybe consider buying me a coffee :)

Words: 2.5k

"Are the curls too flat?"

The stylists had been poking and prodding about your face and hair for the last several hours, and you weren't sure if you'd ever make it to the event for how long it was taking. Padme's stylists, experienced with her look, had finished long before you, and it seemed like now she was just feeding them more ideas.

"No, they look angelic, let the small pieces frame her face and twist the rest back on the sides," she instructed, and they did just that.

You couldn't see a thing that was happening, so for all you knew, this could be a big joke, and you'd show up looking the same as you always did... of course Padme would never do that do you, but the thought still crossed your mind.

It was rather strange that they never once let you look in the mirror. They claimed that 'we're the ones who need to see, not you.' Which was simply infuriating, but you digress, it was a little fun being able to pretend just for the day that you weren't a Jedi.

"That's lovely Juri, she's absolutely stunning," Padme came back in the room, bringing the dresses for you both to fit into.

The stylists gawked and awed at the beauty of them both and it was only now that you caught a glimpse of padme's dress. It was a lovely dark navy, with strings of iridescent stones laid over it, the way they shimmed in the light made them look like stars against a night sky. Whoever made Padme's dresses, they sure knew what they were doing, the girl was never dressed less than a princess, and you loved that about her. She was easily seen in a crowd, she always stood out. She was one of the loveliest beings in the galaxy, and you always felt it an honor to be in her presence.

"Alright, it's time."

-

Obi-Wan was unsure about the formal set of clothes. They didn't look bad, perse, but the person staring back at him in the mirror wasn't the General Kenobi everyone was used to. He looked far more refined, and regal. He looked like he probably descended from royalty, and he had that of great riches beyond compare.

The trousers and boots were about normal, but from the waist up, it was like a whole different person. The dark undershirt, borderline black, but there was a hint of the darkest green embedded in it. Over that was the formal shirt, much tighter and restricting than his robes were, but he supposed it was a nice contrast to the light shades of them, as the deep brown looked so earthy and warm. The last thing to adorn his body was the vest, made of some sort of leather, and the glossy black only faintly reflected the light as he pulled it to rest over his shoulders. He did look nicer than usual, he could admit it, but it still didn't feel like him.

He supposed he would brush everything aside and wear this outfit, for the sake of Padme, and for the sake of you, whom would also be forced to wear garb outside of your normal pickings.

He left the room and headed to the main hallway, following after many of the 212th members who were on their way outside. The large hovercraft that awaited them were decorated with some of Naboo's prettiest flowers, including the ones you loved so much and had told him about. The sparkling blue ones that glowed in the light. You'd said that they reminded you of him, and had been nearly the exact shade of his lightsaber. Looking at them now, he knew that you were right, it was uncanny.

He'd pick one to present to you, however he felt he should not shorten it's life by doing so, as you'd want to see it grow to its full potential.

He approached one of the palace staff, seeing as though he wasn't busy with anything, and was simply overseeing that the clones were loaded on the hover-ships that would carry them over the water. The man was quite surprised to see the Jedi in such an outfit that made him near unrecognizable. He had always liked the senator's taste, though.

"General Kenobi, how may I assist you?" The man bowed in reverence, and Obi-Wan ducked his head shyly in response.

"I'm looking for my Padawan, I was sure I could find her here, but it appears she hasn't shown up yet," he explained, his hands fidgeting and likely giving away how anxious he was to see you. It's not like was was trying to hide it, anyway.

"Oh yes, I remember I was to tell you she will be arriving at the venue separately, as she will be accompanying the senator."

Obi-Wan, though massively patient in quite literally any other circumstance, had to restrain himself from arguing with this man over the situation, and walked away before he could even think of demanding to see you.

"Thank you, if it is alright, I'll board with my men," and then he was on his way.

The trip over the water was beautiful, very scenic and calming, actually. He'd never truly experienced a tour of this planet, although he'd been here several times on account of the senator, and back then queen. He'd seen Theed, and he'd been in the forested regions, even exploring the underwater world of the Gungans, but this? This smooth ride over the lake country where he could see the lovely outline of the cliffs and the mountains against the sky, with every little detail now pointed out to him through the attention they drew, this was paradise. A real vacation if he could swear it was one. Now the only thing missing was you.

"Excuse me sir, I don't believe we've ever met," one of the clones came up behind the general, teasing him to see if he'd respond to the joke. Some of the others laughed at him, and Obi-Wan sighed as he turned around. "General Kenobi, is that you? You look uh... a little different."

"Trapper, if you're going to mock me, please do so outside of my vicinity."

But of course, having heard his annoyance, they only wanted to poke more fun at him, so for the rest of the journey, he was no longer able to simply enjoy the landscapes around him, but endured being made fun of by the men he lead on almost everyday.

Reaching the port, he was able to see another hovercraft in the distance, and hoped you would be here soon, but having seen the festivities that awaited, he was able to relax and disembark with his clones until then.

The décor was amazing, as it always was, and he knew that this time Padme had outdone herself. There was not a moment where that woman was not the most decadent person he'd ever met. He could hear music as he approached the venue, and it was lovely, the sounds were peaceful and serene, the stringed instruments in harmony with each other really set the mood of this celebration, and although his men were all rough and normally very boorish, they seemed to be exuding their most refined courteousness. If this party could turn his soldiers into gentlemen, it could do anything.

He was ushered in by the other hosts of the night, being greeted by the large doors of the hall and shown inside where the refreshments were. He walked slowly down the large set of stairs that lead to a wide dance floor, open to anyone who may take part in such an activity. He was obviously not known for dancing, although he was sure it wouldn't take much convincing if only a certain someone would ask.

"You look tense, General. You nervous?" Cody, ever the reliant commander, seemed rather troubled about his superior, as he hadn't seen him clench his fists that tight since the last mission.

"I'll be fine, I think I just need a drink," he all but joked, following Cody over to the bar, which had been ever so generously provided for them.

As more people began to pour into the room, the party seemed to grow more alive. The people of Naboo were a very hospitable people, and welcomed them all with open arms. There was not a clone unoccupied in the large celebration hall, as the guests kept them busy, telling stories of their successes in the war. The people found it fascinating, and of course the soldiers themselves were all to happy to comply with their requests for stories and recalled memories of victory. Obi-Wan was happy to see them so happy, enjoying the celebration he truly believed was meant for them. He was not a leader without them, and they were the reason for all his achievements.

"The senator is here," the in-tuned Jedi heard someone behind him, and turned around, seeing a small clustered group at the top of the stairs.

He set his unfinished drink on the countertop, waiting for the group to finish greeting the hosts at the top so they might come down. He knew you were with her, which is why he was paying such close attention.

It was all so quick, the way Padme lead her assistants and yourself down the stairs, and he first saw you... his jaw nearly went slack on the floor.

Your dress, though modest to some extent, showed off your most pleasing attributes. It was green, and blue, representing the earth and waters of this planet, with the ever so small bouts of pink to accentuate the plant life. The broadness of your shoulders were looking divine with the shimmer of the satin vines that cascaded around them, holding the rest of the dress together. Your skin was glowing, and he couldn't help but notice the stretch of your legs, coming through the slits of tulle that surrounded them. Crystal looking shoes you wore that were adorned with vines and flowers that crawled all the way up your knee and stopped right under your thighs, which were also halfway visible. You had your head ducked parallel to the stairs while you walked down them, and if he knew you, and he did, it was because you were utterly terrified you were going to trip and fall down them. He was not yet able to see your face, but your hair was lovely. Normally wild and untamed atop your head, it had been smoothed into gentle curls which laid effortlessly on your shoulders. The sides were pulled back and up, into twists on the back of your head, held in place with light pink flowers like the ones on the dress.

He started walking towards you when you were nearing the bottom, and his heart was racing before his steps even moved him forward. There were couples that had stopped on the dance floor to watch the senator come in, but nothing could stop him from getting to you, now on the ground where he stood. He finally stopped before you, and you lifted your head, not at all surprised to be meeting his eyeline. You could feel his anticipation from a mile away.

He almost couldn't breath, yes, you took his breath away. He dared not look away for even a second, even as Padme greeted him with a 'good evening, General Kenobi.'

"It's lovely to see you, malady," he spoke, sparing her a single glance, but his eyes were drawn back to you like magnets, and it was completely free from his own will of controlling himself.

You smiled cheekily, observing him in his entirety. He cleaned up very nice. Of course, you preferred the ragged Jedi you knew, but this was a nice change from the normal.

"Obi, you look very handsome," you told him, stepping closer to admire how completely royal he looked. Like a prince of a far away planet. His cheeks turned red, but he was quick to return the compliment, although a bit flustered from yours.

"And you look beautiful," he felt that word didn't compare to how you looked, and he didn't want to settle for it, but he did, knowing he would look foolish if he kept quiet long enough to think of something else. This galaxy had not seen such a marvelous wonder as you, therefore the word for your beauty did not exist, and he decided on that.

He his hand to you, and you took it, watching closely as he raised the hand to his lips and kissed the top of it delicately.

"You must excuse me, I should greet the other guests," she said, backing away slowly, but she knew that her presence would not be minded to leave, as you both seemed rather... entranced at the moment. She was very happy, however, to see that her hard work had paid off.

The music started back up again, and it was only this moment that Obi-Wan had noticed it stopped, for when you entered the room, in his mind it seemed to continue, even more astounding than it had been before.

He pulled you along with him to the side of the stairway, avoiding causing traffic in the area.

"You really are beautiful, little one," he said, still admiring every little detail about you. It was clear that work was put into this, and he wanted you to know that he was appreciative, even if you didn't mind so much.

"I'll admit, I feel more seen in this dress than I ever have in my life," you chuckled, taking and deep breath and releasing it. You weren't used to having more than one set of eyes on you at a time, at least not for good reasons.

"Oh, but little one, I always see you."

His hand that still possessed yours lead you back backwards, towards the edge of the dance floor, and you were worried that perhaps this attire was not the best thing to be wearing at the moment.

"Obi, you know I can't dance," you shook your head, but didn't show any other signs of protest other than that. If you truly did not want to dance, he would not make you, but he did feel the need to correct your statement.

"You've danced with me before," and it was true, but those were different circumstances, if you remember correctly.

"We were alone, and no one could see us, then."

He pulled you flush against him, a hand on your waist and the other in your hand, his head tilted slightly to look at you in close proximity. He sent into your mind the feelings that coursed through him, and in your bond of the force you felt every single thing he did. It was overwhelming really, like a beautiful chaotic storm of emotion.

"It's just us, my love," he whispered in your ear, and right away you knew it would take no more convincing, and you'd dance with him the whole night through. "It's just us..."

-

@spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer @superavengerpotter @cutiepoo16 @hypnoash @softlymellow @howlerwolfmax @mephistominion @honestlywtfisgoingon @anakinskywalkerog @mandiiellen @je--a-n @guyinachair27 @avenger5-a55emble @amelia-song-pond @kaminanii @the-abyss-of-fandoms @queenofnightdreamland @world-dominating-kitty @mandowhatnow @ella-error505 @annahalo @infinity-witch @beetlejuice-stuff @liueski @solarbxby @sirianisrock @lxdyred @endless-warrior-always-fighter @iloveinej @msjb2002 @shoochi @itsilvermorny @gingerrosecosplay @sebschicken @loversjoy @argentinemango @1-800-vader @house-of-kolchek @marierg @graciexmarvel @ttzamara @truly-madly-nerdy @molieux @majahu @dyzlks @pancakefancake

[withered-tears]

I want to sorta, kickstart myself into writing again, even if just short stuff, so I've decided to do a bit of a game out of it!

Im going to list 6 fandoms, (and depending on how this goes, might add more later) and (taking my sweet time) write short non connected scenes of crossovers between all combinations! So that would mean 15 short scenes to write.

The fandoms are:

Star wars

My little pony

Bleach

My hero academia

Naruto

Transformers

And since I already had some ideas for this one, Im going to start with:

Star Wars x Bleach

-----

This was not the worst situation they've been in.

Surely.

Later he will come up with some examples, now he is a bit busy trying to come up with a way for him and his master to walk out of this alive.

The ambush was a fast one, the results?

Him chained to post, his stump port sparking and dripping oil all over the floor (and no matter how relatively easy is to get a new replacement, losing that hand always seems to hurt as much as the first time), Obi wan, barely conscious, his forehead still bleeding, bounded and being ready for an execution.

Their weapons, both blasters and their lightsabers still at the camp, a few miles away. (And how would Anakin wish his legs would be unbound so he could kick himself right now, his paranoia towards his new blade making him choose to leave it behind, if only temporarily)

He tries to focus, use the force to either free himself or attack his captors, but a powerful electric shock makes him lose all concentration, in lieu of clenching his muscles in pain.

Is a clever way to subdue a jedi, his cuff are programmed to shock him in random intervals, not enough to fry him but certainly enough to keep him in check. (And wasnt that interesting, how this group of bounty hunters were going to such extremes to capture him alive, yet were about to kill Obi wan, was he the main target?)

Anaking struggles, but his bounds are too strong.

No.

He is too weak.

Too weak.

He needs to be stronger, he wants power.

Do you really?

He startles, the vibrant purples of the grass around them, and the yellowish sky have both faded to an almost grey, his attackers seemed almost frozen, or perhaps in very slow motion.

Of course, the most shocking change was the new figure in the clearing, standing between him and Obi Wan.

They were tall, easily two heads taller than him, but their figure was a mystery. They were covered in a heavy cloack like cloth, not unlike a jedi's robe, yet different, darker in color, and with a thick cloth wrapping their waist, as a sort of belt.

No part of their body was visible, in fact, some sort of mist or perhaps smoke seemed to emanate from inside the cloack.

All he could see, was a pair of glowing, yellow eyes.

What do you want, Anakin Skywalker?

Anakin wonders, if this is what siths see when they surround themselves to the dark side of the force, if this is what it looks like when one sells their soul for power.

But what choice does he have?

"Power."

And the being snorts.

No, you don't

"Wh- what?!"

You need power, to achieve what you want

"That's the same thing!-"

It is not, believe me, it is not. So tell me, what do you want?

Without meaning to, Anakin's gaze turns towards the still bleeding Obi Wan, and the creature's yellow eyes follow.

"Protect... I want, I want to protect him."

Just him?

And Anakin thinks of Rex and his squad, always having their backs, he thinks of Ahsoka, and how much he stills wants to teach her, he thinks of padme.

He thinks of his mother, dying on his arms.

"Everyone... I want to protect everyone."

And the figure takes a step closer, raising a hand seemingly made of smoke, and places it gently on his head, ruffling his hair.

Then let's do so

"What?"

Call my name, Anakin, and we shall protect those you love

This was not the worst situation they've been in.

Surely.

Give him a few minutes to think through his concussion and he'll think of a few examples.

But first, he has to focus all his mental discipline in helping his padawan. Oh righ, and in keeping his own head from getting blown off.

But ferore he could even begin to formulate a plan, the Force screamed.

It was a wrathful warcry, it was a joyfull cackle, it was the thundering wail of a newborn storm.

And Anakin was standing right in the middle of it.

Obi Wan has seen his fair share of exceptionally strong force users, and knew Anakin to be one, but he have never seen something like this.

The Force rippled the air, a miniature hurricane or raw power, the post that once held Anakin now lied in pieces, their attackers, those still conscious, seemed to have trouble standing, or even breathing.

Then Anakin raised his remaining hand, and with a distant sonic boom, his new lightsaber rushed into his hold.

His lightsaber, which Obi Wan knew was miles away.

But he didn't activated it.

Instead, he brings it close to his side, body lowered in a stance he never saw jedi nor sith use, opening pointing behind him.

He looked like someone about to unsheat a physical sword.

"Devour our chains."

His voice echoed with strength, his eyes glowed with power.

"The Eclipse."

The group of bounty hunters and assassins stared at the massive summoned beast made of smoke, ashes and darkness, and think to themselves,

This was definitely the worst situation they've been in.

-----

And theres scene number 1! Hopefully more to come later.

@north-peach i think you'll like this one

[mayxthexforce]

mutatiio:

come closer. maul makes a wilting sound as he backs up further, completely concealing himself again. he wrestles with why he should do this. the same thought as before plagues him. master sidious will not be happy. but master sidious had told him that there were no other force users like maul and him... maybe his master would be pleased with him for finding someone who could assist them?? if assistance is even something his master wants... truly, maul hasn't the faintest idea what his plan looks like. he's already failed in every other aspect of his current mission... the punishment he is to be dealt can't get much worse (he thinks). if there's a chance that this stranger might be of use then, really, he would be doing his master a disservice to not bring him back. and if his master doesn't want him then he can dispose of him. maul does not allow himself to settle on the twist his stomach does at that thought. if feemor is to be of use, it would be better if he impressed him. that and... he'd like to throw better for him - to hear more kind words. clutching the canteen in his left hand, he steps out from behind the boulder. his chin is down, golden eyes bright and focused solely on feemor. the line seems so far away and so close to feemor. too close. still, he presses on. moving slowly. part of him wants to try bend the rule, test the limit. another part remembers what his master used to do when he first tried. so, as tempting as it is to squat down and determine that halfway is close enough, he doesn't. his hearts are pounding in his chest by the time he reaches the line. from this close, he can see how clean feemor is, despite the ash and soot lingering in the air. his clothes are clean, too. a stark contrast to maul who is so covered in dirt that his skin almost appears black. his clothes are tattered and worn. his right arm is twisted in an odd way, swollen. he remains silent, pupils blown out as he remains completely still.

Feemor doesn't even need to move closer to know, beyond any trace of doubt, that the boy's is the sort of fracture that the healers back at the Jedi Temple would call 'beautiful'. He didn't understand how a fracture could be beautiful back when he was the one holding his arm out to be examined and healed, with the difference that he'd been sitting on a stretcher; and he definitely didn't understand it now. But he remembered how hearing them call it that had confused him enough to give him something else to ponder than the idea of how whatever they did might hurt.

"It's a beautiful fracture," he hums when the boy gets close enough for him to appreciate the injured arm.

From this close, he can also see some cuts and what he cannot really tell if it's bruises- it's hard to tell bruises apart from ash and dirt, and the child is COVERED in it. It just makes Feemor wonder how long the boy has been out on his own.

But now isn't the time to ask. It is time to put the WEEKS of learning how to use the force to heal to good use.

He's not sure what would make the boy feel less nervous: if him talking or staying quiet. He decides to go with talking, but watches his words carefully. "You really are brave for someone so young," he praises, his gaze focused on the child's arm. "I would have been terrified when I was your age."

Feemor might not be sure what age that would be, exactly. But if he has to guess, he'd guess this boy is a youngling. Nowhere near close to puberty, either. Definitely too young to be out on his own like this.

Slowly, he lifts his hands. Feemor doesn't touch the boy's arm, but he lets his hands hover over the swollen area. He lets the force flow through him, closes his eyes and visualizes the skin, the muscle, the veins and the broken bone. Then, as swiftly as he can, he pushes the bone back into place and is quick to focus the force on healing any damage on the tissue and the bone itself. As he works, gradually, the boy's arm begins to look less swollen.

"Great job," he says with a smile because– well, he knows adults who wouldn't have stayed so still through such a process. "Is that better? Try moving it."

[tennessoui]

for obikin, maybe pretending to hate each other au? (sth where their ages are a little closer, perhaps, so obi-wan can be intensely petty and not feel the need to Set an Example)

45. (Pretending To) Hate Each Other (raised as Sith!Anakin, salty!Padawan Obi-Wan)(1.6k)

Obi-Wan turns away from the training stalles with a barely suppressed sneer. Anakin, as he is to be called, has defeated his opponents. His fellow Padawans. Darth Vader has become a Padawan and everyone is just fine with it.

Obi-Wan marches out into the halls, not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he must get away from the smirk on Anakin’s face as he had lowered his training saber to his opponent’s neck. Does no one but Obi-Wan remember how just months ago Vader’s saber had been pressed against his neck and it hadn’t been a training exercise? Does no one remember the atrocities Anakin had committed, the sentients Anakin had killed?

And yet Obi-Wan’s master seems infinitely fascinated by the boy. And yet Obi-Wan, it seems, cannot step out of his own room without finding this Anakin underfoot, either taking tea with his Master, or dolefully skulking around the doorway of Obi-Wan’s quarters. What draws the boy, he has no lasting idea.

They’re approximately the same age, he supposes, although Obi-Wan has a few years at least on Anakin--it’s clearer to see now that Anakin has stopped wearing his helmet and armor into battle, now that the lines of his face are not hardened by scowls and snarls. Really, he’s a boy. His medical chart puts him at eighteen, making him four years Obi-Wan’s junior.

And, he supposes, Qui-Gon was the one to find Anakin wounded on the battlefield, the one to insist they treat the Sith, heal him, and give him shelter. But Obi-Wan was the one who had found the slave chip embedded between his ribcage, the one who had alerted the Council to its presence, so it could be used to find the boy’s master, to capture him or kill him, to end the war.

But surely, whatever small part Obi-Wan had played in the war’s conclusion, the Force should have known better than to repay him by gifting him with the care and keeping of a Sith Lord, Chosen One or not.

Although Obi-Wan can admit, even if only to himself, that it’s worse when Vader latches onto anyone else in the Temple. His master is too starry-eyed by his ideas of Vader’s midichlorians, his destiny as the Chosen One, to see the boy in front of him now.

And anyone younger than Vader is too easily swayed by his looks, his charm, his disgustingly transparent eagerness to know about the Temple, about the Jedi way of life.

Obi-Wan knows this. He’s fought a Sith at 20, fended it off after it dealt a nearly fatal blow to his Master. They cannot be reasoned with. Vader cannot be reasoned with.

Anakin exists only as a figment of their imaginations, their desire to have the Chosen One fly under the Jedi colors. He is not real, not anymore.

Gradually, Obi-Wan finds himself making his way up the stairs of the Jedi Temple. Of all the spots to hide--to sulk, as his Master would say--the rooftop is the one least likely to be checked. It is one of Obi-Wan’s favorite areas in the entire building.

But he had not thought to check for stragglers before arriving at his destination, had thought the thunderstorms of his own Force presence would keep others at bay. He hadn’t yet figured Vader into his calculations, hadn’t remembered the propensity Vader had for showing up right when Obi-Wan least wanted him to.

“You left,” Vader--Anakin--whoever accuses, as Obi-Wan sits down on the rooftop. The wind howls around them. Obi-Wan has the distinct thought that they’ve lived through this before, that last time Vader had cornered him on a rooftop, he had threatened to take a piece of his body home to his Master. Now, Vader is standing in his home.

Obi-Wan takes a very deep breath and banishes those sorts of thoughts. Anakin, he reminds himself. Anakin.

And just as importantly, the chip. There had been a chip. Not controlling Va--Anakin’s thoughts, but certainly controlling his actions. What he would do to survive is no different from what Obi-Wan had done to survive; they had just been on opposite sides of the war.

Is Obi-Wan weak for not being able to move past that? For not being able to greet the boy--the man--Anakin with open arms into the folds of his family?

“I did,” Obi-Wan replies, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the city skyline.

Anakin steps closer. “Why?”

He turns to face him, takes in his sweaty appearance and messy tunics. He must have been looking for Obi-Wan’s reaction. He must have seen the exact moment Obi-Wan had turned, must have scrambled to cloth himself as he followed after.

“Why does it matter?” He asks instead of answering, always instead of answering.

“Because I wanted you to watch,” Vader says.

“I’ve seen you kill Padawans before,” Obi-Wan turns away and stands up until he can lean against the high protective walls of the roof. “I wasn’t impressed.”

Vader feels frustrated in the Force. No. Anakin.

Anakin. “It was a training exercise.”

“Now,” Obi-Wan points out. “Or do you mean then?”

“Would you hate me if I said both?” “I hate you now, Vader.” The other boy’s Force signature withdraws, flinching away from Obi-Wan’s ire. He hears him sit down. He’d rather throw him off the roof.

But: “Don’t call me that,” the boy pleads quietly. “I know I can’t--that I don’t--” he cuts himself off and grows quiet.

Obi-Wan would say something to break the silence, but he doesn’t want to engage the boy if he doesn’t have to. If he closes his eyes, he can feel and see the Force raging around them, violently buffering them as it demands some sort of denouement.

The boy inhales and stands again, stepping forward hesitantly until he’s a scant foot away from Obi-Wan. “My mom always told me she thought for ages about my name. That it had come to her in a dream after I was already a month old, that it was bad luck to have waited for so long to name me because infants on Tatooine can die as quickly as their mothers.

“And then I...I couldn’t use it or hear it or speak it for so long that I think I almost forgot it, almost lost it to Sidious and...and Vader. So even if you hate me, and I know you should hate me, I know I’ve never done anything to you that cancels out the bad I’ve done to you, but. Please don’t call me that. I think it would have made her sad."

Obi-Wan works his jaw as he stares off into the city. He doesn’t think V--Anakin has ever said so many words to him. If he gives in now, he’d be just as bad as the other padawans who had welcomed Anakin in amongst them because of his big eyes and soft lips and earnest enthusiasm.

Anakin seems to take his silence as permission to continue, which it isn’t. “And I know I’m not. That I can’t be--won’t ever be a Padawan, or a Jedi Knight, that. That I’ll never wear a braid or anything. I’m not--I don’t want another Master. I never want another Master.”

Obi-Wan turns his head just enough to look at Anakin. He’s spent an awfully long amount of time hanging around Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s quarters if he doesn’t want a Master. But...what he’s saying makes sense, and, more importantly than that, soothes the furious emotions in Obi-Wan’s chest enough that he can speak. “Then I can’t understand why.” Why you’re here, why you won’t leave me alone, why you chose to follow me if you’re not trying to dispose of me and take my Master for yours.

Anakin sighs, leaning his head on his hands as he looks out at the city. Obi-Wan finds himself annoyed with that as well, even though he’d just been doing the same thing. Now he can’t tear his eyes away from Anakin’s profile.

“You’re warm in the Force,” Anakin says eventually. “I think maybe I spent too long in space, because I’m always cold. Except when I’m around you. You burn. You always have. I used to think that maybe--it was hatred or disgust at me, when I met you in battle, and you were an inferno. But you burn when you’re on creche duty too. A different kind of fire, but still so warm. It’s just your soul. It’s just who you are.”

Obi-Wan blinks open-mouthed at him. He’s never considered the thought that Vader--Anakin--had been trailing after him for anything other than easy access to his Master. Now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say.

There’s a part of him that still doesn’t understand what Anakin wants to get out of his tenancy at the Temple, a part that whispers that the Sith can’t be trusted, no matter how blue they can make their eyes look. But the Jedi part of Obi-Wan is bigger.

The Jedi part of Obi-Wan tells him to extend his hand just enough to brush against Anakin’s exposed wrist. It’s a point of vulnerability the boy doesn’t shy away from.

“Would you…” he asks slowly, forcing the words out of his tight throat. “Like to meditate with me?”

Anakin looks astonished, then hopeful, then disappointed, then dejected. “I’m no good at meditating,” he says, scuffing the point of his shoe on the ground. “It wasn’t a huge part of my...former Master’s curriculum, and the Force is just so loud in my head that it’s hard to do anything but react.”

He looks up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes, biting his lip as if he’s afraid that he’ll be turned away for this.

Instead, Obi-Wan turns fully to face him and latches onto his flesh hand. “There are some things, I’ve found,” he murmurs, leading them away from the edge of the roof before pulling Anakin down to sit cross-legged in front of him, “that are much easier done with someone else. Done together.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Tattoo Shop AU - a quick, practical guide for writers

Guest Post by lebanon-hangover

lebanon-hangover said: this is based on my personal experience with the industry only, so depending on the era and country you are portraying, it may not be 100% accurate for your setting.

Hygiene

It may not be obvious at first glance, but most tattooists are clean freaks. We work with human blood every day, and we get clients from all ages, ethnic and social economic backgrounds, with all sorts of medical conditions.

We usually mop frequently, bleach the sinks, wipe down everything, and use cling film or bags to wrap everything. I mean fucking everything. We also scrub in, and sanitise the area on the person we work on.

Needles are collected in a sharps bin, and handled very carefully. Medical waste goes in yellow bags, and both are collected by a professional service.

Used ink caps may look full, but the ink gets diluted by blood. Like you dip the inky needle into the person, but you also dip the person’s blood into your ink. These are medical waste too.

Cleaning up must be done promptly after the session. Bin everything disposable, put things through the ultrasonic and the autoclave, and sanitise the area. We may take machines apart, but more for maintenance than cleaning, sometimes we swap parts in them too.

We have two sinks, one for hand washing, one for cleaning.

All inks and needles have use by dates.

The internal dynamics of a studio

Depending on the country, some tattoo shops tend to have ties to biker gangs, and some of those internal dynamics and unwritten rules are often present.

There’s a pecking order and it’s dead serious. Basically the longer you’ve been in a shop, the higher ‘rank’ you are, you get the better positioned stations, first pick of walk-ins, etc (Unless the client is asking for someone by name). Regardless of your actual experience in the industry, like if you move into your old apprentice’s shop, they are still senior to you. If the owner or their partner is an artist, obviously they are on top of the chain by default.

We are self employed, but we have a boss. You are only making money if you are working, but you still have set work hours.

We get paid by the clients, and we pay the studio a cut. In return, there are some items provided by them, and some we buy for ourselves. Usually the chairs, tattoo beds, gloves, cleaning products, clip cord covers, masks, aprons, ink caps, vaseline, green soap, and some basic ink is provided by the shop. We buy our own machines, arm rests, stations, pedals, power supplies, clipcords, tips and grips, needles, special colours, stencil fluid…these are a personal preference, and often depend on the artists’ style.

We totally ask to try out each other’s equipment sometimes, or ask for a certain type of needle if we ran out.

The receptionist is usually just one of us, maybe a piercer, but it also can be a hired person in top studios.

The apprentice in the traditional system is often mistreated, and they have to pay for their education, have to be there multiple days a week and don’t make any money. It’s kind of like a tear them down, build them back up again thing to see if they are really serious about the job. Times are slowly changing, but 99% of them will always need a second job. Most of them are working as bar staff.

When you open a new studio, you must visit all the existing local ones and introduce yourself, otherwise you may get a brick through the window. Otherwise there’s not much beef among individual artists, they are often friends, go to conventions together and party after, etc.

The Artists

Tattooing is a fairly physical job, stretching skin is very important. We have to also keep our clients safely still, so we often use positions to pin them down a bit. Sometimes you hit a reflex point on the foot or under a knee, and you don’t want to get kicked. Sometimes you have to pull away super fast, cos they are sneezing, yawning or giggling.

Most tattooists drink a lot of coffee, tea or energy drinks.

Some people are all rounders, some have specific styles, but we recognise each other’s art styles. Sometimes we delegate work to each other, if we think our coworkers style fits the concept better. For example if there’s a person who does script well, we give them those projects.

We don’t like when people come in with designs from other artists. Art theft is frowned upon, and we work best with our own drawings.

Most apprentices practice on their own legs, and sometimes we tattoo each other when it’s quiet. Most people have cover ups, or bad pieces from their early days. The artists’ own tattoos sometimes are in a different style than what they do, but we like to collect ink from friends or colleagues we admire.

In the first 1-2 years one is an apprentice, then junior artist. At 5-8 years of tattooing, you have earned your stripes and are considered an experienced artist.

Conventions are really fun, but can be stressful. You can make good money working at one, and sometimes get awarded for it too. We can also spend a lot at a convention.

Sometimes we poke our fingers by accident, and it’s a scary thing. Good case scenario is just some random dots on your fingers. Let’s not go into the bad case scenario.

We do guest spots sometimes, just to meet new clients, and change it up a bit.

We spend a lot of time drawing up things, and designs are meant to fall on specific muscles, stretch with the skin a certain way, so they are tailored to the body proportions of the client. A good tattoo is also an optical illusion, complimenting the body shape.

Social media presence is like a second job, you need good photos, and you need to market yourself.

Tattoo ink does not wash out, so some stains are inevitable when pouring it out. Those ink bottles get stuck so easily, and we wrestle them a lot. We try to avoid it, but wearing all dark colours is a thing for a reason.

The Clients

Tattooists need to have a good ‘bedside manners’ too. We get nervous or self conscious people, and we are told personal things during long sessions. For example scar coverups and memorial pieces can be very emotional.

We have pretty good poker faces and first aid trainings. People can faint, get shaky, throw up, some have seizures, have b.o., get sweaty, etc the same way as at a blood donation event? It’s no big deal really. We sit them down, give them some water and some sugar, and re-book them if necessary. Most artists keep some wet wipes, mouth wash, deodorant, sweets, maybe even some clean clothes at work, just in case.

If someone comes in with a wild idea for a jobstopper, we would sit down and have a long talk. If they haven’t got many tattoos, we usually try to stir them towards more safe choices, offering them creative ideas. It’s like those jedi mind tricks sometimes.

If someone is undecided, we show them our own hand drawn flash sheets. Once its gone, its gone tho, we don’t use the designs twice.

Pinterest is full of photoshopped fake tattoos, some that won’t even work as real ink. Many people also touch up their work digitally on photos, so some clients have really unrealistic expectations.

We can totally tell if someone is intoxicated or hangover. It thins the blood, and they bleed out the ink, and it’s super annoying. if it’s bad, they will be sent home and rebooked.

Some folks are self conscious about body hair, their size, stretch marks and scars. Chances are, we have seen similar, and we aren’t bothered by it, because it’s work. Surgery scars, scars from accidents, self harm scars, burns, we see it all the time. We shave some really hairy dudes all the time girl, your legs are fine. Seriously. If something makes tattooing you dangerous we will tell you.

Fit, muscular people are harder to tattoo because they are really firm. Its a workout for us.

Everyone gets midnight messages about the aftercare from nervous clients, and drunken booty calls about getting inked right at this second. We have copy paste replies…

We get creeps sometimes. Stalking, weird conversations, tmi info dumps etc.

Other things to include (for fun, or for plot reasons)

We sometimes have those “oh fuck” moments. We all do, but mistakes can be fixed, and we play it cool.

Tattooing takes time. Usually 30 minutes to multiple sessions though years and years.

Healing tattoos takes about 2-4ish weeks, and your characters shouldn’t go roll around in dirt, sunbathe, swim, pick at the scabs. Nasty infections, and messed up tattoos would be the results.

If you have a strong immune system, and you get a lot of work done in one sitting, you may get a brief bit of a temperature. It’s normal, and will go away.

Its a lot easier to get seriously drunk after getting a tattoo. Be careful.

We sometimes draw on each other for practice with our marker pens.

Tattoos are inside the skin, not on top of it. Imagine a low opacity, skin toned layer over the ink, adding to the healed tattoos’ colour. Please stop making your characters skin fully transparent.

Heavy blackwork and palms are done in multiple sessions.

You can’t cover up moles, because if they develop skin cancer, the dermatologist can’t see the signs.

There’s a stereotype about piercers having blacked out sleeves.

Stencil fluid looks just like cum.

You get that annoying itch on your face when you scrubbed in, put on gloves and finally ready to go.

Some artists have a strong preference for coil or rotary machines, and they bicker about it a lot. Coils are louder, more punchy, and more traditional, perfect for lineart. They can be customised, and they last forever. They are also called glorified doorbells by people who prefer rotaries. Rotary machines are smoother, lighter, and often use needles that are pulled back into the cartridges for safety. They are better for shading and delicate line work. Older tattooists often say they are dildo or butt plug shaped, overly delicate and are for “soft millennials” only.

Every artist owns like 5 to 20 machines, and they have specific machine builders they are loyal to.

The “which cable is broken and cutting out” guessing game. Clip cords and pedal cables get worn out easily, and that results in your machine running really jerky.

Walk-in always show up 10 minutes before closing.

We often look quite silly at work. Sleeves rolled up, folks use all sorts of plastic ppe, headlamps, and we tie up our hair. Add couple of purple smears from carbon paper, and we aren’t scary at all.

[staranon95]

DinCobb Week Day 5: Sharing Cultures (SFW)

for @dincobbweek​ with a wedding!!

@astrangebird​ drew some fantastic art and i decided to write a piece about it. that’s that. that’s all of it.

AO3 Link

Wait For Me Here

“We should get married,” Din idly said one day when they were in bed, side by side to wait out the worst of the day’s heat.”

“Oh yeah?” Cobb asks. He’s on his stomach, pillowed on his arms. Din knows this without even having to look because he knows Cobb likes sleeping on his front, usually one leg tucked up a bit, sometimes one arm stretched out for Din as if he’s reaching for him in sleep.

“Think about it. We live together.”

“Mm.”

“We cook together.”

“Mmhm.”

“We fight together.”

“Mm.”

“And we have a child together.”

Cobb snorts. “Sharing custody of your child with a Jedi might be putting it a bit generous.”

“There are also the school kids.”

“’cause half the time I have to tell them not to get into shit they shouldn’t.”

“Still.”

“Still,” Cobb says and breathes in. Then he opens his eyes and Din turns on his side to face him. “Marriage, huh?”

“Mmhm. Unless if . . .”

“Unless?”

“I don’t know what marriage customs are like on Tatooine, and the ones I’ve been invited to were Tusken in nature.”

“Well, shoot, partner, I reckon we go just as hard with our wedding flair as them Tuskens do.”

“Is that so?”

Cobb nods tiredly against his arms and closes his eyes. “Two-day affair most of the time. Eat and drink late into the night, sleep a few hours, and then get up in the morning for the breakfast feast. Everyone comes out with everything. Real big community thing as well.”

“I, I might like to see that.”

“What about you Mandalorians though?” Cobb then shifts suddenly, rising up long enough to lie himself across Din’s chest and hold him close with a leg in between Din’s. “I know you’ve . . . I know it’s not easy for you.”

Din sighs. The fallout from the survivors of his clan is still fresh. At least they didn’t strip him of his armour, but he doesn’t think they see him as Mandalorian anymore. He saw to their relocation on Tatooine with Boba Fett’s help, and finally they can live without the fear of being seen or being caught. But they will not accept Din as one of their own, not anymore, not after he gave up the Darksaber, allowed his face to be seen, and nearly broke every Creed he had taken on as a young adult.

“Well, the weddings were mostly, they were short,” Din admits. “Usually it requires an exchange, especially if one member were coming from a different clan.”

“An exchange of what?”

“Equipment. Weapons or armour. I once saw someone approach the Armourer to ask her how to show them to make a knife for their betrothed. It’s meant to be personal to a degree. Either you got this weapon in battle or you’re offering up a piece of yourself, your beskar’gam.”

Cobb hums. “Sounds very official.”

“Marriage is a pact. You raise warriors. You grow the clan. You protect the clan.”

“Mm. I can work with that.”

Din smiles. “You’re a very agreeable partner.”

“I try.”

…

What starts out as a simple comment quickly turns into nearly a town wide event. Neither Din nor Cobb know how the secret got out. They were thinking, originally, a small affair with their closest associates. Boba is even willing to host at his palace, and Din is fine with that. But then word gets out, as it always does, that the Marshal and the Mandalorian are planning to get married, and now here they are, eating breakfast at Werlo’s cantina, getting approached by one of the mothers in town who’s there after dropping her kids off at the school, no doubt, casually talking like Din and Cobb know what’s going on.

“Marshal! Have you decided on a date yet?”

Cobb blinks and looks to Din before looking at the woman. “Excuse me?”

“For the wedding! Gaia said you and the Mandalorian were planning to marry.”

Din chokes on his caf.

“Um, well.” Cobb reaches out to pat Din’s hand. “We were planning a small ceremony.”

“Nonsense! I know you’re both busy men. We can handle all the logistics for you. All you and your fiancé need to do is show up to the day!”

“Well, Lee, thank you for the offer,” Cobb says, and Din can see he’s trying to be polite about it, but Din knows Cobb has a hard time turning down any of the favours the townspeople show him.

“It’s my pleasure, Marshal. It’s been some time since we’ve had cause to celebrate! We’ll be in touch!”

“Yeah, Lee. See you.”

Once she’s gone, Cobb looks to Din, and Din tries to smother his smile behind his hand.

“Hey, this is your town too,” Cobb says.

“I know. I guess a small ceremony is no longer in the works.”

“They were going to find out one way or another.”

…

From how Cobb explained it, Din thought he had a good idea of what entailed a Tatooine wedding from the settler-slave population. Good food, good drinks, good company.

“Have you thought about a house yet?”

Din looks to Jo as he’s elbow deep in a speeder. “What?”

“You know,” she says like Din should know. “A house.”

“Why would I—”

“Oh. You don’t know. Right.” She pops her lips. “It’s a Tatooine thing. ‘specially for freed slaves and poor settlers. It’s a thing of pride to be able to provide a place like a home. I know my dad worked hard to get an apartment for me and my ma while he also worked to get our manumission. Tiny one bedroom place ‘til I moved out here. But he was very proud of that place when he had it. Point is—what are you bringing to the table, Din?”

Din blinks and reaches for a towel to wipe sweat from his brow. “I hadn’t thought of anything.”

“Let me give you the one up ‘cause I know the Marshal won’t be asking’ for it himself.” She slides down from her perch on a workbench to lean over the speeder. “Man needs himself a proper house. And I’m talking a proper house. Most of the buildings here are temporary. They’re not built for long term which is why they require so much maintenance. Houses underground are the way to be. They take a while, sure, but when you’ve got a village.”

He frowns. “I thought that was for raising children.”

“Villages are for everything here, Din. If you want to give him something good, really show you love him, come find me when you’ve got free time. I’m pretty sure I can help you out with that issue.”

She then leaves and Din tries to return to his work at hand, but he’s stuck on the thought of a house. Of building a house for him and Cobb and for Grogu when he and his Jedi visit. Where they can host friends and not feel too crammed in Cobb’s home as it is. Where they can actually bring their lives and interests together in one shared space. A shared unit.

Cobb enters the garage looking like he’s dressed up to head into town, and Din stands to greet him. “Hey, darlin’!” He kisses Din on the cheek. Din wrinkles his nose.

“I’m dirty.”

“We’ve been worse to each other. Now. I’m headin’ into town for a bit. Told Jo to hold down the fort and you’re here for back up.”

Din nods. “You don’t want me coming with you?”

“Baby, I know you don’t like to travel to Mos Eisley. Take it easy. I’ll be back shortly after dinner.”

“Okay.”

He helps Cobb push out his speeder onto the main street of Mos Pelgo and kisses him once more before Cobb pulls his scarf up over his mouth and nose and pulls his goggles down over his eyes and offers Din a two fingered salute and then he’s off.

Din trudges down the street towards where Jo is leaning against the wall of the cantina. “So. A house.”

She nods. “Come on. Let’s talk logistics.”

…

In what they originally wanted to be a quick and short wedding turns into a several month-long affair as Mos Pelgo comes out in spades to support their Marshal and Mandalorian in tying the knot. They plan for food and for drinks. They send out invites to the local Tuskens, who also seem enthused that Din is getting married. They think it a good match, and well, at least Din has their approval.

The building of the Marshal’s new house is quietly under wraps. All Cobb knows is that a new house is being built, but he thinks it for one of the families in town, even comes by to watch Din at work in the staked-out pit, helping to dig down and remove sand until they come to the more compacted ground that they can put stabilizers against and hold in place before they’re pouring the plaster and concrete for the walls.

Whenever Din has a spare moment, he plans with Jo for the interior. A nice open kitchen. A large room for the both of them with an en-suite bathroom. There is not only one guest room but two. One that will largely be Grogu’s when he’s here to stay, and also one for the Jedi if he plans on staying the night. Sometimes he does.

Then there’s the living room, circular in design that could hold a dozen people comfortably, and knowing Cobb, he’ll like the opportunity to entertain more. Din thinks it’s perfect, and he finds as he puts the work into making a home, he realizes he’s looking forward to it not just for Cobb’s promised happiness, but also his own. He can’t remember the last time he’s actually had a proper home like this. Not since Aq Vetina anyway.

“You’re in a good mood,” Cobb says that night when they’re finishing the dishes after dinner.

Din shrugs. “Just happy I guess.”

“Good.” Cobb kisses him quickly on the cheek. “You deserve to be.”

…

One of the next steps for the wedding is the clothes themselves. For Cobb it means he’s getting a robe made for himself. White, flowing fabric with a fancy gold trim around the hems. It’s a standard piece of Tatooine marriages, and Din feels himself sort of bereft that he doesn’t have something similar.

So he plans a visit to Boba’s because they have a shared lineage, and Din can’t exactly walk up to where his old tribe is and ask, “Can any of you help me dress for my wedding? Even though you see me as dar’manda and probably wouldn’t accept my marriage to an outsider?”

Best not to think of it.

He rides with Cobb to the palace, but Cobb isn’t planning on staying.

“I got business in town,” he says. “Might be a while. You okay staying here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“’kay. Kiss.”

He tilts up for Din to lean down and kiss him before waving him off. Then Din heads towards the palace and is let in by the guards.

It’s one of Boba’s work days, meaning he’s not seeing court, which means he’s pouring drinks for him, Fennec, and Din to enjoy. He always serves the strong stuff, which makes Din’s throat burn, but he’s getting used to it.

“So how is it anyway?” Boba asks, reclined on one of the sofa’s where Fennec can press her feet against his thigh.

“Going well,” Din says, keeping his eyes on the dark liquor in his glass. “The house is coming along.”

“You still haven’t told him yet?” Fennec asks.

Din shakes his head. “I want to keep it a surprise for him.”

“Sounds like you got it bad.”

“And you don’t?”

Fennec chuckles and Boba smiles amusedly.

“Fennec’s not exactly my queen here,” Boba says.

“That’s right. I’m an empress.”

“Still. A house sounds like a good idea. Putting down roots. Settling in.”

“It’s about time,” Din says, taking a sip. He smacks his lips. “But it’s getting close to the day and . . . the seamstress offered to tailor me something, but I was hoping for something more—”

“Familiar?” Boba offers. Din nods.

“I think you can help with that,” Fennec says. “Despite what he might say, Boba’s become a real fashion snob.”

“It’s not fashion when you have to wear it to impress people who won’t take you seriously otherwise. The battle armour doesn’t always work.”

“Sure,” she says. “We’ll go with that.”

“I’ll see what I got.”

They eventually move to Boba and Fennec’s shared private quarters where Din can examine the clothing in front of a mirror.

“If you’re looking for something more Mandalorian,” Boba says from within his closet. “I’d suggest the lavalava. Especially if you’re aiming for tradition.”

“Bring out the blue one if you have it,” Fennec says.

Boba returns holding what Din first sees as a skirt, but recognizes the design of it when he was first living in the Fighting Corps’ barracks as a child. It’s meant to be a more formal piece of Mandalorian wear for more casual settings if one didn’t want to dress up in full battle armour. It’s meant to just sit on the hips.

Boba gets him to try it on right there. “You’d probably just wear a light pair of leggings underneath,” he says.

“Oh, and then,” Fennec says, rising to her feet and entering the closet. She returns with a lighter blue cloak and a red sash. “Tie it off with this sash here.” She wraps it around his waist. “And then the cloak like this.” She lets it sit on one shoulder and brings the two ends together to pin at his other shoulder. “You know, I might have a broach that could fit this. Din, hold this for me. I’ll be right back.”

He does as he’s told and looks at himself in the mirror.

“Not bad,” Boba says. “Colour suits you.”

Din turns a bit to admire himself in the mirror. He looks at Boba in the reflection and asks, with his stomach fluttering, “Have you spoken to the clan?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Last week I think.”

Din hums.

“They’ve settled in just fine. Getting along with the Tuskens just fine, but seems like they got more in common than they do the settlers.”

Din nods. “I had a feeling they would.”

“Have you . . .”

“Not since they relocated.”

Boba hums.

“Here we go,” Fennec says, coming back into the room with a silver brooch—in the shape of a Mythosaur skull.

“I didn’t know you had that, cyar,” Boba says.

“It was a gift from a long time ago. Guy who gave it to me certainly wasn’t Mandalorian, but I think it’s best to return it to someone it should actually belong to.” She fixes the brooch to the cloak and then turns Din to face the mirror directly. “There. Now you look ready to get married.”

Din runs his fingers through his hair. He might want to get it cut before the wedding, but he knows Cobb likes it when it’s longer and it holds its waves more. He should at least shave. The uneven scruff on his jaw isn’t all that appealing to himself.

“Stars, it’s going to be a mad house on the day of,” Boba says. “Seems like we’ll have to bring the good stuff, Fennec.”

“You’re telling me.”

…

In the days leading up to the wedding, Din sees to the final touches of the house, ensuring the furniture is in place with room for more when they make the final move. He plans on surprising Cobb that day.

They have a good celebration the night before at the cantina, drinks on the house, and then, in Tatooine fashion, the couple are separated the night before. Din is headed off by Boba and Fennec to Din’s new house, and Cobb is dragged away by his deputy Jo to his house.

“Rest up, vod,” Boba says. “You got a long day ahead of you.”

The next morning, Fennec helps him get ready for the day, making sure his hair is just right, and the cloak is sitting on his shoulders just so. Boba is there in his armour, and Din feels a sour note in his stomach that he’s not wearing any of his. He wouldn’t feel right after his expulsion from the clan.

“You still want the Mandalorian vows?” Boba asks.

Din nods. “If you can.”

“I’d be honored, vod.”

And then he’s led out with his friends on either side of him down the main street with everyone and then some—Tuskens, out of town friends, some of Boba’s closer associates—have come out in full force down the street as it’s been fully decorated for the day.

The ceremony itself is held at one end of the town where an arch of bone from bantha horns has been carved as a gift from the Tuskens. And that’s when Din sees him—Cobb, dressed in white with gold trim and with the hood up over his head, a red sash at his waist as if to match Din’s without even knowing. His back remains turned as Din walks up the aisle towards the arch and then he’s standing next to Cobb, shoulder to shoulder, with Cobb’s lifelong friend and impromptu wedding officiator Issa-Or standing before them. Din keeps his eyes forward for now, waiting for the right moment to face his soon-to-be husband head on.

“Now, I know ya’ll have come out and taken time off of your busy schedules,” Issa-Or says. “And we don’t have much time to dilly-dally like they did in the nicer districts in Mos Eisley and the rest. Time wasn’t a luxury for people like us, so we had to make do. Which is why we’re here to see that Cobb Vanth, Marshal here in Mos Pelgo, spends the rest of his days married to none other than a Mandalorian! Someone he chose to let into his life, his home, and share the rest of his time in this mortal coil with.”

Din feels himself blushing, feels a smile breaking out over his face.

“Cobb?”

He sees Cobb lift his head.

“Why don’t you take a look at your man?”

He feels Cobb reach for his hand and Din gently turns with a little prodding. And as he turns, he sees Cobb pushing back his hood, and Din feels as if he could cry at the sight of him.

He sees Cobb’s lower lip tremble before he smiles, as bright as Tatooine’s suns themselves. “Din.” Cobb lifts Din’s hand and holds it between both of his own. Then Cobb laughs despite himself. “First time I’ve been without words in a while.”

There are a few laughs among the crowd.

“Darling, my love. First day I laid eyes on you, I knew I couldn’t let you go. And I am a richer man for having you. Even if I don’t got much but my name and my reputation and the good will of the people before us, I hope to give you everything you could ever need.” Then he raises Din’s hand and kisses the back of it tenderly.

“At this point, we’d say a done deal and have a feast,” Issa-Or says. “But as it is, Din is a Mandalorian, and we want to respect that part of him, so he comes with his own vows.”

She steps aside to let Boba come up.

“If you’ll both repeat after me,” he says. “We are one together.”

“Mhi solus tome,” Din says, quietly, only enough for Cobb and Boba to really hear.

He watches Cobb smiles, the pink curl of his tongue before he’s repeating in Basic. “We are one together.

“We are one when parted.”

“Mhi solus dhar’tome.”

“We are one when parted.”

“We share all.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“We share all.”

“We shall raise warriors.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“We shall raise warriors.”

“Oya, vod,” Boba mutters.

And Din finds himself feeling bashful, and that’s when Cobb pulls him closer by his hands.

“Now I consider that we’re well and truly hitched now,” he says, and Din rushes in to cup his face and kiss his riduur in front of an adoring and loving crowd.

…

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur of being at Cobb’s side, being dragged away from Cobb, of Cobb being dragged away from him. Dance until his feet ache and he’s dizzy. More food than he’s used to. More drinks than he can tolerate, and falling asleep in a tent when he’s imbued too much with a pink cheeked Cobb next to him.

A few hours of sleep later and they’re back at it again for a more restful filled breakfast and relaxed conversation before finally, the festivities are over and people begin to head back to their business.

“Do you want to go home?” Din asks.

Cobb stretches and yawns, looking exhausted but content with his station in life. “You have read my mind.”

They walk down the street together, their clothes in a state of disarray before Din is leading him elsewhere.

“Babe, where . . .” Then it dawns on him and Din can’t help but smile. “No,” he says.

Din nods. “Come on. Let me show you to our home.”

Cobb is speechless when they enter the new partially buried house. He’s taken by how large it is, how high the ceilings are now, and how cool and inviting it is. Then he rushes forward to kiss Din and hold him close. “Oh, you are full of surprises.”

“Jo told me it’s a custom.”

“Well, not always a custom, but we pride ourselves on being able to provide.”

“Then let me provide for you.”

They kiss again, deeper this time until Cobb pulls back to rest their foreheads together. “Mm. As much as I’d like to christen this place, I’m bushwhacked.” Then he’s pulling Din into the bedroom where they collapse onto the bed as husbands, as riduurs.

…

“Hey, Din. You awake?”

Din stretches out on the bed and opens weary eyes to find Cobb kneeling on the ground next to the bed.

“What time’s it?” he asks.

“Afternoon-ish. Just went out to get some things from the old place, and, um, I guess now is as good a time as any to give this to you.” He sets a bundle of cloth knotted off with string on the bed before Din, and Din rises up on one elbow to look at it.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Din says, tugging at the strings.

“Yeah, well.” Cobb rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tic of his. “I felt like I had to for this one.”

In the cloth is an ornate dagger with its own leather sheath. When Din pulls the blade, he’s mesmerized with how the blade shimmers. A single piece that looks like it’s been carved from onyx.

“Cobb, I—” Then he sees the mark in the hilt of it.

The mark of his tribe. The Mythosaur skull. On the other side is the mark of the mudhorn.

He looks up to Cobb. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, I, I went to your clan.”

Din breathes out and sits up in full with the dagger in his lap. Cobb comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“When you told me about your customs, and seeing your armour just sitting in our wardrobe for months, I wanted, I wanted to confront your clan. I know things are rocky between you and them, but I went in there to just speak with them at first. Then next thing I know, I’m sitting on the ground drinking tea with your matriarch.”

Din closes his eyes for a moment.

“And I don’t tell her everything, I don’t ream her out or nothing. I know you hold her in high regard. But I told her I was intending on marrying you and I wanted to do it right by you. No one else. So, she said she’d show me how to make something. And each time I visited, she’d ask about you and I’d tell her that, oh, you were a guest speaker in the school today, or you had fixed the power generators. And she’d tell me my smithy skills were shit and tell me to begin again.”

Din laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“Then she asked me why I wanted to marry you. And I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my days making you happy, giving you everything you could ever need. And she said, he deserves it.”

He lifts his head to look at Cobb. “She said that?”

Cobb nods. “I think she misses you. She won’t say it, but she does. I think it’s just taking some time for her and some of the others to come around to this new world order of theirs. But next time I go, I want you to come with me.”

Din nods. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He kisses Cobb several times and holds him close with the knife on the bed spread next to him.

They don’t plan the trip out to Din’s clan for some weeks yet. They have a house to settle into after all. But then one day, they’re setting out on Cobb’s speeder. This time Din is wearing his armour with the knife at his hip. And this time they are facing Din’s clan together as one.

[jgvfhl]

hello I'm back on my bs again 😌 can I request "princess" from the pet names with Fives pls ??

Your bs is my bs, friend 😌💙 This one got away from me a bit. I had some idea about something and then this came in and shoved the first idea off a cliff I think. BUT IT'S STILL CUTE!!!! 💙

The Pet Names Prompts are still open! I'm basically just gonna keep em open until they're gone lol. I will say that sweetheart and cyare are in the works, so pick somethin else 🌸

The layers of clothing on you were finally drying out now you were under the shelter. You, and about three dozen of your neighbors. It was getting harder and harder not to resent the existence of other people around you as your discomfort grew, but you knew it was pointless to get upset. The war wouldn’t listen to your tears of frustration, just like it hadn’t heard anyone’s grumblings as the town was evacuated for an impending Separatist attack. That’s what the Jedi had told the mayor, anyway. You didn’t want to move. Your home was dry and warm--well maybe not so warm after you’d been gone for… how long was it again?

“Why are we stuck here?” An elderly woman behind you shifted. “We have been here for hours!”

Someone else reminded her, “The rain made the roads muddy, the general said the transports are delayed.”

The woman scoffed bitterly. “Well I am hungry. I have missed my supper.”

You sighed. Twisting around as much as you could from where you sat, you offered, “I could see if they have some food? It won’t be your home cooking, but it’ll be food.”

“Fine, fine,” the old woman said, waving her hand. The someone else--a man you knew lived down your street--gave a grateful, small smile.

Really, it was just an excuse to get out from this crowd of people and stretch your chilled legs a bit. And, if it made the woman a bit quieter, that was a bonus. You got to your feet and carefully extracted yourself from the temporary shelter, then stopped to find… someone in charge, you supposed. All the troopers in white and blue looked the same, though: there were all helmeted and busy, despite the mud splattering their boots and the rain making a sheen on their armor. But finally, your eyes caught someone different, so you pulled your coat closer around your body, and set off through the soaking rain.

However, the universe wasn’t done ruining your day yet. You were about three or four feet away from the trooper whose armor had caught your attention--specifically the wide shoulder things and the fabric hung from his belt. Your foot went down for your next step, and then… kept going. You pitched forward, instinctively throwing your arms out to catch yourself as you toppled towards the muddy ground in front of you. Stupid kriffing universe.

Your hands never made contact. Someone else’s hands, however, grabbed your upper arms right below your shoulders, saving you from a soaking in mud as well as water.

“Whoa, hey,” the trooper said, pulling you upright. At least he was the guy you were aiming for. You had been hoping for a slightly more competent first impression. Oh well. “You alright, princess?”

Blinking up at his black visor, you processed his words, as well as the snake-like creature painted above his black visor. You collected yourself, standing up and wresting your arms back from him. “No. I am not, I am having a horrible day, actually.”

The trooper held up pacifying hands. “Okay, sorry. I know, no one’s in a good mood. Anything I can do to help?”

Wiping rain out of your eyes with a damp sleeve, you felt bad for snapping at him. He sounded nice, anyway. You shifted your feet, feeling one of them squelch from water. Ugh. “Just… it’s been a while, and a lot of us are getting hungry. Anything you can do about that?”

He nodded. “Right, right. Yeah, maybe we’re too used to carrying rations on our person. I’ll let the captain know, he can find some men to hand out some rations.”

A quiet breath of relief left your lips. “Thank you.” You looked behind you to gauge where the puddle was to avoid a repeat incident on your way back.

“Hey.” You looked back at the trooper. “Do you want dry socks, or something? Wet socks--worst feeling in the galaxy, right next to--well.” He made a vague gesture. “Polite company.”

You raised a brow at him. “Just because you called me princess doesn’t mean you need to treat me like one.”

“What?” His smile was audible. “Of course it does. I am a soldier of the Republic, and I would be shirking my duties if I let a princess walk around with wet socks.”

Dry socks did sound really nice, even if your shoes were already soaked. You looked down at your overall soggy person, sort of smiling to yourself that anyone would look at this mess and think royalty. Oh, what could it hurt… “Yeah, okay,” you agreed. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing, princess.”

@nl13 @darth-void @blsmjoon

[anna-pixie]

padawan -> obi-wan kenobi {part three}

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

hello!! i have written and rewritten this part a lot, and i still can’t decide whether i am completely happy with it, so honest feedback is encouraged!! ty all so much for your love on the last part, i hope you enjoy <3

summary: you and obi-wan head out on another mission, but something has got him in an awful mood (lmk if you guys figure out what his mood is about before the next part!!)

pairings: obi-wan kenobi x reader

warnings: mentions of sex

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

“Y/N, when you said you were serious about your training I expected I would see you there on time each morning.” The familiar lilt of Obi-Wan’s voice jerks you up from your incredibly deep sleep. You wipe away the drool from the corner of your mouth and gaze around your room with bleary eyes. 

There’s nobody there. 

Then a knock sounds from your door and you realise that your Master is too respectful to just barge into your room without permission. 

“Come in, Master.”

You hear the hiss of your door sliding open and smile sheepishly as your favourite bearded face peers around into the unhomely expanse of your room. Unlike the Jedi Masters, padawans weren’t encouraged to decorate their rooms. That’s a privilege earnt through time and experience. You’re thankful that you went to bed wearing a large jumper last night, though as you stretch the material exposes your stomach ever so slightly. 

“I broke my datapad yesterday…” You trail off, knowing that this is the third one you’ve gone through this year, “I didn’t have anything to set an alarm on.” An innocent smile graces your lips as Obi-Wan sighs, sitting next to you on your unmade sheets as he returns it with his own wry grin. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you, Padawan?” You know your Master well enough by now to be able to tell what he is feeling by the tone of his incredibly expressive voice, and thankfully right now he doesn’t seem too annoyed by your lack of care for your datapad. However, you also know that you’re treading on very thin ice, that you’re going to have to start putting a lot more effort in unless you want him to give up on you like everyone else has. 

It’s been a few weeks since you met Ahsoka which gave you the motivation you needed to get back on track. To say it’s been a hard few weeks would be an understatement. You’re up every morning before the light, fighting and learning and meditating with Obi-Wan. The two of you spend a lot of time together alone in the mornings and evenings when most other people in the temple have already retired to bed, but a lot of your time in the day is shared by Anakin - he thinks it is a great idea to train you and Ahsoka together. 

Now that was a kick in the teeth. 

You like Ahsoka, you really do, but it’s so humiliating to be trained alongside someone so much younger than you. Especially in front of the man you’re head over heels in love with. And, as another cherry on top of the cake of your shit life, the senate has been quiet as of late, which means Padme has plenty of free time to come and oversee your training sessions. Keeping an eye on the Jedi Temple, she says, but everyone sees the smiles exchanged between her and her Jedi. It makes you feel queasy. 

How are you supposed to focus on training when your biggest distraction is hanging in front of you everyday?

You have to give it to Obi-Wan, he tries his best to steer you away from the pain caused by seeing Anakin and Padme together. He stands directly in your eyeline when he knows they are near each other, so that you can’t see anything except his smiling face. When Anakin suggests lunch with Ahsoka and Padme, Obi-Wan regretfully informs him of the non-existent prior engagements the two of you have with a sneaky smile your way. 

With all the hardship of the past few weeks, you’re happy with how close it has brought you and your Master. 

“Can we just leave it for today, Master? Please.” You flop back down onto your bed, your eyes remaining on Obi-Wan as you send him your best pleading, doe-eyed look. 

“Sadly, we’ve been called away to war so I’m afraid that isn’t an option. It seems as though this is going to be a long operation. We’re first needed in Umbara, it seems as though General Krell has been executed by the clones. After that we go straight to Mandalore.”

“The clones executed a Jedi General?” Your voice is high as you stand up, heading over to your small closet and quickly rifling through your clothes to find something that would hold up for a few days. 

“It appears that he was a Separitast sympathiser. He turned two clone units against each other, forced them to kill their own.”

Your eyes are wide as Obi-Wan continues to explain the situation awaiting the two of you on Umbara, and your heart clenches as you think about what the Clones must have been gonig through during their time there. You know attachments are forbidden as a Jedi, but you can’t help the close relationships you have formed with some of the soldiers. Captain Rex is like a brother to you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An hour later, you’re holding onto the bar above you as your ship takes off in the direction of Umbara, Obi-Wan looking more jittery than you’ve ever seen him as he paces around next to you. 

“You okay, Master? You seem shaken up.”

“I’m fine, young one.” He dismisses you with a shake of your head, “Come with me, we may as well get some training in whilst we’re enroute.” He doesn’t say anything else, just turns away and heads out of the bridge with not so much as a glance back to make sure you’re following him.

What on Alderaan is going on with him?

His mood doesn’t let up during training, you’ve never seen him come at you so relentlessly. If it wasn’t for the fact that they knew you so well, the passing clones would probably assume that the two of you were fighting to the death in your training room. 

A cry escapes your mouth as he knocks the saber from your hand, as it clatters to the ground and rolls somewhere you don’t bother to look for, you expect him to stop. However his saber remains active, and he seems to be in a trance of sorts as he swings for you once more, only stopped from making contact with a part of your body when you swing your leg out from beneath you, causing the two of you to fall to the ground with a low grunt from him. His saber falls from his grasp in the same way yours did, and you work on figuring out how to calm him down as his body cages yours into the ground. 

The only noise in the room is the sound of you both breathing heavily, and when your eyes finally look up and meet his again you almost feel as though he has used the force to steal your breath away from you. His blue eyes capture yours, not letting up as his gaze seems to only darken the longer the two of you lay there. 

You can’t help but be reminded of a similar situation you found yourself in with Anakin a while ago, the two of you ended up tangled on the ground after a round of playful sparring. It was all heavy breathing and dark looks and you remember that all you could think was how much you had wanted him to kiss you in that moment.

So why, Maker tell, do you have the exact same feeling now? You thought that your crush on Obi-Wan had been a silly, fleeting thing back when you first began training under him. You didn’t think it would return with a vengeance, your mind silently asking him to lean down further as you struggle to pull your eyes away from his own. When you and Anakin has been in this same situation, you had hoped that he was going to kiss you, so it was humiliating when he finally tore his gaze from yours and pulled himself away from you with an awkward cough. 

You think that Obi-Wan will do the same. Of course he will, he’s the most rule abiding Jedi you’ve ever met. 

That’s why, when you feel his lips being placed softly on yours, you think you’re just hallucinating. It takes your mind a moment to catch up to what is actually occurring, your eyes fluttering shut as he pulls away and then presses his lips to yours with more fervour once he realises that you aren’t going to push him away. 

The hand that almost struck you with his saber minutes before reaches up, holding onto your jaw whilst the other keeps him steady on top of you. He breathes heavily as he kisses you, your breath minging as you savour the feeling. This isn’t your first kiss, you had snuck out to the clubs of Coruscant before and kissed random boys before, but this was different. This was your first kiss since you had fallen in love with Anakin. All those nights you had spent dreaming, hoping, praying that he would be the next person you kiss. Yet here you are, your lips moving feverishly against your Master’s as you thread one of your hands into the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

You must stay like that, basking in the feeling of each other for a good few minutes before a loud bang from the corridor snaps you both out of the spell you had fallen under. Obi-Wan quickly gets up, sticking out his hand to locate his saber, unable to look you in the eye as you slowly rise from your position. Your mouth tingles and your eyes are wide as you stare at the side of Obi-Wan’s head. 

He smooths his hand over his beard and mumbles a quick, “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, Padawan.” before leaving the room hastily. You flinch at the way he says the word Padawan, like he is reminding you both that what you just did was not only forbidden but also extremely morally wrong. You’ve never been one to care about such trivialities, but Obi-Wan is definitely a fair bit older than you, to say the least. 

As you catch your breath and find your lightsaber, you think to yourself that it’s good that you were interrupted, because if you weren’t then you might’ve been found by a soldier who would’ve reported what he saw back to the council. You ignore the part of you that wishes you would have continued, that thinks of how well your lips worked together and how at home you felt with his body on top of yours. And most of all, you ignore the part of you that wonders if him kissing you had anything to do with his sudden mood change since departing for the trip.

The rest of the journey is slow and quiet, you take some time to meditate and gather your thoughts, knowing you’re in no state to be dealing with anything important right now. A soldier offers you something to eat but you have to decline, with the way your stomach is turning you know you won’t be able to stomach any food. 

Obi-Wan seems to have retired to somewhere quiet on the ship, you don’t see him until you touch down on Umbara. The capital has been captured now, and that is where you will spend the night before heading to Mandalore, however you must first deal with the execution of General Krell at a nearby facility that was taken by the clones. 

You walk silently alongside your Master, an awkward tension in the air that is an extreme change from your usual playful banter and general good moods. As you approach Captain Rex and his troopers, he shoots you an inquisitive look, which you quickly brush off with a whisper that you’ll talk to him later. 

The situation is resolved quickly, you and your Master both know you can take Rex’s word for the events that transpired, and you make sure Krell’s body is properly taken care of. 

“We’ve only got one spare speeder on us, General, so Y/N will have to ride with one of the boys.” Are Captain Rex’s departing words before his gunship takes off towards the capital, leaving you, Obi-Wan and a few more troopers to travel back via speeder. 

“You can ride with me, Y/N.” A clone who is about to depart shouts over to you, though your attempt to walk in his direction is thwarted by a sudden, harsh grip on your forearm. You turn quickly, shocked to see Obi-Wan shake his head, gesturing over to his own speeder instead. 

“She’ll ride with me.” 

The trooper offers no argument, simply saluting the two of you before speeding off towards the capital with a trail of dust in his wake. 

You notice that Obi-Wan still hasn’t directly addressed you since the incident on the ship, so you stay quiet whilst climbing onto the speeder, waiting for him to say something. A squeak leaves your mouth when you’re pushed forward, Obi-Wan’s large body enveloping you from behind as he reaches past you to grab hold of the handles, and you’re off before you can even think about what is going on.

“We need to talk when we get back.”

Are the first words spoken to you, and the last, because he quickly falls silent. Though, you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you when his chin rests on your shoulder, his beard scratching your cheek oh so slightly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dinner in Umbara is a quick affair, you scoff down what you can, not talking as much as usual due to your preoccupied mind. Obi-Wan disappeared after you both briefed Master Windu who is still back at the temple, and you wonder if he is off meditating somewhere, trying to reconcile for the ‘mistake’ that the two of you made. 

You’ve been fighting your own inner turmoil about the situation since it happened earlier that day. Once you finish your food, you retire back to the uncomfortable bed in a tiny room at the top of the large building, assuming that Obi-Wan has decided to forgo the conversation and ignore you altogether. 

As you lie on the hard metal, your mind wanders over the past few months. You wonder how Anakin would react if he knew you and Obi-Wan had kissed. Would he be angry? Jealous? Happy? Deep down you know you would want him to be jealous, you would want him to be angry at the thought of any other man having you in the way that he wants you. 

But he doesn’t want you in that way, you remind yourself. Does Obi-Wan even want you in that way? You know he is a well revered man, and nobody can deny how good looking he is. If he really was looking for a romantic, or even just sexual, connection he could probably find that anywhere - why would he get that from plain old you?

A pang of sadness hits your gut as you think about him regretting the kiss, returning to Coruscant and finding another girl that he would rather betray the Jedi code in order to be with. And with wide eyes and a whisper of ‘oh no’, you realise that this is exactly how you felt when your feelings for Anakin started growing stronger. Just what did that kiss stir within you, surely your years old feelings for your Master haven’t suddenly resurfaced, right?

A knock on your door startles you, that deep in thought you hadn’t heard anyone approaching your rather isolated room. 

“Y/N?” It’s Obi-Wan. 

“You can come in, it’s open.

He slides the door open, his actions sheepish and small and not at all like the overly confident man he usually is. It pains you to see him like this, stumbling and second guessing everything he does. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked when you’re not on Coruscant, anything could wander in.”

“Sorry, Master.” You’ve shuffled to the edge of the bed now, Obi-Wan sitting beside you, mirroring the exact position you were in when he woke you up this morning. Before everything turned into a mess. 

“I… I’m so sorry, Padawan. I abused my position as your Master and I never should’ve even thought about doing something like that with you. Especially after you confided in me about your feelings for Anakin, I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of your vulnerability.” His voice is so shaky that you barely recognise it, and a wave of sadness hits you when you realise that he must’ve been carrying this burden of guilt around with him all day. 

“Obi-Wan, it’s fine. You didn’t force yourself on me, I was completely on board when it happened, in fact I quite enjoyed it. I know it was wrong, against the code or whatever, but I won’t tell anybody. Please don’t feel guilty.” You make sure he keeps his eyes on you, a delicate touch on his cheek to keep him faced your way. A sigh emits from his mouth and your heart swells in your chest when he leans his head into your hand, seeking your comfort. 

“I’m tired, Y/N. This war, I’m beginning to feel it’s toll.”

“There’s no shame in admitting you need a break, Master, but it’s not just tiredness that is eating at you right now. I know you, there’s something else going on. You can tell me. Is it something to do with Umbara, Mandalore, anything?”

“Thank you for your concern, Padawan, I’m quite alright.”

“Don’t do that, Obi-Wan.” Your voice wavers this time, “Don’t use that title as a way to brush me off. Yes, I’m your Padawan, but I hope that by now I’m also your friend.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to have friends, Y/N.”

You scoff, removing your hand from his face as you turn away from him, not wanting to look at him as he lies to you. 

“I was always jealous of him, you know.” He speaks again, after a few minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence. 

“Of who?”

“Anakin.”

You turn back, your interest peaked as he looks at you. You swallow, a blush coating your cheeks as you note that his eyes are as dark as they were before. Before he kissed you. 

“What reason could you possibly have had for being jealous of him? Oh, Maker, don’t tell me you’re in love with Senator Amidala.”

He chuckles, “No, little one, I was jealous of him because he always seemed to have your attention when he cared so little for you. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

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