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unholyhelbig · 2 years ago

Note

MORE KATE X READER CHRISTMAS!!!

[A/N: I got you! This will forever remain one of my favorite series. Let me know what you guys think!]

Title: Just like the One's We used to Know | Part Two

Summary: It's been three years since your disastrous plot to bring a fake girlfriend to the family Christmas. Not much good came out of the endeavor, but you did manage to get the girl. What happens when your estranged family makes a second appearance, disrupting your life with your found one?

Read Part One | Read the First Fic | Read on Ao3

A cold nose pressed against the back of your neck and stirred you from the sleep you so desperately wanted to cling to. You let out a groan that invigorated the owner of said nose even more. Alas, you had awoken and couldn’t focus on steadying your breathing to trick the company in your bed.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an abundance of gold fur and a panting pink tongue. Lucky stared at you expectantly, his tail wagging, his paws on either side of your head. You didn’t know what time it was, but the light streaming through your bedroom window indicated that the sun had barely risen.

“Luck,” you spoke the words in an exhale. The sound of your tired voice just gave him more cause to wiggle around, the smile on your face growing as he surged forward and hit you with a brigade of sloppy kisses.

Kate had morphed into quite the early riser ever since she took over Bishop Security. Both you and Lucky had to adjust to her side of the bed growing cold. There were meetings and international phone calls, and fires to put out all around the city.

Lucky’s morning breath was enough to stir you into getting up for the morning. You pulled on enough layers to fight off the cold and padded into the kitchen. Lucky waited patiently while you sipped your coffee and scratched behind his ears. Once you were both satisfied enough, you pulled on a coat.

The second your fingers touched the leather leash by the door, Lucky started tapping around in circles. He blinked expectantly at you with his one eye. You kept the bookstore closed on Sundays and Mondays, and that meant you had all the time in the world to walk Lucky through the melting snow, pulling him from his favorite trashy pastimes.

You held the leash for illusion. Lucky had a surprisingly fantastic recall and would walk at the same pace you did. Though, after both you and Kate had gotten odd looks from women with small dogs in their designer purses, you figured the leash was a good backup plan.

Once you had made it to central park, you settled down on one of the brick dividing walls. There was a man-made lake behind you and a vast, mostly green, lawn in front of you. There were people curled under trees, those walking their dogs, and a competitive frisbee golf team warming up.

You dug a ball from your bag and threw it for Lucky, his tongue lolling to one side in excitement before he dashed off in its direction. By the time Lucky had brought the ball back for the sixth time, it was dripping with slobber and dirt from half-melted snow. You held it like it was toxic, eying the all-too-happy dog.

“That is one gross ball.”

A heavily accented voice startled you into dropping the object. Lucky picked it up and dashed off. He pranced around a white ball of fur with a muddy brown patch over her eye. You glanced at the woman who had plopped down on the wall. She grinned at you dorkily, blonde hair dripping into her gray eyes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. My dog seems to like yours.” She held out a hand dawned with a multitude of rings; her nails painted a loud red that only she could pull off. “I’m Yelena”

You weren’t used to anyone in the city actively starting conversations. You had grown up here, and had gotten used to the baristas who had a dark inflection to their voices, and the businessmen that would shove their way through the crowd, talking loudly on their phones. Still, it was a good change of pace, you took her hand. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

You took a long contemplative sip of the coffee you had picked up on the street corner. It warmed your insides and made you shiver. She didn’t look too familiar, as captivating as she was. Though, you had met a lot of people on your father’s political circuit through your high school graduation and so on until you cut ties.

“Richard Y/L/N!” She said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You startled again at her excitement, not entirely unwarranted. “The runner-up for Governor these last few years. I think I met you once going door to door.”

“Don’t remind me,” you laughed, swallowing the hazelnut on your tongue. “We’d tackle whole neighborhoods like we were strategizing for candy and not for votes.”

“I think my sister slammed the door in your face.”

“I would have too, honest. There’s nothing worse than a Republican showing up at your front door with campaign buttons.”

“Mm,” Yelena hummed with a smile “Mormons.”

You both laughed at that. It would have been easy to mistake you for one. The whole family would dress in their Sunday best despite the cold and go to the richest neighborhood you could find. Some of them were gated but residents had no qualms about letting you through. How dangerous could you be? Your mother used to peddle you around and used you to her advantage when it came to the school district angle of your fathers’ campaign.

Lucky chose this exact moment to plop the slobbery ball back into your lap. You scrunched your nose but reluctantly took it. He panted in the cold, well-worn from his frolic with Yelena’s dog. “Fanny, Ko Mne!”

The dog had great recall, standing at attention as Yelena attached her lead. She controlled her breathing, much unlike the one-eyed mutt that slobbered all over your shoes. You scratched behind his ears, never craving anything different.

“Hey, uh” you dug in your back pocket “I don’t know if you’re a big reader, but I own a bookstore on the West End. You can stop by if you’re ever looking for something to do. The first book is on me, you know, as an apology for all the unnecessary pedaling.”

Yelena smiled at you and made a show of slipping the beautiful vanilla cardstock into her wallet before tapping the leather. All the while, Fanny stood at attention. Lucky licked your hand free of any crumbs left over from breakfast.

Kate pressed the call button at the base of the steps whenever she forgot her key, which was often despite the number of copies you had made, and subsequently hid in different spots in her car for emergencies. You both joked about making her wear it around her neck with a chain. But you had become accustomed to the crackle of the speaker by your front door and had no qualms buzzing her up.

“Y/n,” Her voice was muffled by the archaic architecture of the building. “Can you come downstairs and help me out?”

“Rodger,”

Kate was stubborn and nearly impossible to lend a hand to. You didn’t ask what she needed help with, though you figured it was a good bout of catering from the event Bishop Security worked. The fridge was always stocked with fancy finger food and different varieties of cheesecake. During the winter months, you relaxed into the idea of green and red sprinkles, gold edible paint, and giant cocktail shrimp expertly seasoned.

Snow had just barely begun to fall, the pavement was wet and Kate’s hair was sprinkled with fat flakes of ice. She grinned at you and waved excitedly as you pulled open the bottom door. Kate…had a Christmas tree.

It towered over her and still had the bulbs on the branches. White elegant glass and strips of silver tinsel. She held it up straight, showcasing its fir glory. The scent of pine hit you like a brick. Kate’s leather jacket was dusted with brown and green needles.

“Baby, did you steal that?”

“Please, give me some credit. It was on the sidewalk. Not stealing if it was abandoned.”

“It looks important.”

“Wouldn’t be on the sidewalk if it was. Come on, help me lug it upstairs.”

You shrugged and maneuvered yourself so you could keep the door open with your foot while you pulled the tree inside. Kate had no doubt dropped more than half of the ornaments on her trek home. The two of you were supposed to drive into the country to pick out a tree on Friday, but truthfully, this seemed like the better option.

“Pivot,” Kate said as they reached the break in the stairs “Right- no, my right, your left.”

“Kate,”

“Pivot”

“It’s a tight fit! Don’t even think about it.” You grumbled but hauled the Douglas Fir up the last flight of stairs until you got the front of your apartment. Again, you balanced the tip of the tree as you pushed open the door. Lucky picked his head up from the couch before resettling, and you swore you saw a sigh.

Kate was breathing heavy, stray pieces of hair falling from her bun. She pressed her back against the door with a goofy smile. “I’m proud of my restraint there. I could have made so many jokes.”

“Mm, ever say Pivot in the bedroom and you’re sleeping on the sofa with Lucky.”

The tree chose that moment to slide from its propped position into a heap on the floor. You both watched with quirked eyebrows before Kate pulled you into a hug and kissed your temple. Her lips were cold, she smelled like the weather.

“That’s like, half the Christmas decorating done!” Kate said as you pulled her fleece jacket from her shoulders, hanging it up on the hook next to yours. She visibly shivered as the warm air hit her skin. “I can get the stand from storage tomorrow.”

You hummed again, pulling her in for another kiss that she melted into. At the beginning of your relationship, the height difference was a hindrance. But you found and familiar solace in wrapping your fingers around the collar of her shirt, the lapel of her jacket, guiding her to you.

Her hands were cold, tracing the outline of your jaw. She smiled into the kiss before gently taking a few steps forward. The small of your back hit the kitchen island. She deepened the embrace, squeezing your hips as she lifted you onto the granite countertop. Kate fit perfectly between your legs.

“Someone had a good day at work.” You said, stretching your neck to the side as her lips moved across various points of contention. You wrapped your legs around her and pulled her closer.

“Did I ever. We signed a new client.”

“Congratulations, baby. I want to hear all about it.” She grinned at you, draping her arms around your neck. You frowned.

“What?” Kate asked.

“I think I’m sitting on an ornament.”

You had started the morning by getting a call from the fire department. Your phone was obnoxiously loud, it lit up the room and burned your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was pull away from the warmth of the blanket cocoon you had formed.

Your palm was flat against Kate’s stomach, having wormed its way under her shirt, your face buried into her neck as she snored softly, like she often did when she fell asleep on her back. Lucky was squeezed behind your legs, breathing in tandem with you both.

Kate groaned, the sound vibrating against the side of your face. She reached blindly for the phone. “Hello?” still nothing until she squinted and slid it open. “Hello?”

She sat up abruptly, fast enough to make her dizzy. You pulled a pillow from your side of the bed and moved the cold material over your face to cancel out the noise. Neither of you were strangers to the early morning phone calls.

“Darling,” Kate’s hand was cold against the small of your back “There was a gas leak scare at the store.”

You sat up quick enough for Lucky to let out a drawn sigh. “I’m up, I’m awake”

The walk to the store felt crueler than usual, having stirred both of you from sleep earlier than intended. Kate had been a good sport when you said that you would handle this yourself. She insisted to at least walk you down there so the both of you could enjoy a warm breakfast at the café.

You could see the lights from the firetruck before you reached the beginning of the block. A few exhausted-looking people stood against the sidewalk. One held a cat, the other a goldfish that was suspiciously low on water.

“This is just protocol, you understand?” The firefighter had removed his helmet, scratching a dry spot on the back of his neck as he held out a clipboard. “We cleared everything, though. Nothing but a false alarm. Sorry to drag you folks out this early.”

You scanned the crowd that had formed as Kate scanned the documents, tapping the edge of the pen against the edge of the plastic board. Your eyes were locked in on one thing: your mother. She wore her workout gear, a heavy coat over her toned arms to block out the cold. Her features were shaded in the alternating red lights.

Part of you wondered if it was coincidental. She never came into the city, she made a point that everything she needed was in the town that marked the midway. There was a small grocery store and a clothing boutique that fit her tastes. There was a bookstore, a library, and a diner. It was entirely too comfortable.

“Kid?” The firefighter shoved the papers into your hand. “Just sign here.”

You nodded dumbly and did as you were told. The crowd started to disperse, an angry grumble rocking through the tired residents. Kate took the papers, and folded them before shoving them into her back pocket. She squeezed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “Are you alright? These things happen. I know it’s scary. But no one got hurt, that’s what matters.”

God, Kate. Your Kate.

Despite the sleep that tugged at her, she kept the supportive nature that brought her into your family drama in the first place. Faking your way through Christmas had been an adventure that made you inseparable. Even now, she moved her touch to the small of your back, and followed your gaze toward the lingering crowd.

“Oh,” Kate whispered the word, turning her face to the side “Oh, shit. Mama bear.”

“Yeah. She sure has fantastic timing.”

Your mother had stepped towards the side of the building, hugging her yoga mat closer in the cold blowing wind carried from the alleyway. She lingered as the firefighters tipped their helmets and loaded into their rig. They shut off the lights before backing carefully out. Kate hugged her arm around your midsection. The fleece from her peacoat soft against your cheek.

“Why do you think she’s here?” Kate asked voice drowned out by the hum of the truck’s engine.

“Casing the place for burglary.”

“Y/n,”

“Okay, I think she heard from Clara and walked past here out of curiosity when she saw the firetrucks and got concerned like only a mother would.”

Kate smiled despite herself. The sarcasm in your voice dripped like a fine wine. She pressed a cold kiss to the side of your temple. Flurries had begun to fall from the gray, rolling sky. The truck had finally retreated. Your mother rolled the pendant on her necklace around her forefinger and her thumb.

You pulled your shoulders back and reluctantly pulled yourself away from your girlfriend. You took a few steps towards her, meeting her in front of the frosted windows of your storefront.

“Mother,”

“Y/n” She glanced nervously at Kate, then back at you. “Is everything alright? The… Firetrucks, I mean.”

“False alarm. Everything is fine.”

“Right. How have you been?”

She swallowed hard and shoved her hands into her pockets. You had never seen your mother swallow back her words. It was like second nature for you, not acting out, keeping your opinions to yourself. Something that Kate Bishop had slowly ebbed away in your nature these past few years.

“I’m well. We’re well.” She breathed out and a cloud of smoke pooled between you both. “Look, Y/n. Would you consider lunch? It doesn’t have to be today, or even this week. But I hate the way things ended.”

How you ended things.

“Okay,” your words shocked you both. If it had been your father, with his combed hair and his pressed suit, standing in front of you, you wouldn’t have entertained the idea. But your father most likely didn’t know that your mother was even in the city. “Okay. Lunch sounds nice.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x y/n #Christmas Au #Hawkeye #Hawkeye series #Hawkeye Show

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hellotherekenobi · 2 years ago

Text

LOVE ME AND MEND

01. THE EXPOSITION

Chapter Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn and his men have arrived on Naboo for rest, encouraging the adoration between two lovebirds. But a love is also there between two rivals, and Qui-Gon conducts a plan.

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this and though I tried to modernize the dialogue, it still came out fancy. I hope you enjoy reading it! <3

Index: Next Chapter. Masterlist.

On a sunny afternoon on Naboo, the wind blows gently and coolly for the group sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the sunshine. The four are a close-knitted bunch, some by blood, spending time together on a picnic. One which you are more than delighted to enjoy.

This time of year is always special as it brings life to so many things; the people, the earth, and harmony itself. There’s a sweet-tasting promise of a delightful time that is soon to come with the start of a lustrous spring.

Each springtime is spent in the lake district where you and your family currently relax on the nearby hills. Your cousin, Padmé, is a much-beloved lady not only in these parts but in each province that she visits. Her handmaiden, Sabé, is a devoted and cherished member of the family, though not related by birth. And your uncle, Ruwee Naberrie, is a respected man who has the sincerity of the Republic brigade.

But it is known by many that the wind can bring distasteful company and that of which is found out through a letter whom the messenger of Naboo runs into the hillside to tell, exasperated and quite spritely, too.

“I have a letter stating that Qui-Gon Jinn comes to Naboo this evening,” he says, eliciting happy responses from those serene on the grass.

Truthfully, this is a merry privilege to hear—especially with the ongoing war, which means he is seeking rest within the district—but with him come many others. His squadron, most definitely, and if odds were fortunate on their end, a certain officer is amongst them.

“What pleasant news,” Ruwee smiles, patting the messenger on his shoulder. “That he chooses our district in favor of others.”

The messenger nods, seemingly still catching his breath.

“He is very near. By the time I received the letter, he had arrived by port.”

Leave it to on-foot couriers to delay the arrival of messages. The war surely has an impact on that as well.

“How many men arrive with him?” Ruwee asks.

“All of his battalion.”

“That is good news. He is a very impressive Jedi Master to bring back the full of his soldiers.”

The whole of his battalion can only mean that you’ll be seeing the face of a man who, since you were a teenager, have sworn to loathe with every fiber of your being. He, in turn, has sworn just the same, which doesn’t thrill you in the slightest to meet with him.

Ruwee is clearly more content than you, speaking to the messenger with many intent questions.

“I hear that Qui-Gon Jinn has much favor toward a young Anakin Skywalker?”

“Yes, he has fought with bravery and endurance for his part.”

“I ask,” you pipe up, waving a finger for attention, “is the Grand Negotiator with the fleet?”

The messenger looks confused, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know of anyone by that title.”

“My cousin means Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi,” says Padmé, smiling with a shake of her head.

“Ah,” he chuckles. “Yes, he is with them and as pleasant as he ever was.”

“Pleasant, no,” you shake your head. “Though, he may say otherwise.”

Ruwee scoffs, wagging a finger at you in that humorous but protesting way all parents do.

“By faith, niece,” he says, “you mock Kenobi too much. Please, try to be civil when he arrives.”

“I’m not sure I can be amongst such a company, uncle.”

He sighs once more, rolling his eyes up at the sky. Most likely praying that you’ll end the torture for him alone since he’s been an audience to many sarcastic remarks over the years.

“Kenobi has done good service in this war, lady,” the messenger speaks, somewhat with a protruding chest.

A smile you show him, nodding in a way to tell him that you know of such service. There have been many reports of his legendary swordsmanship and force-sensitive power, bewitching the Grand Army of the Republic to promote his status onto the Jedi High Council.

The letter he had written to your uncle to tell of the news was very flamboyant and boastful. When word had reached you, now a few years ago, you had rolled your eyes.

“Yes,” you say. “It seems he has the stomach for it.”

“And a good soldier too, lady.”

“And a good soldier to a lady,” you grin, especially at the hand Padmé slaps against your arm. “But what is he to a master?”

“A general to a master,” he says, waving his hand in an elaborative gesture. “But he is a man of honorable virtues.”

“More so an honorable vexing.”

“Do not mistake my niece,” Ruwee intervenes. “There is a merry war between her and Kenobi. It’s been that way since they were children.”

“And still his taunts are childlike,” you say. “I hope he is not the same in the war.”

With a nudge to your shoulder from Padmé, you beam with delight at her chuckles along with Sabé who passes you a grape from the food laid out on the picnic cloth in an effort to stop your talking.

Before you take a bite, you point over at the messenger as if a new idea has sprung to mind.

“Who is his padawan now? He has a new sworn brother every month.”

“I see, lady, that the gentleman is not to your liking,” speaks the messenger.

“No, and he never will be. Yet, he has a way with the soldiers that they seem to adore him. So, which young man will follow with him to the Separatists?”

��He is most in the company of the young Skywalker.”

Though you had asked, the answer does not come as a surprise to you. He and Kenobi have been like brothers since they first met. It’s endearing, though you’d never say it aloud.

“Perhaps he has a favorite,” you grin. “It seems you cannot have one without the other; Kenobi and Skywalker. Pray his wits still be with him by his lengthy companionship.”

The messenger smiles. “I will stay friends with you, lady.”

“Oh, do,” you nod, throwing the grape in your hand to him, which he catches.

“Look!” Shouts Sabé, pointing off the hillside to where troop soldiers are walking toward the sanctuary. “Qui-Gon Jinn and his men!”

“We must go and greet them,” Ruwee says, gesturing for the picnic to be packed up.

You grin shortly at what you can see of Jinn’s troop, wondering if perhaps even at this distance you can make out who of them is Kenobi. Whichever man aggravates you to look at, that will be him.

“Come now,” Padmé grabs your arm. “I am sure he’s missed you.”

“As much as I have missed the target to aim my blows at,”

With another chuckle, Padmé tugs you along with her after packing the food back into the picnic basket. She runs with you down the hill, all the while laughing like the two of you are frolicking younglings. Sabé is close behind with your uncle, having sent the messenger off.

The château is quite large, extending around the hills, surrounded by grass and lake water. It’s the perfect hideaway when one needs rest, though you know not much resting will be done during the spring with the festival of Glad Arrival upcoming.

Seeing as Jinn and his men have arrived today, you’re sure your uncle will make arrangements for the festival to be undertaken as soon as possible.

It’s refreshing to know how high-spirited your family is. There is never room for a dull moment with them. Padmé especially as she’s a pleasant conversationalist who can bring out the fun in anyone, even those seemingly as stone-cold as a pillar.

Understandably, she’s eager to meet with Anakin. The pair have been lovebirds since before you can remember, though they think they’re rather good at hiding it. You know your cousin well enough to tell when she’s in love, so it’s never been a secret to you.

Being Jedi, Anakin and the others aren’t allowed to form attachments. From what you know of the Order, which is little, they’re allowed to fraternize and have their fun, but never to settle down. With the war ever-growing, the Republic cannot afford to lose any soldiers.

Padmé had wondered once if when the war ends, Anakin will ask for her hand. But you had told her that he’s never been one to follow the rules, so if his affections are true then she’s sure to be married within the year.

By the time you all reach the courtyard, the Republic troops have already made their way past the entrance and meet you in the middle; your family on one side and they on the other. For a moment, there is silence. Then Ruwee gestures for everyone to greet them, so you all do so with a bow.

“Good sir Naberrie, I apologize for troubling you on short notice.” Qui-Gon Jinn says, offering a gentle smile to you and your family.

“No trouble at all,” Ruwee replies. “We are most delighted to be in the pleasure of your company.”

Sir Jinn is very tall with square shoulders and hair that reaches past that point. It’s always been fascinating to think that he can fight with his hair down like that and, unquestionably, he is a truly handsome man. One who is also polite and charming, it’s a wonder why he’s not wooed a lady thus far.

You know it, much like others, that he can win the favor of a partner effortlessly. You do so enjoy receiving his letters.

Jinn glimpses at Padmé who smiles seven times her usual smile, stepping into Ruwee’s outstretched arm.

“It’s been far too long, my lady,” he steps forward, taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“Sir Jinn, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The last time he had been on Naboo, Padmé was only fourteen years old. Though you were older, it does feel like such a faraway time. Since then, the only correspondence you had with him and his battalion came in the form of letters.

Some of them were pleasant and others weren’t as much, only because of the man who had penned the words. Bickering through papers seems rather foolish, but you will silently admit that the fun never ceased in your ribbing with Kenobi. You still have a letter or two under your pillow.

“Do you not think she is charming?” Jinn asks, turning behind him.

It’s unclear which of his men he’s speaking to, but the man who replies is bearded with carelessly swept hair, though it’s evident it was at one point combed over, and whom you know extremely well.

“With every spring she indeed blossoms,” says Kenobi. “Say, sir Naberrie, how can you hide such a flower?”

“Believe me, she is not hidden,” Ruwee snickers. “Padmé travels more than any of us. Besides, you’ve known her since childhood.”

“A memory I do cherish.”

What a charmer. What a scoundrel. Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a proud flirt. You should know as you were also part of that childhood. He first arrived with his master and though the intention of their stay was to protect your family, the two of you never got along.

He had flirted and you had rejected his advances, birthing an exceptional relationship of endless insults and teasings. No one speaks to you the way he does and you should behave the same, but you’ve always spoken your mind.

After so many years of not seeing him in the flesh, you wonder how this will go.

Ruwee is more focused on news, it seems.

“How goes the war?”

“As hematic as it first began, but easing its muscle. We’ve progressed further than we ever have. There is one tale of which we were settled on Tatooine, cornered by the Tusken Raiders, and seemingly no way out. Yet, I drew my saber with heroism—”

“Will your talking ever cease, Sir Kenobi?” You say with exasperation.

He turns to look at you like this is the first he’s ever seen you, acting surprised as if you have not been standing here the whole time. Without a doubt, he’s already acknowledged your presence as you had caught him eyeing you from behind his master.

“Ah, my dear Lady Disdain! Still as sprightly as I remember.”

“Trust me, my disdain is quite sprightly in your company.”

“Disdain me?” He slaps a theatrical hand to his chest. “Impossible. I am loved by all ladies, except you. Though by that I am not perturbed for in return I love none.”

“A dear happiness for women, or else they would be swaddled by your affections.”

More like inflictions, though you haven’t a way to phrase that properly enough to embarrass him. How he intrigues women, you’ll never know.

Kenobi grins. “And you, my lady?”

“I would rather hear a Reek growl than a man tell me he loves me.”

“We do hope that you keep that thinking, less we want a scratched face.”

“A scratch could not do it worse and with such a face as yours.”

Padmé and Sabé chuckle, covering their mouths. In turn, Qui-Gon Jinn and his men laugh, enjoying the battle of wits.

“Your voice is like a Pelikki,” Kenobi whines, showing that childlike demeanor that you know so well.

“Better a bird of my tongue than a beast of yours.”

“If only my Eopie had your wit,” he waves a hand in your direction, smiling along with the men who snicker at his comment. “With that, I am done.”

A small change in him, you find, with the way he ends the conversation there. When he was younger, much like you, he’d battle with you for hours. Maybe it’s true what they say about war changing a man, but in any case, he’s still the pesky Jedi who resolves to have the final word.

“He says such harsh words to you,” Sabé says, holding onto your shoulder and speaking into your ear.

Though you stare at Kenobi’s proud walking, you tell her, “He always ends with a quip. I know him of old.”

To you, he’ll always be that young boy trying so hard to impress his master and impress anyone he spoke with. On some occasions, you miss the padawan braid he once had. If anything because you miss tugging at it to annoy him.

Fortunately for you, all of his remarks you don’t take to heart. Maker knows he doesn’t have one. In fact, you believe the inside of his chest is hollow. Knock against it and you’ll hear an echo in reply.

“How long will you stay with us?” Ruwee asks.

Jinn, who for a moment is caught up in his whispers to Kenobi, respectfully brings his attention back to your uncle.

“A month, if we may?”

“That is perfectly acceptable.”

“Good. You remember my men?” Jinn turns around, directing a hand at the two behind him. “Anakin Skywalker and Maul.”

The first man, Anakin, is tall and blonde. Not as blonde as you remember, seeing as he also was a child when you first met. The other man, Maul, however, is a lean Dathomirian with striking features. He had joined Jinn’s troop a month after his last visit, so you’ve only known him through the letters Jinn writes to your uncle.

“Welcome, both of you,” Ruwee shakes their hand.

Maul, with a baritone voice, speaks, “Thank you for your hospitality. I am not a man of many words, but I thank you.”

“Well, come inside. We’ll arrange refreshments for you.”

As the troop walks on, led by Ruwee and his family, Anakin catches Obi-Wan by the arm, pulling him back so that the two of them remain in the courtyard privately.

“Padmé has grown, don’t you think?” He asks.

Obi-Wan sways his head. “Well, I won’t deny her appearance. Why do you ask?”

“I swear, she’s an angel. Even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.”

“An angel, I agree. If her cousin weren’t so aggravating, I could say the same, but you don’t intend on buying her, do you?”

“Can the world buy such a jewel?”

With Anakin’s dreamlike gaze at the clouds, Obi-Wan grabs him by the tunic, snapping him to attention.

“You have no intention of becoming a husband, I hope.”

“Well, if she would be my wife—”

“Oh, my pupil, I cannot believe this,” Obi-Wan cries. “You know as well as I do that Jedi don’t form attachments. Be with a lady, fine, but love a lady? Anakin, you are out of your mind.”

Smelting with the outburst, Qui-Gon Jinn returns, walking into the courtyard with both hands on his hips like a disapproving father.

“What’s going on here?” He asks. “Sir Naberrie has set out lunch for us. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Master, I wish it were not true but he is in love,” Obi-Wan says, pointing a finger at Anakin who stands there sheepishly. “And with who? Sir Naberrie’s daughter, Padmé.”

“Is this true?” Jinn looks at Anakin.

He stands there rubbing his hands for a moment before seemingly caving into the question, nodding his head hurriedly as he approaches him.

“Yes, I love her, master,” he says. “I’ve known it from when we were children and seeing her now has only made me more sure.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, walking up beside the two men.

“It is pitiful,”

“I think not,” Jinn says, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder. “It is good that you love her.”

“What?” Obi-Wan shouts, spinning on his heel when his master doesn’t regard his outburst.

Admittedly, his master has never been a true stickler to the Code of the Jedi—instead behaving in a rather grey way—but to think that he can accept Anakin’s feelings so briskly heaps fiery coals upon his head.

Especially as his two comrades seem to ignore him, encouraging each other with enthusiastic words.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Anakin,” Jinn says. “There will be many wars, but time is better spent in the company of someone you love.”

“I cannot believe that I have your approval,” Anakin says with a smile, something which shines brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

“Neither can I!” Obi-Wan yaps, approaching them again. “Master, if Anakin marries Padmé then we will lose a soldier.”

“But not lose the war,” Jinn says. “Padmé is worthy of Anakin’s love.”

With a grumble, Obi-Wan buries his face in his hands. Having spent so much time in the war with Anakin and his master, he thought it would be the three of them for a long time, not that one of them would run off and play husband.

Never has he ever looked at a lady with that type of interest. Well, he did once but that was a long time ago and the rejection only proved to Kenobi that love is a foolhardy thing, not something you can devote your passions to.

His passions are better directed at the war, though he will admit that a fling every now and then is not always dismissed by him.

Anakin chuckles, watching the man in distress. “You’re a heretic, Obi-Wan.”

“The fact that I was conceived by a woman, I thank her,” he says. “But that I fall on my knees for a woman? You will never see the day.”

“With a man of your sentiments,” Jinn shakes his head. “I am sure I will see you fall in love one of these days.”

“Never. I would rather fall into a nest of Gundarks.”

“You’ve already done that, master.” Anakin chuckles.

Sighing something agitated, Obi-Wan walks out of the courtyard, waving a hand behind him. To feed his temper with lunch, most likely. Anakin watches him leave, smiling with glee over the apparent tantrum.

“With how he flirts with all women,” he says, “you’d think he’d want a companion.”

Jinn smiles at Anakin. “You love Padmé so much that you will ask for her hand?”

“Oh, if only I had the courage,”

“Fear not, my young padawan, I can speak on your behalf to her father. He has arranged for the springtime festival to begin tonight. There I will win Padmé’s hand for you.”

“Really, that will ease my agony. Thank you.”

Wrapping an arm around him, Jinn walks with Anakin out of the courtyard to join the rest for an afternoon meal, knowing that there is much to prepare for in the evening.

─────── ⋯ ───────

The festival of Glad Arrival spans many days, even weeks depending on the excitement. Hosted within the meadows, dancing and music and pageants are arranged for everyone’s enjoyment.

It’s what makes springtime a lovely season here on Naboo. The three months are joyful and glamorous, inviting many from different planets to join in on the festivities hosted by your uncle. It’s also a great legislative opportunity for the councils cooperating with the Jedi.

The longest festival you’ve attended was carried out for three weeks, but with the arrangement for Jinn and his men to stay a month, you have a feeling your uncle will keep the festivities going for as long as their stay.

Many are already dancing excitedly when you arrive with Padmé and Sabé attached to her arm, all looking out at the various people in their colorful attire and handmade masks. It looks like a sea of butterflies, bringing a wide smile to your cheeks.

Ruwee is the first to approach you three with the same number of masks in his hands. He shakes them in front of you all like he’s ridding them of dust.

“Take one!” He beams. “Rabé and the other handmaidens worked hard to make them.”

“They’re lovely,” Padmé smiles, choosing the red and gold mask with glitter beads.

Sabé takes the black and red mask with gold trimmings, leaving you with the purple and black mask with a gold rim. She’s soon swept away by Padmé who’s eager to join the dancing circle.

Truly, your favorite part of the festival is the dancing. You get to meet so many people this way and also know who can keep a rhythm and who can’t. Once, you had joked with your cousin that acquiring a husband for yourself can be done through dancing, as long as he leads you well. When she had asked if there were any suitors worthy, you had said you would die spouseless.

Before you can even attempt to put on your mask, someone taps you on the shoulder and you widen your eyes in wonderment at the person wearing the blue mask with a synthetic braid attached to its right side.

“I know you,” they say. “You’re the lady of ‘Hundred Merry Tales,’”

Furrowing your brows, you look at them oddly. “I don’t go by that title.”

“But the fellow told me you speak like a Pelikki and, sure enough, you sound it.”

What horrible words! If you hadn’t heard the same thing this afternoon, you would use your mask as a weapon to beat them with.

“Who told you this?” You ask, chin raised. “Which fellow?”

“No, I shouldn’t tell.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

“That I also cannot do.”

This conversation is as difficult as the person conducting it. They’re being awfully stubborn, especially after being so awfully rude.

“To say I sound like an aquatic bird, this must have been Kenobi.” You mutter, hitting your mask against your thigh as if you’ve come to a revelation.

“Who’s he?” The person asks.

For yet another time, you look at them strangely. Everyone in Naboo—and nearly everyone in the galaxy—knows of General Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s feared and loved and you think that after he passes, his legacy will live on.

If you could get your hands on that legacy, you’d ruin it with mischievous glee.

“You don’t know Sir Kenobi?” You ask.

The person shakes their head. “I’ve never had the honor,”

“Oh, it’s not an honor to know him, I assure you. Rather a dishonor.”

“Really? Yet, I do not know him.”

“He’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s jester, a very dull fool. His only gift is in negotiations since he speaks without prompt much like a Gungan. Really, he is more horrible than words I could list.”

“Well,” the person rolls back their shoulders. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him what you say.”

“Do,” you grin, eager to hear from him if word travels. “He’ll most likely compare me also.”

After such a short quarrel this afternoon, you’re left hungry for a better argument. Kenobi has it in him to be spirited, this you know from experience, and so as much as you would rather spend time in the company of anyone else, his scrutiny you are curious of.

If he can live up to the words he’s written you before, then you’re in for an exciting match. Though, honestly, you want to see if he came up with all those quips himself or if he had help.

With that, your name is called from the swell of dancing people and out pokes Padmé’s head. Her hand, too, which she waves at you eagerly.

“I am being summoned,” you chuckle. “Enjoy your evening.”

“And yours, too.” They reply.

When you run to meet your cousin for a dance, Obi-Wan rips off his blue mask and moans with annoyance.

“To think she cannot tell it’s me!” He complains, shaking his head. “And to say that I am my master’s jester… how insulting.”

Assaulted by fire, he has before; your fire, which blazes from your tongue in an agitated temperament. He has never heard a lady speak as you do, thinking that it is preposterous that maiden could ever be so devilish.

But he knows it well, as much as he knows your derisions, that you are exclusive to the nature of femininity. By faith, the only poor sap that could ever marry you will have to be both blind and deaf, and for him, he prays.

Too caught up in his own grumbling, he doesn’t notice the two men in masks approaching him until they catch his shoulder—one in a beige mask with golden specks and the other wearing a vibrant green mask with multiple dangling fringes.

“Why so sad, Sir Kenobi?” The beige masked man asks.

“Sad?” He scoffs. “This is not sadness. I am irate.”

“Whatever for?”

“An old thorn continues to prick me,”

Both figures give each other a glance before laughing aloud, causing Kenobi to look at them with furrowed brows.

“Oh, come now,” the green one says. “Enjoy the festival.”

“Yes—” the other dips to the side, grabbing a cup of wine from a passing server. “Drink up!”

Kenobi takes the cup without another warning, not needing to be told twice whilst in such a bothersome state, drinking at first a little of the wine before making a sound at how pungent it is. Naboo wine is known for its bitterness and astringent flavor and honestly, he’s never been a devoted fan.

Though, when he thinks about the teasing he underwent, he scowls the whole cup, wiping his beard with the back of his hand and seeks out another. He will leave this festival drowsy if it means he can enjoy some thought not infected by you.

As soon as he skulks away, the two figures lift up their masks and laugh once again at their dejected comrade.

“He is surely vexed,” Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, and we can assume by whom. But look—” Qui-Gon points at the crowd of dancing people, where two ladies exit. “There is Padmé and her handmaiden. I will speak with her now on your behalf.”

“Thank you, master,”

Jinn pats Anakin on the back, bringing down his green mask to cover his face as he makes his way over to Padmé, speaking words Anakin cannot hear but must be effective as they walk off alone, her handmaiden diving back into the dance.

If Anakin were not as intent on the hopeful prospect of his master’s proposition to Padmé, he would very well be dancing with the others. However, he sits at a distance and watches, holding his hands tightly in anxious anticipation.

The dancers have fun twirling and skipping to the epic Symponik melody performed earnestly by the Gungans commemorating the festival. It’s an honor that they have composed such a piece for this celebration and it is certain that it will never be forgotten.

Sabé knocks into your shoulder when she re-joins the crowd, but you merely laugh at it, taking her hand and spinning each other around with a flourish. Another hand slips into your free one and you see that it’s Ruwee who smiles brightly.

“Uncle,” you speak, “when are Jinn and his men joining us? I’ve not seen them tonight.”

“They’re already here,” he shakes his head, a gentle gesture.

“They are?”

“You’re deceived by their masks. Speaking of, why aren’t you wearing yours?”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you tie the mask around your head, covering your face. Ruwee seems pleased by this and ventures off, leaving you alone when you see that Sabé is dancing with a partner.

So, Kenobi is already here? You wonder what mask he’s wearing. You have a feeling it will be as pompous as his personality. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the case when you watch him stumble into the circle of dancing people, clearly swayed by alcohol, and with no mask on his face.

He knocks into one person who thinks it fun and pushes him back, only for him to trip over his own footing and collide with you. Fortunately for him, you manage to catch him in your arms. Unfortunately for you, however, since you’d much rather see him fall.

“A drunk dancer is said to follow the rhythm unusually well,” you say, tugging him up so that he’s no longer bent over. “But it seems you prove that theory false,”

Kenobi grumbles. “I fight better than I dance.”

Really, you think the two activities would look very much the same by his hand. Even when you were children, he always had a horrible rhythm. How he even became a Jedi, you have no idea.

With his slurring words, you can only imagine how many cups he’s downed already. A factor you are impressed by is his mastery over liquor in comparison to some—yes, the reckless Skywalker is known for being a lightweight—as you had once, a long time ago, scowled back many Jawa Juices with Kenobi.

“Then you should move out of the circle,” you tell him.

He looks around for a moment, taking in how everyone dances around you both and seemingly registers precisely where he’s standing. But whatever he thinks, he makes up his mind rather quickly for someone who’s as drunk as him.

“Ah, come, lady, dance with me.”

You stare at him shell-shocked. “You want to dance with me?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Though I cannot see your face, I can tell you are a rare beauty.”

It comes back to you now that you’re not wearing your mask and that the man in front of you has no clue who you are. Hearing him say such sweet things to you is enough to act as a purgative, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t dare turn down this offer, hoping you can gain some ammunition to fire at him tomorrow.

“Lead me well,” you tell him, offering your arm.

He smiles giddy with wine-stained lips, securing your arm in his and guiding you around the circle, though a bit bumpy as he’s nearly frolicking the entire way. In fact, you’re the one who ends up leading as he can’t direct even his own step.

What a night this is turning out to be.

Outside the circle, Anakin watches from afar how Qui-Gon speaks to Padmé. She’s smiling happily as he does his talking and Anakin can only pray to the former Jedi Masters that she will accept his proposal.

He’s always been a bashful romantic, even more so with the woman he’s known since he was young and younger than her, too. She’s always treated him sweetly and they would spend many times hidden away together before he became a Jedi General.

In those moments, so quiet and peaceful for only the two of them, he quickly fell in love with her. When the war grew intense and he was sent away with the Republic Army, it was the thought of her that helped him persevere.

Seeing her again and how beautiful she continues to become, he’s certain that his heart is made for her and her alone.

As he watches Jinn speak for him, in swoops Maul, a hand attacking Anakin’s shoulder as he steps beside him. The mask that hangs from his neck is not a good disguise at all as it’s painted black with aurelian markings.

“Why so intent on our master and Sir Nabriee’s daughter?” He asks.

Anakin curves his lips some, feeling embarrassed. He could speak about what his master is doing for him, but the mere thought of explaining and it failing makes him hesitant.

“It’s nothing,”

Maul goggles at his comrade, sitting down beside him with his hand still on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Don’t you think he’s awfully close with her?”

Turning his head to see them again, Anakin watches as Qui-Gon takes Padmé’s hand. Immediately, doubts begin to bubble in his stomach. She’s smiling and he’s merry, her mask dangling from her fingers. But this is all in his name… at least, that’s what was promised.

“See how he holds her hand?” Maul says. “If I were blind, I would say he’s being a gentleman, but my eyes tell me he’s doted upon her.”

“Are you sure?”

“When I passed by them, I heard him swear his affection.”

Anakin spins around. “Perhaps you misinterpreted his words?”

“I have no doubt. He swore he would marry her tonight.”

The sentence inflicts pain on Anakin like venom injected into his veins. It seems impossible and yet here Maul tells him that it’s true. To think that he would be allowed to love whilst being a Jedi seems a rather foolish thought now.

As Maul walks away, Anakin frowns at the scene of Qui-Gon raising his mask and kissing Padmé’s hand, and he feels filled with anger, eyes ablaze at watching his master betray him.

To think that he could trust him with something as delicate as his heart. Clearly, his master is only seeking out that of his own heart, since Padmé seems ever so eager when he’s revealed to her.

Throwing his mask to the dirt, he turns hotly on his heel and marches away.

Finishing his third and final dance of the night, Obi-Wan sways, chipper on wine and song, and kisses the knuckles of the lady he was dancing with, bidding her a good night. If he weren’t feeling so intoxicated, he would have invited her to his bed-chamber, but as much as he would never coax a drunken woman, he would never bed while under the influence.

As he stumbles away, slightly dizzy from all the spinning, he spots his padawan away from the festivity and approaches him.

“What are you doing over here?” He asks. “I thought you would have been swooning over Padmé,”

Anakin huffs, both hands on his hips. “It seems like Sir Jinn is the one swooning on Padmé,”

He waves a hand in the direction where the two of them stand, her smile still wide as he keeps a hold of her hand. Obi-Wan follows Anakin’s pointed finger to squint at the pair, examining the scene.

“She seems happy.”

“Master!” Anakin whines.

“What?” He shrugs his shoulders, unsure of why Anakin is so unhappy. “Did you not tell me this afternoon that he would get her goodwill?”

If anyone should be displeased by the plan in motion, it should be him. Yet, Obi-Wan talks with Anakin on the matter, trying to gain a grasp of his padawan’s emotions. Having drunk so much, his ability with the force is not as strong as it usually is, so he must rely on truths.

That is if Anakin will speak them. At the moment, he’s chatting vigorously, jumping from one matter to the next, and Obi-Wan cannot understand what is truly going on rather than there being some form of miscommunication but, Caraya’s Soul, will he not stop?

As they bicker, Qui-Gon approaches them both with Padmé beside him. Though they both appear content, there are acutely aware of the feud taking place. Even though Anakin closes his mouth shut as soon as they arrive.

“Anakin, why the solemn complexion?” Jinn asks.

“I am not sad, master,”

“Sick, then?”

“No, sir.”

“He is neither sad nor sick,” Obi-Wan says. “But bitter and jealous.”

“I think you’re right, Obi-Wan,” Jinn speaks, eyeing Skywalker.

The last time he looked this way, he was but a young child who wanted to fly a speeder he was forbidden to ride in. A funny thing to be upset over, especially at his age, but it was only the start of navigating his impulsive emotions.

This situation is one of those thoughtlessly driven suspicions, it seems.

“Anakin, come now. Don’t be foolish,” Jinn says. “Your thoughts betray you. I have wooed in your name and fair Padmé is won.”

There, that’s the truth of the matter. Obi-Wan looks over at Anakin as if to say, well there you have it, but Anakin is frozen at his spot, looking amazed and unbelieving.

“I have spoken with her father also,” Jinn continues, smiling at Ruwee who approaches them. “Name the day for marriage.”

When Anakin turns to look at Ruwee with a happy expression, he laughs. Slapping a hand down on Anakin’s shoulder, his posture straightens of a proud countenance.

“I give you my blessing,” he smiles.

Padmé mimics the happiness in her cheeks, approaching Anakin gently, who, after a short moment, breaks out into a blinding smile. He takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs against her skin in a tender way. They look at one another, happy, and he berates himself mentally for having assumed otherwise.

“Just as you are mine, Padmé, I am yours.” He whispers to her.

Obi-Wan hears the words his padawan speaks, though, and is still appalled by it despite this being the most elated he’s ever seen him.

There have been many missions where Anakin has acted spontaneously much to the chagrin of his master, yet he would be laughing cheerfully and Obi-Wan would never admit aloud that he was also having fun.

When he thinks about it, though, Anakin has always been a wild spirit, and he knows that he deserves this. After the tragedy of his mother, his home life, and the bravery he conducts in battle, Obi-Wan believes he can grant him this one liberty.

“All happiness to you, my young padawan,” he grumbles, sending him a smile when no one else is paying attention.

He begins to walk away, but Qui-Gon stops him before he makes even two steps in the outer direction.

“Obi-Wan, your dear lady made a complaint against you. She said the gentleman she danced with apparently had two left feet.”

Growing hot in the ears, though his cheeks burn just as harshly, Obi-Wan spins around quickly.

It was you! He had been so drowned in spirits that he hadn’t known that it was your face behind the mask nor that you would run off to tell his master such gossip. And to think he would have made a play on you if he were sober.

“She abuses me!” He practically shouts, stomping back to where he stood before. “She told me, not thinking that I had been myself, that I was your jester! That I am a dull fool and more horrible than a description she could fathom,”

With your tongue, you can spin many indelicate words. To not even bother with his depiction when you had thought you were speaking to a stranger somehow injures him more. Is he no longer worth your time?

The two of you sent more letters to each other during the war than any other soldier he knows of. Some were so pesky that he kept a hold of them, even tucking one into the folds of his robes, assuring himself that he will succeed in defeating you.

“Oh, I might as well have been chained to a post on Geonosis, attacked by an Acklay by her words,” he groans. “She is disrespectful and foul. Darkness follows her everywhere she goes.”

“Ah,” Jinn nods his head, holding back his smile. “Well, shall you tell her your opinion yourself? Here she comes now.”

As sure as his master says it, you’re approaching them from down the path, the mask still on your face which he groans at. Had he not been so drunk, he would have surely known it was you he had spoken such sweet words to. Now, his words are sharp.

When you reach them, your smile is half covered by the mask on your face, but he can see it like a light is shone directly onto it and it makes his skin crawl.

“Please, master,” Obi-Wan begs. “Send me off on a mission, any at all. I will do anything. I will spend a week with Jar Jar. I will go undercover to a death sticks storehouse. Rather than spend a single second more with this vixen!”

All Jinn can do is laugh, much like Padmé and Anakin. Obi-Wan can’t even think about if his words are offensive, especially in front of Ruwee, but he is so worked up that coming down from this level of frustration seems impossible.

“Really,” he sighs. “Do you have no task for me, master?”

“Only the delight of your good company.”

Deflating at his shoulders, Obi-Wan feels as if he crumbles to the ground. This is only the first night of their stay here, which lasts a month, and he is already at his breaking point with you. Not only that, though, as it seems he’s already broken.

“Know this now,” he starts, “I cannot endure my Lady Disdain!”

Off Obi-Wan stomps, billowing straight past you. So close that he could have knocked you over if he had touched you, yet he avoided even that. His swiftness sends a puff of air to your side and you merely take your mask off, watching him leave, and fiddle with it in your hands.

“He doesn’t mean a word of it,” Padmé sympathizes, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

No, you fear that he does. Every word that comes out of his mouth is from the heart—when he negotiates, when he threatens in battle, when he makes a promise, and when he speaks of you. He may be intoxicated, but he always says what he means.

Better to push the affliction to the side, especially knowing by the way your cousin is in her lover’s arms that he offered his binding and, with her glistening eyes, that she accepted.

“And what of Sir Skywalker?” You ask. “Does his heart speak true?”

“Yes, lady,” Anakin smiles. “And I am happy.”

“Good—” you step over to squeeze his arm and the arm of your cousin. “May the force be with you and grant you joy.”

Padmé beams, looking up at her soon-to-be husband. He’s just as jubilant, pressing his forehead against hers.

It’s a beautiful scene to watch and you find that your heart lurches in your chest at their delight, though it skips a beat in sorrow that you may never know the same joy. With a sigh, one which anyone can associate as blissful, you step away.

“My lady,” Jinn says, walking over to you. “You have lost the heart of Sir Kenobi.”

You grin, nodding at him, thinking back on his antics.

“Indeed,” you sigh. “When we were younger, he lent it to me. It was pleasant for a short time but in the end, he could not offer marriage and so we parted. So, you can very well say that I have lost his heart.”

The two of you were young, you remind yourself, and so his infatuation could hardly have been heartfelt. Even from the start, you both challenged each other, so, really, it could never work.

Jinn shakes his head. “You have put him down.”

“I believe I have put him off,”

“For a woman of your quality, I think he is rather daft to oppose you.”

You push your shoulder against him, smiling. “My cousin is the hopeful kind and I wish her the greatest joy. If I am not satisfied with a proposal, then Maker blesses her life.”

“In faith, my lady, you have a merry heart,” Jinn smiles at you.

“Yes, the poor fool. I may sit in a corner and cry for a husband, but never have one.”

“Oh, I will get you one.”

“In the same manner that you got my cousin for young Anakin?” You shake your head. “No, I would much rather words were spoken to me.”

It is honorable that Sir Jinn would act for Anakin when he had not the courage, but when the day comes for you—though, you really think if it will come—then you want someone who will tell you personally, that way you can see the markings of love in him.

“You are a good man,” you continue. “Do you not have any brothers?”

“Only one, the eldest, Bil-Gan, but he is already married with children,” Jinn says.

“Ah, I am not fortunate, it seems.”

Someone like him would be perfect for you, you think. Humble, courteous, and handsome. Especially humble. That way there will be no room for another merry war.

“Will you have me, lady?” Jinn asks, his words barely above a whisper.

His proposal surprises you, them having been said so sincerely, and as if he had read your thoughts, though you were not sincere in them. At least, not fully.

In a different life, you can see yourself with someone akin to Sir Jinn, but the one you live in now is not heading in that direction.

“No, sir,” you say, not missing the frown between his brows. “You are too valuable for someone of my mind. I’m afraid I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.”

He nods, seeming unscathed at your refusal. “As it makes sense. I am sure you were born in a merry hour.”

You laugh. “Quite the opposite, my mother cried.”

When he laughs in return, you know that no damage is done. Truthfully, he deserves a better spouse and when that happens you will be more than happy for him.

“I bid you goodnight,” you say. “I am tired.”

Jinn smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles softly.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

You walk away with a spring in your step, still chipper even after such a weighty conversation. Besides, your cousin will be a married woman soon and you would rather be frozen in carbonite if you do not share in her gladness.

As Qui-Gon watches you walk away, he thinks of how pleasant a presence you are. Anyone would be lucky to be your husband. If only Obi-Wan was not so against marriage, for the way you both speak, you would make a handsome couple.

With that, an idea springs to mind.

Jinn turns back to the group. “Anakin, what day will you marry?”

“Tomorrow,” he says confidently.

“Not until the weekend is over,” Ruwee says in a serious tone of voice, wagging a finger. “The festival will conclude by then and only then will you marry.”

“Then, in the meantime, I will try my best at winning another hand,” Jinn says.

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Your niece,” Jinn pauses, then smiles wide, “for Sir Kenobi.”

Everyone bursts into hilarity, looking both amused and astounded.

“My cousin and Obi-Wan?” Padmé laughs. “There is no way that can possibly work.”

“If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves to death.” Ruwee laughs.

Jinn shakes his head. “There is interest there, I am sure of it. Never have I been wrong, and if I could have your assistance in this then I am sure they will be affectionate with each other before Primeday.”

It’s not impossible, at least not for him. He knows the way Obi-Wan speaks of you and with the knowledge that he at one time had doted on you, there is no doubt in his mind that the feelings still remain. All he has to do is bring them to the surface.

Ruwee laughs again, slapping a hand against Jinn’s back. “You know I am for you, always.”

“And me as well,” Anakin says.

Pleased by the cooperation, Jinn raises a brow. “And what says you, Padmé?”

She shakes her head, though her smile is wide on her cheeks.

“I will do anything to help my cousin to a good husband.”

With the family and the comrades working together, this will go without a hitch.

“If we can do this,” Jinn says, tapping a finger to his chin, “then Cupid is no longer an archer.”

It will be done and it will be successful. He does not need the force to read the heart of others, all he needs is their word and, abundantly, he has trusty words from you two.

“Come with me,” Jinn waves his hand. “I will tell you my plan.”

An impossible feat must be made within two days and, Maker assures it, before the sun sets on the second day, you and Obi-Wan will be madly in love with each other.

Taglist: @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @alwayssleepingforreal @kyber-crystal @immoral-rose @bloodybunnyuwu @nagitokomaeda-onthe-nintendo-ds @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @princessxkenobi @mythandmagik @i-cant-hear-you16 @pradahux @inukako @whyiminlove @cosmicsierra @dxnxdjarxn @voidmalfoy @darthkenobii @iamtracyz @chogisss @nectav @disastereyebags @hellolitty @stareyeddie @liviiii98 @dameronology @overly-obssessed-with-you @onewholikesthings @shadowhuntyi @greeneyedblondie44 @doublesunsets @night-ace @mkr31011 @petalcranberry @house-of-kolchek @djarins-riduur @fresians101 @frodo-jojo @romi-yularena @cheoriemoawa @just-dreaming-marvel @tejabrynn @jupitersiberis @moonlight-fox @newmoonn @sylphene @easilyconvinced @auryborealis @friskynotebook @lostdeidamia @songoficecreamandfireworks @ohbeewankenobi (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the taglist!)

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #:love me and mend

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inceptionkitties · 1 year ago

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We think our #inceptionkitties would be fantastic airport buddies!

#cats #catblr #duke ellington morris #well done sir #san francisco airport

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vhaenessavelaryon · 1 year ago

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setting: king's landing, the velaryon’s quarters of the red keep. before deimos and nefeli leave as envoys of new valyria (before the coronation?) @nefeli-velaryon

"No, I don't want to hold her. What sort of question is that?" Vhaenessa couldn't help the shadow of revolution that crossed her features when the wet nurse offered the small toddler, her niece Rhaenys, to her. It wasn't that she disliked the child -- on the contrary, the day she'd been born, Vhaenessa had seen that the babe would want for nothing. Rhaenys was Velaryon, after all -- she was perfect, just like her aunts, her uncles, elder brother and sister, and father. Nefeli was.... close enough to perfect, though not Valyrian. Had named her daughter for the Queen Who Never Was.

Uncle. Not uncles. Aerion is dead.

The gifts hadn't anything too extravagant. A brigade of silver spoons that depicted various insignia of House Velaryon, a jewel encrusted Bravossi cradle... There had been the swaddling blankets of the richest and most expensive thread from Volantis. The golden mobile, of course, that dripped with seahorses, shells, ships, and precious glittering sea-toned gems (the elder twins had been gifted with identical pieces, as would each of her other nieces and nephews as they came into the world.) The endless flow of designer toys from the priciest vendor in King's Landing weren't even bought from abroad. Basics.

The wet nurse blanched, the color leaching from her face in an instant. Tsk. She was new. She could be spared a verbal lashing, Vhaenessa supposed. But just the once. She wouldn't allow their household to be filled with idiots -- the girl would learn, or she would leave. Not that Vhaenessa had true say over the household -- no, that was her good-sister, Nefeli. But when you got on The Siren's bad side, you complied, or....

She smiled to herself. Or, nothing. They became nothing. Nobodies. Classless, social pariahs. Who would hire a maid who'd -- for the lack of a better phrase -- pissed off a lady of House Velaryon?

"Go read our sweet girl a book, or... something." She waved at the maid, then wagged her long finger nails at her niece, making kissing sounds with her red lips. But Vhaenessa didn't apologize to the wet nurse, looking over at her good-sister. "She's precious, Nef. Believe me. Sweet cherub, the future Beauty of Dirftmark, blah, blah, blah. But she leaks. So do the twins... and my dress is imported Lysene." Vhaenessa gestured to the gossamer, silken design. "We'll all bond when they can form full sentences." She paused, as if to ponder. "Or drink. Whatever comes first."

One of her lithe shoulders moved up and back down in a carless shrug.

"Is Deimy here? I heard you two were off soon, and I can't let him leave without a headache. It'd be a crime. Truly, good-sister." She slithered over to her, grinning. "He'd never forgive me." Vhaenessa kissed her on both cheeks -- peck, peck -- though made sure the gesture was light.

She'd didn't want to smudge her lip stain. It was her favorite shade.

#BRUH GETTING TO HAVE VHAE INTERACT WITH A C H I L D #IM CACKLING #|| threads -- king's landing ||#|| threads -- nefeli 01 ||#|| threads ||

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tfc2211 · 1 year ago

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Duke Ellington Morris joined the California airport’s Wag Brigade as the first feline to join the San Francisco International Airport’s team of therapy animals.

#Cat

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pooma-satsangam · 7 months ago

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GURU BASAVA VACHANA தமிழில்

Basava Vachanas - 3

Let not the wax doll wag the tongue of fire and flirt. If you caress butter Benaka with rice cake made of burning embers his teeth would be lost. With the sharanas of Koodalasanga

if you flirt you will be at odds. Guru Basava/16/[1]

The deity made of wax that melts

how could I approve of it?

The deity that shrinks on sighting fire

how could I approve of it?

The deity that is sold on necessity

how could I approve of it?

The deity that is buried out of fear

how could I approve of it?

Natural and truly united Koodalasangamadeva alone is god. Guru Basava/17/[1]

On sighting the king if you forget your husband

it is like losing the grip while climbing a tree.

You will be far from this world and far from the other, as our Koodalasangamadevayya is the linga with the face of jangama. Guru Basava/18/[1]

Rather than being a queen at the king’s place

it is better being a servant maid at the devotee’s home. There they order to bring water, bring bilva leaves, offer food to linga. Even in the mahaamane of Koodalasanga they contemptuously order to eat whatever is given to you. Guru Basava/19/[1]

If the king gets angry, within that province

one can not be. If the husband gets angry within that home one can not be.

Koodalasangamadeva if the jangama gets angry how can I live? Guru Basava/20/[1]

With the knowledge of the knower Rahu called poverty played foul. With the wealth of the haves the Raahu called moha played foul.

With the vision of the discerning the darkness called Kaama played foul. Fearful of the anxiety of my mind I took refuge in you Koodalasangamadeva. -Guru Basava/21/[1]

Ayya bathed fully in turmeric, decked thoroughly in golden dress, like the woman bereft of her husband’s love I am. Smeared with vibhuthi,

fastened with the rudraakshi, Shiva, bereft of your love I am. No one leads an immoral life in my clan. Nurture me is you wish, Koodalasangamadeva. -Guru Basava/22/[1]

Never be neighbors to half devotees never accept their championship never their company on road. Be far from them, never talk to them.

Be a maid among Koodalasanga’s sharanas

who are truly united in the linga. Guru Basava/23/[1]

What if they go wrong with money, what if they go wrong with life, what if they go wrong with pride, Do sharanas look for demerits in other sharanas? Koodalasanga’s sharanas should suffer and bear. -Guru Basava/24/[1]

What use if there is a fortune-line in the palm without life-line? What use if a coward has weapon Chandrayudha? What use if a blind man has a looking glass? What use if a monkey has a ruby? What use if those who do not know our Koodalasanga’s sharanas have a linga in their palm until they know Shiva’s path? Guru Basava/25/[1]

All those wealthy fear the king, all those full of devotion fear the jangama, all those charmed by the harlot eat her leftovers, all those that like meat eat dog’s leftovers. Only Chennabasavanna knows those who became worthy after offering to the linga the leftovers of the offering to Koodalasanga’s sharanas. Guru Basava/26/[1]

Ayya, look, her utterance sweet like jaggery

but her heart has poison. She invites one with her eyes but cohabits with another in her mind.

Listen, Koodalasangamadeva, never trust a mind-thieving woman. Guru Basava/27/[1]

When I consider the wealth of the Asurahe

has a million wives virtuous like Sita, a million intelligent principal ministers, countless brigades and thousands of princes, the guardians of eight directions are in his prison,

he imprisoned and ruled all the chiefs of gods.

Shiva, not living according to your mercy

his desire for the wife of another cost his life.

Knowing this, like a serpent that descends into its hole on spotting the eagle when I see those who desire others’ wives I go hiding Koodalasangamadeva. Guru Basava/28/[1]

If egotism charms the mind where would the linga be? Without letting egotism in

one must embody the linga. Look, without ego one becomes united in Koodalasangamadeva. Guru Basava/29/[1]

Measuring and measuring over they grow weary. Does the measuring pot grow weary?

Walking and walking again, they grow weary. Does the path grow weary? Exercising over and again, they grow weary. Does the club grow weary? Unaware of the truth the devotee wearies. Does the linga grow weary?

Koodalasangamadeva this is sheer unpaid labour unknown to the king. Guru Basava/30/[1]

பசவ வசனங்கள்-3

குரு பசவ வசனம்

உருகும் மெழுகால் ஆன தெய்வம் நான் அதை எப்படி அங்கீகரிக்க முடியும்?

நெருப்பைக் கண்டால் சுருங்கும் தெய்வம்

நான் அதை எப்படி அங்கீகரிக்க முடியும்?

தேவைக்கு விற்கப்படும் தெய்வம்

நான் அதை எப்படி அங்கீகரிக்க முடியும்?

பயத்தால் அடக்கம் செய்யப்பட்ட தெய்வ��்

நான் அதை எப்படி அங்கீகரிக்க முடியும்?

இயற்கையும் உண்மையும் ஒன்றுபட்ட கூடலசங்கமதேவன் ஒருவரே கடவுள். குரு பசவா/17/[1]

நீங்கள் உங்கள் கணவரை மறந்தால் ராஜாவைப் பார்த்தவுடன் மரத்தில் ஏறும் போது பிடியை இழப்பது போன்றது.

எங்கள் கூடலசங்கமதேவய்யா ஜங்கம முகத்தையுடைய லிங்கமாக இருப்பதால், நீ இவ்வுலகில் இருந்தும் தொலைவில் இருப்பாய். குரு பசவா/18/[1]

அரசனின் இடத்தில் ராணியாக இருப்பதை விட பக்தர் வீட்டில் வேலைக்காரியாக இருப்பது நல்லது. அங்கு தண்ணீர் கொண்டு வரவும், வில்வ இலைகளை கொண்டு வரவும், லிங்கத்திற்கு உணவு வழங்கவும் கட்டளையிடுகிறார்கள். கூடலசங்க மகாமனேயில் கூட இகழ்ச்சியாக உனக்கு என்ன கொடுத்தாலும் உண்ண வேண்டும் என்று கட்டளையிடுகிறார்கள். குரு பசவா/19/[1]

அரசன் கோபப்பட்டால், அந்த மாகாணத்திற்குள்‌ஒன்று இருக்க முடியாது. அந்த வீட்டுக்குள் கணவன் கோபப்பட்டால் இருக்க முடியாது. கூடலசங்கமதேவா, ஜங்கம் கோபப்பட்டால் நான் எப்படி வாழ்வேன்? குரு பசவா/20/[1]

அறிந்த ராகு அறியாமையால் ஏழ்மை என்றழைக்கப் பட்டது. உள்ளவர்களின் செல்வத்தில் மோகம் எனப்படும் ராகு தவறாக விளையாடினார்.

பகுத்தறிவுடைய பார்வையில் காமா என்ற இருள் கெட்டு விளையாடியது. என் மனதின் கவலைக்கு அஞ்சி நான் கூடலசங்கமதேவா உன்னிடம் அடைக்கலம் புகுந்தேன். குரு பசவா/21/[1]

அய்யா முழுக்க முழுக்க மஞ்சள் பூசிக் குளித்து, பொன்னாடை உடுத்தி, கணவனின் அன்பைப் பெறாத பெண்ணைப் போல நான். விபூதி பூசி,

ருத்ராக்ஷியால் கட்டப்பட்ட சிவா, உன் அன்பை இழந்தவன் நான். என் குலத்தில் யாரும் ஒழுக்கக்கேடான வாழ்க்கை நடத்துவதில்லை. கூடலசங்கமதேவா, என்னை வளர்ப்பது உங்கள் விருப்பம். குரு பசவா/22/[1]

குறை பக்தர்களுக்கு ஒருபோதும் அண்டை வீட்டாராக இருக்க வேண்டாம், அவர்களிடமிருந்து வெகு தொலைவில் இருங்கள், அவர்களுடன் பேச வேண்டாம்.

கூடலசங்க சரணங்களில் பணிப்பெண்ணாக இருங்கள். உண்மையில் லிங்கத்தில் ஐக்கியமானவர்கள் இவர்கள். குரு பசவா/23/[1]

பணத்தில் தவறு நடந்தால் என்ன, வாழ்க்கையில் தவறு நடந்தால் என்ன, பெருமையில் தவறு நடந்தால் என்ன, சரணர்கள் மற்ற சரணங்களில் குறைகளை தேடுகிறார்களா? கூடலசங்கத்தின் சரணங்கள் துன்பப்பட்டுத் தாங்க வேண்டும். குரு பசவா/24/[1]

உயிர் ரேகை இல்லாமல் உள்ளங்கையில் அதிர்ஷ்ட ரேகை இருந்தால் என்ன பயன்? கோழையிடம் சந்திராயுத ஆயுதம் இருந்தால் என்ன பயன்? பார்வையற்றவனுக்கு கண்ணாடி இருந்தால் என்ன பயன்? குரங்குக்கு மாணிக்கம் இருந்தால் என்ன பயன்? நம் கூடலசங்க சரணங்களை அறியாதவர்கள் சிவ வழிபாட்டை அறியும் வரை உள்ளங்கையில் லிங்கத்தை வைத்திருந்தால் என்ன பயன்? குரு பசவா/25/[1]

செல்வந்தர்கள் அனைவரும் அரசனுக்கு அஞ்சுகிறார்கள், பக்தி நிறைந்தவர்கள் அனைவரும் ஜங்கமத்திற்கு அஞ்சுகிறார்கள், பரத்தையினால் வசீகரிக்கப்படுபவர்கள் அனைவரும் அவளது எஞ்சியதை உண்கிறார்கள், இறைச்சி விரும்புபவர்கள் அனைவரும் நாயின் எச்சங்களை உண்கிறார்கள். கூடலசங்க சாரணர்களுக்கு காணிக்கையாக எஞ்சியதை லிங்கத்திற்கு சமர்பித்த பிறகு தகுதியானவர்கள் யார் என்பதை சென்னபசவண்ணா மட்டுமே அறிவார். குரு பசவா/26/[1]

அய்யா, பார், அவளுடைய பேச்சு வெல்லம் போல இனிமையாக இருக்கிறது

ஆனால் அவள் இதயத்தில் விஷம் இருக்கிறது. அவள் கண்களால் ஒருவரை அழைக்கிறாள், ஆனால் அவள் மனதில் இன்னொருவருடன் சேர்ந்து வாழ்கிறாள்.

கேள், கூடலசங்கமதேவா, மனம் திருடும் பெண்ணை ஒருபோதும் நம்பாதே. குரு பசவா/27/[1]

அசுரரின் செல்வத்தை எண்ணும்போது

சீதையைப் போன்ற நல்லொழுக்கமுள்ள ஒரு மில்லியன் மனைவிகள், ஒரு மில்லியன் அறிவார்ந்த முதல்வர்கள், எண்ணற்ற படைப்பிரிவுகள் மற்றும் ஆயிரக்கணக்கான இளவரசர்கள், எட்டு திசைகளின் காவலர்களும் அவரது சிறையில் உள்ளனர். அவர் அனைத்து தெய்வத் தலைவர்களையும் சிறையில் அடைத்து ஆட்சி செய்தார்.

சிவனே, உன் கருணைப்படி வாழவில்லை

வேறொருவரின் மனைவிக்கான அவரது ஆசை அவரது உயிரைப் பறித்தது.

இதையறிந்த நான், பிறர் மனைவியை விரும்புகிறவர்களைக் கண்டால், கழுகைக் கண்டதும் தன் குழிக்குள் இறங்கும் பாம்பைப் போல, கூடலசங்கமதேவரை மறைத்துக்கொண்டு செல்கிறேன். குரு பசவா/28/[1]

அகங்காரம் மனதைக் கவர்ந்தால் லிங்கம் எங்க�� இருக்கும்? அகங்காரத்தை உள்ளே விடாமல் ஒருவர் மனதில் லிங்கத்தை உருவாக்க வேண்டும். ஈகோ இல்லாமல் கூடலசங்கமதேவரிடம் அவர் ஐக்கியமாகிறார் பாருங்கள். குரு பசவா/29/[1]

அளந்து அளந்து சோர்வடைகிறார்கள். அளக்கும் பானை சோர்வடைகிறதா?

நடந்து, மீண்டும் நடக்க, அவர்கள் சோர்வடைகிறார்கள். பாதை சோர்வடைகிறதா?

மீண்டும் மீண்டும் உடற்பயிற்சி செய்வதால் சோர்வடைகின்றனர். உடற்பயிற்சி மையங்கள் சோர்வடைகிறதா?

உண்மை அறியாத பக்தன் சோர்வடைகிறான். லிங்கம் சோர்வடைகிறதா?

கூடலசங்கமதேவா இது ராஜாவுக்குத் தெரியாத சுத்த ஊதியமில்லாத உழைப்பு. குரு பசவா/30/[1]