#and i can excuse dark jedi by it not being gray jedi

[jewishcissiekj]

'what even is a Sith assassin' I say as I turn to my best friend, Dark Jedi Asajj who wants to be a Sith apprentice

[hereforthefanficsandromance]

The Way He Looks at You Series I:I

Act I: The Way He Looks at You Chapter 1: The Way He Looks at You

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Chapter Summary

After being dumped by your Jedi boyfriend, you accidentally bump into Inquisitor Cal Kestis, the Thirteenth Brother. He takes an interest in you and intends to give you what you desire most. Rating: 18+ Words: 2.7K

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You are shuffling through a city on Coruscant, attempting to find relief in the crowded marketplace. Having fled your work at the nearby Rebellion safe house, you had walked until ending up here. It’s always been dangerous working right under the nose of the Empire, but it became lucrative to have a few soldiers at ground zero.

Your eyes are tired from all the crying, and you can barely pay attention as you walk down the dirty streets. Normally, showing weakness in public would humiliate you, but right now, it doesn’t feel like it matters if people see you at your worst. Nothing can cause more distress than the pain in your chest.

You had woken up this morning believing your life to be moving in a positive direction. It took six months of going steady, and two years of pretending not to flirt while on various missions together. But you had finally gone all the way with your boyfriend, thinking things could only get better.

You’re one hell of a pilot; and had a knack for knowing exactly where to be to get your teammates out of particularly sticky situations. It made you valuable to the Rebellion; it allowed you to meet Theo.

He fell for you during your first mission together, but rejected his feelings. You’re pretty, but that isn’t enough to pull a Jedi. Theo’s initial attraction to you ensured more opportunities to work together; he found any excuse to assign you as the pilot for his missions.

You were immediately smitten as well and struggled to resist his natural charm. Emoting your feelings was second nature, which makes it easy to flirt when you find someone attractive. You were confident in your ability to get boyfriends, but meeting Theo caused you to stumble. You lost your confidence with flirting and instead let him lead. Jedi had been off limits before the purge and you had lived under the assumption that this was still true. You weren’t willing to risk losing him by pushing your luck.

When speaking to Theo, you carefully monitored your words, but never fretted your actions. Conveniently, you were always available to help him with any task. You also kept a first aid pack on your ship at all times, trying desperately to be the one to bandage his wounds. It meant one-on-one time where you had an excuse to touch him and listen to his stories. The conversations quickly became more friendly. You would giggle at his jokes and he would try to impress you with his tales. You hated to see him hurt, but found yourself disappointed when he came back unscathed.

You accidentally showed that disappointment after a mission when he excitedly let you know that he finally made it back without a single injury. While you said nothing incriminating, you felt your expression drop and Theo noticed it as well.

He later tapped you on the shoulder during the journey home and asked if you could look at his finger. Claiming that he didn’t feel any pain when he first got back on the ship but he was feeling an ache now. You both knew it was a lie, but you wrapped his finger anyway while he watched and talked about the events of the day.

He was so handsome it made it difficult to stay focused on your work. His features never failed to captivate you; he had dark messy hair and gray eyes that pulled you in. It didn’t hurt that he also had a charming, boyish smile and always looked right at you when he spoke. He made you feel special during those times, like everything he said was only to pull a reaction only from you.

The longer the two of you worked together, the more you needed him like air. Everyone else realized how inseparable you both had become, but you knew nothing could result from it. He was always loyal to the Jedi Code, and you understood he could not form attachments.

Theo surprised you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. He did it during one of your many first aid sessions. He had been silent while you tended to the cut on his arm, prompting you to ask if he was okay. Theo paused for a moment, then suggested the possibility of dating. There was conflict in his eyes when he asked, however, you both agreed to try the relationship. You were over the moon, but he seemed reserved in his decision.

Your relationship lacked most physical intimacy, but you were happy just to belong to him. The two of you kissed from time to time, but Theo always cut the sessions short before they could lead anywhere. Despite your disappointment, you respected his decision to take things slowly until yesterday.

You had intentionally been wearing rather revealing clothing on your day off with him. You couldn’t help it. He was so good looking that you wanted more. Maybe not sex, but more than kissing. You just wanted him to desire you the way you desired him. The blue shirt you chose was low cut, showing off your ample cleavage. You had paired it with a black skirt that hit above your knees. You spent the day with Theo, teasing him relentlessly but acting innocent the entire time.

It was so easy to just bend over right in front of him while picking something up, allowing your skirt to rise a couple of inches. When you stood back up, holding whatever object you had pretended to care about, his face had become flushed and his mouth hung open.

During lunch, you had placed your hands in your lap to push your breasts together while he spoke. Tilting your head to the side while listening to him tell a story from a recent mission. You didn’t miss how he glanced down and stumbled over his words, needing a moment to regather his thoughts before continuing the tale.

You even squeezed past him when he was standing in a tight area of his kitchen. There was nothing you needed on the other side of his body, but you found something to pretend to grab, just so you could rub your ass against the front of his trousers. You had felt how stiff he already was for you, but ignored it, or at least acted like you didn’t notice. He had released the tiniest exhale at the touch, a small gasp showing his inability to fully resist his desire.

It was enough. When you kissed him goodnight before leaving to go back to your own place, he wasn’t ready to stop. He had pulled you flush against his body, something he hadn’t done previously while kissing. It became obvious why he had always kept space between your bodies. His arousal was apparent. It was hard not to rub against it, but you didn’t want to risk scaring him off, so you let Theo lead.

He guided you back into his bedroom without coming up for air. However, he broke the kiss to ask permission before removing each article of your clothing. He removed them all, and you had never felt more beautiful in that moment. The way he observed your body was far superior to any of the times he watched you when he spoke. His hungry gaze and small smile could make anyone feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world.

When he took off his clothes, and you stopped breathing. He was perfect. You had seen him without a shirt from the previous times of doing his first aid. And you had definitely looked when he wasn’t paying attention. But this was nothing like those moments. Because he wanted you to look, he wanted to see how your eyes raked over his body. He watched you, wanting to see your approval and lust. He didn’t stop watching you as he slowly removed his trousers. You felt a distinct need to open your mouth when they dipped down past his hips and it slapped upwards, hitting his lower belly.

But he didn’t give you an opportunity to satisfy that craving, because he pulled you into his arms and backed you up against his bed. Wanting to get right to the main event. It made sense. It’s not like he had much experience in that realm. You thought that maybe the next time you could show him how enjoyable things could be before orgasm. But this time, you’d let him take what he needed.

The poor man barely lasted a minute, but that minute felt like heaven. Theo was needy and chasing his own pleasure. It still felt good, but it wasn’t enough to get you off. The noises he made during that minute, if only you could have recorded them. That would be the only sound you would want to hear for the rest of your life. The whimper that escaped his lips when he first entered you did something to your brain that you may never understand. His grunts in your ear as he pumped himself deep into your heat were music to your ears. You bit down on his shoulder just to hear more. His body reacted immediately to the feeling, and he groaned deep and throaty, precisely what you wanted. Only then, you realized that you accidentally pushed him over the edge.

He had collapsed onto your body, kissing your neck and collarbone repeatedly, like he was trying to thank you for allowing him to reach his peak. He rolled you both onto your sides and held you close against his chest all night, whispering sweet nothings into your hair until you both fell asleep.

Then you woke up this morning, and he wasn’t holding you anymore, he wasn’t even laying in the bed with you. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back facing you. Of course, you immediately asked if everything was okay, letting the sheets fall from your body. He never answered your question and only asked you to put your clothes back on so he could talk to you. It was the most humiliated you’d ever felt. You suddenly felt extremely vulnerable in your nakedness. He wouldn’t even look at you, as if ashamed at the thought of even viewing your unclothed body. The body that he had been so eager to see, and touch, and be inside of was suddenly impossible for him to look at.

With your clothes on, he finally looked at you. He explained he had broken the Jedi Code, and he needed to remember the old ways and not stray from his path. There was a ringing in your ears as your mind exited your body, desperate to protect you from the hurt you both knew was coming.

Theo broke up with you, and it felt like you were watching your life get sucked away into the abyss. He stated that the two of you could no longer work together on missions, at least until this had blown over. But encouraged you to go back to Yavin 4, to continue your work with a different team. He tried to explain the Rebellion could surely use your talents elsewhere and you are a good soldier in this fight. It’s like the last six months of your relationship had never existed. The way he spoke sounded like a captain speaking to an underling; there was no familiarity.

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The emotions well up again as you remember how he looked at you. The past few years, Theo gazed at you like you were all that mattered to him. Yet today, when he looked at you, that expression had vanished. You would likely never see that look on his face again.

Hot tears pool and flood towards the quickest exit from your lower lids. The big ones fall straight from the center while the smaller ones had the courtesy to fall from the corners. You wipe them away before they hit your exposed chest. A cruel reminder that you were wearing yesterday’s clothes, and the memories stored in them.

The tears in your eyes cause your vision to blur so severely that you accidentally bump into a civilian on the street. You don’t want any trouble, so you quickly mumble out an apology. Your body gently bounces off of them and you adjust your direction so that you can try to pass without hitting them.

A hand grabs right above your elbow, not letting you pass. You feel the sense of danger, but are overall too numb to fully emote.

“You should really be more careful.” A cruel voice says, you can hear their lips curling as they speak. Alarm bells are ringing, but the shock of this morning dulls the intensity.

First, you look down at the hand, trying to process the situation. Long slender fingers curl around your arm, gripping you in place. The pale skin covered in a galaxy of freckles. You want to follow the constellations upwards, but the cuff of their black uniform prevents it.

Your heart palpitates, your eyes creeping up the sleeve, until you see it. The Inquisitor Insignia on their shoulder, right at eye level. Your gaze hesitates, denial setting into your mind, knowing what you’re seeing but not wanting to confirm your suspicions.

“I’m speaking to you.” The voice says, tightening their fingers around your upper arm.

This snaps you out of the thoughts. You look up into a pair of intense green eyes. His bright red hair and the matching stubble immediately give away the identity of this man.

Your familiarity of the Inquisitors had come from several years of working for the rebellion. Theo had even known this man before he fell to the Dark Side; they had trained together as younglings.

The Thirteenth Brother’s sharp features are menacing but beautiful. The photos you had seen didn't do him justice. He’s handsome, but his hard eyes lack mercy and it makes your whole body tremble. You can’t help but let your eyes trail over his features, especially when he stands so close and it might be the last thing you ever see. At least he’s easy on the eyes.

Your gaze traces the sharp edge of his jaw before glancing up at his well-groomed hair. As your eyes travel downward, you note the thin scar across its bridge that runs onto his right cheek. Finally, observing at his full lips and accidentally wondering what they must feel like. You didn’t think it was possible to feel so much attraction towards someone so dangerous. Something must be wrong with you.

The Thirteenth Brother snickers and uses his other hand to place a finger under your chin. Tilting your head until your eyes finally look back up into his. He has a funny expression on his face, a combination of annoyance and amusement. The left corner of his mouth raises ever so slightly.

“I haven’t heard that before.” He says.

Your eyebrows furrow, not understanding his words.

He clarifies, “Easy on the eyes.” His expression doesn’t change. He only observes your face as it flushes with realization.

You panic and quickly run through everything he might have heard in your mind: about his lips, and your attraction, and something being wrong with you. You try to clear your mind and focus on returning his stare. His eyes are fierce and focused on you, as if you are the only thing he sees at this moment.

Butterflies fill your stomach, maybe in fear, but more likely just from the excitement of being looked at this way. It’s intense and feels extremely intimate. He’s watching your every movement, like he sees you completely and wants to know more. Probably only looking at you this way because he is reading your mind. Oh no, he’s reading your mind.

You quickly drop your gaze, but he doesn’t drop your chin, so now you're back to staring at his lips by accident, but you don’t resist fantasizing about them. Your brain has given up on self preservation, too exhausted to care about the danger.

He bends down slightly, trying to lower his gaze to where you are looking, to get your attention. Your eyes refocus back on his own.

“Usually I leave others speechless from fear, but you, you don’t seem afraid in the way I prefer.” He says in a low voice, the vibrations causing you to shiver slightly. “I find you intriguing, so I’ll be keeping you.”

He leans forward, your hair catching in his stubble as his mouth reaches the shell of your ear. “Perhaps, if you’re good, I’ll permit you the feel of my lips.”

Your brain goes fuzzy between his words and the feel of his hot breath as he speaks. Honestly, his mouth may just be intoxicating. He lets out the tiniest chuckle before pulling away. He definitely heard that.

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Next Chapter: The Way He Touches You

[gch1995]

Okay so rereading ROTS novelization and something rubs me wrong. Yoda and Obi Wan are talking about what to do with the twins and instantly Kenobi starts talking about TRAINING them in the ways of the Force. Yoda even says when the time is right they will be brought to them for training. How did they even know the twins would be force sensitive? Yoda said the Force runs strong in the Skywalker line but how does he know? Shmi wasn’t Force sensitive and neither was Padme so how can they just assume? And the BALLS they both had to just decide for the twins that they would be Jedi. I’m sorry I don’t think you two are exactly the best to decide the fate of children. At this point I see why uncle Owen didn’t want Kenobi around Luke. He was itching to train this kid from birth! Talking about how Luke would be trained how Anakin SHOULD have been… sir you can’t teach. Even when Bail offers to take Leia, Yoda and Kenobi exchange a LOOK, as if they are wary about letting go one of the twins. Also, the straight DISRESPECT Kenobi showed to Anakin when he took Luke to Tatooine knowing that was were Anakin first experienced slavery and the death of his mom. His excuse? “Anakin survived it. Luke can too.” Direct quote. So essentially Luke is like Yoda and Kenobi’s controlled experiment with almost the same situations thinking they’ll get a different outcome. I don’t know it just all rubs me wrong.

It depends on how much of the RotS novelization you actually consider canon, but, yeah, Obi-Wan is a grossly overrated character by most of this fandom.

No, he was never an outright evil conquerer like the gray Jedi believed in Legends from Empire/Sith propaganda, but he was never a particularly idealistic, kind, good, open-minded, or selfless type of character who made a truly heroic person. That’s why, as awful and dark as Anakin Skywalker became, his story is a tragedy, because, at his best, he displayed all the same qualities that Luke did in the OT movies to be that kind, progressive, revolutionary, selfless, and self-sacrificing hero for the Jedi Order and the galaxy at large, if his life hadn’t constantly been a living hell of abuse, neglect, and oppression under corrupt authority and he hadn’t become too afraid to say no and do better after awhile.

Yoda looked upon Obi-Wan Kenobi as the ideal Jedi of the of the old Order because he was a teacher’s pet who repeatedly made a conscious effort to not have any aspirations, ideals, interests, relationships, or personal values, life outside of kissing his ass to fit in and get ahead to be on the Council, even if that meant repeatedly screwing over his own integrity and those he cared about to do it.

It’s both a blessing and curse for him to be that way. On the one hand, he can never be vulnerable to the dark side because he’s learned to be so content with being a perfect Jedi™️ at all costs. On the other hand, because Obi-Wan is so content and dedicated to being that way, he can never reach the same level of true heroism that other characters like his master Qui Gonn met at his best, Anakin met at his best, Ahsoka at her best, Luke met at his best, or Ezra met at his best because his sense of motivation comes primarily from the Jedi Council and Yoda with his desire to fit in and get ahead with them generally outweighing his desire to be good by listening to his own instincts and conscience. For someone to accomplish truly heroic deeds with a truly heroic motivation, they can’t just be doing good things because someone else with power of authority over them tells them it’s right, tells them it’s for a reward, or tells them it’s the only way to fit in.

Obi-Wan can’t reach that level of true heroism that those other characters he met could at their best as a person himself because he generally was all about Yoda’s and the Council’s validation, and he never really put in much effort to be anything better than that. He never had a great enough desire to become anything better than what he had been taught to be by Yoda and the Council for as long as he could remember. He never had a great enough interest to understand the galaxy outside of Yoda’s temple.

It’s not all his fault he grew up to be that way because he was a victim of Yoda’s cult of total emotional/individual denial for life, but he also consistently made a conscious effort to not be like the sort of curious, kind, open-minded, and spontaneously good people he had met throughout his life more than once because they were free thinkers and idealists, who he secretly admired, but also saw didn’t get ahead with Yoda.

You’re right, though, nonny. Obi-Wan and Yoda really didn’t have the right to be planning out Luke’s and Leia’s fates before they even reached their first birthday. To plan on using them as weapons to destroy the monster of a man they inadvertently helped turn their father into before they were even born is also just cowardly of them. The worst part is that they never express any sort of remorse or self-awareness of just how wrong it was to attempt to deceive and manipulate the Skywalker twins to kill off the monster they helped turn his dad. The only one of Luke’s predecessors who gets the importance of taking personal responsibility for bad decisions by the end of the OT movies, rather than letting Luke pay for his sins, or trying to manipulate him for their own ends, is Anakin Skywalker.

Obi-Wan and Yoda never seem to get that it wasn’t okay to use the Skywalker twins as weapons to clean up the mess they inadvertently helped create with their father, but they still get the force ghost treatment, in spite of seemingly learning nothing from their pasts, because they are Jedi.

[giggles-and-freckles]

Okay woohoo some fic recs incoming!!!! These will probably be all over the place, but I’ve just got to scream about them for a second!!! PS gonna try to do these more frequently because this is fun!!!

Click below the cut if you dare!

Declarations by Nny11

Summary: A series exploring Obi-Wan and Ahsoka's relationship as Grandmaster and Grandpadawan.

Okay, so this is one of the first fics I can genuinely remember reading with a heavy emphasis on the relationship between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka where I was like 'hey oh my god I love them?’ It was a monumental moment for me because now I am so obscenely ride or die for them and I truly do think back to this fic often with utter fondness. 

A moment I loved: 

“From a certain point of view,” he finally conceded, motioning her to start again. “At least I know you’ve learned something from me!”

“Well I couldn’t learn the secrets of your hair routine!”

the flood comes rushing in by @kenobilovebot

Summary: "I have done this for you. I have put you first." Or, Anakin finds out.

A little bit of sith!Obi-Wan? As a treat? Hm, well...all right!!!!! I don’t want to say too much here because I would really prefer you read it than read any more of my mindless babbling but–it’s good.

A moment I loved: 

He can hardly think around the smothering darkness that has so wholly encompassed his master, so effectively destroying the light that has always been. He’s always been able to reach for it at the worst of times. Now he can’t feel it at all.

a time to say goodbye by Sokaless

Summary: Ezra isn't the only one facing the temptation of change in the World Between Worlds. Just minutes after facing Vader, Ahsoka falls through a portal seventeen years into the past and must relive her final encounter with Anakin and Obi-Wan without drastically altering the future. But Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

This is a short and sweet time-travel fic that finds Ahsoka back in that moment in the hangar with Anakin right before they unknowingly have their last goodbye. She knows more now than she did before and struggles not to say it all. But the theme of learning from loss is really special and powerful and I feel this sad sort of closure when I finish (I say that actively because I have...read this fic several several times). Painful, poignant–all the best things.

A moment I loved:

One last thing she learned from Anakin- teaching a lesson often requires holding your student to higher standards than you hold yourself. 

With the knowledge that she’s holding him to a standard she herself might never reach, Ahsoka tells Ezra, “I’m asking you to let go.”

good morning, sun by @katierosefun​

Summary: “You look miserable.” Ahsoka dropped her hand, spun around. Obi-Wan stood behind her, one arm carrying a cloak and the other half-extended to Ahsoka. [or: After she leaves the Order, Ahsoka has one last encounter with Obi-Wan.]

Let’s see how many of Caroline’s fics I can get away with posting before someone reports me. This one-shot is full of all the good post-wrong jedi stuff. Soka and Obi have a conversation at Dex’s that hurts a lot but also feels real and I will never not respect Caroline for understanding the nuances of the disaster trios intricate and intimate relationships with each other and how they shift and mold around different circumstances. This feels so authentically them that it hurts.

A moment I loved: 

What came out instead was a small, half-choked sound.

When Obi-Wan opened his arms, Ahsoka fell right into them. “It hurts,” Ahsoka said, her voice cracking. “A lot.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan replied thickly. “We’ll take care of it.”

You Haunt All My What-Ifs by @kckenobi

Summary: But then she saw the way Obi-Wan’s lip was quivering, and his eyes were shining, and she realized— He hadn’t called because he needed to tell her. He’d called because he needed her. “Obi-Wan,” she breathed. “Oh, Obi-Wan…” And she wanted to reach out, to hold him. To be his refuge, his shelter, his home. Instead she just watched as he shook his head, palmed at his eyes, apologized. She reached out. Touched the hologram. It flickered. — [Satine and Obi-Wan—then, now, and every echo of what if between them.]

One of the first fics that got me on my Obitine grind!! Just the right mix of angst and angst to create the perfect recipe of absolute sorrow. These characters feel so real I could reach out and hug them–and oh, how I want to after this incredible little fic.

A moment I loved:

And then suddenly she was thinking of every little what if—the other paths they could’ve taken, the millions of ways they could’ve ended up here. She imagined a future where he’d stayed. She saw white weddings, crying infants, painting nursery rhymes on a pale bedroom wall. She saw herself rolling over in the middle of the night, bumping shoulders, feeling his warm breath on her face. She saw family dinners, rushed breakfasts as they hurried the kids off to school. She saw laughter. She saw a lifetime. And at the end, she saw herself old and gray, holding his hand, his eyes the last thing she’d ever see.They had arrived at the end now. But she was not old and gray.

Dying Words by @cloudyskywars

Summary: Anakin is trapped beneath a collapsed building, and has one final conversation with Obi-Wan.

One of my favourite febuwhump contributions from within the mountain of wonderful fics that the second month of the year created!! Some good ol classic Obi & Ani pain. Hint of a deathfic...but mostly just the moments leading up to it. And they...hurt. Also!!! Melanie took the care to make Anakin’s final words be about Obi-Wan, which is very special to me for the reason she includes in her author’s note.

A moment I loved:

“And,” he said, “if you ever see Ahsoka again, tell her she was the best padawan I could have asked for.” His breaths were coming in rapid pants, now, and the room was spinning out of focus. “Obi-Wan?” he asked, voice barely audible. “Yes, Padawan mine?” he responded, his own voice shaky as well. “Thank you for being my Master,” Anakin said.

i’m only me when i’m with you idiots by @renegadeontherunn

Summary: who let Obi-Wan pick the holo? and where's the remote? they might need a bigger blanket. 

[or, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan have leave on Coruscant and holo night is the perfect excuse to all squeeze onto a couch together, bicker, and be, well, a family]

Fluff, fluff, fluff! Yes, please! My dear Fiona does a wonderful job wrapping these three up in a blanket and plopping them in front of a holo for a night of witty banter and so-cute-I-could-melt platonic cuddles. I love these three, I love this fic!

A moment I loved: 

“You met a civilized Padawan? Couldn’t have been ours.”

get home by @curse-of-men

Summary: After a mission goes wrong and Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker goes missing, it is up to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka Tano to bring him home.

[or: a Grandmaster and a Grandpadawan go on a road trip to rescue chaos personified]

What? Me? Rec’ing another Obi-Wan and Ahsoka centric fic? HUH? Hehe, I love that Lou says this is the missing Obi & Soka arc in their author’s note because um, did they look into my heart and know that’s what I most desire? Anyway, this three-parter is incredible from start to finish and I demand you all go read it immediately. :-)

A moment I loved:

Making their way to the cockpit, Ahsoka tilts her head into Obi-Wan’s general direction and says: “You know, Master, Anakin would probably think things so far have gone excellently.” Obi-Wan returns her look and sighs.

“Now you surely must get why I am so worried about this.” Ahsoka grins and gestures back and forth in the empty space between them with one hand.

“For what it’s worth, I think we make a good enough team.”

we stand here, together by @nightdotlight​

Summary: Master Depa Billaba and Padawan Caleb Dume.

Windu worries for them, out in the wider galaxy. Waging war, while he and Anakin sit here, waiting.

But he trained Billaba, and Billaba is training Dume. Anakin once took lessons from her, when he himself was a Padawan, and he knows she is skilled enough by far, to ensure that both she and her student make it back to Coruscant safely.

It’s ironic, that when cut off from the Force he can understand other people better than he has in years.

ZOWEE!!!! This fic made me ugly cry on my conference period at school!! Ha! Another fic that culminates in, er...death. But!!!! The lead-up! Ooh, baby! The writing style of this one is also very fresh and unique which I appreciate as someone who essentially reads the same thing eight million ways (by choice, mind you!!!! and loves it every time!!!!). This is just an absolute gem of a fic. Queue: your best crying playlist.

A moment I loved: 

Depa, her Padawan braid hanging from her shoulder, hugs him around his middle and drags him to the training salles. The whole way, her laughter follows them– warm, like summer rain. Like the smallest, most ephemeral moments of happiness.

Her smile feels like a sunset on his back, and Mace smiles back even as they spar, as green and purple clash over and over again in a dance unique to teacher and student.

He does not need to reach out to know the galaxy is at peace. When they take a break from their own spar, Mace feels a light tap on his presence in the Force; when he turns, Ahsoka Tano stands there in training robes, her own Master a few paces behind– and beside him, Obi-Wan Kenobi, face lighter than it has been in years.

Her Padawan beads hang from her headdress; when she smiles at the banter behind her, turning to retort, they catch the light, and the half-formed impression of those beads torn asunder and held in gloved hand is dissipated by the glare.

Only Hope by @tessiete

Summary: The infamous "Year on the Run".In the wake of her father's death, Satine is assigned two Jedi to escort her safely back to Mandalore, but in the chaotic aftermath of a civil war, there is more at stake than one person's survival. Together, they work to unite Mandalore, overcome ancient grudges, and bring peace to a world ravaged by bloodshed.

Man, oh man, do I love a good year on the run fic! And man oh man am I loving the heck out of this one. It’s in progress so go ahead give it a bookmark and a subscription while you’re at it!!!! But the banter! The sass! The (I assume soon to come) pining! The Qui-Gon third wheeling! READ IT! Cannot recommend highly enough.

A moment I loved: 

“...and you’re bound to be hungry.”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

“Well, Obi-Wan is,” Jinn asserts. His back is to his apprentice and so he cannot see the mutinous glance which darts his way. “And as you’ve seen, he’s trouble when he isn’t fed. You have five minutes.”

Goes to Ground by jerseydevious

Summary: Obi-Wan has a question for Anakin following his experiences on Zygerria.

Silly Jedi boys trying and failing to communicate, gosh dang it!!! They get there, eventually, though. :’) Some post Zygerria angst and some tough discussions. HERE. FOR. IT. 

A moment I loved: 

“You are a bad influence, padawan mine,” Obi-Wan said. He gave Anakin that smile, the one that made Anakin feel like he shared a secret with his Master, something only for them.

In Sacrifice, Peace by @ilonga

Summary: “Shh. . .” Anakin says, gathering the younglings around him, reminding Obi-wan of all those whispered arguments where he had insisted to Anakin that yes, he was good with children, he’d be just fine teaching Ahsoka. He can almost feel the terror rising off Anakin from the hologram; Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening either. But he isn’t letting the younglings feel it. “You need to listen to me very carefully, okay? This--” his voice breaks, “--this is going to be scary. But you have to be calm, and strong. Just like Master Yoda taught you.” [Or, the ROTS au where Obi-wan finds a very different type of pain while looking through the Temple's recordings of Order 66.]

PAIN AWAITS YOU HERE! But that is exactly why you should click, kudos, comment, bookmark, and let this fic live in your head rent free like it’s living in mine. Truly couldn’t get it out of there if I wanted to! AND I DO NOT! Yet another deathfic and angst with The Team (TM). Read it, peeps.

A moment I loved: 

“And then?”Obi-wan closes his eyes, pretends he can’t feel the weight of the body in his arms, pretends it’s really Anakin he’s talking to and not some worrying coping mechanism. “And then we fight.” he says.

to hold by @katierosefun

Summary: “What—” Ahsoka looked up and, where she had expected to find a mumbling drunk, she found instead—

“Master Kenobi?” Ahsoka asked, stunned. She straightened, already swinging her backpack around herself again.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan managed. He was breathing hard, just barely bent over because he was supporting, Ahsoka realized dumbly, Anakin.

Anakin, whose head was lolling against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Whose face was two shades too pale and eyes fluttering and lips parted in a soundless groan that brought Ahsoka right back to battlefields and med bays and other places that she hadn’t been in a long, long while. [or: after leaving the Order, Ahsoka runs into some familiar faces.]

Caroline at it again with the post-wrong-jedi disaster trio angst comin’ in hot! Some platonic bed-sharing, some confused Anakin, some conflicted Ahsoka, some pained Obi-Wan. Well–strike that. They’re all in pain. But what do we expect, honestly? What do we want, honestly? Pain. We want pain.

A moment I loved: 

“Only another dream,” Obi-Wan said. He looked at Ahsoka, his face just barely shadowed. “Seems that it’s passed.”

Another. 

Ahsoka’s stomach twisted. She looked at the hand she was holding. It was strange—she couldn’t remember if she had ever actually held onto Anakin’s hand this tightly before, but now she could feel the familiar callouses, make out just the faintest of old scars. Ahsoka squeezed it once.

Not near as many as I planned to do or have saved and ready to rec, but...this already got, er...quite lengthy. So! Same time, next week! I’ll have some more! (Well, probably not same time and maybe not even next week...but soon.) 

[johnconstantinesdick]

Okay *cracks knuckles, accidentally dislocates fingers* @agentscamander-romanoff and @steel-phoenix took the bait and enabled me by asking me to elaborate on my Children of the Watch origins theory. Which means I am about to go ABSOLUTELY feral.

Apologies to anyone for having incorrect Star Wars lore, I’ve barely consumed canon content and I don’t intend to start now. Also sorry if anyone has already said this! I’ve never seen this particular theory/interpretation and it’s made me go a bit insane.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, cults, and the aftermath of genocide. I don’t go super in depth on any of it but it’s there. Also, I typed this in the notes app of my phone and autocorrect hasn’t quite submitted to some of these names.

SO. I’m going to break this up into sections. 1. Exploring canon 2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string 3. What does this MEAN??? 4. Complaining about Bo-Katan.

First off, though, here’s my thesis: Children of the Watch is a “splinter group” made up of the children that Death Watch stole, indoctrinated, and abused. They’re also not a cult (Death Watch is though lmao).

1. Exploring Canon:

Okay, so. Canonically, Death Watch has abducted, tortured, and brainwashed children. Arla Fett is an example of that, having been abducted at the age of 14 after her parents were killed and she was subsequently brainwashed into becoming an assassin for Death Watch. She didn’t even hesitate when she found out her brother was alive! That’s how strong the conditioning was! She was so fucked up from it that she spent YEARS in a mental facility, and she outright begged a Jedi to wipe her memories in exchange for a favor. DEATH WATCH DID THAT. And you CANNOT tell me she was the only one they’ve done this to. PLENTY of fic writers have extrapolated off of this and mentioned it, but it’s important to me that everyone know this shit is absolutely rooted in canon.

Another Death Watch Child Abuse Fun Fact: Dred Priest and Isabet Reau, two of the trainers of the clones, canonically had Death Watch leanings and tried to instill Death Watch beliefs in the clones by FORCING THEM TO FIGHT EACH OTHER IN SECRET BATTLE CIRCLES THAT ENDED UP KILLING SOME OF THE CLONES. THEY WERE CHILDREN AT THE TIME, IF IT WASN’T CLEAR. WHAT THE FUCK. If THAT’S not an example of Death Watch abusing the kids under their care then I don’t know what is. It’s suuper not a stretch for me to think that this wasn’t an unheard of thing in more official Death Watch circles.

Also canonically, Bo-Katan has referred to Din’s covert as “Children of the Watch”, and Din, despite obviously being an important and respected member of his community, doesn’t recognize the name, which implies to me that it’s not a name the covert chose for themselves. Rather, a moniker that was given to them after they splintered off of Death Watch. Since this isn’t an opinion and it’s more just… information, I’ll trust Bo-Katan on this one.

We also know for sure that Din’s covert IS connected to Death Watch in some way, seeing as the flashback sequence very clearly shows Mandalorians in blue and gray beskar’gam, the colors of Death Watch. HOWEVER… the Armorer, who seems to hold a high position of authority in the covert, wears gold and copper beskar’gam. Din wears unpainted (v2) or mismatched colored (v1) beskar’gam (I do grant that his paint color counts less towards this because he’s pretty much one of the only people interacting with the outside world and so colors associated with Death Watch are probably a no go no matter what). Paz Vizsla’s armor is a very dark blue with yellow and cyan details and, oh my fucking god I didn’t even know this but he has a fucking MYTHOSAUR SYMBOL ON ONE OF HIS PAULDRONS. THE FUCK???? THAT’S LITERALLY THE SYMBOL OF THE TRUE MANDALORIANS IM. Ok. Okay. I needed a minute. Like I KNOW that the mythosaur skull is Mandalorian symbol in general but I think it just hits different when a Vizsla is wearing it, you know? Especially because the placement is the same as Jaster Mereel’s???? Literal founder of the True Mandalorian movement????? Excuse me???????

Let’s uh. Let’s get back to armor. I can address that… later. So. Anyway. Armor is super important, and it’s uhhh very telling that the covert doesn’t emulate the Death Watch colorscheme strictly. Like, yeah, there’s gray and light blue in there, if you go through some wiki pages, but they’re not the only colors they use, and the Armorer doesn’t even have either of those colors! And she’s the biggest authority we’ve seen! Very fucking interesting!! Bo-Katan still has her armor painted in Death Watch colors! And yet she’s derisive of Din’s covert! Verrry interesting!

We also know that Din’s covert emphasizes children VERY much, more than Death Watch ever would have, imo. It’s expected for the adult members to provide for the foundlings (and it’s VERY interesting that the kids are seemingly all referred to as foundlings iirc. More on that later.), and even though Paz disagrees with Din working with the empire, he and the other members of the covert immediately and with no hesitation come to Din’s aid for this child that Din hasn’t even claimed as his own—it’s amazing! And I will note that Bo-Katan and her warriors do the same upon their initial meeting with Din—Koska dives into danger with no hesitation as soon as Din says the child is still in danger. We see that this solidarity does come at a price for Bo-Katan, though, while the Armorer sees protecting a foundling as a duty that is completely worth all the trouble it brought.

Fascinating also that Boba was 100% on board to help out Din to save Grogu past what Din or anyone else would have expected of him, while Bo-Katan had to be bribed into coming by the promise of Moff Gideon and the darksaber. And she thinks she’s somehow more Mandalorian than him.

And NOW, going way back in time to the beginnings of the True Mandalorian movement, we know that Jaster Mereel originally authored his Supercommando Codex by looking back through history to the Canons of Honor and the Resol’nare, and he took those ideals and ideas and he modernized them to create a set of moral guidelines to follow. And people loved that shit! Death Watch had to infiltrate the True Mandalorians and then trick the Jedi into slaughtering them just to get rid of them, because Jaster’s charisma and his sexy sexy morals were too strong. (God. I fucking LOVE Jaster Mereel if you couldn’t tell.) Anyway, there’s precedent for Mandalorians looking back to their history to bring forth old ideas, repurposed to a modern context. We also know that, canonically, Din’s covert follow the “old ways” of not sharing names and of never taking their helmets off in front of others.

Moving on.

2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string:

So if we extrapolate from the fact that Death Watch are, uh, super fucking abusive towards the kids that they stole/their own kids, then we’re left with… this group of kids, who have been mistreated and indoctrinated for a LONG TIME, and possibly don’t have that great an understanding of non-toxic Mandalorian culture. And if they’ve been abducted or rescued, whatever, they might not fit back in with the places they were taken from, or they may not have a place to go back to, or they may not even remember where they’re from originally. It’s some prime angst material! Good stuff.

And if we pull the implication from the names that “Children of the Watch” is a splinter group off of Death Watch, it really does make you think… huh, you know what? These two things may be one in the same. Maybe.

And, like, we know that Jaster Mereel and Din’s covert both looked to Mandalorian history to find pillars for their community’s morals. Jaster did so in the middle of a lot of political turmoil, as a way to say “Hey, we can still be Mandalorians in the ways that matter, but being Mandalorian doesn’t mean being a morally bankrupt conqueror. We can have honor and still wear armor and fight and uphold the Resol’nare.”

And I think Din’s covert did so when they were struggling with unlearning the toxic ideals that had been shoved onto them by Death Watch. I think they had to figure out their own way of being Mandalorian or else they would have crumpled under the pressure. And so they looked back to the old ways and picked out the more extreme interpretation of Cin Vhetin (clean slate) which says that, once you swear the Resol’nare and become a Mandalorian, your past doesn’t matter, it’s what you do now that does. You don’t take off your helmet, and you don’t let others know your name, because those things don’t matter to who you are and what you do. (There’s also the issue of the helmet and name rule being an important defense tactic to protect the covert, seeing as how Mandalorians post-Empire are the survivors of genocide. There’s already a fantastic post on it here)

Related, another Mandalorian saying is “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.”, meaning “Nobody cares who your parent was, only the parent you’ll be,” which IMO fits in very nicely with how I’m interpreting Din’s covert. It’s all about your actions and future mattering more than your past. I think that when the covert was splitting off and being built, this would be a huge component of them healing. Because the way they were treated and indoctrinated by Death Watch doesn’t have to affect their future actions. They don’t have to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, they can build a covert and a community around caring for foundlings.

Now, onto the foundlings! I find it very interesting that, whenever the covert’s younglings are mentioned, it’s always as foundlings. I think this implies that there’s a focus on saving and raising children more than there is on sharing blood with them, and I think that the covert would be more inclined towards communal raising than typical family units, if only to keep everyone in check and to protect the children from ever being treated as they were. I also find it VERY interesting that there’s a lot of emphasis put on returning children to their own kind. I don’t think Death Watch would have employed that practice, and I think that’s another example of the covert wanting to make their community a better place for children. I think it’s likely a lot of them didn’t get that choice, and they had to leave their cultures and people behind. And so they want to give that choice to their children.

I think it’s also amazing that, like. They keep finding and raising children instead of deciding they’re too damaged or whatever to have kids. Because it doesn’t matter if they have baggage or trauma when a child needs them. That’s FANTASTIC. I’m losing my MIND. It really doesn’t matter who their parents were to them, just the kind of parents they will be. It’s all about breaking that cycle and deciding to be better and I LOVE THAT.

3. What does this MEAN???:

Well. What this means is that Din’s covert has a very clear set of motivations and structure when it comes to how their covert is run. It’s not a cult; in fact it is specifically a group created by cult survivors who are determined to not do to others what was done to them. The rules may seem weird and strict at first glance, but they have a clear purpose and rationale, and no one is trying to amass power. They’re just… trying to do better, and be better.

(This also means that I’m 99% sure that, with the assistance of time travel, at least half of the covert would be SUPER INTO Jaster Mereel. I like to imagine that Paz had, like, a poster of him on his little sewer bedroom wall. I fully believe he painted that mythosaur skull on his pauldron in honor of a good man who was killed by Paz’s own relatives for standing by his morals and daring to try to reform and rally Mandalorians. I also think it would be funny if, like, Din doesn’t know shit about ANYTHING to do with modern history, but Boba mentions that his grandfather is Jaster Mereel and Din is like “OH I KNOW THAT GUY! Yeah he’s cool, he’s the historical crush of like, my entire covert.” And Boba is like. What.)

It also means that it can be up in the air about whether Din was found by Death Watch before his covert splintered off, or if his covert was still just wearing Death Watch colors when he was found. Fun thing to play around with, but right now I don’t want a solid timeline.

Hmm just thought I should add: while the Armorer does seem to have a position of authority, I don’t think the covert can be structured politically with clans and houses like other Mandalorian groups. Like, clan just means family in this context, and is less a part of hierarchy, and I don’t think they would even recognize houses within the covert? Like they MIGHT decide to call themselves part of House Djarin now that Din is Mand’alor, but before that they weren’t like. House Vizsla with Paz as the leader just because they used to be Death Watch. I don’t vibe with that. This isn’t really super relevant, I just wanted to add it.

4. Complaining about Bo-Katan:

Anyway Bo-Katan is absolutely full of shit and it’s doubly disgusting that she’s standing there in Death Watch armor, seemingly still allied to this fucking cult of imperialism and conquest, and she accuses Din of being in a regressive cult, and she implies that the way he engages with the Resol’nare is wrong and like. Repressed or something. God I hate Bo-Katan. But I love to hate her. She’s horrible but I want her to be included in the list of Din’s friends but not the list of people he’d trust his kid with. I have contradictory Bo-Katan feelings, whatever. The most important thing is that all of her opinions are horrible, like, all the time. And we shouldn’t trust her when she says Din’s part of a cult. Literally why does anyone take that at face value. If we’re taking her word as the authority on Mandalorian issues then I guess Boba and Jango aren’t Mandalorian!!! Seriously.

TLDR; Din’s covert (aka “Children of the Watch”) is made up of survivors of childhood abuse, torture, and brainwashing at the hands of Death Watch, and they’re dedicated to making sure their children don’t go through the same thing. They’re not a cult, but Death Watch sure was! Jaster Mereel is the love of my very aromantic life and Bo-Katan’s opinions can’t be trusted. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[zabrak-show]

When the Sun Comes Up | Maul x Reader

A/N: This was a request from @botherbother-blog​ using a prompt from this list. #33 “Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because you’re dangerous.”

I started this awhile back, but was hit with a bit of a block. I quite like the story and hope to continue it.

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Reader orphaned at a young age seeks vengeance. A strange man in dark robes prowls their city and an obsession blooms.

Warnings/Tags: Pre phantom menace, past trauma mentioned, loss of family, burns and scarring, disfigurement from burns, blood mentioned, no planet mentioned use your imagination and insert any that you like, gender neutral reader, morally gray reader, all set up pretty much so far.

AO3

Salty sea spray misted your face and the wind drew out your hair like wicked curlicues. Toes dipped into the wet sand, water pooling between them, the ebbing water’s edge dampening your hem. The gray sky mirrored the dull ache in your chest. The roaring of the waves allowed a small reprieve from the cacophony of voices swirling around your mind.

The man in black robes clung to your mind like seaweed wrapped around the driftwood on the shore. It was a mess. Impossible to distinguish where it all began and how to remove it without making a bigger mess in the act. Was the wood better or worse off with the seaweed? The seaweed would be fine either way. The seaweed gave no care in the world if the driftwood was there or not. It could find something else to cling to or float in the water on its own.

A speeder rumbled in the distance. The intensity of the moment grew as the buzzing of the speeder drew nearer and nearer. The beating of your heart thumped into your ears overtaking any and all other sounds. The thundering roar of the speeder was no match for your wicked heart. Even the ocean’s violent waves turned into background static.

You didn’t have to turn to feel his glowing amber eyes boring into you, into your soul. The sand cemented your feet into place, there was nowhere left to run. You turned to glimpse him, only a bit of his face shone under the dark robes now rustling in the sea breeze. Your stomach knotted and your breath hitched. His alluring mystery was more than you could stand.

For a moment, you imagined walking out into the sea. Letting the water have its way with you and disposing of you as it pleased. Ridding you of the utter madness of these thoughts, and these nightmares.

You’d followed him for weeks, studying his movements. Trying to make sense of someone whose sole life purpose was to take another’s life away. It was what you craved, after all though. It didn’t take long for him to catch you following him. The cat and mouse dance between you two was coming to a climax. Your guts, now replaced with bricks of uncertainty and eager anticipation of what was to come.

Duty called, revenge was so close you could taste it. You pushed the chaos out of your mind for the time being as you knelt down to pick up your side bag and shoes.

Revenge is all I need. Revenge is all I shall focus on from here on out.

He nodded his head, it was enough to know what he wanted.

You climbed atop the speeder and wrapped your arms around the man in black robes. You couldn’t ignore the warmth seeping into your hands from underneath his robes as you squeezed his middle for stability. You breathed in the smell of his musk; spicy, primal, and metallic. His recent kill still fresh on his skin and robes.

He was an assassin. Exactly the kind you imagined had killed your entire family and enslaved the rest of your clan. Pure dumb luck spared you. A tiny thing you were back then. The spaces between the walls were your playground. Hiding and scheming, dreaming up ridiculous pranks to play on your siblings. You’d barely made it out of the house on time when it went up in flames. Your body still holding the scars and disfigurement as proof.

For so long you had been alone on this dirtball. Alone with your thoughts of loss, sorrow, loneliness, and the ache of retribution that seemed so far fetched, yet was all that kept you clinging on to life. The others around you would never understand the ache in your belly. The ache that felt worse than any hunger pangs you’d experienced. Worse than the burns that never quite healed right across much of your skin.

“Stay away from the man in black robes.”

“He carries dark chaotic energy. A pure monster.”

“Cares nothing, but to kill.”

Whispers on the wind about the mysterious man who clung to the shadows and wielded power like none you’d seen before. You had to know more. This could not be a coincidence. Either he’d come back for you, to finish what he’d left all those years ago. Or he could lead you to who did.

You gripped him tighter still as he rounded a corner narrowly avoiding the cliffs on either side of you. He was firm and unmoving no matter how hard you squeezed it seemed. Not something you wanted to test exactly. You were only clinging to him for survival, of course. You would never choose to be so physically close with someone so...so evil. Yet you breathed him in, melting a bit into his back.

The speeder bike slowed and stopped with a soft clatter. You were slow to unhook your arms from him. Somehow the comfort of the moment had clouded your mind, but he stood and shook you off of him. Reality pooled back into your thoughts as you made your own way off the speeder.

He had taken you far away from anything and anyone. No one could hear you scream out here. There were cliffs flanking either side of you and the wind whistled through the crevasse, prickling your skin with the chill it carried.

He advanced with a smirk on his face. He was enjoying that he frightened you. This is the kind of thing that got him off, you supposed. What else would get an evil person so delighted.

“You may think I am evil. I am not. I am efficient.” He snarled out past grime-covered teeth.

“I...I don’t...I don’t think-”

“Why are you following me? Are you working for the Jedi?”

“A Jedi?! No, no I don’t know any Jedi. Why are you here? Who have you been killing?”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush. You looked down at the dried blood on his robes and back up to his glowing eyes. Instincts had you back away from him in fear. Afraid of what his answer would be. Afraid of his reaction.

He stepped towards you with a slow conviction, never breaking eye contact, until he was less than an arm’s length away. He grabbed your chin with a gloved hand and pulled your face up close to his. The leather of his gloves smelled new and it was soft and cool against your skin. His hold was firm, but not painful. A grimace overtook your features and you imagined spitting into his face, but held back out of fear.

“Now, you will quit following me and go back to doing whatever it is you do here.” He pushed you back with such force you half tumbled onto the rocky ground. He turned with a growl and started to mount his speeder.

“Wait.” you croaked out. “Wait, 18 years ago. Were you here 18 years ago?”

He paused atop the speeder and half turned towards you.

“Why?” he snarled.

“My family… someone, someone like you killed my entire family 18 years ago. That’s why I’ve been watching you.” It was a bold move. Laying all your cards on the table for him, but you had nothing left to lose. If he left you out here, defenseless as you were, you could die just as easily as by his hand. And if he’d wanted to kill you, he could have done it by now.

He remained in his half-turned seated position to respond, “No. No, I have never been here. And 18 years ago I was a small boy. I did not kill your family.”

He turned back to stare ahead of him and to turn the speeder on.

“Wait!”

You rushed to him, feet scrambling on the uneven terrain as you grabbed his arm.

“Please can you help me find who did?” His eyes grew big as he stared down at your hand clutching onto his arm through several layers of fabric. Stars, did he wear a lot of layers!

“I don’t have time for your problems. Hop on and I’ll take you back to where I found you.” He shook his arm free from your clutches and you climbed back on the speeder and held him close to you. He hesitated before taking off.

“But then you will leave me alone.”

You made no response and he took off.

The day was growing old and the night was settling in. Darkness crept all around, you could barely see where he was going, but trusted that he must. The warmth radiating off him took away the bite of the chill air whipping around you. You hugged him from behind, pressing your entire body and face against his back. Your eyelids weighed down and you blinked slow, each time harder to open them back up. It had been such a long day on the run and you were so tired if only to rest your eyes for a moment….

                                               *******

You awoke alone. Cold and dark on a metal bed with a thin sad excuse for a mattress and no blanket. Your body ached and convulsed with shivers. You sat up on the bed and looked around to get your bearings. It appeared you were on someone’s ship. How could that be? The last thing you remembered was, oh him. What had you gotten yourself into now?

Footsteps approached clanging on the metal floor plates. You looked down at the black leather boots now standing right next to you. Your eyes traveled up his black robes to his crimson face with intimidating black tattoos. You studied the designs for a moment, noting how they accentuated his already frightening and handsome features. You’d not seen him without his hood obscuring his face. You’d not seen the horns on his head that formed a perfect crown. He looked like a king. Your stomach turned upside down and your cheeks grew hot despite the cold air.

“You fell asleep on my speeder.”

His arms crossed at his chest and his permanent scowl stared down at you.

“I am terribly sorry. I um…” your teeth chattered from the cold and you hunched over trying to warm your bare arms.

“You should leave when the sun rises.”

“Do you have any blankets?”

He rolled his eyes and took off his cloak with finesse none like you’d seen anyone quite do when undressing before. Not even the dancers at the local saloon could pretend to carry themselves with such a flair for drama. He threw the cloak at you and you wrapped it around yourself. It was still warm and, stars, it smelled like him. You tried not to let on the pure rush of serotonin this maneuver had garnered by flashing a half-smile.

He started to walk away and you got up to follow him.

“What’s your name?”

He stopped and turned to face you. His grimy teeth bared in a grimace and he hissed in a breath of air.

“Maul.” He spat the name out at you and turned away, but you kept at him, following every footstep.

“Do you think you can help me, Maul? Help me find who killed my family?”

“I told you I don’t have time for that. I know nothing of what happened to your family and even if I did, I wouldn’t waste my time telling you about it or helping you in any way.” “Right, you’re busy. Maybe, maybe you could…” you stared at your feet, only your toes peeking out under his robes.

“Whatever it is you’re trying to spit out. No, No I can’t.”

You sighed. You were despondent. This was futile. He wouldn’t help you. Why would he? You were nothing from nowhere.

His comlink beeped and he rushed away to the cockpit of the ship. The door hissed shut behind him. You had until dawn to convince him otherwise. You mulled over the conversations of the day with him, as little as they were. There had to be something you could use to prove your worthiness. The door hissed open and it came to you at once.

“The Jedi.”

“What?!”

“The Jedi, you, you were asking if I was with the Jedi.”

“Yes, and?”

“I know where they are hiding on this planet. I can help you find them, if you help me.”

He pressed into you now with his entire body and you backed up until there was only the hallway wall and he didn’t let up. You were now overheated and unable to move.

“Tell me, why I shouldn’t torture and kill you for the information now?” His hot breath on your face drove you mad and your ears filled up with the thrumming of your heartbeat again.

“Because,” you squeaked out, “because you’ll need me to get into these places, they won’t suspect a local.”

He backed away a bit and put his hands against the wall at either side of your face, trapping you still. Your breath ran ragged and you didn’t hide it.

“Very well. When the sun comes up we shall test this theory of yours.” He let down his arms and backed away from you. Your body was rigid and felt like it would never relax even without his dominating form pressed into you. He studied you for a moment, giving you a once over with his eyes.

“You should get some sleep.”

“What about you? I mean, where do you sleep?”

“I don’t sleep. So whatever bantha fodder plan you’re thinking of, don’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t...I” you shook your head.

“Well, what then?”

“I wondered if you had a more comfortable bed?”

His scoff was answer enough. It was a stupid question. You’d never been on a starship before. You’d always imagined it being so much more luxurious.

You climbed back into the small dark bunk. At least you had his robe to keep you warm. You hoped his scent never wore off.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

so I’m sorry I start a million different little stories and then I lose momentum and yeah... but anyway it helps me to keep going if I get comments and reblogs (i hate acting like I’m begging, but just being honest as it does give me serotonin) so if you like this or any of my other stories in progress please please let me know! you can even send in an anon ask saying which one you’d like me to continue. thank you so much for reading! I truly adore you all!

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[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 5

Word Count: 6042 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine Ahsoka Tano, Rex, Mace Windu, Violence, Implied Torture, Fake Death, loss of limb (fingers)

Another one in by the skin of my teeth lol.

Anakin nodded at the pair of clones, red and white clad troopers from the Coruscant Guard, stationed in front of the outermost doors to the Chancellor’s suite as he strode past and inside to the office they’d always met in. The grand room, and the hall before it, looked as it always had during any of his visits: haloed in the sun’s light and filled with any number of priceless artifacts and fine, if simply constructed, furniture. And all of it painted a bright, rich red from floor to ceiling that gave way to the raised, warm gray flooring nearer the windows. He stopped before that raised section, hands fisted and trembling beneath the larger sleeves of his dark brown robe, and looked up, past the stairs and chairs and desk at its very center to the Chancellor himself, smiling placidly down at him.

“Anakin, my dear boy,” the Chancellor greeted, pleased, and it was all Anakin could do not to scream. “I wasn’t expecting you, but please come. Take a seat. I always have time for a friend.”

“My apologies, Chancellor,” he said neutrally. He offered a shallow bow, jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. It hurt to breathe, a vice wrapped around his chest and squeezing his lungs so painfully tight he thought he might suffocate on the spot. “We just got back from a” — horrible nightmare, he thought and only a hitch in his breath to give it away —“campaign in the Outer Rim. I thought the resupply was also a good excuse to give my Padawan and I some time to rest planetside. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important.”

“Not at all.” Pal— The Chancellor, shook his head, smile still in place, if a little tighter when he gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and said, again: “Please. Sit. How is your padawan doing? Last we spoke, you sounded quite frustrated. Understandable, of course,” he said, amiable and sympathetic. “Teenagers, especially her age, can be difficult, though I have no doubts that you’re doing your best.”

Anakin walked up the four steps to the platform and not an inch closer even as he offered a tight smile of his own. He tasted sour bile in the back of his mouth to hear the man so much as mention Ahsoka, even if he’d kept her name out of his mouth. Still, he bobbed his head in acknowledgment of the question and answered.

“She’s doing good, Your Excellency. I think we’ve come to understand each other a little better since the last time I was able to speak with you.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” said the Chancellor, sounding, to Anakin’s ears, just a fraction displeased at the news.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

They’d lost so many men.

Ahsoka hadn’t been able to purge that haunting sight from her since they’d hobbled back to the Resolute, victorious but silent. The bodies of men she’d slowly grown closer to lived on the backs of her eyelids, there to see every time she closed her eyes. All of them left behind like so much trash, unburied and with no time to mourn them as they hurried on to the next planet. The next battlefield. The next slaughter.

She shuddered, huddled up in a deserted corner of the ship — so deep in that she’d lost track of where exactly she’d walked — as far from everyone else as she’d been able to manage. Misery clung to her, sticking and ugly, and she knew. She knew it was worse for the men who’d lost their brothers. Their friends. So she sat alone, the tears long-dried on her cheeks, not wanting to interrupt or take up space she didn’t deserve. They weren’t her brothers, but they’d been her men for almost a year and she cared. More than she probably should.

“Hey, Snips.”

She jerked, eyes wide, not having heard her master coming down the corridor. He smiled, a wan, withering thing. Nothing at all like the usual bluster and brightness he showed off in front of everyone. She said nothing as he sat, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees, in front of her. He looked so tired. Stressed. He hadn’t been the neatest or most put-together looking Jedi she’d ever met, but he’d grown slowly worse since their last trip to Coruscant.

“Hey,” she said, voice duller than she’d meant it to be.

“How’re you holding up?” She considered the question. Considered lying, but…

“Not… not great.” Anakin hummed, but didn’t interrupt. She didn’t dare look at him as she spoke, not wanting to see how he felt about what she admitted. “I just— I don’t know—” She hooked her fingers into the thick, white fabric of her leggings and pulled her legs in closer. “I wanted to be a Jedi so bad.” She hated how she choked on the words, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I still do, really. But. But there’s just so much—

“It’s awful,” she whispered and startled when an arm settled over her shoulder and pulled so she was pressed tight to her master’s side. Wrapped up in her roiling emotions as she’d been, she hadn’t even noticed him move. She sniffled, turning to hide her face in his dark tunic. “There’s so much death, master. So much pain. I feel it all the time and I. I don’t know how to—”

The words died in her throat, smothered by an awful sob half-muffled by her master’s warmth. He rubbed her shoulder as she cried, pulled in as close as either could physically manage.

“How do you do it, Master,” she croaked once she’d mostly calmed. “How do you not care so hard?” She felt him still next to her, almost a flinch. Before she could apologize, take the words and this moment back and flee to her room, he answered, his own voice low and soft. Gentle.

“You never stop, Snips. You just … learn. You put it aside when you’re needed, and work through it when you’re not.” He sighed. “I’m not— Well. You know I’m not always great with my emotions, not like Obi-Wan or some of the other Masters.” She nodded in the lull, waiting for him to gather himself. “But the worst of it, the parts that’d only hurt you or the men to see? I keep it locked in a little box with an old fashioned lock and key, stashed away until I have time to meditate or process or even just when I work on a ship or droid.

“Every time we come back from a campaign and I count how many we’ve lost, I feel it so hard I think I’ll never breathe again. Usually, I’ll rely on Obi-Wan if it’s bad enough and he knows he can lean on me if he needs it. You, my young Padawan, can come to me any time you need to,” he said, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Anytime. Any reason. Even if it’s just to sit quietly together.”

Ahsoka nodded, not feeling better but not quite as alone either.

“Can we meditate?” She asked, voice trembling and tiny.

“Of course,” he said. Neither of them moved, not just yet.

“Hey Skyguy?” Anakin hummed a response. “You can count on me too, if you want.”

He said nothing for a long moment, and she saw his other hand twitch from the corner of her eyes — a brief motion, there and done.

“I know,” he murmured, so quietly a human wouldn’t have heard him even though her montrals picked the words up easily. “I know.”

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Anakin sucked in a deep, bracing breath, willing himself to be still and patient for just a little longer despite how every second he stood there only fueled the pit of anger coiled tightly in his gut. It had been easier, on the Resolute — in space and among his men where he didn’t have to look at the face of a man who’d lied to him for as long as they’d known each other. A man he’d defended against criticism and let whisper in his ear. A man he’d let slowly poison him from the inside until the rot had settled deep in the core of him, a permanent fixture he looked upon with shame and regret. And anger.

“I’m afraid I haven’t come just to visit an old friend, though.” His voice, miraculously, didn’t so much as waver, the words flowing as smoothly from him as they never had.

The Chancellor’s eyes seemed to narrow for a moment — so quick he almost thought he’d misinterpreted it, a trick of the light and nothing more — before he spoke, his tone even and jovial. “And what can I do to help you then, Anakin? Or have you come as Knight Skywalker? On behalf of the Jedi, perhaps,” he said, not a question. Anakin shook his head in answer regardless.

“I’m not here on behalf of the Jedi, Chancellor, but I am here as a Knight of the Order though I act alone.” He swallowed and carefully, slowly, reached down to his belt where his lightsaber hung, singing to him so faintly at that moment that it could have been miles away. The Chancellor didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch, as he pulled the cool, metal casing from its clip and held it, unlit, in the palm of his flesh hand.

“What have you come here for, Knight Skywalker?”

A chill seemed to settle in the air between them that set every nerve in Anakin’s body aflame, alive and electric through his limbs so that he felt even the faint, phantom pain in his prosthetic. He curled his mechanical fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching them for a few tense seconds the way he sometimes did before battle, when he worried that very pain might get in the way and cost more of his men their lives. His shoulders strained with the tension creeping into him, and he struggled to keep let it go.

“Chancellor Palpatine, I accuse you of being a Sith Lord and traitor to the Republic.”

The Chancellor laughed like Anakin had told a particularly funny joke, and said: “My boy, I am an old man who has dedicated his life, and a decade already as Chancellor, to the betterment of the Republic. How could I possibly be a-a Sith?” He asked, just the right amount of incredulity saturating the question. “I fear, my boy, that you are tired — this war has taken its toll on us all, and with you needed so often on the front and so firmly in the thick of the worst of it. Well, it hurts, but I’m unsurprised to find even a young man as impressive as you, my friend, might be swayed by this cruel joke under the circumstances.”

“It isn’t a joke,” Anakin snarled, finally losing the firm grip he’d kept on his anger. “I saw you.” The man stilled, thin lips pressed together in a grim line as he sat back in his chair too peer at Anakin like he were a bug. “I saw you,” he said again, breathing heavily, almost panting. “In your office, your private office, just before the 501st shipped out last time. Talking to Dooku.” He spat the name like a curse, filthier than any other word in his vocabulary.

“My boy, whatever you thought you saw—”

“He called you Sidious. He called you Master.” He bared his teeth at the man who’d been his friend, white-knuckled grip on his saber’s hilt tightening almost painfully. “You’ve betrayed the Republic.

“I am the Republic!” Anakin staggered when The Chancellor’s eyes flashed, bright yellow instead of deep brown.

“You’re a traitor,” Anakin bellowed back, finally igniting his lightsaber at his side. “You’ll turn yourself in, or I’ll bring you in myself. It’s my duty as a Jedi,” he said, not at all the confident declaration he’d meant it to be.

“Just as it was your duty to — what was it again? Eschew attachments?” Anakin flinched, but grit his teeth, determined. “My boy, Anakin, please see reason.”

“Reason? What reason? You’re-you’re a Sith!” He widened his stance as the Chancellor finally stood up from behind the desk, leaning forward on his hands against its smooth surface. His gaze burned into Anakin’s, boring in with such intensity he feared the man saw right down to the deepest, most vulnerable parts of him no matter how hard Anakin might try to keep him out. “You were my friend,” he said, nearly a whisper and not at all what he’d meant to.

“I still am.” The Chancellor smiled, but Anakin felt none of the warmth from it that he used to. “I can help you, Anakin. I can help you keep your loved ones safe in these awful times. I can give you the power to keep them safe with your own two hands. Power the Jedi could only dream of.” He paused, eyes gleaming bright and greedy as he said: “I could give you the galaxy.”

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Rex watched his general putter about the camp, looking more a mess than usual. He seemed not unlike a droid, his every move mechanically rote as he went about his tasks and his gaze distant in that way Rex sometimes saw on shell shocked shinies. He pursed his lips, grip on his bucket tightening a fraction. Their last campaign had been rough: heavy losses and a victory won by the skin of their teeth. He’d seen how it had left the Commander, much as Ahsoka had tried to hide it, and the next one was gearing up to be just as bad or worse if the 212th were held up.

General Skywalker, however, had been worrying him since long before. He didn’t know how much his general thought he was fooling Rex — and it rankled that he might have if not for little moments like this — but he wouldn’t fool anyone if this went on much longer. He’d heard troopers talking, spotting Skywalker up at all hours of the night, amiable enough but also mumbling to himself when he thought no one would see. Rex had done his best to keep the worst of it under wraps: making up reasons for the general’s wandering, erasing the occasional unauthorized flight on his personal junker of a ship, filling in reports that skipped his notice or forging them altogether.

What he couldn’t hide, Rex waved away as a symptom of how busy Jedi generals were in general. Easy to do when the only ones to work consistently closely with them were the Commanders — and Rex, considering he filled the role for the 501st.

He’d considered telling Cody at the very least, if not General Kenobi himself, but he’d put it off. Every time he came across evidence that something was wrong, he’d brushed it off. At first with assurances that the general was just stressed. That he’d course correct on his own and all would go back to how it had been. When it worsened, Rex had asked his general directly, needing to know if whatever had happened would affect his performance — if it would put men’s lives in danger.

Anakin had looked him in the eyes that day and promised he had it handled.

Whatever “it” was.

Rex trusted his general with his life. With his brothers’ lives. So it hurt, a physical pain in his chest, to know his general didn’t trust him enough to let him help. For his general — his friend — he’d do anything, even if it got him decommissioned. Had already, to some extent.

“Captain,” a shiny said, prying his attention away from Skywalker and back to the bustle of setting up camp. “Commander Cody’s on the line for you.”

Rex nodded and shoved his bucket back on his head. He spared one last glance at his general before following the trooper back to the hastily put together command tent, wondering all the way there if this was a sign for him to speak up.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Anakin swallowed, mouth dry as the desert planet he’d been born on. The part of him that would always be nine and scared, then nineteen and mourning, found the offer compelling. Power to keep everyone safe: Padmé, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex and his men. To have the galaxy fall in line so wars like this one never came about again. To break the chains keeping sentients fettered, abused and terrified. To do what he wanted without the constraints the Jedi imposed upon him and all their members. It appealed so well to that not-insignificant part of him that hated his own fear and weakness and the uncertainty of the future.

It scared him, how enticing the offer was and how tempted he was to forsake everything he knew and everything he’d been taught in exchange for that promise. All that held him back was the single, nagging feeling itching at the back of his skull. He probed at it, poking at what lay below the desire and fear until he found th rest of him — the parts the darkness didn’t call to so strongly.

The parts of him molded by the people he loved, nurtured by what he’d been taught at the Jedi’s feet, and built on the foundations his Mom had laid down for him in his childhood. The parts that whispered to him to be cautious. To be vigilant. To remember that nothing so golden, so perfect, came without a cost.

What was the price to be paid for the Chancellor’s offer?

What would he lose in exchange?

Everything, that tiny part of him whispered.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Obi-Wan smiled at Ahsoka as she skipped back towards her and Anakin’s troops, all of them nearly finished with the necessary preparations needed to leave this Force-forsaken planet. He watched the troops mingle, chatting and catching up as much as they could. Even his commander had loosened up in the afermath of a hard-won battle, leaned against a crate of supplies as he spoke with Rex.

The only person he hadn’t been able to find in the organized chaos had been his former padawan.

Anakin seemed to have disappeared entirely, not a trace of him anywhere which seemed odd to him. He turned toward Rex and Cody, intent on asking where he might find the wayward knight, only to slow and then stop altogether when he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“—know. But it’s … something.” Rex frowned, hands balled into tight fists at his side. Cody sighed.

“If he’s breaking regs,” Cody said archly, but didn’t finish the thought. Rex, in Obi-Wan’s humble opinion, looked rather much like he wanted to punch the other man.

“I’m not turning him in,” Rex hissed, low enough that Obi-Wan had to strain to hear him. “The general’s just … he’s in a bad way right now and I don’t know how to kriffing help if he won’t let me.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips into a thin line, drawing back before he heard Cody’s response. He hadn’t known Anakin had been doing poorly, though in what capacity he wasn’t yet sure. He’d hardly spoken to Anakin at all the last few months, busy as they’d both been. Still, if the captain was so worried, enough to bring it to Cody, then. Well.

He made a mental note to himself to check in on his former padawan. He knew the 501st were due for leave soon, a quick resupply over Coruscant that would give Anakin and Ahsoka both time to visit the Temple. Perhaps after, he’d make the call, or better yet: find some time to get their two battalions together outside of battle.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

He breathed out, a single slow, measured breath, and set his jaw. When he looked at the Chancellor — at Sidious — his choice had been made. Sidious scowled even before Anakin spoke, wrinkled and severe and not a hint at all of the man he had trusted.

“No.” He brought his saber up into Djem So’s opening stance. “I am a Jedi, and I’ll do what I must.”

“So it’s treason, then,” Sidious sneered, pulling a lightsaber of his own from his robes. Anakin felt the last dregs of his hope drain when the blade lit, its blood-red light casting Sidious’ face into eerie relief as the lights in the room grew suddenly dim.

Anakin nodded once, a short, sharp jerk of his head. He breathed in, taking a brief moment to steel himself as the room’s tension and chill grew bloated and oppressive. For a moment neither of them moved. Coruscant itself seemed to freeze, from every sentient on-planet to its very rotation in space. And then, all at once, life exploded back into action.

Sidious leaped out from behind his desk at the same time Anakin surged forward. Their lightsabers scraped each other mid-air, the barest, buzzing touch as he kept that ominous, red blade from slicing at his shoulder. He spun quickly on his heel to meet Sidious’ offensive attack from behind. Their sabers clashed, properly locked and spitting as each of them tried to over-power the other.

He threw the entirety of his weight into every attack, pressing forward and pushing Sidious back. But nothing landed. Anakin growled, moving faster. Pushing. Pressing. But nothing. Fucking. Landed. Sidious whirled, inelegant but effective. Power bolstered by experience and skill. Every slash blocked. Every thrust parried. Every move economical and calculated and a near perfect counter to Anakin’s own aggressive style.

“You have such potential,” Sidious crooned at him, their sabers locked once again, the energy buzzing and crackling loudly in Anakin’s ears. “You could be so much more than you are, my boy.”

Anakin dug his heels in the carpet and pushed, shoving as much of the Force as he could into it even as the effort left his gasping for breath. Gasping, but victorious when it at least shut the Sith up and sent him sailing across the room if not into the wall like he’d wanted. He grinned at Sidious’ responding glower and merely adjusted his grip on his lightsaber with a shrug. Taunting Dooku’s master as much as he dared.

“Join me, Anakin,” Sidious said, unmoving from where he’d landed and looking somehow unbothered behind the anger radiating from him. “Join me and cease this foolishness.”

“Never,” he hissed, and leaped forward with help from the Force.

They clashed. Separated. Clashed again. Neither gained ground, even as Anakin found himself tiring, slowly but surely. He winced when a glancing blow caught his arm, searing and slicing a neat, shallow line from elbow to shoulder. Anakin managed a nastier slash at the Sith’s legs, and nearly laughed when he caught Sidious’ ankle as he leaped and watched him stagger on the landing.

Fury, thick and startling and like nothing Anakin had felt before even on the front lines, oozed from Sidious then. Anakin, sweating and exhausted, stilled. Tense and suddenly nervous. Something slick and malicious wrapped around his throat, and before he’d even registered that it was the Force — Sidious using the Force — it squeezed, cinched closed and cutting off his air.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Sidious said, sincerity dripping like poison from his words. “I had a plan, you see. A place for you at my side, and. Well, it might be earlier than I’d hoped, but I’m nothing if not accommodating. Don’t you agree?”

“Shut.” Anakin gagged, the invisble vice squeezing ever tighter as the seconds ticked past. “Up.” He fumbled for the Force as dark spots dotted his vision, but felt it slip through his fingers like sand. “Sith.”

Sidious hummed, paced calmly closer to Anakin like they had all the time in the world. And maybe they did. Those were clone troopers out front, and Anakin had paid a slicer more than enough credits in his attempts to gather evidence against Sidious for at least the vague confirmation that they, specifically, could be controlled. He had no doubts, now, that Sidious, among those involved in this conspiracy, could and would do just that.

The Force squeezed a fraction harder — any more and his neck would snap — before easing, just enough for him to gasp, coughing and spluttering as fresh air returned to his burning lungs. He fell to his hands and knees, blinking back tears and the graying haze that had crept into his vision. He barely noticed when Sidious stopped in front of him and bent to pick his lightsaber up off the ground where he didn’t remember dropping it.

“What a tragedy,” Sidious said, laying a withered hand on Anakin’s head like a child needing comfort. He would have tried to bite the old man’s fingers off if he hadn’t still been struggling to catch his breath, just enough pressure still on his throat to keep him from fully recovering. “The disappearance of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, The Hero with no Fear who tried so hard to defend the Republic’s beloved Chancellor from the Separatist assassin, Ventress. Who took off in pursuit when she fled, without backup despite the Chancellor’s pleas — always a hothead, that one.”

“Shut up,” Anakin croaked, pain straining his voice. The hand in his hair tightened, not painfully. Not yet. A warning to keep silent — a warning to be ignored as soon as he could fucking breath again.

“What a shame,” Sidious continued, “how the young man was caught unawares.”

Anakin’s stomach dropped, fear like ice crawling through his veins as the meaning behind Sidious’ monologue finally started to register. He moved and the pressure on his throat worsened in response. He shouldn’t have come. The thought hit him like a blaster bolt to the chest.

He shouldn’t have come. He should have told someone. Should have tried harder to gather evidence against the Chancellor, even though he’d lost sleep over it for months — trying and failing and trying again only to come up empty-handed every time. Sdious was smart and his plan had been in motion probably for longer than Anakin had been alive.

Even if they’d never believe him, he should have told someone.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

“Padmé.” Anakin said her name like it was the sun itself and he a man without its light all his life.

She smiled, held his face between the palms of her hands, and pulled him down into one of the softest, gentlest kisses they’d shared since the war had started. He practically melted against her, boneless if not quite relaxed. She pulled back first, brow furrowed and lips pursed as she studied his face. He hadn’t looked great the last time they’d talked over a holo, but now he looked worse.

The bags under his eyes were deep, dark smudges that looked like bruises in the dim light of her apartment. He looked drawn, paler than a man on the front lines more often than not should be, with dry, chapped lips and a gauntness to him that might have been as much a trick of the light as the early signs that he’d not been eating well. His hands trembled against her waist, a fine tremor she felt through the thin nightdress he’d caught her in. She hadn’t expected him to come by, not so late at night and certainly not looking half-dead.

“Anakin, what’s wrong? Should I call a healer?” she asked, smoothing a thumb over his lips, his cheek, under his eye. He shook his head, turning so he could kiss her palm. He ran so warm normally that it scared her to feel him so cold. Like death, she thought and it sent a foreboding thrill down her spine.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, his bright, blue eyes never leaving hers. She’d have found it romantic if not for how much it scared her just then.

“You’re scaring me, Anakin. Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“ ‘M sorry.” He lifted one hand told hold hers, the same one he’d kissed, and brushed his lips over her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said again and Padmé thought she might cry from how wretched he sounded. “Don’t leave tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Don’t go to work. Stay here.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

“Anakin, I can’t just— just skip. There’s an important bill we’re trying to pass and if I’m not there—” He squeezed her hand, not painfully but not gently either, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Anakin?” She moved to touch his face again, but he drew back. She gasped, a quiet, hurt noise pulled from her lips.

“Just tomorrow,” he said, sounding desperate. Scared. “Just tomorrow, please Angel. Please.” She swallowed, wide eyed and trembling now herself, but nodded.

“Alright. Alright, I promise, but only if you tell me what’s going on. Okay?” He hesitated, but acquiesced.

“After,” he said and she said nothing else before pulling him to bed by the hand.

He curled up beside her, pressed as close as physically possible with his head pressed to her breast as she kissed the top of his head and smoothed a hand through his unruly hair. She didn’t know how long they laid there, silent but awake before sleep claimed her. When she woke, he was gone and the place in her bed where he’d lain had gone cold. In his place were a note and a datastick.

I’m Sorry, the note read, written in his slanted, messy cursive. Padmé felt tears prick at her eyes, something thick and awful and nauseating curling in her stomach as she picked the datastick up and moved to plug it into the datapad she kept on her nightstand.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

He closed his eyes, let the pang of regret flow down and into him, then, finally, out. It came so suddenly easy, feeling what he needed before letting go, that he wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. All his time as a Jedi he’d struggled, and he chose this moment to finally embrace — understand — what it was they’d been trying to teach him all along.

“Get to the point,” he said, trying to sound brave and not like he could fall apart at any second. The hand in his hair pulled, jerked his head up so he could look at those ugly, Sith eyes and Sidious’ grotesque grin. He’d spit if he could, but the Force tightened on his throat like Sidious had plucked the thought from his mind.

“The point,” the Sith hissed, “is that I will not waste the years I spent molding my perfect Apprentice.” Sidious crooned the word like it should mean more to Anakin. Like it shouldn’t make him sick to his stomach. “There is a place for you at my side, boy, whether you are there willingly or not.”

Sidious let him go, so suddenly he nearly fell on his face. Anakin blinked, confused as he pushed himself up, and caught the edge of that same, awful grin. Saw Sidious raise a hand, fingers splayed and pointing at him, and then nothing at all as he crackle of electricity and his own screaming filled the room.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Mace’s head throbbed, the same pounding pain that had lingered in his temples for months now. A shatterpoint, he knew, but any specific knowledge about it had remained firmly out of reach. Regardless of his headache — he’d had long years of practice managing it — he strolled into the Council’s Chambers, calm as a Jedi Master should be despite the urgency of the emergency meeting called. Problems, it seemed, just loved to pile up. First, an attack on the Chancellor in his own office the week before, then the disappearance of Knight Skywalker, and now whatever new event had cropped up.

He sighed, taking his seat among the mix of present Councilors. All of them, he was surprised to note, though most had called in via holo. Once he’d been seated, the room quieted and every eye turned to Master Yoda who’d called them together. The old troll’s face looked grim, his ears drooped as he all but hunched over his gimmer stick. Slick, icy dread slithered down Mace’s spine, knowing he wouldn’t like whatever the old Master had to say.

“Master Yoda?” Kenobi’s voice, mildly tinny over the holo, broke the silence when Master Yoda failed to speak up. The old Master seemed to wilt even further.

“Received a recording, we did, from Dooku.” Every Jedi in the room jerked, though none looked more than serenly alarmed at the news. “A datapad, he sent, early this morning. And another a gift.” Yoda’s voice wavered on the last word, just enough to be noticeable.

“May we see the device?” Plo Koon tipped his head to one side as he asked the question, a request made more for Yoda’s benefit than because any of them had any real need to see Dooku’s message for themselves.

Yoda shook his head and said: “With the investiators, it is. Work, they will, to see if a trick this is not. Deceiving us, Dooku may be.”

“Deceiving us?” Master Kolar leaned forward in his seat, a frown marring his features. Master Yoda nodded.

“Bring news, he does, of our missing knight.” Mace saw Kenobi jolt at the statement, wide-eyed. His fellow councilor had been devastated at the news of his former padawan’s disappearance. A few of the other Master’s spared Kenobi a sympathetic glance, before returning their attention to Master Yoda. “Claim, he does, that Knight Skywalker’s death his assassin, Ventress, is responsible for. Chased, he says she was, after thwarting an attempt on the Chancellor by young Skywalker she was.”

“Anakin,” Kenobi started, voice strangled. Mace frowned, rested his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers as he closed his eyes. “Anakin has fought Ventress many times, and come out unscathed before. To claim she killed him…” he trailed off.

“A gift, Dooku sent as well,” Yoda reminded.

The earlier chill in Mace’s spine solidified into a pit behind his stomach, a near physical weight as he said, low and pained: “Proof.”

The room was silent. Still. Their combined dread and anticipation thickened the air until it grew hard to breathe.

“Yes.”

Mace opened his eyes. He looked first to Obi-Wan, lips thinned but otherwise wearing a perfectly blank mask, and then to Master Yoda’s own grief-stricken face.

“His prosthetic and saber I have kept here to show you, but the rest. To the Healers for tests it has gone.”

“Healers?” Obi-Wan’s blank facade cracked. Mace was sure Obi-Wan’s face would have been pale as a sheet if not for the blue-tint of he holo-image projected onto his chair. Yoda said nothing for a long time, though Mace didn’t know if it was reluctance or grief that stalled him. “Master,” Obi-Wan whispered, and Mace felt sympathetic tears prick at his eyes for all the grief he could hear in that word alone. “Please.”

“Fingers,” Yoda said, grave and bland and disgusted. “Knight Skywalker’s, the Healers confirmed not long ago.”

Mace heard a few of the Masters’ gasp, and Obi-Wan’s own strangled, horrified noise, but Mace kept silent. Let his eyes slip closed once more, and bowed his head as a wave of bitter grief swept over him.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Anakin never woke for long, but when he did there were always two constants: pain and Sidious.

And hope. Always hope.

That Padmé had read what he’d left on the datastick — not enough but a start, and she’d always been so much smarter than him — and forgave him for the lie. For leaving.

Hope that Sidious would choke on his food and die, even if it meant Anakin rotted away in this cell.

Hope that the apologies he’d written to Ahsoka, Rex, and Obi-Wan made it to them, even if he hadn’t included half as much information in them as he had in his Angel’s.

And hope that maybe, one day, he might be saved. That Sidious’ attempt to deceive everyone would, at least this once, fail.

“How much longer will you remain disobedient, my Apprentice,” Sidious said as he slipped into the cell. Anakin closed his eyes for only a brief moment before turning a glare on his captor.

“Dunno,” he croaked, “how much longer ‘r you gonna live?”

Sidious hissed and repaid him with a blast of lightning in response.

Anakin screamed.

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 19

Prompt: sleep deprivation

Warnings: graphic descriptions of torture, hallucinations

Read on AO3

Eyes Wide Shut

Panic rises in his throat as he stares at the shadows that creep up the wall. Obi-Wan flinches at flashes of light and dark, secretly hoping that they are some sort of hallucination.

Hallucinations would mean he would have an excuse to feel like the world is unraveling. Maybe the lack of sleep is finally clouding his mind enough for him to see what isn't there, or worse, a glimpse into what is beyond. He feels close enough to death to touch it, so why shouldn't he see it too?

He needs to rest. Shut his eyes and let his jail cell fade into darkness. But the analog clock hasn't moved in what feels like hours, but he knows it's only been seconds. In the rare moments when his captors aren't blaring horrible sounds that blew out his eardrums days ago, he still seems to be able to hear the damned clock. Tick, tick, ticking continuously until it makes him forget how many tick tick's he's counted and the tick tick tick longer hand is pointing at a new number. He doesn't remember that much time passing (tick tick tick tick), but such is life in captivity. Periods that feel long are actually a blink or two, and moments that he thinks he's finally found control again turn out to only be an illusion.

He lies on his side, knees tucked into his chest. Wiping away tears he doesn't remember shedding, he pretends he isn't alone. He has never told anyone, but some nights, he finds no sleep unless he imagines imaginary arms encompassing his body. A certain someone that makes his chest ache when he thinks about them too much tucked against his side and acting as his valiant protector from the horrors of the night. It's been a long time since he last shared a bed. As much as he knows he doesn't need it, he wants it because for once it would be nice to feel an ounce of comfort.

Because laying on the freezing, hard ground for any longer than a few minutes makes his body go numb. And even if he manages to muster enough strength to manifest the ghost of warm arms wrapping around his torso and a chin nestling into the crook of his neck, it fades before he has a chance to pretend he's anywhere else but locked in this prison.

He thinks he sees a flash of bright blue, or maybe green, and for a moment he thinks he's saved. But no, his mind has seemingly decided that his current torturers aren't doing a well enough job, so it dangled hope in front of his face for good measure. It's a trick of the mind. Another convincing piece of evidence that his heart pounding against his chest cavity and the pressure building in his veins aren't the only things manifesting in his sleeplessness.

Hallucinations would mean maybe he's finally cracking. Finally breaking under the pressure as many before have hoped to do to him. Obi-Wan has been through worse feats-- more pain, more bodily harm, but somehow this is a new circle of hell. Worse than a couple of days with no shut-eye. At least then he has battles or missions or other people to distract him from the exhaustion in his bones. But this... this is like a piece of Zigoola resurfacing from its hiding space in the depths of his mind.

(Sometimes if he's quiet enough he can hear the prayerful chant die Jedi, die Jedi die. Interestingly enough, he can't hear it now. Only the tick of the clock.)

Hallucinations would mean the lines between reality and whatever the hell else there is would blur completely.

Strangely, the prospect of such an existence is becoming more and more appealing.

Maybe in this augmented reality, he could finally find peace. For himself. For the galaxy. Never in his life has he wished so earnestly for a moment of quiet and stillness. Everything seems to be going wrong. The tides are turning and as much as the Republic likes to spout off about how they're the ones to come out on top, Obi-Wan has a feeling they're going to be the ones swept under the tidal wave.

(He has no evidence for this except for a lifetime of being told to trust his feelings.)

So how do you tell that to millions of soldiers created for the sole purpose of war? Or to the Jedi he fights alongside? The padawans who had to grow up too fast, and the Masters who have lost everyone in their lineage? Perhaps they're thinking it too-- he isn't so vain to assume he is the only one who cannot stand the sight of the Holonet anymore because none of it lines up with what actually happens on those battlefields. Or that he sees the way the civilians cower from both the Separatists and the Republic. Likewise, how they air their disdain with equal prejudice. They have to see it, right? The foundation crumbling beneath their feet? The chasm they walk a very thin tightrope across?

If he's lucky, all of this has been one big dream. One big escape from reality and he will wake up in the Jedi Temple with the smell of Qui-Gon's favorite tea brewing and a padawan braid hanging from behind his ear. Because Obi-Wan is pretty sure the last time the galaxy had some semblance of normalcy was before he was forced to cut Maul in half.

He stares at the shadows that claw across the ceiling, menacing and vile as they draw in the last drops of light. If the faces he sees staring back at him are only a hallucination, he will be satisfied. Because facing them for real is a feat he isn't ready for, so he closes his eyes as though that will keep the ghosts from following him.

And that's the problem with dreams, he thinks, I yield control to the wills of my mind, and I have no confidence it will be any less horrifying than the reality I currently live.

But the moment ends with what sounds like the scream of a dying krayt dragon being blasted into the room from all directions, and Obi-Wan jumps to his knees in surprise before toppling over once again. He covers his ears as though that will keep out the noise or the vibrations that shake every cell of his existence, curling back into the ball he just had himself in. If he separates from himself enough, goes to another place where the gray walls become mere blurs and the Force acts as static, the screaming of the krayt dragon becomes nothing but background noise. Enough to ignore the pain as the scars in his ears tear open and blood drips down his collar. Enough to hope that the next noise they play might be slightly more pleasant.

Maybe if they play one loud enough, he will go deaf completely, and then Obi-Wan will find some peace.

The cell is fourteen of his foot length across, and fourteen wide. He hasn't yet measured, but he suspects they're fourteen tall as well. Made entirely of reinforced durasteel with no clear door, he suspects they built the prison around him.

For the thousandth time since he awoke here, he screams into the Force: why?

On the third day, he received an answer: why not?

For some reason, this doesn't surprise him.

He sees the face of Qui-Gon, stoic yet kind-eyed. For a moment at least, and then his expression changes to wide eyes and deathly pale complexion.

"Promise me," he says. Obi-Wan doesn't need to hear the rest to know what he's promising. It's been a staple of his nightmares for years.

"Promise me,"  Satine says as he leaves his master lying on the ground. He looks up in horror.

"Promise what?"

"Promise me you will move on."

He swallows hard, reaching out for her slender face and bright eyes. "Move on from what, my darling?" But as he tries to cradle her cheek and feel her soft skin against his hand, she vanishes into thin air. "Move on from what?" he whispers.

And he is alone again.

If he really is seeing lightsabers floating through space and ghosts of people that he held in his arms as they passed and hearing the voices of the dark side lingering somewhere in the nearby shadows, then maybe this is his final spiral. He isn't even sure if anyone has noticed he's even gone yet. The worst part is he has no idea what the purpose of all of this.

Why?

They haven't asked him any questions, haven't tried to take anything from him. Just put him in this cell and decided to keep him awake.

Why not?

Sleep was never a natural state for Obi-Wan, but five days without a moment of unconsciousness is enough to drive anyone mad.

There is no end, there is only the Force. He reminds himself of this as he presses his fingers against the quickened pulse against his neck at the tempo of an upbeat cantina band. He's past the point of caring about the cold water they spray on him or the racket they blast through the speakers or the things that may or may not be real. Let them. I welcome it, now.

But a part of him still screams at him to fight. Oh, how he wants to silence the bugger, but it only makes another part of him speak up to remember his training and what he stands for. I've withstood worse, his mind reminds him. And yes, he has. But his life has been a continuous pursuit of one-upping his last mission injury or torture regiment and stars Obi-Wan is so tired.

What about Anakin?

Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath.

Promise me, Obi-Wan...

Not even the voice of Qui-Gon comforts him anymore, and he buries his face in his hands.

It isn't even the hallucinations or the torture anymore. What is really wrong is that the galaxy is crumbling and the Force is on fire and he's choking on the smoke. Limbs pinned down by the screaming that's he's okay. I don't need help. Which is such a fucking lie because he can feel the life draining as quickly as time feels like it's passing. He can feel that darkness is coming and coming quickly. There is no way to stop it. No way to slow it. Like waiting for the whistle tone to drone out his next attempt to nap, all he can do is watch it as it arrives.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

But when he looks, the clock hand hasn't moved yet, and a part of him is happy another hour hasn't passed. And a part of him dreads the idea that maybe he'll be stuck in this moment forever.

__________

Anakin stands among a room full of dismembered bodies, his chest heaving with residual adrenaline from the fight. He wields not only his own weapon but his former Master's. All that was left behind when he disappeared. The clone troopers pour in moments later, unsurprised by the carnage. Anakin wastes no time in taking the two weapons and plunging them into the durasteel wall of the suspended prison.

He forms a circle large enough for two people to fit through, and he jumps into the tiny cell. The first thing that hits him is the smell. It's not of death, but of the moments before. They've arrived just in time it seems.

"Obi-Wan?" he says gently as his gaze falls on a crumbled figure tucked in the corner. His former master looks horrendous, dirty and bloody and deathly pale. When Anakin says his name his eyes raise slowly, and he is shocked to see the wild look in them.

"Anakin?" he rasps, his voice sounding raw. From the red rims around his eyes and the puffiness of his cheeks, it's obvious he's been crying. "No... it can't be." he whispers, and rolls into himself, turning toward the wall. Anakin is stunned. What the hell did they do to you, Master?

"No, Obi-Wan, it's really me," he says, kneeling down next to him and placing a hand on his wrist. When he touches his skin, Obi-Wan jumps as though he's seen a ghost. He looks at Anakin with wide eyes and mouth agape.

"Anakin?" he repeats, grabbing his hand and then his wrist and feeling the material of his tunic. "Anakin!" Before he can react, Obi-Wan has thrown himself into his arms. Anakin ignores the stench and hugs him tightly, relief washing through him to be near his former master again.

"I've got you, Master. I've got you."

Obi-Wan's head rests on his shoulder, holding the embrace long enough Anakin's body starts to cramp. When he pulls back, the Jedi Master's head bobs back, lightly snoring.

"Obi-Wan did you... did you fall asleep?"

"Sir," Rex's voice rings out as Anakin gently lays his master on his back until they can get a stretcher in here.

"What is it?"

Rex's helmet is off, and he looks at him with serious eyes. "They've been keeping him awake."

"The whole time?"

"I only skimmed through the footage but..."

Anakin looks back at him, sleeping soundly-- probably for the first time in 120 hours. His knuckles go white as he grips the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Have medical take him in. And by no means wake him up."

Rex nods and walks out of the doorway Anakin cut to call for Kix. Anakin stands from the ground, looking around the tiny cell. The only thing that stands out is a clock hanging on the wall, the old kind that they don't really make anymore. The kind with the hands. The ticking is obnoxiously loud, echoing off the unpadded walls of the cell.

He takes Obi-Wan's saber, ignites it, and swiftly slices the clock in half. It falls, but he catches it with the Force before it hits the ground.

The cell goes quiet, except for the quiet snores of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

[tishinada]

100 Days of Writing – Day 19

So, I absolutely refuse to frame the Dark side of the Force in SWtOR as “evil” and the Light side as “good” in my story. As far as I can tell, they're simply different schools of thought about accessing it. We have “gray” alternatives that pop up – the Voss mystics and healers, the Knights and Scions of Zakuul, the group on Manaan, and so on. It isn't how they access the Force that's “good” or “bad”, it's what they do with it.

One of my main reasons for this and one of my major issues with SWtOR's writing: they wrote the Sith species (and their Force-sensitive descendants) as biologically (genetically) “evil” as a species. The Jedi claim the Sith species to be biologically tied to the dark side (and suggest this “taint” extends to 97+% of the Imperial population who have even a tiny trace of Old Sith ancestry.) The excuse that a group is genetically “evil” or “bad” (or violent, brutish, etc.) is something that's often used to justify colonization and conquest in the real world on a regular basis, and is not a good look for the developers. Victim-blaming is always a justification for displacement, oppression, or genocide.

At best, this was lazy writing. If a species is genetically bad, then you don't have to bother actually developing them as three dimensional people who love and hate and build and create and destroy and might actually not see themselves as the bad guys. In other words, they’re creating boogeymen, not real people. Or they wrote the history about the old Sith without actually planning to do anything that would even bring that into question. Praven is as close as they get, and his words about them are one obscure reference in a single storyline that might vaguely hint that being Sith-blooded isn’t inherently bad.

At worst (and I really want to believe this decision was laziness instead,) someone has a bizarre and deeply disturbing fascination with genocide itself. They asked “what if” it was justifiable? But it isn't. Yes, this is a fictional world, but someone created that world specifically to make genocide okay, and that isn't justifiable. Period. No verbal gymnastics will get around the fact that this is a fictional world which someone had complete control over, and they made that choice. They're “exploring” something that cannot exist in the real world – a “moral” justification for an unjustifiable crime. I don't care if that group of people did something bad recently (or worse, might do something in the future,) it isn't justifiable. In particular, that accusation confuses a government with an entire people themselves – I challenge anyone to assert that their own government has never done anything “bad” in the past.

So I have to ask: isn't writing about the horrors of genocide a sufficient challenge for the writers? Why not write a real colonization narrative? Something that doesn't soft-pedal what the colonizers did or are currently doing? OMG, I would love a narrative in which the colonized eventually win and actually (mostly) restore their culture. That could even be a continuing story because there would be different ideas about what was important to restore and sometimes even what that culture had been. Because “memory” is a curious thing.

The potential for really fascinating anti-colonization stories were there in SWtOR. The colonization of Korriban and the destruction of its culture by the Jedi and the Republic, for instance. The Exiles’ conquest of the Old Sith. The Hutts on Ryloth. And there are obviously several possibilities with the Empire's own actions.

Is the barrier a lack of education? Ignorance? Discomfort with delving into “sensitive” topics? Shying away from writing anything “controversial” (apparently advocating for genocide as sometimes justifiable is less controversial in someone’s mind? Seriously? They don’t see the serious flaw in proposing that?)

I don't know. Honestly, I just tell myself surely it was just lazy writing. But the supposed biological connection to the Dark Side that they gave the Sith-blooded is the primary reason I refuse to treat either approach to the Force as “good” or “bad.” They're simply different techniques, as far as I'm concerned.

(Day 18 here) (Day 20 here)

[crispyjenkins]

B U I R, continuation of the last fic? Padawan Obi and master Dooku are freakin great. Would like to see more of jango being a disaster & a himbo for one (1) man

(my kid enabled me and i’ve been writing this between packing/moving the last week and i don’t know when i’ll be able to start something new (tonight? tomorrow? next week? lord knows), so i’m very sorry to the quinobi anon, yours is next, i promise!!

imagine that one Stiles/Malia cuddle that literally will not stop looping through my brain even though i haven’t watched teen wolf

warning for minor blood and injury, minor descriptions/implications of torture. takes place maybe three years after the last!) 

  It’s a little uncomfortable, trying to sleep against a wall while also trying to keep your sort-of-love-interest's headwound elevated on your own lap, and whatever remains of Obi-Wan’s internal clock protests to the surely late hour should they have been on Coruscant.

  Which they’re not, of course, because Obi-Wan has apparently run out of brownie points with the Force, and all his bad luck is catching up to him all at once: getting kidnapped by the Daan for ransom is one thing, getting his shuttle knocked clean out of the sky over Odos and barely managing to protect his fellow passengers in the crash is another entirely. A concussion and a Force-suppression collar later, Obi-Wan had been thrown in a clinically-plain but entirely-dark cell with a barely-conscious Mand'alor that he hasn't seen outside of holocomms since Concord Dawn.

  And some part of Obi-Wan is thankful for the excuse to see the real Jango again, not just the fuzzy holos that barely passed recognition and had to be viewed in private, but most of Obi-Wan is livid that this had only been made possible by the both of them getting snatched by the beginnings of a separatist alliance in the mid rim. 

  Livid that Jango has been here days longer than him, the passage of time marked in fist-shaped bruises and a bleeding lip — and Obi-Wan can't do anything about it, not cut off from the Force as he is.

  The single door on the other side of the durasteel bars slides open, spilling harsh white light into the room and sending a nauseating pulse of pain through Obi-Wan's head. The Rattataki nightsister that had dragged him out of the wreckage of the shuttle all but bounces up to the bars, smile cruel in its delight. Force, but she can't be more than twenty-four standard, and already she has two red 'sabers at her hips. 

  “Well, isn’t that sweet,” Ventress purrs, and Obi-Wan is far too tired to deal with her posturing. He elects to ignore her, letting his head sag into the corner all while giving Jango's wrist a harsh squeeze to surreptitiously wake him, careful to keep his free hand curled around the back of Jango's neck to let him know they're not in immediate danger, but to be wary. 

  The Mand'alor stirs, and he had been raised a soldier, he knows better than to give himself away immediately. Instead, he keeps his muscles slack even as he takes in the situation, the breathing of a third person in the room, the slow, steady brush of Obi-Wan's thumb over his pulse. 

  "You can ignore me all you like, Jedi," Ventress says, certainly sounding at ease in her upper hand. "When my master arrives, your tongue will quickly loosen."

  Obi-Wan simply grunts, glaring at her for all the good that will do. "I do hope he's not quite so young as yourself," he drawls, as Jango carefully shifts and tests his aches and pains. "You'll have to forgive me for finding it difficult to fear one younger than some padawans."

  Ventress hisses, one hand grabbing the bars to pull herself closer. "Not all can be so perfect as you, young Master Kenobi." Jango twitches against him, and Obi-Wan doesn't need the Force to feel his rage. "I do look forward to my master showing you what real power is."

  "Well, then I hope he arrives soon, before you manage to bore us to death."

  "Obi-Wan," Jango murmurs in warning, stupidly alerting Ventress to his wakefulness. 

  To his credit, Ventress doesn’t even look like she notices, lips curling back as she waves her hand and the barred door slams to the side. It’s a careless use of the Force, Obi-Wan thinks, which is a shame because she certainly isn’t lacking in skill, though perhaps this isn’t what he should be focussing on.

  Slinking into the cell followed quickly by two magnaguards from the hall, Ventress uses that skill to effortlessly grab Jango with the Force and drag him off of Obi-Wan, flinging him across the room into the arms of one of the magnaguards. The other shoves its electrostaff into Obi-Wan’s face to stop him from scrambling up to follow, Ventress leering over Obi-Wan with her fingers gliding over her ‘saber hilts.

  “My master warned me of your wayward words, Master Kenobi, you are foolish to think you can use your powers against me," she hisses.

  Maker, at least she's earnest. "I didn't think you'd be so quick to forget, darling," Obi-Wan says with a disarming smile, "that you've already made sure I have no powers to speak of."

  Over Ventress’ shoulder, Jango jerks in the droid’s arms with a desperately angry frown aimed right at Obi-Wan, and he’s probably right: Obi-Wan really should stop antagonising their captors. It’s difficult, though, when the bleary half-light through the open door frames the fresh split at the corner of Jango’s lip, that Obi-Wan is helpless to remedy.

  Ventress snarls at him and grabs the suppression collar underneath his chin, pulling just enough to make him grunt in pain as she forces his head up to look at her; Jango doesn’t make a sound, but yanks against the magnaguard’s grip with enough force that both he and the droid stumble. Ventress pays them absolutely no mind as she leans right into Obi-Wan’s face.

  “You will learn to fear us,” she whispers, sibilance bouncing around his mind like the spots that start to dance at the edges of his vision. “We have some more questions for his honor, but you get to sit here in the dark and reflect, perhaps you should meditate, Jedi, on the fate that awaits you at my master’s hands.”

  Obi-Wan has just enough leeway to suck in a breath, and uses it to murmur back, “I’m starting to wonder if you even have a master, with the way you hide behind his ‘power’.”

  With a ferocious snarl, Ventress yanks him clean off the floor and into the air by the collar, his surprised gasp cutting off into a wheeze as his head snaps back. Jango barks something at Ventess, though Obi-Wan can’t hear exactly what over the roar in his ears.

  He scrambles at Ventress' wrist in an attempt to pull himself up enough to just kriffing breathe, to take some of his weight off his neck, but it's been days since he's eaten, and his toes barely brush the floor, and Ventress knows exactly how to manipulate his body to make it hurt. Force, he can hear Jango's voice, low, dangerous, edged in panic, and he can't make out a single word. Instead, Obi-Wan curses his height that he normally doesn't mind, for the way someone at least five years his junior can hold him so powerless so easily. 

  And then after an eternity, after the world starts to grey and Obi-Wan almost feels like his neck will break, she drops him, oozing smugness as he crumples to the floor and barely manages not to smack his head against the durasteel; he lacks the strength to save his knees from the same fate. He chokes and coughs on the frigid, fake air, nearly retching at his lungs' attempt to suck in all his missing oxygen at once, and he's vaguely aware of Ventress saying something to him, probably gloating. He focuses on just keeping his head off the floor.

  Endlessly gentle hands brace his ribs and the back of his neck as they maneuver Obi-Wan up from his stomach to the closest wall, and Obi-Wan knows to trust these hands, that the hurried murmur cutting through the din is not Ventress, that he should probably listen to the owner of those hands. 

  Jango presses two fingers under Obi-Wan's jaw and checks his pulse, his holo-fuzzy face only coming into focus when the bars slam back into place and the door glides closed on the other side of the room. 

  "You with me, ner ca'tra?" Jango asks, tilting Obi-Wan's chin up until he nods. 

  Chest still jerking but forcing himself to calm, Obi-Wan looks around Jango's shoulder to the door, finding with relief that both Ventress and the magnaguards have left them in the dark once again. "Ar-Ar you alright?" he coughs, voice sounding as rough as it feels.

  Jango sighs sharply and drags his hand up to push Obi-Wan's loose hair back from his face. "Force preserve me from jetiise suicidal selflessness. I'm fine, kih'jetii, I'll pretend you asked because you've gone stupid from oxygen loss."

  Obi-Wan laughs, though it still sounds like a gasp, and lets the Mand'alor pull him gently into his shoulder. 

-

  "Padawan," Yan says softly, side stepping in front of the Neimoidian senator that had been talking his ear off for the past hour. Obi-Wan relaxes immediately as his master blocks out the rest of the room, the sounds and the light and the people, and he's never so thankful for Yan's height than he is when chill creeps over the back of his mind and digs its claws into his temples.

  It's easier now that he's older, he has more control, has a better understanding of the Unifying Force, and under Yan's tutelage, his shields certainly aren't lacking. Visions are rare, Obi-Wan mostly gets jabs and encouragement from the Force these days, and even in dreams, events are rarely clear enough to preemptively act upon. 

  But sometimes it's like this, ice starting just where his spine meets his skull, swiftly growing under bone and frosting over gray matter, crystalising his mental shields until they're brittle enough to shatter. He's been under Yan's care for more than half his life now, his master can feel a vision coming on almost before Obi-Wan does, and if it weren't for the crowded ballroom around them, Obi-Wan would sob in relief when his master gently settles two fingers on his temple and supports his mind from below. 

  Obi-Wan chases the flashes of colour and pictures, the vague senses of warmth and rain and contentment, before rock explodes and durasteel rends. Amorphous screams slam against the inside of his skull, and he leans harder into Yan's hand to combat it, to prop himself up until he can reach out and try and catch those will-o-the-wisps of answers, of hints of where or when these flashes will matter. 

  "Soon," he mumbles, feeling Yan move slowly and methodically over the cracks in his mind, patching them with care. "I don't... A terrorist attack, Master Yan, I don't—"

  "Easy, padawan," Yan soothes back and sets his free hand on the other side of Obi-Wan's face, like he used to before Obi-Wan had learned enough control. "The details matter not."

  He lets out a harsh breath. "The details matter not. The details... Desert. Refugees. Claw marks, master, and..." Obi-Wan frowns, pinching his brows together in confusion. "The... the stolen armour. From before."

  Yan rumbles unhappily. "Are you sure, Obi-Wan?"

  "I'm sure," he whispers. "I would know that armour anywhere."

Mand'alor —  “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment  jetiise —  “Jedi” pl., sing. jetii kih'jetii —  “Little Jedi”, usually offensive but the relationship between Mandalorians and Jedi are better in this ‘verse so

[the-last-kenobi]

reread Master & Apprentice (Claudia Gray) and now we’re here

Unwoven -

Qui-Gon discovers Obi-Wan in the middle of contacting the Jedi Council. Things spiral drastically from there.

Obi-Wan Kenobi centric

tags: AU (canon divergence from mid-book), Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense

Spoilers!! for Master & Apprentice

Part One

Obi-Wan’s hand lay heavy on the switch, his breath tight in his lungs as he watched the assembled High Council exchange glances.

His news of his Master’s troubling beliefs and actions had certainly caused a stir, as had his presumptuous but welcomed decision to go behind his back to inform the Temple.

The conversation was almost at an end, he knew. And then a decision would be made.

Several decisions.

It was clear that the invitation to Qui-Gon to join their honored ranks would not be withdrawn, but what would change? Their trust in the maverick Jedi had been strained to the breaking point this time, and Obi-Wan of all people knew how his Master disdained people who did not listen to him - or simply disagreed with him, a quiet voice murmured inside, a voice that the Padawan tried swiftly to crush.

Yoda informed him that the Council would return later with a decision, but Obi-Wan wasn’t listening anymore, or watching as the holo flickered and shrank away to nothingness.

Framed in the doorway stood his Master, watching the scene with his arms folded and his expression utterly blank.

It was hardly the first time Obi-Wan had found the man impossible to read.

But it was the first that he had felt such a cold, prickling emptiness in the depths of him where their training bond normally dwelled.

The first time that he had felt such disquiet and uncertainty in the face of Qui-Gon’s judgement.

What more can he do to me? Obi-Wan asked himself inwardly as he slipped his hands into his sleeves and waited, heart stuttering, for the inevitable argument. He’s already made it clear I am not worthy of a place at his side, not worthy of so much as being politely informed that our relationship is ending due to a promotion.

His heart continued to race as he waited in the billowing silence, feeling that cold prickle grow louder until it almost stung.

Then -

“Disappointing,” his Master said quietly.

The single word was as a seal on a winding document years in the making - a final approval on an ending that was written years ago when Jinn had refused and refused and refused again to take Obi-Wan as his apprentice.

The ginger-haired Padawan stood rooted to the spot.

It was like all of his efforts over the past four years, over all his life, really, had been evaluated by this man he so admired and returned to him with a dismissive sigh. A failing grade on his work.

A failing grade on him.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak but only managed a startled breath that strangled all the explanations and excuses away; he waited for his Master to follow up to that cold accusation, waited for more, but...

Qui-Gon merely turned silently on his heel and left without so much as a backward glance or a gesture.

Ah, Obi-Wan registered dimly. So that’s what he can do.

••

The Master and Apprentice had not set foot in the same room for two days now.

Obi-Wan knew that the older Jedi was occupied with his clashes with Rael Aveross, with scrutinizing the court, and tracking the perpetrators of the attacks.

But he also knew when he was avoided, especially when he was also doing plenty of avoiding himself.

After the Chancellor had inadvertently revealed that Qui-Gon was in line for a Council seat - and therefore to giving up his Padawan - the already unbalanced air between them had become like a pane of glass - fragile and strange, dividing them, but the idea of breaking it was frightening. It felt as if breaking the tension would break their team for good.

And now they were broken anyway, with no possible solution in sight.

Obi-Wan wanted to be the Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn.

He wanted them to fix this, to fix everything.

But he also wanted a Master who expressed his thoughts instead of always withholding, always judging without words.

And he wanted to see Qui-Gon elevated to the Council. He deserved it.

But he couldn’t decide which path was best - letting things stand as they were until the promotion divided them, or trying to heal things so they could part on good terms (how? how, how, how?), or confronting the infuriating man and making him listen to Obi-Wan for once.

What would Qui-Gon prefer?

Given that they weren’t speaking, and that the Council had gotten back to them with the instruction that Obi-Wan was to handle the treaty...

An idea began to form.

Obi-Wan pushed it away at first, horrified - then reminded himself that silencing thoughts was not the Jedi way, and pulled it back to the forefront to examine it.

...Oh.

••

Qui-Gon stormed down the hallway, trying to press his anger out of him with every firm step.

Rael was being bullheaded and absurd.

Everyone was behaving that way these days, it seemed, completely incapable of listening to the Force or common sense when coming through the mouth of Master Jinn.

Dooku, completely unreachable.

Rael, stubborn and so focused on Fanry that he was willing to ruin entire systems to keep her safe and in power.

Fanry, so focused on her culture that she was unwilling to face the danger over her head.

And Obi-Wan.

That boy. That stubborn, arrogant, hide bound boy. He had talent, to be sure, but no drive except duty and no beliefs except those that had been given to him as rote.

Perhaps that was not quite fair.

The apprentice was brave, and capable. And clearly he had some form of self-possession, given that he had completely undermined his Master in an attempt to prove Qui-Gon wrong.

But once again he was criticizing his apprentice without regard for his own failings as a teacher. Hadn’t it just been days ago that he had watched Obi-Wan clinging for dear life above a seething sinkhole and thought to himself how unfair it was for the boy to have to endure a Master like himself?

I still don’t deserve him, Qui-Gon thought dully.

The Jedi ran a weary hand over his face, trying to calm himself. It was unacceptable for him to sulk about these things - not to mention dangerous for the mission.

The mission, that Obi-Wan had knocked sideways.

Worry gnawed at Qui-Gon.

He did not wish to see his vision come true; with nobody listening to his warnings, the coronation ceremony could only end in disaster, and now Fanry, Rael, and his Padawan were all set to be directly in the middle of things when it inevitably happened.

When he closed his eyes, Qui-Gon could see the flash of light and hear the screams his vision had shown him - he could not pick out the voices. The princess? The minister? Obi-Wan?

Qui-Gon sighed and drew his cloak a little more tightly around himself.

He could only do as the Force prompted.

The actions of others were outside his control.

He would do as he needed.

••

Obi-Wan was at the call again, standing in shadows and the blue light of the hologram just as he had been days before when everything had gone so wrong.

This time, however, he was not interrupted.

And this time, he spoke only with Masters Windu and Yoda.

Yoda’s large ears were drooping as he gazed watchfully at the apprentice. Made Windu looked grave, a deep curve lining his forehead as he too studied Obi-Wan.

“And you’re certain this is the correct path?” he asked.

Obi-Wan drew a breath.

“...As sure as I can be, Masters. I don’t... I don’t have your experience, I don’t have whatever beliefs or Force-granted visions Master Jinn thinks he is following. I only...”

A beat.

“I only know what I must do,” Obi-Wan finished. “This is the solution that has come to me.”

Master Yoda said nothing.

Windu sighed. “Very well. After the treaty, this will all be formalized. As things stand, Master Jinn holds little authority over you. Act as you must. In this instance, you rank as a Knight.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes rather than flinch.

“Yes, Masters.”

He opened his eyes again in time to see Master Windu lean forward, his eyes shadowed, and say, “May the Force be with you.”

The transmission cut.

Obi-Wan stood alone in the dark, feeling just as cold, just as helpless before the silence of the empty room as he had before the silence of Qui-Gon’s judgement and betrayal.

With only his conscience to guide him.

Four years as a Padawan had taught him that it was not enough - he was not enough.

But that wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

tbc

Part Two

[padme-amitabha]

“So, a man named Anakin Skywalker had become a Jedi Knight, fought courageously in the Clone Wars, and won the love of a senator-queen, and had still chosen to become a monster.” 

- Claudia Gray, Star Wars: Bloodline

I can excuse this line as it is from the perspective of people who didn’t really know him but some Disney fans seem to take it literally. Taking it literally is a fundamental misunderstanding of Anakin Skywalker’s character, as written by Lucas. 

Anakin literally went to the Dark Side to save his wife’s life. He made a deal with the devil because he had no other choice. The Jedi wouldn’t help him and even then, he wanted them to arrest Palpatine (as long as Palpatine taught him how to save Padmé’s life). If he didn’t regret his actions, he wouldn’t be shedding tears as we see him doing multiple times in ROTS. He was desperate at that point and even as Vader, he was never fully a monster. He served Palpatine because he had no one else left. 

And you rage and scream and reach through the Force to crush the shadow who has destroyed you, but you are so far less now than what you were, you are more than half machine, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only droids around you that implode, and equipment, and the table on which you were strapped shatters, and in the end, you cannot touch the shadow.

In the end, you do not even want to. 

In the end, the shadow is all you have left. 

Because the shadow understands you, the shadow forgives you, the shadow gathers you unto itself— 

And within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame. 

- Matthew Stover, Revenge of the Sith novelization

Even as Vader, Anakin still had enough humanity in him to save his son’s life. It’s the just the mask that hid his emotions. Making Anakin seem “evil” or insinuating that he went to the Dark Side solely for power won’t make Ben Solo look better in comparison, or make him worthy of redemption. I couldn’t care less about Disney’s sequel trilogy but changing established characters is not cool. Being ambitious played a part in his betrayal and falling out with the Jedi but he didn’t go to the dark side to become the emperor. By ambition I mean he craved respect, which is why he wanted to become a Jedi Master. Jedi masters didn’t rule the galaxy so I don’t think that was ever his desire. As he stated in AOTC, he wishes someone would “make things right” in the galaxy, not necessarily himself. And that’s exactly what he ended up doing: he was the enforcer in Palpatine’s oppressive regime. He had questionable political opinions; he was not a psychopath who wanted to take over the galaxy. Note in ESB, he says “With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.” And I think that truly was his intention. Lucas!Vader didn’t lie to Luke like Obi-Wan did and say that he killed Anakin; he said that name no longer has meaning for him (which is obviously true because that’s a part of his past and everyone who knew him as Anakin were dead anyway). 

[jilyandbambi]

Hey gang, so a couple of days ago @padawanlost brought up an old SW fic of mine that I’d only posted to my old blog, not my AO3 as it was only an off the cuff thing that I meant to turn into a full fledged multi-chapter, but bc I was working on so many projects at the time the fully realized idea I had never fully got off the ground. 

Anywho, there were some people in the replies to padawanlost’s post who asked me if I wouldn’t mind reposting it. So I did some digging and actually did manage to find my old Word docs. The person who I mention in the original Author’s Note user @/TheMooseJTM isn’t on Tumblr anymore, so unfortunately I can’t link to her old post, and I’m also not sure if suzukiblu is still on here or, in actuality, which post of theirs’ inspired Michi’s fic, which inspired mine. In any case, mine can be read as a standalone. Everything is under the cut. Feel free to reblog/let me know what you think in the comments, etc. 

Fair warning, I haven’t touched this thing since probably summer of 2016/2017 at the latest, so apologies for my older, less “polished” writing. 

Shout out to @celestialily and @alabasterswriting this is for you :)

The One Where Padmé Spills the Tea   Pt. 1

Inspired by this post by suzukiblu and this follow up ficlet by themooseJTHM. Also, Anakin being epileptic is in reference to this post. I didn’t come up with it. But I find it very fitting. I just want you both to know, this is all your fault. You two have no one to blame but yourselves. 

In which, I take things a little farther than Michi does bc what can I say I’m 95% angst, 5% bacon.  : ) : )))))))

Trigger warning for child abuse 

=================================

It all starts when an unusually grave Obi-Wan returns Artoo to her, charging port and all. Right off the bat Padmé can feel her intestines clench and constrict into hard stone as he explains that, as apart of an intensive spirit cleansing ordeal recommended by the Temple Healers, Anakin must relinquish all of his material attachments. Especially those that were given to him as gifts from outsiders. 

“But what will you do about his seizures?” she asks him. Trying her best to keep her voice even despite the frustration and worry bubbling up inside as she remembers the first time Anakin told her about them. Their wedding night, when he’d had one in front of her, and he hadn’t even been able to put a name to it. It was just a thing that happens to me every now and then when things get to be Too Much, Padmé. No need to get all fussy over me. 

And she’d hated it. Hated that he’d had such a poor grasp of proper mental health. Hated that he’d been conditioned by his upbringing to see his own well-being as tertiary if not altogether immaterial. But knowing that Anakin oftentimes had trouble distinguishing when people’s negative emotions were directed at him or for him, Padmé had tempered her righteous fury by giving him Artoo as a service droid. Just a friend, to watch over you for me when we’re apart, Ani. And he’d been delighted. Problem solved. 

But Obi-Wan’s brow furrows and his lips tighten into that patented Obi-Wan grimace that crops up on his face whenever he knows some new and dreadful information is about to be unloaded on him. 

“What seizures?” 

And the stone in Padmé’s gut grinds to dust, and she thinks it might have also been whatever remained of the restraint she’d been grasping at since this whole ordeal began. Because the next thing she knows, she’s hauling a panic-stricken What seizures, Padmé? What seizures?! Obi-Wan out the door and back to the Temple, demanding to see her Ani.  

His room still has a window, so she can’t call it a prison cell. But Mother of Mothers…

Everything is gone, everything. The room is completely barren save for the cot, the sheets, and the thin, shabby-looking carpet. Anakin’s workbench and all of the droid parts and little side projects he’d been working on had been taken away. Along with his single podracing poster that had been hanging on the far wall. 

Padmé has long been respectfully critical of the Jedi philosophy of no attachments, knowing that as an outsider, that there were aspects of their culture she could never understand. But this? This was just cruel. 

Anakin looks up when she enters, and oh the dullness in his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders make him seem at least three times his twenty-two years. His entire body seems to sag with misery and resignation.  

He doesn’t get up to greet her, and he barely reacts at all when she sits down on the cot next to him. It’s been a week since she’s seen him last, thanks to the new restrictions the Jedi have put on their visits. Does he feel she has abandoned him? Stop it she mentally slaps herself. This isn’t about you! 

She reaches up to run her knuckles along the back of his neck, and he immediately jerks back and bats her fingers away. Then turns to look at her—really, look, as if seeing that it’s her for the first time—and is immediately remorseful.  

“Sorry,” he says. His eyes are painfully wide, weighted down with dark circles. Has he slept at all in the time since they’ve last seen each other? 

“Sorry…” he says again. “Sorry. I’m…I’ve been…remembering things.” 

“Don’t apologize,” she tells him, gently taking his hand in hers’. She starts to bring their joined hands into her lap, then reconsiders and places them on the cot in the space between them. Neither of them say anything for the longest time. And that’s just fine. She didn’t come here to talk, or to force him to talk. She came to make sure he was doing alright (and he’s not. Oh, he’s so far from alright. What is she going to do?). 

The silence stretches on and Padmé can do nothing but stare at the dreary grayscale walls of the room Anakin’s been trapped in. Is this what every Jedi’s room looks like? The younglings included? Do the infants in the crèche go to wake from nightmares with nothing but gray spackled walls to comfort them? Can the Jedi think of no way to breed order and conformity than to stamp out anything that could encourage creativity and color? 

Anakin clutches her hand suddenly, and she’s brought back to the present. He opens his mouth and pauses. Then clenches his jaw and tries again. She runs her thumb along the back of his hand, coaxing him through his distress. 

“Padmé,” he croaked. “Do you think maybe if I were a proper Jedi, if I had been able to adapt to the lifestyle from the get go—if-if I weren’t so needy, Sidious wouldn’t have been able to…?”

What was left of Padmé’s stomach plummets to her feet. “Ani…” she says slowly. “Is that what they’ve made you think?”

“No!” he says defensively. Retreating back into himself. “It’s just…the other day when the Healers recommended that the Council take Artoo and the rest of my things they said…” 

“What? What did they say?”

“They tell me Sidious was able to get to me because of how easily I latch onto people. How susceptible I am to attachments. That the reason I didn’t say anything to anyone about what was going on is because—“ 

“He took advantage of you,” Padmé said heatedly. Anakin recoiled, and she brought her hands up to cup both of his cheeks. Stroking her thumbs along them, so that he knows it’s not him she’s upset with. “He was an adult. He was in a position of authority. He manipulated you, Ani. That isn’t your fault.” 

“But—“ he gasped. His breath coming out harsh and heavy. His words choking on the edge of them. “but I-I should’ve…”

“Shhhh…” she whispers, drawing his forehead down to touch hers’. “You’re not to blame, Ani. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.” 

And he just looks so relieved, even as tears begin to leak from his eyes and a sob stifles in his throat. As if this is the first time anyone’s told him this explicitly in the month since the truth has come out. 

It lights a fire inside Padmé over the dust of her long-held restraint. 

And the next thing she knows she’s pulling Anakin up by his flesh arm, and dragging him out of his cell and through the winding halls of the Temple. Without any labels on any of the doors it’s either by pure luck or fury fuelled instinct that she finds the Council Chambers on the first try. Caution thrown completely to the wind, she bursts through them. 

“We’re married.” 

She tells the group of scandalized Masters, before they can even open their mouths to rebuke her lack of decorum. Scandal quickly morphs into shock. And surveying the varied looks of surprise and indignation on each of their normally stoic faces, Padmé feels dark satisfaction water the embers of her rage. 

Master Windu is the first to recover. 

“Excuse us?” he says tightly. 

“We’re married,” Padmé says again. Plainly and proudly. Code be damned. Careers be damned. Enough with the secrets and hiding. Enough. “For going on three years now. Since right after the war broke out. We’re married.”

Now that it’s out there, Padmé finds she can’t stop saying it. Mother goddess does it feel good to say those words out loud. She wants to shout them from the top of the tallest skyscraper on Coruscant. Rife with rebellious attitude, she turns behind her and smacks her lips against Anakin’s. And if the way he just melts into her doesn’t convince the Masters that she isn’t making this up, nothing will. 

“This is ridic—“ 

“Unbelievable!“

“How dare—“ 

“I’ll produce the marriage certificates tomorrow, if you like,” she says over the voices of the hysterical Council members. “But right now, I’m taking my husband home. Consider this his resignation. Good evening, Masters.” 

And with that she links her arm through Anakin’s, and and they walk briskly through the doors of the chamber, just in time to here Obi-Wan’s “Wait! Padmé, Anakin! You’re making a—” before the doors slam behind them. 

The reality of what’s just happened doesn’t hit her until they’re back in their apartment. Anakin’s left the Order. She just resigned him from the Order. Is she even allowed to do that? Did he want to leave the Order? Is he very angry with her? Is he going to leave her now and go crawling back to them? Oh, blessed Mother of Mothers curse her impulsivity, what did she just do?

“You were amazing!” Anakin shouted. She turned around to see a huge grin plastered across his face, and what a difference it makes. Gone is that hollowed out prisoner. He’s himself again, and he’s scooping her up in his arms, kissing her and spinning her around, saying over and over again. “You were amazing! You were amazing! You’re so” kiss “kriffing” kiss “amazing!” 

A long, deep kiss against her lips. He holds the back of her head, bringing her in deeper. Then pulls away, giggling now. Oh, she’s missed that laugh. She’s missed that smile. Oh, Anakin…

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispers, clutching her to his chest, and tangling his flesh hand in her curls. They stay like that for an eternity, swaying back and forth on his heels; her, several inches off the ground, buried in her husband’s arms, and him, nearly delirious with renewed hope, holding her tighter, tighter, tighter as if she’ll float away from him if he lets up. 

“What happens now?” he whispered in her ear. Softly, hesitatingly. As if daring this to somehow be only a dream. 

“Now,” Padmé grinned. “I’m going to pack a bag. You’re going to change out of this,” she fingered his ratty tunic and scowled at his too-small pants. “And the two of us are going to leave all of this behind, like we always talked about.” 

Anakin’s smile is so wide she’s afraid he’s going to pull a muscle. Instead he pulls her in for another deep, hungry kiss. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

He changes quickly so that he can help her pack. As is their routine, she pulls dresses and pants and tunics from their hangers and hands them to him to put away. He’s such an efficient packer. Somehow able to fit half her closet into one mid-sized suitcase without rumpling anything. He’s so careful with her things, taking special care to fold and arrange them perfectly. Treating them as lovingly as he does her. And he says he’s the lucky one. 

They’re just about done when Threepio comes in to tell them that Obi-Wan has arrived. Unnecessary, as he is right on Threepio’s heels. And just as quickly as it set in, Anakin’s good mood is snuffed out like a dying flame. 

“Anakin, Padmé, I—“ he stops himself when he catches sight of her open suitcase. 

“You’re leaving,” he says flatly. 

“Yes,” she answers, daring him to challenge them. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. 

“Please, just hold on a minute. Hear me out,” he says carefully. “Don’t do anything rash. Please.”

He looks to Anakin, who is uncharacteristically silent, sitting on the chaise lounge at the foot of her bed with his head bowed away from his master. Padmé steps in front of him. 

“We’ve already made up our minds, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says forcefully. Lie. She’s made Anakin’s mind up for him. But in her defense, he was all for it…

Right? 

I’m so lucky to have you! 

Right. 

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan scolds. Scolds, as if she were a simple child! “I’m surprised at you. You’re not usually so reckless. Please, just take a minute to think about this. Think about what’s best for Anakin.” 

“What’s best for Anakin,” Padmé seethed. “Being shut away in that room like some criminal? Being stripped of all of his personal possessions and any sort of stimulation? Being cut off from the only person who cares for him? Is that what’s—“

“You’re not the only person who cares for him!” Obi-Wan shouted. “You’ve got some nerve! We’re doing everything we can think of to help him through this! And then you just swoop in and—!” 

“Whatever you call yourselves doing it’s obviously not enough!” she exclaimed. “Obi-Wan he was miserable in that room. You had to have seen that! You have to know that being isolated like that would crush him! You know how much he needs other people!”

“That’s precisely what got him into this mess!” he cried. “He’s always just been so…attached! Palpatine saw that and was able to prey on him because of it. I know being cut off from everyone is difficult for him now, but he’ll come out of this a stronger, wiser Jedi. He’s a grown man, Padmé not an infant. He doesn’t need you coddling him!” 

As a general rule, Padmé hates violence. Especially when used to resolve an argument. But right now she wants to throttle every self-righteous bone in Obi-Wan’s body. 

“How can you say that?!” she screamed. “Palpatine preyed on him because he was lonely and traumatized! And then you go and make him worse!” 

“Oh so it’s my fault that that…disgusting maniac was buggering him for twelve years?!”

“Must you be so crass? I never said anything like that!” she bellowed, incensed. “But yes, while we’re at it? Where were you during those twelve years? What were you doing that you could be so willfully blind to what was being done to him?!”

“Willfully--?!” Obi-Wan spits out through clenched teeth. His face redder than a setting sun, and twice as huge. Like it’s going to just burst open from rage. She’s never seen him so furious. Good. Finally getting some genuine emotion out of Mr. Model Jedi. “Where were you? Now that we’re pointing fingers, where were YOU? He was married to you during three of those years? Clearly sharing more with you than he was with me, what were you doing that you missed something this huge?”

“How dare you imply that I--!“

“STOP IT! JUST STOP!!” 

They both turn to find Anakin hunched over and stricken. His hands clutching at his scalp. A high-pitched keening noise—like the garbled whirring of a broken droid—begins to sound from his mouth as he started to convulse. Oh no. 

“Ani…?” Padmé said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up. She deflated. All of the anger and bitterness and contempt flowing out of her at once. She didn’t have to look over at Obi-Wan to know the same was happening to him. 

“Anakin,” he said, getting down on his knees so as to be eye-level. “Anakin, shhh…Stay with us.” 

He reached up and began to tug at Anakin’s arms, trying to pull his hands from his hair. They didn’t budge. He pulled harder, yanking at them. 

“Anakin…Anakin let go.” 

“Stop,” Padmé comes down beside them, and gently pulls Obi-Wan away. “Leave him. It doesn’t last long.” 

“He’ll pull his hair out!” 

“His muscles and joints go stiff when he’s like this. If you pull on his arm too much like you were you could dislocate his shoulder.” 

Obi-Wan makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Padmé—“ 

“Stop!” Anakin croaked. His speech slurred and gravelly. “Please…” 

He brings his arms down, then. But his eyes remain bleary and unfocused. They both reach for him, but Padmé gets there first. She pulls him into her lap, bringing his head to rest against her chest and carding her fingers through his hair to soothe any scratches he might have left. 

“Shhh…” she soothes, as his breath hitches and he begins to tremble. “We’re sorry. We’ve stopped. We’re so, so sorry, Ani…” 

The room goes quiet and still as Anakin calms and his breathing returns to normal. Then, Obi-Wan asks

“Anakin, did Palpatine know about your seizures, too?”

She could slap that man. She could. She really, really could. 

A noise comes out of Anakin’s mouth that is halfway between a shriek and a sob. She shushes him again and rubs his back, glaring at Obi-Wan who glares back. 

“I’ve been…remembering things,” Anakin whispered. 

“Shhh…” she says again. “It’s alright. You don’t have to—“ 

“No, let him get this out,” says Obi-Wan. 

“H-he used to…when I was younger…afterwards, he’d have me sit on his lap,” he made another noise. “He’d lift up my tunic and rub my back…like Momma used to. Except he’d go lower...” 

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his head into his hands. Sounding as though he were going to retch. 

“Sorry!” Anakin whispered. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I should have…” 

“You did nothing wrong,” Padmé says vehemently in his ear. “Remember what I told you before, you did nothing wrong.” 

“She’s right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, just as emphatic. Bracing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

He waited for Anakin’s breathing to regulate. Then pulled him up from her arms. Anakin went to him like a marionette being repositioned. 

“Look at me,” Obi-Wan said. “I want to hear it from you. Do you want to leave the Order? Truly?”

For a moment, Anakin doesn’t answer. And Padmé gets the sinking feeling that she’s made a terrible lapse in judgment. But then he says

“I want to go with Padmé, Master,” with all of his trademark obstinance. But all the same, it’s a question, a request. As if he needed the other man’s permission. As if Obi-Wan would force him to stay against his will. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he pleads.  

And Obi-Wan just looks so defeated, so desolate. Padmé can’t help but want to take back every single one of her earlier words. But before she can even begin to, he hangs his head, and leaves them with a quiet, “So be it.” 

Anakin falls limply back into her arms. They don’t leave for another two hours. 

==================================================

The Tea ‘Verse Pt. 2

(Palpatine is a nasty space hipster that wears ugly robes and plays chess) Trigger Warning for graphic abuse

---------------------------------------

Their first couple of days on Naboo are like something out of a dream. A second honeymoon, only better. 

Before, whenever they visited the Lake Country they’d been confined to the house and its surrounding lands for fear of being recognized and outed by locals. But now that they’ve revealed themselves there’s no more need for subtlety and sneaking. They can be as gooey and shameless and public as they want, without fear of reprisal. And they take full advantage of it. 

(It turns out, actually, that they had nothing to worry about all along, at least as far as the townies are concerned. The inhabitants of the Lake Country are far too consumed with their own day to day lives to care anything at all about the “vacationers” canoodling in the middle of the town square. Padmé and Anakin happily make a note of that.)

They cook breakfast together every morning, then take their food back up to bed and feed one another by hand off of a shared plate. She purposely drips syrup down Anakin’s chest so that she can lick it off. He doesn’t mind one bit. 

They waste an entire day making love. Languishing in tangled limbs and tender touches. Exploring and relearning one another’s bodies the way they always do after a lengthy separation. Finding new and creative ways to make each other ache and writhe in pleasure, until they are too sore to do anything more than listen to one another breathe, as the sun sets just outside their bedroom. 

They have dinner by candlelight—both at home, and at restaurants in town. The wait staff at one is so taken with the two of them and the way they feed each other bits of their dessert between kisses, they end up getting two more on the house. 

They picnic out in the fields, and watch the wild shaaks graze. And when Padmé teases him about that time he tried to ride one and ended up falling flat on his face, Anakin does it again, just to see her laugh. 

They pop popcorn and watch live coverage of the Pixelito Classic on Malastare, and she listens attentively as Anakin savagely rips apart every contestant’s podracer. (“I built a better racer than that at nine, what is Kolbron even DOING?” he rages. She chuckles, kisses him, and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.)

They take her father’s old speederboat out on the largest lake in the region for a day. While she tans, he lies halfway over the edge of the deck and drags his arms along in the water, grinning and laughing like a little boy. And Padmé thinks that if she loves one singular thing about Anakin, it’s his wide-eyed wonderment at the simple things. 

Going to bed on a full stomach. 

Clothes that fit properly. 

Water. Fresh water. Unlimited fresh water. (“that you can just…drink and sail in and swim in, Padmé. Drown in, even. Anytime you want. It’s just there!”)

Her smile. 

And she wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, how anyone could ever want to break her Anakin, the way Sidious and the Jedi almost did. How anyone could see his passion and think it something that should be stripped away or perverted. 

Thinking about what they almost did to him makes her want to tear millennia old institutions down to the ground with her bare hands. 

Anakin catches her brooding, and against all her protesting scoops her up and tosses her into the water, tumbling in right after her. When they finally come back onboard, she’s missing her bikini. (She never sees it again.)

Later that night, as Anakin trails butterfly kisses down her belly, muttering nonsense words of praise and adoration between every nip and suck, Padmé finds herself feeling so very grateful to this provincial little corner of her homeworld for being so good to the love of her life. For helping him heal. For washing the gray from his skin. Lifting the hunch in his shoulders. Spilling light back into his eyes. For slowly bringing him back to himself. For proving to Padmé without a shadow of a doubt that she made the right choice in taking Anakin away from the Jedi and bringing him here to their sanctuary.  

He’s home. He’s safe. He’s loved. With her, as he should have been all this time.  

--------------------------------------------------

Honestly, now that he’s finally free, Anakin can’t fathom why it took him so long to leave. Or rather; why it took Padmé getting fed up on his behalf and literally dragging him out of the Temple for him to realize that that is what he should have done years ago. Thrown up his hands and stormed out. Kriff the Council and their scorn and distrust, Obi-Wan and his endless criticism, and three years of endless, pointless war. 

Kriff it all. Let the transistors fall where they may.

He endured them for entirely too long. Let them push him around for entirely too long. Let them take away all of his things—his posters and his droids and Artoo—when he already had so little to call his own, when they’d already forced him to relinquish so much. Let them lock him up like a rabid dog. Let them pick apart his mind like he would with a busted engine, trying to discern if there were parts of it that could be salvaged, or if it would be better to just scrap the whole thing and move on. 

That’s all he ever was to them, wasn’t he? A piece of machinery. Another droid they could program and push around and possess. That’s all he’d ever been to anyone. Even…

No. Don’t think about that. Your mind always ends up going to the wrong place when you think too hard about that. 

But… 

Shut up…

But—

Shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup—

You don’t know for sure. You never actually did get the chance to confront him. 

Shut up. 

Obi-Wan took that from you. 

He was defending me. 

Really? When has he ever done that?

Shut up. 

He was your friend. He was always there for you. How do you know—

Shut up.

 —that he was really out to hurt you? Obi-Wan’s been wrong about things like this before. 

Things like what? Obi-Wan’s never wrong. Shut up.  

He never did like the Chancellor. Maybe…

Shut up. He was right. I was wrong. I’m always wrong. Wrong and cocky and stupid and—

(“That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Anakin! I never want to hear you say anything like that about yourself ever again. Am I understood?” “Yes, sir…Thank you.”) 

See? Why would a person who wanted to hurt you treat you with such kindness?

That’s a stupid thing to ask. 

But did anything he did ever hurt? They keep saying he hurt you, but did it, actually?

Shut up. I remember. I remember…

What do you remember?

Hands…and touching…and—

Hands and touching. People touch each other with their hands. That’s normal. You were right. You so stupid. Why do the people in your life even bother with a socially illiterate imbecile like you? How can Padmé and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka even stand—

Shut up! Just shut up! 

Anakin rolled roughly over onto his side and stuffed his face into his pillow. Hoping to quiet the annoying voice in his head telling him that maybe this was all terrible a mistake. That maybe everyone had been exaggerating. Maybe…

“Ani…” Padmé’s sleep-thick voice called out from behind him. “Are you alright?”

Kriff. She’s awake now. She’s not going to let this go now that he’s woken her.

“Fine,” he mumbled into the pillow. 

She pressed into his side, stroking cool fingertips down the nape of his neck. That wasn’t fair. That was the opposite of fair. She knows what that does to him. 

“Ani…” she said again. 

He buried his face farther into the pillow. If he looked at her he would have to tell her everything, and she would look at him with That look. The only expression on her face that he could honestly say he detested. The one that was pitying and saddened and outraged all at once. The expression she always wore when he said or did something that was normal for him, but not Normal. When he reminded her of where he’d come from. Where she’d met him. 

But she was awake now. She was going to have it out of him one way or another. Best to just rip it off. Like a bandage. 

“Padmé,” he said slowly. Taking his head from the pillow and turning on his side so that they were now face to face. “What…what Sidious did to me. I…I know it was wrong. But why was it? I mean I know why, but why, you know? Why is it such a big deal?”

Why does it hurt me so much, when it didn’t actually hurt? Is what he doesn’t say. But he thinks Padmé gets it. He hopes so because he knows the words won’t make any sense if said aloud the way they do in his head 

And sure enough, there it is. Her drooping eyes pop all the way open and she’s staring at him—at him, but not at him. Now seeing cruelty and hardship and oppression instead of her husband. And she is so very sad for him, he can feel it swelling around her in the Force. She is heartbroken and furious with people who are long buried in his past. Her lips twist into a scowl that then quickly morphs into an even sadder smile when she remembers that she was scowling at him. Her mouth opens. Then closes with a disquieted hum. She’s silent for a moment, then says.

“Ani, do you think it might be good for you to talk to someone…else about these thoughts? A professional, I mean. To help you sort through it all?”

And Anakin—

(“Anakin, listen. The Council has decided you are to spend some time with the Temple healers after…this whole business with Palpatine.” 

“For how long, Master?”

“Until they clear you for active duty, I suppose.” 

New clothes, dark and coarse. Too loose and too tight. Then later a new room, bare and cold and alone. 

“It’s just to help you clear your head, Anakin. This isn’t a punishment; I swear to you.”  

Cold and bored and alone in the dark. No Artoo. Nothing to tinker with. No visitors. No Obi-Wan or Padmé or Ahsoka. Where are they? Why don’t they come? Why did Obi-Wan have to take everything away and leave him like this? 

“This is for your own good, Skywalker.” 

“It’s only to help you, Anakin.” 

“We’re doing what we can to undo the damage Sidious did. But Skywalker’s not cooperating.”

“As usual.” 

“Perhaps a more aggressive approach is necessary.”  

It’s just to help. It’s just to help. It’s just to help you, Anakin. The more you work with them, the easier this will be.)

—Anakin thinks, Palpatine never hurt me, the Jedi did. Except he says it out loud, and Padmé looks absolutely crushed. Fuck, fuck, fuck what was he thinking saying that out loud?! 

Before she can say anything else, he whispers 

“This is where I belong, Padmé,” into her neck, as her arms wind around him and she clutches him in a quivering embrace. “I’m happy here, with you. Finally, after so long. I’m finally happy. It was just a thought. Please…” 

Don’t send me away to another dark room. Don’t let anyone lock me up again. Please. Please…please. 

Padmé doesn’t say anything more, just continues to hold him tight and stroke his hair. And Anakin tells himself that that’s the end of it. That he’s safe now, with the only person who’s ever cared about him. He has nothing to worry about with being stuffed away in isolation while someone new tries to “help” him. Padmé’s not going to do that. She loves him. She’s the only person who does. 

He repeats that to himself again and again as he drifts off to sleep in her arms. 

And that night, for the first time since this whole thing began, Anakin dreams. 

He opens his eyes to find himself walking through a familiar hallway. Aides and staffers bustle around him, casting furtive glances his way, but upon realizing who he is return to their work. Some nodding at him in polite greeting. 

Eventually, he comes to a familiar door, and passes through it without a moment’s hesitation.  

Palpatine looks up from whatever it is he was working on as soon as Anakin enters his office, an eager smile stretching across his face. 

“Anakin,” he says as he stands up from his desk to come over and greet him. “It is so good to see you again, my boy.” 

“You as well, Chancellor,” Anakin says, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Come, come, sit down,” Palpatine says excitedly. Looping his arm around Anakin’s and leading him over to one of the couches in the sitting area of his office. Gently guiding him into one, and sitting down next to him. 

“So…” he says, that eager smile on his face getting wider and wider. “What brings you by today, Anakin?”

Anakin faltered. 

“I… I, uh…”

What was wrong with him? Why had he shown up at the Senate building today? He couldn’t remember… 

“Did you have something to discuss with me, dear one?” Palpatine prodded. “Is everything alright between you and Obi-Wan? Do you have some concerns about the last mission you went on that you’d like to share with me?”

“I…” 

Did he have something to share with him? He did. Of course he did. There had to have been an important reason for coming here. He wasn’t so arrogant to think he could just show up at the Chancellor’s office for no reason at all. 

“You seem troubled, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Smile gone. Lips pulled down into a thin frown. “Are you certain nothing’s the matter? There’s nothing going on that I should know about?”

Anakin shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What was going on with him? He thought he had been bad off before, but this was on a whole new level. He was seriously losing it. 

“No. No, I…I just…” 

“Are you sure?” Palpatine said. Mouth twisting into another fond smile. He gave him a knowing look. “Trouble in paradise, perhaps, between you and Senator Amidala?”

Anakin’s head shot up. 

“H-how…How did you…?”

No one knew about him and Padmé. They’d been so very careful. How could this be?

“Are things a bit…awkward between the two of you right now? What with all of those awful things they’ve been saying about me in the HoloNet?” 

Anakin froze. The blood in his veins turned to hard, steely ice. He turned to look at the Chancellor. He stared back. An expectant gleam flashing in his gold-rimmed eyes. He smirked. Anakin’s gut rose up into his throat.  

“This isn’t a dream,” he whispered vacantly. The horrifying realization slowly creeping up on him. “This is really happening.”

Palpatine’s grin widened, and his cold, weathered hand came to rest against the back of Anakin’s neck, attempting to comfort him with gentle, placating strokes. Anakin stiffened. Palpatine’s touch stilled, and his fingers wrapped around the base of his neck. He felt a faint tingling sensation shoot down his spine, and slumped against the couch cushions. 

“What do you want?” he said in a strained voice. 

Palpatine chuckled fondly. “I think, Anakin, the question is, what do you want? We are in your head, after all.”

“You’re in my head,” Anakin said, his voice shaking with anger and barely suppressed fear. “You’re using some kind of Sith magic on me!” 

The Chancellor laughed again. This time with far less mirth. 

“Anakin, not even I am powerful enough to invade another being’s mind like this. Especially not now that my true identity has been revealed and the Jedi have pushed back my influence. Me being able to enter your mind means that you have to have given me permission, young one. You must have called me here for some reason. What could it be, I wonder.” 

Anakin took a minute to stew on that. What he was saying did make some sense…maybe. Obviously, he wasn’t well versed in what was and what wasn’t within the realm of a Sith’s capability. But with Sidious’ true identity revealed didn’t that mean that the shroud of the Dark Side that had been clouding the Force for so long was finally lifted? It had to, didn’t it? Obi-Wan and the Jedi have finally triumphed. They had to have. 

(Maybe he would know this for sure if someone had bothered to update him on what was going on during all that time he spent in isolation.) 

He turned back over to Palpatine and, with more bravery than he felt at the moment, stared his (former?) mentor straight in his eyes. 

“You’re a Sith Lord.” 

“Yes.” 

Anakin swallowed thickly, looking back down at his lap. 

He knew how he should be reacting to this. He should feel outraged. Violated. His entire being should be responding to the alarm bells sounding off all around him in the Force. He should be doing his damnedest to wake himself up. To fight back. To alert Obi-Wan and the Council that—even if Palpatine had been driven to whatever far corner of the galaxy he was contacting him from—he was still a powerful enough presence to manifest himself in another’s dreams. He should pull himself up, throw off Palpatine’s hand and get himself out of this “office” as fast as he can. 

And yet, Anakin finds himself planted right where he is. Paralyzed by the only thought currently running through his head. 

“All this time,” he choked. His heart hammering away furiously in his chest. “All this time. You’ve been using me. You never cared about m—“ 

“That’s not true, Anakin!” Palpatine cut him off, raising his voice ever so slightly in reprimand. Anakin flinched and ducked his head. Palpatine resumed his stroking. 

“If you believe nothing else,” he began softly. “Believe that all of our interactions over the years have been genuine on my part. You have always been very special to me, dear one.” 

Anakin shook his head, doing his best to shake off Palpatine’s hand. It tightened again, and another twinge shot through him. He relaxed. 

“You just wanted to use me,” he whispered. “This whole time, you were—“ 

“Trying to guide you,” Palpatine said forcefully. “That’s all, Anakin. Just trying to offer you the guidance and affection I knew you craved. You were so lonely during those first few years after you came to Coruscant. Don’t you remember?”

Anakin drew in a shaky breath. And without letting that one out, took another. Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered those early years in his training. Before he learned that Obi-Wan’s aloofness was his own way of showing he ‘cared’. Before he had completely given up on making friends with the other padawans in his class. Before he had resigned himself to never earning the Council’s acceptance. He had been so utterly alone back then. And who had been there for him during all of that? 

He nodded. 

Then, remembering who—what—he was talking to, he shook his head again. 

“You were trying to turn me…” he whispered harshly. Furious that he needed to remind himself of this. “You wanted me to be your apprentice.” 

“I still do,” Palpatine said plainly. “Were you to wish it, were you to embrace my teachings, Anakin, you could be the most powerful Sith in millennia. I have foreseen it. I have always foreseen great things for you. In spite of your confounding insistence on wallowing in mediocrity.”  

“You’re everything I’ve spent my life fighting against,” Anakin gritted out between clenched teeth. “I will never join you.” 

“No, I suppose not now,” Palpatine sighed regretfully. “But nevertheless, Anakin. I still consider myself your friend. You called me to you for a reason. I’m here to help you. Whatever it is.” 

His hand drifted slowly down Anakin’s neck and spine in slow, soothing circles until it stopped at the small of his back. It reached around his waist, urging him closer to his side. 

Blood pounded in Anakin’s ears. The rhythm beating in time to the Force’s warning. Saliva, stale and sickly sweet pooled in the back of his throat. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until his mouth went dry. 

“You’re lying,” he said. “I wouldn’t have called you here. I don’t want to see you. Not after what you—not after…After—oh you know!”

Palpatine hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head so that Anakin was now facing him directly. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Anakin.” 

“What you did,” he fumbled. For some reason unable to even think the words, much less voice them aloud.  

“What did I do?” 

“You…” Anakin croaked over the lump in this throat. “…Hurt me.” 

“Did I?” Palpatine frowned in genuine confusion. “When?”  

Anakin breathed a long, ragged breath. When? When? 

Yes, when. When did it all start? He thought back through all the old memories that had been cropping up recently. After Obi-Wan had sat him down and explained to him that what had been happening during his and Palpatine’s meetings all these years had been wrong, he’d thought back over everything. Every touch. Every hug. Every pat on the head or the cheek or the back. Which one was the bad one? Which one had made him feel dirty? Used? Manipulated? He couldn’t tell now. Palpatine was looking down on him, expectant, and just a little bit hurt, and Anakin found that he honestly couldn’t say for himself when the Chancellor’s touches had begun to bother him. 

If they ever did. 

They did, didn’t they? 

Because what he was doing was wrong. 

Right?

“I-I’ve been…remembering things?” he said, closing his eyes and turning away from the Chancellor. 

“Really?” Palpatine said. Bringing his head back up with an insistent jerk. “Such as?”

Anakin shifted his eyes to the floor—tried to, but Palpatine’s glare was firmly holding him in place. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“Things.” 

“Like?”

He shuddered. His whole body began to tremble, much to his embarrassment. Palpatine brought his hand from Anakin’s side, and cupped both of his cheeks in his own. They were cold and clammy against Anakin’s hot skin. He sank into them before he could stop himself. 

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “I understand this is difficult for you. But you’ve always been able to talk to me, and I’ve always been able to set you right. Don’t shut me out now, when you’re clearly in so much turmoil.” 

“Y-you…touched me,” Anakin mumbled. His eyes stung and he shut them again. Willing the water building up beneath his lower lid to stay where it was. 

“Yes,” Palpatine said, running his thumbs along Anakin’s cheeks. “Just as I am now. Does this hurt you, Anakin? Do you want me to stop?”

Anakin thought about that. Did he? He should. He feels like if Obi-Wan or Padmé saw this happening they would tell him he should. But why? It wasn’t hurting him. It made him feel…the opposite…

“No,” he whispered, with a slow shake of his head. 

“Has anything I’ve done ever made you feel unsafe?”

Again, Anakin shook his head. “No.” 

“I see. Then, do you want to know what I think, Anakin?” Palpatine asked softly.

“Yes…”

“I think—and mind you this is just my own personal observation based on what I know of you and your Master. But I think the only reason you feel this way about our relationship now is because Obi-Wan and the Council told you you ought.” 

Anakin’s eyes snapped open. No…No! That wasn’t…right. Right? Right. Obi-Wan was his Master. His teacher. His friend. He was always right. He would never lead Anakin astray. Anakin opened his mouth, ready to jump to Obi-Wan’s defense. 

The Chancellor hushed him before he could even make a sound. 

“Just hear me out,” he implored. “I’m not saying they did this maliciously. Far from it. You’re Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin. He would never do anything to deliberately cause you pain. But think about it, how often has he shown you any sort of physical affection over the years? How often are any of the Jedi ever affectionate with one another? Not very, am I right?”

“…yes,” Anakin said reluctantly. This was true. It was one of the biggest culture shocks of coming to the Temple. He had been so used to hugs and kisses before bed or before departing for the day’s work or just because. There had been none of that with Obi-Wan. Especially not in the beginning, when they were still so new to each other. It was one of the reasons why his meetings with Palpatine had meant so much to him…

“So perhaps, then,” Palpatine said quietly. “It’s all just a horrible misunderstanding on their part.” 

He dropped his hands from Anakin’s face, and reached into his lap to take his hand. Giving it a prompting squeeze. 

“You know that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi just don’t understand things like this. They view any kind of affection as dangerous and corrupting. Of course they wouldn’t understand how we are when we’re together. They’ve never understood you and what you need.” 

He drew tiny circles over the back of Anakin’s hand. And a familiar coldness spread through Anakin’s gut.  

“They’ve never even tried,” he muttered angrily. 

“No,” Palpatine agreed. “But I have, Anakin.” 

Anakin nodded.

“You’ve always been there for me,” he whispered. Waves of shame and guilt coursing over him with each swirl of Palpatine’s thumb against his hand. He tried to look away, but Palpatine’s glare burned. His hand tightened. Anakin felt another spasm shoot through his bones. 

“I have,” Palpatine said quietly, his voice taking on a pained edge. “Which is why I can’t understand why you’d let them say all of those horrible things about me in the media, Anakin. Do you have any idea how devastating this has all been for me? How mortifying?”

Anakin’s throat hitched. His cheeks burned.  

“I-I’m sorry, Chancellor,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. Everything just went so fast after Obi-Wan and I switched back. He came to get me and brought me before the healers, and I—“ 

“Shhh,” Palpatine hushed him with a finger to his lips. “That’s enough, dear one. Of course I don’t blame you for all of it. This isn’t completely your fault. I know how the Jedi can be with you. I bet they didn’t wait a single second to hear your side of the story, did they?” 

Anakin shook his head mutinously. “They locked me up,” he said. “For weeks.” 

“Surely Obi-Wan couldn’t have agreed to that.”

“He did!” Anakin said, voice rising as familiar pangs of betrayal hit him as he recalled being packed off into that room to ‘heal.’ “He said it was for my own good.” 

Palpatine tutted disdainfully, as he continued to stroke Anakin’s hand. “There’s more, isn’t there? I can see it in your eyes, Anakin. There’s more you want to tell me.”

Anakin hesitated. He knows he shouldn’t. Again, he remembers what he’s talking to. And he knows, alright? He knows how dangerous it is to put his trust in a Sith Lord. Knows what fate awaits him should he let himself sink too deep. But this isn’t just a Sith Lord. This was Palpatine. His friend. His confidant. He could tell him anything. Had always been able to share anything and everything with him. And he had forgotten over these past few weeks how much he missed the Chancellor’s open ear and paternal wisdom. Forgotten how good it felt to come to him and just get it all out, without fear of judgment or reproach. 

“They took away all my droid parts. And Artoo, too. And they locked me up like a prisoner. No one ever came to see me, to update me on what was going on or to tell me when it would all be over. Not even Obi-Wan. They even tried to keep Padmé away!” 

Palpatine mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, ‘those fools. Those insipid, unbelievable fools.’ Then let go of Anakin’s hand to spread out his arms welcomingly. 

“Tell me all about it, Anakin,” he says, pleadingly. “I can see there’s still so much you need to get off your chest. I know they’ve made you doubt me. I know they’ve tried to turn you against me. But you know who I am. And you know that your thoughts and worries are always safe with me. Let them go, my boy. It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright now.” 

Anakin looks at this man, his mentor, whom he has known and trusted and confided in for more than half his life. And now knowing who he is and what he has always wanted from him, tries to find some hint of malice. Some trace of deceit or cunning. Any small seed of treachery. 

He finds nothing. Except Palpatine. His friend who has always wanted nothing more than to guide him, to give him the esteem and the security he has never gotten from the Jedi. 

If Palpatine has always been the one to make him feel accepted and cared for, when he was supposedly evil, and the the Jedi have always made him feel alone and unwanted, when they were on the side of good, then…

No, he can’t think like that. He can’t allow himself to…

But still…

Was it so bad? Was it really all that bad? 

Palpatine, seeing the reluctance and yearning warring in Anakin’s eyes, spreads his arms wider, reaching for him ever so slightly. That same old welcoming smile spread across his face. 

“Come to me, dear one,” he croons. 

Anakin goes. 

Well 

After ignoring the outside world for a solid week, it was high time Padmé got back down to business. There are messages she needs to return. Meetings to reschedule. Bills to review. And new speeches to write, as she has yet to personally address the news of her relationship since its reveal.

She had made sure to have her publicist leak the story of her and Anakin’s secret marriage to the press the night they left Coruscant, in order to beat the Jedi to the punch. And upon checking the Holonet the next day she had been pleased to find public’s reaction was even better than she’d anticipated. 

By the time she and Anakin had reached the Lake Country, every tabloid, gossip rag, and talk show in the Republic was abuzz with talk of the forbidden love affair between The Hero With No Fear and the beloved Queen turned Senator of Naboo. As Padmé hoped would happen, the general public was so enamored with the melodrama of her and Anakin’s torrid romance, the scandal of a Jedi being romantically involved with a senator was less than an afterthought to them. Neither had anyone made the connection between Anakin and “Minor A,” the Chancellor’s unnamed victim in the Senate Sexual Abuse Scandal. 

But there were still people she had to answer to. 

The Queen and her advisors had not been pleased at the news of one of Naboo’s most respected politicians engaging in such unseemly behavior. But given Padmé’s previously spotless record, and that her approval ratings were higher than they’d ever been, what with the public’s obsession with her relationship, she’d been allowed to keep her seat in the senate. Though she knew that she would have to work hard going forward to regain the monarchy’s full confidence.   

And then there was her family.

Sola and their mother, especially, were understandably incensed that it had taken three years for them to learn of Padmé’s marriage, even more so that they had had to find out through the HoloNet instead of from her directly. Her father, for his part, hadn’t said a word while his wife and daughter ranted for a full forty-five minutes. But the look of abject heartache on his face hurt Padmé more than her mother and sister’s tearful raging. 

She’d borne all of their resentment meekly and penitently. Knowing that there was nothing she could say in her defense. She has been selfish all these years, keeping Anakin a secret from them for her own convenience, and she wasn’t going to disrespect her family more than she already had by trying to reconcile her selfishness to their betrayed faces. 

But when they demanded that she bring Anakin home to them, and introduce him as Anakin her husband, not Anakin her bodyguard, Padmé had refused point blank. And no amount of cajoling or pleading or guilt-tripping on any of their parts could make her change her mind. 

When asked, bitingly, why she would deny them this one small request, after putting them through so much, Padmé had cringed, reigned in the tears and exasperation threatening to spill out of her, and told them that she and Anakin were keeping a low profile for right now so as to avoid the paparazzi, until they were ready to give interviews. 

Lie. 

Like the general public, Padmé’s family doesn’t know the real reason behind Anakin’s resignation from the Order, and she intends to keep it that way. It’s his secret to reveal. But if they don’t know, she can’t tell them about how moody and skittish he’s been lately. About how he stares off into space for hours on end. About how his seizures have started becoming more frequent. About how at night he wakes them both, shaking and screaming from night terrors, with no memory of what they’d been about once she gets him calmed down again. 

About how he was backsliding, in spite of all the progress he’d made during their first week here. And that he wouldn’t talk to her about any of what was going on in his head so that she could help. 

Padmé knows there’s no way she can reintroduce him to her parents while he’s like this. She—

“Miss Padmé,” C3P0 called, interrupting her thoughts as he came into the study. “Miss Padmé, I’m so sorry to interrupt your work, but I’ve made lunch. Shall I fetch Master Ani?”

“No, that’s alright Threepio,” she smiled at the droid. “Thank you, but I’ll go get him myself. We’ll be down in a minute.” 

“Yes, of course, Miss,” chimes Threepio, and with a slight bow, heads back to the kitchen. Padmé follows him through the door. 

She hasn’t checked on Anakin all morning, but finds him in the first place she looks, their bedroom. 

Surrounded by… sheets of flimsi?

They’re scattered all over the floor; from the foot of the bed to the dresser, from the doorway of the ‘fresher heading out the opposite way to the entrance to the balcony, from the closet coming up to the hallway. Many of the pages were blank, save for a few illegible scribbles. More were filled with strange drawings of irregular shapes with words and equations written next to them. There were run down pencils abandoned all over the floor, and erasers chased down to ragged nubs. In the middle of this mess sat Anakin. One page held in his hand. His head lolled forward, his chin was touching his sternum. A low murmuring whine squeaking out from between pursed lips. 

Artoo was at his side, dutifully monitoring his vitals. He beeped in greeting as Padmé came further into the room. 

“How long has he been like this,” she asked him. 

Three minutes, seventeen seconds he told her. 

Longer than normal. Padmé bit her lip and went into the ‘fresher to wet a washcloth under some the cold tap, then came back out to sit on Anakin’s other side, and began dabbing at his forehead with the cloth, as she and Artoo waited for him to regain full consciousness. 

It’s another five long seconds before he comes back to them, collapsing into Padmé’s arms with a loud groan. 

“You’re alright, Ani,” she soothed. Shifting him so that his head was pillowed in her lap, and laying the cloth across his forehead. 

“P’dmé,” he mumbled groggily. “’rtoo?” 

Artoo beeped in affirmation. 

“We’re right here,” Padmé assured him. Bringing his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re right here.” 

The three of them sit in silence for a long moment. Before Padmé remembers all of the flimsi laying around them. 

“Ani what is all this,” she asked him, taking the page he was holding from his hand to get a better look at it. 

Her jaw practically unhinges once her eyes register what she’s actually looking at. 

“I was…bored,” Anakin said weakly.  

And Padmé, she just has to laugh, because Mother of Mothers is he really going to write it off as just that? 

“Ani—this…this is…” 

A blueprint. A full-scale, impeccably detailed blueprint for what appears to be an original concept design for a starfighter. He did this. In the span of one morning. Because he was bored?

“Ani this is incredible,” Padmé breathes once she finds her voice again. “You just did this on the spot?”

“It took me a few times to get it right,” he shrugged. Weakly gesturing at all the flimsi around them. “I wanted to build something, but I don’t have my tools anymore.”

Her heart hurts for him. Faintly, because she’s still so caught up in her amazement.

“So you designed a starfighter.”

“Yeah…” 

So nonchalant. Like this was normal. A thing everyone just up and did whenever they got sick of returning messages and filling out paperwork. 

“Ani this looks—please, don’t take this badly—but this looks like it could actually fly.” 

“In theory,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if my math is right, but it’s based off of the Actis-class. With a few tweaks.” 

He brought up a finger to point at the different areas on the ship’s model. 

“I added room for a built-in hyperdrive, and stronger laser cannons,” he explained. “Thicker wings to accommodate a full sized astromech. And better shielding.”

Padmé is right back to being rendered speechless. There’s so much she wants to say to this. She wants to tell him to sell his design to Kuat Systems Engineering. Then she thinks that he should keep it to himself and start his own ship-designing firm. She wants to tell him to enroll in university and pursue a business degree so that he can start his own ship-designing firm. Then she remembers that he has had far less and far different formal schooling than most university students, and wonders if that might be a setback. Mostly she just wants to kiss him all over, and tell him how amazingly talented he is and how proud she is to be married to someone so gifted. 

But first, she smirks and says

“Is this what you’ll do from now on? Spend your days drawing starships?”

He frowned. Clearly not getting that she wasn’t putting his work down, but asking a semi-serious question. She does quick damage control before things get out of hand. 

“You could, you know,” she said lightly. “You could take some classes, hone your skills a little more. Submit your sketches to a firm, and maybe they’d hire you on to oversee the projects.” 

Anakin pulled himself up from her lap, and spun around to face her. 

“Do you really think that could happen,” he asked. His jaw clenched doubtfully, but his eyes shining and hopeful. “I mean do you really think that I could really…do that…ever?”

Padmé smiled, pulling him down in for a kiss. 

“You’re free, Ani,” she promises against his lips. “You can do anything you like.” 

Anakin pulls away suddenly. His face a puzzle of wonderment, as though he’s watching an entire galaxy form right before his eyes. It takes Padmé a second to get it. But when she does she finds herself looking not at a galaxy, but a road. 

Winding and expansive, full of forks and curves and hills and pitfalls, making up endless paths and possibilities. All of which were, until very recently, cruelly held out of Anakin’s reach. But no more. For the first time in his life, Anakin has no master prodding him along, demanding that he follow whatever path they set out for him. Those chains called Destiny and Prophecy that for so long have shackled him to them have all been cut loose. At last, Anakin is free to go his own way. 

Having finally gained some perspective, Padmé realizes suddenly that she’s been indefensibly remiss in not doing more to help him explore the many options now available to him. 

She resolves to remedy that, immediately. 

  This is an old game from a very ancient and long-dead world. It’s boring, and Anakin’s terrible at it. And yet still, every once and a while, Palpatine will insist they play a round or two. 

I so seldom have any company to play with, Anakin, he would say. I know this isn’t a game you enjoy, but please, indulge an old man, won’t you?

And Anakin will roll his eyes and groan good-naturedly as Palpatine pulls out the faded black and white checkered board, lines up all the strange looking pieces, and makes the first move. 

It didn’t seem fair, though, that if they were in his head, and he was the one calling Palpatine here, that he should still have to endure this. Couldn’t they do this in a workshop? He chuckled inwardly at the thought of the Chancellor with his sleeves rolled up, fiddling around with nails and bolts. 

“Something funny, Anakin,” Palpatine mumbled absently, not looking up from the board. 

“No, nothing,” Anakin lied. “I was just thinking.” 

“About…?”

“Nothing.” 

Palpatine sighed, in that disappointed way that he knows Anakin hates, and looks up from the board. 

“Anakin,” he scolded. Crossing his arms and raising a chiding brow. “Remember what we talked about.” 

Anakin flinched, and folded under the weight of the Chancellor’s heavy glare. 

“I did a sketch of a starfighter the other day,” he said quietly. “Padmé really liked it. She thinks I should go to school to become an engineer.” 

“Really,” Palpatine said. For once sounding genuinely surprised. He leaned back in his seat. “And what do you think about that?”

Anakin shrugged. “I think it could be fun, I guess. It’s certainly never anything I considered before.” 

Palpatine “hmmed” thoughtfully, turning his attention back to the board. 

“What?” Anakin said. Suddenly feeling very anxious. 

“Nothing,” said Palpatine. “Just considering my next move.” 

He moved one of the little pieces that looked like a tower one space to the left. Then looked back up at Anakin.  

“Forgive me for speaking candidly, Anakin,” he said. “But I can’t imagine you’ve ever given much thought to a future outside of the Order.”

Anakin dipped his head, staring fixedly at the board. “Not really…” 

All those years ago, when Master Qui-Gon came to Tatooine, the choice he had presented Anakin with were either become a Jedi, or stay a slave forever. Obviously, he’d chosen the former. But that had been it, as far as career exploration was concerned. From the day he became Obi-Wan’s padawan, he’d devoted himself entirely to being the best Jedi he could possibly be. And while yes, at times he’d considered leaving the Order—especially after his marriage to Padmé, his fantasy of chucking his lightsaber at Master Yoda’s head and storming out had always stopped there. It’s probably why he didn’t have the strength to leave on his own after the scandal had broken. No matter how chafed he felt by the Order, realistically, Anakin could never envision himself doing anything else. 

Only now that he’s actually done the impossible and left the Jedi, was he starting to see that maybe there were other things out there for him. 

The Chancellor tutted softly, and then stood and came over to Anakin’s side of the table, sitting down beside him. 

“Well at your age there’s certainly nothing wrong with considering a change in career path,” he said judiciously. “Even one as drastic as this.” 

Anakin nodded. 

“Of course,” he went on. “You’ll want to keep in mind that the world of academics is an entirely different setting than what you’re accustomed to. Not to impugn your intelligence, dear boy, but let us be frank, your formal education was uneven at best. The students at the schools Padmé no doubt has in mind for you have spent their entire academic careers being educated at the galaxy’s most elite institutions. And you, well…” 

“Haven’t,” Anakin said bluntly. Remembering the trouble he used to have keeping up in lessons at the Temple. The instructors had put him in remedial classes when he first arrived because of how far behind he was. In the beginning, he did try his best to catch up to his peers, but it didn’t help that he was always being taken out of classes to go on missions with Obi-Wan. Although the workload did eventually get easier for him, by that point he had already given up on catching up with the more advanced students in his class. It had become enough for him to just get by. He’d learned to read and write and do advanced arithmetic, which was much farther than his mother or any of his friends back home had ever gotten. Farther than he ever thought he would get. For him, that was something to be proud of. And besides, even as a padawan he was a better pilot than most knights, and he could build and fix just about anything. Who cared if his marks were just average when everything that actually mattered came naturally to him?

But he isn’t a Jedi anymore. He has to find a job in the outside world now. What if whatever meager amount of knowledge his instructors had been able to beat into his belligerent adolescent brain wasn’t enough? His place had never been in the classroom, true. But he’d have to be trained in something if he wanted to build a life for himself outside of the Temple, right? 

“Maybe I could, I don’t know…” 

“A career in engineering requires years of intensive study. Not to mention, a strong background in mathematics and the sciences, which I’m sorry, Anakin, but that you just don’t have. You’ve never exactly been the studious type.” 

Anakin nodded, eyes downcast. The Chancellor was right. Raw talent aside, he couldn’t just jump right into a fancy university program and expect to be able to hold his own against the galaxy’s best and brightest when he’d been an average student at best. He needed to think of something realistic, not let himself get carried away by idiotic fantasies. 

“It was just an idea, anyway,” he mumbled. 

Palpatine laid a hand on his thigh, and squeezed it reassuringly. 

“I don’t mean to discourage your desire to explore new paths, dear one,” he said softly. “I know you need to search for something more, now that you’ve left the Order.” 

“I just…,” Anakin whispered. “There’s so many different things I can do now that I’m not a Jedi anymore. Things I never even considered doing.”

“You’re worried about not taking all your options into account.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Well,” Palpatine said, patting the inside of Anakin’s thigh. “Let’s do this then. Let’s say you have the power to do anything you wanted to do, right now. No certifications or justifications required. What would it be?”

Anakin thought about it for a moment. 

“Explore every planet in the galaxy.” 

He looked at Palpatine to gauge his reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost say the Chancellor looked put out by his answer. 

“And that’s it?” he said, his lip curling ever so slightly. 

“What do you mean,” Anakin said hotly. A tiny spasm shot through his leg. He softened his tone. “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

“If I’m being honest, Anakin,” the Chancellor answered. “Yes, I am a little disappointed. I would have thought you’d have a nobler answer for me.” 

“Nobler?”

“You’ve always been so mission-driven, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Stroking the inside of his thigh. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you. You have this…innate drive to improve the world around you. To make things right.” 

“Fix things,” Anakin said to himself. 

“Exactly,” said Palpatine. “Going on a tour of the entire galaxy sounds wonderful. Enviable, even, for those of us banished to hiding out on one planet in the far corners of the galaxy. But—forgive me if this sounds harsh, dear boy—but it would also be a very big waste, in my opinion.” 

“A waste?” 

Palpatine smiled, wide and prideful. “You have so much talent, Anakin. So much power inside you. You could do so much good with it. Especially now that you’re not bound by the Jedi and their dogma.” 

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Good like what?”

Palpatine wrapped his arm around Anakin’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He resisted at first, not liking where the Chancellor was going with his suggestion. But a faint pressure in his shoulder blades relaxed him and he went without further protest.

“Anakin,” Palpatine said gently. “What has been your dream, ever since you were a small child?”

He didn’t even have to think. “Freeing all the slaves.” 

Palpatine gave him a pointed look. “So…?” 

Anakin looked away. Ashamed at having forgotten the promise he made to himself and his mother all those years ago for even one moment. Palpatine pulled his head back up so that they were now face to face. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where you came from.” 

“Never!” Anakin said fervently. “It’s just…a lot more complicated than I thought it was when I was a child.” 

“How so?”

“There’s just so much politics involved. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are all outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction. There’s nothing anyone can do.” 

“But do you think they would if they could?” Palpatine argued. “When have the Jedi ever shown you that they cared about ending slavery?”

“They care,” Anakin said. Not completely understanding why he was defending the Jedi, when he has thought this for years. “They just… “ 

“Won’t do anything about it,” Palpatine finished for him. “Innocent people being tortured and exploited doesn’t threaten the status quo. So it’s not a pressing concern for anyone in power.”

 “You’re a Sith Lord,” Anakin said. Not sure if he was calling Palpatine out for his hypocrisy, or reminding yet again himself of this fact, as the Chancellor’s reasoning was sounding more and more rational.   

“And that means I can’t believe in justice?”

Anakin scowled. “This Sith manipulate the will of the Force to execute their own agendas. They use their power for their own selfish reasons. They act only out of self-interest.” 

“And the Jedi don’t?” Palpatine said rhetorically. “Which is more self-serving, cloistering oneself in a ziggurat to meditate and pontificate about the evils of emotion and attachment, or actually using the powers you’ve been gifted with to institute real change in the lives of those who need it most.” 

“The Jedi do help people.” 

“Is that why you were born into bondage, then? Is that why they never allowed you to free your mother? Is that why they only intervened in Zygerria once the war broke out and the slavers became enemies of the Republic?” 

Anakin can feel a familiar, aching rage writhing inside his stomach. He has thought all of these things before, many, many times throughout the years. The Jedi warned of the suffering caused by fear and anger and attachment. But what of the indignity of being stripped naked and muzzled for a slave auction? Of having your rations cut because your Master blamed you for their business losing profit that month. Of having no water to wash with because there was currently a shortage and it was too expensive to waste on slaves. What of that kind of suffering? How could that just be meditated away? And how could a body of powerful beings touting themselves as guardians of harmony and light turn a blind eye to it? Claiming the abuse and exploitation of innocents to be out of their hands, but then having no problem with diving into a war driven by politics and corruption? 

“It’s complicated.” 

“It always is with hypocrites,” Palpatine mused. “But think about how easy it would be to un-complicate it, Anakin. Slavers and pirates and smugglers care nothing at all for politics or rule of law. They respond only to power, to brute strength. And you have that in spades, my boy. Think about how easy it would be for you to use your natural talents to deliver justice unto those who need it most, the way the Jedi never have. After all, you’re born of the Force itself. Who could have a better sense of how its will should be exercised than you?” 

It has always made Anakin burn with satisfaction whenever the Chancellor spoke like this. It still does. In spite of the Force burning back, just as fiercely. It’s warning bright and clear. 

(Remember who he is. Remember who he is. Remember who you are)

“It’s not the way of the Jedi.” 

“But you’re no Jedi. Not anymore.” 

Anakin’s gut twisted. (Remember. Remember. Remember.) He did remember. He remembered being shut down and shut out whenever he tried to bring up his past. He remembered how good it felt to have just one person listen to him. How good it felt to have the most important man in the galaxy be that person.

The Chancellor’s words sweep their way into him, settling inside his heart and igniting a fire over years of stored up kindling. 

The frustration he felt at being seen as irrational and immature for wanting to free his mother. His despair and guilt at how he’d left her to rot in that hellhole. The resentment he carried with him like an extra limb for every single Jedi who had ever made him feel foolish for being unable to leave his pain in a vacuum. 

Hatred. Pure and nurturing and vindicating raged like wildfire within him. His entire being sang with it. If only for a moment, before it was tempered by the Force’s warning. 

(Remember) 

Yes, this was a Sith speaking these thoughts into his ear. He couldn’t forget that. But even so, they weren’t lies or half-truths. They were his own words, being repeated back to him by the only real friend he’d had for so many years. 

(Remember, remember…) 

Making Anakin sick with confliction. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he muttered. “Can we go back to the game?”

“Of course, dear one,” Palpatine smiled. And with a final pat on the leg, stood and went to sit back over on his side of the board, and waited for Anakin to make his move. 

Padmé, in a not-at-all subtle ploy to get him out of the house, had insisted they have a picnic lunch down by the lakefront today. Truthfully, Anakin hadn’t been in the mood to do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. But that’s all he’s done for the past three days, and he can tell Padmé is getting frustrated with him. 

Force, he is frustrated with him. 

Here he is, in the most beautiful place in all the galaxy, with his favorite person in all the galaxy, and all he can do as of late is mope. It’s disgusting. Anakin is disgusted with himself. He wants so badly to stop. To go back to being as happy as he’d been when they’d first arrived on Naboo. But he can’t. And he doesn’t know why. 

He wishes there was a way to just wrangle it all back in. Everything that’s come out since Obi-Wan told the Council all that stuff about him and Palpatine. He wants to put it all back the way it was. He wants the Chancellor back in power. He wants the Holonews to stop spreading the lies put forth by the Council. And he wants them to stop obsessing over his and Padmé’s marriage, as if they weren’t real people behind all of the holos and romance and gossip. He wants it all gone. 

But most of all, he wants to stop the visions. Or flashbacks. Or memories. Whatever you want to call them. They’re annoying. And they’re wrong. Or, well…maybe the way he’s remembering them is wrong. Skewed. Because of the Council and the Healers and what they made him think about the time he and Palpatine spent together. It’s wrong. And it’s dirty. He’s been set straight. Nothing happened back then. Nothing. So Anakin shouldn’t be remembering his friend this way. It’s shameful. And he wishes he knew how to make himself stop. He wishes he knew how to make everything stop.  

Palpatine would know. He always knows what Anakin needs. But he hasn’t come to see him in several days, which has Anakin feeling worried, and a little abandoned. Though their last conversation ended on a bit of an awkward note, overall it has been so good having his mentor back. No one’s ever been able to get him the way the Chancellor always has—except Mom. But she’s gone. Like Palpatine was almost gone, thanks to the Jedi. It seemed to be a common theme with the Order, taking away the people who cared for him the most so that they can control him. 

He hates them. Force, does Anakin hate them for doing this to him. 

“Hey,” Padmé says, reaching up from her position in his lap to stroke the side of his face. “What’s that look for?”

She wouldn’t believe that it was nothing. But he can’t tell her the truth. She wouldn’t understand.  

“Can I tell you something?” he asked tentatively. 

“You can tell me anything,” she said, sitting up to give him her full attention. “Always.” 

“I…” he shifted, looking down at the ground and nervously plucking up blades of grass. This wasn’t really something he wanted to bring up, either. But it would go over better than the other thing. “I don’t want to be an engineer.” 

Padmé cocked her head to the side, looking puzzled for a moment. And then started to laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…you looked so guilty when you said that. I was gearing myself up for something awful.”  

He grimaced, pulling chunks of grass up by the handful. “But you had so many plans in mind after I drew that sketch and I didn’t want—“ 

“Ani,” she says firmly, grabbing his wrist to catch his attention. “It was just a random thought I had. A suggestion. I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I can’t do that. That’s the beauty of freedom, love. Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide what you want out of life.” 

Anakin nodded, a small smile returning to his face for the first time in days. 

“I know what I want to do,” he said, emboldened. “I want to free all the slaves.” 

She blinked. Her brow furrowed. Why did she look so bothered by that?

“All of them? Everywhere?”

“Yeah,” he bristled. “Why do you make that sound impossible?”

“It’s not impossible,” she said carefully. “Just…it’s a tall order, is all. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are—“ 

“Outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, I know. That just makes it easier then, if there’s no law and order in place there to begin with.” 

“But there is law and order there, Ani,” Padmé argued. “It’s just a different kind than what we have in the Republic.” 

“An immoral kind.” 

“True,” she said evenly. “But one we need to respect and abide by regardless.” 

“Why,” Anakin growled. “Why do we need to respect laws that allow people to be oppressed? Why do we need to respect laws that make sentient beings the property of others? How is that fair? How is that just?”

“It’s not,” Padmé said. “But we can’t breach the sovereignty of the Outer Rim planets, Ani. Not if we want them to one day join the Republic willingly. I know you want to see change happen. I want it to. But change is a process. It happens gradually. I know you don’t like it. I don’t either. Not one bit. But the situation is complicated.” 

“It always is for hypocrites,” Anakin grumbled, turning back to the grass. 

Padmé caught his wrist again. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” she said lowly. 

Anakin wanted to slap himself. How could he say something like that? Of course not! Of course he didn’t—

“No, no! I didn’t mean—what I was trying to say is—it’s just—the Senate. The Senate is full of hypocrites.” 

“I’m a senator. Bail and Mon are senators.” 

“No, I know that. I just mean—as a whole,” he fumbled. “There’s a lot of hypocrisy. Like, we can start a war to bring planets who don’t want to be in the Republic back in, but we can’t make outside planets stop having slavery?”

“I understand your frustration, Ani—“ 

“How could you possibly understand?!” he roared. Furious, all of a sudden. With her, for not seeing it his way. With himself for making her flinch and draw away from him. “You have no idea—” 

“You’re right,” Padmé loudly cut him off. “I don’t share your experiences. I can’t understand it the way you do. But I want slavery eradicated too. So do a lot of my colleagues. But we’re politicians, Ani. Not magicians. We can’t make change happen overnight.” 

“You should, though,” he seethed. “You should have the power to make change happen overnight.”   

Padmé glared at him, snuffing out the fires of his rage with the ice in her eyes. Anakin winced, knowing how much it upset her when he talked like this. But this was how he felt. She said he could tell her anything. He was just being honest…

He should apologize. She’s hurting. He can feel it seeping out of her like puss from a wound. She’s angry and hurting because of him. He hurt her. She was just trying to do something nice for him, trying to cheer him up and pull him out of the funk he’s been in, and he’s paid her back by insulting her, her friends, and her life’s work all in one go. He needs to apologize. He needs to take it all back. But he can’t. She’ll know he doesn’t really mean it. That if he had the power he would run his lightsaber through each and every slaver in the galaxy. Right now. She’ll know that that is the real truth. She is better acquainted with that part of him than anyone else. But it’s a larger part of him than even she knows, and he spends a lot of energy hiding it from her. Except sometimes it breaks free and comes bursting out of him. And then this happens. And he doesn’t know what to do.  

Cursing his big mouth and stupid temper, Anakin reached into the picnic basket and grabbed a pastry. Popped it into his mouth and—

(“Have you ever had a muja-fruit pastry, Anakin?”

“No, Chancellor.” 

“Ah, well I have a few extra left over from a luncheon with some delegates from Ganthel. Would you care to try some?”

“Well, I guess. If it’s alright, with you, sir.” 

“By all means, dear boy. I insist.” 

The Chancellor beckoned him over to his side of his desk, and pulled out a white box from one of the drawers. He set it on the desktop, and then to Anakin’s surprise, lifted him into his lap to give him better access. 

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to the box. Anakin opened it, picked out the smallest piece he saw, and began to nibble at it. Hoping to make the treat last. 

“You seem troubled, my boy,” the Chancellor said thoughtfully. “May I ask what’s the matter?”

He placed an encouraging hand on the small of Anakin’s back and began rubbing small circles, just like Momma used to. Gods, he missed her.  

“Master Obi-Wan hates me,” he murmured. 

“Whatever would make you think that?”

Anakin flinched. He shouldn’t be talking about Master Obi-Wan like this. It was disrespectful. Not to mention ungrateful. The Council hadn’t even wanted to let him be a Jedi, but Master Obi-Wan had stuck up for him. So what if he was mean sometimes. He was just trying to make Anakin better, right?

“He’s always fussing at me, ‘cause I’m always messing up. Everything I do is wrong.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“It is, though!” Anakin cried. “I’m lousy at meditation. I’m still having trouble reading big words. I can’t remember all my katas. And I’m trying so hard, but I can’t stop thinking about my mother!” 

He sighed. 

“I’m never gonna be a good Jedi.” 

“I see,” Palpatine said sympathetically. “Do you want to know what I think, Anakin?” 

“Yes, Chancellor.” 

“I think Obi-Wan’s just a little bit intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated, sir?”

“Anakin, if the late Master Qui-Gon’s suppositions were true, you are the Jedi’s Chosen One. Training you is a great honor, but it is also a huge responsibility. Obi-Wan is a newly-minted knight. If I had to guess, I’d say he is under an enormous amount of pressure to be a Master worthy of you.” 

“Worthy?” Anakin repeated disbelievingly. Unconsciously squeezing the pastry in his hand and “Oh no!” 

Purple splotches ran all the way down his tunic and onto his pants. Oh no. Oh no Oh no. Master Obi-Wan was always scolding him for being dirty and unkempt. He was going to be so mad if Anakin came back to the Temple looking like this! Oh no! 

“Don’t worry, Anakin,” the Chancellor soothed. “I can have my dry cleaning droid take care of that for you. Here, let me…” 

He tugged on the hem of Anakin’s tunic, pulling it up over his head. Then reached for Anakin’s leggings, removing those as well. Anakin wasn’t sure about this. The Chancellor shouldn’t have to go through so much trouble just because he’s a messy eater. But he knew better than to refuse when someone important tries to do you a favor. 

A droid came by and collected the soiled clothes from them. Anakin shivered. Freezing now, without his clothes on. The Chancellor tightened his hold around him. 

“Would you like another pastry, Anakin? Go on, have one. I insist.” 

Not wanting to be rude, Anakin took another small one from the box. 

“Now, as I was saying…” 

But Anakin wasn’t listening anymore, because the Chancellor’s hands were now moving all over him as he continued to speak. Down his back and along his arms and legs. Pulling him closer. Closer. Closer. All the while Anakin remained completely still, his Momma’s words coming back to him (“It’s just a body, Ani. Let them do what they will. It’ll be over quickly if you don’t fight.”). Right. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. Just lie there and be good for them, Ani and I’ll give you and your mother double rations for the week. 

Anakin’s not surprised that this is what the Chancellor wanted from him after all. And to be honest he doesn’t really mind. The Chancellor is the only person who’s been nice to him since he’s come to Coruscant. Anakin doesn’t see a problem with giving him something in return. 

But then things start to get fuzzy. Like an incoming transmission from an old, outdated comlink. The picture grainy and the sound choppy. He can still hear the Chancellor’s voice coming in and out in spurts, talking about the Jedi, and occasionally offering Anakin more food. And he can still make out the office around him through his blurred vision. The Chancellor is still…doing that. And it hurts. But distantly. Like when his leg falls asleep and he gets that prickling feeling, but throughout his whole body. And his head. His head is the worst. It’s so heavy he can’t hold it up. But light at the same time. As if he wasn’t even in there anymore. As though he, Anakin were being pulled out of his own mind and replaced with static…  

…

…

…

What?

He’s sitting upright on the Chancellor’s lap, fully clothed and alert and a little bit dazed. 

The chromo on the wall shows that an hour has passed since he’d arrived. Wow. The time sure has gone by fast. Anakin can’t even remember what they’d been talking about. He’d been telling him about his troubles with Master Obi-Wan and then…nothing. Could he have dozed off while the Chancellor was talking. How rude! He hopes the Chancellor at least didn’t notice… 

The Chancellor has stopped talking now, and the box of muja-fruit pastries in front of him was now empty. Had he eaten them all by himself?

(“Have another Anakin. Go on. Keep eating… Have another… Have another”)

He must have. The Chancellor’s hands were clean, and his were sticky with purple filling. 

“Anakin, I’m afraid I have another meeting coming up in a few minutes that I must prepare for. I’m going to have to ask you to—“ 

“That’s alright, Chancellor,” Anakin said quickly. Embarrassed at having overstayed his welcome. “I get it! I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.” 

“Not at all, dear one,” said Palpatine, patting him on the shoulder. Anakin flinched involuntarily at the touch. He hopes the Chancellor didn’t catch it. “We really must do this again soon. I do so enjoy our visits.” 

“Me as well, sir,” Anakin said earnestly. 

He hopped off the Chancellor’s lap, and stumbled a bit, before regaining his footing. Noticing for the first time how sore his legs were. Why did it hurt to stand on them? He took another step, and his belly lurched. He wrapped his arm around his middle, and continued walking. This is what he gets for being greedy. He shouldn’t have had so many pastries.

He turned to wave a final goodbye to the Chancellor, then passed through the doors to the outer office to meet Master Obi-Wan. 

He spends the rest of the day throwing up, and ends up missing his evening meditation session. Master Obi-Wan is not pleased.) 

—gagged. Clapping a hand over his mouth. He tries to swallow, but the half-chewed bit of pastry gets lodged in the back of his throat. He retches and retches, and his eyes well up. He can’t breathe. 

“Ani?” Padmé’s sounds frightened and far away. “Ani, are you alright?”

She pats him on the back and helps him move onto the grass, as he continued to retch. The mashed bits of pastry roll around in his throat, mixing with saliva and bile. He gags, and gags. But keeps his mouth clamped tight so that the wet, mushy bits of food don’t spill out. (Have another, Anakin. Have another. Go, on, don’t be shy.). Padmé tells him to breathe through his nose and he does. He inhales and exhales and accidentally heaves what was once the pastry as well as the rest of his lunch onto the grass, while Padmé rubs his back and whispers soothing words in his ear.  

“Anakin,” she says urgently. Helping him sit back on the blanket, and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Are you alright?”

He nods. Then, to prove it, he grabs another pastry and shoves it into his mouth 

(Have another, Anakin)

He swallows it after two bites. Then he has another. This one too goes down without a struggle. 

Padmé still doesn’t look convinced, even after all that. But Anakin can’t eat any more. Not for the rest of the day. His stomach hurts. 

Anakin won’t talk to her. And that’s fine. 

No really, it is. The holobooks and sites all say that every survivor processes their trauma differently. That all their family can do is be there for them and validate their pain as they work through it.  

And Padmé thinks she’s doing a pretty good job at it. She hopes she is. 

It’s just… what she wouldn’t give to have someone else to talk to about all of this. Someone to reassure her that she’s doing the right thing by Anakin. 

Like Obi-Wan? that annoying “I-told-you-so” voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like the Jedi Master says. But Padmé knows she can’t com him. He’d gloat (Obi-Wan doesn’t gloat) and admonish her (Obi-Wan would understand) and tell her to take Anakin back to the Temple (Obi-Wan respects your and Anakin’s decisions). She can’t have that. 

Besides, Anakin is going to be fine. It’s expected that people who’ve experienced a severe trauma to have ups and downs. He was in a slump now, but he’d come out of it soon. Especially with her here to help him through it. 

Padmé has done a lot of research since finding out the truth of what Palpatine had been doing to Anakin all these years. She knows all about triggers and flashbacks, and has already scratched muja-fruit pastries off the list of foods to have Threepio prepare for them. But she needs more. What is it about them, specifically that set him off? The taste? The smell? The texture? Does he not enjoy sweets anymore? Or is it only just pastries? She needs to know, for Anakin’s sake, yes. But for her own as well. It’s fine that he doesn’t want to talk to her about any of this, really it is. It’s just—she needs him to. 

He doesn’t say anything after his episode, but his body goes lax and he falls into her arms, dead weight. She gathers him up and rocks them both back and forth. Pressing kisses to his brow and running her knuckles along the base of his neck. He stuffs his face into her shoulder and there are no tears. He doesn’t make a sound. And she doesn’t press him other that to ask one more time if he is alright. He is. And she leaves it at that. He’ll let her in when he’s ready. 

Which is fine. Perfectly fine. But also.

I’m right here, sweetling. I’m right here. Please just talk to me. 

-

[gch1995]

Yeah I really just can’t see how anyone can defend the Jedi Order. And I feel like the whole child soldier thing is just not addressed enough. Why is a 14 year old even being trained for war never mind being sent into an active war zone?

Thank you! You’re the first reasonable anon I’ve gotten about this topic. Yes, I don’t understand how so many people in this fandom can defend Yoda and the Jedi Council of elders for conscripting children for warfare. How was that entire system not an abusive, though well-meaning, cult, that endangered, emotionally/psychologically abused, neglected, and traumatized every child under their care?

No, it was not okay for Anakin Skywalker to participate in Palpatine’s crimes against the order. No, I don’t think he was entirely innocent for his crimes. He was selfish in his desperation, and he had enough awareness to realize that the crimes he committed didn’t feel right. He could have stopped, no one forced him to, and after awhile he did stop trying. No, the entire Order did not deserve to be wiped out.

However, I find it hard to not use the diminished capacity and/or diminished actuality murder and war crime defense in his favor, too. Yes, he had more agency than he believed. Yes, he was selfish in his desperation. Yes, he became an addict. Yes, he did stop trying to fight it after awhile, even if he knew it was wrong, because he didn’t think he had any other options, or deserved any better. In that sense, he is guilty for his crimes.

At the same time, though, I can’t deny that Anakin likely would have become the morally gray balanced antihero that Luke was in the OT if he’d been raised under better circumstances, had better options for escape from the constant life of abuse, grooming for weaponry/slavery, and oppression he lived under cult leaders and slave masters, and actually got his emotional/mental instability and slave trauma properly addressed and treated. I know abuse, oppression, grooming, mental illness, and trauma aren’t an entire excuse for committing abuse, murder and war crimes, but when that’s a victim’s whole life from which there is little to no healthy support, little to no good treatment options, and little yo no safe escape routes away from these abusive cult leaders and slave masters, I think they deserve to be let off the hook from the death penalty. Reduce it to a prison sentence for 10-20 years for diminished actuality/diminished capacity of voluntary and involuntary manslaughter and war crimes committed by someone who clearly has like every symptom of poorly treated/neglected C-PTSD and several of BPD, thought he had no choice, thought he didn’t deserve better, and never had a fair chance to safely escape a fate of Vader what under such consistently shitty circumstances in life.

While I do actually hate a lot of what Disney has done to the Skywalkers legacy in the SW franchise, particularly Anakin and Luke, I do have to appreciate the fact that they still try to make a point of occasionally showing readers just how problematic the Jedi adults were, in spite of their good intentions. The amount of people in the fandom who still defend them for canonical instances of child abuse, child conscription, child neglect, emotional/narcissistic/cult abuse, especially in regards to any and all abuse done to Anakin Skywalker, you know, who becomes Darth Vader, their enemy, in the future, is gross, though.

I’ll grant the Council some leniency. Aside from Yoda, who’s been around for 900+ years and had a previous padawan of his fall to the dark side, Obi Wan, Mace Windu, and Qui Gonn are largely blind perpetrators and victims of cult abuse and systematic brainwashing. They haven’t been around long enough or experienced enough of the world outside of the Jedi Order to fully realize just how damaging their behaviors, practices, and teachings are. Obi Wan leaving Anakin to burn alive on Mustafar, rather than giving him a clean death penalty when he gained the “high ground,” though, was a deliberately and needlessly cruel and vindictive move on his part. I don’t know how you can deny that. For the most part, though, while still not okay, Obi Wan’s abuse of Anakin was done with the intention of “making him a better Jedi” as he was taught by Yoda, though with Qui Gonn being a more flexible and open-minded Jedi, I also think Obi Wan’s way of being a rebel was by towing Yoda’s party line.

If Anakin was too afraid to say no and do the right thing against oppressive authority, regardless of the mitigating circumstances and limited guarantees for safe escape from the abuse and corruption in the system, and he is responsible for that enough to deserve being called out for it, then so are Obi Wan, Yoda, Mace Windu, the Jedi Council of adults, Padme, and the Republic government in one way or another too, in spite of their mitigating circumstances and limited options for safety of standing up for themselves.

[bi-naesala]

Join me

Despite Maul's doubts on the subject, Obi-Wan is convinced that commander Cody would be a great asset to add to them team, for pragmatic reasons and also... others. Will he be able to convince Cody to collaborate?

((Part of the Sith Obi-Wan AU))

Can also be read on AO3

Meetings with Maul have become less frequent once it became known that he’s still alive. This isn’t something Obi-Wan had planned, but he figures that saving his brother was too important than secrecy.

In his immense mercy, he’s decided long ago to let it pass, despite the fact that, in the end, Savage Oppress has died anyway. As much as it is a tragedy, it’s also good, though, very good, because it only added more to Maul’s rage; now it’s not just Sidious the one he wants dead, but Ventress too, who according to him is the catalyst of Savage’s premature death. What matters now is that Maul wants revenge even more than he did before, which is exactly what Obi-Wan needs.

The downside is that they have to be even more careful than before when they meet. Sidious’ words when he learned that Maul is actually alive still haven’t left Obi-Wan’s mind; it’s the closest to fear he’s every felt.

 And this is why they’re meeting in a shitty Outer Rim motel, instead of a decent place.

 This is something - the only thing - he admires of him, his ability to turn even the most innocent sentence into a threat.

He told it wasn’t his fault, that he did his duty as he should’ve, that the Dark Side is a mysterious thing, but he also implied that he was his job to rectify his mistake, or else the consequences were going to be dire.

Frankly, Obi-Wan can’t wait to shut his mouth forever.

 “Are you even listening?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head as Maul’s voice brings him back to reality.

“Mh, sorry. Could you repeat that?”

Maul rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you the one who said that we had little time and that we should get to business immediately?” he chastises him. Well, he’s right.

“I know, I’m sorry…”

Maul responds with silence, at least at first. He looks deep in thought, and for once Obi-Wan isn’t able to predict what is going on inside his head, at least not until Maul speaks again. “You seem distracted as of late.”

“Do I?” Obi-Wan replies, trying to dissimulate. “Must be your imagination...”

“Obviously,” Maul hisses, completely unconvinced. “You aren’t at all thinking about something, or rather… someone.” Obi-Wan, for all his supposed diplomatic abilities, looks away, barely able to keep his guilt hidden as Maul continues. “And this certain someone certainly isn’t a certain clone commander that has been working with you for the past what? Two years?”

At those words, Obi-Wan glares Maul with all the fury he can muster, weirdly protective as he hears the spiteful tone with which Maul is obviously referring to commander Cody. Maul, never one to back down for a challenge, holds his gaze like it’s nothing, determined not to be the first one to breaks, which prompts Obi-Wan to do the sensible thing and deign him of a response, lest they end up their meeting having solved nothing.

 “You’re right,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking about him.”

“He seems a capable and honest man, I’ll give you that,” Maul states, though he continues, “but that’s not all, isn’t it?”

He’s right, again. “Yes, I… I’ve been thinking about getting him on board of our operation.”

“And why is that?” Maul asks, face carefully blank - not that if fools Obi-Wan.

“For starters, it’s become harder and harder to keep our correspondence from him. It would be way more efficient for him to become our accomplice rather than having him finding out about this project of ours and reporting it to Sidious,” he begins, trying not to sound like he cares too much about this. “He’s intelligent, a great fighter, and already knows about Sidious. I think he’d be useful to us.”

Maul doesn’t say anything at first. He keeps looking at Obi-Wan with an intensity that makes the other almost want to duck away from his gaze, scratching his chin as he thinks. Despite everything, Obi-Wan stays there, still, letting Maul think his thoughts; he refuses to give him the chance to watch him faltering.

 Eventually, however, Maul reaches a conclusion.

“I think you’re making a mistake. You’re risking to ruin everything.”

“When I came to you about this, so long ago…” Obi-Wan begins, “Wasn’t I taking a risk as well? You could’ve ratted me out to Sidious, but you didn’t.”

“So? What does that have to do--”

“Don’t you see? It’s the same exact thing now,” Obi-Wan concludes, and there’s a teasing smile on his face. “You and Cody are more alike than you think.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Take it as you will,” he says.

 Still, despite Maul’s reticence, he does have a point.

“I can see why they call you the Negotiation,” Maul mutters, making Obi-Wan chuckle, but then he continues. “Does he interest you?”

“I thought we’ve already established that he can be of great help to us--”

“Obi-Wan,” Maul cuts him off - Obi-Wan, not Kenobi - making it clear that he wants him to cut the shit. Obi-Wan sighs, looking away from him.

“Yes,” he admits, eventually. He has promised himself time and time again that he would’ve played the part of the mature person and talk about his feelings, but every time he tried, the resolve to do so always abandoned him. “This doesn’t mean that-- mpfh!”

He’s cut off by a kiss. Maul’s holding him by the edge of his Jedi tunic, lips pressed against his to convey what he can’t with words. Only once they pull away he speaks.

“I know.”

They kiss again, this time slower. It took them a while - too long one might argue - but now they know: no matter what happens, they belong to each other.

 “Go, now, and convince your commander,” Maul mutters as he pulls away. It seems all too easy, but Obi-Wan’s glad things are going as they are.

“I will.”

Obi-Wan begins to walk away, but before he vanishes from Maul’s view, he turns towards him.

“By the way, you should give him a chance,” he says. “I have a feeling you’d like him.”

Maul snorts.

“Yeah, right. We’ll see…”

  Once Obi-Wan’s back to Coruscant, he can’t help but to sigh, scratching his beard.

Maul isn’t entirely wrong: this infatuation of his could jeopardize everything, but he doesn’t think he’s gotten a wrong read on Cody. He’s more likely to follow him than Sidious, of this he’s certain, and yet there’s still room for some small doubt in his head.

The best thing he can do is to ask Cody directly, and if he truly says no… Well, he has ways to deal with that, because even though he wants him on the team, he’s not going to let everything get ruined in case he’s misjudged him.

Yes, he’s going to find him.

 All it takes is a comm to confirm his suspicions: Cody is in his commander quarters back in the Coruscant barracks.

“Cody, may I speak with you, privately?” Obi-Wan asks, trying not to focus too much on the way the commander’s face lights up with a teasing smile as he replies.

“Aren’t we already speaking privately?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, and yet he can’t help but to smile. “No sassing the general, commander.”

“Aw, not even a bit?” the other replies, though after a pause he continues, “Shall I get the boiler ready?”

Tea does sound lovely, he’s not going to lie. Alright, Obi-Wan will indulge. “Yes, if you’d be so kind.”

Cody nods, then pauses. Actually, both of them do. There’s a strange tension in the air, tangible even despite the fact that they aren’t speaking directly in the strict sense of the word. There’s more that both of them would like to say, but something stops them, maybe a sense of discretion, maybe something else…

“Then I’ll be waiting for you, general,” Cody says, eventually, his voice awfully soft, or maybe it must be some kind of interference on the comm - Obi-Wan would rather it being the latter.

“Yes, see you soon, Cody.”

  When he does indeed arrive to Cody’s quarters, he’s greeted by the commander, who’s still wearing his dress grays, instead of his usual armor. Figured it would be more comfortable.

There’s something in the way they greet each other, in the way Cody excuses himself to serve them tea, that is quite… domestic. Yes, domestic. That’s not a word Obi-Wan ever thought he’d use for anything, not with how his life has been, not with how his life is going to be; there’s no space for domesticity in his future Empire, not for him at least.

 In another life, maybe… but Obi-Wan shouldn’t get distracted from what is his main objective of this visit.

 “Cody, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, general,” the clone replies.

“Please, this isn’t an official meeting, you can call me Obi-Wan.”

He can sense the commander’s hesitation, but he can’t help but to smile when he says: “Alright, I’ll try… Obi-Wan.”

He can sense that it’s been a while since he wanted to do that. He really hopes their mutual attraction will be enough to convince him…

 “What do you think about my Master?”

Cody’s posture tenses immediately at those words; he’s clearly guarded now.

“I think that he’s a great strategist,” he begins, almost mechanical, like he’s rehearsed this speech time and time again, “And--”

“Cody. I’m not testing your loyalty,” Obi-Wan cuts him off, “I don’t need lies.”

The commander almost flinches at his harsh words, but his poker face is excellent. Things won’t go anywhere if they both keep being guarded like this however; he needs to change tactics.

He rises from his seat and he walks towards Cody, kneeling in front of him, then he goes to take one of his hands between his. Cody’s still tense, but Obi-Wan can feel the waves of emotions that this is causing him - he feels them too.

“But don’t you think that he’s a bit too much… self-serving?” he asks, massaging his knuckles.

“Talk about an understatement,” Cody huffs. Now they’re going somewhere.

“Exactly,” he replies, “If I may be so frank, I’ve been having doubts about his effectiveness as a ruler…”

 Cody doesn’t say anything for a while, deep in thought. Still, he hasn’t pushed Obi-Wan away, so at least it’s safe for him to assume that he must have a favorable opinion about what he just said, nor that he minds him touching him so intimately, something they have never done, except that time… He should focus on the present, not the past.

What he begins doing, instead, is to rub circles with his thumbs on Cody’s palm. Even for this he doesn’t push him away, nor he gives any indication of not liking it, so Obi-Wan keeps going.

 When Cody seems to have reached a conclusion, he speaks again. “So, where are you going with this?”

Straight to the point. Obi-Wan should’ve known. “I have friends… Friends that agree with me,” he says, seeing no point in hiding his true intentions anymore.

He can sense Cody’s amusement as he replies. “Something tells me you have a plan of some sort.”

“Mh… Depends if you want in or not…”

“And if I do?”

They’re so close that Obi-Wan could safely close the distance between them, but…

From all the scruples he gets, he must be making a rather poor Sith, mustn’t he?

“Cody… This is a dangerous path. Are you sure you want to take it?”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody begins, his voice serious, “I’d rather do this with you than remain under Sidious’ orders.”

Obi-Wan wants to kiss him so bad, but what he does instead is telling him everything: the plot, Padmé’s participation and… Maul.

 He reserves him for last, and can feel the change of atmosphere as he admits to everything. Cody’s gaze hardens, and his voice becomes cold. “Ah, he says, “So this whole thing was all a ruse?”

Damn it. This isn’t how Obi-Wan wanted things to go. “No!” he exclaims immediately, hands shooting straight up to cradle Cody’s face between his hands. He moves gently, with care; it’s so different from when he’s with Maul, but lately they too have gotten softer with each other. “I wasn’t lying to you. Cody… you aren’t just a pawn in my plan. If I’ve shown interest in you, it’s because this is how I really feel.”

“But what about--”

“He knows, and he’s fine with it.”

 There are many things that should’ve been said, but for once Obi-Wan’s glad Cody takes the initiative to kiss him.

He’s not being soft, and Obi-Wan melts immediately. He’s waited for this for too long.

As he reaches out for Cody’s face, cupping it between his hands, a surge of thoughts of mine mine mine mine begin to echo louder and louder in his head. He’s always been denied everything in his life, but not this time, not now that he has the power to get what he wants.

Foolish Jedi with their fear of attachments; they haven’t understood how much more powerful they can make all of them. Granted, they also make you vulnerable, because they give you something to lose, but in return they give you a drive that nothing else can give you, because when you get attached to something, you’d do anything in order not to lose it.

Maul is his, Cody is his, his future Empire is his. One could ask him what makes him think that he deserves all this, what makes him so better than everyone else that he can get what he wants and keep it from himself; Obi-Wan would just laugh and silence whoever would dare to question him in such a way. He wouldn’t even need to use brute force, just his silver tongue; if there’s something he’s learned in these years is that, with the right words, he can bring anyone to his cause.

 By the time he and Cody pull away, they’ve been kissing so harshly that their lips are all bruised, but it doesn’t matter, not at all. What matters is how obediently and pliantly Cody moves, when Obi-Wan gets him on the table.

The teapots crash on the pavement with a loud noise, but neither of them minds, not when they’re busy kissing and kissing and kissing again. Their bodies fit so well together, Obi-Wan finds. An obvious sign that it’s meant to be, because Cody is his, just as much as Obi-Wan is his. What? Of course it goes both ways: Obi-Wan would do anything Cody asks, just like he’d do with Maul.

It could be so easy to just use them - use everyone - as means to an end, but Obi-Wan has never liked the easy road.

 He pulls away just enough to be able to watch Cody squirm under him, taking in the details of his flushed face, as well as his swollen lips and undone hair.

It could be a problem for them to be found in such a compromising position, but Obi-Wan’s not worried about it; he’s locked the door as soon as he stepped in, and if someone still manages to get inside, well… he has other ways to deal with them.

Deciding that he doesn’t care about that, he goes down on Cody again. He’ll take everything he’ll have to give him; selfish, he knows, but he refuses not to indulge in his nature. He won’t hold his freedom back.

 Eventually, he’ll have to fill Cody in with the specifics of his plan, but for now he only keeps kissing him and touching him and holding him. It’s something he’ll never get tired of.

What really matters is that he’s gained his devotion, the strongest weapon of all.

[greenygreenland]

If I Were You: Fives x Reader Pt 2

-pt two. Here’s part 1

Summary: It’s been half a month since Fives first appeared in your room. He’s settled into your home because he knows there’s no way of getting home. Everything is peaceful, and you find comfort in each other. Your parents come home today, and you have to find out a way to hide him from them Warnings: Borderline abuse (very brief), mentions of abuse/violence, pressure from school, COVID-19 mentions, swearing

“--and then I slug him in the jaw and he’s so shocked that he can’t move!” You shake your head as Fives continues reminiscing about a short run-in with some ‘Separatist scum’. You can’t say it’s not entertaining when you yourself absolutely despise the Seps for what they’ve done during the Clone Wars. The guy definitely deserved it. Fives continues on for a while, telling his favourite stories about the 501st as he sips on the juice you’d given him earlier.

You eventually decide to move to the living room, where it’s much more comfortable than the kitchen. Picking up the remote and flopping down on the couch, you turn on the TV.

It’s still mesmerizing to Fives. He’s seen you scroll through Disney Plus, Netflix, and Hulu so many times, yet he can’t get over the amount of shows available. Sure, there was the holonet back at home, but that couldn’t ever compare to the media here. Everything was in colour, and it wasn’t as bulky as a holoprojector. 

Suddenly, you pause, hovering over the show Star Wars the Clone Wars. It’s written in giant blocky letters in yellow, so it catches Fives’s eye rather quickly. “Is that the show I’m in?” he lightly inquires. There’s a cold sensation in his gut, but he ignores it. You nod, mindlessly clicking on it. “I grew up with this show. It’s taught me more about life than anything else, really. When I was in a pretty bad place it helped me pull through.” 

There’s a soft smile on your face that Fives admires more than anything in the galaxy. It’s like an invisible warm hug, and it engulfs him in an overwhelming amount of happiness. A loud fanfare of...something (he’s never really known any instruments) bombards his ears, and he’s turning to the screen so fast that he could have given himself whiplash. 

Admiral Yularen’s voice fills the quiet space. He has to restrain himself from straightening up because it’s just a show. But that’s when something happens. He catches sight of himself on screen, saluting to his Captain and General. The screen freeze for a second, and it ripples like a hologram. The image of himself disappears, and then the TV goes static, flashing in a mixture of blues, grays, blacks, and greens. 

“This can’t be good.” he says, mostly to himself. You glare at the screen, randomly pushing the buttons on the remote as if it’d fix everything. It doesn’t and you know this, but you continue anyway as Fives’s gaze darts from you to the TV. A short sigh escapes your lips. “My parents are going to--” 

You freeze, cutting yourself off as a familiar rumble catches your ear. Fives hops to his feet as you drop the remote, silently making his way to the window just above the driveway. You follow him as he takes a peek behind the curtains. It’s silent for a moment and you know you hadn’t been mistaken. 

“(Y/n), are these your parents?”

“Dank ferrick.” 

Fives looks surprised at your colourful answer before smirking to himself. That’s soon wiped off his face as the front door knob begins to jiggle. You both lock gazes, eyes wide in terror. “You have to hide!” You turn off the TV and frantically knot your hand in his. And suddenly, you’re practically flying up the stairs with Fives in tow. You didn’t even know you could run that fast, but maybe that was because you knew your ‘fight or flight’ had been activated. 

You throw open the door to your room and slam it behind as the front door opens. Fives is scurrying into the closet as you scramble to stuff whatever evidence of his existence into his arms. He tosses his sweaters, trousers, and shirts (you bought with your own money) as deep into your closet as he can. You flick off the lights and open your curtains wide. 

Fives shuts the closet door. You whip out your laptop and a few notes from your physics class, neatly spreading them on your desk along with a few highlighters and pens. 

“(Y/n)!”

That’s your mum. She sounds almost glad to see you. 

“(Y/n), come downstairs will you?” 

You turn on your laptop, flipping to Google Classroom as if your life depended on it--and it certainly did. Once it’s open, you stand from your desk and walk downstairs, putting on the brightest smile you can. “Hi mum!” you call. She smiles at you, covering up a cough as she removes her shoes. “I’m sorry we’ve been gone for so long. Your father’s been busy, and I couldn’t leave him in Chicago all by himself. You know how it can get there.”

The smile is wearing on your face and you know it. Your mum is a kind person, she’s always been, but because of that, she tries to hide her sickness from you. She’s been sick for a while, but she wouldn’t tell you why. Of course, that didn’t stop your father from telling you. He said it was cancer, but your mum replied with, ‘It’s the common cold’ instead. 

Speaking of your father, he emerged from the door. You didn’t need to look at him to know he wasn’t too happy. “Hi...dad.” you quietly say. Your mum puts a hand on your shoulder and that seems to bother him. “What are you doing down here? Go study. You’re not going to be a doctor if you aren’t persistent.” You frown in confusion. “I thought you wanted me to go to MIT--”

“You’d be more useful as a doctor than a mindless computer addict. Maybe if you had skipped a few grades, then you could have found a cure already.” You wanted to be offended, but a voice inside your head made you keep your cool. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if you fought fire with fire anyway. 

There is no emotion, there is peace, you think to yourself with a sigh. Your mum notices, and she gives your shoulder a good squeeze before beckoning you upstairs. You turn to her as she tensely smiles and comply, quietly going up the stairs. You hear someone flop down on the couch, probably your father, and ice shoots up your veins. 

Panic blinds you as you race up the last few steps and dart into your room like you were being chased by a lightsaber. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know what happened. You hear him shout your name and you lock the door behind you. Fives slowly opens the closet door. You can feel his worry as he frowns, and you can’t blame him. Your father sounds beyond angry. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought someone had robbed him. 

“(Y/N)!”

You visibly flinch and Fives decides it’s high time he comes out of hiding. He’s suddenly by your side, locking your hand in his. “You’re shaking.” You look down at your hand weaved between Fives’s fingers with a mindless shrug. “I’m,” your voice wobbles, “fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s--it’s fine. It’s fine.” 

“They’re not going to do anything to you, right?” Fives inquires. You meet his gaze with teary eyes. No words come out of your mouth, but he doesn’t need any to know what you’re thinking. 

The door rattles. You flinch at the shout from the other side, instinctively taking a step back as if it’d help you. “Fives, Fives...” You’re looking at him again, silently pleading for the help you didn’t even know you needed. You had always been alone. Always. No one had been by your side until Fives came along, and it’s then that you begin to realise how bad your situation is. 

He gives your hand a comforting squeeze that makes your knees go weak. “They can’t hurt you.” His tone is firm yet gentle. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He makes his way to the door. It’s still rattling as he unlocks it, and then it bursts open as your father shouts again. The last time Fives had seen someone this angry was when the General had gone on that Zyggerian mission. The mere mention of the word ‘slave’ had sent the Jedi into an inferno anger that no one could calm. 

But this puny simpleton? 

His anger wasn’t as terrifying as his General’s. Fives couldn’t feel a single ounce of fear as he stared the taller man down. He looked about ready to murder Fives, but that wasn’t the least of his concerns. The man jabs a finger at his chest and Fives has to resist smacking it away. “So not only has my sad excuse of a daughter broken the TV, but also smuggled in a goddamn boy while we were gone!” 

You watch as your father raises his arm, recoiling to ready a punch. Your eyes widen, and you almost have the nerve to feel bad for him. It was never a smart idea to pick a fight with an ARC trooper--much less a soldier like Fives. 

Your father growls, “I’ll kill you both!”

It all happens too fast. Your father throws a punch, Fives catches it, and then it goes deathly quiet. He’s seething as your father trembles in his dark glare. “If this is how a family functions, I’m glad I only have my brothers.” The temperature seems to drop ten degrees with each word he stresses. “It doesn’t matter what happens, no one, and I mean no one should be treated like this. It’s downright abuse. I won’t stand for something so kriffing wrong.” 

This is a side of Fives you know but haven’t witnessed off-screen. He had been like this with Krell, and even though the situations varies from Umbara, his emotions aren’t any different. “Sure, the TV’s broken, but you haven’t even heard why it happened! What kind of father goes around and threatening to kill his own daughter?” 

Your father tries to storm past Fives, but he only tightens his grip on your father’s wrist. “Don’t try it.” 

Your father tries anyway. He whips out a knife--a knife-- and aims for Fives’s neck. Of course, Fives is quick--quicker than the shows give him justice. He dodges, swiping a leg under your father before pinning him down under his knee. The knife falls from your father’s hand and Fives is pulling both his arms behind his back. It’s not enough to hurt him, but it sure does scare him. “Let me go you fucking psycho! You’re gonna pay!” 

Fives looks like he wants to say anything, but he doesn’t, and you know it’s because he’s so baffled by your family dynamics. He hadn’t known any brothers who would do that, and he was glad too. “Oh I’m ‘gonna pay’? I think you’ll have fun taking that to the authorities. What number are you supposed to dial in these situations?” he inquires. 

“Let you go you goddamn--!”

“911.” you quietly answer. “But are you sure?” Fives nods and glances at your phone. You snatch it off the table, tapping the emergency call button and dialling the number. 

-------

Your mother stares at the police car as Fives shamelessly interlocks his fingers with yours. The cars drive away, the lights glimmering in the last light of day. You catch a glare from your father, hardening your stare on him until he begrudgingly turns away. Fives looks rather pleased, but there’s a hint of disturbance on his face. You know the mere idea of family against family riled him up, but he’s good at hiding it anyway and puts on a smile for you. 

Your mother walks up the front stairs of the house, arms crossed as if she’s hugging herself. She turns to you and Fives, briefly glancing at your interlocked fingers. You’re expecting her to say something. Instead, she studies your face and smiles. It’s a bit rough round the edges but full of so much love. 

“What is your name young man?” 

Fives glances at you before turning to your mum. “Fives, ma’am.”

“Fives?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays quiet for a moment. “Is there any way I can thank you?” He turns to you, and then your mum. You seem to know what he’s thinking and give his hand a squeeze in support. “Uh, if it’s not too much trouble, is it okay if I stay here ma’am?” 

“He doesn’t have any family in the area, and it’s not like he can go anywhere with the pandemic.” you smoothly elaborate. “Can he stay mum? Please?” 

Your mum smiles again as if she knows something you don’t. She has something in her pocket that she glances at before eyeing you and Fives. “Of course he can stay. After all, you two are made for each other.” You’re about to ask what your mum means by that, but she’s already walking back in the house. 

And so you look to Fives, who giddily smiles in reply. He knows there’s no turning back now. It’s not like he can return home anyway, which isn’t something he isn’t unhappy about. Without warning, he leans towards you, planting a kiss on your cherry, red lips. He pulls away rather quickly, cheeks red. “Wow, never done that before.” he nervously admits. You snort, ignoring the racing of your heart. “Why don’t we try that again?” 

After all, you two are made for each other.

You smile at your mum’s words and kiss him again. Your heart continues to slam against your chest, and you’re still not sure if you’re doing it right, but it doesn’t matter because you know you two were meant to be. 

PART 3