#does he stay as a Jedi Shadow and help out or does he leave the Order too??

[crispyjenkins]

mandalore the young cont.

original post/discussion here! it was just getting really long and i for one hate scrolling so far, so. here's this. have also added this au to my masterlist in my pinned post!

@malcontent-crow

#i had a whole wall of tags and it didnt save! lets try this again#i am loving this. the potential for world building and the consequences of knowing more than you should (literally)

#i had forgotten that DW wasnt in peoples thoughts as a threat during the Clan Wars#and the idea that Pre was so far underground with the movement is a very good thing to remember as well! #on one hand you have this driven and spirited young verd that is inspiring Clans to start reassessing who they are fighting and why#on the other you have this clanless outsider that knows waaaaay too much about all the potential major players and is saying#that this major threat isnt really as gone as everybody thought and hoped. sith parallels out the wahoo for ppor obi#and hes standing there watching them all argue over his head about this threat that he KNOWS needs to be dealt with#he is seeing himself as pretty on par or above with the Old Guard in terms of mental age or prowess or large scale battles#so he sees them doubt him maybe even to his face and knows he'll need to get things started on his own

#and becauae everything in the galaxay has at least one person watching it from the outside... how quickly does the news of a jedi padawan#going off the rails on this mission get out? whos keeping track and who points fingers at the jedi for attempting to control the outcome#of the war of their historical enemies in their favor? the senate (read sith) want mandalore defanged before their war but what does it look#like the jedi want? how does the council answer for his actions? do they condemn or condone him? do they try to stay out of it?

#the world building potential of the Manda and the Ka'ra is delicious.#what does it mean to be a mando or darmanda? can you walk around and have people look at you and know you have failed in your oaths?

#and ouch! Obi-Wan considering the fact that he has never been allowed to be his own person.#from padawan to knight/master and then a general and councilor and sheesh. hes really never had the chance to see who he is as a person#outside of his responsibilities to everybody around him and right now hes a war worn adult in a war worn teens body#hes always had somebody else there. as a battle companion a teacher a student as somebody to protect and guard and guide#and now he has this entire culture looking at him and waiting for his next move. and im guess it still feels like less than a burden than#the care and raising of an entire child on his own. sure he had the temple resources and other jedi to lean on but anakin always looked to#him first to solve any problem or teach him something new or cuddle him after nightmares as hes trying to hide his own dreams#and grief and flounding to find his footing as an independent adult

#so right now hes looking around at the entire mando population and realizing thats he might need to reshape himself again for somebody else#to make himself what others need and knowing he can and will do it if it means saving somebody else

#and when exactly did he come back from the war? did he have satine die in his arms and see the ruin that is madalore after a pacifist reign?#does he see the potential for that ruin to happen right now if he doesnt succeed? where does he see himself in regards to the jedi?#has he considered the consequences of stepping up to be the Mand'alor to this culture he has never seen as his own?#has he let himself think about the choices he needs to make and how some things you cant always come out the other side the same as before?

(following the trend of each of these getting longer, this has hit just under 5,000 words, so just a heads up lol? so much world building is happening in this one)

sorry you had to rewrite so much! that last exchange was cursed, it seems lmao

it's so easy to write Obi-Wan as prescient, or the route I'm going with in Dha Kar'ta, so i think it's a fun change-up to have him knowledgeable for completely different reasons! I'm actually going to avoid visions almost at all for this Obi, but everyone else certainly won't know the difference, and he doesn't tell them otherwise (though he won't encourage it either. I do actually have a Naruto time travel where Nart pretends to be psychic à la Shawn Spencer, so that isn't the route I wanna go for this Obi). the consequences of knowing too much, indeed

hmmm many of these questions depend on how deep into Jedi and galactic politics I wanna go, and I'm not sure it's very deep at all. or at least, not very dragged out. i'll explain in a mo

SO first: yes, this Obi is from after Satine dies, in 19 BBY, maybe a month or so after, but before the bombing of the Temple so before Ahsoka left the Order. He was back on the front, no time to properly mourn, though he was doing his best, and was meditating on the whole war, but especially the Sith and their hand in everything that happened on Mandalore. It went deeper than Maul, he knew, had been going on longer than Maul and even Dooku, and it occurred to Obi-Wan that the Sith either wanted a Mandalore that will side with them but not be too much a threat, or they wanted them not a threat at all. He realised his hand in that, in helping put the New Mandalorians on the throne that led to the demilitarisation of the entire sector. Obi-Wan had practically teed Mandalore up for Dooku and then Maul's interference, and if the Republic won the war, he could all too easily see them doing another excision. won't get too much into it to save it for the fic, but he is mediating with something beskar, and he gets a lil too deep into the Force, and of course this is post-Mortis so...... 👀

so this Obi-Wan, back in time, is helping Mandalore to prevent any more Sith machinations in the future, to change the future for the whole galaxy, but even before he's Chosen, he realises he's also doing all of this for Mandalore. for his own hand in its destruction, for the Jedi's hand in the Excision, for his personal connection to Satine drawing Maul to it. it's for atonement, for reparation, and also because Mandalore deserves to be saved, and Obi-Wan is in a place he can help do that. it isn't just about the health of the galaxy, anymore.

I usually shy away from having Obi-Wan leave the Order, no matter what AU I'm throwing him in because I believe in the fundamental goodness of the Order and the people in it, and Obi-Wan is fundamentally a Jedi, one of the best, one of the best. however, in this case, I don't think he can have his cake and eat it too. if Dooku had to leave the Order to accept his countship, then Obi-Wan would have to leave to become Mand'alor. Jedi are (supposed to be) politically neutral, and Obi-Wan is all too aware he'd nullified his own neutrality the moment he decided to go for Keldabe to find Jango.

one of my favorite... tropes? in time travel fic is Obi using his future fellow councilmembers' access codes to get into things he shouldn't, and he certainly knows how to work the Order's internal systems in his favor, so he

wait so i was gonna have him go in and tender his resignation from the Order directly into the systems, and backdate it for before the Mandalore mission, so that anything he's done on Mandalore so far cannot be blamed on the Jedi BUT WHAT IF he just. deletes himself. like completely. from admin to the Archives to the crèche's own internal systems to the Shadow's private servers, Obi-Wan Kenobi was never a Jedi, was never a Temple bastard, was never Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. his mission records are all in Qui-Gon's name now, his medical file simply doesn't exist, his crècheling clan is listed as simply having been a person short compared to other clans that year. he goes so far as to delete comm histories with him or mentioning him, it's like Obi-Wan Kenobi just doesn't exist anymore.

he does this first thing after leaving Jango, he spends the entire week back to Mandalore ensuring he's been completely erased from absolutely anything relating to the Jedi, and then uses his future councilmember knowledge (and lessons from Quinlan) to erase himself from Republic systems, too. any planet he'd helped as a padawan will suddenly have no records of him as having been there with his master, so the senate or Order can't subpoena them for the info, though Obi-Wan knows he can't have gotten everything (such as any planet not in the Republic, or who don't have holonet access to their files, or both, like Melida/Daan), but he figures he's done enough to absolve the Order if anyone comes knocking about what he's doing.

he buries his lightsaber in the deserts of Mandalore, not knowing that in his old future, he'd have done the same on Tatooine.

so as far as the Jedi are aware: Obi-Wan went on a mission with Qui-Gon that (predictably) went to hell, got separated from his master for weeks to months, then suddenly changed, at the same time their Jedi with the highest prescience collapsed due to his visions, which have also changed. Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon behind to hightail it through the Mandalore sector, and Qui-Gon couldn't catch up or find him, and then Obi-Wan disappeared from anyone's radars for two weeks. then Qui-Gon senses him reenter the Mandalore system, right before breaking his training bond with him, and the Order wakes up to Obi-Wan completely erased from their systems like he never existed in the first place. everything is going so so wrong, and yet. and yet.

and yet the Force is telling them all that this is right, that this is the least Dark course of action, that whatever Obi-Wan is doing is indeed the Will of the Force

so the Order mourns one of their own, and tells Qui-Gon to let him go. and then the Order ups their cyber security because what.

i think he leaves an unsigned letter/comm message for a few people. Bant, Quinlan, Mace, Feemor, his old crèchemaster, Yoda, maybe Jocasta Nu. it's short, basically thanking them for their hand in his upbringing (Feemor hasn't even met him before so is very confused by this), apologising for leaving abruptly, but to follow the Will of the Force, he had to leave; the first part of the message is all the same, but ends with little individual notes. he apologises to Madam Nu for fucking with her archives and hopes she can one day forgive him; he asks her to keep her friends close and to mend the tension between her and Dooku, that Obi-Wan should not know about. He tells Yoda that the future is always in motion but they must move with it; he asks Yoda to meditate on his dwindling lineages and learn to accept all that he cannot control. He reminds Quinlan to wear his gloves and asks him to thank Tholme for looking out for him when Qui-Gon wouldn't or didn't; he thanks him for their years together, and asks him to check in on Feemor every now and then. He apologises to Mace for all the shatter-points he likely caused and will continue to cause, and suggests he put a permanent reminder in his comm to remember to refill his migraine prescription that sixteen year-old Obi should not know about. He asks Bant to look out for a young Togruta initiate that will join in seven years, and suggests Bant might like the healer track rather than the knight corps; he thanks her for being his longest and most dearly-held friend. He thanks his crèchemaster for realising his visions were more than dreams (which will inadvertently lend credence to that theory for why Obi-Wan changed so suddenly), for supporting him when Bruck was at his nastiest, and for always being someone he could turn to even after he became a padawan. For Feemor, Obi-Wan apologises that they hadn't had the chance to meet before then, and for the relationship they won't have anymore; Feemor has no idea who this message is from, until he starts hearing the gossip that Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Order again. He too mourns never getting to know his padawan brother.

and Obi-Wan sends Qui-Gon a message, of course, thanking him for his teachings, apologising for "leading him on" as an apprentice, leaving and coming back so many times only to permanently leave this time. he reminds Qui to reach out to his friends and his support system, asks him to at least consider talking to a mind or soul healer about Xanatos (knowing that once it gets out that Obi-Wan is a planetary leader, it will likely badly trigger Qui-Gon), and asks him to at least try and mend his relationship with Dooku, though understands if that's not something Qui-Gon is willing to do. asks him to keep Satine safe, but to deeply think about why the Republic is so intent on helping her faction, and why Qui-Gon had questioned so little of the New Mandalorian ethos.

so by the time Obi-Wan finds the Old Guard, he's broken from the Order completely, has buried his saber, has broken his training bond, has cut his braid. I think he shaves his head entirely to let it grow out at the same rate, because the padawan cut is *Eliot Spencer voice* Very Distinctive. he paints his armour white for, yes, his men, his vod'e, but also for cin vhetin. he can't be the man he was before, nor the teen he was before, neither are who Mandalore needs, and as long as he can stay true to his morals and upbringing, he will be what Mandalore needs him to be.

okay now onto the Manda vs. the Ka'ra vs. the Force. the Force is a scientific concept of an energy connecting absolutely everything in the universe, and the Jedi have a religious view on the scientific concept. for both purposes, the Force just is. I really like the idea of other non-Jedi ideas just being different aspects of the Force, different religions and cultures based on the same scientific concepts. for Mandalorians, their "aspect" of the Force is the Manda, the collective souls of every Mando'ade that's ever marched on. just what it means to be Mando'ade has varied greatly through history, and is varied between different groups even now, but none of that changes what the Manda is, which is an aspect of the Force only Mando'ade can touch. sort of like their beliefs of it being separate from the Force have made it so?

now I haven't really talked about this before, but from the beginning of me writing Mandalorian related things, i've separated Ka'ra from ka'ra, which was a little bit me misremembering there was another term for "stars", and then it became it's own thing. kar, meaning "star", with it's plural kar'e or kare, to me, means physical stars, the way we'd call our sun a star. ka'ra, uncapitalised, is the more poetic and/or spiritual "stars", the way we might say something is "written in the stars", which actually aligns with how jate'kara is spelled; for my writing, i've used this form for Mandalorian Force-sensitives being Star-touched ka'ra-touched. Ka'ra, capitalised, is that "ruling council of fallen kings", the Mandalorian myth and it, the way I've always interpreted it, is a separate part of the Manda made up of specifically the souls of every Mand'alor already marched on. So, Tor Vizsla could have joined the Manda after death, but not the Ka'ra; make sense? all that ka'ra vs Ka'ra worldbuilding was done very early in my writing for star wars, and has since expanded to include the idea of the Manda as something separate, and I would now actually consider Manda-touched over Star-touched to describe Force sensitive Mando'ade, because that's really what I think Mandalorians would consider causes their supernatural powers: ancestors rather than the stars.

so what does that mean for this fic? the Manda is directly influenced by all those that consider themselves Mandalorian, Force-sensitive or not. it is, however, not affected by New Mandalorians, unless they worship the Manda in some facsimile, and I think many, many, many do not, not the way they were raised to. this worship looks different for every clan and every individual, and I've always interpreted it as more of a broad spiritual practice across the whole culture rather than a religion, per se, the way a real-world broader culture might pray at shrines at New Years even if individuals themselves or their family aren't religious. this is what I'm referencing when I say the Will of the People: the alive Mando'ade and their choices and emotions affecting and influencing the Manda, the collective amalgamation of every passed-on Mando'ade, and it's when these two are in tandem that they "pick" a Mand'alor. HOWEVER, such a pick is also up to the Ka'ra, the Mand'alor'e that have all marched on; to one day enter the Ka'ra themselves, a Mand'alor must be "picked" by both the People/the Manda, and the Ka'ra. Tor would be "picked" by a significant part of the People and the Manda, and so would Jaster have been, but (according to me, myself, and i, obviously), only Jaster had been chosen by the Ka'ra. Pre is "Mand'alor" only in name, only in a tenuous loyalty existing in House Vizsla and Death Watch, not even by the Manda; just simple human (et al) loyalty. Jango had a weaker "pick" from the Manda than Jaster did, but was picked by the Ka'ra, meaning if he did not declare himself dar'manda (even just internally; I don't think he's ever said it out loud), he would have joined the Ka'ra after death; if he ever reconnects with himself as a Mandalorian, I like to think he'd have that chance again. Canon Jango, though, who went on to make the clones? Absolutely not.

what does this all mean for Obi-Wan? he'd spent weeks inadvertently drumming up support in the people and therefore the Manda, and maybe most haven't really looked at him and thought "sure I'd follow him as Mand'alor", but they have looked at him and thought "that one has mandokar, that one wants what's best for Mandalore, that one is touched by destiny". I dunno, man, like. Obi-Wan is their hope before he is their leader. That will make all the difference when he does end up uniting them. His searching out Jango had made Jango finally confront that he feels dar'manda, until then he hadn't really lost the Ka'ra's support, but that severs that connection. and now the Ka'ra are without a Mand'alor, but look at that, there's a mandokar'la little idiot right there, already strong in the Manda, already rallying hope and purpose, already so invested in the nurturing and the future of Mandalore, how could the Ka'ra not choose him?

I posed the question previously whether or not Mando'ade can tell who has been chosen to be Mand'alor, and I think I've ironed out what that'll mean for this fic. non-Force sensitive Mando'ade will have this sense when near their Mand'alor, a subconscious and inherent trust in them, and indeed, some will be disturbed by this and fight it. that's alright, that's their right. Some never clock this extra sense, some are aware of it always, some just chalk it up to "gut feelings" and the like. The more spiritual or religious Mandos maybe put a little more stock in this feelings, I think especially goran'e and other spiritual leaders, but the fact that the Manda can technically pick more than one person at a time (like Tor and Jaster, and then Jango), this extra sense isn't a perfect indicator of a properly chosen Manda'lor.

now. what about Force sensitive Mando'ade? Well, the Manda is an aspect of the Force, and is in fact how said Force sensitive Mando'ade connect to the Force, by going through the Manda, first. their relationship with sensitivity is inherently different from others in the galaxy, at least those that connect to it directly. they are the ones that can sense or see if someone is chosen by the Ka'ra, depending on their sensitivity. Some see the ghostly line of previous Mand'alor'e stretched out behind them (like the Avatar cycle lmao), some see a wavering crown of stars around their head, some just sense there is a duplicity (/neutral) to their Force presence that doesn't exist in anyone else. how common is Force sensitivity in Mandalorian space? not fuckin very. Jaster had three in his entire faction of aprox. 2 million (fanon number), at least that were aware they were sensitive. Jango only had a few more, and only because he had gained a couple hundred thousand more followers before Galidraan. so i'll make the nearly-arbitrary number that Force sensitive Mandos are 1 in 1,000,000, across the entire sector. by some calculations, in the whole galaxy at around the time of the Clone Wars the number of Force sensitives is 1 in 5,000,000 but these calculations do not generally include societies and species with a near or 100% chance of Force sensitivity, because we simply don't have the data for it. does this all make Mandos slightly more likely to be Force sensitive than others, by my own numbers? sorta. which i'm making an issue of underreporting, based on Mandalore not being a part of the Republic, and also contention with the Jedi and Sith; they don't consider those Manda-touched to be Force sensitive, and with the way I've built this, they aren't exactly wrong.

for the purposes of this story, there are maybe eight Manda-touched Mando'ade in the Mandalore system at this time, and all but one are goran'e. that single non-armorer is part of the Old Guard. I have the roster for the Old Guard decided, so I'm debating whether the Manda-touched one is Cort Davin (a journeyman protector), or one of the women. Instinct wants Vhonte Tervho, but I have plans for her to be related to the goran Obi-Wan got his armour done by, who I wanted to be one of the seven Force sensitive armorers, soooo. lmao how fucked would it be if Isabet Reau is the Force sensitive one? I like the angst of that, since I definitely do not plan on redeeming her, but I kind of want the only Old Guard that can sense Obi-Wan is Chosen by the Ka'ra to be really quiet and accepting of it, while everyone else is arguing. hmmm I have an unnamed Wren as part of the Guard, that I haven't fleshed anything out for yet; perhaps them?

okay I think I've solidified what it makes a Mandalorian, at least for the function of this fic. it is tied to the Resol'nare, and following it, which does allow those who had Chosen Tor Vizsla as their Mand'alor to technically still be following the Resol'nare, and are therefore not dar'manda. at least not for that. but part of the reason the Resol'nare is even able to determine who has a Mandalorian soul, is because they believe it does. Those alive and those dead influence the functionality and reality of the Manda, which also allows for those pre-Resol'nare to still exist in the Manda. What causes someone to become dar'manda, if they are technically following the Resol'nare?

maybe it's reductive, or over-simplified, or maybe even too broad, but it makes sense to me and allows for many many different types of people to still fail, and this is obviously not the only way to become dar'manda, but one thing that will always strip someone of their Mando soul? treatment of children. caring for children. not harming children. this allows many of Death Watch to still maintain their Mando souls, but still be fucked up awful people in other ways. It allows even True Mandalorians to have lost their souls and not realised it because they otherwise adhered to the Resol'nare, because they'd chosen to interpret "defending oneself and family" and "raising your children as Mandalorians" to not include other peoeple's children. Or maybe they were abusive in the belief they were caring for their children. This would also make every single one of the Cuy'val Dar dar'manda, which I think is a fascinating concept.

to answer your question directly, no, one cannot look at someone and know they're dar'manda, even the Force/Manda sensitive ones. one will only know in death, whether or not they have a place in the Manda.

NOW what does this mean for New Mandalorians?? well, by technicality and the way I've set the Manda up, one can interpret the Resol'nare in ways that could align with New Mandos. Perhaps they interpret "armour" as more than specifically "beskar'gam", maybe they wear armourweave or other protective fabrics. Maybe they interpret "defending one's family" as putting down arms instead of raising them, in order to create a peaceful future for their children. I think there are plenty of New Mandos that technically tick off all the boxes, and believe in themselves and their fellows so much that the Manda is like "yeah sure why not, we'll make that count". I think some tenants are more easily... bent, like swearing to the duchy in place of the Mand'alor, but I think an easy one New Mandos miss, is "speak Mando'a." I think many New Mandos were all too quick to switch to Basic for everything except religious and spiritual ceremonies, and I think those already in the Manda would find that very hard to forgive. I actually get into this a little in Dha Kar'ta very soon, but for this fic, i'll have Satine not outright outlawing Mando'a, but it is socially heavily discouraged. you're not allowed to speak it in the palace unless in aforementioned ceremonies, you cannot fill out paperwork in anything but Basic, you're not allowed to use Mando'a titles (including Mand'alor), you're not allowed to teach it to your children. no outright like. punishments for speaking it in public, but if your kids are caught, there are repercussions, including investigation into how else you're raising your kids, and if you're found to be doing anything else, they can take your kids from you. not every New Mando agrees with this, of course, and go about adhering to the Resol'nare as best they can in secret, but so many do give up the language by convincing themselves it's not as important as the other tenants and, well, the duchy hasn't steered them all wrong yet, has it?

okay so on the subject of what the outside galaxy is seeing. I like the headcanon/trope/idea of like. the one thing all factions of Mandalorians agreeing on is fuck everyone else. oh, the New Mandos will emulate the Core and the Republic, but they aren't the Republic nor want to be, and this animosity extends to keeping as many internal Mandlorian issues just that: internal. no faction can keep news from leaving the system or the sector, obviously, but there also isn't a lot of interest in Mandalorian news? "oh look all the Mandos are fighting again", except that's been the standard for like. actual thousands of years. I like when fic have people outside the sector not evening knowing there are different factions, so I'll be doing that here, too, and I like the idea of non-Republic sectors having their own holonets, separate from the Republic one. so like, if Obi-Wan happens to go a little viral during his mad dash to Keldabe, that would be on the Mandalorian holonet, not the Republic one, so even if Obi-Wan was visibly still a Jedi (and he wasn't), actual news of him wouldn't reach the Mid and Inner Rims until like. possible years after it happens.

could this maybe be expedited by Sith machinations? absolutely, though I'm not sure I want to go that route, since I don't think the Sith are overmuch interested in Mandalore at this point, at least not in any hands-on capacity. I'm unclear on whether them funding Death Watch is fanon or not, but it is a headcanon I subscribe to, and I think they'd have stopped funding DW after Galidraan, to cause worse infighting and prevent DW from gaining enough power to actually restart their imperial conquering days. Palpatine has been senator for about ten years by this point, but has very little political power overall, and Demask would be looking basically anywhere but Mandalore at this point in time, both of them having written it off until they actively need something from the sector. if anyone had clocked Obi-Wan as a Jedi, this all would have gone very differently, news would have spread much further and quicker and I think undoubtedly would have reached Palpatine, but since I have Obi-Wan just... cutting ties to anything Jedi, news of him remains in-sector. is this perhaps unrealistic? maybe, but I kind of want to focus on Mandalore and not worry about galactic-wide politics for once, lmao, actually very much like Obi-Wan is doing. however, he will clock a lack of Sith interference and thinks That's Very Weird.

haven't decided how he finds Palpatine out yet, but I think it'll have to do with his Manda senses being different than his Force ones, maybe the Ka'ra even gives him a few tips or gifts to sense Sith since they've allied and fought with them so much in the past. regardless, that'll be after he's become Mand'alor and united the clans.

now to actual plot progression! Obi-Wan meets up with the Old Guard, they don't know what to make of him other than "he's kriffing weird. and young. and creepy. and probably Manda-touched." whatever other verd is Manda-touched will see him blessed by the Ka'ra, which causes them to look inwards more closely and realise they trust Obi-Wan inexplicably, which means they're blessed by the Manda and the Will of the People, too. they wonder if Obi-Wan has noticed, if any of the other Old Guard have noticed. they are one of a few that notice Obi-Wan sneaking back out while everyone is arguing.

Vhonte Tervho is another. She's at this lil summit to represent clan Tervho, tho isn't the clan head, because her ba'vodu, a Manda-touched goran, had sensed she needed to be at the summit. said ba'vodu is of course the armorer who reforged Obi-Wan's armour (need to find a name for them hmm), who had told their clan they were to cease fighting until their new Mand'alor called on them. Vhonte sees Obi-Wan, realises at the same time as everyone that he's the Kih'Manda, the Mand'ika that the entire system had been gossiping about for weeks, and she thinks of what her ba'vodu said. she looks inwards, like they had taught her to, and finds, yes, she trusts Obi-Wan, just like she used to trust Jango. And, well, her Mand'alor is obviously leaving to go do something, and she isn't going to let him go it alone.

the Manda-touched verd doesn't go with them, wanting to see what comes of this, but they already know Obi-wan is Ka'ra Chosen. they will come when he calls.

[princessbrunette]

Jedi John b breaking his code to fuck you, the princess of a distant planet he was assigned to protect

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

john b had his serious face on today.

his eyes had clouded over almost, brows in a permanent frown and it was like you could see every thought racing through his head though you didn’t know what they were. you’d stayed quiet on the journey, hands in your lap as the stars flash past you through the windows. whatever john b was planning, it must’ve been important.

you’re not expecting to land in the most beautiful planet you’d ever seen. as a princess, you’d had the privilege of getting to see the galaxy. some beautiful, some struck by war and impoverished — but you’d never seen this place before.

when you’d asked “wow, where are we john b?”

he’d simply responded with “uh, very far from home.” before whistling to his droid to get it to follow the two of you down the ramp.

you’d walked for a while, and you didn’t question anything merely because you were too amazed by the beauty of your surroundings. forestscape surrounds you, vibrant purple flowers entwining the thick branches and the sun beginning to set leaving a pink hue over everything light touched. he cranes round to check on you as he leads you through the scenery, eyes lingering on you when he sees you smiling, a bird like creature you’d never seen before fluttering past, your eyes following in amusement. maker, you were beautiful.

you eventually come to a building, seemingly abandoned at the edge of the forest overlooking the great waterfalls and he holds his hand out. this strikes you as odd because john b never offers to hold your hand, attempting to be professional, you usually simply grab it anyway.

soon, you’re standing in the bright orange sunset infront of the open balcony doors, sheet curtains blowing in the gentle humid breeze.

“why are we here, john b?” your voice is soft like fine silk a hand gently touching his back as he faces away from you.

“so… the other night you begged me for something.” he begins sincerely, staring into your eyes in the intense way he always did once he turns to face you. you’re immediately swarmed by the memory of you begging him to touch you and physically cringe.

“john b, i’m terribly sorry. i had simply had too much wine at the senate gala and i was absolutely beside myself. i shouldn’t have—”

“no just… listen, okay?” he raises his eyebrows, forehead crinkling at the stress on his face and you sink, nodding as you hear him out. he wipes a hand along his jaw in thought before speaking once more. “people seem to think i’m this… perfect jedi, as if that even exists.” he rants, shaking his head, voice low and timbery. “truth is it’s never been hard for me to act like one. i believe in all the rules so, why would i disobey them right?”

he steps closer to you, tilting his head as your eyes drift off in thought to catch your gaze, his own eyes wide and puppy like.

“you make that hard for me because i… just wanna have you all to myself.”

your breath hitches in your throat. he looked insanely gorgeous in that moment, orange glow of the sunset casting shadows across him and warming the highest points of his face, his brown wavy hair lit up and highlighted by the unrelenting sun.

“you do?” you whisper but it’s barely audible. he presses his lips together, brows raised as he nods slowly, taking another step until you were practically chest to chest.

“yep, yes. i do.” his deep voice rumbles infront of you. your brows furrow sympathetically, doe eyes making it hard for him to resist you.

“i’m sorry john b. i never wanted to make it difficult to remain faithful to the jedi council.” you shake your head in worry and he stills you with a soft hand on your cheek, ducking his head.

“hey. don’t be sorry. you… make me feel like a person.” his voice lowers, and you can’t help but selfishly glance at his mouth — in which he does the same.

“s’that why you brought me here john b? to feel like a person?” you breathe, practically sharing oxygen.

“i brought you here…” he begins to walk you slowly backwards towards the large bed. “to make you feel as good as you make me feel. without the concern of anyone else catching us.” he promises and your legs hit the back of the bed, sitting you down with a bounce. you feel the heat rush over your body, the same arousal you felt the night you begged him to touch you — already feeling the slick coating your opening, body desperate to take him. “if, you know… that’s alright with you ma’am.” his lips twitch a little and you bite your smile back, nodding violently.

one thing about the jedi, they had phenomenal stamina. it feels like you’re in and out of consciousness at some points, so lost in a haze of pleasure that you’d forgotten where you were and what was happening. nothing else in the galaxy mattered but john b’s head between your legs, his thick arms, toned from the extensive training a jedi goes through wrapped around your thighs to hold you open, naked body glowing with perspiration as you writhe on the bed.

“m’mph— john—john b, my goodness i’m—” you cry, like actually cry — because it had been such a long time coming. he lifts his head with a sweet smile, chin glossed with your slick and he pushes himself up to hover over you, lips ghosting over yours. you can smell yourself, taste yourself on him, it was all too much.

“you’re crying sweet girl?” he hums in awe, nudging your legs open with his own to slot himself over you.

“please let me feel you. please!” you beg once more, this time with no shame and he pecks your cheek.

“oh you will. it’s a good thing being a jedi taught me patience, right? because… i’m not done making you cum on my tongue.” he drops his voice for the last part, tilting his head, hot breath on your jaw as you shudder. he was right, he was patient — but even you could see the way he was throbbing in his pants for you.

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

[rinixo]

thrones and people and cities

Din Djarin/Reader | 6.9k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, Mand’alor!Din Djarin, smut, piv sex, resolved romantic tension, light angst, slight power imblance |

The first time you met the Mand’alor, you didn’t realize it was him. Perhaps it was because all Mandalorians tended to blur together and look the same to your inexperienced eyes, or maybe it was because you found him hiding at your workstation.

--

AU of the 'trying to sleep' series (non-linear oneshots featuring you, a university scholar from Naboo who is helping The Mandalorian seek out the Jedi). Can be read alone.

a/n: The character of 'reader' in this fic is the same scholar!reader, but the setting is set in an AU where Din is Mand'alor and does not know reader prior. I took many creative liberties with Mandalorian culture, but tried to stay within the realm of what is known through canon and legends. Final line is from ‘Fire and Blood’ by GRRM.

You had gotten used to seeing the armored warriors during your few short weeks on Mandalore, but rarely did they spend much time in your presence - or you theirs. So one early morning, when you rounded the corner towards your desk, a nice steaming cup of caf in your hand, you were quite surprised to see a tall figure hovering over your research.

You paused, confused. As part of a diplomatic delegation from Naboo, you had been assigned various tasks relating to your academic expertise. You had yet to have anyone other than the ambassadorial team come to check in on your research - which you did not mind, you preferred working without the uninterested glazed stares of politicians over your shoulder. Seeing a Mandalorian looking at your work was quite unusual.

Clearing your throat, you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. “Um…can I help you with something?” The armored man - was it a man? you couldn’t tell - turned slightly to face you, and while you could not see their expression you had a feeling that you had caught them off guard.

“Ah…no,” came the vocoder's reply. You raised a brow slightly and sipped on your caf.

“Ok…” you said slowly, walking towards your desk. “Well…do you mind if I sit down?” You inclined your head towards your chair in front of your workstation. “I have some charting to get done.”

The Mandalorian immediately stepped to the side to allow you to move in. “By all means,” he replied, and you passed him a small, polite smile as you slide into your seat.

You expected him to leave, but instead, the armored figure stayed near the side of your station, hovering. You tried your best to ignore him as you booted up your console, feeling awkward and not knowing if you should say anything.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” You asked again. The Mandalorian shook his head, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes as you returned to your work. You noticed that he seemed to try to act casual and lean against the wall, but his helmet would turn every so often to the doorway, keeping an eye on it. You had heard that Mando’s could be paranoid, but this felt ridiculous.

A good half hour passed, and all the while the armored man stayed at your station while you worked on your charts. Sometimes footsteps could be heard outside your workspace, and you would notice he would stiffen and slink back until he was cloaked in the shadows of the small room you were in.

“Are you hiding?” You finally asked after the Mandalorian had all but ducked behind your station as a group of different people passed outside your door. The incredulity in your tone was obvious, and he immediately put his hands on his hips, body language indicating offense.

“No,” he challenged, and you scoffed. “I’m…inspecting.” He made a show of looking around the room, to the back of your workstation, to the cobwebbed corners of the ceiling.

“Inspecting,” you repeated. “Right.” You leaned back in your chair, opening your hands in a ‘go ahead and look’ gesture to the work in front of you. To his credit, the Mandalorian shuffled over to peer down at your desk, eyeing over the data and charts.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he replied gruffly, and you smirked.

“You don’t even know what you’re looking at, do you?”

Part of you wondered if sassing a heavily armed Mandalorian was a good idea. He had kind of started it, you decided, by being so weird.

Arms crossed, the Mando fixed you with what you were sure was a pointed, helmeted glare. “Charts,” he finally decided, and this time you did roll your eyes.

—

You didn’t realize that the “inspector” was actually the Mand’alor until the second time you met. It was a few days after your odd encounter with the shiny-armored Mando, and you were in the mess hall, taking your midday meal while listening to your colleagues chat. Some of the Mandalorians were also present, a mixture of the helmet and helmet-less heads peppered amongst the different diplomatic delegations staying in the capital buildings. Mandalore had grown in population tremendously over the past year since the Mand’alor had rallied his people back to reclaim and resettle the planet, but still, there was a sense of hesitation amongst many of the armored warriors towards the visiting dignitaries.

In particular, scholars and academics like yourself were met with the most distance. The Mandalorian people seemed to favor those who practiced more combat-based skills than those whose expertise lay in other areas. It made sense, as their creed and warrior lifestyle were one of the things they were able to cling to after the great purge. By no means were they a stupid or unintelligent people, but you had much less in common with them as a whole than the military and other leaders you were with did.

As a result, all of this made you feel even more strange when a broad Mandalorian guard approached you at your table. You raised a brow, mouth full of the stew you were munching on.

“The Mand’alor requests your presence,” the guard said briskly, and you forced yourself to swallow the food in your mouth before you choked it back up out of surprise. Your colleagues around you fell silent as they watched. None of you had ever been asked to meet or even be in the presence of the leader of the Mandalorians. On the totem pole of ‘important people,’ you were seated quite comfortably near the bottom.

“Now,” the guard added, indicating that you were not going to be allowed to finish your meal. Standing awkwardly, you gave a small shrug towards the faces of your workmates, all of whom were staring in confusion. You guessed that your expression was quite similar.

You followed the guard out of the mess hall and towards the center of the building. Calling it a ‘palace’ would be a stretch, even if that is what it used to be. The building was still littered with rubble, even after a year of repairs, and the once grand fixtures and decorations that still stood were tattered and broken. Coming from the royal city of Theed on Naboo, it was a far different sight than what you were used to when you thought of the word ‘palace’.

Struggling to keep up with the guard's long-legged pace, you cleared your throat. “May I ask why the Mand’alor wants to see me?” You asked. The guard did not spare you an answer and merely quickened his stride. You sighed and hoped that your simple outfit was considered appropriate for meeting the equivalent of the king of this planet.

You were led to a set of reinforced doors, outside which two additional guards stood watch. They straightened and saluted the guard leading you as the pair of you approached.

“Enter,” was all you were told when you looked up at the Mando who had brought you here. You glanced up at the impassive guard, before steeling yourself and pushing open the door.

The room wasn’t large but had a huge vaulted ceiling peppered with holes, no doubt put there by artillery strikes and shrapnel. The midday light streamed in from above, joined by a few lamps set up in the corners. Other than that, it was empty - save for a lone and somewhat familiar man hovering over a low table covered in maps.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. His hands were braced on the table, and while the armor he wore was the same you had seen him in days ago, he was now also adorned with a thicker and more luxurious-looking fur-lined cloak. Though the room wasn’t very big, it felt like there was an endless chasm opening up between the two of you, and you were resisting the temptation to jump inside of it.

You clamped your mouth shut from where it hung open, throat dry with realization. You had sassed the king of Mandalore. The legendary bounty hunter turned leader of the Mandalorian diaspora. The man who had defeated Moff Gideon slaughtered a krayt dragon and was a personal friend of many other terrifying people, including the daimyo of Mos Espa. If all of the tales and rumors were true – and you had no reason to believe they weren’t – the man could kill you a million different ways with just the cup of caf sitting on the table near his hands.

Your mind fled back to the meeting you and your delegation had with the Naboo ambassador before your arrival on the planet. The importance of being seen and not heard was drilled into your heads, as well as the intergalactic implications of a ‘diplomatic incident’ if you offended someone. You had barely paid attention, not planning to be doing much more than your research while on Mandalore, and internally you kicked your past self for dozing off. If your ambassador were here now, you bet he would have died of shock. Either that or strangled you to death.

You were sure that you had been brought here to be reprimanded, punished, something – but to your shocked surprise, the man relaxed back on his heels, posture open and welcoming.

“Ah. Good timing” came the familiar voice. “Thanks for coming.”

Your eyes narrowed, unsure if this was a joke or not. “You’re…” you trailed off lamely.

“Not an inspector,” the Mand’alor acquiesced, tipping his head in a small show of acknowledgment. “My apologies for not introducing myself the other day. I was not expecting to be…confronted.”

You paused, thinking back to this man – this king – hiding behind your desk. It had seemed silly back then, but now it was just ludicrous. Like a fever dream. No one was ever going to believe you.

The Mand’alor gestured for you to move closer to the table, and you responded with leaden legs. “P-pardon my behavior, your highness-“ you stuttered out, pausing when he sighed and put up his hand.

“Don’t,” he said shortly, making you wince. He immediately softened his posture in response. “Please, it’s all right. You did not offend me,” you wondered if the sound of his smile was genuine or not, “And you don’t need to call me that.”

You nodded slowly. “All right.” You stood as straight as you could, hands clasped behind your back, trying to appear as proper as you could. “What can I do for you, your high- sir?”

Thankfully he ignored your clumsy slip of the tongue and gestured to the table behind him. “I need your help with something.” He shuffled some charts – physical ones, on actual paper – and pulled up a hologram of a star system.

“I’m looking for something,” he continued. “A planet, I think, or at the very least a civilization. It’s been lost for many millennia, but I was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

You nodded, interest perking up despite your recent shock. As an archeo-astronomer, you assisted many people with deciphering ancient star maps to track down treasures or chart the movement of ancient astronomic bodies. Most of the time your clients were impossibly rich with nothing better to do than spend millions of credits tracking down a family’s lost heirloom. This was the first time a head of state had ever asked for assistance.

“Do you know what it’s called?” You asked, inquisitiveness making you feel braver. You peered down at the charts as the Mand’alor pushed one gently toward you.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure it even exists. But it’s important to me that I try.” The sincerity in his voice made you smile softly, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you eagerly leaned over the table to get a better look. The Mand’alor explained that what he was looking for was for someone very important to him, and while he could not give you very many details, he was able to show you all of what he had managed to pull together so far.

“It’s not much,” he sighed. “But I’ve reached the limit of my ability to make sense of it all.” You had since pulled out your datapad and were beginning to cross-reference pieces of the data on the table with your research.

“It isn’t much,” you agree after a moment, “But it is something. I’ve managed more with less.”

There was a hum of admiration from the man at that. “Thank you. I can compensate you, of course-“

“Oh, no,” you interrupted. “That’s not necessary.” You were here on behalf of your people to assist the Mandalorians, were you not? Accepting payment felt wrong to you.

“Very well,” the Mand’alor’s voice sounded amused. “If you need access to resources, anything – please just ask.”

You passed him a small smile. “I will.”

--

The weeks passed by swiftly now that you had something to focus on. Before you had been doing some basic research, nothing groundbreaking, but now you felt invigorated and excited about what you were looking for. The Mand’alor had gifted you with quite the puzzle to solve.

You didn’t see him very often, but he would stop by your workstation every few days to check in on your progress. The more you discovered, the more elaborate your charting and analytics were becoming, and your work expanded to fill the small room you were in. The Mand’alor would stand quietly as you explained what you were doing and what all the numbers and coordinates meant. You appreciated that he listened, and sometimes even proffered a question or two. Thinking about how he was a king sometimes made you stumble over your words, but he would set you back on track with a gentle but firm affirmation of your work.

You learned that he had been hiding that first day when you found him at your workstation. In an attempt to escape a gaggle of advisors and dignitaries, he had ducked into the alcove you had claimed as your own. You teased him gently, finding the whole idea of the legendary Mandalorian bounty hunter hiding from powdered politicians for a brief moment of silence endearing.

The man had also told you his real name – Din – one late evening. You were running out of ways to address him, and he could tell you were struggling with not calling him by a title. With the name, your friendship then began to grow even more familiar, and you felt a little special knowing something that most others were not privy to.

This particular day, you were compiling galactic coordinates when the stoic leader showed up at your doorway. You turned to greet him but paused as you noticed a small figure at his side, holding onto his leg. It looked to be a child, with wrinkly green skin, large ears, and wide, curious eyes. It looked up and around your room in awe, gaze following the holograms of stars as they floated serenely about the space.

“I thought you might like to meet the one you’re putting all this work in for,” Din said lightly, looking down at the figure at his feet. You smiled softly as you stood, hands clasped lightly behind your back.

“Hello,” you said politely, introducing yourself. The child blinked up at you, mouth opening in a small coo.

“This is Grogu,” Din translated, and at the mention of his name, the child looked up at the armored man. “My son.”

Your eyes widened, and you coughed lightly into your fist. “Your…son,” you repeated, almost as a question. Your mind raced, trying to correlate the appearance of the baby with the armored man in front of you. You knew Mandalorians didn’t all look humanoid, though all of those that you had met so far did. You had just assumed that the Mand’alor would be the same. You also had not heard that he was a father, or married, or whatever it was that Mandalorians did in that regard. Something in you twinged with what almost felt like jealousy – towards who or what, you could not place.

“Well,” you croaked out, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “He is…quite adorable. Does he take after his mother?” You asked hopefully. That got a real laugh out of the man, and you flushed in response. You were just curious…

“No, no,” Din explained. “He’s a foundling. Like…adoption,” he clarified.

You flushed darker with the realization. Of course. Adoption. That made much more sense.

“Ah…well, I’m glad to meet you, Grogu,” you were eager to change the subject, and continued with the conversation. “Is there anything, in particular, you’d like to see?”

Din stooped to pick up the child and held him at his side. “He doesn’t speak,” the man explained, stepping further inside the room. “But he understands. I was hoping you could show him your progress so far. I think he would like that.”

Nodding, you passed them a small grin and turned to adjust your hologram. Explaining coordinates and charts was not easy for the average adult to understand, not to mention a little child. A visual representation would be better.

The three of you stood under the moving lights of the hologram as you explained as simply as you could what you had discovered so far. When Grogu reached his hands out towards the spinning planets, you zoomed in to allow him to play with the lights, a delighted grin on his little face. You entertained him by fast-forwarding through supernovae and asteroid impacts, showering the room in bursts of light that reflected like fireworks in his dark eyes.

You finished up, now talking more to his father than him as you broke down what point you were at in your findings. You were not near any kind of solid conclusion yet, but you were further along than he had ever gotten, and you preened inwardly as he told you so.

“Thank you for showing him,” Din spoke. Grogu looked from his father’s helmeted face to yours and stretched out a little green hand.

“Of course,” you responded, extending your hand to meet the childs. He grasped your fingers and cooed again. Your body was suddenly filled with a brief but overwhelming sense of wonderment and admiration that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but as soon as he let go of you it faded. You gaped as the Mandalorian bid you farewell and watched as he marched out of the room, his little green child peering back at you over his father’s shoulder.

--

The months passed without much incident. You continued your research, sometimes joined by the Mand’alor and his son, but mostly on your own. You were absorbed in your work, finding yourself wanting a reason for the man to come and see what you had discovered. The days you had a lot to show him were the days he spent the most time with you, and so you worked hard to have something worthwhile to present.

The weather began to grow colder, and the Mandalorians began to prepare for some kind of celebration. It was based on a tradition of old, something to do with saying farewell to the warm autumn months and welcoming in the bitter bite of winter. It was the first time the nomadic people would have the chance to celebrate in a central location before the purge, and so the palace was alight with preparation and excitement.

You yawned, leaning back in your chair and looking up at the ceiling. The celebration itself culminated in a grand feast later that night, to be held in the throne room. All the foreign delegations were invited as well, and you were more than happy to mingle quietly while eating all of the delicious food you had smelled being prepared for the last couple of days.

Rubbing your eyes, you stood. A break from your work would do you good, you decided. A nice evening, a few drinks, and then you could start again the next day feeling refreshed.

A few hours later, you found yourself in the grand central throne room, surrounded by many other excited, chatting people. Dressed simply in traditional Naboo formalwear, you sipped on a pleasantly sweet cocktail and munched on the plentiful hors d’ouevres. The feast was set to begin shortly with the arrival of the Mand’alor and his retinue, so you began to make your way toward the long table reserved for the Naboo delegation.

A soft touch on your shoulder made you turn, and you saw the same guard that had escorted you to Din months earlier. “My lady,” the guard said quietly, and you blinked at the honorific. “The Mand’alor wishes to invite you to his table for the feast, in a show of thanks for your assistance.” You blinked again, not sure what to say in response. You glanced up at the main table in the front of the room, where it was set up on the dais. It was very central, you noticed. Your heart fluttered anxiously.

“I…would be delighted,” you squeaked out, and the guard nodded. He stepped aside and gestured for you to move towards the dais as the sound of horns signaled the rest of the guests to make their way to their seats.

Ahead of you, the Din and his advisors – and Grogu, you saw – were settling in at the royal table. Din was dressed more resplendently than you had ever seen him before. His armor shone, and his clothing underneath was dyed a rich series of earthy browns, reds, and greens. His helmet was adorned by what looked like a crown of beskar, shaped like the horns of some great beast. A heavy cloak sat on his shoulders, lined with plush, cream fur. All in all, it was stunning and took your breath away. In comparison, you felt severely underdressed, especially now that you would be joining him in front of the hundreds of others in attendance.

Expecting to be seated at the very end of the long table, your head swam as you were instead led directly to the center of the table where Din was sitting. A chair to his left was open, and the guard pulled it out for you, clearly indicating that you were to sit there.

You sat stiffly, avoiding the looks of your delegation below – especially the icy gaze of the head ambassador. Instead, you focused on the table, looking at the impressive spread of delicacies laid out before you.

“Are you all right?” A low voice asked from your side. You glanced over at Din, who sat more relaxed in his lavish wear. On his other side, Grogu babbled and reached his hands out toward the steaming dishes in front of him.

Clearing your throat, you nodded shortly. “Yes,” you ventured. “I was just not expecting to sit here. In the middle. With you.”

Din reached a hand over subtly and laid it over your own. “It’s the least I can do, to repay you for everything you’ve done so far,” he explained. “And it’s my table. I can sit next to whomever I want.”

You let out a small laugh at the sarcastic tone in his voice. During your time on Mandalore, you had come to understand the mysterious leader and the events that led to him being here a bit more. He was the very definition of a reluctant leader, uncomfortable with titles and more concerned with helping others than putting himself above them. He had a reputation for being firm, but kind. Strong, yet gentle where it mattered. His actions had endeared many to his service, pledging their bodies and weapons to his cause, and he took that very seriously. You got the feeling that deep down he was just as uncomfortable as you, sitting there as the center of attention, and that made you feel marginally better.

The feast began with a short tale from a Mandalorian elder, detailing the history behind the festivities. You tried to listen but found yourself distracted by Din’s hand remaining on your own. The warm, heavy weight of his hand dwarfed yours, and your appetite was forgotten as his thumb brushed gently against your skin.

As the evening went on, you sipped slowly from your glass and made small conversations with those around you. The Mand’alor greeted the various guests who came up to the table to introduce themselves and share their gratitude for the invitation. Grogu had moved from his seat to his father’s lap, and you watched in amusement and amazement at how much food he managed to consume.

Soon it was the Naboo’s turn to approach the table, and you avoided looking directly at the ambassador as he swished up towards the dais. He made some grand, pompous statements about how the Naboo valued their relationship with Mandalore before he turned awkwardly towards you.

“You honor us by inviting one of our delegation to your table, your highness,” the ambassador bit out. “I hope the girl is representing our people appropriately.” You frowned into your drink as you swallowed. The man was obviously put off by the fact that it was you at the Mand’alor’s side, and not one of the ambassadorial staff. His gaze felt like it was probing every inch of your skin, commanding you to explain yourself. Who did you think you were?

“The honor is mine,” Din replied smoothly, “to have the privilege of working with such an intelligent and determined woman. Her contributions to a personal project of mine cannot be overstated.” He turned so that his helmet faced you, and you looked back at him as your heart swelled. “The Naboo are blessed to have someone such as her to represent them.”

To have the leader of Mandalore drop the kindest words anyone had ever said about you so firmly in front of the now-flustered ambassador made feelings you didn’t have names for blossom from your head to your toes. You had no words and just looked back at the man who had still not removed his hand from yours. You hoped your gaze said what your voice could not.

The ambassador said a polite but curt farewell, and you blinked back tears as the feast continued.

--

As the festivities died down, you looked around the slowly emptying room. Most of the guests had begun to leave, either to go sleep off the copious amounts of food and liquor they had consumed or to continue the celebrations elsewhere with even more food and liquor. You were contemplating getting up and heading to your sleeping quarters when Din turned towards you.

“I should get him to bed,” he said softly, and you looked down to his lap where Grogu was curled up in his arms. “Will you walk with me?”

You nodded, rising as he did, following at his side as the two of you left the throne room. The hallways were fairly quiet and lit by shining lunar light that filtered in through great windows and open arches. The cool air was refreshing after the time spent in the throne room, and you found yourself thinking that the palace was becoming a beautiful place after all.

“Thank you,” you said as you walked. Din inclined his head towards you, his arms cradling his softly snoring son. “Those were the kindest things anyone has ever said about me.”

“I meant them,” came his reply, and you felt your cheeks warm. You wondered if you should compliment him in turn, spill out all the lovely things about him that made you feel dizzy and grounded all at once. All of it got caught in your throat all at once, and you settled for comfortable silence as you continued towards his chambers.

The journey ended all too soon, an abrupt stop outside heavy doors. You stood back as Din pushed the door open slowly, trying not to jostle the child too much. He turned to look back at you, silhouetted by warm lamplight from inside his chambers.

You suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed by all the events leading up to this very moment. You thought back to the ambassador’s icy stare. Who did you think you were? You were a scholar from Naboo. No one special. Not part of any aristocratic or royal family. You were only added to the delegation because no one else in your department was willing to go. Who were you, to work with the leader of Mandalore? To sit next to him in front of his entire court, to have him touch your hand so softly?

Who were you to hope that he’d invite you inside his rooms?

“Let me put him down, and I can escort you back-“

“No need,” you interrupted him. “I’ll make it back all right. Thank you for offering, though.”

He paused like he wanted to argue it with you, but you were already backing away. “All right,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Your replied voice pitched too high in an attempt to drown out the other emotions threatening to bubble up and out of your chest. You quickly turned and trotted away, trying to ignore how long it took to hear the sound of his door closing.

--

Din gently set Grogu down in his cradle, tucking him into the soft blankets. All of the excitement from the evening had done a good job of tiring him out, and he let out a soft snore as he snuggled into the bedding. Pulling off his helmet, Din placed it on his bed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He sat next to it, slouched over, hands clasped in front of him.

He thought about you.

The way the corner of your mouth would lift a nanosecond before you broke out into a full smile. The way your eyes crinkled with humor at his dry wit. The way you’d focus on your work, chewing on your lip as you unraveled whatever problem currently blocking your way forward.

Sighing, Din pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling foolish. Had he embarrassed you? He had been caught up in the evening, seeing you step hesitantly up the dais to sit next to him, and he had felt his pulse in his throat. Everything he said about you was true, and he’d say it over and over just to see you look at him like you had earlier – but had it been fair to all but force you to sit there next to him? Your idiotic ambassador had made his displeasure all too clear, and he wondered if it would only make things worse if he were to ensure you would not face repercussions for his inability to hide his affection for you.

He had almost invited you into his chambers. It was on the tip of his tongue, and then he had seen the hesitancy in your expression. Had he just imagined the way you had been looking at him recently? The thinly veiled desire? Perhaps he was just seeing the reflection of his thoughts in your eyes. His heart felt like lead.

I am a fool, Din chastised himself. He had become too complacent, too comfortable with structure, with domesticity. Who was he to imagine – to hope, even – that you’d come to feel the same desire he held for you?

--

You did not see Din for several days after the feast. Partly because you had taken a day to sleep off a heartbreak-fueled hangover, and partly because you were avoiding an uncomfortable confrontation.

After another night of laying restlessly in your bed, you decided to do something to try to clear your head. You had set up a small observatory on the shattered roof of one of the outer buildings, far enough away from the lights of the palace that you could use your telescope. It wasn’t very powerful, but it was light enough for you to pack with you, and looking up at the stars always made you feel better.

Bundling up in a cloak and scarf, you made your way outside. The night air was crisp, the snap of winter on its way. The skies were clear, and the moon was not too bright. Ideal conditions for some light stargazing.

There, he found you, bent over the eyepiece of your telescope. You heard him approaching, the crunch of rubble under his heavy boots. He could move silently if he wished, so you knew he was warning you of his arrival through the soft noise.

He came to stand at your side, hovering, just like the first time you had met him. Not hiding this time, though.

You focused your scope on a nearby planet, looking at its moon. Just one, tidally locked, eternally orbiting for the next however many billions of years until it drifted off or crashed into the surface of the body it was bound to.

The two of you stayed like that, the silence only broken by the occasional sound of a soft breeze. You wondered if you should say something, or if this was the mark of a reset to whatever your fragile relationship was. You could continue to orbit around this, around him, until you drifted away – or you could crash straight into it.

“The galaxy is full of patterns,” you finally broke, and the words started to pour out of you. Din stayed silent, listening intently.

“Doesn’t matter the scale. If you know where to look, and how to look for it, eventually you’ll see the patterns start to emerge. You can track them.” You straightened and looked up towards the sky. Din followed your gaze, the two of you looking up at the twinkling lights in the darkness.

“That’s what I do,” you continued. “It’s like following a trail backward. You start where something is and figure out where it used to be. And the patterns stay. They don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

Tearing your gaze away from the sky, you looked up at Din. He, in turn, looked down at you. Even in the low light, his armor shone like a beacon.

“That sounds comforting,” Din spoke after a moment. “Knowing that some things stay the same.”

“I like the eventuality of it,” you agreed. “It makes life feel less…chaotic. It makes some things feel more meaningful.”

“What kinds of things?” He asked quietly. You gave him a sad, soft smile.

“Discovering new places. Meeting new people,” you explained. “Going to a new market and trying a different version of a meal you grew up eating. The feeling of the different flavors and textures mingling with those you are familiar with reminds you that maybe we’re all not as different as we think we are. That in the end, we all come from the same primordial dust, and it’s back to that dust we’ll eventually return.”

“You should have been a poet instead of an astronomer,” Din breathed out, and you could hear the smile in the way he spoke. You smiled in return.

“Some philosophers believe that mathematical relationships have tones of energy,” you mused. “All connected by patterns of proportions. Music that isn’t audible, but that you feel in your soul.”

“So the galaxy is singing,” Din finished, and you let out a small laugh.

“Now who’s the poet?” You teased.

Din huffed in amusement and reached out a gloved hand. You placed your own in his, the weight of it familiar.

“I am sorry for the other night,” he said quietly, stroking the skin gently near your thumb. You accepted the apology with a soft gaze, not knowing how to respond, and afraid of what he might say next.

“But…I’m also not sorry,” he continued. You felt him squeeze your hand.

“I’m not sorry for thinking you’re beautiful,” he pulled you closer, taking your other hand in his, and cupping them against your two bodies. “Or for wanting to kiss you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The space between the two of you was narrowing by the second. Instead of drifting off, you were dangerously close to colliding with the king of Mandalore, orbits intertwining.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, sounding as breathless as you felt.

“Please,” you choked out. A flash of silver, as his helmet was lifted off his head, and you barely caught a glimpse of tanned skin and deep, brown eyes before his lips were on yours.

It was gentle at first, almost chaste, but he quickly deepened it with his hand softly cupping your chin. His other arm went to wrap around your waist, pulling you up and into him, and you sighed into it.

The two of you broke apart just enough for your eyes to finally meet. Deep, soulful eyes drank you in, and you brought a hand up to cup his cheek and gently run your thumb over his plush lower lip.

“Wh-what else aren’t you sorry for?” You asked, and his lips turned up into a smile. He took your hand, placing a soft kiss against your palm.

“Let me show you.”

--

His chambers were warm, his bed even more so. His skin, bare against yours, was practically fire.

The two of you fell into each other easily, pushing and pulling like the tides. His hands cupped your face and then moved down to spread open your thighs so he can taste you between them.

You grasp his hair in your hands – soft, brown curls – and shudder at the feeling of his scruff on the inside of your thigh. If you were more coherent, you’d laugh at knowing it was the Mand’alor you had between your legs, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

He took there and then over, and then did it again until you were limp-legged and breathless. Slinking his way back up your body, Din pressed his torso to yours and captured your mouth in another desperate kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered lowly, and you gazed up at him, vision blurry in your ecstasy. You cup his face, steadying his breath against you.

“I need you in me,” you plead, and Din closes his eyes with a groan.

“Maker,” he breathes. “The things you do to me.” You feel him take himself in his fist, lining up with your soaked cunt. You arch your back as he pushes in, keening at the stretch. He had prepared you well, but the size of him still took some effort to take.

Hunched over your body, he rolls his hips up into you, hands braced on either side of your head. You hook your legs over his hips, trying to keep him as close as you can, all the way to the base. His pace is steady but unforgiving, demanding what you were all too willing to give.

The feeling of his cock filling you so sweetly has you coming undone again, writhing underneath his broad torso. He rides you through it, eyes fixed on your mouth, your breasts, and down to where your bodies are combined.

“So fucking wet,” Din growls, pace quickening as he chases his own release. You clench around him at those words, and he lets out a wrecked groan. “I knew you’d take me so fucking well, beautiful girl-“

“So good,” you gasp out, and his forehead comes down to rest on yours.

“I know,” he rambles, feeding you the thick of him, all the way to the root. A few purposeful thrusts later, you feel him throb inside of you seconds before he groans out your name into your neck as he cums.

His hips are locked to yours, and he ruts up into you – not pulling out, but pushing his seed up against the seal of your womb. Your hands come down to grasp at his waist, nails leaving small crescent moons at the skin there. He shudders against you, overstimulated, chest heaving from exertion. Looking up from your neck, Din, slots his mouth messily over yours once more, finally allowing his full weight to fall between your thighs.

You stay like that for uncounted breathless moments, both of your bodies recovering from the experience of finally, finally joining together. Eventually, your bodies settle so that Din is on his back, and your head rests on his shoulder.

“He’s going to be so mad,” you joke quietly, and Din hums in response.

“Who?”

“The ambassador,” you laugh, and he groans.

“Please don’t talk about him while you’re in my bed,” Din pleads, and you laugh again.

“Who knows how many treaties and policies I’ve broken,” you murmur, lips pressed against his warm skin. You dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him, and he shivers.

“Well,” he says, pulling you up so that he can place sweet, soft kisses on the side of your lips. “As Mand’alor, I can think of how you can fix them.”

You smile against his mouth. “What does the king ask of me?”

He tightens his grip on your waist.

“All I ask is all of you, forever.”

[cabezadeperro]

Friend!! How about Rex/Anakin with “destination”?

hi len!!! i'm sorry this is weird and cryptic and mostly just rex thinking

revenge of the sith au; kind of established relationship.

---

Anakin is always so happy to see him. 

Rex stops the bike and climbs down, his back yelling at him all the while. His former general is watching him from the door, arms crossed and shoulder against the doorframe. His hair is longer than the last time they saw each other, and it must be a good day, because Rex can’t find the cane anywhere, and the brace on his left leg isn’t missing any obvious pieces. Anakin Skywalker treats his body as an unending work in progress: he tinkers and obsesses over its parts, new and old, and it’s partly out of frustration, partly out of genuine interest, and Rex has learned to tell the way the wind blows by the way they look.

It’s harder than he once thought, reading him. He used to think of him as—loud, obvious. In your face. And he is, and he very much isn’t, at the same time. 

Tatooine’s harsh midday light has its own weight. Rex tugs higher the cloth around his neck and starts pushing the vehicle towards the shady back of the small house, where the hangar is. Anakin watches him, blue eyes darker in the shadow of the house, and after a beat he comes out to help. He smells like dust and sweat, like everything else does, and between the two of them they make short work of the whole thing: while Rex’s securing the vehicle to the ground, Anakin’s tugging the tarp in place, dancing around each other with the ease of familiarity. 

This is still easy. When they’re quiet like this Rex can let himself believe that the past two years never happened.

Afterwards, they walk into the house. It’s deep under the ground, dark and almost cold: Anakin told him once he still remembered his mother’s teachings, and then he fell quiet and disappeared into the cellar and Rex did not see him again before he left.

Anakin’s hovering. He watches Rex while Rex starts shedding off layers by the door, sand pooling around his boots. He can see the way Rex limps, the grimace of pain when he jostles the blaster burn on his left arm. He wants to touch, but he has learned to wait.

He’s lonely there. He enjoys the solitude but the loneliness eats at him from the inside out. Rex is the only one who seeks him out, the one who visits with food and books and news of the galaxy. He has made a rule for himself: Anakin is never the goal: Rex only lands on Tatooine when he’s on the way to somewhere else.

And the thing is: Anakin could leave. He’s clever, he’s resourceful: he could build himself a thousand ways out. The fact he doesn’t, the fact that he chooses to stay, and that he has chosen to be alone—well. It might be the only reason he’s still alive.

Rex doesn’t know how or what happened, not exactly: he did not ask, and no one has told him. But he saw the recordings, he talked to some of the survivors of the attack on the Jedi Temple. He’s met Kenobi as he is now, and he was there when Ahsoka had her heart broken.

He doesn’t think he has forgiven Anakin Skywalker: he doesn’t think he can. But he still visits, and he still allows himself to touch and be touched in turn, and sometimes, when it’s been a few months and it’s deep into the night and he’s alone on his cot, Rex finds himself missing him, missing this: the house in the desert and the mess and the dark and the feel of cool synthflesh fingers walking down his spine.

Anakin watches him, quiet and still. He’s lost weight, and he feels huge, overbearing. Too tall, his shadow too deep against the whitewashed walls. The weight of his attention is a special kind of smothering.

Rex places his boots against the wall, side by side, and steps into his orbit, eyes closed, heart beating hard and fast inside his chest.

[mrfandomwars]

Got frustrated with Ahsoka today so have two things I would do to make her more interesting, feel free to take them an make fics and aus as long as credit is given:

Darksider Ahsoka - Consider that the whole warning during the Mortis arc is actually used and Ahsoka Falls, and she becomes a Terrifying opponent because she was trained by Vader, even if in his Anakin's era.

[More under cut]

She is a Menace as a Darksider, maybe keeping in the shadows and making every New Republic secret network Unsafe because she helped set them up as Fulcrum. Worried about the Sequels? No problem! Secret Darksider Ahsoka! Everyone top level of the New Republic knows and is trying to Stop Her but Ahsoka was the Fulcrum, which meant Spying and staying undetected, she could totally do that to the New Republic where they can't do Anything to stop her You could even bring Original Trilogy Group (Han Solo, Lando Clarissian, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Chewbacca) back to act as the main heroes! Want the Rebels back too? Have them as one of the people that Ahsoka is Playing and them slowly learning it and joining sides with the OT Group! Also way to fix the live action lekku problem - too long would be impratical? Ahsoka VS Luke lightsaber fight, Luke LOSING Badly and someone grabs a saber - maybe Luke lost his or something - and cuts off Ahsoka's lekku's - saving Luke and resolving the problem. You can have her Come Back to the light side but haver her Choices haunt her after Mando contacts her because he needs help from a Jedi and he lost Luke's Number? She gives him Luke's number because She Can't help him, she doesn't consider herself a jedi even more and the republic won't allow her into any more battles in fear she will turn on them AGAIN

Maybe she is in fucking jail or Can't be put in a jail for whatever reason (maybe she came out as a Jedi survivor and explained everything she did to help the Rebellion to trap the New Republic Even More so they couldn't Act against her in public) so she is watched 24/7 - maybe by the Rebel Crew or Sabine for some reason (hence giving Sabine a reason to be with her and a whole nother stress for finding Ezra! because Ahsoka Can Not Leave Republic Space Or Enter Battles) and is trying to get back to being a Jedi, to clinging to the Lighside/Balance and trying to remember every single Jedi Philosophy she was taught

And also come to turns that Anakin wasn't the best Master for her, that he taught her somethings wrong that she will have to unlearn Alone and try to figure out how the Jedi taught it, what was the correct way to learn.

Because there are no more Prequel Jedi around to help her

Semi-Immortal Ahsoka - we all know that Star Wars media won't let people age - main example being the whole mess with Bo-Katan - and we know Filoni won't let Ahsoka die.

So! Since we know that, how about we take it and run with it?

Ahsoka who became semi-immortal because of being brought back by the Daughter so now she ages MUCH slower and will outlive EVERYONE SHE HAS LEFT THAT SHE CARES ABOUT, who will live to millions

If she doesn't die again that is

Because I'm thinking of like. A timer. That resets every time she dies

(you can take this further and say that she ends up back to the age of when the Daughter rescued her every time shed dies and maybe or not it takes longer every time for her to age past that age)

Ahsoka who learned the hard way how to be The Fulcrum via A Lot Of Deaths that earned her the rumour that she fakes her death A Lot to avoid taxes/jk

Ahsoka who grows afraid of getting the same attachment (as George Lucas Defined Attachment, not the common misconception you fools) problems as Anakin and adding in the fact that no matter what she does she will outlive people so she Stays Away from everyone even more because she doesn't want to go through the pain of losing people

so why get close in the first place?

[moonlayl]

Imagine Ben Skywalker time travels to the past, during empire strikes back. 

He would be with Leia, Han, and Chewie on Bespin, and would come face to face with his grandfather, except Vader obviously doesn’t know. Leia and Han are worried sick because they know it’s a trap that Luke might fall for, and Han is being lowered into the carbonite, and even though Ben has heard the stories and knows they make it out okay, hearing things and actually experiencing them are too very different things. 

Ben observes Darth Vader, and his obsession with Luke, and what he’s willing to do to get his hands on him, including hurting his own daughter, and really how blind is this guy to not recognize Leia as his daughter???? 

Then Lando helps him, Leia, and the droids escape, but uncle Han is with Boba Fett, we have to do something!!

Ben doesn’t know what’s going on with his daf, but he, along with Leia, hear Luke’s cries for help. Luke may have meant Obi-Wan, but he was calling out to a Ben, and this was before Luke really knew how to direct the force towards specific people. Ben gets the message and is shocked to hear his father...so afraid. In hindsight, it should’ve been obvious to Ben that his father being much younger also meant he’d be different and with less experience, but he’d grown up his whole life with his father being seen as THE jedi, THE hero of the rebellion, extremely powerful individual who can take down even the most difficult of foes. Ben grew up a little distant from his father, because really, being that man’s son would be difficult with all the expectations and shadows cast on him. 

But to hear his father, a man he childishly believed to be indestructible, sound so afraid and helpless? That stops Ben in his tracks, which ultimately ends up being a relief because than Leia wouldn’t think he’d heard Luke either. 

Ben watches as his aunt Leia rushes to wrap her arms around Luke, and he’s taken aback by how beaten and lost his father looks. It wasn’t a look he’d ever associated with Luke Skywalker, and Ben’s perspective begins to change. 

When Leia leaves Luke on the medical bed to deal with the imperials and getting the hell out of there, Ben remains in the room, hidden, so his father wouldn’t see him. He’s startled when he hears his dad call out to him-but how does Luke know his name? He hasn’t given him his real one?- before realizing Luke was calling out to his namesake instead.

“Ben, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Ben stares at his injured, nearly unconscious father, and starts to wonder. How could his father forgive the man? How would Luke ever come to forgive him and love him? How does his father heal from this? Go on and accept his parentage when it so clearly destroyed him at this time? And how could Vader ever redeem himself or sacrifice himself for Luke when he had no issues with cutting off Luke’s hand and traumatizing him in such a way? 

And the hand is something else that shocks Ben. Sure, he’d always known on some level that his dad had a prosthetic. It was a simple fact, one he barely ever gave much thought to except that one time he’d asked about it when he was much much younger. But seeing his dad now? With a hand missing and blood all around his ripped clothes? It was terrifying. Luke’s hand had always resembled a real one and Ben remembered trying to find differences between the prosthetic hand the real one to determine if it felt any different. He remembered his dad’s  amused smile watching his four-year old play around with his hands. But now? It was very clear and obvious how painful losing a hand was.  

Did his father ever look at the prosthetic and remember this day? Did Luke still have phantom pains even decades later? 

Basically, Ben actually getting to witness Luke’s journey when he himself was still inexperienced and not yet a jedi and getting to learn more about his father and understand him better. 

And then afterwards, Ben accompanying Luke, Leia, Chewie and Lando to rescue Han, and getting to see his mom on Tattooine. Being shocked as hell and wondering what his mom was doing before realizing this was when his mother was Palpatine’s hand and oh God, was she there to try and kill Luke? 

No one else seems to notice Mara, and Ben isn’t sure what to do, but then chaos quickly ensues. Ben still doesn’t want anyone to know his real name OR his power, so he stand helpless as Luke takes care of the ‘plan’ and really dad? That’s the worse plan, how did you EVER survive anything? 

Leia kills Jabba, and they all manage to make it out okay thank God. Before Ben realizes what’s going on though, his dad suddenly left AGAIN, and he’s stuck with his aunt and uncle who are kind of grossly invested in each other ugh. 

Then Ben signs up to help the mission on Endor with Leia and Han, and Luke suddenly reappears and why is he looking at aunt Leia differently? Wait...DOES HE KNOW?????

Luke feels Vader’s presence and Ben doesn’t know what his dad plans on doing, but given his track record this past year, Ben now knows his father was kind of stupid during his youth (I got my brains from you, mom) and whatever he’s planning can’t be good. But isn’t this when Vader comes back to the light side? Ben shouldn’t do anything. Should just let things go on the way they’re supposed to. But wouldn’t his presence in the past cause changes? Ben is unsure.

He stays with Han and Leia, his dad has to do his own thing, and when they manage to succeed and Leia lets them know that Luke is her brother and Vader is their father, Ben smiles because FINALLY! 

But his dad takes forever to make it to the celebration and Ben walks around trying to find him because no way his dad didn’t survive, (what if he didn’t though? Wouldn’t Ben have felt it?) until he smells the smoke and notices the flames. He makes his way a little furthur into the forest and standing alone is Luke Skywalker. Darth Vader’s armor and mask burning on the pyre. 

Ben stands there watching his dad grieve silently. 

[kashimos-hajime]

darling, dearest, not quite dead | o.k.

summary: twenty years. you have loved obi-wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the supreme chancellor. then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.

WARNINGS: swearing, brief death, mentions of injuries, sexual tension, angst, fluff, obi-wan is being annoying and y/n is being annoying right back, matching energies for our otp ❤️, questioning morality, crying men, happy ending!!! pairing: sith!obi-wan x fem!jedi!reader word count: 15.5k

a/n: i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :) crossposted on ao3!

contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment.  

It’d been a mistake—the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing—nothing—

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the whomsh of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do something—“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are shivering as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach. 

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant. 

They catch ‘critical condition’ and ‘uncertain odds.’

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name. 

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done. 

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else. 

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must love you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even. 

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now? 

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all real, you cannot even begin to describe. 

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know. 

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan—Darth Contritus, you should say, but you refuse. 

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” With me, you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations. 

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

Loved.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things don’t change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

Stop. You can’t think of that, you chastise to yourself. He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be. He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore.

Except he is. 

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is alive”—your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch. 

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“Darth,” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position. 

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you. 

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A lot has changed. My answer is final.”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“Stop it.”

“Darling, is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you care for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no time. We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a whomsh and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean ‘or what’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “Go. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You detest this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. Together. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I am here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

.

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim. 

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it. 

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this. 

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right. 

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot. 

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber. 

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“Killed him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just say that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just hold him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and wrong.”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and relished in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean come? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you know you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were following me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so normal. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? No. No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your democracy has failed you twice in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘us’ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just join me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know that’s what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could cherish you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something—something about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare. 

“So. That’s what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want me.”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“Yes,” he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away. 

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so short, flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is all I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of you that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it. 

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, grief, melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.” 

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be any more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible. 

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… disappeared. Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say? “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“Anakin,” you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to exist, in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am warning you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him. 

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

 Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

.

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold. 

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, strong inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For you, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare. 

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. “She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘it’ll be okay’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. Is. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth. 

You barely remember when your eyes closed. 

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water. 

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating. 

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because—“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand. 

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss. 

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the clank of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine. 

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back. 

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are good, Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in. 

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away. 

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them. 

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes. 

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you cannot interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there. “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be lying.”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be. 

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you can’t. You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a great Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll always feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, never, wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.” 

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know that isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.” 

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

He’s alive. You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.” 

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions. 

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

Yes, a quiet voice replies, you are. And then, you will run.

.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this. 

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

Relax, Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. Remember—I do all the dirty work.

That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan, you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

Just a little more.

Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?

Why are you having doubts now of all times? Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him. 

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form. 

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even recognize the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features. 

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your Master taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is treason.”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick slap and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a whomsh.

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had nothing—“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows. 

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next. 

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach. 

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to. 

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits. 

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away. 

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least look like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes. 

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and more of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 15: A Clan of Three

Warnings: really bad depression and mourning in the beginning, mentions of large amounts of death and violence, and injury.

Author’s Note: Almost to the end! I hope you enjoy! I also went a bit off canon for this one, so I hope that’s ok!

(Gif gotten from fuckyeahgrogu)

Your walk down in the sewers was….. indescribable.

You felt like the opposite of a ghost. You weren’t a soul roaming the sewers, you were just a body. Only the physical means of you survived this long, and the remaining piece of your soul was left behind with your Mandalorian.

So much so, that you didn’t even know where you were going. You presumed a way out was the end goal, but you didn’t even think about it. You stared at the floor for what felt like hours, sniffling and trying to find your breath.

You hadn’t felt like this before. Not even when Mando figured out who you were…. because he was there.

You didn’t care if he was bloodied, bruised, half dead, or had a physical ailment for the rest of his life that forced you and only you to carry him for the rest of your days….. you just wanted him here.

The kid seemed to be having the same feelings of numbness and shock that you did. His emotions were completely blocked from you and you could tell he didn’t want you to know what he was actually thinking. You couldn’t blame him, your walls reached their peak once more when you felt Mando squeeze your hand one final time.

How did you even get here? Weren’t you trained to always put the mission first? Why did all of your rational and strategic thoughts go out the window as soon as Mando ate with you the first time?

You wanted to go back in time and tell yourself to look at him for even a second longer. Ask him a stupid question one more time. Just one glimpse would tie you over enough to at least speak again.

“I uh… I made the IG promise to bring him,” Cara said at one point, but you didn’t even react.

You were grateful for her trying to lift you up when mere minutes ago she thought you were the reason everything went wrong, but it felt as if it wasn’t even worth it to hope that Mando was alive. Not when there was a chance he could be dead.

You thought about turning back one too many times, but you couldn’t betray Mando like that.

He asked for a warrior’s death… and he got one.

The child started acting funny and crying in your arms, and you tried to sooth him.

“It’s ok little guy,” you whispered into his ear, trying to keep your burning throat at bay. “We have to get out of here, ok?”

But it was no use. The kid wouldn’t stand still.

You almost let your frustration with him get the better of you, until you felt it.

The tiniest, faintest tingle crawling up your spine, causing your brain to echo danger throughout the rest of your body.

Something’s coming.

You spun around, eyes widening as you scanned your surroundings. Your eyes were wide and your heartbeat quickened.

You didn’t know if you had another fight in you.

Cara saw your quick movement and spun around as well, using her flashlight to illuminate the tunnel.

“What is it?” Karga asked, and you slowly but surely heard footsteps approaching.

You wiped your tear stained face and took your longspear from its holder on your back.

Mando wasn’t here. You had to take care of the child, and dying in a sewer underneath an Empire base wasn’t the way you wanted to go.

The form of IG-11 appeared through the faint shine of Cara’s light, and you expected to be disappointed.

You expected him to apologize for your loss and be on his way.

But, a limping form of shiny metal was right beside him, and you felt yourself enter your body once more.

The feeling was almost euphoric. If this was the only blessing the universe could give you in your whole life, you would be a damn happy woman.

Cara instantly ran to him to help him stay up, but your shock and joy only allowed your body to drop your longspear and stay frozen in place.

The child squealed slightly in your arms, and that was the noise that made it real.

This was real. He was here.

Not even a second after Cara helped prop him up did you run to his side, slightly slowing down once you got to him, and collide with his chest.

You felt the tears of pure joy start exiting your eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the small puff of air Mando released when your chests collided.

“Easy,” he chucked out, and you laughed into his armored neck, only squeezing tighter. He rubbed your back with his free arm as you sobbed happily into his neck, and the child tapped Mando’s chest slightly with happy giggles.

You finally pulled away to place your hand on the side of his visor, framing the helmet, and looked into his eyes.

You were stuck in an Emperial sewer, beaten and bruised, with virtually no way out in sight….

…but this wasn’t the last time you would look into his eyes, and that was enough.

“Sorry to.. break up the reunion… but we are kinda stuck,” Karga finally stated, and you let out a breathy laugh with Mando following with one as well.

You kissed his cheek, and then lifted his arm over your shoulders while your free arm reached around his back to help Cara move him down the hallways.

It felt good to finally help Mando up, after the many times he had helped you. Even in the horrible circumstances you were in, you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Do you know which way to go?” Cara asked Mando, referring to the coverts he had lived in before.

“No, I don’t know these tunnels,” Mando admitted, the child still managing to giggle in your arms.

“If we follow the smell of sulfur, it will lead us to the lava river,” Karga said.

“The Imps will catch us before we make the ship,” Mando said, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety.”

You could tell Mando was using his helmet to search for tracks, and you could feel his body becoming stronger. So much so, that he started standing and walking on his own.

You felt more relieved than you could even explain. Your “partner in crime” of sorts was back by your side, and it felt damn good.

The group was moving faster, until Mando stopped abruptly after turning down a corridor.

A huge pile of Mandalorian armor and helmets was laying on the floor in front of Mando, and he dropped to his knees.

You knew what this meant…. the Empire had taken an entire covert of Mandalorians down. This was Mando’s family, and the Empire had plucked them off their list as if they were nothing.

“We should go,” Cara said, trying to be gentle for Mando’s sake.

“You go. Leave the ship. I can’t leave it this way,” he said, and the familiar pain in his voice was returning.

You bowed your head slightly, trying to show respect to the warriors in the little time you had to stay there. You had fought Mandalorians before, and they were some of the fiercest people you had ever met. They deserved better than this.

“Did you know about this?” Mando asked Karga, and you could hear the venom returning to his voice.

“Is this the work of your bounty hunters?” Mando said, getting more into Karga’s face. The anger in Mando was strong and dangerous. If the group started fighting each other, there was no way any of you were making it out alive.

“It was not his fault,” a voice said from behind you, and a woman Mandalorian appeared from the shadows.

She was taller, but lean and built. She looked strong and tough, but you could feel her mourning as well.

“We knew what would could happen if we left this place. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter,” she said, referring to when the covert revealed themselves to save Mando.

He had very briefly explained how he got the kid off of this planet before, but you didn’t realize an entire covert of Mandalorians revealed themselves. You were surprised the Empire didn’t wipe them out sooner.

“Did any survive?” he asked the woman.

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off world,” she responded.

Mando took a moment to think, before looking up at her and saying, “come with us.”

“No,” she said instantly. “I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.”

She began to gather up pieces of armor from the pile and holding them above large blue flames.

“Show me whose safety deemed such destruction,” she asked, and everyone turned to the child in your arms.

“This is the one,” Mando said, gesturing to the now sleeping child.

You tried to keep your face neutral, looking down at the child, but all the eyes on him scared you. This woman was in deep grief, you could feel it, and that made people react in very rash ways. If she felt that Mando was at fault for the pain she had….

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?” she asked, and the confusion in her voice was slightly comical.

“Yes,” Mando responded. “The one that saved me as well.”

“It looks helpless,” she said.

“It is injured, but not helpless,” Mando responded. “We think he has the powers of a Jedi.”

“Ah, yes, Jedi,” the woman responded, and your heart tightened with fear. If she knew about Jedi, then she had to know what you once were.

“The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and the Jedi.”

“Are they an enemy to us?” Mando asked cautiously, and you could feel the protective emotions he felt towards his creed and his people.

“No,” she said. “Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.”

She looked at the child once more. “It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care.”

Mando tightened, as did you.

“You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind.”

“Where,” Mando asked.

“This you must determine.”

“You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to enemy sorcerers?” he asked, and you couldn’t help the faint grin on your face at his bluntness.

“Until that time, or it comes of age, it is in your care,” the woman said.

“You are as it’s father,” she said, and your eyes widened.

Mando was a father?

If Mando was the kid’s father….. what does that make you?

“And you,” the woman says, looking at you straight on. Your head popped up to meet her gaze, trying to hide the timidity and wonder in your eyes.

“You have helped?” she asks, and you glance at Mando with your eyes for less than a second before meeting the woman’s gaze again.

“Yes,” he responded for you, registering that you were asking for his help. Normally, you didn’t like when people talked for you, but this was Mando’s department, and you didn’t want to speak incorrectly for him.

“She keeps the child safe, same as I do,” Mando says, looking at the woman with confidence.

You grin slightly, looking at the child once more.

“Well then… if you so choose… you are a clan of three,” the woman says, and your eyes snap back to Mando, who is already looking at you.

You had heard about the Mandalorian clans. They treated each other like family, and fought till the death for each other. It had been something you had never had before, but if you were going to do it with anyone, it would be with Mando.

This thought boosted your confidence, and you gave Mando a slight nod of your head, showing that you want this. You want him.

Mando nods back, and says, “Yes. If that is possible.”

You feel the blush creep up your face, and even if you were in a dark and shadowy room, everyone could see it.

You were in his clan. His family. You wanted to jump for joy and squeeze into Mando’s arms once more.

“You have earned your signet,” the woman said, affixing the mudhorn signet to Mando’s right arm.

“You are a clan of three.”

You felt the happy tears creep up again, but you blinked them away. Trying not to ruin the moment.

“Thank you,” Mando stated. “I will wear this with honor.”

You were convinced you had never been happier. The day started with Kuiil dying, fighting for your life, and Mando almost dying, but you made it through. You made it to right here.

You bowed slightly to the woman.

“Thank you,” you said. “I am honored.”

“The honor is mine,” she says to you.

You smiled up at her, enjoying the butterflies in your tummy and the happiness in your eyes.

You had everything you ever wanted… now, you just needed to get out.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @farfromjustordinary @440mxs-wife @bookloverfilmoholic

[spectral-musette]

Hey! I hope you’re feeling better :) Could you do some older Obi Wan and Satine in an AU where they both live, The Emperor doesn’t get away with his craziness and we just have a happy Obitine living out the rest of their lives? :’)

Hey Anon, we all love some happiness AU now and then.<3 I wasn't sure if you meant fic or art, so I did a little bit of both? (And by "older" i wasn't sure if you meant like "transforming into Alec Guinness" older, but the ficlet (~1500 words) ended up set just a few years after the end of the war.)

. . . . .

“So early?”

The sun hadn’t yet risen above the jagged Coruscant skyline, and the pink morning light softly illuminated the room as the city lights began to wink off. Satine pushed her hair out of her face to better observe the lovely man sitting up next to her in her bed, bare-chested and lightly freckled, his own hair charmingly disarrayed as well.

He bent, kissing her temple, his beard soft against her cheek.

“I promised Cin I’d lead a saber workshop this morning.”

Satine rolled onto her back, reaching up to smooth his hair as he straightened. “Then I shan’t try to entice you to stay. Since you gave your word.”

“Your very existence entices me to stay,” he countered, smiling a little. “Always.”

“Oh, very nice. Early morning flattery.”

“Genuine,” he protested, making a show of looking wounded.

“Always?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bit difficult to swallow in light of your 15 year absence from my company.”

“Believe me, I was very enticed,” he promised, kissing her again.

“You might have to convince me. But later, I suppose.” She heaved a sigh.

“I can probably get away in time for a late brunch,” he offered.

She shook her head slightly, pushing herself up reluctantly from her comfortable nest of pillows. “Padme wants me in a meeting at midday.”

“And the Chancellor must be obeyed.”

“Well. This one, anyway,” Satine said, with a twist of a wry smile. She meant no offense to Padme’s direct predecessor in the office, the Prince of Alderaan, but, even all these years later, they all still lived in the shadow of what Palpatine had nearly done to the Republic.

“I’ll see you this evening, then.” He pulled his undertunic on over his head, and Satine smoothed his hair again.

“I suppose, compared to 15 years, that’s not so long to wait.”

“It will feel like an eternity, I assure you.” He gathered her into his arms.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to be late. And what will you tell all those impressionable padawans if they ask what kept you?”

“They wouldn’t dare. My dear Satine, our relationship is the absolute worst kept secret in the Jedi Temple.”

“Worse than Padme and Anakin’s?”

“At this point, I think so. The arrival of the twins rather disqualified them from ‘secret’ status.”

“How is the new training system working out?”

“What, letting the Skywalkers go home with their father at the end of the day? It certainly hasn’t seemed to impede their progress compared to their peers. A few other families are trying it as well. A couple from Lothal just brought their son to us on a similar schedule and will be living on Coruscant for a few years at least.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about the process in great and personal detail when we are also no longer able to maintain the pretense of secrecy.”

He hitched up her chemise, resting a hand against the large scar below her sternum, pale even in comparison to her fair skin. If it hadn’t been for her long recovery from the damage to her spine, the Skywalker twins might already have a playmate. As it was, it was only about a year since she’d been healthy enough to consider trying to conceive.

“As am I,” he promised, his touch tender as he settled his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead.

“It does seem strange to watch the Jedi Order bend,” she pointed out when he picked up his outer tunic from the floor. She wasn’t above goading him a little, now and then.

He shook his head, taking it serenely, as usual. “We do change. It usually takes a bit more time, but with our ranks so thinned by the casualties of the war, relaxing the requirements for initiates only makes sense.”

“And ignoring the amorous exploits of Jedi Knights so that they make more initiates?” She ran her fingertips lightly over his face, leaving a lingering touch on his mouth.

“We more or less always did that.” He kissed her hand.

“I recall being a bit more discreet in the past.”

“That was for your sake, not mine,” he pointed out. “I might’ve had some official censure for being indiscreet, but I expect most of my cohorts were more likely to congratulate me on having the good fortune of catching your eye.”

“Well, the Mandalorians couldn��t deny that you’re handsome and a fine warrior, but, indeed, the situation would’ve been rather disagreeable at home if we’d been exposed, at the time,” she agreed.

“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.

“What, the ugly, hateful rhetoric and death threats from Mandalorian extremists?”

He shook his head. “Home. Sundari. Mandalore.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Bo is doing well, though. She’s wiser than she used to be. Sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have always been her on the throne.”

“She’s ruling what you rebuilt. Do you think there would’ve been anything left if it had always been her?”

“More flattery.”

“Also genuine.”

“I like that you think that, anyway,” she admitted. “Hadn’t you better go?” she asked, regretful.

“I could skip breakfast,” he offered, leaning in to kiss her neck.

“And go to teach while you’re hungry and cross? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she countered, giggling a little.

“I would not be cross,” he denied.

“Well, not at first. Anyway, I like that you suggested it, but you’d better not.”

“Actually,” he said, drawing back and giving her a twist of a smile. “There’s plenty of time. Workshop’s not till midmorning.”

“Then why all this pretense of getting dressed?” she demanded, indignant.

“One doesn’t like to assume. You might’ve wanted to go back to sleep.”

“My dear Obi-Wan, when have I ever preferred to go to back to sleep rather than…”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he kissed her deeply.

. . . . .

(Evening...)

. . . . .

Satine wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling against him until he suddenly winced, breath hissing between his teeth.

“Old injury or new?” she asked, stepping back and looking him over critically.

“New. Nothing serious, I just think I overdid it at the saber workshop today.”

She circled him, running her hands over his shoulders.

“You’re all in knots,” she scolded. “Get your tunics off. Do you think you pulled something?”

He moved to oblige, flinching again. "I hope it's just a muscle cramp."

“Oh, let me.” She nudged his shoulder so that he turned to face her again, then ran her hands along the familiar lines of his tabard down to his waist, working at the fastening of his belt. “I don’t see why you didn’t go see the Healers.”

“It only just started to really trouble me.”

“Is that entirely honest?”

“You mean, I didn’t want to give some young upstart the satisfaction of saying he’d sent Master Kenobi to see the Healers? You think I’m that vain?” he asked, as she proceeded with divesting him of his tunics. He could afford a little vanity, she reflected, admiring the graceful lines of musculature of his lean form and leaning to plant a light kiss between his collar bones.

“I think you are… mindful of your reputation.” She couldn’t help smiling a little.

He snorted softly. “Perhaps I am … a little vain.”

“So who can I blame for this injury?”

“Me. Showing off,” he confessed. “I could’ve just held my ground, but I gave it a little flourish to make it a good show. I ought to have known I was getting too old for that sort of thing.”

“And did you win?”

“This time.”

“I understand that you enjoy teaching these workshops, but I don’t see why it has end up in an all out duel against opponents half your age.” She pulled him down to the bed with her, running her hands over his back carefully to gauge the sore spots.

“Is that meant to suggest that they have the unfair advantage or I do?” He rolled his shoulders under her touch as she started the massage.

“I’m sure both are true, in different ways.”

“Very diplomatic,” he assured her. “I suppose they want to test their mettle. I know I did, at their age.”

“And did you challenge the reigning swordmasters?”

“Certainly. And got soundly trounced for my trouble.”

“And now it is your duty to do the trouncing?"

“It is.”

“Can’t you leave it to Anakin?”

“Anakin does his share.”

“So who was it that almost beat you?”

“Young Dume. Depa’s apprentice.”

“Yes, I met him when he escorted Senator Syndulla’s daughter to the Chancellor’s office. He seemed like a sweet boy, I suppose I can forgive him.”

“Don’t be so quick to pardon. One of these days, he’ll win. Or Suduri will, or half a dozen others.”

“And then will you go see the Healers?”

“Why would I need to, when I can get such fine care here?”

She shook her head even as she smiled, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.

[nevertheless-moving]

Turtle person PLEASE give us more of the gift from the force au

Anakin’s just so happy. He’s radiant, okay? This is, literally, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Becoming freed was tainted by his Mother’s bondage, becoming a Jedi was shadowed by Qui-Gon’s death, becoming a Knight was rushed by the war, becoming a Husband was clouded by secrets, but this? Becoming a father? A miracle not even the Council could deny was willed by the force? Nothing can ruin this, not the vindicating bafflement of Vokare Che and Kix, not the food cravings that Ahsoka and Obi-Wan scrambled to oblige, not the aches that Padme lovingly massaged away, not the pressures of the battlefield that Rex fretted needlessly over. 

Everyone else is...someone less radiant, but mostly just by comparison. 

The 501st are 110% behind their General, who, to their relief, has gotten at least slightly more cautious with himself on the battlefield. He’s also started projecting mood swings. It was slightly unnerving at first, but honestly morale skyrocketed after the last sobbing puppy pile where veterans and shinies alike couldn’t help but weep over the beauty of life. In any case, anything that can get a Jedi to wear more armor instead of less is great. They were a little uncertain about the future immediately before and after decanting, but General Skywalker has assured them that he wouldn’t abandon them, returning after paternity leave. There was a grim set to his jaw as he assured them that he would be ending the war as soon as soon as possible. 

It was hard not to believe him.

Padme is excited too, if even more worried about long missions and brutal fights than she was before. Fortunately he acquiesced to her requests to take better care of himself, accepting the reduced mission-load with only minor grumbling. Not that she needed it, but a simple blood test confirmed that she was, in fact, biologically the baby’s other parent. There was some muttering on the Council about attachment but eventually the council admitted that, ah, fraternization wasn’t forbidden, and there’s not exactly a way to prevent pregnancy when it’s medically impossible anyway. The force willed it. Padme felt a little guilty about the pained expression Master Windu got on his face over the repeated use of that phrase.

Obi-Wan is fine. He’s doing fine. This is fine. Great, even! Why wouldn’t it be fine? Why do people keep asking him that? It’s not as though, for a literal decade, he had desperately and obsessively attempted to prepare for every possible form of trouble his over-powered, deeply-emotional, and tirelessly-fiery padawan could get into. Ha, imagine if, in a fit of insanity, he had stayed awake late the night of Anakin’s 13th birthday meticulously transcribing every possible applicable form of teenage rebellion documented in ancient tomes and hyperweb parenting forms! Haha! How absurd would it be if at 4am barely 7 years ago he had clung desperately to the thought that at least he can’t get pregnant at least he can’t get pregnant like a pool noodle in a hurricane, even as he added ‘safe-sex talk’ to his growing list of must do’s! Imagine if, when bailing his padawan out of jail (number 105 on list of teenage rebellion), or dragging him from a ill-picked fight (number 49) or pulling him out of a flaming speeder (number 77) or holding back his braid while puking up a night’s drinking (number 7), he had repeated like a mantra the list of trouble that Anakin, physically couldn’t get in! He might have inadvertently pissed of a drug trafficking ring (number 219), but he couldn’t get mange! His padawan might might be inexplicably naked and panicked in another royal palace (number 344) but his skin sheds would never get moldy! And he might have modified the toaster into a flamethrower (number ???) but at least he would never end up pregnant! Obi-Wan is definitely fine with the force deciding it wants grandchildren now, leading to his 20 year old padawan, no knight, they knighted him so he could be a General faster Anakin waddling his way into active warzones. Obi-Wan’s fine. Obi-Wan’s especially fine when Anakin bluntly states his intention to raise the child himself, not leave him to the creche, with Padme’s help, of course. Obi-Wan is absolutely fine when Anakin breaks down crying immediately after the declaration, not stopping until Obi-Wan desperately assures him that he’ll help, of course he’ll help, he’s honored to be the godfather, please calm down, he’ll help with the baby, whatever Anakin wants, does Anakin want more frozen beetles? He’s extra, definitely fine when Anakin excitedly informs him at 7 months pregnant that it’s actually twins.

[tennessoui]

There's something about seeing a civilized, prim and proper man like Obi turning into a touch-starved feral mess that is just *chef kiss* The other Jedi are shocked and don't know what to do. Anakin has a snuggly shadow who follows him everywhere bc he KNOWS if Anakin leaves his sight, he will lose him (eg after their blow up fight). And Obi forgetting the code and himself and everything except Anakin...why must you hurt me so good?

yes!!!! i imagine that obi-wan does not let him out of his sight for any period of time

anyway this is a bit short and a little more feral and violent than the other one but here is feral!obi-wan where he was anakin's master before.

(1.6k)

This can’t be his master, is the first thought that filters through the white noise in Anakin’s mind.

His master, before he’d been taken from him, had been the primmest, cleanest, most civilized person Anakin had ever met in his entire life. He’d been meticulously groomed, always. Anakin doesn’t remember ever seeing even a speck of dirt on his master’s pristine robes.

He’d looked perfect even the night he’d disappeared. He’d looked untouchable and perfect even during their argument. Anakin’s face had been flushed, his eyes wide and wet, his hair a mess. Obi-Wan had been perfectly put-together, voice sharp and ice cold in his reprimand of his apparently atrocious behavior.

Anakin doesn’t even remember what the argument had been about. He’d been fifteen years old. He’d have argued with the Force itself given half the chance and a direction to shout at.

The important thing is he’d been stupid enough to block their bond, stupid enough to leave their rooms for a walk without telling his master where he was going. And his master must have thought he’d be stupid enough to leave the safety of the building on a war-torn planet too, because Obi-Wan had gone out looking for him. He’d passed right by his hiding place. Anakin hadn’t said a thing, just watched his master go, too angry and hurt to think of the dangers that lurked outside the door.

In his mind, there was nothing that his master couldn’t handle, couldn’t defeat.

That was the last time Anakin had ever seen Obi-Wan Kenobi; the last time, actually, that anyone had.

It’s been seven years.

And now there’s someone on the floor in front of him, crouched over a body of one of the pirates who had been drinking in the main room the other night.

When Anakin and Ahsoka shut off the power to the facility in a bid to open the door to Master Windu’s cell, they hadn’t taken into account that there may be other people in other cells.

And now they’re standing in the main hall, lightsabers drawn, pirates stunned and groaning and tied up around them, and there’s someone crouched in the middle of the room, a dead body beneath him and golden eyes roving around looking for the next target.

And there’s something in Anakin that pounds at the cage of himself, that looks at this dirty, bloody, ungroomed, feral person, and thinks, That’s my master. That’s Obi-Wan Kenobi. That’s him I have finally found him.

But this. This can’t be his master.

His master would never snap a man’s neck with his hands. He’d never make those sounds with his throat, he’d never crouch that low to the ground, and he’d never have gold eyes.

But.

But there’s something in his force signature that feels so familiar. And it makes Anakin stumble forward, closer to the man--to Obi-Wan--before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Skywalker, don’t!” Windu snaps, with what sounds like fear in his voice. But Anakin can’t stop, won’t stop until he knows for sure that this is or isn’t his missing master.

The man on the ground growls at him as he approaches, eyes narrowed into golden slits. Anakin halts his progress a few steps away when the man shifts his weight, as if getting ready to pounce.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers, voice breaking in the middle of the second syllable. Ahsoka draws in a sharp breath from behind him. She knows what this means to him. Everyone probably does. “Obi-Wan, it’s me.”

When the man looks up at him and snarls without a glint of recognition in his golden eyes, Anakin feels his legs give out and his own force signature explode outward in pain and guilt and anguish because if this is not Obi-Wan, then his master is still out there somewhere. And if this is Obi-Wan, then...then he doesn’t remember him. Anakin.

The man goes dangerously still when Anakin’s mind brushes his own, and he tilts his head to the side as he stares at him with an unreadable expression.

“Anakin!” Ahsoka yelps, darting forward to help her master up.

But before she can get close enough to touch him, the world spins and Anakin finds himself on the ground completely, with the man’s form hunched over his and one long-nailed hand pressed into the skin of his throat.

The snarls are infinitely louder when they’re right next to his ear.

“Stay back!” Anakin shouts over the noise to Ahsoka and Windu, both who have moved forward immediately. Ahsoka takes another step forward anyway, and the snarls turn downright vicious.

Anakin could try to get out of the man’s hold, but not without hurting him. And if this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, then he’s been hurt enough already.

“Ahsoka, stay back,” he says again in his firm Master voice. “I have this handled.”

Looking rebellious, Ahsoka steps back to her original place.

The threat taken care of, the man on top of Anakin turns his full attention to him again.

Anakin feels like he’s been stabbed with a lightsaber when he sees the familiar mole on the man’s forehead. “Master,” he breathes. “Master.”

Obi-Wan growls something out, and bumps their heads together.

Anakin blinks in confusion and shakes his head. Obi-Wan growls that same roughened word again, and then again even louder, and then Anakin starts to weep.

Ani.

He’s saying Ani.

“Yeah,” Anakin whispers back. “Yeah, I’m--I’m Ani. I’m. I’m your Ani.”

Obi-Wan sniffs at his cheek and then licks the tear away, making a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Ani,” he rumbles. “No. Won’t. Won’t Ani.”

Anakin doesn’t know what that means, so instead of answering verbally, he reaches out with the Force and touches their minds together again. It’s easy to enter Obi-Wan’s mind. His master’s impeccable shields are nowhere to be found.

Instead, there is only darkness and a landscape of pain. Anakin is vaguely aware that he’s crying harder now, that he’s sobbing, but in Obi-Wan's mind all of Anakin’s worst nightmares about what happened to his master prove true.

Obi-Wan reaches back clumsily but with great enthusiasm, and Anakin tries to stuff away his own feelings of pain and guilt and enfuse his thoughts with all the happiness and affection and love his master has ever made him feel.

On top of him, Obi-Wan whimpers high in his throat and presses forward, impossibly closer. Anakin raises his hand to stroke at the muscle of Obi-Wan’s bare bicep, sending him soothing comfort. Obi-Wan latches on and pulls Anakin back into his mind.

Their old training bond, never severed, roars into life and it feels so good, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and aching relief that Anakin forgets where he is for several moments.

Obi-Wan is back. Obi-Wan is back.

Footsteps approach from behind them and Anakin snaps back into his own head as Obi-Wan snarls dangerously at the intruder, tensing his body as if preparing for a fight. “Won’t Ani,” his master growls, words hardly distinguishable.

“Anakin,” and it’s Windu. “Is that--are you--” “He is, it’s him,” Anakin replies, not taking his eyes off of Obi-Wan. “I felt...Master, I felt his memories in his mind. They’re...unfocused and old, but. The pirates, they--”

They had wanted Anakin, the people who took Obi-Wan. They had wanted to sell him, thinking they could fetch a high price for a Jedi padawan. When they got Obi-Wan instead, they’d hurt him in an attempt to get him to tell them where he was.

Obi-Wan hadn’t. Obi-Wan hadn’t once, not in seven years.

Anakin can feel tears dripping down his face, and Obi-Wan breaks off his staring contest with Mace to coo at him in distress.

“Master Windu won’t hurt me,” he tells Obi-Wan. “It’s alright. We’ll be alright.”

He desperately tries to believe it, even as the words leave his mouth.

When Windu steps closer, Obi-Wan snaps at him.

“Master,” Anakin says softly, touching the side of Obi-Wan’s face with his hand. “Obi-Wan.”

His master swings his attention down to him immediately, and Anakin uses their bond to slip a Force suggestion into his mind. Sleep.

Obi-Wan obviously doesn’t want to, but his golden eyes drift halfway shut anyway. Sleep, Anakin insists, rubbing his thumb over his cheek.

It only takes one more command for Obi-Wan to collapse on top of him, unconscious.

“Get him onto the ship,” Anakin says in a no-nonsense tone as he slips out from underneath the body of his master and stands, looking dispassionately at the dead pirate next to them. “And prepare for take off, Ahsoka.”

Master Windu looks at him silently.

“Please,” Anakin tries. “I don’t know how long he’ll be under, but we need to get him back to the Temple.”

“And what will you be doing?” Windu asks.

Anakin’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He wishes Windu had not been the one captured. It makes what he will do next infinitely harder. “Please, master. I just. I just need a moment to myself. I--” he doesn’t have to fake the way his voice gives out, nor the way his hand shakes when he reaches up to wipe away his tears. “Please.”

Master Windu’s stern face caves in with compassion, and he nods once. “Ahsoka,” he tells Anakin’s padawan, “help me with Knight Kenobi.”

Together, they levitate the unconscious form of Anakin’s master out of the main hall.

As soon as the doors close behind them, Anakin uses the Force to hold them tightly shut.

He turns to face the pirates, the ones who had hurt his master, held him against his will, and broken his mind.

It’s the easiest thing in the entire galaxy to flick his lightsaber on.

“Please,” he smiles. “Do not scream.”

[the-last-kenobi]

Bro I’m sorry but I just love your stuff 💀 “why didn’t you run when I told you?” Qui Gon and obi wan? And like angst x50 :>

I’m so flattered that you enjoy my writing this much!

Angst x50...?

Oh, I think I can do that. At least I hope so.

(Sorry this is so late work has been absolute hell)

From this various prompts list. (Requests are currently closed)

_

There’s a mission to Naboo.

The mission turns into a trap, turns into a Republic-altering conflict.

The conflict leads them to a boy, and the boy is the Chosen One.

The Chosen One saves them, and in return they save him.

Along the way they encounter a long-dead foe from eons past, a nightmarish predator snarling in their wake as they flee towards the hope of safety.

There is a battle that threatens to turn into war, and the Chosen One clings to a Jedi Master’s side, his only hope in this world of terror and upheaval.

It is a long chain of winding and unexpected events all linked so closely together, and Qui-Gon is determinedly trying to keep them in order, to keep his serenity as the galaxy teeters on the edge, and he focuses on what he must. He centers on Naboo and on Anakin.

The Sith may come; he will deal with that if it does.

The Council may try to prevent him taking Anakin, and this too can be dealt with later.

All else is detail.

The Sith does arrive, and he and Obi-Wan rise up together to meet him, determined to prevent whatever chaos he intends to sow.

A kick that misses its mark, an uppercut violently parried — Qui-Gon worries, bombarded by his concerns like they are hail swirling around him in a fierce storm and he alone remains still at the center, trying not to lose his footing — a flurry of blows, and then Obi-Wan receives a brutal kick that sends him falling over the edge.

Qui-Gon’s heart leaps into his throat, but Obi-Wan catches himself on the ledge and hauls himself back up, rejoining the fight in seconds. And still, still, what will the Council say about the Sith, what will they say about Anakin, why is the Sith here on Naboo, why is there a Sith at all?

Serenity.

He clings to it.

He is the elü-tree, bending in the winds but not broken by them, a lonesome green thing in a world of rain.

He and his Padawan pursue the Sith all the way into a corridor filled with red ray shields that snap open and shut on a too-quick cycle, and somehow, Qui-Gon finds himself just a little too slow, not quite quick enough, and there is a barrier between himself and the other two.

It is just one barrier. It will fall in time.

They must finish this quickly, save proof for the Order, return to the battle above, protect young Anakin—

And then Obi-Wan falls.

Qui-Gon blinks and misses it; one moment he is staring through the last ray shield and meditating on what he must do, and the next moment his Padawan is curled facedown against a wall, motionless, his lightsaber extinguishing and rolling away from his limp fingers.

The Sith chuckles, stooping to retrieve the weapon, and he looks up at Qui-Gon, still trapped behind the next barrier.

Qui-Gon is rooted to the spot, unable to move, to breathe, to think.

He can’t tear his eyes away from Obi-Wan, and a surge of terror so strong it obliterates all other thoughts surges through him, and he needs to see Obi-Wan’s face, needs to reach him—

The barrier falls.

Qui-Gon surges towards his Padawan, his chest tight with fear, only to be blocked by the swing of a very familiar blue blade.

The Sith has ignited Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and he stands mere feet away, swinging his own staff in one hand and Obi-Wan’s in the other, laughing at him.

Qui-Gon tries again to reach his Padawan and again he is prevented by a slash of the blue saber, and this time it gouges a burning scar in the pristine flooring, a visible mark between himself and his apprentice. Qui-Gon leaps to his full height and lunges at the Sith, rage blossoming inside his fear.

Obi-Wan remains crumpled against the wall as his Master flings himself into battle, and Qui-Gon is constantly, painfully aware of him, frightened by his own desperation.

For a moment, though he tries, he cannot even remember the name of the boy from Tatooine.

The Zabrak swings upwards unexpectedly with his saber staff collides with the very top of the hilt of Qui-Gon’s despite his attempt to dodge, and there is a flash of brilliant green light and flickers of flame, and Qui-Gon collides with the wall. His head strikes metal and he sees stars - and through them, the Sith stalking towards him, both sabers raised.

He bares his teeth in a feral grin and considers both lightsabers with exaggerated care, and finally lowers his red double-bladed weapon and raises the blue one he stole from Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon is about to die at his Padawan’s blade, and he has failed so utterly he cannot comprehend it.

And inside his head, his thoughts are singular but frantic, darting about in a panic like a bird caught in a net, beating its wings in futility- Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan—

It’s as if he’s summoned him.

Obi-Wan appears out of nowhere, white to the lips, his blue eyes blazing to rival the glow of his stolen lightsaber. He has no weapon, but he flings out his hand and clenches it into a fist, and the Sith is yanked backwards violently as if an invisible hand has taken hold of his collar, and the blue lightsaber misses Qui-Gon by inches.

Howling, the Zabrak rounds on the defenseless Obi-Wan, who steadies himself, a slight grimace crossing his pale features and his eyes narrowed against the bright lights of the room.

“Obi-Wan—run—” Qui-Gon gasps out.

Neither of the other two seem to hear him.

Qui-Gon struggles to get to his feet, but there’s a scattered, blistering pain across his stomach and chest, and his head is throbbing at the point where it struck the wall, and his heart is still going much too fast —

— and still, still, all he can think now is Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan ducks and weaves, playing light on his feet, facing an opponent that has already bested his Master and who wields two weapons, and he looks so damned calm, while Qui-Gon feels drunk on fear, fear as he hasn’t felt since Tahl, or perhaps he’s never felt it quite like this, watching his student risk his life like this with no way to help—

“No, Obi-Wan!” he barks out, forcing the fear from his tone, inflicting all the stern command he can muster. “Go find the others! Run!”

And for the first time since Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan Kenobi ignores a direct order.

He spares a moment to look at his Master, and the strangest thing happens.

He smiles.

It’s all kindness and understanding and the flash of dimples, hand in hand with a deep affection in his blue eyes, and there is so much joy and so much sadness in this one fleeting expression that Qui-Gon is left baffled.

“Padawan!” he cries, forcing himself to his knees as the room spins and as he does so Obi-Wan stumbles. A blood-red saber severs his left arm just above the elbow.

Obi-Wan screams, and Qui-Gon screams too, or thinks he does, trying in vain to make his vision settle.

Qui-Gon staggers to his feet and falls again, to his knees, and the Sith turns his head. The Zabrak keeps the tip of his red saber staff an inch from Obi-Wan’s chest as the boy pants for air, clinging to the stump of his arm. But the Sith smiles again, and raises Obi-Wan’s saber once again to point at Qui-Gon’s throat.

He’s kneeling like a prisoner presented for the execution, and he has nothing to offer, no plea for life, nothing with which to protect himself or his apprentice.

Silence falls.

It drags on for several seconds that feel like an age, and Qui-Gon stares up at the blurred image of the Zabrak’s face with vague confusion, waiting for the death blow.

Instead he watches as the Sith crumples to the floor.

And when he falls facedown, Qui-Gon can see the broken, sharp-tipped remains of his broken lightsaber hilt buried between the Sith’s shoulder blades, still spitting sparks.

And behind that, Obi-Wan, his remaining hand raised and trembling, staring at what he had wrought.

The world tilts.

Then tilts again.

Qui-Gon cannot find room for pride at the boy’s ingenuity, because the Sith did not fall without lashing out one last time — and there is a burning hole in Obi-Wan’s tunic, and Obi-Wan has been run through.

For another few moments everything is suspended, and they might as well be frozen in carbonite for all they are able to move.

Obi-Wan does not fall this time.

This time he sighs, too deep and too long, as if all the air is leaving his lungs at once, and he walks forward on shaky legs to kneel before his Master. His right hand - his only hand - comes up slowly to grip Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon stares at him, hardly able to breathe himself.

“Obi-Wan,” he says softly. The name comes out broken and fragile as spun glass, already webbed over with cracks, and he can’t stop thinking of how in all the chaos and upheaval of the last few weeks he somehow forgot to factor in Obi-Wan, actually forgetting for a moment in the Council chambers that he owed the boy anything.

Expecting him to follow, as always.

Why hadn’t Obi-Wan fled? He had ordered him to run. Almost begged him.

But Obi-Wan had stayed.

Obi-Wan had lost an arm.

Obi-Wan was dying.

“…Padawan,” he says, and his voice strains to breaking point.

The boy’s eyes and lips flicker in the ghost of a smile, the shadow of that strange, desperately sad smile he had given him before, and then Obi-Wan’s hand slides off his shoulder and he slumps forward, his arm dangling down his Master’s back and his head coming to rest against the crook of his neck.

This is where all sense of reality leaves Qui-Gon.

An hour ago it felt like he had been dueling the fates themselves, holding somehow to the reins of destiny on a path only he could glimpse.

He knows that somehow, he cradles his grown apprentice in his arms like a child and somehow he carries him all the way back to the main level of the palace, and somehow he staves off his own collapse until after someone with kind eyes and a professional smile has settled the barely-breathing Padawan into a medical bed.

He wakes a day later with the shrapnel removed from his abdomen and the damage to his skull on the mend, and Obi-Wan is like a corpse kept alive by machines and by the desperate thrumming of the small, hopeful bird that still says Obi-Wan Obi-Wan Obi-Wan Obi-Wan.

~

There is a treaty and a celebration.

There is a meeting with the Council and grave discussions of the future and the peril of the Sith.

There is an exception made for Anakin Skywalker and the boy is moved to the Initiate’s wing under the comforting arm of Shaak Ti, who has volunteered as his mentor, another exception made for the maybe-Chosen-One.

There is silence hovering over Obi-Wan like a shroud.

The Healers talk and talk and talk and then they realize he is not listening and so they let him be, with small shakes of the head and tired sighs that he does not, will not see or hear.

He waits by Obi-Wan’s side whenever he is not busy elsewhere, which is always, because there is so little for the injured Jedi who was nearly slain by a Sith to do after everyone has heard his story ten times over.

He holds Obi-Wan’s hand, his only hand, sometimes.

Other times he finds himself counting each bead in the Padawan braid, trying to remember where they all came from and how he came to earn them. He is relieved when he finds he knows each story.

He knows so much about this boy.

This almost-Knight.

But he has so many questions, too, and so he waits and waits for Obi-Wan to wake so he can answer them.

There are many days of waiting.

And then there are many more.

They move Obi-Wan back to their shared quarters at Qui-Gon’s insistence. Obi-Wan is Knighted at the Council’s insistence. Qui-Gon requests that they leave the braid until it can be properly cut. The Council does not argue.

Anakin stops looking to him for a friendly greeting when they pass in the halls. There is something pitying in the way the small boy looks at him now, something strangely knowing, yet also judging.

Qui-Gon struggles to care.

He’s still waiting for Obi-Wan.

There are many things for them to discuss.

~

There comes a day when the russet haired slumberer takes a breath and then does not take another.

The dutiful Master stands at the pyre with his cowl drawn high and his face in shadow, barely more substantial than shadow himself, a phantom tethered to life by a singular purpose now gone.

An old friend catches him by the arm after the embers fade and the ashes are scattered, and Mace Windu says to him, “Whatever it was you wanted to ask him… you must let it go.”

The words are gentle. But urgent.

“I cannot,” replies the phantom. “I need to know.”

“Obi-Wan would not have wanted this for you,” says Windu fiercely. “This is not what he died for.”

There is care in those words. An affection for the long-gone boy that Windu felt and still feels, but it doesn’t matter because the bearer of that affection is ashes.

“I don’t know what he would have wanted,” answers the other. “I did not get to ask him.”

“Is that what you wanted to know?” A trace of pity. “What Obi-Wan wanted?”

Qui-Gon pauses to collect his thoughts.

There is by now a very long list of questions he has — had — for Obi-Wan.

But there is just one question that he wants the answer to, but is too afraid to ask, would never have asked even if Obi-Wan had opened his eyes and righted the galaxy with his simple presence.

Why didn’t you run when I asked you to?

“I wanted to ask him,” Qui-Gon says at last, “why he smiled.”

fin

[shabre-legacy]

Tyrenic starting story 👀👀👀

I'm struggling with this one not gonna lie. He's fighting with me and being very stubborn but here's the first little bit

Stepping out into the sunlight, Tyrenic took in a deep breath. Tython, the homeworld of the Jedi, it was a truly beautiful planet, at least this part that he could see was. He could feel the force here, strong and easier to sense in his surroundings then on many other planets. This was a place for Jedi to heal and grow, he understood why the Order had retreated here to rebuild. He didn’t want to leave. If he could choose, he’d stay longer. He’d been to many planets, many places, different temples. This though, this was his home, his homeworld, the place he was meant for. This was where he belonged. Duty called him away, but he’d be back. Soon as he could; he would return home. 

Stepping on the shuttle from the Tython orbital station to Carrick Station, he sighed. Coruscant… He hadn’t been there in years and was a bit reluctant to return. But he had his duty. He glanced around for a seat, the shuttle wasn’t full, mostly soldiers, a few padawans likely meeting masters on other planets, a few others, and a couple old friends. There in the back, away from most of the others was Shelerik, a very tall, broad-shouldered man with Mirialan tattoos and prominent brow stalks the same green orange as his skin, except at the ends where they turn a soft red along with the ridges across his cheeks and nose.  It was a little intimidating perhaps if you didn’t know the man. Next to him sat a young Cathar woman that Tyrenic had only met a few times, Annalai, if he remembered correctly. On her own, she would be tall, but next to shelerik, she looked tiny. Soft red-brown fur with white markings, blue eyes and long hair that was just a bit more red than her fur. Shelerik was talking quietly, whatever their conversation was, it seemed serious. He stepped through, past the soldiers, sharing a few encouraging words with some of the padawans and took a seat next to his friends. 

“I take it you both passed your trials as well then.”

Shelerik smiled at him, sending warmth and happiness, a welcome or perhaps a congratulations through the force to greet him. “Indeed, was there ever any doubt?”

“Of course not, we’ve trained together enough. I know what you’re capable of. Where are you headed?”

This time Annalai answered him, her lilting voice quiet even on the small shuttle. “Coruscant. I’m escorting someone with information on Sith infiltrators back to Tython.”

Shelerik leaned back “I’m picking up some stolen artifacts found in the lower levels and making sure they make it back up and safely on a ship back. There’s also an injured Master going for treatment that I’m supposed to help guard when she arrives. I don’t know much about that yet. What about you? What takes you off planet.”

“There’s trouble on Coruscant. I cannot tell you much, mostly because I know little myself. But Myself and Master Orgus have been dispatched to assist Master Kiwiiks in handling it. This disturbance must be big if it’s pulling all of us to the same place.”

Annalai laughed “You boys are so serious. Coruscant is the most populous planet in the republic, of course there’s going to be a lot going on. Unless you’ve got visions you’re not mentioning then it’s not the Force, it’s circumstance.”

“How does a shadow have so little trust in the Force.”

“Because I also use my eyes and brain. The Force is a powerful ally, and can be a trusted Friend and it can tell you many things, or lead where you need to be. But it’s also vague, and not every coincidence is a sign or message. Use logic. It’s what we’re all trained to do after all. I  will not make any assumptions until more information is given or the Force gives a clear message.” 

Tyrenic shook his head. This is how she’d been as long as he’d known her. She’d profess logic and practicality above all else. But when it came to it, he’d seen her go into tests with her eyes deliberately closed to rely entirely on the Force. She was much the same as Leshlaa in that regard. Though his former crechemate and one of his best friends in the order, tended to be much more open about her complete trust and belief in the Force and it’s messages. 

He turned his head slightly to look at Shelerik again. “You said there was an injured master being sent to Coruscant? Do you know who? Or why?”

Shelerik’s face turned a bit serious. “Injured or sick, I don’t know. All I was really told was that she had collapsed in the council chamber and was being escorted by her former padawan to Coruscant for treatment and may need a guard at some point. So I’m supposed to check in after completing my other tasks, just to make sure. I wasn’t told who specifically. But based on what I heard passing the Med Center, it’s Master Yuon. 

“Yuon Par? Leshlaa’s Master? I thought Lesh was still a padawan?”

Annilai piped up, “She was. Got a message a few minutes ago that she completed her trials and was leaving the planet for a time. Master Yuon was her master, but she came to Tython a bit before Leshlaa did to oversee some archaeological research that was going on by the training grounds. She had Lesh doing something else. I don’t know what. Lesh has been vague in her messages for a while now. I do hope Master Yuon’s alright though. Or at least that whatever has happened can be treated.”

[jangofctts]

oK SO LIKE EJKKJHRKEJH I CANT FIND THE ASK FOR THE LIFE OF ME BUT IT’s FROM @jango-fettish​ and it said “Imagine sending Blanche nudes when you know he is in a mission briefing. He gets the ping on his holopad and opens it just to quickly see what it is and has to do a double take.”

so ENJOY A DRABBLE KEJHKJH

cc-8352 Commander Blanche // fem!reader

warnings; you send him a nude 

  The debriefing is atrociously boring. Between that and needing to check the hangar every ten kriffing minutes so that Kami and Fuse don’t resort to blowing things up for fun. He grimaces, recollections of their plucky pilot enthusiastically attaching downright banned engine and weapon mods to the sides of the ship last week. It’s still a mystery as to how Kami managed to even find that type of stuff. 

Y’know what, Blanche decides, he doesn’t even want to know.

With a sigh he shifts his weight and straightens his back. Maker—how long does it take for two Jedi to figure out a battle strategy. Hours apparently. General Tavik and Kenobi are notoriously stubborn when it comes to battle strategy—completely different styles of warfare that lead into prickly debates. It’d be amusing to watch if Blanche had got more than a couple hours sleep—right now all it does is tax his own nerves. Rhyssa Tavik’s face is notoriously grim, stony and difficult to read—hell—Blanche still has trouble deciphering her jokes from her regular monotonous timbre. But he’s known her long enough to tell when she’s annoyed. She pulls a strand of dark hair out from her boxer braids, twirls it around her fingers and purses her lips. Her eyes, sharper than a vibroblade cut to Kenobi.   

The low sound of her Coruscanti accent rolls off her tongue. “I am not risking the lives of my men to defend that pass. The rock will crumble from the blaster fire.”

Kenobi pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Rhyssa, I don’t see any—“

General Kenobi’s voice becomes fuzzy as Blanche zones out—unless they need his opinion he and Commander Cody are content to linger in the shadows. Naturally his mind wanders to thoughts of you—his one little solace in the horrors of war. 

He met you in that diner—the only diner willing to serve clones in a five mile radius for free. The same diner his men had hounded him for ages into going with them. Blanche never found it anything special—it’s a typical late night diner, flashing neons, air that smells of salt and grease while the portions of the food could clog a man’s arteries ten times Blanche’s size. At least the caf is decent…among other things…  

The moment Blanch stepped in, jostled between an over enthusiastic Kami and a brooding Void, he spotted you. It struck him strange that you weren’t a server droid—the typical choice for a waiting occupation, but Maker. Blanche gets why this is a clone favorite, second to 79s. Frazzled hair from a long shift, coffee and food stains splattered over your apron as you flit around the network of busy tables and rowdy vods. 

You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

It doesn’t help that everyone else in the dinner thinks so too.

Yes, ok, maybe it was a bit odd that Blanche made the entire squad stay right up until the end of your shift just to get the chance to sneak in a couple words in—but whatever. It worked. He scored your number, scribbled on a crumbled napkin and he’s been seeing you every chance he gets.     

“Blanche?”

The commander jerks his head up, his cheeks flushing with heat when he finds all eyes are trained on him. He clears his throat and straightens to attention. “Yes, General?”

Tavik waves her hand in dismissal. “You’ve been up for nearly a day—go rest.”

“Are you sure, General? I can—“

“Go.” Tavik orders. “Make sure the rest of your men rest too. Force knows you all need it if we’re going to follow Kenobi’s plan."         

Can’t argue with that. Without a word, Commander Blanche salutes and leaves the briefing room before he hears another one of Kenobi’s irritated quips. Wandering down the sterile space gray halls, his feet carry him to the hangar.  

The members of Sunburst Squadron are all splayed out and over the floor and a couple of cargo crates. Just as Commander Blanche expects—up to no good.          

“What are you doing, Kamikaze?” Blanche says with an exasperated sigh, zeroing in on the head of vibrant red hair. 

Kami’s tongue peaks out in concentration as he aims the rubber band at the back of Bruiser’s head. “Target practice, sir.”

The band launches off Kami’s forefinger and thumb with a snap and hits the middle of Bruiser’s neck. Bruiser whips around with a glare, his meaty hand launching up to rub the red slash the band left behind. “What the fuck, Kami.” 

Kami raises his hands in defense, biting his lip to keep his roguish smile from peaking through. “It was Fuse, big guy. I swear.”

Fuse scowls and jams an elbow into Kami’s ribcage. Kami doubles over with a wheezy chuckle. “Fuck off, you tool.”    

“Shut up, all of you,” Void growls, his body wedged between the apex of two crates to sneak in a well deserved nap. “Don’ make me open m’eyes.”

A litany of blame sprouts between the boys, useless bickering that adds to Blanche’s building headache. He sighs for the thousandth time and drops his head to his vambrace at the little bleep, bleep, bleep of an incoming message. He taps at the little button and fuck-- 

His heart leaps into his throat when his brain catches up to what you’ve sent him. You, spread out over your bed, naked and dipping two of your fingers inside of your wet center. A heated spark of arousal tears down his spine--Maker he needs to exit the holopic before someone--

Blanche’s heartbeat skyrockets as a hand clamps down onto his shoulder. Blanche curses and scrambles to shut off the datapad as Max whistles low in approval. “I always wondered what she looked like under that apron.”

Blanche rushes to shut off the image, snarls at his brother and jabs a armored elbow into Max’s arm. “Shut up.”

Max rolls his eyes and ruffles Blanche’s hair. “Heh--just make sure no one else sees that. I'm sure the boys would love getting their hands on that.”

A dark flush collects in Blanche’s cheeks. Never. Not in a million years. You’re his pretty little waitress.    

[gwaean]

The Rescuers  

Part One: “Old acquaintances meet again"

 Summary: You are a mandalorian rebel friends with Captain Rex so you are well aware of the entire "clone situation" going on. And of course you want to help as much as you can. You then go to Ryloth trying to help the Syndulla's and maybe find your old friend Cody. 

 Pairing: None. Yet. But will be a Crosshair x Reader.

 Gender: There'll be no mentions of gender or pronouns on this part yet. Though further in the story it might have she/they pronouns used.

 Word count: 1.6k

 Tags: Injury recover, post-clone wars story, rescuing clones/friends, a bit of melancholy?

 Warning: Brief description of injury.

 Notes: So, I literally dreamed most parts of this story (I know, crazy Star Wars obsession here). I filled up some parts as I was writing of course. And it turned out a bit like a beautiful sad tragic. I might even do a playlist for this fanfic actually. Hope u enjoy it :) 

 The war, the republic, the jedi all have ended. Literally on the same day. And what it seemed like a fresh start, finally a moment of peace in the chaos turned into nightmares. You weren’t there when it happened, you just heard the news of Obi-Wan saying the jedi order and the republic had fallen and you also heard the now Emperor Palpatine telling everyone that the clone wars has ended and the jedi were traitor, they’ve tried to assassinate him according to well… himself. And now he’s forming this new galactic empire, giving people numbers like the ones clones used to have and killing off any resistance against this new order. Everyone seemed to believe him, you gotta give him that he was a pretty damn’ good  liar indeed. But you knew better than that. You are mandalorian after all and were friends with no one less than Duchess Satine and Senator Padmé. You helped them countless times in their diplomatics and you even fought with the jedi and the clones at times. They were good people, yes, the order might have messed up at lot but traitors? Murders? They sure didn’t deserve to die like that and I guess… No one does.

  You quickly then joined the rebellion. There you found many of former politics like Senator Organa and even a clone… Captain Rex (or is it Commander now?). You’ve met him once before and he seemed like a good person and looks like he’s really a great man just like you thought. You soon became friends. But sadly, the other clones you knew before like Cody were still with the empire. Though both you and Rex were very determinate to help others like him. And also, obviously, protect your allies against the empire.

  Well, as expected trouble begins. There’s been rumors about what’s going in Ryloth with the Syndulla’s and the empire occupation. Worried about them and their people, you go there to help as you can. And if there’s need, you’d call more rebels to help too though you didn’t want to envolve more people yet because you’re afraid of the reaction it could cause ( and what that would cost for ryloth and its people). You also have a tiny tiny hope that maybe just maybe Cody could be there.

  Arriving in Ryloth, you discover the Syndulla family have indeed oppose agains the empire occupation and they’ve went into a lot of trouble because of that but apparently a group of mercenaries (?) have already rescued them from the prison they were sent to. One less problem for you to fix I guess. You were glad for them but you still want to spy a little on the empire and see what you could find out after all, the trip couldn’t be for nothing.

  You find your way and get to a particular high hill with a great view of one imperial base. You pick up your binoculars and the only person you see in a sort of balcony is a very depressive-looking Crosshair. You remember him from that one time clone force 99 saved your butt from the mess you’ve yourself in. He was… quite unfriendly, let’s say. But he did get the job done and made sure you were okay so you just ignored his behavior. Looking at him now it was looking at a shadow of him. 

   It made you remember what Rex told you once: 

“We clones were all created with this chip thing in our my minds. We were made for the war and the war only but apparently someone thought it would be great if they let us think we've got free will. That we could be anything we wanted to be after the war. So we made friends, some of us found a family with our jedi. They let we hope. Just so we have all of that taken away from us with order 66. The war had ended for everyone except for us. We had our will taken from us, our minds controlled by this chip and we had to follow orders. While we're still there conscious of what we were doing we had to kill the people we fought together the entire war. I remember her face... I'm so glad she didn't see my face. I couldn't bare.” 

 Thinking about what all the clones been through, you can’t just leave him like this. He did save you once and this was your chance to repay that. Rex keeps saying we can’t save everyone (more to himself than to you) but one person is better than nobody, right?  At the time you improvise a plan: neither the empire nor Cross can’t know yet that you’re a rebel. You haven’t done anything yet incriminating (at least not that they were aware of). So you can just jump in there where he was standing and talk to him. Worst case scenario he ignores you. However you sure knew how to annoy him enough that at least he would call you out and when that happens you act. Ok, that you still have to figure out exactly how you would act. Well, half of a plan is better than no plan.

  You just jump in behind his back and of course he points his gun at you as expected. But he apparently recognizes who it’s standing in front of him and put his riffle down. 

   “ Hello there.”  You say.

   “What do you think you’re doing?”  He replies.

   “Oh, please, don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me.” 

     He gives you a faint of a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

     You smiled back. “But seriously, what you’re doing here all alone? And why- You finally noticed the burn mark on his now bald head. - are you like this? Doesn’t the empire takes care of its soldiers? Nor your squad? The bad batch, right? That’s what you called yourselves?” 

     His face closes again. “You have nothing to do with that. I’m-” 

     “By yourself?” You pause for a moment. “Alright, I get it. You’ve probably been through a lot. We all have. Not sure why you’re like this but it doesn’t matter right now. I just wonder… Don’t you want to get out of all of this?” 

     Cross pauses for a moment. It seems like he's considering the possibility. “I… I can’t.” 

     “But…”  You then think. You remind yourself of how protective he was that one time you were saved by them. Maybe this instinct was still there, you had to try. You saw a pointed rock close to where you were standing and decided that you would accidentally cut yourself. “Ouch!” 

    “What’s up?” 

    “Oh! Nothing! Just might have cut myself here.” You show your hand now with a bit bigger than you expected cut and some blood.

     He almost laughs at it. “What a little clumsy one you are, eh?” 

     His mocking at you, that’s something, right? “Yeah, I guess….” 

     “Well, let’s go?”  He points to the door.

     “Go where?” 

     “Don’t you wanna take care of that, sweetheart?” 

     “Right, medical bay then?” 

     “Obviously.”  Perfect. He would be right where you needed him to be.

  The both of you enter the facility and walk directly to the medical bay. The empire base is pretty much a bland dark and boring military base with some troopers walking around, some commanders (you think) yelling at the soldiers and some droids doing whatever they have to do. You knew only that they were “r - unities” but droids weren’t exactly your area of expertise. However you do notice that the troopers walking around still wear the same clone armor from back the war. And you feel guilty. Because as much as you’d like you won’t be able to help them all. They’ll stay there with their chips on being controlled by the empire…. By the force, that was a hole guilty trip you knew you shouldn’t take. It wasn’t your fault. No, no. They did this. Palpatine and his men were the monsters. Not you. And certainly not these poor clones. One day, yes, one day maybe you could come back and save them?

 “Hmmm…. You wanna me to do this?”  Cross says. You were so distracted in your thoughts you don’t even realized you were already in the medical bay.

 “Oh. You don’t have to.” 

 “It's fine. I’m used to do this anyway.” 

  “Ok. Be my guest then?” 

  “Wow, you’re so funny.” He jokes.

  “Whatever. Just do your thing.” 

  “Give me your hand.”  

 You give him your hand and he takes it. And to your surprise he’s very gentle while taking care of your wound. He applies some alcohol pads to clean the wound. And as he presses the wound to stop the bleeding you reach for your gun and keep looking at his face. His very concentrated. It’s almost like the rest of the galaxy doesn’t matter. He’s only there at the moment focused on helping you. And you’re trying to plan how you’re gonna knock him out to take his chip off.

 “Now I’m gonna get some stuff to make a bandage for ya, ok?” He says and turns his back. Now is you chance. You turn your blaster to stun only and shoots. He falls. 

 “I’m sorry. But there’s no other way.” You whisper as if he’s actually listening. 

 It takes some effort (seriously, Crosshair's heavier than he looks) but you manage to put him on one these surgical stretchers. You also have to learn super quick how to use the pad control to see where the chip’s in and take it off. But it’s done. And you wait and wait… For what it seemed like hours though it was only like 15 minutes.

And he wakes up very confused.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

I wonder at what age can a Jedi be allowed to leave the Order? Like, obviously a full grown Knight/Master can do it (Lost Twenty), Obi-Wan and Anakin were considering it as Padawans, but what if, hypothetically, and Initiate/Youngling wanted to go back to their bio family? Leaving is not a decision to be made lightly, but kids don't have that maturity/thought process developed yet. Would anyone even take them seriously over, say, a bout of intense homesickness? Or is that considered attachment?

I think it would depend from case to case. We don’t have all that much to go on from, but I’ll try my best to answer.

I’m not taking into account the JA books (because they aren’t canon, haven’t been canon in ages and imo Watson and Wolverton had no business creating so much worldbuilding when Lucas wasn’t done with the PT yet) or any other Legends stuff, because it can be contradictory, confusing, and it often doesn’t reflect creator intent for the movies and TCW. 

So, let’s see: Ahsoka’s choice is respected even though she’s only 16 or 17, with s7 and the unreleased crystal arc really emphasizing that it was her decision as a young adult trying to find her way. In s2, Obi-Wan states that he would have left the Order for Satine had she asked, when he was only about 16 at the end of the Mandalore mission. Maybe he would have had to wait a few years? Maybe the Masters would have first talked with him for some time, to try and understand if it was really what he wanted? But he would have been able to leave. In s6, when he talks with Anakin about Padmé and Clovis, he says again that acting upon one’s feelings is a matter of personal decision, so it’s not like he and Satine couldn’t be together because he was forced to stay. He says he chose to stay. 

So clearly, Jedi teenagers are considered mature enough by the Order to understand what they want in life. 

As for the Younglings, hmm... Several key things here. 

One, the Order doesn’t disapprove of wanting to connect to one’s birth culture. (Evidenced by the very diverse clothing, Barriss’ Mirialan prayer statue, Ahsoka and Shaak Ti’s headdresses, this long post on Jedi views on blood families, Byph and Gungi speaking only their native languages instead of Basic, etc etc...) So I think Jedi kids experiencing serious homesickness would be encouraged to connect with their heritage to try and understand if it’s really what they are looking for. 

Two, it’s implied that even little children have some say in whether or not they become Jedi in the first place. When Plo finds Ahsoka, we see him holding out his hand and waiting for her to take it while the Togruta adults stay back. They don’t just drop her into his arms and wave bye-bye. The Rodian child in the Holocron Arc in s2 is shown to be super precocious - super eagerly floating toys around when Anakin himself didn’t display fine telekinesis when he was untrained - and he is in a transitory period. His mother has met with Jedi before, but says he’s still in her care “for some time.” That might indicate there’s still time for a change of plans. In the newest Mandalorian episode, Ahsoka tells Din that Grogu will be the one to decide his path, even though he’s a toddler. Similarly, Qui-Gon asks both Shmi and Anakin before taking him to the Temple. 

Three, we have no idea if there is such a thing as “being a minor” in the Galaxy, tbh. It would vary between species, obviously, and probably between planets. I mean, Padmé was Queen at 14, and her handmaidens/bodyguards were her age. Leia was involved in politics at 15. Jedi Padawans were considered mature enough to teach academic subjects - like politics - to kids older than they were (see Ahsoka being asked to teach older Mandalorian teenagers at age 14) and mature enough to be Commanders within a very strict chain of command. 

From what we see in AotC and TCW, it’s never in line with Jedi teachings to just dismiss any kid’s thought process as “too immature.” Yoda values the little children’s contributions in AotC, and in Lightsaber Lost (TCW s2) Jocasta and Tera Sinube respect Ahsoka’s decision not to go to Anakin about her lightsaber - and they help her figure it out by herself and grow. And while Aayla forces her to come along and leave Anakin behind in Jedi Crash (TCW s2) she does take the time to explain to her why it’s important, Ahsoka does choose to obey, and they do have a very serious talk about it as they walk. Luminara does dismiss Ahsoka as inexperienced in s1ep9, before fighting Ventress, and then takes it back and apologizes. Obi-Wan frequently asks Anakin and Ahsoka their opinion, and even lets them make the plans. In Yoda’s vision meant to tempt him with his deepest desire, he sees Katooni (who is like 11, maybe?) as his guiding figure. Younglings go alone in the caves of Ilum and Yoda trusts them to understand that his warning about being trapped was just a trick - he doesn’t want them to take everything he says as gospel, he wants them to think, and he praises 12-year-old Petro for just breaking the ice door. Throughout canon, we see that Jedi see children as people, with a mind of their own and the ability to understand what’s going on around them and make informed decisions. 

Based on all of that, I think that younglings wanting to leave would be taken seriously. I think it would be extraordinarily rare (because as I’ll show once I finally manage to finish that analysis of the Ilum arc, Jedi kids appear to love their lifestyle and their community, and to be emotionally healthy), but it might happen - and I think the Masters would really take the time to talk with them, try to understand why, and provide them with solutions - and possibly help them return to their birth families, if that’s what they decided in the end. 

About the attachment thing, I have another meta in the works that’s been sitting in my drafts for months x) And it shows that the Jedi aren’t paranoid about it, merely cautious. Attachment (which is very different from love or healthy connections to other people and/or a culture) is a very really danger for psychic people so vulnerable to their emotions, but Jedi don’t spend their days scrutinizing every single aspects of their relationships and their intentions trying to determine if there’s even the faintest shadow of attachment lurking behind. It’s not some frightening taboo thing. They discuss it freely (again, Aayla and Ahsoka in s2). If a kid was attached to his birth family and wanted to go back, then all the more reason to seriously consider his opinion and let him go. (Just like with Grogu and Din). Because the path of a Jedi isn’t for everyone, and that’s perfectly okay.

Anyway, hope that’s good enough of an answer. I know there are older asks in my inbox I haven’t answered yet, sorry. I promise I’m working on them.