#i fucking forgot anakins prosthetic hand fuck me

[snawleyy]

hugging bros

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 9

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

The next morning, the lights to Ben’s office are already on when Satine arrives. Fighting the urge to see him immediately, she opens the door to her office first, discarding her coat and mittens and setting her bag on her desk. Smiling, she finds the contract they’d signed last night where she’d tucked it in the bag’s side pocket, and she transfers it to the book she’s currently reading, placing it next to her desktop computer.

She thinks she has a new favorite bookmark.

There’s a knock at the door with a peculiar cadence, and Satine looks up, knowing Ben will be there. She’s already smiling in anticipation when she meets his eyes.

“Madam,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb, and Satine’s heart nearly stops as she takes in his dress coat and tie, which is, she expects, exactly why he’d chosen that particular combination. She moves around her desk to greet him, and he hands her the steaming mug he’s holding. “I know you prefer coffee over tea, but I haven’t yet stocked your favorites in my office. I hope my usual tea will suffice for today.”

Struck by his gesture, she marvels over his ability to stay kind despite all he’s endured. But aloud, she says, “I should have figured Ben Kenobi’s office would be the barista station of the department.”

Glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure the hallway is empty behind him, Satine then brushes her lips to his jaw in thanks, taking the mug as she steps back. 

He grins, crossing his arms over his chest, and it ought to be outlawed for him to look the way he does. “The best part of getting tenure was realizing I could finally purchase the expensive electric kettle I’d been eyeing but had felt too guilty to buy.”

Satine sips her tea. “I bet you felt guilty anyway when you bought it.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She snickers, and footsteps approach from down the hall. A second later, Anakin appears in the doorway. Without preamble, he says, “How do you handle a student who’s using AI to do all their assignments? On one hand, the department technically doesn’t yet have a policy on AI use. On the other hand - ”

He looks at his prosthetic hand and chortles.

“If I had another hand,” he amends, and Satine has to set the mug on her desk to keep from spilling it as she shakes with laughter.

“I see what you did there,” she says.

“Crip humor,” says Anakin, grinning. “Anyway, part of me thinks if the students are smart enough to figure out how to use AI to complete the assignments, they deserve a good grade.” He turns to Ben, whose expression is not amused. “I’m guessing you don’t agree.”

Ben scratches his beard. “What I think is irrelevant if you don’t have some sort of policy about AI in your syllabus. Did you add it like I suggested at the beginning of the semester?”

“In fairness,” says Anakin, “I did consider it. But then Padma found out she was pregnant, and I forgot to do anything about that particular consideration.”

“You said the same thing about losing your PowerPoint remote, remember? While I am excited for you and Padma, you can’t keep using that as an excuse every time you forget something, Anakin.” And Ben gestures for his friend to step back so he can lead him into his office.

“Speaking of being happy for others,” comes Anakin’s voice as they disappear from the view of Satine’s doorway, “why does Satine have your favorite mug, Ben?”

Satine hears Ben sigh loudly. 

“Anakin.”

---

Satine sighs loudly. “I fucking hate calculus.”

“Shhh,” says Ben. He rummages through his backpack to find a notebook and scribbles his reply.

No speaking on this floor of the library.

She glares at him.

This particular library has several floors, each successively quieter than the one below it. Satine and Ben are sitting on the ground, hidden amongst the stacks of books, calculus homework spread out around them.

Satine grabs the notebook from him and begins to write her reply. I shouldn’t have let you convince me to take this class. My brain just doesn’t work this way. Numbers and derivatives don’t make any sense to me.

And she shoves the notebook back at him.

Ben reaches for her homework, finding the problem she’s stuck on. He smiles.

“You’re close,” he mouths, and then he shifts closer to her so that their shoulders touch. As she watches, he erases a few strokes of her pencil and then adds a few of his own, and then he hands the paper back to her.

And suddenly, the problem is not a problem any longer, and it makes sense. Satine solves the rest of the problem, and she’s able to tackle the next one on her own. Then the one after that. She shows Ben the paper when she finishes, and he checks her work. He looks up a beat later, sending her a wide grin.

I knew you could do it, he writes in the notebook.

I’d still rather be working with ideas than numbers, she responds. He seems to understand that if she’d been speaking, she’d be grumbling.

The numbers aren’t important, nor is the calculus. Forget it after you get the AP credits. What’s important is the ability to solve problems. Take that with you.

He’s right, of course, but she doesn’t want to admit this.

He continues writing. You’re taking the class now so you can spend less time doing math in college.

Now that is a point she will acknowledge, and she leans toward him to press her lips against his.

She pulls back slightly, gesturing for the notebook.

You said no talking, she writes. So I’d like to propose an alternative means of communication.

He lifts a brow.

Satine sets the notebook to the side, pushing some of the strewn papers out of the way. Then she hooks a leg over his hips to straddle him, and her hands land on his shoulders. She grins at the way his hands instinctively land on her hips, at the tension in his jaw.

She takes her time, peppering soft kisses to his forehead, his brow, his cheeks, before making her way to his lips. She moves closer, and without thinking about it, without planning it, her hips grind into his.

Taken aback at the intense pleasure of the movement and eager for more, she repeats the motion. And then does so again.

“Holy fuck,” says Ben, and Satine covers his mouth with one of her hands. 

Replacing her hand with her lips, she says into his mouth, “Shhh. No speaking on this floor of the library.”

---

On Friday, Ben appears at her office door five minutes before the afternoon seminar is about to begin, announcing his presence with the peculiar knock cadence she’s come to associate with him.

“Can I escort you to the seminar, Madam?” he asks.

“I can hardly say no to such an offer,” says Satine, shrugging back into her blazer. She locks the door behind them, and they make their way down the stairs and to the lecture hall below.

Most of the department is already there, and Satine and Ben sit in the back row of the hall. Ben pulls out the small writing surface attached to the side of his chair, between their two seats, and sets his notebook down. Satine smiles to herself. Because of course the man came prepared to take notes.

Dooku Serreno walks to the front of the room to introduce the speaker, and the hall quiets immediately.

“Welcome to the Department of International Relations’ weekly seminar series!” Serreno begins, his presence commanding and bold. “Dr. Derren Malek is a Professor of National Security Strategy at the National War College, but Georgetown’s Department of Government is fortunate to be hosting him this calendar year as a Visiting Professor.”

Satine glances at Malek, a man roughly Ben’s height and build, as Serreno continues with his introduction. Malek has dark hair, gelled into a somewhat spiky style, and his eyes are similarly dark. Satine leans forward as Malek steps into the spotlight to accept the floor from Serreno to light applause from the lecture hall, and as he raises an arm to gesture to the slide behind him, she tenses.

She’s seen his tattoos before, the ones peaking out from just below his sleeves, just barely visible near the proximal part of the back of his hands. He has similar, red and black circuit-like designs emerging from above the line of his suit collar at the back of his neck, extending into his hair - though it’s impossible to tell if the tattoos extend further over his scalp.

“What is it?” Ben murmurs, sensing her alertness.

Satine reaches for the notebook between them and opens it. Before she can ask, Ben offers her the pen from his breast pocket. Satine begins to scribble.

I recognize his tattoos. That man is an advisor to SecState, she writes, referring to the Secretary of State. I’ve never met him, but he’s part of SecState’s privy council.

She rotates the notebook back to Ben so he can read what she’s written. A beat later, he looks up at her, taking in her alarmed expression.

Ben gestures for the pen. Did he have something to do with what happened to you there?

And he turns the notebook back to her, handing her the pen.

Unlikely, writes Satine. I just wasn’t expecting to run into one of SecState’s council here. I thought I’d escaped that part of my life.

The handwriting of his reply is slightly shakier than what Satine knows his scrawl to usually be, but she tries not to dwell on it. Unlikely, but not impossible? 

Not impossible, she admits, and Ben closes the notebook and sets down his pen. Instead, he reaches below the writing surface to find her hand. His grip is warm and reassuring, and he doesn’t let go.

---

After the seminar, Satine and Ben return to their respective offices to pack up for the weekend. As Satine reaches for her laptop and bag, placing the former within the latter, a dark figure appears at her door.

“Ms. Kryze.”

Satine straightens and holds Malek’s gaze. “It’s ‘doctor’, actually,” says Satine, one hand finding its way to her hip in frustration. “As you’d be able to tell if you’d read the nameplate on the door outside, Dr. Malek.” She breathes out. “I suppose it’s long past time for us to be formally acquainted.”

Hoping to keep any status that her desk provides her, Satine doesn’t move forward to greet him, instead staying behind the desk. She reaches over it to extend her hand, and Malek steps forward. to shake it His other hand rests upon her desk for a moment before he steps back, as if he knows exactly what she’d been trying to do - as if he’s deliberately moved to violate her space.

Satine frowns, suddenly glad she’d worn her heels today, as they give her about an inch of an advantage on the man.

“You and I certainly have similar career paths,” acknowledges Malek. 

Satine’s suspicions that he’d intentionally misaddressed her are confirmed; if he knew her career path, he’d know of her doctorate.

“I hear you’re also here temporarily?” adds Malek.

She hates the way he draws out the last word, drawing attention to it. 

Yes, she wants to scream. How fortunate that you get to return to the War College after your time here while I, as of yet, will be unemployed and potentially without a sponsor for my green card if God forbid I fail my citizenship exam.

Instead, Satine says, “Yes, a writing fellowship. I’m working on my next book.”

“I’ll be eager to read it,” says Malek. “As will the Secretary.”

Satine grips the edge of her desk. “The Secretary has washed his hands of me,” she says pointedly.

Malek smiles, but there’s no warmth to it. “Of course,” he agrees.

They’re interrupted by the cadence of Ben’s knock, and Satine looks at the door gratefully. Seeing her expression, Ben enters the room, already wearing his peacoat. “Dr. Malek, I found your talk on fascism particularly fascinating,” he says, extending a hand, forcing Malek to step back from Satine to shake it. “I’m Ben Kenobi.”

“You’re too kind, Dr. Kenobi,” says Malek. Satine notes the easy use of Ben’s honorific, and her eyes narrow at Malek, who now stands on Ben’s other side, as Ben has manipulated the space so that he is between Malek and Satine. 

“I’m sure there will be opportunity for collaboration during your term here,” adds Ben, “seeing as your department is also housed in the Intercultural Center.” His tone makes clear than Malek is being dismissed.

The corner of Malek’s mouth twists up. “I look forward to it,” he says, and he takes his leave.

Satine releases a deep breath, and Ben waits for a moment before shutting the door behind Malek. “What the hell was that about?” he whispers, moving to stand next to her.

Satine tries to control her breathing. “He was sending a message,” she responds, her tone matching his. She runs a hand through her hair with shaky fingers.

At Ben’s blank stare, she elaborates.

“Malek wanted me to know that Secretary Palpatine is watching me.”

[mickstart]

i absolutely love reading all of ur star wars f1 au snippets but i am so curious how does anakin lose his arm in this verse? does dooku just crash into himdhdjsjsn

(i am so sorry losing a limb is never funny but dooku crashing into anakin and going u know what. fuck that guy and deliberately driving over his arm is a little funny. to me. dooku gets suspended from the championship w immediate effect and every time anakin wins after he gets his prostetic he writes an angry op ed that anakin is cheating bc his "robot reflexes" are faster than a human. anakin deliberately pulls a kubica and drives practically one handed next race only to win against the current sith racing driver (assajj??) to prove a point but gets a concussion climbing out of the car bc he forgot he cant use his hand to steady himself like the idiot he is)

feelfree to disregadrd all of this btw also sorry for the spelling mjstakes tumblr mobile is a pest

Okay honestly SW F1 au is pretty much just a for funsies Nothing Bad Happens Ever mashing together of my two big interests r/now. I am smashing the toys together and babbling like a toddler and just doing surface level observations of where people would fit. This is partly just BC... It's for fun! And partly because my own closeness to actual Motorsport makes me somewhat uncomfortable adapting its more serious consequences for an au for a silly space movie franchise.

That said. 1) you're so right anakin drives an unhinged amazing race and then gives himself concussion just to prove a point to an old man who got banned. 2) if there was to be a more serious version of this AU with plot. It would absolutely involve this.

Anakin being ground up and spat out by the cruel competitive world of Motorsport. Qui-Gon sells him and his mother the dream that he's going to be a world champion he's going to be everything he's ever dreamed of and bring home all the money his mum could ever need. So anakin develops this complex, devotes his life to racing, and becomes reckless in his pursuit of it. He definitely gains a prosthetic thanks to a horrible crash with dooku, but he still isn't a champion. He has to keep going and it makes him MORE reckless because now he's given up an ARM for this. He has to do it by any means necessary.

Inevitably, it ends in a fireball crash that ends his career for good without the championship he wanted so badly. He lashes out at everyone - especially obi-wan - and vanishes as soon as he's out of the hospital. This would then lead into the twins, given up at birth separately, getting into Motorsport of their own accord and anakin returning from wherever he fucked off to to try and stop them. (And tense reunions with Padme and obi-wan that are ultimately healing.)