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cosmicdahlias · 3 months ago

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A Master and an Apprentice

Obi-Wan x Reader

MINORS DNI

After the death of your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been appointed to take her place. Between his constant criticisms and your secret crush for him, your feelings are incredibly conflicted.

tags: mild age gap, teacher/student relationship, oral, p in v, light mdom/fsub, praise kink, creampie

raaaaaah, i finally wrote an obi wan x reader fic!!! this man was my literal first crush, i wasn’t even in middle school when i realized i liked him that way. i love tpm obi and his mullet era in aotc, but rots is like his peak look. Do not argue with me on this he looked so damn FOIIIIIIIINE!!! 😩🙏

You sat crosslegged in the meditation chamber with your recently appointed master, eyes closed. You were a Jedi apprentice, a few years into adulthood. Your previous master had died before your eyes at the hands of Count Dooku. Despite the Jedi code’s strict forbidding of attachment, you took her death extremely hard, suffering in silence. You were too afraid to let anyone know you were struggling, especially the Council. To admit your grief was to forsake your way of life.

You were assigned a new master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. At your age it felt like an insult not only to you, but to the memory of your departed master. You knew you were more than ready for the trials, but the Council insisted otherwise. What made it worse was that Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin Skywalker, had completed the trials and ascended to knighthood at a younger age than you were now. Granted he was the chosen one, but regardless you still felt your pride wounded.

It wasn’t solely because of this that you felt contempt for your new master, you had other reasons. You hated how he never seemed to trust your judgement, how he never gave you space to do things on your own, how he never seemed satisfied with your efforts.

As much as you hated him, there was a part of you, an aggressively loud part of you, that harbored feelings for him. He was incredibly handsome, wise beyond his years, and even if he never gave you room to breathe, the way he was protective over you felt… attractive.

Your feelings only made you more frustrated with him. You already wrestled with the unacceptable sadness over the loss of your first master, so to develop such a strong attachment to him felt like he was pulling you away from the only life you had ever known.

Tensions had been rising. It seemed more and more often that you were scolded for one thing or another. You were sick of it, if he corrected you one more time you were going to lose it on him.

Obi-Wan led you with his instructions.

“Concentrate, young one, let the will of the Force flow through you. Feel its energy, the way it guides you, how it-“

“I could if you’d stop talking.” You huffed.

“Now, there’s no need to be difficult. If you would heed my instructions you would find this to be far less arduous. Focus.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know what I’m doing?” You questioned, fully offended.

“I have said no such thing, you’re obviously distracted and I’m simply suggesting that you could give a little effort for once.“

You stood. You had no clue why something as small as this got to you, perhaps it was just the final drop in weeks of criticism to make your cup run over, but something in you snapped.

“You really don’t think I’m capable, do you? Everything I do, that I’ve ever done, it’s never good enough for you. I will NEVER be good enough for you!” You shouted.

Every single ounce of held back emotion came forth in the form of tears. You turned away, unsuccessfully attempting to hide that you had broken. Obi-Wan rose to his feet and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been pushing you. I only want what’s best for you. I see your potential and I know you have so much more to offer than you let show. You’re extraordinarily intelligent, quick witted, virtuous, and you’re incredibly beauti-“

He stopped, realizing immediately that he had said too much and gotten ahead of himself. You turned to face him.

“I’m what?”

His cheeks became dusted with a slight pink. He took a deep breath.

“There’s no sense in hiding it. I find you astonishingly attractive. Everything about you draws me in, almost as if by the will of the Force. By day my thoughts are occupied with you and by night I see you in my dreams, shameful, lust filled dreams. If the Council ever knew how I felt about you, I fear they would never let me be in your presence again. It’s so wrong, thinking of my own padawan this way. I’ve tried to bury my feelings, but cannot live this lie any longer. Not at least without telling you how I truly feel.”

You put a hand to his chest.

“Obi-Wan… I feel the same way. It’s frustrating and confusing, but I-“

He cut you off, kissing you passionately. He cupped your cheek with one hand, the other finding the small of your back and pulling you closer. You tangled your fingers in his hair. He sat on the meditation seat and pulled you onto his lap to straddle him, you felt him grow hard against you.

“You don’t know how intensely I’ve longed for you, the things I’ve done to myself at just the thought of you.” He whispered.

His hands slipped your robes off of you, exposing your breasts. He kissed you and you pulled back.

“Wait, no. What if someone comes in and sees us like this?”

“No one is to be in here for another hour. Relax, let yourself enjoy this.” He said, leaning down to pepper kisses to your breasts.

He slid your trousers off your legs. His hands moved between your thighs, stroking your clit.

“How does that feel?” He asked.

“Mmmnn, incredible.” You whimpered.

“Good girl.” He purred.

Ohhhhhh sweet Maker, you were going to savor his voice saying those words forever.

Obi-Wan laid back and pulled you up to straddle his face. His hot breath lingered on you for a moment before he took your clit in his mouth. The pleasure was indescribable, he knew exactly what he was doing.

In your teens you had a habit of sneaking out of your dormitory to meet with a boy who lived in the city. It was no more than a fling fueled by hormones and curiosity. Obi-Wan was leagues more experienced than him it seemed, which normally would make sense at his age, but given his status as a Jedi master this left you with more than a few questions.

“H- how are you so good at this when you’re supposed to be sworn to celibacy?” You moaned.

“There are things about me even the Council is not privy to.”

His tongue worked your clit at a steady rhythm.

“Your taste- oh stars- your taste is incredible.” He moaned against you.

You rocked your hips, you were edging closer to orgasm. Obi-wan could sense it.

“Getting close, are we?”

“Mhm.” You whimpered, too wrapped up in pleasure to form a single coherent word.

Your breathing became heavy and you moaned loudly, coming undone on him. You panted, shaking as your orgasm ran through you in waves. He pulled you off of him, moving you back down to his lap as he sat up. His beard was dripping with your cum. You ran your tongue along the whiskers on his chin before kissing him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You sank to the floor in front of him, he watched you intently. You pulled out his long, thick cock from his trousers. He throbbed in your hand. You licked him from the base of his shaft to the head and he shuddered in pleasure. You took him past your lips, stroking what you couldn’t manage to take your mouth.

“In the name of- where did you ever learn to do such a thing?”

“You’re one to talk, master ‘there are things about me even the Council is not privy to’ Kenobi.”

He laughed. “Fair enough, princess.”

You moved your mouth up and down his length, running along his shaft with your warm tongue and swirling it whenever you made your way up to the head. You continually pumped his shaft through all of this. Obi-Wan kept a hand on your head, fingers in your hair.

“Ah, if you keep doing that you’ll make me-“

You moved your mouth faster, your hand matching in speed. Obi-Wan gently pulled your head back by your hair.

“N- no, stop. As much as I love this, I need to be inside of you. Please, y/n.”

“Of course, my master.” You cooed.

You rose and straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock. Obi-Wan held the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Take it slow, don’t overwhelm yourself.” He instructed.

“Do you doubt my ability, master?” You whispered in his ear.

You sunk yourself onto him at a purposefully fast pace. You winced and failed to stifle a sharp breath as every inch of him stretched you wide.

He chuckled. “And this is what happens when you don’t follow my instructions.”

“How dare you try to lecture me right now.”

“Perhaps my cock inside you will give you the proper motivation to- nngh- listen for once.” He said as you began to lift and drop your hips.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him, kissing you passionately. He bucked himself up into you. He dipped his head down to your neck, sucking the soft skin and scraping it with his teeth.

“I must know, my sweet girl, have you dreamt of this as I have?”

“Y- yes, master. There were nights I spent with my hand between my thighs, cumming with your name escaping my lips.”

He kissed you.

“Stars, what I would do to witness that.”

He picked you up by your thighs, setting you on your back on the cushioned seat. He hovered over you, hooking your legs over his shoulders and pinning your wrists above your head.

“I’m sorry my young padawan, but I cannot resist. I’m going to fuck you until you see stars.”

He thrusted himself inside you and fucked you at an intense, aggressive pace. For someone as prim and proper as he, seeing this side of him almost felt strange, but incredibly arousing. You knew that he must have trusted you a great deal to reveal this part of himself to you. You had never been fucked this hard before, you loved it. You tilted your head back, moaning loudly.

“Do you like this?” He asked.

“Yes, my master. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” You begged.

“That’s my good girl.”

His words made you tighten around him with a whimper. He cocked an eyebrow and gave a smirk.

“Hmm, I believe I may have found a way to keep you engaged in your training. If I were to offer my praise, tell you how much of a good girl you are, would that make you finally listen to me?” He asked, still thrusting at the same speed.

You nodded fervently.

“I need to hear your words.” He commanded.

“Y- yes, master.” You moaned.

“Now, that’s better. It’s refreshing to see you so obedient for once, had I known all it took was fucking you like this I would’ve done so sooner.”

You bucked yourself back against him in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

His breathing began to hitch. He released your wrists and moved his hands to your hips, his pacing increased.

“I’m close sweet girl, where do you want it?”

“I- inside me, p- please.” You begged.

“Then tell me. Tell me just how much you want me to cum inside you.”

He moved himself even faster, purposefully overwhelming you.

“I- I c-can’t, fe-els too- hhhnn- good.”

He chuckled. “Just moan louder for me then, my dear.”

Up until now you had been doing your best to control your volume to some extent, but you couldn’t refuse your master’s commands. You moaned his name obscenely loud, you didn’t care if the whole Council heard.

His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you against him, burying his full length deep inside you as he came. His cock pulsed with every rope he shot into you, you felt its warmth flood your insides.

Obi-Wan pulled out and stood over you, watching as his cum slowly dripped out of you.

“Look at you, absolutely beautiful being claimed by me like this.”

He gave you time to breathe before helping you to stand, your legs shook.

“Now, get dressed and let’s continue our meditation.”

After finishing the meditation Obi-Wan pulled you onto his lap once again, his lips finding yours.

“I think you could still do with further instruction. Tonight, why don’t you visit me in my quarters for a lesson of… similar nature.” He whispered between kisses.

“Yes, master.”

You heard the door suddenly slide open, quickly breaking away and attempting to scramble off of Obi-Wan as you were greeted with your master’s former padawan.

“Master, great news, General Grievous has been spo-“

He paused, the sight of you halfway on your master’s lap and both his and your disheveled hair finally registering. You slid the rest of the way off Obi-Wan.

“What uh… what were you two-“

“Meditation.” You both said, trying to act as casual as possible.

Anakin gave a knowing smirk.

“Seems like some mediation. Sorry to interrupt, my news can wait.” He said, turning to leave.

“Now hold on just a moment, Anakin. It’s not what you think.” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin laughed. “Don’t worry master, your secret is safe with me. I think this makes us even now.”

You had no idea what he meant by that last part, but at the very least it seemed like his lips were sealed.

#obi wan #obi wan kenobi #obiwan fanfic #obi wan x reader #obi wan smut #star wars #star wars prequels #my fics

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thegingerwrites · 8 months ago

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Obikin sickfic musings

So I’ve been sick for almost the past week, pretty much unable to look at a screen or do much more than rot in my bedroom for most of it. But! I have been thinking sick fic thoughts. Especially after reading Lemon's Obi-Wan sickfic a few weeks back. What is Anakin like when he’s sick? (And how does Obi-Wan take care of him)

The Jedi don’t get sick very often and when they do, they can often be sent to the Halls of Healing or the medbay of their star destroyers to get any illness treated quickly. But sometimes that isn’t possible, common colds are too various and changeable to treat directly so it’s easier a lot of the time for them to pass on their own.

Anakin gets one while out in the field and doesn’t really notice at first. A bit of congestion, fatigue, dizziness, isn’t really enough to stop him from doing what needs to be done. Honestly, most of that is expected after pushing himself so hard for so long.

When Anakin is sick, he pushes himself too hard. He is out on a campaign, stationed on planet, and in the midst of leading the ground troops through an assault. Midway through, he stops giving orders, fully immersed in his own head and doing what needs to be done. He has a few close calls, his reflexes are slower than they should be, but they live to fight another day. Ahsoka and Rex give him a few sideways looks as they return to the ship.

Even when the battle is over, he doesn’t retire to his quarters. He stays up, heading to the hangar to catch up on some repairs he has been thinking about for weeks. He waves off attempts to get him to slow down and rest, needing to keep going until he collapses.

Ahsoka loses patience with him almost immediately and hands the situation over to Rex until he convinces her to call in reinforcements. General Kenobi is in the system, wrapping up an engagement on a neighboring planet. If anyone can tell Anakin to sit down and rest, it’s him. Thankfully, he is only an hour away.

“Anakin.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine. Did Ahsoka call you?”

“She did but I’m told the decision was seconded by Rex, your officers, and Chief Medic Kix.”

“…Traitors.”

“There are two ways this could go. You can admit that you are not feeling well and head back to your quarters to sleep of the rest of this cold with your dignity still intact.”

“Or?”

“Or I give it about ten minutes before you collapse and I have to carry you back to your quarters.”

“Fine.”

Anakin wasn’t exactly allowed to be sick when he was little. His mother took care of him as best she could, but Watto forced him to work regardless of how Anakin felt. His early years at the Temple were marked by a few bouts of illness, as his body adapted to its strange new home. He is better about recognizing illness and accepting help now but some habits are hard to break.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“My mission went exceedingly well, thanks for asking. Completed it with just enough time to wrestle unruly former padawans into bed.”

“I mean, if you want to—”

“You can barely stand, Anakin. Hold still.”

“I’m still capable of taking my own armor off.”

“Then why is it still on?”

“…I think it’s half the reason I’m still standing.”

“Come now. Clothes off.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Anakin.”

When Anakin is feeling truly miserable, every kindness shown to him is treated like a gift from the Force itself.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m here now, in bed, resting. I promise I’m not dumb enough to run off the second you leave.”

“I know that too.”

Anakin breathes a heavy sigh that catches around the congestion in his chest. He clears his throat and nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s side.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For everything,” Anakin slurs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Anakin smiles at the sound of the endearment he only ever hears when he is very sick. Obi-Wan offers it up carelessly to other people but it only ever gets administered to Anakin when he is at his lowest, perhaps when Obi-Wan thinks that Anakin won’t notice or remember, or when he believes Anakin most needs to hear it. Anakin remembers every single “darling” and “dearest” and “love”. Something about them does make him feel just a little bit better.

“Are you going to make your tea?”

“You hate my tea.”

“Yes, but I like that you make it.”

“…Alright.”

Anakin doesn't like the taste of Obi-Wan's tea but he does like the way that the ceramic mug feels in his hands and the smell of the steam that wafts from it and the way it fights the chill from his low-grade fever. This time, when he holds it in his hands and shivers, it almost feels like a good thing.

Obi-Wan stays with Anakin as he falls asleep, sitting up behind him on the narrow bed in Anakin’s quarters, keeping him elevated to help with his congestion. He runs his fingers through Anakin’s hair as Anakin’s mouth falls slack and he begins to doze as well.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick too?”

“A Jedi doesn’t get sick.”

“What do you call this then?”

“A minor setback. You’ll be on your feet again in no time. Now, rest.”

When Anakin can’t sleep and makes some truly pitiful noises, Obi-Wan agrees to read to him. Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s robes as he lets the words wash over him. It doesn’t matter what Obi-Wan is reading to him, the fact that he is here, that he cares, is more than enough. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to Anakin’s forehead just before he falls asleep again to check on his temperature.

Obi-Wan is only able to spend a few hours with him before being called back to the front. He manages to escape before Anakin’s cold takes a turn for the gross, all of the coughing and hacking that means that whatever is in his system is finally starting to break up a bit. The few hours together don’t feel like much, don’t feel like enough, but he is able to help Anakin to take care of himself and offer a bit of comfort in a time so often devoid of it.

“Master, is that Master Kenobi’s robe?”

“Yeah, he left it for me.”

“Isn’t it just a standard issue robe? You have like three of them.”

“It’s soft.”

#obikin #aniobi #obi wan/anakin #anakin/obi wan #obi wan x anakin #ficlet

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princessbrunette · 2 years ago

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i love your drabbles! what do you think of anakin's need to have his S/O scratch his back during sex? I imagine he'd cheekily be like "... get long stilleto nails ;) ;) ;)" when you're at the salon and later that night ask you to rake your nails down his back.

and then he's ask for you to do it HARDER.

and you'd complain like, "oh, ani, ani - i can't, i think my nail might actually break if i do it any harder..."

and he just moans that he'll buy you a new set if it does.

anakins not a bad listener.

but sometimes, he’s so distracted with his own thoughts about a mission, or drama around the temple that when you begin to ramble about your plans for the day… his mind kind of slips elsewhere. often staring off into the distance until you cup his cheek and refocus him. you don’t really mind most of the time though, you’re usually speaking your plans out loud just to use anakin as a human diary so that you don’t forget anything. however, at the mention of you going to the salon to get your nails done he perks up a little, looking you over with intrigue.

“can you get the sharp ones?” he interjects, making you trail off whatever you were saying to look at him in surprise. he didn’t know any of the terms of course, unable to differ from coffin shaped to almond if you asked him, but he knew what he did like, and why he liked them. when you don’t say anything, caught a little off guard he clarifies. “you know, the long ones? i like those ones a lot.”

you nod, a soft smile gracing your features as he stands from your couch, patting down his pockets in search of where he kept his credits. he didn’t have much money, the jedi being paid in pretty much dirt — but he liked to pay for things like your nails, which you figured was more for his self esteem, often muttering some kind of ‘what kind of man would i be if —’ line whenever you’d try and refuse him.

so you get stiletto nails from the salon upon his request, or as you like to refer to them, claws. you hadn’t gotten them done in this shape for a while, mainly because they were a bit of a nuisance — waking up having scratched yourself in the night or accidentally nicking yourself with them just trying to get dressed. they’d dull out and become more manageable after a week, but the first few days of having them they were at their sharpest.

you feel like a happy housewife running to show anakin your new nails funded by him when he arrives back through your door later that day, and he smirks in the most charming way as he takes your smaller hand, holding it up so he can get a good look. “very nice.” he praises, continuing on, but little did you know he liked it more than he was playing off, because he knew what they could do.

like clockwork, you end up on your back that evening, your own whines bouncing off the walls and exiting through the billowing curtains to your balcony. he looks like some kind of god, towering over you, ripped and smooth and it’s impossible to keep your hands off him as he grinds his dick up against your cervix making you howl.

“th’salright— you can scratch me.” he groans after you fumble out an apology for slicing his muscled back with your new nails. you’re reluctant, but figure he likes it from the way he moans when you do. his following “thats it.” spurs you on to continue, painting vibrant pink streaks down his skin that you’re sure will be visible the next morning when you wake up to him dozing in the early sun.

“ani, don’t wanna hurt you!” you whimper, clenching around him purely from the animalistic sounds he’s making, going to slide your hands away from his back. at the threat of removing your hands he all but wrestles them back into position desperately, burying his mouth into the crook of your neck so he can instruct you right in your ear. “baby please, c’mon, draw blood for me, why’d you think i like those nails so much, ‘uh?”

so you do, and he bleeds, and suddenly he’s having to slow his thrusts as to not bust right there and then before he’s given you the chance to get off. luckily for him, it doesn’t take long, because the way he moans for you, cursing and half slurring promises to pay for your next set if they break, you’re twitching around his length and mewling out through your orgasm.

#anon #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skywalker smut #star wars smut #anakin smut

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wreckedhoney · 2 months ago

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still thinking about that bts shot "looks like Obi wan has hijacked Anakin and padme's honeymoon" and the tag "#necessary third party obi-wan kenobi my beloved. invited to the honeymoon the way a couple would bring their dog with them" and imagining a universe where soon-to-be-newlyweds anidala just let themselves (particularly anakin lbr) be weird with it early on. padmé recognizes that anakin is enamored and Not Normal about obi-wan, anakin grapples with what obi-wan really means to him, and the way this is executed is, naturally, to kidnap obi-wan, but like softly. like clumsily dropping a frog into water already boiling.

Obi-wan, come with us, we just want to share something with you very quickly. Yes, of course, Senator, Anakin, what is it exactly? and boom, it's their wedding. obi-wan standing as witness with the droids thinking, No…Are they serious? But why? But I'll have to snitch though. Is that the plan? Do they want me to snitch? but as soon as the ceremony is done they each take him by the arms, and start walking. What is the meaning of this, he says, and Do you know you'll have to leave the Order, Anakin, and Where are we going? obi-wan gradually feeling more panicked while padmé tries for pleasantries and anakin tries for apologies and promises that he'll take care of the issue on his own, and soon enough obi-wan realizes that they and padmé's attendants are leading him quite forcefully towards a craft. Oh, you'll love it there, padmé says. Where? obi-wan doesn't ask shrilly. Help, he says next, to someone they pass by, but he isn't sure exactly how or from what yet and so the plea doesn't come across as serious enough to act on. It'll be a good place to help you relax, anakin consoles. Where? obi-wan asks again. everyone is now inside the craft. they do not let go of his arms. Unhand me, he says, probably calmly, except no one does. surely he's not actually in any danger. WHERE are we GOING, Anakin- and the craft is up. the land he sees out the window appears farther and farther away. he's considering breaking and jumping right out of the window. anakin holds onto him tighter. Are you going to kill me to keep me quiet, obi-wan asks, because he has always been eloquent and clear. Of course not, anakin answers, and with an odd inflection adds, We're going to our honeymoon.

OUR honeymoon…?

Our honeymoon, it's confirmed, matter-of-factly.

in a few hours, obi-wan will be facing a beautiful shore, and whether or not he is anywhere close to relaxing is, well, up in the air.

BONUS: it doesn't take long for obi-wan to feel less like an outsider and more like it really is a honeymoon, one that he's an unwilling participant of, not separate but wholly part of it. the romantic dinners, the stay-in holovid nights, and perhaps most crucially, the scenic stroll on the beach.

except what "stroll on the beach" truly means is obi-wan is making his best attempt at an escape yet, gunning full-sprint on the shore where anakin's most hated type of surface should come in obi-wan's favor. still, anakin and a handful of attendants and droids are at his heels, but obi-wan is able to make it to a boat, one that could reach the shipyard, and he starts it before any of his pursuers can climb aboard as well. It's over, Anakin, he'll scream from his position at the wheel, because he can see the stubborn gleam in anakin's eyes. I have the high ground - which is to say, the boat's dock is too high for anakin to jump without the risk of obi-wan disrupting his landing in some way. and yet- anakin makes the leap, hurling high and far, reaching over the dock- where obi-wan throws the rope that the boat came with so that it tangles around anakin's legs and he stacks it. obi-wan quickly tries to wrestle the other so he can toss him over the side while simultaneously undoing the tangle so anakin doesn't just, like, drown.

it doesn't work, and as soon as anakin is free, they wrestle one another on a moving boat that neither of them are steering. You were the chosen one, obi-wan begins to roar, frustrations at last reaching a peak. You were supposed to bring balance to the force, not- not whatever this is-! ("this" being bring obi-wan to a holiday against his will to form an obtrusively romantic attachment post-"illegal marriage" while convincing him not to snitch; very unbalanced) at which point anakin may respond with something equally frazzled and dramatic as they pause to catch their breathes, something like, I hate you, and You always do this, to which obi-wan might say something like, Do what?

This! You never just let yourself go, you never let yourself be with who you love and admit you love them, and obi-wan might give an exasperated sigh that sounds like he's reconsidering the not-drowning and say, Anakin, i do love- love you, I never hid that- and anakin would likely cut him off to clarify that he doesn't mean that love, the one he can tell obi-wan is talking about, that generic and too-distant love that insists he always keep anakin and all else at arms length. he wants more than that, he has always wanted more than that. the kind of love that padmé tries and is willing to give him. the kind he's learned he wants from obi-wan and has for quite some time.

which is, of course, all well and good, and all things that need to be said; the beginning of a conversation and road that will take time for them to navigate now that the situation has come to this kind of head. still, it doesn't stop obi-wan from taking advantage of anakin being momentarily caught up in the moment. he has since before the start of the confession gone back to steering the boat to the honeymoon's exit.

once it's noticed and before obi-wan can try to get a word in response, anakin lunges.

#obikin #fanfiction #this did not post in the ship tag at first so i thought to try again but in this second attempt it sure did escalate #kidnap trope my beloved except it's in the tone of a slapstick comedy #tmblr please PLEASE please just like. work this time babey. don't make me feel like obi-wan trying to start a rigged speeder in this au

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yourneighborhoodporg · 1 year ago

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The Guardian

Chapter 7: Master

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of pain, banter, humor, fluff, the appearance of a sneaky b (see gif), some developing thoughts about obi 👀

Summary: With your short spar with Anakin nearing completion, the moment is suddenly interrupted by a passing caucus of politicians, one of whom you'd been long hoping to meet. Just as quickly, however, you're dragged away, instead needed at a long-awaited appointment that may reveal new aspects of your being and the immediate path ahead.

Song Inspo: Little Willow — Paul McCartney

Words: 7.5k (just put me in jail)

A/n: He has finally arrived. The one we all hate 😂😭 Let me know what y'all think about his character in this :)

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Series Masterlist

For now we see through a glass, darkly — 1 Corinthians 13:12

“Well done.”

You glanced over at the affected voice with radiant auburn hair, still cognizant enough of your lower back’s recent meeting with the dojo’s pearl-tinted floor to gently press two knuckles against it, hoping to alleviate a sliver of its steadying ache. At the far end of that same three-rowed, dark wood viewing bench, Obi-Wan rose meaningfully, soon strolling toward you both. The Master Jedi leisurely folded each arm while making a point to center his gaze with yours as expressive words fell from his mouth.

“To the both of you.”

Smiling appreciatively at the bearded Jedi, you relaxed your senses, encouraging them to cool like a morning stretch while your stare shifted toward Anakin’s focused gaze and knowing grin. Evidently, he took this shift in your posture as a cue to officially end the duel, directing his saber away from your neck and flicking off its blue, incandescent heat before clipping the weapon to his belt with a clink. You welcomed the invitation to purloin this new space, crunching upwards and gently fluffing your robe of the ground’s remnants. It didn’t take long to recover from the unexpected fall enough to rise to your feet, reattaching your own saber as Obi-Wan continued his approach out of your peripheral.

You faced Anakin with an impassive stance. Tightening your spine, you encouraged the young Jedi to emulate a parallel bearing, prompting his eyes to relax in recognition as both rather slacked expressions linked, signaling each other to dip into a hand-clasped bow in respect of the spar’s end.

“Eh, I think I did most of the work,” Anakin shrugged nonchalantly mid-bob, a poking grin wrestling at ungiving lips as he raised from his inclination.

Your eyes rolled while similarly straightening, an amused smile fighting to the surface. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Either way,” Obi-Wan spoke up, motioning toward you with an earnest stare as he drew into a restive stance beside the younger Jedi. “You really should rest now.”

You raised your hands in surrender in your stroll up toward the duo. “Okay, okay,” you theatricalized, tickled expression never faltering. “I yield to the Master.”

Obi-Wan’s features lifted warmly at your words. It only lasted mere seconds, however, before the wiser Jedi angled toward his left, gesticulating toward the outwardly gratified companion beside him while speaking ironically.

“At least someone has a respect for rank.”

Anakin scoffed, crossing his arms as he addressed the elder Jedi who’d long ago mastered the art of concealed entertainment. “I respect rank!”

It was clear from his expression alone that Obi-Wan had his most sensible retort fueled and aimed, akin to an incredibly quick-witted pirate with a blaster. His mouth opened to speak while raising a finger in dissent. But before any vocalizations could escape his parted lips, a sudden commotion in the form of resonant, overlapping conversationalists and a clamor of heavy, discordant footsteps rippled through the Force, cutting the brief cessation between the three of you like Bantha butter as you all honed into the interference to the Force’s eternal flow.

Despite the muffled nature of the disturbance, dampened by the training room’s separation from the outer walkway, the atmosphere’s sudden uptick in unregulated activity certainly gave you, Obi-Wan, and Anakin brief pause. For you especially, the unexpected shift from the pacified movements you were becoming accustomed to at the Temple to a progressively incongruous bustle beyond the dojo’s walls drenched you in wonderment.

Who could be walking down that hall? No Jedi, you were certain of that. Yet to the best of your knowledge, only Jedi were welcome within the Temple’s walls.

But before you could consider these sensations further, your inner reflection was cut short, namely by the distraction of a pivoting Anakin as he speedily traipsed toward the training room’s gray double doors. You nearly giggled when taking in his movements as you couldn’t help but notice how they resembled the unassertive dash of a youngling having already been told by an exasperated Master to slow down.

“Where are you going?” You asked as Obi-Wan too, followed the retreating Jedi’s movements with discerning eyes.

You spied his head tilt back, that steady, transitional pace never relenting as the young Jedi spoke pointedly at you.

“You can’t say you’re not just as curious as me.”

Inwardly, you sighed.

He certainly wasn’t wrong.

Maybe that’s why without giving it a second thought, you quickly jogged after him in your own indefinite skip.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to be excited about,” Obi-Wan remarked from behind as he started to amble after you both.

But even Master Kenobi’s uniform words did nothing to assuage your interest. There was something new and exciting beyond those walls, and you were intending to discover it.

You continued behind the young Jedi as he attempted to temper his outward eagerness as well, enough to hear a quiet admittance escape from under his breath.

“At this point, anything will be exciting.”

You caught up to Anakin once he reached for the entryway's left control panel, tapping it in stimulated quick succession before the double doors’ thin seam whooshed into an aperture, pulling you both by the power of inquisitiveness alone into the lofty hall’s cooler chill.

Tracing the vibrant, overlay of several life forces’ buzzing ambulation like latent breadcrumbs, your head swiveled to the left. You caught sight of the clatter’s spirited source before swiftly moving with Anakin toward the walkway’s immediate inner wall, hoping to make room for the approaching turbulence just fifteen meters ahead. It was a rather large entourage, composed of eight individuals engaged in a stifled tread down the lilac path toward you.

You analyzed the diverse group, noting that of the beings you could place, two were definitely human. One was a middle-aged gentleman with dark features and olive-shaped eyes, his expression emulating stoic patience and preoccupation. The other, a senior, pale-haired man with sunken eyes and aged creases radiating from the bridge of his nose as he spoke faintly to the olive-orbed fellow beside him. Another was a Rodian, with his attentive eyes, green-tinted form, and impatient expression. And behind him, a being with a tanned eye-stalk trio, protruding snout, and relaxed antennas— a Gran, and a peaceful one at that. To their rear strolled a reserved Ishi Tib, whose x-shaped, emerald countenance, and rounded beak gazed around in awe at the Temple’s steep architecture. The most notable, however, was the towering four-horned Chagrian whose framed sky-blue face stared on with barely restrained severity on the opposite flank of the elderly human. In hand, a long bronzed staff with a sculpted hooded figure as its head.

Soon, you sensed Obi-Wan slow to join you and Anakin from behind, enabling you all to uniformly observe the scene before you.

As the three of you stood in silent regard, you happened to realize that these strangers moved with greater elegance than the masses you’d encountered in the Uscru and Entertainment Districts, remembering how their lumbered gates and sudden skitters added to the atmosphere’s dynamic yet whimsical glow. But despite their upraised grace, each footfall still landed like desensitized raps while their darkened robes of velvety black and currant whipped about legs now leniently treading eight meters away.

Their modulated sophistication and elaborate attire seemed to contribute to that overall air of importance, you considered. These qualities could potentially explain their presence, and suggest their current permissions to be on Temple grounds, you mused. Though it was soon clear that your companions had the answers you were eagerly searching for.

“That, is the Senate Security Council,” Obi-Wan divulged lowly from just above your shoulder, feeling the subtle fluctuation of temperature as his warmed breath passed by your neck.

“And that,” you glanced at Anakin as he continued for him, nodding at the leader of the pack. “Is Chancellor Palpatine.”

You turned back toward the promptly approaching political leader and his cortège, surveying him with resolute focus. If your studies on Hoth and short time in the Jedi Archives revealed anything, it was that the Chancellor was essential to the Republic’s hope of enduring peace. In fact, it was one of the first things you realized in your preparatory studies for the Guardian role— that it would be important to understand this vital figure, appreciating it as another task that aligned with your duty.

But almost immediately, you concluded that he wasn’t exactly what you thought the grand political leader of a Galactic Republic would look like. Now that you were focusing on his comparably slower pace, it seemed that the Chancellor was directing the constant pull and push of their pacified yet hurried tread that would stagger as often as their footsteps echoed against the expansive hall’s soaring ceilings. He was weakened, his climbing age apparent with each labored breath and strained glance at the next political aid. This wasn’t the leader that your imagination conjured during those many daydreaming years on Hoth.

But then again, you were sure the stresses of advising an inter-world union through a war threatening the very harmony of the galaxy would be as exhausting and fermenting as he seemed to be. It was quite possible, that this recent conflict had merely quickened time’s aging disease.

Nevertheless, despite these reasonable explanations, there was still some discrepancy with his title and appearance that you were trying to place. Yes, you had a certain biased image of political leaders from your exposure to Republic lore. Powerful, commanding, unrelenting, which this matured individual could very well be. Yet, still, some incongruity invaded your senses as a modest helping of puzzlement etched its way across the forefront of your mind.

And apparently, across your brows, as Obi-Wan seemed to notice your confusion in his effort to skirt around the two bodies in front of him to stand securely by your vacant side.

“What it is?” He asked, sending you a subtle but curious glance as he continued to maintain a formal pose for the approaching posse’s field of vision.

This comment seemed to garner Anakin’s attention as well as, he too, peeked at your searching expression out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s just…” you paused, trying to find the words.

You dissected the Chancellor once more for a few seconds longer, taking in his entire figure as a tenuous realization washed over your thoughts before retreating back into the depths of your mind.

“He’s shorter than I expected.”

You caught Obi-Wan raising an amused brow as he glanced across you. Following his line of sight, you were met with Anakin’s pursed lips and cheeks that had reddened ever so slightly. The waver was brief as he swiftly hushed you with great enthusiasm, adding a moderate, yet covert, elbow to the arm

“He’s going to hear you,” the Chosen One whispered through gritted teeth while leaning behind your ear.

You lightly swatted away his protruding arm, but it was virtually redundant. Instead, by his own volition, Anakin quickly adopted an almost ritualistic posture for the Council’s slowing stride when he noticed the Chancellor’s features lift in recognition, a gentle smile creasing the older gentleman’s dried lips as he gazed at the young Jedi.

“Master Skywalker!” He exclaimed happily with a weary voice as he halted, stalling the pace of each being who loyally heeded his movements.

The three of you stepped forward toward the welcoming politician.

“It’s good to see you, Your Excellency,” Anakin announced in ceremonious continuity as he bowed respectfully toward the fatigued Chancellor.

“And you as well,” he spoke warmly, cheeks crinkled.

“Chancellor,” Obi-Wan politely nodded toward him. “I trust your trip to the Temple was as fruitful as you hoped?”

Palpatine breathily chuckled. “Yes, Master Kenobi. Thank you for your diligence in asking.”

The other human, with jet black, combed-over hair, striking brows, and a goatee, humbly stepped in, seemingly hoping to save the Chancellor’s energy as he spoke on his behalf.

“Master Yoda and Master Windu have informed us about the temporary communications blackout.”

“Yes,” Palpatine agreed, nodding toward the man stood beside him. “Senator Organa, the rest of the Security Council, and I are all very comforted to know that the system wasn’t damaged in some way. I was concerned when my colleagues and I were not able to get through to The Council using our holocomms. Thankfully, the Jedi have been as proactive as always in addressing these kinds of threats.”

Just as he finished, you noticed an air of curiosity lining the Chancellor’s faded brows once his peripheral caught your figure between the two Jedi. His tender expression turned toward you as he offered a kind greeting. Only in that second, had you noticed that his good-natured countenance began to loosen spinal muscles you didn’t realize were tense.

Politics, and all those who commanded that world, were foreign to you. Having lived on an ungoverned, albeit forsaken, planet, it was not something you came in much contact with. Well, besides your holobooks. So it wasn’t surprising that your senses were confused by their presence, you excused inwardly. You were always trained to be cautious in the face of the unknown, and that included the complicated world of diplomacy. You had known a Jedi all your life, but never a politician.

Yet Palpatine didn’t seem much like a politician to you. He was more akin to a kind old man. And that presence was probably what finally eased worries you didn’t even recognize you had.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he acknowledged.

Your cheeks brightened. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Chancellor,” you affably offered, presenting him with a bow gradual enough to quench any pockets of arid formalities. “My name is Silvey.”

“It is a joy to meet you, Silvey,” he exclaimed gently as you rose. “Are you a Jedi? Forgive me, but I’m not sure if I’ve seen your face before.”

Your smile remained genial, having become more comfortable with your assigned name and story in the face of questioning.

“I am, Chancellor. I have been on a years-long mission away from the Temple until recently.”

“Ah,” he vocalized. “Well, it’s marvelous to know that we have another Jedi here to support our Great Republic through this tragic conflict,” he sighed wearily, allowing his eyes to linger in melancholy.

You sympathized with the tender-hearted politician, offering him a sympathetic expression as his dutiful eyes raised to meet yours suddenly.

“Well,” he began with a greater punch. “I’m glad you’re using this time to socialize with Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi. Two of the best the Galaxy has to offer. Did you know each other before your mission?”

“In passing,” Obi-Wan piped up. “Though I’m sure we will all have the opportunity to learn more of each other as the war continues. Efforts to support the Republic often overlap.”

The Chancellor hummed sensibly. “Right as always, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine nodded toward him just before taking a brief yet lingering instant to rake his charming eyes over your complexion.

But soon, his gaze opened back up to the three of you.

“Well, I always wish to talk more with our galaxy’s greatest peacekeepers, but I must be going now. The Senate must be told to refrain from using the Temple’s communications system as soon as possible.”

The Chancellor angled back toward you more fully this time.

“I hope we will be able to speak more sometime soon. Any friend of Master Skywalker’s is a friend of mine, and I would enjoy hearing more about that mission of yours.”

You lightened further at his thoughtful words. “I would be honored, Chancellor.”

The elder gentlemen blinked at you kindly.

“And that goes for you too,” he extended toward the young Jedi beside you. “I’m looking forward to hearing about your adventures these past few months. Please, come by my office, anytime.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Anakin stated in a reverent monotone. “I will be sure to visit soon.”

“Good, good,” he proclaimed. “I will see you then.”

As he released those final mutterings, the Chancellor carefully began his shuffle forward, encouraging the three of you to step aside so that his band of politicians could once again reinstate their gradual progression back down the walkway. You watched them for a moment, their darkened robes catching the wind of each mercurial movement in a fashion similar to earlier as overlapping conversations and knocking footsteps prodded the hall’s previously calmed atmosphere.

“Silvey?” Obi-Wan prodded from behind.

You tilted toward the bearded Jedi, noticing his stitched brows aimed at the Council’s ancient wrist comm while you gazed at him expectantly.

“What time were you supposed to meet with Master Yoda?”

Your nose scrunched in thought as he rolled his arm toward you, revealing the barely perceptible, flickering green glow of the chronometer installed on the device. And as soon as you registered the numbers before you, your face dropped in realization.

“Oh, kriff,” you mumbled.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened incredulously. “Where did you learn that language?” He questioned, disbelief raining from his voice.

The gears turned behind his stare for only a moment before his expression dropped into a sharp gape toward his former Padawan.

“It wasn’t me!” Anakin whined, waiving his hand in rebuttal.

“We had the same Master, Obi-Wan,” you reminded as your focus shifted to the task at hand. Quickly, you began your short expedition away from the duo, down the same path from which Palpatine emerged, before deliberately pivoting on your heel and continuing your trek backward so to address the flummoxed Jedi.

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth lay agape as Anakin barely hid a chuckle from your sight.

Barely.

“And you’re not off the hook, Smarty,” you called back at him while picking up the pace of your inverse jog. “Being the reason I’m late and all.” A smirk scurried across your mouth. “Better train hard to prepare for the consequences.”

You narrowly caught the giddy lilt sparkling behind his eyes before spinning on your heel to now hasten into a run, assuaged and nimble enough to be accepted within your tranquil surroundings.

That was, until Anakin yelled his response toward your departing figure with a levity so tangible, that you could feel it through his voice nearly twenty meters away.

“I’ll be waiting, patiently!”

You grinned.

—

Your dimmed umber cloak thrashed like a land-fairing scalefish as you swiveled down another one of The Temple’s many outstretched and interconnected walkways. Only after a few more seconds and additional turns on that emerald green mezzanine did you finally allow your long-hurried pace to stifle when you discerned a memorable sight.

Just a dozen meters away, at the end of the hall’s extensively columned aerial vaults, reigned a gap in the upper back wall through which the afternoon’s blazing sun of Coruscant Prime flared with greeting. The sparkling golden light encircled two large gray pillars that supported the downward ceiling’s pitch, weaved past the hanging sage-tinted signs strung from gutters to announce your location, and poured over the gray stone edging fence that guided travelers toward the bifurcated staircase entryways leading to the training ground’s lower level.

You had learned quickly from your first mistake, when in search of the Sparring Arena to meet with Master Windu, you became quite immediately, and hopelessly, lost. Plunged into the labyrinth that was the Temple among a sea of occupied Jedi who further muddled the path.

But this time, you didn’t need Obi-Wan’s help. You appreciated his assistance, but knew that if you had any hope of being the best Guardian you could be, you needed to become self-sufficient. So this time, you chose to use the Jedi Archive’s resources and your own free time to search out the training grounds as soon as you learned of your impending appointment with the Grand Master on this very acreage.

Luckily, your short detour from the day before wasn’t in vain, having shaved off a few extra minutes from your reliably inflating tardiness.

Once the end of the outstretched walkway was reached, you were free to follow the creational illumination’s natural path, swiftly swerving about the garden wall and jogging down the L-shaped stairway to the foundation’s vast cream surface in hopes of making this important meeting somewhat on time.

Instantly, were plunged into Coruscant’s afternoon heat the moment your nimble toes met the smooth masonry, temporarily overcharging your senses as you acclimated to the strange sensation that penetrated each burnished boot. With eyes squinted and cheeks burning, you gazed up at the Coruscant sky, a cupped hand elevated for shade as you took in the baby blue and blanketed snow-like clouds that did little to shelter you from the giant star’s omnipresent intensity.

Having spent most of your life on a desolate, ice planet, you hadn’t had the opportunity to feel the blazing passion of such a powerfully dense sun directly on your prickling skin. It was a rather refreshing surprise, but still something that was quite foreign to you. You were sure that prolonged exposure would drain your physical energy far more fervently than your former asylum, yet you found the sight to be particularly bewitching, and undeniably beautiful.

Dragging your captivated eyes from the fresh encounter, you strolled toward the training ground’s center, observing the outdoor setting as you simultaneously searched for Master Yoda somewhere on the grounds.

Having not seen the nine hundred-year-old Jedi in your immediate scan of the alabaster-tinted array, you instead chose to use this brief opportunity to absorb your surroundings with greater care. Praying that you had not missed the gathering entirely as you did so.

Sauntering forward, you noticed that the arena was rather spacious, split into three graphed sectors with either end acting as a reflection to the other. Glancing to your left, you noticed a segmented instructional zone of sorts, comprised of three rectangular cedar murals of varying size. One was in use by a small batch of Initiates, engaged in a synchronized drill of dexterity. An assemblage of blue and green training sabers pigmented each of their whirling hands as they moved seamlessly before their instructor— an older Cosian, if you had to guess, recognizable by his tufted tail and leafy protruding beak. Beneath them, each depiction was etched with smearings of white powdered chalk, delineating circular footing guides, you assumed, as the younglings followed each curve with precise gradation.

You glimpsed ahead, wandering further as you perceived two protrusions on either side of the training ground’s back wall. They were elevated by at least four meters and adorned with switchback staircases, enabling the structures to prevail as alternative methods for exiting the faded grounds. You imagined they led to additional gated walkways that snaked into the Temple’s belly.

Altogether, the expanse’s high-walled design manufactured a basin of sorts, accented by the flushed blocky jade lamps that dotted every hallow crevice and drew attention to the surrounding orotund panels.

As you tugged your line of sight away from the surrounding architecture to the patch before you, you couldn’t help but become enthralled by the figure ahead. At the arena's nucleus stood a markedly enchanting presence. One which pulled at the very core of your inner current.

A twisting tree, its thick trunk dancing into each curved branch, loomed expansively from a patio that unfurled below. It stretched outwards, each branch seizing the sun’s parting energies far beyond your reach. Gold veins with ringed motifs winded up its quiet body, seemingly powering the amber, oblong leaves that adorned each ligneous finger in calm bundles.

Nearly instantaneously, it felt as if the rooted being was beckoning you forward from its home just beyond the set paltry stairs beneath you. Even the steps themselves appeared designed to usher in all who desired to know its secrets, with the apical sill acting as a lure mere inches from your feet. Soon, the faint aroma of Cardamom swirled past your nostrils from his intoxicating figure, further drawing your attention.

In those brief instances you took to descry the blossomed flora, you couldn’t help but feel the need to approach the botanical feat, feeling a strange yet embracing wrest toward its sparkling striped markings in particular. It was before your mind could fully register the action, when a sudden yet gradually vitalizing string, tied from your collarbone to the trunk's base, finally commanded your legs to assuredly promenade forward.

As you neared the colossal energy, treading beyond the staircase’s final step, your tie to each neighboring aura swelled exponentially. You could feel the fluxing vivacity of the younglings far behind you, and the compelling yet subdued strength of their instructor. Another step nourished the stream, empowering you to pinpoint wandering bodies in the nearest Temple halls, including the assembly of politicians still making their way through its winding pathways.

Promptly, your ceaseless strides brought your face within inches of the powerful beacon, its surging vigor drawing your eyelids to flutter closed while you extended a gentle hand to rest on its glossy bark. As your fingertips met its silky texture, you sensed an instant surge of breath in the form of thousands of tiny little life forms, binding into the nexus. Even ones as small as the avian creatures resting on distant rooftops, or the fleck-sized insects that trotted along a portion of the far wall in perfect harmony.

You delved deeper, exploring these fervently fluid impressions with greater absorption when a new, striking and formidable spirit gradually entered the fold, their pace sedated though consequential as they approached from behind. But despite sensing this new presence, you encountered pronounced difficulty in separating from the strength before you.

That was, until you heard their familiar voice. One that you had not heard since the Temple-wide meeting yesterday morning.

“Discovered The Great Tree, you have.”

Opening your eyes abruptly, you severed your interlaced connection with the tree’s amplifying flow before spinning toward the raspy voice. Your eyes instantly met the shorter, long-eared Jedi, elevated by his relaxed stance against a curved cane on the ground’s main platform above. The moment you steadied, you were quick to offer him a reflexive bow while inwardly chiding yourself for delaying him further.

“Yes,” you rapidly acknowledged before just as soon faltering, like a misstep in your footing.

You internally cycled through how to respond to the 900-year-old being for a moment too long as you fought the steadily rising panic. This was not the first impression you wanted to make. But you still needed to say something.

Relenting, you finally settled on a phrase you used way too often with Qui-Gon in your younger years. And something you had not planned to say ever again once your journey began.

“I apologize for my belatedness, Master Yoda,” you offered evenly. “I assure you, it will not happen again.”

The pepper-green Jedi hummed in thought, offering the environment a brief silence before leisurely idling down the stairway toward your figure. “Believe you, I do. Works in mysterious ways, the Force does. Led you to this tree, it has.”

Master Yoda ambled to a slow halt beside you, giving himself scope to gaze up at the natural wonder. He must have relished in the presence of the Great Tree many thousands of times in his long years at the Temple. Yet his reverent appearance gleamed with the radiance of discovering its pure artistry for the very first time. You admired that insight, so, hoping to see what his sagacious eyes discerned, you reproduced his venture into the tree’s depths.

“I feel a strong link to the Force when I’m near it,” you acknowledged aloud.

“An Uneti tree, you see before you. Imbued with the living Force, it is.”

Yes, of course. How could you have forgotten? Qui-Gon had told you that story many times. Of how all his life, he had never seen a real tree before, having spent his entire existence in the industrial world of Coruscant up to that point. That was, until his Master Dooku brought him to see one right here on these training grounds for the very first time. The famed golden tree that shone from the sheer will of the Force alone.

That was this Great Tree. The Uneti tree.

And much like Qui-Gon, this was your very first time seeing one too.

“Yet your connection feel, scarcely I did.”

A nervous pang brushed against your ribs as you absorbed his meaning. You continued to trace the monument’s golden veins with a penetrating stare, hoping to hide the resurgence of this particular doubt that had been clouding your mind since your session with Master Windu.

Why could no one truly sense your mental grapplings of the Force? It was possible that the Grand Master had answers to this persistent query.

“I don’t understand,” you stated earnestly.

The Master acknowledged your confession with an esophageal grunt. “Powerful, your mind is. Protected, it is, against searching powers. Taught you well, Qui-Gon has.”

Though, despite Master Yoda’s gentle praise, you couldn’t help the new flurry of numerous questions that knocked at the back of your mind like nosy neighbors.

This marked the second time a Master could only limitedly sense your signature, even when you weren’t attempting to bury your presence. In fact, after many years engaging in Force Stealth in an abundance of caution, you had finally taken a moment, an opportunity, to reach deeply into the Force when you felt its swirling openness around this tree. It was just as you did a few days prior, when you attempted to open your mind to the stern Master Windu. Yet again, despite the Force’s overwhelming circulation throughout these grounds, a Grand Master only a few meters away could barely sense your interaction with its rushing stream?

It didn’t make sense.

What stowed further disquiet, was his phrasing. Did he sense only the minimum zeal that all beings had within them? Would he not have believed you a Jedi without already knowing your mission?

What you did know, was that whichever readings were emanating off your life force, they were completely unintentional. How such a muted perception could be possible without purpose, you didn’t understand. But you were sure that, like always, you could rely on your meditation at a point later on to guide you through this mystery.

“Thank you, Master.”

Too entrenched in his own viewing of the Great Tree to respond, the wise Jedi steered purposefully toward its unwavering trunk, cane pecking a few times at the stone below as he maneuvered to flatten his palm and brawny three fingers against its satiny skin. His eyes drifted shut, brows creasing while he connected to the flow around him as you had just done moments ago.

As seconds elapsed, a slight breeze wheezed past the region, exciting the Great Tree’s leaves and tickling its twigs as a few golden flakes loosened and snapped from the cooling gust, sending them vacillating down to the feet of each idler.

“Powerful, as well, your sensitivity is,” he continued while his bridge with the atmosphere persisted. “22,300 Midichlorians, you have.”

You spun toward the Master, jaw slackened. Somewhat attempting to temper your stupefaction, you spoke quickly to the powerful Jedi entranced with the golden tree before you.

“Are you sure, Master? That seems way too high. From what I’ve read, most Jedi have around 10,000. That would be just over double the average.”

The senior Jedi gradually nurtured a thin smile, choosing this moment to disengage with the powerful being as he retracted his arm and feebly circled around, extending his now-opened eyes toward you.

“Checked three times, we did. Positive that you’re The Guardian, we are.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, not just due to the skewed essence of your skills and your sensitivity, but by his locution.

“Is my role as The Guardian tied to my Midichlorian count?”

The Master vocalized his consideration through a guttural sigh as he shook his head at his own being.

“Measured your connection, I did, many years ago. The same it is now, as it was then.”

You nodded, remembering Obi-Wan mentioning the Master’s awareness of your existence prior to your parents’ deaths. Counting your Midichlorian count would certainly explain how you were discovered by both Yoda and your former Master, however separate their independent discoveries may have been.

But even after decades, after hearing again of his encounter with you as a very small youngling and when your parents were still alive, you couldn’t help the long-suppressed questions that still lingered infinitely. They were starting to bubble to the surface.

Who were your parents? What were they like? Did they look like you?

And what really happened to them? Were they from your native planet? And where was that? Was it nearby?

But deep down, you knew that these were questions ill-suited for a Grand Master who held non-attachment in such high esteem. Qui-Gon had warned you of that.

Though despite being devoid of the occasion for which to ask these questions, there was still one, relevant and nagging inquiry that ached behind your eyes.

“I hope to inquire, Master, but how did you know? That I was The Guardian and not The Chosen One, I mean.”

The Grand Master rested both hands atop his cane as he addressed you. “First the Defender and then the Chosen, the hidden prophecy says. Found you first, I had. As had Qui-Gon, we must assume. And born of a father, you were. Has not one, Anakin and The Chosen One.”

You tracked as the slope-eared Jedi angled to his left while finishing the last sentence, determinedly deciding to saunter back up the cursory steps behind you both. Interpreting this as an invitation to follow, you briskly moved, veering to stroll beside him and the hallow pricks of his intervallically pattering cane.

“I understand,” you confirmed while maintaining a measured gate. “I want to assure you, Master, that I will do my best to fulfill the needs of that role.”

An approving murmur escaped his gruff throat. “And as a member of The Order, you will.”

You casually glanced down at the Master, hope tingling at the tips of your fingers as you tried to maintain an impartial complexion.

“Gone through your Trials, you have already,” he recognized while his ambling progressed. “The nine steps, you have faced in those ten years on Hoth. Well-versed in control and sense, Master Windu says you are.”

Master Yoda nodded deliberately, a whirl of justifications seemed to flutter behind his rational eyes as he appraised some grand notion internally. It must have been something he was already considering, you decided, as those thoughts rapidly settled across his countenance, soon converging into one, adamant verdict,

“Grant you the rank of Knight, I will. Though no ceremony, may you have. Secret, your past must remain.”

You nodded, allowing that shred of disappointment to whither back into the trail of Force shimmering behind your walking figure. In turn, you endeavored to focus on the honor of your new title.

Sacrificing was part of the job description. You knew that. But it didn’t mean that missing out on the same milestones that every other Jedi experienced couldn’t still affect you.

But, as always, you projected objectivity.

“I understand, Master. Thank you.”

His head bobbed faintly. “A Master, you must still have. Extended his services, Master Windu has.”

You chewed over his words in the pregnant lull that followed, filled only with the light taps of his cane, your gentle footfalls, and the distant, echoing maneuvers of the younglings following their muttering instructor’s guidance.

It was impossible to ignore the surprise that bounced around your skull. From what you recalled of your short time together, Master Windu didn’t seem to be that fond of your presence. Sure, it was clear that he appreciated your professionalism and attentiveness, and you likewise admired his dedication. But you believed from his austerity and Obi-Wan’s warnings, that you weren’t exactly the one person he wanted to spend more time with.

This was, of course, in addition to the downright fact that no one, not even a Jedi as powerful as Mace Windu, could replace your late Master. He would always be your guide. Your own protector. And you were certainly not ready to give away that title.

Not yet.

Especially when you were no longer the Padawan that needed to be assigned a Master.

Especially, when his death still felt so fresh.

“I’m honored by the offer,” you began. “But I am already a Knight, and Qui-Gon was already my Master. I’m not certain if it would be…”

You gave your next uttering careful thought.

“Appropriate.”

An appreciative, gravelly hum escaped the wise man’s throat. “Understand this, I do. Loyal to your past Master, you are,” he remarked thoughtfully. “But maintain appearances, we must.”

The wise Jedi peered at you, injecting a sense of submerged understanding into the drifting Force that encircled you both.

“Always your Master, Qui-Gon will be. Act only as an advisor, Master Windu will, while you adapt to The Order and the war. But be your Master to others, he shall be. Your connection to Qui-Gon a secret, it must remain. Tied to The Chosen One in death, he was.”

Again, the Grand Master repeated that private affirmation of his head to his innermost musings.

“And distance from Anakin, you should temporarily keep.”

Your brows furrowed marginally as you inquisitively studied the peppered green Jedi.

“Master?”

How were you supposed to protect The Chosen One if you weren’t allowed to be near him?

“Interact in the Temple, you may. But important, a short separation on the battlefield, is.”

The Jedi faltered mid-step, prompting you to halt as he tottered to face your taller form with a pensive dip in the brows.

“Hidden, your true nature, must remain, from Separatist and darker forces alike. A weakness in war, the Republic cannot have.”

“But they must know of Anakin’s identity,” You pointed out.

The elder Jedi ostensibly agreed. “Right, you are. But clear to both sides, The Chosen One prophecy is. Dark the looking glass, The Guardian’s role makes.”

You observed Master Yoda’s eyes gently wander beyond your figure as he sketched some ambiance of lively motion to your rear. Tracing his line of sight, you rotated toward the youngling drill that had continued through your conversation.

A moment of calm entered the space, briefly interrupted by another crisp puff of breeze against your tingling arms as the two of you looked on. A distant bird of some delineation poured out an eddy of melodies, painting the heavens with peppy pleadings known only to its innermost heart.

As minutes slipped by, and the two of you stood in subsisted temporary reticence, Master Yoda’s trained vision endured on the premeditative, processional aerobatics before him. However, no matter his concentration, one fleeting glance to your lower right was quick to reveal that the Grand Master was still transfixed by his innermost ruminations, ingrained deep within his ceaseless exploration of the Force.

“Still, learn about Anakin you must,” he breathed heavily while both of you monitored the younglings lunge through an underhand swipe, followed by a summersault parry as they twirled around invisible, sprightly opponents.

“Assign you to Master Kenobi’s missions once the Jedi are deployed again, we will. Learn about The Chosen One through his former Master’s teachings, you may. Understand his past, you must. Know him well, he does.”

Your longstanding grasp of The Guardian’s journey was dictated by the obligation to always be by his side. To always be there to protect him from the dark forces he is meant to destroy. It was something you felt cavernously in each one of your bones.

But in this moment, you were beginning to agree with the Master; finding it just as necessary to dedicate yourself to comprehending his history. The past that molded him into the Jedi he is today.

It was quite possible, that you would have failed to reach this conclusion had it not been for this morning’s experience in conjunction with the past few days’ interactions. Compared to all the other Jedi you’d read about, Anakin would certainly be classified as an enigma. His past was far more sullied than the greats of recent history. And while you were beginning to understand him more than you originally expected, you knew that there was still much to learn of that realm.

Hopefully, Obi-Wan would have the insight you lacked. You could already think of a few questions that you wanted to ask him, namely why occurrences like this morning’s were not quite properly addressed by his former Master.

But with all that aside, you couldn’t deny the more personal reason for finding hope in this arrangement. A few weeks or months working side-by-side with one of Qui-Gon’s past Padawans was sure to aid you in your own loitering convalescence from his death.

Besides, you were beginning to enjoy Master Kenobi’s company.

You recalled the past week. How you felt heartened by the gentleness of his guidance in the club the night before. And how you were beginning to value that again and again, Obi-Wan never failed to lend you a helping hand when you needed it most.

You wanted to explore these sensibilities further, first noting how open you’d become to appreciating his humor, and how he maintained it in even the most dire or upbeat of circumstances together. Despite the frequency with which it was at Anakin’s expense. But you could easily tell, in those snapshot moments, that it was all the more evidence of Obi-Wan’s fondness for his former Padawan. And you were certainly amused, at times, by how he showed it.

Most importantly, you were utterly convinced that you could count on him in a pinch. He’d saved your life once, and you knew you could trust him to be by your side again. Enough to put his own life on the line to defend yours.

Just as he did on Hoth, when Obi-Wan precariously dangled from the shuttle’s jagged doorway to grab your desperate, nearly lost hand.

And that warmed you.

“I appreciate the opportunity, Master Yoda. I will learn as much as I can.”

The two of you swayed tranquilly as another gust of cooling wind tickled a loose hair strand against your ear. You embraced this moment to study the younglings who maintained a neutral stance, training sabers in various arrays of readiness while they listened carefully to the Cosian Master as he explained their next activity in a faint voice. He was quick in finishing his elucidation, however, as the younglings readied to lean into their dominant foot, setting up for the impending motion.

Suddenly, a moderately sharp throb cautiously nudged at your forehead, mildly tapping like a pesky, repetitive din.

You brushed it off, deciding to instead anchor yourself on the drill ahead. It fascinated you, the absolute coexistence of their movements, which flowered between them through their complete connectivity to the environment. The troop rolled into their dominant side, following through as the back of their shoulder blade met the floor and propelled them once again into a standing, lunged position, all while maneuvering their sabers around each wheeling youngling. It was quite impressive, for Initiates so young. It was a move whose complication…

Another piercing spear at your forehead’s center, this time radiated out toward your sinuses like lightning desperately squeezed to ground itself. Your skull brimmed with pressure at each subsequent twinge. Somehow, the once insignificant throbs were quite rapidly transforming into an unpleasant nuisance. So much so, that you couldn’t help but massage your temples in stiff circles as you strived to lessen the distinct sting in your observance of the drill.

“Well, are you not?” Master Yoda inquired as he seemed to sense your discomfort.

You lowered your hands. “I’m alright, Master. I think I overexerted myself earlier, and I’m probably not yet quite used to this heat,” you gesticulated toward the beaming sun that still, surprisingly, felt like a comforting brush to your exposed skin.

“Rest, young Silvey,” he advised while pivoting toward your figure, motivating you to turn on your heel and face his center-held staff. “Strong in the coming weeks, you must be. Sense a shift in the Force, I do.”

You acknowledged the Jedi’s wise words before tilting into a gentle bow, permitting your body to salvage any extra energy in its small battle against your pervasive migraine.

“Thank you, Master,” you rose evenly. “Your guidance is much appreciated.”

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artist-issues · 1 year ago

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Okay what do you think of the idea that Maginifico was more of the Protagonist than Asha was?

Why? Are people saying that? What's the argument for that?

I guess neither of them has a character arc, unless you count Magnifico going from "bad" to "worse." And neither of them is a powerful static character, (like Steve Rogers, who doesn't change much throughout his arc but his strong character traits are an instrument of change to the characters around him.)

I mean. You could try and say Asha doesn't have an arc, but she causes change in the characters around her because all the Rosas people never stood up for themselves before she started singing.

But it wasn't impactful. Because she really didn't do anything except "challenge" Magnifico, and she'd already done that within the first ten minutes of the movie during her interview without it affecting any change. It wasn't her "challenging him" that made the Rosas people change--her challenging him just changed their circumstances a bit because it made him reveal himself as the villain...and then the Rosas people did what they probably would've done whether Asha was on that tower during his villain monologue or not--they just started wishing that he wasn't controlling them. 🤷‍♀️ Oh boy. How powerful.

That's the thing about this movie. Characters just...receive new information and act exactly the correct way in response.

Asha learns the King is doing something wrong? She immediately suggests the exact right thing for him to do and totally stands up to him, despite living her entire life under his seemingly benevolent rule and looking up to him as much as everybody else in her world.

The Queen learns that a handful of side characters are staging a rebellion against her husband of decades? She immediately joins them.

Asha starts to act a little bit defeated because her mom's wish is gone and the King is condemning her family? Her grandfather and mother, who have recently lost everything, are not affected badly enough to keep them from encouraging her to go save the day.

The tower ceiling won't open up? The goat who has never been in the tower nor displayed any intuition about how things work (and sometimes he has even forgotten where they're going or what they're doing) suddenly knows the exact right way to fix the problem just by looking around.

Nobody changes because nobody has flaws. Everybody's just a good person who's a little ignorant.

(sorry, didn't mean to go on another ramble about why this whole movie is bad.)

Anyway. The only "flawed" character is Magnifico. And by "flaws" I mean, "he's the bad guy, so he's wrong."

But that's not usually what we mean by "flawed." Usually by flawed we mean, "has weaknesses in their character that informs their wrong or bad actions and view--and those weaknesses are something they wrestle with." By the end of the story, a "flawed" character either takes steps toward overcoming these weaknesses or loses the wrestling match and the story has kind of a tragic ending. Like Anakin Skywalker at the end of ROS, or Peter Pan.

Magnifico could feel like more of a "protagonist" if he was "flawed" in that sense. But just like everything in this movie, his "wrestling match" with his flaws isn't believable or impactful. Therefore, his flaws aren't "flaws" like we just talked about.

Magnifico is just the stereotypical Bad Guy who doesn't wrestle with who he is, like Ursula or Maleficent--with no believable character arc, and therefore no impact.

Actually, they really really hamstring him.

He should have either been totally aware that he was being selfish and power-hungry from the first time we see him and owned it--like Ursula--OR he should've had a much more in-depth backstory, with a noticeable fear issue that causes him to strive for control at all costs, and a fleshed-out story of trying and then failing to fight that urge for control.

But instead of leaning toward one or the other, they just halfway-commit to all directions. One minute, Magnifico is singing a gentle song about protecting others and smiling indulgently at Asha's drawings or listening to his sweet wife--the next, he's making little one-liners or singing a quick verse in a song about how he shouldn't turn evil--and the next, he's casually saying 100% evil things like, "I DECIDE" at the top of his lungs, or "How's that 'taking your wish into your own hands' thing workin out for ya? OH WAIT, I DON'T CARE."

Pick one. If you're going to have him wrestle between good or bad, make him wrestle. Like Stitch or the Beast. If you're going to have him believe he's totally in the right at all times, even when he has to be cruel, make him really believe it's because he's right, through and through, like Frollo or Scar or Facilier. If you're going to have him be all-out nasty from the beginning and totally okay with that, like Ursula, Maleficent, Jafar, Hans, or Clayton, then make him that, through and through. Enough with tell-don't-show half-commitment to all of the above. Pick one, so that you have time to show any progression convincingly.

Rambled again. 🤷‍♀️ In conclusion, no, I don't think he's "more of a protagonist than Asha" because he's exactly as impactful, believable, interesting, and important as Asha—which is not at all.

#Wish #wish 2023 #wish Disney #Disney wish #Disney #2023 movies #critical #wish hate #wish love #asked #answered #critique #king Magnifico #Asha #writing #storytelling #meta #Villain #Disney villains

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gffa · 2 years ago

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Hi! I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be because my view of the sequel trilogy lives in kind of a nebulous space, where I really like the characters and I actually like a lot of the potential of the storyline, but I dislike TFA, greatly dislike TLJ, and was actually pretty okay with TROS all things considered. I don't want to dig too deep into the negativity of my feelings but they're basically - TFA was too much of a repainting of ANH for me, the initial shine of it was through its potential, but when that didn't pay off in the other movies, the shine came off TFA, too. - TLJ was set too close to TFA, Finn's character should have been tied into the Canto Bight plot (which was exhausting as it was), as a stolen child soldier he has the most reason to hate the rich, but absolutely nothing was done with him, Luke being on that island for that long was out of character for him, Rey's entire story became wrapped up in Kylo Ren, neither of those characters had nearly enough connections with others despite having very good reasons to, like why do we not spend more time on Luke & Kylo?? and it played at being subversive but it absolutely was not, it's all been done before (and I really hated the way Force abilities worked in the movie) and killing off your main villain in the second act was a baffling decision - TROS' biggest problem is that it should have been two movies instead of one, it was a series of trailers rather than a story with breathing room, and it suffered the most from the lack of planning + the main villain being killed off in the second movie But here's why I still like The Rise of Skywalker the best: The bones of what's there are a pretty good Star Wars story! Yes, Rey Palpatine came out of nowhere and was very silly, but if you can't handle silly, I don't know how you can make it as a Star Wars fan, it's such a silly franchise! I'm not afraid to love a scene I laugh out loud at--and, yeah, I laughed RIGHT OUT LOUD the first time Kylo dramatically said, "You're a Palpatine." I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes and let me tell you, I fucking LOVE that scene now. Or how the last words of any Skywalker, the last word Ben Solo/Kylo Ren ever says in the movies' franchise is, "Ow." I am laughing RIGHT NOW, please, p l e a s e, that is so on-brand, I can't handle it, it's too funny. But I also like the basic storyline because Rey's story in TROS is her struggling with her own inner darkness, that she feels there's something dark in her soul because she's Palpatine's granddaughter. The movie isn't saying that's true, but that Rey struggles with thinking it's true, and she has to wrestle with her dark side, just like every Jedi before her has as they're coming into their power. Anakin wrestled with his dark side and lost in Attack of the Clones and even worse in Revenge of the Sith. Luke wrestled with his dark side in the vision he sees of himself in Vader's helmet in the cave in ESB and in the climactic scene of ROTJ, where he nearly hacks his father's arm off in rage after his sister and friends are threatened. He has to claw his way back out of that. Ezra Bridger struggles with the dark side in Rebels as he comes into his power and he has to claw his way out of it as well. Rey has to struggle with her own lure towards the dark side as she comes into her power--she rips a ship apart in the sky because she was so determined that Chewie was hers, she was so angry at Kylo that Force lightning burst out of her. She's seeing Sith visions of herself on the wreckage of the Death Star. This is a theme that has been there since the very beginning, that Jedi have to struggle through a temptation to the dark, and her relation to Palpatine preys on that. That's kind of why I wound up loving Ben's scene with Han as well, because that was an entirely imagined scene, but it represents that the way the Force works, you have to dig yourself out of the hole you're in, that Ben using the memory of his father, the last moments of connection he had with his mother, to pull himself out of the dark, really worked for me. And I'm okay with his death, because this is Star Wars, people die before they should all the time. I even liked the political message of the final movie, yes, Rey vs Palpatine was the big Jedi vs Sith showdown, but the main galactic battle? Had people showing up. Just... people. One of the themes I've talked a lot about, especially because The Clone Wars kind of has it as a running theme is that the average galactic citizen doesn't do jack shit about the state of the galaxy they live in. The Rebellion had people starting to stand up, but it was an organized effort, it recruited people. TROS had just people showing up, that Leia and the Resistance had been trying to rally the cause, but ultimately it was the galactic public finally, finally saying, "We have to stand up and fight for ourselves, not depend on other people to do it." Was it ham-fisted and not nearly as polished as it should have been? Oh, no doubt. But the message. Just people showing up to fight against the First Order that was trying to bring back the Empire. That meant a lot to me. And I loved Luke's character here, that he admitted when he was wrong, and gave us that banger line that's spot on: "Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi." Yes. Yes. FUCKING YES. LUKE SKYWALKER AND JEDI PHILOSOPHY. MY HEART. Nailed it. Does this movie hang together as well as it should? Absolutely not. It needed a stronger writer, it needed more time than it got, and it needed better build-up. But the bones of what was there were actually pretty good and, man, any movie that has Daisy Ridley in that white outfit with the hood where she looked practically ethereal cannot be all bad, in my opinion.

#rey #the rise of skywalker #meta

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

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squinting in the sunlight as i emerge from our dark damp dms into the public space of your blog, stumbling along with the weight of my unchecked lust for anakin in my arms, dumping it out onto the table in front of you for a present:

i was rereading your review of my post and really concentrated on this part: ""he'd prefer to be wrestling you into position" this man wants to slam and pin you down. show you how futile it is to fight against him but baby really give it your all" and in short, yes. yes that's exactly what i meant. i very briefly mentioned it in there with the 'wrestling' verb but i meant it. i meant that that guy wants to lock you in place. he wants to hold your wrists together and pin them above your head or behind your back, depending on which way you're facing. he wants to squeeze you until it hurts a little. he wants to take a flying leap onto you and pin you in place. he wants to manhandle you and hold you down before you've even got the chance to decide how you want to be situated. don't turn over for him, he'll flip you himself. he wants to exert all of the force he can manage against you. he's not aiming to injure you, that's not why he likes it. he's just insanely proud of the strength that he's built up after years upon years of rigorous training and it absolutely makes him achingly hard to get to use that strength.

in short i'd turn off my bones so that he could wrestle me into whatever position he wants.

longer inbox asks are harder for me to answer bcos they’re overwhelming enough for me to shy away from answering for a longer period of time so mb this was sitting in my inbox. it also means i don’t have a lot to say back but i wanted to say ty for the ask and i love severe impact play with anakin :)

and i’d like to rectify: he is aiming to injure you. if you’ve got proof of the encounter etched onto your body, he’s done his job. sex is supposed to change you,

otherwise what’s the point? at least in his mind

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#ddejavvu #anakin #tw impact play

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inquisitorhotpants · 8 years ago

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So since about 2005, I’ve been involved in this ongoing-with-occasional-long-hiatuses RP with a friend of mine that evolved from soap opera to super involved drama, in which canon gets utterly chucked out the window to a great extent.

In this, Anakin leaves the Order, becomes an ambassador, runs covert missions to help the neglected lower levels, is the Holonet’s favorite person, discovers what Palaptine really is and instead of turning to the dark side, assassinates the guy and takes over. xD (”Someone should make them agree,” and such.)

This is a super duper short summation - seriously, we’ve been doing the thing for over 12 years at this point, though if you subtract the breaks it’s probably closer to 10, and have over a million words for the thing, as well as multiple subplots and character arcs - but here’s some general angsty-type stuff with the new Chancellor. :D

A plethora of party invitations sat on a side table, ignored.

“I don’t know. Maybe I never knew who you were, really …. Maybe everyone was right about you when they warned me about you.”

The lifeless body of an assassin lay near the desk.

“I didn’t think you’d go this far. I mean, I knew about your temper, and I wondered after the whole gallery incident how far you’d really be willing to go, but I didn’t think you’d ever be capable of something like that.”

The office comm blinked, signaling unheard messages.

“Anakin Skywalker, what have you done? What were you thinking?”

He stood at the window, looking out across the cityscape. In Republica new alliances were being made, the tide turning in favor of those who had supported the brash former Jedi who had revealed himself willing to go to any length to secure what he wanted. In the mids and the lower levels, people were throwing wild parties, celebrating that their champion was now in charge and things were going to change. Off-world, the Separatists were in full retreat, knowing that the clones now had the complete support of a new leader who took every death personally, and who had no qualms about exacting his own personal, painful brand of retribution for slights, real or imagined.

Anakin cared about none of this.

In the back of his mind, ever since Palpatine had fallen in the plaza of the Temple, was the look on Annalise’s face: betrayal, shock, anger. Over and over, he replayed the scene:

“It had to be done!”

“There was no other way, that’s seriously what you’re telling me?”

“Yes! He wasn’t going to listen to reason!”

“You don’t really believe that. You never have. Why are you lying to me?”

“The decision had to be made. For the good of the Republic.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I never knew who you were, really.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Maybe everyone was right when they warned me about you.”

“I thought you were the one person I could count on, but I guess not. Just … get out.”

“Anakin … “

“No! You’ve said your piece. You’ve made your feelings very clear.”

And then he’d flung open the door, and she’d left, and he’d slammed it behind her.

He hadn’t heard from her since.

He strode to the bar and poured himself a glass of Ilosian, violet-black and swirling, then sat down at the desk - his desk, he reminded himself - and looked at his to-do list. He checked off meeting with Sith delegation and meeting with Jedi delegation and meeting with Senate delegation. He added Senate cleansing, then erased it. Wrote Senate restructuring and left it.

Anakin spun his chair and resumed looking out across the cityscape. He knew he should sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he felt the lightsaber sliding in between Palpatine’s ribs, heard the involuntary hiss of surprise, saw the life leaving the man’s eyes. Anakin had been surviving on alcohol-induced catnaps since it had happened, justifying the lack of sleep with the “there’s so much to get done to get the Republic stabilized” excuse, ignoring the fact that Palpatine ostensibly slept at some point.

He pulled a small scrap of flimsy out of his pocket and made his way to the holoprojector. He punched in the scrambling code, then the transmission code on the paper.

“To all agents in the field: I wish to have a full status report on my desk by the end of your next solar day.”

He disconnected, nodded to himself. One more thing to check off the list. He turned back to the desk, downed half of the Ilosian, and paced.

Reckless … foolhardy … aggressive … insubordinate … impulsive … inclined toward the Dark Side …

Everything the Council had ever said echoed through his mind. Maybe they were right. After all … he had enjoyed it.

He’d enjoyed knowing that Palpatine wasn’t going to be a problem anymore, and he’d relished finally saying “to hell with it” and executing a plan no matter who agreed with it … until he’d found out just how vehemently some people had disagreed with it.

Padme had stormed into the office as he was preparing his remarks assuming the chancellorship.

“You’re already in here, I see.”

“Well, where would you expect me to be?”

“I don’t know, having some respect for the dead? Although I guess you wouldn’t, given that you’re the one that murdered him.”

“What would you have me do, Padme? Just let him take over? Maybe send him some shoes and invite him out for tea? I tried everything I could think of!”

“I didn’t think you’d go this far. I mean, I knew about your temper, and I wondered after the gallery incident how far you’d really be willing to go, but I didn’t think you’d ever be capable of something like that.”

“Now you know. I hope this has cleared up any lingering questions, Senator.”

No one understood that he’d done it for the good of the Republic. No one understood that this was the only way to end the war, which would end up crippling the galaxy if it was allowed to continue. No one listened when he tried to tell them, so he took matters into his own hands, doing what had to be done to save a government buckling under its own bloated uselessness.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t even return his calls. A comm was still crumpled in the corner where Anakin had thrown it after finally losing patience.

He sat in the desk chair and rifled through the drawers. In the last one, he found a small box, which he quickly sliced, revealing a single scrap of flimsy covered in handwriting and a small red book.

“Order 66? What’s this?” He read through the notes, written in the same spiky, cramped hand as the transmission information. “So he had to know about the clones the entire time. He’s had them specially programmed for … something. I wonder what else he knew about.”

He set the flimsy back into the box and picked up the red book. Flipping through it, he realized it was a compendium of Sith history, lore, and doctrine. “This may be useful.” He slipped it into an inner jacket pocket.

He finished the Ilosian, picked up a pen and a blank sheet of flimsy, and began to write.

Do the ends justify the means? Palpatine was a danger to the Republic, but should he have faced Republic justice? I goaded him into an encounter, knowing that only one of us would walk away. What if I’d been wrong, and he’d killed me? Everyone who’d ever sided with me would be a target, just like I’m making those that sided with him a target. Although I’m not making them targets, I’m eliminating them altogether. Very publicly, so all understand that corruption will not stand.

But isn’t this in and of itself a sign of corruption? I am fully expecting to act with impunity, because who will stand against me? No one. Opposing forces are already in retreat. Those who fought me on the floor of the Senate are moving to stand behind me in an effort to save their own skins. But does the intent excuse the action? Those who will not cooperate will be dealt with, because I will not tolerate threats to this peace. I have coddled these people long enough. This time, they will do it my way.

Already, I know that this will be a lifelong task, leaving the Republic better than I found it. In the thousands of years before me, they haven’t managed to solve any of the most pressing problems - slavery, taking care of the Core Worlds to the detriment of all others, so many others. Fixing these will be my greatest work of love for the Republic that has taken care of me.

But ...

What if I’m wrong? What if there was another way? What if I’ve lost everyone I held close to my heart? Is there a line too far?

Am I strong enough to pay whatever price may be exacted?

The pen hovered above the flimsy for what felt like an eternity.

What if I’m a murderer?

He set the pen down and stood, making his way down the hallway to the private office, where he unlocked a small, handcarved chest placed behind the center chair, and set the page down on top of the already large stack of other similar handwritten pages.

Anakin then turned and walked back to the main office, settled into the chair and gazed out across the cityscape, lost in thought.

#dee writes stuff #this is old #you can tell because it's in past tense #but i still really like this #i mean #i REALLY like it #i like anakin wrestling with what he's done #and if the eventual good outweighs the bad

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years ago

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I really enjoyed your commander thorn hcs and exploration of his character and I was wondering if you could do the same with commander cody? He's not underrated obviously but his character in fanon seems to boiled down to NSFW and codywan(which I'm not looking for a fight or scorning, it's just repetitive). And Canon cody is just labeled as by the book, loyal, brilliant tactician and cares greatly for his vod. Which is great and more info his character gets than other clones but it's not enough to actually give him depth as a character. I believe I've gone on way too long with this and I apologize for that 😅 I humbly ask for commander cody hcs when you get the chance and I sincerely hope you have a lovely day. Thank you💙

Thanks for this request! I agree that while we get more of Cody in canon than almost any other clone, it does still seem to be narrowed down to just a few "key points" and that's it. I'm hopeful we'll get more canon insight to his character with his upcoming appearance in TBB Season 2, but in the meantime, here's my take on him...

I don't think Cody is quite as "by the book" as we think... Sure, he scoffs at Anakin and Rex's more free-spirited approach to things. He probably wouldn't have come up with all the "roger roger" droid impersonation stuff on Rishi Moon. But I don't think that makes him like Dogma where he's all about protocols and orthodox procedures.

Cody has scars. He round-house kicks machines. He trusts plans made by subordinates. He openly rolls his eyes at the Jedi.

At the end of the day, I think Cody is all about duty. Not rules, not the Republic, not power... He takes his role as a leader very seriously and will do whatever it takes to uphold it in a noble and fearless way.

So if that means he has to fight a little dirty sometimes, or act a little sassy, or defer to someone else's better judgement... then he will.

He is as humble as he is brave; as creative as he is tenacious.

Whatever gets the job done. Whatever fulfills his duty.

And he carries this attitude with him wherever he goes, on or off the battlefield.

In his personal life, he doesn't mind sharing a few drinks with friends, or sleeping in on a weekend, or turning off his comm link for an hour or two of peace.

He's also not afraid to crack a few jokes, if they come to him, regardless who the audience is. Funny things are funny. Why not laugh about it?

He's not anal-retentive. He's not a work-a-holic. He can appreciate a nice day off or a bit of fun.

But he isn't careless or reckless. He's not immature or foolish. He has a good head on his shoulders and no amount of carefree fun will take away his common sense.

So if one of his vod is getting a little too tipsy for his own good, Cody will quietly signal to the bartender to cut him off. He'll make sure the clone gets home safely. And he won't speak a word about it afterward.

If a distressed neighbor comes to him for help in the middle of the night, he won't complain, he'll do what he can. But he'll also tactfully set some boundaries so the person doesn't take advantage, and so he doesn't get too involved emotionally when he doesn't need to.

That's why he and Rex get along so well. They aren't so different at the end of the day, not in the way their Jedi Masters are.

And that's why he was involved with The Bad Batch before any other Commander or Captain were even aware of their existence. He recognized their usefulness and supported their unconventional methods. And perhaps even mentored them a bit.

Deep down, Cody craves a simple life. But he is also smart enough to know you have to work for it/earn it.

He truly believes he is putting in the time to earn his peace. Whether it's a relaxing R&R between missions, or a care-free future after the war is over.

Order-66 obviously complicates that belief. And while I doubt TBB will dive that deep into it, I do think Cody will have some conflicting emotions to wrestle with as he is forced to rethink his true obligations...

Clone Tag List: @damerondala, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @dangerousstrawberrypie, @pandora-the-halfling, @misogirl828, @darkangel4121, @sobstea, @rintheemolion, @dionysuskid21, @jesseeka, @hanbedumbaf, @fallingforthem, @harleyevanstan, @imabeautifulbutterfly, @justanothersadperson93, @thatmultifandomdumbass, @sarahtanmarvel, @itsagrimm, @call-me-a-fool, @lackofhonor, @error6gendernotfound, @theclonesdeservebetter, @hannahhearttcw, @salaminus, @Techie-bear, @Lottiemoppie13

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#star wars #the clone wars #commander cody #cody headcanons #general headcanons

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desireandduty · 2 years ago

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"No... I didn't mean that. If he's told you about things that happened to him as a child, then I believe you." She swallowed hard, feeling the guilt rising up in her chest for not fighting harder to raise them herself. "I was trying to say that he grew up into a wonderful young man, and that's partially due to the people who raised him. Children don't just raise themselves. That's all."

She listened as he described what the past decades had been like and what he was wrestling with now and heard some of her own struggle in his words. "I think I understand what you mean, and I feel the same way. You have been a beloved, if painful, memory to me for all of these years. I remembered you as a twenty-three year old, so happy to-" She paused for a moment, almost choking on the sob that the memory caused. "-to learn that we were going to be a family. So much of what I've done since then has been fighting for other families to have what we never got to. And now that I look at you, you seem like a stranger to me, even though you're still my husband."

Even though she knew he'd rejected it before, she couldn't help reaching out her arm in his direction, palm up and open for him to take it if he wanted to. "I still love you, Anakin or Vader or whoever you decide your name is. It's true that, for the past twenty years I've loved your memory without knowing who you'd become. But now I do know it, and I love you all the same. If you wanted to, we could... get to know each other again. I could come visit you every day...." She watched him with a small flicker of hope in her eyes. Against all odds, they had found each other again, and she didn't want to let this second chance go just because the road ahead would be difficult. If he wanted to walk away now, she would let him go, even if it broke her heart all over again. But she wouldn't do that without fighting for them first.

Things had been hard for him, since that night, the night of that first nightmare. Nothing had been the same since then. It was all a blur and then he became a Sith Lord. So much of Anakin Skywalker and who he became as a Sith fused, that he didn't know where one ended, and the other began. Was he still Darth Vader? He didn't know. Vader maybe, Anakin, he had hated that name for so long, but his son believed in Anakin Skywalker. Maybe, he could try. But Padme being alive, she still knew how to get to him, after all these years. They were still married.

"No they didn't. Life there isn't good for anyone. I barely survived. On top of that Obi-wan didn't even bother to train him. There is no way they treated him well. He even told me things, about his Uncle. He didn't treat him right ,not to mention he told him that his father was a drug dealer, who left him. I have done more atrocities, than many in this galaxy, but I am not a drug dealer, and that's insulting of who I am, as well "

Then, she was saying something profound, and he listened to her. Sometimes, he didn't hear that well or see that well now, but he couldn't admit that.

"I appreciate all of that, and no, I haven't ever stopped having...feelings of...I know they are love. We loved each other until it nearly destroyed the galaxy. Nothing could make me stop. The problem is, I don't know how to connect those emotions, to who we are now. "You were this memory...and now reality is something...I have been through so many lives, I don't even know what truly is real Padme." He took a deep breath. "You say that, but you have never seen all of mine...physical and mental. I will always be Vader, as Anakin was always him. We're the same person. It just is not something I wanted to admit. When I was at my worst, you did not know that behind the mask, it was Anakin Skywalker. I doubt you could have loved me when I was like that."

#{corruptedforce}#{ft: darth vader}#{verse: sometimes there are things no one can fix}

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tennessoui · 4 years ago

Note

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

#asks #i had a scene planned out where x y z happens and obi-wan lets anakin into his hut/home #and anakin is just like look im a part of the rebellion now!!#and obi-wan 'i use my sarcasm to hide my infinite sadness' is like #'yes im sure the rebellion wouldnt exist without you'#because you know. technically it wouldn't.#but anakin doesnt really get that context so hes like 'stop speaking in tongues old man!!!'#and obi-wan says 'please do not call me that' in the wateriest most loosely strung together voice anakins ever heard #anyways whats happening with me that all im writing is angst #i love happy things and happy endings #obikin #(because they'd get together come on anakin probably has an undercut now and hes thirty obi-wans only a man)#(the bitter resentment is strong but the flesh is WEAK BITCH)#kit to kit: u dont need another wip u really cannot have another wip ur not strong enough for another wip u--#prompt fill

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shatouto · 4 years ago

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hi yes this is another installment in the raised-as-sith anakin x jedi obi-wan au i co-write with @obiwanobi. we’ve been putting what we got so far on ao3 for archiving/organizing purposes so before you read this pls check it out first if you haven’t bc there is some semblance of continuity, thank you :’) (this installment on ao3)

content note: past psychological and physical abuse, messy healing, please proceed with care

you love him dearly

You stand alone in a great dark hall. There’s no sound but your pulse jolting in bouts inside your ears. Like the footsteps of a scared bantha. And you feel like a scared bantha. You haven’t felt like this in a long time. You used to be worth less than a bantha, with your weak hands and your small body. All you were ever able to do was get yourself and your mom hurt. You felt so bad, so very bad, so bad that you were willing to beg your mom to let you go, when this man came and swept you up. This man who called you the Chosen One. This man who you now call...

“Master,” you say, and waits for your Master to acknowledge you.

Sometimes you think it’s strange, to trade one master for another. But this Master, your Master, is a different sort. Your Master taught you how to hate the right people, in the right way; gave you a crystal and let you forge your own lightsabers. Your Master told you you were special. No, no, it doesn’t matter that you were a slave, you are special, my boy. You know you are different, do you not? That you learn faster than children your age; that your reflexes are sharper, your intuition stronger. You see things before people do, know things before people see, and do things before people know. The future and the past are sometimes indistinguishable in your dreams. Clever child, golden child, you are certainly worth more than a bantha; oh, you are worth more than the population on that sandy speck combined. You are the Chosen One! You are destined for greatness.

You were weak and small and nothing. You deserve so much more, so much more. A pity that the universe has never given you and will never give you what you truly deserve. None of that is your fault, my poor boy; they are simply too blind and puny to appreciate your capacity and recognize your power. But worry not: Your Master will give it to you. Your Master is here to help you. You love him dearly, because you are nothing without him, because the universe is stupid and cruel and you hate it for making you feel like nothing. Your Master, on the other hand, must love you dearly, or else he would not have told you all about how special you are. Would not have trained you to be so strong. Would not have given you the respectable name of…

“Darth Vader.”

The greeting sounds more like a warning, because you deserve it. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.” Even your voice comes out too small.

“Little need to apologize in words, my apprentice,” says your Master. “You know what must be done. You must learn your lesson.”

You love him, you love him, you love him. You love your Master, you chant in your heart, as you hang your head and tuck your tongue back and wait like the good apprentice you are.

The first blow is always the hardest. You convulse, feeling as if a thousand red-hot needles are exploding from within your sinews. Blinding pain crackles through your body, and you scream yourself…

Awake.

Anakin sits up in his sleeping bag, panting. He thinks he heard the tail end of a scream, his own, but it’s all silent now. He’s alone in the dark, the healed stump of his right arm tingling under the prosthetic cap. He searches his psyche for the tatters of a bond between him and the late Sith Lord; there's nothing left. Darth Sidious is truly dead. Two strides away from him, Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeps soundly in his bed.

His eyes soften. The sight of Obi-Wan soothes him, reminding him of where he is in time and in space. It has been a few months since he killed his Sith Master. He is in the Jedi Temple, in quarters belonging to Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padawan Ahsoka Tano. Nobody knows he is here.

Anakin turns away as one would turn away from a too-bright light. You can’t look at the sun for too long or it’ll burn your eyes; especially if you are used to darkness. He breathes in, and out, and shakily pulls off the cover of the sleeping bag. His new metal fingertips nearly tear through the fabric.

“Anakin?”

Anakin doesn’t flinch, but his stomach flips. Obi-Wan’s silhouette slowly sits up in bed, tousled and softly rumpled and Anakin feels frighteningly tender in the chest. He keeps his head down, not wanting to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes right now.

“Anakin, is everything alright?”

Anakin mumbles out something vaguely affirmative, and pushes himself to his feet. “Fresher,” he says, hurrying away. He doesn’t return to the bedroom afterwards, but goes straight to the kitchenette and begins to prepare a rather large breakfast. He knows Obi-Wan doesn’t go back to sleep either. He wills himself to ignore the circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes, come morning.

—

“Anakin, I have been thinking,” Obi-Wan begins, as he takes their empty plates to the kitchen, where a dishwashing droid stands await. “You don’t happen to have a habit of meditating, do you?”

Anakin almost tenses up at meditating, but he only lets out a huff of breath and opens the droid’s compartment doors. He’s glad Ahsoka is away for the night, staying in her friend’s quarters or some such. If she joins in with Obi-Wan it’ll only be harder for him to reject the request. Because that’s clearly a request, no matter how fancily Obi-Wan phrases his question.

I hate it teeters on the tip of his tongue, but Anakin just answers: “No, I don’t.” Obi-Wan likes meditation, as all Jedi do. It would feel bad, be bad, to say he hates something Obi-Wan likes.

Obi-Wan hums. Dishes clink as he sets them in one by one. “Would you be so opposed to it, then?”

Anakin pulls his shields higher so that none of the screaming No no no I hate it in his mind is going to bleed through to Obi-Wan in the Force. He makes the mistake of turning to look at Obi-Wan, because he can’t help it, and he's met with a hopeful smile and gentle, crinkled eyes. He can't bear to see that smile fall. “...Guess not,” he mutters.

“I would keep you company, if that’s fine,” Obi-Wan continues on merrily, like the good-natured Jedi he is. “I mean to invite you to join me for meditation before bedtime, in fact. Is that alright?”

Anakin stares down at his mismatched hands. If there is one thing he hates more than meditating, it’s meditating with someone watching. He tries very hard not to grit his teeth.

“Of course, you don’t have to,” Obi-Wan adds, fingers briefly brushing Anakin’s flesh wrist. The sensation shoots right into Anakin’s heart. That settles it; it’s not even a question. Obi-Wan will be disappointed if he doesn’t.

“It’s alright,” Anakin says, shutting the droid’s compartment door. The timer beeps, unhelpfully helping him count down to the dreaded session.

—

“So this is meditation?” Anakin blurts.

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged on his bed, in his soft robes and sleeping pants. He opens his eyes in a quizzical gaze as Anakin remains standing. Anakin curls his hands into fists and tries not to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. Obi-Wan frowns, unfurls from his position and comes up so near that Anakin wants to hold his breath. He smells like the cotton flower-scented fabric softener, like crisp, warm laundry - he smells like hard-earned safety. “You don’t need to lie to me, Anakin,” he says, a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I will instruct you from the beginning if you need me to, and I promise to help you with any difficulty. Now tell me: Have you meditated before?”

Obi-Wan says so, but Anakin is not about to tell him about the Sphere; about the long hours spent in that terrible spheroid room with enough space for you to wish you could move from your spot, but the walls were too smooth and curved for you to scale; about how silent it was in there save for his Master’s voice in his mind. Anakin is not about to tell this Jedi about the splatter of blood in the Sphere where he once bashed his head against until he passed out because he could not take it. How Sidious had punished him for it afterwards. How he never dared to do it again.

“...No,” Anakin says. “Show me.”

Obi-Wan nods; his hand slips down his shoulder and runs gently down his arm. Anakin blinks. Obi-Wan's touch always feels so… nice. Unhurried and mellow and never really demanding anything back. “I see. Take a seat beside me. Make yourself comfortable, please.”

Anakin crosses his legs as Obi-Wan does. Nervousness winds his core tight, makes his back rigid and ramrod straight. Obi-Wan is near him, both in physical presence and in the Force, his signature pulsing with the light of sunrays through butterfly wings.

“Relax, Anakin. Loosen your muscles”—his warm hand traces across Anakin’s back from shoulder to shoulder, then down his spine—“and your jaws.” His fingertips brush the hinge of Anakin’s jaws just as he says so. Anakin nearly shivers. It takes him longer than he thought it would, to truly follow those orders.

“...There we go,” Obi-Wan says. He draws back, and Anakin should be glad that the distracting touch is gone, but he feels disappointed instead. “Now breathe in deep. Ah, wait. Do it again, breathe in, deeper, and try to hold it. Yes, like that…”

They spend the next quarter hour or so wrestling with his breathing pattern, keeping it both deep and steady. Anakin goes from counting the beats to counting the breaths to finally not needing to count at all. And then when he thinks he’s gotten the hang of it…

“Let go? You mean I shouldn’t focus on my breathing anymore?” he asks, puzzled, bordering on frustrated. “But you just told me to be mindful of it.”

“Yes, correct, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sounds unfazed. “Be mindful of the rhythm, and keep it up. You’ve done well so far. Now you must turn your focus inwards, and meet the Force within you.”

Anakin’s eyes slide open for a split second and then fall shut again. He doesn’t understand, but he could just try. This isn’t any difficulty that he needs to bother his instructor with. He nods, and begins again. He begins with his breathing. In, and out. Slow, and steady. And now he must not think about the breaths anymore. Now he must...

The Force within him is a well of ink. Ink that glisten from black to crimson like the blood on his hand. Ink that sloshes and laps against the walls and the echoes turn into screams. A bright white fracture crackles from one corner of his vision to the other. Centipede-like arches of incandescence skitter under his skin. Drip, drip, the blood, no, the ink, it drips and it trails and it tickles his skin. There’s the familiar taste of copper at the back of his tongue, flavors just waiting to burst. Cruel laughter echoes from the bottom of the inky well, and somewhere in the thick darkness there is the outline of a woman’s silhouette, of small but strong shoulders and—

Something warm brushes his psyche.

Warm, but too close. Anakin snatches that tendril without a thought and delves counter-current through Force-realm. He forces himself to the other side, even as something shatters around him. He knows the drill. *Your self-preservation can only come at the cost of others', my boy.* Colors begin to flash, gentle and muted, bearing the fuzzy quality of memories. Sunlight flickers, filigree wings flutter, landing on durasteel grounds. He feels tears on his face and tears in his throat and his forehead is pressed close to someone else’s, someone he loves so dearly—no, not him, someone that the person to whom this mind belongs loves so dearly.

“...proud of you. Carry on, Obi-Wan. Live brightly.”

“Yes, Master.”

There's no silence more thorough than a heartbeat evening out into nothingness. There's no solitude more poignant than the company of a vanishing light. Saying goodbye is never an easy feat, even for a Jedi, and the anger and sorrow he felt—

“Anakin! Stop!”

Anakin jolts awake. A thick, ferric drop trails from his nose, warm on his lips. He opens his eyes and finds Obi-Wan beneath him, wide-eyed. His hands are pressing Obi-Wan’s shoulders into the mattress. Obi-Wan, who was teaching him to meditate, who brushed his mental shields in the process of instruction. Obi-Wan, his teacher. And if all of those images belonged to Obi-Wan…

He just broke into Obi-Wan’s mind.

Anakin scrambles back. The ink, no, the blood, now drips down his chin. It tickles. His teeth clatter as shivers rake up inside him. He clenches his jaws and stares at the ground. The sheets rustle.

“I think that’s quite enough for tonight.” Obi-Wan doesn’t sound angry, just somewhat breathless. Even concerned. Anakin doesn’t believe it. “Anakin, you’re bleeding. Do you need—”

“No.” Anakin staggers to his feet and backs away. Nothing worse than asking for more and becoming even more of a burden because everything he takes is a debt and he will pay for it. His Master always made sure he paid. “No. I’ll—I’ll clean up. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up.”

He stands there just long enough for Obi-Wan to respond - with anything, words, blows, anything. In the end, Obi-Wan only says, “Alright. Please, take care.” Anakin’s eyes flick up to find a grimace. He turns away and all but runs to the fresher, more dismayed than relieved.

Because if the punishment doesn’t come right away, that only means he’s going to have to wait.

#obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #raised-as-sith anakin #always-a-sith anakin #ex-sith anakin #so many tags for this au #star wars prequels #shatou writes #obikin #angst

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sonoftatooine · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2021

DAY 6: ‘TOUCH AND GO’ - TOUCH STARVED / HUNGER

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine

Warnings: Abuse, starvation, solitary confinement

Summary: Prequel to my raised as a Sith Anakin AU where Anakin saves Padmé from execution by the Separatists, here, here and here. A young Vader defies his master, and he pays the price.

***

Curled up in the pitch darkness of the cell that his master had thrown him into three days past, Darth Vader, second apprentice to the Sith Lord Darth Sidious, wrestled down the urge to moan in pain as he wrapped his arms tight around his midriff in a futile attempt to soothe the gnawing ache deep in his stomach. It had been three days since he had been given even so much as half an old ration bar to eat. Three days since he had seen the slightest sliver of light or spoken to another being, organic or droid. Three days that he was only able to count because of the small ration of water he was given through a hatch in the wall what he presumed was each morning—enough to keep him alive but nowhere near what was needed to relieve the the dryness in his mouth, nor the unrelenting headache that was pounding behind his eyes and wrapping around his skull like a vice. He felt sick and dizzy, and he had to fight the instinct to cry. It would do him no good—it would only waste water.

Another groan threatened to escape him as a particularly severe pang of hunger laced through his abdomen. The familiar tang of blood filled his mouth as he bit down hard on his lip to suppress it. His master could well be monitoring him, and any display of weakness would do little to convince him to put an end to his punishment. He wondered how long the man intended to keep him here this time, without food, with barely any water. Surely...surely it wouldn't be much longer. It wouldn't— It couldn't— But his transgression—

Oh Force, his transgression had been really bad this time.

He hadn't meant to disobey. He hadn't. He hadn't defied his master in years—not after the first few times he had balked at being brought...fodder to feed his growing power in the Dark Side, as Lord Sidious liked to call it. But those had been criminals and scum and slavers, people whom nobody would miss and could best serve the Galaxy by perishing on his blade. The trembling padawan that had been dumped at his feet, barely able to hold the lightsaber she had been thrown straight as his master prowled around them, hissing at him to prove his mettle against the Jedi and strike her down—well, that had been...different. He had fought her, of course, and won easily, but when it came to strike the final blow, something had stayed his hand. The look in her eyes, perhaps, wide and terrified and full of tears. Or the fact that she must have been much the same age as he was—fifteen or sixteen, he thought? Whatever it was, it had frozen him stock still above her, his saber pointed towards her throat, and no amount of cajoling, taunting or threats from his master could make him draw back and deal the blow.

It had done her no good in the end. Lord Sidious had killed her in his place, and his rage afterwards had been terrible.

It had only been after he'd taken out the worst of his fury on his wayward apprentice that he had grabbed him by the hair, aching, hardly able to stand, and dragged him down to the small prison cell that he had first kept him in after he'd been stolen from Qui-Gon Jinn's custody on Naboo. The pain was tolerable—he had become accustomed to his master's cold but violent temper by now—but the cell... The cell always wore him down.

It was not necessarily the hunger and the thirst. Hunger and thirst were common even amongst the masters on Tatooine (with the notable exception of the Hutts), and amongst the planet's slaves even more so. Such things were well known to him, deep in his bones. But then, it had always been tempered by the loving embrace of his mother and the warm presence of his friends. Now, he had nothing like that. Only Tyranus, who loathed and resented him as an unnecessary waste of time and effort, and Sidious, whose touches brought pain more than comfort, and only offered him scraps of kindness as a reward for good behaviour. Here, in the dark, he only had misery and isolation and an ache in his gut that paled in comparison to the ache in his chest that was the absence of Shmi Skywalker. Like a hole that had been punched right through his heart.

Vader swallowed dryly as he tried, without success, to ease the soreness of his throat. He could feel a sudden surge of resentment growing within him, familiar and dangerous. It wasn't fair. Lord Sidious was as much Tyranus' master as he was his, but he never treated him this way. He didn't lock him up and starve him of both sustenance and sentient company. He let him see and speak to other people, didn't punish him for not bowing down like a slave to his owner in every aspect of his life. Yes, he was a lot younger than Tyranus—not yet even a man, the snobbish Count had a habit of sneering within his earshot—but both of them had become Sidious' apprentices at much the same time. He had been a Sith just as long as Dooku, and their shared master didn't even want the man as a permanent apprentice. So why was it him who was treated like—

His anger was well on the way to turning into a raging inferno by the time he managed to stamp it back down again. He mustn't think of such things. If he ever wanted to get out of this cell, he mustn't think of such things.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed before he heard the pneumatic hiss of his cell door being activated—it could have been minutes, hours. The sound was almost deafening after so long of silence, and the light which flooded into the cell from the other side of the door fairly blinded him. He blinked, dazed, stretching out his senses to identify who it was that was entering the cell. His mind brushed up against a horribly familiar presence, vast and cold and empty like a dark chasm in the Force. His master.

Still barely able to see, he scrambled to his knees, head bowed and properly subservient as he fought to keep himself from shaking. He could hear the hiss of soft robes dragging against the floor—the only warning he had before his chin was caught in a punishing grip, and his head was wrenched upwards to meet his master's gaze. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he stared up into what little he could see of Lord Sidious' face, shrouded in shadows, expression hard and cold with displeasure.

"Well, my apprentice," he croaked, his eyes gleaming like a hungry anooba's under the shadow of his hood. "Have you learnt your lesson yet?"

"Master..." Vader's throat was so parched that his voice was almost as dry and cracked as Lord Sidious'. He trembled under the man's gaze, trying to shrink in on himself and hating how pathetic he felt. "Master, please—"

Sidious' lips twisted into a wicked smile, teeth flashing dangerously.

"'Please'?," he taunted. "'Please' what, Vader? Do you believe you have paid sufficient penance for your transgression?"

Vader shut his eyes tight, forcing down the tears that were threatening to well up beneath his lids. He mustn't show weakness in front of his master. It would only make him angry.

Of course, disobedience made him angry too, and Vader had already shown him defiance beyond the limited patience with him the man possessed.

"I will accept your judgement, master" he said, because what else could he say when anything but complete subservience would mean further punishment? He wished his master would let go of his chin, so he could bow his head and hide from those piercing eyed behind a curtain of hair. But Sidious did not let him go, held firm and forced him to stare up into his twisted face, without reprieve. His gaze seemed to burrow into his skull like a laser, and Vader was sure that, without even bothering to call upon the Force, he could see past the lie he had so clumsily pasted over the truth of his feelings, even as he tried to bury them so deep down that no one—not even himself— would sense them. The man's smile turned grim and cold.

"Will you now?," he sneered. "How generous of you. And if I choose to keep you here until I deem you adequately punished? Will you accept it then?"

Vader trembled. He would do it, he knew. Lord Sidious was not in the habit of making idle threats.

"Master...," he whimpered hoarsely. "Master, please. Please forgive me. I-I'll obey. I've learnt my lesson. Please—”

Sidious smirked.

"Forgive you?"

The hand that had been holding his chin in a vice-like grip moved to slide up to his cheek in a gesture that, if not for his cruel words and the hard gleam in his yellow eyes, might have felt gentle, almost affectionate. Even as a worm of disgust—at himself as much as Sidious—twisted violently in his gut, Vader couldn't help but lean into the touch, desperate for even the tiniest scraps after so long in isolation. He wanted to shut his eyes—anything to pretend that he were somewhere else, with someone else—but he didn't dare. Not when one wrong move could turn the man back to icy fury at any moment.

"Perhaps I will forgive you." Sidious' fingers trailed down his cheek one last time before he drew back and suddenly, with only the slightest of warnings in the Force, struck him such a hard blow across the face that he toppled hard onto the floor. Vader let out a soft, startled little cry as pain jarred through his shoulder, his mechno hand shooting up to clutch at his burning cheek. "Once I believe you are properly contrite."

There was a whisper of robes above him and then something dropped down to the ground in front of his face. He blinked, dazed, at first not quite taking in what he was seeing. A ration bar. Oh Force, a ration bar. He scrambled to grab it, to snatch it up before his master took it away and—

But Sidious was already out in the corridor, and the door was closing behind him.

"Master!," Vader cried. His voice came out as a thin scream as he dashed to the already sealing door. He collided with it hard as he was caged once again in darkness. "Master—!"

For a moment, fear and anger and frustration welled up inside him to the point of explosion, and he let out a broken yell, slamming his metal hand into the durasteel of the door over and over. But it was not long before the exhaustion and sickness from his hunger overcame him and he sank down to the ground in a heap of dark robes and trembling misery. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair—

But... But at least he had food now, he thought as he clutched the ration bar possessively to his chest. His master had given him food. Did that mean he was on his way towards forgiving him? Would he let him out soon? How soon? At least...at least, even if it was a few more days, he would have something to stave off the hunger. He could make it last. He could make it last until his master decided to let him out. Yes.

All he needed to do was obey—truly obey—and then Lord Sidious would show him mercy.

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