#it's for the sith obi week

[blackkatmagic]

Kat, I hope you know I read Obi/Bane and just???? Short circuited??? How delightful.

That arc is amazing. Everyone is running on Space Coke and Spite. 12/10 and I cannot wait for the FIC. 😈

:D

The door at the top of the stairs is locked down tight, and Cad needs both of his codes to even undo the lock. He has to shove the whole thing open manually, and it’s almost too heavy for a Duros, takes all his body strength in way that’s deeply unpleasant, but he manages to get it to swing, then steps in. Behind a barrier, there's a pale blue glow that lights up the space, a containment field that hums with energy and sets Cad’s teeth on edge with how strong it is. Overkill, Cad thinks, amused, and tips his hat, then opens the barrier and steps in—

Stops dead, breath locked up in his chest as something cold slithers through his veins.

Slumped in the restraints, bruised and bloody, is Obi-Wan Kenobi. But—

Not just Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not the neatly-pressed Jedi Master who’s picked fights with Cad before. Kenobi's dressed in the same uniform Hardeen was just a few weeks ago, much more battered now, and the same red tattoos curl up the side of his face, across his eye, down his cheek. Hardeen’s tattoos, Cad thinks, and the next breath he takes is difficult, sharp as knives in his throat.

There's red hair growing in across Hardeen’s scalp, a beard that’s shaggy and untrimmed but familiar all the same. Like he’s looking at Hardeen’s face with Kenobi's superimposed over it, and Cad thinks of all the ways unscrupulous bastards can change how they look and feels like ice.

“Hardeen,” he rasps, and there's a stir, a reaction. Kenobi opens his eyes, one Hardeen’s pale blue, the other the deeper blue-green Cad remembers, but they don’t focus. He looks in a bad way, and Cad curls his fingers tight around the hilt of his blaster and wonders if Dooku will believe him if he says he shot the bastard while Kenobi was trying to escape.

Not Hardeen. Never Hardeen. It was just a trick, Cad thinks, and wonders if he cares enough about running from Dooku for the rest of his life to hold off on making the kill.

Odds are leaning towards no right now.

“Bane,” Kenobi says after a long second, and closes his eyes again. “You got away.”

“I should shoot you right now,” Cad says, doesn’t even bother to try keeping the edges out of it. “Do wonders for my reputation, too.”

“Shooting a man in a containment field? That does sound like you.” Kenobi still isn't looking at him, isn't even trying, and Cad knows better than to get close to a containment field, particularly one holding a Jedi, but he still wants viciously to stalk closer, grab Kenobi by the hair, and jerk his head up. It feels like there’s a pounding drumbeat in his skull, too loud to let anything else in, and all he can think of is Hardeen—Kenobi—looking up from the end of his grapple, meeting his eyes, the look there that had hit something Cad had long since thought dead and gone.

[boybandjediorder]

CodyWan Day One: Different Order 66/Lightsabers

General Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives on his varactyl. He arrives with a smile and a rigid back and a belt without a lightsaber. "Cody!" the man calls, voice like fresh water, fresh sheets, and arms around his torso. "Cody!" There's no Commander to accompany his name. "Cody!" His smile is like the sun, like the break of day after an endless storm. "It's over!" "It's over," Cody breathes, barely an echo before his brothers erupt. Helmets fall to the ground, identical faces with identical grins. Obi-Wan laughs, he laughs and the clouds clear away and Cody can't help himself as he laughs as well. The man dismounts the varactyl, closes the distance in a moment and wraps Cody into the tightest hug he's had in a very long time. At first, the Commander freezes, but then he allows himself to relax. He allows himself to breathe because the war is over. Grievous is defeated. Dooku is dead. The droids have been demolished into nothing but spare parts. They're free. Obi-Wan pushes away, but keeps Cody at arm's length, his eyes crinkled and the lines around his face pronounced with emotion and relief because they're done. Four long years of fighting with seemingly no end and sight and here they are. Content. Happy. Free. "My dear commander, what will you do now?" Obi-Wan asks, gently with a voice of silk that has Cody longing for somewhere quieter, somewhere alone with fresh water, fresh sheets, and a careful embrace that has him feeling human. What will you do now? Oh, what a question. Cody can't wait to figure out the answer.

read the whole fic on my Ao3

@codywanweek

[cj-kenobi]

Day 4 of @codywanweek! Today is the red string of fate!

Link to the fic here!

Other days 1 2 3 5 6 7 8

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

[betweensaintsandmonsters]

"Is this a mistake?" Obi-Wan asks, fiddling with the ring on Anakin's left hand, spinning it absently as he looks up at his boy.

Anakin for his part, pauses. It's a rare sight, to see him so still. The hand in Obi-Wan's hair slowly picks up it's aborted mission as Anakin seems to gather his thoughts.

It doesn't feel like a mistake; not really. Not when Obi-Wan moves past the doubt that's burrowed it's way into his chest that this man will grow tired of him, the fear that he'll lose someone else he loves and there will be nothing he can do about it.

They're getting married in 72 hours for god sake.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes to look up at Anakin. His fiance. His everything.

Anakin laughs then, and Obi-Wan can only stare at him, trying to figure out what's so funny.

"I don't know," his boy whispers when he's gotten himself under control. He radiates light even in his uncertainty, "but I'll always love you."

Obi-Wan pulls anakin's hand to his lips, kisses his palm just under his engagement ring.

-- -- --

They haven't been fighting, but they haven't been talking either. Their home exists in a perpetual state of purgatory. A war solemnly awaiting a ceasefire. A wishbone about to snap.

Obi-Wan's side of the bed is cold.

Breakfast is on the counter but there's no note, not like there used to be.

Anakin misses lazy kisses good morning.

Anakin misses life not getting in the way.

Anakin wishes they were fighting. He think that would make the slow devolution of his marriage feel like something.

-- -- -- --

"Sometimes loving you feels a little bit like bleeding out. I know it's happening but no amount of pressure can stop it." Anakin says to the ceiling one night, his voice cracking.

He sobs when Obi-Wan pulls him into his chest.

-- -- -- --

"If I could," Obi-Wan swallows. There's a foot between them on the couch. He clutches the blanket he's wrapped around himself closer to his chest before reaching for Anakin's hand.

They've been talking. In retrospect, they should have done this earlier, years ago maybe. Maybe they wouldn't be in this situation if that were the case. The worst part is, he thinks they're still in love. Knows he will love this man until the day he dies, but they're bleeding out.

It doesn't make it easier.

The divorce papers are on the coffee table.

"If I could," he starts again, "I'd leave a five star review. Easiest man in the world to love."

Maybe easiest is the wrong word. But it's so easy to love Anakin, his boyish smiles, his passion, his light.

Anakin wipes at his eyes, clearly fighting tears.

It feels like that's all they've been doing for months.

"I'd leave you four and a half," he whispers, "Best man, can't cook for shit."

"Sounds about right."

He doesn't bother fighting his own tears.

-- -- -- --

The lawyers had reviewed the divorce papers. The judge had signed off. The world had stopped moving.

Anakin didn't know who he was separate from Obi-Wan Kenobi. He's never had to know. He's not looking forward to figuring it out.

Outside the courthouse, Obi-Wan gives him a hug, pulls Anakin to his chest, buries his face in Anakin's hair and holds him there.

Anakin breaks.

Shatters.

"Is this a mistake?" Anakin asks against Obi-Wan's neck, fingers clutched in his suit jacket. It feels like a mistake. Feels like the world has narrowed down to this. To them. To the fact that this is the last time he'll be held by this man.

He feels the ghost of Obi-Wan's lips against the crown of his head, the shake of his hands around his back.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan says, voice barely there, "but just know, I'll love you always"

[obiscribbles]

Week 35 - November 26th, 2023 'Flares' - The Script Spotify / YouTube

Obi-Wan in those first few days returned to the light.

His spark is small, but the people around him love him, and he only needs to learn to let them help fan that flame. Let go of his fear that he will burn them, or turn himself to ash again. 

You can do it Obi-Wan. 

Enjoy. 

[jaguarys]

Thinking about Matthew Stover continually comparing Anakin to a dying star throughout ROTS and how it was, unintentionally, Obi-Wan who put that idea in his head. And how learning that stars die inalterably shifted his worldview because his greatest fear, first and foremost, is everyone around him dying and dying himself. And then they do and he does (in a way). Love it

[fangirlforeversthings]

Luna and obi wan

Having to raise, train and parent an (ok just sometimes) irresponsible, reckless, unreasonable and mentally unstable teen that just wants to have a normal life but has to be a brave skilled warrior and save the World*

A thrilling saga

[des8pudels8kern]

57 - 83, correspondence in a haunted house :3

Codywan, warning for Order 66 and all that implies. Apologies to @ilthit; I know these aren't your blorbos. And apologies to everybody whose blorbos they are for the angst.

---

The hut looks utilitarian from the outside, in the ugly way all buildings designed for hostile environments do - a squat, ugly thing, trying to protect life in the Tatooinian deserts that are so unforgiving to it. It reminds Cody of the war, of efficiently designed ships and makeshift shelters. Obi-Wan always hated the war, despite excelling at it.

"This isn't the kind of place I expected you to settle down in."

Cody's voice is hoarse. Who's to say from what. Lack of use. Too much of it.

"And yet, you found me." Obi-Wan's words flow the same way they always did, smooth like honey and crisp like fresh water, despite his having spent the last however kriffing many years as a hermit with no one to talk to but his personal demons.

Tatooine in general is nothing like the places Obi-Wan used to be most at ease, back when they worked together. He was at home in the lively cityscape of Coruscant, and enjoyed sojourns on planets teeming with green, living things.

"Cody, I-"

His voice is closer now. Cody didn't hear him move.

"Still not one for materialism, I see."

He slowly makes his way through the main room, stepping around sparse furnishings and careful to keep his eyes off the sleeping area.

"Well, a nexu can't change its stripes."

Obi-Wan is in front of him again, as if by magic, or some Force trick. There's a softness in his voice, and it sinks into Cody's gut like a vibroblade.

"I thought I changed." He stares at the ground because he can't look up at Obi-Wan, and he can't look back at the bed.

"Oh darling, that was never you."

"It still is me. I shouldn't have come. I should have stayed away."

"I've missed you."

Obi-Wan's feet shuffle into view, soft cloth coots and soft leg wrappings silent where Cody's beaten armour creaks with each breath he takes.

To be fair, they are rather heaving breaths.

"I've missed you too. Once I could again."

He's through the kitchen, now. There's a pantry to his left, and a bathroom to his right. That's the extend of the hut; there's nowhere else to go.

Obi-Wan stays in front of him, even as he turns around.

"I mourned you. I thought I killed you. When I heard rumours that you were still alive, I couldn't help myself."

There's a side door in the kitchen. He should go there instead of back to the living area. That's where the bed is.

"Cody, dear. You came all the way to see me. Won't you look at me? I promise, all that could happen already has."

He can hear the ventilation unit running to the side. Despite its reassuring hum, Cody can't breathe properly.

"I thought I was safe for you."

"Calm yourself, Cody. You are safe for me now."

They are standing close enough now that, underneath his armour, the hairs on Cody's arms stand on edge.

Cody gives up and looks up. He never could help himself, or he wouldn't have come in the first place.

Obi-Wan's eyes are blue, so blue, and the skin around them is lined with crow's feet and sorrow. Even now, the smile they crinkle with is sad.

"There you are, darling," he says. He's so close, and yet his breath doesn't cool the sweat on Cody's face.

Nothing more does happen as Cody looks at him and Cody, Cody finally gets to see him.

It already has, after all.

Through Obi-Wan, blue, blue, blue like the sky and just as untouchable, he can make out the shape of the corpse tangled in the sheets, a curl of steam still rising from the blaster hole C-2224 put between his eyes.

Good soldiers follow orders, the Jedi are traitors, and Cody sinks to the ground while the illusion of the man who paid for his mistake asks him to breathe.

[sithobiwanevent]

sithywan event 2024??

once again, a giant gracious thank you to everyone who participated in the sithywan event last year!!! (i promise the masterlist will be coming!!!)

since it was such a hit and because i've gotten messages about it....shall we have sith!obi-wan event for this year??

[adhd-coyote]

Last Line Challenge

I was reverse-uno tagged by @hastalavistabyebye a few days ago, but only just now got around to responding! So here’s the last paragraph I wrote in preparation for Day 7 of Sith Obi-Wan Week! Prompt is “Emperor Obi-Wan Kenobi”

At least he had something to look forward to after this shift. The 212th — and their General — had arrived on-planet that morning, though Fox hadn’t had time to greet them before he needed to report to his post. But he’d have plenty of time after. He just needed to get through this first.

Tagging hasta back, along with @loverboy-havocboy @whiskygoldwings @the-starry-seas @ithillia and @thivell

[im-poe-dameron]

gnawing on the bars of my enclosure as i write sith!obi-wan fics.

[skitskatdacat63]

Why is Fernando giving Mustafar!Anakin in this pic

[rainintheevening]

Thinking about my raised-as-a-Sith Anakin AU, and how it would be cool to have singing as a symbol for freedom. Though I'd try to keep it understated.

I've always loved the scene in The Approaching Storm of Anakin singing and thinking of his mom, and then Obi-Wan telling him he's actually got a really good voice. I headcanon that Anakin sang and hummed to himself as a kid, but stopped doing it where anyone could hear after his voice changed, because he hated the cracking, and it was embarrassing.

But it would be a cool thing to have in TMH, where the prologue opens with Anakin singing his mother's funeral song, and then gets taken and given a new name, Vader.

Jump forward 6 or 7 years, and Obi-Wan has this padawan, Aster-Ryn, who loves music, and it's just something she's often doing, singing or humming.

She grew up in a place where she could express herself freely within loving boundaries, she could have learned to play almost any instrument in the galaxy, she could have heard a hundred different kinds of singing from the hundreds of different kinds of species at the Temple. I bet Mace took her to the theatre a few times (probably to also teach her some lessons about fame or other important things, because it's Mace, but anyway).

And contrast that with Vader who never sings, and he wears a mask with a vocoder in it so he always sounds menacing and off. It's like he only growls. He hasn't sung once since Shmi died.

But as he gets to know Obi-Wan, and by extention Aster-Ryn, he hears her music, and he remembers how Shmi used to sing to him. Songs of hope and dreams and freedom, things they might never have, but the music made those things real for their hearts and minds.

Singing is like speaking, it's having a voice, a way of personal expression.

And I love the idea of that being a little sign of his progress, that music slowly starts meaning something to him again, and he starts humming, then singing songs with no words, because he has no words that express his pain and loss and anger and fear.

But finally Anakin gets to that point of being able to sing in words again, and it's a small but powerful part of breaking free from the Sith. Just as important as his first smile, his first laugh, the first time he cries in front of Obi-Wan. All part of reestablishing his personhood, and agency.

I wouldn't want to overdo it, but it would be a fun thread to run through the story. Also Aster-Ryn is supposed to be based off me, and I'm always singing/whistling/humming/playing music, so.... :))))

@clawedandcute you'd probably find this cool, and of course @thefinaljediknight @ablatheringblatherskite let me know what you think.

[obiscribbles]

Week 31 - October 29th, 2023 'A Conversation with Death' - Khemmis Spotify / YouTube

If you follow the Setting Suns AU then this will make more sense. But in quick summary, Obi-Wan’s fall is in grief, and Maul realizes there is something he can do to Obi-Wan that would make death seem like a mercy.

He leads him farther into the dark. 

Enjoy. 

View a week early on my Patreon!

[moonlight-prose]

oh she's a yapper = has written over 2k for sith!obi-wan cause i am feral.