#mechno-chair

[sw5w]

It Appears to Be Made Up of Primitives

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:44:49

[lifblogs]

Welcome to the Re-education Program

@ailesswhumptober Day 29 Ownership, Branding, "Everybody will know that you're mine."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Explicit Pairing: Tech/Hemlock, Non-consensual Pairings Word Count: 2234 Summary: Hemlock deems Tech has healed enough from his surgeries and can begin the Re-education Program. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Non-consensual Touching, Branding, Non-consensual Imagery READ ON AO3

Tech didn’t know why he had been brought to a different room, why he was lower in the mountain. When the barred door slid open he saw Hemlock, and then started fighting… which didn’t amount to much since he was still healing from his injuries and surgeries. Somehow his left foot registered that the floor was cold. Tech had a cybernetic eye now, but it seemed to show the world a little different, like certain details were layered over what was truly there. It left him dizzy, most days.

Tech was shoved into a chair set before Hemlock, and he lost the fight with the troopers when it came to the restraints.

He was already shivering, the prison garb here too thin.

“Good, you’ve arrived,” Hemlock said, as if he hadn’t ordered Tech to be brought to this very room.

There was an electric heating element on the lab table. Tech tried craning his head around Hemlock to see if that was all there was, and he glimpsed a tray of tools as well.

“Why am I here?” Tech demanded.

“Hmm,” Hemlock began, turning around, doing something that Tech couldn’t see. “Think of this as… an initiation, of sorts.”

Tech didn’t know what he was talking about, but he didn’t ask. He figured he wouldn’t tell him. Either that or he would and then do something horrible to him because of the information he had. Though his brain had been badly injured, Hemlock’s surgeries had helped quite a bit, and he was thinking, and thinking, trying to search back through memories, through data, through anything they knew about this man, about the Empire.

“I deem you are healed well enough for these next steps. As you know, I didn’t pick up your mangled body out of charity. It’s time you start giving back, serving your real purpose.”

“The shadow troopers,” Tech breathed suddenly, remembering the dead body Rex had shown him and his squad.

Hemlock turned around with a curved tool in his hand.

“Good. Very good. I had hoped you’d be smart enough to figure it out.”

“What did you do to them?” Tech asked.

Hemlock approached. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

He nodded to the troopers standing behind and on either side of Tech’s chair. “Secure him.”

They grabbed his head, his neck, Tech grunting, and then gagging as some fingers pressed at his throat.

His right eye watered.

Hemlock reached for his jaw, trying to pry his mouth open. Tech fought, but his mouth opened, and opened, Hemlock pressing bruises into him. He bit the fingers of Hemlock’s left hand, not giving up his fight to spit out the blood. Hemlock growled, pulling his hand back. A frown painted Tech’s face even as he swallowed his blood, tasting the metallic, acrid substance. He could have sworn he had seen purple skin through the tear he’d put in Hemlock’s glove.

Tech wanted to know this monster’s secrets, but right now, he could not give up this fight. The Empire would only win by force. If he was going to be hurt, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

Hemlock slapped him, heedless of the cuts to his fingers. Tech’s neck strained as his head wanted to turn from the force, but was held too tightly to do so. His cheek stung fiercely, Tech blinking a bit rapidly from the pain to clear his vision, to will unbidden tears away.

Hemlock leaned in, grabbing his jaw again. Tech clenched his teeth till it hurt, and kept his lips firmly shut.

“You will do this, CT-9902, or I will rip out your leg.”

Tech couldn’t help but have his eyes drift down to the very leg he spoke of: the mechno-leg Hemlock had surgically implanted into him, connecting it to his hip socket.

He was quite sure Hemlock would follow through on his threat while Tech was awake.

But he’d already lost the fight there. The mechno-leg already proved that he was Hemlock’s property. He just couldn’t let this happen. He was terrified, and sick of suffering.

Hemlock caressed his cheek, brushing away what Tech realized was a tear.

“Or maybe I’ll go easy on you,” he breathed.

Tech glanced to the other tools behind him.

That was a blatant lie.

Hemlock sighed. “Fine.”

Before Tech could realize what was happening, Hemlock punched him in the abdomen, exactly where the branch had gone through him, where he had once been a mass of stitches, now filled with scars, scars, scars.

Sensitive scars, and sensitive insides.

Tech’s body tried to lean over, making the grip on his head more severe. But he still kept his mouth shut, even as all of him wanted to go limp, wanted to curl in on that pain that had him remembering what his intestines had looked like dangling from the end of a thick branch when they were supposed to be inside of him. His back twinged at the memory, or maybe from the hard chair he was in.

“I don’t wish to damage you too much,” Hemlock said, “but I know where to hurt.”

Tech glared, hoping his one brown eye held an angry flame if his cybernetic one could not. That flame was used to hide the fear that lived in his very marrow, that seemed to be a shock throughout his body telling him to fight, to flee.

Hemlock’s next punch was to the chest, over where he had cut it open to save his heart during one of his many surgeries.

Tech shuddered, growling through clenched teeth. That hand that had punched him had been inside him, had touched his heart, had touched the center of him. That weakened heart now experienced a few seconds of arrhythmia and palpitations, making Tech inhale sharply through his nose. The pacer-droids in him got on the problem quickly.

Hemlock’s next blow was to the knuckles on Tech’s left hand, smashing the ones that had been operated on, mechno-fingers connected at the first joint, red scars criss-crossing his skin.

That pain was surprising for some reason, and almost worse than some of the blows he had been dealt. It was sharp, and it had Tech tilting his head back before the troopers fought him back into position, his mouth opening slightly.

“Press at the base of his skull,” Hemlock directed. “Hard.”

Tech gasped at the flare of pain that went through him as one trooper followed his command. He’d recently had a chip implanted there while awake, and it was still sensitive, especially since it was implanted near twelve cranial nerves, and three occipital nerves. His entire head seemed to hurt, as did his eye sockets and right eye. The severe, sharp pain even traveled down his neck, into his shoulders, and around to his collarbones.

And his mouth was open.

Tech gagged as Hemlock forced the device into his mouth. It cut his gums, making tears involuntarily fall from his right eye. It hurt his cheeks, and his jaw, even his teeth as it held his mouth open, open. Hemlock pulled back, seeming pleased with his work.

Vulnerability seemed to shove itself inside of Tech, straight down his throat. He cried out, shivering.

Tech fought his restraints, pulling till his wrists hurt.

Maybe he could pull hard enough to break his hand and wrench it free. He could grab a blaster, blast through the rest of his binders, shoot Hemlock, take his access card, and run, and run, and run.

Each step was impossible.

Hemlock stroked his head once, making Tech cry out. He had had to deal with how handsy this man was for who knew how long now. He wondered if he was like that with everyone, or if… if there was something wrong with himself that made Hemlock do this. He’d seen his pleasure during his procedures, his injections, had heard it in his voice, had felt it in the hands against him.

It was all he could think about with his mouth as open as it was.

Hemlock went back to his tools, readying something. A thin trail of smoke billowed up from in front of him.

“CT-9902, I find myself… disappointed. You don’t even want to cooperate, to discover what this initiation is. I thought you and your little squad wanted to know what the shadow troopers were, as you dubbed them. They go by another name. My CX troopers.” He turned to Tech once more, Tech throwing himself backwards to get away when he saw a branding iron in Hemock’s right hand, and metal tongs in the other.

His chip implant was pressed on harder, and he fell forward, trying to escape that pain.

Hemlock grabbed his tongue with the tongs, pulling it out of his mouth, pulling hard, till Tech was panting, and gagging. Drool was dripping from his mouth to his chin. The brand was the imperial insignia, yet the middle had a design he couldn’t quite make out.

“I usually don’t hold for such barbaric methods, but I will admit I’m not quite artistic enough to use a thermal cautery unit.”

Tech thought he could see the ideas of such a device dancing in Hemlock’s eyes, no matter what he had said.

Then Tech squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the smoke that would arise from his burning flesh.

Any second now it was going to happen.

Any second.

Closer and closer.

Any—

A horrible, tortured sound came from Tech’s throat. He tasted metal, and tasted fire, and burned, and burned, till he didn’t taste it. He tasted smoke, and blood around the brand. The smoke was in his face, going up his nose, making its way under his closed eyes. He could smell his own flesh burning, and he gagged, and gagged as his body wanted to throw up from it. He was choking on his own burning flesh, his right eye was stinging, and even around his left eye was. Tears ran down his right cheek.

For some reason he forced his eyes open.

All he saw through his hazy squints was Hemlock’s face wreathed in smoke. His small smile would fuel nightmares for the rest of Tech’s life.

Each fraction of a second with this pain, this horror, was too long.

It seemed like years passed before Hemlock pulled the brand back, and released his tongue.

The pain didn’t stop.

His tongue was hot in his mouth, the tissue around the burns was screaming that it was injured, that it needed help.

Hemlock left Tech’s mouth open, and he was just trying to breathe, trying not to throw up as he tasted dead cells.

Hemlock grabbed something else from the tray, and Tech tried to jerk away, but there was nowhere to go, no place where this monster wouldn’t fund him. He began to slowly wipe his tongue with bacta.

If only that touch was what he had to deal with at the moment, he’d still cringe from it as he did now.

Hemlock leaned in. “Now everyone will know that you’re mine,” he murmured, almost holding his tongue in his hand.

A whimper left Tech.

A small laugh left Hemlock. “Well, anyone who knows where to look. But you know, and I know, and that’s what matters most.”

The bacta tasted worse than it smelled. He always had found it odd that their greatest medicine and tool for healing smelled like death, like rot.

Hemlock rolled his eyes as Tech struggled, as his body struggled.

Oh no, he was going to throw up.

Hemlock told the troopers to hold his tongue as it was, and he reached for a pre-prepped syringe.

Tech wasn’t sure why he watched the needle sink into his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, as Hemlock carelessly inserted it into his deltoid. The medicine burned, but not as badly as his tongue.

In seconds, he wasn’t sure he was even capable of throwing up. His body simply wouldn’t do it.

Yet it struggled.

Hemlock continued wiping his tongue down once placing the syringe on the lab table. He seemed to be collecting the dead, black tissue off his tongue.

Then, his tongue was released while still almost hot enough to burn his gums and the roof of his mouth. Hemlock took out the device holding his mouth open, scraping Tech’s gums again.

He tried to spit out blood, and bacta, and dead tissue, but that action required his tongue, and it hurt too much. He simply drooled.

“Release him,” Hemlock ordered.

The troopers let go, Tech falling forward.

“His bindings too.”

Tech ended up collapsing to the floor without the restraints holding him. He was gasping and panting at Hemlock’s feet, bloody drool dangling from his mouth in such a humiliating fashion.

Hemlock crouched down by him, and grabbed his face.

With slow but forceful motions he used a cloth to clean the drool and blood off of him.

“Welcome to the re-education program, CX-2,” he murmured once he was finished, leaving the dirtied cloth in his lap.

Tech hunched in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to scream. Yet another part of his body had been tortured into change without his consent.

Maybe it would never end.

How long till his mind changed too, till he was no longer Tech, not even CT-9902?

The troopers dragged Tech out, following behind Hemlock’s footsteps.

[dapurinthos]

the galaxies plans, a through q:

a) prospectus: project f.e.a.r. aka 'fuck everything and run' tell the high council the identity of the sith. skedaddle. problem: the ‘do not go gentle into that good night’ of the jedi. 2nd problem: there’s a massive thought-suppressing/hiding spell located in a sekrit room of the sith shrine. any beliefs professed about the presence of sith will be believed to be a vision and receive a lecture on metaphor and not taking visions literally. STATUS: fail

b) initiative: schism cause a schism in the order so at least some of it survives OR detach the order from the republic STATUS: probably fail

c) task: prodigal son get dooku to come back to the order > problem: immune to sad tooka-kit eyes. may have to try bullying. STATUS: in-progress

d) operation: we have army at home aka convince sifo NOT to order an army > at least NO CHIPS STATUS: *seesaw hand movement

e) task: unionize the sith convince dooku, maul, ventress, savage, etc. to work together > currently: bit early but maul might be hanging around the works. search for him. tell him his brothers miss him. > post-naboo: maul might be angry about being cut in half. if he still IS cut in half. STATUS: not yet applicable

f) task: make nathan ford proud take sidious’s business, his possessions, and his name. get him mad enough to mess up > base delta zero ixigul/exegol > deep-fake a sith aka the ‘darth sakia’ plan > smear campaign STATUS: hard to do without getting killed

g) prospectus: u get 1 chosen one wrap anakin skywalker up in a bunch of ribbon and launch him at mortis while he’s still a preteen STATUS: difficulty level: hard

i) operation: DEW IT just kill palpatine! don’t think about it! just do it! > have to make sure hego damask is dead first. if not, then wait. STATUS: difficulty level: extra-hard

j) task: work WITH the law wrangle things with the coruscant security force so they investigate hego damask’s death as a murder > send vos in to that apartment STATUS: seems almost too easy

k) operation: backups need backup back-up the order with a redoubt on one of the famously ‘lost’ planets > monthly backups of the archives currently in the basement of the jedi outpost on the 3rd moon of bogden. > hrrrrg. have to tell master jo about the archives breach > we’re becoming hyperspace prospectors, everyone! STATUS: objective one achieved.

l) operation: anti-invasion interfere in the planned invasion of naboo somehow w/out it getting back to sidious or disrupting qui-gon discovering anakin on tatooine > get the datacron w/ the invasion plans from the guy at the perlemian gathering STATUS: planning

m) initiative: kill bill dooku kill dooku on geonosis as the war begins (let mace kill dooku on geonosis as the war begins). > timing must be exact STATUS: cannot think about

n) initiative: chair confiscation get that fucking mechno-chair of nute gunray’s confiscated after the invasion of naboo STATUS:

o) task: when in doubt go to the library archaeology and tax records. begin tracking from bane and zannah and cognus > location of dromund kaas deleted from archives; prophets of the dark side unlikely to accede to being pumped for information once located > drag set harth out of whatever hole he’s hiding in to get the deets on zannah STATUS: let's start at the very beginning a very good place to start: sorzus syn's journal about to be acquired.

p) task: get someone else to do it help granta omega and sana sauro assassinate palpatine STATUS: conceptual

q) prospectus: when ugnauts fly heeeyyy chiss ascendancy u want some people to teach your ozyly-esehembo to not lose their powers around puberty? have i got an offer for you. STATUS: least amount of emotions involved. highly recommend.

[ner-runi-cuyir-gar]

"Okay," he gives you a tired grin and moves to grab a new set of robes, "lemme just change okay?"

“Okay,” I nod. It takes me a second to realize I actually need to leave and I quickly move out of the door. He’s so little. His large growth spurt has yet to happen and he won’t develop his ‘man muscles’ for at least three to four years.

Ugh, I should have cherished the last time his mechno fingers were inside me. I doubt he’s having a mechno hand again.

I manage to keep up the act for two years, until we’re seventeen, and Anakin sees Padmé on the holo screen, doing a boyish sigh.

Would he reject me if I told him now? Does he actually need time to even like me back?

Well. If he rejects me then I can restore his memories and deal with the makeup sex. God I miss sex.

“I wish you wouldn’t… look at her like that,” I say softly from my place curled up in my favorite chair, with my blanket.

[desireandduty]

For a moment, Padmé is so surprised by his response to the idea of his legacy that she cannot form a proper response. What does he mean by "what legacy?" To her, the sheer volume of his accomplishments and character traits is so massive that she doesn't even know where to begin. The fact that he doesn't see that makes her immensely sad and somehow a bit angry. What sort of beings are the Jedi if they supposedly raised him from boyhood and he has no idea how truly amazing he is? What is wrong with them? She understands that humility is a trait cultivated by the Order, that pride combined with power is dangerous. But there is a very wide gap between thinking too much of yourself and thinking nothing of yourself.

She waits to respond for a minute or two, both giving her time to gather her thoughts and giving him time to put in the coordinates and get them into hyperspace. But once the stars are streaks of light whizzing past them, she scoots forward in her chair and leans over to tug at his mechno hand. "Ani... look at me," she says, all serious now. She is tired, yes, but she cannot go and rest without getting this off her chest. "You are my hero. You saved my life, and my entire planet, when you were nine years old. If we hadn't been able to get off Tatooine, or if we hadn't stopped the Trade Federation..." She pauses, shuddering at the thought. At fourteen, she hadn't really thought about the risk it would have been for her to be stranded on Tatooine without credits. But she had certainly considered what the Trade Federation would have done to Naboo if they had succeeded in their occupation.

"You have dedicated your life to helping maintain justice and peace in this galaxy. There are countless beings across countless planets who have better lives today because of what you've already done as a Padawan and now a Knight. And your legacy is more than just what you've done. It's who you are. You have seen and lived through terrible things, and yet you are fiercely loyal, passionate in your determination to help others. You see sentient beings like clone troopers and droids as beings and not tools, the way so many others do. That is your legacy, my love." She has to pause there, because her belly is so swollen now that she gets short of breath rather easily. She's only expressed a fraction of how she sees him, but she smiles at him now, with all of her overwhelming love for him shining in her eyes, and squeezes his hand gently. If it takes a lifetime for her to show him how others see him, she is more than up to the task.

"Legacy?" he repeats, amused by the concept (he can honestly say he's never ever thought about it, however much he believed he wouldn't survive the war) and oddly frustrated by the idea too. "What legacy is that, exactly?" Being a Jedi was hardly a worthwhile thing, his piloting during the war was hardly a worthy legacy on its own, and much of his acclaim during the war (Anakin was now slowly starting to realize) was because of Palpatine influencing things to be that way, not because of anything Anakin actually earned on his own. The only thing Anakin has that could resemble a legacy to pass down to his children is, what, podracing? Slavery?

Wordless, Anakin straightens to kick the ship back into gear. " I can fly," he says, rerouting the coordinates for Naboo. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" He looks over at her again, forcing himself to smile softly. "I'm sure all three of you need it."

[obi-wkenobi]

hullo! I saw u were taking prompts for angstpril? if u still have room, what about 21/don't shut me out with obi-wan and anakin? after all ur whumptober fics, i look forward to more angst 🙏🏼

please and thank u!

Hi, anon! Thanks for sending this in, I hope you enjoy. 💙

Angstpril, day 21: "Don't shut me out."

Their ship was silent. Obi-Wan’s hands lay limp in his lap, eyes fixed ahead and on the broad expanse of the blue of hyperspace. He hadn’t yet looked next to him, to where Anakin sat immobile, or behind him to—to the empty seat where Ahsoka should have sat.

He had become too complacent. Content. Happy with the Master he had become, the former Padawan he could discreetly dote over, and the young one who had abruptly come into both of their lives. It had been inappropriate of him, he knew, but he had quietly rejoiced in the role he had played in both of their lives.

Now, it felt like he had neither. It all still felt like a ridiculous ruse. A mistake on behalf of the Council that he had never thought to expect.

Ahsoka had left, and Anakin’s anger over that fact still flared, wild and crackling, in the Force around them.

Leaning back in his co-pilot's chair, Obi-Wan glanced towards the younger man, whose mechno hand gripped the ship’s controls tightly and whose jaw was clenched shut. Judging by the ominous air around him, Anakin was not pleased to be unexpectedly left alone with him after spending so many weeks ensuring that they were always kept apart.

It was…strange. No, Obi-Wan admitted to himself reluctantly, not strange—awful. Anakin had been upset with him in the past, he only had to remember the recent Rako Hardeen incident, but he had never been distant with him. For whatever reason, this was incomparably worse.

Obi-Wan swallowed, hard. This had to end eventually, they couldn’t carry on like this.

 “Anakin?” he prompted softly. 

Anakin scowled, then, with a rough noise, looked at him. He looked so—so furious—

“What?” Anakin snapped.

“Perhaps we should talk about what happened?” he said solemnly.

Anakin’s eyes flashed, blistering with disdain, and the sight made Obi-Wan’s chest throb in pain.

Anakin had looked at him with anger before, with irritation, annoyance and even derision—but never with such violent dislike. It was a troubling sight, for if Anakin couldn’t even forgive him, then what hope did the rest of the Council members have? Their already contentious relationship seemed to now only be hanging on by the tenterhooks.

“Should we?” Anakin sneered. “Why? You clearly didn’t care about her.”

“Anakin, that’s not fair. Of course I cared for Ahsoka. I still do,” he implored.

“Then why didn’t you do more to help her?” Anakin snarled, features twisting in fury.

“I did what I could,” he said, sure and steady.

He had, hadn’t he? He had defended Ahsoka where he could.

Guilt plagued him nonetheless. He was left with the distinct impression that he should have done more, and not just for Ahsoka, but for Anakin too, who he had known wouldn’t handle the Council’s decision well.

“Did you?” Anakin asked darkly.

Anakin swivelled to face him, his posture oddly threatening and his face thunderous. Despite their seated positions, he seemed to loom over Obi-Wan menacingly.

And though Obi-Wan wasn’t intimidated, it was the fact that Anakin wanted him to be that made cold trickle down his spine with unease. The rage that Obi-Wan had always known lingered beneath Anakin’s skin had become eerily frequent recently, and Obi-Wan struggled to know what to do with it.

No Jedi should ever feel such anger.

“Yes, I did.”                   

“Well you should have done more.”

They glared at one another tensely. He so desperately wanted to reach out into their bond and soothe his former Padawan, but intuition told him he would only be shoved away.

Anakin wouldn’t accept such comfort from him right now. Maybe not ever again.

“Perhaps,” he murmured quietly.

Anakin shot him one last look of disgust before standing up and moving to walk away. Obi-Wan grabbed him by his arm and stared up into frigid eyes.

“Anakin, please, don’t shut me out,” he quietly begged, desperately wishing to make things right between them once again.

Anakin snatched his arm away. “It’s too late for that.”

Obi-Wan watched him stalk to his quarters, trying not to ponder on why—after he had tried, truly tried to reach out and help—it still felt like he had potentially lost Anakin forever.

[generalkenobi212th]

Only the Beginning

It was one thing to be caught by the Zygerrians. It was another thing entirely to be at the business end of their anger. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a slave before, and he wasn't planning on staying very long /this/ time either.

By the second day of his and Rex's servitude, Obi-Wan was already feeling the effects of it. His whole body was sore, his stomach was near constantly growling, and the slave shock collar weighed heavy on his neck.

If he tried to help the Togruta, they would be punished. If he spoke, they would be punished. He couldn't walk any line but the one that was set for him without indirectly causing harm to the people he was sent to save. /That/ was what weighed on him even more than the collar.

The facility on Kadavo was meant to break slaves. To work them until they had no will left to rebel. There was a fault in this plan, however. It was not made to break a Jedi. The collar with which Obi-Wan was fitted was not Force-suppressing, and as long as he had the Force, he could make it through anything.

More days passed, and Obi-Wan began to worry. Anakin should've enacted his plan by now. Obi-Wan, Rex, and Ahsoka should already be free again, on the way back to Coruscant, but here they were, stuck in a big hole in the dirt, mining Force-knows-what. It was starting to get to him. It caused him to not think before he spoke against the slavers.

The first time, they beat a Togruta in front of him. The second time, they brought out the whip and flayed his torso. The third time, they attached a length of chain to the collar and pulled him around the facility like a pet. The fourth, they activated the collar, and he convulsed and screamed until his vision went dark.

He woke in an unfamiliar room, with none of the noise of the mine. The first thing he noticed was the difference in the collar. It was tighter, heavier, and worst of all: it was completely cutting off his connection to the Force.

His mind went into panic mode, missing the shadow in the corner until it moved further into the room. A tall, mean-looking Zygerrian stepped forward, electrowhip in hand.

"Jedi," he said, igniting the whip, "welcome to hell."

Obi-Wan's screams were not heard by anyone but his tormenter, swinging the whip over and over again.

During the day, he worked. If he gave out, if he collapsed, if he refused, or if he spoke, he was punished.

Days passed, but he knew not how many, nor how many more he would have to wait before he was rescued. Whip marks littered his skin, and his neck and wrists were nearly always bloody from his punishments. He broke through the collar twice before they strapped a harness to him and fastened him to a metal chair.

They gave him no anaesthesia before taking a small chunk out of his chest, right below his right collarbone, and jamming a Force-suppressor implant into it. Obi-Wan was no stranger to pain, but this was unbearable. He screamed and writhed in the chair as the implant extended its mechno-arms further into him, wrapping themselves around his collarbone. This was a form of insurance for the slavers, because the implant could not be removed by anyone but a surgeon without risking a fatal injury to a major artery.

It didn't take long for Obi-Wan's brain to give out on him, and he fell unconscious in the chair.

The harness stayed. It was used in punishments for weeks to come, and gradually Obi-Wan lost his will to rebel in favor of avoiding punishment. He didn't speak. He didn't refuse to do anything his master ordered. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, was no more. He was merely a slave. Only the memories of his loved ones kept him from testing his luck until the punishment finally killed him.

His hair hung greasy near his shoulders. His beard was so bushy, he doubted he'd be recognized of Anakin were to burst in the door right now. His clothes were long gone, replaced with the bare minimum in the form of a pair of pants that were too small and squeezed him in all the wrong places. He had nearly shrunk to fit them by now.

He was a shell of who he used to be. Needless to say, it was a surprise to him when more food began to show up at mealtimes. It was even more of a surprise when, after a week of steadily increasing meals, they cut his hair. They trimmed his beard. They gave him a bath. They treated his wounds. And then he heard the word "Auction" tossed around, and he understood.

The sun was too bright. His skin was too raw. The harness was too tight. Everything was too much for Obi-Wan, and he found himself stumbling in his approach to the podium. This earned him a low-lever shock, a reminder to keep in line /or else/. He took the warning to heart, focusing on not tripping.

He followed directions, turning for the crowd when prompted, and was eventually led off the stage. He was nearly back in the dark when he heard his name. His head whipped around, and the collar was set off again, bringing him to his knees. He was hauled to his feet, and he hung his head all the way back to his holding cell.

His new owner was to be met at his ship on the outskirts of the landing paddock. So Obi-Wan followed. He guessed Anakin's plan wouldn't save him now that he could be going anywhere in the galaxy. Oh well. Maybe they'd meet again one day in the Force.

He kept his head down when the slaver began telling his new owner the particulars of dealing with him. He knew better than to look them in the eyes. He'd only be hurt again.

"I believe I know how to handle this one already. Thank you for your time."

Obi-Wan's head whipped up at the voice. It was the one he'd been imagining since day one. A shock went through his collar and he quickly turned his eyes back toward the ground. But in the flash of his vision he had seen his savior.

A small smile came to Obi-Wan's lips as his new owner steered him onto the ship and shut the hatch. His knees buckled beneath him, and before he knew what was happening, he was crying on Anakin's shoulder.

"It's alright, Master. I found you. I'll always find you."

Obi-Wan tried to speak, but he only croaked in response.

"It's alright. You're safe."

"H - how... long?"

"5 months, Master."

Obi-Wan's world swam, and he felt himself falling away before Anakin pulled him back into the present.

"Hey, I'm going to get this collar off of you, okay?"

Obi-Wan nodded, and Anakin got to work. The ship, set to autopilot, was already entering hyperspace when Anakin's hydrospanner broke through the security on the collar. It fell with a clang to the floor of the ship, and Obi-Wan immediately reached for his neck, whick was rubbed raw from the constant presence of the collar.

Anakin then released Obi-Wan from the harness, which left indentions in his shoulders and chest. Anakin found his medkit and began gently medicating Obi-Wan until he was falling asleep.

"It's alright, Master. You can sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

And so he did, trusting for the first time in 5 months that he would be free when he woke.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Do you have anymore happy fluff/ happy moments with the Skywalker family?

Quite frankly, it’s not the wedding banquette she envisioned when she thought about getting married. 

But it is, certainly, more fun than anything she dreamed up as a young girl.

Satine Kryze - now Kenobi-Kryze - sits at the head of the table, sharing a seat with her husband, as Anakin Skywalker sets pots and dishes of homey-smelling food down in front of them. 

“You really went to too much trouble, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, sounding slightly humbled as he looks on at the breads and stews, salads and meat being settled before them. “There’s only a few of us, after all.” 

Anakin grins and shrugs. “Not often I get to cook for a wedding party. I figured why not go all out. Besides, it’s not just your wedding we’re celebrating. The peace treaty between the CIS and the Republic was ratified today.” 

“To say nothing of the three newborns nobody’s thrown a party for,” Ahsoka jokes as she sits down. 

“Jinn is hardly a newborn anymore, he’s over a year old,” Satine grins proudly, before leaning over to the little playpen where their son is wiggling around. 

“That nobody knew about until a couple of weeks ago,” Padme points out, grinning as she lifts a twin into her arms to cuddle. “Not that I have much room to talk.” 

“By the way,” Anakin says casually. “How is the Council taking all of this? You’re a father and just married. I’m married and newly a father...I’m assuming Yoda dry heaved at least twice through all of this.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Obi-Wan says, almost jovially. “I’ve been asked not to come to the meetings about you and I. As if I don’t know what they’re saying.” 

“Blah, blah, the code,” Satine rolls her eyes. “Blah, blah, How dare they. Blah, blah not the Jedi way...” 

“Blah, blah, attachment,” Anakin joins in. 

“You laugh, but they’re debating a thousand years of tradition,” Obi-Wan scolds them. “Change takes time.” 

“Change should have come long ago,” Padme points out. “Perhaps then someone would have noticed the Sith Lord before he nearly tortured my husband to death.” 

Anakin settles carefully into the chair next to her, obviously still healing. “I’m fine,” he grunts. “Good as new.” 

“They had to crack open your chest and replace one of your ventricles with a mechno ventricle,” Padme points out unhappily. “If Sidious hadn’t fled the planet, I’d shoot him.” 

“Making the two of you the perfect pair,” Satine grins. 

“Yes, but we’re not here to celebrate us,” Padme grins back, resting her head on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’re here toe celebrate you and Obi-Wan. Newlyweds.” 

“Oops. There it is. Yoda just dry heaved through the Force,” Anakin jokes. 

“Let’s eat!” Obi-Wan cries abruptly. 

Satine snickers, and digs in.

[mousedroid-hoojib]

Cliegg Lars

After his wife Shmi Skywalker's capture and his subsequent injury by Tusken Raiders, moisture farmer Cliegg Lars is confined to a Mechno-Chair in his homestead.

Recipe:

* my own cast of Slayer Design Studio "Head-61 Dean" * my own cast of ReAction Planet Of The Apes Taylor's arms * The Corps Dozer * 3D printed Mechno-Chair of my own design * modelling clay * material * Citadel "Eldar Flesh", "Chaos Black", "Skull White", "Zandri Dust", "Space Wolves Grey", "Bleached Bone", "Mournfang Brown", "Bugman's Glow", "Leadbelcher", "Balthazar Gold" paints

[vivalavili]

Vader watches the closed door for a moment before sighing deeply, looking down at his lap. Hopefully you'll forgive him for being rude and not walking you to the door- if he stood up, though... how the hell would you react to seeing the way you made him feel?! That's so... that's more rude of him than not walking you to the door.

You're probably in the bath right now, the water gently lapping at your body, the roses resting over your skin just the way he imagines it.

His hand travels down his front and into his waistband, finding its now familiar home since he met you. Gods, he does this way too often. But... he went a year without being able to at all. He deserves- no. He doesn't deserve it.

But for the moment it feels so, so good. He lays his head back against his chair and closes his eyes as he pumps himself slowly, grinning lazily at the imagined sounds of your moans.

An image conjures itself up in his head, a scene. You're in the bath, doing your normal 'woman' thing, as you mentioned earlier. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, smirking down at you.

He lasts only a few seconds before he can't resist and joins you in the bath as well, the water sloshing over the edges as he climbs over top of you. He takes his sweet time kissing you, loving on you, dipping his hand between your legs and making you arch up out of the water.

And then he slips inside of you. Your gasp at that first thrust of his hips is pure music to his ears, an entrancing melody. Soon enough, your moans mix with his as he thrusts faster and faster, pumping his hand in the rhythm of his thrusts.

Vader hits his release quickly as the image continues to play out, your moan ringing through his ears. His own moan echoes loudly in his dining area, his hips bucking into his hand involuntarily at this point.

He takes a minute or two to relax, his breathing finally steadying. He gets wilder with each time that he does this, he feels. How long could he stand to do this and still be so close to you all the time? Did he curse himself by making you his second?

Vader sighs softly, running his mechno hand through his hair as he gets up and heads to the 'fresher to take a long, cold shower.

I sink lower into the water and close my eyes, my head tilting back against the lip of the tub.

I’ve not let myself think about it, didn’t even dare while I was away and now… now I can’t get him out of my mind. His voice on Alderaan, the feeling of his hand in mine, the intense gaze of his eyes, they all come reeling into my head.

I lazily run my fingers up and down my stomach and chest. I would lick him, I would get on my knees and worship him if he let me. Would he tug my hair? Would he roll his head back and release beautiful sounds for me and only me to hear?

I let my hand drop down in between my thighs, gently pressing my fingers to the soft skin above my clit. I would kiss him lovingly before we got rough, to show him that affection, that care. But god… we’re too passionate of people to keep it slow for the first time.

I’d lower myself onto him slowly, rolling my hips to take him as deep as possible, working him until I could get the groans I want. I start to rub my clit in slow circles with a soft, breathed sigh.

I would want him to say my name. Whisper it, moan it, shout it, anything. I just want to hear my name from his lips, forever and always. I’ve seen him shirtless before and fuck- what a body. I moan softly as my fingers speed up, biting my lip to keep in louder sounds.

I’d take him into my hand, rub my thumb along him as many times as he wanted, as many times as he needed. I’d give him anything he’d ever ask for. I’d lay under him happily and ride him happily- whichever he might prefer.

“Sh- ah, shit,” I whisper, arching my back a little to press further into my own hand. Would he press his fingers here? God- his fingers. I start to lose myself as I imagine my fingers were his. My hand as his while I run it up to cup one of my breasts. Anything for him.

I groan lowly as I get close, thoughts of him flickering in my mind faster than I could ever control them. His lips, his neck, his beautiful arms. Glistening and gleaming with sweat from the exertion. Just as he looks after training, the few times I spotted him, anyway. His hair in disarray, gorgeous curls matted to his forehead.

I come with a small moan of his name, fearing for the thin walls to dare to be any louder. I pant softly and open my eyes, jarring myself back into reality as I slump further against the porcelain of the tub.

“Fuck,” I whimper a little, “fuck I’m so fucked. Shit. I can’t do this-“ I close my eyes again, “it’s not viable. He’s- he’s so much better than me. I could never compare.” I make myself say it aloud in hopes that this time will work, this voiced thought will make the rest go away.

It doesn’t.

[cienie-isengardu]

Returning to the launching bay with Yoda, Obi-Wan observed Anakin and Yoda trade the briefest of looks, the meaning of which escaped him. Neither Jedi appeared to be bothered by the silent exchange, and yet Yoda doddered off without a word to speak with the Intelligence analysts huddled near the shuttle's boarding ramp. "Jedi Council business?" Anakin asked when Obi-Wan joined him. "Nothing of the sort. Yoda believes that the mechno-chair may yield clues to the whereabouts of Darth Sidious. He wants us to take up the search." Anakin didn't respond immediately. "Master, aren't we obligated to notify the Supreme Chancellor of our find?" "We are, Anakin, and we will." "When the Council sees fit, you mean." "No. After the matter has been discussed." "But suppose one or two of you should disagree with the majority?" "Decisions are not always unanimous. When we are truly divided, we defer to Yoda's counsel." "Then the Force can sometimes be felt more strongly by one than by eleven." Obi-Wan tried to discern Anakin's intent. "Even Yoda is not infallible, if that's what you're getting at." "The Jedi should be." Anakin glanced furtively at Obi-Wan. "We could be." "I'm listening." "By going farther with the Force than we allow ourselves. By riding its crest." "Master Sora Bulq and many others would agree, Anakin. But few Jedi have the stomach for such a ride. We're not all as self-composed as Yoda or Master Windu." "But maybe we're wrong to attach ourselves to the Force at the expense of life as most beings know it, which includes lust, love, and a lot of other emotions that are forbidden to us. Devotion to a higher cause is fine and good, Master, but we shouldn't ignore what's going on in front of our own eyes. You said yourself that we're not infallible. Dooku understood that. He looked things squarely in the eye, and decided to do something about it." "Dooku is a Sith, Anakin. He may have had his good reasons for leaving the Order, but he is nothing now but a master of deceit. He and Sidious prey on the weak-willed. They deceive themselves into believing that they are infallible." "But I've seen instances where the Jedi lie to one another. Master Kolar lied about Quinlan Vos going to the dark side. We're lying now, by not sharing our information about Sidious with Chancellor Palpatine. What would Sidious or Dooku have to say about our lies?" "Don't compare us to them," Obi-Wan said, more harshly than he meant. "The Jedi are not a cult, Anakin. We don't worship a leadership of elites. We're encouraged to find our paths; to validate through personal experience the value of what we have been taught. We don't offer facile justifications for exterminating a perceived enemy. We're guided by compassion, and the belief that the Force is greater than the sum of those who open themselves to it." Anakin grew quiet. "I'm only asking, Master." Obi-Wan took a calming breath. Too sure of themselves, the Jedi have become, Yoda had once told him. Even the older, more experienced ones... How might Anakin have fared under Qui-Gon's guidance? he wondered. He was merely Anakin's adoptive mentor, and a flawed mentor in many ways. So eager to live up to the memory of Qui-Gon that he was continually overlooking Anakin's attempts to live up to him.

Labyrinth of Evil

[sw5w]

...And You, Governor, Are Going to Die...

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:18:15

[future-lab]

Star Wars Figure TLC Darth Sidious Mechno Chair Loose The Legacy Collection 2009

$5.00 (0 Bids)

End Date: Nov-01 15:27

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source https://www.ebay.com/itm/Star-Wars-Figure-TLC-Darth-Sidious-Mechno-Chair-Loose-The-Legacy-Collection-2009/264912861982?hash=item3dae097b1e:g:W2YAAOSwADZfgP~c

[sw5w]

Your Queen is Missing, Your People Are Starving...

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:18:09

[sw5w]

My Troops Are in Position to Begin Searching the Swamps...

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:18:29

[sw5w]

We Are a Democracy. The People Have Decided.

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:18:22