#very very crack adjacent which is the decompression write i need rn

[tennessoui]

exploiting the body politic au -

“Oh,” Aayla says, and Anakin looks up from his phone. Aayla’s looking at her own phone, collapsed on her back on the couch. “Why’d you try glasses when you could have just passed these around to the bored suburban moms?”

“What?” Anakin says and leans over. He gets a deft kick to the ribs for his troubles, but then Aayla passes over her phone and—and all she’s been doing is scrolling through some male model’s recent press or something because all the pictures are of the same guy in various outfits, looking various levels of handsome while doing normal people things like picking up groceries or getting out of his car or leaving a coffee shop. “Probably cause these have nothing to do with Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “Are you trying to say you think I should grow a beard? Cause I’ve been thinking mayb—”

“Stop,” Aayla interrupts, holding up a hand. “First of all, I would never tell you to grow a beard. No one is ever going to tell you that. Second of all, that is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“No it’s not,” Anakin says automatically. “Kenobi is like, old.”

Well, he’s thirty-five, Anakin knows that. And thirty-five isn’t old, but it’s also certainly not devastatingly attractive. 

“Give me that back,” he demands, extending his hand and grabbing at Aayla’s phone. He clicks on one of the photos on the screen at random, a shot of the bearded man carrying a paperbag full of groceries. It’s at least a few months old, because there’s a bouquet of spring flowers in the picture, balanced on top of the bag. The man’s hair looks reddish brown in the sun; his beard’s all neat and orderly and he’s wearing a light jacket over a loose shirt and slacks. Anakin was right the first time around—he’s very attractive in a way that screams look at me. 

He supposes that’s something politicians could probably have in common with models, but the man in the photo is looking far too windswept and…and casual to be a politician.

But then he looks past the photo, down at its title and it says City Councilman Kenobi on Cars, Community, and Cooking in Coruscant.

It must have been a slow news day.

“Huh,” Anakin says, swiping across the phone’s screen to pull up the next picture. It’s part of the same article from the Coruscant Star, except this time, Kenobi is looking at the camera with one eyebrow raised, expression carefully crafted to look both infinitely patient and two seconds away from snapping. It must have been taken on a different day altogether because the man is dressed in a reasonably nice looking outfit, though his tie is all loose around his neck. He’s standing in his office, maybe, or a prop office more likely, leaning a bit over a very heavy and fancy looking desk, balanced on one of his forearms which is all freckly and exposed because he’s rolled up his sleeves.

“Is this what the city council is using our tax dollars for?” Anakin asks, scandalized. “Soft-core porn shoots?”

“What?” Aayla says, demonstrating a freakish level of flexibility by leaning over to look at her phone screen without removing her feet from his lap. “It’s just a photo.”

Anakin splutters. “I may have pledged my undying loyalty to my hot TA, but even I cannot admit that that is not just a photo.”

“Whatever,” Aayla says, flopping back onto her back. “Don’t screenshot it and send it to yourself to beat off to later, that’s gross.”

“You’re gross,” Anakin replies, but he tosses her phone back at her. He wasn’t going to screenshot anything. “That’s our city councilman.”

“He’s your city councilman,” Aayla corrects lazily. “I’ve decided I was going to vote for his opponent.”

All politics is, Anakin decides, is one betrayal after another.