#welcome to obi suffering

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

This week’s episode brought me more joy than you can possibly imagine

[sabraeal]

The Strong Pack Thrives, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 7: Consummation

Fuck, but he’s an idiot.

His hips grind into the mattress, but there’s no relief to be found there, not when down gives so easily beneath the weight of his thrust. And yet, Obi still rubs himself against the sheets, the pillows, trying scrub the shivers from his bones. Sir told him once that a dying man could take poison for water if thirst is what held the knife to his throat, and ah, he’s starved enough that silk could be taken for skin. Especially when her scent still lingers on his, when all he needs it is to close his eyes and he can remember her taste.

Haah, that carriage— that had been a mistake. To have let himself scent her so deeply it sunk into his bones, sinking his teeth so close to where instinct begged him to bite— that perfume might have brought him to the edge of a rut so heady it took every last ounce of his willpower to not take his relief in the first willing body, but that doesn’t excuse that. Not when he’s been courting this rut for months now, ever since he’d come back from Sereg. Ever since she let him pull her close, burying his nose in her throat, right over where her scent lay thickest. Ever since she clutched him just as tight and murmured, welcome home.

Ah, if she had only known how close he’d come that morning on the road to Wirant. She’d slipped into his room smelling like she was fresh from the oven, apple and spice and vanilla all over, standing too close and speaking far too kindly to a mutt like him. It’d been Master who made the difference then, just one wall away, close enough that even Obi could bring himself to heel. By the skin of his teeth, but it was enough.

She wouldn’t have sat so close then. Wouldn’t have allowed him to talk her right onto his lap. Wouldn’t have let him put his fingers in her, bringing her right up to that sweet edge he knew she’d been skirting. To let him soak his cock with her slick and tease her right over it.

Stupid of him to think he could be playful about this, to think he could saunter right up to the cliff's edge and then walk away unscathed. To think that there would be no consequences for tempting his own worst nature. They’d been sitting in that parlor tonight— no, last night, now, from the way light spills from the edges of his curtains— Miss among all those males, sitting next to Kiki radiating satisfaction and frustration in equal measure…

It had done something to him. Awoken it, dark and ugly. All he’d been able to think about was snatching the plate from her hands and feeding her himself. About how her legs would dangle from his lap when he dragged her into it, pliant as he tore each tender morsel between his fingers, shoving it between her lips and showing all these males just whose mate—

Obi springs himself free with a shuddering gasp, cock jutting up from the mess of the sleep trousers Eisetsu left for him, so hard even the air makes him hiss. He’s only rutted the once, back when he was little more than a boy, hardly old enough to know alpha from omega, but it'd taught him that there’s no relief to be found in his hand. And yet, it’s all he has. That, and the memory of how Miss had stared at him across that carriage once all was said and done, eyeing his cock like she would swallow it whole if he gave her half a reason—

Ah, well, he’s happy enough to give her one, even if it’s only in his head.

*

There’s an irrationality that comes with heat, an all-consuming urge to hide and breed that tends to make those who suffer it irritable— and in the worst cases, paranoid— in the days leading up to its onset. An urge to nest too, even suppressed, to cozen themselves in warrens so dark and humid that clothes quickly become oppressive inside them. Tight too, like being in the womb again; only enough room to sleep and breed and maybe eat, if its occupants remember.

At least, so she’s heard. Betas don’t suffer them with any regularity. Maybe once or twice in a lifetime, and mostly with mates who fall to either side of the more extreme inclinations. Shirayuki’s experience only comes second hand, through patients, mostly, though Yuzuri had let herself have that one, disastrous heat a winter or so back, leading to a bunch of Lilias scholars having fisticuffs out on the quad while she and Suzu wearily watched, just so they could report back who had won.

Fought best, Yuzuri insisted, curled up in a half dozen blankets, flushed from the excitement. It’s okay if they aren’t the last one standing.

It’s enough though, to know: that isn’t what’s happening to her. With her head buried between her knees, skirt so full it casts the chamber her body forms in full darkness, the air inside humid from her tears, all Shirayuki can think is that it smells wrong. Not unpleasant, like turned milk or some of Suzu’s more poorly tended experiments, but different. The way it is when she first walks into her dormitory after a long trip, and she can suddenly smell her own scent. Only—

Only it’s too much. Not just an everyday scent uncovered, but stronger, louder. The way it had been when Wistal had switched from packing their bedding with sprigs of lavender instead of lilac. Only it’s everywhere, in every room she enters; as if the whole world was yelling at a frequency only her nose could perceive.

And more than that, there is this…this rage within her now, simmering beneath the surface of her skin. No, a hunger, one that goads her to claw and tear and bite, to fill up this gaping hole within her with something, anything so that it might finally be sated. If instinct compels omegas to hide, then she must be what they hide from, since all she wants is to hold down and take.

It gnaws at her now, growling at her to get on her feet. Get up, it tells her, roiling deep in her stomach. Get up and go back to those fools. Rend their curtains. Smash their fine platters. Let them all know that he belongs to—

Her breath catches, nails digging deep into her kneecaps. That’s not— she isn’t— he doesn’t—

“Shirayuki?”

Her head jerks up from where it rests, gaze skittering over the hall until it falls on where Ryuu lingers a few strides away, uncertain.

“O-oh, Ryuu!” It’s on trembling legs she tries to rise, and she gets no farther than hiking her bottom and inch off the carpet. Ah, for as much as that strange anger in her whispers its promises, it seems her body isn’t in any rush to rise to the occasion. “Did you leave breakfast to check on me?”

“No.” His eyes dart guiltily to the wainscoting. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Impossible. At his age, Ryuu could probably eat most of Eisetsu’s breakfast spread and still have plenty of room for seconds. And he’d fallen into a stupor last night before the staff coulds even roll out a dinner cart, refusing to be roused. His stomach must be a growl away from falling in on itself like wolves in the lean season.

“How thoughtful of you to look after me.” Her praise paints a streak of pink across the pale stretch of his cheeks, his eyes skittering down the hall to fix on something, anything other than her. “But I promise, there’s no need to worry. I think I was just…”

If Shirayuki is honest, she has no idea what she was just, but that’s hardly a problem for Ryuu to solve. “…Tired, I think. It was a long night.”

“I wasn’t coming out because of…” His mouth furrows into a tangle, unable to work itself past the lie. “I wasn’t hungry,” he tries again, frustration sharpening the syllables. “So I thought I might bring Obi his sandwich.”

He shifts, arm swinging forward at the same time his hips turn, giving her a glimpse of two plates, edges arranged to kiss so that the dip to their respective feet makes a small chamber. Where Obi’s sandwich resides, she presumes.

“I thought he must be hungry,” Ryuu explains evenly. “Since…”

He hesitates, stiff as a deer caught in a wolf’s stare. Of course, because if Obi is hungry, it’s from last night’s adventure. And for all the fear and urgency that had churned in her breast, as palpable a pressure as a hand on her neck, Ryuu—

Ryuu had lived it. Been battered and bruised, mistreated like precious cargo in an uneven cart, a burden until the knife had been pressed to his neck, making his life a thing to be bartered on good behavior. And worse still, when the threat had switched to a stranger’s throat, her life in his hands as firmly as if he held the blade himself.

There had always been risk in their line of work. Benign as Lilias’s pandemic had been, it brought home a simple truth: any patient that walked through the door might be the one who dealt them their death. The winter flu took a handful of lives each year, as did infection; all things a pharmacist could catch and carry and take to bed with in short order. But there was a difference between a gamble stacked in his favor, undertaken willfully, and—

And to be kidnapped from a place he thought himself safe, separated from any presence that might give him comfort, and then forced to choose between what he knew to be right and a woman’s life.

“Here.” Concern steadies her, rising to her feet with only the barest sway. “Let me.”

His eyes pulse wide, arm curling protectively around his plates. The faintest, astringent scent of fear curls off him, itching her nose. “I-I’m not sure that that’s…er…”

“You didn’t get to eat last night.” With an encouraging smile, she holds out her hand. “It’s really no trouble at all.”

In fact, now that she’s offered, that hungry part of her quiets. Instead, satisfaction takes its place, thrumming and warm where it curls in her belly. It would be nice to take that food to him, to know that both boys were taken care of. That she had arranged it so they were.

His jaw works, body curling around his prize. “I think it would be better if I went to see him. It’s…ah, he…mm…”

Impatient cracks through her, as quick and unstoppable like lightning to a weather vane. “Ryuu, give it to me.”

He flinches hard enough the dishes rattle in his grip.

The thunder that rolled through her leaves as quickly as it came, leaving only shame and smoke behind. “Oh, Ryuu, I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t to…to speak to you like…”

Like he was a threat. Like she might take her teeth to her throat and tear, if he stood in her way a second longer. She shakes herself, hands trembling where they press to her cheeks.

“Ah…” A laugh scrapes up her throat, humorless. “See? I’m not fit for company. If I can’t sit at breakfast, I might as well do something useful.”

His straight brows draw down, dubious. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“If anyone can tolerate me like this, it’s Obi.” Her mouth tips into a rueful curve. “He never complains, not even when I’m at my worst. Besides” — her smile bends to a brighter inclination— “I know you have to be hungry. You look like you’ve grown three inches in a single night!”

“No, really, I’m—”

His stomach growls, loud enough that there’s no denying its source or its cause. He grimaces, reluctantly thrusting the dishes toward her. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course.” She hefts them between her hands, heavier than she expects. Ryuu must have been generous with his portions. “It’ll be nice to feel like I’m helping out, even if I can’t seem to keep myself civil.”

His mouth pulls thin. “Shirayuki. Be careful.”

She blinks. “I know I can be a little clumsy, Ryuu, but even I can handle a couple plates.”

“I…” His frown furrows deeper into his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”

Ah, of course. That last time they separated…

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, so soft. “I’ll be with Obi. How much safer could I be?”

“That,” he mutters, turning his back to her. “Is exactly what I’m worried about.”

*

Fingernails prick where palms press to his hips, her small hands holding him firmly against the mattress, denying him the relief of rising up into her touch. After years of only his own, hers brings him close to the edge just from novelty of it all, and her mouth, her mouth—

Fuck, it’s so warm. Not as sweet as her cunt would be; just the thought her little fingers holding herself open for him, inviting to take her inch by inch, flushed flesh yielding to the barest nudge of his cock— haah, it brings him so close he has to clench to keep from spending himself like an alpha in his first rut. But her tongue is clever, teasing at the slit in his head before sweeping down the vein, coaxing him toward a height that's got his vision blurring at the edges, body so hot he’s sure he’ll burn her.

His Miss is hardly experienced; in her eagerness her teeth scrape, dragging a hiss from between his teeth. But he can hardly care when she moans, the sound vibrating through his cock, setting a rhythm that leaves him gasping, near begging for relief. Obi’s never got to his knees for anyone before Master, but fuck if he doesn’t want her to bring him to his, to draw from him all the ragged vows he swore to himself he would never speak.

His hips snap up, hard enough that she can’t hold him still, and ah, the way she whimpers around his cock has him seeing stars, his climax torn from him in a growl. It’s good; so good that he forgets.

The Miss catches in his teeth as his spend spurts from him, the first splatter on his hip reminding him there’s only his hands on his cock now. Ones that scramble to cover him far too late, painting his belly and thighs with a thick gloss before he clamps a palm over the problem, most smearing cum than catching it.

“Damn,” he slurs, glaring at the shimmer across palm. For all the mess, there’s no relief, his cock still hard where it juts out from his trousers. It’s a miracle they’re not ruined, nor the sheets. With the bare bit of sense he’s left with afterward, he shuffles over to the basin, cleaning up the evidence of his stupidity.

He pulls up his trousers— they’re riding low on his hips after all the cleaning and writhing— but he can’t find it in him to struggle against nature to button them. He tucks what he can, but it’s not much, all in all; he’s rather hang out than have these pants strangely stretched after all this. And considering how he’s not planning on visiting anywhere but his bed and the privy, it’s more than enough.

Obi dozes, sometime after that. Tangled up in the sheets, time grows hazy, and when he rouses it’s only because other parts of him have, becoming pressing, an ache that no amount of sleep will dull. He sighs, snaking a hand down to grip himself, trying to summon up another fantasy so familiar that the reality can fade away, if only for a little while.

And so, when that soft voice first calls out, “Obi,” he’s sure it’s wishful thinking. That the rap on his door it just part of the delusion his rut help him scrounge up, like all the times his dreams have started with her drumming her fingers on the door between their rooms, a prelude to slipping through and—

The doorknob turns, too loud, too metallic, too obvious for fantasy. His breath catches, hearing her murmur outside the door. Can’t understand a word, but he knows that pitch, that worry that pushes her through poisoned caves and swings her up onto horseback in the dead of night. She’s coming in, and he—

He can’t have her see him like this. Smell him like this, rutting and stupid, desperate for her touch. To let their scent even mingle the slightest bit in his nose…

“Miss,” he manages, more moan than word. “Don’t…”

*

Obi may be both her favorite and worst patient, but if there is one thing he is not, it is silent. Which is what follows when she calls his name, unexpected and unwelcome.

Shirayuki shifts, tucking the dishes beneath one arm, and tries to ignore the worry pricking at her. He’d lived two nights in the span of one, fleeing the Alpha’s Masque with Liera’s drug in his veins before flinging himself straight into Ryuu’s daring rescue. It’d been hard enough for her to drag herself from the comfort of her silken cocoon this morning, and she had only been a passenger, a veritable bystander in what proved to be one of the most trying twelve hours of her life. So for him to sleep, to be so deep in his dreams that not even his name could rouse him— well, it was hardly strange.

Or at least, it wouldn’t be if she hadn’t woken him with the barest footfall after Tanbarun. Or hadn’t seen the bruises beneath his eyes when she roused in Lilias’s infirmary, their beds so close she could have reached out and touched him. Obi doesn’t relax when all is said and done. No, he’s more vigilant, running himself until he’s too thin to survive even the gentlest breeze before his begrudging collapse.

She should have barely scuffed the carpet before he called out, tired and still teasing, I thought you said betas didn’t live to serve. Or whined as he heard her plates shift, what does it take to get a nice strong alpha over here to take care of a perfectly submissive omega like me?

But for her to come so far, to call his name and hear nothing more than his labored breaths through the door? Her knuckles blanch white where they grip the plates. Something must be wrong.

“Obi,” she says, firm enough she’s certain it can pierce through the wood, “I’m coming in.”

Dishes braced against her hip, the door swings open, far too late for her to do anything but hear, “No!”

It stops her, one sole jerking short of the jamb. But it’s too late; his scent rolls over her like a wave, smoke and salt and spice threatening to drag her down into the undertow. Heat floods her, filling the space between her thoughts as thoroughly as the one between her legs. Breathless, weak-kneed, the dishes clatter to the floor.

“Obi,” she gasps, gripping the sideboard, knuckles white. “What…?”

He’s there on the bed, tangled up in his sheets, the whole lean length of him bare down to the waist, sweating as if he’s in a fever. Concern spikes in her, driving her a step closer, one hand raised, but—

But then he turns his eyes to her, molten and dark, and haah…

“Are you…?” Her mouth no longer knows how to make words, all that scrapes up from her throat is a rasp, a whisper, and he— ah, he whimpers, hips grinding into the mattress.

“Miss,” he groans, weakly waving her away. “You have to…go. Get…out.”

“You need help,” she insists, watching as a bead of sweat traces over the strained muscles of his stomach. “I can’t…I can’t leave you.”

He laughs, low and deep, and oh, something throbs between her thighs, empty. He’d helped her fill that place before, two of his fingers spreading her before he plunged deep, showing her how it would feel to be full, and she— “You can’t help me when you smell like that, Miss.”

Her cheeks flare, as hot as the rest of her, but he’s not wrong, not even a little. Wet as she is, even a beta could smell her, let alone an alpha’s keen nose.

“But, if you’re…” She can’t bring herself to say it. “I can’t leave you alone.”

His chest shudders, so slick it might well have been oiled. “I can’t ride this out with you here. Not—“ his nostrils flare, and she knows he’s scented her, that this awful arousal of hers is what makes him bury his head in his pillow— “Not if you…”

She shakes her head, willing her legs to hold her, to attain that calm she has in the face of a half dozen other ruts she’s witnessed in her tenure at Lilias. “There’s got to be another way. You can’t just…suffer.”

“There isn’t,” he grits out. “Or at least” — his gaze scours her over, scorching, until he drags it away— “not one that’s…available.”

He offers one, guilty glance toward the basin, skin flushing deeper before adding, “But I guess…I’m not really an…expert on this kind of thing.”

“Really?” The question tips out of her before she can catch it, but she hardly minds when pink spreads from his neck to his chest. “I mean, I only thought…well, the guardsmen would always talk about, um…”

“I’ve warmed my fair share of beds in my time,” he says, utterly shameless. “Loads of them. But never a nest. I don’t do…this.”

Breed, he means. An alpha can assure that sort of thing, if he’s careful. “You were on an inspection.”

“Miss?” he groans, the smooth skin of his brow furrowing.

“When Yuzuri had her heat.” This time she meets his eyes, heart pounding triple time in her chest. “Makiri sent you on a special inspection at the checkpoint. It lasted almost a week.”

“I requested it.” His teeth flash, half hidden against his pillow. “Had a hell of a time coming up with reasons not to get sent back.”

“But…?” Yuzuri would have been happy to spend her heat with him, if she’d known. It’d be fun to have an alpha once, she’d sighed, wistful, if only I could trust them not to be weird about it after.

Gold lingers at the corner of his eye, steady as she watches her. “I couldn’t do that with Yuzuri, Miss.”

But he’d risked it with her, rubbing his cock against her until she’d come shuddering against it. Let her get up and walk away too, never pressing her for more, even when he must have ached to take her. So much that he’s here, hips rocking against the mattress for relief instead of— of—

Shirayuki steps closer, well within arm’s reach. “Maybe I can help.”

His eyes her warily, gaze raking over her like coals. “Miss…”

“Not— not anything like that,” she says, flushed. “But in the carriage…you said my scent helped. Couldn’t I…?”

He groans, leaning into the pillow. “I don’t have control…” His fingers claw at the sheets, as if it might steady him. “I can’t promise…”

She reaches out, fingers brushing over the long bones of his hand. A spark races up her arm, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t” he tells her, gruff. “I shouldn’t. As your knight, I…haaah..”

His breath hitches when she traces down to his wrist, hips grinding down into nothing but feathers. “Obi,” she murmurs, brushing back his soaked hair. “Let me be your knight, tonight.”

“If that's what you want, Miss.” His eyes flutter shut on a groan. "I'm in no place to deny you..."

[the-far-bright-center]

Ever since the Kenobi show came out the entire SW fandom now seems to think Obi-Wan Kenobi is the main character of Star Wars. Not Anakin, not the Skywalkers. Obi-Wan. Just because Disney made a big-budget fanfic about him. 🤦🏽‍♀️

[saphronethaleph]

Offer accepted

Leia’s comlink chimed.

She yawned, stared at it for a moment, then two synapses connected and she snatched it up.

“I’m here,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Leia,” Luke said. “I’m sorry for waking you-”

“Luke?” Leia asked, now almost entirely awake. “What happened?”

“...you’re probably not going to believe me if I tell you,” Luke replied. “Can you get the command team to the west side of the village as soon as possible?”

Leia held back a yawn, which was a struggle, and checked her chrono.

“Everyone should be asleep, it’s not even dawn,” she said. “Everyone from the command team who sleeps, anyway. I can do Threepio and Artoo, and myself on about… five hours of sleep? Maybe four?”

She paused, thinking. “Chewie might be awake, I honestly don’t know. Han almost certainly won’t be.”

There was a long pause, and Leia frowned.

“Luke?” she asked her brother.

“That’ll do,” Luke decided. “See you then.”

“All right, I’m here,” Leia told Luke, unnecessarily. “Han and Chewie were both asleep, so I got another commander in their stead… what’s this about?”

She stifled a yawn, and took a drink from some caf. “This had better be important.”

“Skywalker knows what he’s doing,” Commander Rex said.

“Yeah, you weren’t speaking to him last night,” Leia muttered, glancing at Luke. “I believe Luke knows what he’s doing, I’m not so sure that what he’s doing makes any kind of sense.”

“You might need to think again on that, Leia,” Luke said. “It turns out, it was surprisingly easy… I think we’re ready.”

He gestured, and Darth Vader stalked out of the pre-dawn gloom.

Leia nearly dropped her mug of caf, but the dark and imposing impact of the scene was immediately and drastically undercut when Darth Vader actually did drop his lightsaber.

“...what in the name of Padme Amidala are you doing here, Rex?” the Terror of the Galaxy asked, his vocoder apparently suffering some strain.

“Who would-” Rex began, his blaster covering the Dark Lord, then he dropped the weapon as well. “...General? You’re – you’re Darth Vader?”

“...yes?” Vader replied, looking down at himself as if he actually had to check. “I believe so?”

Then he did a double-take.

“What are you two doing here, exactly?” he asked, his helmet turned towards Artoo and Threepio. “Is this some kind of reunion? Am I going to see Snips come out from behind a tree? Is Obi-Wan going to appear?”

He sounded slightly frazzled. “Where is Hondo Ohnaka?”

“Father,” Luke said, his voice calm. “Please, allow me to explain as much of the situation as I know myself.”

“I’m not sure how to explain this situation,” Leia said. “What is going on?”

R2 beeped something that indicated that he knew exactly what was going on, and found it very amusing, thank you very much.

“Well, I don’t,” 3P0 said, with a sniff. “Why don’t you introduce everyone, you tin can?”

“Don’t worry, 3P0,” Luke told him. “None of us are in any immediate danger.”

Leia wasn’t sure she believed that.

“Oh, thank the maker!” C-3P0 sighed.

“You’re welcome,” Vader replied, crouching down to pick up his lightsaber.

“...okay, that bit I didn’t know,” Luke admitted. “But I’d better get started or we’ll be here all morning… I went to confront my father, and turn him away from the Dark Side.”

He glanced to his side. “I… don’t know if it’s worked, but I’d say it’s working at the moment.”

“How exactly did you pull that off?” Rex asked.

“I said that the Dark Side forced me to obey my master,” Vader intoned. “Then my son told me, quite passionately, that I was not a slave – that I was a person, and my name was Anakin Skywalker.”

His shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “He also asked me to come with him. As you can see, I chose to take up the offer.”

Vader let that stand for a moment, then pointed in succession. “That is Rex, formerly the commander of my personal legion in the Clone Wars. Those are the droids C-3P0, who I built on Tatooine, and R2-D2, who worked with me during the Clone Wars after a swap of C-3P0 for R2-D2 with my wife Padme Amidala. And that is… actually, I find myself unaware of your current personal situation. The only connection between us that I am aware of is that you are the daughter of one of my wife’s close friends, and that I should probably apologize to you at some point.”

Luke coughed, and R2 made a sort of beeping giggling noise.

C-3P0 still seemed to be in shock, which was fair enough, because so was Leia.

“Furthermore,” Vader went on. “Since I have defected, I will tell you the following. The Emperor is aware of your plans. He has an entire battle group ready to ambush your fleet. The shield protecting the Death Star is to be disguised by jamming. And an entire legion of the best troops the Empire has are waiting in ambush for any attempt on the shield generator.”

“So… what you’re saying is that our enemy has an overwhelming numbers advantage, an excellent tactical and strategic position, and they know we’re coming,” Rex said, having recovered his aplomb slightly and picked up his blaster. “And the only advantage we have is that we’ve got two Skywalker Jedi on our side.”

“I am still a Sith,” Vader replied. “Not a Jedi.”

“Still,” Rex protested. “Because… yeah, they’re karked.”

“This is the place?” Han asked.

“This is it,” Chewbacca agreed.

“Still can’t believe we’re going with this plan,” Han muttered. “Still can’t believe we’re doing what Darth Vader suggested.”

“I know,” Chewbacca noted. “You said.”

“I said because it’s true, fuzzball,” Han retorted.

He glanced around at the other commandos, then to either side of the draw they were in. It was a minor flaw in the deployment positions of the Imperial legion, a small blind valley through which troops could get close enough to attack by bypassing just a few Imperial guards… with a judicious mind trick from Luke, of course.

Not many troops, though. No heavy equipment. Just men and blasters, with two blaster cannon hauled up the draw.

“Stand by,” Leia said. “Who’s in position?”

“Team Besh, in position,” Rex reported, levelling one of the blaster cannon and being careful not to skyline himself.

“Team Aurak, ready,” Han said, as Chewie readied the other blaster cannon.

“Ten seconds,” Leia said, then activated her commlink.

A commlink set to Imperial scramble frequencies.

“Execute Alderaan,” she said, firmly. “Alderaan, Alderaan, Alderaan. Open fire!”

Rex opened fire, and so did the commandos on his side of the draw. His cannon shot hit the neck of an unsuspecting AT-AT, knocking it to the side and sending up a shower of sparks, and the commandos fired out a volley of shots at troopers and officers before ducking into cover.

At almost exactly the same time, Chewbacca and Aurek team opened fire as well. With different targets to aim for, Chewbacca elected to shoot out the knee of an AT-ST, and it fell over before exploding in a cloud of smoke.

A dozen or so stomtroopers fell in the fusillade of blaster fire, and then all the Rebels were behind cover as the Imperial battalions reacted.

Each had just taken fire from the direction of the other. Each had suffered casualties and taken hits.

And they’d just heard someone give a clear codeword. And when they looked in the direction of who could have been firing… all they saw were other Imperials.

Within seconds, blaster bolts were flying back and forth over the draw, as the Rebels began evacuating back down the way they’d come in. Leia flicked her comlink away from transmit mode, then nodded, and Han took out his own.

“They’re shooting,” he said.

“We’re far enough down the valley,” Rex pointed out. “We can run now, and we’ll need to – go!”

“Admiral Piett,” Vader said, his override codes cutting him on the Executor’s main viewscreen without preamble. “Your assistance is urgently needed. The Rebels have sprung a trap.”

“Lord Vader!” Piett replied, startled. “I thought – there were reports you were missing?”

“I was investigating the Rebel presence,” Vader retorted. “I am ordering immediate orbital bombardment, coordinates seven four two aurek nine, eight three six leth two.”

“But – I don’t understand-” Admiral Piett protested, glancing at the nearest reports.

They showed that firing was going on on the surface, and two defending battalions were already reporting losses.

“I do not require your understanding, Admiral, I require your compliance,” Vader said, his voice like iron. “If your mewling causes our defeat then you will have to answer to me personally.”

Piett could almost feel the forceful grip around his collar.

“Don’t just sit there!” he snapped, turning to the command pit. “Get a shield window ready and open fire!”

The Executor’s port turbolaser batteries opened fire, two volleys blasting into the sphere of the planetary shield, then a third one passed right through the now-open shield window and raised hell on the ground. The explosions hit like the mightiest ground artillery available to the Empire, raising huge plumes of smoke, and harried officers and ratings called reports back and forth.

“Correct north, fourteen,” Vader said, firmly.

“Correcting north fourteen!” one of the officers said, and the turbolasers spat fire again.

And destroyed the main shield dish in a fountain of explosions.

“What?” Piett demanded. “What just happened? Lord Vader, what is going on?”

The channel had already closed.

About ten seconds later, one of the Executor’s escort star destroyers opened fire on it, and Piett lost all track of what was happening.

“All wings report in,” Lando called, flicking a switch as the Falcon closed in on the Death Star, then frowned at his scanners as Wedge and Arvel and the others reported their squadrons ready.

“...well, I don’t know what’s going on there, but it sure looks like Han and the others have pulled something off,” he said.

There was some kind of battle going on in sector 3-7, what looked like an Imperial battlegroup tearing itself apart with turbolaser fire flashing back and forth in every direction and a boil of fighters trying to work out who was on what side. There was also a battle on the surface going on, one far more intense than anything Lando had expected the commandos to need to do.

Or be capable of.

“It looks like the Imperials are doing our job for us,” Nien suggested.

“Yeah, but we’ve still got a job to do,” Lando muttered. “Other squadrons on combat patrol; red group, gold group, all fighters follow me! Let’s pop that grenade!”

He shook his head. “And I thought rescuing Han was chaotic! I wonder who came up with this?”

[samstree]

Ooh 17 for the sensory prompts please?

Thank you for the prompt! It's from the sensory prompt list. I really like these so I'm welcoming more! <3

17. Your bed after travelling

(Obikin, rated G, also posted on AO3)

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan calls out from their shared bed, too cozy to move. “Anakin, will you come to bed?”

The door to the living room is left open for the bright light to spill into the dark bedroom. Obi-Wan watches as Anakin continues to tinker with Artoo’s communication unit, his legs crossed on the floor and back leaned against the droid himself, who has powered down for the night.

Even droids know it’s time for some rest.

“In a bit,” Anakin answers absently, not lifting his eyes from the circuit board.

It’s way past midnight, and the temple has settled into a blissful quietness. Even the murmurs of Coruscant seem to have faded into the darkness. Finally, Obi-Wan gets to sleep in a familiar, soft bed after days of battle and traveling. The only problem—Anakin won’t sleep.

And he needs it. He was the one who piloted the ship back home when Obi-Wan fell asleep in the passenger seat, promising faintly that he’d take over later. When he opened his eyes next, they were already at the temple’s hangar bay and Anakin was waking him gently with a hand on his shoulder.

Obi-Wan stretches under the duvet, his hands touching the cool, soft sheets on the empty space next to him. He tries not to worry, but the dark circles under Anakin’s eyes make that mission impossible.

“Anakin?” he calls again, knowing he’s getting dangerously close to nagging, something that historically has never worked and will only result in a sulking Anakin. “You need to sleep.”

Smoke drifts from the soldering iron in Anakin’s mechanical hand when he pauses.

“No, I don’t. It’s fine.” He only meets Obi-Wan’s eyes for a moment, a tight smile at his lips, aiming at reassurance. It would work better if his eyes weren’t red-rimmed with exhaustion. “And I can go much longer without sleep. I’ve done it before.”

“That’s more the reason to not suffer again.” Obi-Wan sighs, knowing he’s properly nagging now. “Anakin…”

“And the nagging is unbecoming, Obi-Wan. You promised you’d stop.”

“I did not,” Obi-Wan insists. “I promised I’d try. When you don’t particularly need me to nag, but that is not the case at the moment.”

Anakin’s stubbornness always has a way of reflecting back at Obi-Wan, bringing out the same side of him. He lets out a long breath, tossing and turning for a moment under the cover. The bed is truly too empty without Anakin beside him. The worry will also keep him awake through the night, if this goes on for longer.

“Go to sleep. If you want to talk my ears off, it might as well be in your dream,” Anakin adds petulantly. “I said I’m fine.”

Sometimes, Obi-Wan wonders why he loves this impossible boy so much. So many of the grey hairs at his temple can trace back to either fighting with Anakin, or trying to take care of Anakin. Fighting to take care of him is another challenge that Obi-Wan has grown accustomed to since the beginning of the war. It scares him how little Anakin cares for his own wellbeing.

But Obi-Wan might still have a trick or two up his sleeve.

“What if I’m not?” he says, after a moment of plotting.

“Hmm?” Anakin blinks up at him, a frown slowly forming between his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan props himself up on the bed, touching his temple like he’s nursing a headache. “What if I don’t feel fine, Anakin? In fact, I believe I have been struggling to sleep.”

A pause, and those beautiful eyes widen with concern.

“Oh.” Something clatters to the ground, but Anakin doesn’t seem to care. He scrambles to put away the tools and the circuitry, and with a few long strides, he’s at Obi-Wan’s bedside. His voice is impossibly soft when he speaks next. “What’s wrong? You were already tired on our way back. Do you feel sick?”

Anakin is kneeling beside Obi-Wan, helping him to lie down on the pillow and pulling up the cover. He reaches out with his flesh hand to brush back the stray hair over Obi-Wan’s eyes to better observe him. There’s distress written all over on his face now.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, catching Anakin’s hand before his worried mind spirals out of control.

“I’m not sick, darling. I may just be overtired, and somehow that’s keeping me awake.” Obi-Wan keeps his voice small and sad, his chin tucked under the soft duvet. “Ridiculous notion, I know.”

Still looking skeptical, Anakin presses their foreheads together to check Obi-Wan’s temperature. He pulls away, looking slightly relieved.

“Not ridiculous,” Anakin says, shaking his head. “I know the feeling, when you’re so keyed up that your mind won’t quiet down. Gods, you must be exhausted. How can I help?”

A proud smile is forming at the corners of Obi-Wan’s lips, having landed Anakin exactly where he wants him. So he presses a small kiss in the palm around his cheek, hiding that smile. He still needs to keep the look on his face pitiful enough to incite sympathy.

Obi-Wan looks up from under his lashes with pleading eyes. “Will you come into bed? You know I sleep better when you’re holding me.”

“Of course,” Anakin says immediately, ready to climb into bed already.

“Wait.” Obi-Wan halts the motion, eyeing a fully dressed Anakin. “Could you also change into your pajamas? Having your obi and tabard in bed cannot be comfortable.” After a beat, he adds, “for me, that is.”

Anakin only nods with understanding before undressing and shedding all the outer layers of his robes on the floor. Obi-Wan would lecture him, except things have gone his way so quickly that he really should count his blessings for now. Anakin then finds an old sleeping shirt on the other side of the room and pulls it over his head. He also turns off the living room light and shuts the door.

The bedroom is only lit by a dim lamp, the warm light setting a cozy atmosphere.

Obi-Wan lifts the cover eagerly to let Anakin slip in. The bed sinks under the two of them and their bodies fit together perfectly. He hums with contentment to show appreciation for the solid weight next to him.

“Like this?” Anakin circles Obi-Wan’s waist with his arms, head burrowed into the crook of his neck.

“No, more like—” Obi-Wan lies back against the pillows, guiding Anakin to lay on his chest, supporting more of his weight. His hand ends up buried in the short curls at the nape of Anakin’s neck, so he plays with those curls, knowing repeated motions are a good way to make Anakin drowsy. “—like this. I prefer it when there is weight on me.”

“Yes, you’re an odd one.” Anakin huffs against Obi-Wan’s chest, and then he looks up. “I’m not too heavy?”

Obi-Wan would feel guilty about his manipulation while looking into those big, trusting eyes, if not for the fact that the body around him has already grown more relaxed since laying down.

“You’re perfect, dearest.” Their legs tangle together, Anakin’s feet cold against Obi-Wan’s shin. He tugs the duvet tighter around them to warm him up. “Perhaps just…”

“Yeah?”

Anakin still feels like a lingering sandstorm in the Force, just the slightest ripple of unrest.

Obi-Wan kisses the mess of dark curls, feeling cheeky. “Could you do the breathing exercise for me, the one that helps to calm the mind? I find myself too exhausted to concentrate.” He adds a yawn here, for good measure. “It’s easier when we do it together.”

“Of course,” says the man in Obi-Wan’s arms who famously detests all forms of meditation and breathing exercises. “Here, follow me—”

An inhale. One, two, three four.

“Good, dear heart.” Obi-Wan gives a gentle pat. “I feel much better.”

Pause. One, two, three. And then, an exhale.

“Don’t speak, master. Focus on me.”

And he is. The golden warmth that is Anakin ebbs and flows, before settling into a pool of serenity. All the ripples have smoothed out, all the waves trickling into a stream of calmness.

Obi-Wan counts the rhythmic rise and fall of Anakin’s chest, and feels the arms around him loosen, bit by bit. With a few more breaths, both of them are on the edge of sleep.

Anakin is trying to wake himself up to continue the breathing exercise, but all he manages is an incoherent noise.

“No, no. Sleep. It’s okay,” Obi-Wan whispers into Anakin’s curls, settling him with a hand on his back.

“Mm? Did you really…” Anakin slurs, the sleepiness getting the better of him. “Did you really need… me…”

“Hush, now. Just rest. For me.”

Obi-Wan waits for Anakin to completely drift off and begin snoring softly, the dead weight against his chest making him too prideful.

He wonders how many more times he can get away with it, how much he can push for while holding Anakin’s trust and love within the palm of his hand. He fears, at times, for Anakin’s tendency to serve and to protect, his too-trusting eyes and too-big heart.

For now, the night is quiet, and Anakin is dead to the world.

Obi-Wan leaves one last kiss on the messy curls of his love, and lets himself dream.

[gaily-daily-musings]

Literally no one asked for the nursing home reverse trope and because I am upset I'm taking it upon myself to make y'all suffer

(I've decided to make it a senior community rather than a nursing home)

-

Obi-Wan is 55. An official senior. He hates it. It's awful. Quinlan won't stop making fun of him despite being older than him.

Despite his initial hesitation, the community is regretfully nice. Mace and Yoda and Qui-Gon are all welcoming. He never thought he would be reduced to this but when the divorce hit he'd lost the house. He'd been living with Quinlan for over a year and felt bad for taking advantage. Given his money situation, his options were reduced to a housing community for seniors. He'd heard about it through Qui-Gon who was on his pickleball team.

There's a young man (34) working there. A maintenance man named Anakin Skywalker. Anakin is quite handsome and very charismatic. The ladies will often flirt with him and giggle over his arms. It's all harmless fun. Normally Obi-Wan isn't one to leer, but goodness he was certainly striking.

Obi-Wan near has a heart attack one day when he witnesses Anakin in swim trunks attending the pool. Lord, he's never felt like such a lecher. He's not used to this. To looking. He's a monogamous sort of a man. Never cheated. Even when he and Satine started growing apart years ago he never wavered.

Obi-Wan starts working out more for no particular reason. He was always fit for his age but feels more self conscious than ever. He tries to tell himself he was just trying to stay healthy, but he knew he was lying to himself. He feels ridiculous. The hell was he doing? Anakin was just a nice man jokingly flirting with the elderly. It wasn't serious.

The center puts together an annual event for the residents. This year they decide the theme is “senior prom”. It's stupid. Quinlan talks him into RSVPing.

Anakin is invited by Maria, one of the ladies who is particularly forward in her intentions. Obi-Wan tells himself not to be jealous and fails spectacularly.

Throughout the evening Anakin dances with several ladies. Obi-Wan yearns from the sidelines. He tries to work up the courage to ask. He's not afraid of being rejected, he's just afraid Anakin will see he's being earnest. Did he even want to be taken seriously? Did he want to pursue something real?

Maria makes her way to Anakin again as I've Had The Time of My Life plays. She has no shame as she feels up Anakin's arms and strokes his chest. He takes it in stride and winks down at her. She laughs as they spin around the room.

Three songs later Obi-Wan contemplates slinking back to his room.

“Would you like to dance?”

Obi-Wan startles. He hadn't heard him approach.

“I…uh, y-yes…” he stammers.

He takes Anakin's hand feeling like a school boy. His heart flutters in his chest. He knows Anakin is just being nice, he's already danced with everyone else after all, but he can't help the blush on his cheeks.

Obi-Wan let's Anakin take the lead as he's unsure if he'll be able to keep his head on straight.

“Did you go to your school prom?” Anakin asks.

“Yes. With my ex-wife actually. You?”

Anakin smiles. “Coincidentally I went with my ex too.”

“I didn't know you were divorced.”

“Widowed.”

Obi-Wan winces. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. You didn't know. It was years ago anyway.”

They move slowly across the floor. Obi-Wan consciously keeps his hands where they are appropriate.

“So, any kids?”

“Twins. They're 13.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I don't envy you. I remember when my son was that age. He went through a whole goth phase.”

Anakin laughs. It's beautiful. “Aw man, you would have hated me then. I was really into the goth scene as a teen.”

They keep talking and dancing. At some point Maria kindly asks for her date back and they reluctantly part.

-

They come across each other while Obi-Wan is visiting the local park. He sees Anakin walking a dog as his kids eat ice cream. He doesn't want to intrude on what is clearly a family outing. But then Anakin spots him and waves him over.

Anakin introduces his children.

“You're that old guy dad talks about,” Leia says.

Anakin flushes.

“Did you fight in a war?” Luke asks. “Do you have any battle scars?”

After the initial awkwardness and round of interrogation, Anakin asks Obi-Wan if he wanted to join them for dinner. Unable to find a reason to say no he accepts.

For the record, Obi-Wan isn't an idiot. Normally when a young person sought out the company of a significantly older person, it was because they were a gold digger. But Obi-Wan hasn't much money to offer. He doesn't have much of anything really. He recalls Anakin mentioning that he never knew his father. With a heavy heart he realizes perhaps that was why Anakin wanted to be around him. He was an older father figure to him. Of course that must be it.

After dinner Anakin tucks his kids into bed (or rather just Luke as Leia has outgrown that). Obi-Wan helps clean up. Anakin says he should stay. It was late and he didn't want to send him home like this. Besides he had work in the morning so they could go in together.

Anakin lets him have the bed and sleeps on the couch despite his protests. The next morning Anakin sees the kids off to school. Obi-Wan makes everyone breakfast as a thank you. Anakin then drives them to the senior community. Obi-Wan gets out and goes to his apartment.

He is unfortunately seen getting out of Anakin's car. Rumors fly. His friends crowd him for details. Obi-Wan tries to tell them nothing happened but nobody believes him.

On his 56th birthday his pickleball team takes him out to celebrate. Little does he know that Qui-Gon has invited Anakin. He shows up with a present. Its pink shorts with the word pickleball on the booty. Obi-Wan's face feels warm.

Soon Anakin has to leave to go pick up his kids from school. Now gone, Quinlan takes Obi-Wan aside to ask him when he's gonna make a move on Anakin. Obi-Wan thinks he's being insane. Never? Anakin wasn't interested? Now Quinlan looks at him like he's the insane one.

“He literally gave you booty shorts! He wants to see your thighs!”

“That was a joke!”

Quinlan sighs. He asks the table if they thought Anakin was into Obi-Wan. They all say yes immediately.

“I thought you were already dating?” Bant asks.

The next day Obi-Wan sees Anakin doing maintenance in the lobby. He starts up a conversation. It was so easy to talk to him. Far too easy.

“By the way, thank you for your gift yesterday. Though I'm not sure they'll fit me, they may be a little small.” He jokes.

“I dunno, I think they'll fit just fine.” Anakin deliberately looks him up and down, lingering on his ass.

Obi-Wan gulps.

-

Later Obi-Wan is doing some swim aerobics in the pool with Yoda and Qui-Gon. Yoda mentions having had a heart attack two years ago.

“Seize the moment, one must. Lest life passes you by.” he looks straight at Obi-Wan as he says it.

Obi-Wan blinks. He frowns. He really didn't appreciate his friends barging into his love life. He tells them so.

“What love life? You're single.”

Obi-Wan has no retort.

Is it so wrong to not want to burden a strapping young man with someone like him? Someone who is wrinkled and old and has nothing to offer?

After swimming Obi-Wan grabs a towel and heads off back to his apartment. It's just a short walk over to the building. On the way he spots Anakin between the hedges fixing a sprinkler. He pauses. He looks down at his protruding belly. The worst he could do is utterly humiliate himself and be forced to avoid Anakin the rest of his life. Or until he moves.

“Hi.”

Anakin looks up. He smiles.

“Hey.”

His eyes linger on Obi-Wan’s chest. He swallows. It gives him the boost of confidence he needs.

“I was just, um, wondering if perhaps you wanted to…have dinner again? I can cook.”

Anakin hums, “I can't this week.”

Obi-Wan nearly deflates. He tells himself it's not the end of the world. It's fine. He starts to retreat, backing up the way he came.

“Sorry, of course. I didn't mean to impose. Anyway, I have to head back but it was nice to see you.”

Anakin catches his arm. “Woah, I didn't say I didn't want to, just that this week is no good.”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“But next week I'm open? I can pop by after work. That is if you're up for it still?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Yes I'd like that.”

Anakin's hand lingers on his arm. Neither wanting to pull away just yet. Obi-Wan clears his throat.

“What would you like? F-for dinner I mean.”

“I'm not picky. Surprise me.”

“Alright then.”

“Alright.”

From the sidelines, Qui-Gon, Mace, Yoda, Maria, and several others are watching from inside the pool center. Maria sighs forlornly. “Should have known he would steal him right out from under my nose.”

“I think it's sweet,” her friend Amanda says.

“Very sweet.” Yoda nods sagely.

[annoyinglyhardsong]

Codywan Week 2024: Day 8 Five Year Anniversary

Author Note: We have reached the end of Codywan Week this year! Thank you @codywanweek for putting on such an amazing event. This is the first time I've participated in something like this and it has been so amazing getting to see all of the amazing things you guys have created and sharing the things I've been able to create with all of you. Here's my day 8 prompt fill I just really wanted to write something cute and cozy of Obi-Wan and Cody just enjoying some peace together after the war in the fix-it au that these boys live in. (Sorry I love them both too much to let them suffer through all the angst that they go through.) As always likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Divider by @saradika-graphics, if you are looking for any cute graphics or dividers they have tons of amazing ones!

Tags/Warnings: SFW, cozy Codywan, sweet, kisses, a little bit of that's not how the Force works but go with it for me, slightly force sensitive Cody, soft Obi-Wan, anniversary celebrations, cozy morning meditations

The war had been over for three years, and after the chaos of cleanup and reparations and peace talks had finally been settled it had been three years of almost domestic tranquility for Obi-Wan. 

The Jedi had worked with the clones and the senators they knew would support them to get multiple bills passed that recognized them as sentient beings and therefore deserving of all of the same rights as every other human in the galaxy. Like pay, the ability to vote, to get married, the list was almost endless.

 The Jedi had also offered up the option to the clones to apply for transfers to continue their work alongside their Jedi in the temple. After all the Jedi that had been lost in the war they needed all of the help they could get, but more than that after years working alongside each other during the war many of the generals and their troopers were anxious to keep working together in any capacity and seeing as how integrated the two had already become it wasn’t much of a stretch to apply their current working arrangements to times of peace instead of war. 

Cody had almost immediately jumped on the opportunity to transfer to the temple and continue working with Obi-Wan. Personal relationship aside the two worked well together and couldn’t imagine not at this point. They were two halves of the same coin, what one didn’t think of the other probably did. 

Today was an average day in the temple. Nothing extremely pressing to deal with that day, just a few meetings. Obi-Wan had woken early that morning and was settled comfortably in front of the window in the main portion of his quarters, sinking deep into meditation. 

During the war the force had been so turbulent and he and some of the other masters had been able to feel it growing weaker and more distant. But now that the Sith Lord, Chancellor Palpatine, and his minions had been dealt with, the Force had come back stronger than ever. Things felt right in the galaxy again. 

Eventually he felt a familiar force signature flare nearby. Rousing from a deep reddish orange, to something brighter like the colors of the sunrise, bringing a small smile to his face. Cody was awake then. Obi-Wan reached out towards his partner through their budding force bond, he had always suspected Cody may be just a little Force sensitive and this was all but confirming it, and sent a small nudge of greeting towards the other before entwining his own force signature with his partners’. 

Cody’s force signature had always been strong. A light in the dark, and a shelter from storms when racing thoughts and self-doubt wanted to consume him. It was warm, inviting, and steady just like Cody. This early in the morning he couldn’t help but be drawn to that warmth, like a moth to the flame, and just observed Cody going about his morning routine. 

Using Cody’s force signature as an anchor, Obi-Wan was able to fully relax into his meditation letting the force swirl around him in a familiar manner, always keeping Cody’s wearabouts in the back of his mind as he padded between the bedroom and the main living quarters finishing the task of getting ready for the day. 

Eventually the warmth that was Cody settled next to him, placing a warm cup of tea near him, drawing him out of his meditation finally. 

“Good morning my dear,” he said, opening his eyes to give Cody a warm smile before picking up his tea and taking a careful sip, relishing in the warmth the beverage provided against the chill of the morning. 

“Good morning,” Cody replied softly, shuffling a little closer to Obi-Wan to gently lean his head on the other man’s shoulder, Obi-Wan bringing an arm up to wrap around Cody. A familiar embrace as they watched the sun crest over the horizon on Coruscant. Sunlight slowly reaching across the land to glint off of buildings and vehicles. 

They had spent many mornings like this, and had seen far more beautiful sunrises on planets far across the galaxy. But this one felt a little more special. Today marked 5 years since he and Cody had started dating. 5 years since Cody had officially asked him to be his cyare. And Obi-Wan had never been happier. 

Being with Cody was as effortless as breathing. That’s not to say that they didn’t disagree on occasion or butt heads over matters, but with some time to think and cool down they were usually able to resolve things quickly and come to some kind of agreement. But day to day life was seamless. They had gotten along well professionally and the transition to forming a relationship in their personal lives just made sense to them. He was the other half to Obi-Wan’s soul, and he would forever be grateful that they had met. “My dear, do you know what day it is?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, still watching the sunrise over Coruscant. 

Cody gave a thoughtful hum. “No?”

“Happy Anniversary love,” Obi-Wan murmured into Cody’s hair pressing a kiss into the curls. 

“Is it really? Already? It feels like we just celebrated our anniversary. Happy Anniversary!” Cody responded, panicking for a second before settling. 

“That it does, my love.” Obi-Wan replied with a smile and a small chuckle. Turning more serious he said, “Thank you for the most wonderful last 5 years. You have made my life truly magnificent, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of it with you.” He finished, cheek coming off of where it was resting on Cody’s head to meet his eyes. “I love you Cody, till the ends of the galaxy.”

“I love you too Obi, to the ends of the galaxy and beyond,” Cody responded, hand coming up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek before pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips.

[darlingdekarios]

then I look at you.

rating: e for everyone. length: 1,141 content: Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, ptsd, nightmares, angst

it's easier to chase away the nightmares in his mind when the sunrise is spent with you.

Day-to-day was survival, his mind too busy navigating how to stay alive and honor his duty while being the most sought-after prey in the galaxy. Even through the trepidation he preferred his time awake, for when sleep came to him, as did the nightmares. 

It was a routine now, waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat, his entire body on fire in panic. It had been years since he’d slept an entire night free of the seemingly mandatory pain of waking up gasping for breath, and tonight was no different. His mind was still running, the agonizing soundtrack to his suffering as loud as they’d been when he first heard them.

Three words, ever present, forever haunting his mind on a perpetual loop that offered no reprieve. 

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Each repetition of the phrase was louder in his mind, each accompanying visual of disdainful red and yellow eyes pulling him further beneath the surface. He could still taste the smoke from Mustafar, the air sitting heavy in his lungs, weighing them down, refusing him a decent breath. 

But today you were there – offering him the salvation he didn’t deserve.

“Take a deep breath,” you instructed in a practiced tone, a hand delicately sliding against his chest to give him more to anchor to. “A deep, steady breath.”

He tried. He always tried for you, even against his best judgment. He’d known you before – during the Clone Wars when he was a hero rather than a hollow shell. He finally tore his eyes open to meet yours, the morning just light enough to find comfort in the depths.

He’d never intended to allow you this close – he’d insisted after the reunion that you stay away for your own good. The people around him still seemed to display a penchant for not listening to him, especially you. The comfort of your company was irresistible, the familiarity blanketing him in something almost safe. 

The moment he realized he held you in his grasp now and your worry filled eyes brought him fully to his senses, a steady rhythm began to take control of his breath. His hands grasped at your waist as you began to set a steady pace of breath, encouraging him to replicate you until a semblance of normalcy had returned to him.

“There, Obi-Wan,” you whispered lightly as his body started to relax, his head dropping to rest his forehead against yours as his eyes squeezed shut again. His deepest breath yet covered your lips, causing them to curve upward slightly with relief. “I’m here. You’re with me.”

The sound of the name he so rarely heard now on your lips in the quiet morning, the gentle hues of twilight a stark contrast to the fiery visions that had filled his mind only moments before. With a deep exhale he opened his eyes only briefly to take in the beauty of your face, welcoming the familiarity into his mind eagerly. 

You allowed him his reticent moment, closing what little distance remained to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Such a simple act shattered his resolve, his arms coming to circle your waist and hold you closer as his eyes fluttered open again. 

“I’m sorry.”

You hated that he started his morning like this – with panic followed instantaneously by apologies he didn’t owe you, always with words so soft they were hardly there. Your hands moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs brushing over his twin sun freckled cheeks, committing all the new specks to memory. You rubbed the tip of your nose against his, soundlessly coaxing the remaining rigidity from his body.

“You’re not the only one in the galaxy that has nightmares, Obi-Wan,” you whispered, voice so naturally imbued with tenderness it was impossible not to relax beside you. “I’m only bothered that you deal with them alone while I’m not here.”

He wouldn’t let you be here all the time – he couldn’t allow you to spend the amount of time you both wanted together for fear of attracting too much attention. Even if he’d offered, you never would have stayed, a calling to do your part in the galaxy as a pilot still searing through your veins as hard as it had in the Clone Wars.

“They’re not your burden to carry.”

“They’re too heavy for you alone.”

He released a deep breath in concession, dipping his head forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips. His beard scratched against your skin, pulling a light smile from you that crinkled your nose. He’d never feel worthy of looking at someone so beautiful, and the easy argumentative streak you displayed was exactly enough to lighten his chest even if only for a moment. “You are impossible.”

“Can’t let you get lazy,” you cooed, sliding your hands to cup his jaw and run your nails into his beard. He released a deep sigh, goosebumps breaking out on his skin despite the warmth that surrounded the two of you. As he relaxed in the moment you softened your voice further. “Was it him again? Anakin?”

His brow pulled together, and you raised your head to press a kiss to the lines. When you pulled away from the lingering contact he met your gaze again, to be met with a depth of understanding and affection he’d not seen in years. It was never easy to hear that name, never easy to talk about the things he’d seen – but you gave him the most welcoming outlet. You never pushed, and never had the wrong thing to say.

“It’s always him,” he replied, leaning his forehead forward again to meet yours. His eyes squeezed shut again, filling his lungs with a deep breath before he shook his head barely, the undeniable defeat deeply ingrained his words. “I am destined to be haunted by my failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Obi-Wan,” you insisted, hands sliding to either side of his neck where you wrapped gentle circles with your fingertips. He could – and would – cling to moments like these with you. “Anakin made his choices. We are all responsible for our own path across the stars.”

You’d have made a great Jedi if you’d been born Force sensitive – wise, compassionate, gentle-hearted. But, then again – you’d also be dead.

“Thank you,” he relented, comforted for the moment that he had someone who could bring him a feeling of peace – even if it was only temporary. Without opening his eyes he leaned forward to press another gentle, appreciative kiss to your lips, quietly sealing away the conversation for the time being. 

It would undoubtedly rear its ugly head again, but for now, he would savor the gentle intimacy of your affection as the rising twin suns brought on a new day.

masterlist. star wars masterlist.

[carolina-star]

Hi and Welcome back to star wars modern au, even though we're in the 90s.

Shmi and Anakin are moving to their first rent apartment in USA, with a little bit of help. (In this building is where the Fett live, the most part of them). What's else... Oh, yes! Obi-Wan is suffering because is hot and he's Scottish so... Yes, hot summers are hard for him.

So for all the people who ask for more things about Obi-Wan and little Anakin, this is for you. And for all the people who wants to see more about Obi-Wan and Cody stay tuned, because Cody is coming.

I'll posting this little comic slowly, but I'll post it.

Page 1---> Page 2

Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - Part5 - Extra

Obi-wan and Anakin meet

Star Wars Modern AU Masterlist

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

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[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 29: singing

tw: graphic descriptions of pain

Someone is singing.

Through the heavy fog of agony, Obi-Wan vaguely processes his head pillowed in a lap, a hand in his hair, soothing vibrations against his back. The voice drifting from somewhere above him is soft, swelling in an old Nabooian lullaby.

It's Padmé singing; it could never be anyone else.

He doesn't know how he knows that with such conviction; he's never heard her sing before. He can't remember where he is or why he'd possibly be in her company, but it's nice. Comforting.

With effort, Obi-Wan cracks an eye. Rex is slumped on the opposite side of the fire, knees drawn to his chest, head buried between them. Distant, as always. If Obi-Wan could make his mouth work beyond the cotton stuffed in it, he'd ask him why he never allows himself to get any closer.

But there's blood on his gloves and his armor and matted in his hair, his arms, wrapped around his knees, are trembling, and Obi-Wan thinks he understands, at least this time.

His hands throb in time with his slowed heartbeat, every pulse shooting lightning through his nerves. The pain saps his energy, makes his eyelids droop again.

Quietly, so quietly Obi-Wan almost misses it, a second voice joins the melody. It's lilting and slightly off-key, rough from the stinging cold, but Obi-Wan is sure he’s never heard anything so beautiful in his life.

The hand stroking his hair freezes, and Padmé's voice falters in surprise. Rex’s voice peeters out a second later.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

Padmé's fingers dig deeper into Obi-Wan’s hair, dragging along his scalp. “No, don’t be. You just surprised me, is all.”

The two of them fall into a weighted, anxious, awful silence. Obi-Wan’s hands ache, bone-deep and gutting, and for a moment, he fears they’re going to abandon him to the agony of suffering in silence.

Then, the song begins again, Padmé's voice swelling, filling the cave with its brilliance. Rex’s harmony is smaller, more self-contained, but there’s a confidence lurking underneath that wasn’t there before, the kind that comes from the unspoken agreement to just be. Not be perfect or even particularly good, just to exist in the company of each other.

Their voices sound like they were made just for this purpose; to exist together.

Obi-Wan nestles deeper into Padmé's embrace, lets himself get lost in the harmony. It doesn’t quite take the pain away—nothing can, really—but it’s a welcome comfort, all the same.

[sunsetcougar]

So! I had an idea!

A Star Wars (specifically Clone Wars) and Hazbin Hotel crossover. I think it would be fairly easy to combine the two universes, and I’ve been thinking about it.

So the obvious idea is to make Heaven and Hell two different planets, but I like the idea of them being the same planet. Kinda like how LoZ:TotK’s map is laid out, this planet would be covered in towering mountains that stretch up into the clouds, with floating islands scattered about. Those islands and mountain tops are Heaven, a place filled with bird like inhabitants of all sorts. From the ancient, near unknown Elders, to the grab bag of traits that make up with winners, to the fierce exorcists, to the regal seraphim.

Hell is entirely subterranean, filling caverns and tunnels that extend miles and miles under the planet’s surface. It has a much more diverse ecosystem than Heaven, hosting deserts and lava fields and rainforests and even an ocean. Hell’s inhabitants are even more varied than Heaven’s, ranging from the canid hellhounds, to the bird like goetia, to the mishmash that form the sinners, to the fallen angel himself, Lucifer.

The middle ground, the valleys and mountain foothills and rare fields is home to mostly Earth like inhabitants, as diverse as Heaven and Hell’s populations but not as attuned to the nature of their planet. In fact many of these middle ground residents aren’t even fully aware of Heaven and Hell.

Here’s how I think the story would go.

An explorer or a trader, I’m not sure, ends up going beyond the outer rim, eventually running across this so far unnamed planet. They end up landing in Heaven and interacting a bit with the angels, though they don’t speak each other’s languages. This person then reports back to the senate that they’ve discovered a new planet, one populated by peaceful, intelligent bird-like beings.

So the senate decides to send a group to go meet these newly known beings, hoping to befriend them and gain a new ally. Said group consists of Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, their respective clones, and two senators. Padmé and Bail (primarily because those are two of the only ones who have actual personalities.)

Said group travels out to the planet, using a few files sent over to build a rough translator for their languages. Upon landing they meet the welcoming party outside the gates to the main city, which consists of Sera, Emily, St. Peter, Adam, Lute, and a few other exorcists.

Even before landing the Jedi could feel how strongly the force flowed through this planet. The first impression is the light side, good and kinda and peaceful, but under it there’s a much darker side, full of hate and pain and suffering. It makes them a tad uneasy.

Immediately upon meeting them know that Sera is old and immensely powerful, and while Emily isn’t quite to the level of her sister, she’s certainly got the potential to reach it one day. They hold such immense power, but the seraphim seem peaceful and welcoming so there’s probably not anything to worry about…

That’s just like the base idea and beginning of it, I’m swirling more world building stuff around in my head.

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

A surprise full of Love

A surprise full of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Kennyo x Juliet

Part of : Ikemen Advent hosted by me and  @candied-boys

Prompt : December 24 - Candles 

Tag: Established relationship Fluff

Word Count : 800

Author’s Note:

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

Juliet had seen many things change since she became Abbes, many habits she deemed impossible to keep were unexpectedly adopted by his lover, none other than the Abbot of the temple they were living in, but of all them the least thing she expected when Kennyo told her he had a surprise was to find her western style tea room decorated like a page straight out from a romance novel.

Roses candles released their sweet scent in the air, a hand embroidered persian carpet stretched at the center of the room  while red japanese lanterns casted their warm light all around the rich emerald velvet of the tapestry from above the roof where they were hanged.

“Welcome my love.”

Kennyo's husky low voice never failed to be attractive, even more when he added that seductive note she loved so much, enough to make her heart race in her chest jumping madly when he took her hand in his, leaving a chivalrous kiss on its back.

Juliet would have never admitted it but the most bedazzling sight in all the splendour of the room, to her, it was him, dressed in its finest robes, velvet brocade draping from his broad shoulder in an elegant golden cape in perfect harmony with the deep emerald of its kimono brightened by the golden embroidery on his light green obi.

“Is it of your liking ?”

Insecurity lacing in his voice as he spoke squeezing her hand imperceivable tighter, his silver eyes dripping with a reverent devotion moving her to her core, a smile curled on Juliet’s lips as she gazed at him, waiting with bated breath for her answer as she was his Queen, and she knew that for him it was exactly what she was and always would have been, treated with reverence and loved with passion as only he could.

“Oh Kennyo.”

Juliet had no words to thank Kennyo for all that he had done, a look at his pleading eyes so warm and full of affection though was enough to disentangle her tongue.

“I love it … so much.”

“I am elated to hear that.”

A gentle smile curled Kennyo’s lips, only to broaden when Juliet threw her arms around his neck smacking her lips on his cheeks, pulling away merely the time to face him, reading in his silver eyes all the love overflowing from heart as he smiled tenderly at her, reverently he brushed a kiss on her forehead, a gesture she didn't shied away to reciprocate melting her lips on his own, coaxing him in a passionate kiss, moaning when he tightened his grip on her hips robbing a groan from him as he fingers dived in his unruly raven curls to welcome his tongue as it entwined with her own.

Reluctantly she pulled away only to have him lean his forehead to hers, panting in the little space between their lips before they melted together once more, only when breathless he broke the kiss cradling her head with his big hand as she leaned it on his broad shoulder.

“Kennyo.”  

“Yes, July.”

“Why did you do this all for me ?”

“You see … I noticed you were working hard these days and I was pretty busy with running the temple … I would hate the thought of you feeling lonely because of me and so I prepared it for you.”

“It is such a sweet thought thank you … but I assure you something I didn't’ feel neglected but  I am really happy you went out of your way to find some time to spend with me I really am.”

“I would hate to make you suffer because of my work I really do.”

“I know.”

“In all truth I wanted to do it for another reason.” 

“What is it?”

“I wanted to thank you for choosing me.”

“Oh Kennyo.”

Juliet was moved by his words, more than she could admit, and so unable to stand still she wrapped her arms around Kennyo’s back pulling him in an hug he did not shied away to reciprocate, his calloused hand went to cup her face grazing gently his rough thumb on the smooth skin her cheek as he looked into her chartreuse eyes, feeling his heart set a race of its own in his chest at the sight of her smile so bright and warmth to outdid the sun itself.

“I love you so much Juliet to madness.”

“I love you too, Kennyo so very much.”

Kennyo leaned to place a tender kiss on Juliet’s lips before taking her in his arms, holding her close as she adjusted on the sofa next to him, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her purring in delight at the gentle kiss he left on her raven curls hair making her giggle as they looked at one another with fond smiles.

[anarchistauthor]

The Last Jedi, the Last Good Star Wars Movie

I'm gonna go ahead and preface this by saying, I have no idea how this will play with my social circle here on Tumblr. I know how my Twitter and Bluesky friends feel about SW, but not y'all. I don't think I've ever even seen a post about it here, and I don't care to go look. Bottom line, I have too many opinions and not enough people who agree with me, so now you have to suffer through this essay. You're welcome.

I was a fan of SW at least as early as I have memories. I'm 29 years old, which means I grew up firmly in the prequel era, and watched them young enough that I didn't even realize older people hated them. Obi-wan was my hero, not my mentor, I never really identified with Anakin and always liked Obi the most. But, and this is important, I loved Star Wars and thought all of it was good. I read one EU book set between episodes 1 and 2, I watched as much of the original Clone Wars series as I could, and I played lightsabers during recess in school. I am at least as nostalgic as every gen xer who laments a bygone era when SW was good because they don't understand that they just liked things better as a kid. But, the difference is, that kind of person tends to despise everything about the sequel trilogy, in my experience. Not so for me.

The Force Awakens was a pretty good movie in my eyes, when I first saw it. I did notice the deja vu, I had very little actual interest in Rey as a character, but just having a female force user at the forefront was huge to me, and it was certainly, at least, a solid foundation for the next two movies. My biggest TFA hot take is that Kylo Ren was the perfect antagonist for this movie, as basically a spoiled shithead who is a fanboy of his grandpa and wants so, so badly to be cool like him. I was also the sort of person who got really invested in the ~mystery~ of Rey's origin, and the speculation of her parentage.

Enter TLJ. My first emotion, at several points during this movie, was dismay. I couldn't believe they just made Rey some random person, after setting up that her background was vague and mysterious! I couldn't believe that Luke never fought anybody and then he died! But, very quickly after, I had time to process my emotions, and I realized that this movie was something special. It manages to "yes, and" TFA while also roasting me for investing so much passion into the questions it rose. "You thought she would somehow be Obi-wan's daughter? Are you serious?" And when you get angry at that, you're met with the obvious question, "Why should it matter?" It shouldn't. We want to see the characters we love come back, but when it comes to this girl, this hero, why should she have to be related to some old dead guy in order to be special? The Force is everywhere, it lives in all of us. That is the central point of TLJ. And, arguably on purpose, this film pissed off Star Wars fans more than anything ever could.

TLJ isn't just a movie that taunts the audience for speculating based on its predecessor, it taunts the audience for being overly invested in the entire franchise. TLJ looks at its series, it looks at the people who watch it, and it demands that you question your relationship with the material. It calls you a fool for assuming that an emotionally-stunted young adult like Luke would become a well-rounded mentor, for assuming that he was incapable of being tempted by darkness, for worshipping him as a pure hero. Because, who is Luke? He was a kid who was bored with simple life, got pulled away into a galactic conflict, and pretty much stumbled his way through saving the world. Even at the final moment, he was very close to murdering his father out of rage. Do you think that's just gonna go away after Palpatine died? Just because Luke put his sword away? No. It also mocks you for assuming Snoke is going to be important just because he's a large man in a fancy chair. He's a parallel to the Emperor, so you assume he'll be the same, and the movie roasts you for it by killing him off unceremoniously. And the Poe plot? That is nothing but one giant own on everyone who loved Poe assuming that the cool guy hotshot was the most important and competent person in the fleet.

The intent of all this playful mockery, I believe, was to get viewers to question how they idealize the past of the franchise. That's what it did for me. But, mediocre white dudes don't like being mocked, as we all know. They take it VERY personally, and they blew up the whole thing. They harassed creatives involved, sent death threats to poor Kelly Marie, and all in all went berserk about this movie for children about space wizards. How dare it move on?! How dare it not just be about my nostalgia?! Not just white, not just men, but I don't feel any need to deny that that's the primary demographic. There was already some backlash to TFA, but TLJ pulled no punches, and the most perpetually-offended fandom in the world lived up to its name. It's really that simple. And as a result, the Disney Overlords scrambled to make them calm down. Enter...Rise of Skywalker.

I. Fucking. HATE this movie. Apart from the fact that it tries to undo everything I loved about TLJ, it's poorly made in more conventional ways. Rushed pace, aimless writing, having no idea what to do with the characters, (not to mention giving the black protagonist a black girlfriend who has all the same backstory and traits as him, lest anyone ship him with Poe) it is the epitome of a movie that only exists for nostalgia, but it can't even do that well. If there's one lesson I've learned from the sequel trilogy, it's that JJ Abrams is not only a trashfire of a director, but he is utterly incapable of reacting to what happened in the previous movie, because he spent so much runtime just calling Rian Johnson a liar! "Rey's not no one, instead she has the most asinine backstory in the history of the franchise." To me, it reeks of a man who despised the way Rian responded to him, and is just desperate to overrule it. As a writer myself, I can't even imagine doing something like that instead of doing my best to work with what came before. The definition of hack behavior.

TLJ was a movie that tried to move Star Wars into the future, to divorce it from idolatry of the past, but ROS is a movie designed with intent to reel it back in, to say, "Hold on, art and creativity are great and all, but Disney gotta make them nostalgia bucks." A return to hero worship, to centering the leads of decades ago, to feeding the lore rather than telling a story. And the fact that it followed a film that told the story it wanted to tell and didn't give a shit how you felt about it, it's just insulting.

This is going to sound like cheesy artist babble, but to me, the art of creation is sacred, in a way. Not literally holy, but just beautiful and meaningful. Even if what comes out is bad, it's worth doing if done with sincerity. That's how I see TLJ. But given the way both fans and the rights holders reacted to it, I'm depressed and pessimistic regarding the future of the franchise. The Phantom Menace was the first movie I loved, and I still like it today. I'm sure I'll love TLJ forty years from now, and I'll probably continue to watch new SW movies when they come out. I don't know if I'll ever love a movie in the franchise again, but I can have hope. This is a movie that proved Star Wars was capable of being better, and that doesn't change just because neckbeards hate it more than they've ever hated anything. This is still going to be the franchise that has TLJ in it, and the haters can't take that from me.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

THE RED MILL

request- so hear me out...........Moulin Rouge but Obi-Wan.

Done my best with this one. I hope.you all like it. Comments welcome.

Word count - 11,741 its a long one. One part only full story

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a broken man. He sits alone against the wall of a boarding house, furniture and clothing strewn around him. A bottle of half drunk Tatooine wine in his hand. Looking across the room he stands slowly, walking, though hardly lifting his feet to the data pad. He sits at the table and lifts it.

As he slowly types the words, and tries to fight back the inevitable tears.

THE GREATEST THING

YOU’LL EVER LEARN

IS JUST TO LOVE

AND BE LOVED

IN RETURN

The Red Mill.

A nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello. Ruled over by Zidler the Hutt, a kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved.

Y/n.

A courtesan, she sold her love to men.

They called her the sparkling diamond and she was the star of the Moulin Rouge.

The woman I loved is…

The Jedi looks out his window at the Red Mill across the street, the lights that once shone brightly in reds, blues and yellows stood dull and broken.

…dead.

A tear falls from his eye, dropping onto the datapad.

I knew nothing of Zidler the Hutt, Red Mill or y/n. The galaxy had been swept up in the destruction of the Jedi and the rise of the Emperor. I had travelled to Tatooine to hide from it all. After the loss of my Padawan Anakin Skywalker I wanted to disappear. On a hill near Moss Eisley was a small town called Montmartre. There I found cheap lodgings in a building built of the same sand and mud as all the other buildings. Montmartre was not as I had thought it, not a place of debauchery and sin but a town of truth, beauty, freedom and love. The only problem was, I knew nothing of love. There was once a woman, Satine but she is gone now.

Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious Twileak fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed in a strange costume.

"How do you do? My name is Henri-Marie-Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa." The unhooded Jawa spoke.

"What?" Obi-Wan stumbles back from the pair.

Henri attempts to pull the Twileak from the rope holding him between the two rooms.

"I’m terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play."

"What?" Obi-Wan isn't sure if he should be listening to any of this.

"A play! Something very modern called Spectacular Spectacular and it’s set in Naboo." Henri explained, "Unfortunately, the unconscious Twileak suffered from a sickness called Narcolepsy." He sat down at the small table, while Obi-Wan examines the Twileak now lying on his bed.

"Perfectly fine one moment, then suddenly unconscious the next." Henri laughs. The faces of THE DOCTOR, AUDREY, and SATIE appear through the hole from which the Argentinean came. Henri and Obi-Wan look up at them.

"How is he?" The bald man asked.

"How wonderful, now the Narcoleptic Twileak is unconscious, and therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow." Audrey grumbled, her sharply cut dark hair dangling down.

"Right, Henri, I still have to finish the music." Satie nervously shuffled.

"We’ll just find someone to read the part." Henri grinned, turning his head toward Obi-Wan.

Before I knew it, I was upstairs standing in for the unconscious Twileak. There was so much noise, the frankly atrocious lyrics that had been written for nonsensical music. My brain was still too tired to function and so I sat down on their makeshift set and waited for someone to do something. That was when I recalled the poetry of Master Ruhan. I read it all in the archives and so to halt their squabbling I sang out.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music!"

That was it! They wanted me. Audrey was so enthusiastic and left.

The Twileak woke and announced it was time to drink and so I had my first taste of Absentlie, a green drink that forced out your worries and let's in the green fairy.

As they drank, the companions dragged Obi-Wan across the street to the Red Mill, where they watched the women dancing. Like confetti falling from a great height they moved around the dance floor in brightly coloured dresses. Music, played by a band in the small stage; blared through speakers all around the room.

Zidler threw up his arms and called out to the room. Everyone fell quiet as the lights dimmed and silver paper floated down from the ceiling. Upon a wooden swing you descend, a glittering outfit, your voice echoes through the hall. Obi-Wan looks around, every set of eyes in the building were zeroed in on you, all men and women and droids listened intently to your words.

"I have arranged a private reading with Y/n after her number." It would be his job to convince you that his writing would put the Red Mill amongst the greatest theatres in the galaxy.

Your body moves as if it is controlled by the music and the words you sing. Henri speaks to Obi-Wan, though he does not hear what is said. You slipped behind a circle of dancers.

When you reappeared you had the dancing men spin you on a chair across the room until they deposited you in front of Obi-Wan.

"I believe you were expecting me." You breathe out so only the Jedi could hear you. He gulps, but does not move.

"I'm afraid it's ladies choice!" You call out to the crowd. The group Obi-Wan had entered with, push him toward you and you lead him down to the dance floor. All around the dancers and the patrons danced in what felt to Obi-Wan to be a practised dance. You help him to follow the movements. There is something about the way your skin feels running over his own that sends shivers of warmth through the Jedi. A sensation he had not felt for some time.

Unknown to Obi-Wan, another man watched your every move. Duke Valru, a Senator in the new Empire, waited for his moment. Promise from the Hutts that he would have your full attention that evening. He watched as you danced, imagining your hands running over his body. A twinge of jealousy, already turning his gut. You were his, he would pay for you, your attention would be all his.

As you raise once more on the swing you sing out. The words get caught in your throat and your chest tightens. Gasping for breath you feel your mind go blank and you fall unconscious from the swing. Before you hit the ground a large man catches you in his arms and swiftly carries you out of the dancehall. Obi-Wan watches with a lump in his throat. The pull of his training knowing he could have reached you first, but he could not risk being seen.

Zidler doesn't allow it to fester, quickly making it part of the show and switching the dance to distract the patrons.

************************

Dressed in a long red dress you looked into a mirror, silently telling yourself that this was for your career. If you could convince the Duke to invest in Henri's new play you could showcase your talents. Perhaps even catch the eye of directors from around the galaxy and finally leave the Red Mill. Zidler had bought you from your father when you were a child. You were trained everyday in the art of deceiving men into thinking you loved them, bending them to your will. You were a master at it, the best amongst the workers at the Red Mill. However, you had dreams, dreams of leaving this place and flying far away one day.

Zidler had given you the best room in the building, an old decommissioned AT-AT that had been decorated with heavy red curtains, blankets, plush curtains and carpets. The cockpit had been removed with a bed in its place, a staircase leading up to a pagoda on the top had little, yellow lights adorning the bannisters.

Standing outside the door you take a moment to look into a mirror. Your mind changing. No this outfit was not good enough, it would not entice the Duke. Luckily you had placed a small wardrobe of clothes in the corridor. Stripping down to your ornate corset and underwear you slip a lace robe over your arms and let down your hair.

Inside the man you believe to be the Duke stands, his back to you, looking out of the cut out section that looks over the courtyard.

"This is a wonderful place for a poetry reading. Don’t you think? Hm?

Poetic…enough…for you?" You ask in the most sultry voice you can muster. Obi-Wan turns, his blue eyes meeting yours and for a moment you both forget why had come to the room.

"Yes." He finds his voice first. You move across the room to the table and start to pull out a bottle of alcohol.

"A little supper?" You suggest.

Obi-Wan shifts awkwardly "I’d rather just, um…get it over and done with."

Those words stung you, no one had ever been in such a bored rush.

"Oh…" you fake a smile, "Very well. Then why don’t you…come down here." You say laying back on the bed, exposing your leg, "And let’s get it over and done with."

Obi-Wan looks around the room, trying to look at anything but you.

"I…prefer to do it standing." He says still talking about the poetry Henri had told.him to perform. Surprised you move to stand as well, but he puts his hands out toward you.

"You don’t have to stand, I mean. It’s sometimes that…It’s quite long and I’d like you to be comfortable. It’s quite modern, what I do, and it may feel a little strange at first, but I think, if you’re open, then, then you might enjoy it." He fumbles out the words as he paces around the room. You raise your eyebrows whilst he talks, convinced you would be the one learning something new.

"I’m sure I will." You reply.

"Excuse me." Obi-Wan turns around, "The… The sky…is…The sky…the blue...birds…Come on…come on…" Obi-Wan tried to remember the words to Master Ruhan's poems. Gentle words about the beauty of the galaxy and the love between men and women that just would not stay in his mind. Each time he looked back at you, he lost all focus. Your body lying there before him, making his mouth run dry.

:Why am I so shaky?' He thinks to himself. Of course he knew what this woman was, he was a Jedi but he was not so innocent to not understand your allure.

You slide to the edge of the bed, "Is everything all right?"

"Uh…I-I…I’m a little nervous. It’s just, sometimes, it takes a while for…um you know, inspiration to come…" he lies to you through a drying throat.

You stand and walk over to him.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes… Let mummy help, hm?" You say grabbing his crotch. Obi-Wan gasps at the touch.

"Does that inspire you?" You whisper and push him back onto the bed, "Let’s make love."

"Make love!?" Obi-Wan asks in confusion.

You straddle his hips, running your hands over his chest and pushing his clothing back.

"You want to, don’t you?"

"Well, I…I came to—" he tries to hold on to your arms and stop you.

Your fingers cover his mouth as you begin unbuttoning his shirt.

"No, tell the truth. You feel the poetry!" You grind down on him.

"What?" Obi-Wan pushes the word out, trying to keep his mind focused. Though it becomes increasingly difficult. You make light work of unbuttoning his breaches. Obi-Wan's mind slips and allows himself to feel everything that is happening. Sure he had a mandate to protect the boy, but that could wait…. couldn't it? The Jedi order is gone, he could allow himself this couldn't he?

"Oh, yes, I need your poetry now!" You cry out, still above him.

"All right!!" Obi-Wan pushes you back as gently as he can and runs to the other end of the room. He forces himself to remember Ruhan's poem.

"It’s a little bit funny this...feeling inside

I’m not one of those…who can…who can easily hide." He looks to you, eyes full.of a fear you couldn't understand.

"Is this…is this okay? Is this what you want?" He asks.

"Ohhh, poetry. Yes, yes, yes, this is what I want, naughty words!" You say pushing yourself down on the bed.

"I-I don’t…" Obi-Wan continues as you roll around amongst the sheets. "I don’t have much money but…but boy if I did I’d buy a big house where we, where we both could live. So…if I were a sculptor"

You roll onto the floor and crawl a bit closer to him, listening to every word.

"But, then again, no. Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show. I…I know it’s not much…But it’s the best I can do." He isn't sure where this comes from, a memory of a recording he had once found, the poems of Ruhan sung into the sweetest melodies in the Opera houses of the Old Republic. He let the music burst through him and sang.

"MY GIFT IS MY SONG"

You stop and gaze at him, stunned. You are frozen in place unable to do anything but listen to his sweet voice.

"AND THIS ONE’S FOR YOU

AND YOU CAN TELL EVERYBODY

THAT THIS IS YOUR SONG

IT MAY BE QUITE SIMPLE, BUT

NOW THAT IT’S DONE

HOPE YOU DON’T MIND

I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND

THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS

HOW WONDERFUL LIFE IS

NOW YOU’RE IN THE WORLD"

He turns back to the cut out and you find yourself falling to a place you couldn't climb out of. A place you were not allowed to go.

"I SAT ON THE ROOF

AND I KICKED OFF THE MOSS"

You stand and take a hesitant step closer to him.

"WELL, SOME OF THESE VERSES, WELL THEY

THEY GOT ME QUITE CROSSED"

He turns to you as you step up to each other.

"BUT THE SUN’S BEEN KIND

WHILE I WROTE THIS SONG

IT’S FOR PEOPLE LIKE YOU, THAT

KEEP IT TURNED ON

SO EXCUSE ME FORGETTING

BUT THESE THINGS I DO

YOU SEE, I’VE FORGOTTEN

IF THEY’RE GREEN OR THEY’RE BLUE

ANYWAY, THE THING IS

WHAT I REALLY MEAN"

He takes your hand in his.

"YOURS ARE THE SWEETEST EYES

I’VE EVER SEEN"

You dance together as if the world outside does not exist. All there is is you, him and the love that was building between you.

"AND YOU CAN TELL EVERYBODY

THIS IS YOUR SONG

IT MAY BE QUITE SIMPLE BUT

NOW THAT IT’S DONE

I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND

I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND

THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS

HOW WONDERFUL LIFE IS

NOW YOU’RE IN THE WORLD"

He spins you both round, lowering you in his arms. Obi-Wan would never understand how or why he had so easily given in to you, into the feeling that warmed his chest, but he did, wholey giving in to you and pressed his lips.to yours.

"Oh…I can’t believe it. I’m in love. I’m in love with a young, handsome, talented Duke.

"Duke?" He asks,

You grin against his lips and speak again, "Mm, not that the title’s important, of course."

"I’m not a Duke, I'm a je-, a writer."

"A writer?" You push at his chest, forcing him to stand up. "No." You hold your hand to your head.

"Henri said-"

"Henri? Oh no. No, you're not another of oh-so-talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished prodigies?" You can feel your world beginning to crumble.

"Well, you might say that." Obi-Wan shrugs.

You're about to ask about the Duke when you hear Zidler outside your door. His dull tone spitting out Huttese unmistakable.

"The Duke!" You pant, "hide!" Obi-Wan dashes behind a pillar, pulling a curtain around himself just as the door opens. Zidler slithers into the room, the Duke beside him.

"My Dear! Are you decent for the Duke? Where were you?" He asks in the common tongue.

"I, uh…I…was…waiting!" You say, through heavy breaths.

"My dearest Duke, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle y/n." it was not often your employer acted so slimy. Cosying up to his patrons.

Mustering all the training you had received you locked your eyes with the Duke.

"My Lord, how wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit." You step up to him, running your hand up his arm.

"The pleasure, I fear, will be entirely mine, my dear." The Duke replies, eyes on your hand.

Obi-Wan peeks out from the curtain and catches your eyes.

"I’ll leave you two squirrels to get better acquainted" Zidler gives you a pointed glare before leaving the AT-AT.

The Duke kisses your hand. "After tonight’s petty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of refreshment, my dear."

He pours you both a drink from the table, narrowly missing Obi-Wan slipping back behind the curtain. A lump begins to form in your throat as you watch them. Searching your mind you recall the reason for Duke's visit, to invest.

"It’s…it’s a little bit funny." You whisper, catching the Duke's full attention he turns completely round to you. Over his shoulder you see Obi-Wan look out at you.

"This feeling inside." Working out what you're doing he begins to mouth the words to you.

"I’m not one of those who can easily hide!" You repeat. "I don’t have much money but if I did Oh, I’d buy a big house where we both could live I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind" you wrap your hands around the Duke's shoulders, dipping your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is now you're in the world." Your eyes flicker over his shoulder to meet Obi-Wan's as you speak the last few words.

The Duke takes in a staggered breath.

"That’s very beautiful." He whispers.

"It’s from Spectacular Spectacular. Suddenly, with you here, I finally understood the true meaning of those words. How wonderful life is now you’re in the world." You are using everything in your arsenal to keep his attention on you as Obi-Wan creeps to the door.

"What meaning is that, my dear?" Your face is close enough that he could kiss you if only your arms were not so stiff.

Obi-Wan sees the Duke's body guard standing outside the door and quickly slams the door shut. It’s loud, too loud and the Duke begins to turn back. You throw yourself on the bed and pretend to sob.

"Duke! Don’t you toy with my emotions! You…you must know the effect you have on women?" You grab the Duke and pull him down on top of you. "Let’s make love! You want to make love, don’t you!?"

The kiss you give him barely touches his lips as you wave to Obi-Wan to go the other way.

He runs there, but stops before he can hide

The Duke begins to unbutton his white shirt above you, unaware of the other man in the room. Obi-Wan stops in his tracks, unsure of what it is he is feeling. A sadness, a pull, an anger. You see him and feel the same way.

"Yes, you’re right, we should wait until opening night." You push the Duke off and Obi-Wan slips into the stairs outside.

"Wait? What?" The Duke stumbles back from the bed. You blink at him, pressing a hand to his chest.

"There’s a power in you that scares me. If I give myself to you now, I could not focus on the play. We should wait until opening night."

You hoped it was enough. The Duke narrowed his eyes on you, a smile slowly forming on his mouth.

"Perhaps you are right. We should have no distractions."

Thankful you pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips.

"I shall dream of you." You whisper into his ear before he leaves.

Obi-Wan steps out from his hiding place and you storm toward him, a dizziness forming in your mind.

"Do you have any idea, what would have happened if you were found-" you couldn't finish your sentence as the world.goes black and you fall into Obi-Wan's arms.

*******************

"Y/n?" Obi-Wan wasn't sure what to do, your body was limp.in his arms. He could feel your life force still beating inside you. Looking around himself he saw the bed close to him. Hiking you higher he drags you onto the bed, tripping on one of the blankets and falling on top of you. A himph leaves his throat as he holds his weight off of you. It doesn't occur to him that his body is just too close to yours. Little did he know this whole time He ri, Satie and the others had been watching from top of the AT-AT. Across the courtyard Zidler the Hutt looked through his telescope. Behind him the door reopens and the Duke steps in.

"I forgot my ha- Foul play?" The Duke narrows his eyes on Obi-Wan. The Jedi leaps backward off the bed.

"She…I…" he gestures between himself and you. Your eyes flicker open and you draw in a deep breath quickly assessing the room.

"Oh, Duke! I'm glad you could make it back. Yes, let me introduce you. The writer." You push yourself up off the bed, stumbling slightly in your heels.

"The writer?" The Duke sceptically asks.

"Yes. Oh yes, we were, we were rehearsing." You push Obi-Wan aside as you step closer to the Duke.

"You expect me to believe that, scantily clad, in the arms of another man, in the middle of the night, inside an Elephant, you were rehearsing?" He spat out the words, gripping your wrist. At that exact moment Henri burst into the room.

"How’s the rehearsal going!? Shall we take it from the top, then, eh y/n?" He is followed by the others. Satie Heads straight to the piano.

"I hope the piano’s in tune" he called out.

"Sorry that we are late." The Twileak fluttered his arms around.

"Can I offer you a drink?" The hairiest of the group holds a bottle out to the Duke as he sneered at the men. With a hand on his chest you guide the Duke's attention back to you. A sweet smile on your lips.

"When I spoke those words to you before, you, you filled me with such inspiration. Yes, I realised how much work we had to do before tomorrow. So I called everyone together for an emergency rehearsal."

The Duke opens his mouth to speak.

"My dear Duke, I’m most terribly sorry!" Zidler wiggled.his large body into the room.

"Zidler! You made it! It’s all right, the Duke knows all about the emergency rehearsal." You give him a pointed look that your employer understands immediately.

"Yes, well, I’m sure Audrey will be only too delighted—"

" The cat’s out of the bag." You slid into the Duke's side pulling him closer to you. "Yes, the Duke’s already a big fan of our new writer’s work. That’s why he’s so keen to invest." You clench your teeth as you look into his eyes.

"Invest?" He speaks to you in Huttese the looks to the Duke "Invest! Oh, yes, well, invest! You can hardly blame me for trying to hide our-"

"Ben." Obi-Wan lied.

"…Ben away!" Zidler waved his hands once again. The Duke curls his top lip back.

"I’m way ahead of you, Zidler." He pushes you away slightly taking a step toward the Hutt.

"My dear Duke…why don’t you and I go to my office to produce the paperwork?" Zidler tried to distract him. You turn nervously back to the other men, your eyes meeting Obi-Wan's. Something about him calms you; like he was reaching out through the space between you. There were stories of the Jedi who could do that, though you had never met one.

"What’s the story?" The Duke's voice catches your attention, "if I’m to invest, I’ll need to know the story."

Zidler turns his attention to Henri, silently begging him to answer.

"Well, well, the stories, the stories about, Well, it’s, it’s about, um" the Jawa looks to Obi-Wan

"It’s about love" he says the words as if it was obvious.

"Love?" The idea seemed disgusting to the Duke.

Obi-Wan takes a breath, "It’s about love overcoming all obstacles. It's set on Naboo and there’s a Courtesan…the most beautiful courtesan in all the world but her kingdom’s invaded by an evil Senator. Now, in order to save her kingdom, She has to seduce the Evil Senator but, on the night of the seduction, she mistakes a Penniless P--…Penn…Penniless…Penniless Kloo Horn

Player for the Evil Senator, and she falls in love with him!" Obi-Wan recalled the story from a fairytale of his childhood. He turned to you, and as if to clarify he says, "He wasn’t trying to trick her or anything but he was dressed as a richer man because he’s appearing in a play."

Everyone is quiet listening to him tell the story.

"Well, the Penniless Kloo Player and the Courtesan, they have to hide their love from the Senator."

Satie interrupts. "The Penniless Kloo Player’s Kloo Horn is magical! It can only speak the truth!" They all cheer at the idea.

"Yes, and he gives the game away!" The Duke chuckles, feeling himself being swept up in the joy of his companions. They all cheer along with him.

Zidler turns the Duke toward him, "The show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan bedazzlement! A sensual ravishment! It will be Spectacular Spectacular No words in the vernacular Can describe this great event, You’ll be dumb with wonderment. Returns are fixed at ten percent

You must agree that’s excellent." He has turned the Duke toward the doors but cannot keep him. Spinning away from the Hurt the Duke turns back to Obi-Wan.

"What happens in the end?"

"The lovers are pulled apart by an evil plan." Obi-Wan gulps out. You grab the Duke's arm once more pulling him toward you.

"But in the end she hears his call and their love is just too strong." She almost whispers the words to him.

"Will someone die?" The Duke asks almost amused at the thought. You glance back at the others.

"We shall see, your input is of course always welcomed."

"Generally I like it." The Duke laughed following zidler from the room as the others celebrated.

Zidler had an investor, and the Bohemians had a show. While the celebration party raged upstairs, I tried to write. But all I could think about was her.

Was she thinking about me?

You and Obi-Wan can just see each other across the Red Mill, through your respective windows. Obi-Wan watches as you, now redressed in the red gown, walk up the metal steps to the pagoda on top of the AT-AT.

The last of his resolve dissipates into the music bove him and Obi-Wan leaves his room. He climbs up the walker using the decorative ropes until he is standing behind you. His footsteps alert you and you jump.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean…I saw your light on, and I…I climbed up the-"

"What?" You eye him with confused thoughts.

"I couldn’t sleep, and I want-I wanted to thank you for helping me get the job." He fumbles out the words. You smile, though it doesn't reach your eyes.

"Of course. Yes, Henri was right. You’re…you’re very talented." His eyes drop, an emotion you didn't quite catch. "It’s going to be a wonderful show." There is a beat of silence between you.

"Anyway, I’d better go, because we…uh, we both have a big day tomorrow." You sigh and turn away.

"Wait! No, please, wait." Obi-Wan reaches out for you but doesn't touch you. You turn your head just enough to see him.

"Before, when we were…when we were…when you thought I was the Duke, you said that you loved me. An-and I wondered if…if—"

"If it was just…an act?" You say now turning all the way round to face him.

"Yes!" His eyes were bright like a child.

"Of course." You know there is a lie in there.

His smile falls. "Oh, it just felt…real."

You approach him, desperate to ease his mind. "Ben, I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe."

"Yes…Silly of me to think that you could…fall in love with someone like me." His words are simple yet filled with too many emotions.

"I can’t fall in love with anyone." You sigh.

A strange smile graces his face, "Can’t fall in love? I understand that."

Curious, you take one more step toward him.

"Where are you from?" You ask and Obi-Wan knows you are more intuitive than you first seemed.

"I am from an order, they're all gone now. We weren't allowed to…" his eyes threatened tears and you felt the same pull to him you felt earlier. It occurred to him then standing in front of you that he had been a fool. The opportunity for love had been handed to him on Mandalore yet he chose to turn away from it. His heart had been broken not one week ago by Anakin turning to the darkside. Proof that he had grown too attached to the man. Obi-Wan knew he had the capacity to love, perhaps this time he would let himself. Searching back through his mind he thought of Master Ruhan and the poems he had written.

"Love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love." It was like he finally understood the words.

"Please, don’t start that again." You shake your head.

" all you need is love." He steps toward you.

"Love is just a game." You whisper, knowing you were already under his spell, "the only way to love me is to pay." You hope the words will break you out of it.

Obi-Wan stops, his hand floating in the space between you, his eyes looking into your own.

"Y/n, I have been starved and I think you have as well. Just one night and then I promise I'll leave you alone."

Your heart breaks a little. You know you should be standing your ground. Say no to him, turn away but you can't. Your body is drawn to him. Grabbing his hand you pull Obi-Wan down the stairs back into the AT-AT. The electricity that sparks through your skin is enough to have you pull him into you and press your lips to his. That was it, the moment it all broke for both of you. Two people, raised to never love, connect by your hearts.

"You're going to be bad for business, I can tell." You giggle between kisses.

************************

How wonderful life was, now Satine was in the world. But, in the Duke, Zidler had gotten much more than he had bargained for.

Duke Valru sits across from Zidler in his office. The large green slug-like Alien fiddles with contracts on his desk.

"Conversion of the Moulin Rouge into a theatre will cost a fantastic sum of money, Zidler." Valru spoke with narrowed eyes, "So, in return, I would require a contract that, um, binds y/n to me, exclusively. Naturally, I shall require some security. I shall require the deeds to the Red Mill."

Zidler baulks at the idea

"My dear Duke I-"

"Please! Don’t think that I’m naïve, Zidler. I shall hold the deeds to the Red Mill and if there are any shenanigans my man-servant, Warner," A Besker clad man stepped into the room, folding his hands in front of him, "will deal with it in the only language that you underworld show-folk understand. Y/n will be mine. It’s not that I’m a jealous man. I just don’t like other people touching my things!" The last few words came out as a yell, Valru calmed himself with several shallow breaths.

"I understand completely, Duke." Zidler gulps.

"Good. Now that we have an understanding, it would appear that, uh…you have the means to transform your beloved Red Mill into a theatre." His smile makes even the Hutt squirm. One thing about this new virgining Empire gave them was a freedom for the slime of the galaxy to rise into power.

"I shall woo y/n over supper, tonight." Valru growled before marching out of the office. Zidler watches, an uneasy feeling wiggling inside him.

"The show must go on." He says to the blue Twi'lek woman beside him.

Yes, the show would go on. But Satine would not attend the supper that night, or the following night.

You, Obi-Wan, and Henri are all in Obi-Wan's room. You are sitting in your robe on the bed, your eyes watching Obi-Wan's every move. Henri is preparing food, and Obi-Wan is explaining the stuff he’s written.

"Fantastic!" Henri exclaims at the delightful scene. Obi-Wan continues, throwing his arms around in animated joy.

"Mad with jealousy, the Evil Maharajah forces the Courtesan to make the Penniless Sitar Player believe she doesn’t love him!"

"That’s…oh, yes!" Henri laughs.

“Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!” says the Penniless Sitar Player, throwing money at her feet, and leaving the kingdom forever!" Obi-Wan jumps onto the bed, you reach up and pull him down to you.

"Oh, but a life without love! That’s terrible!" You smile. He nuzzles into your shoulder.

"Yes…but, the Kloo Player’s…

"Wait!" Henri runs to the bedside.

"-Magical Kloo-"

"That’s my part, Ben! That’s my part! That’s my part Ben." Henri laughs, "Don’t you dare! The Magical Kloo who can only speak the truth says he says-"

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

Days past them all by, y/n would insist on my attendance to all her meetings with the Duke.

*******************

Try as the Duke may, it was almost too easy for the young writer and the lead actress to invent perfectly legitimate reasons to avoid him.

Love grew where I had thought it never could, until darkness fell over the Red Mill.

The rehearsal day was over, you stole away behind a curtain, Obi-Wan pushed against the wall as you kissed him.

"You'll come tonight?" He asks and you nod, "what time?"

"Eight o'clock." You giggle.

Zidler's voice speaking in Huttese echoed across the dancehall.

"Nice work, family! Bright and early tomorrow morning we begin on Act II: The Lovers Are Discovered!"

"Zidler!" The Duke marches over to him.

The Hutt turns, his eyes glancing over to where you stood, your hands around Obi-Wan.

"My dear Duke! Everything is arranged for that special supper in the Temple Tower tonight."

"You might as well eat it yourself, Zidler. " he spat, "Her affections are waning."

"Impossible!" Zidler nervously chuckles.

"I understand how important her work is to her, but she’s always at it with that damn writer! If I don’t see her tonight, I’m very well leaving!"

"No!! My dear Duke…I’ll insist y/n take the night off." He turns him away.

"All right…all right. Eight o’clock, then." He leaves satisfied.

Zidler slides himself around grumbling under his breath as he moves to you. Obi-Wan had already darted away to another room before he approached you. Zidler grabbed your arms, lifting you onto your tiptoes and hissed in Huttese.

"Are you mad? The Duke holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge! He’s spending a fortune on you. He’s given you a beautiful new dressing room, he wants to make you a star. And you’re dallying with the writer!"

"Oh, no, don’t be ridicul-"

"I saw you together" he cuts you off.

"It’s nothing. It’s just an infatuation, it’s…it’s nothing." You lie.

Zidler pushes you against the wall using his large body to trap you there, his hot breath fanned out over your face.

"The infatuation will end. Go to the boy. Tell him it’s over. The Duke is expecting you in the Tower at Eight."

Your heart sinks as he slithers away. Marie the Blue Twi'lek, and the oldest woman in the Red Mill, helps you to dress. As she pulls the strings of the corset you feel your chest tighten, your throat running dry. A fit of coughing takes over your body, sweat dripping from your face. Marie holds you as you try to walk.

How could I know, in those last fatal days, that a force darker than jealousy and stronger than love had begun to take hold of Satine?

Chocolat the resident Wookie watches in fear as you cough and eventually pass out.

Obi-wan waits expectantly for you in his room, standing by the window. He had no idea what was happening to you, but his mind began to wander. Obi-Wan dejectedly walks back into his table. He slumps down and looks at the datapad he had been writing the play on. The words all melted into one so he tosses it aside.

'Obi-Wan what are you doing?' He scolds himself. Why had he allowed this? Allowed himself.to fall so quickly into a world he had always kept away from. So many years denying the part of himself that this woman had freed within moments of meeting her. Was it the grief of losing the world he had known? The memories that plagued his dreams of destroying the boy he had promised to care for? The fear of becoming just like him? Or did he want to feel something, anything that was not death and destruction? The once great General Kenobi, now just Ben, a penniless, broken man with nothing but his love for a woman. A woman who did not come at eight, nine, ten or eleven. No.

All night he waited, and now, for the first time, he felt the cold stab of jealousy

You did not arrive at his door until six in the morning, before the suns had risen above the deserts. Your face was sullen, dark circles under your eyes, clad only in your underclothes and a robe, the usual corset forgotten in your bedroom.

Obi-Wan stops writing and looks up at you from the table, pained eyes blinking. You cough softly, the back of your hand pressing to your lips.

"Where were you last night?" He asks, trying to ignore the break in his voice.

"I told you, I was sick." You breathe out.

Obi-Wan gets up and sits beside you on the bed.

"You don’t have to lie to me." He could feel the conflict inside you. Frustrated, you turn away from him, holding back your emotions.

"We have to end it." You whisper, "Everyone knows. Zidler knows. Sooner or later, the Duke will find out, too."

Obi-Wan turns his back on you not believing your words; heartbreak forming in his chest.

"On opening night, I have to sleep with the Duke." You stand and walk to the window, "And the jealousy will drive you mad."

Knowing he should be better than this he stands and heads quickly to you.

"Ben-" you hold him back, tears dropping from both your eyes. Ben cups your face with his hand. He has no experience in this, nothing to tell him what to do but instinct and poems by a dead man.

"Then, we’ll write a song and we’ll put it in the show and no matter how bad things get, or whatever happens, whenever you hear it, or when you sing it, or whistle it, or hum it"

Kisses your forehead, "then you’ll know, it’ll mean…it’ll mean that we love one another! I won’t get jealous." He knows his words are like, of course he'll get jealous, he already is.

Attachment, the one thing he had never been allowed, the thing that had taken away his brother. This was a bad idea.

"Things don’t work that way, Ben. We have to end it." You sigh and walk away.

That afternoon in rehearsals Obi-Wan sits beside Satie by the piano.

"Now, this new scene is the scene where the Sitar Player writes a secret song for the Courtesan, so that whatever is happening, however bad things are…they remember their love." His eyes catch yours and you smile at him.

"And, um…we could take it from your line, y/n. So, let’s take it. Let’s take it, if we may-" you note the way his voice cracks and he turns his eyes away from you. The soft piano music begins and you look at the data pad with your script.

The song is perfect in every way; each word pours his love into your heart. A warmth filling you that try to send back. Your eyes flick between your Twi'lek costar and Obi-Wan.

On of the dancers slinks across the room, her body clad in half costume half underwear. She leans down to the Duke, sitting alone on a wooden chair.

"This ending’s silly. Why would the Courtesan go for the Penniless Writer? Oops! I mean Kloo Player."

She gives him a look like he’s an idiot for not seeing it yet, then bounces her eyes between you and Obi-Wan. The Duke seems to make the connection, following her eyeline. Nini goes back to the other Dancers and they share a laugh. Valru takes in a long pointed breath and stands, his neck twisting as he stretches it.

"I don’t like this ending."

Everyone droops in confusion turning to him.

"Don’t like the ending, my dear Duke?" Zidler asks sliding in front of the stage.

"Why would the Courtesan choose a Penniless Kloo Player over the Senator, who is offering a lifetime of security? That’s real love. Once the Kloo Player has satisfied his lust, he will leave the Courtesan with nothing. I suggest that, in the end, the Courtesan choose the Senator." He knew every word would cause a reaction in all of them and he hoped for it. Henri charged forward, his small stature made up for by his anger.

"But…but, but sorry! Sorry, but that ending does not uphold the bohemian ideals of truth, beauty, freedom and lov-"

"I don’t care about your ridiculous dogma!" The Duke shouts, "there is a new Empire now why shouldn’t the Courtesan choose the Senator!?"

Obi-Wan's anger tumbles over the threshold; he stands and shouts.

"Because she doesn’t love you!"

There is a Lllong, horrified pause, as everyone stares at Obi-Wan, who slowly realises what he’s just done.

"Him…him, she doesn’t love…she doesn’t love him." He stumbles backward.

Valru looks back at you, his jaw clenching, "Now I see. Zidler, this ending will be rewritten with the Courtesan choosing the Senator and without the lovers’ secret song. It will be rehearsed in the morning, ready for the opening tomorrow night."

"But, my dear Duke! That will be quite impossible"

You place a hand on Zidler, stepping past him, putting on a brilliant façade that you had been taught early on.

"Zidler the poor Duke is being treated appallingly! These silly writers let their imaginations run away with them." You laugh and approach the Duke, "Now why don’t you and I have a little supper and then, afterwards, we can let Zidler know how we would prefer the story to end, Hm?"

You can feel Obi-Wan is watching them, agony radiating from him.

The Duke agrees with you, leaning in to whisper in your ear. His words freeze your body. You nod and wait for him to leave the dancehall before letting out your breath.

Backstage, you are heading to her dressing room when Obi-Wan stops you. His hand snakes around your arm, holding you gently.

"I don’t want you to sleep with him." He whispers. You lay your forehead on his.

"He could destroy everything." You kiss his cheek, "It’s for us."

He shakes his head, holding back the tears in his eyes.

"You promised. You promised me you wouldn’t be jealous, you- It will be alright." Unsure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. He shakes his head again, unable to look you in the eyes. "Yes, it will…He’s waiting." You try to turn away but he reaches out to stop you, begging

"No…no…"

"Ben, come what may, remember." You whisper.

"Come what may." He whispers back finally allowing you to leave.

She had gone to the tower to save us all. And for our part, we could do nothing but wait.

In the Red Mill everyone seems concerned, sitting around the dancehall. Obi-Wan takes a swig of Tatooine wine. Nini saunters over, a mocking grin on her face as she Plops herself on Obi-wan’s lap.

"Don’t worry, you’ll get your ending. Once the Duke gets his…end…in." She laughs. Obi-Wan pushes her off his lap, almost lunging at her. Several male and female dancers jump between them.

"You get your hands off me!" She shouts.

The Narcoleptic Twi'lek holds a hand to Obi-Wan's chest after comforting Nini.

"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. It always ends bad!" The last word reverberates through the room. Everyone jumps a little. Henri watches, totally drunk. Obi-Wan looks ready to cry.

"We have a dance! In the brothels of Ryloth.

Tells the story of a prostitute and a man who falls in love with her."

He pulls Nini to him and they start to dance, mimicking what the Twi'lek is saying.

"First, there is desire. Then, passion. Then, suspicion, jealousy, anger, betrayal! When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy…yes, jealousy will drive you mad!"

Obi-Wan watches as the dancers converge on Nini, passing her between them in a tango. As anger bubbles inside his chest Obi-Wan pulls a thick coat around himself and walks, eyes glued on the door. The dancers move around him.

Inside his mind he is reminded of Ruhan's last poem

HIS EYES UPON YOUR FACE

HIS HAND UPON YOUR HAND

HIS LIPS CARESS YOUR SKIN

IT’S MORE THAN I CAN STAND

WHY DOES MY HEART CRY

FEELINGS I CAN’T FIGHT?

YOU’RE FREE TO LEAVE ME

BUT JUST DON’T DECEIVE ME

AND PLEASE BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY

I LOVE YOU

The words finally echoed his own heart as it shattered apart. The cool of the night air hits him and he walks mind clouded through the courtyard.

There is a force that stops him, halting his feet. A small voice calling out through the Force. He looks up to the balcony of the tower, seeing you standing there. Your eyes meet as the Duke steps up behind you, his hand snaking around your body. His lips whisper into your ear.

The sight makes Obi-Wan feel sick, dropping his eyes to the sand below his feet and walks back to his room in the building across the roadway.

****************

In his room Obi-Wan crumbles, dropping to his knees as objects fly about the room, folding in on themselves. He sees no way of fighting his own emotions, they are too strong and hold too much power.

"No" he Huff's out the word, pushing himself back to his feet. He will not let this defeat him. Reminding himself that he must hide his Jedi heritage he cleans the room by hand. Throwing away every broken object away or hiding it in the closet.

Tired and broken Obi-Wan presses his head to the window allowing the glass to cool him.

The door swings open behind him and Chocolat this Wookie stands behind you. Tears stain your face.

"Y/n?" Obi-Wan runs to you, noting that you were no longer in your black dress, but your underwear.

"I couldn’t! I couldn’t go through with it! I saw you there and I felt terribly and I couldn’t pretend." You sob, "And the Duke, he saw! He saw and he…and he… Christian, I love you."

Obi-Wan pulls you into him, holding you tightly to his chest.

"It’s okay" he whispers.

You shake your head, "And I couldn’t do it; I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I didn’t want to lie, I don’t want," you pull back a bit. "And he knows. He knows, he saw" you're panicking chest rising and falling rapidly.

"It’s all right; you don’t have to pretend anymore. We’ll leave. We’ll leave tonight." He isn't sure what he is saying.

"Leave? But…the show…"

"I don’t care.I don’t care about the show. We have each other, and that’s all that matters."

A sad smile creeps onto your face and you feel all of him.

"Yes. As long as we have each other" you kiss him.

Obi-Wan Grabs the coat he had worn earlier and wraps.it around your shoulder.

"Chocolat, take Miss y/n to her dressing room and get the things she needs. No one must see you, do you understand?" The Wookie nods.

"Darling, you go and pack. And I’ll be waiting." You laugh tearfully kissing him.

Chocolat rushes you back info the Red Mill to your dressing room. You dart about packing up her things into a small bag, when you sees Zidler in the mirror and whirl to face him in surprise. Marie is there, too.

"Forgive the intrusion, Cherub." He sighs.

You turn and put her own coat on, having taken off Obi-Wan's

"You’re wasting your time, Zidler." You say turning away from him.

"Albeit. You don’t understand. The Duke is going to kill Ben."

You gasp a little at his words, looking at yourself self in the mirror.

"No…" Tears are already building up in your eyes.

"The Duke is insanely jealous. Unless you do his ending and sleep with him tomorrow night, the Duke will have Ben killed."

Composing yourself you turn back to Zidler.

"He can’t scare us." You know it's a lie.

"He’s a powerful man. You know he can do it." Zidler is almost begging you.

You stare at him for a moment and then throw your coat off, picking up your things. Zidler slithers closer to you.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

You cannot stop the tears falling as you replace Obi-Wan's coat on your shoulders.

"I don’t need you anymore! All my life, you me believe I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Ben loves me. He loves me, Zidler. He loves me, and that is worth everything! We’re going away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Red Mill! Goodbye, Zidler." You Turn to the door, toward the Wookie.

"You’re dying, y/n.You’re dying." Zidler finally admits.

Your breath halts for a moment, a light cough reminding you of the days you'd lied in bed.

"Another trick?" You're hopeful.

"No, My Love. The doctor told us." The way his eyes look at you shows you how sorrowful the Hutt is.

"Marie?" You ask one last spark of hope. Marie just looks at you, tears shining in her own eyes. You take a few moments to digest it all

"I’m dying" you whisper, accepting the news.

"Send Christian away. Only you can save him." Zidler implores you.

"He’ll fight for me." You speak through your tears.

"Yes. Unless he believes you don’t love him."

"What?" You look at him.

"You’re a great actress, Satine. Make him believe you don’t love him. Use your talent to save him. Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There is no other way. The show must go on, y/n. We are creatures of the underworld of Tatooine. We can’t afford to love."

You fall into the chair at the dressing table.

Zidler leaves your dressing room, slithering through the backstage area if the dance hall and he speaks,

"Another hero, another mindless crime

Behind the curtain, in the pantomime on and on, does anybody know what we are living for? Whatever happens, we leave it all chance, another heartache, another failed romance." He reaches the stage, where people are working and things are still being built. Moving down the aisle to the other side of the theatre he continues

"The show must go on outside the dawn is breaking, on the stage that holds our final destiny."

Maria turns back to you, having dressed you in a grey outfit that covered your body.

"The show must go on." She says, quiet and sad.

With your heart broken inside your chest you walk as if condemned to Obi-Wan's room, knocking on the door.

"What’s wrong?" He asks when he sees your stoic eyes.

"I’m staying with the Duke. After I left you, the Duke came to see me and he offered me everything. Everything that I’ve ever dreamed of, he'll take me away from here to the capitals. He has one condition. I must never see you again. I’m sorry." You announce still in the doorway.

"What are you talking about?" Obi-Wan doesn't understand.

You move away from him as he steps closer, and avoid eye contact with him.

"You knew who I was." You say.

"What are you saying? What about last night, what we said?" He feels himself beginning to beg you.

You slink around him, not allowing him to touch you.

"I don’t expect you to understand. The difference between you and I is that you can leave any time you choose but this is my home. The Red Mill is my home." You turn away from him to hide your pain.

"No," he can feel several emotions warring inside you, "there must be something else, this can’t be real, you-"

You're breathing a little too rapidly, either from your disease, or from holding back tears, though you suspect it is both.

"There’s something the matter, tell me what it is?" Obi-Wan tries to hold your hands but you hurry past him and out the door, coughing a few times. Ben catches you at the door, anger creeping to the surface rapidly.

"Tell me what’s wrong! Tell me the truth! Tell me the truth!"

Yanking your arm away from him you look him in the eye.

"The truth? The truth is I am the Naboo Courtesan, and I choose the Senator. That’s how the story really ends." You try to hold onto your sibs. Your eyes hold onto each other for a moment, before he lets you go.

A sand storm gathers on the horizon, Ben's heart has almost visibly been ripped in half. He trembles and staggers back to the bed.

*********************

Obi-Wan stands outside the doors to the Red Mill as sand bellows around him.

"Y/n, y/n!" He calls out.

You sit at your window, tears streaming down your cheeks as you watch two guards grab Ben’s arms and haul him across the street. Your name breaking through the thunderous noise of the sand. One guard hits him hard across the face and they walk away as he falls to the wet concrete. He had been through many wars but this was a different pain. Obi-Wan is carried inside by Satie and the others, lying him on his bed with a bruise forming on his cheekbone above his beard.

The day wears on. The storm passes and the rich of Tatooine file into the dancehall.

Ben sits on his bed with a blanket wrapped around him, and stares off numbly toward the window. Henri stands by the bed, smiling comfortingly.

"Things aren’t always as they seem." He tries to reassure the old Jedi.

"Things are exactly the way they seem." Obi-Wan rebutes.

"Ben, you may see me only as a drunken, vice-ridden Jawa whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels. But I know about art and love, if only because I long for it with every fibre of my being. She loves you. I know it, I know she loves you." His tiny body seems too out of place in this broken room.

"Go away, Henri. Leave me alone. Go. Away. Go away!" Obi-Wan shouts, behind Henri a plate shoots from the table and snacks against the wall. Henri, glances at it, takes his coat and leaves, with a last sad look at his tormented friend.

I wanted to shut out what Toulouse had said. But he had filled me with doubt, and there was only one way to be sure.

I had to know.

So I returned to the Red Mill. One last time.

Inside the Red Mill, the show is just starting.

******************

The play goes on, the crows cheer and laugh, they sing and cry along with the characters. The Duke sits amongst his personal guests, his eyes fixed on you as you dance around the stage. Unaware that Obi-Wan was sneaking into the building, his Jedi training finally came into action. He moves through the dressing rooms staying behind costumes rails and curtains. Slipping behind actors one sees the tail of his tunic and the whispering begins.

With their parts ended Henri and Twi'lek are walking up a set of steps backstage. Henri taps his chin.

"There has to be a reason, I know she still loves him." He thinks out loud.

"How about one of them is a Duke and the other-" the Twi'lek's sentence is cut off by his narcolepsie taking control of him and he falls down the stairs right in front of Obi-Wan. Thinking quickly the Jedi removes his simple tunic and slips on the Twi'lek's elaborate costume.

Whilst this was happening you had run back to your dressing room to change into your last costume, the wedding dress. Your chest tightens and you feel a hot, thick liquid fill your throat. You spit it out onto a cloth, seeing the redness stain the material. Finally you understood your employer had not been lying. A shuffle and knocking of your things behind you catches your attention and you spin round to see Obi-Wan in the doorway.

At the edge of the stage Werner, grabs Zidler, who is now backstage, where Henri can see and hear them.

"The boy is here." The helmeted man states, angrily.

"We told y/n that if Ben were to come here, he’d be killed!" The Hutt gawks.

"He very soon will be." Werner pulls his blaster from It's holster.

Obi-Wan walks into your dressing room. You stare at each other for a moment.

Henri runs around behind the stage hoping to find Obi-Wan.

"He’ll be killed? That’s it…that’s why she’s pushing him away, to save him. That’s it, that’s it. Ben!" He cries out as the platform he’s on is raised up higher. Sees Warner moving quickly down the corridor.

"No! Don’t—Oh, God, this is high up!" He says to himself as he rises higher and higher.

"I’ve come to pay my bill." Obi-Wan chicks on the words. You hurry past him.

"You shouldn’t be here, Ben. Just leave.' You hope he'll listen. Obi-Wan stares off for a moment and then turns and follows you. As you rush away to get to your mark your breath becomes shallow, straining with each intake. Obi-Wan follows, hot on your heels.

"You did your job so very, very well!" He spits out at you, attempting to grab for you wrist.

"She’s got to get on stage" Marie hisses at the stage manager.

Obi-Wan follows you up a set of wooden steps.

"Why can’t I pay you like everyone else does!?" Tears are freely falling from his eyes. You turn to him, pleading with every part of your body.

"Don’t. Enn, there’s no point. Just leave."

You spin and run again, still Ben chasing after her again.

One of the stage hands grabs at Obi-Wan's shoulders pulling him back but he uses his training to slip out of his grasp and punch him. Ensuring the man falls safely to the ground Obi-Wan looks around trying to find you once more. You're stood atop a stage platform, eyes wide. A gun is pointing past you toward Obi-Wan and you gasp.

Feeling Obi-Wan ascend the steps you spin once more to face Obi-Wan, sobbing, begging and trying to block the blasters path.

"Go…go…" your tears match his.

Obi-Wan holds out wupiupi cash out for you.

"If it wasn’t real, why can’t I pay you?" His words cut through you.

Behind the door next to you, you can hear Zidler's voice as recites the lines of the play.

"Let me pay! Let me pay!" Obi-Wan pants.

You turn your head just enough to see Werner getting closer. Your hands grab at Obi-Wan's jacket, as your chest tightens further.

"Tell me it wasn’t real! Tell me" his words had turned to begging.

The door to the stage opens, revealing you and Obi-Wan. His hands on your wrists and you kneeling on the floor.

"Tell me you don’t love me!" He whispers as you sob but say nothing.

"Tell me you don’t love me!" He shouts. There is a murmur among the crowd, enlighten you both to their presence. The Duke pulls back his top lip, showing his teeth as anger ignites under his skin.

Panicking Zidler slithers across the stage.

"Hahaha! I am not fooled! Though he has shaved off his beard, and dons a disguise, my eyes do not lie! For it is he, the same Penniless Kloo Player! Driven mad by jealousy" He calls out, the audience murder again in a unified realisation.

Obi-Wan drags you by the wrist down the stage a bit, and lets you fall back to the floor. You cough trying to catch your breath between sobs. He moves away from you speaking apparently to Zidler's character, but actually to the Duke.

"This woman is yours now." He throws the bag of money to the floor next to you and it spills out across the stage. "I’ve paid my whore." His eyes turn to you as you gaze up at him, with tears flowing from your eyes. "I owe you nothing and you’re nothing to me." Obi-Wan chicks on his own sobs, "Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love." He walks off the stage, everyone behind him knows how real this is, and Obi-Wan stops to stare at the Duke for a moment before walking down the aisle.

Henri claps a hand to his forehead, "I can’t remember my line" below him Zidler attempts to stay in character and get you to stand. Henri tries to remember, his eyes darting around himself. Seeing that Obi-Wan is leaving, Werner replaces his blaster and begins to move away from the stage.

You try to compose yourself, pushing up to stand, your tear filled eyes looking at Zidler.

"I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Ben!" Henri shouts at the top of his voice interrupting Zidler. His silly costume tripping him and he starts to fall to the stage, catching himself, dangling from the platforms.

"The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return!" As his voice echoes, something inside you seems to click, the actors on stage and the audience glance between each other. The Duke scowls up at you as you slowly turn around. You sing,

"NEVER KNEW I COULD FEEL LIKE THIS"

He stops briefly, Obi-Wan's face nearly crumbles, and he slowly starts to walk again. He is sure this is just a cruel game you're hell bent on playing.

"LIKE I’VE NEVER SEEN THE SKY BEFORE

WANT TO VANISH INSIDE YOUR KISS" you continue. Obi-Wan stops again. It sounds so real, the pull of your force signature screaming at him.

"EVERY DAY I’M LOVING YOU MORE AND MORE

LISTEN TO MY HEART, CAN YOU HEAR IT SING?"

He turns slowly, and sees that it is real you're calling to him with your eyes and your voice. Life seems to float back into his eyes and a smile tugs at his lips.

"COME BACK TO ME AND FORGIVE EVERYTHING!"

The high note makes you take a gasp for air, nearly coughing. The Duke smiles, having no idea that you are singing to Obi-Wan. The Jedi is watching you, tearful with happiness. Satie conducts the orchestra in gentle music to accompany your words.

"SEASONS MAY CHANGE, WINTER TO SPRING

I love you.

‘TIL THE END OF TIME"

Finally Obi-Wan breaks,

"COME WHAT MAY" he begins the male part of the song, "COME WHAT MAY

COME WHAT MAY," he heads up to the stage, as you walking downstage to meet him, "COME WHAT MAY

I WILL LOVE YOU"

The song continues around you both, the actors and dancers joining in. The Duke growls.under his breath and speaks into a communicator on his wrist. The Mandalorian man servant draws his balster and aims at Obi-Wan as he holds you. Henri spies him and leaps from the platform he had been holding onto.

"Christian! He’s got a gun!" His fall knocks the blaster from Werner's hands and topples them both to the ground. The blaster slides along the stage.

"They’re trying to kill you!" Henri shouts, getting to his feet. The audience laughs at Henri.

Chaos breaks out across the dancehall, people running around and screaming as Werner tries to dash for his gun. His movements trigger a bunch of flashes to go off on stage, and everyone runs around crazily. Chocolat kicks Warner in the head a few times, and manages to kick the gun away. It falls from the stage with a think right at the Duke's feet. He had stood to leave, anger piping from his red hot ears. Hearing the blaster clatter to the aisle behind him he turns. The cast continue to sing out their hearts. The Duke picks up the blaster, holding it out in front of him

The chorus lifts up you and Obi-Wan.

"I WILL LOVE YOU" the sing is hitting it's crescendo.

The Duke rushes to the stage, with the gun pointed at Obi-Wan.

"My way! My way! My way!! My way!" He screams out like a feral beast.

Zidler spins and flicks out his tail hitting the Duke across the face, before he gets there. The Duke falls and the blaster spins away.

The entire cast sing the last words of the song.

"‘TIL MY DYING DAY"

The Duke sits up dejectedly as the curtain falls. The audience gives a standing ovation, applauding wildly. The entire cast is ecstatic, all laughing and congratulating each other. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to your lips, happiness waving off him. Somewhere behind the stage manager calls out.

"Stand by for curtain call! Dancers, positions please!"

Obi-Wan starts to pull you over for curtain call. Stepping away from you just slightly. You can't move, your chest feels like it's on fire, every breath burning your throat. You begin to fall as Obi-Wan looks back to you and he catches you. The smile fades from his face.

"Y/n?"

You begin to cough violently. Henri, Zidler, and other cast members notice what’s happening, their smiles replaced with dread.

"Y/n, what’s the matter?" Obi-Wan asks, holding you in his arms, the coughing eases but you know it isn't a good sign. His knees buckle sending you both to the floor, though he tries to slow your fall.

"What? Darling,darling, what’s the matter? Darling Y/n, what’s the matter?"

Your breathing is raspy and violent, worse than it’s been yet. The noise around him all but silences in his ears. You cough again.

"Gods, Oh my God" Obi-Wan breaths out, Seeing blood dripping from your mouth and touched it with his thumb. Finally Obi-Wan understood his Padawan. The way his mouth ran dry and dripped with spit at the same time. Tears fell freely, staining his face.

"Somebody get some help!" He screamed out.

"Hold the curtain! Fetch the doctor!" Zidler hissed to his stage manager.

You reach up to him, your arm feeling to heavy.

"I’m sorry, Christian…I…I’m…I’m…I’m dying." You say as loud as you can muster your voice. Your lover refuses to believe it.

"Shhh…shhh…it’s all right." He holds on to you. The cast is all watch on, silently.

Every breath hurts you

"I’m so sorry." You whisper.

"No, you’ll be alright. You’ll be alright." Obi-Wan's tears drip onto your face. You wish you could believe him.

"Cold…I’m cold…cold. Hold me." You say to him, hoping his heat would change something. Obi-Wan holds you close to him, he searches the faces around him, afraid of their pained expression. He smiles a little for you.

"I love you." He says so only you can hear.

You smiles back, and can only whisper.

"You’ve got to go on, Ben."

His voice breaks as he speaks.

"Can’t go on without you, though." He attempts to laugh but it comes.out as a sob.

"You’ve got so much to give" You reach up and touch his face as he tries to hold back his tears.

"Don't hide away forev, Ben. The world needs you."

He shakes his head and starts to weep harder.

"No…"

"Yes… Promise me. Promise me. Don't shut yourself off from the force." He gulps realising you knew what he was. "That way, I’ll…I’ll always be with you." He nods to you, pulling you closer to him again.

You take a few soft, gasping breaths, smiling at Obi-Wan as he weeps and kisses you one last time.

As he pulls back, the force tells him as his heart breaks in two. You are dead. He cradles your body as coloured paper still floats around you. There isn't a dry eye amongst the cast. Beyond the curtain the audience continue their applause, unaware of your demise. The Duke boards his ship scowling back at the Bordello.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months. And then, one not-so-very special day, I went to my datapad, I sat down, and I wrote our story.

A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people but above all things, a story about love.

A love that will live forever in the heart of a once great Jedi.

My story does not end here, there would be adventures yet to have but my heart stayed forever within the walls of the RED MILL.

The end.

[dangraccoon]

Oyuba’din - Chapter 1: Reassigned

Original Character & The Bad Batch (currently no plans for romance, but this could very easily turn into a poly!batch fic ngl)

Summary: A Medic Lieutenant of the GAR has suffered an injury that by all rights should have been fatal, yet Jaine Vale has emerged from the battle relatively unscathed. After a brief discussion with a pair of higher-ups, Lt. Vale is transferred to a new unit for a new beginning.

Warnings: discussion of medical stuff, a wee bit of depersonalization, survival, talk of a fatal injury

Author’s Note: Hello! My name is Dang and this is the first fic I’m publishing for the Bad Batch, as well as the first I’m posting on this blog (I have posted for another fandom under another name). The title is a Mando’a word that I came up with. Don’t know if I got the language rules right, but it’s just a title. Comes from “oyu’baat” meaning universe and “dinui” meaning gift. “oyuba’din” would be a term for a miracle (lit. “universe gift”). Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated greatly!

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She should be dead.

That’s what everyone told her. The medical droids, the clone medics, the civilian doctors. “You shouldn’t have survived a hit like that, it’s impossible,” they had all said. Yet here she was, living out of spite it seemed.

It didn’t take long for her to become something of a legend throughout the clone ranks. The 212th medic who survived a blaster shot to the base of her skull? Obviously it must be a good story. She preferred not to think about it, even if the scarring from the blast wrapped around the back of her head and neck, small slivers cutting through her previously unblemished cheek and throat. Her hair was still cropped short from the medics assessing her damage.

She barely even had a name at this point. Lieutenant Jaine Vale barely existed without “blaster girl” following it closely.

Only your fellow officers seemed to use your name anymore; Commander Cody being a godsend. Not only had he continued to use her name, but he finally dropped the formality of using her rank and surname in favor of using her first name, as she’d nagged him to for nearly two years.

He came to her bedside in the medical bay nearly every day with a cup of caf, news from the frontlines, and a smile. She was convinced he was an actual angel.

It seemed like every day there would be new faces of medics and doctors coming to ask questions about her condition. If Cody happened to be there, they were shooed away, but if she was alone, she could expect to be poked and prodded and questioned for a while.

Today was one of those days. One of the doctors she had met previously had arrived with some colleagues. They droned on about her as if she weren’t in the room, only acknowledging her presence to inspect her injury.

She had stopped listening to the conversations weeks ago. She wished she were allowed a data pad to keep herself entertained. As her wound healed it had been uncomfortable, but at this point, nearly a standard month after the would-be fatal shot, she barely noticed it.

There was a sharp knock on the door and the doctors didn’t even look to her to see if she wanted it answered; they simply opened the door.

“Good evening, doctors,” an easy voice greeted. “I hope you will excuse me, but I am here to visit with my medic, and I was hoping to speak with her alone.”

She couldn’t place the voice. It was making her crazy. The doctors, clearly startled by the presence of this new visitor, mumbled a half-dozen apologies and shuffled out of the room. She was then left face to face with her general, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She had never interacted with him personally, typically reporting directly to Cody.

Instinctively, she sat upright in her bed, as close to attention she could be.

“General Kenobi,” she said.

“Easy, Lieutenant,” he chuckled. “There’s no need for formalities here.”

She relaxed a little, but she still felt uneasy.

“May I call you Jaine?” he asked, quirking a brow at her lack of relaxation.

“Of course, sir,” she replied.

“Please, Jaine, call me Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “I mean, yes, Obi-Wan.”

“Old habits die hard,” he mused.

It was quiet for a few moments, Obi-Wan enjoying the view from her window while she wondered why the general would visit her.

After, what felt like a lifetime, she finally asked “How can I help you, s- Obi-Wan?”

“I am just wondering what I could possibly do without you in my ranks, Jaine,” he sighed.

Her head started reeling. “What do you mean?”

“It seems, my dear, that the Force has different plans for you,” he turned towards her, sitting in the chair Cody typically occupied. “General Skywalker and I have meditated on your survival, and the next step your path was laid out before us.”

“I don’t understand, General. Am I being discharged?” she asked as the panic rose in her throat. She worked herself to the bone to get to where she is now. She couldn’t lose it all because she caught a blaster bolt to the neck, could she.

“I can sense your anxiety. You are not being discharged from the GAR if you do not wish; you are merely being transferred to another unit.”

Jaine’s head was spinning. Another unit? Was she not good enough for the 212th? What about the men? What did Cody think of this?

“Excuse me for a moment, Jaine,” Obi-Wan said, stepping out of the room.

He came back a few minutes later with Cody in tow, a scowl plastered across the Clone Commander’s face, despite the cheerful smile displayed by the Jedi General.

Jaine had gotten too anxious to stay in her bed and paced in front of the window.

“Should you be up, Jainey?” Cody asked, using the nickname some of the other troopers had given her.

“I’m fine, Cody,” she waved him off.

“But-” he started, only to be cut off by the general.

“Now, Cody, I believe the lady knows her own strength,” he scolded, shooting a kind smile towards Jaine, and missing the frustrated glare from Cody.

“Sir, what is my new assignment?” She asked impatiently. “In the event that I am finally released from bed rest, I would like to do some research on the men I will be serving with. I don’t like to walk into a situation unprepared.”

“Easy, Jainey,” Cody said reassuringly. “You’ve already met them.”

“Oh, kriff, Cody. Don’t tell me it’s the 501st,” she grunted before realizing her slip and apologizing to Obi-Wan.

“It’s quite alright, Jaine. Remember, I did train General Skywalker.”

She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her, and noticed the grin that cracked Cody’s usually serious expression.

“It’s not the 501st,” he chuckled. “It’s actually a specialized unit; Clone Force 99. Do you remember them?”

“Them and the messes they make,” she grumbled. “What could they possibly need a medic for? I’ve heard their success rate is 100%.”

“As I had mentioned before,” Obi-Wan chimed in. “The Force has revealed this path for you to both myself and General Skywalker, and higher command believes that Clone Force 99 could use a, how shall I put it, guiding hand.”

Jaine blinked at him and then at Cody, who looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Are you telling me that I am to be relieved of my current duties as a medic in the 212th so I can go and babysit five clones who don’t like to follow the rules?” she could feel her body shivering with anger as she looked between the two men.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hummed, his voice faltering ever so slightly. “Your duties would still entail being first and foremost a medic to the squad.”

“This position would put you more in a combat role. You would be in the field with the squad, not in a medical tent,” Cody explained, the furrowing of his eyebrows betraying his opinion on this transfer. “It would be dangerous. You’d be fit with a proper set of armor and weapons, as well as your standard medical kit.”

She squinted at Cody as he refused to make eye contact. “You don’t approve. What, am I not capable of combat?”

His eyes shot up to meet hers. “That’s not it at all,” he stammered. “I’ve become rather fond of you, as have the men. You’re like a sister to us. It was hard on all of us to face the possibility of losing you, let alone to see you go into battle without us.”

Obi-Wan gave a nod, despite maintaining a straight face. And they say the Jedi don’t form attachments, she thought with a chuckle.

She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She pushed all of her concern and frustration to the back as she tried to open her mind to the new possibilities. “General,” she said, facing him at attention. “I happily accept my new assignment, and hope to serve with the 212th Attack Battalion in the future.”

Thanks for Reading! - Dang

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