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[prahacat]

Dooku and Obi-wan interactions in fics are my absolute favorite. They’re such an interesting duo, whether it be canon douche!Dooku or fanfic good person!dooku. Either way Dooku is smart enough that he makes for a good conversationalist and Obi-wan, a known talker, makes it all the better.

my absolute favorite it when Obi-wan is still a Padawan/initiate. There’s nothing better than

Dooku: *looks down to find a tiny youngling hanging off his robes* *raises his brows* Obi: hi! Dooku: *fully aware that all younglings are intimidated by him* what are you doing here, child? Obi: you looked sad Dooku: *internally* what??? Obi: wanna play a game? Dooku: *expecting it to be like, tag or something* not right n- Obi: I got the whole chess set out and everything Dooku: Dooku: *losing composure faster than Obi-wan loses robes* you’re like four years old why the hell are you asking me to play chess Obi: *completely serious* well Quin told me that you might be able to beat me? Which sounds fun. No one’s ever beat me before. Dooku:

Dooku, later to Sifo-Dyas: *completely animated* I met the most interesting initiate today

Sifo-Dyas: so when are the padawanship poets going through?

Dooku:

[prahacat]

god im so normal about her

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A game of giving Obi-Wan flowers

This is me having fun writing micro fics giving lots of flowers to Obi-Wan and playing around with flower language.

(disclosure: I have no/little idea what I'm doing, so don't judge me too harshly if I make mistakes)

1.

Anakin looked around the vast and luscious room, his eyes wide with wonder as the sound of trickling and rushing water permeated everything. Astonishment and awe was evident in his gaze as it sought Obi-Wan's.

“It's okay, dear one,” Obi-Wan assured, the endearment escaping him unexpectedly, “go on, explore, I'll wait for you here.” He pointed towards a clearing where a small pond formed the center.

After a last hesitant glance and an assuring nod, Anakin set off, his entire existence glowing with eager curiosity.

Chuckling to himself, Obi-Wan sat down, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes expecting that it would be quite some time before his Padawan returned to him, and he intended to use the time to meditate and collect his thoughts, Force knew he needed it. He allowed the peace and everlasting sound of water to wash over him as he slowed the rhythm of his breathing. Opening himself to the Force, he was mindful of the still tenuous thread that bound him to Anakin, not that the boy was difficult to sense, his presence like a beacon even here.

Obi-Wan released a deep breath, sinking effortlessly into the flow of the Force.

Some time later, he returned to the present, sensing Anakin's close proximity.

He blinked his eyes open, a smile spreading across his lips when he saw Anakin holding a large flower towards him, the blue-purple color of the hydrangea stunning.

“I asked if it was okay,” were the first words out of his slightly blushing Padawan's mouth. “I didn't know if it was okay to pick the flowers, but Master Thana said it was okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled and nodded.

“Thank you. I appreciate this.”

Obi-Wan gazed at the flower still smiling. Anakin couldn't know it but he had unknowingly continued the somewhat unusual tradition of Obi-Wan receiving flowers from his closest friends. It was something that had started as a joke when he was a youngling and his fellow younglings had discovered his interest in flowers. Over the years, others had participated in what had evolved into a sort of game where he had to guess who sent him the flowers based on their different meanings or other hints.

Anakin sent him a bright smile, and Obi-Wan felt the new bond between them expand. The former slave possessed an unexpectedly generous nature Obi-Wan hoped he would be able to maintain.

“Come, Padawan, let us meditate together.”

He motioned for Anakin to join him in the lush grass, pleased when he obediently followed his instructions, sensing that it probably wouldn't always be this easy.

*

You can also find it here

[prahacat]

post the first sentence you write in your WIP today

Pleased with the result, she added the words, ‘Dearest Liza,’ at the top of the page, for she fancied her sketch would make an excellent addition to a letter, when she had anything to write about.

[prahacat]

my sleep-deprived brain hyperfixated on the confrontation scene between gamemaker Dooku and a traumatized Obi-Wan, and I somehow, accidentally, wrote an entire essay? no one asked, so I'm just gonna quietly drop it here for anyone interested. and flee into the night

(mostly general thoughts on their motivations. probably works for similar fics about an Obi-Wan & Dooku survival alliance in a post-order 66 AU)

the post that started it for reference

So, the premise: the Jedi death games have been going on for a while before Dooku approaches Obi-Wan to reveal himself as the secret gamemaker …

It all starts when Obi-Wan ends up "backstage" after three or four soul-shattering rounds of games. Maybe he sneaks around the facility searching for an escape, maybe he receives an enforced invitation, maybe he's injured and whisked off by the clones, it doesn't matter. At that point, he's barely holding it together. He's watched his friends and comrades get picked off one by one in these gruesome games, shot by the very men he trusted. And not because they lacked strength or skill, but because in a system like this, survival often comes down to a split second or a single misstep. Or just plain luck. After all, someone has to die because the spectators demand blood. And it's Obi-Wan who survives, again and again. Survivor’s guilt doesn't even begin to describe what he's feeling. Did the Jedi who died simply draw the short straw? Or could he have done more? Should he have fought harder? Taken their place?

Enter Dooku … and this is when Obi-Wan's world truly falls apart.

Dooku, who Obi-Wan believed was long dead, is not only alive but running the entire macabre spectacle. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Dooku now drops the bitter truth: these games, this entire nightmare, everything, was rigged. Obi-Wan didn't survive because of his brains, or his training, or sheer dumb luck. His survival was handed to him by a man he despises.

This revelation is devastating for Obi-Wan. Because even after the horrors of O66, Obi-Wan could at least cling to his unwavering belief in fairness, in integrity, in shouldering what needs to be done, even at great personal cost. Dooku's manipulation crushes all of that. Obi-Wan didn't survive because of his own actions or fate, but because his survival was handed to him by someone he despises.

It's revolting. It def makes Obi-Wan hate Dooku. But sadly, it also makes Obi-Wan hate himself.

Now entering hc territory, but I think, deep down, Obi-Wan has always wrestled with his self-worth. As a Padawan, he constantly felt the weight of expectations, never quite believing he measured up. Even as General Kenobi, a paragon of strength and resilience, he questioned his decisions and much of these buried doubts and insecurities manifested in his tendency for self-sacrifice.

And here is Dooku—Qui-Gon's master—who is all but telling him he deserves survival the most since he's the smartest and most capable Jedi, the most valuable ally. Dooku even hints (though he would NEVER admit it outright) at some twisted sense of affection or respect for Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do with that. How is he supposed to feel about that? Grateful? Disgusted? Ashamed? Yes. All of it, all at once. He's probably sitting there, picking apart every single choice he made, wondering: Does knowing the games were rigged make him less guilty for surviving? Does it make him more guilty? Does he even want to know which parts were his own doing and which were manipulated by Dooku?

In short, Obi-Wan has way too many feelings and no capacities left to process them.

On the other side of this little reunion, there's Dooku. He's such a mess and I love it.

Dooku has always been defined by his arrogance, his belief that the Jedi were blind, weak, and incapable of saving the galaxy. He genuinely believed the Order deserved to fall because the Jedi were relics of a failed system, too passive to save the galaxy. That's literally the justification he cites for every betrayal and every Jedi he's killed. And now (unlike in canon where he is, well, dead) he is actually witnessing the slow and bloody downfall of the Order. He should be celebrating this moment, basking in his vindication.

Instead, he's forced to grovel for Obi-Wan's help (very dignified & arrogant groveling ofc, but it’s still groveling). Dooku needs Obi-Wan. Not just as an ally to escape this hellhole, but, more importantly, as a lifeline to his own crumbling logic.

Because Dooku didn't win. He's not a triumphant Sith Lord leading a grand galactic revolution. He's a discarded pawn, granted a few more weeks of life, so he can run a glorified execution factory. This is different from the war. Sure, he's technically orchestrating the Order's fall, but it's a twisted parody of his goals. There's no glory in this artificial system of death and suffering. It's just senseless violence, broadcast for the galaxy's entertainment. And suddenly, he finds that watching his former comrades die one by one doesn't give him a feeling of satisfaction and purpose. If anything, it makes him realize that he's always been what they are now: a mere toy in a much larger game, manipulated by powers he doesn't fully understand.

But here's the thing: none of that even matters. Dooku can't afford to let his logic crumble, no matter how hollow it feels now. It's the only thing he has left to justify everything he's done. He desperately needs to convince Obi-Wan to help him, and he has nothing else to offer. So Dooku does what he always does: he doubles down. He tells Obi-Wan that this was all necessary. That he couldn't save everyone and Obi-Wan was the best choice. That the weaker Jedi would have fallen anyway. He might even frame his actions as pragmatic and altruistic: Do you truly believe I saved you out of sentiment, Obi-Wan? You have a purpose yet to fulfill—a greater role. If you wish to escape this nightmare, to bring down Sidious and Vader, then you must see the truth. You and I, together, are the only ones who stand a chance. And he sounds convincing—because he has to. Without this narrative, Dooku is left with nothing but the blood on his hands. And without Obi-Wan as the last-ditch symbol of a lost cause, the savior of this narrative, Dooku's existence now becomes meaningless.

So I'm picturing them having this tense, almost frantic back-and-forth somewhere in a dim backroom, away from the cams and the chaos and spectacle of the arena, the air between them thick with desperation and bitterness. They're not just arguing with each other, they're fighting a battle with themselves and their own crumbling ideals.

Obi-Wan's belief in fairness, selflessness, equality, everything that once defined him, has been shattered by his survivor's guilt and the sheer cruel nihilism of these games. He's trying so hard to cling to the version of himself that still believed in those values, as if he could will himself back to being the Jedi he used to be. And Dooku's cold, calculated pragmatism—the philosophy he built his Sith identity around—is finally cracking under the weight of hollow victories and a lifetime of regret. He believed he had the galaxy figured out, only to find himself cast aside, irrelevant, and now he's clinging to the last remnants of his fading power.

And they see it. They know. That moment is like looking into a mirror, both painfully realizing that their philosophies, their identities, the frameworks that steered them into and through the war, they don't hold up anymore. But they've got nothing else. They're at a stalemate. So they do the only thing they can: they keep repeating the same scripts they've used for years. Keep playing the game, because if they stop, then what is left? And even then, none of that matters. They debate and blame and guilt-trip—but none of it has any weight in their situation. Everything boils down to one cold, hard truth: right now, they need each other to survive. That's it. These two men, once known for their way with words, have reached a point where there's really nothing left to say.

Honestly, I can see this scene so vividly in my head and it's so beautifully raw and devastating. I have so many feelings about these two idiots, I wish I could slather them onto a 10-layer sandwich and eat them so I could digest them into words.

[prahacat]

holy shit that major character death + post apocalypse au torture olympics fic idea I am on my knees

yeees def got blessed by the trope wheel there <3

just imagine all the fun and chaos we could have if we make Dooku a player and have him compete in silly games. like the floor is (literal) lava, or just a trivia quiz with questions that inflict more pain on him than any physical torture ever could. then again, I kinda like the messed up power dynamics of having Dooku as the scheming mastermind behind the games, while Obi-Wan is the one forced to get his hands dirty in the arena

[prahacat]

This links to a wheel with nearly a hundred fic tropes for plots, settings, and more. Spin it twice.

This could also work with art inspiration, but the buttons only allow for so many characters on them. And please do ramble in the tags! I'm going to have no idea what most of you are talking about, and it's going to be great.

[prahacat]

Y'all depression is depressioning

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TIL that Christopher Lee voiced King Haggard in the animated adaptation of The Last Unicorn. No idea how that went past me, but pls tell me there's fanfic that honors this fact and has Dooku keeping a herd of the GFFA's equivalent of unicorns on his palace grounds. It's perfect. High society thinks the Count of Serenno wants to be extra af with his menagerie of exotic creatures, but in reality, it's because hoarding unicorns is the only thing that still gives this miserable, old man a speck of genuine joy in life. I need this.

[prahacat]

(via @astranite )

TIL that Christopher Lee voiced King Haggard in the animated adaptation of The Last Unicorn. No idea how that went past me, but pls tell me there's fanfic that honors this fact and has Dooku keeping a herd of the GFFA's equivalent of unicorns on his palace grounds. It's perfect. High society thinks the Count of Serenno wants to be extra af with his menagerie of exotic creatures, but in reality, it's because hoarding unicorns is the only thing that still gives this miserable, old man a speck of genuine joy in life. I need this.

[prahacat]

blue

wrote 500 words of nihilistic dooku poetry to lull myself to sleep. enjoy <3 cw: existential dread, hints of horror, sith and their canon-typical disregard for self-preservation

everyone has their own path to immortality. purely out of academic interest, he studied them all: a thousand ancient tomes, forgotten poems, holocrons unearthed from dying planets. he reads not to believe, but to understand. sometimes, the master drips vials of luminous blood into the cradle of his hands. the prisoners are wasting away on saline and the force, suspended between death and utility. we are eternal, the master whispers and drinks from the light. him, he does not share these obsessions. in the morning cold, his joints ache when his fingers brush the hilt of his saber. the weight is familiar, the blade pale against the predawn haze. peace, he knows, never lasts more than a few years. this galaxy is intent on breaking itself. last year, he had the palace gardens destroyed: moonflowers, lotus plants, frostblooms that unfurl like laughing faces—torn up by the roots, the soil sown with salt. he dismissed the gardeners who waged a losing war against the weeds sprouting from hidden cracks and the shadows beneath the trees. better to pour the grounds with concrete. chlorine fumes now rise from the lily ponds. he walks alone among the pillars and droids, scanning the bleached sky for a storm that never arrives.

the media speculates on how he takes his breakfast milk, whether he dines on ageless creatures dredged from the depths of the belsallian sea, if the chlorinated pools are for bathing. when he returns onboard his flagship, the general’s rattling cough brings bile to his throat. we are so progressive, the scientists say, give us a piece of yourself, and we will grow you a real heart, a pair of lungs, a body that might carry you a little longer. but this war, surely, cannot last more than a few months. and so, the general chokes on a laugh and leaves to cut down another jedi. let the poor creature chase his purpose. such sad, short-lived things they are. after weeks of absence, his assassin slinks back into his shadow, eyes burning, lips split, her palms red where her saber bit into her skin. you could let go of this torment, he wants to tell her, I am sure you would find something else to live for. she has no interest in living. none of them do.

his face flashes on the newsreels. when he speaks, the people chant for him. to freedom and prosperity. we are eternal. they burn his image into portraits that hang in government halls and seedy cantinas alike. in songs, they smooth his edges. he is everywhere and nowhere, a thousand-faced echo of himself. two years pass, and still, the war grinds on. for its anniversary, they gift him a robe spun from solidified blue milk. the fabric has no odor, no texture, and slips like water against his skin. a triumph of science: antioxidant, anticarcinogenic, anti-inflammatory, neuroprotective, hepatoprotective. that night, he burns it in his bedroom hearth and watches the light eat away at the threads.

[prahacat]

The garden

My muse felt the need to write something original and mysteriously… so I followed its wishes.

If curious, go ahead.

She walked with slow steps through her extensive gardens surrounded by the deep blue summer night, savoring the warm breeze that brought her the pleasant scent of night blooming jasmine. In the darkness was the soft notes of a nightingale's seductive song like the caress of her smooth dark silk of her dress. Beneath her bare feet the grass was soft and the first fallen withered leaves from the trees that were already putting on their brilliant autumn colors swirled like feathers around her ankles. Even in the dim light, the beauty of the vast paradise of living growth was visible.

Her garden was lush and full of life, nurtured and cared for by her and her loved ones' long affection. They were still all around her, hidden in the shadows and safe in the secure embrace of the night.

A low-hanging branch lovingly grabbed her long dark hair and pulled it loose from the knot she had carelessly gathered it in before she had left her chambers in search of her lost companions. A slight smile played across her full lips as she knelt briefly at the gnarled root of the old tree, affectionate stroking the deeply scarred bark that covered its broad and solid trunk. The memory of the young sapling she had once planted here with tenderness in the hope for the young creature to grow strong nourished by the beloved she had laid to rest in the dark soil beneath its roots slowly migrated through her mind. It was a fond memory, the memory of someone she had held very dear, someone who had been her first. He had taught her so much, shown her so many things about the world she still inhabited.

Standing up, she briefly bowed her head in acknowledgment of his memory and the power it still held before continuing her search while other memories came to her as ghost of the past.

Led by the hypnotic heavy sweet scent of roses she found her way to a small bench hidden in a cavern made of fearsome thorns that could rip her soft pale skin to shreds with the slightest touch, where no other weapon would have left a scratch. It was a marvelous secret, so simple and yet so well kept. Only once had she met someone who had known it and she bore the scars she had left behind with pride. She and her countless children were now safely at rest in the clearing that stretched out before her, bathed in moonlight, where she remained hidden in the deep shade under the sweet scent of roses. They were many and numerous, as they had blossomed under her protection and some of them still traveled undetected in the darkness and even the light. Unknown and unseen by all but her. They were an unexpected gift she had never expected and worth every drop of blood she had shed to win their mother's love.

But as much as she longed to stay and dwell in those wonderful memories, the desire and longing for someone else drove her further, deeper into the dense green labyrinth of the garden.

It had taken her a long time to cultivate and shape the landscape to her wishes, but slowly and withstanding the bitterness of patience, she had formed her garden so she could now reap its sweet and fulfilling fruit.

Words of the Faiths wisdom flowed like streams through her mind, words that the journey was better than the destination, that if she so desired her journey would be long and rewarding. But also words of caution, of being aware of the high price she would have to pay. The words of admonition still sounded as clear as the day she had heard them and decided the price was worth paying even if it had been high and painful.

A cold stone damp from the gentle mist that wrapped around her like delicate veils marked another place where she had laid a loved one to rest, one she had lost long before it had been time, and long before either of them had been ready to let death separate them. For a moment she had considered breaking her vow, the oath her beloved had forced her to swear so long ago the words were as fragile and fleeting as the mist that surrounded their final resting place. The vow that she had carved deep into the stone's unwilling cold flesh as tears colored its surface red. Words that now were almost lost, blurred by the cold rain of winter and the relentless teeth of the wind. But she still remembered them, and would keep the promise.

She let a single red drop fall on the name that was still there as she whispered it, its bitter sweet flavor still a delight to her tongue.

The gentle, almost inaudible sound of an owl's wings brought her face up so that the moon could mirror and reflect its cold light in her dark eyes as she followed the silent hunters graceful path through the night. She observed the beautiful deadly bird's pursuit of its elusive prey and only after watching it successfully swoop down into the tall grass where its deadly talons ended its prey's life mercifully quickly, she continued her own hunt.

Her dark robes blended in with the long shadows cast by the tall trees and her feet were silent against the cool ground as she followed the muffled sound of hearts, still rhythmically pumping the liquid of life through warm and supple bodies.

Cautiously, she allowed herself to be lured through the shadows, caressing the slender young birch trees that surrounded a still lake, it's dark glossy mirror reflecting the sky's myriad of twinkling stars. Between the trunks and half hidden in the still lush grass were a multitude of dark stones, all inlaid with runes and other signs. They marked another unexpected gift. The ones she had taken from a life of suffering and torment. Those who had become the children she would never bear in her barren womb under her still heart. They had become her joy and purpose, what had kept her connected to the world that was ever changing around her. From them she had learned as much as they had learned from her before they left her to find their own way, always with her blessing and approval. However they always returned to her, allowing her to keep them with her when the life she had given them came to an end.

When she walked under the branches of the old trees it was never alone but surrounded by all those with whom she had shared life, their spirits many and varied, their lives and memories what kept her thread strong, and as she walked along a path marked by evergreens her thoughts finally wandered to the living beloved she was seeking.

Long after she had given up hope that the goddesses of fate would once again intertwine her resilient thread with other's, and after she had resigned herself to her role as protector and silent observer, they had bestowed upon her something she never thought possible. Something that only legends far older than herself whispered about and that she had studied in writings so old that even she did not know their origin. Whether it was her reward or another test she did not yet know, but she dared not doubt their wisdom.

Even for a being who dwelt on the broad breasts of the past and trusted the strong arms of the future, the gentle kisses of the present were after all still the most precious.

Laughter reached her ear and led her through the garden she had created to always remember and where life was nourished by the bones of her beloved.

As expected she found them, her prey, her elusive beloved where she had always known they would be. It was their favorite hiding place, and the place where she knew they would rest when she one day ended their lives. They knew it too, but when they looked at her it was only with love and tenderness, they knew what she was and the price she paid. They had come to her of their own free will, had sought her out, looking for something different than what they found. And yet there was no regret, no sorrow for what they had sacrificed to gain insight.

A smile, warm and filled with the deep affection she felt for them tugged at her lips revealing the tips of long fangs as she finally saw them bathed in moonlight and the scent of honeysuckle. An ancient apple tree crooked and crippled but still full of life and vigor watched over them, its fruits perfuming the air with their soft ripe scent.

Their embrace was tender and unhurried, they had no need for haste, knowing without a doubt that she would find them soon and join them when she was ready. In the quiet night, their heartbeats sounded as one as they shared every breath. It was simply not possible to imagine them separated now that they had finally accepted each other, and they would stay tightly intertwined for the rest of their life.

But they had not joined her as a unit. No they had come to her separately, searching, lonely and lost yet determined to find.

One had been older, had searched long for her, his quest impressive and honorable, and when he had finally found her among the books in her library, he had not hesitated to demand answers. He had asked questions until even she was captivated by his thirst. Silver had glittered in his dark hair before she had given him all the answers he sought and still he found more questions to ask, but wisdom had also with time granted him the gift of finding them himself.

And with time she had grown to love him, his sharp mind and wit, a pleasure to witness.

They had spent a long time together before he had at last come to her bed, willing and finally ready to sacrifice and receive what only she could give him.

His maturity, the deep furrows surrounding his beautiful gray eyes only heightened his attraction and she had gladly given him the opportunity to gain more knowledge, had even once again considered breaking her promise, but he had wisely asked that she was only prolonging his life, that she was only strengthening his thread enough that it would stay strong a little longer.

But even together they had felt incomplete, as if something was missing from their existence. They had not known what it was until a young and unexpected force had entered their lives like a fresh spring breeze, still carrying the last chill of winter's cold death.

Their beloved had come to them young and angry, searching for something only time could heal, unaware that revenge would not bring her peace. It had seemed like luck had let her find them, and at first she had refused her, unwilling to give in to the plea that shone so desperately in eyes almost as dark as her own. But something had called her to the young hurt woman and had forced her to keep her near. Whether she was a descendant, a distant relative, a child of a shadowy past or something else entirely, she had never discovered, but it was that recognition, that kinship that had convinced her to let her stay despite all.

Anger and hunger had filled her, distorting her beautiful features, but patience and kindness had slowly broken down the wall she had surrounded her heart with, gradually revealing a nature of gentle curiosity and eagerness to learn.

At first her beloved had not gotten along, their vastly different personalities battling each other in a stubborn fight for dominance. Their conflict had for a time filled her home with chaos and a life she was unwilling to admit had delighted her. Its energy had been as intoxicating as the rich flavor of their life blood as it spilled over her tongue.

But passion was a powerful force and combined with patience it would inevitably mature into respect before transforming into love.

She had known it before they had, and her joy in watching it blossom was deep and satisfying.

She had also been willing to let them both go, to let them have each other, had known that she could never come between them once they had found unity. It wasn't the first time and probably wouldn't be the last, as it was another part of the price she paid. It was something she had come to terms with long ago and had prepared her quiet heart to once again be ready to pay.

But life and the Faiths had chosen to surprise her, to give her something precious. She had known it was a possibility, but hadn't believed that it was still possible, had been convinced it was now only something that existed in legends.

The legends were what had captured the interest of her youngest companion, in them she had found knowledge and a wisdom unexpected for her young age, surprising them all. It was as if the ancient, intricate words had opened a gate hidden in her frail mortal body, allowing her an understanding and insight that even she did not possess.

The past whispered to her young beloved with clear words and knowledge, granting her knowledge of the future that none should possess. It was a gift and a curse, an astonishing twist in their inter woven threads.

When she had finally sought her bed ready to forgive and receive, it was she who had not been ready. Only after her wise and older companion had unexpectedly joined them had they at last convinced her of the wisdom of their union. And still she had hesitated, had whispered words of caution, about what it would cost them, and what it might cost her. Her blood was a poison and a gift, something that could end a life but also bring it. It was something she had to be careful with and always vigilant.

But in the end, they were successful in seducing her, something that had rarely happened, and that night she had taken what they offered her, had drained their life force while they had been connected in the most intimate embrace. In return, they had given her a taste of their life, and it had been a heady nectar, its power startling even for her.

They still wouldn't stay with her forever, but their time would be long, far longer than anyone else's, and if she wanted, she would now have the choice to follow them when the time was right. If she wished she could join them under the apple tree, could rest with them.

That was the precious and extraordinary gift they had given her, mortality, a choice.

But here, now, in the fleeting and fragile moment that was so precious, it was their gift of love that filled her heart and mind, and allowed her to walk peacefully through her garden of memories, her sacred place where all those she had loved rested in peace, and where the past and future walked arm in arm with the present.

She left her heavy silk robe at the edge of the clearing, letting it slip off so she could join her loved ones naked and almost as fragile as they. Her hunt had come to an end, her prey willing and ready to let her taste their lives. When she reached them she allowed their eager hands to pull her into their embrace, letting her become one with them.

And as she rested with them holding them both in her arms the blue night surrounded them with a surprisingly gentle darkness, as the cool breeze that carried the first taste of winter's death caressed their hot skin. She listened to the nightingale's song mingling with the sound of their hearts, while the peaceful garden sheltered them in the embrace of past love.

The love that kept her sane and was what kept her from becoming a monster.

[prahacat]

Soresu Negotiations

“Get help,” Palpatine said. “You’re no match for him. He’s a Sith Lord.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at the Chancellor. “...yes?” he said. “But he’s also something else – something I’m surprised you’ve forgotten.”

“What?” Palpatine asked.

“A politician,” Obi-Wan replied, turning back to Dooku.

Anakin groaned, then sat down.

“Here we go,” he said.

Palpatine blinked, looking from Anakin to Obi-Wan.

“...what do you mean, Anakin?” he asked.

“This happens sometimes,” Anakin replied. “How do you think he got his nickname?”

“Count,” Obi-Wan said, at about the same time. “It’s occurred to me that I never actually found out what the Confederacy wants.”

“Isn’t it a little late for this?” Dooku asked. “We have been at war for several years.”

“True,” Obi-Wan conceded, readily. “The war having started on Geonosis, because of tracing back your clone army which we… appear to have appropriated, mostly because you did it in our name. But that’s how the war started – not your objectives.”

Dooku was silent for a moment.

“I assume some semblance of a point will be emerging,” he said, eventually. “If you could be so kind as to provide it?”

“Wars begin for all sorts of reasons,” Obi-Wan replied. “But how they end… they end because a mutual settlement has been reached. And it’s occurred to me that I don’t know what you’d want out of a victory.”

He spread his hand, the one not holding the – unlit – saber. “It’s not the conquest of the Republic, I can tell that much. If the CIS annexed the Republic, what you’d have would still be the Republic, just under a different name… it’s not the Republic without the corruption that’s been causing it problems, because most of the corruption in the Republic was – was – the big industrial concerns like the Techno Union, Commerce Guild, Trade Federation. But you seem to have taken all of those off our hands, and they provide essentially your entire military so I don’t think anyone else could honestly believe that either.”

“I wouldn’t expect a Jedi to understand,” Dooku replied. “The Confederacy’s member systems have concerns relating to over-centralization.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment.

“...no they don’t,” he said.

“I hardly think you can have earned your reputation as a negotiator, Kenobi, if you are so willing to be insulting,” Dooku said, archly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Obi-Wan replied. “I mean… yes, now the Republic has an army, though really it’s actually the Jedi’s army and we’re simply letting them borrow it, but four years ago the Galactic Republic was proverbially incapable of doing anything. It took emergency powers for the Chancellor to get the Republic to authorize having any kind of military whatsoever – and the only one available was the one you ordered. That’s not over-centralization.”

He drummed his fingers on his ‘saber. “And I note that I overheard Nute Gunray insisting on the head of Senator Amidala – literally, in those words – as his price for signing a treaty. But I still haven’t heard an actual answer. What does the Galaxy look like if the Confederacy wins?”

Dooku frowned, and after about three seconds Obi-Wan glanced at the Chancellor.

“Didn’t you discuss this at any point, your excellency?” he asked. “Count Dooku doesn’t seem to have thought about this.”

Palpatine blinked.

“...he’s a Sith Lord,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t you be fighting him?”

“It’s called diplomacy, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied, before returning his attention to Dooku. “Grandmaster, are you seriously telling me that you never thought about what you would do if you won?”

Anakin checked his comlink, for the time, then the ship trembled slightly.

“Artoo?” he asked. “Can you tell those ships outside to stop shooting at us and give us a wide berth? This could take hours and I don’t want to find out if my name’s literal.”

“Hours?” Palpatine repeated.

“He’s rolling,” Anakin replied, rolling his eyes. “Like I say, I’m used to this.”

He rummaged in a pocket of his robes, taking out a miniature toolkit, and began disassembling his lightsaber. “I’m pretty sure I can retune these crystals to give two stable configurations which it’ll snap between, that should give me a length toggle instead of a single adjustable length…”

“Are you taking your lightsaber apart?” Palpatine hissed. “What if you need to fight?”

“It’s okay, Chancellor, I’ll get about five minutes’ warning if the negotiations are going downhill,” Anakin replied. “That should be time to put it back together again…”

Palpatine looked up to Obi-Wan, who – sure enough – was still going.

“...of course, a separate but related issue is what it’s going to be like afterwards,” Obi-Wan said. “In principle the Republic and the Jedi Order could probably accept the existence of Sith so long as we actually knew who they were and they weren’t trying to destroy us. It’s the fact that the first Sith we met in a thousand years tried to run Anakin over and cut Qui-Gon’s head off as an opening move that’s soured us towards them a bit… but are you really going to be content as someone whose whole job is to die for Sidious?”

Dooku stared at Obi-Wan, baffled, then glanced at Palpatine and Anakin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, forcing his gaze back to Obi-Wan.

“Sidious is your Master, we know that much,” Obi-Wan replied. “Partly because you told me yourself. But has he ever put himself in danger? Or has it all been you dealing with Jedi like myself and my apprentice? Putting yourself out there, in danger, while you do exactly what he says?”

He smiled slightly. “A Jedi would accept that, but you’re a Sith – you’ve said so yourself. Sith are self-interested. What do you think your new master is getting out of the situation? Because if you don’t know, it’s got to be something and it’s probably something he doesn’t want to tell you.”

“My master is quite willing to put himself in danger,” Dooku said, then clamped his lips shut at a frantic mouthed shut up from Palpatine.

“Real or feigned?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do you think he wouldn’t manipulate you? He’s been doing it to everyone else – you’ve said it.”

Dooku’s brow furrowed.

“But we’re getting off topic,” Obi-Wan said, turning to look at Palpatine. “Chancellor, what about this as a starting point? Your emergency powers were granted to resolve the crisis, and I’m sure you want to abandon them as soon as possible… so why not take away the whole reason why the individual systems in the Confederacy had problems with the Republic to begin with? Freely allow the departure of any system which wishes to do so, under the emergency powers legislation; enact a progressive tax, one which hits the Core worlds harder owing to their greater ability to pay, to sustain a carrier based navy able to hunt pirates more effectively than conduct occupations or orbital bombardment, and have the navy established on a sector-federal two-level model?”

Palpatine stared at Obi-Wan for at least ten seconds.

“...he’s a Sith Lord,” he said, yet again.

“Oh, shut up,” Dooku replied. “You’re a Sith Lord and I don’t see you doing anything constructive.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Palpatine.

“...you know,” he began. “I’m quite sure you’d need to note that on your financial disclosure forms, your Excellency.”

He turned sideways, so he could see both Dooku and Palpatine at the same time. “What was the point of this whole abduction, anyway?”

“As it happens, I was supposed to kill you,” Dooku said. “It’s the only way to turn Anakin to the Dark Side, if you’re out of the way.”

“Huh?” Anakin asked. “Is something up? I’ve almost got the crystals realigned.”

“This plan looked a lot better this morning,” Palpatine muttered.

[prahacat]

The Sith

Part 3

So, well, more of The Sith. This time from a different perspective. It's twisted and painful and they hurt each other, but maybe there's hope too, I don't know, all this is still just glimpses into the bigger story that is still unknown even to me. Also, there is no chronological order to it.

This time the madness is inspired by this post.

Part one Part two

1.

"Please, speak to me," the Jedi begged him, shame and desperation evident in his beautiful blue eyes.

The Sith looked at him briefly, letting his gaze skim over his familiar battle-toned body, momentarily feeling the rush of want at the memories of their last time together.

NO! No more. His lust had made him weak, and weakness had to be extinguished. There was only the strength of hate and anger. Suffering was all that remained.

"No," he said harshly, that one word burning like acid, "this must end."

He turned his back on him, leaving him bound and helpless at the mercy of others, knowing that once again he had done what he had to do.

[prahacat]

TIL that Christopher Lee voiced King Haggard in the animated adaptation of The Last Unicorn. No idea how that went past me, but pls tell me there's fanfic that honors this fact and has Dooku keeping a herd of the GFFA's equivalent of unicorns on his palace grounds. It's perfect. High society thinks the Count of Serenno wants to be extra af with his menagerie of exotic creatures, but in reality, it's because hoarding unicorns is the only thing that still gives this miserable, old man a speck of genuine joy in life. I need this.

[prahacat]

Stubbornness and unicorns

I did something, or rather this post made me do it.

I blame @prahacat 💜

I'm actually grateful, because it finally got my stubborn muse in gear to work on a story that has been haunting my brain for some time.

This is shameless fluff, mpreg, pregnant Obi-Wan (Anakin is the father), and Obi-Wan and Dooku having a moment in Serenno's castle garden.

And maybe there are unicorns. 🦄

***

Obi-Wan walked slowly along one of the many well-landscaped paths in the sprawling park surrounding Castle Serenno mindful of his condition. His stately dressed companion graciously matched his speed to his slow pace, mercifully ignoring the small sighs of frustration that escaped him, kindly lending him an arm to lean on as they made their way.

Only when they stopped in the shade of a large tree did he speak while Obi-Wan rested a hand over his bulging midsection, rubbing reassuringly over the spot where one of his children was eagerly kicking at his taut skin.

"While I'm sure it would be hopeless to tell you once again that I don't think these long walks will benefit you when you are this far along, I'm sure my words will be ignored as always," his stern-looking companion declared with an undertone of resignation.

“You are correct in that assumption,” Obi-Wan replied, flashing him one of his most charming smiles.

"As I am sure you are fully aware of, it is a well-known truth that stubbornness is an inherited trait in your lineage, Count."

"It seems so," the older man admitted with a heavy sigh, "and please, Obi-Wan, how often may I ask you to call me Yan?"

"At least a few times more."

Count Dooku of Serenno let out a small frustrated sigh. His lineage was a constant headache that he was convinced would be the end of him one day soon.

Sensing that it would be fruitless to try to persuade his grand padawan to return to his comfortable chambers, determined as he was to wander, he chose not to argue further as they continued.

They walked in pleasant silence under the bright autumn sun who cast its glow over the wide expanse of the castle gardens that was laid out in the imposing shadow of Castle Serenno. The high, already snow-covered mountains rose in the background and in the pale blue sky above them, both moons were clearly visible, Mantero almost full where it stood low above the horizon.

The park was an oasis of green and lush life, where plants native to the planet and imported species were tastefully arranged in a well-organized style with clean lines that reflected the planet's ruler. Paths and small streams ran between tall trees and bushes, creating intricate patterns and a pleasant background sound with their muffled gurgling. In some places, large open lawns were replaced by small groves of trees, both evergreen and deciduous, in their golden, red and orange fall splendor. Beds of late flowering herbs gave off a pleasant spicy fragrance that mingled with the ripe scent of malum fruit.

Obi-Wan and Yan had just stepped into a small clearing surrounded by tall spruces when a group of slender and elegant creatures surrounded them, only slightly shy to get close to the bipedal creatures.

They were an extremely rare species, reminiscent of equus in their appearance, and thought to be extinct. But a small group still existed, their existence a well kept secret. The beautiful creatures with their gleaming pearly white skin and long elegantly twisted horns had long been sought after prey, not so much for their beauty or rarity, but because they were highly force sensitive and were believed capable of healing and granting eternal life.

Gently they nudged their soft muzzles against Obi-Wan's bulging belly, neighing low in greeting to the unborn children resting there, attracted by their innocent but already powerful signatures. Honored by their closeness and trust, Obi-Wan gently stroked his hands over their soft ears and smooth horns.

Yan also got his share of attention, though more hesitantly, as some darkness still lingered like shadows around him. But the largest stallion, his horns gleaming golden in the sun, allowed him to stroke his neck in a gesture of trust offered to the one who had originally prevented their final extinction.

Against the wishes of his former Sith Master, Dooku had chosen to save these magnificent creatures when he had tracked down the very last of their kind, starved and scared. Under the influence of his former padawan and his young apprentice, he had brought them to Serenno where they now thrived and multiplied.

Five slender foals romped playfully among the adults eagerly seeking Obi-Wan's attention.

TBC

[prahacat]

TIL that Christopher Lee voiced King Haggard in the animated adaptation of The Last Unicorn. No idea how that went past me, but pls tell me there's fanfic that honors this fact and has Dooku keeping a herd of the GFFA's equivalent of unicorns on his palace grounds. It's perfect. High society thinks the Count of Serenno wants to be extra af with his menagerie of exotic creatures, but in reality, it's because hoarding unicorns is the only thing that still gives this miserable, old man a speck of genuine joy in life. I need this.