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"shh, that's okay, get everything out" with Ahsoka and a character of your choice? I really love your writing!

😊💕

from these prompts

Ahsoka is quiet in the gunship as they fly back up to the Resolute. She is quiet as Anakin debriefs his men, weary faces and soot-stained helmets held under aching arms. She is quiet as she curls up on the floor in the bridge of the flagship, her back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest as she holds her lightsabers so limply they could fall right out of her grip.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks quietly, kneeling beside her.

She nods. She knows Anakin knows it’s a lie. He doesn’t call her out, and for that she is grateful. He doesn’t coax her to return to her quarters either, and for that she is grateful too.

When she opens her eyes again, there’s a heavy, warm robe draped over her shoulders and her lightsabers are gone. A burst of panic nearly compels her to look frantically to the side, but it immediately dissipates when she finds Anakin sitting beside her. On the floor. The floor of his flagship. The general of the 501st Legion, sitting beside his teenage padawan, on the floor of his own flagship. Her lightsabers are clipped to his belt.

She feels pathetic.

Anakin sits up straighter when he realises she’s awake, reaching out almost instinctively to tuck the robe under her chin where it had slipped down.

It must be his. He never wears it.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks, for the second time.

Ahsoka nods mutely, lying again, for the second time. Anakin knows, yet he doesn’t say a word. She wonders why he even bothers asking.

The robe is warm and the ship is cold but her legs are stiff and sore. Ahsoka stretches them out painfully before staggering to her feet, bracing herself against the wall before her knees can buckle again.

Anakin holds out a hand to steady her. She doesn’t take it.

The robe is too long and drags on the ground behind her, but she’s cold and it smells like him and the familiarity of dry-soap-ozone-engine-grease keeps her grounded better than any words of reassurance will. So she bundles it up and folds the hem and wraps it around herself, tucking her hands into the folds. She can feel Anakin’s hand on her back, the gentle pressure urging her forward through the layers of fabric.

Anakin walks her back to his quarters, because there’s no way he’s going to send her to her own with no company. Ahsoka stares straight ahead, never meeting the smiles that the clones in the corridors give her, never returning the salutes they give their General. When she can no longer ignore them, she bows her head, and Anakin could have sworn she was counting the ridges on the floor if it wasn’t for the utter blankness of her gaze.

She will crack soon. He knows.

Anakin keys in the code for his quarters and the door slides open with a hiss. He enters first, waiting for Ahsoka to follow him, and she does—then stops. Stops just past the doorway, her boots planted into the hard ground, as if she can’t—won’t—take another step.

The door slides shut behind her, and Ahsoka crumples.

Anakin knows the mission was rough. He knows there isn’t always a half-hour post-battle grace period of adrenaline and harrowing relief, knows success is not measured by claps on the back and whispers of “well done” and seven new inside jokes for every bloody campaign. Sometimes the reality is this: numbness and denial, a reality check like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind right out of her, shoving her to the ground before she can take another breath.

But he doesn’t know how to deal with the helplessness that overtakes him as his padawan cries, hunched in on herself, her little shoulders shaking so hard and her arms wrapped around her stomach like she’s trying to make herself small enough to disappear.

Ahsoka takes a clumsy step back, falling against the door. A blurry peek through teary eyelashes gives her a chance to watch as the concern etched on her master’s face shifts into full-blown distress. She prays and prays and prays that the distress will not shift into pity.

Something warm and dark presses up against her cheek. Ahsoka blinks away her tears to find herself held by strong arms to Anakin’s front, the part of his chest usually covered in armour now covered in only his tunic. She can hear his heartbeat through her montrals, slow and steady despite the sorrow he must clearly be feeling.

Ahsoka wishes she could suppress the sobs that wrack her body non-stop, wishes she was more in control of her emotions—a proper Jedi and a proper commander, instead of a childish, sensitive padawan. She sobs, trembling uncontrollably, and there’s nothing to cry for but so much crushed inside her chest that she has to has to has to let it out before it ruins her from the inside.

“Shh,” Anakin consoles her. “That’s okay. It’s okay. Get everything out.” He rubs her back in soothing circles, and Ahsoka knows she should feel guilty and ashamed and embarrassed and all the horrible, horrible emotions that usually come to plague her in moments like this, but all that remains in the space of her chest is hollowness.

She wants to pull away—needs to pull away—because this is no way to waste her master’s time after a mission. He needs to write reports and she needs to help in the hangar and he needs to tend to his troops and she needs to stay out of the way, at least for now. In her experience, grieving is sometimes best done alone.

“I couldn’t save them,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save them.”

Keep the citizens safe, he’d yelled, then ran off to join Rex and the rest of the squadron, leaving her with a group of terrified innocents and an unfair task. But then the bombs started falling and people started dying right before her eyes, men and women and children younger than she was. She’d watched as families were torn apart, brothers and sisters rushing to their unmoving siblings only to fall under shattered glass and shrapnel, and all she could do was urge them away into shelter, forgetting so easily that she too could have been hit and killed in a heartbeat.

She hadn’t disobeyed. She’d tried so hard—

Anakin cradles her head to his chest, holds her tight, tight, tight. She clutches weakly at his tunic, desperate for something to hold onto before she’s swept away by the mess she’s made.

“It was an impossible order,” Anakin says quietly, guilt thick in his voice. “I’m sorry, Ahsoka. Nobody should have had to bear the burden that you did.”

The sweet, sweet relief of validation feels like the first touch of ice on a burn, the first drop of rain in a desert. A thousand different emotions rush out of her, first the fear and grief and regret, then the complicated combinations of self-doubt and guilt at her failure, scorn at the impossible task that had been placed on her shoulders, resentment for the two sides that simply not stop fighting.

Anakin walks backward to the bunk, his grip never faltering, and Ahsoka staggers forward with him. He sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling her down to follow, and she shifts awkwardly to sit beside him, mourning the loss of warmth.

“Stay here for now, okay?” Anakin says softly. He slips an arm around her shoulders, tugging her to his side. His other hand comes up to join the first, smoothing out the robe wrapped rushedly around her body.

Ahsoka nods, trying to press herself even tighter against Anakin. He obliges, arms tightening just a little more.

She isn’t alone now.

Her head is clearer, the weight on her chest easing up.

Anakin is not angry. She failed, but Anakin is not angry.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks. He will keep asking, Ahsoka knows, until he is absolutely sure she is.

Ahsoka nods. Anakin does not have to ask anymore. Here, safe in his arms, it is the truth.

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Meditation, by DarkIsRising

Another ficlet… Boba/Luke this time! Meditation  “Quit it,” Boba growled, hand hovering in a threat above his blaster as if that could make all the floating objects— detritus of their lives: tea cups and vibroblades and rations packs and bolts from the droid Luke was reassembling—settle back down.

*Slave I* had become, these past few years, their home together and lately it was beginning to look the worse for wear. It didn’t help that periodically the Jedi would sit on the floor, close his eyes, and in a trance make whatever wasn’t bolted down hover inches above where it ought to be.

Boba was getting tired of it.

When Luke finally touched back down to the durasteel floor again, his golden eyelashes fluttered open. “What are you planning on doing with that?” he asked, biting away an amused grin at the sight of Boba so close to drawing his weapon.

“Whatever I have to do to keep our shit from floating away.”

Keep reading

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Me? Love Luminara Unduli? It more likely than you think.

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my ideal Star Wars TV show would just be a slice of life Jedi show. Plots include:

younglings losing frogs they were supposed to look after for a week and trying to hide their absence from their teacher.

(Yoda ate the frog)

The one time Mace gets talked into taking a break and walks past increasingly distressing situations and Jedi going “no, no, it’s fine, enjoy vacation”

A Padawan hiding a couple lothcat kittens they found in their room and getting their friends to help them

Tournaments!

One episode about a Master frantically searching for a book to return to archives fearing Master Nu’s wrath only for their Padawan to have already returned it

Philosophy discussions getting increasingly debated

Padawans babysitting Initiates

At least one forbidden trip to the lower levels

Feel free to add

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Senator Skywalker

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It’s time for a Contributor Spotlight on @tessiete , one of our project writers!

Tess is a writer who lives for the softest of gen family fics, but will write anything once. She has a love/hate relationship with poetry, but it finds its way into almost every work.

AO3 // Tumblr

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Blood Loss, Pining if you squint, Order 66 fix-it, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Getting Together, the inherent romanticism of stitching up someone’s wounds Summary:

“What?” Anakin said tiredly.

Obi-Wan blinked, shaking his head quickly as if pulling himself out of a daze. Anakin remained stock-still, remnants of blood and grime still caked to his clothes. “Nothing. Take your tunic off.”

Anakin barked out a laugh, his ribs immediately protesting. “Excuse me?”

or: the war ends. Anakin and Obi-Wan see each other again.

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BobaDinLuke, show-off. And because I only care about them because of you...BobaLuke, filthy. Only if the mood strikes you, thanks for brightening my week with these drabbles :)

Awww, I'm glad the drabbles have brightened your week. I've got a twofer for ya, thanks for the prompts!

Prompt: Filthy, BobaLuke

Afterwards, Boba pushes him into the shower and doesn’t even wait until they're clean before he’s spreading Luke open with two broad hands.

Luke braces himself– palms pressed to a clear shower wall– as he’s breached and stretched and filled with little jagged thrusts. He hangs his head between his arms and watches as mud sluices from their joined bodies, swirling down the drain.

If only Boba’s worry could be washed away so easily.

"Never again. Promise me, never again," Boba growls with each punishing, life-affirming shove in and Luke, who makes it a habit not to lie, says nothing.

*

Prompt: Show off, BobaDinLuke

There’s something about his ceremonial beskar'gam that's always made Din feel less like a king and more like an easy mark.

While they wait to be announced he checks his weapons and the movement catches Luke’s eye.

"You still look dangerous," he assures Din with an easy smile, the gold of his pauldrons setting his hair off like starlight.

Boba grunts his agreement from beneath a gold helmet even as he fiddles with his own newly forged armor.

They are a stunning matched set and Din's chest tightens when they are presented to Mandalore for the first time as his.

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for @starsfleets

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Dear @treescape  An attempt was made. Love, Dark

*

“Well, fuck,” Boba says when they open the door of their rented room to find a single, narrow, solitary cot and Luke— who is leaving puddles of blood and melted sleet on the floor—grinds out through shivering teeth: “It’s fine.” 

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IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY AND NO ONE THOUGHT TO TELL ME????!?!?!

Happy birthday, Tess!! I owe you everything 🥳🥳🎂🎉🎁💖💖

Ah! Omg. OMG. OMG!!! Is this the cutest thing I've ever seen? Yes! Puppies and kittens MOVE OVER!! Her little hands! His little blush, and determined lack of eye contact. I love them. I LOVE THEM. AND THEY'RE IN THEIR LITTLE OUTFITS! THANK YOU, MY LOVE!

This is unbearably sweet. Just like you!! And if by owe me everything, you mean blame me for your spiral into endless Codywan...you're welcome 😏😎💘

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Quest Series - Jude Watson Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker Characters: Qui-Gon Jinn, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mentions of Shmi Skywalker - Character Additional Tags: Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon as Anakin’s master, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Introspection, Jedi Code, Attachment, POV Anakin Skywalker, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Anakin Skywalker, Everyone involved realizing that they cannot actually live without Obi-Wan Kenobi, No one likes Yoda’s tea, Qui-Gon is not a perfect master for Anakin but we love him anyway, Master & Padawan Relationship(s) Summary:

Anakin watches the way his soon-to-be master and his master’s former apprentice circle around each other and thinks, abruptly, of two suns, and how one rises first in the morning, followed by the other.  The first star always leading, the second star always in its wake. 

Binary systems, Anakin keeps thinking, long after that first night they spend together in Qui-Gon’s quarters.  Who’s orbiting who? he wonders. They know each other so well. Will I ever be able to understand Qui-Gon that way?

Anakin had expected Coruscant to be different.  He had expected to feel out of step, out of place, missing vital pieces of information.  But he had not expected to feel so out of place at Qui-Gon’s side.

~new chapter posted!!  (after almost a year asdfasdfasdfadf)

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One fantastic young Obitine meeting on Mandalore commission for @tessiete!!! This was so lovely to work on!!!

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For the Spotify fanfic ficlet: 12 for the Kenobi-Kryze fam? 🥺

@lightasthesun so here’s the deal. I STRUGGLED with this. Because I wanted to give you happy, fun, fluffy times, and there are some real bangers on my Wrapped. I mean, relative bangers.

But you picked probably the most Obitine-angst appropriate song ever, and I was like......oh, no. I can’t - I can’t do that to them.

So, after several days of thinking about it, we came up with this. It’s...I refuse to call it angst, bc everyone is alive, and well. It’s just like, some family fun times. Thanks, especially to the Obitine discord, and @duchess-of-mandalore @mg024 and Finn!

And anyway, I hope you love it! Thank you so much for the challenge! <3

Prompt: The Chain (Ingrid Michaelson)

THE CHAIN

The sky over Capital City is grey, and tremulous when they arrive on Coruscant. A natural storm had surged over the breakers of the planet’s ancient atmo regulators to sound its rage and fury out above the city. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and though some might take it as an ill omen, Satine thinks it a fair reflection of the twisting winds within her breast. Rain falls in great, heavy drops, lashing its grief across the transparisteel viewports as they break through the clouds. Thunder cracks, righteous and defiant. Lightning fractures the plate of the sky, reaching out with jealous fingers to touch the earth. Korkie has slept through it all, but Satine doesn’t want to miss any moment more than she must.

They hit the pad with the sudden jolt of gravity reasserting itself, the locking clamps securing them in place. She feels each shudder of the ship echoing in her bones, the soft satyn of her simple travelling gown like water over her skin. Every contrast feels sharp, and malicious. She takes Korkie’s small hand in her larger one, and together they wait for the ramp to lower, releasing them into the wilds outside.

And they are met.

Across the platform, standing silent in the downpour, is Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Though her vision blurs, and renders his face unreadable, she can see the straight line of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his chin, and the defiant stance of his feet spread wide. His hands are hidden in the fold of his cloak, and at his back are Masters Windu and Jinn.

At Satine’s back is the black maw of the ship, and the wind whistling through it. Korkie laughs, and she looks away from the Jedi to see her son, hands out, catching rain. 

“It’s wet! Belli, look!” he says, showing her his hand, shining in the grey light. “The sky is crying!”

Satine feels the rain coursing over her own face, and smiles in recognition of his delight.

“It is,” she says. “Happy tears, of course. Coruscant is glad to meet you, kih'kairkiyc.”

He grins at her, and she squeezes his hand, and together they cross the narrow bridge from the ship’s dock to the reception platform where they are met by Obi-Wan. He steps forward, and bows, deep, and formal.

“Duchess,” he says. His voice does not waver, but lies flat, and orderly in the space between them. 

He is much the same as she remembers, though his hair is longer, and his braid is cut. A beard has grown in, at long last, though she does not like how it covers his mouth, and hides half his face, and she longs to reach out and wipe it away so she might be able to read him again, like she used to. But there is more than an arm’s length between them, so instead, she nods her head in acknowledgement.

“Knight Kenobi,” she says, like glass, clean and showing nothing of itself.

Korkie tugs at her hand, and she pulls him forward to introduce him next. His fingers linger at the tips of hers as she lets him go. He takes a step. He takes a breath, and just as they’d practiced, he bows with his hands clasped before him, until his back is level with the floor.

“How do you do, Knight Kenobi?” Then, in succession, “Master Windu. Master Jinn.”

The three Jedi return the gesture. Master Windu is tense, and wary of her, she can tell, still unconvinced of the wisdom in this. Obi-Wan’s eyes are fixed on her, but Qui-Gon Jinn smiles at the boy, and Korkie stumbles back until he falls against his mother’s stomach, his hand reaching out to fist in the fabric of her gown to steady himself.

“Hello Korkie,” the old Jedi greets. His voice is soft, like birdwatchers in Keldabe before. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Obi-Wan is pulled from his study of the past by this reminder of their present company. His hands drop, and he shifts, leaning towards her, his head ducked and uncertain.

“I apologise for the weather,” he says. “I would have - if there had been any indication of inclemence such as this, I would have suggested somewhere with a roof.”

“Of course,” Satine says, too quickly. Then, bridling herself, she continues. “Coruscant is usually such a civilised, and well-behaved planet, it could not have been foreseen.”

There is the promise of forgiveness at the end of her declaration, which Obi-Wan accepts with relief, and they smile at each other. It is brief, and carried more in their eyes, than in their mouths or hands, but it is there nonetheless.

“And you, Master Korkie,” says Qui-Gon, with a smirk of his own. “Are you more civilised, and well-behaved than you appear at first glance?”

He gestures to Korkies rumpled tunic, and mussed hair which sticks up in wild tussocks like knots of grass.

“Someone was rather exhausted by our journey,” says Satine, fondly. “He fell asleep just past Corsin.”

“It was rather a long flight,” says Korkie, in his own defence. “And I don’t much like flying. Lightspeed always feels funny.”

At this, Qui-Gon kneels to meet Korkie on his level, and speaks as if he is confessing some great secret.

“Do you know,” he says, “That Knight Kenobi also dislikes flying.”

Korkie throws a wondering glance at Obi-Wan, who shifts beneath the scrutiny.

“Truly?” he asks Qui-Gon.

The Jedi nods. “Yes, truly. Only he stays awake the whole time.”

“Why?”

“I think in order to complain,” says Qui-Gon. “He needs to be sure that I am equally as miserable as he is, otherwise he feels lonely for company. But it does make for a very long trip, from my point of view.”

“That’s silly, Knight Kenobi,” declares Korkie. He turns to address Obi-Wan directly, and though he speaks critically, his brow is lifted, and his eyes wide in an earnest desire to ease the knight’s discomfort. “It’s much better if you sleep,” he says, with all the wisdom of a moment. “The time goes by much faster.”

Obi-Wan is forced to accept his master’s censure with grace as to spare the gentle feelings of an innocent child, so he smiles, and bows to acknowledge the boy.

“As you say, Master Kryze. You are probably right.”

“I know I am,” Korkie says. “Even though I do look a little wild in the end. But I feel tidy. So I suppose it’s just a matter of which part of me you look at.”

With a rumble that starts deep in his belly, then tumbles out like thunder, Qui-Gon Jinn laughs.

“A man after my own heart,” he says, giving Korkie a little clap on the shoulder. “I foresee you will become a great Jedi, Kiorkicek Kryze.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Duchess, Obi-Wan,” says Master Windu, stepping between the parties, “But as this rain doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon, may I suggest we complete the investiture ceremony somewhere a little drier?”

He levels Obi-Wan with a challenging glance, but its severity is diminished somewhat by his own bedraggled state. Despite their equal exposure, the rain has somehow managed to do more damage to Mace Windu’s composure than any of the others. Perhaps because he is more conscious of his position, and his dignity than the other two, Qui-Gon being rather untroubled by such pretensions, and Obi-Wan still humbled and distracted by the circumstances in which he’s come face to face with the unquiet ghosts of his past. Both of them wear the rain with ease, but Mace has struggled, unable to convince himself of the need to shield himself, but conscious of the desire. His cloak is patchy with damp, and the top of his head reflects the sky, the water washing his face, and dripping from his lips and chin. It is clear that Obi-Wan feels this indignity on his superior’s behalf, but Satine fights laughter at the spectacle.

“I think that would be wise, Master Windu,” she says, her voice tripping and sparking with barely repressed delight.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, with a shallow bow. And then he says, “There is an air car waiting.”

And Satine feels her stomach drop.

She meets Obi-Wan’s eye over Mace’s shoulder. His gaze is steady, and somber and as he makes his answer to the master’s request, and she can hear farewell in the heaviness of his voice.

“Yes, Master Windu,” he says. “Satine, I’m sorry we must be so brief, but I -” and he stands gaping, and voiceless for a moment.

The tight knuckle of sickness twists in her gut, scraping across the raw nerves of the underside of her skin, buckling muscles, and shifting against her bones, but she swallows the nausea back, and saves Obi-Wan from the inexorable void of silence.

“Do not apologise, Obi-Wan,” she says. “These things cannot be helped. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps the sting will be less.”

“Like a plaster,” he says, numbly.

And she agrees. “Just like.”

Master Jinn’s rises from his crouch, leaving his hands to ghost over Korkie’s shoulders, his hand still wrapped in her own, and Obi-Wan still staring at her, still drowning in the rain. Master Windu is merciful then, and bows out his leave taking.

“I’ll prepare the car,” he says.

“Thank you, Mace,” says Qui-Gon, when no one says anything else, and Master Windu leaves them to say goodbye. 

But still, no one moves. Silence falls, a fragile, lacework thing, too delicate to touch with the clumsy fingers of speech. They remain suspended in its web for an age, until Qui-Gon braves what the others cannot fathom, and speaks again.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, stepping away from Korkie to reach for his own grown padawan. “A word.”

He draws him aside, turning away, turning their backs to Satine and Korkie, and speaking quietly in Obi-Wan’s ear, an arm about his shoulders, and drawing him close in private assignation. At another time, she might feel ostracised and othered by this, but now, she is grateful. It is she who is with Korkie, and the Jedi who must stand apart.

She kneels to face her son, heedless of her skirt, of the thin satyn and how it catches at the rough duracrete, pulling taut, maybe tearing beneath the pressure of her knees. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: herself, and her son, and the rain washing away the things between them.

“I don’t want to go,” says Korkie, and she grips his hands tighter than before.

“You must,” she says. “You must. You are going to be a wonderful Jedi Knight. Just think of that.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I know I said before, but I changed my mind. I want to go home.”

“You can’t go home, kih'kairkiyc,” she replies, her tongue growing thick with a truth she hates to speak. “Remember? We talked about this. It’s dangerous. But you will be safe here. Knight Kenobi will protect you.”

“But who will protect you if I’m not there?”

“Oh, many people, Kiorkicek,” she says. “A whole court of people. All the people. The people of Mandalore will be my strength, and they will take very good care of me while you’re away, and one day, when you come home, they will be glad to meet you again, and so will I.”

“Do you promise?” he asks. “You won’t forget me? Even if I’m gone for a very long time?”

“Even if you were gone for almost as long as forever, I would never forget you, Kiorkicek Kryze. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad. Ratiin.”

“Ratiin,” he repeats. “Always, and always.”

“Yes,” she avows. “Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“To wash my face, and brush my teeth every day, even if I’m very sleepy.”

And she laughs, pulling him close to her breast, and tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Yes,” she says. “That is very important, but what else?”

“To listen to the masters, and study hard, and show respect, and try my best, and to always, always be very kind to Knight Kenobi, because he isn’t always very kind to himself.”

“Yes,” she whispers. She presses a kiss to his hair, and combs it as flat as she can. “That last part, most especially, kih'kairkiyc. Look after each other. For me.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Belli.”

“Bal Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, balyc.”

“Satine?” The call is Obi-Wan’s and she looks up from the cradle of her embrace, and her son within it to see him standing cautious, and concerned a few paces away. “It’s time to go.” 

“Of course,” she says. She stands. She takes Korkie’s hand, nestled in her own, and places it in Obi-Wan’s. For a moment, the three of them are one, together, and then…

She lets go.

“Goodbye, my Kiorkicek,” she says. “Remember what I told you. Kote, ijaa, aliit. Ratiin.”

He nods, and she can see his grip tighten on Obi-Wan’s hand, fierce determination rising in the face of her expectations. It is Obi-Wan who falters.

“Satine, I -” he shakes his head. His eyes match the storm. “I will do my best by him, I swear. I will not fail you. I will not.”

“I know,” she says, steady where he is not. “I would not give him up to another. None but you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Gar ratiin ru’kar'taylir. Be gentle with it.”

He nods. There is nothing else to say, and they’ve always been terrible at goodbye. She smiles at Korkie one last time, and he points at the sky.

“Happy tears,” he says, and grins, wiping the salty streaks from his own face.

And with that, he tugs on Obi-Wan’s hand, and leads him off towards the distant figure of Mace Windu, and the air car waiting patiently to take them home.

But Satine is not alone.

Qui-Gon Jinn steps close, until she can feel his shoulder jut up against her own, the warmth of his body breaching the barricade of wet clothes, to soothe her own chapped skin, and she shivers against him.

For a moment, they say nothing, just watching as Obi-Wan turns to Korkie, and Korkie to Obi-Wan, chatting animatedly, his free hand swooping through the air. She imagines he must be telling him of their departure from Mandalore, and the world he left behind, and she hopes that selfishly, she might be included in as many of these stories as he thinks to tell, because he is in all of hers. Qui-Gon chuckles beside her.

“Fast friends, already,” he says.

“Forgotten just as fast,” she whispers, nearly losing the words to the storm. But Qui-Gon is listening closely.

“Never that,” he says. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she yields like water, dropping her head to his shoulder, and weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I thought I was ready,” she says, hitching breaths to match the shifting winds. “But it has come too soon.”

She feels his chin press against her skull, and though it isn’t exactly comfortable, there is comfort in the angles of his affection, and she leans closer to him, until her arms sneak beneath the wet folds of his outer robe, and wrap around his waist. She clings there, as though she might blow away. This is familiar, though it is an old, old memory, now. She was once a girl, before she was a Duchess, and Qui-Gon Jinn was once to her the very thing her father could not be. She was bereaved, but never lost, and there were many nights that Qui-Gon held her while she wept just like this. It is easy to reach for him, now. It is easy to look back.

“You are never ready,” he says, his voice vibrating so near to her ear it is as though he speaks to her from within her own mind. “But he is not going very far. He is with his family. He is with his father. You are not losing him to the wilderness.”

“No,” she says. “Only to the Force.”

He does not chide her for the bitterness upon her tongue.

His own words remain gentle, and soothing, and he rocks her in his arms, as they watch the matched set of their hearts walk away.

“Then I have lost my own heart twice,” he says. “First to the Force, and then to you. But people always come back, in one way or another. No one is gone forever.”

And as they reach the car, as though he hears their call from across a vast, unending night, and over the wind and roar of the storm, Obi-Wan looks back, and Qui-Gon smiles.

“Oh, look,” he says, as the knight turns once more to his son. “There he goes again.”

Satine buries her face in Qui-Gon’s arms, and though she doesn’t feel at peace, for a moment, she feels like she has come home.

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AHSOKA TANO ☆ dual lightsabers opening stance through the ages

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underrated clone wars dynamics » QUINLAN VOS & OBI-WAN KENOBI

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I commissioned @ymirr-art-blog​ to make me a badass and beautiful biker Luke and he delivered this work of art.  Thank you.