#and obi-wan to volunteer in a heartbeat

[tennessoui]

more hunger games au anyone?

(first snippet) (1.6k) (dark. hunger games. canon typical violence for both sw and thg) The cannon rings out over the arena. It’s a sound Anakin has heard so many times before that he hardly even registers it now.

The Anakin on the television screen does not recognize the sound either nor does he seem to understand what it means. From an outsider’s perspective, he looks wild, eyes flashing, nostrils flared from his heavy breathing as he stabs the hunting knife again and again into the chest of the tribute from District Two, long past the time he has died. 

So long in fact, that even members of the Capitol audience turn away during this replay, looking vaguely sick. 

Anakin watches though. Anakin knows what’s coming. 

Anakin had not lost his mind at all, but from an outsider’s perspective, he can see how this must have looked as though he had. 

But everything had been calculated. Every stab had been with intent. Anakin had been in control the entire time.

He wonders if that would make the citizens of the Capitol more scared of him, if they knew that. If they knew how in control Anakin was then and is now. 

On the screen, a girl screams for the fallen Tribute. Anakin makes sure to deaden his eyes, to straighten his posture, to flinch at the noise. 

On the screen, the girl reaches out to clasp at Anakin’s shoulder. She probably thought she could out-manipulate him. She probably thought he would never kill her outright. After all, his entire strategy had been to convince everyone he was hopelessly in love with her. He couldn’t just kill her after weeks of loving her. Hell, maybe she even bought his act. Maybe she thought he really loved her. 

She should have just stabbed him in the back.

On the stage, the couch, Anakin watches as the girl’s hand falls onto his shoulder. He watches as the Anakin in the Games turns around and stabs her in the throat. 

The hunting knife goes clean through. She is dead in seconds. 

The audience sobs as one. There are screams, though this is just a rerun. Anakin wonders about their reactions during the live showing. Did they faint? Did they care? Did they care so much they thought they would die? Was he a tragic character? Was he a villain? 

After all, they just watched him kill the love of his life.

Obviously, he had not meant to. Anakin on the screen recoils in horror. He pulls out the knife and watchs his fellow district 4 tribute drop to the ground.

Dead. 

The cannon goes off at the same time he begins to scream, eyes wide and mouth wider, bloody hands scrabbling useless at her open throat. He is still screaming, dry sobs leaving his parted lips as he tries to repair what can never be fixed.

Anakin on the victor’s couch watches his breakdown dispassionately. He should have cried, he decides. And right as he puts his face down to muzzle into her hair, the cameras pick up a hint of a smile.

Amateurish.

“Anakin,” the host says, as the screen fades to black. His tone is commiserating, sympathetic, pitying. He leans across the space between his seat and Anakin’s couch and puts a hand on his knee. Anakin does not have to pretend to flinch away. He is sick of people touching him. There is only one person in the entire world he wants touching him right now, and that man is in the audience watching. 

Anakin wonders suddenly if Obi-Wan had screamed when he watched him kill the girl. If he had cried out. If he had been relieved.

Anakin had been relieved, but he makes sure to hide that relief now. 

“Anakin,” the host says again. “I am so very sorry that I had to show that to you.”

Anakin turns his head away. He clenches and unclenches his jaw. He makes fists with his hands and then uncurls his fingers. “You watch it,” he says. “I have to live with it.”

The audience makes appropriate noises of sympathy. There are a few jeers, some boos. The girl from his district had been some people’s favorites to win. He knows this now. 

He bites back the urge to call them all idiots. Every last one of them who thought she could win. She never could have. Not when Anakin was there. Not when Obi-Wan told him shakily, that last night before the arena, lips pressed to his forehead and face wet: come home to me.

“What was going through your mind, Anakin?” The host asks, still in that same sympathetic tone. “You’d just killed your sixteenth tribute. It was just you and Robin remaining as soon as Diamond died. We were all so worried for the pair of you, weren’t we?”

He turns to the audience and the audience screams back. Anakin sits there. Anakin thinks. 

“I know more than a few of us were hoping the Gamemakers would create a rule change, just for the two of you. What I would have given, to see you and your beloved go home together.” The host shakes his head, hand on his chest. His eyes remind Anakin of the sea predators he pulled from the ocean in his district. He has shark eyes.

Anakin has killed and gutted a hundred sharks. Anakin is still in control.

What the host does not know is that he will go home with his beloved. And no one in the Capitol will ever bother them again.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Anakin says emotionlessly. “It was instinct. It—”

He swallows and shifts on the couch. From the pocket of his pants, he pulls out a thin slip of paper. It’s dotted in blood. It had come to him in a silver parachute, folded neatly within a thick blanket: his only gift from his mentor.

ROBIN. is all it says. 

But it’s in Obi-Wan’s handwriting. And Anakin knows what it means. He’d pulled it out countless times during his days in the arena, rubbing his thumb over the ink. To an outsider, it must have looked like he was worrying over the girl’s name, a token of his affections, visible proof of who he was thinking about at night when he stared out into the manufactured desert instead of sleeping.

Only he and Obi-Wan knew who he was really thinking of. Only Obi-Wan knew he would forget the girl’s name without a concrete reminder in his hands.

He runs his thumb over the word in Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more. He must get this right. They are so close to being able to live forever happily undisturbed. He just needs to lie for another few hours. Then he will get his reward.

“It changes you, the arena,” he says quietly. “I felt…entirely like a different person. And I was always on my guard. I had no allies—” he had killed all his allies— “and I was alone. I cared only for one thing. One person.” This isn’t a lie. “And then—it’s so hard to keep count. When—” he glances down at the paper in his hand. “Robin touched me, I thought I had counted wrong. That there was another tribute, not her and not me. It was…instinct. I thought I was eliminating a threat.”

“I am so sorry,” the host says with his cold, dead eyes. “I cannot imagine killing the love of your life.” Neither can Anakin, of course. He’d chew off his own arm before he hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi. Instead of saying this, he looks down. He needs to cry, but the tears won’t come.

“It feels like it was someone else,” he mutters. The microphone attached to him will pick it up. “Someone else’s hands.” “But they were yours,” the host presses against the perceived bruise in what Anakin can only describe as restrained glee. “They were your hands.”

“Yes,” Anakin agrees. He looks out into the audience. He cannot see Obi-Wan, but he knows the man is there. He had been the first to hug him once he exited the arena. He had hardly been more than five steps away from him since then.

He keeps shooting Anakin looks, as if afraid that he will suddenly collapse into tears and shatter apart. After all, he just killed seventeen people in the span of one week. Obi-Wan had made it through his games with only three kills under his belt, and each one haunted him to this day.

But Anakin is fine. Anakin won. Anakin was back. Anakin had Obi-Wan, and so Anakin is fine. 

His hands start to shake when he thinks about losing Obi-Wan, and tears of fury gather in the corners of his eyes. He would burn the world down if they were to try and take Obi-Wan away from him. Seventeen people would be nothing.

“And what do you have to say to the people who think you planned to always kill Robin?” the host asks. “That you never wanted her to win the Games?”

Anakin shakes his head and then rubs at his eyes, brushing the tears away. “I loved her,” he lies. His thumb rubs over Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more, the swoop of the ‘o’, the slant of the ‘b’. “When you love someone the way I loved her, you’d do anything for them. It makes you crazy. To love like that. You’d do anything for them.”

“Are you saying you thought that you would die in the arena so she could live?” the host prompts, hands folded neatly into his lap.

Anakin shakes his head and then nods. And then he shakes his head again. The host takes pity on him. “Now that you’ve won your Games, Anakin, what will you do?”

Anakin’s thumb swipes once more over the writing on the paper. “I just want to go home,” he says. And this time, it’s the truth. 

[ninjigma]

QuinFox Week Part 3/7 - First / Previous / Next

Day 3: Knight in Shining Armor + Goodbye Message Track: 'Now - Connor' - Nima Fakhrara (Spotify / YouTube)

Vos's lungs burned.

He was racing down side streets, slipping and sliding around corners in the heavy rain, and trying not to think about Fox going in the opposite direction.

"You have to leave Fox! Get the information back-"

"I am not leaving you-"

"Now Fox!"

He could feel himself getting dizzier, and a shot finally made it past his saber as he rounded a corner. He was forced to jump and run along an alley wall past more of the deadly droids, managing to decapitate two of the four, for what little it will do with the three still tailing him.

"Quinlan-"

"No Fox, I'm sorry. I'm giving you the chance to get back. You have to take it."

"But I-!"

"Goodbye Fox." Voice soft despite his pain, with a weight Quinlan spent most of his life always hiding. "Thanks for being my... my friend. One of the best."

The way the holocron shattered as his lightsaber ignited through it had been gorgeous in and of itself, red shards flickering to dullness around the green blade. He wished he could have kept it but there had been no time for anything more as in an instant the museum had been swarming with droids. Much more than had any right to be there, and the feeling it had been a trap itched at the back of his preoccupied mind.

He hadn’t prepared enough, had gone after the prism on a whim and with no aid or plan. He had rushed the display and in his haste the droids had managed to land a sharp blow across his thigh that left him now struggling with blood loss. He hadn't made it far before they had cornered him again and swung at him with electro staffs glowing and blasters firing with no hesitation. But despite as much pain he suffered escaping and the certainty of death he faced now, he knew he would make the same choices in a heartbeat.

His only regret had been those final words to Fox before he destroyed the mask and the link to the Commander.

That in the end he hadn’t lied, but he still hid the truth.

Quinlan stumbled to a halt at the end of an alley, the roof line too far for him to jump in this state. And that wasn’t his goal now anyhow. It was to die giving Fox enough time to make it off the planet, to get the information that would help the Republic back safely. Specifically to Obi-Wan and the 212th, which may have selfishly been the reason Quinlan had volunteered so easily in the first place. He may have his own issues and reservations about this war and how things seemed to be going for the Jedi in it, but he would take on the droid army all by himself if it meant protecting what little family he felt he truly had.

So as he turned to face the droids hot on his heels a hand fell to the deep wound on his inner thigh and tried to keep a pressure strong enough to allow him one last fight. It was wet, hot, and burned at the touch, but he barely registered it as his saber blazed to life and his heart set itself in stone.

He supposed he had gotten his wish of not having Fox taken away. But as he blocked blasters and watched the droids advance he regretted that he had been too vague about not leaving Fox behind himself. That, as sure as he was in the decision to destroy something that could bring the Sith to greater power, he regretted the pain he had inflicted on Fox, knowing the man well enough that he would agonize over how this all could have gone better, things he could have done to save him as if it hadn’t been Quinlan’s choices every step of the way that brought him here.

As another shot landed on his shoulder and his lightsaber fell, he found one last moment to close his eyes and revise the wish he had made only a few days before.

‘May he find peace, even if I am not there to see it.’

The sound of blaster fire-

-then the snap of metal.

Quinlan's eyes shot open in shock and watched Fox, who had dropped in front of him with a foot landing perfectly on the weak point of the droid's neck seconds after shooting it in the chest. The droids were unprepared and Fox was as precise as ever, taking out the squad in quick and deadly movements. Faced against the last and most recovered droid they exchanged fast hand-to-hand before Fox dropped to a knee and delivered a final shot to the chin of the droid, the heavy thud drowned out by the shuddering of rainfall.

As Fox turned to look at Quinlan, careful and taunt, all the adrenaline and joy rushed out of the Jedi and he dropped fully to the ground.

He was safe. Even as his vision went black and the pain flared, Quinlan knew, with Fox, he was safe.

@foxquinweek

[meetmyevilways]

Mand'alor

Darth Maul x Reader (Mand'alor!Maul x Jedi!Reader)

The prompts are taken from the-purity-pen's List.

Kinktober Masterlist

Prompt: 12.Begging || Body Worship || Formal Wear 

Plot: The new Mand'alor captivates you...

Warnings: ignoring a lot of canon stuff, not much else really this just got really soft and more hinting than actually happening

***

It wasn’t every day that Mandalorians would ask for help, especially not from the Jedi Order so you were intrigued to say the least. You were always fascinated by their warrior culture so you volunteered to go with Obi-Wan to investigate this dark force user that supposedly claimed their throne.

Something was bothering Kenobi and he wasn’t willing to share it with you so you just rolled your eyes at him when he suggested you split up to cover more ground while your arrival remained undetected and went with it.

After a few minutes you gave in to that annoyingly persistent nudge that told you Obi-Wan needs backup. Following your instincts, you made your way to the throne room where you found your temporary partner duelling with someone who awfully resembled the description of the sith that Obi-Wan killed on Naboo a few years ago.

At your arrival they both turned to you, their lightsabers still connected between them, still putting pressure on the hilts to make their opponent burn with the blade. The eye contact with the zabrak only lasted a moment but it made your breath hitch, your heartbeat stuttering at the weird familiarity and the pull you feel towards this stranger. 

You quickly shake it off and join the fight and while half your energy is consumed by fighting your anger with the Jedi master beside you for deliberately seeking out danger alone, you can’t help but admire the way this lithe fighter moves.

Obi-Wan collides with the wall after a well-aimed attack with the force from your enemy so you fight the zabrak alone for a while and for some insane reason you feel like smiling, like it’s fun. Your clash gets more and more playful, it’s not about winning anymore, you enjoy the fight with a worthy opponent.

When the momentary incapacitated Jedi would return to the fight a dozen or two beskar-clad guards interrupt and you follow Obi-Wan’s lead to surrender, although very begrudgingly. 

***

You wake up in a room that would be a fit for royalty, sitting up on the large bed you steady yourself best as you can, the hit to the back of your head knocked you out pretty effectively but the dizziness and ache could have been avoidable with a stun gun. Nevertheless, this is much better than you were expecting.

The zabrak enters the room like he sensed your awakening, which he might have if you come to think of it. You question him about Obi-Wan and he tells you with a chilling smile that he is in a less comfortable prison but he is unharmed for now. 

He introduces himself as Maul, the new ruler of Mandalore and he doesn’t hide his interest in you. You only tell him your name, not seeing the point to answer the rest of his questions about you, your partner or your mission. Although you can’t help but scoff when he wanted to know if you are Obi-Wan’s padawan.

Maul visits you each day at least once, you still refuse to entertain his inquiries but after a few days you can’t help your own curiosity and ask questions of your own. He gives a few, short replies only, then he just makes a disapproving tsking sound and proposes a deal, a ‘tit for tat’ as he puts it.

You would never admit that you enjoy your conversations and his company. It turns out you have a lot in common with him, you both were taken because of your abilities and were trained in the ways of force without choice to serve in  someone else’s fight.

The days go by quickly and you spend most of the time with him, there are guards assigned to accompany you but he lets you roam the palace freely and for the first time in a while you start to feel like you are actually free. Which is ironic given that you are still a captive technically.

You knock on Maul’s door but enter without waiting for his consent, too excited to see him even though you only parted a few hours ago. What you don’t expect is to see him in that state.You can’t help but letting your eyes roam over his exposed frame, halting at the moment he adjusts his pants and covers his muscular and equally tattoo-decorated lower half.

“Apologies.” You quickly look down shyly and hastily make your way to get out of this embarrassing situation.

“Am I that terrible looking?” His question is teasing but you can feel a barely noticeable edge of anxious insecurity behind it. So you collect your courage and step inside, closing the door behind you and look at him again, eyebrows drawn in a confused and doubtful frown.

“You are stunning. I don’t think there are words in basic that would properly describe you.” Voice only a bit louder than whisper, you tentatively step closer and closer to him until only inches separate the two of you.

His breath stutters at what you said and the excitement your closeness builds also increases the beats of his hearts until his convinced you could hear them too. And sure, if you weren’t so mesmerised by the sigh of him you might have noticed his reactions to you.

Raising your right hand to explore him, you stop before you actually touch and search his eyes for permission. “Can I?” 

His lips pull to a light smile, unlike any of his smirks you have seen so far and he subtly nods at you, almost nuzzling your palm like a cat, at which you return his hesitant smile.

You softly caress his face with your fingertips, following the line from the horn at the middle-front of his crown, slowly tracing the pattern to his nose and tentatively brushing along his lips. His fiery gaze is on you the whole time but you don’t meet it with your own, your focus is on the details of his tattoos. 

Emboldened by the way he allowed you to be this intimate, you raise your other hand to travel the same route along the side of his face. Touching the two horns on the sides of his forehead, carefully nearing the shape around his eyes, your eyes flicker to his for the first time since you started touching him and the burning ember of his gaze capture yours just like at your first meeting. Your lips part with a gasp as you feel the now familiar pull to him intensify, your hands halt in mid move, hovering above his browline and he holds you captive like that, soaking up the feelings lit by your deepening connection. 

He smiles at you lightly but there is a hint of smugness in it that helps you break away again. Maul pulls you closer by your elbows and closes his eyes, encouraging you to continue your exploration.

After tracing along the shapes down to his chest you get even more bold and lean in to press a kiss to where his hearts speed up even more. You look up at him to search for any discomfort but you find none so you guide him to his bed and wordlessly ask him to lie down for you then you continue where you left off as you hover above him. Stroking his skin by the lines and shapes across his stomach up to his chest and continuing then down again, you press kisses further down towards his stomach and feel him tremble beneath your touch when you arrive at the angry scar that still remains sensitive after all these years. 

Feeling him tense under your lips, you soothe him with gentle caresses around the scar then pressing your lips below it you close your eyes and concentrate on healing him. His surprised gasp almost makes you smile but you try to concentrate on the task. When you are done and part from him to check his reaction again Maul displays his unnatural speed as he quickly tugs you up on his body and pulls you into a wild and desperate kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

He grabs your hips and rolls you on your back while a surprised squeal leaves your lips that turns into laughter as you grab his shoulder with one hand and the horns on the back of his head with the other to find a balance in mid drift.

He smiles down at you with adoration and cups your cheek as he takes in your lovely laughter with proudness about the fact that he is the cause of it. You return his caress with a pout that you can barely contain because your lips keep pulling back into a smile. “I wasn’t done.”

“It’s my turn.” Maul nuzzles your neck before he starts to explore your body. He is patient and attentive, making you feel loved and appreciated for the first time since you can remember and you bask in the feeling as you connect with him, body and soul united while you lay bare below him and accept every moment of pleasure he is willing to give. 

***

Waking up a few hours later, pleasantly aching all over, you smile at the man splayed by your side and press a featherlight kiss to his lips before you grab his robe and make your way down to the dungeon where you free Obi-Wan and return his belongings so he can return to Coruscant where he belongs.

“Are you hurt? What did he do to you?” He grabs you by your elbows but you pull away and point in the direction of the hangar.

“Your ship is that way.” He studies your crestfallen face for a while before he concludes that you must be in a hurry if you want to get out of here.

“Alright, we can talk later. Let’s go.” He nods at you and starts running the way you motioned but abruptly stops when he hears your voice again.

“I’m not going with you.”

“Come on. We don’t have time for this.” He runs back to you and tries to tag you along by his grasp on your hand but you pull away again.

“I don’t want to go.”

“What did you do to her?” His question is addressed to the shadow emerging behind you. You were hoping this could be done before he wakes up.

It’s only now that Kenobi’s adrenaline-filled brain registers what you are wearing and the state of the half-dressed ex-sith then he looks at you with so much disappointment that it makes you sick. “He turned you.”

“He did nothing. This is my decision and I am sick of being told that the Jedi way is the right way. I want to be angry and sad and even want to be able to experience fear without someone telling me that it’s wrong. I want to be free.” You explain with a passion Obi-Wan never witnessed you to possess.

“You want to stay with him.” There’s disgust in his voice now, mixing with his previous disdain. You weren’t close and couldn’t really say you liked the man that much but it was still a sting of hurt in you at his reaction.

Maul wanted to reach out to soothe you but he knew that wouldn’t be wise now and your next words made him freeze in place anyway.

“I’m not sure about that.” You reply, looking away for a second with the shame they planted in you for daring to disobey the Jedi rules but finding your courage to face the Jedi master with confidence as you state your wish one more time. “All I know is that I will not go back with you.” 

“Leave, while you still can.” Maul sneers at Kenobi who takes one more pleading look at you before he turns with obvious disapproval and leaves to report the council that he lost you.

When Obi-Wan’s ship disappears into the clouds Maul turns away from you and offers you a way out, carefully masking his emotions. “You can choose any ship you like, I’ll make sure it has enough resources for a few months at least.”

“Are you kicking me out?” He looks back, mirroring your confused expression at the hurt in your voice.

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

“I don’t.” Your frown deepening.

“But you said...” 

“I want to find myself again, I’ve been one of them for as long as I can remember, I don’t know how to be anything else but I want to try. I might be able to find my way here, I might have to leave at some point. All I know is that I don’t want to rush into a decision. But if you want me to leave...” Pulling further away like his words alone wounded you, waiting for his decision that would surely break you.

“No!” He almost yells in panic and pulls you impossible close, holding you so tight you can hardly breathe but you return his embrace with a teary smile after his next words. “Stay. Stay with me.”

***

[padawanlost]

Hello! I was wondering how did Padmé view the other members of the Jedi Order besides Anakin and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan?

She respected them? I mean, it’s hard to tell because Padmé didn’t really think about them beyond their professional relationship. She clearly respected them even when she didn’t fully agree with their choices. Beyond that, there isn’t much to say about her relationship with the Jedi Order. They clearly had a good partnership going but it’s not like she was a personal friend to any Jedi. Even Padmé’s relationship with Obi-wan is greatly exaggerated by the fandom. There was a mutual fondness and respect there but it’s not like they braided each other hair or anything like it. 

[Bail] considered her. “There’s not much you don’t know about the Jedi, is there?” “I wouldn’t say that,” she said, blushing. “I’ve just had a little more to do with them than most people, that’s all.” She certainly had, he knew. Fighting with them on Naboo. On Geonosis. She was practically an honorary Jedi herself. “I suppose your experiences have given you a unique insight into them,” he said thoughtfully. “Which is good. You can translate. Because I think the rest of us just find them … a little strange.” “Strange?” she said, indignant. “They’re not strange, Bail. They’re brave and resourceful and—”[Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

“Padmé,” [Bail] said as he reached her, then pulled her aside into a convenient alcove. His dark eyes were anxious. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of the bombings’ casualties.” The lies came so easily now. “No! I didn’t—oh, that’s awful, Bail. How badly is he hurt?” “He’s not dead. But I’m told it’s serious. I’m sorry. I know you’re friends.” Well, she wouldn’t precisely call them that. Not since she’d ignored his plea and promptly married the man he’d begged her to renounce. “Friends. Yes. Bail, how did you find out? There’s been no announcement.” [Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

She blinked back stinging tears. You say you understand, Obi-Wan, but you don’t. In every way that counts you don’t know Anakin at all. But I do. I know him. I have seen his true heart. All of it. My love can save him. But she couldn’t tell Obi-Wan that. He’d never believe it. And he would never turn a blind eye now that he knew she and Anakin loved each other. So she had to make him think he’d convinced her to abandon Anakin. The need for such a deception grieved her. She liked Obi-Wan, very much. And she knew he did love Anakin, in the pallid, self-contained way of the Jedi. But Anakin’s love was like the heat of a supernova. In attempting to control it, the Jedi would destroy him. [Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

“Thank you, no,” said Yoda, and raised a hand to the droid. “Regret this intrusion I do, Senator Amidala, but on urgent business have I come.” “I gathered as much, Master Yoda, given the hour,” she said, carefully noncommittal. Determined not to ask questions, but to see what he was willing to volunteer. “A favor I would ask of you, Senator. Should you agree, in your debt would the Jedi Order be.” She pulled her robe a little closer to her body and sat on the nearest chair. “There can never be talk of debts between us, Master Yoda. What do you need me to do?” Yoda leaned on his gimer stick. She thought he looked very tired. And at close to nine hundred years old, she supposed he had a right to be. [Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

A muddle of emotions touched his face: chagrin, relief, annoyance, uncertainty. Then his familiar self-control returned. “I’m sorry. A misunderstanding, Senator. I thought that—you sounded concerned over the comlink and I—” [Obi-wan] looked down at her hand on his arm. “You’re worried for him,” she said, leaving her hand where it was. “Is he in trouble?” Faint color touched Obi-Wan’s pale face. “Padmé, I can’t—it’s not appropriate that I—” He shook his head. “I can’t.” “Can’t what?” she said softly, and withdrew her hand. “Admit you’re worried? Of course you can. You can to me. I’m not Yoda. I’m not Mace Windu. I don’t think caring for someone is a crime. Is Anakin in trouble?” She didn’t think he’d answer. Thought instead he’d put her in her Senatorial place with a few chilly, well-chosen words. He was good at that. But he didn’t. Instead she saw his Jedi mask slip again, just for a heartbeat. Saw that beneath his stoic exterior he was as conflicted as Anakin so often was. In his eyes, the need to talk. To share. To know he wasn’t alone in being afraid.[Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

I think Padmé, like most of the intellectual elite and privileged beings of the GFFA, had a great deal of admiration and gratitude for the Jedi order’s service, even if they weren’t personally involved in their business. Padmé’s closeness to the Jedi order, of course, went a little deeper because of their multiple missions together and the fact she was actually married to one of them. However, that closeness gave a better insight into the Order and made her more protective of their sacrifice but also more critical of their doctrines. 

She defended them, she respected them but she didn’t necessarily agree with them. At least, not with everything. Padmé was in a complicated position but one she managed to navigate well, thanks to her political experience. Overall, I’d say Padmé had a good relationship with the Jedi (if we ignore the fact she was also lying to them on a regular basis).

[sanerontheinside]

12(for the kiss meme). obiqui

psssst where are all my fakemarried au ppls?

paging @meggory84 , @skyywalkerfen , @kettish , @punsbulletsandpointythings , @norcumi !

Later, if he’d been forced to defend himself, Qui-Gon might have said that he’d fallen too deep into his role. If he’d cared to lie.

In the moment he gave up thinking altogether and pulled Obi-Wan into a tight, near-desperate embrace, only half-registering that Obi-Wan clung to him just as fiercely. Qui-Gon pulled back just enough to cup Obi-Wan’s face in his hands and press a kiss to his brow. Obi-Wan slumped, let out a small, involuntary whimper, and Qui-Gon couldn’t bear the sound. It broke something in him, broke him apart and unleashed something fiercely possessive. Qui-Gon suddenly couldn’t get enough of the feel of that smooth rain-damp skin against his cracked lips, and showered light, quick kisses anywhere he could reach—eyebrows, cheeks, bridge of the nose, eyelids—until Obi-Wan covered Qui-Gon’s hands with his own and gripped them firmly.

“It’s all right, Qui, I’m here, I’m all right,” he whispered, eyes closed and expression soft.

“Gods, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured, and before he could think, before he could even comprehend what he was doing, he bent down and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s.

His brain caught up with him only a split second later, at the sound of a soft hum and the feel of Obi-Wan melting into him. And because his brain was merciless when least appropriate, it took care to remind him that this was his Knight partner and former Padawan; that they weren’t newlyweds in truth, only in mission legend; and that they were standing not so great a distance away from a wreckage. Qui-Gon was overjoyed to have Obi-Wan here, alive, and in his arms, but there were others surely in need of their help.

But while his mind was busy playing out an entire mental and emotional speederwreck, Qui-Gon’s mouth had done without any kind of instruction. It was the sting of teeth on his lower lip that brought Qui-Gon sharply back to reality. If that hadn’t been enough, the ticklish brush of the tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue that followed almost certainly would have shattered any remaining doubts that Obi-Wan was anything less than an avid participant in this.

The idea was so novel, and so startling, it punched a low, rough sound out of Qui-Gon’s chest. Obi-Wan shuddered deliciously against him. His hands, warm and strong, drifted up to Qui-Gon’s shoulders, then squeezed, nudged him back just a little. Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan move him as he would, but in the end there was barely an inch between them. Obi-Wan was looking at him with an expression Qui-Gon didn’t know how to read—or didn’t dare to.

“We still have work to do,” Obi-Wan murmured, voice only for the space between them and a wry smile on his lips.

“We do,” Qui-Gon agreed. Wondering if that meant he should let go, step back—

Obi-Wan pressed in closer, instead, winding his arms around Qui-Gon tight enough to make the man uncomfortably aware of his ribs before letting go and slowly easing them apart. “Most of the passengers and crew are out of the wreckage. We should help the emergency team.”

“We should get ourselves cleared by the emergency team, first,” Qui-Gon insisted amused. Obi-Wan was singed, bruised, and no little amount of ash stuck fast to his skin and clothes, slick with rain. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure there was dried blood in Obi-Wan’s hair, but he didn’t doubt for a second that there had been plenty opportunities for a knock on the head in the crash.

Obi-Wan seemed torn between glaring at his former Master and indulging his mission partner, so Qui-Gon decided to tip the balance in his favour with a soft “Please?”

Any protest Obi-Wan might have had crumpled away in the face of that one word, and he went willingly enough—though he pushed Qui-Gon ahead of himself, grumbling about getting knocked on the back of the head and stuffed into an emergency escape shuttle with a handful of hostile, corrupt politicians who were to be trusted even less than pirates. Qui-Gon decided it was better not to argue, if there was no other way to get Obi-Wan to sit still for a quick exam.

The medic who looked both of them over scowled, diagnosed them with a concussion apiece, and growled some choice disapproving words about Jedi who were going to ignore his orders anyway, see if he cared, and snapped a bracelet on both their wrists to monitor their vitals overnight.

“Terrible bedside manners,” Qui-Gon muttered under his breath, half-afraid the old Akathian would hear him and come back.

“Absolutely appalling,” Obi-Wan agreed, having heard him anyway. “But I think maybe he’s had to deal with crazy people far too long.”

Qui-Gon looked up just in time to see the same Akathian bearing down angrily across the field to Madleth, who was busy securing the arrests of the men Qui-Gon had left tied up in the emergency shuttle. The Head of State Security had her back to them, and yet still flinched preemptively, no doubt at the sound of an angry medic coming at her from behind.

“As long as he keeps her busy, he’s not keeping us here,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “Come on, let’s go see if we can help.”

Obi-Wan grinned and went along gamely.

It took some hours, to figure out which passengers were in need of alternate accommodations, which needed medical care and a medcenter stay, how they were all going to be transported, and how the matter of their lost baggage would be addressed. Obi-Wan discussed the environmental impact with one of the volunteers who’d responded to the emergency call, and agreed to put in an immediate request with the AgriCorps for an official appraisal and recovery plans. Qui-Gon noted the slightly guilty pinch to his expression, and did his best to reassure Obi-Wan, if by proximity alone.

“The Order can’t afford that sort of damage,” Obi-Wan said ruefully.

“Technically the saboteur was hired by one of the corporations who were attempting to fix an election outcome and bribe the incoming candidate,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “There’s sure to be a lawyer or two who would gladly take on a corporate case.”

“It’ll take years,” Obi-Wan protested.

“In the meantime, the AgriCorps will provide what services they can.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned into a grim line, but he nodded. “All right. Is there anything else we’re needed for?”

Qui-Gon looked around, noting the remaining groups of people clumped by the hotels they were soon to be transported to. The beach was almost empty. “Not tonight, I think. Shall we join the others?”

Obi-Wan nodded. In the light of the setting sun, he looked pale and exhausted, and Qui-Gon reached out to wrap an arm around him, pulling Obi-Wan in against his side. He didn’t let go, not in the shuttle, not even in the lift to their rooms.

They’d been given a suite with a single bed, of course—Madleth had booked the arrangements for a married couple from cruise to hotel room, and hadn’t bothered to change it now that their mission was done. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, far too exhausted to sort out his thoughts on the matter, and pushed Obi-Wan into the ‘fresher instead. He turned around, then stopped, reconsidering. “Are you going to fall down in there?”

“… No?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Listen for the sound of a body hitting the floor.”

“Right.” Qui-Gon sighed, and settled down against the wall just outside the door, resolved to do just that.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but a warm hand squeezed his shoulder gently, waking him. “Hm?”

“I didn’t fall,” Obi-Wan smiled down at him, the tips of his hair still dripping, “but I did wake up trying to, once or twice. You, on the other hand…”

Qui-Gon’s mouth felt dry, stuck in place, so he simply blinked and refused to take offense while trying to pick himself up off the floor. Obi-Wan’s hands automatically slipped into his and helped haul him up. “Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, or tried to. For some reason, the gesture left him oddly, guiltily shy. The fact that he was slipping into the ‘fresher to hide from this vision of his tousled, freshly-showered, towel-wrapped Knight partner didn’t make it any easier.

Qui-Gon felt ridiculously grateful for the fact that by the time he came out, hands occupied with toweling the still-dripping ends of his hair, Obi-Wan was already deeply asleep. Qui-Gon stared at the him for a long moment, taking in the copper hair, the lamplight casting golden overtones onto it and onto the smooth, pale expanse of skin, the curve of his spine, the gentle rise and fall of his ribs. Then he sighed, turned off the lamp, and slipped under the light covers beside Obi-Wan.

Moonlight spilled in through the high windows. Gorgeous as Obi-Wan was in lamplight, Qui-Gon loved this view of him as well. Greatly daring, he reached out with the lightest of touch to brush a few stray hairs out of the sleeping man’s eyes and behind his ear. Obi-Wan murmured something and turned to follow those fingers, catlike.

Guiltily, Qui-Gon caught his hand back. The last thing he wanted was to wake Obi-Wan now, when he’d finally fallen asleep. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and breathed in the clean scent of him, breathing deeply and evenly until he, too, relaxed into true rest.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that there was nothing better than waking up this way, surrounded by warmth, wrapped in strong arms and feeling the light stirring of Qui-Gon’s breath in his hair. Obi-Wan sighed and squirmed a little, burrowing deeper into the embrace while he still could enjoy it. The warmth of it, and the sound of Qui-Gon’s steady heartbeat in his ear threatened to lull him back to sleep, but Obi-Wan stubbornly kept himself awake, curled against Qui-Gon’s chest. He treasured every moment of this, resolved to bask in it for the last time before it ended.

He really had no idea how they could ever go back to the relationship they’d had before this mission. Obi-Wan had lived an impossible dream in the last few weeks, and the knowledge that he might never have this again filled him with a bottomless ache.

But he was quickly distracted from that train of thought. Qui-Gon stirred, waking with a deep sigh and a gentle stretch, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan as he shifted. Obi-Wan smiled at the sound of his pleased rumble, and the feel of Qui-Gon nuzzling into his hair. “Good morning, Qui,” he said.

“Mmhm,” Qui-Gon hummed, slowly drawing back and opening his eyes to look at him.

Obi-Wan’s breath caught. He’d never imagined his former Master looking at him like that—open and adoring, limned in golden morning light, as though nothing and no one else existed yet. “Hello there,” he murmured, soft and fond, reaching up to run light fingers over Qui-Gon’s cheek. Qui-Gon nuzzled into his palm, rumbling like a giant, pleased cat.

“Good morning,” he finally said, voice lower and rougher than Obi-Wan ever remembered hearing it.

Force, but he had no idea how to extricate himself from this. “I didn’t want to wake you,” Obi-Wan said, letting his hand slide further, into Qui-Gon’s hair. “I think you needed the rest.”

“Mm. You had me worried.”

Obi-Wan sputtered at that, amused. “I had you worried? You’re the one they took hostage!”

“And you were aboard the ship with a reactor about to go critical,” Qui-Gon rumbled, accusation in his tone. “The captain told me you crashed it, too.”

“I did.” Obi-Wan grinned, a brief, fleeting thing. “They were afraid of you. Never know what someone will do, when they’re afraid of their captive.”

“No,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Never know someone will survive crashing a ship, either.”

Obi-Wan tried to look at least mildly offended, especially in the face of that raised eyebrow that he knew so well, and gods, he desperately wanted to defuse the worry before Qui-Gon got to it. “I was aiming to save the passengers, I’ll have you know, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon cut him off, catching his hand in a gentle grasp and tracing a calming circle over the back of his hand. The look in Qui-Gon’s eyes completely stole his breath away, for good measure. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered, and drew Obi-Wan’s hand up to press the barest hint of a kiss to his knuckles.

Obi-Wan stared at him, speechless. “I—you—” he stammered briefly, then gave up again, feeling like there wasn’t enough air between them.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you, Obi-Wan.”

The swell of emotion that accompanied the words had Obi-Wan curling into Qui-Gon’s chest and hiding his face, pressing his ear to the sound of Qui-Gon’s even heartbeat. It had always calmed him, grounded him in the worst of turmoil, and Obi-Wan sought it now.

Only Qui-Gon Jinn could ever find a way to undo him with words, Obi-Wan reflected wryly.

“I did wonder,” Obi-Wan said softly, into the relative safety of not having to look Qui-Gon in the eye while he said it, “on the beach.”

“This mission was…” Under Obi-Wan’s ear, Qui-Gon’s pulse picked up just a touch. “It was difficult, being near you, playing a part that I suddenly realised I dearly wanted to fill in truth. Had wanted… for quite some time, I suspect. If you would have me. I didn’t know if… I didn’t know how to ask it. I thought I’d ask after we’d returned to Coruscant, and then I thought that would be too long a delay. Of course,” Qui-Gon added, with a dry chuckle, “then I got hit in the back of the head, and bound for good measure.”

Cautiously, Obi-Wan reached out and traced a finger down Qui-Gon’s arm, from shoulder to elbow. “That, too, was an unnecessary delay,” he said, then shifted to lean up on his elbow and look Qui-Gon in the eye. “I love you,” he went on, voice as even as he could manage and meant only for the space between them. “I have for years, now. And I’m very glad for this mission, suddenly, if that’s what it took for you to discover the same.”

When Qui-Gon shifted, as if to rise, Obi-Wan held up a finger. “I’d still rather not worry about losing you, myself. We’ve come too close to that once already.”

Qui-Gon’s face was an unreadable mask for a brief, tense moment. Then the tension snapped like an uncoiling spring. In the midst of it Obi-Wan found himself tugged down and held close, kisses pressed to the top of his head and his ear and neck and collarbone and temple while he squirmed, surprised and a bit ticklish. “Qui!”

And yet he was laughing, breathless and wild for the feel of smooth warm skin under his hands, for the play of muscle as Qui-Gon rolled them over and settled above him, over him, his expression soft and sleepwarm again, like they hadn’t just danced a knife-edge between heartbreak and joy.

There was, still, an edge of desperation to the kiss that followed. Obi-Wan soothed it as best he could, opening to the heat and sinking into it, dropping the shields around their pairbond. Qui-Gon gasped into his mouth, broke away to nibble at Obi-Wan’s neck, the tiny sting of teeth somehow more vivid under the tip of his tongue and sending sparks skittering across Obi-Wan’s skin. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped him, and then Qui-Gon’s own shields melted away.

Oh, but what a gift, to be welcomed into his Master’s mind and heart this way. Obi-Wan basked in the warmth of it, ached for the sharp sting of hunger that ran through them both. That Qui-Gon had kept so much fire and sheer want under durasteel control was at once amazing and painful. We’ve wasted so much time, Obi-Wan thought frantically, trying to all but crawl into Qui-Gon’s skin, into his very lungs; to curl up in there safely, wrapped and surrounded and subsumed.

“It wasn’t wasted,” Qui-Gon broke away for a shallow, panted breath.

Obi-Wan let out a burst of helpless, breathless laughter as Qui-Gon’s teeth found a ticklish spot. “No?” Qui-Gon’s skin against his, calloused hands sending sheets of cold and flame roaring through Obi-Wan’s body and making him shudder—how could anyone stand this?

“No,” Qui-Gon rumbled, voice so deep and dark and drenched with promise that Obi-Wan felt more than heard it. “All the more time for me to think of all the things I want to do with you, to you.”

“Really? Oh—” Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon devoted his complete attention to first one nipple, then gingerly skittered his fingers across Obi-Wan’s ribs to the other. The wildfire rush of sensation made Obi-Wan shiver as if he were cold. “And—Qui! Dammit, let me talk!”

A low chuckle answered him, but Qui-Gon did, mercifully, ease back a touch.

The look in his eyes might’ve been enough to undo Obi-Wan all by itself. “Tell me, Qui,” he whispered, mouth desert-dry beneath that longing, searing gaze. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes fell shut, his expression smoothing to something resembling an attempt at calm. But when he opened them again, Obi-Wan found himself staring into blue fire.

“I want to hear you,” Qui-Gon rasped. “I want to hear everything, Obi-Wan.”

For the first time in ages Obi-Wan reached for words and found none. He nodded mutely instead, eyes fixed on Qui-Gon’s as Qui-Gon bent his head down and returned to the task of driving his lover wild with tongue and teeth and hands alone.

There’s bound to be more of the smut later but for now…