#draboon

[direwolfrules]

Just Some Mandalorian Culture Headcanons (For Literally 2 Planets Cause I Got Bored)

Listen, Mandalorian Space contains several habitable moons and planets, and I just want some minor cultural differences between them.

Draboon:

I’m gonna say Draboon is a mountainous planet with several large swamps because a) the lapis deposits point to some form of igneous intrusion and from what I’ve gleaned from my friend’s geology study guide mountains are a sign of that and b) venom-mites just kinda sound like a swamp creature to me.

Food in Draboon’s mountains is wildly different compared to food in the swamp regions.

The mountains have a higher number of meat and grain dishes, due to the higher altitudes their main sources of food are a species of Star Wars goat and a high altitude grain like space barley. In communities where there’s an active mine stuffed bread pockets with a little handhold (like empanadas) are popular.

The swamps tend to make use of native plants, fish, types of water bird, and even venom-mites in their cooking. Venom-mites have to be prepared a certain way so they won’t kill you, but they’re really spicy in the way all Mando’ade seem to love. Capturing and killing venom-mites in a way that won’t get you torn apart by the swarm is something kids learn from their parents along with how to hand fish, though far more secretive. Every family has their own method and they’ll be damned if they share it with outsiders.

A traditional marriage proposal on Draboon includes a hand carved lapis charm being given, much like a ring. If the proposal is accepted at the wedding the charm is tied to the end of the marriage cord.

The different landmasses have different traditions for what the charm is carved with. In the southern mountain ranges the charm is typically carved with the Mando’a word that the carver feels most represents their beloved. In the northern and eastern ranges, the charm is carved in the shape of two interlocked beskar hearts. In the swamps to the west the carving often features some form of venom-mite, normally in the form of an adversary the couple is fighting off.

Harswee:

On Harswee a couple has to work together to hand weave their own marriage cord. It’s a sort of ritual, the hard work and cooperation they put into creating the cord is meant to represent the work that goes into a successful marriage.

Divorce on Harswee involves unraveling the cord.

Whenever a child is due to be born or a foundling is adopted by a Mando’ad from Harswee their parent(s) start a “rug of life” for them. The kid will work on it throughout their life, most notably after battles and important life events. You’ll gradually begin to see the weaving in the rug get better, more sure of itself as time goes on. When they die the rug is kept by their descendants as a reminder of their life.

The three most popular professions on Harswee (besides being a warrior) are: weaving, ranching wool bearing animals, and farming fiber bearing plants. Textiles are the lifeblood of their economy.

Warriors from Harswee tend to wear woven sash belts in their clan or house colors, instead of the usual girth belts.

Harswee’s environment luckily wasn’t as damaged by war as the central planets in the Mandalore sector, so there are more open air cities and sprawling farms compared to the densely packed dome cities on Mandalore and Kalevala.

In each of Harswee’s three major cities there are monuments to Mandalore the Binder, who’s basically their hometown hero.

The easiest way to make an enemy of a Harswee born Mando is to disrespect Mandalore the Binder. Say anything about their greatest native son and there is a very real chance you won’t make it home alive.

[grace-nakimura]

the urge to add a short little drabble where luke absolutely Cannot look obi-wan in the eyes bc he Knows he didn't die a virgin and obi-wan is just. so patient. his hands are folded in front of him and he has the dear god anakin look that he only wears for skywalkers. "despite the fact you and your sister are utterly convinced of me being a fossil, i was young once."

"i don't want to talk about it."

"what is it my granddaughter told you? oh, yes, old people kriff too. granted i didn't have much time for dalliances once i took on your father as a padawan, but regardless of master yoda's reservations most jedi did indulge in safe and healthy sex."

luke is pained. ben doesn't stop.

"shall i tell you the time i'm certain we made your girlfriend's father -"

luke screams.

[mercysong-tardis]

CCC OBITINE REUNION PANEL NOTES

Okay so I was at Chattanooga ComicCon, and I was able to attend the Obitine Reunion panel with the incredible Anna Graves and James Arnold Taylor. I got to take some notes, and they are the following...

Anna confirmed Satine's scar from Obi-Wan dropping her on Draboon is on her knee.

Anna said that Young!Satine would have worn lots of pantsuits during the year on the run. She didn't want to give up lots of colour, beading, intricate fabric, and pants. Especially like the pink outfit.

James alluded that Satine's choice in clothing annoyed Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon at first

James and Anna said Satine would have liked scrunchies (with calla lilies on them)

Anna said Satine's starbucks order would be a cinnamon dulche de leche.

Anna also said Satine hated camping but she could handle herself just fine.

James said Obi-Wan would fit in great in Downton Abbey.

James said he's been begging Filoni for him to tell the story of Obi-Wan and Satine's story.

James confirmed Obi-Wan should have apologized IN PERSON to Satine after the Deception plot. Anna said there was no actual apology ):

As an Obitine Shipper this panel was a dream come true and as an Obitine shipper I know how rare new content is, so I felt inclined to share.

[vizslasaber]

VIZSLASABER’S MASTERLIST ──── archive of our own.

MY AO3

flee the fire that devours | WIP, rated T, 34.7k, 4/15 chapters | rex & anakin skywalker, cody/obi-wan kenobi, anakin skywalker & obi-wan kenobi

Rex stands, horrified and still, as Krell starts raving about a new order, a plan, about how blind they’ve been—and the feeling builds.

He won’t soon forget this: the hatred boiling in his feeble, manufactured, armor-protected chest, whispering that he’s no Jedi, that sometimes even unarmed men need to die. Rex’s fingers twitch. Is this what it feels like to make rash decisions, he wonders? Is this what it feels like, right before the pressure finally builds enough to break?

(Rex fires, and Krell lives. The galaxy unspools from there.)

in the absence of the sun | complete, rated G, 28.5k, 10/10 chapters | anakin skywalker & obi-wan kenobi & ahsoka tano

“Master,” Anakin says suddenly as they approach the large hangar bay doors. “Do you... remember your mother at all?”

Obi-Wan turns his head sharply. “What?” he replies, just as a thought comes floating to the surface of his mind, made of hot desert sands and kind smiles and goodbye hugs, years ago when he still had someone to turn to (but he never really could turn to Qui-Gon, could he, not when the man was too preoccupied with the mistakes he never had the chance to fix).

(On a relief mission to Stewjon, Obi-Wan finds his roots.)

tell it to my heart | oneshot, rated G, 1.8k | tech/phee genoa

“You miss him,” Phee says. It isn’t a question.

“He is helping the enemy,” Tech replies. His throat feels tight.

Phee gives him a meaningful look. “Doesn’t mean you can’t miss him, Brown Eyes.”

18+ a river runs through it | oneshot, rated E, 12k | cody/fem!obi-wan kenobi

There is a kind of fear that is unique to a Jedi.

(Cody and Obi-Wan. A lesson in attachment.)

stories of home | oneshot, rated G, 1.7k | obi-wan kenobi/satine kryze

Her words are so quiet that Obi-Wan has to lean closer, even when Satine's cheek is pressed into his chest and his hand is gripping hers. He feels her breath fan on his chest, sees her lips move, but her words are lost to the midnight breeze.

Now with his ear just above her mouth, Obi-Wan breathes, “What?”

She clears her throat softly, then straightens, adjusting both of their positions but keeping their fingers intertwined. This time, when she says them, Satine's words are more clear: “Tell me a story.”

(In a clearing in the forests of Draboon, Satine voices an idea.)

LAST UPDATED | May 13, 2024

[impossibleprincess35]

[Tag People You Want to Get to Know Better]

Thank you so much for the tag, @splitt-spectrumm! (I love your work!)

Last song: Johnny Cash's version of "Sunday Morning Coming Down." I love Kris Kristofferson, but Cash's version just hits.

Currently Watching: Getting ready to begin "Bad Batch" season 3. We had to revisit season 2 first.

Three Ships: Obitine, Steggy, and Leia x Han.

Favorite Color: Blue and all of its shades.

Currently Consuming: A protein shake mixed with espresso over ice.

First Ship: Serena x Darien from the U.S. dubbed "Sailor Moon" eps in the '90s. The morning I watched the episode where Mamoru dies before I caught the school bus, I cried in the computer lab telling my friends about it and they didn't sit with me at lunch because I was killing the vibe. (When it comes to fandom, do not cite the deep magic to me, witch. I was there when it was written. :D)

Birthplace: Somewhere in the United States :)

Current Location: My home office.

Relationship Status: Happily married to my golden retriever husband, who loves this weirdo.

Last Movie: In the theater? I dunno. In general? I watched "Deadpool 2" the other night after my kids went to bed.

Currently Working On: I'm steadily plowing through the Kadavo arc of TCW for "Asphodel," and in my year on the run fic ("The Echo and the Stain") they're currently trapped on a New Mandalorian base being bombed on Draboon, and in my modern AU "REPUTATION," I'm getting ready to write the "King of My Heart" chapter and it is pure fluff. Outside of my fics, I'm working on completing a novel that I've been trying to do for over 10 years. It's a fiction piece based on my real life experiences after my dad passed away, and it's probably never going to get published, but I feel an obligation to finish it.

Tagging: @bettyxrosex, @c0rv1dae, @knightsistersblog, @stellanslashgeode, and @mercysong-tardis - only if y'all want! Don't feel obligated! :)

[arandomnerdsrp358]

"Do you remember Draboon?" (Obitine).

“It would be hard to forget. I’m pretty sure what happened on Draboon is the reason Korkie even exists. Why do you ask?”

[l0nglives]

"When you say it like that, it sounds terrible, but at the time, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I still can’t.” (satine)

ka'ra give her patience ! she pinches the bridge of her nose & counts to ten. both in galactic basic & mando'a. slowly. ❝ & in your infinite wisdom , ❞ she opens those eyes of hers , the color of draboon lapis , to give him a pointed look to better emphasize the word wisdom. ❝ you thought kicking a man made of steel an advantageous combat manuever. ❞

her arms fall limply to her sides for a moment. she is a pacifist ; truly , the galaxy is better off with her belief , since her tempter rivaled the former warlord adonai kryze most magnificantly. she put down the beskar'spear in favor of not setting the galaxy aflame. that doesn't mean she isn't a trained warrior. that doesn't mean she doesn't remember the rules of engagement & how critical it is for one to assess their opponent before attacking. control. hands are now on her hips & she feels like she's scolding korkie than a fully grown man , ❝ might i remind you , ner di'kutt jettii , that both of us should reach forty in a few years time ? ❞ stay alive , you idiot. you aren't eighteen anymore. ❝ whilst a myriad of charisma & full on poodoo , i'd rather think the galaxy is a brighter place with you in it. ❞

a pause , because he really deserves it.

❝ ass. ❞

[weyrwolfen]

Eidola: Chapter 06 - CT-618-3416 Weaver

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

“Look, I don’t know how to ask this diplomatically…” Weaver trailed off awkwardly under Kix’s annoyed glare.

“So drop the diplomacy and just ask,” Kix said impatiently, arms crossed across his cuirass in obvious irritation. “I have patients waiting.”

Well, that was an option too. “You said we shouldn’t split them up yet, but hydroponics is the only place that could hope to keep them all together on light duty. I need to know–“

“How they’re going to handle being around kids,” Kix interrupted, but the waspish edge bled out of his tone. He uncrossed his arms and looked past Weaver’s shoulder, eyes unfocused, obviously considering his answer carefully. “I don’t think any of them would intentionally hurt a kid, but I can’t promise they’ll handle it well either.”

Weaver couldn’t help the momentary sag in his shoulders. It was the answer he’d been expecting, but it still wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear. “Right, I’ll just talk to Sickle and Yuri instead.” Maybe they could find somewhere for all eight Hadros brothers in the mess. If they shifted a couple people around, put them on temporary, alternate duties outside of food prep, there might be room…

“Don’t. At least not yet,” Kix said, with a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “They’re going to run into the kids at some point. It’d probably be better if it happened under controlled circumstances and with a little forewarning. I can sound them out as soon as I go off-shift.”

Kix wouldn’t make that suggestion if he thought there was any chance of things going spectacularly poorly. “I’ll wait to talk to Cut and Suu until after I get your take,” Weaver offered. He’d been planning to head that way after this stop, but perhaps it was better to wait. The conversation might not go well; Cut was more than a little protective of Suu just then.

Honestly, Weaver didn’t blame him one bit. The medics all swore that the pregnancy was progressing normally. Truly normally, at least for a standard Twi’lek-human hybrid, not the rapid gestation that could be considered ‘normal’ for a clone. None of that seemed to ease Cut’s mind though.

Even so, it wasn’t the touchiest situation Weaver had ever been tasked with handling. At least no Galactic Senators were involved.

“Anything else?” Kix asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the recovery room door. “Otherwise I’m gonna go.”

“No,” Weaver said, refraining from raising an amused eyebrow at Kix’s curt, borderline rude, dismissal. “That was all I needed. Thanks.”

In reality, he also would have liked a report on their other new brothers, the four that Shark had brought back from Imbolt Minor and the three that Jesse’s Reapers had intercepted patrolling the rim of the Kaliida Nebula. But only an idiot got between Kix and his patients when he was in this kind of a mood.

“Right, I’ll comm you after,” Kix said, depressing the door release with the side of his fist and disappearing into the room.

Weaver put his helmet back on, more to free up his hands than any real need for it. A few of their brothers had taken to wearing civilian clothing around the base, but he never felt right leaving his quarters without his armor. Full kit had been mandatory on Coruscant whenever members of the Guard were on duty, and it was a habit he found difficult to break.

Besides, the red painted helmet was useful for other reasons. There were only three Coruscant Guards on the Draboon VIII base, only three brothers who wore that shade of crimson red, so it was a good visual clue as to who everyone else should approach regarding the normal, day-to-day problems that plagued the installation. The trio of Guards had fitted easily into the role, handling the minor disagreements and logistical complications around the base so that the core members of the 332nd could concentrate on waging their small-scale, covert war to free their remaining brothers.

The red paint also served as a reminder to Weaver of everything they’d lost and everything they were working to regain.

Weaver, Ori, and Ajax had been with the 332nd from the beginning, the only survivors of the detachment of Guards originally sent to take custody of the Sith prisoner Maul. In the couple of years that had followed Order 66, their band of clone defectors had grown, adding freshly de-chipped brothers with oranges and yellows, blues and greens, purples and indigos, grays and blacks and browns on their armor, but never their exact shade of red. Members of the Guard rarely left Coruscant these days, and while the Reapers sometimes ventured into the Mid-Rim, the Core was far too dangerous to risk.

One day though. Maybe. If they should all live so long.

Weaver took the lift down one floor and took a turn through the mess hall, which was absolutely packed with brothers and a few civilians. All of the Guardsmen had gotten in the habit of swinging through the space several times a day. It was a convenient, centralized location where they could get a feel for the temper of the base while also making themselves easily available if anyone wanted to talk to them in an informal setting.

This visit, he received several greetings, a couple of questions about the newest batches of unchipped brothers, and one complaint that a particularly large chunk of rocky debris was caught in the water processing system. This happened more often than was convenient, thanks to the fact that they sourced most of their water from the icy debris that made up Draboon VIII’s rings. Weaver managed to find Ocher, one of Zinc’s machinists, waiting in line for his own meal and extracted a promise that someone would look into the issue. Then, when no other minor crises reared their heads, he picked up boxed meals for himself and Ori and retreated to the small set of rooms the Coruscant Guards had claimed as their own.

Ori was sitting in the front room, touching up the red paint on his scuffed greaves. The Raiders had made a point to assure that it was surprisingly easy to lay hands on the proper colors around the base. Armor paint had become such an intrinsic part of the clones’ identities and culture of personal expression that it sat quite high on their personal hierarchy of needs, somewhere below breathable air and drinkable water, but certainly above decent shelter.

Ori looked up from his painting, spotted the boxed meals in Weaver’s hands, and opened his mouth to speak when a loud, resounding snore ripped through the relative quiet.

Weaver glanced towards the connected door and saw a half-armored figure laying in the bottom left bunk. From what little he could see, the clone’s armor had tan-colored accents.

“Nails?” he asked, holding one of the boxed meals out with one hand.

“Yeah,” Ori confirmed. He set his armor down on the desk to dry and propped his wet brush on the paint can’s lid. Then he reached out and accepted the proffered meal. “Thanks.”

Weaver wasn’t sure where along the line the small living space he shared with Ori and Ajax had become the Draboon VIII drunk tank, but it had, and none of the three Guardsmen had any idea how they were supposed to remedy the situation. It wasn’t like they had a brig on base, and besides, their guests were all brothers.

Brother or not, they’d been threatening to drag Nails off to Kix for weeks if he didn’t stop drinking himself unconscious multiple times a week. Maybe it was time they made good on their threats. There were better ways to cope with whatever demons the trooper was wrestling. Certainly there were healthier ones.

Then again, Kix would probably yell at Weaver for putting it off this long, and Taq would be nearly as bad.

“I’ll comm Aughts after the debriefing,” Weaver said, sitting down at his own desk and dropping his meal on the cluttered surface. “Or maybe Sling.”

“Probably a good plan,” Ori said, opening his box of rations. “Holy kriff, how did you get your hands on this?”

Weaver, who had also been opening his own food container, was equally stunned. Most of the meal was a starchy nutrient slurry, as usual, but arranged on top of the beige gloop there were several bright green and yellow slivers of some kind of vegetable and a grilled cut of real kriffing meat. When had the Raiders scored enough of that to serve the whole base? “No idea. Eat it fast before someone from the mess realizes their mistake,” he said, only half joking.

It looked like Weaver was the first to arrive in the 332nd’s barracks for the morning’s briefing. No one else was in the communal area linking the smaller sleeping spaces, but he still felt like he was being watched.

Not by his brothers though. By their armor.

As a former Death Watch base, there had been armor stands aplenty scattered throughout the living spaces. Commander Tano had returned every sliver of confiscated beskar to Bo-Katan Kryze and her people, anything else would have risked a major diplomatic rift, but the armor stands had remained as spoils of war. Zinc’s people had started making more, but three of the originals stood in the Guards’ quarters and several of the rest lined the 332nd’s common room. Some were empty – the roughly human-shaped scaffolding awaited the return of brothers deployed on various missions – but a little over half were in use. Helmet after helmet stared inward toward the large holotable that dominated the center of the room. All but a few were painted orange, Commander Tano’s markings.

Weaver could understand why new arrivals on base might find the room intimidating, but while he certainly felt a sense of weight and expectation in the armor’s silent vigil, these were his brothers’ second faces. It was superstitious in the extreme, but in a way, he almost felt like the row of empty plastoid armor was standing guard.

The quiet of the room couldn’t last. A few minutes later, Ridge came in with Shark, both of them chortling over whatever they’d been discussing in the hallway. Hunter and Echo followed shortly after, along with a clone whose name Weaver was ashamed to admit he could not remember. He knew this brother worked on the computer systems around the base, and he had an amazing knack for aggressively fading into the background. Weaver walked over to greet the new arrivals, determined to remedy that gap in his knowledge. He had been an investigator on Coruscant before… everything. Surely he could figure out one brother’s name without making a complete shebs of himself.

Or perhaps not. Several minutes later, Weaver had narrowed his options down to either “Factor” or “Factorial.” Possibly both.

In the meantime, the rest of the base’s official and unofficial command had either filed into the room or, in the case of Jesse and Trip, joined via the holotable. Everyone, even Shark, quieted down when Captain Rex cleared his throat. “We’ll start with the habitability of the Wadj archipelago. Trip, give us the situation report.”

“Remember how you said the reports described the islands as idyllic and haunted?” Trip asked, gesturing to someone out of view of the holographic projector. A partial three-dimensional model of a ruined façade of a large building sprang up in front of Trip and began to rotate. “Well, our formal report is that this island is idyllic,” he continued, tone very dry. “And also haunted.”

Kriff, it was going to be one of those kinds of meetings.

“Why do you all call Rex ‘Captain?’”

Weaver looked up from the list of basic agricultural equipment and supplies Cut and Suu had put together and found Delta standing next to the wall of orange-striped squash he’d been harvesting, staring back at Weaver with an oddly guarded expression on his face.

Ever since their 501st brothers had started taking shifts harvesting fruits and vegetables, the Guards had all been finding excuses to swing through the hydroponic-lined hallways of the base’s lowest level. So far, their worries had been utterly unfounded. True, the eight Hadros clones were still very reserved, especially around the base’s few civilians. Hat Trick in particular tended to flinch whenever he came across one of the children unprepared. All things considered, they were settling in fairly well.

Still, it didn’t hurt to check.

“It’s what he seems to prefer,” Weaver answered, tucking away his datapad and pulling off his helmet to give Delta his full attention.

Delta shifted awkwardly, but he pressed further. “He was promoted, though. To commander. Right before we left for Coruscant. I remember that,” he stopped, voice faltering on the last few words. “I… I think I remember that.”

“You do,” Weaver said. Memory was a tricky thing for any clone whose chip had remained active for an extended period of time. It tended to be fragile, and therefore untrustworthy, especially in the first several weeks after surgery. They’d improve, but only with time and patience. “But you’ve probably noticed that rank, and the chain of command, are a bit looser here than they were in the G.A.R. The Captain continued using Commander Tano’s former rank, even though she resigned her commission. He kept introducing himself as ‘Captain,’ so the rest of us just followed suit.”

Technically speaking, Jesse had stripped Rex of his rank before the 332nd had tried to execute him for treason against the Emperor, but that was something he thought Delta wasn’t quite ready to hear. Frankly, half of the members of the 332nd weren’t ready to talk about it, either.

Delta didn’t answer, but he scowled angrily. Perhaps he was too accustomed to being able to hide his expressions behind plastoid, or perhaps he wanted Weaver to know he disapproved. Either way, he was clearly uncomfortable and more than a little offended on his Commander’s behalf. So that was the problem. The 501st had, seemingly to a man, harbored a ferocious loyalty to Rex, even before Order 66 and its aftermath.

“We’ve got three former captains with us, and none of them answer to their rank anymore,” Weaver said, trying to explain. It wasn’t that anyone meant to be disrespectful or insubordinate; suggesting they were would be a fast track to a fist fight around the base. It was better to lay it all out now, before the misunderstanding came out under less-than-ideal circumstances. “Nobody wants to act like they might outrank Captain Rex, and he refuses to act like he outranks Commander Tano, even though the two of them are functionally in joint command of this base.”

Truthfully, the whole situation was something of a mess. Everyone deferred to Captain Rex and Commander Tano first, and to any member of the 332nd or the Coruscant Guards second. Any remaining details were worked out in the individual units that ran the day-to-day functions and external missions of the base. The Reapers had their own chain of command, as did the Raiders, as did the medics, as did the machinists, as did the brothers in charge of the kitchens. It worked, even if it was occasionally teeth-grindingly disorganized in comparison to the rigid structure they’d all been raised to follow since infancy.

“Oh,” Delta said, obviously thinking over Weaver’s explanation. He must have been appeased by at least some of it, because a large amount of the tension went out of his posture. He looked like he wanted to say more, but after a moment’s consideration, just settled on, “Ok, thanks.”

That was something else to clear up as quickly as possible. “Just doing my job.” Weaver pointedly tapped the red paint covering his cuirass with a gloved finger. “If any of you have questions or problems, even small ones, find one of us Guards.”

Delta’s eyebrow lifted and, for the first time, Weaver saw a small, sardonic spark of humor in his face. “Is that why you’ve all three been watching us? You’re keeping an eye on a potential problem?”

Weaver shrugged. There wasn’t any point in shading the truth, especially if Delta was in the correct headspace to find it all humorous. “Yes, and before you get too offended, its nothing we didn’t do for every single other brother on base. We’re just getting you settled in.”

That earned a soft, disbelieving snort.

It always started like this. Very few of their brothers believed everything that they were told after being rescued. That they never had to fight again if they wanted. That they could leave at any time, though the list of places safe for clone deserters was short (and shrinking by the hour). That there were teams on base willing to help them retrieve dependents… of whatever variety.

That Commander Tano didn’t hold Order 66 against any of them.

That the chips really were gone.

Weaver refrained from sighing. The only way they’d convince brothers like Delta was to keep plugging along, until their actions proved their words beyond a shadow of a doubt. They really were a remarkably high-functioning disaster of an operation: a whole base of walking wounded, trying to patch up each other’s psychological scars while simultaneously pretending their own didn’t exist.

Weaver was just as guilty of it as anyone else. And speaking of which, “How’s your leg doing?”

Delta scowled and apparently interpreted the question, incorrectly, as a subtle hint to get back to work. “Fine,” he said, turning back to the hydroponics rig in front of him and reaching for the next squash in the row.

“Uh huh,” Weaver replied dubiously. “You’re 501st, so I know I won’t need to explain this to you. If you reopen your surgical incisions by being a stupid, stubborn kriffer and working when you should be resting, you’ll be explaining yourself to Kix. So I’m going to ask again, how’s your leg doing?”

That startled a bark of genuine laughter out of Delta, but he kept pulling the squash from their trellised vines and placing them in the hovercrate to his side. “Kark, you don’t make idle threats, do you? My leg’s fine. As best as I can remember, this is as good as it’s felt in months.”

From what Weaver had heard about the condition Delta was in on arrival, that wasn’t exactly saying much. Still, it was a concession, or as close to one as he could expect from Delta. “Good,” Weaver said, pulling his helmet back on and checking the chronometer in his HUD. Kriff, he was late. “I’m expected upstairs.”

Delta nodded an abrupt farewell and bent to his work. Weaver didn’t regret their conversation, even if he did have to jog down the hallway to make his next appointment. If he could set even one of their new brothers’ concerns to rest, it was time well spent.

The hanger bay was already full of activity by the time Weaver reached it.

Quad’s team had been the last to arrive after Captain Rex had pulled all the Raiders back to base. Weaver found them already unloading their latest haul, both from their own ship and from a second craft that was painted with enough faux-gilt plating and pointless civilian flourishes that it could only be a pleasure craft of some kind. Given the trio of scantily-clad, blanket-wrapped sentients Hook was introducing to Lena and Sling, Weaver could hazard a guess as to what the ship had been used for prior to drawing the Raiders’ attention.

Karking slavers. Kaminoan inhibitor chips weren’t the only devices their medics were becoming adept at removing.

Lena had that situation well in hand, as usual. Finding her had been the purest stroke of luck. She’d slipped into the role of liaison between the clones and their growing population of displaced noncombatants like she’d been born to it. He’d lost count of the number of misunderstandings, spats, and incipient disasters she’d helped smooth over.

Plus, watching her and Ori dance around each other was better entertainment than a holovid. Idiots.

Weaver waded through the usual unloading crew until he found Rasp scrolling through his datapad with Blinks on their ship’s loading ramp.

“Sorry about that,” Weaver said, pulling his helmet off and extending a hand to greet them both properly. “I got caught up downstairs.”

“I figured,” Rasp said with a lopsided grin, grasping Weaver’s vambrace. “You Guards wouldn’t know what to do with yourselves if you didn’t have a half dozen fires to put out at any given moment.”

“Only six?” Weaver asked sardonically and turned to clasp arms with Blinks. “Did you get the inventory from Ajax?”

“Yeah, what’s the kriffing target? Coruscant?” Rasp said, tapping something into his datapad and then pointing towards a rather formidable stack of very large containers. “We sorted your stuff into crates seven, twelve, thirteen, twenty-two through twenty-five, and thirty-seven. Plus, looks like four of the six fuel cannisters we’ve lined up against the bulkhead.”

“Right,” Weaver said, eyeing the pile dubiously. “Could I see the inventory?”

Rasp handed his datapad over with a shrug.

Weaver scrolled down the manifest, stopping to read through the specific contents of each of the listed crates. The Wadj mission was soaking up an awful lot of their incoming resources, and getting everything shifted around to the proper teams was going to take some creativity. “Could you bring out one of those cannisters and crates twenty-two and twenty-four? I need to commandeer a hover cart.”

By the standards of the G.A.R., their small fleet wouldn’t constitute a half-decent escort squadron. But for the Draboon VIII base, this was the largest mission they’d put together yet. Seven ships had already launched and were waiting beyond the planet’s rings. The last to go were Clone Force 99’s Marauder and one of the Tribunal’s Nu-class attack shuttles, freshly painted a flat, uniform gray and stenciled with the proper Imperial symbols and designations for a similar ship currently assigned to the Sixth Fleet.

“Cutting things a little close, aren’t they?” Ori muttered to Ajax.

Ajax just shrugged. “You know Zinc. He’ll take however long he needs to get it perfect.”

Neither one of them was wrong, but Zinc’s people were almost done installing the last of the false panels over the storage compartments they’d hidden in the decoy shuttle.

A fair chunk of Ridge’s Reaper team and the specialists recruited solely for this mission were milling around in the hanger bay while the mechanics worked. Weaver could hear some of them griping about the stormtrooper armor they were asked to wear and ribbing Shark for the orange command pauldron that had been added to his right shoulder. This was another layer of deception; Captain Rex would be assuming command of this group. Weaver listened as the Reapers gave mocking salutations to their new “commander” and as the mouthy ARC gave back as good as he got, dressing each man down for their “disheveled” appearance.

As for Rex himself, he was next to the other ship, speaking with Commander Tano and Clone Force 99. He was nearly unrecognizable with his unpainted set of armor and clean-shaven head. His blond hair was a rare enough mutation that removing it had seemed prudent, but Weaver didn’t miss the way their Captain would periodically run a gloved hand over his scalp and grimace.

Commander Tano was wearing her own armor, an abbreviated beskar set gifted to her ahead of the siege of Mandalore. She was holding up her arm, giving Echo a better look at her vambrace. Weaver noted with more than a little pride and satisfaction that the complex pattern of dots Commander Tano had added to her armor had grown since he’d last seen it. She’d started painting it a few months after they’d taken the base, one dot for each rescued brother, recorded in their battalion’s color. The arrangement suggested a planned pattern that had yet to fully take shape, especially the cluster of 501st blue dots and the three conspicuous red dots arranged in a triangle around the edges of the incomplete blue design on her right vambrace.

Three red dots: Ori, Ajax, and Weaver himself.

There simply wasn’t any way to explain to her how much such a gesture meant to each of the clones.

Weaver spotted two of the mechanics walking down the Nu-class shuttle’s loading ramp, tool kits in hand. It was a pretty good indication that things were wrapping up on the interior retrofit.

“Might as well let them know the mechanics are finishing up,” Weaver said, gesturing towards the Marauder and their two commanding officers.

With twin nods, Ori and Ajax fell in step on either side of Weaver, helmets tucked under each of their left arms.

Hunter noticed them approaching first, his senses keener than even Commander Tano’s, and glared at the Guards meaningfully. They’d had words yesterday after Weaver had borne awkward witness to the team informing Omega that she would not be joining them on this particular mission. She’d only been partially pacified by Weaver’s promise that she would be stationed in the infirmary in her team’s absence. With Kix and Aughts deploying for the first time in months, the medics were happy to have any extra hands they could get, and Omega had been champing at the bit for more advanced medical instruction on the rare occasion she had been on base long enough to participate in the cadet classes. Assigning her to medical was just about the only peace offering that might have satisfied her.

Hunter and the rest of his team would only be satisfied once they had returned and found Omega in the perfect picture of health. The threats and dire insinuations had only been expected, Weaver hadn’t taken any of them personally.

As they neared the Marauder, Weaver overheard Echo saying, “He’d be absolutely insufferable if he could see that.” The comment was clearly meant to be a joke, but he sounded unusually subdued and brittle.

“I know,” Commander Tano replied with a bittersweet smile she quickly turned towards Weaver, Ori, and Ajax, apparently sensing their approach. “Is the shuttle ready?” she asked, drawing the others’ attention to the Guards arrival.

“It looks like it,” Weaver replied. “Any final orders, sir?” he looked at Captain Rex and amended, “Sirs?”

“No, I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Rex said, sweeping his gaze over Hunter and his team. “See you on the other side boys. Commander, try not to stir up any extra trouble, at least before we hit the rendezvous point.”

“No promises,” she said, bright smile edged with mischief. She looked over the Guards and added, “Promise me you three will get some rest while we’re gone.”

“Of course, sir,” Weaver lied. When both Commander Tano and Captain Rex fixed him with the same dubious looks, he added a far more honest promise. “We’ll keep the base in one piece while you’re gone.”

There were a few more jocular comments passed around as Rex excused himself to join his own team. Hunter offered a few more pointed words about Omega, but nothing worse than Weaver had weathered on rotation in the senate. Finally, the last of them boarded, both ships left the hanger bay in close sequence, and the trio of Guards stood in a casual parade rest to formally see the mission off.

Once the glow of both shuttles’ engines disappeared out of sight, Weaver let his shoulders sag just a little. “That’s done. What’s next on the list?” he asked.

Ajax sighed loudly. “The central turret is acting up, and Rex just flew off with the brother who reprogrammed the targeting system the last time one of them started glitching.”

Kriff, that was right. Factorial – Weaver was almost entirely convinced that the computer-savvy trooper preferred to be called Factorial, not Factor – had been recruited into the decoy team.

“Who’s our next best tech-brother, after Tech and Factorial?” Weaver asked.

“Kark if I know. Tenor?” Ajax said with a grimace.

Ori’s expression wasn’t much better. “Buckler might kill us if we pull him off of armor repair and salvage.”

“I’ll talk to both of them. Maybe they’ll know someone else to suggest,” Weaver said, “Ajax, after you go eat something, go check in on the Hadros brothers and then try to nudge Vash into finishing the clean up of that Force-cursed pleasure craft. I want it out of the hanger bay and parked in vacuum as soon as possible. Ori, remind me again why you aren’t already in bed?”

“Something about needing all hands on deck to get the Wadj teams off base smoothly,” Ori replied dryly.

Right, Weaver had said that earlier, hadn’t he? “Go to bed. I’ll wake you when I go off shift.”

Ori gave Weaver a very unimpressed look. “I’ll set an alarm and come find you when you’re supposed to go off shift.”

That… was probably fair. “Fine. Get to it. This rock isn’t going to manage itself.”

AN: Other chapters are available here.

Dividers by @freesia-writes using helmets by @lornaka. More designs available here.

[ladylucksrogue]

Day 25: Silence is Golden

The conclusion of the Obi-Wan Satine mini-series...

They have finally escaped from Draboon, but what's next for them, and what has happened to Obi-Wan's voice?

[duchess-of-mandalore]

What’s your headcanon for the venommites incident?

Ahhhh ... the venomites. The iconic story never told!

I don’t have a ton of headcanons surrounding the context of this story, but I do have some. I think Draboon is a jungle-life planet, hot and humid, with lots of trees and vines.

We don’t know anything about the incident beyond what is said in “Voyage of Temptation,” but there is one funny thing that is added by the Battlefront game. At 5:08, Obi-Wan says, “Ugh, liking bathing in a lake of venomites . . .”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVqozRR6ND0&t=313s

This of course raises the question . . . is that what Obi-Wan and Satine were doing when they were attacked??

I think that Obi-Wan and Satine were in the water. The venomites swarmed and both were probably bitten, but maybe Satine was bitten multiple times or had an allergic reaction, because she passes out. Obi-Wan picks her up and runs, trying to escape and return to where they’ve made camp (which is why I’m going to assume they were bathing with their clothes on. The image of both of sans clothes while this happens is too ridiculous to be taken seriously!).

The event happens as recounted in the episode. Obi-Wan trips and falls, and Satine is further injured when she falls on a rock, though Obi-Wan doesn’t really notice at first because she’s unconscious and he’s desperately trying to get back to camp (that’s how I account for the fact that Obi-Wan doesn’t even remember that Satine has a scar from the incident).

They finally outrun the swarm of bugs, find Qui-Gon and get the hell outta Dodge Draboon, and long after her Jedi protectors leave, Satine remembers the experience every time she sees the scar on her upper leg.

Thanks for the question!

[direwolfrules]

More 3 Mandos and a Baby nonsense.

So, Korkie’s just a weird kid. Like don’t get me wrong, he’s still a sweet boy with a heart of gold, but he’s just so strange.

Satine’s regularly meeting with faculty at the Academy because “yes Korkie has perfect grades but he also has like seven imaginary friends and that’s not normal at this age”. It doesn’t help that his imaginary friends all have the names of famous Mandalorian leaders like Jaster, Tarre, and most disturbingly Adonai. He even says things like “Adonai said we have the same ears” and “Tarre said a bad word and Jaster punched him in the face”.

Honestly Satine just wants to dismiss it as him being a lonely child and not look any deeper. Ben told her once, during one of those cold nights on the run, what the signs of Force Sensitivity are in children and she’s adamant about not testing Korkie.

Also, Korkie weirdly likes paperwork and the minutiae of ruling? When he was seven he got his hands on Draboon’s latest tax records and pointed out like 6 mathematical mistakes. Satine wasn’t sure whether to be proud her son nephew was better at math than her finance ministers, or concerned that a seven year old was better at math than her finance ministers.

So anyway, Ursa and Alrich think they’re gonna have a hell of a time convincing this kid to come and train to be a warrior but he just walks up to them after class one day and says “Tarre told me to follow you”, and while it’s convenient it’s also disturbing as hell.

Korkie’s really bad at quite a few things. Sniper rifles are a no go, explosives make him a danger to himself, and by the Ka’ra this kid seems incapable of watching his 6. After more than a few incidents where Ursa questions her own sanity, because the only reason she’d have agreed to Bo-Katan’s stupid plan is if she was insane, Korkie shows up to their next training session with three other kids.

At first Ursa’s like “no”, but then Lagos says something about situational awareness and Korkie mentions his imaginary friends again and honestly, Ursa’s just kinda in need of a drink at that point. So she says she’ll train them to fight mostly cause she doesn’t need the headache from arguing. Her tolerance for long drawn out silences and her cool exterior have honestly been wrecked by the whole “dying and waking up in her younger body” thing, and some days it feels like she really cannot waste the emotional energy.

So Lagos becomes the group’s sniper/medic/only person Ursa trusts with a spear. Soniee becomes the group’s designated tech person, and Ursa is impressed by how quickly she can slice government code. Amis is the group demolitions man. If you put an explosive in his hands the boy suddenly becomes an artist. Ursa and Alrich both try very hard to not let their pain at that show. Korkie picks up on it anyway, because for the love of the Force Satine just get his midichlorian levels tested already.

Bo-Katan takes part in their training too on the days Pre sends her to Sundari to hear Ursa’s progress reports. Honestly she’s enjoying playing cool Auntie Bo on Pre Vizsla’s time. Though she regrets it immensely when she hands Korkie a beskad, and the pose he strikes is a little too reminiscent of a certain Jedi her sister was fond of. Bo suddenly remembers that “wait a minute, Satine and I have no other siblings”. Up until that moment she was just kinda operating under the assumption that Satine had kinda just taken in a more distant relative as a foundling but as she looks closer she realizes this kid also has her father’s ears and her mother’s laugh. Bo promptly shoves that realization into a box because she doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Anyway, their need to eventually get beskar for one kid turns into a need to get it for four kids. Which is difficult because smuggling weapons and explosives into the city? Super easy, barely an inconvenience, just pay a few hundred credits and you’re in. But beskar? No one wants to be the guy who let a Death Watch terrorist in, instead of just the guy who let a couple smugglers in.

Bo-Katan sneaks into the Academy disguised as a senior cadet to discuss this with her compatriots. It’s ridiculously easy to sneak in because the Academy’s security staff are all a bit too focused on trying to prove Ursa’s evil or something. Newly minted Commander Ru-Saxon gets a tip about that too. This is when Korkie shows up dragging along Alrich’s theater kid roommate, who’s family are actually a bunch of Haat Mando’ade turned secret smugglers in the wake of Galidraan and the New Mando victory in the Great Clan Wars. It’s their most ridiculous Deus ex Korkie yet and honestly, at this point they’ve stopped questioning it. They don’t even blink when Korkie says “Jaster vouched for them, they’re good”.

Also he randomly gives Bo-Katan a strill pup and no one knows where he got it? (Tarre, the answer is Tarre led it to him)

So Bo just comes back from Sundari with a baby man eating predator and the fact that the smell forces Pre to back up is great. Also, it totally growls when he gets near but he can’t kill the thing because somehow it’s become Death Watch’s unofficial mascot. Tarre’s ghost laughs at his descendant’s plight and because his laugh is contagious Korkie starts busting up laughing, unsettling everyone around him.

I may need a name for the strill

[grace-nakimura]

two minutes. obitine. soft m.

Trigger Warnings: Soft smut. Slightly disappointing smut considering the two 18 year old's in question are inexperienced and/or very, very anxious. Not beta'd. This is supposed to be more comedic than anything. Relationships: Highly Satine/Obi-Wan, but a nod to past Quinlan/Obi-Wan. Summary: Two young lovers give in to their mutual attraction while hiding from bounty hunters. Or, oh no, it's really cold and our clothes are damp! That means we need to get naked and cuddle for warmth!

The cave was dark. Cold. Damp. It still served as an adequate shelter from the tempest outside; a violent storm that shook the very ground plagued the Draboon skies, causing a normally temperate climate to be very similar to what the cave was - cold and damp. The only light was the flash of lightning as it hit the forest floor. The only sound, besides the roaring thunder, outside was the howling of the wind - almost as if it was keening.

Obi-Wan knew the Stewjoni people keened. While curiosity about one's origins was never discouraged, the padawan felt a certain sort of shame when he would look up the customs of Stewjon, or even a picture or two from the Holonet. He heard an audio file about it, about keening, that always seemed to haunt him - a sobbing lament one did for the departed.

The wind sounded similar; Obi-Wan wondered if it was a sort of omen or a mere coincidence.

"Your breathing too loud," grouched his companion, who sat beside him on their shared rock, sharing a blanket to stave off the cold with him even if she was shivering more than he was. Her teeth were chattering. "It's - it's annoying."

Snapping his attention to his charge he furrowed his brows. Oh, dear. Her skin was turning ... blue. That wasn't good. All he needed was Qui-Gon's admonishment when he would find the two sick, sniffling, and miserable.

"What are you -"

"Shut up, 'Tine." Shrugging off the blanket he turned his full body toward her. "You're cold. I'm cold. We need to get warm."

Her brows narrowed at him, which only made his skin flush a bright red. "We need to get out of our wet clothes," he began, suddenly unable to meet her eyes, "or we will be sick. I'm supposed to protect you."

"We don't have any change of clothes."

If his voice broke, Satine kept quiet about it. "Yes." A deep breath because, well, no one had seen him naked before. Not even Quinlan. Everything they did most of their clothes stayed on. Not due to shame, well not on Quinlan's part, but because they had to be quick. Discreet.

Satine didn't have the same reservations. Well, he thought she didn't, until she murmured, "turn around," which he would have. He really would have. After he stopped gaping at her for standing on shaky two feet and began to unbutton her blouse like it was nothing.

He turned around and, maybe in an act of defiance, began to remove his own damp layers. His robes, tabard, and under shirt, all met on the cold ground of the cave. Then his boots. Finally, as if some mortifying grand finale, his pants and ...

He paused for a moment. This was a big step. What if...what if something untoward would happen? Not that he wanted something untoward to happen -

( he could hear how the damp cloth fell on the floor of the cave just like his, and even the unbuckling of what he imagined her bra which made him swallow. Very hard. Speaking of things that were hard - )

- banishing his thoughts he pulled off his last layer, telling his nerves to settle. It was dark in the cave. She wouldn't see and he wouldn't see her either. It wasn't anything big. They were friends.

Friends that sometimes put their tongues in each other's mouths while pressing the other against a tree, legs entangled, while their hands roamed. He did that with Quin. He did a lot of things with Quin.

( He didn't dream about Quinlan's smile or the sigh he made when he nibbled his ear lobe. He didn't purposefully create arguments just to see how Quinlan's eyes would sparkle. )

"Are - are you - ?"

"Yes, Ben," his heart fluttered at her nickname, and he heard the rustling of the blanket. "You can lay behind me."

Right. Body heat.

To ease the tension while he did his best to make himself comfortable sliding behind her, he huffed out a nervous laugh, "I'm usually the little spoon - ah!" The shock of how cold her feet were made him jump. In a defiant retaliation - force, was she defiant - she cuddled even closer to rub her feet against his own. "Stop!"

He wasn't whining.

Obi-Wan never whined.

Satine snickered before she broke out into a full-on laugh. The sort of laugh that made her snort - like she did just then! - so unladylike, that she seemed more of a girl than a figurehead. With the comfort of being shrouded in darkness, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"You're still breathing too loud."

"Your feet are cold."

"Shut up, Ben."

"You first, your grace."

"You're lucky you're my best friend."

She was his best friend. He's told her that countless times. She's told him that he's hers, too, and best friends keep each other warm.

Lightning crashed violently, "Haar'chack!" Satine's body twitched in alarm, which only made him hold her all the tighter. I hate the thunder, she had told him before. Nothing good ever happened in my life when a storm happened. Her brother's funeral was during a storm. Her father was vivisected in his solar during a storm, as well. She also said that her mother died during a storm when her little sister was only six months old.

Another loud bang, the softest of whimpers as her body began to stiffen, followed by another and another.

"You're safe, cyare," pressing his lips into her ear as he whispered the nickname she had called him once. Never told him what it meant, but he liked the sound of it. Apparently, it wasn't insulting because she began to settle. "I've got you."

And so they lay together, legs entangled, in a cocoon of the wool blanket they were fortuitous enough to remember to pack.

Somehow cooing nonsense in her ear turned into peppering kisses on her face, which led to their mouths meeting, which somehow led to her being underneath him with her legs hooked around his waist. Their kisses weren't like the spare few they had in secret; this was all teeth, tongue, and no pretense of softness. One moment her hands were rubbing her chest, the next her nails were scratching his bare back.

Pulling away to catch his breath, he looked down at the outline of her face, breathing heavily as he propped himself up with his elbows in an effort not to crush her. "Do you - is this -?"

"Yes," was the breathless answer he was hoping for, and suddenly his face broke out into an almost boyish grin as his lips began to pay attention to her neck, sucking, nipping, everything he wanted to do from their first kiss. Her moans give him the courage to go lower toward her breasts.

Still resting his wait on one arm, the other hand, albeit not as suavely as he imagined, cupped her breast in his. He wished this cave was better lit. What he would give to be able to see her, all of her, but he settled on hearing her gasps as his own cold thumb began to rub her nipple.

"I've never..." She trailed off. He could feel a spike of insecurity, almost shame, which he soothed by placing a soft kiss above her heart.

"Me either," he confessed. And then, "Well, not - not like this."

He thought about how he choked the first time he tried to take Quinlan into his mouth - and how his friend howled with laughter after the fact - but, while mostly inexperienced, he knew bringing up other lovers wasn't polite.

She was laughing, nerves momentarily forgotten, and pulling his face to hers so they could continue to kiss. He could feel himself harden with every twitch of her hips, her core oh-so-near him, and with the same hand that was cupping her breast now trailed toward the spot in between her thighs he only dreamt about.

Oh, she was... she was... oh.

He nearly came right then and there when the pads of his fingers brushed against her wetness and the heat, oh that heat, that came from her. The noise it made when he placed a finger inside her, slowly, carefully was obscene. It wasn't like the holonovels. It wasn't like with Quinlan. Well, of course, it wouldn't be like with Quinlan since he was a man and -

Oh.

"You feel so karking good," he whispered into her ear. "You're gripping me like a crab -"

She bursts out laughing, causing her walls to convulse and even tighten on his finger. "A crab, Obi-Wan? Really?"

A groan, "I couldn't think of anything sexier." He confessed. "Don't... don't people like speaking, um, during, this?"

"You compared it to a crab!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Ben?"

"Mmm?"

"Just kiss me."

And he did.

Thankfully, his earlier blunder did not cool her desire, nor his, because during their kisses and moans and whimpers only grew, and his finger - now two! - curled inside her while his thumb found the little bundle of nerves that he would thank the extensive human biology section at the temple for.

He wasn't thinking. She wasn't thinking. It was a miracle, really, when one thought about it, how two people who lived inside their heads more often than not were just...not thinking.

Right when she was about to go over, right when she was nearing her peak, he stopped and placed himself in between her legs. His breathing labored - as was hers - and he chalked it up to nerves as he missed her entrance not only once, but twice.

Taking pity on him, she reached between them and grabbed a hold of him with the intention to help him, but something happened.

Maybe it was the fondling or the kissing, or that he was already starting to stiff just being behind her, bare as the day he was born, but as soon as her hands gripped him all he saw was white.

Oh no.

No.

It was never - he never - oh no.

After he came to, resting against her heaving chest, he felt shame creep up on him as realization began to set in.

Two minutes ago they were spooning; now he laid on her, in shame, the product of his eagerness between the two, sticking to their skin as uncomfortably as the wet clothes had.

"I'm so -," but she hushed him, running her fingers through his hair. He ought to at least give her pleasure, if she allowed him, once he could move, but as it was he laid there. Embarrassed. Horrified. The thought of her ever -

"Obi-Wan," she interrupted his thoughts, his eyes cutting towards hers, "You're my best friend. It's alright."

[hellowkatey]

What are Men to Rocks and Mountains? Chapter 12

What is this?? An update? What a wild concept. I really went in on the angst and fluff for this one. ~As a treat~

Summary: Reunion Time. Welcome to Draboon

12: It Does You Credit

Despite knowing that Obi-Wan will be waiting for them on Draboon, Satine feels completely unprepared to see him again.

The ship dips as it descends into the atmosphere of the terrestrial planet. Draboon is hardly large enough to be considered a planet, but Mandalore utilizes its resources enough that it's more of an honorary title. Not that there are many to honor. There are few that inhabit Draboon full time. Maybe some early pioneers that live off the grid within their woods. Mostly seasonal workers that come and go as they require.

She tried to voice her concerns to Master Jinn. That coming here would very likely be a red flag of sorts. He did not seem privy to listening to her, per usual.

"It is where Obi-Wan told us to meet. We very well may move once we are reunited, though."

"Can't you contact him as you did before?"

"Not that simple."

Whatever that means.

Satine is growing very tired of Jedi tricks.

The letter he wrote to her is burning a hole in her pocket. Afraid it may cease to exist at any minute, she keeps patting it with her hand. Satine has a handful of variations of things to say to him when they finally arrive. When she sees him again. She has no idea which will come out of her mouth first.

Continue Reading

[xxlittle0birdxx]

WIP: Obi-wan/Satine; post-Brotherhood

This took over my head after reading this but from Mike Chen’s Brotherhood.

It was hard to avoid her. The latest passionate exhortation to choose neutrality, and prevent the war from escalating was all over the HoloNet. It was in a report prepared for the Council. Not just the text, as was the usual custom, but an audio and video recording, as well. He could console himself in that Yoda chose to only display the speech’s text. He could picture her so clearly in his mind’s eye, though. The blonde hair that would escape whatever coiffure she’d twisted it into to fall in wisps around her face. The color of her eyes that shifted from the crystalline blue waters of Scarif to the rich shade of the lapis mined on Draboon. The tiny line between her brows that would deepen during their frequent bickering arguments. The small, private smile she had just for him. The one that warmed him from the tips of his ears to the soles of his boots. Would she wear a dress in blue, her favorite color? Or would she wear something in dark pink? Or purple? He’d once relented on his birthday to look up images of her at some school opening she’d attended earlier in the day. She had worn green, his favorite color. He entertained the idea that she’d done it for him, because it was a color she rarely wore on its own. Her subtle way of saying hello from across the stars.

The question still haunted him. What if he’d done what was good for his soul, and bent the Code? Perhaps then, he could function as though he didn’t share a single brain cell with Anakin. Like a ginger tooka or lothcat.

‘Master Obi-wan, insights you have on the Duchess?’ Yoda’s warble startled him from his uncharacteristic reverie.

Obi-wan took a moment to reposition himself in the chair, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. ‘I’m afraid anything I might have to add is sadly outdated.’ He spread his hands apart in mute apology. ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to the Duchess in sixteen years.’

Sixteen years, eight months, and twenty-five days to be exact. But who was counting?

‘Know her best on the Council, you do,’ persisted Yoda.

Obi-wan resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yoda wouldn’t give up so easily. It was just good policy to keep a place as potentially volatile as Mandalore in the back of one’s mind. Unbidden, the memory of dozens of tiny, seemingly inconsequential intimacies arose. The scent of her perfume, faded after a long day, whispering in the hollow of her throat. The touch of her hand against his cheek. The way she twirled a lock of hair around her index finger while she read. Even how she bit her lip just before her head fell back as she… He twitched his robes to drape over his hips a little more securely, and tried with all his might to let it go. ‘She is a committed pacifist. Trying to persuade her to aid the side of the Republic would only waste our time and hers. It would be a futile endeavour.’

‘Even for the Great Negotiator?’ Kit Fisto grinned slyly.

‘Especially for the Great Negotiator,’ Obi-wan said firmly. Satine would see it as a personal challenge to find a hundred ways to call him a pompous ass in the most diplomatic language possible, if not the tone.

[impossibleprincess35]

If you’re a pin collector and an Obitine fan, go check it out. 😍

[arandomnerdsrp358]

"Are you going to take me back to the palace?" Obi-Wan asked. He had run away from the palace, from Mandalore. He just felt so... he couldn't fully describe it. But it had caused him to leave Satine's side and even use the Force to have the royal guard trying to come with him to stay away. Now he was on Draboon, living in that cave.

She was angry, hurt, and deeply heartbroken. He had left her in the middle of the night with only a brief apology note to let her know that he was okay.

She wanted to yell and hit him; to blame him for the emotional turmoil she had endured for the past month.

“I’m sorry that I made it so you felt like you had to hide your feelings from me.”

Her voice felt thick with unshed tears.

“I understand if you don’t want to come back with me. I just had to make sure you were okay. I’ll leave now.”