#i was hoping i'd get to when obi makes the decision to go

[myordinaryeyes]

LIVE BOLDLY

Many great stories follow a pattern. An ordinary world spawns a call to adventure: Hagrid turns up at Harry Potter's house; Luke Skywalker hears Princess Leia's cry for help. The hero's unsure but meets a Dumbledorian, Gandalfy, Obi-Wanish mentor, tries initial tasks, makes allies, trusts and distrusts, play their own personal Hunger Games. They face a light-sabre-off with Darth Vader - or glimpse the wizard behind the curtain. Finally, it's the road home, to Kansas, Hobbiton or back through the wardrobe. Our hero is changed, rewarded, with a reminder it wasn't a dream. This story pattern reflects life and all its challenges. The world of our youth may feel comfortable or we may grow up quickly. When we tiptoe into life's adventure, there are risks, mentors and foes. We face insurmountable challenges but survive and come back stronger. Like children, we try things for the first time. Some days bring us sunshine; others, mystery guests.

We all want to get ahead. Sometimes it seems like faith has no place in this world - faith is something for monks in their monasteries, the most extra curricular of activities. 

We face many fears in life - the fear of death perhaps the hardest. Beneath our deepest fears is a well of hope and courage that we can all access while listening quietly to our higher instincts.

Everything changes, and that includes me. Now, no matter how I try to avoid it, I have to admit that 'change' and 'choice' are part of life; both are to be welcomed, not feared. I have to remind myself that both change and choice keep me young at heart and that without them I'd become a dead fish in a stagnant pond. I am that I am today because of the choices I made yesterday, and, at this stage in my life, it's vital that I welcome change and that I actually make choices rather than being paralysed by so many options. To do nothing is in itself a choice - the decision not to choose - and usually the worst one. For me, a wrong choice is braver than no choices at all. It's easier to make good decisions, though, when you know what your principles are. So embrace change, make choices, know your core principles and, above all, choose what is right and honest. 

'It's my way of saying to the universe I am going to live life to the full and not be afraid'. I think that serendipity is what happens when we choose to live life with open hearts, expecting to be surprised by goodness. 

from Pause For Thoughts Books

[Throwback] Written on 8 April 2018; 20.19]

[sabraeal]

Tenderness Like a Bruise

[Read on AO3]

Sequel to Creatures of a Brief Season; written in honor of @puffdragongirl‘s birthday! Robin requested anything that included Od Ana, and what would incur more Od Ana commentary than Bergatt (and potentiality Eisetsu) Arc?

They could spend a hundred years in this snow, a hundred lifetimes, and Od Ana knows: she’ll never get used to it.

You’re meant to be here, Obi would tease, trailing a gloved finger up her sternum, ruffling her feathers. They still hunt with birds like you up north, riding on horseback and snatching hares from the snow.

They’re real birds, she’d huff, snapping at that finger. I’m you, and you’re me, and we’re cold.

It makes her wings stiff, a heavy weight when she lifts them-- not something she needs when they’re already so big, so awkward unless she’s in the air. The wind cuts right through her feathers, ignoring the ribbed bulwark and clinging right to the skin. Obi always tells her to take a flap if she can’t stand it, but the higher up she goes, the crueler it is. Sure she might get some heat in her muscles, but that doesn’t do anything for the parts of her that aren’t involved with flight.

“How many of these are you gonna make?” Perkunas hops around Obi’s knees, big, clumsy paws raking at his trousers. Obi puts him off with a pat, sweeping a gloved finger up his muzzle to still him. It’s no longer like lightning when they touch, just a soft buzz, muted by leather and fur.

See, another reason to suffer down here, shivering-- if she spent all her time up in the air, she’d miss the show.

Shirayuki perches on the edge of a planter, raising her feet as Perkunas scuttles under them. He pokes his nose over her notes, skimming the page until he’s cross-eyed. That little meat bun might think himself bookish, but this is far from the first time he’s lurched from her lap, word-drunk; she spares him a small pat, laying her gloved hand carefully over the ridge of his muzzle. Right where Obi ran his finger, Od Ana can’t help but note.

She snaps her beak, chuffed. Her man’s mistress might play at being busy, too absorbed in her work to pay attention to the silliness surround her, but Od Ana has an eagle’s eyes. Whenever Obi’s all energy and no sense, Shirayuki’s got one eye on him. Not to keep watch, like she’s so keen on saying when she’s caught, but because she likes to turn two toward him if he bends over.

Even now her lips twitch, a smothering a smile before it can take flight-- Od Ana’s grateful for it. The last thing he needs now is encouragement.

Perkunas waddles back over when Obi squats, resting his chin on his knee. A glove reaches down, smoothing the fur between his ears before riffling it again, leaving thick globs of snow. “Until there’s one for all of us.”

That small head cocks, taking in the row of snowmen. Obi might be good with his hands, maybe might even be fine enough to put pen to page, but an artist he’s not-- all his attempts are round and squat, their snow daemons snuggled in beside them. Even Od Ana has to squint to make out which one is which.

“All of us?” Perkunas echoes, sitting back on his haunches. “I don’t know if there’s enough.”

“Sure there is.” Obi levers himself to his feet, one hand free to point. “That’s Master and Miss, Miss Kiki and Mister, and over here’s me...”

“That’s supposed to be Shirayuki?” Perkunas trots up to the smallest one, sniffing at the spherical snow daemon beside it. “Is this me?”

Obi nods, mouth quivering. “Mmhmm.”

Perkunsa snorts, skittering back. “I don’t look like that!”

“Sure you do!” Od Ana clacks her beak, drawing his glare. “Just a little snow sausage, waiting to be grilled up!”

“I’m not!” he squeals, rushing up to where she sits. It’s too far for his squat little legs to reach, paws flexing as they try to find purchase on the stone.

“Take it back!” he growls, hopping uselessly beneath her. “Take it back! Shirayuki, did you hear her? Make her take it back!”

It’s no use-- Shirayuki might keep one eye on Obi, but Perkunas’s plaintive whines are too commonplace to lure her attention away. He grunts and skitters, but Shirayuki sits with her heels hooked on the edge of a stone, unmoved. Od Ana can’t grin with this beak of her, but she can flap her wings, skipping along the stone with a screech that might fall on the more purposeful side of taunting. And like always, Perkunas rises to her bait.

He’s stretched as long as his elastic body can go, every strand of fur on his ringed tail standing on end--

And he tumbles, the way he always does. Just collapses into an uncontrolled roll, more sphere than sense, careening across the yard-- and right into one of Obi’s snow friends.

“Oh!” Perkunas leaps up all at once, shaking snow from his snub snout,  snuffling pitifully. “I’m so sorry, Obi! I didn’t mean to.”

Obi crouches down where he lays, gloved palm landing gently on his muzzle. “I know, little guy.” He casts an eye over the ruined mound, clucking his tongue. “Well, there goes Mister.”

“Eh?” Shirayuki wholly drags herself up from her work now, glancing from Obi’s back to the snow-covered Perkunas and then all the way up to where she perches. Her mouth settles in a knowing line, and when she says, “Have you been getting in to trouble?” Od Ana knows it’s for both of them.

It’s good a bird can’t look abashed, no matter how many feathers she has. Otherwise she might have to try.

“It’s Od Ana’s fault,” Perkunas rushes to tell her, the little liar.

She sniffs, cocking her beak haughtily. “I would never have expected Shirayuki’s daemon to be such a tattletale.”

Od Ana expects a glare, a harsh word, something to quell her, but Shirayuki’s mouth only twists wryly. “You should have known me as a child.”

I did. It’s Obi’s thought, but it dovetails with her own, unobtrusive for once. It doesn’t bear saying that she was neither as excitable or pestiferous as Perkunas can make himself; Obi’s agreement radiates deep in her breast. Their secret, locked in a cage of hollow bone.

“She called me fat,” Perkunas grouses, sitting back on his haunches. It makes him round, like a ball, and Od Ana’s half-tempted to see if she could get him to roll again with just a squawk.

“You are. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it.” Shirayuki tells him, all fondness as she comes to crouch beside him, knee brushing Obi’s as easily as her hand strokes her daemon’s skull. Od Ana can feel his shiver from here, her beak rattling quietly from the one it sends through her. “Oh, Obi-- I’m sorry. He’s undone all your hard work.”

“No worries, Miss.” Obi cradles what’s left of Mitsuhide’s head in his hands. “I’m sure it’s only a bad omen. Poor Mister.”

Shirayuki cocks her head, leaning in to glance at the ruined snow skull. Od Ana might tease Obi, might mock him for never being able to puzzle out how to bridge the gap between him and his mistress, but he certainly knows how to get her to hover in his orbit. Black and red nearly eclipse each other, and oh, what she wouldn’t give to knock the two of them together just to see the spark.

After a long moment, Shirayuki finally says, dubious, “That was supposed to be Mitsuhide?” 

“Yep.” Obi chucks his chin toward the oblong mound, resting beside the remains of the prince’s foremost aide. “See, Sigrun’s right there.”

Shirayuki pitches forward, squinting. “Eh?”

Od Ana clucks, amused. Sigrun’s even-tempered, just like her man, but even she would be insulted by the snow sausage standing in for her.

“It’s too warm for this anyway,” Shirayuki decides, lifting herself to standing. “No wonder Mitsuhide fell apart. He’s the biggest, after all. Couldn’t hold his own weight.”

“It was getting colder. I thought maybe we might get a snow this afternoon, and I’d get to shore them up.” He stands with a sigh, knees creaking in protest. “Doesn’t seem like that’ll be happening today, Miss.”

Shirayuki peers up at him-- further than Od Ana remembers her needing. Ah, so her boy’s grown another inch. He’ll be out of those soon, if the men around him are any stick to measure by. He’s tall enough now anyway, respectable. Doesn’t need to get cocky on top of it-- at least not any more than he already is.

“Suzu told me it’s still too early for snow.” She casts a thoughtful glance at the sky. “Well, at least in the afternoon.”

Obi huffs, amused, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “Suzu said that?”

“Well,” Shirayuki wheedles. “Hermia did.”

“That sounds more reliable,” Obi grunts. Most daemons are, save for Perkunas. “Still, didn’t we have one just the other week?”

“Well, yes.” She sways on her feet, but it’s not from weakness or exhaustion-- it’s from energy that needs to be spent, like a child made to sit too long. Maybe Perkunas is more like her than any of them give him credit. “But it’ll be a few weeks before it’s cold enough for another. Lilias has to work itself into winter.”

Since when, Od Ana nearly says. Obi coughs; it barely covers his laugh.

“Ah, that reminds me. Mistress--” Obi turns, catching her eyes, and Od Ana uselessly wills him to close the space-- “the knights need me to help them with something starting tomorrow. You’ll have to look after yourself for a while.”

An idle threat, but Shirayuki takes it with a dutiful nod, just the way she expects. “Got it.” She hesitates before adding, “I hope it isn’t too serious.”

Obi casts one of his long looks over her, somehow both assessing and torn, before he looks away. A pity, since he doesn’t see how she looks back. “They’ve sent a few troops elsewhere for now, so they’re running a little thin at the checkpoint. I said I’d help out.”

“Ah, see.” Od Ana flutters down, perching on his shoulder. She’s too big for it to be comfortable, and he grunts as she knocks a wing against his head before folding them in. “What he means is that no one wants to do the paperwork. And Obi’s handwriting is so nice...”

He grimaces. “Something like that.” He flicks a coy smile towards Shirayuki, heedless of how it sticks. “If I get a cut, I’ll be sure to come to you and get myself bandaged up.”

“Oh.” Od Ana always likes Shirayuki’s sly smiles; Obi deserves to have someone who can make sure he gets as much as he gives. “I’ll be sure to tell Suzu to keep an eye out for you. He’s the best at bandages.”

Perkunas nods, oblivious to Obi’s scowl. “He always has them. A bunch!”

“Because he’s so accident prone himself,” Od Ana can’t help but add. Hermia has her work cut out for her, keeping that one alive.

“I don’t even carry any on me,” Shirayuki informs him loftily, the lie obvious on her lips.

Obi spares them both a thin look; it’s a good camouflage for how much he clearly want to kiss her. “Aw, at least let Little Ryuu do it, Miss.”

Her smile only curves more slyly. “I think that’s up to--”

“What was that about me?”

Ryuu appears out of the crowd, as sudden as Obi ever has; space empty one minute and the next filled with a boy about to hit his first growth, limbs all at odd lengths for his small body. Asasara noses out from beneath his collar, tongue darting out to taste the air before slithering back, settling against his skin. It’s nice to know that she’s not the only one who hates this weather.

“Little Ryuu!” Obi pivots sharply on his heel, unbalancing her enough to see her flapping back over to the wall. He grins wide, hooking his hands on his hips and he looks down at the boy. “Can you do me a favor and remind Miss to start bringing bandages around with her? I’d hate to go to anyone else if I’m wounded in honorable combat.”

“Eh?” He blinks, the blue of his eyes stark against the pale parchment of his skin. “Doesn’t she already?”

Shirayuki sends him a warning look, but it’s far, far too late for that. Obi’s already spun around, victory bright on his angular face. “So Miss does carry bandages.”

Her hands fly up as he looms, though it hardly seems she wants to ward him off. “Those are for emergencies, Obi. Not for paper--”

“Ah, Sir Obi!”

Od Ana cranes her neck, peering up the stairs that lead to the wall. There’s a guard there, waving like his limbs are too long for his body to control, eyes already round in limpid by the time they meet Obi’s. “Sir Obi, sir! I’m supposed to tell you-- His Highness’s messenger has arrived.”

She doesn’t need to look to know how Obi’s body has stiffened, how his breath has caught in chest and mind’s gone to static.

“Messenger?” Od Ana says quietly, stilted. “I thought that was you.”

A long breath hisses through his teeth. “So did I.”

[cypanache]

obianidala week 2023

DAY ONE: CANON DIVERGENCE

Note: This is not complete or ready for prime time, and its a premise I said I'd never write. But ... *shrugs* I'm writing on the fly to make the cut off. So here have a tumblr snippet anyway. Hopefully more to come as the week goes on.

Prodigal (part i)

“Come away with me,” Padme says and for a moment the fog clears. 

“Yes.”  Anakin agrees and for a moment everything seems possible. 

They find Obi-Wan waiting for them in the pilot’s seat of Padme’s star skiff. Face solemn, eyes tired, lightsaber unlit but in hand and for a moment they all just stare at each other.

“So,” Obi-Wan finally says, “What now?”

—

“Where do you propose to go?” Obi-Wan inquires with quiet contempt when they find themselves alone in the cockpit after Anakin has passed out in the bunk. 

Padme bristles a little. But only a little.  Honestly, she’s too tired to fight. Too tired to pretend she doesn’t doubt her decision with every breath. But it is hers and she has made it. No turning back now. 

“I don’t know,” she admits and something in Obi-Wan’s face softens. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to come.”

Obi-Wan just closes his eyes.  “Where else would I go?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that. 

—

They make it less than a week before, without warning or preamble, Anakin finally gives voice to the thing that’s been hanging over them since the moment they walked back up the gangplank. “You came to kill me, didn’t you?”

Across the canteen, Padme stiffens. 

Obi-Wan sets down his tea, runs a thoughtful finger along the rim before answering.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes.  I came to kill you.”

Padme sucks in a sharp shocked breath and presses her hand to her mouth.

Anakin barely flinches.  Just studies him with dead eyes.  He’s obviously worked this all out days ago.

“Do you still want to?”

“I never wanted to.”

“But you would have.”  It’s not actually a question.

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan admits and he can’t tell whether the acid guilt he feels eating away from inside is because he thinks he would have or because he didn’t.

—

“I don’t want him here.”  Anakin says that evening when they’re alone in the bunk room.

Padme doesn’t look up from the star map she’s been studying. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“We don’t need him.”

“I need him.”

“For what?” he retorts, not bothering to hide the suspicion and jealousy that have been eating him alive since he found his master on his wife’s ship.

That gets her to look at him, and he immediately wishes she hadn’t.  He doesn’t recognize the woman across from him. Can’t find his angel anywhere in the broken, jagged pieces that are that remain of his wife.  He did that, he knows.  He broke her.  Smashed her. This is his fault.  So why does he resent it?  The way it hurts to have her look at him.  How her eyes cut him open, show him the worst parts of himself reflected back at him in the fragments of her gaze, until he has to look away. 

Padme says nothing and goes back to the star map and the seemingly ever present question of “where next?” that plagues their lives now.  Each of them hunted for entirely different reasons. What would be shelter for one, a death sentence for another. 

He tries again.

“I’d never let anything happen to you.  You know that right?”  Gently he reaches out to put a hand on her belly, spreading his fingers over the swell of life inside, feeling a small flicker of hope when her hand moves instinctively to his.  “Padme, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

There’s a surge of revulsion in the Force so powerful it makes Anakin almost physically ill, and Padme shifts his hand away. 

“What do you think I need Obi-Wan around for?”

—

-tbc-

[221bshrlocked]

what’s your best advice for someone trying to get into writing Obi-Wan? I’ve been reading a lot of fanfic (lol, for research…), but is there anything in particular that you think is key about getting his character right? I’ve really enjoyed your work and Penfullofwords so far.

Oh this is a difficult question. I think there are a few things that I constantly keep in mind when I'm writing for Obi-Wan and I hope this doesn't come off too much like a rant.

1. His use of syntax and diction is very important to him. He's almost always clear and concise with what he has to say. I see him as someone who speaks the way they write essays. That tends to make me go back and fix dialogue that doesn't sound like him and in turn, helps me create better sentences.

2. He tends to wait a few seconds before he responds...maybe I'm imagining that but I see him as someone who chooses his words carefully so he doesn't offend the person in front of him or leave room for misunderstandings, except when he's becoming angry (insert scene(s) with Satine...he's just overprotective of her and he allows his emotions to seep into his actions just a tiny bit when it comes to her). I take that characteristic and apply it to any reader fic I read/write for him.

3. I would also extend that to his body language. He's a confident individual but he will shift his body language depending on the circumstances because of whatever he wants from his opponent or acquaintance. That makes him come out as a cocky person but I think it's because he uses his body as a tactic...along with his words of course. (Insert scenes with Ventress).

4. He is in the constant battle of "can a Jedi do this" or "is it okay if I do this" because he has faith in the Force. Not in the same way other Jedi do, but in the way that it's meant to be. He is what the Jedi Council think they are basically so he strives to take actions he knows would somewhat align with his faith in his religion...he tries at least. It's very important to him and he doesn't want to break it or find loopholes, he just wants to make the right decision.

5. He is a deeply sentimental individual. He feels a multitude of emotions, and he tends to struggle with that because it's "not allowed" for him. He has attachments, but not in the way where he's prone to join the dark side. I like to think that this is Qui-Gon's spirit in him. He feels so so much and post Republic Obi Wan will allow himself to be okay with feelings because they make him connect to the Force more. It's healthy to sift through your emotions and he's learning to do that. He sort of did that in the Clone Wars but he managed it more than post Clone Wars because he was still a Jedi.

6. And above all, he is a passionate individual. Mentally, spiritually, and definitely physically. Whether or not he knows how to convey that is up to you because each one of us sees different things in a character. I think he can because words are deeply important to him...and actions too.

7. Selflessness. Period.

Hopefully this helps but I would suggest asking @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories because I personally believe her stories get to the core of Obi-Wan way way better. Her use of language is highly exceptional. And I'd like to forward this question to @princessxkenobi as well because I want to hear what she has to say.

[nimata-beroya]

MY THOUGHTS ON TBB 2x03 "The Solitary Clone"

I'll start saying that the episode was pretty much as I thought it would be. The only thing I got wrong was the location, and it was a confusion on my part about the Battle Memorial.

I have so many feels for Crosshair 😩 my poor baby! I just want to wrap him with a blanket and hug him forever. He's so alone 💔💔💔

More spoilers below

Even if it felt like a knife to gut to know that he spent a month stranded, like yikes 😬😬, I'll say that he brought that to himself! I said it from the beginning, whatever happened to him there would be his own fault for not accepting his brothers' offer to go with them. He didn't even have to go permanently with them, just off-world and be dropped somewhere safe. But he didn't want to. What could've the batch done? Kidnapped him, take him away by force and take his choice away? No, so, for much it hurts, he cannot blame anyone but himself.

Despite all that, I can't imagine how awful Crosshair feels. You'd think that the Empire not appearing either during that time would clue him how unimportant he is for them. And yet... *Sighs* As a Rebels fan, this is such a deja vu.

The Rampart's dig about not being fit for command, that he'll be under the command of someone else, yikes 😬, it was insult to injury. I'd say a hard hit to Crosshair's pride. One done on purpose. Hate you Rampart! But I guess that it solves the question I had about how could go the relationship between Cross and ES-02. I mean, I don't think she'd have follow his orders after what happened in Kamino.

But it's Cody, which is both good and bad! Because now my heart is broken for both of them 😭😭😭😭😭😭 At least, he cares about Crosshair, and Cross respects him a great deal.

Is it me or Crosshair got just a tad defensive when Cody confirmed that he wasn't surprised that the batch went rogue because they're different by design and Cross retorts that Regs have gone AWOL too. I think it was both another hit to his pride and he didn't like to be reminded that he's different.

The Cody-Crosshair team-up is awesome (even if it's for the Empire) . They work awesome together.

Why?! Why do they have to name Clones for me to get attached to and then kill them right after? WHY?!!! RIP Nova and Wyler 😭💔

Ok This is so hot 🥵🥵 both Cross doing amazing shots with the reflective disks and Cody going a la Hunter with the knife

Cody negotiating just like Obi-Wan would have 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 and I knew Crosshair was going to be the one shooting the governor 😐 baby no! 😭😭😭

See, this is why clones were never going to last much in the Empire. More than accelerated aging or anything else, it's their moral code, which eventually start clashing with that the Empire. Crosshair stays out of pride and stubbornness. Hopefully, seeing that even Cody defected (WOOHOO!!!! 😁 We're going to see him in another episode right?! Right?!), he starts thinking through what's he's doing.

But I'm TERRIFIED that Rampart is believing Crosshair is somehow helping other clones to defect, when all he does is to cling desperately to the Empire, looking for something he always had and now lost. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I loved many moments in this episode, but i think the most important is at the end when Cody when Cody and Crosshair are back to the Battle Memorial and Cody remarks that they're not droids, that make their decisions and have to live with them. I only hope those words are food for thought for Crosshair.

[reds-burrow]

I've seen you sort most Star Wars characters, but what about the OGs? Luke, Leia and Han?

Our main OT trio have already been sorted, and I'm inclined to agree with their previous assessment for the most part. Only thing I'd change is adding a Badger Secondary model for Luke depending on where in the timeline you're looking at him.

Luke: Bird/Lion + Badger model

Probably the sorting that needs the most explanation of the three. Thankfully, he was sorted by our OG sorters, @sortinghatchats, who do an amazing job explaining their reasoning behind his Bird Primary. Only thing I would add is that during Luke’s conversation with Obi-Wan, when Obi-Wan first lays out our hero’s call to action and the basics of the Force, Luke is just sure I’ll incorporate that into my world view. This is typical of a Bird accepting new information and adjusting their system accordingly (especially if you want to count the deleted scenes as possible canon, given Luke would have been ready to join the Empire a few scenes before this).

As for his Secondary, Luke is a reactionary Lion, charging into rescue his friends at Cloud City and jumping into attack when Vader threatens Leia in Return of the Jedi. Even one of the most contentious points of the sequel trilogy, when Luke reacts on instinct to what he senses from Ben Solo, is a display of his Lion. Yoda attempted to tamp down these reactive instincts during Luke’s training by passing on a Badger Secondary to Luke, and given what charging in got him at the end of Empire Strikes Back, Luke tries to fit the image of a model Jedi, patient and hardworking, during Return of the Jedi and as he starts building his new school. But from the moment we were introduced to him, complaining about helping Uncle Owen on that moisture farm on Tatooine, we knew Luke wasn’t interested in hard work, and by the time Rey finds him in the sequels, he seems to have given up most of his Badger Secondary model.

Leia: Lion/Lion + Snake model

While skilled in deception, it's something that Leia has learned in order to keep her rebel activities a secret for as long as she could. At her core, however, she is consistently shown taking quick, decisive action even when thrown into an unexpected situation, whether that means blasting open a garbage chute to escape, strangling Jabba with the chains she was bound with, or handing off the Death Star plans to Artoo when it looked like she would be captured. Her Lion Secondary shines under pressure but can also make her reckless, like when she wants to stay on Hoth despite the base being under attack. She’s willing to give everything she has to her cause, and as a Lion Primary, she’s generally unwavering in her beliefs. She also shows a tendency to trust her gut instinct when it comes to judgement calls, such as when she feels something is off when they first meet Lando, getting a bad feeling about Threepio going missing, or even claiming she knew there was more to Han when he returned at the end of A New Hope despite there being no logical reason to believe so.

Han: Snake/Lion

Interestingly enough, one of the most consistent complaints I see about the Solo movie is about Han's primary. People were upset that helping Enfys Nest at the end of the movie seemed to imply he wasn't the Snake Primary we all know him to be, that he would consider joining the rebellion for something other than Luke and Leia, that he hadn't spent those years leading up to A New Hope living his best space scoundrel life, living only for himself and Chewie (and arguably the Falcon). But all that is still canon. Han rejects Nest's offer to join her rebellion. Plus, his primary motivation for most of the movie is Qi'ra, so Solo is just more evidence of his Snake Primary.

As Han says, he only takes orders from one person: himself. Most of what we see from Leia and Han butting heads comes the two of them being Internal Primaries with Lion Secondaries. Both just know instinctively what they want to do and jump in to do it, only to find that’s what the other is doing too, and if their instincts don’t happen to line up, they wind up arguing. In fact, Leia’s rescue from the Death Star gives us some great Lion Secondary moments from Han, such as trying to throw off some officers over the comm channels and blasting out the comms when that doesn’t work, or literally charging at some stormtroopers to intimidate them.

Also, Han shot first.

[alloverthegaf]

If you're still taking prompts, I'd like to send in again "Jarvis finds a secret OP in a certain mountain, while scanning for irregularities in the military dealings with STARK industries." Aka. Tony finds the Stargate. I'm still interested in reading that ^^

You are insanely patient and kind for how long you waited for me to write this my dude, thank you, and thanks for sending it again and reminding me of it because I was so in love with the idea. Hopefully this makes it up to you because this is definitely the longest thing I’ve written in a while, especially in one sitting. I had SO much fun developing the universe for this one too, and have a couple of vague ideas to maybe add to it in the future.

FYI we’re pretending the Marvel and Stargate timelines match up, don’t question it.

“Sir.”

Tony looks up from his welding torch, shoving the goggles away from his eyes. “What have you got, J?”

A second’s hesitation, which is enough by JARVIS’ standards to have Tony apprehensive. “A problem, Sir.”

Tony leans back in his chair, rolling slightly with the momentum. Well, that’s no surprise. He’s spent the past month and a half tracking down all organisations and branches of military connected to Stark Industries - or rather, he’s had JARVIS track them down - in his ongoing mission to right the wrongs of his war-mongering past. His main goal since the whole terrible clash with Obie has been to put the last scraps of his violent profiteering to rest, and that involves sifting through everyone who’s ever bought a single gun designed by his hands, evaluating their need for his weapons, analysing the actions made, the ambitions desired by his previous customers. In some cases, mostly private militant groups and a number of organisations Tony likes to think even the old him would never have dealt with if it hadn’t been Obie doing the deals and shaking the hands, it’s a simple enough decision; recall what was sold, reimburse them for their troubles, and sic the most well paid lawyers in America on them if they try to fight it.

In other areas, it’s a great deal more complicated, areas like the army where it’s not as simple as taking back what he made and leaving them to fend for themselves. Some few, like the Air Force where Rhodey not only has a great deal of influence but has spent half of his life fighting for, he leaves alone.

JARVIS has been going periodically through every customer on the extensive list and making evaluations of his own to triage the ones that Tony needs to go over. After some thought Tony had confirmed that he should go through all branches of the Air Force as well, because while Rhodey believes in them and he believes in Rhodey, he knows his best friend’s reach is not infinite.

“What kind of problem?”

“I have tracked a number of Personal Defence Weapons to a Top Secret Air Force facility in Colorado. It claims to be a Deep Space Radar Telemetry unit but all information regarding the outfit is classified.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. JARVIS isn’t one to let a little thing like ‘classified’ stop him. “So de-classify it.”

“I did, Sir.”

Another hesitation. Tony feels his curiosity piqued. “Do you want a drum roll?”

JARVIS doesn’t respond, simply throws up the very secret, very illegally obtained files on the nearest screen. Tony cocks his head towards it and rolls his chair closer. Five minutes of reading and Tony finds himself checking to make sure it’s not April 1st.

“Am I not giving you enough attention, JARVIS? You playing pranks on your old man now?”

“I assure you, Sir, this is all directly from the Air Force database.”

Tony goes back to the files. “Hmm.”

The klaxon is ringing in his ears, accompanied by a rhythmic ‘intruder alert’ as Daniel rushes through the grey corridors of Stargate Command. It’s a testament to just how long he’s spent in this facility that he no longer gets lost, so many levels and hallways all so eerily identical it’s as if they were specifically designed to spin you in circles.

Jack insists it’s simply because the Air Force “has a boner for boring”. Daniel had rolled his eyes at the comment, but secretly he’d agreed.

It’s not the more common alarm warning of an off-world activation, and that more than anything has Daniel on edge. Perhaps he should find some kind of relief in the fact that there isn’t a System Lord currently trying to bash their way through the Iris, but that situation at least is familiar. They’ve never had someone actually break into the mountain from the more Earthly side before. Their security’s too good for that. Which means whoever’s managed to push their way in must be better.

Daniel’s first suspicion is NID. He’s deeply hoping he’s wrong. He’s had about enough of them to last two lifetimes.

He turns the corner and finds a row of airmen stationed in front of the elevator doors, guns raised and at the ready. General Hammond stands behind them, Jack at his side.

It takes a moment for Daniel to register that whatever team has managed to find their way past the SGC’s defences - or blast their way through, and thinking of the friendly corporal who’d waved him through the front gate this morning he sincerely hopes it’s the former option - are now using the elevator. As he reaches Jack’s side and takes in the steady line of guns pointed at the doors, he wonders if he’s missing some kind of tactical psych out tactic the enemy has employed, or if they simply made it this far on sheer dumb luck.

Jack gives him the side-eye, his own gun held steady in his hands. “Daniel.”

Daniel gives him the side-eye right back. “Jack.”

“Any reason you’ve volunteered yourself for the first line of defence?”

Years of experience has Daniel recognising the reproach for what it is, and years of experience has him waving it off with ease. “We might be able to negotiate.”

Jack doesn’t even try to hide the full bodied sigh at that response. “You might get your head blown off.”

Daniel shrugs. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

The elevator dings, the sound obnoxiously bright and cheery in the circumstances, and Jack’s eyes flit back, laser focused. The gun in his hands is raised and Daniel notices with a mix of appreciation and irritation that he steps forward and to the right slightly, putting himself in Daniel’s line of fire.

The room holds their breath, then the doors open, and -

“Iron Man?” one of the men in front whispers with something that sounds embarrassingly like awe. Jack’s eyes narrow and Daniel’s mouth drops open.

The red and gold suit steps forward once, twice, and raises its hands in a peaceful gesture. “Hey. I heard you were having a party.”

It certainly sounds like Stark’s voice, modulated as it is through the suit’s speakers. General Hammond recovers first, demanding “reveal yourself immediately.”

Surprisingly, he does. First the faceplate flips up, showing Tony Stark’s handsome face and iconic facial hair, before the rest of the suit opens. Daniel watches with wide eyes as the panels fold back on themselves and Stark steps out smoothly in a suit that even from this distance he can tell costs more than a month’s rent. “Mister Stark,” Hammond says warily. “This is a top secret facility and upon breaking in you have violated - “

“Yes, yes, I know, big trouble,” says Stark with a flippant wave of his hand. “Feel free to arrest me. I’m sure the media will just love to get my statement on why the Air Force are throwing me in a cell.”

“Is that a threat, Stark?” Jack asks, unamused. Unlike some of the greener men in the room, he’s clearly far from awestruck of the celebrity - and superhero - who’s just crashed his way into Cheyenne Mountain.

“I’m actually hoping we can avoid all the threatening and grand-standing,” he replies. “I’m not here to fight.” He grimaces, just a hint apologetic, and gestures to the suit standing behind him as he says “uh, despite appearances.”

“It’s generally considered polite to call ahead before dropping in,” Jack says, dry as the Sahara.

Tony throws a shiny white smile at him, all charm and boyish innocence. “Have I ever been known to be polite?”

“What is it exactly you want, Mr Stark?” asks Hammond with a deep wariness.

Tony turns his eyes to the General, and for the first time he looks serious as he responds, “to talk, General. How about we start there?”

Mr-Stark-Call-Me-Tony stands by the windows of the briefing room, looking out over the Stargate below with what Daniel assumes is intent fascination. SG-1 sit stiffly at the table with Hammond at the end, watching the billionaire closely. “How is it that you found out about our operation, Mr Stark?”

Tony replies without looking away from the giant ring, something like dry amusement in his tone. “I’m not just famous for my dashing good looks, General. Your firewalls are impressive, by Air Force standards, but they’d hardly a match against me. Don’t feel too bad, no one’s is.”

“So you thought you’d just drop by for a visit?” asks Jack. He’s clearly unimpressed with the man, from his confident swagger to his effortless charm and apparent arrogance. Daniel himself is hardly star-struck; logically he knows the man’s famous, and even he absorbs enough news to know about the violent battle between him and the other unknown pilot that occurred in New York about two months ago. But his job is to study people, and he’s been studying Stark since the moment the faceplate lifted. The confidence the man exudes covers the uncertainty in his eyes. The million dollar smile takes away from the slight tremble in his hands. The flippant jokes distract from the tight lines on his face.

So, Daniel’s reserving judgement. At least until he knows why Stark is here.

“Sure,” Stark responds, finally turning to face them. His hands move to his pockets and he rocks back slightly on his heels. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been shaking things up a little back at SI. Re-evaluating our priorities. I’ve been investigating everyone who’s ever bought so much as a bullet from me, and wasn’t I just full of questions when I came across you.”

Daniel sees Jack glance almost guiltily down at the handgun attached to his hip from the corner of his eye, and Sam doing the same across the table. He’s never personally paid much attention to the gun he uses, prefers to know as little about it as possible, in fact, but he’s seen the Stark logo around base enough times. More than that, he remembers the rant Jack had gone on after Stark had announced the complete retraction of weapons manufacturing. He’d stomped around Daniel’s office the whole time, gesticulating wildly and shouting about unreliability and leaving good men and women in the dust without a way to defend themselves. As if Daniel understood or sympathised at all about the importance of killing machines sold for a profit.

To be fair, Jack had ended his rant with a grudging admission of respect for the man’s apparent new values, and a wince of sympathy for what he must have gone through in those three months of absence. There had been an understanding in Jack’s eyes as he quietly admitted Stark had probably been tortured that Daniel hadn’t stopped seeing behind his eyelids for days afterwards.

“You could have gone through the proper channels,” Hammond reprimands. It’s that tone of disappointment that has managed to make even Jack shuffle guiltily in the past, and Daniel’s gratified to see that the great Tony Stark isn’t entirely immune, but the grimace is wiped from his face as quickly as it comes. “And would I have ever gotten clearance?”

“Probably not,” says Jack unapologetically. “Someone of your... status is a little too public for our liking.”

“Oh come on, Colonel,” says Tony with another of those ‘look how much I don’t care’ grins. “We both know it’s not my celebrity you disapprove of.”

Jack doesn’t argue the point.

“What is it exactly you want from us, Mr Stark?” asks Sam. She and Teal’c have remained silent up until now; Teal’c clearly doesn’t understand or care who this man is, and appears to be happy to leave this issue to his human friends. Sam has been quietly observing and absorbing the situation, but Daniel would bet money that he saw something like excitement show on her face when she first discovered just who had broken into the SGC with all the grace of a rhino. “Are you here to reclaim the weapons you sold to us?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure when I first found out,” says Tony. He regards Sam seriously, and, Daniel is gratified to see, with no small amount of respect. “I needed to see for myself, to understand what exactly it is you do here, what you’re... fighting against.”

“Our enemy is most malicious and powerful,” Teal’c speaks for the first time, his words heavy and serious. “They are a threat not only to us but to your entire world.”

“Yeah. I got that.” All amusement has dropped from Stark’s face, the carefree attitude gone to show the stance of someone serious and, perhaps, just a little bit scared. “I’ve read all about those alien slugs. I realise they’re no small threat.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, just a bit. “And I read all about you, Big Guy. I would love to pick your brain some time.”

Teal’c raises one unimpressed eyebrow. “I must decline such an unpleasant experience.” Stark’s face lights up at his deadpan response.

“Mr Stark,” says Hammond, attempting to get them back on track. If you’re not here to reclaim your weapons, why are you here?”

A moment longer of looking at Teal’c before he turns back to the General, serious again. “I’m here to learn, General. That’s my main goal here. I want to understand what exactly it is the world is up against. I want to study what you’ve already discovered.” He glances behind his shoulder, back into the Gate Room. “I would love to do some further study on how that works.”

“I could walk you through that,” Sam pipes up, then immediately looks at Hammond apologetically. “If, uh, you’re approved, that is.”

“It’s Carter, right?” Tony asks, looks at the pins on her shoulders, then at her. “Major Carter? I can tell you probably the only part of this whole thing that wasn’t a surprise was that you were involved. I’ve read your work on astrophysics, Major. You have a beautiful brain.” He says it with a salacious wink, but before Jack and Daniel can do so much as tense, he continues “honestly, if they hadn’t already recruited you I’d be making some phone calls right about now.”

Sam stares at him, clearly a little awe-struck and trying to hide it. “Th... thank you, Mr Stark. I’m familiar with your work as well. Your research articles on quantum mechanics has actually helped me a number of times while working on the Stargate program.

Tony grins, but it’s smaller and softer than the ones he’s thrown at them up until now. He actually looks a little proud when he says “glad I could be of assistance, Major.”

“So, that’s it?” asks Jack. He seems to have been slightly mollified by Stark’s genuine respect for Sam, but there’s still suspicion in his eyes and his voice. “You just want to learn? Do a book report?”

“Not just learn, Colonel,” is Tony’s quiet response. He looks at each of them in turn, putting the intended weight behind his words when he continues.

“I want to help.”

[notbecauseofvictories]

IDK if you saw the post about how, before the Death Star plans were captured, the asset Bail was sending was *Leia herself* to Obi-Wan. But I'd like an AU based on that. No Death Star Plans, only a 19-year-old-girl strong in the Force, trying to beat the Empire.

She didn’t—

Luke cocked his head, watching the girl in white move through the marketplace. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her, why one minute he had been engrossed in Waing’s new shipment of power converters and the next he was staring at her, totally unable to tear his eyes away. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gone from one to the other, except he had, and now he was watching her. It was important he watch her, he knew it was important, though he couldn’t figure out how he knew that, or why.

It wasn’t that she stood out—sure, no one wore robes of that clean white, not unless they had a lot of slaves or droids to do the laundry for them, and yeah, she was the sort of pale you generally only saw in traders, who spent more time in artificial grav than sunslight. But she could be a water merchant’s daughter slumming it in Toshe, or an off-worlder, taking in the sights. (Not that they had many sights to see in Toshe, Luke thought with a snort.) And nobody else seemed to notice her; she stopped at Kinqua’s stall and dipped her fingers into the bowl Kinqua left out for tasting, and lifted it to her lips, licked the droplets away.

Luke had seen Kinqua casually lop off a child’s hand for that.

“Skywalker,” Waing said, startling Luke out of his thoughts. “You made a decision? Or are you just going to keep feeling up my tech until it agrees to go home with you?”

“Cool your drives, Waing,” Luke said mildly, but he was still staring at the girl in white. She had two droids trundling after her, he realized belatedly—an astromech and a protocol droid, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying at this distance. Their lights were flashing, though, and he wished he could read visual binary.

“Oh, I see,” Waing said after a minute, and Luke could hear them smirking. “My tech isn’t all you’re hoping to take back to the Whitesun-Lars homestead.”

Luke felt his face go hot, and he forced himself to look back at Waing. They were smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coolly, but he couldn’t focus on the power converters anymore. The girl in white, had she—

“Pardon me.”

This close it was abundantly obvious that she wasn’t from Tatooine—no one from this planet carried that air of interestingness with them, like they had a secret that might change the whole course of your life. She must be an off-worlder. “I’m looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do you know where I might find him? I was told he lives near here—”

“Old Ben?” Luke cut in, before Waing could answer. “Do you mean Old Ben?”

The girl in white looked at him for a long moment, and Luke felt the back of his neck heating up. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Is he near here?”

“Oh, sure,” Luke laughed, more out of relief than anything else. “Old Ben’s just a few klicks from here, he lives near the western gorge—I could take you, if you want,” Luke said quickly, because she looked increasingly put-out, and he felt something in his chest twinge in answer to it.

But she shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but this is a personal matter.”

“It’ll cost you serious credits if you charter a speeder,” Luke said. “I’m headed that way anyway, let me take you. And your droids. Really,” he said, because she still looked uncertain. “It’s no trouble.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and her dark eyes were very serious. (He liked her eyes, for no particular reason he could figure out.) “My name is Leia,” she finally said, sticking her hand out. 

“Luke,” Luke laughed, taking it and shaking it. It was cool and smooth, and if he’d needed any confirmation she was from off-world, that was it. “Skywalker. My uncle owns a moisture farm in the eastern hemisphere.”

“I’m—not from around here,” she said, and Luke almost laughed because—well, obviously.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Luke said, and something of her tiredness and tightness (why did he know she was tired, down to her bones?) eased. She smiled back, a small smile. Luke counted it as a victory.

“I am C-3PO,” the protocol droid cut in, sticking his head between them as though it would stop them from looking at one another. He was burnished gold, and in the high sunslight it hurt to look at him. “And this is my companion, R2-D2.”

The astromech whistled a greeting, and Luke laughed. “Pleasure to meet—all of you. My speeder’s docked by the Ithorian, if you want…?”

“Hey, Skywalker, aren’t you going to buy anything?” Waing interrupted, and Luke winced, barely managing to tear his eyes away from Leia, who was still smiling, very slightly.

“Sorry, uh—maybe next week?” Luke offered lamely, but he was already ushering Leia and her droids away, and he could hear her laugh, very softly. (His chest fell too full, hearing it.)

It felt strange, formal and right, to help her into the speeder. Her hand in his was a kind of symmetry, inexplicable, the way he knew how a speeder was supposed to fit together, how a full tank of moisture sounded when you rapped it with a knuckle. Organic and totally without reason, their hands fitting together. She still hadn’t told him her surname, if she had a surname. Where she was from. What she was doing here. What her droids were doing here.

Luke couldn’t help but trust her utterly. Otherwise, why did her hand feel like that, resting in his?

“What do you need to see Old Ben for?” Luke shouted over the rush of air around the speeder.

“I told you,” Leia shouted back. The white hood she wore had fallen back, and her hair was dark. Even carefully styled, those loops over her ears, strands came loose, whipping around her face. “It’s personal!”

They stopped at the farm first, just to refuel and drop off the handful of things Luke did buy—rations, holonews downloads, some sucrose-candies for Aunt Beru. But when they touched down, Owen went white beneath his sunsburn, staring at Leia like she was a creature from another galaxy. “Your Highness,” he breathed, and Luke had to correct him, just an off-worlder looking for Old Ben; don’t pay her any mind. Look, Uncle Owen, I brought you your Almanac—

Leia was silent; picking at a loose thread in her white, white robes.

(Afterwards, she was silent, her arms crossed over her waist. They sped across the desert, which was gathering dark by the armful. “Sorry,” Luke said, trying to keep himself from shivering, “I know it gets cold at night.”

“It’s all right,” Leia said. “On—my planet, it snowed. We had mountains, and we would build whole castles out if it, out of snow. It was beautiful.”

“I’d like to see snow,” Luke said, but he thought it was lost in the sound of the speeder, because she didn’t reply.)

By the time they reached Old Ben’s place, it was dark enough for a lamp to be burning, the light spilling beneath the door and out the window. Luke watched as Leia knocked on the daub doorframe, shivering.

Still, it was worth staying just to watch the flicker of Old Ben’s expression from surprise to shock when he greeted her. He called her by a name that was definitely not ‘leia’ and Luke watched her shoulders hitch. “No,” Leia said finally. “I am Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan. I am the daughter of Queen Breha Organa and Viceroy Bail Organa, and I am—I am here to beg your aid for the rebellion.”

Luke wasn’t so surprised that he didn’t notice Ben’s eyes cut to him, and then away.

“Princess,” Ben said finally, with an awful heaviness. Luke had brought him ration packs and listened to his stories he had never sounded like that before, like it was something awful and deep beyond saying. “If they sent you to find me, they must be very desperate.”

“No,” she said quickly, and Luke knew she was lying. “No, but—we need Jedi. We cannot go forward, we cannot fight, if the Force is not with us.”

This time, Old Ben’s stare lingered on Leia, then on Luke. He seemed to be making up his mind about something, though Luke couldn’t say what. Old Ben had always struck him as a sort of harmless religious sort; in another world he might have been a Jedi like in the stories, but instead he was a desert madman, talking to the air and clutching at a bit of carbon tubing like it was a lightsaber.

There was nothing harmless about the way he was looking at them now.

“I’ve been happy here,” Old Ben muttered, quietly, like an apology.

“Fine,” Leia said, almost a snarl. Luke could only see her in silhouette, against the light from Old Ben’s hut. He thought suddenly of a predator, something that could leap on the unsuspecting. “But no one ever promised us happiness.”

Luke could see Old Ben’s throat work. “Come in,” he said at last. His gaze darted to Luke, and Luke caught his breath. “What I have to say is—for both of you, now.”

Luke shut off the speeder.

(He had followed Leia into Old Ben’s hut, and didn’t come out the same man. No, not the same man at all.)