#obi wan's like why does this keep happening to me i just need some peace and quiet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarasapen · 3 years

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In Sickness and In Health

Another addition to the Little One series, which, I admit, has been a long time coming; Obi's oh moment.

AN: In my mind, it would take an extreme situation with high concentrations of emotions for Obi-Wan to even come close to admitting the extent of his feelings for someone he shouldn’t be having feelings for. There’s some angst, because, well, it’s me.

“What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”

“Infinite sadness,” Obi-Wan said, even while smiling.

-James Luceno, Labyrinth of Evil

Jedi are keepers of the peace, child, your Master had said to you. He said it once, really, there was hardly ever a need for him to chastise you on jumping head first into combat. You preferred to talk first, swing later, much like him.

Unlike him, however you didn’t enjoy the fight, the thrill of swinging your saber around. Not when it so often came at the cost of blood, no matter whose blood it may be. You were, at heart, a healer. Not a warrior.

Keepers of the makerforsaken peace, you think sarcastically, struggling in the too tight binds over your hands, keeping your discomfort masked under neutrality when your Master’s gaze flickers to you.

The mission must come first.

It’s words he’s repeated multiple times, to both you and Anakin over the years. A reminder that no matter what, no matter what awful thing is happening, the mission must come first. For the greater good, to help more people. You couldn’t risk the lives of dozens or hundreds or thousands of people, just for one.

We’ll go in together. We’ll take him together. Whatever it is, we’ll do it together.

Together.

Maker, why did none of his Padawans ever listen to him?

It was supposed to be easy. A simple in and out, fake a capture and flip it around so that the capturers were now the captured. It was supposed to be easy.

But some stupid droid’s blaster went off- no surprise there, really- causing a chain reaction of panic. In the chaos, you had to dart the other direction, and now he’s fighting off adversaries one way while you’re being dragged the other. He turns his head to look back at you, and he sees a needle being pushed into the side of your arm, and with worried eyes, he watches you go limp.

The mission must come first.

It’s what he tells himself when he breaks free an hour later, when he takes the Prince of this Separatist-aligned planet hostage in order to get him to lift some sort of ban or the other- the details are getting fuzzy now.

You stumble through the doors minutes later, a small cut on your forehead and a dark bruise beginning to form over the expanse of your cheekbone. You’re disgruntled, but altogether fine. The medic-droid scans indicate the same thing, that other than a few superficial cuts and scrapes, you're in tiptop shape.

It’s why neither you nor Obi-Wan think to get your blood work done.

——

“You don’t look so good,” Anakin observes, coming to a halt in front of you. You manage a glare, wincing at the way it strains against the recovering muscles of your face. Anakin notices, and flinches sympathetically with you.

“Really? I thought the bruise brought out my eyes,” You jibe, framing the injured side of your face with your hand. His lips quirk into a little smile, but it dims slightly as he looks over you again.

“Not that. Although that does look pretty badass,” He teases, before his tone evens out into something serious. “You just look… sick.”

You shrug, ignoring his comment. Come to think of it, the bridge had been feeling awfully stuffy and warm. And it’s usually freezing. It’s why you had wandered in here in the first place, to try to break the sweat that had started to gather on your face.

“Post-mission jitters, I guess,” You hum, swiping a hand over your forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat, trying to do it casually so Anakin doesn’t notice. He notices.

“Drink some water. It’ll help,” He offers with a wave goodbye, and you swing your arm in the air animatedly to prove that you were, in fact, fine. You swallow, your throat itchy and dry, and your hand drops to wrap around your throat. Water… water does sound very good right now.

So of you pop, wandering around aimlessly to try and find some water. Exit the meeting room, straight ahead at the junction, turn left, turn right, turn…

Straight. Left, left, into the lift, right, straight, straight, straight, nah, straight was boring now, how about left-?

You reach the cockpit, frowning as you turn into the little room. What did you need? The pilot turns to you and says something, and you shrug your shoulders, giving her a wave and wandering back out. Wave. Waves. Ocean. Water.

Oh, water sounded nice.

Maybe you could get some.

——

You’re… off.

Jittery. Flighty. Wide-eyed and pale and off. The huge bruise on your face doesn’t help the image of you. He wonders why you haven’t applied any bacta to it yet.

“Little one?” Obi-Wan calls tentatively, lowering the tablet in his hand.

“Hm?” You snap your head towards him, tucking your hands under your thighs and bouncing your legs.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah-yeah, why you asking?” He thinks your words slur slightly, but it could just be his imagination.

“Your signature is…warped,” He describes, his perfect brows furrowing together over his perfect blue eyes on his perfect face-

“‘S probably lingering adrenaline from-from the mission earlier,” You brush off, turning your wide eyes to survey the empty room. Your response confirmed it, you were not okay. Obi-Wan leans forward, trying to smooth over his sudden flare-up of worry.

“Little one, the mission was two days ago,” He reminds, voice low and warm and smooth and it felt nice to listen to. It was like- it was like tea. Yeah. Like the tea he made on cold days and it would be all nice and smooth and it would run down your throat deliciously and make you warm inside out. You liked listening to him talk. You could listen to him talk for hours. Anakin always complained that Obi-Wan had lectured him a lot more than he ever did you. You’d trade places willingly, if it meant that you could hear him talk to you more.

“Padawan, are you listening to me?” Your Master calls again, his tone hinting that he had been saying things that you weren’t paying attention to. Whoops. You duck your head, ashamed for being called out and even more ashamed for disappointing him. He didn’t sound disappointed though, just worried.

“Mhm,” You get out, eyes fixated on a stray thread on his sleeve, and you reach out to tug at it.

“Padawan,” He calls, voice overly concerned. The hand that's attached to the arm that’s inside the sleeve that’s attached to the thread you’re toying with raises to press against your cheek. With you so close now, Obi-Wan notices how glazed your eyes are.

“When did you last sleep?” His thumb brushes across your dewy skin, and he watches you blink slowly, taking far longer than what should’ve been needed to process the question. If you hadn’t known the mission was days ago, Obi-Wan wondered if you had been aware of how much time had passed, and if you had been taking care of yourself.

Your lips part as if you’re going to answer, but then they close, and you dart your eyes to the loose thread again, focus drawing back onto it. Watching your fingers grasp it gently, Obi-Wan swallows, calling your name softly as he did when you were a child to get your attention once again.

“Have you eaten? Since the mission, little one, have you had anything to eat?” He prompts you, trying to keep his voice soothing as he attempts to hold your attention, despite how frightening your behaviour was. It was new, this fight for your focus, and it’s only then that he realises quite how much he’s held your attention over the years.

“M not hungry,” You insist a little petulantly, almost pouting as you lean into his hand. At the implication that you hadn’t eaten, Obi-Wan’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Let’s get you something to eat?”

“Can- can I-” You start your request, trailing off halfway, eyes drooping shut slightly.

“Can you what, little one?” Obi-Wan prompts patiently, his other hand reaching forward to brush against yours.

“Tired,” Sighing, you lean further against Obi-Wan, who shifts to almost support your entire weight.

“Let’s get you to bed, then, hm? You can eat something as soon as you wake up,” He suggests, steering you towards your bunk. You mumble something non-committedly, letting him manoeuvre you into your bunk when it becomes apparent you can barely lift a limb. Or- you don’t really let him, it’s not like you could’ve stopped him.

So Obi-Wan tucks you into bed, smoothing the blanket over you and petting your hair until you fall asleep, grip on his sleeve loosening. He tries not to overthink the fact that your forehead is warm. He’s been sick plenty of times after a particularly stressful mission, as has Anakin. Some rest would quickly get you back on your feet.

And yet still… he felt that he was missing something glaringly obvious.

——

It isn’t often that cruiser ships were attacked mid-flight. It was even rarer that a cruiser ship containing Jedi would be invaded.

But once separatist droids began filling in, it became apparent to Obi-Wan that this invasion was not a rogue pirating expedition that chanced upon them. No, this was deliberate.

There are blaster shots fired and droids and men both fall. The initial jolt of the attack had rocked the ship and startled you awake, and Obi-Wan knows you’re behind him, fighting. He hasn’t seen you, he doesn’t know if you truly are alright, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that right now.

The mission comes first.

All Obi-Wan can do is to trust in you, to trust in his teachings. The latter of which was much more difficult to achieve; he’d always think back on events- be it regarding you or Anakin- and think that he could have dealt with issues better, taught you better, cared for you better. But he was a Jedi Knight, his life having been charted out amongst the stars eons before his grandparents’ grandparents even existed. His life, and subsequently yours, meant that he had to trust you now, had to trust you would hold your own. It was strange…

Other Masters had mentioned that it got a little easier over time, the overwhelming amount of worry one had for their Padawan. Obi-Wan was no fool, however, he was not quite so naive as to think that other Masters cared for their Padawans as he did his. For all his upholdings of the Jedi Code, Obi-Wan might have loved quietly, but oh how strongly did that love burn. He had seen, with his own eyes, other Masters and their Padawans; Luminara and Barris, Windu and Billaba, even his relationship with his own Master…

It didn’t matter now. Not now. Right now, all Obi-Wan can do is push the fight back, and trust in the force.

He feels it as soon as it happens. The steady thrum of all the crew around him, of the life forces and the signatures he’s learnt to recognise as yours and Anakin’s and Ahsoka’s.

There’s a blast behind him. Far behind him. He manages to not lose his footing when he feels the dip in the Force that means a collective loss of life, and it dips dips dips just a little more as the seconds tick by, as more lives slip away in the seconds that follow the explosion. He tries to ignore the pang in his chest. His ears are ringing. Something’s not right.

And then suddenly the thrumming goes silent. It doesn’t really, what with Anakin and other crew members around him, but he feels it… he feels it… It’s like there are alarms blaring right next to his ears but at the same time his head has been plunged underwater. He reaches out, praying, hoping, begging-

The mission comes first.

Obi-Wan clenches his jaw so hard it almost cracks his teeth, and he slices three droids in half with a single blow. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t let himself catch a glimpse of what he knows will be his undoing. He has to shut his eyes when the fight necessitates his body turns, he has to rely on instinct and not the force, not now, he can’t trust the force now, even though, logically, he knows it is only due to the force that he’s still able to fight so well.

The mission comes first, Obi-Wan thinks, and for a moment he thinks of Qui-Gon, of that awful day on Naboo, and then he thinks of your lovely smile, with your sweet, bright eyes, gazing up at him with cheeks flushed from the aftermath of laughter that he inspired. It was the smile that was amongst his last thoughts of the day as he fell asleep, the same smile that he would think about the moment he became conscious. Obi-Wan has spent years memorising the details of your face, but now he’s stricken with the knowledge that his memory would never hold a candle to seeing you in person. The sounds of lightsabers can be heard behind him, and Obi-Wan aches to turn around and see you smile at him like that again.

When all that’s left in front of him is the crackling of severed wires and metal limbs, Obi-Wan allows himself to turn his head just slightly.

A little ways down the corridor, really not all that far away, Anakin finishes dealing a series of blows that leave a similar pile of metal junk on the floor. Irritated, he huffs a strand of hair out of his face, rolling his shoulders and turning to see Obi-Wan drop to his knees. Not even a second later he’s literally sent stumbling from the wave of absolute grief that spirals out from his friend.

It hurts.

Maker, it hurts.

Anakin grits his teeth and blinks away the onslaught of tears in his eyes, struggling past the pain as he does his best to have his brother’s back. A few steps ahead of him, Ahsoka is pressing a fist to her chest, a tortured expression on her face as she tries to straighten. Even the force insensitive beings seem a little winded.

He’s never seen Obi-Wan like this, not ever. It terrifies him. Anakin turns his head to look for you, wondering if you felt the sheer force of it as well, but he freezes as he sees the body Obi-Wan is now kneeling in front of.

The grief reels back in, and Anakin is running to you, dropping onto his knees and using trembling hands to press down on nonexistent wounds as if it would restart your heart.

He feels the dip, dip, dip, of Obi-Wan doing compressions but he knows. You’re pale, cold, chest still and mouth parted. Anakin may be a dreamer, but he’s not delusional. At least he can’t be, not right now.

“Obi-Wan,” He hears his own voice, and it’s foreign to him. He distantly realises the fight is over, he doesn’t hear the sound of blaster fire or lightsabers swinging through the air, he sees the crew that had circled around them to cover them- Maker, how long had they been doing this?

“Obi-Wan,” He says, louder this time, leaning forward and putting a hand on the older man’s arm. Anakin is shoved back with so much force it leaves him stunned for a second.

“Please,” He hears Obi-Wan mutter, and Anakin takes a second to truly look. Tears are falling freely, Obi-Wan’s teeth gritted as he doesn’t stop in compressions. “Please,” Obi-Wan is begging with every push, breathless and exhausted, beginning to falter but not daring to stop.

“Please, my love, please,” and Anakin gathers all the strength he can muster, shoving Obi-Wan off you. He takes over, grunting as he presses presses presses presses, refusing to acknowledge that it’s been minutes and refusing to internalise the way Obi-Wan is cradling your head and stroking your cheek and murmuring how much he adores you.

For Obi-Wan, Anakin can be delusional for a bit.

Red starts to bleed into his vision, prickling away and igniting his heart with such rage as he continues pushing. Obi-Wan is sobbing, pleading with whatever gods above to bring you back. Distantly Anakin can hear the desperate yelling of Ahsoka, orders to call for help and get medical aid.

This isn’t fair he thinks, continuing to push at the long since lifeless body on the ground. This isn’t fucking fair.

Not to her. Not to Obi-Wan who’s been wrapped around her finger from day 0. Not to him, not to Padmé, not to the entire fucking Jedi Order.

Because Anakin has known, perhaps longer even than she or Obi-Wan knew. He knew that Obi-Wan loved her, and he can feel the devastation that this is the first time he’s saying it to her. That she doesn’t even hear it.

“My darling,” Obi-Wan takes her hand in his, pressing his lips to the cold skin. “My darling, please, just wake up.”

——

A lot of things can happen in an hour.

The golden hour, medics call it. The precious 3600 seconds that take place after an injury is inflicted or a symptom starts to show.

A lot of things can happen in an hour.

Reinforcements from the cruiser a parsec away had arrived seconds after you fell, and had whisked you away with them within five minutes. Obi-Wan had to be pulled off you, Anakin accompanying him and yelling at anyone and everyone that so much as looked at you wrong.

They restart your heart.

They shove tubes and wires into your arms and put an oxygen mask over your face. They try to do an examination with the little technology on board, but it’s obvious that major treatment can only be achieved on Coruscant. And it’s forty-five minutes away. Give or take.

You’ll live, the doctors say.

Poison, that targeted the neurological aspects of a sentient being. In other words, it attacked your ability to decision-make, to rationalise, to understand the extent at which you were neglecting your own body.

Dehydration was why you were weak. The explosion was just the catalyst to your inevitable collapse. It’s a good thing, the doctors say, that the explosion knocked you out and that they were able to identify the poison and administer medication and keep you alive.

Alive… but to what extent?

Neurological aspects.

The doctors weren’t sure if you’d have full physical or mental function when you woke up. “As unfortunate death is, learn to let go, we must,” Master Yoda’s voice comes from beside Obi-Wan.

The latter of the two is slumped against a wall, tired circles under his eyes and unwashed hair tousled from where he had been pulling at it. It’s day two. You haven’t woken up. Obi-Wan hasn’t ventured further from your side than the corridor outside your room. The tubes and wires and beeping machines connected to you make him a bit sick. Maybe… he thinks, curling his fingers into fists before releasing them, repeating the motions over and over. Maybe if I had gone to her sooner-

“If you’re implying that I should’ve let my Padawan die-“

“Misunderstand me, you do,” Yoda shakes his head. “Let her die, you should not. Let her go, you should.”

“I am not going to abandon her,” Obi-Wan responds, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The absolute last thing he needed right now was a lecture from Master Yoda about how else he had been failing.

“Ask yourself, you have to, if letting your Padawans go you are able, hm.”

Yoda disappears.

Obi-Wan sighs, rakes his fingers over his beard. Anakin finally convinces him to take a hot shower. Ahsoka comes to sit next to him in silence, picking at her nails. Padmé comes with a blanket and homemade food that Obi-Wan barely takes two bites of.

I’ve never seen him like this, Anakin says.

He was like this after your battle with Dooku on Geonosis, Padmé responds, too worried to notice Anakin’s stunned expression.

When you wake up becomes if you wake up, and Obi-Wan knows he has to get up and do something else.

Attachments are forbidden, Obi-Wan reminds himself when day three rolls around, and more Jedi linger in the med-bay hallway.

Attachments are forbidden, Obi-Wan thinks, when he turns the corner and notices Madam Jocasta smoothing the blanket over your form the next day. One of your creche mates volunteers in the med-bay, spending more time walking past your room than they do actually being useful. He pretends not to notice when the new flowers on your bedside table are distinctly Mandalorian as he listens to Padmé reading a new book to you. Two weeks in, Obi-Wan passes Caleb Dume at the elevator, and later that day he has to remind himself attachments are forbidden when he overhears Billaba say something about your condition to Windu. He can’t even bring himself to think it when Yoda pauses in the hallway outside the medbay once a day, just for a second or two, and carries on.

If attachments were forbidden, why was Obi-Wan so sure he wasn’t the only one suffering from your absence?

Obi-Wan startles awake in the middle of the night, three weeks later, and just like he had known three weeks ago, he knows now. This time, however, no being, no mission, no Code was going to stop him from being by your side. He doesn’t care what implications there will be about his bond with you that he knew so immediately. He doesn’t care enough to make himself presentable, not when he couldn’t give a damn of anyone’s eyes on him if they weren’t yours.

What good would it be? Being someone to the Jedi Order if it meant being nothing to you?

There’s a whirlwind of activity fluttering in and out of your room, and Obi-Wan barely manages to force his way inside.

You’re awake and you’re choking around a tube and you’re confused but you’re alright.

His throat burns with the ache to scream out his thanks, his affections, his love, but then your eyes lock onto his and you whimper amidst your fear. That snaps him back into place, and he’s moving to be at your side, gripping your hand and softening his gaze.

He smooths his hand over your hair and murmurs soft encouraging praises to you as healers begin adjusting medicines and dosages and tests. There’s a shuffle of movement around you, and he keeps your wide, scared eyes trained on him as he continues talking. Tears shine in your eyes from pain and terrified confusion, but they focus on him.

He isn’t sure what he’s saying, but he just talks. He talks and talks and talks to try to hide the way he feels like he’s about to burst into tears because thank you, Maker, you’re awake, and you can hear him, and you’re clearly focusing on him which means you can understand him. He raises the hand he’s gripping and presses it to his lips, releasing another relieved breath when your hand squeezes his in response.

Sometime in between the quiet murmurs Obi-Wan has been saying to you, your hand had reached up to fist in his shirt, keeping him firmly in your space. Every so often, with a particularly painful jolt or prick, your fingers would pull at the fabric, and he’d lean his head down to brush his nose against yours.

He wants to kiss you.

The thought strikes him rather suddenly and he’s slightly startled by the intensity of his desire. Oh, how desperately he wants to kiss you. For a moment, just a small, little, hopeful moment, Obi-Wan thinks he sees something in your eyes that means you wouldn’t push him away if he tried.

Then a healer brushes against his arm as they smooth the blanket back over you, and Obi-Wan watches as you tear your gaze away from him, focusing on the healer speaking to you.

They do tests on you and… and you’re fine.

Lucky, incredibly lucky, to have survived a dosage you did without severe long-term damage. There was some nerve damage that affected your right hand, but it’s barely enough to be visible to the eye, and with physical therapy it should be just fine.

A week later, Obi-Wan is given the all clear to whisk you out of the hospital wing and back to your shared apartment.

It’s only when you flop gratefully onto your bed and let out a long sigh that the memories of That Day return to Obi-Wan.

Clear memories of how he felt about you, how obvious it had been to himself then.

He loved you.

Not as a friend, or a sister, or a student, or any other thing you could’ve been. He loved you, in ways he shouldn’t, in ways he couldn’t, because you were young and he was pretty much double your age, and you weren’t his but you were his and fuck, that thought felt so wrong now. It betrayed everything he stood for, everything he believed in. He’s loved before, yes, but this was different.

This had snuck up on him and hit him full-force in a moment of absolute weakness. This was him realising that his belief in his duty to you… extended far further than duty. His protection over you, his attempts to make you happy, his attempts to let you feel loved- He foolishly let himself believe it was because you were his Padawan. After all, he tried to do the same with Anakin…

But he was in love with you.

He loved you, plain and simple and good, a love with no expectations or dark desires, a love that was pure and right and that burned through him.

It built up up up and threatened to spill out from his throat and from behind his eyes if he stared at you any longer.

He loved you.

And there you were, just sitting there. Unbeknownst to him, you'd come to your own revelation quite some time ago, skipping happily past the stages of denial and panic, and reaching a conclusion that he was himself about to come to.

He has no option.

Well, he technically has three. He could tell you how he felt, scare the crap out of you, risk expulsion from the Order and face the massive probability that you would never speak to him ever again. Next, he could also not tell you anything, put in for a transfer, break your heart by abandoning you, and face the even higher probability of you never speaking to him again. Neither of those options were… realistic for him to carry out.

So he has no choice but to go with the one that would hurt you the least- that is to say, not hurt you at all.

He won’t say a word.

Obi-Wan decides with a resounding finality that he has a duty to you, a promise that he has every intention of upholding. To train you to become the best that you can be under him, until you had nothing more to learn from him, until you were ready to proceed with your trials. With how spectacularly you had progressed, from being one of the youngest younglings to be ready to undergo Padawan training to the utterly brilliant Padawan you were now, Obi-Wan knows it’s likely you’ll go through your trials at at even younger age than Anakin. Rare, yes, but not unheard of. And certainly not a big surprise.

A couple of years then, he figures.

A couple more years for him to push down his feelings and sit on them and pretend he doesn't adore you so, a couple more years until you grew tired of being just his Padawan and started wanting to prove yourself as an independent Knight. A couple more years, he decides, turning to face you once your eyes flutter open.

You’re sitting on your bed, wide eyes blinking up at him and a shy smile dancing over your features. You’re sitting on your bed, where in a few years he’ll-

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know yet. You don’t know yet. It doesn’t matter.

He just needs to hold out for a couple more years, he tells himself. He wishes it was more than just a couple when you smile your brilliant smile at him.

Love is strange, that way.

----

End-

----

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Obi-Wan’s a teen dad and Anakin DESPERATELY wants to do crime

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s intention to spend a week lying in bed - or, at times, lying on the living room floor. Or staring blankly at the stove, or holding a toothbrush as he forgot what he was supposed to do with it. It had been his intention to handle the new...arrangements. Put on a brave face. Take care of business. There was so much to do, and Obi-Wan really did want to do it. But he stood in front of the stove staring at its knobs instead, lost.

Anakin had been a good sport about it, at least. He figured out alarmingly quickly how to work the stove and fry up the sliced fruit in their cupboards. Anakin didn’t understand that you didn’t fry fruit, but Obi-Wan ate it with little complaint. He put food in front of Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan ate it. When Anakin asked him, somewhat fearfully, how to use the shower, Obi-Wan showed him and then took one himself. After the third day he left the living quarters semi-frequently, which would have been worrying if Obi-Wan cared.

Obi-Wan’s depressed, grieving, and has an inferiority complex the size of an Alderaanian mountain. Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does know that the power grid failure was not his fault. Can Obi-Wan ever be a true Jedi and a competent master? Or is his backstory, as told by the Jedi Apprentice novels, too fucking weird?

Rest under the cut.

A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.

On day six, Obi-Wan worked up the energy to turn on his datapad, and was promptly bombarded with messages. They scrolled down the screen, a new one popping up every second.

A lot of them were from his automated specialized education classes. Obi-Wan had finished the required padawan courses when he was sixteen, breezing through each course at his own pace virtually during downtime in transit and on missions. He had signed up for some Knight-level specialized education courses afterwards, loading as many on his plate as he could and managing special permission to complete them all virtually too. Apparently, he had a great deal of assignments due.

Many messages from the Temple administration. Notification for mandatory forms to complete for requisitions, medical care...reports on the Naboo mission...a mountain of forms to complete for the promotion...a mountain of forms for the new padawan...a mountain of forms for processing Qui-gon’s death.

Messages from his friends. How are you doing, Obi-Wan? Are you okay, Obi-Wan? Can we come over and talk, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, you stupid bastard, how dare you fight a Sith without me?

Disturbingly, even the master of mission assignments had messaged him. Xe wanted to know if Obi-Wan was going to file for extended reprieve from missions to train his underage padawan in the Temple, or if he wanted to continue taking missions. Decide quickly, Knight Kenobi. Xe are willing to grant three years of light to no missions to help ‘facilitate Padawan Skywalker’s integration into the Jedi’.

The thought made Obi-Wan dizzy. No missions for years? He and Qui-Gon had barely gone weeks without a mission. But Obi-Wan had been thirteen, and Qui-Gon had a particular talent of taking an assignment to mediate standard legislative disputes and turn it into a three month embroilment in an endangered animal trafficking scheme. Staying stuck in the Temple for that amount of time made his skin crawl. Staying at home in the Temple so Anakin could integrate into the Jedi, become the Jedi he dreamed of...

Obi-Wan turned off the pad and tossed it across the room, letting it land on Qui-gon’s private meditation mat. Somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Five hours later, Obi-Wan dragged himself out of Qui-gon’s room to find Anakin lying on the floor with what looked like an entire droid disassembled over the carpet. He was kicking his feet in the air, lying on his stomach, stripping some frayed wire.

Obi-Wan stared at him blankly, forms dancing behind his eyes. Anakin needed clothing. They had already processed him through his vaccinations - thank hell - and prescribed him some antibiotics for his multitude of intestinal parasites, but there was no way he was taking the pills. He needed to teach him how to braid the padawan braid. He needed to get them some food for the cabinets. He needed to…

“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan rasped. His hair felt disgusting.

Anakin’s head snapped up, eyes widening. He scrambled off the rug, brushing a suspicious amount of dirt off his knees. “Yeah! I’ll make us that green thing!”

He shouldn’t let the nine year old work the stove. But Obi-Wan let him anyway, as he managed to somehow dump water in the kettle and place it on the stove, standing beside Anakin and waiting for it to whistle.

I must be doing very well, Obi-Wan thought hysterically, as he stared at the old-fashioned durasteel kettle that Qui-gon had favored. He was releasing his emotions into the Force with perfection. He wasn’t feeling anything at all. He wasn’t thinking about Qui-gon. He wasn’t thinking about anything at all. His mind was clear and empty, and he was perfectly at peace.

Obi-Wan tried to pour his tea, but he just couldn’t move. He stood and stared at the kettle for so long that Anakin eventually walked in and, straining on his tiptoes, sloshed the steaming water into the plastic white cup.

***

On day seven, Obi-Wan managed to wrangle both himself and Anakin into some semblance of hygiene and clean clothes. Anakin needed a lot of help, which clearly embarrassed him, but Obi-Wan was too dead inside to be frustrated about it.

He ended up tying his obi for him, as Anakin wriggled and tried to turn around to see it on the back. He’d have to show him how to do it himself later, but that was for later.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Anakin whined. “It’s so heavy.”

“I’ll see if I can requisition you an outfit with less layers,” Obi-Wan said. A lighter outfit wouldn’t cut it, as Anakin had ramped up the temperature controls in their quarters a week ago and the rooms haven’t dipped below boiling ever since. “Hold still. Hold - hold still, please.”

“What does requisition mean?”

Anakin held still eventually. He managed to untie the obi in the first ten minutes, but Obi-Wan really couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Then they had to worry about brushing their teeth, and Obi-Wan had to teach him how to do that, and why was this so hard, why was everything so hard -

But when Obi-Wan eventually got them both out the door, he found no relief.The Temple felt different. Obi-Wan didn’t know how; just that it did. It was identical in every worldly way, yet mismatched in the Force. As if it was a different Temple, a pale echo from another dimension, that was the home of a different Obi-Wan. Or maybe Obi-Wan was different: maybe his Force signature was so warped and polluted that he tainted everywhere he went.

They were all parts of the great whole of the Force. The Force was composed of every Jedi, every sentient being and eddy of wind. There were tens of thousands of Jedi in this Temple - how could the death of one man change it so thoroughly? Or had it just changed Obi-Wan?

Somewhat suspiciously, Anakin seemed to know the way out of the dormitories and into the main thoroughfare of the building. Obi-Wan kept a death grip on his little hand the entire time, slowing his steps so Anakin could keep up without having to jog. It didn’t stop him from trying to run forward every few steps, only for Obi-Wan to gently tug him back.

“You weren’t supposed to run around the Temple by yourself,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin grinned sheepishly, in what Obi-Wan was already beginning to recognize as his ‘Busted!’ face.

“Why not?”

“You could have gotten lost.”

“I did get lost,” Anakin said proudly. “But then I found a secret service tunnel for the droids and I crawled through it and I found a server room and -” He stopped abruptly. “But that was way after the power outage yesterday. That I had nothing to do with.”

Obi-Wan...should probably care about this.

He didn’t. He was too busy releasing his emotions into the Force, and returning his dark thoughts to the Force, and maintaining complete control over his body and spirit. There was no room in that for caring about Anakin, maybe, destroying the Temple.

Wasn’t he a teacher? Shouldn’t he be teaching?

“First rule of being a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted, “learn to lie.”

There. That was a lesson. Qui-gon had said the same thing to him when he was fourteen. Obi-Wan was doing great at this. Anakin beamed and made a weird motion with his hand, clenching it into a fist and sticking his thumb out. Obi-Wan stared blankly at him until he put his hand down.

Maybe it was because Obi-Wan was releasing all of his feelings and thoughts into the Force so well, but he couldn’t help but feel a constant prickling at the back of his neck. It felt like everybody was looking at them. A group of gossiping knights downright stopped talking when they saw Obi-Wan and Anakin approaching, and they broke out into whispers when they left. Padawans and initiates openly stared. Masters were too polite to stare, but their interest clearly peaked in the Force.

By the time they got to the quartermaster’s and slid in line, Anakin was practically hiding behind Obi-Wan. Anakin had likely gone his entire life without anybody noticing him, blending into the background. Obi-Wan had learned almost a decade ago that it was a useful survival tactic for slaves. Although how he had ever done it, Obi-Wan would never know. The boy was a sun in the Force. Blinding and burnt, as broiling as the temperature he kept their quarters at.

“Oh my. Padawan Kenobi, is that you?” Meela, the Quartermaster’s knight assistant, stopped and stared at both of them. She was carrying a large box of fabrics, and all of the other Jedi waiting in line stopped talking to crane their heads and stare too. “Oh! It’s knight now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, before coughing. He hadn’t realized his voice was so hoarse - he hadn’t spoken to anybody but a nine year old in a week. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Meela.”

“Of course,” Meela said quickly. She was looking openly at Anakin, who was pointedly looking at Obi-Wan’s belt. “And you must be Anakin Skywalker! I had no idea you were so young. Is he even old enough to be a padawan, Knight Kenobi?”

“We determined that the creche wasn’t the best place for him.” Obi-Wan quickly grabbed his datapad, brought up the catalogue of items to requisition, and shoved it Anakin. “Pick out what we’re going to get. I’m certain you must be very busy, Knight Meela, so -”

“My, Padawan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan refrained from gritting his teeth, before rotating on his heel. He stuck his hands in his sleeves, bowing to the aged Togrutan Jedi behind him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Master Hashi.”

“My condolences for your master’s death,” Master Hashi said sympathetically. His watery old blue eyes were large and perfectly pitying. “It must be so difficult for you. And taking on a padawan so soon after your knighthood, as well.”

“He’s with the Force now,” Obi-Wan said. Smiling. He was smiling. Turn it down. Just a gentle smile. Remember Rishi. “But I appreciate your condolences.”

As it turns out, half the line just needed to express condolences for Master Jinn’s death, how sad, how tragic, how avoidable. He was so young. Obi-Wan was practically sweating by the time they got to the quartermaster’s desk, at which point he was promptly told that he was missing three forms.

Obi-Wan stood in front of the quartermaster’s desk, gripping Anakin’s hand in his, trying not to unwind. “But I filled out the application on the portal -”

“Yes, but you need your knight’s identification code,” the Quartermaster said briskly. “You input your padawan code.”

“How do I find out my knight’s identification code?”

“It should be on your identification card, son.”

“I was only knighted a week ago.” They were staring. They were all staring - “They haven’t issued me a card yet.”

“I’ll refer you to my assistant, Knight Kenobi.”

Anakin tugged on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “Are we not getting my new clothing?”

A horrible tremor rose in Obi-Wan’s chest: a choking, sinking feeling. It crawled up his throat, making his trachea burn and his head pound. It felt like a balloon expanding, splintering his chest cavity and threatening to crack him apart.

Everybody was watching. They could not see it. Think about Rishi. Do not let them see it.

After fifteen humiliating minutes sitting at a sympathetic Meela’s desk, Obi-Wan finally managed to secure them some clothes. Anakin also received the standard pack of Jedi personal items, including his own toiletries and datapad. They secured an identification code for Anakin and input him into the database, and gave him his own lanyard and set of cards. Older Jedi tended to keep them in a hidden pocket in their robes, but for obvious reasons they affixed them to the neck of younger children.

But, without the identification code and five hundred more hoops, Obi-Wan couldn’t request a new living quarters and new furniture. He thanked Meela for her time anyway, stopped Anakin from attempting to requisition a B900-A40 droid with HyperFlex specs, and escaped something as simple as the Quartermaster’s trying to avoid rattling apart.

Obi-Wan only exhaled when they were outside, looking at his datapad and marking off the first line. The to-do list scrolled down the screen, and onto another page. Anakin was already shifting from foot to foot, bored.

“One down,” Obi-Wan said. “Three more.”

“Do we have to?” Anakin whined. “Why were the other Jedi so mean?”

Obi-Wan stopped short. He looked down at Anakin, who was fiddling with his obi again. “Stop messing with that. And they weren’t being mean, Anakin, they were just concerned.”

But Anakin just wrinkled his nose. “They were being mean. They were making you feel bad.”

How had he even - “If you keep quiet through the errands, you can have some fruit for lunch at the commissary.”

“Wizard!”

****

It quickly became obvious that nobody approved of Obi-Wan and Anakin.

Whispers followed them everywhere. Masters, old friends of Qui-gon, subtly disapproved of his choices. Which was nothing new - Obi-Wan had silently suffered almost everybody in the Temple disapproving of Qui-gon to him for years - but somehow it made Obi-Wan want to tear his hair out. The knights - the other knights - expressed incredulity that somebody knighted that morning received a padawan that afternoon. The padawans refused to even talk to Anakin, and he very quickly stopped trying.

Obi-Wan’s own friends...he did not have many. He was never in the Temple long enough to significantly interact or make connections with any other padawans or knights. He was never home for longer than a few weeks, and if he was planetside for longer than a month then it was because Qui-gon was recuperating from getting blown up when Obi-Wan hijacked a pirate ship and crash landed it on a small moon.

He used to have friends. Bant and Garen and Reeft and Siri...but a small and horrible part of Obi-Wan hated talking to them. A conversation with them always felt like they were trying to communicate with an Obi-Wan who hadn’t existed for a very long time, crying out over an impassable canyon. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan had begun resenting people who saw through him.

Anakin was a stubborn and implacable kid, but he was very perceptive. He clung tighter and tighter to Obi-Wan’s robes the further they walked into the temple, and eventually Obi-Wan had to disentangle him and give him a quick talk about appropriate behavior. It was his tenth talk to Anakin about appropriate behavior - about everything from using utensils to washing his hair - but this was the first time he seemed to understand why.

“So they don’t like you if you don’t do all the dumb stuff they do?”

“It’s not dumb,” Obi-Wan hissed. “And keep your voice down, this is a library.”

Judging from Anakin’s impressed gawking, this was his first time in a library. He clearly didn’t understand why they were supposed to be quiet either, and Obi-Wan was beginning to understand that Anakin refused to do anything unless you gave him a reason.

Obi-Wan carefully placed him in a small chair in the children’s section, in front of a brightly colored plastic table. Some other initiates were sitting around coloring, or working their way through children’s books. Anakin squinted up at him judgmentally as Obi-Wan frantically grabbed the clunky and friendly library datapad and scrolled through the catalogue until he found a likely suspect. Bugs of Rainforest Planets, light on the words, perfect.

“Just stay here until I come back,” Obi-Wan whispered, after a hurried explanation of why they were quiet in libraries. “Don’t leave this chair. Please.”

“I want more fruit,” Anakin warned.

“You will have more fruit. Now please don’t move.”

This was not how you Jedi masters taught padawans. This was not how it was supposed to work. Obi-Wan was not doing this right. He was doing this terribly. And everybody knew, and everybody was judging him.

The children’s librarian was a kind, plump older Twi’lek with long silver lekku down to her waist. Madame Hallan had been a personal favorite of Obi-Wan’s when he was a youngling, and he knew that she still had a soft spot for him. She was probably the only librarian who didn’t explicitly distrust him.

He easily kidnapped her for a meeting - or, maybe, she took one look at his face and kidnapped him - and she shepherded him into her office. He had never been inside, and Obi-Wan felt weirdly on the other end of the fence of his childhood. It was bright and cheerful and had datapads scattered everywhere with tax forms.

“I understand you have a new padawan,” Madame Hallan said kindly. “I saw him reading. He seems like a wonderful boy.”

She and half the temple understood that he had a new padawan. “I need your help,” Obi-Wan said, excruciatingly impolitely. Since when was Obi-Wan impolite? Since when was he lost? “It’s Anakin - I need to enroll him for lessons and I need some introductory literature for him and -”

“Dear, you’ll want to talk to Master Ravenholme for that.” Master Ravenholme was the Master of Education, and personal blight of many. “He’ll likely ask Anakin to take a placement test to determine which classes he joins.”

“Anakin can’t take a placement test,” Obi-Wan said. “He can’t read.”

To Madame Hallan’s credit, and raising a lot of questions about what exactly the other Jedi knew about Anakin, she accepted the information with a thoughtful look and a nod. “Does he know his letters and some words, or is it total illiteracy?”

Obi-Wan scrubbed his face. He was perched in the uncomfortable metal chair across from her desk, elbows propped on his knees. “It’s sporadic. He’s not totally illiterate, and I think he can read mechanical instruction manuals and labels and signs and that sort of thing...if it has to do with starfighters, he can write the instruction manual...I don’t know, I haven’t checked, but I can’t send him to class like this…”

“Calm yourself, Obi-Wan. Release that tension into the Force. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Madame Hallan said firmly, as Obi-Wan carefully breathed. “I will schedule a reading and writing assessment appointment for Anakin for an assessment. Knight Fu and Knight Kili are available to administer personal tutoring until we get him up to speed.” Fu and Kili were two teachers in the special education department, which was somewhat lean for children over the age of ten or so. Most of the ‘delayed’ children were quickly assigned to the Jedi Corp. Obi-Wan was highly educated on this, and shamefully bitter. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Madame Hallen typed something out on her computer, making Obi-Wan’s datapad ping. “I’ve sent you a few of the handbooks that we give new knights and first-time teachers. Hopefully they’ll be of some use to you.” She smiled reassuringly at him, oozing serenity. “I think you will make a wonderful teacher, Obi-Wan. Our Temple’s never seen a young Jedi as dedicated and hardworking as you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I’m certain that once you and Anakin get settled in, no matter where he came from, he will make an excellent student. We’re all Jedi here, after all.”

Betting was not Jedi-like behavior, despite the fact that Obi-Wan was a world-class betting champion on three Outer Rim worlds (there had been a diamond heist), but Obi-Wan would bet five hundred credits right now that Anakin was not in the chair where he had left him.

In the end, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. Anakin, obviously, was not in the chair where Obi-Wan had left him, but he was within easy searching distance and hadn’t destroyed any droids yet. Instead, he had just meandered to the large picture encyclopedia propped up on a wooden stand, flipping through the flimsi with wide eyes.

Obi-Wan stood next to him, unable to smile but amused all the same. “Do you know what that is?”

Anakin nodded fervently. “It’s an encyclopedia! The padawan guy said it has pictures of every smart species in the galaxy.”

There were, of course, digital databases for these things, but kids loved flipping through things. “Sentient species. Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah!” Anakin lingered on a picture of a Togruta before flipping further at light speed. “The padawan guy said that Qui-gon was a ‘rogue Jedi’ and that he taught you how to do crime and conquer planets and backflip and stuff.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. “Please don’t listen to Temple gossip, Anakin. It’ll jump down Coruscant while the truth takes an airlift.”

“But you can do backflips, I saw it.” Anakin turned to look at him - eyes wide, unjudging. “What does ‘rogue Jedi’ mean?”

What did it mean? Obi-Wan had spent half his life wondering. “It means that Qui-gon and I had a lot of adventures,” Obi-Wan said tactfully. “My training was somewhat unconventional in comparison with many other Jedi.”

But Anakin just beamed. “That’s so cool! Is my training going to be uncon - unconvectional?”

“Unconventional.” Obi-Wan sighed. “And at this point, I’m afraid so.”

Was Anakin going to resent him for this once he grew older? He must. Anakin would never be a real Jedi, a proper one. Just like Obi-Wan wasn’t. And Obi-Wan had spent almost a decade now frantically, fervently, desperately trying. He had done everything: mastered the art of saber-fighting, excelled in as many topics as he could. He was an expert in diplomacy, politics, ecology, and tactics. Everybody who met Obi-Wan found him charming, graceful, and handsome - and nobody who ever met Obi-Wan liked him. He topped his classes, was better at saberplay than most knights, and had personally saved the lives of three princesses and a memorable duchess, and he couldn’t figure out how to be a Jedi.

Obi-Wan couldn’t teach what he didn’t have. And he would never be able to give -

“Cool! I want to backflip and conquer planets too.” Anakin grinned up at him, yellow teeth flashing in the soft library lights. “I already know how to do crime, I’m really good at it!”

“Jedi have diplomatic immunity, so technically I’ve never done a crime,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat testily.

“What’s diplomatic immunity?”

“Lesson number two, padawan, is that it means we can do whatever we want so long as we can justify it in the mission report.”

“Wizard!”

Maybe Obi-Wan should just never repeat anything Qui-gon had ever said to him. Ever.

In a roundabout act of bribery, Obi-Wan finally led Anakin towards the cafeteria. It wasn’t lunchtime, but few Jedi strictly followed the guidelines of breakfast, lunchtime, and dinnertime. This was mostly because the creche and Initiates did, and nobody wanted to be in the cafeteria while children were everywhere. Obi-Wan was somewhat infamous in certain circles for braving the cafeteria at 0500 hours, when the space was completely overtaken by retired and venerated Masters sipping tea and playing intense grudge matches of shogi. Obi-Wan had been forced into the matter by his habit of waking up at 0430, but the shogi skills he learned had once settled a trade negotiation between two tribal groups with an ancestral grudge on a Mid-Rim planet, so he had no regrets.

Anakin was practically crushing his hand in excitement. His head whipped around everywhere, eyes wide and drinking in the sublimely banal and boring sight. There was the salad bar, there was the meat bar, there was the drink fountain...but to Anakin, it was the most amazing thing on Coruscant. It almost made Obi-Wan smile. When was the last time he had that expression on his face? Even the beautiful spires of Naboo were commonplace to him.

“And they just -”

“Yes, they just give you the food.” Obi-Wan stopped in the center of the crowded thoroughfare - where, thankfully, everybody was far too focused on their meal or their friends to care about the Temple’s newest spectacle. “I’m sorry, Anakin. What do you...eat, again?”

Anakin suffered this atrocious act of caretaking patiently. What had he been eating until now? Just the self-stable noodles? Had he been handling boiling water?! “At home we ate jinjaraak and ekijun. People with money had fruit and stuff.” He looked around hopefully. “And they just give you fruit -”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said. He struggled to remember the food Shmi had served them. It had been mostly gruel. Obi-Wan had been around the block enough to see that she had been an adept cook of terrible ingredients. “Could you give me an idea of what those are?”

“Uh…” Anakin made little slapping motions with his hands. “Jinjaraak is from clay and lard and spices. I help Mom make little cakes. Like this, see?” At Obi-Wan’s dubious expression, he quickly clarified, “From the good clay. Near the dried up rivers. Not the bad clay. That stuff makes you sick. O’la’rek ate some of that and she got super sick and she barfed up blue -”

“Let’s get you some fruit,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin got as much fruit as he wanted. Obi-Wan was too busy thinking about what ‘good clay’ could possibly mean to stop him. He could take the extra back to their quarters, anyway.

There was a line for medical diets, and Obi-Wan eventually shuffled an ecstatic fruit-chomping Anakin into that line. He had to present the script the Halls of Healing gave him to the friendly yet belaboured Padawan working the booth that day, and waited patiently as the Padawan squinted at it and ran off to go get his supervisor. Anakin was in Rylothian Heaven, complete with the trees of plenty.

Eventually the supervisor shuffled out, and when Obi-Wan recognized Master Law he bowed. The gruff Patitite squinted at Obi-Wan, then down at the effervescent Anakin with jogan juice staining his sleeve. It was a good thing Obi-Wan thought ahead and ordered extra robes.

“Kenobi,” Master Law finally said, with an air of crisp memory. “Iron deficiency.”

“Yes, Master.” Please don’t remind him. “I’m here with a prescription for my -”

“And the Vitamin D deficiency. And malnutrition?” Master Law squinted further at Obi-Wan, as if half-convinced that he couldn’t possibly be remembering correctly. “I had you eating Lo’rok paste for a month.”

“Yes, Master. After I was stationed on Neskar.”

“How the blazes was a Padawan stationed on -” Master Law cut himself off abruptly, staring down at Anakin instead. He looked him up and down with sharp eyes, seemingly picking out a dozen things that Obi-Wan just couldn’t see. “I’ll get you the nutrient shakes. See that he has one with every meal, three meals a day. I’m prescribing extra vitamin gummies, he’s a bit yellow. Those dietician hacks at the Halls of Healing don’t know anything about real food.”

Obi-Wan really didn’t want to get in the middle of that, so he just nodded. But Anakin blinked up at the man, flecks of seeds caught on the corner of his mouth. “What’s a gummy?”

“A very sweet, tasty candy,” Master Law said gravely. “Which young Padawans only receive when they are very brave.”

Anakin brightened. “What’s candy?”

“The best food in the galaxy.” Master Law’s stern countenance split into a sharp smile. “Seems like that’s just what the doctor ordered. If you’ve never had any, then that means I have to prescribe you a double dose.”

Anakin grinned to match, bright and wide, with yellow teeth and crinkled eyes. “That means I’m brave! I’m super brave! Padme said so, and you said so, so it’s like I’m extra brave!”

For some reason that he just couldn’t parse, Obi-Wan found himself anxiously saying, “I think you’re brave too, Anakin.”

“Triple brave!”

The cafeteria was quickly proving to be Anakin’s favorite place in the Temple. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain that this was a good thing, because it made Anakin happy and happiness was good. That was a reliable fact of the universe: when happiness was scarce, sweet food could usually supply it. Sometimes you took what you could get.

Obi-Wan made an uncharacteristic move and placed a great deal of sugar on his oatmeal. Dumping sugar on oatmeal was crazy. This was probably what going insane felt like. Obi-Wan felt like a criminal.

“You’re very boring, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said judgmentally.

“I’m afraid so,” the ten time war veteran agreed.

It could be worse. Nobody was around to see his shame but Anakin, and the small child wouldn't squeal. All he had to do was ply Anakin with nutrition shakes and fruit, take him back to their quarters, not leave their quarters again for another two weeks in order to recover from this experience, and -

“Obi-Wan! Goodness, Obi-Wan!”

Both Obi-Wan and Anakin jumped a foot in the air, Anakin fighting to keep his food balanced on his child-sized tray. But Obi-Wan recognized the voice, the smooth familiarity soothing his panicking heart and calming down his padawan by connection.

Despite the fact that the voice was the last person he wanted to see.

Bant didn’t run, because she was a respectable Knight, but she did speedwalk in a dignified waddle towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin subtly slid closer to Obi-Wan, which he should really discourage.

“Obi-Wan! Oh, goodness, you - you jerk, you big jerk!” Bant wrung her flippers, jowls shaking with the clear uge to wrap up Obi-Wan in her patented tight hug and foiled only by the tray that Obi-Wan was holding in front of him like a shield. “You’re an absolute bantha’s - oh!”

She had just noticed Anakin, who held his tray tightly. He was frowning at Bant, and Obi-Wan could feel a twinge of childish bad emotion across their still nascent bond. Wait. What bond?

Bant was oblivious, or put on a good show of it. “You must be Padawan Skywalker,” she said warmly. She bent down a little, and Obi-Wan was struck by nostalgia for her glimmering eyes and bright smile. Bant loved kids. Obi-Wan never had. “It’s so good to meet you! Have you been taking care of your silly master for me?”

Anakin pursed his lips judgmentally. “My teacher’s not silly,” Anakin said, a bit loudly. “He’s great and smart and does backflips. It’s not his fault he’s a jerk!”

Never mind. Obi-Wan was never taking Anakin out in public again. He carefully destroyed the urge to wince, settling for smiling weakly at Anakin. Bant looked a little taken back - shocked by the idea that Anakin could have taken her friendly teasing seriously. Or maybe that he would openly call Obi-Wan a jerk. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to contest it. It was fair.

“Bant’s my best friend, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, with as much warmth as he could muster. His smile was looking more pathetic than anything, so he dropped it. “She knows how good my backflips are.”

“The best in the Temple!” Bant immediately swore up and down. “I’m awfully sorry, Anakin. I think your master’s the coolest guy here. Come on, why don’t you two come eat lunch with me and the rest of Obi-Wan’s friends? We’ve all been dying to meet the newest member of the family!”

A stone sank in Obi-Wan’s gut. He looked over the crowd, effortlessly picking out the familiar table in the back center. Sure enough, he saw the telltale gawks of Siri and Quinlan.

Joy. The two people he wanted to talk to the least. Those two ate Obi-Wan for breakfast on a good day. They would devour him now. They could smell weakness on him. He couldn’t get anything past them. They would take one look at him and know, just know -

“Obi-Wan has friends?” Anakin asked dubiously. “But he just stays in his room all day.” Went tactfully unsaid: and nobody likes him.

Somehow, the emotional obstacle course his friends were going to put him through was more appealing than the cold judgement of the nine year old. “I have plenty of friends,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth. “Let’s go say hi.”

It felt like walking to the guillotine. Actually, Obi-Wan had walked to a guillotine before, and this was - no, it wasn’t worse. Hadn’t he done it twice? The first time was stressful, because he wasn’t sure if Qui-Gon had seduced the prison guard yet. The second time was fine, since he had hidden his lightsaber in the loose floorboard under the guillotine before he set up his own capture. So - better than the first time, worse than the second time.

Bizarrely, Siri and Quinlan grinned when they saw them. Obi-Wan was actively fighting the urge to hide behind the nine year old. The nine year old who he couldn’t possibly have formed a training bond with - he had been his padawan all of a week, it was impossible - but who had undoubtedly sensed his anxiety anyway.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t fucking believe it,” Quinlan shouted, far too loudly. He and Bant’s trays were empty, while the slow eater Siri’s bowl of grains were half-eaten. They had been there for a while, probably hours, talking about life. He had always left after thirty minutes. He had stuff to do. “I must have left you ten damn voicemails -”

“You son of a varnaak.” Siri had a death grip on her spoon, wielding it like a lightsaber. “I’m strangling you with your intestine. Not inviting me to your own knighting -”

“If you’re going to be mean, we’re leaving!” Anakin interrupted, voice high and reedy. “I already said so! I will stomp your feet!”

“You’re not allowed to stomp their feet, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted beyond measure. “Hello, all. Save the interrogation for after we’ve eaten, please.”

And maybe it was the sheer power of Anakin and his mighty feet, but his friends quieted enough for Obi-Wan to shove sugary oats into his mouth and for Anakin to polish off his fruit before starting in on his nutrient shake. Obi-Wan had to stop and take a napkin and wipe the seeds off the corner of his mouth, and help him to insert the straw in the protein shake, but the act of sucking on a straw amused Anakin and he didn’t hate the taste. There were friendly animal species on the cup. Special nutrient shake for chronically malnourished children - now with bright colors!

His friends just watched them, without even food to make the environment faux-casual. Their dark eyes seemed to follow him, and Obi-Wan felt his skin crawl. He didn’t want to deal with this. He could barely deal with Quinlan on a good day, much less...today. Any day, lately.

Finally, his grace period seemed to tick down to zero, and Quinlan broke the ice with a fishing spear and an excess of exuberance. “Is this the famous little guy we’ve heard so much about? I hear you’re a good pilot, kid!”

And, just like that, Quinlan was Anakin’s favorite person on Coruscant. “I’m the best pilot,” Anakin asserted arrogantly. Obi-Wan mentally noted the tendency for arrogance and pride down in the ‘Goal Setting!’ part of his brain that was half-heartedly drafting a training curriculum. “I can blow up anything and anyone.”

“Sounds like Quinlan,” Siri snickered. Unlike Bant, she was terrified of children, but she hid it well. “He and your master are Joballian twins that way. Those two could start a fire in deep space.”

“So who are you people?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan put ‘unbelievably blunt’ in his mental training curriculum. “Are you really Obi-Wan’s friends? He doesn’t like you.”

“I like them very much,” Obi-Wan said rotely. Quinlan pantomimed a shot to the heart.

But Bant just smiled down at Anakin, unflappable. “You’re a padawan, young one. You should call Obi-Wan your master. It’s good to be polite.”

“Why should I have to do that?” Anakin’s voice tinged a little louder, and at a pointed look from Obi-Wan he toned it down. Siri’s eyebrows rose. “He’s my teacher, not a master of no one.”

Bant winced a bit, and all three of them rippled discomfort in the Force. So they knew, even though it wasn’t totally public knowledge. Quinlan had undoubtedly used his ridiculous clearance as a Shadow to access the Naboo mission records and spilled the details to them. Keeping it professional, as always.

“Master means something very different to Jedi,” Bant said gently. “It’s a special relationship between two people. Every Jedi teaches and learns from each other, but your master is the person who guides you and makes sure you go to bed on time. It’s just the same word for a very different thing than you’re used to.”

“What do you mean by that?” Anakin gnawed on his straw suspiciously. “I thought Obi-Wan was the one who taught me.”

Quinlan, who had far more experience with the wider world than Siri and Bant, caught on first. He propped his elbows on the table, and Obi-Wan saw him visibly struggle for the ‘wise teacher’ tone before giving up. “The Jedi have different relationships than you’re used to, kid. Who took care of you and watched you all day back home?”

This was heading into dangerous territory, and Obi-Wan frowned dangerously at Quinlan, but Anakin just hummed. “Mom took care of me and we moved around together. But Old Lady Hun watches me and the other kids in the gathering space when Mom’s busy. And when Jipol was sick, Mom and I took care of her two daughters. And Old Man Wa taught me how to fix things. And -”

“Right. So the Jedi are like that. Instead of a very small number of people raising kids, every adult raises every kid. So, for example, any Jedi would tell you to stop running in the halls or stop you from misbehaving -”

“And every Jedi did, with this one,” Siri added.

“ - but any Knight or Master would help you with your homework, too,” Quinlan finished, elbowing Siri. “We all help each other here. We share food, stuff, school, and teachings. That’s why we practice nonattachment - everything’s everybody’s, not just yours. Make sense?”

Anakin’s brow was furrowed. He paid close attention to everything - chewing everything over again and again until it made sense. Obi-Wan shoveled oatmeal in his mouth, glad Quinlan was doing this. “Why does nonattachment mean you don’t get moms or dads?”

Dangerous territory. Bant opened her mouth to say something soothing, but Quinlan beat her to the punch. “Well, to Jedi, we think the idea of just putting two or three people in charge of kids is pretty crazy. Kids are loud and bouncy. One or two people would get totally stressed out and make mistakes. And imagine just a few people teaching you about life. They could believe all this crazy stuff, and then so would you.”

“And what if the parent’s being a total jerk?” Siri pointed out. “Then the kid’s stuck with that. But when there’s other people around, they can stop and tell the parent that they’re being a total jerk. Then they have to cut it out.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. “So nobody beats their kids here because the other Jedi would get mad?”

Awkward silence loomed. Finally, Quinlan said, “Yeah, totally. Anyway, that’s why our way rocks and makes sense. Boom. Teaching moment.” Quinlan slapped the table in victory. “We are so good at this. We’re going to be the greatest teachers ever, Anakin. Forget lame old Obi-Wan, he’s going to lead you down the path of boring. Stick with Knight Vos, I’m gonna lead you down the path that rocks.”

At Anakin’s deeply confused expression, Bant put a hand on his back. But when she spoke she spoke to Obi-Wan, gleaming eyes boring into his. “We’re Obi-Wan’s best friends. We’re going to be here for you almost as much as Obi-Wan is. None of us have padawans yet, so we’re all really excited to help you! Did you know I’m a doctor?”

Anakin perked up. He respected doctors highly - apparently it was a very prestigious position on Tatooine. “Wow! Obi-Wan’s friends with a doctor?”

“And I’m a superspy action hero, kid!” Quinlan flexed, tossing his dreads. “I can teach you how to hack into anything!”

“I’m a better pilot than anyone at this table.” Siri awkwardly waved her fist in the air in a pantomime of excitement. “I’ll help you...fly things. Which you can apparently already do. But I’ll teach you how to do it better.”

The idea was heady to Anakin. His eyes widened, filled with possibility and excitement. Of smiling adult faces, wanting to help. But he looked at Obi-Wan instead, fear sneaking in through the gap bored by long experience with misery. “So what does a master do, then?”

Obi-Wan smiled wanly at Anakin. Experimentally, he tried sending him as much warmth as possible. He didn’t have much to spare, but Anakin seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “I’ll protect you, Anakin. And I’d like it if you continued calling me Obi-Wan.”

And he knew that meant more to Anakin than all the rest. At least Obi-Wan won there.

Although Obi-Wan had gone his entire life despairing for Quinlan’s future padawan, he somehow handled Anakin wonderfully. Even Siri awkwardly asked a question about Anakin’s favorite kind of ship - clearly expecting an answer along the lines of ‘a big one!’ or ‘one that shoots lasers!’ - and sat through Anakin’s ten minute scientific dissertations on the difference in engine ports between Genoshian Special X100 and Genoshian Special X200.

When’s the last time Obi-Wan had a long conversation with Anakin, where they just talked about nothing? He’d been so selfish, focusing entirely on himself and not even thinking about Anakin. His friends were doing this a thousand times better than he was. They should be the one with a padawan, not him. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought he was ready for knighthood until - well, until it was convenient, but if it took him this long to be knighted he ought to be forty before he got a padawan.

In a characteristically deft maneuver, Quinlan had flagged down a friend of his - Ku Lun, a friendly face and teacher to the Initiates - and gave Anakin a real world lesson in Jedi togetherness by asking him to walk Anakin back to their quarters. Anakin shot a panicked look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan deeply wished to send a panicked look back, but he just nodded supportively.

“Don’t you want to ask Knight Lun about lessons?” Obi-Wan said. “You can work together to design your school.”

The concept of school, and the power to choose it, was obviously heady to Anakin, and he jumped off the bench with only a tinge of reluctance. “Come back to the room in thirty minutes or you’re fired,” Anakin told Obi-Wan gravely, yet nonsensically, before running off with Knight Lun.

It wasn’t until the sounds of Anakin’s chattering faded, then disappeared completely, that Obi-Wan turned back to his friends with a sigh. Their plot had worked. Quinlan and Siri’s perfect score in tactics - second only to his more than perfect score - had won again. He was subject to the masses, and the masses were stressed over his wellbeing.

Better make the pre-emptive strike. “Greetings, my honored friends,” Obi-Wan said dully. “My very best friends in the galaxy, whom I have not spoken to in months.”

“And whose fault is that, you asshole!” Quinlan thumped the table, making the plasteelware rattle, and cuing a withering look from Bant. “You drop out of contact. You leave on a routine diplomatic mission. You get wrapped up in an interplanetary war, obviously, because that’s how your routine missions always go. And you come back with a kid and the head of a Sith?”

“You have the situation well in hand, Quinlan. There’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“Idiot! I’m not asking for a mission report, here.” Quinlan set his mouth, as tempestuous as ever. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay?

Maybe Bant caught something on his expression, because she placed a reassuring flipper on his arm. “We’re sorry about Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. We know how much he meant to you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You can’t get rid of us just because you don’t talk to us.” Siri scooped the rest of her oats in her mouth, clearly regretful that she no longer had something to hide behind. “Reeft and Garen feel the same way. You’re lucky Garen’s on a mission, or he would have staked out your door.” He would have. Garen was insane. “I know they waived the two weeks in solitude considering your circumstances, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Anakin needs -”

“As his master, I have the best idea of what Anakin needs.” Obi-Wan kept his voice flat, dispassionate. He wasn’t a child anymore, not that impetuous Initiate who yelled and stomped and screamed. Obi-Wan had drowned that anger under thick layers of Jedi robe years ago. “I appreciate and understand your concern. However, I ask for faith in my abilities to handle my padawan.”

“Oh, no. Not the ‘I Am A Perfect Jedi And You Are The Irresponsible Bugs Beneath My Feet’ voice.” Siri didn’t sound amused, as she normally would be while making fun of him. What was funny about speaking properly? “Don’t shut down on us.”

“I’ve never understood where you got the impression that Jedi don’t have feelings, Obi-Wan,” Bant scolded, “but you know it’s not true. Jedi feel their feelings. They feel them and release them. This is you repressing them. They’re just going to fester and get worse if you do that.”

“Yes, Bant. I recieved top marks in Philosophy 101, same as you.” Obi-Wan picked at his sealed up, the rims of thick juice sloshing in the corners, before forcing himself to stop. He forced his hands still on the table, pressing them down hard on the linoleum. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what good a confession would do to all of you. Obviously I miss my master. Obviously I’m all…very sad about it.” Obi-Wan jerked his shoulders in a half-shrug, ignoring everyone’s unimpressed looks. “What good will talking about it do? I have to remain focused. In the real world, you don’t get the luxury of hermitage.”

“Luckily, you’re not in the real world.” Bant’s wry tone imparted the air quotes around ‘real world’. “You’re home. You and Anakin are safe here.” Obi-Wan snorted. “Knight Kenobi, what was that?”

Uh oh. But Siri unknowingly came to his rescue, leaning forward with as intent and sympathetic expression as she could wring from her usually severe countenance. “Don’t give me that dung, Obi-Wan. I cried for a month after Master Tahl died. You were there for me every second of it. What, are you so special that you don’t need help? Are you so much better than us that you don’t feel what every sentient feels? Your ‘better than you’ attitude doesn’t make you better than yourself.”

Bant made a warbling sound of frustration. “Siri, let’s not insult the person we are trying to help.”

“It’s not my fault he’s so - look, this is about Anakin -”

A tightly wound rope of...of something bad snapped in Obi-Wan’s gut. “You don’t think I can handle him.”

“Nobody’s saying that, brother,” Quinlan said, placating for the first time in his life, “but it’s like I was just telling the little guy, right? Nobody can do this by themselves. Cultures that try to do it are - they’re just crazy!”

“None of you think I can do this,” Obi-Wan whispered harshly, trying to keep the - the bad thing locked tight inside, incapable. It wouldn’t stop overflowing, a cup that runneth over. “Nobody in this Temple thinks I’m capable of taking care of him. They don’t think he can be a Jedi. It’s my fault. It’s because he has such a fuck-up for a master.”

Everybody around him suddenly radiated extreme alarm in the Force in unison. Was it really that unusual for him to say the words that swirled around in his head every hour of the day?

“Obi-Wan, we’re the fuck-ups. I mean, me and Siri and Garen. You and Bant are the Rylothian angels here.”

“That’s not what everybody else thinks,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “I’ve always been tainted because of Qui-Gon. Now just being around me is going to taint Anakin. Everybody knows it.”

“Tainted?” Bant asked with alarm. What was alarming? “What are you talking about -”

But Obi-Wan barrelled through her, unwilling to hear whatever sweet and placating words she had for him today. He stood up, carefully stepping off the bench and fussily fixing his robes with hands that did not shake. “We are going to prove it to them. Anakin will become a Jedi. I will make Anakin a Jedi, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He swept off, feeling a little bit dramatic, feeling as if he had expelled the smallest amount of emotion he could. That was the least he could give, portioning out bits of himself to the hungry and braying crowd.

Why did they want these pieces of him so desperately? What was valuable about these hideous parts of Obi-Wan - the fear, the insecurity, the nightmares shaking him awake each night? People like Bant and Quinlan dug and dug and dug until they found what they were looking for, as if they wanted to prove something to themselves, to him, to the Jedi.

Prove that he was inferior. Prove that he was just as wild and angry as everybody always said. Prove that his flimsy mask of ‘A Perfect Jedi’ was nothing more than a stage actor placing a pulp-mache bantha’s head mask over his face and strutting about as if he was a king. Prove what Qui-Gon had always thought of him: that any love for him could only be held at arm's length, that a kid who needed to prove himself never required support or a helping hand, that there was no such thing as ‘good enough’ when you lived in competition with ghosts and shadows.

Prove what everybody knew, and what Obi-Wan could not hide.

***

When Obi-Wan got home, Anakin was lying on the ground committing atrocities upon the ravaged corpse of a pilfered library droid.

“Please start putting down a tarp when you do that,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve been getting oil into the carpet.” He paused a beat. “And please stop sneaking away from chaperones.”

“But I need to practice sneaking away from good guys so I can be good at sneaking away from bad guys! And it’s not like I was caught.” Anakin didn’t look up at him, absorbed in his work. “That’s Jedi lesson three, right? ‘Do whatever you want, just don’t get caught’?”

“When had - why do -” Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the one day exposure to Qui-Gon. But..in the face of that logic, Obi-Wan was forced to concede. It was objectively true. “Yes. But make an exception for me. Just don’t get caught by others.”

“You got it! Hey, pinch this wire for me.”

So Obi-Wan lay down on his stomach across from Anakin, staring at him from over a sea of rusty machinery. His round little face, somehow still clinging onto baby fat, was smooth as only a child’s could be. It was flaky and rough from the blistering heat of twin suns, but he had ointment now. His featherly light blonde hair would darken without its sunshine bleach, and it would grow long in limp brown shags. He would look like his mother - if, apparently, there was no father to speak of.

His expression was screwed up in concentration, tongue poking out of his teeth as he carefully screwed in a bolt where it likely was not intended to go. There was something strangely beautiful about him in that moment - an intelligence at work, a powerful focus rarely applied. He glowed in the Force like a sun, overwhelming and breath-taking.

But when Obi-Wan’s breath caught, he wasn’t sure if it was the Force. Maybe it was just Anakin. Could you fall in love like this? Just by looking at somebody, just by feeling how great they could be? Stronger than Obi-Wan, more righteous than Qui-Gon? Kinder than Master Dooku, more vibrant than Grandmaster Yoda?

Could he be better? Or would Obi-Wan only make him worse?

“Do you like my friends?” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Gimmie a min’.” Anakin finished screwing the bolt, huffing at the piece. “Bad. Gotta redo...what didya say?”

“Do you like my friends?”

“Oh!” Anakin brightened. “They’re super cool and awesome Jedi! They’re just like I thought Jedi would be. Bant’s a doctor! Did you know that?”

“I did.” A pang shot through Obi-Wan’s heart. “They’d be better teachers than I. I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m sorry you’re stuck with…”

“No way! I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s expression crumpled a little, although he bravely tried to keep it straight. He was already picking that up from Obi-Wan. “I’m why everybody keeps looking at us weird...it’s all my fault. All the Jedi hate us.”

“Anakin, no. The Jedi love all sentient beings.” Judging from Anakin’s expression, Obi-Wan was speaking straight bantha poodoo and acting as if the Corellian moons were made of cheese. “It’s true. They’d - they’d all help you. You don’t need to rely on me.”

Wires hissed and sparked. Anakin was quiet for a moment, stripping some wires with a deft, chubby hand and tying them together. He reached out to grab a blowtorch, but at Obi-Wan’s dangerous expression he carefully retreated his hand. It was a matter of time until he was using his lightsaber to solder metal. Incorrigible. Finally, Anakin said, “What Mr. Quinlan -”

“Knight Quinlan.”

“Knight Quinlan was talking about how you’re just there to guide me and teach me the Jedi way for a few years. And they all acted like the master and padawan thing is so special and great, but…” His face crumpled a little, overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name. “When we had to leave Mom behind...I thought that meant that you were going to be Mom now. But they aren’t going to let us. They’re going to make other people teach me because they don’t like you, and - and - and!”

Fat tears were rolling down Anakin’s cheeks, no matter how hard he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Obi-Wan quickly sat up and moved closer to Anakin, wrapping him in a hug and letting Anakin press his head into Obi-Wan’s tunic. He would probably have to get this one cleaned with Anakin’s robe. He didn’t know why he was focusing on that instead of Anakin’s hitched breaths as he tried to control his tears.

“Nobody’s going to take you away from me, Anakin.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. That was far too possessive. That hadn’t come out right. But what had Obi-Wan meant to say? “We all just want what’s best for you. You might be happier with the others.” Obi-Wan faltered. “You could be a normal child here. Take lessons. Play with the other children. Learn and grow and be happy. My padawanship, Anakin...it was dangerous and isolated. That’s the kind of life I’ve always lived. I don’t want to expose you to that.”

Anakin separated from him, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “They aren’t strong! All the kids and the old people here - they’re weak! Nothing bad’s ever happened to them, so they think sad people like us are freaks. But you’re strong, Obi-Wan. I want to be strong and just like you. I’m not embarrassed to be your padawan.” He faltered a little, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s okay that you’re sad and that I had to make food for a little bit. Mom would get sad sometimes too. She couldn’t leave bed and stuff. I would take care of Mom and make her food. I don’t mind making you food. The slaves all had each other, we did, but...Mom and I took care of each other. We can take care of each other. It’s just you and me. Right?”

Obi-Wan embraced Anakin tightly, fighting to control his breathing. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the correct way to do this. He had to be more like Qui-Gon - professional and strong and affectionate. Qui-Gon would have never let Obi-Wan cling to him like this, swearing an oath that neither of them should ever make.

Nobody was going to help them. None of them had ever forgotten how Obi-Wan had been a failure as a child, and none of them were ever going to forget where Anakin came from. No matter what they all said, their bright smiles and helping hands - none of them understood what it was like. It was just Obi-Wan and Anakin from now on.

In some strange way, it felt as if it had always been. As if Obi-Wan had only been alone, because he had not met or loved Anakin yet.

This wasn’t the kind of master Obi-Wan should be. He should be discouraging this desperation and neediness. But he couldn’t discourage it in himself, and he had no idea how to quench it in either of them.

As the Rylothians would say - if this was a sin, then hell had greater need of him than heaven.

He would put in the request for active mission duty. If Anakin grew up like he did - in the midst of adventure and hardship - then he could attain the strength he so desired. That was all Obi-Wan knew how to offer, and that was Qui-Gon’s legacy.

“It’s just you and me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan swore, and damned himself. “It’s just you and me…”

#star wars #sw #star wars fanfic #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #bant eerin #siri tachi #quinlan vos #this is the first and last star wars thing you will ever get from me #please don't ask the rationale i have secrets #i like to think that nothing bad happens in this universe #(it's not an AU but it's not NOT an AU? up to interpretation)#because Obiwan in canon is on anakin's ass about everything #and here he's just one of those single parents who's like 'ok so long as you're fed and not on fire i don't have energy to care #about anything else'#I think this was written from joking about how comedically and weirdly terrible obiwan's childhood was #and from my own personal feelings about the weird way the sw fandom understands communal childcare #and nonattachment #It Does Not Mean What You Think It Means (Because George Lucas Is A White Guy Buddhist!)#if you're wondering if the behavior by the jedi here is realistic or nomal or if it's positive or negative #I have lived in a monastery and it is the most accurate thing you will ever see in a SW fic #my writing

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obiwanobi · 4 years

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I blame @quiet-oracle and @theevildevices for this, because I couldn’t resist the urge to write 2k of hurt/comfort for the ‘Jedi but enemies’ AU, where Qui-Gon trained Anakin, and now him and Obi-Wan are well-known for despising each other but working exceptionally well together when they’re not lost in ridiculous banters and petty arguments to hide the fact that they’ll be lost without each other;

Obi-Wan winces.

Skywalker’s hand immediately withdraws. “Does it bother you when I—”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“The answer is still the same.”

Skywalker’s sigh is heavier than the entire Republic navy.

His mouth is too close to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he shivers as a result. But it’s only because the cold of the never-ending rain outside still lingers on their clothes and in their bones, even under the tent and close to the portable heater that a clone is still trying to adjust. And also because he’s been sitting there bare-chested for the past five minutes, with Skywalker’s clumsy fingers poking at his hip and ribs, probably way harder than necessary, just to see him suffer.

“I can apply a bacta patch myself, you can go n—”

“Would you please shut up? We both know a bacta patch wouldn’t be enough.”

Only the sound of a packet of antiseptic wipes being opened, gauze being stretched and the clone pushing buttons with no effect can be heard for a moment.

“I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘please’ to me before,” Obi-Wan notes lightly, then grimaces when Skywalker starts pulling on the cloth pressed to his side.

“Don’t get used to it. But if it’s the only way to make you stop being so difficult and contradictory all the time, I will gladly say it more.”

Instead of looking at his own wound —the pain in his hip is enough, thank you, he doesn't need to see the extent of the damages— Obi-Wan glances at Skywalker. Gaze focused and mouth in a thin line, there’s only concentration written on his face.

No one could guess that only half an hour ago, on the battlefield, panic and terror were the only two emotions Skywalker was projecting loud enough in the Force to bring Obi-Wan out of unconsciousness.

Unbelievable, Obi-Wan has thought once he was aware enough to realise that it was Skywalker's hands on his face and Skywalker’s voice in his ear, begging him to come back. He would find a way to be annoying enough to drag me out of a coma if he could.

Surprisingly, the thought has felt like a comfort.

The clone working on the heater stands up suddenly. Obi-Wan almost forgot about him. He nods his head towards them, and goes out of the tent at the exact same moment Hyoid enters.

At the sight of the clone, all modicum of appreciation for Skywalker evaporate.

“You called a medic?” Obi-Wan scowls, with the tone of someone who has just been the victim of a vicious mutiny.

“Of course I called a medic. Half of your tunic is covered in your own blood and you were knocked out for a while earlier, what do you think I was going to do? Tell you to go back out there and watch you slowly bleed to death?”

“Generals,” the medic calls. In vain.

“You would enjoy that,” Obi-Wan grumbles.

“Well, yes, but then the Council will ask me why I let you die just a few meters away from a first aid kit, and then I’ll have to explain that I gently push it away from your weak hands every time you reached for it, and how will I look, then?”

“Like someone who could have let me die on the battlefield and get away with it, but decided instead to choose the most idiotic and time-consuming option available, and I would have enjoyed that very much.”

“Generals.”

“Exactly,” Skywalker nods, “and I can’t let you enjoy things.”

“I know. Don’t think I never realised who was flushing the toilets every time I was in the shower when the hot water came back two days ago.”

“You were so cheerful,” Skywalker says, as if the mere thought disgusts him. “I took that as a personal affront.”

“Sirs, please,” Hyoid implores louder. Both Jedi turn towards him, almost surprised to see him there. “I’m just here to see General Kenobi’s injury, I’m sure you can continue your conversation right after. Sirs. Please.”

It takes them a second to realise that they’re sitting so close together that Obi-Wan’s hand has settled on Skywalker’s knee when they weren’t paying attention, while Skywalker’s fingers are still maintaining Obi-Wan’s pants low on his hip so it won’t come in contact with the long gash on his side. The intimacy of the scene isn’t completely lost on Skywalker, it seems, because he rushes to take his hands away and stands next to his chair, suddenly too self-conscious to know what to do with himself.

“I’m very sorry about him,” Obi-Wan apologises, as the medic takes Skywalker’s seat and starts assessing the mess Skywalker undoubtedly made of his hip and ribs. “He’s a rescue. He still has no idea how to behave appropriately in polite society.”

An outraged noise comes from Skywalker behind him, and despite the throbbing pain, Obi-Wan can feel the corners of his mouth turning up. A hiss replaces his smile rapidly enough when Hyoid applies a spray and starts cleaning what Skywalker missed, before pressing stingy patches on the wound.

The medic is wise enough not to reply to him, but it doesn’t stop him from making a comment or two about how ‘this isn’t superficial sir, you should be more careful from now on,’ or ‘you’ll have to change the bandages, and I’ll get some pills for you to take’ and ‘ok, now let’s see your head, sir, don’t think General Skywalker didn’t mention it’.

His head is, indeed, becoming heavier by the minute, and he can feel himself growing too tired to care enough to listen carefully after that. Once he gives up answering questions and lets Skywalker do it for him, Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to concentrate to feel him poking obnoxiously at him in the Force, testing the limits of his consciousness. It reminds him a bit of when Skywalker was a child, tugging on his robe every two minutes to make sure he was paying attention to him.

No wonder Obi-Wan always tried to avoid him.

“All right,” the medic finally says, pulling him out of his reverie. He stands up, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll get you your pills, and then you should rest.”

Rest sounds amazing. Obi-Wan would kill Skywalker for a good mattress and a soft pillow right now. But it doesn’t mean anything; he would probably kill Skywalker for two minutes of peace on the best of days.

The sudden silence that falls under the tent once Hyoid is gone seems almost unnatural. Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why the faint pitter-patter of the rain outside unsettles him so much, until he realises that it’s the first time since the battlefield that he’s alone with Skywalker.

“Are you going to keep sulking behind me?” Obi-Wan asks, finding his robe discarded on the floor and wondering if it’s worth leaning down to get it. No reply comes. “Well, you heard the medic. You can go now. I, unfortunately for you, will still live to see another...” he trails off as two arms slide over his shoulders from behind, wrapping around his neck and resting there.

Skywalker is warm against him.

For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he’s finally going to strangle him, but a golden head falls on his shoulder gently, face hidden by a cascade of curls, tickling Obi-Wan's neck and collarbone.

“Skyw—”

“Don’t be an insufferable asshole for a minute,” Skywalker mumbles, breath hot against his bare skin. “Just let me have this.”

Ah. It’s one of those moments, then.

He thought they were done with that for the day after what happened on the battlefield. Earlier.

With Skywalker’s face looming over him. Eyes so wide and so blue. One hand pressed against the wound in his side to stop the bleeding, one hand twisted in Obi-Wan’s tunic, right above his heart.

Being the one injured and barely conscious, but also being the one calming Skywalker down. Managing to get him to release his death-grip on him. Assuring him that he wasn’t going to die.

Promising it.

Twice.

Soothing the Hero with No Fear as he would soothe a lost and abandoned child.

“I told you already,” Obi-Wan says quietly. It feels wrong to speak louder when he knows they won’t look at each other for some time after that. “It’s all right. I’m fine now. It’s over.”

The arms around him tighten, mirroring the weight of Skywalker’s presence in the Force around Obi-Wan.

“I thought you’d left me,” Skywalker says accusingly, sounding remarkably like his nine-year-old self. “I thought you’d left me behind again.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, as if not seeing it would erase the fact he’s indulging his instinct to nuzzle his face against Skywalker’s hair. He smells like the rain, muddy but fresh, and feels like lingering distress in the Force. It’s far from pleasant to remain close to such an unbalanced mind, and their position isn’t comfortable either. But Obi-Wan doesn’t shiver from the cold anymore. So they don’t move.

They’ve earned that second of weakness.

Obi-Wan’s hand comes up to scratch at Skywalker’s head gently, fingers tangling with unruly locks of hair. Slowly, his muscles relax and he leans into the touch, chest slumped against Obi-Wan’s back. Skywalker’s face turns towards his throat, nestled under his jaw, before exhaling, deep and warm. In the Force, Skywalker’s signature curls against Obi-Wan’s and quiets down to a low satisfied rumble, dragged away from dread and terror one caress at a time.

Obi-Wan’s mind is suddenly way too tired to be bothered by the tenderness of it all.

“I’m here now, with you,” he whispers in his hair. “That’s all that matters.”

It’s a quiet apology that Skywalker accepts with a satisfied humming noise that resonates in Obi-Wan’s whole body.

It feels a bit like an apology for more. For everything. For all the times he avoided and pushed him away as a child. For condemning him for reasons he didn’t want to admit to himself. For wanting to blame him, for taking his master away, for being such a better padawan than he was, for rubbing it in his face.

For wanting to be his friend, always.

Obi-Wan has been wrong for so long.

When the medic comes back, Skywalker is kneeling in front of the heater, cursing it quietly, and Obi-Wan is adjusting his robe around his shoulders with slow movements.

“All right, sir, this is what you’ll have to take before every meal,” Hyoid says, showing him a small bottle, before putting a white box on the table. “And these are the bandages and the bacta to change every day. I would advise you not to do it yourself, and if you don’t have anyone to—“

“I’ll do it,” Skywalker declares without looking up, and Obi-Wan immediately narrows his eyes.

“You? I can’t even trust you with my toothpaste tube, what makes you think—“

“I don’t care what you say Kenobi, there is no wrong way to squeeze toothpaste!”

“There is, and you do it on purpose. What kind of savage would squeeze it right in the middle—”

Skywalker suddenly turns towards Hyoid, talking over him. “How many pills would it take to be considered a lethal dose, do you think?”

It is, of course, the one comment that ignites a virulent and pointless argument that makes the poor medic reconsider all his life choices and wonder if chloroforming Jedi generals would get him court-martialed.

After seven minutes of a loud and dramatic dispute ending with Skywalker promising to never take part in anything related to Kenobi anymore, except maybe his funeral, Hyoid decides to risk it.

#anakin: I can't believe I have to tenderly tend to this bastard's wounds #and take care of him for the rest of our lives #everyone: you don’t have to #anakin: no no I’m gonna #so when are they furiously kiss each other in the middle of a screaming row #obikin #clem's aus #fic i did write #jedi but enemies au

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 years

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In continuation to this post about Dooku’s stupid sad face, let’s wallow some more! This man is the worst and I wish he’d quit breaking my heart.

Much like being ordered to use his connection to Yoda to try and destroy him visibly broke Dooku’s heart (no, I’m not kidding, I promise there’s evidence for that, please check it out, oh my gosh Dooku why are you like this), being told to get rid of Ventress clearly hurt him so much.

There is just so much to talk about here. There are several key things in this episode (s3ep12 - Nightsisters). For one thing, after Dooku kneels to Sidious in the first scene, we never see him standing up again - except to kneel again, or when we see him through a com. So ‘Lord Tyranus’ is, in fact, nothing more than a beaten dog, whose only power is an image - that is, a mirage. It’s a nice touch, and a good reminder that those who follow the Dark Side are, in fact, nothing but slaves - and most notably, they are slaves to themselves, which is what happens here.

Dooku does not want to give up Ventress. He readily admits that she is important to him - and isn’t that foolish? Why would you ever tell a Sith Lord that there is something in the Galaxy beside yourself that you value? What’s more, he immediately interjects when Sidious says that she is ‘too important.’

To question his Sith Master like that is reckless and dangerous. Dooku is cunning, calculating, and most of all, self-serving - so for him to speak out like this means he couldn’t help himself. That’s how much he valued her. Unfortunately, the Dark will always make you value yourself more. Indeed, when Sidious questions his loyalty - loyalty that is nothing but a sham, which they both know, because the way of the Sith is to stab each other in the back - Dooku is quick to say that he’d never train his own apprentice. (Which, you know, he does next episode when he gets Savage.)

But anyway, this is Dooku’s face right before he agrees to kill Ventress - and right before he bows - practically kowtows - to Sidious. It’s pure anger.

But he agrees nonetheless. None of his anger, none of his hatred, none of his rage give him any power at all. And so, to preserve himself - because again, that’s what the Dark Side makes you do - he bows like an animal. When Anakin holds on to people because he can’t bear not to have them in his life, Dooku cuts people off because he is endangered by his connections, because of the position he put himself into in his quest for power. (Which is again quite ironic - a man called ‘Lord’ greets the man calling him that with complete subservience.) They go about it differently, but they are both undone by selfishness (and it’s not me saying it, it’s Lucas).

The most heartbreaking part about all of this though? When Dooku casts Ventress off, he’s not angry, he’s sad and defeated.

Just look at his face when he calls her ‘child.’

He is framed as off-balanced and cracked, ffs! And just look at his eyes.

Listen to his voice in that scene! How slowly he talks, how regretful he sounds! He looks away when he tells her he’s ordered the troops to abandon her. And when he looks at her again, listen to how stiff and impersonal his words are, in direct contrast to his previous... well, gentleness.

To save himself, he destroys a part of himself. That’s Anakin’s story. That’s Maul’s story, that’s the story of the Dark - in trying to gain something for themselves, they give up what matters. Maul tries to gain power and loses his body, then tries to gain revenge and loses the remainder of his life to a pointless endeavor that will never fulfill him. Anakin tries to preserve himself from the pain of loss and ends up losing everything he holds dear to his own actions. Dooku tries to protect his own life, and in the end has nothing to live for, and eventually dies. They all hurt themselves through their self-centeredness.

Just go and watch how defeated Dooku is when he says “I have done as you’ve asked, Asajj Ventress is dead.” Just look at his eyes right here:

And the worst thing is: this is the second time this has happened. Because Dooku did not fall because of Qui-Gon’s death - he was already a Sith when Naboo happened (as per s6ep10, The Lost One + the AotC timeline that was already too tight for him to have fallen, become Sidious’ apprentice and killed Syfo-Dias after Naboo rather than before).

Dooku has been subjecting himself to the Dark - to his own base need for self-preservation - for over ten years at this point, and he keeps doing it. He keeps repeating the same mistakes, because no matter how much he loved Qui-Gon, or Ventress, or Yoda, when faced with the question ‘what do I choose between my own interest and the interest of someone I love’ the answer of the Dark is always: “I choose ME.”

And the consequence is always suffering, for all the parties involved.

It’s not a coincidence that this very ep shows us Ventress’ first Master - her real Master, in the ways that mattered - Ky Narec.

One looks at her with pride and love - the other with bitterness, and regret, when he can look at her.

One she looks up to with joy, absolute trust and equal love - the other leaves her terrified, betrayed and alone.

Just compare Dooku to Obi-Wan - who always tries his hardest to save the ones he loves instead of preemptively cutting them off (Qui-Gon in TPM, Satine in s5, Ahsoka on Mortis, Cody in s7, Anakin because the Mustafar duel was choreographed to show that he was trying to let Anakin tire himself out and cool down, Luke in ANH) - and more often than not fails, but still tries no matter the cost to himself - and who lets go of what he has lost instead of holding onto bitterness and anger. Compare Dooku to Yoda, who is ready to give up his own safety and happiness, who is ready to die to protect Anakin (again, not kidding, here’s when it happens) rather than to pursue the outcome he wants. Yoda and Obi-Wan die with smiles on their faces, at peace, because the key to it all - the difference between love and attachment, and between love and self-preservation, and between letting go and cutting off, and between true power and the lies of the Sith - is always selflessness.

Whereas the Sith are slaves to their selfish impulses, the Jedi have the freedom to say no, I’m not going to save myself, I’m going to do what’s right, and I will be happier for it no matter how much it cost me.

The whole point of this angstfest was to say: dammit, Dooku! He used to be wise enough and strong enough to know better, and he still did this to himself, and then dragged the entire Galaxy into chaos and darkness. And I love him so much, and this self destruction that is characteristic of the Sith breaks my heart.

#meta #my meta #dooku #count dooku #darth tyranus #darth sidious #sidious #sheev palpatine #asajj ventress #star wars: the clone wars #light vs dark #sith #sith stuff #long post

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coexiising · 4 years

Text

west coast - anakin skywalker

SUMMARY ◆ you and anakin have just never gotten along and there seemed to be no way to get you guys to cooperate. hate sex basically.

WARNING(S) ◆ smut, degradation, some bad names, rough sex, but there’s consent because consent is sexy, cursing, choking, unprotected sex, fingering, anakin skywalker is a tease and a bitch, witty banter, i pretend to understand the force and probably make up my own rules, unedited

WORDS ◆ 3.6k

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THE EVENING LIGHT OF THE SUN SPILLED INTO THE LARGE HALL OF THE JEDI TEMPLE, BLANKETING EVERYTHING INSIDE WITH A SHEER COAT OF GOLDEN RAYS. coruscant was always so beautiful in the evenings, the way that the cars sped past each building with a low hum and the rush of traffic. it was a sound that you have grown to welcome these days, especially because it had been many years since you’ve lived here. the capital was beautiful, bustling with life and opportunities.

your elbow was on the table, palm pressed against your cheek as you leaned against it lazily, poking at the food on your plate with a fork in your other hand. obi-wan was mouthing off in front of you, not that you were really listening anyways. you were too focused on trying to stay awake listening to this mission that he was assigned to bring both you and anakin on in a weeks time. though his speech was pretty much worthless since the other padawan was no where to be found. neither of you had seen him for a couple hours.

oh well, you thought to yourself. it’s not like you missed him anyways. besides, he was probably with padme or getting in trouble somewhere like he was always doing.

anakin and you . . . well, it was a complicated relationship. you had been assigned to work with master obi-wan after your master died on a freak accident, and ever since then, you were forced to work with anakin skywalker. you two didn’t get along, you never did. you were even surprised that obi-wan put up with it, but he wanted to train both of you. to say that you missed your life before you had to talk to anakin every day would be the understatement of the year, you longed for the days where you didn’t have to be in the same room as him and watch as everyone fawned over the chosen one. god, even your thoughts were going to make you throw up. it was better to bask in this non-anakin-ness the most you could before he came waltzing into the hall.

unfortunately, right as you stopped thinking about him, anakin walked into the hall towards the food and would most likely make his way over and sit at your shared table with your master. you felt a groan go past your lips and looked down at your food, stabbing your starfruit and popping it into your mouth.

a chuckle came from obi-wan in front of you. “you can at least act like you like him you know, might be easier to deal with it that way.” you shrugged, shaking your head and looking up to face your master. “I mean, saying that as your friend not your master.”

“you’re one to talk, what did you call him yesterday? oh that’s right, insolent. if memory serves you said that to him pretty confidently,” you said.

“well, yes, but I'm allowed to say those things,” obi-wan countered, popping up one of his expressive eyebrows as he looked at you.

you stifled out a weak laugh, “I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of me liking him.” and that was the truth, there is no way that you weren’t going to do what almost everyone does here: allow him to get away with the things that he does. sometimes your master calls him out on things - but it was incredibly rare.

anakin walked over in his usual fashion, which you deemed as strutting, but others didn’t see the humor in it. maybe it was just because every time he even was in the same room as you, you felt the need to insult something about him, you had to keep him grounded, right?

“good evening, y/n.”

“oh, it was,” you said to him, glancing in his direction and then instantly going back to your food. from the corner of your eye you could see as his face feigned hurt, then he immediately went to talking with obi-wan about the mission that your master had previously been briefing with you about. it was something about some trouble on the outer rim, separatists spotted trying to negotiate with the rulers of a planet that was vital for the republic to maintain peace with. a typical mission, one that you’ve been on one too many times. but maybe something exciting would happen, you never knew.

dinner was, for the most part, uneventful. the only thing that happened was anakin threatening to throw his starfruit at you because you rolled your eyes at one of his comments, which didn’t end up happening because obi-wan gave him that look and a stern ‘anakin.’

for the rest of the night you retired to your rooms, telling the two you would meet them in the morning.

you sat at the edge of your bed, kicking off your shoes and stretching your arms up. you set your comms down on the small nightstand you had and got dressed in something more comfortable for sleeping. the sun was fully down now, and the only thing that lit up your room was the tall lamp in the corner of your room and the distant lights of other buildings through your windows.

as you slipped into bed under the covers, you allowed your mind to wander. first, to the mission, where you silently went over the details in your head to make sure you had them all memorized. you knew for certain that anakin didn’t, which could possibly give you a leg up in the future. and the more you pondered, the more they landed on anakin.

it was strange, thinking of him. typically you would be cringing at anything that included anything to do with anakin skywalker, but this time you allowed your mind to expand instead of bringing up the protective barriers like you always did. the calming effect of letting the force just make its way through every neuron and crevice of your mind was almost enough to lull you to sleep.

that was until you heard a whisper, just the faintest, tiniest little sound that you were almost uncertain that you had even heard anything at all.

your eyes stayed closed, again letting the force do what it wanted in your mind and waiting to see if it happened again. there was a presence there, just on the outer barriers of your mind. there was silence, complete and utter silence and you were about to call it a night when-

you’re thinking about me?

you jolted up to sit, eyes snapping open and your head getting dizzy from the sudden shift in position. it was anakin’s voice, clear as day in your mind, that was what you were hearing. how could you be so stupid? it was like the force was trying to push that connection. and now that it was established, you knew that you would have to put up more barriers in your mind in order to keep him out.

and the worst thing was that he was still there. you could feel it. you put your hands on either side of your head and closed your eyes, reaching him and saying,

i was not.

it was the weakest lie you had ever made in your life.

you’re such a liar, anakin chided. you could practically feel his smirk. just admit it.

you groaned to yourself, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your face from the focus. goodnight, anakin, you said to him and then immediately cut off the connection.

now you were wide awake, you were sure that there was no way you could get any sleep after that. you weren’t even angry at yourself for doing that, but more embarrassed that your thoughts connected you to anakin - because you were thinking about him. you knew there was no way you were getting out of this tomorrow.

you busied yourself at your desk with some books you had previously gotten from the archives, trying your best to basically bore yourself to the brink of sleep. and just as you thought it was beginning to work, you heard a knock on your door. glancing at the clock, you saw that it was a little bit past midnight. who the hell was at your door at this hour?

for a moment you stilled, thinking that perhaps it was a mistake and they would leave then you could finally try and sleep, but there was again another knock a few moments later. you finally stood up and made your way to the door, opening it and being greeted by none other than anakin skywalker. he was dressed in his comfort clothes and hair messy, like he had been awake for way too long.

he didn’t give you any time to say anything, instead pushing his way past you into your rooms. your eyes widened and you took a peek outside into the halls to make sure that no one saw that. luckily, the halls were dead. closing your door and turning the lock, you faced him and stood there deadpanned, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“well, don’t act all happy to see me,” he said sarcastically.

you laughed. “im not. what are you doing here? do you understand what could happen if someone sees you and me in my bedroom alone?” there would be rumors spreading like wildfire, something that you definitely didn’t need to be confronted by the council about this. you hated to admit that you knew the exact reason he was here - because of your mini conversation through the force. but that still begged the question as to why he cared so much about it in the first place.

anakin rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. you took a second to look him over, seeing that the black shirt he was wearing was sheer enough for you to know what he was hiding under it. you shuddered, coming to your senses again and frowning. “you were thinking about me, and i think i deserve an explanation,” anakin told you, shrugging his large shoulders and cocking an eyebrow up. “you were thinking so loud.”

“I wasn’t trying to, i was trying to go to sleep.” you countered.

“you think of me while trying to sleep?”

damn. wrong thing to say. and now he was giving you a look, one that you’ve never seen before from him. his eyes were almost dark, filled with lust. you felt like your fucking legs were going to give out at the look that he was giving you. it was enough to make your face heat up and clear your throat, not having anything else to say, there really wasn’t anything to defend yourself with.

and it all happened so fast. one second you were both standing there, staring into each other’s eyes, and the next you both were walking towards each other and colliding your lips onto each others. the kiss was hot and searing, instantly making your head go dizzy at the feeling. his lips were soft, albeit a little harsh as his tongue forced its way into your mouth and prodded against your own. anakin’s hand came to grip your jaw, the other on the small of your back.

you attempted to grab onto him, get your hands on him as much as his were on you, but he didn’t let you, using the hand on your back to pull you closer to your bed. you were still kissing, lips starting to swell with the agressiveness of the kiss.

you still hated him, you had to keep telling yourself that, even though just by kissing he was making you feel so good. no attachments were to be made, this was purely just acting on normal human instincts, right?

soon enough the backs of your legs were hitting the edge of your bed, anakin pushed you down onto the bed like it was nothing and you were silly putty molding in his hands. he fell on top of you, instead of kissing you on the lips, he went for your neck, one of his hands came and grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it down, exposing your neck for him.

and he made sure that you would have to somehow cover all the marks he was making, because his teeth seemed to graze over every inch of your skin and lightly nip anywhere he wanted. and you felt dirty because you let him. you would let him do whatever he wanted to do to you.

anakin pulled away from you for a moment to pull his shirt off, discarding it to the floor and helping you to do the same with your shirt. you took a moment to look him over, seeing that his body was practically sculpted and personally handcrafted by the maker themselves, basically knocking the breath out of you. he noticed and you didn’t even care, instead of cringing at his smirk, you found it incredibly hot.

your hands came to his torso, wrapping your legs around his waist as his mouth began kissing along your chest. you pressed your hips up against him, trying to get friction against your already wet core. sadly, it wasn’t enough and you were left with whatever he decided to give you.

“anakin, please,” you whispered out towards him, looking down to watch him slip one of your nipples into his mouth, your mouth hung wide open. he came off of it with a ‘pop’ and tilted his head, waiting for you to finish whatever you were going to say.

“please what?” anakin asked, going back to kissing your chest until he landed on your stomach and started painting masterpieces on your skin.

you made the tinest sound, feeling sparks send right down below. “just touch me already,” you stated, putting your hands in his hair and giving the curles a good tug. he groaned against him, the vibrations going through your entire body. anakin came up face to face with you, pressing yet another kiss against your lips and pushing down your pants and underwear to the ground. you were now all exposed to him, while he still wore half of his outfit. you pouted at the unfairness but you knew it would get you nowhere now.

he held his hand out in front of you and for a moment you looked at him confused. he sensed this and said blankly, “spit.” you did what he asked and spit into his hand, watching as he took that same hand and touch your clit, feeling the wetness of your spit and your own mixing together. your mouth hung open as he rubbed his fingers around, experimentally pushing the tip of his finger into you then immediately pulled it out.

you felt yourself almost whine, needing him to give you more or you felt like you would simply die on the spot. right as you were about to say something, anakin’s other hand came and grasped onto your neck, his fingers digging into your skin and putting pressure on your throat.

holy fuck.

typically, you would be angry with how much control anakin skywalker had over you, but now you were just giving into it, liking that he was being rough with you. it was like a form of argument without the words and you were becoming addicted to it. he was able to make you feel so good and you were completely in his power.

finally, as if he was putting some pity on you, one finger slipped into you, curling up and hitting a spot inside you that made you moan loudly. the hand choking you became stronger against your neck, his mouth coming to your ear and whispering, “be quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear us and have this be over too soon, do you?” he was looking for an answer.

you shook your head, understanding that this would not be the best time to get caught by anyone else. you tried your best to keep yourself quiet as one finger pumped in you, the thumb of that same hand pressing against your clit and making your toes curl in pleasure. you could feel how hard he was against you and that made the fire in your stomach ablaze, nearing towards that edge desperately wanting some kind of release.

as soon as you felt yourself getting higher to that point, his hand came off your throat and his hand stopped moving, your eyes opened up and looked at him, who was busy pulling down his pants and grabbing his cock with his hand.

it didn’t take long for him to position himself at your enterance, his tip teasing you by rubbing it up and down against your slit. “is this what you want?” anakin asked you, his other hand tracing down your body and coming to grip the side of your hip.

you nodded your head fervently. “yes, anakin, please just fuck me already,” you said to him.

and that was all he needed before he was ramming himself into you, giving you no time to adjust, which was expected. you took the pain that came with his harsh motions, both of his hands gripping your hips with such force that you were sure that you were going to have bruises there in the morning in the shape of his hands.

anakin pounded into you, your voice was already hoarse from his choking and you made as quiet sounds as you could. all that anger you had for each other had bubbled up onto the surface and there was only the desire left, the sickly sweet feeling that you had only dreamed about with anakin in your deepest fantasies. you could never get tired of this, perhaps you should’ve initiated this sooner, or pushed his buttons so he would take it out on you this way.

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” anakin said in that deep, gravelly voice that basically sent you into orbit the second that it came past your lips. you were so far gone, head empty of any incoherent thought other than anakin skywalker. and he continued to move into you shamelessly, neither of you caring about anything in the world except this feeling both of you were chasing.

you were close, you could practically feel the tidal wave starting to form inside your stomach. his pace would not let up, practically tearing into you with all the energy and stamina that he had from years of training. and anakin looked so good like this, his mouth hung open and sweat forming on that tanned brow of his. his muscles working overtime and flexing with every single movement he made. and his eyes, which were so blue like the oceans of naboo, were staring right into your own, almost like they were telling you to give everything to him.

you were so worked up, that it only took his hand to come down and rub down against your clit, the pressure enough to push you over the edge. it was like a firework went off inside and the scream you wanted to make died in your throat, wishing that you could be as loud as you wanted. your back arched up and your hips faltered against his own, cumming around him and squeezing, earning a moan from his lips as well. you looked so good coming undone that anakin basically was just sent into fucking orbit with no trace of coming back down.

the second you regained your composure and came down from your own orgasm, you watched as anakin hit his own, hips shifting and releasing right inside of him. you felt him fill you up to the brim, anakin falling down with his chest pressed against your own. the room smelled of sex and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the only thing was the sounds of your pants throughout the room, and soon enough anakin was pulling out of you. you frowned at the sudden loss of not being filled up anymore by him. just a second ago you felt like you were on fucking cloud nine and now you were crashing right down to reality at what you had done, and whom you had just done it with.

you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as anakin pulled his pants back up and started gathering the rest of his clothes in his hand. he was still shirtless, about to go towards the door when you said, “are you seriously going out there half naked?”

“no one is up this late, trust me,” he said back.

you bit the inside of your cheek. “well I don’t know about that after all the noises coming from here.”

“that wasn’t me making all the moans,” anakin says in such a casual way you stare daggers back at him. he stifles out a laugh and then turns, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. you can hear his footsteps recede from the door and you are left here alone, thinking about what the hell you had just done.

once you regained your composure and felt like you could walk, you stood up on your wobbly feet and made your way to your small mirror. the second you got there, you gasped at your appearance in the mirror. hair all messed up, marks all along your neck along with bruises from his hands, and the bruises on your hips. and to top it all off, you could feel what he left in you trickling down your thigh.

that may have just been the best sex of your life. but you still hated anakin skywalker . . .

. . . right?

#y'all ever heard the tragedy of darth- kidding #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #obi-wan kenobi #anakin smut #star wars smut #star wars the clone wars #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith

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nanagoswife · 3 years

Text

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Nine

Summary: Reader brings Obi-Wan to the village of Naboo for the Festival of Light

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: none?

- - -

As you slowly regained consciousness, you never thought you could feel so comfortable. Your head was resting in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck as your body was pressed to his. The small tickle from his beard was delightful, but you had to keep yourself from giggling so you wouldn’t wake him.

One of his arms was draped over you, his hand resting at the small of your back. His other hand unconsciously held one of yours as it pressed against his chest. It was a gesture that made your heart flutter with happiness.

You moved, careful to not wake him, so you could see his face. It was a look for him that you somehow thought was even more adorable than anything else. Even the look he has when he gets flustered is beaten by this look.

His face was relaxed, peaceful. The hairs of his beard were still relatively kempt, other than the small area that your head was one pressed into. When it came to his hair, it was an absolute mess, but you loved it. The usually perfectly styled strands were nearly all out of place. Some were against his forehead and the pillow while others stuck up in protest. His amazingly golden eyelashes wonderfully laid against his cheeks.

The longer you looked at him, the more you fell in love with him. You had loved him for so long, coming to that conclusion nearly two months ago. It was something that you had only told Padmé. This was one thing that you made her swear not to tell Anakin, and she kept her word.

Gently, you moved your free hand up to push the hairs in front of his forehead away. You couldn’t help but smile as you did it, then resting your hand on his cheek.

As you did, though, your attempts to not wake him seemed to fail. His lips curled into a soft smile as he gently squeezed you with the arm draped over you. Soon after, his eyes opened only for him to squint as the sun glared in his eyes.

“Good morning, dearest,” he grumbled, pulling you ever closer to him.

“Good morning, Obi,” you replied, now tracing gentle circles on his cheek with your thumb. He hummed in contentment and you couldn’t help but admire how grumbly his voice was.

For a minute, you couldn’t help but stare into the sparkling cerulean blues. The sun that was making its way back into the sky made his hair burn in an even more amazing shade of red. It didn’t matter that it was an absolute mess. In your opinion, he looked even more handsome than you had ever thought before.

“I apologize for falling asleep before you were done reading,” you said quietly, earning you a small grin.

“No need to apologize, darling. It just means we’ll have to do it again.”

With the hand that rested at your back, he brought it to rest on top of yours on his cheek.

“I guess it does,” you whisper, smiling at the feeling of his hand on yours.

Once again, you hardly noticed how you had started moving closer to him. You would’ve said you were pulling him closer, but you weren’t. He was moving towards you, shifting slightly for a better angle.

All you could focus on was him. The way he looked was no longer at the forefront of your mind. Now, all you thought about was how much you loved him. How you never wanted another life other than the one that he’s been a part of. How he truly makes you feel seen like you never have before.

Obi-Wan was now partially hanging over you, his eyes searching yours as his beard could just be felt against your lips. You felt as he released a breath, letting it fan over your lips.

Then, a knock disrupted everything once again.

Groaning in annoyance, Obi-Wan dropped his forehead against yours as he slumped his broad shoulders, keeping himself propped on an elbow. You couldn’t help it. You laughed because of course this happened. Every time you got this close to finally kissing him, something or someone disrupted it all.

But then you remembered, “It must be Padmé. In her defense, she’s on time.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “As always, you are correct, my dear.”

Lifting himself up and away from you, the two of you get out of the bed. You don’t want to, but you have to. You can’t just let your friend stand out in the hall forever.

Before Obi-Wan opened the door, he put on a tunic, leaving it untied. A part of you wanted to let your fingers glide over his chest again, but you had to go. Plus, that could possibly go too far, almost like it did the night before.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” you say as he opens the door.

“See you then, my dear.”

Before you leave and join your friend, the two of you share a smile. Padmé has to break you out of the moment so that you can get back to your room unnoticed. Or, at least out of this hall. It was a normal thing for you and your friend to walk around before getting properly dressed.

“Please tell me you’re going to divulge what happened last night. I can tell that there was with the way the two of you looked at each other,” your friend said, linking her arm with yours.

As you looked back on it, you smiled fondly, watching the floor as you walked.

“I’m sorry, Padmé, but I don’t think I will this time.”

The disappointment on her face almost made you laugh. But, you wouldn’t tell her. What happened was something you wanted to keep just between you and him. Well, at least for the time being.

Padmé was the one to transport you to her home village. Although it wasn’t far, one of the villages that lay basically right outside the castle, she brought a book to read. It gave you and Obi-Wan a moment to enjoy each other’s company.

The whole way you had leaned against him, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder. Once every so often he would press a light kiss to the top of your head. Every single time it caused you to look up at him and smile. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him, but it was not the time. Although you love Padmé very much, that’s a moment that you don’t want an audience for.

“I think you’re really going to like this,” you whispered.

“I’m sure I will. Especially since I’m with you,” he replied, causing heat to grow in your cheeks.

You watched as Padmé peaked up from her book, smirking as she did.

For the rest of the trip, you snuggled even more into Obi-Wan. It didn’t help that he was just so… comfortable.

As you were rolling into the village, excitement filled you. You left the comfort of Obi-Wan so that you could look out of the window. The excitement and celebration was in full swing as you watched everyone put up last minute decorations. Kids were running through the streets, some trailing streamers behind them as the rest chased.

The closer you got to the center of the village, you could hear music playing. It only further heightened the joy everyone was feeling as they gathered. This was a time of year where everyone could just have fun and see the lord that owned the land and his family. Not only that, but it brought you, the only royal who attended every year. Anakin tried to attend, but, like now, he had duties that he couldn’t reschedule.

When the carriage stopped, you could hardly contain yourself. You had to force yourself to wait for your two companions.

Although you restrained yourself, it seemed like others could not. Almost as soon as you stepped out of the carriage, a group of children came running up to you, all calling out your name for your attention.

You crouched down to greet them when suddenly one particular little boy pushed his way to the front. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes that always had a glint of innocent optimism.

“Christian, what have I told you about patience?” you said with a small chuckle.

The little boy’s cheeks went red in embarrassment as he looked at the ground. “That I need to wait my turn.”

“And why?”

“Because everyone gets their turn and I’ll get mine even if I’m not the first,” he said, slightly mumbling as he held his arms behind his back, twisting from side to side.

“There’s a good lad. Now, where’s Daisy?”

Christian’s shoulders seemed to slump even more in embarrassment. “She’s the one being patient.”

You chuckled as you looked up at the rest of the group of children. This group held eight, including Christian. When you caught a glance of his sister, you flashed her a smile before turning to the rest of the group.

“So, how excited are you for today?”

Your question was met by a chorus of excited cheers. The smile on your face grew as you listened to them.

During all of this, you hadn’t realized that the carriage had already left. Padmé also had left as she had her own things to do for this day. This left Obi-Wan standing behind you, watching this whole thing, now catching the attention of the group.

“Princess Y/N, who’s that?” Daisy asked as she pointed at Obi-Wan.

As you looked back at him, his eyes met yours and his expression softened more than you thought it ever could. You gestured for him to join you. With no hesitation, he did.

“Everyone, this is Prince Obi-Wan Kenobi of Coruscant.”

All of their eyes went wide. Coruscant was one of the largest and most influential kingdoms, and to have the prince here blew their minds. Even Christian, who sometimes seemed unfazed by certain things, had his jaw dropped.

Daisy, who had maintained her position in the back of the group, now made her way to the front with a smile. She held out her hand to Obi-Wan as she said, “Nice to meet you, Prince Obi. My name’s Daisy.”

You smiled at that. She always was more mature for her age, but she still had her young innocence.

Obi-Wan smiled as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you Daisy. And who might the rest of you be?”

One by one, they all introduced themselves to the prince. Of them all, Daisy seemed quite drawn to him and it was the most adorable thing. For a fleeting moment, you thought of what it would be like if you had a daughter with him…

The thought was quickly pushed to the side as the group started begging for you and Obi-Wan to tell them a story.

“Oh, I think that should be left to Princess Y/N, I’m not a great storyteller,” Obi-Wan claimed. You knew that not to be true and you could tell that the kids didn’t buy it. The looks on their faces gave that away.

“Please, Prince Obi. Princess Y/N could help you. We did say we wanted both of you to tell it,” Daisy said, earning a soft smile from Obi-Wan.

The rest of the group chimed in to convince him and you watched as his resolve quickly broke. How could he resist? Especially when this is the sort of thing that he experiences back at home.

“Alright, alright,” Obi-Wan said with a chuckle, now earning a cheer from the group.

Turning to you, he gestured for you to start a story. You were sure to choose one that he would know as well.

As the story went on, you subtly let Obi-Wan tell the story more and more. It got to the point where he was practically the only one telling it as the children looked on.

Christian sat in your lap as he paid rapt attention to what Obi-Wan was saying. Gently, you stroked the young boy’s hair. Daisy had also come up to you, sitting next to you and leaning against you.

These two children may not have been yours, but sometimes it felt like it. Their mother, Mary, was always delighted to see how attached they were to you. It made you wonder if she still had her little lantern stand she usually had. She always had the best ones.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel his heart swell as he watched you with Daisy and Christian. The way they clung to you and acted with you would make someone assume they were your children.

Either way, as he continued telling the story that he noticed you left him to, he thought about what it would be like if he had children with you. The way you were with children was a sight to behold. He could now see why they were so drawn to you.

He envisioned himself with you and two children just like Christian and Daisy. The way you were stroking Christian’s hair, soothing him as Daisy sat so comfortably with you. It was a wonder the thought didn’t distract him from the story.

It all gave him hope for the future. He only hoped that he could live up to the reputation you had with children. The feeling only grew as he finished the story.

Without a single protest, Obi-Wan finished the story.

“It’s over?” Christian protested from your lap. The whole group groaned as Obi-Wan nodded.

“Now, now, everyone. You all know that it’s one story per visit,” you announced to everyone. They all nodded but that didn’t take away the look of disappointment they all had. No matter what, they would always hate your rule of only one story per visit.

It wasn’t long until the majority of the group got distracted by something else. You heard something about being the last to the Maypole, but that was all you heard.

All of them were gone except for Christian and Daisy. For Christian, he didn’t want to let go of you. Instead, he only seemed to cling to you tighter.

“Christian, I can’t stay here all day,” you said with a chuckle. You saw his eyes go bright as his eyebrows raised, the telltale sign that he was coming up with an idea. “And no we’re not having a sleepover.”

Daisy giggled from her place beside you at her younger brother’s reaction. For a moment, you caught a glance at Obi-Wan. The fondness seemed to be radiating from him. Whether it was from the children or something else, you couldn’t tell. All you knew is that, when his eyes met yours, there was so much warmth in them. It was a look that reminded you of the way Anakin looked at Padmé.

“Oh, you should see momma! She would be so happy to see you,” Christian suddenly blurted out, drawing your attention back to him.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “We should let Princess Y/N and Prince Obi be. Prince Obi hasn’t even seen the festival yet!”

Obi-Wan chuckled, kneeling next to Daisy. “It’s quite alright, young one. You two are quite the introduction.”

You watched as the little girl blushed and giggled as Obi-Wan booped her nose. It was quite adorable seeing Daisy flustered like that.

“Well, if your momma has her usual lantern stand, then that actually will be a good start to the festival, now wouldn’t it?” you asked the two children. Christian nodded enthusiastically immediately while it took Daisy a moment before she shared the sentiment.

The boy that had been sitting in your lap bolted up. “Well then, come on!”

Making eye contact with Obi-Wan, you both chuckled. Daisy was trying to tell her brother to slow down as he started to run off.

When it came to you and Obi-Wan, he was only just helping you to stand as the two ran off.

“You know, Christian reminds me of what I was like at that age,” Obi-Wan mused out loud as you linked your arm with his.

“Oh really? Does that mean you would still be drawn to me?” you asked with a teasing lilt.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I think I’d be drawn to you in any lifetime, darling.”

Now you were the one getting flustered. He never failed at making you go speechless and stuttering over your words. The feeling of heat in your cheeks almost always seemed to exist whenever he was around.

When he saw your state, he couldn’t help but chuckle once again. “Now, shall we follow the two younglings, or shall we be left to find this stand on our own?”

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions. Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic. There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic. As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC. Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction. The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years. “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think. The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing. Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars. The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers. Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber. The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi. Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics. That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order. The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers. You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that. At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility. Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green. Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?” You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction. “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums. “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him. Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage. Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order. Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones. “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment. “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it. An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again. The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does. Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it. A mild trepidation.

“I am…” You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words. “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him. “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor. “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify. “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle. “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return. He always did have that effect on you. “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach. “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees. “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition? Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod. “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same. “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment. In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature. Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud. Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please. Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease. Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order. While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?” You ask, the throne room doors now in sight. You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council. Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors. “Now. Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours. “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar. He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly. Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature. More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth. You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks. “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order. No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright. “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing. The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns. Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi. You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class. You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling. Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do. A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature. You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location. Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor. Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy. He went through the subsequent stages with you. A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters. Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went. He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet. Serenity. Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean. Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough? Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing? Were you simply just strong in the Force? Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door. He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking. He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?” A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been. Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?” You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…” He eventually cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator. “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long. So long since he’s had to correct you in any way. As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest. It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way. You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said. He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes. They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention. It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room. Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance. The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around—

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh. The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events. Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place. The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it. In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet. “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you. “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title. She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods. “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking. “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time. However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you. “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words. The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi. There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move. However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns. “However. As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence. Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…” She tilts her chin at you, considering. “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war. What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong. This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars. Full stop. Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature. “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically. “My terms are simple, really. All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you. “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours. “Thought I saw you back there. Shall I elaborate? I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out. You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter. Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you. “Please.”

What?

You? He wants you to leave? But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation. Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it? Openly? In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you. “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned. Your Master has never spoken to you this way. You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud. But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through. Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course. Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult. He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification. He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts. “Do you really still view her as a Padawan? But she’s such a pretty girl. And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts. “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?” Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Maker, he’s getting a headache. “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne. “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago. There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges. “And now we are grown. Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs. “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi. The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people. I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen. But I fear that will not be enough. The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities. The Council will never agree to such measures. There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience. “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!” The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration. “I cannot make them fight! They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake! These traditions have lasted for millennia! Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges. “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never… It’s forbidden. And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?” He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless. The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature. The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh. “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually. I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing. However. You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement. This is the best I can do. Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze. “I… I don’t know. I must confer with the Council first. But… but with their permission…” He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods. “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise. Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort. He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before. He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on. “No matter. What of the girl, then? A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “The girl? What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly. “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward. “No, that wasn’t the deal. The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual. She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?” She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room. “Is that how you Jedi treat your women? Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’? Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way. He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out. Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions. You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully. “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?” She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment. “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation? There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her. When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her. “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding. “Clever. Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords. But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage. My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you. I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now. “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet. But. At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face. Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?” He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare. “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?” She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him. “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once. He’s getting whiplash. “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan. Come now, don’t be daft.” She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being. “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs. “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times. We still send them, of course, as is tradition. We have for a few centuries at least. A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind. She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies. “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her. “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?” She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes. “I see. Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure. Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice. He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach. “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this. “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor. “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.” She almost sounds… impressed. “Think, Obi-Wan. Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight? The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset? The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her? The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her. To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another. Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core. Stars. I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor. “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan. Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed. If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?” He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide. “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance. This was the only way. And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay. My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor. You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories. “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…” He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation. “We are of similar age, correct? Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps. “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her. “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully. “She’s loyal. She thinks much higher of me than I deserve. She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare. “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her. After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course. I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did. And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.” She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together. “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it. This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her? My, the scandal it would cause!” The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne. “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master? In my good temple? Shame! Shame! Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?” Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation. “The youngling I raised? The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.” s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics. “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan. I did. And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature. Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth. Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi. Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury. But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?” You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred. “Padawan? Is that what he thinks of me? That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child. And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General. You are a Consular. You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs. Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response. You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity. But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate. Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still. You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself. Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life. Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this? This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion? It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them. It’s not fury, not anymore. It isn’t sadness, either. You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize. That’s what this must be. You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you. You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi. This is hurt. Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches. You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible. So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice. A peacekeeper. A dove. When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying. “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why. You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you. For an eternity, he looks at you. Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it. “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room. I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council. Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters? And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds. “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year. Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order. “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon. None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation. Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?” He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate. Yes. Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea. “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly. “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion. “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi. This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order. May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good. This is, in fact, very much a disaster. This is a mess. This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker. First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation. Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier. Stars—he handled this terribly. He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed? Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone. He should meditate. He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts. It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this. He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there. Sitting there, empty. This is good, really. Truly, this is a good thing. A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really. No, this just feels… grey. Desaturated. Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers. This time you don’t look at him, though. You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence. You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state. Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands. You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before. So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other. His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you. A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you. You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak. Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft. “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you. This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf. Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself. “Well, no—I don’t. I don’t understand, but. Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale. “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…” You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible. “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly. Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far. “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…” Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud. He still hasn’t looked at you. “I find myself… wishing you were. That we could go back to those days, the days before the war. Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them. The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one. I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now. In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign. I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology. “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him. It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it. Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee. “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you. Finally. For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful. “Ask. Please. That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more. “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake. Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor. “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate. The Uncharted Regions are… different. They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic. It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year. The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask. It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity. “…What is…” Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet. “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap. “Ah. Yes. That. Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh. Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more. “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other. Openly. Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act. In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform. It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler. He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you. Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this. And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission. You understand now, you get it.

“Ah. Okay. And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?” Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers. “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once. Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest. Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial? Are you hallucinating? Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever. How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage? And yet never has one been so incredibly creative. Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh. Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time. It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity. This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter. To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions. Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really. Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?” You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you. And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there. He sees it. Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say? What did he say? He tries quickly to remember. That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to…

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake. He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours. He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion. You. The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be. The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right. Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.” Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you. “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one. And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically. “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads. “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through. So he doesn’t try to hide it. He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully. You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years. You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in. You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter. And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair? The one with the fingernails?” You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot. “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?” Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—? People don’t—??” You wave your hands around uselessly. “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?” He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise? I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,” you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much. “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance. He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often. It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student. Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody. Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why. Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them. She gets bored, see. Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions. She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly. “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be. It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?” You eventually ask. “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed? That’s it? No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod. “No other options. I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could. It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same. Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes. Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay. Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being. “Well, what are—what are your… concerns? Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet. He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory. He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him. He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why? Why are you able to be so… calm about this? Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is? When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical. Are virgins typically so considerate? Is he just being over-dramatic about this? Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself? Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why? Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?” You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes. Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to. It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing. You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead. “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small. “I don’t know. Not make any sounds? Or hide my face? Or… something?”

“You’re…” Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them. “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal. I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think? That this isn’t a ‘big deal’? He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him. Terrible. On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side. On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong. Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly. “I… No. No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway. A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour. It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic. “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence. The translator turns back to you both. “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet. “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation. He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables. “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi. If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what? Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters. “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly. “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer. You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him. “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly. “Either way. Not a big deal.”

It’s strange. He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected. Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet…

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic. He’s certainly not being fair to you. He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat. “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time. Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars. Initiate the what? Is this a self-destruct sequence? It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly. “Uh. I guess. Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally. Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave. “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars. He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

#obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #fanfic #self insert #no-droids

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newswcanonprompts · 4 years

Text

Skywalkers are immortal eldritch fucks (there’s so many ways this can go)

1. How does being half-force affect Anakin as a force ghost

Anakin... wasn't properly dead. just a bit too present, a bit too lively, and that if only someone pulled hard enough on the veil, he could be made to bleed again.

Anakin just keeps coming back to life, And so do Luke and Leia when they die.

"You've done it, you've killed Anakin fucking Skywalker. Wait, why is he standing behind you? Where's his body gone? Oh fuck, what is that expression? Oh no!"

This happens to Vader and terrifies the f*ck out of literally everyone

the man is the son of the Force, yes? how could he "become one with it" if he basically already was part of it? or at least, made of it?

It'd be either kinda horrifying or basically a regenerate-your-limbs get out of jail free card

Anakin turns up in Luke's temple one day, like "hey turns out I can't die"

Luke is just happy to have a Dad

imagine the backlash if that little factoid ever went public. "What do you mean Darth Vader can't die???"

"You mean he's alive right now????"

Obi-Wan realising he can't have a peaceful retirement in the afterlife because Anakin's apparently immortal now

Anakin starts trying to figure out how to make Obi wan immortal too

Ahsoka is so confused at everything

"You look a lot like the Hero with No Fear from the Clone Wars. Are you his grandson or something?"

"Nope, I am him."

"Freaking weird Jedi and their not aging."

2. how terrifying it would have been if during the Dooku fight in AOTC his arm just regrew the moment it was cut off

3. them realizing this during the clone wars: CHECKMATE BITCHES

imagine the propaganda if there was a General who literally couldn't die

the Seperatists wouldn't know which way was up anymore

Anakin realised he had this sort of ability during the clone wars it would be hilarious to see him just throwing himself at things

he could protect his men better

Imagine how distressing it would be for a shiny to just see their general die and then come back seconds later

And Rex being like "Yep, the general does that."

just rubbing his eyes. and being completely done

Imagine the bitching sessions with Cody "At least yours resurrects! Mine just runs off without his kriffing lightsaber and armor all the time!"

clone boys have a heart attack whenever their general just decides to regrow limbs

rex faints the first time he sees anakin's arm grow back.

instead of the whole "my general keeps losing his lightsaber" it becomes "my general keeps losing his arm"

"My general keeps dying."

"Oh, how many have you been assigned to now?"

"No, no, he gets better again afterwards."

the 501st never tell the shinies that their general is immortal because the vets like to fuck around like that

it's kind of a right of passage for shinies to almost have a heart attack when the general comes back from the dead

Anakin is basically just the "if all else fails" option at that point because no matter what happens to him, he will be back at the temple annoying the hell out of everyone before dinner time

Anakin gets mortally wounded and is like "Well, I'll see you in five."

Droids: * shoot Anakin *

* Anakin: * dies *

Anakin, 5 minutes later in the middle of a crowd of droids: SURPRISE BITCHES!! * Murders them all *

Anakin dying to Dooku at the end of Attack of the Clones and then coming back and Dooku just being like "Fuck this shit I'm out."

him coming back and chasing dooku with his arm

Imagine the moment they find out Anakin can come back from the dead:

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan just sobbing their hearts out and then suddenly he's behind them like "Hey, bold of you to presume I'm mortal."

He pulls a Percy Jackson, and walks into his funeral.

mace windu utters a quiet "are you fucking kidding me"

next time anakin dies, his funeral includes a "welcome home anakin" banner

Mace stops letting the Yoda Lineage have funerals because they don't stay dead

They keep having funerals for Anakin just as an excuse to have a party

what if politicians don't know this. like the first time he dies during the war, and all the diplomats are there. Except Padme. She knows all and is just there to see the chaos.

They're usually private funerals, so they can keep inviting new people to screw with

"general skywalker just died"

"senator he's right here"

"i saw him die protecting me right before my eyes"

"senator do you need the healers?"

Obi-Wan, just watched Anakin go splat at the bottom of a ravine:

“ANAKIN!!”

Anakin, popping back into the mortal coil just behind him: “Yeah? What's up?”

obi-wan finding out about a Anakins thing and keeping it a secret,

so one day anakin dies and the whole council is like, mourning

obi-wan is just rolling his eyes and saying “it’s fine he’ll be back”

everyone thinks obi-wans having a mental breakdown

but then anakin walks into his funeral with a cup of caf and sunglasses and flashes everyone a peace sign

All of Yoda’s lineage (except dooku) and padme know.

"can you guys not cover me in white next time? it's pretty boring"

"can i get, like, glitter? is that a thing? make it a thing"

Skywalkers can also breath in space.

They just don’t have to breathe.

4. THE FORCE IS A PROACTIVE PARENT IN THIS (AND AGENDER) (THEY/THEM PRONOUNS)

during the time it takes for him to resurrect, the force and anakin talked.

Bc that's the only time he could talk with a tangible parent.

he learns about palps that way

one time Anakin dies twice in one day

turns out the ability has a bit of a cooldown time so everyone's just panicking a bit because he should be back by now

then he appears like three days later

Obi-Wan's like "You bastard."

"Gotta keep you on your toes."

Really his parent just wanted some more time with him, and who was he to refuse?

a cracky! anakin basically having annual dinners with The Force because of how often he dies in the clone wars

in this verse the clone wars was created so Anakin & his parent The Force can have family dinners

Mortis, but instead of All That Nonsense, it's just a nice episode of meet the parent

padme dies, and then at her funeral she comes back, but force sensitive.

force sensitive, immortal, padme amidala. The seppies are going DOWN

The Force wills Padme to die because The Force wants to meet their daughter in law

It does this for basically everyone Anakin cares about

sometimes anakin and padme just drop dead, and wake up a few hours later bc they had a family dinner to get to.

"I'm going to kill you" is suddenly the literal way for Anakin to say "I love you"

Anakin dies on Mandalore and Satine witnesses it and she's horrified and doesn't know what to tell Obi-Wan but then she sees Obi-Wan talking to Anakin and she's so confused

So if anakin kills you and you’re someone he cares about you come back to life immortal.

Death By Skywalker basically being a way of becoming immortal is gonna fuck with the war so much

when Palpatine tells Anakin to kill all the jedi he thinks Palpatine is telling him to invite all the jedi to his Force Family Dinner

One day the entire Jedi temple just dies all at once, and comes back a couple hours later, to the confusion of literally everyone (including the Jedi)

yoda is frequently killed to spend time with the force because after 900 years the two of them are tight as fuck

Anakin doesn’t have attachment issues in this bc hey, people die all the time! :)

He also ends up being worshipped as a demigod.

More Angsty version of this: young anakin kills palps bc he thinks he'll resurrect, but then the tangible form of the force appears and explains that he was the sith master.

Palpatine would probably actually try to get Anakin to kill him, because hey! Free immortality! Don't mind if i do!

5. Imagine if this was something he discovered as a little kid. Anakin going off to visit Qui-Gon in the force and Obi-Wan wondering what eldritch beast he has ended up with as a padawan

"Anakin what are you doing?"

"I'm making master Qui-Gon a friendship bracelet?"

"...master qui gon?"

"yeah! i gave one to my parent yesterday and master qui-gon said he wanted one too!"

"Your parent? when exactly was this yesterday?"

anakin being a convoy for dead masters and their old padawans like Weed Dad qui gon jinn and his Struggling Son obi wan

anakin has two parents

Parent and Mom

#star wars #the clone wars #long post #anakin skywalker #the force #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #yoda #master yoda #palpatine #count dooku #mace windu #captain rex #commander cody #tcw #qui gon jinn #eldritch

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shatouto · 4 years

Text

another sequel to @obiwanobi's ex-sith anakin au (here and here), and at this rate… yea. yea we’re gonna have to archive this on ao3 (soon)

anyway here’s 2.8k words of tonal inconsistency

et si les étoiles sont cachées

Obi-Wan barely sleeps a wink through the night. His mind turns and whirls as he battles between second-guessing his decisions regarding the former Sith sleeping in his bed and planning on what to do going forward. Anakin knows how to cloak his own signature well enough, that much Obi-Wan can observe, but he will not stand a chance if Masters such as Yoda or Windu search his presence. And then there is the matter of the elusive Darth Sidious’ death, as well - Obi-Wan can only assume that it would be classified information on the Confederacy side, but even then, the Force only knows what kind of hell would break loose once his body is discovered. It doesn’t help that he could barely pull his hand out of Anakin’s without him frowning in his sleep and stirring. He simply has to stay put, with Anakin’s very likely feverish body pressed up against his side in a bed that is only snugly enough for two.

In meditating all of those scenarios, he forgets to account for the hell that breaks loose in his own quarters upon the return of his apprentice.

“Master, what were you thinking?” Ahsoka hisses, eyes darting from him to the closed door of his bedroom, from where the sound of Anakin’s pacing is obvious. Her hand is still clutching one of her lightsabers, alert.

“He was an injured man who crawled to my doorstep for aid, young one.” Obi-Wan sighs. “Surely you cannot expect me to simply turn my back to him, can you? That wouldn’t be the Jedi way.”

“Yes, but…” Ahsoka pinches her own forehead, shoulders dropping in a harsh exhale. “He’s a Sith lord, Master. We’ve all seen what he has done and can do!”

“He was a Sith, Ahsoka. Leading him back to the Light means one less darksider for the galaxy, and no more lives lost. I have always been trying to accomplish this.” Obi-Wan realizes, all of a sudden, that he is trying to convince himself rather than his apprentice. “He came in a moment of need, with nowhere else to go. He no longer wants to remain with the Dark.”

Ahsoka blinks. “And you just trust him? Just like that?”

Well, Obi-Wan wants to say, you didn’t see him on his knees in the hallway with blood covering half his body and bruises the other half; and you didn’t see him hang his head as you took his lightsaber and then his ruined arm off before setting him to bed. Then again, nobody would ever see that: the exact devastation and distress the once-Darth Vader was in last night, at his door. “That is the case, Ahsoka. I would like to trust him, for the time being.”

Ahsoka grumbles something about tried to kill me earlier, didn’t you see that? which of course inspires a twinge of guilt in Obi-Wan - because indeed, this borders on being a foolhardy venture, that his Padawan is dragged into solely by virtue of her sharing quarters with him. She shakes her head and speaks clearly again for him to hear. “...Fine, I get it. Where do you even plan to house him, Master?”

Obi-Wan pauses. He has had plenty of time in the night to consider this, and still he cannot find any better solution than the one he is about to suggest. “I suppose there is no place safer than here.”

“Here? You mean as in, your own quarters, in the Jedi Temple?” Ahsoka stresses on the last few words, incredulous.

Something crashes inside his room, followed by Anakin’s muffled curse. Obi-Wan looks his apprentice dead in the eye as he lets out a sigh, and says, “Yes.”

—

Anakin is strangely good at cooking.

Obi-Wan supposes he shouldn’t have presumed; after all, being a Sith apprentice should probably not interfere with the more mundane aspects of life. But not only is Anakin’s cooking distinctly above average (how did he learn enough skills to make a three-course meal out of the few basic ingredients in Obi-Wan’s pantry, and at what cost?), he also seems to undertake the task with zeal. It’s rather endearing to watch him shuffle around the kitchenette in warm beige pants that barely reach his ankles, and a left sleeve that doesn't need to be rolled up because it's already too short for his long arm.

It’s been less than a week since Anakin first comes to his door. He clearly doesn't like Ahsoka, but with one arm and no lightsaber and Obi-Wan firmly telling him to behave, he eventually, and clearly grudgingly, tolerates her presence, from time to time. The gleam in his eyes is still worrying, from time to time, but the most Anakin does nowadays when Ahsoka passes by is turn his back to her. He seems to be trying his best, which is why Obi-Wan feels immensely guilty for having to preface their meal with a rather somber question.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, as Anakin sets down before him a plate of steak that smells nearly the same as that one luxurious dish he once had while in disguise as a socialite at a prestigious fine dining party. It isn’t the materiality that is distracting, but the efforts that must have gone into it. “I would like to ask you a question.”

Anakin sits down opposite of him, balancing himself. Even with the Force, he’s unused to not having a weight elbow-down on his right hand. “What? Leftover is in the kitchen for your apprentice. If she wants it.” His voice still sharpens at your apprentice, defensive. “I didn’t mean to let her starve.”

Obi-Wan is torn between a smile and a grimace. “No, that isn’t my question, Anakin. I’ve been wondering if you knew of your allies’ plans.”

“What kind of plans?” Anakin’s eyes narrow, warily. “It depends. Dooku knew most. I just did battlefield strategy.”

“You don’t happen to know if there has been recent plans to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor, do you?” It has been on Obi-Wan’s mind ever since he was summoned to an urgent Council meeting days ago. Investigative teams reported that the Supreme Chancellor has gone missing; then midway through the meeting, another report came, and so they ended up discussing how to keep peace while the Senate would break the staggering news of the Supreme Chancellor’s death to the entire galaxy and organize an emergency election. The timing fit too well with Anakin’s arrival, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh, there’s never any.” Anakin shrugs, tension melting out of his shoulder. He begins to cut into his steak without a care.

Obi-Wan frowns. There has been plenty of attempted assassinations before, as well as kidnapping - he himself has been sent to protect the Chancellor on many occasions. He’s loath to contradict Anakin, though, so he asks, carefully: “And you are sure?”

“I’m sure,” Anakin says, swallowing a mouthful. “My mas—Darth Sidious, is Palpatine.”

It takes Obi-Wan a stunned moment, while Anakin just continues to eat.

Well, the Council had their suspicions, but it was never so direct. Some have speculated, very privately, that the Chancellor might be linked to a darksider in some way. Perhaps somebody who is in opposition to Count Dooku, another Master has raised. But for the Chancellor *himself* to be this elusive, mysterious Darth Sidious, seems downright unfathomable.

“You…” Obi-Wan pauses, rewording the sentence in his mind for the seventh time. “I would like you to be serious, Anakin. That was not a joke, was it?”

Anakin, unsmiling, turns his eyes up to him with a look of confusion as if saying What’s a joke? “Darth Sidious is Palpatine,” he repeats. “I’m not allowed—I was not allowed to call him that, though.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. The timing does line up far too well. “Anakin, that means you have... disposed of the Supreme Chancellor.”

Anakin scoffs, scrunches up his nose, and shrugs again. “If you put it that way,” he mutters, slouching down even lower as he pointedly eats his food.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, then closes it again. He sighs at the ceiling, and picks up his fork and knife. Might as well enjoy a good meal before the migraine sets in.

—

To his own amazement, Obi-Wan is getting used to the way Anakin follows him around like a hatchling, whenever he is home.

During the first few days, it took Obi-Wan a considerable amount of patient explanation to convince Anakin not to sit on the floor at the foot of the door frame until he came back. His reasons ranged from “It’s rather undignified for you” (to which Anakin said, “I’ve done worse,” at which point Obi-Wan had to switch subjects immediately, putting a pin in it for future unpacking), to “You might catch a cold, sitting here for so long” (to which Anakin answered, “It’ll go away on its own,” which prompted Obi-Wan to check his temperature immediately, only to realize that Anakin had been cloaking his fever for at least a day, and - well, that was another pin on the board). In the end, it was only the allowance for him to use the kitchenette that kept the former Sith from waiting at the door like a hound, rather busying himself at the stove instead. It was a great decision through and through, considering how much Anakin improved the quality of their meals.

But otherwise, Anakin still makes no secret of his immediate attachment to him. Perhaps there should be no surprise in that, considering the sort of upbringing he must have suffered through; not that Obi-Wan knows much of it anyway, considering how quiet Anakin remains and how reluctant he himself is to ask personal questions. Nevertheless, from the way Anakin acted - finding his way into the Jedi Temple and declaring his trust to a sworn enemy rather than relying on his own Sith allies - it isn’t hard to infer that this man has had precious little reason to put his trust into anybody in his surroundings. It also aligns with the Sith ways, Obi-Wan speculates - and could only dare speculate, because truth be told he does not know all that much of the Sith outside of his research on ancient texts. Contemporary Sith are few. The Master might just make his own rules, and Darth Sidious - the Supreme Chancellor, Force have mercy - seemed like the type to play cruel games. So he has every reason to understand and empathize. And he truly does extend his most heartfelt compassion to this wayward Force-wielder.

That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with Anakin’s irritability whenever Obi-Wan comes back from a mission.

He’s clearly unhappy about Obi-Wan being away, especially if he discovers that the mission has been with Ahsoka. He only grows more upset and quick-tempered as time goes by; it begins with him upturning the decorative datapad shelves in the living room, escalating to a series of broken glasses and plates in the kitchenette; finally one day Obi-Wan comes back home to knives lodged in the wall, Anakin in the midst of pulling them out.

Anakin has the decency to look sheepish, even just slightly, as he silently puts away all the knives and hides himself in the kitchen completely. He cleans up, at least. In fact, he was almost always in the middle of cleaning up when Obi-Wan caught him in the act, which prompts the question: How many other times has he done this while left alone?

Obi-Wan only sighs. It does border on cruelty to keep somebody alone in these cramped quarters for weeks on end. He also knows that whatever measures he has set up to keep Anakin safe here - from the world, and from Anakin himself, - it would be a fatal oversight to underestimate the ability of a former Sith. He has no doubts that Anakin, even while one-handed and saber-less, could escape if he truly wanted to. The fact that Anakin willingly keeps himself stowed away in a Jedi’s quarters while desperately and entertaining himself through destructive means only to then be embarrassed about it… is a testament to some budding virtue, Obi-Wan supposes. And it only intensifies his guilt: it’s as if he’s taking advantage of Anakin’s trust to confine him to solitude, while he himself pushes back and back the kind of work a true mentor would need to engage in to help Anakin. The fact that he is fighting a war, or whatever is left of it, is no excuse.

It is with resolution that he stands up and heads into the kitchen. Their eyes meet as soon as he steps in; clearly enough, Anakin has been watching him. Anakin’s fingers grip the counter, knuckles blanched. Obi-Wan holds up his hands, moving as slowly and unpredictably as possible, and cuts to the chase.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go outside, Anakin.”

Anakin’s brows shoot up, but he still doesn’t unclench his jaws.

“I believe it’s rather unfair to keep you locked inside,” Obi-Wan explains. “After all, cooking can only do so much to spend all of one’s pent up energy.” He gives a small, gentle smile, inwardly anxious because of the way Anakin still looks at him with his guards up, shoulders squared, halfway between fight and flight. “I am not suggesting anything much, Anakin. Only a walk in the park, if it suits you. The decision is up to you.”

A moment or two passes in thick, awkward silence. Then Anakin, hesitantly: “Will you be there?”

It’s the first pleasant surprise Obi-Wan has had in what felt like an age. His smile grows, unbidden. “Yes, I insist.”

—

Autumn winds reel through his hair before rushing off to rustle in the foliage. The nightly air is crisp on his cheeks, and Obi-Wan doesn’t even think to tighten his robes around him; he enjoys a nice, chilly evening. Silence is alleviated by the song of insects in the grass, as they make their way down the serpentine path, round fountains and beds of flowers. Their robes flutter, and their hands are firmly linked.

It’s nothing that cannot be explained by strict necessity, or so Obi-Wan reasons: He must be able to make sure Anakin never strays from his sight, for safety reasons; and he dislikes the thought of putting any kind of binding or chains or even just a simple tied thread on Anakin. As usual, when all else fails, undertaking by hand is the solution - hence Anakin’s hand in his own, their palms warmly interfacing, their calluses fitting together.

The contact is also enjoyable, but that’s beside the point.

“I like the sky at night,” Anakin says, sudden but quiet. Obi-Wan glances at him to find Anakin not looking back at him for once. Anakin’s hood has long since slipped off because of the way he tips his head back to turn his eyes to the stars. Most of them are shrouded by gathering clouds, but some of them still shine through the dark.

“I see,” Obi-Wan muses. “May I ask why?”

For once, Anakin doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I like to look at the stars. They’re just suns, but far away. Can’t burn you, only blink at you.” Anakin’s hand tightens just a little. A patch of wildflowers gently glows when the two of them pass by. “When you blink back at them, you’re not alone.”

“And what if the stars are hidden?” Obi-Wan gestures, voice light, even as his heart sinks. He knows a lonely child, or one who used to be a lonely child, when he sees one. “What do you do then?”

The sigh that follows is lost in a gust of wind. There’s only the slightest of tremors in Anakin’s fingertips. They fall back into silence, deeper silence this time, as even the insects seem to quiet. The air feels earthy and damp with a coming rain. The sky blackens as clouds roil and thicken, and suddenly it’s dark as pitch and the comfortable coolness splinters into shivers under his skin. When the first drop falls, Obi-Wan reaches over to draw up Anakin’s hood for him. Anakin turns to him, eyes downcast.

“Then I’m alone,” he answers, belated and small.

—

“Maybe you’re right, Master.” Ahsoka picks up her steaming mug of tea, sinking comfortably into her amply cushioned seat on the couch. A strip of morning sunlight draws lazily across the room. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. He’s getting... nicer, lately. You should keep walking him.”

Obi-Wan chuckles at the turn of phrase. Walking him… “I don’t think it’s my doing,” he says, pouring a little more tea for himself. Anakin shuffles from one corner of the kitchenette to another, apron strings fluttering behind him. Obi-Wan shakes his head and takes a sip of tea, smiling. “I don’t think it’s my doing at all.”

#obikin #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #star wars prequels #the clone wars #raised as sith anakin #i really did hijack clem’s au #sorry for pinging you again!#why is this so reminiscent of le petit prince all of a sudden #will that story ever stop haunting me? (no)#all aboard the woobify train yay

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