Tumgik
#anakin talking about the jedi order probably
ensomniaa · 8 months
Text
The Jedi Order and Therapy
People hating the Jedi for not helping Anakin and being a "bad environment" for him in general is completely ridiculous.
The Jedi Order always seemed like such a healthy and loving environment and to claim that Anakin needed "actual therapy" instead, only shows me that some of y’all don’t even know what therapy looks like, what practiced methods of therapy look like and what a healthy mindset and life look like.
Having to study some psychology as a part of my general studies made me realize the depth of the Jedi Order's spiritual and therapeutical viewpoints. And while I don’t want to get into it like crazy, I do want to point out that being aware of one’s pain and accepting it, is literally the first step of healing. And that’s something Anakin wasn’t willing to do. Some of you remember the scenes very wrong, cause Anakin not once spoke about what truly pains him and shoved it away constantly, never fully opening up. He doesn’t tell Obi-Wan about his mother, he mentions a dream and then glazes over it by saying he wishes he would dream about Padmé instead. He constantly wishes to go the easy, avoidance route instead of the right one.
You can’t help and force therapy on someone! It has to be willing. And it’s not something that’s simply done to you, you have to put the work in from beginning to end, that’s not something anyone else can do FOR you. And to expect the Jedi to do something for Anakin is not how therapy works. Anakin is the one that needs to do something, only then will growth and healing even happen. The Jedi can only offer their help, their advice and methods of healing, but Anakin is the one that needs to take them.
Letting go is also a huge part of therapeutical healing, which is also something the Jedi practice. You have to learn to trust life and its flow, you can’t always run to action to avoid certain things. That’s why at times the Jedi state "Trust in the force." You need to have a fundamental trust in yourself and the world around you. That’s a healthy mindset right there.
Self-efficacy, acceptance and a certain serenity is important and healthy, all things that Jedi possess. Not because that’s simply how they are, but because they constantly work on themselves. They’re not arrogant at all. They simply don’t lose themselves to failure and guilt either, they let go and learn.
Some goals that therapy also tries to help out with and propagates are having a healthy social network, being able to relativize things such as your pain or your emotions in order to look at them from a different perspective, keep a cool head and not fall into a deep pit because of them, managing to leave the victim role and learning to take care of yourself and look at even the ugliest parts of yourself to overcome them. Now of course, there’s more to therapy and I’m by no means an expert. But this is at least what I learned.
All in all, mindfulness is key. And that is something the Jedi keep saying. To say they’re wrong about it and stupid, is also not understanding that that’s something therapy will tell you too. Anakin's concepts of life and the way he reacts and lives at times is simply not healthy and making it seem like he’s doing just fine and everyone else is wrong and at fault, would also completely hinder him from ever living a healthy life, because it stops him from looking at himself and working on his troubles.
The reason why the Jedi constantly speak about fear and mention it to Anakin as soon as the council meets him, is a deliberate choice by George Lucas. Fear truly is the root of all problems. Therapy can tell you as much too. Fear can have various origins (such as traumatic experiences), however, it creates specific problems in the long-run when left unattended by you. It gives you a negative self-perception, makes you avoid certain things and constricts you. So the Jedi are right in that regard, too.
Avoiding fear and trying to navigate life away from any fears in order to be secure, will only breed more uncertainty. That’s why we hear the Jedi state "Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi.“ The Jedi don’t live in absence of emotions and fears. They confront them head on and work them out. They don’t run from them, they don’t grow hysterical over them. They treat them as they should be treated. The Jedi are kind of like the poster-people for what it looks like to be healthy and live healthily.
Peace within oneself and an openness towards the world and its happenings are a part of a healthy psyche and that is exactly what I see when I look at the Jedi. They’re resonant and in touch with life, balanced in regards to psyche and body.
The perfect environment for a person to learn and grow. And probably the most perfect environment Anakin could have found himself in, in order to heal. However, none of that matters if a person isn’t yet willing and does not want to face themselves. And Anakin didn’t want this. I’m not saying it’s easy by any means, it’s hard work. But in the end it’s up to oneself whether they wish to do it and get better or whether they’d rather go without it.
And it’s not just modern therapeutical methods that we can see within the Order, but also buddhistic practices that are meant to heal a person and help them grow.
So insulting the Jedi, their practices and everything about them irks me like nothing else, because they aren’t wrong at all. They’re right. And they have parallels to real life concepts.
And when the Jedi were killed, all of that goodness and mindfulness and tranquility died as well. It was not deserved. It was the Sith and corrupted beings ruin a good thing and plunging the galaxy into darkness.
Anakin was not right or wronged by the Jedi or a victim. He had the chance to take his life into his own hands and become a wonderful, healthy-minded Jedi, but he chose not to. He chose to chase after his desires that he deemed more important, instead. And that’s also a problem people have to understand. Fulfilling your desires and wants at every corner is not the key to happiness at all. It’s never going to give you freedom or anything of the sort. It also stems from fear, fear of death, fear of rigidity, etc.. You’ll never be able to satisfy desires, because more will come and afterwards they’ll plunge you into deep depression until a new one gives you momentary happiness again. Like a rollercoaster you keep chasing after.
The prequels do not show us how the Jedi were wrong and why they fell. They show us an example of an individual not learning key elements of a healthy life and allowing himself to fall into the pit of darkness to achieve his goals and wishes, but he fails nonetheless, because fleeting desires and avoiding and therefore paradoxically falling right into the trap of fear, are not the key to happiness. The Prequels show us Anakin's fall, not the Jedi's. The Jedi were wronged. They were killed. We get to watch why and how that happened. A cautionary tale meant to make us think and work on ourselves, so that we understand that anybody can become Anakin, but at the same time anybody can also become Obi-Wan or Yoda or Plo Koon or any other Jedi, if they only face themselves and do the work.
In conclusion, everybody should constantly work on themselves and learn. Therapy is good and always a healthy option, nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. It’s a helpful tool and a little nudge of guidance to learn to work on oneself. Buddhism does this in the form of Gurus for example. If I’m not wrong. Which is also I believe where GL got the master and padawan concept from? A personal teacher and guide, to help you grow and technically be your personal therapist in a way. And attachment is not healthy love. It’s a form of desire and avoidance of/reaction to fear. A healthy individual doesn’t need attachments, they can love selflessly and not cling to a person to get something out of them or to conceal whatever personal insecurity there is.
#star wars#long post#the jedi order#space therapists#therapy#therapeutical methods and goals#anakin skywalker#nothing but love for the jedi#this is a pro jedi blog#the jedi are good#the prequels are a cautionary tale#the jedi deserved better#the jedi were right#and for some people to claim that the Jedi needed actual therapeutical methods is ridiculous#also obviously in the context of a movie you can’t see everything that goes on between the scenes and all that#the jedi probably have a rich variety of methods and strategies and scaffolds that they use and teach#but don’t come here talking about therapy and an oc going to the sw universe and teaching the jedi what’s truly important in life#you can’t simply take your desires and insecurities and claim that’s what life’s about and the jedi don’t regard those so they must be wrong#your desires and wishes are not always correct and not what therapy is about#therapy is not about getting whatever you want and having an easier life through that#therapy is hard work it’s doing something uncomfortable at times to achieve comfort and happisness once you’ve done the hard work#it’s looking at your past and whatever pains you and accepting it allowing yourself to heal and overcome them#it’s about learning to let go and to live without burdens that unconsciously bother and influence you and your behavior#it’s looking at trauma and learning to heal and live with it#it’s certainly not avoiding and erasing things and running towards whatever could possibly make you slightly happy and distracted#it’s learning to be balanced within yourself and with the world
148 notes · View notes
david-talks-sw · 7 months
Text
Dooku didn't leave because of the Jedi.
At least, if you're going by George Lucas' word.
In deleted scenes of Attack of the Clones, when we learn about Dooku's departure and his values, there's no mention of the Jedi or "the Jedi Order as an institution".
And every time Lucas refers to Dooku's disenchantment and reason for falling, he doesn't mention the Jedi.
"When you realize that Dooku is Darth Tyranus, it explains what Darth Sidious did after Darth Maul was killed: he seduced a Jedi who had become disenchanted with the Republic. He preyed on that disenchantment and converted him to the dark side, which is also a setup for what happens with Anakin." - Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002
"[Dooku is] one of the few Jedi who became disenchanted with the Republic and left the order and he is leading a separatist movement." - Vanity Fair, 2002
"I wanted a more sophisticated kind of villain. Dooku’s disenchantment with the corruption in the Empire is actually valid. It’s all valid.  So, Chris plays it as, 'Is he really a villain or is he just someone who is disenchanted and trying to make things right?'" - Starlog Magazine #300, 2002
He probably meant the Republic/Senate in that last one, but you get the point. And you're seeing the pattern, right?
Dooku's problem isn't the Jedi, it's the Republic.
He's become disenchanted with a system that - according to Lucas' prologue in the 2004 book Shatterpoint - worked for 1,000 years...
"For a thousand years, the Old Republic prospered and grew under the wise rule of the Senate and the protection of the venerable Jedi Knights."
... but has been rendered ineffective because of 1) senators becoming corrupt and 2) corporations gaining political power.
"But as often happens when wealth and power grow beyond all reasonable proportion, an evil fueled by greed arose. The massive organs of commerce mushroomed in power, the Senate became corrupt, and an ambitious named Palpatine was voted Supreme Chancellor."
That's the message Dooku runs on, when he rallies the systems to form the Separatist Alliance.
"By promising an alternative to the corruption and greed that was rotting the Republic from within, Dooku was able to persuade thousands of star systems to secede from the Republic."
The Jedi aren't really a factor in his decision to leave.
Why would they be? Their political status isn't very high, they're virtually powerless, as illustrated by the film's narrative and stated repeatedly by Lucas.
On the contrary, as we already established in this post, Lucas full-on confirmed that Dooku actually carries the sympathies of most of the Jedi. Again:
Most Jedi agree with Dooku, ideologically.
As far as the Jedi are concerned, the politicians are effing up the Republic, and it sucks because the Jedi see this but aren't allowed to interfere in the political process. They have to resort to looking for loopholes in their mandates to actually get stuff done.
That's what that whole "she's a politician" scene is meant to hint at. In the commentary of Attack of the Clones, Lucas uses a similar turn of phrase as he does with Dooku.
Tumblr media
"[This scene gives us] a chance to talk a little bit about politics and the Jedi’s disenchantment with the political process, due to the corruption and the ineffectiveness of the Senate." - Attack of the Clones, Director’s Commentary, 2002
Considering all this, it becomes clear that the intended narrative surrounding Dooku's decision to leave the Order is not:
"The Jedi are dogmatic and asleep at the wheel except for Dooku, who is ahead of the curb and sees the system is flawed, so he left."
It's actually:
"ALL Jedi see the system is flawed, Dooku's the only Jedi who decided to take it a step further and leave the Order so he can try to get into politics himself and change things."
That's why they hesitate to accuse him of murder.
Tumblr media
That's why in an earlier draft of the Attack of the Clones script, by the end of the second act, Mace STILL has his doubts that Dooku would sign a treaty with the Trade Federation to attack the Republic.
Tumblr media
As far as the Jedi are concerned, Dooku is out there fighting the good fight, making noise because whenever they try to protest it falls on deaf ears... until his betrayal on Geonosis.
After all, let's not get it twisted: the Dooku we're introduced to in the films and The Clone Wars, isn't really just Dooku anymore.
He's Darth Tyranus.
A point Lucas makes sure to highlight in his Shatterpoint prologue:
"Unbeknownst to most of his followers, Dooku was himself a Dark Lord of the Sith, acting in collusion with his master, Darth Sidious, who, over the years, had struck an unholy alliance with the greater forces of commerce and their private droid armies."
It's not about doing the selfless thing for Dooku, anymore. He's knowingly part of the problem.
He's all about ambition, now. His personal goals are things like overthrowing Sidious and becoming the most powerful Jedi.
Tumblr media
"[Anakin's] ambition and his dialogue here is the same as Dooku’s. He says “I will become more powerful than every Jedi.” And you’ll hear later on Dooku will say “I have become more powerful than any Jedi.” [...] It is possible for a Jedi to want to become more powerful, and control things." - Attack of the Clones, Director’s Commentary, 2002
Tumblr media
"If you put two Sith together, they try to get others to join them to get rid of the other Sith. [When revealing the truth to Obi-Wan], Dooku's ambition is really to get rid of Darth Sidious. He's trying to get Obi-Wan's assistance in that and help in that, so that he and Obi-Wan could overthrow Sidious and take over." - Attack of the Clones, Commentary Track 2, 2002
Y'know? Selfish things.
Dooku - like all other Sith, and like the very corporations and Senators he had sworn to destroy - is consumed by his own greed.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
ddejavvu · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader
Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.
Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)
WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox
A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
Tumblr media
Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.
Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.
“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”
“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”
“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”
The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.
“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”
The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.
You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.
Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.
Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.
You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.
The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”
“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”
Finally.
Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.
However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 
Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.
Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.
“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.
“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”
“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”
Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”
“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.
“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”
“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”
“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”
“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.
“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”
“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”
“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.
“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”
“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”
Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”
“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.
“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”
“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”
“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.
“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”
There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.
“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”
Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”
You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.
“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”
“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”
“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.
“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”
“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”
The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.
 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.
“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”
“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.
“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”
“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.
“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”
“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”
“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”
“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”
He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.
You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.
“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.
You freeze; you’re caught.
We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”
“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”
“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”
Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.
“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”
“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”
“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.
“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”
“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”
He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.
You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 
“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”
“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.
“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”
“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”
“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”
“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”
“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”
“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”
“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”
“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.
“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”
You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.
You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.
Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 
“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”
It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.
A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.
He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.
“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.
“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.
He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 
“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”
“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”
“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”
“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”
“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.
“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”
“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”
“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”
“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”
You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.
“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”
“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”
Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.
You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.
“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.
“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”
You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 
“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”
“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”
He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.
When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.
He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.
“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”
You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.
“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”
You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.
“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.
“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”
He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.
He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.
“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”
“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”
“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”
“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.
He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.
Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.
You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.
His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.
You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 
His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.
“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.
“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”
He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.
That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.
“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”
“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”
“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.
His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 
His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.
He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.
“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”
“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”
Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.
Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 
He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.
A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.
Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 
At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.
“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”
“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”
“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”
“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”
You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”
You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.
“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.
“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”
“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.
“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”
“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”
You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.
Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.
You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.
“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”
“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”
“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.
“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.
“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”
“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”
“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 
Typical.
You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.
“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”
Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.
“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 
He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”
His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.
“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”
“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”
“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.
“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.
“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.
“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”
The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.
“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”
Would have.
You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.
“But Anakin…”
“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”
“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.
“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”
He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.
“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”
Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.
You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.
“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”
“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”
“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”
“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”
You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 
His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.
“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”
“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”
You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.
“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.
“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.
“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”
He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.
You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.
He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”
He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.
“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.
His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.
“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 
You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.
“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”
In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.
You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.
Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.
“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”
You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 
“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”
A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.
He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 
The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.
“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.
“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”
He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.
You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.
“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.
“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.
He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 
He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.
“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”
“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”
“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”
Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 
It’s too meticulous. 
After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.
“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.
“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”
His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.
“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.
It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 
His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.
He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 
You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.
Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.
“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”
He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.
“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.
He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.
“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.
“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”
“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”
“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”
You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.
You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 
He comes undone.
His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 
You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 
All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.
“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.
“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.
“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”
“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.
He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.
You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.
If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.
He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 
His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.
Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..
“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.
His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.
His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.
“Do you regret it?”
You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.
He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.
“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.
“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”
“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”
“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 
“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”
You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.
“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”
A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.
“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”
“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.
“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”
“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”
Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.
“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”
“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”
“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.
“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”
“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.
“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”
“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.
“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”
“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”
Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.
“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”
The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”
“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.
Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 
“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”
Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”
“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”
Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 
“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.
“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”
You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.
“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”
Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.
“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.
“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.
He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.
“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”
“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 
You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 
There is a shirt on your bed.
It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.
It’s Obi-Wan’s.
You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.
It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.
The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.
The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.
You and Obi-Wan.
Tumblr media
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
547 notes · View notes
gffa · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
THIS IS EVERY INSTANCE WHERE THE JEDI TALK ABOUT ATTACHMENT IN THE MOVIES AND TV SERIES, which paint a very clear, consistent picture of just what attachment meants within the Jedi Order and Star Wars itself. It’s about how attachment isn’t the same thing as love or connection or feelings, but specifically about the inability to let go of someone when its time, that the fear of their loss is so great you would give up a thousand lives to save just the one because you cannot live without them, because you are afraid. George Lucas has been very consistently, explicitly clear about this as well, that attachment is always tied possession, fear, greed, the desire to control people, the dark side, and the inability to accept that life is transitory, that you can’t hold on to people, you can’t keep them, you can’t possess them.  Attachment is fear, greed, the willingness to make a deal with the devil to save one person, no matter how many other lives it costs.  But, setting aside word of god commentary, the above is still the way the term is used within the text itself. That doesn’t mean it’s not difficult!  Feelings are complicated, messy things and it’s not that any personal desire is attachment, it’s not that moments of fear are the same as attachment, it’s the willingness to act on those feelings in ways that get a lot of people hurt, it’s about using the Force for selfish desires, because the Force is your emotions, if you do something for a selfish reason, if you do something based on fear, that is a step towards the dark side. Context for each of the scenes: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones:      “Attachment is forbidden.  Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life.”      Anakin is explaining basic Jedi worldbuilding to Padme and the audience, he directly ties attachment to possession (as Lucas says, this is about wanting to possess a person: “[Jedi Knights] do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the dark side. You can love people, but you can’t want to possess them.“), instead explaining to her that compassion is central to their lives. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "Downfall of a Droid”:     “I could take a squad out there, track him down.” "Anakin, it's only a droid. You know attachment is not acceptable for a Jedi."      The context of this scene is that Anakin is willing to not only put his own life on the line, but that he would put the clones’ lives and Ahsoka’s life on the line, in the middle of a war where they’re facing a weapon that is killing them in droves, to go find his droid.  This is the only time that Obi-Wan objects to Anakin’s affection for the droid throughout the entire series, when it’s about risking others’ lives to save Anakin’s favorite droid.  Any other time Anakin favors Artoo, Obi-Wan just reacts with fond annoyance. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "Jedi Crash”:      "I can still sense your worry for Anakin, your attachment to him." "It's just... I get so confused sometimes. It's forbidden for Jedi to form attachments, yet we are supposed to be compassionate." "It is nothing to be ashamed of, Ahsoka. I went through the same process when I was your age with my own master."      "You were right all along, Master Secura." "About what?" "If I had stayed with Anakin, we probably wouldn't have found this village in time to save him."      The context here is that Ahsoka’s desire to stay with Anakin would have potentially cost all of them their lives, because she couldn’t do anything more for him other than worry over him, but they needed to find help because he was going to die without it.  Ahsoka’s desire to be compassionate to her master is conflicting with her duty to help in a way that takes her away from him, and this is something young Jedi have to find the balance of, and that’s what the show is explaining to the audience.      It’s not always an easy path to find, sometimes Jedi are going to struggle with it, but Aayla was right and Ahsoka understands that at the end, along with the audience, that staying with him out of Ahsoka’s personal desire to do so against her duty to go get help, would have cost Anakin his life. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "Brain Invaders”:     “Ahsoka, it's your duty to save as many lives as you can. Barriss knew you could save thousands if the worms were destroyed. Which she thought meant destroying her, too. But you did the right thing. You knew the freezing cold would kill the worms. Letting go of our attachments is a difficult struggle for all of us.“      Barriss posed a very explicit danger to anyone she would come across, just as the clones had infected other clones and then Barriss herself, she would go on to do the same.  While Ahsoka found a way around it this time, the conflict here is that Ahsoka was weighing her personal desire to not have her friend die versus the thousands of people her friend might go on to hurt.  Attachment isn’t just that Ahsoka cared about Barriss, but that conflict of saving her life at the cost of others’ lives, because Ahsoka herself wanted it, because she was afraid to live without her friend.      The opening title card quote for this episode is, “Attachment is not compassion.” Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "Voyage of Temptation”:     "My duty as a Jedi demanded I be elsewhere." "Demanded? But it's obvious you had feelings for her.  Surely that would affect your decision." "It did.  I live by the Jedi Code." "Of course.  As Master Yoda says: 'A Jedi must not form attachments.'"      Letting go of attachments isn’t easy, there’s sadness and remorse in it often times!  But the scene here is once again that Obi-Wan is telling Anakin that his duty asked him to be elsewhere and that’s when the conflict between his desire to stay for his own reasons and his duty as a Jedi made it an issue.  Up to that point, we’re given no indication that it was any kind of issue (and in a later episode we’re told romantic feelings are natural according to the Jedi, they’re not forbidden), we see Jedi caring deeply about their friends and Masters and Padawans, it’s only when they’re willing to abandon their duty to save lives, the lives that are depending on them, that it becomes an issue.      Had Obi-Wan been willing to let those people’s lives be in danger because he personally was unwilling to give up being with Satine, then that is what the problem would have been. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "The Rise of Clovis”:    "You’ve met Satine. You know I once harbored feelings for her. It’s not that we’re not allowed to have these feelings.  It’s natural."     In this scene, it’s just after Anakin has beaten the crap out of Rush Clovis because he saw him kissing Padme and lost control, that it wasn’t about defending Padme, it was about his jealousy, even after the dust settles, he still believes she has feelings for Clovis.  Anakin’s inability to trust her and his possessive jealousy are at a boiling point, he is unable to see her clearly, he is sliding into fearful, angry possession of her, which is when Obi-Wan comes to talk to him.      In contrast, in “A Distant Echo”, Obi-Wan makes it clear he knows about Anakin and Padme, (”I hope you at least told Padme I said hello.”) but there’s no conversation about getting himself under control because Anakin is no longer at a boiling point with his feelings.      The Jedi don’t forbid feelings, not even romantic feelings, while they do forbid attachment.  They cannot be the same thing.  (Though, they do say you can’t be in a committed relationship and be a Jedi, but that’s not the same thing.) Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "Front Runners”:     “Ahsoka, remember what I told you about staying focused.” “I can't help it, Master.” “I understand.” “You do?” “I do. But try to remember, always put purpose ahead of your feelings.“      This instance doesn’t directly mention the word attachment, but it’s same the context--Anakin’s advice is in line with everything else we see in the series, that it’s not that Ahsoka’s feelings are an issue, but that she can’t let them cloud her judgement, because the people of Onderon’s lives are on the line here.      It’s the same as how Obi-Wan’s feelings for Satine weren’t an issue until there was a conflict with his duty, just as Anakin’s feelings for Padme in Attack of the Clones weren’t an issue, Obi-Wan saw them quite clearly, until they were in conflict with Anakin’s duty. Star Wars: The Clone Wars - "The Jedi Who Knew Too Much”:     “Every time I think about this, I feel conflicted. It's hard not to let feelings turn into attachment and pain.“      In this scene is that, with so many Jedi dying and the war being so hard on them, there’s a lot of fear and anger that they have to let go of, that Ahsoka and Barriss are coming back from a funeral for several Jedi and it’s a painful moment.  Ahsoka compares it to the Brain Invaders storyline, “Like, when we were stuck inside the battle tank on Geonosis, it was hard not to be afraid. Still, you and I got past it. And I guess we'll get past this.”      The concept of attachment is again directly tied to fear and pain and suffering, that the solution (the one Anakin teaches her, that Ahsoka says he would say, “Our struggle as Jedi is to move past [these feelings of anger and fear].“) is to let go of them, to move past them--which is something Lucas has said multiple times is the theme of his movies.      "[The Jedi] trained more than anything else to understand the transitional nature of life, that things are constantly changing and you can’t hold on to anything. You can love things but you can’t be attached to them, You must be willing to let the flow of life and the flow of the Force move through your life, move through you. So that you can be compassionate and loving and caring, but not be possessive and grabbing and holding on to things and trying to keep things the way they are. Letting go is the central theme of the film.“ --George Lucas, Star Wars Archives 1999-2005       “The key to the dark side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you’re set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you’re going to end up in the dark side. That’s the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works.“ --George Lucas, Star Wars Archives 1999-2005 Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith:      “Attachment leads to jealousy, the shadow of greed, that is.“     This is a scene where Anakin has become so afraid of losing Padme that he’s starting to go off the deep end about it, he’s butting up against his willingness to make a deal with the devil to save her from something he doesn’t even know for sure is going to happen.  The story of Revenge of the Sith is that Anakin is so afraid to lose her that he will murder not just the adult Jedi and help Sidious create an Empire, but he will murder literal toddlers to save the person he wants to save.  It is the very definition of attachment, of greed and fear. The above are every time that “attachment” is mentioned by a Jedi in the movies and the TV series, this is the entire context for what it means to the Jedi and to Star Wars.  Does the term have other meanings in popular lexicon?  Sure, but this one is closer to the Buddhist meaning and the way the characters speak of it, the context of their scenes and when they talk about it, the events that surround it, are all consistent with that attachment means a specific thing, that it’s synonymous with the fear of losing someone, so intense that you’re willing to sacrifice a thousand lives just to hold onto the one person. Attachment isn’t just harmful for the person who can’t let go, it’s something that costs thousands of people their lives.  And the Jedi only bring it up in that context, when it’s about the conflict of their personal desires against people who are depending on them, we see that otherwise personal desires and relationships aren’t commented on.  It’s only when a Jedi is willing to let people get hurt for their own desires that the Jedi talk about attachment.
1K notes · View notes
thehollowprince · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
A good Screenrant article? Color me surprised.
"Most viewers assume Qui-Gon was right to believe Anakin needed to be trained - but surprisingly, George Lucas seems to think it was a mistake.
"George Lucas believed Qui-Gon was wrong to decide to train Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace. Many viewers see Qui-Gon Jinn as the perfect Jedi, the embodiment of everything the Order was supposed to represent. He is a rebel against the Council, alone and uncorrupted, a champion of the underdog who recognizes Anakin Skywalker's potential. The reality, of course, is that Qui-Gon is a lot more nuanced; he's as flawed as any other Jedi, and in fact, George Lucas considered him even more flawed.
"Lucas expressed his own view in an interview with Cut Magazine in 1999 (via David Talks SW). In his view, Qui-Gon shares the same faults as Anakin; he is spontaneous and reckless, with Obi-Wan Kenobi providing him a sense of balance. What's more, Lucas surprisingly suggested Qui-Gon made a mistake in insisting the Jedi should train Anakin.
"I think it is obvious that he [Qui-Gon] was wrong in Episode I and made a dangerous decision, but ultimately, this decision may be correct. The 'phantom menace' refers to the force of the dark side of the universe. Anakin will be taken over by dark forces, which in turn destroy the balance of the Galaxy, but the individual who kills the Emperor is Darth Vader - also Anakin."
"It is certainly ironic that Lucas believes it "obvious" Qui-Gon shouldn't have trained Anakin. The modern consensus is that Qui-Gon was the one Jedi who could have saved Anakin, the only one who truly understood the prophecy of the Chosen One.
"The general view is that the Jedi Council was wrong to initially reject Anakin. Lucas takes a different view, though, suggesting Anakin's training was, in fact, the mistake that doomed the order. It's fascinating to imagine how the Star Wars saga would have played out if Anakin didn't join the Jedi; the most likely scenario is that he'd have been taken in by the people of Naboo as a hero, and no doubt he and Padmé would have gotten together anyway. Padmé wouldn't have held Anakin back when he began dreaming of his mother's death, so this Anakin would never have built up the fear of loss to the cataclysmic degree seen in Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith. Amazingly, this is probably the happiest path Anakin could have taken - and he was denied it because of Qui-Gon Jinn's choice.
Personal Note: I don't like the insinuation that the Jedi "held Anakin back" from pursuing his visions to save his mother because by his own admissions, they were just dreams. By the time he himself finally decided to do something about it, it was too late. But aside from that, I agree with everything else.
"It's significant that the will of the Force had Anakin brought up on Tatooine, a world outside the Republic, where he wouldn't be found by the Jedi. In his impetuousness, Qui-Gon insisted the Chosen One should be trained by the Jedi - but there's nothing to indicate the prophecy of the Chosen One suggested any such thing. Unsurprisingly, Lucas' perspective on the Star Wars saga is entirely convincing, even if it does run against the general view. Things worked out in the end, of course, but only after a whole lot of chaos on a galactic scale."
254 notes · View notes
thecleverqueer · 7 months
Text
I really hate that folks use the Wrong Jedi as an excuse to hate the Jedi order. There really was A LOT going on with that, and if looked at through a neutral lens, neither the Jedi nor Ahsoka were really to blame. They both just made some questionable decisions that they felt were right in the moment, and they ended up making things worse. Let me explain:
First, as an audience, we’re following Ahsoka’s POV. Because of this, we’re seeing her side unfold. That’s important. We’re seeing what she is going through. We know she didn’t bomb the temple, and the Jedi council knew this as well. After all, the council did entrust Anakin and Ahsoka to investigate the bombing initially, and trusted no other Jedi to get involved because they were sure that neither Anakin nor Ahsoka were the perpetrators while everyone else remained suspect. They were, after all, off-world when the bombing happened.
Then, things get a little hairy with the death of Letta in the cell. We know Ahsoka didn’t do it. We were in the room with her when Letta died. However, in prior scenes, Ahsoka is going off the rails about Letta “paying” or “being dealt with” for bombing the temple. Letta dying by force choke while Ahsoka happened to be talking to her alone in a cell was convenient (and I would argue that was either set up by Tarkin via Palpatine, or we could argue that Barriss wanked off so hard about how amazing Ahsoka was that Letta felt compelled to reach out her for help at the wrong moment, but either way, too convenient).
At this point, the council’s hands are tied, but I feel like they would still want to get more information before throwing the book at Ahsoka. I feel like they would have proceeded with caution, but would have probably been able to ultimately work it all out in Ahsoka’s favor. A video with no audio would not be enough evidence to convince them that Ahsoka was responsible for BOTH Letta’s death AND the bombing (especially since the Jedi were already convinced she had nothing to do with the bombing to begin with).
Then, Ahsoka does something monumentally stupid. She breaks out of her cell and tries to make a break for it. I get why she does it. First off, she was young. Second, she’d always escaped situations exactly like the one she was in when in trouble and ran away (just not when a literal system of justice was involved). Third, she was scared. And finally, she didn’t trust the process. I blame Anakin’s training primarily for her lack of trust in the process. Throughout their time together, we see them breaking rules, not placing trust in the council’s judgement (which was fair sometimes in their defense, but set a bad precedent).
Running was still a VERY BAD LOOK. And, it’s funny, because Ahsoka LITERALLY SAYS in the PRIOR episode that “running means you know more than you’re telling us” to Letta when Letta tries to make a break for it after she was caught for bombing the temple. Ahsoka KNOWS running makes one look guilty, and still… had she just kept her ass planted in that cell, it would have been fine, but… Yeah. All those dead clones between her and that door. We still know that it wasn’t Ahsoka. We were with Ahsoka on this journey. The members of the Jedi council were not. At this point, they had to look at the evidence that was in front of them. From outside of Ahsoka’s POV, it doesn’t look good. Ahsoka said it herself. Anakin tried to tell her as much too before she fled to the under-city, but at that point, she was definitely in over her head.
The council had no other options honestly. They explain this to the audience. Tarkin refused to allow the council to deal with the matter internally as the Jedi Council requested. Tarkin demanded she be sent to face justice by military tribunal. The council bent. Standing by Ahsoka would be an open act of defiance against the senate which would cause chaos for the order both politically and judicially. While a dark sense clouded the entire situation, they could do nothing. The temple had been bombed. People died. Letta was dead. Ahsoka ran. Clones died in that incident. Then, Ahsoka ended up getting apprehended right by the nano droid explosives. We know Ahsoka didn’t do it as we were with her the whole time, but that’s A LOT of evidence stacked against her if you didn’t know any better.
Anakin worked tirelessly to clear Ahsoka’s name, and succeeded. The council, realizing that they’d had a lapse in judgement, offered Ahsoka an invitation to return to the order. They half-ass apologized as they realized they were wrong, and they offered Ahsoka knighthood for what she’d gone through. She refused.
Ahsoka’s reason for leaving wasn’t that she “hated the council” or that she thought they were innately bad or wrong. She left because she’d lost all sense of trust, including trust in herself (and I won’t make this about the Barriss and Ahsoka dynamic, but that was part of it too). She knew something was off, and couldn’t place it. She had to go sort everything out on her own for a bit. Ultimately, if not for Order 66, she would have gone back to the Jedi after the war was over. Hell, she is still a Jedi now (in her show), just leery as fuck of organizations as a whole because of *gestures vaguely* everything.
So, yeah. In closing, the Jedi had flaws. They owned them. Ahsoka had flaws. The situation with the bombing was impossible. It doesn’t make either party bad, dumb or hate-worthy. It just wasn’t working out at that moment… and due to galactic events, it was never really resolved.
158 notes · View notes
captainsophiestark · 5 months
Text
Gray Jedi
Anakin Skywalker x Reader
Tumblr media
Masterlist - Join My Taglist!
Written for Fictober 2023!
Fandom: Star Wars
Day 23 Prompt: "No, you won't understand, ever."
Summary: Y/N left the Jedi Order over differences with their teachings and a love for Anakin Skywalker. Now, however, something is wrong with Anakin, and they might be the only one who can stop tradgedy from happening.
Word Count: 2,094
Category: Angst, Fluff
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
I'd spent the majority of my life as a Jedi, so I'd heard plenty of Masters utter the phrase "I feel a disturbance in the Force" or some variation of it over the years. I'd even felt a few myself, once or twice. But nothing had ever felt like the looming cloud of dread that hung over me now.
I hadn't been a Jedi for more than a year now, which made the feeling all the stranger. I'd left over a few differences with the Council and their rules, opting to become a Gray Jedi by technicality and a non-Force-user by practice. So the feeling of dark premonition battering me awake from my peaceful sleep was even stranger.
Even having let my connection with the Force fade a bit, I knew enough to not ignore this sign. Especially because the face of my former best friend, Anakin Skywalker, featured in every single flash this vision was giving me.
Anakin had been one of the reasons I'd decided to leave in the first place. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd fallen in love with my best friend. And that kind of love was forbidden among the Jedi.
I'd put up with it for a while, for most of the Clone Wars. But finally, when it started to feel like Anakin might have returned my affections, it got to be too much for me. I couldn't have something with him and still be a Jedi. So I'd left.
Anakin had stayed, and I didn't blame him for it one bit. The Jedi were the only family he'd known since his mother, and the only family he had left since her death. I, probably stupidly, had never talked to him about my feelings. What reason would he have had to leave?
I'd been living a new, peaceful life as far away from the war and the Sith and the Jedi as I could get, and it had been going fairly well, all things considered. But now, something was clearly wrong.
I hadn't survived as long as I did in the war by completely ignoring my instincts. So, I grabbed my lightsaber and took off for the Temple, since that would be the best place to talk about my vision and to start finding Anakin.
When I got to the Temple, however, I found it almost deserted. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.
As I stood in the entryway of the place I'd once called home, I felt a harsh shove in the Force, like someone had physically put their hands on me and pushed. I stumbled, taking a few steps in the direction to keep from falling, then decided to keep going. I rested one hand on the hilt of my lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice as I raced through the halls.
To my surprise, the shoving brought me right to one of the most relaxing, comfortable spaces in the Temple. Even more surprising, I found this one full of what must've been every youngling in the Order.
They looked at me questioningly, and I looked back the same way. That violent shoving in the Force had stopped, so what exactly did it want from me? Why had it dragged me here years after I'd left all this behind?
A moment later, I got my answer. The gaze of the younglings shifted from me to a point behind me, and chills went down my spine. I heard a familiar voice say my name, but nothing about his presence in the Force felt familiar.
Slowly, I turned, leaving one had on my saber. With the younglings behind me, I came face to face with Anakin Skywalker, the only man I'd ever loved. And he looked terrible.
His shoulders were hunched, and he held his lightsaber in his hand like he was ready for combat. His hair was a mess, and through the Force, I could almost see a literal cluster of darkness surrounding him. But worst of all, his eyes were yellow. Glowing Sith yellow.
"Anakin..." I breathed, keeping my tone carefully calm like I was talking to a scared animal. "What are you doing?"
"The Jedi have to be destroyed, Y/N. They are corrupt, and working for the downfall of the Republic."
"Anakin, what-"
"They've been keeping things from me my entire life. They're plotting against the Senate. This is the only way to ensure peace."
"Anakin... I understand that you're feeling hurt and angry-"
"No, you won't understand, ever! This is the only way!"
Anakin ignited his lightsaber, pure emotion and anger lacing his tone as he seemed to grow to the point of towering over me and the younglings. I should 've been terrified. Instead, I was feeling some anger of my own.
"You think I don't understand what you're feeling?" I demanded, raising my voice to match Anakin's tone. "You think I don't understand the anger, the betrayal that comes from realizing the Jedi aren't always right? That the thing you grew up with, your family, is enforcing a code that is actively hurting you? Do I need to remind you, Anakin, that I left the Order? A year ago?"
"It's not the same."
"No, it's not. Unlike you, I managed to develop somewhat healthy coping mechanisms and didn't listen to the Chancellor hissing in my ear, the snake."
"You're like the Jedi! You hate him! He's the only one who's been honest with me, who's helped me."
I sighed heavily and rested one hand on my hip. I could still feel the storm of emotions swirling around Anakin, but now I was determined to diffuse it.
"I don't hate the Chancellor Anakin, I just think he's a slimy politician. Ergo, not to be trusted. And usually not the honest type."
Anakin spluttered like he didn't know what to say, so I continued.
"Anakin, listen, I understand feeling angry and fed up with the Jedi. It's why I left! And I really don't mean this as an insult, but since you came to the Temple so late, they were especially terrible at accommodating you and helping you find healthy ways to deal with your emotions. But the Sith are absolutely not the answer either. Their path is an endless cycle of pain, anger, and hurt. You lash out, like you're doing now, in an attempt to stop the hurt. Then you feel more hate, for yourself and for the world rejecting you, as a result of what you did to try to stop the hurt in the first place. And other Sith, whoever it is that dragged you down this path, will manipulate, exploit, and abuse you through that pain to get you to do their bidding. I... I really don't want to see that happen to you, Anakin."
He took a long, long moment to respond, his eyes staring into the distance past me rather than focusing on any one thing. I just waited, trying to project all the warmth and love I'd ever felt for this man to him through the Force. Finally, he turned back to me.
"You don't know who the Sith is?"
"No. I stopped caring, to be totally honest with you, the day I left. I wanted to leave this life and everything that came with it behind."
"So why did you come back?"
I sighed, long and heavy. This was not a conversation I particularly wanted to have, especially not with a bunch of younglings listening in behind me, but it was that or let Anakin fall. The second option wasn't really an option, so that left me with the first.
"I got bodied awake by the Force in the middle of the night after spending a year ignoring it with a premonition that something bad was going to happen, and that I needed to come back here."
"And why did you listen?"
"Well... because you were in the vision, Anakin. I didn't get details, but I did get an overwhelming bad feeling, and I knew you were involved. So... I came back for you."
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. There were so many bigger, more important things happening right now than my feelings for Anakin coming to light, but somehow that thought dominated my mind.
"You came back... for me?"
"Yeah, Ani. I mean... ugh, I can't believe I left the Order and now I'm still having to admit this, in the Temple no less." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, completely removing my hand from the hilt of my lightsaber. I had no desire to fight my way out of this one against Anakin. Then, I used every last ounce of willpower in my body to look the man I loved straight in the eye. "I love you, Anakin. I've loved you for a long, long time. A while ago, I thought maybe you might've felt the same way, but... that doesn't matter. The Jedi Code forbids that kind of love, that kind of loyalty and reliance on another person. But you, and the love for you filling my heart, have always made me happier and stronger than I was without it. I spent a long time trying to square that with the Jedi ideals, and I couldn't. So, for that and other reasons, I left.
"But Ani, for the record, it didn't and doesn't fit with the Sith teachings, either. The Sith have no room for love. Obsession, maybe, but not love. They thrive on hate and anger, and there's no lasting room for those emotions in a loving relationship. Or in a happy existence, for that matter."
"You... love me?"
"Very very much." I gave him the smallest smile, letting as much hope as I could muster shine through. Anakin blinked back at me, his grip on his lightsaber relaxing, and I thought I noticed that cloud of darkness shrinking quite a bit.
I took a deep breath, then held out my hand to Anakin. I'd already come this far, so why not.
"Anakin... come with me. Let's both get the hell out of here, leave the Sith and the Jedi behind. Let them fight their war with their Codes and their restrictions, their lack of love and their hate and their anger, and go make our own, happy lives together somewhere else. I can't pretend to have all the answers, but I've at least had some practice developing healthier strategies for dealing with big feelings than the Jedi ever gave me. Let's go figure out more together."
For a few long, heart-stopping moments, I thought Anakin would refuse. He'd raise his saber, let the darkness win, and end everything right here and now. Then, slowly, he retracted the blade on his lightsaber. The darkness had all but gone now, and the yellow had faded slightly from his eyes. Finally, he nodded and reached for me.
"I love you too. I have for a long time. After you left, I thought I'd never see you again."
I smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of my expression as much as possible as Anakin finally took my hand. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and I pulled him closer to me.
"Well, it's a good thing I came back then, isn't it?"
Anakin nodded, slowly at first and then much faster as he pulled me the rest of the way to him, wrapping me tight in his arms. I hugged him right back, a warm glow surrounding me and spreading through every part of my body. Who or whatever had shoved me here with the Force seemed to let out a sigh.
"C'mon, Anakin," I said, pulling back gently, just enough to smile at him. "Let's get out of here."
He nodded, a small smile finally working its way onto his own face, and I led him away from the younglings without looking back. I hated to think what might've happened if I hadn't been here, but it didn't matter. It hadn't happened, and now Anakin and I were finally getting a shot at some kind of happy ending.
A disturbance still echoed through the Force as we left the Temple and returned to my ship, but it wasn't the one that had sent me running here. Something strange and terrifying was happening in the galaxy, but now, it was happening without Anakin. Hopefully that would make a difference, and even if it didn't, at least I'd have him by my side for the rest of whatever was to come.
****************
Everything Taglist: @rosecentury
112 notes · View notes
jewishcissiekj · 4 months
Text
I do think a lot of the impending feeling of doom some Jedi must have felt weeks or days before Order 66. There's nothing specific, the Republic is probably winning the war, but something is deeply wrong. Like, the Force is trying to tell you something but you can't quite put your finger on it. There's something big coming, and they know it, either a disaster or a victory, but there's going to be death and destruction but nothing about it is clear so they can't do anything.
While there's probably more canon evidence of this, but (I'm too lazy to find it rn and) there's also this line from Obi-Wan in ROTS:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And of course, he's talking about Palpatine asking to meet with Anakin but it feels like there's more to it. Kind of like how before the fall of Starlight Beacn in The High Republic there were a bunch of people who had visions of death and stuff? yeah that's my theory lol
132 notes · View notes
jedi-enthusiast · 10 months
Text
Ok, I know that I already reblogged @antianakin's post about why Anakin didn't need to murder an entire Tusken village because 2-3 of them killed his mom (original post here), but I just feel the need to talk about one of the most damning examples of why Anakin has no excuse for that response.
Post Order 66 Jedi/Clone interactions.
Let's just say, for the sake of the argument, that the entirety of the Tusken village--including the literal babies and children--all took part in the torture/murder of Shimi Skywalker. No exceptions.
Anakin's response to his mother's death is to murder everyone with no remorse or a second thought. Even when he confesses what he did to Padme, the RotS novel clearly shows that he doesn't actually feel bad about what he did. Most of his worry is about what others will think of him and, ironically, about how he's a "good Jedi" that should be better than this.
Now let's move on...
Every clone took part in Order 66 in some way.*
The clones murdered every single Jedi they could in cold blood (albeit without a choice), including the children, with only a miniscule few survivors. How many do we canonically have right now that didn't get captured and become Inquisitors? Obi-Wan, Quinlan, Cal, Caleb/Kanan, and Gungi are all I can think of at the moment.** That's 5 Jedi, out of thousands, that survived--and that's not even mentioning the destruction of their places of worship/cultural artifacts and the shitty propaganda spread about their culture.
* I'm not including the Bad Batch because, my own opinions about the show/characters/writing/etc. aside, we can all agree that the only reason their chips didn't activate was because they're Filoni's beloved OCs and he has a habit of trying to make his OCs "special" in some way.
** I'm not including Ahsoka in this because, like she says repeatedly as of Season 7 of TCW onward, she isn't a Jedi and doesn't see herself as such--and for the same reason I'm not including Grogu, since he's like...a Mandalorian apprentice now and not technically a Jedi. I'm also not including Luminara because she eventually gets captured and killed pretty early on and I'm trying to only include Jedi that are alive for a significant amount of time in the Imperial Era.
So, how do the Jedi treat the clones after they murder their entire family and destroy their culture? Let's look!
-----
Example One:
Obi-Wan Kenobi never learns about the inhibitor chips, as of current canon. He is 100% under the impression that Cody and the 212th (as well as all of the other clones) just up and betrayed him and the Order for no reason. He also watched the security tapes that, yes, showed Anakin killing children, but also would have shown the clones killing Jedi as well.
In the Kenobi show he runs into a clone veteran of the 501st--a veteran who, in all likelihood, probably stormed the Temple and was a part of its destruction.
Does he spit in the clone's face? Call him a murderer? Kill or harm him in any way?
Nope!
He gives the veteran some of his credits, even though it's made a point in the show that Obi-Wan is now working with limited funds and is very poor at this point in time. He doesn't have credits to spare and he is supposed to be looking for Leia, but he takes a moment to give some to someone who took part in the genocide of his people.
He also routinely thinks about Cody and the 212th in the comics! He remembers them fondly and still connects Cody to the feeling of hope, even though they tried to kill him! Even though he has no idea that they never wanted to!
-----
Example Two:
Kanan Jarrus/Caleb Dume knows about the inhibitor chips, but in Rebels it's made very clear that he thinks that it's just something the clones made up so that they didn't have to take responsibility for their actions.
In Rebels, Ahsoka makes the (objectively bad) decision to send Kanan out to find her "old friends" to help the rebellion.*** Kanan then finds out that her "old friends" are three clones, only after he gets there and sees them. He reacts in a panic and ignites his saber, clearly freaking out a bit.
*** I'll probably expand on this later, because I have a lot of opinions on this particular decision of hers, but anyway-
Does he try to hurt and/or kill them? Do they have to fight him off? Does he even lunge in their direction or deflect Wolffe's blaster bolt at him?
Again, nope!
He steps in front of Ezra in a defensive position and, when shot at by Wolffe, deflects the bolt into their ship. Then, when Ezra steps in and says that Ahsoka said to trust them, Kanan de-ignites his saber and they all have a conversation about them helping in the rebellion--even though Kanan clearly doesn't trust them at all and is dealing with his PTSD while being there. Eventually he even comes to get along with/trust Rex, albeit in later episodes.
-----
Example Three:
Gungi, in the Bad Batch, meets up with the Batch and immediately recognizes them as clones. Now, we don't know his opinion on them and their betrayal because it's never really expressed, but it's safe to assume that he has no idea about the chips (at least, until Tech tells him) and it's clear that he's very scared at that point in time.
What does he do?
He hides in the corner of the ship and is wary about the food they offer to him.
That's literally it.
And then later in the episode he works together with TBB and trusts them enough to let them help defend his village.
-----
So, even with most of the Jedi either having no idea about the chips or likely doubting that story, we're shown over and over again that the Jedi never seek revenge against the clones or try to kill them after Order 66. Even though their lives were ruined by what the clones did/took part in, they're never shown to be actively trying to cause them harm.
So there is literally no way you could possibly justify Anakin killing an entire village of Tuskens because of his mother's death, when--in arguably the same/a worse situation--the Jedi are actively shown not doing that.
232 notes · View notes
sailorsol · 6 months
Text
I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Baylan and Shin. Like... he clearly loves her very much, she has a Padawan braid, he never once says he's raising her to be a Sith, only "more than a Jedi". And you consider the fact that he may have found her not long after Order 66, after his whole world was destroyed. Did he find her as a youngling? Or did he not find her until she was older? Imagine him coming across this Force sensitive youngling when the Inquisitors are hunting them down. He doesn't become an Inquisitor himself, but he doesn't join the Path. He takes her under his wing, guides her and teaches her and trains her. He sounds nostalgic when he talks about the way he was raised and trained, nostalgic and mournful that Shin didn't have that opportunity.
And I just wonder, if Order 66 hadn't happened, would Shin have come to the Temple? Would he have Found her on a Search? Would she still have been his Padawan?
And Shin, in many ways, reminds me of Asajj Ventress. I think they would have gotten along well, in some ways. I think what Shin had with Baylan is what Ventress desperately wanted with Dooku. And how would things be different if Dooku had treated her that way?
And like... it's implied that Baylan is more or less a contemporary with Anakin. He was a young knight when Order 66 happened. He spent his youngling years thinking the Sith were still nothing but a legend told to scare children into behaving. And he was probably not even a padawan yet when Obi-Wan "killed" Maul and became the Sith Slayer. And then going to war as a senior padawan or junior knight, looking back at how many times history has repeated itself, plagued by visions of a dark future... Was his master at Geonosis? Was he knighted too soon because of the desperate need for Jedi generals? Was what little bit of safety he could still hold onto ripped away from him?
He's a foil to Ahsoka, yes, but he's also a reflection of Anakin. He's a glimpse of what Kanan might have become, bitter and disenchanted with the Jedi Order but still holding so much love for it.
I wish we could get more of him after this season.
102 notes · View notes
tennessoui · 3 months
Note
In the assigned married fic, has Anakin even begun to process Padme saying that both of them will be moving to Naboo together? Like, they spoke earlier in the chapter about Anakin moving in with her on Coruscant, but Obi-Wan apparently spilled the beans about a much more permanent relocation to Naboo, and I am looking forward to Anakin's response to that, once he gets through processing everything else and remembers that part of the "conversation"....
i think padmé views moving to naboo more as a possibility than a future concrete plan -- the offer to be a permanent advisor on naboo is something she'd like to discuss with anakin as her husband before taking it or rejecting it. she says there's a lot of work she still wants to do in the senate, and she's probably thinking that it will be a few years before she would be able to go anyway. definitely after the war, but in her mind, she thinks anakin has every intention to leave the order after the war's over....because he kind of told her that. at least, in her mind he did: (from chapter 1)
“[Obi-Wan] asked me if I planned to leave the Order after the war,” he tells his wife. “And I lied, and then I think he began to support me. That’s what he looked like, anyway.” Padmé blinks at him, eyelashes falling slowly onto the jut of her cheek and then rising. “That’s good then,” she says, sounding hesitant. “That he supports us.” “Yeah,” Anakin replies, raising his hand to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Though…I’m sorry you had to lie,” she says, pressing forward until their faces are only a hand’s width apart. “Hopefully…” she trails off, biting her lip. Then she shakes her head slightly, and her mouth turns up into a smile as if she cannot help herself. “Hopefully he will not take the truth so hard.”
so anakin never says what lie he told obi-wan, he just says that he lied when asked if he was going to leave the Order, and that lie made obi-wan support him.
from an outsider's perspective, especially a biased outsider who is married to one of the insiders and believes them to have a future together, padmé's immediate understanding of this is that obi-wan asked if he was going to leave the order and anakin lied to him and told him he planned to stay and obi-wan began to support their marriage because he thinks he won't be losing anakin (padmé, who has three braincells, has long since realized obi-wan's obsessed with her husband)
and that's why she's smiling at the end (and also why they have sex at the fade to black) -- she believes anakin has just told her that when the war ends, he'll leave the Order to be with her and build a future together <3 so the offer to go to naboo is an option she can talk to her husband about, but she knows that anakin is going to no longer be a jedi....and if he's not a jedi, and she's not a senator....what's keeping them on coruscant?
BUT it's not just obi-wan that's feeling a bit catty during that dinner party scene, so i intentionally wrote padmé as putting this idea forward as less of a possibility and more of a done deal that she knows anakin will accept -- she talks about it like it's great big BACK OFF signs picketed around anakin because obi-wan is the biggest threat to their marriage in the entire galaxy and she's always known that
(but also no anakin has not begun to process that whole thing - but padmé, who now realizes they're NOT on the same page, is absolutely going to bring it up post-haste in the next chapter)
51 notes · View notes
antianakin · 11 days
Text
Tumblr media
@theneutralmime
Just to start off with, I would avoid using the word "dogmas" to describe what I think you're talking about regarding the Jedi here. You obviously don't have to personally share the Jedi's belief system or anything, you don't even have to enjoy the Jedi as characters, but the word "dogma" comes with a very specific connotation that is decidedly negative. The word "beliefs" or "philosophies" or even "traditions" or "practices" might better encompass what you're trying to say without placing an unnecessary judgment on a fictional culture that is pulling from a lot of REAL cultures and THEIR beliefs and practices. It's not dogma to live a lifestyle you wouldn't choose for yourself.
I would also argue that you probably like their philosophies and beliefs more than you think you do if you enjoy some of the Jedi characters. Obviously not every character needs to be to your taste, it'd be incredibly unrealistic for that to be true, but if you enjoy characters like Obi-Wan, or Mace, or Kit Fisto, or Shaak Ti, who are all very consummate Jedi and whose choices and stories almost always reflect their Jedi beliefs and philosophies, then you might actually be more chill with the Jedi than you think you are.
And this doesn't necessarily mean that you need to be invested in exploring Jedi culture as part of your fan experience or anything, but you don't NEED to feel the desire to explore Jedi culture in order to enjoy the Jedi. I don't think you need to separate out your enjoyment of specific Jedi characters from an enjoyment of the Jedi as a whole just because you maybe don't feel the need to dig into day-to-day life as a Jedi. But if you enjoy individual Jedi characters, you DO enjoy the Jedi, that's... sort-of involved in liking the Jedi characters even if not everyone is willing to admit it.
But honestly, I also think it's fine to have a somewhat complicated or more neutral relationship with certain characters. You don't have to love or hate everybody in the story. You can be neutral on characters like Jar Jar or Anakin if you want, or you can find Anakin a fascinating character while recognizing that he is in general an awful person who you would obviously hate in real life. You can find Jar Jar occasionally fun or funny without needing to adore him or think he's the best character in Star Wars or even appreciate every joke he's involved in.
For the Jedi, I think you can sit in a place where maybe what you enjoy about them most is the lightsabers and action scenes, and even though the culture itself isn't something you feel like exploring you can recognize that it's still an intrinsic part of what makes some of your favorite individual Jedi so likable. That sense of honor and compassion, their dedication to doing the right thing no matter what, THAT'S JEDI STUFF. If Obi-Wan's kindness towards everyone and his tenacity towards hardship in his life are some of the traits you like about him, THOSE ARE JEDI TRAITS.
The Jedi are, in many ways, the moral compass of the story and its beating heart, its emotional core. There's a reason that the climactic victorious ending of the entire original trilogy is named "The Return of the Jedi." The triumph comes from Luke truly embodying the Jedi, truly BECOMING a Jedi by acting with selflessness and compassion. Luke saving the Jedi from disappearing forever is the victory, almost more than Luke saving Anakin, because the Jedi are the symbol of hope in the galaxy. Saving Anakin wouldn't be possible and wouldn't really MEAN anything if Luke weren't a Jedi.
This is why I find it so ridiculous that so many people don't like the Jedi or their way of life when the Jedi's philosophies are literally baked into the entire thematic storyline right up to its triumphant ending. If you like Star Wars at all, you probably DO like the Jedi and their beliefs, whether you realize it or not, at least to some degree. Some of the individual Jedi characters may not be to your taste, fine, but the Jedi's belief system are literally the entire thematic message of Lucas's Skywalker Saga.
32 notes · View notes
rainintheevening · 28 days
Text
I guess a really big thing that I want folks to remember when criticizing the Jedi about anything to do with the war, whether it's about the clones, or whatever, is that Palpatine set everything up. Literally everything.
Palpatine is really the one writing the narrative. He's doing it long before Anakin comes into the picture, he is planning everything. He wants to destabilize the Republic till they beg for one person to run everything and save them. And at the centre of that is tearing down the Jedi.
Everything that notably goes wrong in the Republic from before Episode 1, is being engineered by Palpatine.
The corruption in the Senate, the Trade Federation, Naboo Crisis, Dooku’s fall and the birth of the separatist movement, the clone army, ALL OF IT WAS SET UP BY PALPATINE.
None of it was happening naturally. Palpatine was putting people where he wanted them, was setting this and that and the other thing up, and he had back up plans for everything. Even his back-ups had back-ups! That man was playing out the culmination of the longest long game in history, and he was not about to mess it up.
The Jedi had already seen a decline in the numbers of Force-sensitives coming to the Temple, even in those being born I think. Gotta wonder if the Sith had something to do with that too.
Rising crime and chaos across the galaxy, keep the Jedi busy, and worn down, and then that hits a whole other level after Dooku’s Raxus Address and the start of the seperatist crisis. They're always on the move then, hardly ever home.
And they're Jedi, they can see the big picture enough to know that the Republic is splintering apart, and there is only so much that can be done to save it.
The Jedi did not make the clones, Palpatine and Dooku did under Sifo-Dyas's name. You wanna talk about who 'owns' the clones? Palpatine and Dooku, probably more Dooku, he's the one with the money. And of course Palpatine made them human. Because he knew it would hurt the Jedi on a whole other level.
Palpatine was also hard at work twisting public perception of the Jedi, and that culminated in the war.
Palpatine set up the war so that there would be NO perfect morally correct choice for the Jedi.
This is an enormous part of the tragedy of the Prequels. How do good people make choices when there are no good choices? How do you choose when it seems you have no choice?
Palpatine set it up so that no matter what choice the Jedi made, they could be dragged and vilified for it, because that was what he wanted.
Breaking the Order apart as one person's 'least of the evils' clashed with another's, and every choice cost someone's life.
Physically scattering them across the galaxy so they're often alone to process the pain and horrors of war.
He was playing one-man chess with the Jedi and the clones vs Dooku and the droids. They were ALL pawns in his game.
Did the individual choices of the Jedi, and the senators, and the Republic citizens matter? Yes. Yes, they did. Our choices always matter.
Because it was a near thing at the climax! Palpatine was mortal and there were absolutely moments when his plan hung in the balance of another's choice. There were close calls, there were near misses. He had his weaknesses. It's those close calls that make the tragedy even more desperate, isn't it? Those are the moments that grab us by the scruff and make us write fix-it fics, yeah? Because we all want him to fail. We all want the bad guy to lose. We all want to see that our choices can make a difference.
(In the end it was those choices of people trying their best in the face of a conspiracy so vast I doubt anyone other than Palpatine and whoever he chose to brag about it to grasped it, it was individual choices that took him down in the end.)
(Because sometimes evil wins, but it never wins forever. The Jedi were not destroyed because they were morally corrupt, Palpatine created a morally corrupt environment, and crushed them in it. But their spark lived on, and it lit a brand new fire decades later.)
Anyway, all this to say, I absolutely do want to hear about what exactly the Jedi 'should' have done, particularly to help me write different perspectives into my stories. (And I'll only debate directly with an individual if I am invited.) But when it comes to 'how' they were supposed to have done those things, I really hope people will stop and consider whether or not Palpatine would have allowed it.
I'm not saying you have to like the Jedi, but I do hope y'all have at least some sympathy, and acknowledgement of the impossible situation they are put in. (Not unlike the situations more and more of us are being put into in this world.)
52 notes · View notes
Text
Being Ahsoka Tano’s best friend would include
Pairings: Ahsoka Tano x reader
Imagine: being Obi-Wan’s padawan and Ahsoka’s best friend
Warnings: idk, Ahsoka leaving the order (I swear I can’t watch those episodes bc I cry every damn time, not because she’s leaving the order but bc she leaves people who care for her)
A/N I love Ahsoka and it’s a wonder I haven’t written anything for her before, but here I am writing for my fav girl so I hope someone out there will enjoy this <3
Tumblr media
Becoming friends as soon as you both met, which was when you were still in training to become a padawan, which means you grew up with each other
You’d study with eachother
Hype eachother up if one of you is feeling sad or stressed, literally just helping eachother with emotions and anything in general
Ahsoka running to you filled with excitement to tell you she’s becoming a padawan and her master will be the one and only Anakin Skywalker
You doing the same to Ahsoka when you found out your master will be the one and only Obi-Wan Kenobi
Gossiping with each other
Getting in trouble together
Pranking people together with Fives, Waxer, Boil and a few others, you tried once to prank Cody, lesson learned you will never prank Cody again, he wasn’t to happy to have his helmet filled with blue and orange glitter (he still can find glitter to this day)
Obi-Wan now has to deal with three children (you, Anakin and Ahsoka) while Cody has to deal with more than five children (You, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, Waxer, Boil…)
Did I mention getting in trouble together
Being another headache for the Jedi council and those who tries to protect you both and those trying to keep you out of trouble
Training your lightsaber skills with each other, being an excellent match because you always end up even because by know you know every move the other will make
Calling each other names that you hate just for the fun of it
If anyone else were to call either you or Ahsoka those names you would both go into protective mood, no one gets to call you two that but you two
Always defending and protecting each other, if it is when you get in trouble with the council or when you fight for example General Grievous doesn’t matter
I hate to write it down but sadly I think I need too after all it is a big part of Ahsoka’s life. When Ahsoka gets accused of the bombing I believe you would 100% side with her, you’re best fiends siblings after all and you always have each others backs. You try to help her prove her innocence but it didn’t go exactly as planned. We all know what happens and so when she decided to leave you were heartbroken, you couldn’t care less about the order you only cared about Ahsoka. You knew it was what she wanted so you let her go but you were still sad over it, and selfishly tried to convince her to stay because you didn’t want to be without her, after all you were practically siblings and grew up with each other. In the end she told you it was for the best and that she didn’t trust the order anymore, she’d always trust you and she did try to keep in contact with you but it was hard with the ongoing war
Then comes the times in the order without Ahsoka, and if I’m being honest I think you would kinda mope around when you thought no one was looking becasue you missed your best friend so much, your bad days become even worse because you didn’t have Ahsoka to cheer you up, but you managed as did Ahsoka who missed you as much as you missed her
I believe Obi-Wan would do his best to comfort you even though he knew as well as you that it would never be the same as Ahsoka comforting you and cheering you up, but he did his best, and that’s all you could of asked for
Anakin and you probably talked about Ahsoka a lot with eachother or avoided the topic all together
However Plo Koon talked to you about Ahsoka all the time
Skip to Ahsoka coming back with Bo-Katan to save Mandalore from Maul (why does autocorrect keep wanting to change his name to Mail), you convinced your master to let you come with Ahsoka, and so a new adventure started for the two of you
Then there’s order 66 and you, Ahsoka and Rex barely escaped
You and Ahsoka stuck together after that never leaving each other sides scared you would lose eachother again let’s not forget you got frequent calls from Rex and Obi-Wan talked to you sometimes through the force (but not much he was in hiding after all and so were you)
278 notes · View notes
fanfic-obsessed · 1 year
Text
Lured to the Light on Accident
Ok, all you Jedi, Sith, and Force Nulls (and anyone who is none of the above), here we go again. Just a warning, Palpatine gets off far more lightly than he probably should. Also I keep having deja vu as I write this, but can’t find any indication I have posted it before. If someone knows different, please tell me.  It makes me wonder if I thought about this one so hard I thought I wrote it…
It starts at the end of the Naboo crisis.  Sheev Palpatine, Darth Sidious, is all too aware that a man of his power requesting the company of a young boy, without his guardian, from a group of people he has an unbelievable amount of control over is not a good look on anyone.  Even with that young boy being a hero on his planet, particularly since there were two living Jedi heroes of the Naboo Crisis. 
So he invites both Obi Wan and Anakin to meet with him. Obi Wan, though he does have some suspicion around most politicians, is also grieving, hurting, too young, and trying to keep up with a nine year olds energy without letting on that he is struggling. He thinks, incorrectly, that even implying he might need help from anyone in the Jedi temple means that Anakin would be taken from him (this belief is preyed on by Palpatine, who is very good at making people doubt each other). And frankly Palpatine can get Anakin to sit quietly for an entire hour, even take a nap occasionally. 
There are days that Obi Wan would have nominated Palpatine for sainthood on that alone. 
Of course Palpatine sees a chance to corrupt another Jedi, plus corrupting this particular Jedi would pave the way for him to take control of Anakin, and he could just kill him later if need be.   So he starts these ‘devil's advocate’ debates with Obi Wan where he picks qualities of the Jedi and Sith (as he perceives them) and tries to make Obi Wan choose one or the other and defend it. As far as Palptine is concerned he can work with whichever choice Obi Wan chooses, can refer back to the debate if he wants to make Obi Wan seem hidebound or a hypocrite when the time comes to break the relationship between Obi Wan and Anakin.
Only…Obi Wan does not quite cooperate. No matter what the ‘qualities’ that Palpatine chooses (always geared to be backhanded insults to the Jedi Order), Obi Wan always, always, always argues that the key is to act with compassion.  And he’s good at it. Obi Wan thinks that Palpatine is helping him teach Anakin how to disagree with someone without getting nasty, how to debate for fun and games, so goes into each debate with all of his focus and energy and effort but no vitriol.  By the time Palptine even thinks to make an argument to make compassion seem like a weakness, he is intrigued by these debates. By this argument of acting with compassion first and foremost. 
It should be noted that, for all that Palpatine was working toward the genocide of the Jedi and was creating all kinds of vaguely plausible propaganda, he had actually rarely interacted with the Jedi beyond the superficial, until Obi Wan and Anakin, (even with Yan Dooku, since the focus was on corrupting the Jedi, not understanding him) so does not actually know what what is and is not a Jedi trait outside of rumors.  
These debates change Palpatine. Oh, not at once, not in weeks or months or even years. But with such a creeping slowness that it is unnoticeable, Palpatine changes. The compassion Obi Wan talks about so enthusiastically sinks into his bones. Of course, every time Palpatine finds himself acting with compassion, he has a ready excuse for himself (to gain an ally, hurting that person would be more effort than it was worth, etc.). He also finds that he genuinely begins to enjoy Obi Wan and Anakin’s company (and begins to feel somewhat paternal toward them), and can genuinely call both master and padawan his friends. 
This does not stop Dooku’s corruption, though Palpatine is more careful not to let the Jedi know he is a Sith. It doesn't even stop the clone wars.  The first large effect that this infusion of compassion has is with the Coruscant Guard. These were the first beings that Palpatine interacted with that were, without a doubt, innocent. In Palpatine's mind he could make an argument that every other being or group has some responsibility, no matter how small for what is coming. But the Clones do not. What’s more, Palpatine perceives the Coruscant Guard as his. They were his personal clones. Palpatine is still undoubtedly a Sith, and though Compassion has infected him, he is obsessively protective of what he considered his. 
Palpatine quickly manufactures reasons to do away with, by death or other means, many of his more odious allies. All of them for the crime of laying a hand on his Coruscant Guard. He treats the CG with all the compassion that he had, instead of just paying lip service when cameras are on.  And in return the CG are as loving and loyal to him as the rest of the GAR is to the Jedi generals.  In fact, for every act of compassion he performs, he finds that he is rewarded with admiration and later love (and not just from the clones). It becomes a cycle of reinforcement drawing him from the depths of the evil he has sunk to.  
Do not get me wrong, Palpatine is not a good person. For the first two years of the war he is still actively working toward the death of the Jedi and the enslavement of the clones.  He is still leading both sides of the war, if a little more hands off from the Separatists. He may consider Obi Wan a friend, but that mainly means he intends to make sure his death is painless (as even now he could see how Operation Knightfall and Order 66 would hurt Obi Wan immensely and wanted to spare him that). 
Then comes the day when Obi Wan brings his Commander to meet the Chancellor. They have come to, among other things, announce their engagement and their intention to marry after the war was over.  Obi Wan wants Palptine to officiate. In this world the Anidala elopement is well known, and accepted, and both Obi Wan and Palpatine have playfully bitched to each other (and to Anakin and Padme) about not getting to be there for the wedding. 
Palpatine is beyond flattered, and ecstatic for his friend and the love that he had found. In his head he begins to plan the outfit he would wear as the officiant. It is two hours later, in his apartment, that it hits him. He had been thinking about how Fox, one of his commanders, had talked about his brother Cody. How much Cody loved Obi Wan and how happy Fox was that they were getting married. Palpatine realized that if things go as planned, there will be no wedding, as both the grooms would be dead, or as good as. That epiphany it trailed into the realization that his clones, even if they remain free, would have to face their enslaved brothers. The brothers he enslaved. Somehow that shakes him as nothing else, the thought that the Coruscant Guard might lose their regard for him for enslaving their brothers.
In that instant he decided that the love he could feel from the clones was more important than any Sith plan. (Frankly, I can think of few things more Sithlike than deciding their own wants mean more than the 1000 year plan that is almost complete) Which meant that he would need to dismantle the plan without giving away what he was. 
Luckily he has always had a patsy around, just in case the great Sith plan was discovered too early. 
His first step is to arrange the deaths of anyone who knows that Sheev Palpatine is Darth Sidious (frankly there aren’t many).  Then he pulls out the fake correspondence he has on hand for this kind of occasion (Not for nothing Palpatine is a planner, I have no doubt he has a plan to frame someone else as Sidious) that does a very good job of implying that Sidious had control of Palpatine, and would use him to enact Order 66 and a report about the chips by the Kamionoans to Dooku.  He uses the same techniques he had employed to hide his Dark presence, to create a facade in his mind. 
Then he has Commander Fox, and a handful of other CG, to escort him to the Jedi temple.  He makes a show of acting strangely, closing in on frantic one moment, dazed the next, saying strange things about needing to tell the Jedi and ‘forgetting’ he said anything a moment later.  Generally do an excellent job of appearing as if he was breaking through some kind of control. They get him in front of the Jedi High Council, the members still on planet (Mace Windu, Obi Wan Kenobie, Yoda, Ki Adi Mundi) and he hands over the information. In between ‘fits’ (at one point letting his darkness out to change his eyes, then having it change back) he describes waking up in his office to see the documents on the Padd he handed over. Realizing first what it meant for the Guard, then what it meant for his friends in the Jedi.  Feeling like he is fighting against something to even bring the documents this far but knowing that it was critical, to protect the Coruscant Guard. 
His act is bought. The trail he leaves (with just enough hints of evidence that doesn’t fit to keep it seem like it is frame-up) leads the Jedi exactly where he wanted them, to an aide in his office that has been with him since his earliest days.  This Aide (who is little more than a mindless puppet, with enough Force sensitivity to fool whatever tests the Jedi will do) claims to be Darth Sidious, does the villain’s monologue, shoots Sith lightning, and is killed by some very angry members of the Coruscant Guard. 
With the ‘Sith Master’ dead, the war ends swiftly.  Dooku surrenders for the Separatists on the condition that he gets an invitation to Obi Wan’s wedding.  The Clones begin the process of dechipping, and are given citizenship (with all the rights and back pay and a planet of their own) spearheaded by Palpatine, which wins him major points with the delegation of 2000. 
Palpatine is ‘cleared’ by the Jedi mindhealers (who contrary to their name do not actually look into anyone’s mind) and the small amount of darkness that lets show is listed as a side effect of being puppeted by a Sith for so long.  It is eventually decided, encouraged by Palpatine, that is was Palptine’s love for the clones that gave him a chance to fight back against Darth Sidious, but it was his friendship with Obi Wan and Anakin that gave him the strength to even break free enough to love the clones. Both Obi Wan and Anakin are required to go to mind healers as well, just in case Sidious did anything to them in the form of Palpatine. Because Palpatine chose, fairly early on, to not corrupt either of them but the natural damages of being at war were also discovered and worked on (In this universe Anakin did not slaughter the Tuskans. Without Palpatine actively sabotaging his and Obi Wan’s relationship, they were able to discuss his vision a bit more openly and Obi Wan got Vos to go save Shmi. Ironically her time held by the Tuskans, who were deeply impressed by her kindness even in the face of torture, let her learn enough that she was able to a major part of a treaty between the Tuskans and the Moisture Farmers).
Palpatine gracefully retires, making sure to give back all the emergency powers (so that the next Chancellor cannot use them) and steps into an advisory role, discovering that he has almost all the influence he had as Chancellor and none of the responsibility or blame. The death of his patsy gave Palpatine a reputation for being nigh on incorruptible, because all of of the small, infrequent acts of compassion or kindness throughout his time a Chancellor were seen as his true self breaking through the control of the horrible Sith (who was considered to have taken control of him as a child). In addition the Jedi made it extremely clear how rare it was to have the mental fortitude to break through Sith control.   
With all of the accolades, his all but legendary hero status through the Republic, the way his advice is accepted practically as law and good, Palpatine quickly realizes that he actually got everything most of his Sith Ancestors would have wanted.  Yes, the Jedi still live but he is welcomed among them (the perfect position to, should he decide to, corrupt the order from the inside out), and any darkness on his part will be ignored and remnants of ‘Darth Sidious’. He may not have an outright empire, but his advice continues to be sought out and implemented (99% he advocates for compassion, whatever is the most compassionate answer to the problem) and his influence is near universal. It did not matter how long a feud or argument had been going on, both sides would accept whatever compromise he suggested. 
He does get to be the officiant at the CodyWan wedding, most of the beings there are using the ceremony as another reason to roast Anidala for their elopement.  
Somehow everyone does get a happily ever after.
218 notes · View notes
seven-oomen · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
I've written about 2600 words for this so far, and I am very nervous to share anything. This is the first thing I've written in months, and the first thing in Star Wars in general. So I politely ask that you keep criticism (constructive or otherwise) to yourself for now. Thank you, I hope you enjoy it. Link will come soon!
Basic premise: Cal Kestis is killed and travels back in time, where his 22-year-old conscience is thrown into the body of his newborn self. Stuck in a form in which he cannot talk or communicate, Cal has to grow up once again, find a way to stop order 66, discover the identity of the sith lord in the senate, and save the future.
Timeline: Starts right before The Phantom Menace and runs all the way through to Revenge of the Sith.
Few basic warnings for the whole fic; (not the snippet below) Intersex biology, Implied Mpreg, male character referred to as mom, Criticism of Jedi & Sith philosophy (not entirely anti-jedi), kid vs teen violence & shenanigans, romance plot between a commander and his general, and probably more. But that's what I can think of right now.
-------
“Master, why are we in the crèche?” Vader. No. Not Vader. Not yet. Skywalker asks.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Be nice.”
He flails his arms about in frustration, his fingers instinctively curling around the little Runyip rattle that’s in the crib with him. There’s nothing in he can do at this point in time. He’s the only one who knows who this little monster will grow up to become. He’s the only one in the temple who knows what will transpire in ten years time. And there’s nothing he can do about any of it….
The rattle rattles next to his ear. And it hits him. There is something he can do.
“Aww, is that a baby? He’s cute. What’s his name?” Skywalker smiles as he walks up to the crib and leans over him, one hand reaching for his own tiny counterpart.
“His name is Cal. He’s my so-“ Mom starts, but he won’t let him finish that sentence.
The rattle, which is firmly grasped in his little hand flies up with a remarkably smooth and powerful movement, smacking against Skywalker’s forehead with a thunderous slap.
“OWWW. He hit me!”
“Anakin! Are you alright?”
Even mom’s fussing over the little future devil can’t break his spirit at the sight of the big red splot on Skywalker’s face. And if a giggle escapes him, well, he can’t help it. He is, but a baby right now, after all.
70 notes · View notes