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stonefreeak · 3 years

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My goodness people, I’m so sorry for the delay! I’ve been working on the structuring of my files to get a better overview of what remains of the project, to hopefully be able to speed writing up (even as work really means that my free-time is much more limited than it was once upon a time, lmao. Sometimes I miss December of 2016 when this whole thing started, 33k in a month of updates, amirite?)

it’s taken me so long I’m wondering if anyone even remember this plot point at this point, lmao

Also: belated happy midsummers to all my fellow Swedes!

Bail taps his finger against this desk and stairs unseeingly at the datapad in front of him.

He hadn't been sure if the information Aleena Yashi gave him, though she's worked as an assistant to multiple senators over the years, was true. But everything checks out. He briefly wondered why she would come to him about it, rather than Senator Lobos who she's currently working for... But perhaps it's because he's known to have a favourable view of the Jedi that she's done so. Perhaps it's because all of this information mostly pertains to the Jedi and the laws surrounding them, and she wanted a prominent Senator who she could trust not to hide the information away because they don't care for the Jedi.

Bail, a Core World Senator well known for his good relationship with the Jedi and friendship with the current Supreme Chancellor, must have seemed like the best option for her. He wonders who else would have been on her list, before she settled on him, but he chose not to ask when she visited him. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't know; it hardly matters now anyway.

He looks down at the datapad again and considers his options.

He should probably discuss her findings with her, and see what exactly her goal is. If he's to do something about this, then he wants her involved even as he gathers support from other senators.

He has no doubt that Padmé will agree to add her support to Bail to help sort this mess out, but considering that they've both been involved with the investigation they're conducting into Jedi missions being altered... Well, Bail wants more Senators involved this time. Just to ensure that it cannot be taken as some form of conspiracy in favour of the Jedi. As ridiculous as that notion seems, Bail is not blind to the way many Senators look at the Jedi, nor to the fact that many of them don't seem to believe that they're really capable of what they say they are.

Few people besides the Jedi truly believe in the Force, after all.

Few people could believe in something they cannot know for themselves when others supposedly have a direct connection to it. Bail is one of the few who does believe them, he's seen what the Jedi can do first-hand. There's nothing else that can account for that kind of power besides this Force they talk of. They and other groups out there, it’s not only the Jedi, after all.

Besides, he knows many of them personally, and while Bail may not understand or follow all of their beliefs or traditions, he also knows that they're not a bunch of charlatans faking it for power of money—though he knows some of his fellow senators believe that to be the case. Even senators on Coruscant, who've seen Jedi in real life, seem to believe them little more than myth.

Bail has been kept up to date on the investigation into the Jedi missions, though he’s not taking an active role in it right now, and he’s certain that he has been kept in the loop to give legitimacy to the investigation. Give it a proper paper trail, even if it’s done with the Senate’s highest level of security. A strictly need-to-know basis, and until it’s finished, no one else needs to know.

Of course, Bail asked Obi-Wan in private if he would be allowed to tell Breha. As his Queen and the leader of Bail’s planet, he found it important to clue her in on it. Besides, it’s another step of legitimacy. After all, if Breha takes an active stance on it, then so does Alderaan.

If anyone wants to accuse the investigation at a later date for being a sham… Well, they will need to accuse Alderaan of engaging in it in the first place. Bail isn’t stupid enough to think that it’s not one of the primary reasons Obi-Wan agreed with Bail’s request.

They’re friends, and Obi-Wan likes Breha, but this is not about being friends. This is about political allyship and keeping sensitive information on as tight a lock-down as they can until the time to reveal it comes.

Besides, as worried as Bail has become with Miss Yashi’s information, it’s even worse when considered together with the altered Jedi missions and not in the least… Well, the war time propaganda. There's no point in shying away from what it is, and the ramifications it has.

Considering how most of the war time propaganda—Bail can acknowledge it for what it is, there truly is no point in trying to deny the facts—focuses almost exclusively on the clones and their efforts in the war, it's hardly strange that the general population neither know nor understand them.

Further considering the information that Bail has now confirmed to be real and accurate... He understands that the omission of the Jedi is entirely deliberate. If you want to discredit and undermine the Jedi, why would you ever speak of their accomplishments and sacrifices? You wouldn't, as that would bring public support to them.

Bail sighs and rolls his shoulders.

He needs to build a following, he cannot properly push this alone. But he also understands why Miss Yashi brought it to him alone, first. A Core World Senator is far harder to make "disappear" than a Twi'lek Senatorial aide, no matter how awful that is to say. Bail can't go missing, and any attempt on his life would have a bit more trouble hitting its mark.

That's not to say that it would be impossible for someone to assassinate him, which is of course why he'll make sure that Breha is entirely up to speed on everything.

All of it together... There is some form of conspiracy to discredit or perhaps even get rid of the Jedi; Bail is sure of it. But he cannot see to what end. What are they trying to achieve?

For what reason would anyone work to discredit the Jedi? What is the end goal to strive for? There’s no way for the politicians to dissolve the Jedi Order, they are not in that way under Senate control. They could, of course, remove all of their backing, forcing the Jedi to become free agents, certainly…

But for what purpose? It would leave the Republic without the Jedi as peacekeepers, for the Jedi would hardly remain to do diplomacy work for the Senate without its backing. After all, what would the point be? Without the Senate’s backing, the Jedi would have far less ability to do anything.

How could they negotiate treaties if the Senate won’t honour them?

They could, perhaps, be a neutral third party within discussions. But there’s no reason for anyone to listen to their input in such a case. It’s hard enough to get disagreeing parties to listen to external input when you come with powerful backing that could make you listen even if you refuse.

How could they function with no funding? They would need to work on commission, at which point only those who can afford their help can get it. That would be the opposite of an improvement.

To not even begin to talk about how few of them there are, how few of them there were even before the war. Their population is not even a hundredth of a percent of Alderaan’s population, and Alderaan is only a single planet within the tens of thousands of star systems that make up the Republic—nevermind the entire galaxy. There’s just not enough of them, and hasn’t that always been a problem even while they’re working under the Republic? Too few, spread too thin.

No, if the Jedi became free agents, their ability to affect change would be greatly diminished. Bail is quite certain they’d work on much smaller scales, still trying to do what they can for the galaxy, bit by bit. Working with smaller communities on planets and moons… If they even had the ability to find out about disputes that may need their help in the first place.

Losing the Jedi as peacekeepers isn’t a win for the Republic either, as the budget for the Jedi was already miniscule even before it started being diminished—as Miss Yashi’s discovery shows. It cannot be an attempt at cost saving, or an idea of improvement for the Republic. Needing to train their own diplomats and ensure that they have skilled enough guards… That would be more expensive and it would not be able to guarantee that these diplomats are neutral in conflicts.

The Jedi have no specific allegiances the way diplomats and even Senators have. Even the least corrupt Senator will still place their own planet and star system first. It is part of their role, after all.

So no, it cannot be something like that. Not unless the people slowly enacting this are horribly misguided and foolish. Not to mention, Bail knows most Senators would simply call for making away with the Jedi entirely, rather than this slow plan to undercut them.

No… There must be something else going on here, some other primary goal whoever is pulling these strings is looking out to do.

He’ll need to figure it out, no doubt, Bail concludes.

But beyond that, he also needs to build a base to help him bring this information he’s been given to the Senate’s attention. He is quite sure already who he should be looking towards first: Senator Ach’ki Mandai of Haa’ndu.

Who better to help him bring this to Senate attention than the Senator who ensured a Jedi now sits as the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic?

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #bail organa #update #my writing

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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thanks again to @dykerory and @willowcrowned for this genius au. this is an incomplete collection of very specific set of headcanons/daydreams i had about a tangential version of your au that made me emotional in the middle of the woods. whenever you feel the time is right, i’m very eager to hear your og version on the ‘but obi-wan, tho!’, because i admittedly pushed this one’s resolution really far chronologically because i wanted batman to be involved.

continuation from here

note: my understanding of dcu is as sporadically informed as my understanding of the gffa.

newly graduated clark kent gets his first journalism job and starts settling more and more into the superman thing. the rest of the justice league has been around but his entrance onto the scene is the one that really inspires the various heroes to actually start coordinating to deal with the weirdness magnet that is dcu Earth. Clark is in his early 20s. Anakin is in his late 30s.

He’s been living on Earth, without the force, for nearly 2/3rds of his life. He has a close knit circle of friends who were kind to him even when they thought he was just a weird and crazy emo cult victim (the gradual increase of public encounters with aliens and superpowers sparks some awkward apologies, Anakin at 38 just waves his friends off, smiling and changing the subject, neither confirming nor denying his high school ramblings of spaceships and magic. it doesn’t really change anything).

He lives an hour’s drive from smallville, and runs a successful auto shop. people travel from pretty far to check out some of his more wild and specialized motorcycle abominations. makes enough money selling them to rich idiots to fund his free auto-class and auto-repair programs for impoverished communities.

It took a while but he eventually came around to the idea of helping people without physical force (ironically, this is happening around the same time Clark is coming to the realization that he can help people with physical force). Generally respected as a pillar of the community. When people start to realize how profoundly weird he is as a person in a number of inexplicable ways, someone will generally pull them aside and quietly whisper that he was in a cult at a child, no one really knows much about it except that it’s what inspired his anti-modern-slavery work, which is a little telling. Not married. Was in a long-term relationship for like 9 years. It didn’t end well but no-one knows the details.

Has several cats.

He’s- wistful but settled. He’s been through a lot of therapy. He meditates every morning and night, clearing his mind and examining his emotions in the way Obi-Wan taught him. He thinks Obi-Wan would be proud of him. He know his Mom would be.

Once he gets used to the idea, he never really stops loving the concept of learning just because. Duel bachelors degree in in african american history and american literature, masters in engineering, masters in astrophysics a phd in theoretical physics, another phd in medieval folklore. He’s worked a lot of jobs.

He was already pretty well versed in astronavigation back at the temple. Over the course of his time on earth, he gets more educated in earth astronomy and physics. With is increased knowledge, his theory for ‘how did i get here’ shifts from slight hyperdrive miscalculation, to big hyperdrive miscalculation, to some sort of hyperlane incident. he realizes that none of the stars he knows are familiar in any NASA database. He must be beyond wildspace, which helps him let go of the last bit of hurt he felt that Obi-Wan never found him.

Then he really learns physics- and- light doesn’t exactly work like that right? He thought it was just primitive Earth understanding but... he gets a phd more or less accidentally, trying and failing to disprove that the speed of life is constant constant.

Get’s another even more accidentally, explaining how alternate universes might form if we assume slightly different universal constants. He publishes his thesis anonymously around the same time metas are becoming a household term, and at least one science journalist speculates on it and how alternate universes might explain the increasing prevalence of wildly different superpowers. He doesn’t claim credit for the honorary diploma awarded to the unknown theorist- he doesn’t want to risk drawing any attention to him and by extension Clark, who’s alien differences are far more of the ‘military experiment interesting’ variety then his.

He stops tinkering with Clark’s ship. He finally gets how it works. Now that he realizes how FTL travel has to work in this universe, tinkering with the mechanical generation and harnessing of the massive quantities of energy necessary to do is startlingly familiar. But it doesn’t matter. No matter how far and fast he travels, he’s never going to be able to get back to the life he used to know.

Perhaps this is what being the chosen one actually means- he’s meant to live a life without the force, so that when he returns to it in death he’ll be able to somehow...educate? the force? maybe?

Ok, he’s not great at the metaphysical spiritual side of things, but he does accept that going back is out of his control, and he’s doing good here, even if it’s not galaxy altering.

Despite all the therapy, he never doubts that his early life was real. He has his saber and deep, deep down he can feel a spark in the kyber. He can’t do anything with it, but it’s there. There’s also pieces of the utter wreck that was his ship in the cellar, next to the sleek unblemished pod that Clark arrived in. Shortly before Clark becomes Superman, he asks for his help in melting down his old ship to make unearthly alloys.

He’s not surprised when Clark tells him he met a ‘real’ ‘magic’ user- it stands to reason that considering how relatively easy it is to convert energy from one form to another in this universe (Clark can fly), at least one kind would bend to sentient willpower in a similar way as the force does.

It’s still a little nervewracking showing his lightsaber to someone new for the first time in a decade. Zantana scrutinizes, bewildered.

“There is some sort of power locked within, but it’s unfamiliar to me,” she admits finally. “I could probably brute force it and force the energy to release itself, but it would likely destroy the container.” Anakin politely refuses.

Later, after the justice league’s formation, Clark mentions to J’onn that he has a friend who might be able to work on his ship. J’onn is extremely doubtful when he’s brought to a bizarre autoshop in the midwest that looks half-like a roadside attraction. Anakin sighs and digs his hands into the guts of the craft, muttering incomprehensibly and yelling at clark to melt down some pieces from the special scrap pile. A few days later he explains the patches he’s done to an impressed J’onn. When he asks how a human came to learn such things, he’s absently informed that,

“I used to work in a junkshop in Tatooine. All sorts of ship parts came through.”

“I’m unfamiliar with this world.”

“Tell you what, if you ever meet anyone who’s heard it of it, send them my way, and I’ll make your next repair free.”

“Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have any earth money...”

“Ugh, of course you don’t. it’s cool, capitalism sucks anyway and everyone’s entitled to free transportation, regardless of the area they happen to live. I do ask that if you can’t pay for the repairs that you spend an equivalent number of hours either attending one of my free auto classes, or volunteer at a community-led charities of your choice, here I’ll get you a pamphlet-”

So the Martian Manhunter becomes a weekly volunteer at a Midwestern Food Waste Reclamation Facility. J’onn J’onzz ends up becoming Anakin Skywalker’s friend well before he becomes comes truly comfortable around Kal-El. For a telepath, 39 year old Anakin’s Jedi orderly mind is a soothing relief.

(again, Anakin has spent far more time meditating on Earth then he ever did at the temple. Before all this, spent five years dutifully memorizing the Jedi way even as he struggled to live up it’s basic practices. For the first few years on earth, religiously practicing every meditation technique Obi-Wan ever taught him, thinking obsessively about the philosophies he never had time to really process, is just a desperate attempt to reconnect with the force, prove himself worthy of it. But even after he gives up on ever touching the force again, he keeps up the practice, he can’t release his emotions exactly, but he does find peace. The tendency to stop mid-rant to earnestly pronounce made up zen bullshit and then sit quietly for an hour before picking up on his tirade again as though there was no interruption is one of the things many things people find profoundly weird about him)

Kal-El doesn’t stop asking new aliens and dimensional travelers if they’ve ever heard of Coruscant, or Hutts, or the Jedi Order. Anakin might have given up, but Superman remembers his older brother scrubbing away his own tears to focus on helping Clark calm down enough to touch the floor again. The more the Kryptonian’s powers developed in alarming ways, the more Anakin set aside talk of missing his home galaxy. Anakin might have claimed it wasn’t like that, but Clark was determined to take every chance his increasingly weird life threw at him, no matter how vanishingly small.

In the middle of his first battle with Braniac, Clark starts insulting his incomplete database. The world collector pauses, demanding a more precise explanation. Clark complies, giving his best technical description of Coruscant’s cityscape, Tatooine’s binary star system, and so on. Braniac is so distracted that Superman recovers completely from his kryptonite poisoning and easily saves the day.

Neither the lantern corp or the denizens of the neutral zone have the answers. Superman doesn’t mention it it Anakin, but he never stops looking and listening.

“How did you even meet that guy?” Flash asks curiously after stopping to say hello on one of their after work laps of the country.

“Aliens among us support group,” Kal-El responds deadpan.

“Oh. Wait, what? He’s an alien? I thought he was from the future or something! You’re messing with me. No way that’s a thing. How many people are in the support group? This is a joke, right?”

“Sorry, most of them aren’t out and I don’t want to violate their privacy- a lot of them have high profile jobs. How do you think I met J’onn?”

“SUPES I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW YOU’VE GOTTA STOP”

Anakin is just sort of vaguely known by a solid chunk of the super community as ‘that one midwestern zen space mechanic’ and no one really questions it because everyone’s life has just gotten so goddamn weird. A few of them know he used to be a space wizard of some kind. Space wizards now being a regular hazard of life on earth, no one has reason to doubt this, and it’s as good an explanation as any for Anakin’s general vibe.

well. almost no one doubts this. Batman does not simply accept Anakin’s general bullshittery without carefully investigating and drawing his own conclusions. He does not share these with anyone.

But one day Clark- this is well after Superman became Kal-El to him, and not long after Kal-El tells him to call him Clark- comes up to him and asks for his help finding about an alternate universe. Knowing and dreading where this is going, Batman stalls,

“Shouldn’t you be asking one of the league members who regularly travels between universes?”

“I have, over the years,” Clark admits, awkwardly scuffing a boot on the floor of the cave. “But no one’s familiar with the exact one I’m looking for, and I thought since you’re a detective, and also one of the smartest people I know, you might be able to help me...”

“You’re an investigator yourself, and you can survive the vacuum of space,” Bruce shoots back flatly. “I’ve told you before Gotham is my priority, and this has ‘personal project’ all over it.”

“Come on, B, please,” Superman pleads, trailing Batman around the cave like an overgrown puppy. “In a few months it will have been 30 years! He’s my brother! Just let me see the research you’ve already done!”

“Who says I’ve already done research on your brother?”

Clark shoots him a look. And Bruce concedes the point with a grunt.

“I’ll need need to talk with him first,” Bruce finally concedes. “Bring him by the cave. Take the-”

“Take the tunnel entrance, I know, I know,” Clark agrees with a grin. “This doesn’t mean he’s authorized to know your secret identity. Thanks Bruce, this means a lot. I’ll ask him tomorrow about his schedule.”

Superman flies off and Batman scrubs his face with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulls up Anakin’s file on the main monitor. Bruce honestly respects and likes the man, as much as he respects and likes anyone who’s not family. He admires his sense his style, appreciates his upgrades to the batmobile, and is impressed by both this civil rights work and his additions to the scientific community.

That doesn’t mean he’s not convinced that Anakin’s brother is a bit insane. Again, he’s not judging! He dresses like a bat to scare random henchmen and beat up actual demigods! He wishes his rogues gallery was as capable of directing their ptsd-inspired delusions and staggering intellects towards such productive pursuits!

Bruce was already in quiet awe of the Kent’s ability to raise an outrageously superpowered being without blowing up a chunk of the country; their success in derailing a supervillian origin story just puts him over the edge. He stares at the three most likely profiles he’s pulled together. Christen Jones, from a negligent family, death certificate filled out suspicously sloppily at age 3. Earl Lucas, went missing at age 9, both parents dead in a violent assault. And Jake Hayden, who at age 5 disappeared along with the rest of his family in a seismic accident later linked to Luthercorp.

Anyone of them could have suffered on the streets for years and coped by establishing an elaborate fantasy world, aided by self medication, only to eventually be picked up by the Kent’s and start healing. Certainly Anakin had the intellect to create worlds in his mind. All his rogues were smart enough to create their own little realities in their heads- it doesn’t mean they were actually reachable.

Unfortunately Anakin had a Kryptonian younger brother who was determined to actually find the space wizard knight homeworld, even as the 'Jedi’ in question had slowly moved away his reliance on the delusion as an adult. Batman really didn’t see any way bringing up his conclusions to Anakin or Clark could possibly be helpful, and so many alien allies had a ‘If you find about the Jedi please contact Kal-El of Krypton on Earth’ pamphlet that it would be excruciatingly awkward to try and discretely correct anyone.

Bruce was not looking forward to this conversation.

#star wars #star wars au #dc #crossover #batman #anakin skywalker #corn boy anakin au

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hellotherekenobi · 3 years

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───there’s a reason.

summary: you think you might have feelings for your master, but you can’t be sure unless you do something about it, which happens to be having a long conversation with him.

cw: padawan!reader, master kenobi. i can neither confirm nor deny whether feelings are reciprocated (or understood.)

requested by: @the-devils-littlegirl

ONESHOT. ⟶ 2,145 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Having a close connection with your master came in handy, helping you out on more than the one occasion when you’d be on the ropes in a tight mission, but feeling close to your master was more tricky than any mission you have ever been on. It was forbidden and, quite frankly, dangerous. You couldn’t even imagine being caught out for it, or even worse being called out. Imagine that, getting fired from the Jedi because of how you feel for someone. No, it was better to not give in and to not say a word. Maybe the feeling will fade away in time? Or just maybe, you’ll start to lose your mind from keeping it all bottled up.

“So there’s this guy,” you say casually to someone you randomly met at Rex’s diner. “I really like him. He’s always there to protect me, you know? But it’s complicated.”

“What’s more complicated than having a crush on someone and not telling them?” they ask, sipping from their coffee. They looked groggy, like they had just woken up or were trying to recover from a hangover.

“Age, duty, the fact that he probably doesn’t even like me beyond our partnership.”

“Who cares about duty? I’ve always gone with my gut about these things and I’ve been just fine. Look—” they hold their hand up to show you a wedding band on their finger—“Eight years.”

“That’s a long time, good for you both.”

“Ah hell, we’ve been divorced more times than I can count, but we always find our way back to each other. It’s the love that matters.”

Suddenly you feel as if you shouldn’t be getting relationship advice from a total stranger, but before you can make a move to get off of your chair, a hand plants down on your shoulder and you don’t even have to turn around to know that it’s your master.

“I’ve got what we came here for. You ready to leave?” He asks, smiling politely at the person sitting beside you.

They suddenly look very awake, their eyes wide before they cough out, “You’re a Jedi?”

“Padawan.” You correct, almost wincing at saying it out loud.

“But I doubt you have much more training left.” Obi-Wan smiles.

When he turns his head to wave at Rex behind the counter, the person points at him and mouths, “he’s the guy?” to you, causing you to awkwardly shrug your shoulders and whisper, “yes?”

They groan, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan says, turning back into the conversation. He thinks they were speaking to him. “We should get going.”

You nod your head, slipping off of the chair and following Obi-Wan out of the diner and back to the speeder parked around the corner. As soon as you hop into the passenger’s side, Obi-Wan lets out a sigh mixed with a groan that you know all too well by now.

“I know that grumble,” you almost chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan sighs as he settles himself into the driver’s seat. “The information I got wasn’t exactly the information I was hoping for. Looks like we’re headed out to a no-fly zone.”

“No,” you groan. “You don’t mean we have to do this all on foot, do you?”

“My young padawan, our missions are never easy.” he starts the engine up, passing you a small device. “This is the map. Do make sure to tell me which turn to take in advance.”

“That was one time, master.”

He chuckles, turning out into the traffic and flying as far as he can with your aid, before having to park between a thicket of bushes in what looks to be the middle of nowhere. You hop out one at a time, glancing over the area, hands on hips, eyes squinting, as you stand in a thick mist that about covers the sun, yet the brightness still breaks its way through.

By the time Obi-Wan and yourself are settled in the corner of a cave, after the wind suddenly picked up and almost blew you both off course, the sun is starting to set. You knew not a lot was going to happen on this mission in the first place—it was a study mission, or as you like to call it a lurk mission, as all you have to do is keep hidden, keep watch, and report back to the Council with your findings. You had hoped for something more comfortable, like a bed, or at least a room, but it will have to make due, especially because if you were going to be sitting in the middle of nowhere alone with anyone, you’re happy for it to be Obi-Wan.

He takes the first watch, then you take the one after him. You liked the silence, though it wasn’t really quiet with the wind. It was more so the silence of your master’s mind, as opposed to your own. When he was asleep, you didn’t have to put up a wall so high as to when he’s awake. You’ve trained under him for some years now and have learnt much, and have also used what you’ve learnt to keep Obi-Wan from the truth. Honestly, how embarrassing is it that out of all the people in the galaxy you could ever form a crush on, it was your master?

You don’t ever plan on telling him. You just hope it will pass with time. Unlike some other padawans you know, or even some Jedi (shh, don’t tell anyone), where all they want is for their crush to like them back, you just want this feeling to go away. You know it’s wrong, you know it can get you in trouble, and above all, you know the consequences if anything followed through. But, when you think of that in itself, you shudder. That’s new.

“Any updates?” Obi-Wan mutters, turning onto his back.

Thank heavens your lightsaber was not in your hand otherwise the sound of his voice would have startled you so much that you would have tried to slash him down. Your fight instincts always kick in first and more aggressively than you flight instincts.

“Oh no,” he chuckles. “I hadn’t meant to scare you.”

“Surprised,” you retort, pointing a finger at him and then twirling said finger around your padawan braid. “I was only surprised.”

He says nothing in reply, doesn’t make a sound. He simply stares at you, furrows his brows a bit, and then leans up on his elbow. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re twirling your braid. Something’s on your mind.”

Damn it. Sometimes you forget how well he knows you.

He sits up, hissing a little bit from the ache in his back from lying on a hard surface. “Talk to me.”

Should you actually tell him? No, of course not. Hadn’t you only just reasoned with yourself how you would never tell Obi-Wan the truth? You’re keeping your mouth shut.

“I’m just a bit confused,” why the kriff are you talking?

“That’s only normal. We’d hardly be human without questioning some things.” He’s ever the supportive master. “What are you confused about? Perhaps I can help.”

Well, you don’t exactly want him to help. Goodness, the last thing you need right now is to be stuck in the middle of nowhere after confessing your feelings and have them rejected.

“Attachment.” It’s the only word you speak, just letting it sit in the air long enough for it to sink in with your master who, once you look over at him, looks like a Bantha caught in speeder lights.

“What about it...?”

Good. He’s unsure. He doesn’t have a clue where you could be going with this and that’s exactly how you want to keep it. You want to be able to twist your words if need be, without him already being two steps ahead of you like he always is.

“I understand why we as Jedi don’t explore that, and I have no intention of furthering my interest, but... aren’t we, like you say, only human for questioning such things?”

Maker, you’ve got him in a tight spot, don’t you? You’ve seen your master face armies of troops, even Sith Lords, but nothing has made him paler in the face than what you just said. It’s almost hilarious, but you happen to have enough sense in you not to laugh at him.

“Well,” he clears his throat, sitting up. “I can’t argue with that.” Himself. He means he can't argue with himself. “How long have you thought this?”

“A fair while.”

“I see. I must commend you on your curiosity, my young padawan.”

There it is again, the shudder. This time, with Obi-Wan awake, he notices it. His furrowed brows could almost snap in half at this rate. You better let the poor man breathe.

“It’s alright. Don't worry about it, master. Staying up this late just has me in my thoughts and I got carried away. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t worry if you didn’t just tell me not to. Twice.”

Alright. Can he just give you some space? How come he always knows what you’re thinking or feeling before you even know? How come he always runs ahead of you, even though you were in front literally moments before?

“You’re unbelievable.” you shake your head, lifting your knees up to wrap your arms around them.

He smiles. “Simply doing my part.”

“Would be nice if you didn’t do it so well.”

That earns a chuckle from him. It makes the air around you two just that more breathable, just that more lighter. It doesn’t feel as heavy now.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Obi-Wan speaks, leaning over to pat your leg comfortingly.

Good. You won’t tell. You won’t ever tell.

“I think I have feelings for someone.”

What happened to the original plot of the movie!?

“Feelings?” Obi-Wan asks. He wants you to say it.

“A crush.”

You know you’re screwed the second he starts playing with his beard. Did you go a little too far? Is this too much to handle, even for the renowned Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi? You’re not even anxious about what he might say, or how he might feel, you just want this to be over.

“Why do you think it’s a crush?” he finally says, yet doesn’t spare a glance in your direction.

“Why?” you ask, a bit confused. “Because... I think about them a lot, about what they’ve done for me, about who they are. I think about how safe I feel with them—how I like being by their side.”

Obi-Wan lets your answer settle in. He waits, in case you have anything further to add. Then, finally, he looks at you.

“A crush.”

Is that all he has to say? You know you didn’t exactly let all the chips fall, but you did just open up to him. A crush. Yes. You have a crush. On him. The fact that the one time you want him to be two steps ahead of you and yet he’s two steps behind is about to send you over the edge if you’re not careful, or if he’s not careful. A crush. Yes! You have a—

“Oh.”

It’s only now, after getting carried away in your head, that you realize Obi-Wan wasn’t stating a fact, he was posing a question. He asked you if you have a crush.

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan confirms, and you just sit there in silence.

With how long you let it sink in, completely quiet, not even moving a muscle, you could convince yourself, and maybe your master too, that you’ve turned to stone. Wasn’t that a turn of events? But even so, what a relief. You let a breath out just as Obi-Wan leans over to tap his finger against your arm. Tap, tap, tap. He’s chipping away the stone. He always knows.

You run your hands down your face, burying yourself in them for a moment and then groaning out, “Thank, maker.”

Obi-Wan begins to laugh, nudging you with his elbow that almost topples you onto your side because you weren’t ready for it. You don’t have a crush! Yes, you like Obi-Wan. Yes, you’re attached to Obi-Wan. But it’s not love you feel, it’s admiration. Being a padawan and a person who’s never felt anything outside what you’ve been taught (or, really, shielded against), it makes sense that you blurred the line between the two. What. A. Relief.

“That was a close one.” you laugh alongside your master, making him shake his head. “I can’t believe I almost thought that I had a crush on you.”

Silence. The laughter stops, the wind kicks up, and you’re about to reach for your lightsaber to run yourself through.

Obi-Wan coughs. “You never told me who it was.”

taglist: @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @alwayssleepingforreal @obiwns @immoral-rose @bloodybunnyuwu @nagitokomaeda-onthe-nintendo-ds @princessxkenobi @mythandmagik @i-cant-hear-you16 @inukako @whyiminlove @cosmicsierra @dxnxdjarxn @voidmalfoy @darthkenobii @chogisss @nectav @disastereyebags @hellolitty @pradahux

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan imagine #star wars imagine #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi-wan imagines #star wars imagines #star wars prequels #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan #fanfiction #oneshot #star wars

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Note

Ayo dude is the new chapter of Gar Cabur the battle of Kamino?????

I can neither confirm nor deny... You know what? There are some timeline things I need to disclaim, so I'm going to go ahead and confirm this. Thank you, anon, for giving me the opportunity! (And I'm sorry for hijacking your ask to info dump on everyone.)

Yes, the next few chapters are going to deal with the attack on Kamino. The timeline is a little wonky since a large part of what I know about this era comes from Star Wars: The Clone Wars, which Alpha-17 was tragically not included in.

So, the general timeline of Gar Cabur is this: Alpha-17 was assigned to work with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker in the conflicts on Ohma-D'un and Jabiim, which followed the comic versions fairly closely. The attack on Kamino in this timeline happens a bit later in the war (probably halfway through the first year or so). This version of Alpha has already seen combat, worked with Obi-Wan and Anakin, and was tortured by Ventress prior to the Separatist invasion. The poor guy just can't get away from the fighting!

Without offering any spoilers, we'll be exploring a lot more of Alpha's perspective in the coming arc, but the arc will be a lot more intense than previous chapters of Gar Cabur. I need to urge readers to keep an eye on the warnings at the top of every chapter and read with caution! If anyone ever needs a more sensitive version of the chapter, I would be happy to either summarize around the issue or compile non-triggering sections from the chapter to help them follow the plotline without putting themselves at risk.

Thank you so much, anon, for the great question and I apologize again for the ridiculous amount of oversharing!

#ink's asks #anonymous asks #gar cabur #alpha 17 fic

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allthingskenobi · 3 years

Text

Obi-Wan in Exile – Owen Lars

(Originally published on AllThingsKenobi.com January 10, 2021)

Welcome to the second in a series of looks into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s time in exile on Tatooine between Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. We’ve tried to mine as much Legends and canon material as possible to help guide you through some of the period’s most common and repetitive themes so that when the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series airs, you’ll be ready.

Not everything he ever did in the entire 19 years will be explored here, but as we said, we’ve tried our best to pick out the most prominent and impactful moments to give everyone a better understanding of exactly what one hermit had to endure out there all alone in the sandy deserts of Tatooine.

There’s no way around it: Owen Lars hated Obi-Wan Kenobi. But why? A young Luke Skywalker could have benefited greatly from the two men working together, but it was not to be so. Here we will look at just a few of the many times the Jedi was rejected by the hardened moisture farmer in an attempt to understand just how fraught with tension their relationship really was.

“That wizard’s just a crazy old man.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen Lars was the very first person to ever paint a picture for us of the now-illustrious Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is what he had to say about him. Though we, alongside Luke, quickly recognize Owen’s words for the untruths they are, we were left to wonder exactly where the animosity, and possible bad blood, between the two men began. Especially since well up until Attack of the Clones was released, Owen was Obi-Wan’s biological brother (as confirmed in original drafts of Return of the Jedi), which made the exchange all the more tragic.

“But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for him?”

“He won’t, I don’t think he exists any more. He died about the same time as your father.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen continues to try and deter Luke by point-blank telling him that Obi-Wan is dead. It’s another clear falsehood that, at the time, carried little to no weight until twenty-eight years later when we witnessed the “deaths” of both Anakin and Obi-Wan on the slopes of Mustafar in Revenge of the Sith. But that’s a story for another time…

“He makes his terms abundantly clear: “We’ll take him in, but you’ll play no part in his upbringing. If you have to stay on Tatooine, you keep your distance, do you hear? You neither see the boy nor speak to him. He must know nothing about his father.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Obi-Wan was glad and relieved that Beru and Owen agreed to raise Luke, but his mission did not end there, as it was also his duty to watch over the boy. He had thought that his ongoing presence would be some comfort to Owen and Beru. He soon learned that he was mistaken.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

From the moment Obi-Wan arrived on Tatooine with a newborn Luke Skywalker, Owen made it abundantly clear that the Jedi would have nothing to do with the child. It was an unfair set of terms that Obi-Wan, while doing his best to adhere to, would breach with regular frequency, often pushing his already contentious relationship with the farmer to its breaking point.

Over the years, not only would Obi-Wan often be forced into interceding on the family’s behalf as protection (much to Owen’s chagrin), but he would also willingly cross the line to try and form a relationship with Luke from afar. Whether it was a simple gift of parts for Luke’s skyhopper (1) or a handmade wooden toy (2), the attempts would be vehemently denied and Obi-Wan would find himself right back where he started.

Star Wars 15 C

Was Owen right to be concerned that trouble would follow Obi-Wan back to Luke and their homestead? Of course. Obi-Wan understands and even acknowledges that his watchful gaze could attract attention (3), so he backs off, moving farther out into the Jundland Wastes until the time comes when he is needed. (3)(4) But Owen took his concerns above and beyond, twisting reason into a deep-seated personal hatred of the other man.

“The hut was approximately 136 kilometers from the Lars homestead—farther than Obi-Wan would have preferred, but probably still too close to satisfy Owen Lars.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

“I managed to steer clear of Owen Lars this time. The man doesn’t like me at all.”

KENOBI L

“I’d always believed – always hoped – that Owen’s anger would cool toward me, that one day I would be allowed to train young Luke in the ways of the Force.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Old Wounds” – Star Wars Visionaries L

Why? Why did Owen Lars hate Obi-Wan Kenobi so much? First and foremost, he placed the blame of Anakin’s downfall solely on Obi-Wan, going so far as to accuse Obi-Wan of “murder.” (1) It’s interesting to say the least that Owen would have such strong opinions about a man he’d only met once (5), but it seems to become more clear when you take into consideration that Owen adored his step-mother, Shmi. But while Shmi no doubt loved her adoptive family, she often spent her time looking to the horizon waiting for the day when Anakin would return. (6) So for Obi-Wan to have lost Shmi’s beloved son might have been too much for Owen to bear.

We’ll discuss this more in depth later, but Owen even removed Shmi’s headstone, along with the stones of other family members, so that Obi-Wan could no longer visit the site. (7) Consequently, it also ensured that Luke would never know about his grandmother. At least not while he lived at the homestead.

“If killing me would have brought [Anakin’s] mother back to life, I know he would have killed me then and there. I could see it in his eyes.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

At some point, Owen also seemed to have distrusted the Jedi as a whole. It was a prejudice formed the day he watched an angry and unrepentant Anakin Skywalker return from slaughtering a village of Sand People. (2) That being his only interaction with a Jedi before Obi-Wan came along, Owen didn’t want Luke to have anything to do with what he saw in Anakin that day.

“Everyone was stunned when Owen abruptly told Ben to leave and not to come back. The experience had left Luke baffled. Even now, some ten years after the incident, he still did not know why Owen had been so angry with Ben. From what little he knew, he assumed that Ben’s purpose on Tatooine had been to discreetly watch over him while Owen and Beru raised him as if he were an ordinary child, not the son of a Jedi-turned-Sith Lord. But if both Ben and Owen had been responsible for protecting Luke, why hadn’t they gotten along? Luke could only imagine why Owen had so aggressively objected to Ben’s presence. Luke remembered listening to conversations between his uncle and aunt, practically spying on them, hoping to hear any small detail about his father or Ben Kenobi. Owen and Beru never revealed much but merely reinforced that they preferred not to discuss either man.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Luke cheers, running full pelt toward me, arms as wide as his smile. There is a crunch behind me and I turn, Owen’s fist burying itself in my nose. I slam down hard on the ground, the lightsaber skittering from my hand. All my training, all my experience, and a humble moisture farmer has achieved what neither battle droid nor Sith has achieved, knocking me flat on my back.

“Uncle Owen!” Luke cries in confusion as his uncle manhandles the boy toward his aunt before turning to glower at me.

“Go,” he all but spits, an accusatory finger punctuating the furious decree. “Get away from here. Haven’t you people done enough to this family?”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

Lastly, and most unfortunately, Owen never minded expressing his distaste for Obi-Wan in front of Luke, going so far as to strike Obi-Wan and send him away while the boy watched. Would Owen’s treatment of the strange desert hermit help one day drive a wedge between the boy and his uncle? Maybe. Maybe not. All we do know is that Luke, like his father before him, was already inextricably linked to Obi-Wan Kenobi. And there was nothing Owen Lars could do about it.

Citations:

Star Wars 15 by Jason Aaron C

“Time of Death” – From a Certain Point of View by Cavan Scott C

Kenobi by John Jackson Miller L

Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi by Ryder Windham L

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones C

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones Novelization by R. A. Salvatore L

A New Hope: The Life of Luke Skywalker by Ryder Windham L

#Obi-Wan in Exile #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Kenobi Series #Owen Lars #long post #text post #crossposted from wordpress #allthingskenobi #no doubt we will get to see this play out on screen in the show #:((((

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Destiny (RotJ AU oneshot)

“Thank the Force, you’re safe!”

Leia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she flung herself into Luke’s open arms, his face concealed by the darkness as the soft full moon rose like a halo behind his head. She breathed out a sigh, holding him close as she let the tension that had been bearing down on her go. The gnawing ball of anxiety at the pit of belly faded, as relief flooded her senses.

“We won,” she added in a rushed tone, barely able to believe her own words as she realized the freedom they had fought for was now within their grasp.

“We did,” said Luke, soft spoken as he returned his sister’s embrace; his prosthetic hand coming up to gently envelope the back of her thin neck. “But there is more that needs to be done.”

Leia shook her head, knowing he was right but refusing to let the long road still ahead of them spoil this moment of euphoria in the wake of their victory. With eyes closed, she smiled softly.

“Let’s not think of the future. The Death Star is destroyed. The Emperor is destroyed.”

Luke didn’t need to tell her, for her to know he had fulfilled the task of ridding the Galaxy of its dictator. She could feel the responsibility of the act weighing heavy on his conscience.

“He is,” her brother said either way, but Leia was surprised to find the words didn’t bring her the calm she had expected.

Instead, Luke’s tone seemed flat, solemn. It seemed uncanny, unnatural for him. Leia decided to dismiss it as nonsense. Instead, she focused on Luke’s arms around her, and the tender kiss he placed against her forehead. She had always known they belonged together, that there was a connection between them.

It had taken some time for her to realize what exactly the bond was, but as soon as she realized she had fallen in love with Han, she knew Luke was the brother she’d always been missing. The brother she’d sometimes see in her dreams, a twin she’d never known. She had assumed her possible lost brother had died in the womb, that the ghost was a figment of her imagination. Now, she knew better.

Still, another question was begging to be answered. She felt the hatred and disgust well up inside her, before she even uttered the name on her mind. She sensed Luke’s reluctance to discuss it, knowing he heard her inquiry before she said it. Its taste bitter on her tongue.

“Is… where is Vader?”

“Our fath--”

“Your father,” Leia interrupted sharply, and she swore she could have heard Luke snort in annoyance if it weren’t so out of character for him to be intemperate. “Your father, my sire.”

“Father has changed. When we first spoke, I was afraid of his words. I was afraid of his intentions, of what he might do to me - and to you. But I’m not afraid anymore,” Luke said after a moment, but this time Leia didn’t imagine the cutting edge to his voice. “He asked me to relay a message. To you.”

“I want no part of his last wishes.”

“I know.”

Leia hated the tension that had formed between them, tainting the air and making it almost oppressive. She had no intentions of forgiving the man who had fathered her, who had stood dumbly by as her home planet and her adoptive - her real - parents were murdered. Her people turned to dust in the blink of an eye. Vader was nothing to her, and much as she knew Luke had been entertaining the idea of forming a bond with Vader as a parent, she had no such notions.

Biting her lip, Leia clung to Luke. For a moment, she feared he would back away. She feared he may be upset, despite the fact that she had never seen Luke be anything but calm and serene since he first became a Jedi Knight. She stroked his back, the rough fabric of his robes a familiar presence. Hiding her face against Luke’s chest, she shut any thoughts of Vader out but she was still hyper aware that Luke hadn’t confirmed whether the Dark Lord was dead or alive.

In the distance, she could hear the chattering of ewoks mingling with Chewbacca’s cheerful yowls, and if she strained her ears she could make out Han’s gruff tone as he conversed with Lando over a glass of whatever the Ewok equivalent to liquor was called. They would be alright.

But when Luke spoke again, interrupting the pleasant background noises of celebration, the mournful aura he was emanating could not be ignored.

“That’s why I must be the one to do his bidding.”

“What are you talking about?” Leia said, tilting her head slightly upwards to attempt to catch his eyes.

Before she had the chance, the hand at the back of her neck guided her confounded face away as he pressed her tightly to her chest.

“I didn’t understand before, but now I do. The Emperor was seduced by the darkness inside of himself, not by the Force itself. The Force is neither light nor dark, you cannot know it if you do not walk the line between the contradictions.”

“I don’t understand.”

Leia wasn’t lying, Luke’s words made little sense but she couldn’t keep the tension from pouring back into her weary bones ever so slightly. Something was amiss, but she allowed Luke to squeeze her as she returned the embrace with the same fervour. It seemed desperate, as if Luke was stalling something inevitable, something momentous. Perhaps, she already knew where he was going. Perhaps they were both buying themselves more time.

“Father knows. About you,” Luke finally breathed, the admission of guilt filling Leia’s heart with dread and fear. “I tried, but I couldn’t keep it from him.”

“You let him live.”

It wasn’t a question, and when Luke offered no reply, Leia knew it to be true. She dug her fingers into his back, but forced herself not to lash out. She wanted Vader dead, she wanted to see him suffer as a punishment for all the atrocities he had committed. As she struggled with the battle between her love for her brother and her disdain for her biological father, she could sense Luke’s sorrow growing in magnitude. It became palpable, until it overpowered even her vivacious, volatile emotional turmoil.

“You are too good, Luke,” she finally murmured, relenting for now despite the simmering disappointment and anger beneath the surface.

“Yes. I have been. And I remain to be, but it can be remedied.”

Leia flinched as the durasteel fingertips of her brother’s cybernetic hand dug into the side of her neck - a neck she became ever so aware of, reminded of its frailty. She reached out with that unknown, premonitory, invisible hand to search his feelings. She sensed no malice, only grief. She simply couldn’t grasp what he was mourning, or who, if Vader was still alive.

“There is so much more that I don’t yet understand, but I can learn. But so can you,” he continued, and shivers of unease ran down Leia’s spine at the spiteful way in which he brought her into the equation - so unlike the Luke she knew.

“I don’t want to learn about the Force,” she said, in an effort to reassure herself as much as Luke.

“No. Not now. But you will, eventually. It can’t be helped. Your potential will draw you towards it, as it did me. You can fight it, or embrace it as I have. It won’t matter, it takes you either way. You have no choice.”

“I don’t believe that,” Leia scoffed, the sinking feeling in her belly foreboding.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, nor does it matter what I believe. It’s the truth.”

The conviction of those words was irrefutable, and for a second Leia feared Luke could actually foresee the future and was speaking with an unearned wisdom regarding what was to pass. She found herself dreading the fact that there may be a predestined path for her.

“You sense it too, don’t you? You have felt its call, you have felt it beckoning to you. The Force.”

Leia wavered, about to reply when she remembered something she had overheard in the past. Luke communicating with an unseen figure, its voice eerily similar to the late Obi-Wan’s - its warning prodding at her subconscious until she had no choice but to reiterate it aloud.

“The Force doesn’t beckon. The Dark Side does.”

“But it has called you, hasn’t it?”

Luke didn’t falter, and Leia didn’t deny him. Her silence was all the compliance he needed, and she felt another chaste kiss pressed to the top of her head. Again, the durasteel prickle of his cold, harsh fingers buried themselves a little farther into the tender flesh of her nape.

“Then it has already been decided. Father was right. You are too much like him.”

Leia jerked back, trying to rear away as hurt, rage and disgust rushed to the surface in a flurry. Instead, she found herself trapped by Luke’s powerful hold. Heart sinking, she realized the dread she had been feeling wasn’t merely caused by Vader’s survival. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came forth. She tried to yank her arms free, but the unseen hands keeping her firmly put were too strong. She wanted to scream, wanted to kick, and writhe, and punch, and claw her way out. Instead, she stood paralyzed as Luke’s fingers grew painfully tight around the back of her nape; tips pressing against her hammering pulse point.

“There can be only two; one master and one apprentice. You have an inherent rage. You would make the perfect Sith, but if you become Father’s apprentice…” Luke trailed off, and the meaning behind the unspoken intent was enough to suck the air out of Leia’s lungs.

Swallowing had, she found it difficult to breathe; and the vice closing around her neck was getting ever tighter. She could feel the sharp sting as unforgiving durasteel pierced her skin, and the rush of warmth that could only be blood spilling down the front of her dress. As her mind grew foggy, Leia realizing the welcoming darkness was likely of Luke’s doing to ease her into the eternal sleep, she picked up on his voice close to her ear. Despite the haze as life faded, her brother’s words were crisp and clear and haunting.

“This is the only way. It is my destiny,” he said, with an evident choked tremor to the delivery. “I’m sorry.”

Head tipping backwards, the last thing Leia noted was the irony in the lone tear that slid down Luke’s pale cheek juxtaposed with the predatory, greedy glow of his now bloodshot golden eyes.

***

Because there aren’t enough Dark!Luke AUs out there, so have my take on an alternate ending to RotJ where Luke falls and Vader lives. Enjoy!

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Tʜᴇ Nᴇᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴇ

part ii of ‘the Caim’.

word count: 4790

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. Nepenthe... (n.) one that brings a pleasurable sense of forgetfulness, or the erasing of an unwanted memory.

It felt better than last time, at least.

No, it wasn’t perfect. Nothing was ever perfect when it came to wartime- least of all emotional well-beings. But you had once been at the lowest of all points, and now you could say otherwise. Now, at least, your emotional state was better than others. Better than comrades, friends, and those who you dearly missed without even being allowed to.

You had known it was a silly thing to do from the very beginning. For one, it was against the code you had sworn to uphold and heed. You knew the Jedi would never have approved of what you allowed to take place, but the sincerity of it all had admittedly clouded your judgement. Secondly, it was simply ridiculous enough of you for encouraging it to begin with. It was even more ridiculous to continue to cling onto what had happened, all within the confines of a slim, onyx box.

The parchments were fragile from time, but protected from how well you’d treated them. You’d been sure not to crinkle the pieces anymore than you’d needed to. Even taken extra care in not smearing the ink when your thumbs were rubbing over top of it. With a rather unrealistic fear of the papers turning to dust at the very mention of the air, you rarely took them out to see with your own eyes.

But what in the wide open galaxy could’ve been so precious, someone would never take them out out of fear of oxygen?

Treasures from your worst time, of course. From Umbara, when you had been called to fill in for General Kenobi and Skywalker on a month long mission in retaking the shadowy world. It hadn’t taken long for you to lose any notion of spirit to exhaustion. Your body and soul had turned sour with a dull ailment, as if you were dressed in the feeling of dry throat. But, of course, you had been prepared to ride this feeling out until the end of your task.

And then something had made it far more bearable. First only a little, then a lot.

No, you were never able to prove it. But you knew. And in return, Rex knew that you knew. Whether he noticed your demeanor and mood or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that the man had taken time out of his rather busy schedule to write you small, but simple, declarations of his admiration for you. It was probably the nicest things anyone had ever done for you, and the Captain had done it purely out of his own golden heart.

So, that was what you kept in the box. Notes from the man who had touched you deeply, and therefor carried you to the end.

You hadn’t seen Rex since the second siege of Umbara- the mission you’d been involved with. But that was about five months ago now. You had already returned to your own battalion, returned to your own battles, returned to the people who were already counting on you. You still saw Anakin and Obi-Wan fairly often, even aided the latter in a space battle against Grievous. Other than that, you worked with General Plo Koon in guarding the skies. And all was well.

You never asked about Rex. Though you desperately wanted to inquire of his health, it would’ve been too off putting for both your colleagues and your own men. After all, nobody knew what had transpired between the two of you. And even then, neither you nor the Captain acknowledged it. So it wasn’t like you had much of a right to any concern for him anyway. You weren’t his lover, or even his friend. You were a superior, and it was not much allowed to act as though there was anything more to it.

Though as your fingers ghosted over the last slip of paper he had written to you, a certain fondness was hard to deny.

“ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ.” How were you just supposed to forget that? Though you supposed that must’ve been the mans intention. He hadn’t wanted you to forget it, even if it was a bit of a distraction to both of your duties.

With a slow exhale from your nose, your thumb strokes the corner of the parchment a final time. Then, you fold the paper back up, stack it up in line with the other pieces, and carefully place them back in the black box. You only have to lean over in your sitting position to place the box under the shelf you call your bed. Once you sit up again, you’re met with the boring gray walls of the inside of a Venator. And without realizing it, the last thing you think of before you lay down for sleep, is how you’d much rather be looking at a certain Captain instead.

You would get your wish.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You grip the table in front of you as your ship jolts. Overhead, lights lining the ceilings and walls flash red like sirens. A few of the officers and men around you stumble as well, and you just know a trillion more problems are arising.

“C’mon Plo...” you urgently hiss under your breath. “Hurry up, please.”

As if on cue, you watch his star-fighter spin outside the bridge window, closely followed by a spray of enemy shots. A low trill from in front of you grabs your attention instead, and you raise your head to meet your fellow Jedi.

“General Y/N?” Anakin inquires importantly. “Are you there?”

Another shake runs through your ship, causing your knuckles to pale from the intensity of holding on. “I’m here,” you answer. “Our forces are overpowered. General Koon won’t be able to hold out for much longer. I suggest we-” another shake of your ship. “I suggest we pull back.”

General Skywalker nods his head firmly, then looks around with darting eyes. “We’re coming out of hyperspace now, General. Whether or not we’ll be in one piece is up for debate, though.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Your fellow Jedi know your lack of speaking enough to understand that this quirk is encouraging them to explain. “We’ve been... badly damaged. Admiral Yularen is out cold. If we stay on this ship, we’re done for.”

You nod as you get the message. “Understood,” you say, and the hologram disappears. “Open up the hanger and lower rear shields. Prepare for incoming escape pods,” you say to one officer. As he nods his head curtly, you raise your communicator to your lips and turn to the bridge window. “You hear that, Plo?”

“Affirmative,” the Kel Dor answers through blasts.

“As soon as everyone arrives, I want us in hyperspace,” you say to your Admiral.

It only took three moments before the giant window you looked out to was painted with blue and white streaks, and then a tunnel of indigo. A slow breath escapes you as anxiety quietly builds inside. Skywalker’s plan went horribly. He’d known the Separatist ships had outgunned you and Plo this time, but he insisted you hold your position. You had attempted to warn him against this, but clearly to no avail. Now you’re down a ship, Yularen, and several men. Not to mention all the shots your own cruiser had taken.

“Plo,” you say into your communicator, slowly. “Do you read me?”

Silence.

“Plo?”

“I’m here.” You exhale in relief at the sound of his voice. “I’ve met General Skywalker in the hanger bay. They have wounded.”

“I’m on my way.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“General Y/N!” Anakin exclaims. His notorious smirk is creeping against the edge of his lips, and his hands are outstretched to make his words all the bolder. Despite his warm greeting, clones are being carried away in stretchers all around him, and your once clean bay is now streaked with skid marks.

“I have to say, this is one of your worse landings,” you tell him once you enter earshot. Unlike the man in front of you, you were not one to shout your half of the conversation from across the room. You nod once to General Plo as he passes you by.

“Yeah, well, I improvised.”

Clearly, you think as you watch a Clone remove his helmet and gasp for air.

“We lost a whole squadron of men,” Anakin continues. “Yularen was injured while we were out flanked. And Obi-Wan...” Anakin sighs and squares his jaw. “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

What about Rex? You resist the urge to scream. Instead, you say, “I can cover you for this one.”

“No,” the man says quickly. He folds his arms somewhat bitterly, though you know it’s not directed towards you. “No. It’s my mistake.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before someone else steals your attention again. Behind you, a distorted voice rings clear and true. “General Skywalker,” it calls, and your heart gives a great pound, even though you’ve heard the voice over a thousand times today.

You shift your body so you’re half facing the voice. You watch a trooper in blue marked armor march up to where you and your comrade stand. Helmet scarred with tally marks... Blasters on both hips... The appearance only confirmed what you had already known.

Coming closer, Rex lifts his hands and removes his helmet from his head, revealing his face.

Maker, had he always looked like this? Or was this a trick of your brain from a new addiction to him?

Bleached hair cut close to his head, striking features and golden eyes. Angular as ever, but symmetrical nonetheless. You hadn’t really experienced attraction much in your life. The Jedi code kept barred you from it, and you hadn’t much of a desire to really seek it out. But you had spent so much time wondering about the man that when you saw him again, even after all this time, you knew at once that not only was Rex attractive, but you were attracted to him.

“Ah, Rex,” Skywalker says in turn. “Good to see you’re in one piece. I was just about to mention you to our host here.”

You watch the Clones pupils dilate as he bites the inside of his right cheek. Although you’re feeling the same amount of both excitement and anxiety as he is, his discomfort means more to you. In a quick but meaningful attempt to quell his rather put-on-the-spot feelings, you speak first.

“Captain,” you say steadily. “I’m glad to see you well.”

What a poor thing to say. Could you truly not have thought of anything better to say to the man?

“How are the men?” Anakin asks from beside you, nearly making you jump. You’d momentarily forgotten where you were, and the fact that other people just so happened to exist.

Rex dips his head. You can see the weight of stress against his shoulders, and a darkening shadow within his eyes. In the pit of your own stomach, a prick of guilt and empathy sparks. Is this how he had felt seeing you in such a state? Had it truly felt this jarring?

“They’re... heavily injured,” the Captain answers. A thumb rubs against the side of his helmet like a ghost, just over the tally marks. “We’re still counting the casualties.”

“If you’d like to help your men...” Anakin trails off.

Rex snaps back to attention, his voice as clear and strong as any soldier. “I would. Will you be alright without me?”

“Rex,” Anakin assures with a lighthearted smile. “We’ll be fine. I’ll contact you if we need anything.”

Rex is sure not to make eye contact with you again as he goes. He silently questions Skywalker a few seconds longer with his large, amber eyes. Then he puts his helmet back over his face, turns around in uniform fashion, and heads to assist Kix in the corner.

You knew how dedicated of a man he was before. He had his conflict, but he always put it aside for the greater good of those around him, meaning he was selfless as well. Rex remained hardworking and level headed, which didn’t surprise you much, but still. He impressed you with how he walked and talked and treated other people, you being one of them. Focused, diligent... there was so many things you could say about him. All of them flattering. Instead, you muttered:

“He always was a good man.”

“Well he hasn’t changed much since you saw him,” Skywalker elaborates. “I was hoping to promote him to Commander this year, but I doubt it will happen now.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you turn back to your fellow Jedi. It’s a silent question of ‘why? what makes you say that?’.

Anakin takes a small step forward, which allows you to inhale his scent. It’s an intimate act, though not in a sexual nor romantic way. It’s an intimate act of secrecy, and you’re sure to give him your full attention in the coming moments.

“Rex tends to... self deprecate.”

Your first instinct is to be somewhat offended on the clone Captain’s behalf. But your mind is quick to quiet this instinct, giving way to the logical answer.

Skywalker isn’t wrong. Though his phrasing may not be the most accurate, it gets the point across. Rex does self deprecate. He shares the loss with everyone as if it were his own. As if he were responsible for the failure or wrongdoing whether he really was or not. And, sadly, most of the time he’s not. But he’ll never see it that way.

The Captain considered all the men lost on this mission his fault. Anakin could offer Rex the position of Commander all he wants, but the clone would never accept after a mission like this.

You turn back towards his direction. Rex crouches down next to his medic friend, occasionally nodding his head solemnly. Even now, in a state that tugs on the edges of your heart, he looks pretty.

“How long do you expect to stay?” you ask with focused eyes.

“I don’t know,” the Skywalker says with a sigh. “But you don’t mind if my men stay here while me and Obi-Wan do some recon, right?”

“No,” you answer slowly, the idea solidifying as you watch the Clone push himself to his feet. “Stay as long as you need.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You wrote it out carefully. The grip around the pen was tight and secure, and the letters that bled from it were tiny and neat. In an age where holopads ruled the galaxy, you’d almost forgotten what your handwriting was like. It was nice to remember.

Writing was simple. It was more peaceful than holding a lightsaber, and you didn’t destroy anything through your hands movements. When the letters appeared at your will, you could imagine a life where they did this all the time. A life on the countryside maybe, or the beach. You’d heard Scarif was beautiful often. Maybe there?

The feeling of sullen peace doesn’t last long. As soon as you finish your statement, you’re back to being a Jedi knight. It saddens you in it’s own way, but you tell yourself it’s for the best, as you usually did. Then, you read your gift over in your head.

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴀɴ.

It didn’t seem like it was enough, so you flipped the parchment over to the other side and wrote more.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

And you meant what you had written, too. Rex, like any other Clone, didn’t deserve the guilt that war brought. He didn’t deserve the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, but he had to bear it anyway. Maybe your little words with alleviate some of it for him, just as it had for you.

I slip the paper between the folds of your robes. At nightfall, you creep into the darkness, a messenger of your own terms.

You knew that Rex had received and read your offering. The moment yours eyes met, it was done for.

You weren’t going to act out. Your face didn’t change in the slightest. Rex’s, however, has shifted his eyes into a widened state, and his lips are parted as he realizes what you have done. Whatever doubts he had about it were now quelled, for at first he had assumed it was a simply a kind soldier.

Instead it was you, the Jedi he had thought about every day since first sight.

Slowly, you raise your breakfast bread to your lips. Your teeth break through the little cloud of dough, savoring the dry taste. Rex seems to be paralyzed on the other side of the room. He doesn’t even seem to recognize that he’s in public, in a sea of clones and officers who would be able to read the look on his face if they squint enough.

You hold the man’s stare for a few seconds longer. Then you turn away, just in time to catch Plo and Anakin approaching you.

“General,” Anakin greets. You bow your head in recognition.

“We received a transmission from General Kenobi and Windu this morning,” Plo booms. “They’re on their way to support us best they can, but they estimate they won’t be here for the next three days.”

Three days. You have three days to calm Rex’s nerves.

You swallow down your bite of bread before you respond. “Any news of the enemy?”

“None so far.”

“We should send out scouts in all directions,” Anakin steps forward. “We have to locate Grievous before he escapes again.”

“He could’ve already jumped into hyperspace by now,” you urge. “Unlike him, we may not have that fuel. Not until Obi-Wan gets here.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex found the second note that evening.

He’d already struggled to push the first from his mind, but now his head felt like it was filling with clouds. What should he have focused on? Your lingering scent on the cards? The cleanliness of your handwriting? The fact that it was from you? For him? Maker, he hadn’t even said thirty sentences to you, and he was already drunk with love.

Not infatuation. Not lust. Love.

With a shaky hand, the soldier purses his lips. He bends over in his blue painted armor. He feels the paper against the fingertips of his gloves. At once, he feels you too. He can’t turn it over fast enough.

ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ, ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ. ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ- ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ? ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

Rex’s throat dries fast. The light in his ambers eyes resembles the embers of a fire, alive and awake with the spark of a promise. But the man knows there may be more, and he turns the parchment to the other side, nearly giving himself a paper slice.

ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ, ʀᴇx.

It’s you. This confirms it.

You’ve addressed him by name now. You’ve made it solid with the motion of your wrist and the ink of a pen. So how does Rex respond? Confront you directly? No. You’re his superior. Rex isn’t even fully sure he’d have the courage to do that yet. Lead his men into battle? Any day, no problem. Speak to you, with your piercing eyes and your analytical mind? His tongue would tie itself before he’d be able to get any words out.

Should he write a letter in return? That’s not how this works. Rex remembers he’s out of paper at the moment anyway. He can’t talk to Anakin about it without getting you in trouble. Confiding in his brothers would’ve only led to frustration, lame advice, and court marshals. That’s not an option.

The only other path is simple: no confrontation at all. Rex rides out the wave of your words until you split paths again. You disappear to do whatever it is Jedi do, and the Captain is forced back into having to find ways to inquire about your wellbeing to Anakin without seeming unnatural.

But that doesn’t totally seem like an option either.

Unknown to the man, you sit on security cameras. You watch as he stands outside the doorway of his barracks, clutching the note close to his chest, before you head to your sleep.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex is happier the next morning.

His broad chest is puffed out further than before. It’s not noticeable for most people, but it’s noticeable for anyone who’s memorized the walk and posture of their lover. The same goes for the corners of his lips, which aren’t as dragged downwards as usual. His eyes are bright from a well rest.

He is physically healthy. You can only hope his head is beginning to follow suit.

You write him one note, which is read before lunch time. A simple:

ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ.

Which you could swear resulted in softer expressions on his part throughout the day. No smiles. The atmosphere was too grim and crowded for a full, cheery curve. It’s a bit of a shame, because you meant your words. The thought alone of Rex grinning in sheer joy is enough to make you want to grin too. Still, you understand. Disappointment and understanding tend to go well together.

After overseeing some construction, you receive a cut along your palm. It is sharp and deep, and the crimson blood seeps into the crevices of your fingers. Despite the stinging, you offer little outside reaction. You are quick to carry yourself to the infirmary.

Rex leaves the infirmary at the same time.

You tell yourself you won’t turn to look at him. But then you hear him speak “General, are you alright?” and you abandon your internal swear.

The promise of seeing his face is too tempting. You turn smoothly, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” you tell him, as if nothing ever existed between the two of you. “I’m alright.” Then your brows crease together. “Are you?”

Rex takes a split second to respond. He is distracted, trapped in his own thoughts thanks to you. “Oh- yes, General. I was just, ah, visiting Jesse. Some friends of mine were injured in the crash, sir.”

Your gaze softens considerably. Your next lines come out without thinking, but they flow as freely as a stream regardless. “You always were a kind man.”

Which isn’t a bad thing to say to anyone, by any means. But in relation to you and him, it feels like a big step. The words sound like something that should’ve been kept in between the folds of paper, and left by the side of a door.

Both Rex and yourself tense up at the exact same time. Eyes widen, shoulders square.

But Rex is true to his nature. “And you always had quite the way with words, General,” he says. The end of his sentence is capped with a clipped up smirk, and a charismatic glint in his eyes that is too raw to be untruthful.

So the Captain finds another letter addressed to him that day, right before bed.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ.

And on the other side,

ɪ'ᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And then it’s the last day that you’ll be together. The day you’d been dreading. The day you’d been putting off.

You hadn’t meant to get so attached. It goes against your training, your code, everything you’ve sacrificed yourself for. But you’re too far in now. You are absolutely star struck, invested, and trapped in a rabbit hole created by Rex himself. Not that you blame him. You’re glad for it. You could be happy like this.

You don’t want to lose him. Therefore, a line of thinking pops into your intelligent little brain. It wouldn’t solve all the problems. In fact, it would probably create more. But it would be binding. It would be official. You could escape.

You wanted to. You wanted to go forward with your line of thinking. But Maker, it was a leap. Would it be worth it?

Yes. If you had to answer now, the answer would be yes.

An entire section of your brain was dedicated to mulling it over the entirety of the day. Even as you commanded your troops, signaling and training and clutching the end of the holotable with your bandaged fingers, about seventeen percent of your brain power was stuck on the future.

The answer was reached at the very last moment.

As Obi-Wan emerged from hyperspace, along with several fighters, your mind went blank. And then the blankness washed away, and all you could feel was the simplicity of a crackling fire, the waves on a beach, and the promise of safety. You imagine yourself writing every day with pen and paper, creating whimsical works for yourself and your lover. There is nothing but peace. No war, nor responsibilities. Only the beach, the parchment, and Rex.

Rex.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Your lover already received what he had assumed would be the last letter from you. He’d seen it in the morning. It was simple and sweet, and while it didn’t do much to soothe himself from the thought of parting from you, it had made him feel warm inside.

ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

So you can imagine the way his dark eyebrows knit together at the sight of another.

Perhaps it was an accident. The Captain had been returning to his quarters to gather whatever belongings he’d left inside before transferring over to Obi-Wan’s cruiser with General Skywalker. No. That was a ridiculous thing to think. You were simply immune to making mistakes.

Rex bends over. Again, his black gloved hand stretches out and clasps the parchment up. He is always careful with it, as to not crinkle the memories and sentiment wrapped within. Like you, he is sure to keep everything you send to him in either a box or an envelope for future reference.

Your last note is not a statement. It is not a compliment to be taken at face value. It is a question, a proposal. It is a leap of faith.

You got your answer the next morning. Before loading himself onto the transport, your Captain is sure to meet your eyes. You step forward with one foot, searching for any signs. And for the first few seconds you are concerned that he has answered with a simple ‘no’, but then you realize that he is simply teasing. Something you’d have to get used to, it seems.

Rex gives you a smile. A soft one, but a sincere one. His right hand reaches up, and pats against his armor, right over his heart. He does this one, two, three times, before slipping his handsome face inside his helmet, and disappearing behind the visor.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You are married on Obi-Wan’s cruiser. General Koon sends you over the next day to obtain information in person instead of holograms for fear of bugs and spies. And, yes, you were true to your mission.

But where no one could see you, you met Rex in a humid hallway. The lights were dimmed and near glowing red, but the area was totally cleared out. Neither clone, nor Jedi disturbed the lovers, whose shadows were looking into each others eyes.

Rex has your hands in his. They are rough, and a reminder of how you observed them and thought he had stood out at first sight. He still has the scar on his palm, though this time you have your own to match it. This time, you also match in terms of jewelry, for both of your left ring fingers are tethered by simple, silver bands.

The kiss that sealed the idea was chaste at first. You hadn’t known what to do, though it hadn’t taken you long to through that thought to the wind. Kissing Rex felt good, even if you had nothing to compare it to. It was the kiss you had been waiting for, and the tongue prodding at your lips had only confirmed your suspicions that Rex was an adventurous man.

And so, in the hallway where the lovers met, all was well.

At least until Order Sixty-Six came.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

finally.

might edit though, but i always say i’ll do that and then don’t.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg

#captain rex x reader #captain rex imagines #captain rex angst #captain rex imagine #rex x reader #rex imagines #rex angst #captain rex fluff #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #clone wars x reader #tcw x reader #captain rex fanfiction #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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tessiete · 3 years

Photo

Armed With a Burning Patience Obi-Wan Kenobi may be back from the dead, but Satine isn’t sure she’s ready to forgive him.

The post-Hardeen reunion smut fic I had to get out.

She hears the truth from the mouth of some holostar.

Whom, in particular, she cannot say; where is unimportant, and even when blurs and shifts in her mind. She was in her rooms. No, she was in her court. She was sat upon her throne. She was among the masses. She was there, in the audience, when the interview occurred.

None of it is very important.

The important thing is this: High General of the Grand Army of the Republic, and Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi...is not dead.

She has been lied to.

“Have you heard the news from Capital City?”

The news of his death had been more kindly delivered than that of his survival, and that , she feels, means something she hasn’t the wherewithal to parse. Not now.

Then , Ahsoka had commed her. Her slight shoulders hung heavily, the slope of them narrowed and hunched, streamlined, as though the eddies of anguish and upset might slip over her, like wings in a windstream.

“I...I know you were close,” she said. “And I know Master Skywalker should to be the one to tell you this, but he’s...Master Kenobi has -”

Now, she hears it as the set up for a punchline.

“Have you heard the news from Capital City? They say a Jedi has come back from the dead.”

“Kriff! I wish I could say the same for my career!”

There are so many Jedi, and so many deaths. But only one has come back. And it has to be hers.

She waits for him to call. She keeps her commlink open to all signals, and on her person. She keeps it in her hand. But no such message comes through.

At night, she asks Maia if anything has been sent to her personal padd.

“No, ma’am,” she says, her eyes so round and sad that Satine can see her own pitiful reflection in them, and she turns away in contempt.

“No, of course,” she replies. “A silly question. I’m only very tired tonight.”

And Maia peels away the layers of her gown until she is paper thin, and quite translucent as her satin nightdress. She sleeps. She wakes. She waits, and hates herself for it.

Ahsoka calls, just once more. It’s short because she’s in the field, and her master needs her.

“I just wanted to make sure you’d heard,” she says. “I should have called, but things - Master Skywalker...I don’t understand why he would lie to us.”

She hangs her head, and Satine remembers how young she is. She thinks of Korkie, off at school, tucked safe and out of sight, and of the way he bowed his head and wept the day she told him he could not come home.

“It was his duty,” she tells the girl, smiling, her shoulders thrown back and her hands clasped so tight she can feel the bones grind together. “We all do what we must.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ahsoka murmurs, but her voice is fraught with resignation, not acceptance, and resignation is something Satine cannot countenance.

“You have a duty, as well,” she reminds the girl. “To your men. To your master. To your Order. Do not forget that. We all do what we must. This is the way. You are a Jedi , Ahsoka Tano. You are a Jedi. Do not give up. ”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and Satine sees some determination ratchet in the hinge of her jaw before she ends the call.

That same determination buttresses the sagging arch of her own spine, lifting her bearing in proud defiance of gravity’s grief, and with this scaffolding in place, she is able to survive the day. And the next one, too. She thinks of him, but she is disciplined, and he is silent, and so she is able to put him somewhere out of sight. He is like a fleeting shadow in the corner of her eye, but she keeps herself facing forward.

Until, one day, sometime later - sometime, when she has become so practiced at denying him, his presence comes as a shock - she sees him standing outside her room, a pair of her Guard flanking him.

She looks at Vi’Tolan, and though she doesn’t speak, her protector can hear her disquiet.

“I granted his landing clearances,” she explains. “You said -”

Satine shakes her head, exhaling to clear her muddied thoughts.

“I did,” she confirms. “Thank you, Vi’Tolan. Please, if you would -”

“Of course, my Lady,” she says, and with a curt nod of instruction, she, and the two guards leave her alone with Obi-Wan.

The hall is empty, and their audience as private as anyone can expect, and he is standing there before her, alive, and well, and breathing, and she realises that she has nothing to say.

Nothing at all.

And by his silence, it seems that he has nothing either.

She sighs, and presses a hand to her face to cover her eyes. Perhaps, a moment out of sight will grant her the peace necessary for wisdom to come. She can still feel the weight of his gaze. His expectation has a near physical presence, as though he has manifested desire and restraint into some looming beast that stands just over her shoulder. It hunts her, and haunts him. Yet no solution comes in the privacy of her thoughts, and so, she straightens her shoulders and crosses into her room, knowing that, of course, he will follow.

Maia waits.

“My Lady Duchess -” she says, her shock at Satine being accompanied by such a man sending her to her feet at attention, but Satine dismisses her as easily as she had Vi’Tolan. Her mind is made up. Her voice is firm. Everything that happens from here on out is her decision.

“I should appreciate a quick attendance tonight, Maia,” she says, setting herself down at the wide vanity.

Maia’s mouth closes, and she hies swiftly to her mistress’ side. Deft fingers unclasp, and unpin, collecting the stiff rods into the palm of her hand. She works until the headpiece slips sideways over the Duchess’ brow, then catches it as it falls away. This done, Satine is free to pull off her rings, and remove her earrings, dropping them all with neither haste, nor care upon her table. They are heavy, and she is glad to be rid of them, though she doesn’t feel much lighter for their absence. Maia brushes her hair forward over one shoulder to undo the ribbon at the waist of her thick surcote, letting it hang forward, and as Satine pulls her arms free of this layer, Maia is quick to loosen the catches of the next. Her fine cherrinwork kirtle covers a loose smock but these are easy enough to doff on her own, so she shifts forward, away from Maia’s hands.

“Thank you, Maia,” she says, leaving the girl bereft. “That shall be all for this evening.”

She may be uncertain, but she is well trained, and demurs easily. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her shimmerflax train murmurs softly, following her out the door, and then they are alone.

The mirror looks at what Satine cannot, and tells her that Obi-Wan remains just inside the door. He is tucked against the wall, his hands folded in his robes. He looks small. Diminished. Drowning in swaths of coarse fabric. This is not the glorious warrior she has seen on the holonet. This is not the shining ambassador of freedom. He wears none of the armour she has seen him in before - and why should he, when he is so inured to death as to be immune?

She sighs, and he catches her eye in the glass. It isn’t in her to break first, so she waits until he does, the resumes her ablutions. A single claricloth is sufficient to remove her makeup, but the face that emerges from beneath the paint is sallow and haunted. It shows nothing of how she feels, and so she scrubs at her cheeks until they are pink once more. Her eyes are cold, and her lips stay bloodless no matter how she bites at them.

Accepting that there is little she may improve upon, she rises to take off her dress. From the corner of her eye, she sees him step forward as well.

“No,” she says, and her voice is the same as her eyes - as distant and as cold - and he freezes.

The discarded pile of clothing is heaped upon the bench, out of sight of the mirror, and she walks to where he stands, shoulders back, and bare. She does not flinch, and at least he has the grace to meet her gaze and hold it. She stops when she is close enough to feel his breath upon her face.

And it does not matter, but she thinks it is she who moves first.

Their mouths meet, open but empty of any thought, and her lip, already punished with her own worry, splits against his teeth. His hands are on her shoulders, then braced against the back of her head, while the other slides down the curve of her spine, falling like rain, coursing over the swell of her flesh. He grabs at her fiercely, and she yields to his grip, bending against him, swallowed by his robes, but the cloth tangles at his wrists, and he shakes them, as though desperate to be free of the web of some great terror.

She pulls back to push the cloak over his shoulders, to fumble at his belt as he throws the robe aside. Together, they tear off his tabards, and she lifts the fitted sark over his head, while he stares up at her, dazed, his eyes starry and she looks away to see the tunic adequately tossed aside. She kisses him again, before he can speak, though he doesn’t seem inclined to. Instead, he leans in, his tongue slipping over hers to trace the roof of her mouth, even as he stumbles forward caught in the shackles of his trousers, and his boots. They, too, are eventually lost, and they are left trying to peel the skin from each others’ bones.

She claws at his waist. Her fingers catch in his hair, and she surges forward, hungry, even as the weight of his desire drives her back, until at last, overcome, he lifts her from the ground, her legs flying up to cling at his hips, his cock hard and aching below her thigh.

The bed is before them in an instant, and he staggers forward as his legs slam against it. His arms fly out to brace for a fall that cannot happen, but which his body fears, nonetheless, and seeks to save him from. But she does not let go.

He comes down hard upon her. The softness of the bed gives way at her back, while his chest, stained with the heat of his desire, presses down on her. She pulls him closer, holds him tighter, eager, hopeful that he might crush her completely. He cannot be too close to her, and it does not take much to persuade him to relent. He is nothing if not obedient.

She gasps, and he - still devouring - moves to kiss her neck, nipping at the skin, and licking a wet stripe along the line of her jaw to the point where it meets at the lobe of her ear. His teeth are sharp, and his beard coarse. Together, they leave red marks against the pallor of her flesh, and they are blushing together. Then, he rises again. His hands frame her face, sweeping aside her hair as he seeks to touch the fragile arc of her cheeks with the tips of his fingers, and his palms. He presses a kiss to her brow, and it is almost tender. She desires no such reverence.

And so, while his lips are still upon her, in an address far sweeter than she thinks he’s ever tendered in negotiations before, she reaches between them to take his length in hand. A rough sound is wrenched from his lips, and for a moment the heel of his chin digs in against her scalp. If she had thought him willing before, now he becomes absolutely pliant beneath her touch. His head falls to her shoulder, and his breath is loud in her ear.

“Hush,” she murmurs, and again he obeys. So good , she thinks, and her praise is expressed in the glide of her hand over the length of his cock. His reward is in the pump of her fist, but for all that he is dutiful, he is also bold, and though he chokes back his cries in the curve of her neck, he brings his own hand up to cup her left breast, taking that pleasure for himself.

And she gives it. She forces it upon him. Take it , she thinks, as she arcs up against his hand. Take it, she thinks, as she draws her hand down, then up, then down again. “Take me,” she says, low, in his ear. There is something feral in her voice. She feels savage, and wanton, and full of rage.

Whatever wildness is in her, he must hear it because he turns to look at her. His eyes glitter in the dark, his mouth swollen, his lips glisten with the sheen stolen from her own mouth, and she draws him closer to take it back. His lower lips catches between her teeth, and she tugs. She drags her thumb over the head of his cock, tracing the swell of sensitive skin, feeling her fingers slick with precome, hearing him keen and fight against his own voice while wanting more, and she bites down until she tastes blood. This time, it’s his, and with it spilled on either side, she thinks of war and fury, and how they are now bonded in battle. This is the way, and though it is not her way, she still owns the path. By title. By right. By blood.

His hand tenses over her breast, and she will bruise, she knows, but that thought is almost as delicious as the bite of his fingers as he pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls.

“Stars!” she says, the word torn from her by force. She releases him only to clutch him close again, pressing his head to her collarbone, pressing him down. Soft strands of hair stick to her hands, wet with sweat, wet with him, clinging to the crevices of her body like she clings to him.

This whimsy, while sweet, dies swiftly upon the awn of the next moment as his tongue darts forth to tease at the rosy bud of her tit. His mouth, hot and wet, closes over her a moment later, and he suckles, while one hand drift low over her hips, and lower still to dip between the hot folds of her sex.

He touches her. First, there are just gentle strokes, and he moves from the hood of her clit, outward to her thigh grazing his clever fingers just barely across the skin of her inner thigh. Closer, then further away, then returning again, and it teases her like the sunlight of a breaking dawn. He slips the tip of one finger into the velvet grip of her entrance, then withdraws, dancing away to compass her centre again, and she knows that his confidence comes from memory, not practice. This is her body he recalls. This is her desire he stokes, and there is a greedy, vengeful part of her that delights in the fact that he has thought of no other, for none of their preferences are painted on her skin with his hands.

She grins in triumph, and urges his head lower still. And so he goes.

Her thighs fall open to greet his arrival, and his tongue replaces the rough ministrations of his fingers. Here, there is a feast to sate his hunger, and she welcomes him to take as much as he desires. With such a bounty laid bare before him, he does what all the wisest diplomats have done: first, he surveys the land, and then, with the guidance of an educated palate he tastes of every morsel that he might find the ripest fruits, and savour the richness of their flavour. He licks, and tastes, and as her breaths grow fast, and fall to frantic, he consumes her utterly. And as she feels the pinching crest of pleasure build, she looks down to admire the sight of this man, framed in the crescent of her legs.

He is with her, and looks up to watch as he takes her over the edge. She never swore obedience, and she will not be silent, the guttural cry of release still clinging to her lips as he creeps up over her to silence her with a kiss. She can taste herself upon his tongue, and she wonders if he thinks she tastes as sweet - but he must, for he is just as covetous of her essence as she.

And then, her hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, she draws him back to issue her final command.

“Fuck me,” she says.

He slips into her in a single thrust, sensing her impatience. His next is more tentative, gauging depth as though afraid he may have misjudged her readiness or his position. But she is certain. She slides herself downwards against his length before he can press again, meeting him halfway and breaking the rhythm of tempered consideration he’d intended before he can even commit.

“Hard,” she urges, driving him deeper. “Harder.”

And once again, he obeys.

“Harder,” she pants out with every thrust. Hurt me , she thinks with every beat of her racing heart.

His pace increases, urged forward like an unbroken fathier, and she the bit and bridle which gives fashion to his lust. He wraps a hand over her hip, leaving marks, and beats his desire against the bones of her pelvis, and that too will leave her bruised and aching tomorrow. It is what she wants - to be stained purple with the evidence of his existence, to be rubbed raw by his hair against the rash of her skin, to mirror the blue of his thirsty eye, to taste his blood, to feel that once he wanted, and she was there to grant him all she could. She needs to know that this is real. She can’t simply believe it.

So she pushes him to go faster, to take her harder, to drive deeper, until her arms are braced against the headboard, and he cries out, spilling hot and thoughtless inside of her.

And then, when he is spent, she wraps him in her arms, and presses him to her chest, the salt of their sweat mingling with the salt of his tears, but she does not cry. Instead, she whispers cold comfort in his ear.

“I missed you,” she says. “I mourned you. I think I always will.”

And he, his eyes red and blue and black, his hair falling thick across his brow, lifts his head to look at her.

“Please, don’t,” he says, an orison so soft it leaves a mark upon her skin.

But that is only yet another proof for her to keep, and think on when he leaves.

#sw fic #gffa #fanfiction #obitine #smut #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #post-rako hardeen #i tried het smut #that's...all i got

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daddywankenobifics · 4 years

Text

Padawan Obi Wan Kenobi X Padawan Reader- Quiet Time

Quiet Time-

Genres: Fluff, Sensual, Slight smut, Padawan Reader, Padawan Obi Wan, Prequel Star Wars

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,702 (its a shortie)

Quick Summary: Reader and Obi Wan are padawans at the jedi temple who have grown quiet fond of each other. In their time away from their duties as Jedis-in-training, the two engage in a secret relationship.

A/N: YAAAAAAY EWAN MCGREGGORRRR *EXCITED CLAPPING* I feel like this fic is a little basic. but very vanilla. i promise more disgusting smutty fan fics will be written in the future... but other than that....here you gooooo YAAAAAAY EWAN MCGREGOOOORRRRR

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The soft humming of the city planet Coruscant echoed through your chambers at the Jedi temple. Laying on your bed, you stared out of your window looking out at the city. Your eyes fluttered shut as your thoughts drifted. The life you lead was not an easy one. In this particular time of unrest within the galaxy it was rare to find a place of peace. At once you thought that all you could do was play your assigned part and hope for a new dawn.

That was until you met that charismatic Padawan, by the name of Obi Wan Kenobi.

He was known in the Jedi temple for being kind and chivalrous. As an ideal padawan, you often heard younglings swoon in idolization. You never thought much of him, and tried your best to focus on your training. Rumors of a golden-boy with a playful nature didn’t bother you, nor did they enthrall you like they had your fellow padawans.

However the day you and your master were assigned to assist master Qui-gon Jinn and his padawan would be a day that stuck with you. At first glance he seemed no different from the other padawan. However as you continued to see more of Obi Wan you would notice small things about him. His smile and laughter, and the kindness he would show to the people around him. It wouldn’t take you very long for you to notice how he would look at you. When he thought no one would notice, out of the corner of your eye you would sense his gaze. In the times you two were alone, he would often stumble as he tried to speak his mind. It was endearing and admirable at first. You spent as much time as possible with Obi Wan. From training and meditating together, to simple conversing in your free time. The two of you were inseparable close friends in the eyes of the jedi council, but not to your masters. As the connection between the two of you grew, it wasn’t long before your masters noticed.

Sensing the impending separation, you tried to distance yourself from Obi Wan. It pained you to be so close and yet so far from him. Obi Wan also seemed bothered by the wall you had suddenly placed between the two of you. Everything your jedi training had taught you, deemed that this kind of connection with another person was wrong. It was not the jedi way to establish these kinds of relationships. Obi wan held so much potential, it would be wrong of you to put his reputation at risk. It would seem that the tears you would shed privately would only pull Obi Wan closer to you.

As if the force himself had drawn him to your side, crying alone in your quarters Obi Wan appeared. Drying your eyes, you confessed your uncertainties to him. Your feelings of attachment, of need and love. It was from this confession that Obi Wan confirmed his feelings for you as well. The relationship you would have with him would be far from perfect. No one could ever know about the love that the two of you shared.

It wasn’t often you dreamed of your past with Obi Wan, as the past was something you were taught not to linger on. But on this moon-lit evening you woke from your slumber to the sound of your doors opening and quickly shutting. Sitting up, you held your bed sheets to your chest as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You could sense a familiar presence in your room, as you stirred.

“Obi wan?” You called out sleepily as you rubbed at your eye.

“(Y/N)” He called out, approaching your figure. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You smiled and laid back down as Obi Wan shedded his cloak. He sat down on the bed next to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He smiled as he stared down at you.

“It’s alright,” You said reaching for his hand “I didn’t mean to fall asleep before you.”

Obi Wan removed the top of his robes and laid down next to you, pulling you into his embrace. You leaned your head against his chest, and shut your eyes once again.

“It's been a while since we’ve gotten a moment to ourselves.” He said, his hand running up your back and settling in your hair.

“Now who’s fault is that?’ You asked playfully, opening your eyes to look up to him.

“Oh mine of course.” He said leaning over you, and rolling you onto your back. “Then again, I’m not the one deceiving the Jedi council.” Obi Wan brought his lips to your neck and placed a playful kiss on your skin. You let out a sigh and placed your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Oh yes, being a criminal in the eyes of the council is such a terrible thing.” You jested with a smirk.

Obi wan looked down to you, and placed his forehead against yours. His hands cupped your face, as your eyes fluttered shut. “Perhaps you would prefer a partner in crime then, to lessen the guilt of course?”

You hummed slightly, ran your hands through his hair. ‘Hmmm...I think that would be quite nice.” You said before pressing your lips against Obi wan’s.

The physical intimacy you shared with Obi wan was always filled with love and passion. Though the two of you were cautious, there was no denying that skinship was very special for you. It was the ultimate act of trust.

Laying your head against Obi wan’s chest, you looked at the side of his face as he drifted peacefully to sleep. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before closing your eyes and returning to slumber yourself. Sleeping with Obi Wan was your favorite aspect of your relationship. The last thing you would see was his face, though rarely you would see him when you woke. Obi wan would often slip away in the early hours to return to his own chambers. On the rare days that neither of you would have duties to attend to in the morning, you would wake to find him by your side.

Returning to consciousness in the early morning, you were woken by the sunlight pouring into your room. The feeling of a pair of lips on your neck pulled a chuckle from your throat. You reached out for Obi Wan, letting out a sigh of relief to find him with you.

“You're still here…” You said with a smile.

Obi Wan’s hands caressed your body, as he whispered in your ear. “Yes,” He said.

Your hands trailed along his body, settling on the braid at the side of his head. Pulling on it slightly, you kissed the small bead at the end of the braid.

“Don’t forget your duties my love…” You whispered softly.

Obi Wan smirked down at you, he kissed your lips one more time before he sat up. He pulled you up with him, resting your back against the bed frame. He kissed you again, before reaching for your own braid.

“You are my duty,” He said with a smile, “See?”

You shushed him, before bringing your lips to his. “I think the council would disagree.” You said. Obi wan kissed you back lovingly, before finally pulling himself away from you.

You stared at his back as he began to place his robes back on his body. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed you stood up and reached for Obi Wan’s cloak as it had been discarded on the floor. You draped it over your arm as you waited for him to finish dressing himself.

“Obi wan…” You said, looking to your bare feet. “When you return to the temple after this mission...I-”

You paused as he turned to you with a smile. The sunlight shining into his crystal blue eyes, causing him to squint lightly. Reaching out you pushed on his shoulder slightly directing him to turn around Holding out his cloak you placed it over his shoulders. Taking the opportunity, to embrace him for a moment longer, you leaned against him.

“What is it (y/n)?” He asked, reaching for your hand. He turned to face you, a moment of worry on his face. You smiled and shook your head, before leaning up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

You bit your lip before whispering to Obi Wan, before kissing his cheek. He let out a sound of surprise, before looking back down at you with a smirk.

“Well that certainly is insensitive…” He said “But I must say that such behavior is not the Jedi way…”

“Then perhaps I need to be taught a lesson…” You said with a smile. Almost instantly Obi wan leaned down to kiss you. With the swift move of your hand, you brought a finger to his lips to block his kiss. “After...you return.”

Obi wan pouted slightly, you shook your head. “You should hurry. Master Qui-gon must be wondering where you are.” You said as you pulled Obi wan to the door. Peaking out first, to check no one was nearby, Obi wan walked through the door. He hesitated however, before turning back to take your hand.

“I love you (y/n)...” He said, his eyes reflecting his emotions. You felt your heart swell every time you looked at him.

“I love you too.” You said leaning up to kiss him one last time. “Now go, hurry.”

Obi wan was quick to turn on his heel and make his way through the temple halls. Shutting the doors behind you, you smiled softly to yourself.

Though you were now alone in your silence, the lingering feeling of Obi wan comforted you. No matter how far the galaxy may divide you, and no matter the paths you may walk, the feelings the two of you shared would never change. Even in the cold and emotionless life of a jedi, living in times of war the two of you would always have these quiet times.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan fanfiction #padawan obi wan #prequels #star wars prequels #ewan mcgregor #fluff #fanfiction #x reader #star wars x reader #daddywankenobifanfics

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