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fanfic-phoenix · 1 year

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Coruscanti Shenanigans, Volume 1: 39 BBY, Training Salle

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After escorting Younglings to Illum and back, Quinlan and Obi-Wan have a moment alone.

Five minutes ago - by Quinlan’s count, anyway - Obi-Wan had silently reached over and placed his hand on top of his.

Since then, Quinlan had been trying not to draw attention to it.

Obi-Wan had, in Quinlan’s humble opinion, a thing about physical affection. He absolutely refused it when other people could potentially see it. It wasn’t just Quinlan he rebuffed - even Qui-Gon Jinn, who Obi-Wan idolised and adored and despaired over by turns, was forced to restrain himself to enthusiastic shoulder squeezes in public spaces - but it was perhaps most obvious with Quinlan.

(Coming from the absolute madman who’d purposely upped his volume to ensure Master Jinn would remove his curfew, Quinlan thought it was slightly odd. Still, he wasn’t one to push.)

Typically speaking, the middle of a training salle with unlocked doors would come under the classification of Public Space , and Obi-Wan would refuse to touch him.

Today, however, his hand was on top of Quinlan’s.

And Quinlan was certainly not freaking out.

There was probably a reason for such a shift in behaviour. Maybe Obi-Wan had remembered that the salle had been booked for the Initiates they’d escorted to Illum to try their new lightsabers, so no one else was likely to use it now the Initiates were in bed, and that lent him some sense of privacy. Maybe the fact they’d been assigned to chaperone the Illum trip together, despite their relationship being far from secret, meant that the Council didn’t have a problem with them, so Obi-Wan now felt free to physically emote.

Maybe it was a random occurrence, and Quinlan was reading too deeply.

He had a feeling it might be the last option.

Quinlan decided to stop thinking about it. That was perhaps easier said than done, given that Obi-Wan’s hand was right there and real, and that he could feel the warmth of it even through his glove, and also the rest of Obi-Wan was right there, too, and rather nice to look at, actually, and to think about.

He was, however, determined.

He turned his mind - determinedly - to memories of Illum. Specifically of Illum, Obi-Wan, and the Younglings.

Obi-Wan had been so awkward at first, overwhelmed by their questions and, frankly, alarmed by their enthusiasm. Even before boarding the ship, he’d looked horribly nervous, pinning his Master with a desperate, pleading look. When Qui-Gon remained unmoved, he’d turned those devastating puppy eyes on the Crèche Masters - who, of course, were faced with such trials every day.

Ignored by all, Obi-Wan had surrendered to his fate and Quinlan, who’d spent plenty of time catering to Aayla, had followed him onboard, snickering.

Really, Quinlan could have told him that there was nothing to worry about, except Obi-Wan was the sort of person who needed to figure that out on his own. Being told that he’d be good at something did nothing for Obi-Wan’s confidence - apart from, occasionally, adding just enough pressure that he panicked and did terribly.

Still, Quinlan had nurtured a quiet smugness from the moment Obi-Wan started to settle right through to the end of the trip, by which point, Obi-Wan had become firm favourite. He, after all, was the one who had soothed those who were frightened and chased away nightmares; he was the one who’d shared soft, carefully censored stories of his own trip to Illum; he was the one who’d fussed over their coats and mittens like an old mother hen, tutting as they rolled their eyes.

Quinlan, meanwhile, had taken charge of those Obi-Wan’s calm didn’t reach. He’d learned brashness better than Obi-Wan ever could, and he could pull it on and off like a cloak, teasing Younglings from their sulks and letting them vent their frustrations, like lancing infection from a wound. He’d showed off lightsaber techniques at odd hours, usually at a moment when Obi-Wan just happened to be meditating, so - quite suddenly - the Youngling who needed a few minutes in a silent room found all their companions filing out after Quinlan. And, of course, he’d rolled his eyes at Obi-Wan’s fussing, though that didn’t really serve any purpose except for irritating Obes.

“We were good together,” Obi-Wan said suddenly. Apparently his silent musings had taken a similar turn to Quinlan’s. He turned and smiled at him, hand still on his. “You and me. We’re a good team.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t sure. I was worried that our relationship…” Obi-Wan huffed, waving his hand expressively.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. “Our relationship?”

He huffed again, looking highly frustrated that Quinlan would force him to say it aloud. “That it might be an attachment and we wouldn’t be able to work together.”

“An attachment?” Quinlan laughed. “You?”

“I think the Council thought so, too.”

“You think this was a test?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. Which wasn’t a no.

It made sense, Quinlan supposed. A relatively low-stakes assignment testing their ability to keep their focus on the mission and off each other, with a great many Younglings and a thousand-year-old robot to bring it quickly back in case of incident.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Obi-Wan told him, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his temple. Not a quick one, not a second and gone like he usually gave in public, but one that lingered. One that ended with his nose almost - almost - nuzzling him. His whisper tickled Quinlan’s ear, becoming a shiver down his spine. “If it was, we passed. If it wasn’t, we had a nice trip.”

“You’re telling me not to overthink? I sense a disturbance in the Force.”

Obi-Wan snorted, shoving him. “I’ll disturb you, you absolute wretch.”

Quinlan grinned and, because he was a Jedi, simply swayed with it, swinging back in to wrap an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

Normally, he’d have been shoved off again almost immediately, but today…

Obi-Wan leaned in, wrapping his arms around Quinlan’s middle. “D’you remember our trip to Illum?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Of course.” He was fairly sure that, barring sudden and catastrophic amnesia, no one could forget their trip to Illum.

“I was worried about you.”

“You were?” He squinted down at him. “Obes, we hadn’t even met. ”

“I…” Obi-Wan flushed. “I’d heard about you. Your psychometry, I mean. And I knew that the lightsaber components weren’t new…”

Quinlan kissed him, simply because that was probably the cutest thing Obi-Wan had ever said to him, and Obi-Wan laughed into it, because he was a menace.

“You sap.”

Quinlan pressed their foreheads together. Obi-Wan had read, once, that it was how Mandalorians kissed. Quinlan did it to get a close-up view of Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Says you.”

“Point.” Obi-Wan reached up and stroked his cheek, tracing a path from yellow tattoo to jaw to bottom lip. Quinlan found he’d stopped breathing. “You definitely have a point.”

He laughed, even as his throat felt dry. “Can’t believe you’d admit it.”

“Tell a soul and I’ll deny it.” Obi-Wan sealed the promise with a kiss, pulling back to smirk, “And you know who they’d believe.”

There were comebacks Quinlan could make there - Obi-Wan had left him an open goal, enjoying the back-and-forth as much as Quinlan did. He could point out that Obi-Wan was, currently, bragging about his own stubbornness. Or, perhaps, he could make a neat little quip about how persuasive he could be, and demonstrate some… alternative techniques on Obi-Wan.

However, as his eyes caught sight of the sunset through the window, what he actually said was, “Oh. Curfew.”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, brows furrowed, before he suddenly shuffled out of Quinlan’s personal space, and Quinlan regretted ever saying a word.

“Turn around,” Obi-Wan said.

Quinlan blinked, but quickly obeyed.

Obi-Wan grinned, settled himself facing him, so close he was almost in his lap, and kissed the very tip of Quinlan’s nose. “If you can’t see the sunset, is it really curfew?”

He felt his jaw slacken. What, exactly, had happened to his strait-laced, touch-averse, rule-following Obi-Wan, and also, why was he so into it? “And everyone thinks I’m the bad influence.”

“You are. This is your bad influence paying off. The fruits of your labours. The feather in your cap. The-”

Quinlan shoved him easily onto his back and Obi-Wan lay there for a moment laughing, latching on and pulling him down, too. One kiss, and then Obi-Wan simply wrapped his arms around him, holding him steady.

He really didn’t know why Obi-Wan was so… touchy-feely today, but he wasn’t going to say no.

He would, however, tease.

“Is that your lightsaber, or are you just glad to have me?”

Obi-Wan hummed, eyes bright, and teased him back. “Probably both.”

Quinlan tugged Obi-Wan’s braid, a sudden impulse seizing him like a fist around his ribs. “Can I hold it?”

Obi-Wan laughed for real, brilliant and startled. “Which one?”

“The real one.”

The amusement faded into nothingness, quickly as it had arrived, and Obi-Wan tapped twice on Quinlan’s shoulder so he’d move away.

For a long moment, Quinlan thought he’d ruined it - was certain he’d ruined it - until Obi-Wan chewed on his lip.

“You’ll wear your gloves?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You’ll let me hold yours in return?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

“I- Really?”

Obi-Wan nodded and then - quickly, as if getting it over with before he could think better of it - unhooked his ‘saber from his belt. They stared at it, before Obi-Wan pressed it into Quinlan’s hands.

It was- Odd. Very odd to sit there, Obi-Wan’s ‘saber - practically his soul - in his hands, whilst Obi-Wan sat by and just let him. He ran his fingers over the cold silver and black ridges. Somewhere, concealed within, was the kyber. The heart of the blade. A Jedi’s truest companion.

“Can I…?”

Obi-Wan nodded again.

Quinlan moved to the centre of the room, pressing the ignition. The crystal sparked to life in a rush of blue plasma, poking gently at the edges of Quinlan’s awareness. He felt the curiosity there, the slight wariness of the crystal finding itself in unfamiliar hands. Still, it seemed almost to recognise him.

He took the starting pose of Shii-Cho, raising the ‘saber against an imagined training droid. It hummed as he ran through the cadences, warm in the back of his mind.

“It…” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “It likes Ataru.”

“Yeah?”

Quinlan nodded, switching easily to his own preferred form. The acrobatic flips had always come easily to him - and, apparently, to Obi’s ‘saber. The quiet warmth burst into an excited flame, urging him on so enthusiastically he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Woah.”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan grinned.

“Woah,” he said again, just to make the point.

Still grinning, Obi-Wan reached out, making little grabby motions. Quinlan handed it over.

“It’s beautiful, Obi.”

Obi-Wan blushed, right to the tips of his ears. “You think so?”

“It’s part of you. Can’t be anything else.”

Somehow, against all odds, Obi-Wan blushed harder. He opened his mouth but almost immediately closed it. For once in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi was speechless.

“Here.” Quinlan passed his own ‘saber over, once it became clear Obi-Wan wasn’t going to answer.

Obi-Wan took it gingerly, holding it like it was precious to him, not just to Quinlan. He turned it over and over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle, as if he wanted to memorise it.

“White metal?”

Quinlan shrugged, self-conscious. “Called to me.”

Obi-Wan smoothed his fingers over it again. “I like it. Can I switch it on?”

“Of course.”

Obi-Wan stood where Quinlan had, but took no opening stance. Only ignited the ‘saber and stared into the green light.

“Hello there,” he said. “You’re rather loud, aren’t you?”

Quinlan considered cutting in, given hints as Obi-Wan had, but Obi was clearly absorbed, turning the blade back and forth.

“Do you really want to fight that badly?” Obi-Wan smiled at it, soothing. “Tell me a form, you know I will. Ataru, maybe? I know Quin…”

He gave the ‘saber an experimental twirl.

“Ah, I see.” Obi-Wan nodded, slowly, with the face he always pulled when he’d been proven perfectly, beautifully right. He turned off the ‘saber without another move, handing it over.

Quinlan couldn’t help but ask. “What did you see?”

“I saw you,” Obi-Wan said simply, and then giggled at Quinlan’s unimpressed look. He reached to tug Quinlan’s sleeve, pulling him upright. “It was loud and brash, and it’s suited to Ataru, but it’s not… It’s not like us, is it?” He gestured to himself and to the ‘saber hanging from his own belt. “You’re not like us. You fight, you fight well , but you’re not built for it. You’re meant to be a Shadow - an investigator, able to disguise yourself. All the noise… It was a distraction, trying to keep me from looking too close. Wasn’t it?”

“I-” Quinlan swallowed thickly. “Obi…”

Obi-Wan kissed him, smiling. “Come on. Master Qui-Gon’s away tonight.”

Huh, he thought, letting Obi-Wan pull him along. That explains a lot.

#Phoenix_Rose #star wars #obi wan kenobi #quinlan vos #obi wan/quinlan #obivos #flirting and brief implications of sex off-screen #but nothing happens here #padawan years #also on ao3

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rochenn · 13 days

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The Jedi Order mainly being an institution about teaching makes me sad that we never see more "Jedi classes" outside of the popular ones like martial arts, healthcare and Force wackery.

Alongside basic language and science education etc there have to be at least some trade and college courses on offer, right? The Jedi need a bunch of their own people with law degrees. Proper pedagogy studies for future crèchemasters. Cooks. Managers. All types of engineers. Electricians. Accountants. Researchers. How many Jedi hold a doctorate or professorate? Because I think a large number of them do. Their databanks are filled with millennia of dissertations. You can still find Yoda's articles from 500 years ago and cite them in your history research paper.

The Order just having its own micro-economy going on and every member getting their own regular job education next to all the lightsaber swinging adventures... pls

#like idk... mace actually has a phd in chemistry #what if yoda passed the fucking coruscant bar exam 700 years ago and now is a veritable law historian for the post-ruusan era #LIKE!!!#comedy potential but also so cool #it would also make the war so much more jarring bc now the padawans simply don't get to have a job that isn't “soldier“#imagine being in the middle of ur nice little social science major as a 20-smth padawan and then the war starts #and your courses are spontaneously switched to officer candidate school type shit #:/

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j-em-g · 8 months

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#star wars #ahsoka #ahsoka spoilers #sabine wren #ezra bridger #ahsoka tano #kanan jarrus #my art #I saw people arguing about sabine's force ability under my tweet of this one #no guys it's not about that it doesn't really matter #it's about you've been away for like few years and suddenly your sister becomes padawan of fuckin AHSOKA TANO

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kana7o · 2 months

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"Anakin.....?"

#obikin #have been having 45 year old padawan anakin on the mind lately #i just love his scary eyes <3

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mercysong-tardis · 1 month

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Context: Satine’s coronation to become Duchess of Mandalore, right after the Year On The Run.

I wanted her coronation dress to be very wedding-dress-like, as she’s in many ways marrying herself to Mandalore and her new duties. And of course, for extra angst, Obi-Wan is the one walking her out and handing her off. But it’s also not Obitine without some cute banter, so here you go (:

#obitine #satine kryze #obi wan x satine #fanart #obi wan star wars #obi wan kenobi #mandalore #the year on the run #they’re just babies #he knows he has to say goodbye soon #and Satine knows it to #but in proper Obitine fashion they must banter to the end #star wars #pre TPM #padawan obi wan

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mudpuddless · 11 months

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Knight Feemor and Padawan Kenobi in the shadow court

AU where qui-gon gives up on/is banned from training Obi-wan after melida-daan and Feemor becomes Obi-wans master.

[picture ID: it's a digital drawing of jedi knight feemor stahl, aged 37, a long haired blonde near-human with tan skin and forest green robes, sitting on the floor with his legs tucked in under him. He is levitating a bright yellow kyber crystal between his hands as a disassembled white-gold lightsaber is floating to his right. padawan obi-wan kenobi, aged 13, a ginger child with grown out hair and a padawan braid wearing white tunics is napping next to him on the floor using a sage green cloak as a blanket and knight stahl's knees as a pillow with his hands tucked under his cheeks. the wall behind them is tiled with diamond shaped star patterned tiles and to their right a large white blue and gold porcelain planter is holding a small gnarly tree with droopy green leaves. above them three identical complex lancet windows which let white gold sunlight into the room. the drawing is done largely in turquoise and yellow tones and the atmosphere is peaceful and serene. end ID]

#digital art #described #star wars fanart #feemor #obi wan kenobi #padawan kenobi #star wars #feemor stahl #art #listen quo-gon looses obi wan on bandomeer and everyone is ok. that was terrible but also jinn wasn't responsible for this child #in particular yet #them melida daan happens and the council just goes. aight. new plan. call knight feemor and tell him we found him a little brother #qui gon is offended and doesnt un-repudiate obi-wan from when he left him on melida daan so feemor and obi-wan can be fine together #dooku repudiates qui-gon and doesn't tell him. he finds out like eight years later #Jocasta nu adopts feemor bc hes a shadow first but an archivist at heart and he brings her artefacts when he stumbles across them #and dooku is like. hm. sifo look what Jocasta dragged in. grandchildren #wonder where /who/ they came from #tag rambles #i want to write this im not kidding

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unspuncreature · 2 months

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obi-wan should’ve been at the club!!!!!

#thinking about obi-wan only really ever being alone after the fall of the republic #from padawan to master overnight. someone was responsible for you and now they’re gone and you’re responsible for a whole person. good luck #been chewing on this a lot lately #if you have very young parents then you understand #obi-wan was so young and he spent all of his best years living for someone else #and as complicated as the feelings might have been he loved it and wouldn’t have traded it for anything #who he is as a person is inextricable from his responsibility to anakin #he was a master first and obi-wan second in the same way #that you become [x]’s mom/dad first and yourself second the moment you have a kid #these thoughts aren’t going anywhere i just need to get this out of my system lol #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #scout.txt

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padawansuggest · 9 months

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In the ideal post Clone Wars AU, Obi-Wan immediately takes Reva as his Padawan even tho she’s a lil bit young (tho older than Ani was) and the council is all ‘clearly he’s parenting them not mastering them just give him a child Omfg’ but Cody’s all ‘I ain’t putting a bun in that he’s insane’ ‘you married him willingly’ ‘yeah because he’s insane he’s the most crazy idiot I’ve ever met I fell in love instantly wdym’ ‘…nvm…’ so ten years later and Reva is knighted for a bit now and Obi-Wan is eyeing up Leia after she insults a Senator like ‘that’s a good one i should get that one’ and steals the most dangerous Skywalker in the temple and now Cody is waking up to a ten year old Leia staring into his soul like ‘…I should have just knocked him up wtf’.

Don’t worry Cody you still technically can. He’s just grumpy she’s telling him the secrets of the universe before he’s had his first caff.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #clone wars #commander cody #Padawan Reva #padawan leia #Obi sees a tenish year old and gets a dad instinct so intense #codywan #reva sevander

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sketchyspirit · 1 year

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Like long ago

One thinks that things will never be the same again One hopes that they won’t

(commission)

#obikin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #vaderwan #star wars #this was so fun #mine #im just like #obiwan is so upset that this doesnt feel like braiding his padawans braid 10 years ago at all and #anakin is all like yes please realise that this is different please realise that you might as well kiss me now #plus sith au??? hello

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tennessoui · 2 months

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Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!

hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk

i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk

(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)

Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival.

Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.

It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.

But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.

So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion.

His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.

His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.

But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.

Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.

He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner.

It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.

“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.

And then—

Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.

And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.

The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.

He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.

He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.

Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.

Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.

It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize him at all.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head.

No. Of course he is not alright.

Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.

“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.

Fuck, he thinks once, viciously.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now.

Anakin Skywalker is here.

“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”

“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.

Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.

And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.

But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.

Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute.

He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.

He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.

Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.

“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.

Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.

“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”

Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan.

Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.

Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.

It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.

But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?

Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”

He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.

Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.

Obi-Wan asked him to stay.

“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.

And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.

His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.

“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”

Let it go.

He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.

A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.

Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.

“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”

He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.

A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.

“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.

But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.

Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.

“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.

“I’m—”

“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.

Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”

“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”

“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”

“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”

“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”

Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.

“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”

“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.

“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”

“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time.

Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar.

It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #angstyyyyy #in my mind they kissed nine years ago and anakin left the order like basically the next day #and then they saw each other rouhgly a year later #and it was tense but not like quite so hatefilled #and then anakin finds out obi-wan got a new padawan and that steps on like ten thousand issues #aided by the distance theyre both trying to put between them then #and so anakin falls back on hatred and obi-wan falls back on trying his best to ignore the problem #by ignoring anakin #because after all #anakin left. obi-wan asked him to stay. and anakin made his decision #obi-wan is just respecting it

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giotanner · 3 months

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Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine Kryze — year on the run | 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙡𝙚 and important years at the same time. I love drawing Obi-Wan and Satine because we know so little about what it was, what they went through, and how they 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 as they 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 to stay 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦

(Long hair!Obi-Wan? 𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦)

Instagram | buy me a coffee

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #giotanner #satine kryze #star wars #duchess satine #drawing #padawan obi wan #obi wan x satine #year on the run #star wars art #star wars fanart #clone wars #clone wars art

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fanfic-phoenix · 1 year

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Coruscanti Shenanigans, Volume 1: 41 BBY, Padawan Dojo

Masterpost

Read on AO3

Read the whole series on Tumblr

A nightmare has driven Obi-Wan to the Padawan Dojo, and Quinlan has found him there.

Really, the spar is inevitable.

The Padawan Dojo had become something of a refuge for Obi-Wan over the years. When he couldn’t sleep, when he couldn’t focus on his work a moment longer without screaming and/or attempting to tear out his braid at the root, when Qui-Gon Jinn’s silent disapproval became too much to bear without bursting into undignified, frustrated tears, he found his way here, working his way through the basic cadences over and over and over again. As if getting them right - getting them perfect - could solve his problems.

Surely, if he could just get them right, if he could prove to Qui-Gon that he was ready, that he was capable, he’d be allowed to specialise, allowed to choose a form, allowed to move forwards, and everything would be ok.

It had to be ok. He needed it to be ok. Because if it wasn’t, if it didn’t work…

Obi-Wan shook himself, shook out his hands, ignoring how his fingers had started to ache after so long clenched around his ‘saber. The nightmare that had chased him here was just barely beginning to loosen its grip on his pounding heart; now, when he breathed, he smelt only plasma and sweat, rather than the reek of smoke and still-bubbling flesh he’d dreamed was choking him.

He forced himself to think of something else. Of battles already fought, battles already won. He closed his eyes and let the Force guide him through half-remembered movements - parry the strike he’d once missed, deflect the bolt he’d once absorbed, and now, strike-!

“Woah!”

Eyes flying open, Obi-Wan froze, his breath catching in his throat. The blue light of his ‘saber made the room seem harsh, unkind, painting the shadows as sinister and turning the figure at the door into a stranger.

The figure took a step closer.

“Vos.” Obi-Wan relaxed, flicking his ‘saber off. “Hello.”

Vos smiled, raising his eyebrow. “Obes Kenobes’ playing the rebel?”

He rolled his eyes, determinedly not thinking about how his Master might react - how his Master might worry - if he knew how Obi-Wan trained so late at night.

Dark brown eyes met Obi-Wan’s grey. Vos softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. Lied. Far too quickly - Vos looked like he didn’t believe a word of it. “Couldn’t sleep”

Vos nodded understandingly. Of course, if anyone understood nightmares, it was him, haunted not only by his own past, but by the pasts he gleaned from the worlds around him.

After a moment, when it was clear Vos didn’t mean to speak again, Obi-Wan reignited his ‘saber and closed his eyes. He pictured himself on a battlefield, a thousand blasters ahead of him, and steeled himself. If he gave himself to the Force, submerged himself, let himself drown, then he’d deflect every bolt, and then - next mission, perhaps - Qui-Gon would have to see…

He shook himself. Imagined the first bolt exploding from the blaster.

The Force moved him to deflect. He could hear the crackle of it in his ears, like static, and smelt again the burning plasma. His muscles screamed as he turned and blocked and swung and kept every bolt from striking home, but he was ready, he was determined, they would not get past him, he would not fail-

“Hey, Obes-”

He stumbled to a halt. For a half-second he felt the burn of the bolt he’d missed searing its way through his shoulder, but he blinked, and it was gone. “What?”

Too snappish. Vos raised his hands in surrender.

“If you’re trying to wear yourself out, why don’t we spar?”

Obi-Wan froze a second time. The answer, really, was perfectly simple. For three years now - three kriffing years! - Obi-Wan had been harbouring a crush on one Quinlan Vos. More than harbouring it. He’d tended it. Nurtured it. Fed it with the memory of two shared kisses and half-thrilling, half-terrifying ideas of what it might be like to kiss him again.

(He imagined, sometimes, taking him aside in the refectory and kissing him in full view of everyone. Other times, he daydreamed about visiting the quarters he shared with Master Tholme and the privacy they might find there. Fantasies of kissing the yellow tattoos on his cheeks - and perhaps being able to discover where else Quinlan might have been tattooed - had become alarmingly frequent.)

The situation had been made rather a lot worse by Quinlan’s increasingly defined arms, and verged on dire when one also considered his new-found love of sleeveless robes. So now, not only had his muscles begun to swell, but his clothes now served to frame them in a manner most infuriating for those poor Jedi trying desperately to hide their crushes.

And, on top of all that, was the fact that all spars with Quinlan Kriffing Vos ended in hand-to-hand combat. It was inevitable, like the rise and fall of the sun. Quinlan refused to surrender for something as petty as being disarmed and would immediately turn to wrestling, and Obi-Wan simply had to grit his teeth and get through it, languishing in the twin agonies of unfulfilled desire and his own stubborn refusal to throw the match and dishonour them both.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that he’d been silent too long. Any longer, and Vos would know that something was wrong.

He swallowed, then nodded, since there was clearly nothing else for it.

Vos grinned, unclipping his ‘saber from his belt. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Rather than answer and risk admitting how true that was, Obi-Wan took his opening form. Not the basic cadence - he surprised himself with the thrill of his own rebellion - but Soresu. Defensive form.

The green glow of Vos’ ‘saber filled the room, bright and excitable.

Vos made the first move, a lightning-quick poke towards his stomach, testing his defences. Obi-Wan deflected it with ease.

“Not bad,” Vos said. “Surprised Jinn doesn’t let you-”

“Not tonight.” He didn’t mean to snap, even as his fingers clenched again, so he tried to be softer. “Just… Not tonight.”

Nodding his acceptance - his apology - Vos leapt instead into duelling. He was aggressive, unpredictable. Karking brilliant, really. The Force settled around him like a cloak, hiding his intentions. Obi-Wan struggled to predict his moves; it was only three years of friendship (and hopeless crushing) that let him read him. If Vos had been a stranger, the fight would have already ended.

As it was, Obi-Wan blocked him every time, held him back. Made himself into the eye of Quinlan’s storm, the stone that shaped the river’s path. His wrists began to ache but he held his ground, kept his nerve, and when the time was right-

Quinlan’s ‘saber clattered to the ground. Obi-Wan clipped his own to his belt.

“Cocky.” Quinlan didn’t sound judgemental. He sounded impressed.

It was intoxicating.

“Confident,” Obi-Wan corrected, and he desperately hoped it wasn’t a lie.

Whatever adrenaline rush was fuelling Obi-Wan right now, he decided to allow it. He let it push him to go faster, to duck beneath Quinlan’s fists, to weave between his fierce-looking kicks, to brush off the blows that landed. Obi-Wan himself landed far fewer hits; Quinlan was taller and broader and far more practised, leading him on a merry chase around the room until Obi-Wan lost his patience and charged into him, arms wrapping around his waist as he sent them both crashing to the hard floor.

Obi-Wan braced himself, pinning Quinlan’s wrists as best he could, sitting himself on his stomach, knees on either side of him. He knew - they both knew - that Quinlan could push him off. Could easily push him off.

And yet, they remained as they were, both of them breathless.

The reality of their position started to creep in as a blush prickling up the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. He felt Quinlan’s pulse thrumming against his fingers and was fairly certain his own was speeding along at a match.

He swallowed, as subtle as he could manage. “You lose.”

Quinlan looked up at him for a long, silent moment. “Doesn’t seem like losing to me.”

Oh.

Alright then.

Obi-Wan’s jaw slammed shut so harshly he imagined Quinlan could hear the clack of teeth-on-teeth, the sick crunch of tendon and bone. He sprang up and when Quinlan followed, he grabbed him by his infuriating, sweat-damp, sleeveless robes, fists so tight his knuckles went white. For once, Quinlan seemed surprised.

And he seemed even more surprised when Obi-Wan started to pull him towards the changing rooms.

“Why are we moving?”

“Because,” said Obi-Wan, with a mild calm that caught even himself off guard, “the Dojo doesn’t lock, the changing rooms do, and I want to kiss you without risk of interruption. Is that acceptable?”

Quinlan looked fairly shell-shocked. Obi-Wan found he rather liked being the cause of that kind of look.

“Hells yes,” Quinlan said.

“Good.”

The changing rooms weren’t exactly spacious, but it didn’t exactly matter. The door locked with a click, Quinlan was burning hot beneath his hands, and when Obi-Wan kissed him, he let out a delicious little sigh. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder how, exactly, he’d managed a full three years without him.

Quinlan’s gloved hand came up to cup his cheek. As they pulled apart, it stayed there.

Obi-Wan found he rather liked that, too.

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” Quinlan asked. For a moment there seemed a note of hope in his voice, though perhaps Obi-Wan was imagining that.

“If we’re dating,” he said, “does that mean I can keep kissing you?”

“Force yes.”

“Then yes.” Obi-Wan thought he sounded quite calm for a boy getting almost everything he’d spent three years wanting. “I mean- If you’d like to be.”

Quinlan smiled, something brighter than the grins and smirking of before, and kissed him impossibly softly, barely a brush against his lips, still holding his cheek like he was something precious.

“We’re dating now,” Quin said.

And that was that.

#Phoenix_Rose #star wars #obi wan kenobi #quinlan vos #obi wan/quinlan #obivos #padawan years #getting together #also on ao3

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