#and anakin just starts hurling anything in reach at obi-wan's head

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

#star wars #my writing #obi wan kenobi #fanfic #darth sidious #blows up on dying #it's canon #i feel like this wasn't #quite the intended timeline #but anyway here we are #chairdeath au #i gotta logic things #hoc est meum #i love a fight scene #i wanted to make this one more acrobatic than it is #but logistics intervened

[limeflavoredlobotomizer]

Soooo... it’s here! Part 2 of the Sith Obi Wan fic, based off of @oifaaa‘s Sith Obi Wan AU. Turned out longer than I expected, and I’m not completely sure about some of the dialogue, but I’ve kept you guys waiting long enough. Hope you like this shit!

Anakin stalked out of the room, furious. How dare those Sith kill those clones? How dare they attack an undefended, middle-of-nowhere Republic base, just to make sure he couldn’t get back to the field. They hadn’t even had the guts to attack him out there, they’d resorted to sabotage and destruction, killing innocents to get at him. Anakin didn’t care if it wasn’t the Jedi way, he was going to murder those Sith. It didn’t matter how or why, but those Sith were going down. He was pretty sure he heard the Admiral call out to him, probably begging him to stop, to consider what he was doing, but Anakin didn’t care. Those clones had died because of him. Because his ship was going to stock up at that base, and those Sith had known it somehow. His fault. His fault. His fault. His masters had always said that Anakin cared too much, felt too deeply, and that one day it would ruin him, but if Anakin didn’t care about these clones, who would? Not the Senate, who sent them to die without a care. Not the Republic, who saw the clones as expendable and worthless. Not even some of the Jedi, who thought they were nothing more than droids, good only for following orders and saving lives. He knew he needed to calm down. Knew he was being irrational and impulsive, two things that Master Windu had always warned him about. He didn’t care. Those clones were dead because of him, and damn him if those Sith weren’t going to pay. 

He heard footsteps behind him and sped up, certain that it was Admiral Yularen about to try to talk him out of this, to claim that he was insane and insist that he came back right this instant to start planning their assault on the mid-rim seperatist strongholds. Anakin glared at the end of the hallway, pointedly not looking back. He would not be talked out of this. The footsteps approached again, and Anakin hurried, near-running now. The footsteps approached again, and he cursed. He couldn’t avoid the Admiral forever, and it was better to make sure the man got it through his thick skull that he was doing this, and that he had no power to stop him. He turned around, and had already opened his mouth when he realized that Admiral Yularen wasn’t there. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Rex, Echo, Hardcase and Fives were there, all standing behind him in full armor. Anakin closed his mouth then opened it again, then closed it, confused. 

“Uh... um... what are you doing here?” 

Hardcase rolled his eyes. “What, did you think that we were gonna let you have all the fun?” Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but Rex stepped forward, eyes flashing. 

“General, we saw that footage too. Those Sith killed our brothers. If you’re gonna be there, so are we.” Anakin blinked and opened his mouth again, not even sure what he was going to say, when Rex glared at him again. “Don’t even think about it, sir.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “You know, that borders on insubordination, soldier. Let’s go.” 

Five minutes later, Anakin stood in the hangar bay of the Resolute, steadfastly ignoring the Admiral pleading for him to just see sense or at least wait till morning. R2 whistled, and Anakin, still ignoring the Admiral’s furious demands, slipped into the cockpit, nodding at Rex and the boys to do the same. Anakin smirked, watching the Admiral from behind the tinted cockpit shield. He was screaming, having lost all sense of composure. “R2, plug in those coordinates.” The droid gave out a series of exasperated whistles that informed him that this was his worst idea yet, though with lots, lots more expletives. Navigation screens popped up on his display, giving him coordinates for the ruined base and a brief view of the terrain around-quite rocky, but with lots of good trees that could be used for cover. Anakin nodded, and grabbed the controls, hurtling towards the planet, executing a series of flips and spins without ever slowing down He loved the force, loved being a Jedi, but this was when he felt most alive, flying through space, hurtling towards that fast-approaching tree line. He waited for the boys to catch up, while R2 hurled some shockingly foul insults, even for him. Once the slowpokes caught up, Anakin headed for the tree line, his descent much more controlled as he located a clearing and made his way towards it, occasionally checking back to see if the boys were still behind him. Once he finally landed, determining that the clearing was a safe quarter mile away from the ruined base, he popped up the cockpit shield. He swung his legs over the side of the ship, and climbed out, leaving his helmet on the seat for his return. 

The instant his legs touched the ground, he gasped, assaulted by the most powerful dark side energy he’d ever felt, waves of hate and anger and pain nearly knocking him to the ground with their sheer force. He’d never felt anything like it, the fury and betrayal crashing into him like a herd of banthas. He heard Rex calling out to him faintly, but it was nearly impossible to move, the dark side radiating from this place in horrible waves. He’d faced Dooku, a former Jedi Master and second in command of the Sith Order, and even he couldn’t compare to this. What could have happened to make someone this furious, this full of hate and rage? He struggled to his feet, remembering one of the first lessons Master Windu had taught him. He’d been nine, just a few days into his training. “Shielding is one of the most important lessons any force-sensitive can learn,” Master Windu had told him. “You must focus. Imagine the strongest wall you can, protecting your mind, keeping anything you don’t want in out, and sealing all your thoughts in where no one can reach them.” Anakin closed his eyes and forced a wall around his mind, imagining his master there with him, lending him strength as he had that day, all those years ago. The dark side gradually retreated until he could see and move again. He sighed, relieved and took a moment to mask his force presence, but he knew there was no point. A force-sensitive strong enough to do… whatever that was would have sensed him the moment he got out of his cockpit, probably before he’d ever touched the ground. 

“Are… are you okay, sir?” Hardcase asked, unusually quiet and concerned-sounding. 

Anakin forced himself to nod. “The dark side is strong in this place. Let’s move out.” The clones nodded reluctantly, and did as he asked, but Anakin could tell they weren’t pleased. They had fought side-by-side for years now, had saved each other's lives countless times, and they knew when he wasn’t telling them everything. They walked forward, squinting through the dark night, a yellowish moon the only true light in the dark sky. Eventually, they came to a break in the trees and Anakin signaled for the clones to stay there as he stepped forward, into the burnt clearing where the base had been. He gasped, shocked. It was.... awful. Anakin had been in plenty of battles over the course of the war, but he had never stayed on the battlefield afterwards like some of the soldiers did. He stared at the place, horrified. The wreckage was somehow worse from the ground, fires still burning, the horrible smell of charred flesh in the air. Death hung in the air, so terrible and close he could almost feel it. He wanted to barf. From the stench, from the sight, from the thought that someone could do this, that someone force-sensitive, someone who could feel the suffering and death and pain could do this and enjoy it. He blinked and nodded to the boys, letting them know that the coast was clear… so far. 

He concentrated, feeling for any other presences, any glimmers of life. He didn’t have to wait at all. Almost the second he did, he felt two horrible, dark presences, not even bothering to try to conceal themselves. Anakin frowned. They were undoubtedly Sith. He could feel the anger and darkness radiating off of them. So why weren’t they trying to hide themselves? There was no way two force-sensitives that powerful wouldn’t have felt him the instant that he had set foot on the planet without his shields up. It almost felt like they wanted him to find them. Like they wanted him to find him. Like they had wanted him here.  His stomach did a backflip and, for the first time, he began to have second thoughts about running off to a random alien planet in the middle of the night after witnessing the most horrific murder he’d ever seen after two years of brutal warfare. He shook that off. There was no time to be nervous now. He looked behind him, and, seeing that the boys had already fanned out and were looking for survivors, nodded at Rex, and walked forward, blade ignited, throwing strange amethyst light around the quiet clearing. He cleared a wall of rubble and frowned, looking around him. He could feel the Sith here, where were they? He heard a noise, like a twig snapping, but that didn’t make any sense, the boys were pretty far behind him now-he turned sharply, barely able to block two brilliant red blades from crashing down on his head. 

It was the younger sith, the one that had carried two sabers in the recording. She smirked at him through the gaps between their sabers, and smirked back. She was a togruta, pretty young by the looks of her, maybe 15 or 16, far too young to be so full of hate. He felt a stab of pity for her and wondered how she’d ended up here on this dark planet, so ready to kill people she’d never met. He blinked and refocused on the battle. No matter what had happened to take her here, right now, she was the enemy. He couldn’t let himself think anything else. She glared at him, her red-ringed yellow eyes furious and hateful, and he couldn’t suppress a slight shudder. She snorted, flashing long, sharp teeth threateningly and rolled her eyes. 

“You know, I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to come down, but Jedi always surprise me.” Anakin glared back at her, annoyed more at himself than anybody that he’d fallen into a trap so obvious.

 “And I thought Sith were smart enough to know when they’re outmatched. Guess we were both wrong.” Anakin forced his saber up, briefly stunning the girl and breaking the bladelock as he flipped over her head, striking and parrying. She returned with her own attack, which was nearly as fast as his own, though not quite as skillful. Her blades danced, deadly and mesmerizing, throwing bloody light and casting strange, angular shadows around the destroyed base. Anakin jumped back, letting her think she had overwhelmed him. She smirked coming forward with increased speed, her technique never slipping. Impressive. He ducked beneath the deadly arcs of red, briefly wondering at her unique Jar’kai style. Where had she learned that? He shook off the questions and refocused on the duel, blocking her spinning blades and coming up with a swift kick to her chest, stunning her and knocking her back. She growled, attempting to raise one of her blades in defense, but now he had the upper hand and easily disarmed her. He force pushed her back into a pile of rubble, pinning her against it. He picked up her fallen saber, a shoto, and held it to her neck, as a warning not to try anything. It was against the code to kill an unarmed opponent, even a Sith, but he doubted she knew that. Plus, if he could hold her here until Rex and the boys found him, she could make a valuable prisoner. 

“Like I said, outmatched.” Anakin said, still smirking. The Togruta glared at him, her golden eyes flashing. “Not yet, Jedi scum.” He turned just in time to raise the girl’s shoto to block a huge piece of debris that was flying straight at him. He turned, gaping at her. She was clearly more powerful than he had thought. How had she done that? 

“Wrong way, Jedi.” A voice said, furious and cold. Anakin spun around to find the taller Sith standing behind him, a red saber ignited.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #Star Wars AU #Sith #Sith AU #@Oifaaa #Anakin #Rex #Hardcase #Echo #Fives #Sith Obi-wan #Sith Ahsoka #Mace Windu #Qui-Gon Jinn #Zio speaks #Zio’s writing

[bow-and-dagger]

Star-Shaped (Are Our Souls) - JangAni - excerpt 1

Anakin hadn’t meant to scare the kid, honest. He’d been in the vents, looking for Obi-Wan and Padme - whom, he swears, had gone off on her own when his back was turned for one second - when one of the panels had come loose. He’d fallen with no warning, not even the Force whispering in his ears. The drop had been quick, only giving him the time to slow down his descent, enough to avoid any injury but not slow enough to not scare the living daylights out of the boy.

The kid had tripped backward on a loose rock and Anakin, still disorientated by his unexpected fall, barely had the reflexe to cushion his head and back with the Force.

It had become quickly apparent that the young boy had twisted his ankle, was trained in at least one form of martial art and, perhaps more important of all, did not trust him because he was a Jedi.

A kid, in the middle of a compound where a Jedi master is imprisoned, distrusting a Jedi when usually the very first thing parents, along with Stranger Danger, teach their children  is “If you’re lost or in trouble go to the Jedi”? Not suspicious at all.

Anakin sighs. He’s tired, limbs shaking with fatigue and hunger despite not being hungry, and he just wants to find his master and Padme and have them safe. He wants his room at the Temple, and his bed, and not coming up for air for at least a week to grieve in peace. But he’s not about to let an injured kid alone in the middle of a suspicious compound. And he’s certainly not going to take out his bad mood on a child. Not after...Bile rises up at the memory of the Tusken Camp. Not after.

“Listen,” he says slowly and calmly, not showing any of his trepidation. “I’m going to carry you so that you don’t put weight on that ankle, alright?”

The kid scowls at him, already in the process of taking a limping step back. Anakin has to tamp down on the urge to surge forward to pick him up without his authorization. Instead he continues, trying for a soothing tone.

“I’m going to pick you up and bring you back to your parents. You’re injured and they’ll know what to do.”

If anything, he scowls harder but there is a glint in his eyes now, Anakin isn’t sure if it’s suspicion or consideration.

“You want to bring me back to my buir?”

Anakin blinks. That’s not a word he’s familiar with but with the context he can guess its meaning.

“Yes,” he agrees.

The scowl turns into a frown.

“But you’re not supposed to be there!”

“Neither are you,” Anakin counters with a snort. He’s ready to bet the kid escaped to explore on his own.

And if the pout twisting the boy’s lips is anything to go by, he’s right. He wants to smile but doesn’t, at this point it'll be taken as a mockery. The kid is cute, though. With that pout and those curls he’s going to be able to twist anyone around his fingers once he learns how to weaponize them.

The child levels a contemplative look at him, too serious for one so young.

“If you don’t tell my buir I won’t raise the alarm.”

“Who says you’d need to raise an alarm because of me?” He counters.

“You’re a Jedi!”

Not Suspicious At All. And it’s said with such contempt, too…

Still, he remains silent. The scowl makes a return.

“You were sneaking in the vents,” the boy finishes proudly.

“And you were sneaking on the ground.”

At that, the child pouts again. And Anakin mentally takes back what he thought, the kid already knew how to weaponize his cuteness. He was going to be a heartbreaker once grown.

Suppressing the twitch of his lips, Anakin makes a show of considering the offer. He finally relents when the kid huffs at him with impatience.

“Deal.”

They shake on it solemnly before Anakin hoists him on his back. That action is enough to realise the kid is well-fed. He’s glad to know the twisted ankle is due to bad luck and not brittle bones brought on by malnourishment.

As he starts to walk along the many corridors, keeping to the shadows, he listens to the child’s directions. Now that he’s on Anakin back, he seems perfectly content, if still a bit tense. He keeps turning his head this way and that, likely looking for familiar landmarks to orientate himself.

Anakin can’t say if they’re in the same corridor or another so he lets his guide look around without commenting. The sooner the kid finds his way back, the faster he’ll be able to look for Padmé and Obi-Wan after putting the child and his buir under a suggestion to ignore his presence, of course.

He casts his eyes down, examining the injured ankle. He’s not a Healer, he doesn’t have the fine control necessary to heal with the Force so he can’t go the usual Jedi route. Using the Force on a child to numb the pain is tricky, especially on a non-Force-sensitive, so he’s not going to attempt it. But he can offer to numb it in a more usual way.

“Hey,” he says softly as to not startle the kid, “see the reddish pouch on the right side of my belt? There’re bacta patches inside; take one it’ll help with the pain.”

After a moment of hesitation, the kid complies. Anakin adjusts his weight when he bends down to reach inside the pouch. He doesn’t trust him so Anakin is not going to place the patch himself.

The boy tenses suddenly and starts to wriggle.

“Put me down!”

And that’s panic that’s seeping into his voice and radiating from him. Anakin immediately begins to kneel as best as he can with a struggling child on his back even as he casts his Force senses around, looking for a threat.

There is none.

He blinks, baffled. Grunts when a small knee knocks into his ribs.

“Hey, hey! Slow down,” he admonishes while slowly releasing his hold on the boy’s legs, trying to help him keep his balance. “Don’t put weight on your ankl-!”

He doesn’t finish.

As soon as the child is on the ground, a much bigger hand grabs the back of his cloak and hoists him up in the air before hurling him towards the nearest wall. Too baffled to react - the Force told him everything was alright! - he can only turn his head to the side. Since he’s in a corridor the impact with the wall comes quickly and rattles painfully his whole body. His breath brutally expelled from his lungs leaves him with black spots filling his vision.

His last thought before he loses consciousness is that he was right. The kid’s grown-up version is drop-dead gorgeous.

#star wars #star wars au #geonosis au #Anakin Skywalker #boba fett #jango fett #jangani #skyhunter #Star-Shaped (Are Our Souls)

[glimmerglanger]

your mirror au and i am such a fan! wondering if you would be down to write further about when mirror obi-wan and anakin first got together! it would interesting to see the similarities and differences from the prime obiwan and anakin!

Anonymous said:

Your morrorverse au is wonderful and amazing!! Seriously, I love it so much, the idea, your beautiful writing, the characterisation, delicious! I gotta ask though, becquse I love spicy details, how did mirror!boys' first time go? Was it gentle? Rough? How old was Anakin? Did Obi-Wan have bad flashbacks? How long did it take for them to learn each other preferences? 👀

Anonymous said:

Absolutely LOVE Mirror AU!! But I'm also so curious Bout how Shadow and His Obi got together? Bc from the bits of Obi'd past and how little he thought Anakin truly cared for him, I'm curious about how they started. And if they ever actually address Obi's insecurities regarding how he views himself through others eyes, versus how Anakin actually views him.

A subject that must be explored further :D Generalized warnings for everyone being Darksiders, mentions of Obi-Wan’s screwed up past, Emperor Palpatine being just a HUGE and inappropriate creeper, especially with young Anakin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The very first time Anakin thought he might get to experience some of things he imagined - more and more often, as he got older - was in a dark club in Coruscant’s lower levels. He’d slipped away from Obi-Wan, managed to snag the attention of a slim figure with a sharp little smile and wandering hands, and had gotten as far as kissing them when suddenly he was pulled back and shoved a step to the side.

It had been startling, for a number of reasons, to look over at Obi-Wan’s scowling face, to listen to Obi-Wan snapping at Anakin’s companion to move away, immediately, his voice laced with the Force.

Anakin knew he ought to be upset, really. But the thing was… the kiss hadn’t really been as satisfying as he thought it would be, anyway. He’d been - been dissatisfied, been thinking about Obi-Wan, and it seemed like, in a way, Anakin had simply summoned him there with a thought.

Besides, Obi-Wan’s hand was still on his shoulder, and he thought, maybe--

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to frown over at him as Anakin’s companion slipped away without another word. He was not radiating jealousy or want, Anakin noticed, with a little kick of disappointment. Instead, it seemed Obi-Wan was worried.

Anakin frowned, straightening to his full height - only just taller than Obi-Wan, now - and said, “Yes, I’m fine, why’d you do that?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but he felt strange, inside, his emotions all a jumble. “It’s my responsibility to look after you,” he said, turning, as though he intended to go back out into the bar, as though the discussion were over.

“Look after--I wanted to,” Anakin said, following behind.

Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head, and said, “You’re too young to know what you want.” And Anakin wanted to protest; he was fourteen, and - and he’d had a pretty good idea of exactly what he wanted for months, and--

A comm from the Council, new orders relayed from the Emperor, cut Anakin’s protests off, leaving him to simmer over them.

#

Anakin kept his further explorations of the things he desired well away from Obi-Wan’s attention. It wasn’t that difficult, really. The Emperor was happy to help Anakin slip away for a few hours, here and there. Sometimes he even introduced Anakin to people, who were more than happy to… help out.

And after each time, if the Emperor asked what he had thought, if he’d like to see this person or that person again…

Well, Anakin’s answer was always the same. He was learning all kinds of things, many of them about what he wanted. Who he wanted. 

It was strange, how he thought he’d known all along.

#

The problem, as Anakin saw it, was that he wanted Obi-Wan, but he got the distinct impression he was not desired in return. He learned how to tell the difference, in his forays in darkened rooms and tangled sheets. Not all of the partners he spent time with wanted him, some just… went through the motions, while others lit up on the inside with desire.

He turned away those without want after the first time or two, because the entire experience left him feeling… off. It made him remember what he’d been told about Obi-Wan, brought back the memories of his nightmares, and--

And Anakin knew he could have them, but he found he didn’t want them, not like that. He didn’t want to be someone Obi-Wan had nightmares about.

#

It was years before Anakin caught a flash of anything resembling desire from Obi-Wan. They were on some terrible planet - Geonosis - where they’d been forced into a gladiatorial arena. Understanding that everyone involved was going to pay with their lives did little to dampen Anakin’s anger at being tossed - without a weapon - across the sands to fight the huge creatures in the arena.

His anger only burned hotter because they’d dragged Obi-Wan out before him and chained him up, put him on display in the center of the space, as the stands above hurled abuse and rocks down. Most of the stones did not manage to come close to the center of the arena, to Obi-Wan’s arms or bare chest, but--

But Anakin was seeing red by the time he was shoved from the chariot delivering him into the arena. He rolled across the sand, coming to his feet, listening to the wall of sound coming from the crowd and sneering up at all of them.

They seemed to think that he would be helpless with his hands bound. They seemed to think they’d won. They seemed to think many things, and Anakin was happy to show them how wrong they were.

The fight that followed took his concentration, left him panting hard with his hands bloody and his chest heaving. He looked over at Obi-Wan, standing there under the sun, free from the pillar, battered but alive and--

And found Obi-Wan looking at him, already, expression surprised and eyes wide. And Anakin felt the flare of want, of desire, recognized it with an answering jolt, and would have charged forward to pursue it, right there and right then, had not the rebel Dooku shown up at that moment.

#

Anakin lost his hand on Geonosis, spent too much time in a bacta tank, and only found out that Obi-Wan had been punished for failing to look after him after he was released. He found out only that he was to take the Brand, to be considered fully trained, after the healers let him go.

It burned, the blazing metal, when it was pressed against the back of his neck, but Anakin had suffered worse hurts. He complained not about it, especially because the Emperor had left marks on Obi-Wan that had yet to fade. A single burn hardly compared.

Anakin was given his own quarters - far finer than he’d expected - and he stayed within them for perhaps thirty seconds before he turned and left, seeking out Obi-Wan. The burn on the back of his neck still ached. He could only barely operate the prosthetic attached to his arm, but--

But none of that mattered, really. Obi-Wan wanted him - had wanted him, for at least a few heartbeats - and Anakin had been waiting for such desire for so long… 

Obi-Wan had the door open before Anakin even knocked. Anakin slipped inside the familiar space, drawn to where he sensed Obi-Wan, in the little kitchen. He held a cup of tea, glancing over as Anakin lingered in the doorway, just… looking at him.

There was a bruise, fading on Obi-Wan’s cheek. His hair only partially covered it, falling forward over his shoulder. He was wearing soft tunics, his feet bare, and--

And Anakin crossed to him, drawn forward by years of aching wants. Obi-Wan said, “Are you feeling--”

Anakin slid a hand across his jaw, feeling him go still, and leaned down, kissing the question off of his mouth. Obi-Wan startled, would - perhaps - have spilled tea on both of them, if Anakin hadn’t closed his fingers around the cup and taken it away, using the Force to place it on the counter.

He pulled back, after only a second, to find Obi-Wan staring at him, wide-eyed. “Anakin,” he said, his voice calm and still, “what are you doing?”

“What I’ve always wanted to do,” Anakin told him, stroking a thumb across the line of his cheek, sliding his other arm around Obi-Wan’s back. He brushed a kiss across Obi-Wan’s mouth and then another, and felt a hot spark of want that settled in his gut like the taste of victory. His mouth curved into a smile, and he added, “What you want me to do.”

Obi-Wan’s breath punched out, and he said, “Surely you don’t--”

Anakin kissed him, because it seemed the best way to prove that he very much did. He pushed at their connection at the same time, all the warm, tangled feelings he had for Obi-Wan, built and nurtured over so many years, all the wants, all the desires, all the needs.

Anakin had been strong enough to take what he wanted for years. He’d known it, the first time he managed to pin Obi-Wan during a sparring match. The Emperor had even told him as much, told him he had the power to take whatever he liked, while looking pointedly at Obi-Wan, and - as it turned out - what Anakin liked was Obi-Wan, reaching out to clench him closer, responding to all Anakin showed him.

It was a stunning delight to feel the other side of their connection open, to have warmth and want curl back out to him, and, oh, he’d been right to wait. It had been worth it, for the way Obi-Wan gripped at him, the way he groaned and panted and pulled Anakin closer, all while Anakin got everything he’d wanted.

#mirror au #glimmer replies #ask me anything #spicy #also just generally messed up #palpatine is creepy and inappropriate #implications of past child abuse/sexual abuse

[acollectionofhalftruths]

The One With Enthusiasm

Clone Wars is coming back and I’m still appalled we never got an Ahsoka and Obi-wan bonding episode. Read under the cut or on AO3 

“Adversity is friendship’s truest test.”

Ahsoka dumped her pack on the ground and rummaged around for dinner—a ration bar. Again. She, Anakin, and Torrent Company had set up camp in a shallow cave system here in the northern hemisphere of Ryloth, a short respite in their push towards the city of Nabat where a bunch of clankers had hunkered down. In her head, she knew the names and the places, but it was already starting to blur with the few other ground battles she’d been in. Is this how her masters felt? Trying to keep the endless besieged worlds separate, trying to distinguish between each endless wave of droids.

“Hungry, Snips?” Anakin asked, dropping his own pack.

She bared her sharp teeth in a smile. “Starving. I think I saw a red rat on the way in, so I might go hunt one of those down.”

Anakin nodded nonchalantly—he’d eat anything, she’d seen him eat tube worms straight off a cave wall once—but a few away, a couple clones blanched and quickly went back to setting up camp. She bit off a hard chuck of ration bar and stuffed it between her teeth and cheek to soften. Mostly she was messing with them, but a little fresh meat would be a welcome break from the endless march of bland, nutrient-exact bars. Small as they were, red rat wouldn’t be hard to catch. A little patience and good timing—

“General.” Rex had his finger to his ear comm. “We’ve got Ghost Company and General Kenobi inbound. Should I have the men pack in?”

“Tight as they can, Rex. Something tells me tonight is going to be cold.”

Ahsoka dug her cloak out of her pack and dropped it about where she would be sleeping. The clones distributed a few small space heaters for later and set up the makeshift medical space for Jesse and Blackout to work. A few minutes later, Ghost Company trudged into the caves and mingled with the 501st.

Ahsoka spied Obi-wan talking to Cody. Dirt and smoke streaked his face and clung to his robes, and an ugly blaster mark scarred his right shoulder armor. Even for the mighty Master Kenobi, it seemed there were close calls.

Finally, the Jedi master left Cody and came to sit near Ahsoka. He looked even more tired up close, but he smiled at her. “It’s good to see you, Ahsoka.”

She swallowed the bite of ration and smiled back. “Good to see you too, master. We spent the whole day clearing out recon bases and sniper nests.”

“We did much the same. We’ll have to make an aerial assault on Nabat, but the guns on the ground are too thick for that yet.”

Anakin dropped down beside them and smirked. “You look terrible.”

Obi-wan just gave his friend a long-suffering look. The three of them clustered around the heater and Rex and Cody joined to discuss the day’s gains and check in with Admiral Yularen over a shaky holocall. Around them, Ghost and Torrent Company settled in for the night, swapping stories about their day, exchanging kill counts, and in one corner a makeshift barber’s set up as a few expert clones buzzed their brothers’ hair, either to touch up fussier styles or to give new scrapes and cuts room to heal. It looked interesting, having hair. She’d seen all the things Senator Amidala could do with hers, but it also looked like a hassle to maintain, especially on the battlefield. But the men reveled in it, in how it made them both distinct and united.

Then Force whispered, like a tug at the back of her mind. Quiet. Insistent. She raised her head, and Anakin and Obi-wan were already on their feet, looking to the cave entrance. A distant scream echoed down the valley, but it didn’t fade like a sentient sound of pain or fear. It dragged on and drew closer, higher, louder.

Bombers.

“Run!”

Everyone sprinted deeper into the cave. The scream rattled the stones on the floor until it rang in Ahsoka’s montrals and made her eyes water. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Obi-wan and Anakin slow and turn, and she skidded to a stop and spun around to follow them. Clones raced past, blue and gold blurs in her peripheral.

Light.

Like looking into a sun.

Then thunder and fire and death burst toward her. She threw up her hands to hold back the seething explosion that strained for her, ravenous and raging to swallow everything down. The smoke burned in her eyes and throat, and she dug her feet into the ground and pushed back.

Then another explosion shook the cave. She was hurled back into pain and blurry light until she slipped into darkness.

***

Someone was touching her shoulder. “Ahsoka. Ahsoka, wake up.”

Her head rang. A hundred rocks dug into her back, and everything hurt. She wanted to lie still, to wait until the throbbing and jabbing gave up and left, but someone’s voice turned into Obi-wan’s, and he wasn’t giving up. “Ahsoka, you need to wake up.”

She opened her eyes but just saw more dark.

“It doesn’t look like anything’s broken,” he said.

She put a hand to her pounding head and winced. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be.” His hand found hers, and he pulled her to her feet while she groaned a little louder than necessary.

“What happened?”

He ignited his saber, and the pale light spilled across his face revealing a deep gash across his forehead that his hair stuck to. “Vulture bombers. We held the explosion back until the walker fuel tanks blew. Threw us into this side passage.”

She took a step towards him. “You’re hurt.”

He looked surprised, then touched his forehead and shrugged. “Just a scratch.”

She looked around, and her eyes had already adjusted enough for her to make out the close walls of the cave, barely a few meters apart, and the ceiling was just out of reach. The Force must have been watching over them if they made it into the tunnel instead of smashing piecemeal into a cave wall. She blinked and looked back to him. “And Anakin? The men?”

He held up his wrist. “Anakin. Anakin, come in.” Feedback whined through the cave. “Cody. Cody, do you read me?”

Ahsoka tried her own comm and got nothing but static. “All this rock must be blocking the signal.”

“Possibly.” He took a couple steps, and the light spilled onto a wall of rubble stretching up to the cave ceiling. “This doesn’t look good.”

“Can we move it?”

“I don’t think moving it is going to be possible.” He held the saber higher. “It seems to be holding up the roof at this point, and moving it may cause more rubble to fall.”

Ahoksa clenched her fists. “What about Anakin and the men? They could be hurt!”

“That’s possible, but there isn’t anything we can do for them from here. The only thing we can do is to find another way out and find our way back to them.”

Ahsoka sighed. “Then how do we get out of here?”

He pointed his lightsaber in the opposite direction, into the endless dark. “I think I feel the air moving from deeper in. This may be a tunnel system.”

She frowned. She wanted to do something, not run around in the dark hoping not to run into something big and fanged. But Obi-wan was already striding into the unknown. Ahsoka sighed and ignited her lightsaber. “Then I hope we don’t run into whatever dug these.”

He snorted. “That would be unfortunate.”

They followed the curve of the tunnel for what felt like hours, wandering further and further away from camp before Obi-wan pitched forward into the dark.

Ahsoka grabbed his arm and yanked hard. “Master!”

Somehow he got both feet back on solid ground and took a breath. “Oh, dear.” He leaned forward, holding his saber aloft.

A black ravine stretched out beneath them, maybe a meter across and too deep to see the bottom. Ahsoka leaned out and looked up, and overhead the ravine ran up to a dark sky. Barely outlined by the moon, smoke from days of fighting stained the narrow gash of night sky and blotting over the stars. On the far side of the chasm, the tunnel ran on into the dark. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms and shoulders in the open, cool night air, and she wrinkled her nose in discomfort.

Maybe being out of the tunnel would give a better signal. Ahsoka tried her comm again. “Skyguy. Skyguy, do you read me? Ankain?”

Static.

She groaned. “Useless.”

“It must have been damaged in the explosion.” Obi-wan leaned over the edge of the canyon, peered down into the dark, and pointed lower down the cliff face. “It looks like there’s a ledge big enough for both of us.”

Ahsoka turned her lightsaber off and hung it back on her belt. On her bare arms and shoulders, goosebumps rose. “Big enough for what?”

“To pass the night. We can regroup with the others in the morning.”

Her mouth fell open. “What? We can’t stay here.”

“Ryloth is dangerous enough during the day. There will be all kinds of predators and droid patrols out now, so I think it’s wisest to wait for light.”

Ahsoka scowled. “But they might need our help.”

“Ahoksa, I understand your frustration, but we came almost straight through the plateau. It will take us hours to get back on foot. We won’t be any good to Anakin or Cody if we’re caught by Separatists or falling into a gutkurr nest.”

She crossed her arms then hugged herself tighter against the cold.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Have faith in Anakin. He’ll be there when we get back.”

She sighed. “Yes, master.”

They leapt down to the ledge and tried to settle in for a few hours of sleep. Ahsoka curled into a ball and wrapped her arms around herself. Kark, it was cold. How did a planet get so hot during the day and lose all the heat once the sun went down? What she would give for a cloak right now. It was probably ash. Obi-wan put his back to the wall and raised an arm in invitation, and Ahsoka scooted close to share his body heat. Even with his cold, dura-plastic armor, the Jedi master was warm, and she curled up with his arm around her and her face buried in his side. Thank the Force for mammalian species.

***

Ahsoka woke stiff and cold the next morning. Pale, pink-brown light filtered down the ravine, bright and dancing with dust particles. She licked her chapped lips and tasted blood in the cracks. Obi-wan must have felt her stirring because he inhaled and sat up, then rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Lived to see another morning.”

Ahsoka snorted and breathed into her hands and rubbed her arms to limber them back up. “Don’t feel very alive.”

He stood with a suppressed groan and stretched. “It’ll be hot enough soon. We should get moving.”

Sliding further down the ravine, they found a path worn into the cliff face, narrow and broken, probably created by some wild animal and eroded by time. They picked their way along the cliff face, and sometimes they had to leap several meters to reach the next portion of the path. After a few hours, they worked their way out of the canyon into the open air again. The sun was high, and it was getting hot again. She turned in the direction of the camp, and over the edge of the mesa rose a black, swirling cloud.

Ahsoka gasped and dash towards it.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-wan shouted. “Wait!”

She sprinted to the smoking cave mouth. Scattered across the ground were hulking, twisted pieces of metal, melted and hardened into threatening angles. Smoke drifted off the rocks, the gutted AT-TE, the skeleton of the crashed Vulture. It must have made a suicide run to get at their camp.

Obi-wan ran up behind her and look around, saber in hand but not ignited. In the corner of her eye something glinted, and she turned to it. An unharmed comm lay on the ground, surrounded by boot prints scattered in the ash and dirt. She grabbed it and turned it on. A map of the area flickered up with a blinking beacon a few klicks beyond their current position. “Looks like a rendezvous point. Ugh. This is going to take forever.”

“Don’t give in to impatience, Ahsoka.” Obi-wan rubbed his chin. “They must have had to move out. We should do the same. There’s no telling if the Separatists will come looking for survivors.”

Ahsoka glanced back at the smoky cave then pocketed the comm and turned with Obi-wan to the rendezvous point. For the next few hours, they marched on.

The sun rose higher, and soon sweat was rolling down Ahsoka’s back, and Obi-wan’s robes darkened down the back. They wove between the towering buttes and strange rock formations until they suddenly cleared, and the duo stepped into clearing. Ahsoka stopped and looked around.

The ground was pocked with holes and stray shrapnel encrusted with dirt, probably the evidence of artillery fire. Ahoksa frowned and looked around at the faded battle zone. “Is this all from the Separatists? We’ve only been here for a few days.”

Obi-wan shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the fight on Ryloth has been raging for much longer than the Republic has been here.”

They trudged on through the battlefield, avoiding rusting droids and skirting stone cairns marked with white chalk symbols Ahsoka didn’t recognize. There were a lot of cairns, more than there should have been. “There were files on the Ryloth Resistance in the briefing. I guess I didn’t realize they had been fighting so long.”

Obi-wan surveyed the half-buried wreckage of an armored vehicle. “I think we are all going to be fighting much longer than we realize.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he nudged some twisted shrapnel with his boot. “Be careful, Ahsoka. There might still be live ammunition.”

Ahsoka glanced around, then took a deep breath. The faster they got through this field, the faster they’d reach the rendezvous point. She stepped over another pothole forward and smiled back at him to try and cheer him up. “Don’t worry, master. I’m always careful.”

Then she was falling, plummeting down. She landed hard and rolled across the ground and into something hard that slammed her to a stop. Groaning, she sat up and found herself at the bottom of a pit, every bruise from the explosion screamed with new pain.

Something landed heavy beside her, and a hand touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She winced and blinked until the older Jedi’s face came back into focus. “I think so.”

A low growl reverberated through the cave. Heat in her throat, Ahsoka leapt to her feet. Her right ankle buckled, and she fell to one knee. “Oh kark, that hurts.”

Another growl echoed through the cave—closer—and the Force tremored. Obi-wan looped her arm over his shoulder. “One, two—”

On three, they sprang out of the pit, and Ahsoka’s leg buckled again, throwing her forward. She stumbled a few steps before she caught herself.

“Are you all right?” the master asked.

She hissed, balanced on one foot, and carefully spun her throbbing ankle, but the movement sent pain shooting up her ankle. She hissed again and shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

Obi-wan watched her silently as she limped a couple steps in the direction of the rendezvous point. Then he shook his head and offered his hand.

Her lips twitched with embarrassment. She looked around and pointed to a nearby rock pile, large enough to hide her from any passing Seppie air patrols. “I’ll hide out there.”

“Anakin will never let me hear the end of it if I leave you here.”

Ahsoka thought about arguing, but ten minutes later Obi-wan was piggy-backing her the last few klicks to the point. She wrapped her arms around his neck and set her chin on his shoulder, legs sticking almost straight out. Why was she so short?

“You don’t have to carry me the whole way.”

“Don’t worry.” He sounded awfully chipper for hauling someone half his size across the Ryloth badlands. “We’re almost there.”

He climbed up a short incline, and his breathing was getting a little harder, but the redheaded human showed no signs of slowing. Ahsoka smirked. “You’re pretty spry for a grandmaster.”

"Hmm. It seems Anakin is rubbing off on you in more ways than one.”

“I think he prefers to think of it as his amazing teaching skills.”

“I’m sure he does. You two are well suited.”

Reckless. That was what Anakin had called her. What a lot of people had called her, and here she was being carted across the Ryloth plains, useless because she had rushed in without looking. “Master?”

He hummed an acknowledgement.

Ahsoka ran her tongue over the points of her teeth before speaking. “Do you think I would have made it as your padawan?”

He skirted a collapsed rock formation and trudged in silence just long enough to make Ahsoka nervous. She started to speak, but he said, “I think you're doing quite well so far.”

“Haha.”

He turned his head, and a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “You will do well, padawan, wherever the Force takes you.”

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Thanks, master.”

They reached the new camp a few hours later. Anakin smirked as they came in. “Glad you made it.”

Ahsoka scowled at him over Obi-wan’s shoulder. “If you laugh, Skyguy, I’ll punch you.”

“Wasn’t gonna say anything, Snips. Wasn’t gonna say anything.”

#obi-wan kenobi #Ahsoka Tano #star wars fanfiction #my writing #master padawan relationships #i found this in my files #and aggressively did not edit this #Disney can pry sharptoothed predator ahsoka from my cold dead hands #my posts

[brothers-all]

Echoy'la (Lost)

Yey, finished this one early! Happy Clone Appreciation Day! (Or, late day if I'm late? The days tend to mush together now-and-days...)

Ah finally, this one... I enjoyed writing too much probably? But ah well! Read, review and enjoy~

Chapter 5 Akaanir (Fight)

She had passed quickly in the corridors, not even looking into the mess hall. She turned the corner, the place memorized. She knew the three guards patrolling had just passed, so she was free. Just a few more steps and-

"Oh, excuse me, Commander Tano," for a moment, she thought it was Rex. Or maybe Jesse. Fives usually wasn't so formal, Kix would be saying it more quickly and the rookies wouldn't say it so lightly. No, looking up, she saw it was Cody.

"My fault Cody. Should have watched where I was going…" she said quickly and tried to move past him, but he moved his arm in her way. Just like Rex used to.

"Are you alright?" she had to look at him again, seeing his concerned eyes.

"…Yes, of course," the smile she gave him was so fake; she thought she might throw up.

"…We'll get them," he knew how to read her. Of course he did. This man served as a right-hand man to Obi-Wan. He needs to know how to read Jedi.

"I know we will," she remembered Anakin had said the same thing. There was a pause as she saw him looking for something to say.

"I can already hear Rex yelling at us for coming to save them. He'd say how they had it all planned and were working on something, when we came and ruined it," she was shocked by what he said and had her mouth gaped open.

"And Fives would likely start competing on who would destroy more clankers. Jesse would tell him to stop messing around, but join in soon after," he gave her a sad smile, eyes almost distant, but still looking at her.

"Cinder and Svak would be telling everyone about what happened. How they were trapped with the Legends, and how they managed to get out. The rookies would look up to them," a soft chuckle escaped him.

"And Kix… He'd be fussing over everyone once they got back. Checking every little scratch, making sure the equipment was still working," she finally allowed herself a small smile as well, understanding what he was doing.

"It'll be just like the good old days," she said and he nodded.

"Thank you, Cody."

"Anytime Ahsoka."

When Grievous came looking for the clones, he was expecting another rage-filled fit. Maybe more questions about their pathetic brothers. But what he didn't expect, was the room to be empty at first, and a moment later, four clones jumping on him, trying to knock him to the ground. The guards outside responded, but he was still trying to pry the meatbags off. He stumbled into the cell, extending his four arms and grabbed someone, but another clone grabbed his face. With a frustrated growl, he rammed the wall, hearing two bodies collide with the metal before the dropped down. Two more were still holding on, but he held on to another one. Pulling the clone off with a growl, he saw it was the one with the Republic tattoo. His momentary hesitation allowed the soldier to kick him in the face, forcing him to drop the man to the ground. The last clone was still on his back, but the guards had a clear shot and slammed their electric staffs into his back. As the last one fell, Grievous saw it was that loud one and growled again, kicking him just in case.

"Clever for rats," he put his foot on the clone's chest, pressing down and seeing him reaching out to try and stop it. "But not clever enough."

The others were picking themselves up, glaring but not moving. They knew that if they did anything, the General would crush their brother right then and there. He laughed at their pathetic love for one another, glaring down at the one under his foot.

"But if you keep insisting, why don't we go and see what you're made of," he grabbed the clone and tossed him to the guards. "Take him to room 5," he ordered and they dragged the pained soldier out, cuffing him in the process.

"The rest will just have to wait your turn," he laughed at them, not even bothered by the death glares he was getting.

Dooku entered the chamber with a deep frown on his face. The clone was resting it seems, or perhaps just pretending to. His frown deepened as he recalled the conversation he had with his Master about the situation…

"But, Master, if it does not work as it should-."

"We lose nothing. They shall be exterminated and we shall acquire new subjects."

"I still believe this is not the best way to handle it…"

"Think of it as a small test. To see if they react. If they do not, then something is wrong."

"Understood, Master."

He walked up to the clone, watching him closely. He still didn't want to use what his Master suggested. Perhaps he could wait for Grievous to handle the other one before continuing.

"I know you are awake," he said calmly, seeing the Captain slowly open his eyes, glaring up at him. "Such a weak attempt…"

"Fooled the droids," the soldier's cocky attitude was slowly starting to annoy him. He hated Skywalker for it and it seems his Captain wasn't far behind.

"Are you comparing me to droids?" he actually sounded curios, raising an eyebrow.

"Just saying you're all just as dumb," his anger flared and he automatically reached with the Force for the switch on a control panel nearby. It activated the shock collar on the clone, zapping him and lighting the dark room up. It was there that he decided – he'd wait for now with the Master's idea. He'd try pain with the Captain, despite knowing the clones were almost built to endure it.

Fives felt himself get tossed onto the ground, the guards standing around. He groaned, his back still stinging from the jabs, but managed to get to his knees.

"I was afraid you would be too hurt to move again," he heard General Cougher speak and turned his head to him, eyes burning.

"Let me out of these restraints and you'll see," he challenged, getting to his feet.

"If you say so," the monster laugh and pressed a switch on a remote, probably the same one that was connected to his collar. The cuffs and collar fell off a second later and the ARC was in momentary shock at that.

"Now then clone," Grievous chuckled. "Come and fight," the guards extended their weapons, stepping closer and Fives managed to jump back to avoid the first jabs.

"Hiding behind your guards? Of course you are!" he frowned and grabbed one of the electro staffs by the handle, twisting it around. He pulled the guard over his shoulder and slammed him into the ground, delivering an elbow to the faceplate. Pulling the weapon from its metal grasp, he faced the other two, his new weapon prepared.

"This just got interesting," the General chuckled but made no move as his guards stepped forward to face the ARC Trooper.

Another zap shocked his body, but he managed to hold down the scream. He felt the needle pierce his neck and something be injected into his veins, likely decreasing his tolerance to pain, but still glared at the Count. He's handled worse before. This was nothing.

"You think yourself righteous? For defending the Jedi?" Dooku growled after another failed attempt at getting the Captain to submit.

"I'm doing my job!" Rex hissed back, ignoring the pain in his body.

"And what do you get in return?" Dooku hadn't realized he called upon the Force Lighting as he glared at the clone. His anger was seeping out and he didn't even try to stop it.

Rex couldn't help but scream. This lightning wasn't anything like before. Like the prods, jabs, and pings. This made it feel like his insides were on fire and that he just might be cooked inside his own armor. He didn't want to think what would happen if he came in any closer contact to that.

After a few seconds, but what felt like hours, the Count finally stopped. Smoke was coming off the charred armor and Rex was panting, having trouble breathing. His body was still in pain and he felt close to passing out.

"We are not done," the Sith hissed and the Captain felt a sharp poke in his neck again. His eyes opened and he saw the man had used one of the nearby needles to inject something, but it was much different. By the way his heart was speeding up and he regained his energy, he could only assume it was an adrenalin boost.

"Now then… Shall we continue?"

Fives grunted as he felt another jab into his side by the end of the electro staff. He spun around; his own staff extended and hit the first guard in the head, staggering him. The second one was coming around, trying to jump him, but the clone rolled out of the way just in time. As the guard slammed his weapon down, Fives tossed his staff in his other hand before hurling it like a spear into the droid's head. It knocked the machine back, pinning it to a wall as it struggled a few more moments before shutting down. He only managed to take in a few quick breathes before hearing the buzz from the last guard.

He braced himself for the hit, arms going to guard his chest. He was tired, in pain and pretty sure he was running on adrenalin right now. But still, he took the hit and it send him skidding across the ground towards the wall where he pinned the other one. He needed a second, but got to his feet, albeit shakily and grabbed the weapon, leaning on it.

Panting, he glared at the guard and pulled the staff out of the wall with a yell, charging yet again at the enemy. It tried to block him, but Fives jumped, turning mid-air and slamming the droid from the side and into a wall. As soon as it crashed into the wall, he ran up to it, piercing its chest with his weapon with another grunt.

He was leaning on the weapon again, eyes growing tired, until he heard clapping from behind. He's almost forgotten about Grievous, and struggled to turn around to face the General. He really didn't have the energy for a proper fight anymore…

"I must admit, I am impressed," Grievous had a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "And the way you move… I wonder if they ever noticed," Fives gave him a confused look, to which he only laughed. Maybe there was a joke somewhere there he wasn't getting…

"I could easily kill you right now," the monster stopped his laugh and pulled out two lightsabers, leveling them at the clone from where he stood. "But I want you to keep struggling. To keep thinking you will survive."

"What… makes you think… we won't?" Fives grunted, taking hold of the weapon again.

"Because no one cares enough to believe you would," the words confused him at first, but he saw the General laugh yet again. "There will be no rescue, clone."

"Like we need… anyone to save us… We can handle ourselves," he glared back, gripping the weapon tighter.

"It's a shame really. If the Jedi cared enough, they would have come for you. Then maybe, your bothers wouldn't have had to die."

"Svak died to make sure Rex-!"

"I'm not talking about the child," it took a few seconds, but when Fives realized what he was talking about, his body felt numb.

"No… No, not-!" he didn't believe it. He was lying. This wasn't-

"The three in the cells? What were they called again…" his heart skipped a beat as he thought he might snap the staff in half.

"Oh, right. Jesse, Kix and Cinder, right? You clones and your little nicknames," in a second, Fives was attacking Grievous, wild and powerful swings.

"Don't dare say their names!" he yelled, seeing blue and green as he kept striking madly.

"They're dead and your Captain is soon to be," he wasn't even sure what he was attacking at, just that he had to beat the monster into a scrap pile.

"And we'll keep you as a pet!" he missed the swing. Stupid! Weren't thinking. Lost track of your surroundings. He tripped over a broken guard, stumbling forward and landed on his arms and knees. He shook his head to try and get the fog out, but soon felt himself be grabbed and lifted by his throat.

"Pathetic," Grievous hissed as Fives tried to pry his metal arms away and free himself.

"And you thought you could save your brothers," he was starting to lose oxygen and saw black spots dancing at the edge of his eyes.

"You couldn't even save your own teammates on the Rishi Moon. Droid Bait, Cutup and Heavy, right?" he was struggling harder, just wanting the monster to shut up. He could clearly see all three brothers in their last moments. They deserved better. They should have made it. "And then, the one on the Citadel. The one who lasted longest… Echo, was it?" he closed his eyes, tears slipping out as he relived the horrible moment of Echo's death. The di'kut and his fearless nature! If only he'd stuck to the rules like he usually does. Why, why of all the times to change, did it have to be then?

"Now they're all dead, you'll be an obedient little pet… And it's all the Jedi's fault. Remember that, clone," the General pulled him in closer, hissing the name into his ear before Fives passed out.

Appo was just passing the refreshers when he paused, hearing something he wasn't sure was right.

"Do you really think we'll find them?" he turned in and saw a couple of rookies, looking at each other with worry and fear.

"After the way the Commander snapped, we better… Can imagine what she'd do if we don't?" Appo himself felt a shudder up his spine. They were shocked by Ahsoka's outrage against her Master – especially how fiercely she was sure their brothers were alive. And while it was very reassuring, showing their Jedi cared, it scared them. The Jedi were still, for many, terrifying. The few who didn't seem to mind are either dead or missing, with only a handful remaining on the ship – Appo not being one of them. If they do lose control, who would stop them? Who could? That's what scared them so much.

"We will find them," the Sergeant hadn't recognized Tup with his hair down like that, but the fierce way he spoke made him stand out from the other rookies.

"We'll find them and they'll be fine. They're the Legends – the ones everyone looks up to. There's no way this would hurt them," Appo slowly backed away from the 'fresher, eyes taking on a sad tone. He wished he could be that sure about it, but after Umbara… Many of the older soldiers… changed. Those Legends especially. He just hoped the kid was right and that they could survive this as well.

Ahsoka snapped awake, a silent scream on her lips. There was a tremor in the Force, but it was… close. Someone she knew was in pain. The Force shivered and she heard a familiar scream of pain, soon followed by a yell of rage. It wasn't clear what was happening, but she knew to who. At least, to a degree.

"Vode…" she whispered, eyes still wide open. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her lightsabers and was just about to leave the room, when Anakin appeared in the doorway.

"Master!" she called in surprise, seeing his shocked expression as well.

"I'm assuming you felt that…" he said with a knowing look in his eyes.

"…I did," she lowered her head, shoulders dropping as well.

"Good. Then we can finally start our plan on getting them home," she looked up at him and saw he was giving her a reassuring smile.

"What do you mean?" she was confused, but knew he must have a plan.

"Get Cody and Appo and I'll explain on the bridge," was his only answer.

Cut! Well, looks like stuff is finally going down! We got some more... interesting things happening next chapter, so be sure to check that one out! Again, don't be shy in asking if something's not making sense - I'll try and explain as best I can ^^" I hope you enjoyed and if you fancy, leave a review! They're my life substance and the best currency around. Till next time~

#Echoy'la (Lost) #Verde' gehat'ik (Soldiers' story) #my story #commander cody #ahsoka tano #captain rex #fives #jesse #kix #general grievous #count dooku #anakin skywalker #appo #tup

[eirianerisdar]

i'm terrible at titles but for that fic title ask thing: a falcon in the dive, syzygy, and little people

I can finally answer thisask using the actual reply box because I’ve done two of these already:

Little People(Obi-Wan is interviewed by the holonet press during the clone wars. Cueamusement but much more angst)

A Falcon in theDive (Obi-Wan dives. From the Temple gardens, across galactic history,to another Falcon altogether)

Syzygy

Syzygy(noun): An alignment of three celestial objects, be it star, planet, or moon

Characters:Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tahl etc. (many, many Jedi)

Summary: Jedi die younger than most; but they arereunited in different ways. A somewhat AU-ish interpretation of Jedi scatteredacross the multiverse after death. Jumps universes from victorian-era-esqueworlds to futuristic, inexplicable ones. Begins with Qui-Gon. Ends withtwo others.

Note: In this AU Qui-Gon didn’t hang around after his death as a Force-ghost, so he wasn’t there for Anakin killing Tuskens, etc., etc.

Qui-Gon Jinn wakes to thesound of a portal opening.

Even after seven years ofthis being common occurrence, the noise remains utterly distinctive. It is anindescribable rending of the fabric of space-time; something between hissingand tearing, but without any echo whatsoever. It is a gateway of the purestkind.

Qui-Gon watches the portalshimmer in the opposite wall. It has opened into a world of humans - as mostworlds he has visited usually are - and a street made grey by rain. The groundbeyond is not made of duracrete, he can see. Acurious mode of transport trundles by, drawn by two four-legged animals withsleek manes of hair and sleekly curved bodies. The transport itself is composedof four wooden wheels and a painted box-like structure.

The portal shimmers with alayer of carmine energy. People walk past without seeming to notice it.

As always, an outfit hasappeared next to the portal, on the empty coat-stand that Qui-Gon had placedthere simply for that purpose. He eyes the strange, tall black hat on it withwariness.

It is seven years fromNaboo, almost to the day.

Seven years, and every day anew portal, with a new task. Qui-Gon is never aware what task he has tocomplete until he enters this new world. He does not find it. It finds him.

He has thrownhimself into battles with nothing but bronze armour and a blunted sword toprotect himself; he has found himself in worlds of peace, where his only taskfor the day is to help a little girl find the perfect flower, or to carry anold man’s groceries home for him.

Qui-Gon performs hismorning ablutions quickly, and reaches for the outfit provided to him. Itis…strange. The white shirt, boots and trousers are simple enough, but there is ashort, sleeveless silk garment to go over it, and a long, black coat thatswings about his knees. Qui-Gon finds himselfmystified at a length of silk, more ribbon-like than anything.

Men walk past the portalwith similar lengths of silk tied around their necks in elaborate knots, soQui-Gon manages to come up with something that does not seem too much like asquashed ball of yarn. He rams the thin-rimmed, tall black hat on his head andpulls on his gloves.

Qui-Gon cannot stop thesmile from spreading across his face when he snatches up the last item providedto him; he pulls at the head of the long black cane, and finds the glint of asword within.

Sword-cane. Excellent.

With that happy thought,he ducks through the portal.

The smell is what hits himfirst.

Qui-Gon is immediatelysure that this is a city in the middle of an era of increased industrialproduction; only a rapidly-expanding city with a rich history of pre-industrialdevelopment has this particular stink.

But even here, in thissmoke-aired, sewer-filled city, the Force is present.

Qui-Gon closes his eyesonce, opens them again, and begins to walk.

Close to four hours later,he hurls himself back through the portal, bleeding out his momentum in a muddyroll across the pristine floor of his bedchamber.

Across the shimmeringbarrier, five very confused bloodhounds sniff at the lamplit pavement, utterlyconfused at the disappearance of their quarry.

The portal closes with afirm snap, leaving blank wall in its place.

Qui-Gon tugs at thegrime-encrusted, ruined knot at his neck - a cravat, he now knows - anddrops the length of silk to the floor. It disappears, as is usual for allprovided clothes at the end of a daily task. He is happy to see it go.

The sky outside his littleapartment is bright with afternoon sunshine.

Qui-Gon cleans himself up,dresses in a subdued outfit, and checks his kitchen.

He is running out of eggs.Or whatever the equivalent of eggs are in this universe.

He pulls on a jacket andgoes to the market.

This world, the world inwhich he woke up in seven years ago, is not particularly special. It is peacefulin places, at war in others. There is rudimentary space travel, but not beyondthe closest few planets. Qui-Gon had discovered very quickly within the firstfew months of living here that there is absolutely no knowledge whatsoeveramong the general populace of the Force, or the Jedi, or any other speciesbesides humans. It is as if the galaxy and Republic Qui-Gon served and gave hislife to does not exist at all.

He buys eggs, and a few things for the care of his houseplants. The shopkeepers are polite but distant.

Qui-Gon can feel theirwariness flicker in the Force as he turns to go, like searchlights dancingacross the back of his head, whispering:

There isalways something different about him, that Mister Jinn.

Come sunset, Qui-Gon makeshimself a meal. It is delicious and tastes absolutely different from anythinghe is used to in his old world. The salt here has an unfamiliar tang. The meatis different. The vegetables do not sing with the energy of the Living Force.

But the Force is stillhere, at least, steady and pure. Qui-Gon thinks he might have gone mad withoutit.

He runs though a few kataafter evening meal, in the small dojo connected to his study through aside-door. Even without a lightsaber, the forms flow through him as perfectlyand lightly as they did when he first mastered them. It is at times like thesethat he values the youth that he has in this world; his body for allappearances and abilities seems to match his own when he was about thirty-five.

It is better than havingsixty-year-old knees, certainly.

When he has driven himselfthrough enough repetitions of advanced Ataru velocities to blur the white wallsinto resembling a Temple sparring arena, Qui-Gon halts.

He washes up and goes tosleep. The bed seems to swallow him whole.

He does not dream.

The days blur past withoutmemory or time.

Some days, the tasks aresimple, and he speaks snippets of conversation to beings across the multiverse,tossing words into the aether, like a passing gale would scatter leaves intothe river.

Then there are days theculmination of whole wars rest upon his shoulders, and he negotiates and speaksand fights - but hours later he always steps back through the portal again andinto the artificial tidiness of his apartment, no matter whether he is drippingblood onto the carpet, or pristine in honoured robes.

The Force provides noanswer when he inquires why he is here, or why he must complete these tasks. Itsimply surges and recedes when he meditates, and whispers, patience.

And then comes the day hispatience is finally rewarded.

Ten years post-Naboo, Qui-Gon has just begunsupper when there is an unmistakable hiss-snap of a portal opening.

His hand pauses in the actof shaking more salt over the pot of soup.

“No,” he says, to nobodyin particular.

The Force eddies aroundhis ankles, encouragingly.

“No,” Qui-Gon says again,firmly. He places the salt container to the side and reaches for a spice-jar.  “It is time for evening meal. I have to eat so I can throw myself into another battle tomorrow morning.”

He nearly drops the jar as a sudden headache starts up behind his eyes.

After a moment, he shuts off the stove.

“Force-forsaken duty,” Qui-Gon mutters. He turns to face the portal.

Behind the translucent barrier is a snow-swept train station, looking not unlike one from Qui-Gon’s current universe. The portal looks out onto a platform and a set of tracks; the view of the opposite platform is obscured by a train halted there.

Frowning at the portal, Qui-Gon moodily reaches around to undo the ties of his apron.

There is a sharp hiss of hydraulics as the train pulls away from the platform.

Qui-Gon raises his head, and the breath stops in his chest.

There, standing on the opposite platform, is a woman with hair the colour of freshly-watered earth, and skin the shade of bronze-kissed jasper. Her hands are tucked into her coat-pockets for warmth; her scarf billows in the wind as she glances to her right.

Her eyes. Her green-and-gold-striped eyes.

Qui-Gon stares at Tahl Uvain and knows this cannot be a dream, because he is already dead, and he has not dreamed in a decade.

And then he senses her; a bright-flamed star blossoms on the edge of his consciousness where an empty void had been before.

He has stumbled through the portal before he even began to think of stepping forward.

Tahl’s sharp eyes catch the movement in the air, and the next moment, green and gold meet sea-blue.

Her spine straightens. Proud and confident and strong; three of the many, many things that Qui-Gon had loved about her.

And then he realises.

She can see. She can see.

Qui-Gon does not dare move. It would seem neither does she; they stare at each other across a no-man’s-land of two train-tracks, as though neither of them have ever seen anything before; as if this, before them, is beautiful and wondrous enough as to be wholly indescribable.

Tahl’s lips move first, and the words come, muffled by snow but clear as a clarion across the space between them:

“Qui? Is that you?”

Qui-Gon thinks he might have wept, then. It would have been different, perhaps, if she had spoken his name in full; but it has been two lifetimes since he last heard someone say his name with such fondness, and a lifetime since he last heard his name at all.

He tries to say her name in return, but the sounds do not come.

It does not matter. Recognition blooms on Tahl’s features; her eyes are immediately lit with such incandescent joy that Qui-Gon’s wonders if his heart will stop simply by mirroring it.

Joy he has not felt since…

Since he heard the words I pledge myself to you, Qui-Gon.

A deep rumble sounds to Qui-Gon’s right. Both Jedi’s heads snap to the side; the tracks tremble as a train approaches.

Panic flares in Qui-Gon’s chest; he cannot allow this train to slice between the two platforms and separate them, not when they have endured enough years apart for death, twice.

“Qui-Gon!”

He glimpses her sprinting for the platform stairs as the train rushes into the station; he pivots on a heel and lunges at the stairs on his own platform. The short seconds he races up the steps are pounding spaces of disbelieving hope.

At the top of the steps is a corner, and round the corner a bridge, and down that-

They slam into each other at the centre of the bridge, suspended above the tracks like two actors that have missed their cue, and raced out of the wrong entrances, colliding.

Qui-Gon has buried his face in her shoulder and breathed in her Force-signature before he even registers the weight of her in his arms.

Tahl’s arms are so tight around his chest that he thinks he might be sawed in half. Or perhaps that pressure is not her at all, but the pain of a heart remade.

It is strange. They have both died once, separated by a span of ten years, but here, in this moment, Qui-Gon thinks he is happy enough to die.

“Tahl,” he sobs, muffled by the cold and the snow.

“You’re not supposed to be dead, you idiot,” Tahl mumbles somewhere under his chin.

“You weren’t, either,” Qui-Gon whispers.

“Hush.”

They stand, orbiting each other in the Force, a perfect binary star.

The Force glimmers, and laughs.

It is not long after they find each other that more Jedi begin to appear.

Two hundred Jedi flicker into being out of nowhere, scattered across the multiverse. Qui-Gon and Tahl link hands and seek them out. They bring troubling news, of the beginning of war.

More Jedi are found throughout the few years after, increasing in number but often decreasing in age, with the youngest no older than junior padawans.

Qui-Gon spends his nights sipping tea with Tahl, fiddling with his wedding ring distractedly as he thinks about Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, leading campaigns far out on the outer rim of a galaxy he can no longer reach.

Then came the day that the portals opened non-stop for twenty-four hours.

Qui-Gon and Tahl run, and run, and at the end of that one day, they have gathered ten thousand Jedi.

Qui-Gon gazes at the fallen Order, and wonders that the two faces he searches for are not there.

Mace Windu steps out of the crowd, flexes his right hand for a moment as though checking if it is really there, opens his mouth, and speaks.

Qui-Gon crumbles.

Nineteen years pass quickly, here.

The Jedi Order settles in nicely to this new world. The initiates who were cut down in the death throes of the old Order are all now knighted. Qui-Gon is the new Grand Master; he finds the job hopelessly dull, but Mace had insisted.

Then one day, a portal opens, and Qui-Gon drops his cup of tea all over his new robes.

“Master,” Obi-Wan says, blue eyes twinkling above well-cut beard. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Qui-Gon knocks aside his tea-table in his haste to embrace the other man. Obi-Wan’s laugh cascades into the Force, as does Tahl’s shout when she sees him.

Syzygy. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Tahl. Three celestial objects in complete alignment, forever.

END

There you have it. A 2,400 word “snippet”. *falls over* Thanks for reading! Do reblog and leave a comment! I hope this fic made you smile as much as it did for me :) I think this is a pretty good AU to keep adding tidbits into, so send me prompts for that any time. It will be called Syzygy AU, I think.

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#star wars #qui-gon jinn #tahl #obi-wan kenobi #jedi apprentice #sort of anyway so I'll tag it #star wars fanfic #mace #replies #my post #fanfic #syzygy