this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

The opposite fantasy of "he needs me."

"He doesn't need me."

He doesn't need me to function. He doesn't need me to be happy. He doesn't need me to be strong, to be steady, to go on, to manage his life or solve his problems...

I can just be and he can just be and we're together not out of need, but out of choice.

Because being together is an additionnal happiness, not a vital requirement I will be responsible for (in addition to all the things I am already responsible for).

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

“Each of us, every single clone, is a one-man army. And yes, I am… I’m so proud of them. We protect the Galaxy, we die fighting for the Galaxy and its peoples. We are not made for peace times, Obi-Wan.”

The cynical part of Obi-Wan wants to ask why Cody is so steadfast in his belief when everywhere the clones go they’re confronted with people dismissing them, equating them to the droids they’re fighting.

He understands, though. Jedi are only welcome where people know about the help they can provide. The Order is looked down upon, the Jedi just as easily dismissed, more often than not when it comes to it.

And still. And still. The call to protect people is too strong to ignore. He doesn’t want to ignore the call. He can help so he does.

So yes, he understands Cody and his need to fight.

He watches as Cody self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, fingers not halting over the port, so— so used to its presence, as the silence reigns. Cody doesn’t try to further his explanations. He said his piece and that’s that.

Obi-Wan settles down on the floor in front of the weightlifting bench. And Cody.

He crosses his legs automatically, the armor he has to don if he wants to engage in the battles blessedly absent, here. His fingers find Cody’s other hand in his lap, tapping it lightly, glancing by the embedded screen in the armored boot proclaiming Cody as belonging to the 212th.

Commander Cody got his own Attack Battalion. Mace remains the immediate superior but the brass saw Cody’s merit. No Jedi can easily fill the role as war general and Cody is… too brilliant to not be in charge. He and Mace have been flattening the CIS, the GAR is only too happy to spread out their heavy hitters.

“He’s always giving them a chance to surrender first,” Cody had commented on Mace, pride and admiration shining from his whole body. “How he’s able to walk with balls like that is a mystery to me.”

Obi-Wan had politely choked on nothing.

Once Cody is looking at him, apologies in his eyes for being made for war, of war, Obi-Wan signs a simple question. “How would you know?”

Temper makes the scarred eyebrow rise and Obi-Wan continues, undeterred now that Cody’s attention isn’t on misplaced guilt.

“You know nothing but war. You’ve learnt nothing but war. You’ve,” Obi-Wan pauses to swallow the grief, “experienced nothing but war in your life. How would you know you’re not made for peace times when you haven’t even had the chance to live in them?”

A smile, half there and fleeing, cracks, warm brown eyes watch Obi-Wan’s hands. “In my darkest moments I’m not sure I’ll even see them.”

Obi-Wan is against false promises but hope has never left his life’s side and he’d like to share. “We work together and we end this war. We see as many of you and us on the other side as possible.”

“Sounds like an easy first step,” Cody laughs ruefully, and leans down, captures Obi-Wan’s unmasked face, blurred by the unknown, and holds their foreheads together for a long self-indulgent moment.

Obi-Wan ducks his head, mask and scars in place once more. “Is that something you wish? To see me?”

Cody shakes his head, shoulders tight. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”

No, you didn’t, Obi-Wan wants to tell him, I want you to see me.

Soon. Probably. As soon as Obi-Wan has removed the screws from his heart and their doubting pressure.

“I think I can help you,” Obi-Wan signs, bullheading through the burgeoning silence. “But I need your help for that.”

“What do you need,” Cody asks, all Commander now that he’s got a mission objective.

“I want to know how you can communicate neurally and who has access to that channel.” He’s been looking into it for months, always ending in front of a Kaminoan wall. He’s at his wits end and now, now, with Bail confirming Palpatine is shuffling credits to the CIS and it’s still only heresy where a court is concerned…

Kamino confirmed only authorized personnel has access to the comm links in the clones’ heads. What if those include the CIS?

Cody blinks in surprise. “General Windu has access to that information.”

Does he? Obi-Wan is beginning to doubt that fact. “Humor me.”

Shoulders go wide, straight, loose. “Protocol dictates that, in case of emergency in an engagement situation, a High General is able to deploy orders directly to a CC-class clone via the Force after initiating with the correct identification.”

The clones are password-locked. Obi-Wan tries very, very hard to keep his expression neutral. “I assume every Commander knows the identification?”

Cody starts to smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ready to playfully lecture Obi-Wan about confidentiality. Obi-Wan can see that, can feel the intention of Cody to do so. Before his eyes sharpen like the back-up blade in the boot holster. “Is there a leak?”

“Not that I’m sure of,” Obi-Wan hurries to sign. “Cody, please, what is the initialization sequence?”

Cody watches him, tracks his every move and twitch and stillness with keen eyes. Obi-Wan lets him, not able to keep a lid on the worry he’s feeling, the Force hushed in absolute and anticipation. “Every Commander knows those words. No one else does. A High General can request it of his Commander. That is what General Windu knows. A Commander takes the words to their grave if they have to.” A built-in failsafe, based on the clones’ loyalty to the Republic. “And the Jedi,” Cody adds with a soft smile. “Maybe we have been trained to follow you but you have proven yourself over and over again. The initialization is—“ Cody’s face twists into confusion as the Force starts— starts to shriek in warning. “Is…”

Shards of glass hurtle towards Obi-Wan, high-pitched tone piercing his eardrums, hack into his thoughts—

“Who are you?”

Obi-Wan hurries, pulls a hand up and projects “Cody, wake”.

.

Cody wakes, blinks. Shakes the cloudy remnants of a dream gone wrong off, as stuck on him, burnt into him as some details of it are.

He looks up when he notices the presence by the training salle entry, smiles up at Obi-Wan, feels his eyes go soft, relaxed.

Obi-Wan stares back at him, mask in place which ups the distant, rumbling intensity of his gaze like an incoming storm. “Thank you,” he signs, and Cody can see the tremors in his fingertips. Blue eyes flick up to the surveillance camera in the ceiling, go back to him.

Cody… remembers. Obi-Wan pushing him behind a destroyed tank during battle, one hand covering the helmet camera while the other had signed “need to talk, no eyes” in battle signs.

He looks to the door again but Obi-Wan is suddenly right in front of him, cradling his face so gently Cody can feel tears prick at his eyes, forehead carefully, with no hesitation and too much meaning coming to rest against his.

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

cody and ahsoka… . 🔥🔥

slotmachines-fearofgod and their 'brick by brick' with ahsoka and cody relationships work that returned me into SW and to thoughts about cody and soka(and so anakin in sm case) bonding. i have a lot of sketches with memes and there they r just lying/messing around but still no solid. but cody and ahsoka!!! its like my omega&hunter but more traumatized

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

@ivvmell's gardener Cody propaganda works really well

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

idk, post-war gardener cody. thinkin a lot bout this au

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

in the middle before I knew that I had begun; [not a happy codywan ficlet]

In the Jedi teaching, attachment is forbidden. Love is – a separate issue, obviously, as love can take many forms. When Cody and I were – what I mean is, I was –

You realized that you were in love with him and panicked.

: :

Obi-Wan is finishing the dregs of his second Daruvvian champagne cocktail when Breha inhales, sharp.

“Hmm?” he turns to her. His head is pleasantly fuzzy, but he’s far from nonfunctional. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she’s quick to reassure him. There’s something strained around her eyes. He turns to see what she had been looking at, and she puts an insistent hand on his arm. “No, Obi-Wan –”

He doesn’t immediately see whatever caused Breha such stress; instead, Obi-Wan’s eyes go to Cody, sharply dressed in his greys across the ballroom. He’s talking to the Ghayyn’i ambassador, a handsome man with wide green eyes. The ambassador is tall enough that Cody has to look up to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to comment, rather snarkily, on that fact, when the ambassador brushes gentle, sensual fingers across Cody’s chest.

Obi-Wan waits for Cody to move away. He doesn’t. Instead, he smiles, a little knowing quirk of the lips.

“Oh,” he says, feeling rather as though the wind has been knocked out of him. “Oh.” He quickly looks away. Cody is a very private person, and it feels wrong to have seen something so clearly intimate.

“Obi-Wan,” Breha says, and her face is sad. Obi-Wan doesn’t know why it’s sad. Nothing bad has happened. He clears his throat, thinking one of the sweet-pickle cherries in his drink must have caught there. Unbidden, his gaze is drawn back to Cody and the – the ambassador, who is now laughing at something Cody said.

It’s fine. It’s beyond fine – it’s wonderful, that people recognize Cody for the brilliant man that he is, Obi-Wan explains, three cocktails later, eyes closed with his head in Bail’s lap. Bail makes a noncommittal noise.

“People other than his command,” he clarifies. “And his fellow commanders. And, ah. Me.” His voice is very rough on the last word. These sugary drinks are really hell on the throat, he thinks.

“Of course, love,” Breha says soothingly. Her hand cards through his hair. It feels pleasant. Cody does the same, when they’re lying in Obi-Wan’s bunk together after a long day.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, letting them stare unfocused somewhere near the floor. Breha is really wearing the most ridiculous shoes, and he’s thinking he should tell her that when a pair of GAR-issued boots come to a crisp halt just in his line of sight.

“General,” Cody says. Obi-Wan nearly falls out of Bail’s lap in his effort to sit up quickly.

“Commander!” he says, helpless to how warm he sounds. Cody had looked good when they left the ship, all buttoned up in his uniform, but he looks better now. He’s holding his cap in his hand, letting Obi-Wan see his short curls, and the top clasp of his jacket is undone.

Obi-Wan squints. Is that a lovebite on his neck?

Before he can dwell on that, Cody says, “We should get you back to the Temple, sir.”

Obi-Wan considers that. He’s fine where he is, except that when he attempts to lay back down in Bail’s lap, both Bail and Breha push him back up.

“That’s a good idea,” Bail says, firm but kind. How he adores the man. “I can arrange for an air taxi – Commander, are you alright to see him back?” There’s something uncertain in Bail’s voice. Obi-Wan doesn’t know why; it’s Cody. Of course they’ll see each other back.

Cody just looks at him. In this light, his eyes are dark honey.

“I’ll get you home, boss,” he says after a beat. Obi-Wan blinks at him, lips parted. He suddenly feels the alcohol very much, everything loose and golden and a little bit sweaty. Cody’s lips twitch. “C’mon, then.”

Cody manhandles Obi-Wan to his feet. Obi-Wan tucks his face into Cody’s shoulder as best he can while also moving his limbs in the direction of the taxi Bail is calling them. Cody, wonderful steady dependable Cody, keeps him going, a hand at his waist and another under his armpit.

“The ambassador,” Obi-Wan manages after a few steps. Cody hums.

“He had to leave,” Cody says. “There was an afterparty. He asked –” he cuts himself off, then continues: “I’d rather stay here, honestly.”

Obi-Wan nuzzles the starched fabric of his shirt. Wonderful man, he thinks.

The taxi ride lurches unpleasantly. Obi-Wan is distracted by the task of not spewing the contents of his stomach all over his commander. They get to the Temple without incident, and make it to Obi-Wan’s rooms with no one other than Yoda – who cackles – seeing them.

Cody puts Obi-Wan down in his bed. Obi-Wan tugs him in after.

He catches himself above Obi-Wan, arms bracketing Obi-Wan’s head. Cody huffs a bit of laughter and dips down to brush a kiss over his forehead. Obi-Wan cranes up, chasing his lips.

“Not now, sir,” Cody says, chiding. He kneels at the side of the bed to take off Obi-Wan’s boots. When he’s done, he leans back up, brushing the hair out of Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan beams at him, feeling unbearably fond. His Cody. His darling. Always looking after him.

Cody’s face is very still, just a few inches above his. Obi-Wan reaches out, touches his scar.

“What are you thinking?” he wonders. Cody shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He kisses Obi-Wan’s forehead again. “Get some rest, General.”

Obi-Wan exhales, eyes fluttering closed. He tracks Cody’s movement, straightening his jacket, turning the lights off, slipping out the door. His familiar Force presence is warm sunlight and hot caf, thrilling and comfortable in equal measure.

As the door clicks closed, Obi-Wan murmurs sleepily to himself, “Love you, my darling.”

: :

When he wakes up, head pounding and mouth dry, Obi-Wan remembers what he said. He’s the only one that heard it; it would have been easier to forget.

This complicates things.

Somehow, they go a fortnight, ending their leave and starting a mission, without Obi-Wan saying anything. He’s just – waiting for the right moment, a moment when they aren’t dogged by war and flimsiwork, when he can talk to Cody calmly and reasonably.

Or does he even need to talk to Cody? He was drunk. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re drunk. Teenage drunken Anakin once told Obi-Wan he wished he had been born a jellysquash, as they have no feelings and don’t know enough to care.

Cody is leading a squad on Im-Onh-Augulu’s surface when comms cut out. It’s a tense three-quarter hour before they reestablish communications.

“Arrow squad to Vigilance,” Corporal Hart is saying. “Vigilance, do you copy?”

“Copy,” Gregor says, shooting Obi-Wan a look. Cody should be the one contacting them and they both very well know it. “Arrow, sitrep, over.”

“Is General Kenobi there, Captain?” the corporal says. “Over.”

Obi-Wan’s heart is in his throat. “I’m listening, Hart, over,” he says. Under the sleeves of his robes, he’s clenching his wrists hard enough to bruise.

“They captured the commander, sir,” Hart says, desperately blunt. “When they recognized him, they took him and left the rest of us. Said they’re going to use him for negotiations. Over.”

Gregor looks at him. Appalment-sympathy-secondhand-embarrassment-stress is radiating off not just him, but also every clone trooper and officer on the bridge.

Use him for negotiations. Because Cody was a Marshal Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic. Because he was Obi-Wan’s right hand man. Because Obi-Wan loved him, dearly, and would do near about anything to get him back, a fact which was apparently obvious to everyone except for him.

“Understood,” Obi-Wan says, feeling like his mouth is very far away from his body. “Regroup at the drop point; we’ll be sending a secondary team to that location for extraction.” He’s quiet for a second, nails biting into skin. “May the Force be with you. Over.”

: :

Obi-Wan is the one leading the extraction team, and Obi-Wan is the one to find Cody. He’s in bad shape.

“Didn’t –” Cody slurs out. His eyes can’t seem to focus. “Didn’t tell – ah – them kriff, sir.”

Obi-Wan stares at him, heart pounding in his chest. At his commander – at Cody, telling him that he didn’t fucking talk, when he was being fucking tortured because of Obi-Wan –

“I know,” he says, finally, blinking. He touches the pads of his fingers to Cody’s left eye. “I know you didn’t.” Obi-Wan leaves off the my dear at the end of that sentence, because it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like he deserves it. He slings an arm around Cody and hauls him to his feet, instead. “Right this way, Commander.”

Not just his commander. The man he loves.

That thought beats around Obi-Wan’s head for almost a day before he can reconcile it with the heavy feeling in his gut. The man he loves. And he doesn’t – he can’t – it doesn’t mean –

His chest hurts.

Cody doesn’t –

It can’t be so kriffing serious that he can’t think the words. It’s not. It’s not –

Cody doesn’t love him. How could he? How could his beautiful, brave, resilient, kind Commander Cody, who isn’t really his at all – how could he love Obi-Wan? And if he did – if he had some incredible lapse in judgement that allowed him to – to – Cody would have said something, his brutally levelheaded Cody who wasn’t afraid of anything, let alone Obi-Wan and his feelings –

So, no. Cody didn’t love him. That shouldn’t make Obi-Wan feel like his ribcage was being split in two.

And if Cody doesn’t love him, then that means it isn’t wrong for Obi-Wan to – kiss him, soft and warm, and press his cold nose to the back of Cody’s neck, and hold him, and –

It can’t be wrong, can it? It can’t be wrong. It hurts no one. He knows possession is against the Jedi code, but this isn’t possession, because Cody isn’t his, and Cody doesn’t love him, and –

Obi-Wan feels ill.

Cody remains in bacta for three days. Obi-Wan finishes his flimsiwork, then finishes Cody’s flimsiwork, then works on some of Gregor’s flimsiwork. He arranges the battle plans for their next two attacks. He oversees the writing of some new training protocols, something about not letting shinies have access to oxygen tanks. He scrubs his quarters, stem to stern, twice.

Eventually, Cody wakes up. And like a flutterbug drawn to flame, Obi-Wan goes to him.

: :

“We need to stop,” Obi-Wan says. He’s not looking at Cody. It’s the day after the commander’s been released by the medics, and he came to Obi-Wan’s quarters to get the datapads Obi-Wan had borrowed when he was doing all the flimsiwork he could get his hands on.

“… Stop?” Cody asks. His brow is furrowed. Obi-Wan aches to smooth it out.

“This,” Obi-Wan starts, and stumbles. “Our – us. What we have. We need to stop.”

He expects Cody to argue. He expects Cody to demand an explanation. He doesn’t expect Cody to take a slow, deep breath and say, “Of course, sir. If you think it’s best.”

Obi-Wan feels like his chest has caved in. He can’t speak.

“Anything else, sir?” Cody asks. Obi-Wan shakes his head, blinking hard.

Cody stands there at parade rest for a long moment before Obi-Wan realizes he’s waiting for a dismissal. He clears his throat. “Ah, no, Commander. That’s all.”

Cody salutes crisply – salutes – and about-faces to the door. When it clicks shut behind him, Obi-Wan lets out a single hideous, strangled sob. He buries his face in his hands.

Well. At least it looks like they won’t have to dance around each other awkwardly for much longer, he thinks to himself. The war looks to be over soon. Obi-Wan sniffs, straightens himself up, and pulls up the plans for the invasion of Utapau.

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

interviewer: who is the voice of reason in your head?

Ahsoka: master Obi-wan

interviewer: and who is the voice of reason in your head?

Obi-wan: oh Cody 100%

interviewer: and commander-

Cody, deadpan: the voices of every god that ever existed.

earlier that day-

the gods: Cody-

Cody, jumping up and sprinting- GODS DAMN IT OBIWAN

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Pretty please can codywan kiss in global warming? If ur not doing ships then just cody having a silly/light-hearted/nerdy moment maybe!

yeah i’ll do ships!! BAD color palette did not enjoy it. the green… it’s killing me

contribute to my misery by sending me one of these color palettes :)

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

obi-wan: i like the way you look at the stars..

cody: why is that?

obi-wan, looking down ever so bashfully, only to look back at cody: because, i've come to realise; it's the same way you look at me.

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

☀️COMMANDER CODY☀️

Basically a redraw of this

But also, I’d like to show the comparison here because dear lord what happened?

Look at the first time I drew Cody and look at the third… wow.

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

there are certain codywan tropes that will always get me.

the oh moment

the 'after the war' promise

Obi-Wan asking/offering Cody to drop formalities and call him by his first name (in various colours, flavours, shapes and sizes)

Obi-Wan flirting with Cody and blushing like a maiden when Cody flirts back

Cody knowing exactly what he's doing to his General and exploiting it

Obi-Wan losing his eloquence in Cody's proximity

Cody being his usual brilliant, no nonsense, smart as fuck self

hands!

one is or both of them are touch starved

Cody being a romantic

Their banter

Obi-Wan pining from afar but never doing anything about it

Knuckle kisses

Obi-Wan tracing Cody's scar

unofficially married they just don't know it yet

just having each other to rely and fall back on in all kinds of ways

Obi-Wan just being absolutely enamoured

Cody being the sun

Cody and his fixation with Obi-Wans eyes

shared custody of Obi-Wans lightsaber

Duty above love even though there's so much love

hugs. hugs. hugs. embrace. holding each other.

Obi-Wan info dumping in ADHD and Cody being all heart-eyes.

The fear of rejection but just wanting the other to be happy

"my dear Commander" , "darling"

TBC

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Fare well

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

 the only criticism of millennials l accept

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Palpatine: My boy, Master Kenobi is lying to you!

Anakin: ?...yeah? He does that? Lying is Obi-Wan's favourite sport. Bant told me that he was dropped on his head by Master Qui-Gon when he was a child and Master Qui-Gon was really tall, so the fall shook loose some things in his brain and now Obi-Wan is allergic to giving straight answers. It took me 3 years to figure out his favourite colour. and his birthday. 5 to figure out that he's allergic to shellfish. I once told a restaurant that Obi-Wan can't have shrimp and he told me to "stop giving information to the enemy". I've made a game of it really.

Palpatine: *muttering under his breath* ok try using shrimp next time

Anakin: what?

Palpatine: Nothing!

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Safest hands

My art for the amazing @ijustreallylovedaredevil’s fic, safest hands, for the @obiwanwhumpminibang!!

———

Looks like Kenobi had multiple cracked ribs, a collapsed lung, broken arm, bruising nearly everywhere, a moderate concussion, and possible intraabdominal injuries.

It was the last point that made Stim’s heart sink. The lung he could deal with, the bruising wouldn’t kill him, and even the concussion wasn’t a major risk. The broken arm was less good, but again, not a threat to life.

Internal bleeding could be.

———

I had so much fun working on this, I always love drawing Obi-Wan and Stim! Thank you Rylie! And the wonderful friends behind this mini bang!

#tw: blood #tw: injury #Ahhh beautiful beautiful art op!!

[this-is-gonna-hurt-me-inside]

Master Plo Koon just naturally look good like that.