Tagging: @obitineweek2026

As she promised, two steaming cups were already waiting for them on the kitchen table. Padmé, barely seated, immediately took one and sipped with relish the tea - as always, it was absolutely delicious, because Owen never supplied anything else. Taking leisurely sips, she elegantly supported the cup by the bottom, keeping her elbows off the table. Her back and shoulders were regal straightened, her chin slightly raised, even though she was sitting on a slightly rickety stool. Only three weeks had passed since the difficult, both physically and emotional, birth. And yet, there she was - sitting as if on a throne, despite the fact that she was dressed in modest robes and the surroundings were anything but royal. Such elegance must rubs into the bones over time, otherwise there's no explaining why… With an effort, Obi-Wan opened his hand to avoid crushing the already barely audible creaking cup and turned away.

Six months.

For six months, he diligently crammed his memory with any information that was even remotely relevant at that moment, just to maintain the control that kept him from plunging headlong into the abyss of her final minutes, her final words, her final touch… Deprived of his former activity, locked in a planet, and focused on the safety of far fewer beings than before, he could no longer dismiss the obsessive thoughts. But since the four of them had settled on Colstev, the image, as dear as it was painful, had never troubled him, even though the soil for its return, in the form of his broken soul, was quite fertile.

So why had this control suddenly cracked now? Why, now, do such trivial, utterly insignificant things irritates something that will never heal? Isn't the Force enough with his suffering, caused by nightmares about Anakin? Isn't his guilt and regret for doing what he, as a Jedi, should have done on Mustafar enough? Isn't his pain from the loss of so many brothers and sisters in Force, killed in the back by those they trusted so much, enough? Perhaps the Force so yearns for him to curse the day that brought their lives together, thus sealing their story's cruel end? He already does. He would prefer never to know her - not her voice, not her thoughts, not her body - if only she would continue to live, if only her soft, so gentle and sensitive to the suffering of others heart would continue to beat, if only… Obi-Wan closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his chin, unconsciously stroking his beard.

She wasn't sure about his beard. Even after they…

Clenching his jaw painfully, he placed his hand on the table, carefully pressing his fingers into the wood to prevent himself from doing anything else, and turned his head to Padmé, still peacefully sipping her tea.

“You wanted to talk about something?”

Better trying to talk about Anakin than thinking about… about her.

Tagging: @obitineweek2026

So when Obi-Wan walked into the kitchen and found Anakin alone at the table, intently reading something on a datapad, he was momentarily startled, but quickly remembered that Ahsoka had gone with Padmé and the rest of the Republic Senate delegation to the negotiations with the Separatist Confederacy organized on Mandalore.

When he learned of the impending negotiations, his first thought was to contact with Satine and find out if she needed his help. Of course, he didn't doubt her oratorical skills or the ability of her guardsmen to protect her, and it wasn't like he was particularly eager to be among politicians, but… it was the official pretext for their meeting, and Obi-Wan, as much as he hated to admit it, missed Satine very much. After all, feelings are truly amazing things. He'd endured fifteen years of separation, fifteen years of suppression and denial, but two weeks with her were enough for something that shouldn't have begun to seep through the wall of control again.

After preparing a caf – because the herbal tea which Owen had secretly supplied him through Quinlan had been so shamelessly drank down by Anakin four days ago, – Obi-Wan sat down opposite him.

“Hey, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said by way of greeting, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if someone's role in it… changed?”

“Someone's role?” he asked, surprised by such a philosophical question so early in the morning, and from Anakin, no less.

“Yes,” Anakin, glancing quickly at him from behind the datapad, returned to his reading. “Someone's role.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan stroked his beard with a smile. “I think if you weren't my Padawan, I'd definitely have a much better night's sleep. I might not even have had that nervous tic at twenty-nine. And probably those antidepressants that Master Che…”

“You're thinking too narrowly,” Anakin admonished him. “You're a Jedi. You've run all over the Galaxy. You've been to places where normal people wouldn't even look with a telescope. Expand your imagination!”

“Expand my imagination?” Obi-Wan's quiet chuckle nearly spilled his caf as he was about to take a sip, and he set the cup aside, just in case. “Did something happen? Because, frankly, your question doesn't sound like your usual breakfast topic.”

“Yes, it did. Something definitely happened,” Anakin placed the datapad on the table and jabbed his finger at it with such vehemence, as if it were a spider he desperately wanted to crush. “Your girlfriend turn out to being Dooku's sister!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you, Satine isn't my girlfriend. She's just my friend, and we…” he froze, opened his eyes, and, suddenly straightening up, stared at Anakin. “What do you mean she's Dooku's sister?”

Tagging: @obitineweek2026

Each step toward the shuttle became more painful, and the further Obi-Wan moved away from Satine, the stronger the promise grew within him: he would stay if she would just call out to him. Anything - by name, by nickname, by insult, even just a sigh. And he would stay. He would stay. He would stay. He would stay…

Satine never called out to him.

Obi-Wan saw her through the shuttle's windshield, she standing there - back straight, chin proudly raised, calm, confident gaze ahead - and, without taking his eyes off her, he reached for the switches, finding the right ones by touch. He pulled the control stick, the shuttle rose into the air, and he and Qui-Gon flew away.

And he didn't stay.

Fifteen years later the thought of staying with her surfaced for the third time. It's come to him not with youthful, almost boyish excitement, but with a mature - strategic, military - understanding of the situation and the theoretical scenarios befitting their roles: Satine is a politician. A politician taken hostage is capable of spouting any nonsense with an incredibly plausible air if it offers a chance of salvation, so Satine's words could have been merely a diversionary tactic, one he successfully supported. Or may be not. Before acting, he needed irrefutable evidence in favor of one hypothesis or another, so that the planned tactics could be adjusted accordingly.

So the promise transformed into a plan: as one of the Jedi sent by the Republic to protect her, he would escort her to the medbay and, being a professional, while the doctors examined her, conduct a debriefing strictly within the context of the investigation into Merrick's crimes, during which he would ascertain the motives behind every word she uttered. Of course, he would do all this solely to study the situation as thoroughly as possible and provide the Council with a detailed report, and not because he was to hear her words again. No. Definitely not.

The plan fell apart even before he mentally confirmed the start of this strictly official operation.

Because Satine, moving both elegantly and quickly, disappeared around the corner too soon, and to catch up with her, Obi-Wan would have to run, something a Jedi of his rank absolutely did not do. Knowing that Clones were nearby. Knowing that Anakin was watching him. Knowing that she could leave so quickly because she simply didn't want to discuss anything. He respected her right to secrets and would never have dared to violate her privacy when she so clearly sought solitude.

And so he didn't run. He stay.

But not there, not then, and not with her.

Tagging: @obitineweek2026

“Yes.”

“Yes for what?”

Obi-Wan's voice is a little wary, and when she finally look away from the child and raise her head, he even takes a half-step back.

“To accept him into the clan. Of course, the sector isn't entirely safe for children his age, but based on what you've told me, nowhere will be safe enough now. Especially not for him.”

“I'm not here to ask you to accept Luke,” he shakes his head, his hands, holding the boy bundle to his chest, shifting so that she can't look at him again unless she moves closer to Obi-Wan, and judging by his furrowed brow, he'll resist that to the bitter end. “Padmé was your friend. She deserved people close to her to know the truth about her death, not the propaganda that Palpatine will soon spread.”

“Alright. What will happen to Luke then?”

“I'm heading to Tatooine. Cliegg Lars, Anakin's stepfather, still lives with his family there.”

“Wait,” Satine said, crossing her arms and now moving slightly away from him too. “You said you followed Padmé to Mustafar. Then you met Master Yoda and Bail on some asteroid not far from there. And now you're heading to Tatooine.”

“Yes,” he nodded slightly, holding Luke so close that the boy was almost completely hidden beneath the fabric of his tattered Jedi's robe. “Exactly.”

“But isn't that on the other side of the Galaxy? So you spent days in hyperspace with a child just to tell me what happened to Padmé?” her grin was completely out of place, but she grinned anyway. “You didn't even send a message, that your memorial service a year ago was a ridiculous farce, and that you actually alive. I learned the truth completely by accident. But you decided to tell me about Padmé's death in person? Knowing whose child you have, knowing you are being hunted, knowing all the risks and… What were you thinking about, Obi-Wan?”

“I…” he exhales sharply, his gaze darting around, never meeting hers. “I…”

“I thought you knew me better than to understand that I wouldn't buy Palpatine's words,” she says, indignant, waving her hands. “I've already seen what that man is capable of, and I will never…”

“I don't know!” he suddenly snaps back furiously. “I don't know why I came to you!”

Under cut a version with Obi-Wan as hologram, a version with Satine's Force ghost and a clean version without a background. I know, technically, Satine can't be a Force ghost and, well, if you disagree with it so much, you can imagine she is an ordinary ghost, but I like to think, that her soul merged with the Living Force and Obi-Wan can feel her presence in some way.

It's not a official scene, just my fantasy, so, please, don't used it for your own collages, profile backgrounds and icons or something like that. Thank you!

Оригинал на русском (закончен) // English translation (Updated on Sundays)

Tagging: @weekofobitine

At that moment, Obi-Wan understood everything and was ready to bet his lightsaber, that Satine, now with an innocent gaze looking at him through the pixels of the hologram, had been in a communication session with Quinlan before call to him. Because only this kriffing idiot could help her come to such a blatantly absurd idea!

“Oh, stars… Calm down,” Satine sighed, and although the hologram was monochromatic and only about thirty centimeters high, which made it impossible to say for sure, he was ready to gamble his Jedi uniform too that she rolled her eyes. “If it makes you more comfortable, you can write reports instead of sending a hologram. Like for the Council.”

Obi-Wan imagined it.

“Dear Duchess Satine!

Inform you, that during the combat operation conducted by the 212th Attack Battalion on the Sarrish, Vensensor sector, coordinate grid K-16, at the commander-in-chief of one of the battalion's units, namely, High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi fired no less than thirty-six thousand shots, two shots reached a target a burnt tunic as a result. In addition, were recorded: falls from height fourteen, unsuccessful jumps to height seven, lightsaber knocked out twice, irretrievably lost robes one. Injuries received: wound to the left palm due to one's own short-sightedness, a guaranteed scar.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. The scar was almost invisible, but it wasn't the second or even the third scar in the past week, not to mention two months that flown by unnoticed since he returned from the special mission under the mask of Rako Hardini.

“It's even worse.”

Satine seemed to smile.

“So, maybe, you just trying out my proposal in practice at least?”

OR

After Obi-Wan's return from the dead, in Satine's heart steal doubts about both his mental and physical state. Wanting to restore a harmony to his soul and body, she asks him to fulfill her one small wish, which Obi-Wan, still too confused by recent events and his feelings for Satine, interprets in his own way.

Tagging: @weekofobitine

He flinches as soon as he steps into the room, and leans back slightly like he had two dozen blasters pointed at him, and squints at the box in her hands.

“What is that?”

If it weren't for the box, she would certainly pressed her palm to her face: she is standing in his room in the Temple in the middle of the night, although she should be on Mandalore rehearse her speak for the Separatist Senate, and this is worries him most of all?

“A dessert,” Satine answers with emphasis. “Do you want to take it?”

“Not really. The last, ahem, dessert that was in my hands turned out to be too mobile to eat.”

“You know, I'm not Tal Merrick to present you an activated droid.”

“To present?” his eyebrows arch in surprise.

Unable to restrain herself much longer, she rolls her eyes with a groan.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, stop pretending. Yes, it's a day late, but I didn't forget! Besides, I'm late because you wasn't on the planet. Do you have any idea how hard it was to sneak into the Temple with freshly baked Uj'alayi?” she squints angrily, but sighs and continues much more calmly. “I used almond and chocolate syrups, because you can't lived without a caf. But it seems that half of the Jedi Order can't too. I even had to hide a couple of times, and on the main staircase…”

“Did you make uj cake for me?”

Satine freezes for a second, her mouth slightly open as she looking at him. How could such a smart man ask such stupid questions? But a confusion in his eyes is real, and she reminds herself that he has just returned from a mission, and it is almost midnight, and his body, exhausted from long forced marches, just trying to squeeze out as much rest as possible in its natural environment and slows down all itself non-vital functions. There is no point in being angry with him for something he cannot control.

“Yes,” she says gentle, her lips curling into a smile. “So take it.”

When she holds the box out and lets it go, Obi-Wan catches it with a gasp, his eyes wide with horror like she almost dropped a bomb that was ready to explode with just one wrong move. Ignoring his state, Satine rips off the lid.

“Why… why are there candles in it?”

“Because, this is not just Uj'alayi,” she clicks her tongue, flicking the lighter and burning wicks one by one. “But a celebratory one. Yesterday was a birthday. Your birthday.”

“Ow,” he's grimacing. “I forgot about it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” their gazes, separated by the flames of burning candles, intersect. “Happy birthday, Obi-Wan.”

He continues to stand there silently, looking at her and doing nothing, so Satine glances sideways at the uj in his hands with a grin.

“Candles,” she prompts. “Make a wish and blow out candles.”

“You can be serious,” he grins, his backlit face looking slightly sinister because of the grimace. “We're adults. And we both know, our wishes don’t come true just because we think about it while holding a cake.”

“Have you checked it?”

“Checked?” his brows furrow slightly. “Checked in what sense?”

“Most literal. Have you ever made a wish with birthday cake before?”

“I’ve never even blown out candles.”

“Please,” she looks at him pleadingly. “Just do it for me.”

Obi-Wan sighs, but neither his heavy sigh nor his frowningly side-look has any effect on her – she continues to look at him, a silent request burning in her eyes, – and then he blows out all candles with a one sharp exhalation.

“So,” the gray smoke spreading from extinguished candles half hides his face, but its simply impossible not to catch some kind of smugness in his voice. “Are you happy now?”

“Not quite.”

Before he can object, Satine takes the uj cake from him and, leaving it on the table, grabs his hand. Throwing her hood over her head, she runs out into the hallway with him.

“Satine,” he hesses, but doesn't try to pull his hand away or stop her. “Satine, what are you doing? Where are you dragging me?”

“To celebrate, of course,” without slowing down, she quickly looks back at him, a smile on her lips. “Or you think, I would overcome half the Galaxy just to give you a cake?”

“I didn't think you come. I didn't even think you will remember!”

“And why I should forget?”

“Well, you know,” he chuckles, “there's a war going on now, you always have a lot to do, negotiations and so on. Besides, you never congratulated me before. Not in person, but at least by message, so…”

“Nonsense,” she objects with an indignant snort. “The fact that you didn't see my congratulations doesn't mean its weren't there.”

“What?”

Tagging: @weekofobitine

She stands on the second fallen ship, next to the gaping hole that leads to the half-flattened cabin. She is wearing a rather nondescript dark-blue pantsuit, her hair is loose, her hands are casually placed on hips… No ducal regalia, no fancy dress, no ceremonial makeup. Nothing. Just her…He had almost forgotten how beautiful she could be on her own. <…> Their eyes finally meet.

Satine is surprised – it seems like Kiar, giving him a permission to land, didn't involve her in this issue – and for some time she simply looks at him, her mouth slightly open, and then with a smile she takes off from her place, and Obi-Wan, without a second thought, rushes to meet her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck familiarly, and his - around her back, and he drowns in this moment, in her such comfortable, such acquainted, such safe embrace. He holds her tightly, buries his head in the crook of her neck, half tangled in her hair. He… he missed that so much – to hold her at any moment, in the happiest and in the most bitter time, and to feel this incomparable, bliss calm, which left him after Qui-Gon dissolved into the Force. Surrounded by the warmth of her body and her softly pulsating Forces signature, he feels that just a little more and his carefully constructed facade will fall apart. And he can let it happen. With her he can. Because she will listen. Because she will understand. Because… because she is his anchor, his beacon, his refuge, no matter how far apart they are.

Something suddenly hits his leg, and he reluctantly releases his arms, letting her retreat.

“Well, well,” with a smile Satine looks at Anakin – he rubbing the top of his head. “Just look at this. And who you are, little one?”

“Bantha-pudu,” Anakin throws him an irritated look. “Your kriffing bubbling giving me a headache.”

“Language!” Obi-Wan roars immediately, feeling a blush flare up on his cheeks.

“Like I never heard some worse things,” Satine chuckles, lightly nudging his forearm with her crooked elbow, and her laughter makes his sing inside. “What are you two doing here?”

Before he can even open his mouth, Anakin lifts his chin proudly.

“We have a very important mission on this planet. We’ve come to speak with the Duchess.”

“The Duchess herself?” she feigns surprise. “And what did you want to speak with her about?”

“That’s classified information. Only the Jedi Order and the Duchess have access to it.”

Obi-Wan groans, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Anakin,” he shakes his head, pursing his lips. “She is the Duchess.”

“She can’t be the Duchess,” Anakin snorts, unperturbed. “Duchesses don’t look like that.”

“Oh,” Satine crosses her arms over her chest, a bright sparkle in her eyes. “So you're an expert on duchesses?”

“For your information, I personally know Padmé Amidala. And I even helped her to save her planet from invasion.”

“Padmé Amidala?” her gaze shifts from Anakin to him.

“The newly elected Queen of Naboo. We were sent to help her negotiate with the Trade Federation that occupied the planet, but somehow everything turned into a shootout,” Obi-Wan explains, his hand falling on Anakin's shoulder. “And this is my Padawan. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Padawan? Your own Padawan?” her lips curve in a satisfied, proud smile – not for herself, but for him. “And I was trying to figure out what was missing? It's all about the lack of a braid and that stupid ponytail.”

The heat on his cheeks, which seemed to have just gone away, seems to be returning again.

“It… it wasn't so stupid.”

“Oh, yes, it was! It's the stupidest, most ridiculous hairstyle of all that all the races of the Galaxy with hair could come up with,” she laughs, pressing her palm to her chest, and then impatiently looks around the space behind them. “And where is Qui-Gon? Or he didn't went with you?”

At the mention of Qui-Gon, all a joyful mood from meeting her slowly melts from him, and Satine can't help but notice how his face changes – her right hand reaches for his, and he carefully, a little hesitantly intertwines their fingers.

“Can we… can we talk privatly?”

Tagging: @weekofobitine

Placing her palm on his forearm, Satine lowers her gaze to his feet, which are in no way in a waltz position.

“Merengue?” her eyebrows raise in surprise. “I didn't know it's gone further than the Outer Rim.”

“I'm from Tatooine, Duchess. Besides, I had a good teacher.”

Before she can ask who taught him, the musicians, like by agreement, switch from a smooth, flowing melody to a faster, more energetic one without a hitch, and he takes the first step, grinning her toothily.

Anakin intercepts her hands, and she feels warmth from the left, but not the right – Padme said once, he has a mechno-arm. It's Anakin who turns her back to himself and it's under his raised hand she makes a full turn, but all his movements are too familiar, and all of this completely knocked out her from a reality, enveloped by memories.

A fire, laughter, stars shining above their heads… They dance – she tries to teach him a very popular dance among Mandalorians – and, once again almost kicking her bare heel with his boot, he apologizes and letting go of her hands so inopportunely that she, without expecting it, falls back, right on top of him, and they laugh more louder, more carefree, more happier.

Suddenly Anakin's cool mechno-arm disappears, replaced by the warmth of a normal human hand Satine's eyes wide open in horror – when had she even closed it? – and she blink in confusion.

“Master Vos?”

“Duchess,” Quinlan wraps their clasped hands around her waist, pulling her toward him, then throws her sharply aside, only to return her back into his arms again. “How you doing?”

“I'm fine. Thank you,” she smiles, barely managing to match his movements, vaguely reminiscent of salsa. “Please, do not perceive it like a rude, but I'm sure, I had dance not with you.”

“Oh, yes, Anakin,” abruptly letting go of her hands, he grabs her waist, spinning her so hard that her temples even begin to ring. “He had to leave on urgent Jedi business.”

“Right in the middle of the dance?”

“Incredibly urgent Jedi business.”

Satine doesn't believe him for a moment, but everything is spinning before her eyes so much that she has no strength to argue, and when the mad spin caused by this crazy Kiffar ends and her heart finally stops pounding so wildly in her chest, his steps, completely suddenly, become somehow not at all dance-like, and his hands on her waist are somehow very cautious, like he's afraid to touch her, which simply cannot be true, considering how he pressed her to himself before.

“Master Vos, what… Oh,” she smiles awkwardly. “Good evening, Commander Cody.”

“Duchess,” he quickly raises his gaze to her face, but almost immediately lowers it down, clearly trying to make sure not to step on her foot. “Excuse me. We were not taught to dance on Kamino.”

“It's all right,” she lightly squeezes his palm with her right hand, and he looks at her again, his stern face brightens with a reciprocal, slightly uncertain smile. “The most important thing in dancing is not a knowing moves, but following the music.”

“And a partner.”

His brown eyes are burning with some kind of understanding, some special, secret knowledge.

“Yes,” Satine nods, and this fire in his eyes becomes stronger. “A partner is very important too. The right partner will fill any dance with meaning, whereas even the most perfect dance will lose all its beauty if you dance with the wrong partner.”

“So maybe now it's time?”

“Time for what?”

His smile becomes so wide and bright.

“For the right partner.”

Tagging: @weekofobitine

It's just a dawn. Satine stand on a small hill, surrounded by her guardsmen, which slightly stepped aside. All illuminated by the first rays of the sun, she looks like an unattainable goddess now - so shining and beautiful. With lovely smile on her lips, that made his stomach flip, she beckons him to her with a hand like weaving a spell, and he, enchanted, obeys - gets up from the ground, hides the blaster in the holster, which has been dangling on his belt next to the lightsaber for the last sixth month, and takes the first step towards them.

As he gets closer, the guardsmen narrow their eyes more and more. They look at him like wolves, and it seems to him that he is not walking in response to the call of woman he loves, but straight into an enemy's jaws, an ambush, to the scaffold, where inevitable death awaits him. Does it… does it how every men feel themself when they meet their fiancées' family for the first time? Do their knees tremble with the uncontrollable fear of not being accepted by them? Do they see the same truth in the eyes opposite them?.. He is not welcome at all, they would prefer never to see him, his place is anywhere, but not next to their woman, who for some completely unimaginable reason even looked at him.

Oh the Force, why did his thoughts go this way?

About a meter away from them he stumbles, and Satine, laughing, grabs his hand and pulls him into the immediately closed circle of guardsmen - even if he wanted to, he cannot escape from here now.

“You are blushed, Jetii,” notes dryly the man, standing directly opposite Obi-Wan, there is gray in his light brown hair.

A laugh rushes through the circle, like the wind in the leaves.

“Come on, Captain,” the guardsman standing to the right of Obi-Wan - one of the younger ones, auburn-haired, with green eyes shining with joy - shakes his head with a slightly reproachful smile. “Don't scare the boy so much. Otherwise he'll faint.”

“He is not a boy. He is our Duchess's protector,” the Captain interrupts him with emotionless voice, his face don't changing at all. “Whether he is worthy to be called like that is another question,” the tenacious gaze of brown eyes turns to him again. “Do you think you are, Jetii?”

Obi-Wan swallows hard.

Tagging: @weekofobitine

“Satine,” judging by the change in his voice, he kneels down in front of her, but she still doesn't dare to open her eyes. “Satine.”

Sobbing, she shakes her head when her shaking knees quiet down under the familiar weight.

There are no gloves on his hands, and the multi-layered skirt of her dress, although muffles, but not able to completely hide the feeling of his hot palms on her. In the way his hands gently and delicately slide over her legs, stroking its through the fabric, is something inexplicably caring, so calming, comforting… Carefully opening her eyes, she looks at him – so cloudy and strongly blurry at the edges due to her accumulated tears – and then hesitantly reaches her hand to his face. When her palm is close enough, he presses his cheek to it, closing his eyes with a relieved smile.

It's not an illusion.

It's him.

It's…

“Obi-Wan.”

With a sigh she rolls off the couch, and now they are both kneeling, looking at the other with disbelief and tenderness, barely perceptibly stroking the dear face to their hearts.

“Hi.”

“Hi…”

The sound of his voice sends shivers down her spine. Her thumbs move slightly on his skin – it's seems, if she stops, he will disappear immediately – her gaze darts over his face: over his slightly parted lips, his cheeks, lined in a couple of places with already healing scratches, his tired, but definitely alive, a little bit glittering eyes.

“Satine,” his tone is terribly serious, and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Please, listen to me. I…”

“Shush,” she kisses him quickly on the lips, pleased to see that he doesn’t resist or seem surprised by her impulsive kiss. “I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

He nods in submission, and she moves her hands from his face to his shoulders, reaching to him, and he to her. In this embrace, their hands slide down their backs, soothing the other.

Under cut a clean version and four with different backgrounds - two with the Jedi Temple, one with night Coruscant and the last one with stars.

Just like a last time - not AI. Just official Lucasfilm Animation tribute poster as a base, something about five hours and 70+ new layers in Photoshop. Maybe it already 100+? To be honest, I'm not sure :D

So, I put Maul behind Bo-Katan's right shoulder and Vizsla - her left shoulder. It was really hard with Vizsla, so, if you thinking that he look some strange, you will absolutely right! Because in new place he don't look on the right side, and I just took his eyes from his another picture, and his legs… One of them even not his own XD I'm also had to update Qui-Gon's tunic - I still hoping of moving him next to Satine, so he is just preparing for it.

Former Vizsla's place is taken by Miraj Scintel and Atai Molec now. And former Atai's by Gregar Typho, because I was needed to patch up a free space and it just next to Jar Jar and not so much from Padme, so I thought Typho was suitable choice.

I think about put Quinlan and Ventress closer to each other and Rex - closer to Anakin, but Rex hugs with Jar Jar, that will makes this moves much more difficult.

Oh, and I added Coronet on the Space!

Not AI. Just a three hours and 50+ layers in Photoshop. And official Lucasfilm Animation tribute poster as a base, of course.

First, I wanted to move Qui-Gon too so that he would stand to the right of Satine (and look at his grown-up kids), but he stands on the edge and, if I had moved him, I need someone else would have to be put in his place or have to be corrected all the empty space and literally pick up the pieces Obi-Wan's tunic and legs like I did with Satine's dress and Cody's armor… I'm not ready for this yet :D I left in place Obi-Wan's hand, but because of the glare on Satine's dress, it's not very visible. There are still many small details that need to be corrected, but, in general, I'm done with it.

Tagging: @satinekryzeweek

She shakes her head, hoping that it will help drive him away, but for some reason he doesn't disappear and continues to look at her. Oh, yes, she definitely should to sleep soon, but first she should throw these stupid images out of her head.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why?” he whispers with incomprehension, matching her own.

“I'm getting married,” it is the stupidest thing she could answer, looking into the eyes of her dreams, pulled out of the hidden depths of her memory, but she has no other answer than the truth. “The invitations is done already. All that remains is to send it out.”

“I…” raising his hand, he slowly moves the hood back, so now she can see his face, his gaze filled with a strange embarrassment and almost disappeared, smoldering sparks of horror, which she didn't see either in their youth, when cities were burning around them, or now, when entire planets are burning around him. “I thought you are held captive. That you in custody. That Vizsla wants taking you as his wife… by force.”

Satine blinks, frowning - too many specifics for an image born of fatigue.

Tagging: @satinekryzeweek

As the three of them approach, the guardsmen disperse, forming a protective circle, and although Korkie is clearly not happy about their separation and makes no attempt to hide his displeasure, he doesn't resist when she hugs him.

“You don't have to send me away for so long,” he mutters when they break apart their hug. “If you'd told me straight out to don't interfere, I'd just do it.”

“I know, darling, I know,” Satine smiles, squeezing his shoulder gently, resisting the urge to stroke his cheek, but he's old enough to find this gesture too saccharine. “But if you're go away, I'll be able to worry a little less about how my actions might affect you.”

“And whether I'm being used against you."

“Yes,” she nods, unsurprised by his intelligence. “And whether you're being used against me.”