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you can kinda tell when a writer has spent a lot of time around kids bc they avoid most of the pitfalls that come with writing children. namely, not giving them a too cutesy or twee voice but making them sound more like extremely weird little adults. kids playing pretend will almost never cutely slot into some romantic scenario for the adults' benefit bc the adults are usually too busy cleaning up or wondering what the fuck is wrong with their child. kids also have surprisingly stringent hangups ranging from very petty grievances to downright chauvinist gender roles, more often than not the result of a tragic education but sometimes far surpassing what they were taught in intensity. what im saying is there's nothing inherently wrong with treating fictional kids as stock characters but it's always quite nice to see when they aren't
It's extremely common for very young children to suddenly say something extremely cogent and articulate, that's jarringly inconsistent with their normal speech. This is usually something that they heard an adult say recently. A kid will spend ten minutes telling you a story about how they fought a wolf yesterday using simple sentences of fifty cent words, then nibble a snack, wrinkle their nose and say something like "I feel like Mum was overenthusiastic with the salt today, and not for the first time either" before going back to their clumsy story. (They do understand what they're saying when they do this. Kids' communication is usually held back by their vocabulary and pronunciation, not their understanding.)
Young kids are also a lot more socially aware than people give them credit for. Young children are perfectly aware that adults don't take them seriously. They know when their parents don't actually like them. They listen and remember when adults talk about them while they're in the room. Kids will develop basic abilities to charm etc. from babyhood and will begin experimenting with social norms and concepts of deception, appropriate information, and acceptable language and attitudes in toddlerhood. By the time a kid is five or six, they have solid social strategies for relating to adults and separate ones fr relating to their peers, that they'll continue to refine for the rest of their lives. They will also say completely off the wall shit because they don't have the context to know what is and isn't considered super fucked up yet.
By the time a kid is eight or nine, their main difference from adults is in experience, interests, and ability for long-term focus. An eight year old can think as intelligently and coherently as a thirty year old, they just have less experience and information to draw from, and are likely interested in very different things. They're also likely still slightly hamstrung by vocabulary and literacy, though much less so than a younger kid.
Teens will behave like adults who have little power (a teen is often at the mercy of their parents and the state and rarely taken seriously, which is extremely frustrating) and who are high stress and mid-crisis, because they're going through a transitory period where their bodies and moods are changing and are having to constantly learn and adjust; a fourteen year old in a stable situation will act pretty much like a thirty year old with an oppressive boss who's just left a tumultuous relationship.
#oh is *that* why i feel 14 again after my fiance broke things off with me and i had to move halfway across the continent back in with my ma?
Yeah that's just what humans feel and act like when they're unmoored and powerless and unpredictably changing. Teenagers are pretty much constantly unmoored and powerless and unpredictably changing, and react reasonably to those circumstances.
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Hey guys! I thought I’d so something fun this weekend, so I did my best to sexualize the alphabet and turn it into a headcanon game!
So here’s how it works. You send me a character (or a few), and the corresponding letters that you want me to answer for them!
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)Â
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
I’ll have this running all weekend, so feel free to drop by!
"Senator Amidala showed up to the Chancellor's Yearly Gala with her jedi bodyguard hanging from her arm, instead of attending the ball alone or with former attachment Senator Clovis, Padme Amidala amazed everyone by bringing her Jedi friend and bodyguard as her plus one. May this show the galaxy how close the Republic is with the Jedi Order!"
i love drawing them at balls and galas.... wish i couldve done her wave dress more justice but i got tired
you're owen lars. your father has fallen in love with a woman and she's enslaved. you and your father aren't rich, but eventually you manage to free her. this one woman. one woman on a planet full of injustices.
you're owen lars. the woman you call mom had another child once. it doesn't make her love you less, but she talks about him in a way that makes it clear that she loved him, too. he's off to be a jedi now and she's very proud.
you're owen lars. your mother's been kidnapped and you have to assume the worst. a man and a woman step into your home and the man announces himself to be that kid who went off to become a jedi. he knows you less than you know him and before anything else can happen, he takes off to bring back his mother, a feat you think is impossible.
you're owen lars. anakin skywalker brings your mom's corpse to your doorstep. her funeral is interrupted by a message of utmost galactic importance.
you're owen lars. your brother is dead. you never saw him again after that first time. there is another jedi on your doorstep, with a baby in his arm and you know what it means and you can't bring yourself to face him as he hands your nephew off to your wife.
you're owen lars. obi-wan ben kenobi is a pain in the ass. he was more your brother's brother than you ever were and he doesn't understand your particular kind of grief, is drowning in his own. you don't even know the full story and kenobi will never tell you all of it. but you have a child to care for so you tell him off and get back to work.
you're owen lars. you didn't know your brother, but you know your nephew and your nephew wants out of this place as soon as possible. you know he won't be safe out there but in the end you're helpless to stop him. and you know the stories, you remember the one time you met him, the days your mother died. and you do this for her and you do this for your father and you do this for your brother and you do this for your nephew.
you're owen lars. your last act is to protect your brother's child. your child.
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Luke “there’s still good in you” Skywalker is 100% Padme “there’s good in him” Amidala’s son, and Leia “I recognised your foul stench when I was brought on board” Organa is a mirror image of Anakin “General Grievous, you’re shorter than I expected” Skywalker
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Obi wan…in the shower…longing/need/relief if you can <3
Summary: Obi-Wan comes home from a long mission and all he wants is you.
Warnings: Implied smut? I'm going to apologize to Nonny because I feel like this isn't quite what they were expecting. Also its clone wars material so mention of death.
Pairing: Obi-Wan x Reader
Word Count: 1600
It was a long ride home. His mind wandered as stars skittered through his vision. Obi-Wan hated flying. With nowhere else to go, he was stuck alone with his thoughts. His thumb ran over the steering of his ship as he ran his other hand through his hair. This was a war of expendables. His men were nothing but nameless cannon fodder to the Separatists, and, unfortunately, to most in the very Republic they were born to defend. Obi-Wan almost wished he commanded an army of cyborgs, because at least then-
He thought of the droid steering his ship right now and shook his head. No, that wouldn't be much better, either. The problem wasn't the how war was fought, or even the why war was waged. The problem was the war itself.
It takes and it takes. Every battlefield that he manages to step away from steals another piece of his soul. Rips away another piece of his humanity as devastation lays in its wake. He has grown callous, he knows, having to sacrifice life, going against the very beliefs that the Jedi stand for. His decisions are no longer about avoiding loss, but rather avoiding a worse loss, and at what cost?
He has seen the face of Jango Fett die in more ways than he could ever imagine. For a man who died before this all started, he will never get peace. Obi-Wan bitterly laughed at the thought that the only people who would be strong enough to endure such costs of war would have to be mercenaries or bounty hunters.
Obi-Wan didn't have the stomach for it. Not when he was protecting Senator Amidala back when she was merely a teenage Queen with hope in her eyes as bright as the stars in the sky, and certainly not now when he had so much more to leave behind than the clothes on his back.
A Jedi does not deal in material things. They are collectors of sentimentality and memories. They touch many lives, and it is those interactions that they would rather carry with them. Small tokens of appreciation. Crises averted when catastrophe seemed a given. Little moments, pinpricks in the sky of the galaxy of their lives. They are one with the Force and the Force is in everything, therefore they carry everything.
But Obi-Wan carries so much more.
He has always carried so much more.
He carries hearts and hopes and dreams. Things that Padawans learn to leave behind, but Obi-Wan never really stopped being Qui-Gon's Padawan. Not by choice, and certainly not by reaching the completion of his study. He carries love in his soul, and though that glimmer of stardust in his eyes has grown a bit dimmer, it is still there and it still shines as steady as his heart beats.
Images flash through his mind. The planet he left behind. The siege had been fought for months, the people finally liberated, but at what cost? Their fields were scorched from cannon. Their crops would never grow back. Their children are hungry orphans. Their wives turned to widows. They won, but it felt hollow. They won freedom. They won survival. But, he lost so much to do it. He thought of all the leaders he met over his time there. All the tribes that came to their aid. He'd seen their faces and their eyes before in all the other planets that he had liberated in the course of the war. The grim determination to get rid of the occupiers. The need for freedom. The hope that now, with the Jedi, they would be unstoppable. What is machine against flesh and blood and the Force?
But then the battles raged on. Every inch of dust contested over like the galaxy depended on it. Lines of demarkation shifting with each interaction. Combat zones where homes should be. Men dying where they used to live.
Obi-Wan was tired. He was tired of death. He's tired of holding the same man in his arms as he dies over and over again. He'd rather be holding you.
You and your infinite warmth and understanding. He wanted to wrap you in himself. To protect you. He sees you in every spouse left behind to pick up the pieces. He works hard to make sure he doesn't let that fate happen to you. Every time he reaches down to pick up the memory of a horrific event or loss, he holds onto one of you instead, not wanting to overwhelm the good with the bad.
He thinks of you as his ship hurtles home.
Home.
The Jedi are dispersed like grains of sand in the wind. They are meant to be wherever they land until the next gust carries them away. They are not meant to be trees, firmly rooted and immovable. But, Qui-Gon knew what you have seen. That Obi-Wan is no more a grain of sand than you are. He is a seed. Small and tiny, but with the capability of so much more if given the right nurturing. He has landed in your garden and you have let him grow. To entwine his roots with yours, a tentative inosculation that helps him feel tethered in an uncertain storm.
He wants you.
He wants to hold you, to kiss you, to make love until he can atone for all the destruction he left behind. He knows the opposite of war is not peace. It is love. Peace is tentative. It means nothing unless an affection between the two parties can keep it going.
Streaks of light turn to pinpricks as Coruscant looms before him. For the first time in months, he feels like he can breathe.
The ship touches down in the dead of night and then he is running. With a wave of his hand, all doors open before him as he makes his way to you. To home.
He stands in the doorway to the bathroom, watching you under the stream of water as you hum to yourself. His hands twitch at his sides as his cloak pools on the floor. His eyes trail down your body and he runs a hand down his face. It's been too long since he's seen you. The memories of the way your body fit against his, of the curve of your smile when you laugh, of how your eyes light up when you see him have long since faded from too many nights of reliving them until the dawn breaks and he is forced to tuck them away.
Obi-Wan pulled you into him, hugging you in the shower, still fully clothed. You're shocked at his sudden appearance, but then tears slip down your cheek in relief. He is home. He is safe. Your hands cup his cheeks before running everywhere they can reach, making sure that he is real and that he made it back in one piece.
He nudges his nose against yours, wanting to kiss you, but knowing that you will not be satisfied until you know he is here and he is whole. What you do not know is that you make him whole. He brushes his thumbs across your cheeks, bringing your gaze back up to him.
"You came back," you murmured, throat full of emotion.
"I always come back."
You leaned into his hand. "The daily reports... I was worried that you'd been hurt."
"Nothing that seeing you can't fix," he said in a soft voice. And you knew that he meant it.
He had waited so long for this moment. Waited so long to have you in his arms again. He can't wait another moment. His lips press against yours. At first, they're warm and soft, like the first kiss of spring melting away your fears and worries like the frost. Your hands grip his wet tunic, pulling him closer as you kiss him back. Relief turns to need. The urge to explore each other and inspect for discrepancies in your memory takes over as your hands peel off the layers of clothes that cling to his body like a second skin. You clean the dirt of battle from his skin, replacing it with soap and kisses, cleansing body and spirit. His hands are rougher than you remember, but his touch his gentle. Your back is pressed against the tiles as the two of you fit back together. His breath comes in pants against your neck and you close your eyes as you think of all the moments where you laid awake in bed dreaming of this. Your lips cover his, swallowing your name from his lips. You place your feet back on the ground afterwards. Your legs are unsteady, but this is the most sure you've felt in ages.
You take his hands and lead him to bed. You know he's tired. The rest of his troops won't arrive for another two days. He'd left early and flown straight through to get to you. He hasn't slept in a normal bed in normal conditions in months. He's asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, his arm slung over you. You stay up a while longer, studying him in the inconsistent light of passing speeders from the window. Your fingers lightly trace scars on the planes of his back. Most are old, but you see one or two that you don't recognize. You'll ask about them later. You pull the covers up over him and snuggle into him.
Leaning close, you whisper, "I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
He barely stirs, but you see him smile and you know he's heard you.
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