For Democracy

                                 “I   wanted   too.   I   wish   it   was   something   nicer   but,   it’s   useful,   at   least.   You   can   have   the   quality   time,   too,”   He   grins.   Then,   from   behind   his   back,   he   reveals   what   appears   to   be   a   durasteel   bracelet.   “It’s   sort   of   an   upgraded   personal   comm,   with   enhanced   encryption   and   an   extended   range.   It   won’t   go   off   planet   or   anything   but   if   you   wanted   to   talk   to   me   when   I’m   at   the   temple,   you   could.   And   no   one   else   would   know   about   it.   I’ve   run   it   through   some   rigorous   tests   -   it’s   entirely   secure.   It’s   piggybacking   off   the   planet   wide   channel   and   -   well.   You   don’t   care   about   all   that.   I   tried   to   make   it   discreet,   something   you   could   wear   or   put   in   your   pocket,   that   no   one   would   ask   about.”   He   reaches   for   her   hand,   and   gently   clasps   it   on   her   wrist.   “Not   even   the   best   Jedi   in   the   temple   could   crack   the   algorithms.   R2   made   sure   of   it.   When   you   use   it,   you   can   be   assured   it’s   just   me   and   you.”   He   allows   her   to   inspect   it,   smiling   earnestly,   waiting   for   her   response.

                     They’re   alone,   for   once,   in   her   apartment,   where   he   is   still   getting   used   to   being   so   casually.   She   is   dressed   comfortably,   her   hair   down,   her   demeanor   calm.   It’s   Anakin   whose   aura   is   sprinkled   with   anxiety.   “I’ve   never…done   this   before.   I   mean,   I   gave   my   mom   things.   Mostly   things   I   made.   I   made   this,   for   you.   I   didn’t   have   a   lot   of   credits   but   I   thought…you’re   supposed   to   give   your   wife   something.   It’s   just   something   we   celebrated   on   Tatooine.”   His   wife.   They’d   only   been   married   a   few   weeks   and   in   that   time,   she   had   been   busy   with   work   and   he   with   at   the   temple,   but   they’d   found   time   now,   just   the   two   of   them.   Behind   him,   his   hands   clasped   something   he’d   been   working   on   for   her.   His   expression   is   earnest   and   eager,   his   voice   full   of   trepidation.   He’s   excited,   but   he   wants   to   be   sure   she’s   excited,   too.

SEND 💗 TO KISS MY MUSE TENDERLY WITHOUT EXPLANATION

@libertydefendr​ asked: 💗

                  Anakin   would   much   rather   be   sleeping   in   their   bed,   with   Padmè,   but   instead,   he’s   sitting   at   the   dining   table   of   her   senate   apartment,   tinkering   with   his   arm,   trying   to   pretend   he   isn’t   nearing   the   point   of   exhaustion   where   things   stop   making   sense   -   this   is   day   three   with   no   sleep,   early   still,   he’s   gone   for   longer.   It’s   the   dreams.   He’s   decided   if   they   won’t   cease,   he   simply   will   not   sleep.   By   the   will   of   the   Force,   he   will   sustain   himself.   It   is   his   only   reprieve   from   the   madness.   It   does   not   matter   if   they   believe   him,   his   wife,   his   master.   It   does   not   make   it   easier   to   watch   her   dying   every   night   while   he   can   do   nothing   to   ensure   it   will   not   manifest.   They   tire   of   hearing   about   it,   he   tires   of   speaking   about   it   -   so,   he   will   not   bother   them   with   it.   He   will   take   it   into   his   own   hands.   That   is   why   he   finds   himself   tinkering   at   -   he   looks   at   the   chronometer   -   half   past   three,   sitting   in   his   robe   (far   nicer   than   anything   the   Jedi   might   provide,   a   gift   from   Padmè).   It   is   only   him   and   the   silence   and   the   sound   of   metal   scraping   on   metal   as   he   works.   That   is,   until   the   door   of   their   bedroom   slides   open,   whisper   quiet.   He   almost   misses   it.   The   sound   of   her   feet   on   the   ground,   the   fabric   of   her   night   gown.   He   knows   without   looking   at   her   that   she   is   beautiful,   dark   hair   cascading   down   her   back,   colors   of   her   night   attire   off   setting   the   hue   of   her   skin.   After   a   moment,   however,   he   does   look,   because   he   will   never   tire   of   seeing   her.   “Did   I   wake   you?”   He   knows   he   hasn’t,   he’s   been   too   quiet   for   that.   She   doesn’t   respond   and   instead   comes   to   stand   beside   him.   She   easily   turns,   arms   lacing   around   his   neck,   and   then   she   is   sitting   sideways   in   his   lap   and   he   braces   her   with   his   true   hand   on   her   hip.   He   gives   her   a   questioning   glance   but   her   only   reply   is   a   tender   kiss   upon   his   lips,   gentle   and   chaste   but   no   less   full   of   love.      He   kisses   her   back   and   forgets   about   the   nightmares,   just   for   a   moment.

“You did, actually,” she says. She rests her head on his chest. “My bed is much colder than it should be.” A full bed is a feeling she can get used to. With the growing baby in her belly, she cannot wait any longer for this war to end. Together they can both retire and live a happy, quiet life on Naboo as a family. That’s what she truly wants. No more hiding. No more lies. A sabbatical from politics while her baby is growing up. The Senate and young children do not mix. Both too demanding and leaving her heart strained between her child and the desire and need to gain justice for others and a sacrifice her child would have no say in the matter either. A baby does not deserve that.