#healerrs

"Stay with me." || @healerrs

Obi-Wan had almost lost hope as his captivity turned to days, turned to weeks, turned into a month. His body screamed with every movement he made, electricity shot pain down each appendage as they trembled from the physical demands his captors put him through. And yet, he didn't lose hope. Even while beaten down, bruised and bloodied, Obi-Wan Kenobi remained a light in the Force.

Explosions outside jolted him awake, bleary and exhausted. The Jedi Master had been sustaining himself in the Force so long his body simply felt numb, as if sensation was simply slipping from his very being. The door to his cell burst open and a flurry of robes rushed in followed by the familiar clanking of plastoid armor.

Lazy eyes fluttered as he glanced up at the person suddenly hovering over him. A Healer? Her face barely came into focus but it was enough. Oh, it's Master Barsta. He's being rude, he needs to get up.

His eyes closed.

'Stay with me.'

Obi-Wan's eyes blinked back open. "S'ry," he slurred as he tried again.

What was he doing? Oh yes, he has to get up.

send a rumour about my muse and they will both react and respond to the rumours' validity. || ACCEPTING

"Weirdly close?" His brows furrow as he tilts his head to the side. "If you think that kind of connection is weird, then- I guess I'm sorry you don't have a friend like her in your life. I hope you find one soon. As for trying to steal me, that's... Not really how any of that works. In the Order, we all look out for each other, regardless of who's whose master or padawan or anything. We're all Jedi, which means we're all family, so we all help each other."

He was a full two weeks out of carbonite, and already back from the mission they had send him on. Recon, which had all the tell tale signs of unfolding into something all too familiar to Ilir.

He had fully expected to be send back to the Citadel to await the next mission but instead he had been send to the Halls of Healing in the Jedi Temple. In Coruscant. He had only visited it when it still lay a pile of rubble on the planet's surface. He wondered how true they had been to the original design when they had rebuild it.

His door had not been locked and no one seemed too keen on keeping an eye on him. (He could not decide if it was naive of them to think him so docile, or… just perceptive.) The fire that had burned so violently in him had dimmed. It was… some 3000 years after he had started, if he understood correctly. The Jedi were still here. The Sith were still here too, albeit apparently in a much smaller quantity. The galaxy was still in turmoil. Nothing had truly changed.

He had found his way into the Jedi Archives and was contemplating the large holographic map in the middle, his eye drawn to the square N-23. There was a presence behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see a Jedi, one he thinks he had seen in the Halls of Healing. Maybe they had appointed someone to look after him after all. He looked at the map again. "Master Jedi," he acknowledged.

sleep came reluctantly these days, arriving not as a kindness but as a tide dragging old ghosts to shore. ever since the force had cried out in agony, ever since the light had been broken, ever since the night the republic died, rest had become a stranger. memories lingered where dreams ought to have been, half buried beneath the weight of years yet never truly gone.

darkness unfolded into something vast. stars bloomed where no heavens should have existed, scattered like fragments of shattered kyber across an endless sea of midnight. silver mist drifted between distant constellations, curling & twisting as though guided by invisible hands. from within that luminous veil emerged a figure, small in stature yet impossibly vast within the force. robes stirred in a wind untouched by any world. emerald light gathered softly about weathered features. neither wholly present nor entirely absent, he appeared less like the jedi master he once was & more like a memory the force itself refused to surrender to time.

ancient eyes settled upon her, carrying all the sorrow of a thousand fallen stars & all the warmth of a lantern left burning against the dark. silence lingered between them, gentle rather than empty, until at last the old master spoke ❝ far from home, you are. adrift between what was & what must be, many survivors find themselves ❞ his voice echoed not through the air but through the force itself, settling amongst the stars like ripples upon still water. the faintest smile touched weathered verdant lips ❝ forgotten, you are not. speak, child. listening, i am ❞ starter for: @healerrs

plotted starter || @healerrs

Obi-Wan was foolish to think that everything would go back to how it was before he left the Order. It was only three months away, but apparently three months was a lot for a "growing boy," or so they had told him one day. It was hard. Qui-Gon no longer wanted him as a Padawan; the Order was still deciding if they even wanted him anymore.

And every day, Elders were poking and prodding.

The temple did offer some comfort, but the anxieties of his future, the fear the last months have carved into his heart and mind, were stronger than he had thought. After Melidaan was settled, Obi-Wan got on Qui-Gon's ship and practically collapsed on the spot.

He woke a few days later, connected to wires and tubes, and terrified. His fight-or-flight kicked in, and the boy was on the run. Obi-Wan collapsed again that time. The second time, he was doing alright on the bed when something happened, and everything went black. The boy woke up the next day strapped down, which was worse.

The healers seem to be at a loss for how to help him without an induced coma. His aversion to adults, the fight or flight being triggered constantly, the flashbacks, and the fact that he kept pulling out the feeding tubes, giving him the nutrients he so desperately needed, meant Obi-Wan was a danger to himself more than anything.

* it’s truly a wonder that you’re still alive. || @healerrs

A sheepish expression spread over Obi-Wan's face as Essa stared down at him with an unamused expression. It was common knowledge that Obi-Wan hated the Halls of Healing, mostly due to how much time he had spent there as a youngling and Padawan. Which meant he often did not go to the Halls of Healing when he was injured and did everything he could to leave.

Which was a considerable amount.

The public image of Obi-Wan Kenobi was that of a revered, calm, and wise Jedi Master. Anyone who actually knew him knew he only looked calm and wise because he stood next to Anakin Skywalker. By himself, Obi-Wan Kenobi was a trouble magnet the size of Coruscant's moon. Whether through bad luck - of which he didn't believe - or his own curiosities.

He often exasperated the healers in the halls with his antics, though mostly out of concern. The less prodding, poking, and fussing over him, the better. That didn't mean he didn't feel bad for being such a bother, and with their history, he knew it was a place of concern and slight bewilderment for Essa at how he managed to beat the odds again.

"I'm not here to kill you."

Her voice wavers. It's like she's fighting against the vocalization even as it passes through her throat. When she looks forwards, sees the face of the woman in front of her (traitor. jedi. wanted. kill. kill kill killkillkillkill), the voice echoing inside her head make Mara flinch. It's barely been a year since the HE died, and it's like it only grows louder, for how much more distant the source becomes.

"I'm not. I don't want to-" There's a blaster in her head, pointed at her target. She blinks, and drops the blaster, as if realizing only now that she was holding it at all. She hadn't. She hadn't meant to pull it out. She'd tracked down this Jedi (kill traitor kill) for a reason. Answers. She needs answers, not another death. Not more red (soaking her, drowning her, the blood wouldn't stop, the only answer was the voice echoing in her head and she needed it to END).

"I'm sorry. I need-" Again. That fight to vocalize. Dragging the words out, fighting her own throat because what is inside her simply won't let it exit-

Send a location for a drabble! || Accepting

He’s always liked this room. It's peaceful. The whole Temple is a bastion of tranquility, yes, but this room is special. The rushing water was like a white noise, and mingled with the heavy, calm nature of the Force to block out absolutely everything else. There was nothing but him, the room, and the universe around him. It was perfect. He sits quietly, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. Breathe in, breathe out. The air here was so clean. Not the same clean as in the gardens; that was a grassy, earthy clean. This was clean like a rain storm was. Clean like everything untoward was being washed away. 

It’s nice. 

Another breath in and out, and the weight on his shoulders falls away in time with the water rushing down. It’s cold against his skin, plastering his hair to his face, the back of his neck, his shoulders, but it reminds him of two simple, undeniable truths: He is alive, and he is home. Together, they make a third truth: He is lucky. Perhaps it’s strange to think that way after everything, but it’s true. He survived, he’s lucky. Ah, but this train of thought is a distraction. Focus, padawan. 

Once again, he breathes, and once again, he is distracted. A familiar presence nudges at the edge of his perception, asking permission, and he cracks one eye open and smiles. It’s all she needs. Booda steps under the water beside him, folding her legs neatly as she, too, closes her eyes and finds her center. She’s much more adapted to the conditions than he, with water sliding off her haillu and flowing back to the pool below them. 

“It’s good to have you back,” she says softly. “We missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.” He says. He shifts his right hand enough that his little finger nudges against her hand; she turns her palm over and he takes a gentle hold. The metal of her prosthetic is cool against his skin, mingling with the faint chill of the water. They stay like that for long enough that he forgets the time entirely, but he does remember that he was right before.