#lightendures

It had been some time since the 501st and 212th were on the same deployment. For months, now, Anakin had led a savage campaign across the Outer Rim territories, striking as many of their resource depots as possible. While the campaign was tenuously considered successful, Anakin couldn't help but notice the number of casualties sustained. It was so easy for the Separatists. What were a few droids sent out there? They didn't have to watch their men die.

IT'S ALMOST ENOUGH TO BREAK HIS QUIET STORM, the shock of this sudden gentleness that softens war-torn features, voice so quiet and certain and genuine. moments like these, where obi-wan’s mask just barely slips, are rare. anakin almost wants to stare, to commit this to memory.

another part of him wants to laugh.

not once, huh? it's hard to believe when he can easily recall every disapproving stare, every exasperated sigh and lecture. every mishap. every close call.

it's hard to believe when he remembers zigoola— rather, he remembers the man who came back, the unflappable negotiator thoroughly rattled, hollowed out by a horror he refused to speak of. even now, despite obi-wan’s objections, anakin can see something weighing him down, the dark pools under his eyes everlasting. if i hadn’t lost artoo . . . if i had been there, if i had done something, anything—

it’s a dangerous line of thought, he knows. he can practically hear his old master reminding him not to dwell on what has been, to ground himself in what currently is. once anakin snags that thread, though, he can’t help but to pull, unraveling until there’s nothing left but a gaping hole.

‘ well— ‘ it's not just you, he wants to say. it's my men. it's padmé. it's the chancellor. it's the whole republic— no, the whole galaxy. so many people are counting on me. so many people are suffering and i can’t do anything about it.

what good is being the chosen one if i can’t save them all?

THE ROOM OF A Thousand Fountains was chief among the places within the Jedi Temple that Kit often found himself in; particularly after a politically heavy mission. It was here he would walk the gardens, still his mind, and cleanse body and spirit in the pristine waterfalls. His robes and ties were neatly discarded on the bank as he sat in the center of a shallow flowing stream, ladling water with his hands to carefully wash over each head tendril. Though the highly-sensitive olfactory receptors of his head tresses afforded him an advantage in communication and even battle, exposure to so many species' airing out their frustrations in a war room or senate chamber often left him feeling... grimy.

It seemed he was not the only one seeking the Room's calming atmosphere; as @lightendures approached he greeted with a grin, large dark eyes sparkling with familiarity. "Obi-Wan!" He gestures, bidding the waters' currents to part and create a temporary path. "Join me."

꒰    starter  call  𖹭.ᐟ     ꒱ؘ        /        @lightendures

* 𝐇𝐁𝐎'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝟐.

“ Quit talkin’ like that! ” Knelt down beside the older man, Jesse gives him a quick once - over. Blood soaks through the side of his shirt, Obi - Wan's hand clutching the injury in a desperate attempt to stanch the bleeding. “ I'm gettin’ your ass outta here if it's the last thing I do. You hear me? ”

@lightendures      |      the  enormity  of  my  desire.     (  accepting.  )

𝗦𝗨𝗖𝗛  𝗔  𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬  𝗜𝗦  𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟  𝗢𝗡  𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗘,   it's  simply   impossible   not  to  feel  the  rejoice  amongst  its  inhabitants.   even  in  their  brief  trip  into  anchorhead  to  restock  on  food  and  supplies,  and  something  to   warm  their  bones   on  their  journey  back  to  obi-wan's  cavern.   the  cold  rain  is  a   refreshing  change   from  the  hot  sun,  something  penny  is   comforted   by  rather  than  inconvenienced.   by  the  time  they're  jogging  back  to  shelter,  spirits  are   unusually  high  —   most  likely  from  the  flask  they'd   emptied   together  before  they'd  even  made  it  back,  and  only  amplified  by  the  sight  of  how  much  rainwater  the  barrels  outside  had  already  collected  during  their  outing.

as  they  hurry  into  the  cavern  to  escape  the  downpour  outside,  penny  wastes  no  time  shedding  herself  of  cold,  wet  robes.   she  nearly   falls  over   when  removing  sopping  boots,  clumsily  caught  by  obi-wan  as  he  attempts  to  change  into  dry  clothes  behind  her.   the  effects  of  the  alcohol  have  settled  in  by  now,  expose  her  in   drunken  giggles   as  she  straightens  herself,  abandoning  her  boots  when  she  sees  obi-wan  struggling  in  soaked  cloth  that  clings  to  his  limbs  and  traps  him.   once  freed,  he  kneels  to  tug  off  penny's  boots  for  her  before  she  winds  up  hurting  herself.

it  happens  suddenly  —   a  warm  amusement  knocking  their  guards  down  enough  for  obi-wan  to  pause  as  her  second  boot  is  tossed  aside,  for  rough  hands  to  reach  for  the  damp  fabric  that   clings  uncomfortably   to  her  thighs.   eyes  glaze  over  as  she  watches  him  in  anticipation,  feels  the  gentle  tug  of  rough  spun  pants  sliding  down  her  legs.   lower  lip  is  caught  between  her  teeth  as  fingers  brush  his  hair  back,  curl  against  the  back  of  his  head  when  his  breath  tickles  against  her  skin.   a  slow,  relaxed  breath  is  released  when  lips  meet  her  thigh.   ❝ obi  .  .  .  ❞   she  hums,  a  request  as  much  as  a   warning.   as  much  as  they   shouldn't,  she  doesn't  trust  herself  to   resist   when  the  mood  is  just  right.

project hail mary.

A blank stare at the man, the barrel of his revolver trained on the stranger's head. Joel gives a jerk of his head, pointing to the closed door with his chin. “ The fuck you do, ” he utters with a snarl. “ I ain't takin’ my eyes off'a ya. Now, you're gonna open the door nice an’ slow. Got it? ” The man had claimed to be alone, but one could never be too sure in this world, let alone trust someone.