i love making friends in fandom, i love playing with our toys together, i love coming up with increasingly niche aus, i love lifting strangers up, i love motivating people to create, i love watching someone get excited over an idea and immediately running with it, i love yelling in tags together, i love seeing someone gain confidence in their writing/art because people were kind to them <33
Blurb from a fanfic I won't finish but felt it a shame to leave in drafts
.
Anakin found himself on a planet he’d never crossed before, neither by foot or routing of his ship. From outer space the planet had glistened like a shaven orb of ice, ripples of stardust circled the body much like a scanner was now showering Anakin in a pale blue light. It was standard practice on Illea to scan all those arriving.
He didn’t come alone. His Master Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn’t allowed him any solitary missions since the incident. Anakin could’ve argued, but he knew he had no word in changing Kenobi’s mind. It was already made up, square as his armor which he was in the process of removing. No weapons and no armor, they had said at the gate. So they removed it all and placed it in crates that were taken away and stored elsewhere.
Even their lightsabers were collected. Anakin couldn’t help but cringe in remembrance of Canto Bight, where they’d once found themselves in a similar predicament. No matter. If it came down to it, he could still defend himself. He still had the Force. The crystal only formed it a blade; he could make it take any shape, any form.
Now they were following one of the Illeans. They were tall, slender figures that reminded Anakin of jellyfish. Atop their heads a bulbous thing of some matter dipped and rose as they walked, despite not seeming connected to their head at all. Their legs were multiple, and translucent as the rest.
“This way.” They motioned in an airy voice.
“I’ll do the talking,” said Obi-Wan. Strangely enough, he seemed to give him a second once-over when Anakin didn’t immediately riot to the idea. “In the meeting,” He clarified. “There aren’t any rules about speaking outside of the meeting.”
Still, Anakin remained quiet and Obi-Wan said nothing else until they were in the room.
The meeting passed by shortly, and his Master made quick work of the negotiations. There was to be a trade between Illea and its sister-planets, ending a long age of stonewalling and opening up discussion (and additional trade route) for the Republic, as a courtesy of solving their conflict. Obi-Wan and Anakin were simply seeing the ends of it, tasting the fruit without any of the labor.
Either way, Anakin got the gist of it. He’d stopped listening somewhere halfway through. Instead his eyes were drawn to the enormous viewport beside; spanning the entire room in length and allowing in the shifting light of the stars.
-
It was basically going to be about Anakin, who did a bad thing in the past, so now there's a bunch of rules laid on him by Kenobi. But Anakin is rebelling against it, in his own ways.
- Specifically moral OCD, Pure O (later developed on Tatooine) and rumination
- He was always a thoughtful person, but with the stress and burden of war and conflict throughout his life turned into rumination, since there was no clear answer.
- Moral OCD came in whispers after Qui-Gons passing. He had no-one to turn to in raising Anakin, so he compared himself with a ghost of his mentor, and the 'idea' of Jedi.
- Pure O developed after Mustafar. Intrusive, violent visions inflicted by PTSD and trying to control it through obsessional checking of what that makes him, what lead to it all, and if Anakin's fall is all because of him. Constant checking, thinking and nausea from the visions.
- Later on he learns to manage Pure O by distraction, meditation and grounding. (Fixing old machines, tinkering with a tool in his hand) The thoughts aren't as violent, but he is still scarred and triggers still remain in regular things.
- His worry for Luke's safety isn't just a moral obligation, but a compulsion drawn by his Moral OCD. What would he be if he didn't try to redeem himself? Will this rid him of all the evil he has done? If he didn't watch out for a day, and something happened, would that be the last factor before he was a 'bad' person? Is he already a bad person? When did it start?
- As a padawan his OCD wasn't as developed, but he was strict on himself being a Good Jedi, as opposed to a Bad Jedi, which he'd never seen before but was sure he could become if he didn't stay vigilant.
- Obi-Wan is not his OCD, but the older he got the tighter of a grip it had while he was unstable. Once he started to feel better, the compulsions lessened and by the time of EP:4 he was managing quite alright day-to-day.
tw: bad coping mechanisms, vomit mention, references to canon character 'death'
Hooks
Morning began with a barrage of thoughts. He'd barely had time to open his eyes before his conscience woke up and began to tangle itself on knots he'd been trying to untangle for several years.
What should he have done differently? There must've been a fixed point, somewhere just out of reach, that could've solved everything and saved everyone.
He needed to wash his face.
The sun had warmed the rock when he made his way to the little basin, which was more a bowl with a jug suspended above it. He uncapped it, and watched some water fall into the bowl.
His face looked exhausted in the reflection, and he ran his hand through his hair hoping it could undo some of the mess.
Mess. That's the least of his worries. How superficial, to worry about hair. His best friend is dead because of him, and he's worrying about apperances.
But he wasn't, was he? He only noticed it because of the water and— oh. It's overfilling.
"Blast."
He tilted the jug upright and put the cap back on, grabbing a strip of fabric and kneeling to wipe up the puddle. The sun's heat would dry it away, but he prefered it not seeping into any other of his belongings.
The bowl was still overfilled, but he managed to wash his face without it spilling further. He poured the remaining water onto the sand outside, watching it darken and disappear.
If the water had formed a silhouette, would he have cared? Or would he still be fixated on his hair?
Obi-Wan groaned quietly and headed back inside. Food. All he had to do was eat. He wasn't fixated on it, he'd only noticed it. Noticed, that was all.
Anakin could've hardly been called shallow if he tended to his hair in the mirror for a quick second. So why should Obi-Wan? Then again, he killed Anakin, so why did he feel any right to use him in his justifying his hair?
His fingers dug into his scalp. Why was this still happening? It was as if his world was but hooks and his days were spent getting caught on them. Today, hair. Yesterday, clothes. The day before that he'd seen a shape in the sand and vomited.
Breakfast. Breakfast. Breakfast.
How could he eat? How could he, after what he'd done?
He sunk down against the wall and pulled his limbs close, a tired sigh escaping the knots in his throat. This was good. He was showing remorse, that meant he did care. That he felt guilt.
With a trembling hand he reached up and ruffled his hair, too. This reset the day.
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