i was tagged by the ever lovely @whayjhey !!! bigggg kiss sugar you know i love you <3
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Padmé was a very principled woman. She never let herself touch, rarely let herself think, and very hardly let herself dream. As her hands untucked the uniform that proclaimed him a hero of the Republic, his tan, supple skin smooth under the rough pads of her fingers, she sinfully let herself do all three. As his teeth nipped her ear, she found that the real thing was much better than her half formed visions she had in the bathtub.
i tag @anakincoded and @skywalkr-nberrie !!! (i need to make more fic writer friends. i love being friends with people. chit chat w me)
i guess this counts as a senate fic sneak peek and insight to why it’s mature :)
here she is!!!! as a quick refresh, i posted a poll of fic prompts and asked everyone to vote as to which one i would write. the prompt that won (by a pretty narrow margin) is "GFFA universe, reverse age, Sith apprentice Obi-Wan and Senator Anakin". this is ~3k to set everything up, and i'll post two polls later today that will guide the next part of the fic! i'll pin a post with links to all ficlets and polls to my front page for the time the story runs, so people can find things easily - please enjoy and, when the polls are up, please vote!!!
(3k)
The chancellor’s secretary types every letter of every word with deliberate intent, methodical and precise. Each time her finger hits a key, a loud clunk reverberates around the quiet front office.
Anakin is sure that the secretary tampered with it somehow to make it so loud. He has no idea as to why a person would do such a thing, but she had to have.
Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.
Anakin hadn’t slept well last night. He’s been nursing the beginnings of a headache since dawn, and it’s only gotten worse as the day drags on. All of his kindness and patience was spent before he even stepped foot into the Senate building, and the chancellor’s secretary is currently dancing on his last nerve with each kriffing clunk of her type-writer.
The air around him—the Force—warps and shivers. Anakin’s headache blooms into itself properly, and he gives into the urge to rub at his temples with one hand. Of all the days for the Chancellor to request his presence for afternoon lunch, it had to be this one, when all Anakin actually wants to do is find a dark area and lie down.
The Force trembles again, reverbrating around the small waiting room with such intensity that Anakin straightens, skin crawling. It’s like the Force is screaming at him in a language he doesn’t speak.
He’s on edge, but he doesn’t know why.
Stars, he doesn’t need a fancy lunch with the chancellor. He needs a dark room to take cover in and Force-suppression cuffs locked on his wrists so he can focus on something other than nebulous, useless warnings.
And he needs this blasted headache to subside, or someone’s going to—
“Excuse me,” a soft voice breaks the stillness of the room, and—miracle upon miracles—makes the clunk of the type-writer halt. “Is this the Chancellor’s office?”
The Force rings one final time and then goes quiet, like it’s disappeared all together.
“Yes,” the secretary tells the newcomer. “But he’s currently in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?”
Anakin closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. It’s not a posture befitting that of a Senator of his stature or age, but he’s weary down to his bones.
“I don’t, no,” the soft voice says, something like amusement curling around the syllables. There’s the rustle of fabric, and then the quiet sound of fingers tapping against the edge of the secretary’s desk. “Actually, I believe my grandfather is currenttly meeting with him. I was asked to join at the end to introduce myself. What benefit the Chancellor will receive by meeting a failed Jedi and boy from Serenno, I hardly know, but my grandfather is an ambitious man. At least when it comes to his grandson.” The speaker lets out a small laugh, more breath than sound. It makes the secretary giggle.
Anakin hadn’t known they were capable of making that sound. She hasn't so much as smiled at Anakin before, and he sees her several times a week.
He rolls his head to the side and opens his eyes a crack to look at the newcomer.
Ah.
Well, that explains the giggle.
There’s a boy leaning against the secretary’s desk, head tilted as he dimples down at her. He’s tucked a piece of his auburn hair behind his ear so that his profile is unobstructed to Anakin’s gaze. More of the strands cascade to his shoulder, shining red-gold in the light of the waiting room. His eyes are a pale blue, his skin pale as well. His nose is narrow and proud, but it’s his smile that’s most mesmerizing. That or the twinkling of gold jewelry wrapped through his hair, dangling from his ear and neck. Gold powder is smeared across his eyelids and over his cheeks.
Whatever he may say, the boy does not look like just a boy from Serenno. And he certainly looks as far from a Jedi as it’s possible to be.
Poor girl, Anakin thinks with a slight smirk of his own as he lets his eyes fall closed again. If he were ten years younger and the boy was staring at him like that, he thinks he’d be similarly affected.
“May I have your name?” the secretary asks. “I’ll comm the Chancellor.”
“Oh, thank you,” the boy murmurs. “That would be quite superb.”
Superb. Honestly.
“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he adds. “My grandfather is Count Dooku.”
“Yavi,” the secretary gives her own name, even though Kenobi had not asked. She sounds incredibly winded.
“Pleasure,” Kenobi tells her; there’s a slight shift in his tone, its volume, like he’s turned his head. The Force trembles. “I’ll wait here. Do me a favor though: if they sound like they’re still talking about tax exemptions and resource management for Serenno, spare me, please. I’d rather sit out here with the lovely company than in there listening to two old men arguing about water law.”
The secretary giggles once more and resumes typing, this time probably typing out the comm number of the Chancellor.
Soft steps signal that Kenobi has taken his leave of the secretary.
Fabric whispers as the air shifts slightly and the boy settles into the seat next to him.
Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.
“I was including you when I spoke of the lovely company in this room, sir,” the boy says softly, just for him.
“Do you always flirt with everyone you meet?” he asks, stubborn enough to keep still and not engage the boy, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. He is tired. His head hurts.
Though—the headache has lessened, actually now that he’s thinking about it. It feels like half the pressure around his mind has disappeared.
The boy breathes out a laugh and shifts. “Senator, do you always assume everyone is flirting with you?”
“You called me lovely,” Anakin points out rather roughly. Lovely. He can’t think of the last time anyone has called him that.
He is a man of forty years with more wrinkles on his face than laughter lines. He is a senator that is feared in the Chambers. His temper and incredibly high standards ensure that he cannot keep an assistant for more than a few months.
Lovely.
“You are incredibly bright in the Force,” Kenobi says. “It is almost blinding, but…pleasant to brush against.”
As if to illustrate his point in the physical plane, his sleeve whispers against the bare skin of Anakin’s bicep as he moves slightly.
“It is lovely,” the boy finishes. A moment passes, and Anakin can hear the smile in his voice. “And besides, I never flirt with someone whose eyes I cannot see.”
Anakin turns his head to look incredulously at Kenobi, realizing a beat too late that in doing so, he has opened his eyes and engaged the boy.
Up close, Kenobi’s smile is boyish and disarming and devastating.
“Hello there,” Kenobi says, two deep dimples framing the curve of his lips. “My name is Obi-Wan. I would have yours, Senator.”
Anakin’s mouth is opening, tongue moving almost against his will. Certainly not with conscious thought. “Anakin Skywalker.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats. “It’s lovely to meet you.” He holds out his hand, pale and elegant, slightly limp as if he requires Anakin’s help in holding it up.
Anakin is going to reply, mouth already open to once more protest the adjective even as he reaches out to take his hand, but the sound of a door sliding open interrupts him.
In the blink of an eye, Kenobi is on his feet, hands falling behind his back and pale blue sleeves engulfing that delicate skin. Anakin turns to look as well and rises to his feet at the sight of the Chancellor.
He is a good head taller than Kenobi, he notices and then dismisses the thought just as quickly as it occurred to him.
“Chancellor,” Kenobi murmurs respectfully, dropping into a deep bow. Anakin cannot remember the last time he bowed before the Chancellor, but then Palpatine has been his friend and mentor figure since he first donned the robes of a Senatorial aide. They are past empty shows of respect.
“This must be your grandson, Count Dooku,” Palpatine says, approaching Kenobi and holding out the back of his hand in a pantomime of the same gesture Kenobi had just shown Anakin.
Kenobi brushes his lips against the back of his hand before straightening.
“Well-trained,” Palpatine remarks, an odd, appraising tone note coloring his tone. “I understand there is no blood relation between you two?”
“No, Chancellor,” a white-haired man replies, slipping out from the Chancellor’s shadow to stand at the midway point between Kenobi and Palpatine. He looks stern, Anakin thinks. His lips have turned down into a frown naturally, accentuating the wrinkles around his mouth. His eyes move over Kenobi in a way Anakin can only call disinterested, detached. “Adopted.”
“What generosity,” Palpatine murmurs, tucking his hands into the balloonish sleeves of his robes. “How many years have you been living with the Count, Obi-Wan?”
“Ten years, sir,” Kenobi replies easily. “He adopted me when I was thirteen.”
“Ah,” Palpatine says. His voice is silky. “If I am not mistaken, thirteen is the age that Jedi Initiates are asked to leave the Temple if no Jedi Master has requested to take them as their padawan, yes?”
The muscles in Obi-Wan’s back tense and shift. “That’s correct, sir. I was on Bandomeer working in the Agricorps when Count Dooku found me.”
“If only he had expressed interest in training you sooner, when he was a Jedi Master and you an Initiate!” Palpatine remarks, tilting his head.
“You must be mistaken, sir,” Obi-Wan replies, sounding rather sheepish, as if he cannot believe his own gall at correcting the Chancellor of the Republic. “Count Dooku is not training me at all. Our relationship could not be further from that of a Jedi Master and Padawan.”
Palpatine’s eyes flash with something unreadable. “But of course,” he finally murmurs. “I was only referring to your Court education. I apologize if my wording…pressed against a bruise.”
The Count clears his throat with a smile. It looks like it pains him. “No harm has come to myself or my grandson. There is no need for an apology, Chancellor.”
Anakin shifts and thinks of interrupting. The conversation is awkward, simmering with some emotion that Anakin cannot place. His headache is back in full-force.
“Your generosity knows no bounds, Count. How long will you be on Coruscant during this visit?” The Chancellor asks, turning his head to look at the Count.
“That depends on my grandson, your Excellency,” Dooku tilts his head, and Obi-Wan shifts and then smiles.
“I requested this trip, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan says. “It has been a decade since I last stepped foot on Coruscant, and I found that I missed it. Though I feel as if I have been rather rudely confronted by the reality that I may never have known the real Coruscant—after all, I lived in the Jedi Temple. Markedly different from the rest of the planet, I fear.”
“Ah,” the Chancellor replies. “So this is a trip fueled by nostalgia. How excellent.”
“Obi-Wan has his sights set on politics,” Dooku adds wiith a slight roll of his eyes. “Do not let him fool you. We’ve rented an apartment a sector away from the season. He is hoping to find a temporary placement within the Senate.”
“Oh?” The Chancellor says. “How…ambitious. Do you have your eye on any senator specifically? I believe both from Serenno have aides already.”
“I am Stewjoni by birth,” Obi-Wan says. “Their coalition in the Senate is powerful, and I believe Senator Aaerul is in want of an aide. If I cannot entice him into taking me, I will look elsewhere.”
For the first time since the Chancellor arrived, Obi-Wan tilts his head in Anakin’s direction, flashing his blue eyes and deep dimples.
“Perhaps Senator Skywalker would be willing to take me,” he purrs.
Anakin is, of course, aghast at the boy’s brazenness. “Unfortunately, I am not currently in need of an aide. Perhaps Senator Bail Organa, from Alderaan.”
Kenobi’s smile slips seamlessly into a small pout. “That is unfortunate,” he agrees with a sigh.
Palpatine’s eyes narrow as he glances between them. “Yes, I believe Senator Aaerul would be a worthwhile placement, young one. And I wish you all the best. Now—”
“Senator,” Obi-Wan says, eyes focused on Anakin’s face with such intensity that Anakin must look back at him. “How long have you lived on Coruscant?”
Anakin blinks. “Twenty-five years.”
“Would you say you know the planet well?” The boy’s head tilts, his hair a waterfall of golden autumn as it spills over against his shoulder.
“Yes, I suppose,” Anakin replies, tearing his eyes away from his hair to focus on his face.
“I am sure you are a busy man, Senator, but I would be quite obliged if you would accompany me around the sector. If you had the time. Perhaps on a day without a Senate assembly?”
Anakin can feel his eyebrows raise. “I would be terrible company.”
“We have been over this,” Obi-Wan’s eyes become slits with the force of his smile. “I think you are lovely.”
“I—” Anakin swallows and tucks his hands behind his back. His eyes dart to look over at the two older men, both of whom are watching carefully with great interest. He does not want to engage this fae of a boy, unsure where that could lead, where it would end.
But the idea of rejecting him once again in front of his grandfather and the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic makes Anakin feel rather…uncomfortable. He is not a heartless man.
He sighs, barely even noticing that his headache has faded to almost nothing. Perhaps it’s that release from pain that makes him give in. Perhaps he is just weak to a pair of earnest blue eyes.
“I…will see if there is time in my schedule,” he says, and Obi-Wan beams at him.
Lovely, the word echoes in his mind, though it is surely not Anakin who has thought it…probably.
“Thank you, Senator,” he murmurs, hands clasping in front of his chest. “I will give you my comm sequence, you’ll let me know when you have time?”
“Yes,” Anakin agrees grudgingly. “That is what I’ve said.” He slips his comm from his tunics and presents it to Kenobi. The boy takes it with another smile and enters his comm sequence with a flourish.
“Brilliant,” Obi-Wan says, passing it back. “I look forward to it.”
“Obi-Wan, we should take our leave,” Dooku says before Anakin can respond. “I believe the senator is overdue for lunch with the Chancellor.”
“Thank you,” Anakin dips his head automatically. He has, after all, been waiting for over an hour.
“Oh, apologies, my dear boy,” the Chancellor says, sounding startled. He lays a hand over Anakin’s arm. Anakin barely contains the urge to raise his eyebrows. The Chancellor has not called him dear boy since he turned thirty. “I did not even notice the time. We were too engaged upon tax exemptions on Serenno.”
Without conscious thought, Anakin’s eyes dart to Obi-Wan. The boy gives him a wink and a small smirk. Unbidden and to his utmost surprise, Anakin feels a responding smile twitch at the corner of his own lips.
“Chancellor, it was a pleasure to meet you,” the boy bows once more to Palpatine before he moves to the side, allowing Dooku to brush past him. “Anakin, I look forward to your comm.”
The gall of the boy. It’s almost impressive how brazen he is.
The pair take their leave, Obi-Wan throwing one more smile over his shoulder at Anakin, as if he cannot help himself.
The waiting room is still and quiet for several long moments in their absence. Anakin feels sort of like he’s been bludgeoned over the head.
“Senator, please,” Palpatine recovers first, a thoughtful look on his face as he gestures for Anakin to follow him into his office. “I feel there is much to discuss.”
Anakin cannot help himself from looking back at the door Kenobi has just left through, though logically he knows that no one will be there to catch his glance.
The only thing that greets him is the dour expression on Palpatine’s secretary’s face and the sound of her fingers on the keyboard as she resumes typing.
New Star Wars fic! This one is my take on the Senator Skywalker AU and I had a lot of fun writing Anakin, Ahsoka, and Padmé. This is a shorter read of 6 chapters. Includes canon typical violence but no other tw. Enjoy!
for this week’s “Senator Anakin” prompt in the New SW Canon Discord Server (also on AO3):
The entire Jedi Temple seemingly paused in their footsteps, feeling the incoming barrage of light, purity, and power establishing itself on Coruscant once more. Some came to a halt, gasping at the indomitable presence. The Senator of Tatooine had arrived.
On the other side of Coruscant, a landing ramp is opened, and out came Anakin Skywalker. An intimidating stature with an unimaginable presence in The Force, not that it is common knowledge. As he cascades down the ramp, his droid following closely behind, Anakin comes to a halt in front of his welcome party. He smiles brightly, teeth showing and blue eyes squinting, to greet an old friend after long months.
“Master Kenobi.” the use of the title is more than a show of formality in a public space, but also a show of utter respect between the two men.
“Senator Skywalker. I am pleased to see you are well.” after all, they both had done much to earn their respective titles. The Jedi Master treats him with a smile, something more personal than what he would normally direct to politicians.
Within it, Anakin sees Obi-Wan’s relief, his worry. Though their petition to be bonded as Master-Padawan was denied a decade ago, the two had become close, had bonded. Obi-Wan stood to the reason of fate, of their bond being the will of The Force. Many nights when he was young were spent with Obi-Wan, through holo calls from Naboo, where he learned the intrigues of politics; and to the eventual uprising in Tatooine which led him to his current position.
Anakin bows his head respectfully to Master Windu, and he greets the man. “Master Windu.” the Master of the Order, ever respectful bows back to him.
“Senator. I must say, though your feats will always leave the Jedi in great shock, awe, and the Senate in great distress-”
“I must say, I do find it… pretty thrilling.” the Jedi Master raises an eyebrow, chiding Anakin.
“We would all appreciate that… you take a Jedi escort for your next mission.” he wonders if Master Windu looks tired constantly, or if it is just an effect of his presence and misgivings.
Anakin had always been hesitant to take a Jedi escort. He reckons, there are many other Senators who will need it more than he. After all, unlike most other Senators, Anakin had a modicum of Jedi training. Enough to get him by. Plus, with how stretched the Jedi is through the war, with the increasing level of stress radiating in the Force from even the most serene Jedi Master, with the impending darkness enveloping Coruscant.
The Jedi has plenty on their hands already.
“With full respects to the Jedi, Master Windu. I can take care of myself just fine.” Windu opened his mouth to speak but proceeded to be interrupted by his ringing commlink. “Maybe you should get that.” he grabs the comm, Obi-Wan urging him along.
“Just… Skywalker- Anakin. Please consider it. There have been too many close calls with you.” and with that, he exits the landing pad, leaving him and Obi-Wan alone.
“Mace is correct, you know? It has been long, Anakin. We all thought you to be gone. The fact that you still shone was the only sign we had of your being.” Obi-Wan’s voice is laden with emotion, breaths occasionally interrupting him between sentences.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was going to end up like this.” and it’s true. Anakin had no intention of assault, only negotiation. But apparently, the Separatists and he do not see eye-to-eye when it comes to intentions. In the end, he had been captured, kept away for weeks upon weeks, isolated save for Count Dooku for company. It had broken countless terms for the Separatists to capture a Senator, let alone one sent as a diplomatic envoy during an impasse in the war, brokering peace.
The only explanation he was gifted was, simply put, that the Sith Lord leading the Separatists could not pass the chance to capture him, a wildly powerful and untrained force-sensitive.
In the end, he returned. Anakin went a diplomat, and he returned a killer, carrying promises of Separatist retaliation of their leader’s death with him.
Through the years, Obi-Wan’s sigh is a sound he has grown to be exceedingly familiar with, and he hears it now, accompanied with his soft tones “We are- I am just glad that you came back safely, dear one.”
Through the years, Anakin had also grown accustomed to, well, what he thinks is Obi-Wan’s force presence and its warmth. If what he feels is true, he supposes this is as close to an initiated hug as he will get from his friend. Anakin revels in it the same anyway.
The Senator, more than anything, is glad to be back on Coruscant, to once again feel the trillions of lives brimming on and beneath the surface of the city-planet. He would never imagine missing the Senate chambers, but he does. Midnight meetings with members of the Delegation, quiet talks with Bail, Mon, and Padmé. Pushing forward bill after bill, after every resolution draft.
Anakin is seething with excitement. The foreboding darkness is still there, and he- along with his colleagues, will do whatever it takes to keep it at bay.
ohh my gosh tori all of your wips look amazing!! can I ask for Senator Skywalker, Unnamed Zygerria Au, and Single Dadakin for the WIP ask game? :D
Hi Arti! Thanks for the ask!! 💙
Senator Skywalker (Link to fanfic is HERE!)
Senator Skywalker! One of my all-time favorite tropes. Progress has been halted in favor of Dead-ception, but rest assured I have big plans for this WIP!
“Ani,” Qui-Gon says amiably, as if he isn’t striding quickly to keep up with Anakin. “I apologize for showing up unannounced yesterday, but I heard who the new senator from Tatooine was and had to check. I was hoping you could spare a little time to chat.”
Single Dadakin
The basic premise here is that while Anakin does not turn to the Dark Side, Padmé still dies and the twins are still born. So you have a man whose entire world has fallen apart traveling the galaxy with his newborn twins. It’s in the very early stages of development, but here’s a lil’ snippet:
The Chancellor is actually a Sith Lord and the Temple is on fire and the Jedi are gone and Padmé is gone and—
He stares out of the viewport into the hypnotic blue of hyperspace.
Who is he anymore? Not a Jedi—being a Jedi means being dead, nor is he a husband, for that would involve a better half. His better half died.
He looks down at the two sleeping bundles cradled in his arms. He’s lost a lot of names today, a lot of friends and loved ones and stability, but there is one title he has gained: Father.
And Force knows he’ll tear the Galaxy itself apart to live up to it.
As he mourns what has been lost and cherishes what has been gained, Anakin Skywalker holds his children in his arms and cries.
(Since the Unnamed Zygerria AU is rated M for mature themes, I put it under the cut)
The Unnamed Zygerria AU (Link to snippet is HERE!)
I literally started writing with no plan other than to make Zygerria Worse™ and make Anakin suffer because this is how I show my love for my favorite characters.
Uh, whoops.
Anakin is submerged in a bacta tank for 2 days, waking up 3 days after he’s removed.
He doesn’t talk.
Obi-Wan tries to gently coax him into saying even a single word, holding his flesh hand and telling him that he’s safe and this is real but all Anakin does is stare at the ceiling, eyes glazed over.
