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seasidewriter1-writes · 3 years

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Secret valentine exchange of some sort for Canon era lol (does Canon era make sense? I don't think that's the right terminology but whatever)

I got carried away, this is at least 1K in length! I got to do some fun research about Star Wars holidays, and I thought this fit closes to Valentine’s Day!

Fete Weeks on Coruscant were celebrations that Elara had grown to both love and look forward to each year. They were colorful and lively, and the entire planet celebrated, all the way down to Level 5. It created a kind of comradery that was wholly unique to the citizens of Coruscant. Rivalries between shop owners fell to the wayside. Rival criminal families called a week long truce. Unlikely friendships were formed between strangers, some of which lasted for years afterwards. The types of festivities varied depending upon what Fete was being celebrated. For example, whenever the Festival of Stars came around, it wasn’t uncommon to find flashy speeders cruising the city in impromptu parades. The Festival of Life often involved the exchange of meaningful gifts, but it was the celebration of loved ones that made it Elara’s favorite Fete.

This was the first Festival of Life after the start of the Clone Wars, and it felt particularly poignant. They’d been at war for just about a year, now, and life seemed all the more precious. Being with your loved ones seemed all the more special. And though Coruscant had remained largely unscathed by the war––save for its occasional Senate scandal––its peoples seemed to feel much the same. For this Festival of Life was the most vibrant, energetic one that Elara had ever witnessed. People flooded the streets in droves, music spilled out of almost every shop front, and laughter and smiles were plentiful.

“We’re lucky not to have missed this,” commented Obi-Wan.

With a bright smile, Elara bobbed her head in a nod. “I was worried we would,” she admitted. Both she and Obi-Wan stood observing the Fete crowds from the balcony of a tea house. It was nearing sunset, so the light was positively golden. “I’m glad we didn’t; it makes me feel… hopeful.”

After what had felt like week after week of violence, seeing beings of all sorts embrace and laugh and exchange gifts was heartwarming. A reminder that there was still good in the galaxy; and that, one day, things could be good again. There didn’t have to be blaster fire and explosions and death all the time. That folks exist beside one another in peace. It gave Elara hope that there would be more days like this, where she and Obi-Wan could sit side-by-side at their favorite tea house, enjoying one another’s company in quiet bliss. They didn’t have to worry about being Jedi or Generals––they could just be with one another.

“It does, doesn’t it?” There was a smile in Obi-Wan’s voice, one that Elara didn’t have to see to know existed. But she turned to see it anyway. It was soft and gentle, a blissful juxtaposition to the seriousness that so often creased his face. She allowed herself to admire the beautiful regality of his profile, the peacefulness of his expression. These moments were rare and she savored them when they came. This image of him, bathed in the warm glow of golden light, was something she’d cling to in the hopeless heat of battle. It would give her hope.

Elara slipped her fingers into one of the pouches on her belt. Her fingers touched against something thin and cold. She drew it into her palm and squeezed it there, warming the small metal tag against her skin. It was traditional to give gifts to your loved ones over the seven days of the Festival of Light. While Elara appreciated the sentimentality of it, it had never truly been an imperative part of the holiday. Spending time with those close to her had always mattered most. But the Fete felt different this year; and it suddenly felt incredibly important to partake in this tradition.

Elara angled her body so she faced her companion a little better. A small table separated them, leaving only a foot of space between them; but she found that she wished he was closer. “Obi-Wan,” she said gently. He turned towards her, eyebrows gently raised, a smile still playing across his lips. With a smile of her own, she gestured to him. “Give me your hand.”

With a curious look, Obi-Wan offered his hand to her. Elara placed the thin piece of metal into his hand and curled his fingers around it. He drew his hand into himself before opening his fingers once more. What he saw was this: a metal, oblong shaped tag with rounded corners, across the front of which was etched the image of a flower. The Gleannish Snow Blossom. Obi-Wan stared at it a moment before he looked back to Elara, expression impossibly soft.

“This is lovely,” he told her. He looked back to the tag and flipped it over. On the reverse side was a set of carefully etched symbols. “What do these mean?”

“They’re traditional Gleannish symbols that mean ‘my heart,’” Elara admitted in a manner almost endearingly shy.

Obi-Wan’s thumb swept over the symbols, and the most heart warming smile appeared on his face. That smile was turned her way, and it predictably caused her heart to melt. “I shall keep it with me always. A good luck charm.” He smiled back down at the hand-etched tag, which he then placed on the table beside his tea cup. He reached for a pouch on his belt as he said, “I fear this may be entirely underwhelming, now.”

What he pulled out of the pouch was a small, circular piece of gold colored glass. Twine had been threaded through the top of the ornamental piece and created a loop. He then removed a second one from another pouch, this one a bright, vivid red. As he extended them to her, it caught the light and glowed brilliantly. There was a peculiar wrinkling of his forehead––he appeared worried, almost.

“For your window,” he explained. “You… mentioned, once, that the only thing you missed of home were the sunsets.”

A laugh of pleasant surprise left Elara’s mouth. For as harsh as they were, the suns of Tatooine did create spectacular sunsets. There were none like them anywhere else in the galaxy; every other sunset she’d ever seen had paled in comparison. It was one of the very few things she ever felt homesick for. She reached out to take the glass ornaments from him, which she smiled at as she held them up to the light.

“Not underwhelming at all,” she said as she admired the way they caught the light. Elara lowered them to her lap, her smile softening into a lovely, gentle look. The sunsets of Tatooine were something she’d mentioned in passing months ago. The fact that he’d remembered caused a warm, blissful buzz to circulate through her system. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan, who looked relieved that she appreciated the gift, held his hand out to her. Elara reached out and slipped her hand into his grasp, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the callouses that roughened certain spots. Their eyes met with that wonderful shock of electricity, and he lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips gently pressed against her knuckles in a sweet, subtle, stolen kiss. Their hands then came to rest on the table between them. These moments were rare. It was hard to get a moment alone together, let alone one where they could be openly affectionate in some sort of way. It felt perfect, somehow, that they were allowed this moment during the Festival of Life.

It reminded them there was still a life to live; and that they were lucky to get to live it with one another.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #a very balance valentine's day #obi lara blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 3 years

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For the fluff ask, I would love to see an Obi-lara regency confession scene. I have a little headcanon where Obi-wan uses the line "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."

Finally, a chance to delve into the Regency AU! I’ve had a lot of fun with this, and that line you gave? *chef’s kiss!* I need more Regency Obi-Lara, it’s official!

P.S. I’m sorry this is so long, I got... REALLY carried away with this one...

There was much that could be said about Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a master of fencing. An excellent mentor. Level headed to the point he almost came off as impertinent. And, in the opinion of Miss Elara Skywalker, absolutely insufferable. Insufferable in the way that he smiled, roguish and charming. Insufferably handsome, with a face the classic sculptors would only have dreamed of creating. Insufferable in his impressive intellect and his ability to make every sentence sound like one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Insufferable because she was helplessly, hopelessly in love with him, and that was a torture.

For Mr. Kenobi was steadfast in his ways. He’d been many years a bachelor, and found the life quite suitable. A long passed father had insisted he was duty bound to marry for the good of the family estate. That he must marry for money, not love. This idea, drilled into him for so many years, had turned him off from the idea of romance entirely. He was considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the county––but he was entirely unattainable.

Elara would not have met Obi-Wan had it not been for her brother. Anakin was a fencing protégé and had flourished under the tutelage of Master Kenobi. There had been a time where Elara had known him only by name; he was the mysterious mentor whom her brother spoke so highly of. Nothing but words of praise would be spoken about him—and then, as was proper, Anakin introduced his sister and his mentor one night at a ball. Much to everyone’s surprise, the two got along smashingly. They bandied words as though they played tennis, kept up with one another intellectually. Elara was a learned, well-read woman; Obi-Wan was a learned well-read man. They discussed Shakespeare and Socrates, debated on the best authors of the day.

Gossip started to circulate and speculations were made––Mr. Kenobi and Miss Skywalker would surely be engaged by the end of the summer.

And then they weren’t.

Which was most confusing, as it was often observed they were in one another’s company. At balls, the first name on Elara’s dance card was always Obi-Wan’s. At parties, they were always seated beside or across from one another. They took turns about the room together. It confounded local gossips that the two were not engaged. And though Anakin did not consider himself a gossip, he, too was confounded. Though he was younger than his sister, propriety required him to be her chaperone if the situation called for it. He had bore witness to the insufferable flirtations, which he tried to ignore by hiding the display behind the pages of a book.

It was in one of the many books in the Skywalkers’ generous collection that Elara had chosen to lose herself in. It was a dreary day, with slate grey skies and an air that foretold an afternoon of rain. It perfectly reflected her mood. She felt positively dreadful. She lay half-reclined on their sofa, head propped up by a brocaded pillow. One hand held the book before her face, and the other picked at the elegant stitching on the front of her dress. And though she was reading the words on the page, she was not absorbing them. She had read several pages, but had no knowledge of what had transpired.

As Elara turned the fifth page, she sighed.

“If you keep sighing that way, you shall forget how to speak entirely,” Anakin commented on the opposite side of the room.

Elara dropped her book to her chest and glared at him half-heartedly. Anakin sat half-slouched out of his armchair, a book of his own open in his hands. His stock had been removed and discarded the table beside him, and the collar of his shirt slouched open at the neck. The position in which he sat did not look comfortable in the least bit, but it was one he often found himself relaxing into at his leisure. He shot her a sideways glance and smirked with a brotherly snark.

“If you keep sitting like that your neck will grow as crooked as an oak branch,” she countered.

Anakin let out an ungentlemanly snort and shook his head, eyes once more returning to his book. “A spat is not the end of the world, sister.”

The spat of which he spoke occurred the night prior at the most recent ball. Elara was unsure it could even be called a spat; it had been more of a heated encounter. Whilst they were dancing, Elara had made a comment about Obi-Wan’s opposition to marriage. Something in him had smarted and an indignance had washed over him. He had launched into a lecture of sorts, commenting on the monetary politics of marriage, which, in turn had caused Elara to prickle. She and Anakin were not badly off by any means, but they were not considered particularly wealthy. His comment had been taken as a direct insult. The dance ended with them parting ways for the evening, ignoring the two other dances Obi-Wan had claimed on her card.

Hence was why Elara had been in such a vial mood. It was difficult to be in love with a man who abhorred the notion.

Elara lifted the book and hid her face behind it. “The end of the world, no. The end of possibilities, yes.”

There was a knock at the front door.

Simultaneously, both Elara and Anakin lowered their books and met one another’s gazes. Neither of them were expecting any callers that day.

Anakin closed his book, snatched up his stock, and started to haphazardly wind it about his neck. He hauled himself out of his chair and disappeared from the room, tucking the ends of his neck-wear into his vest. Once he was gone, Elara righted herself. The parlor was, for all intents and purposes, their receiving room. If whoever had arrived was there to stay, they would be ushered in here. A couple moments passed before Anakin poked his head back into the room.

“You have a visitor, Elara,” he told her. He arched his eyebrows pointedly and stepped aside, gesturing someone in from the hall.

Elara rose to her feet in order to greet her impromptu visitor. The confused pinch of her expression melted away as none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into the room. There was a hat and a pair of gloves clutched in his hands and his cheeks were flushed from riding. Behind him, Anakin reached into the room, grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it closed as he exited the room.

The silence that filled the room was stifling. It was all Elara could do to stare at her visitor. Obi-Wan stood before her, handsomely harried. Blue eyes wide, blonde hair ruffled, mud spattered up across his boots. He had arrived unplanned and unannounced, with absolutely no pretense. He had a reason for coming; and she was waiting on him to tell her what it was. But in that waiting, Elara could not deny that her heart was thrumming like the beating wings of a terrified bird.

“Miss Skywalker...” Obi-Wan breathed. He shifted the brim of his hat around in his hands, rotating it slowly. “I... fear I have made a grievous error.”

Breath caught in Elara’s throat, hitching so hard that her chest physically and visibly jumped. She watched Obi-Wan wet his lips, tongue darting out between them. He took a tentative step forward, and when she did not protest his further entering the room, he continued. He placed his hat on their sideboard without looking, moving as though he were entranced. Elara folded her hands in front of her stomach, and squeezed them tightly.

“And what error might that be, Mr. Kenobi?”

“The error of my words. I believe I misspoke last night. That is, I let my self-righteousness speak for me.” Obi-Wan stopped before her at a respectable distance. He swept his hands behind his back and did her the courtesy of meeting her eyes. “I did not mean to offend you when I spoke of the politics of marriage. It was not my intent to make you believe that I looked down on you due to monetary standing. I... find it difficult to even conceive looking down on you in any possible way.” For a long, still moment, all Obi-Wan did was stare at her. The guardedness that so often made him appear lofty had disappeared. A vulnerable tenderness had overcome him, and it softened his whole demeanor. “You pierce my soul. It is unexplainable. In your presence... I find that I am half agony, half hope.”

Elara felt as though he had stolen all words from her mouth, all thought from her head, and all air from her lungs. It took a moment for her to gather herself, and when she did, she asked,

“Why agony?”

Obi-Wan chanced a step forward and his hands dropped from behind his back. A shuddering breath passed between his lips before a confession spilled forth. “I love you so wholly... so completely... that my fear that you do not feel the same tears me apart.”

“And hope?” The question had been murmured so softly, it had come out in a whisper.

“The hope that you reciprocate these feelings is incandescently bright; it has guided me through the darkness of my idiocy and led me back to you. And should you find this profession offensive,” Obi-Wan bowed his head in deference, “then I shall excuse myself from your presence.”

Silence once more overcame the room. Obi-Wan remained with his head bowed, waiting for her reply. His confession clung to the corners of the quaint parlor like the most delicate cobwebs. It tickled the air like a pleasant, relieving breeze. Boldly––or brazenly, perhaps––Elara stepped forward and reached for his hands. For the first time, the skin of their hands met. It was breathtaking. His skin was warm, and it was calloused in spots from practicing with his saber. The minute their skin touched, Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. Breath visibly caught in his chest, which stuttered beneath the layers of his clothes.

“I, too, am at fault in this misunderstanding. In my inquiring of your aversion to marriage, I did not mean to offend you. I took offense quickly, and for that you must forgive me.” Elara swept her thumbs across his knuckles. “I will take away your agony. I will share in your hope. I will share in anything you allow me to... if you will have me.”

A stunned flutter of Obi-Wan’s eyelids dashed his lashes over the tops of his cheeks. His lips parted and a soft breath passed between them in a single word. In a name. “Elara...”

A thrilled shudder rolled along her spine at the sound of her name falling from his lips. It was the first time he’d ever spoken it; and she wanted to hear him say it again, and again, and again.

“Obi-Wan...” she breathed in return.

A breath fled from his mouth the moment his name left her lips. Slowly, his hands started to glide up her arms. They danced lightly over the skin of her forearms and paused at her elbows. Elara reached out and grasped the front of his riding jacket. One of Obi-Wan’s hands then rose to hover by her cheek. The tips of his fingers grazed against her skin as he tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. That hand then retreated back to her cheek, which it cupped tenderly. Simultaneously, Elara tiled her head back as Obi-Wan craned his forward. Their movements were achingly slow––but then their lips met in the sweetest, softest kiss. In that moment, everything was perfect. It was harmonious again.

There was no agony; only hope.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #a very balance valentine's day #obi lara au #obi lara blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 3 years

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For the fluff ask; 56 "if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to flirt by giving me books" ☺️

I went Modern!AU for this one! Hope you enjoy!! :) This gave me an excuse to quote my favorite Shakespeare soooo...

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were trying to flirt by giving me books,” Elara joked lightly.

Obi-Wan, wide eyed, blinked at the comment. He was stood atop one of those foot stools that book stores and libraries provided to get to the top shelves. He had been about to hand her another paper-back to add to the growing stack in her hands. She couldn’t help but beam at the stunned look on his face.

“Beg pardon?” he finally managed.

Elara nodded down to the books in her arms. “You’re handing me all of Shakespeare’s romances.” She arched an eyebrow as her lips tilted into something cheeky. “Kinda feels like you might be trying to tell me something.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and gestured with the book in his hand. “I, uh... just thought I might do something a bit lighter this year. For the kids,” he explained. A faint pinkness had risen to his cheeks, something that Elara thought might be a trick of the warm overhead lights.

“You did do Hamlet last year, a little levity might be needed, yes,” she agreed with a little laugh. She reached up and flapped her fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion. Obi-Wan passed off the book, and Elara quirked a brow at the title. “Winter’s Tale? That’s not a romance.”

“Ah, but it is,” Obi-Wan contested. He hopped off the stool and took the stack of paperbacks from her arms. They started to meander back towards their table, and all the while Elara thumbed through the copy of the play in her hands. “One could argue that the entire focus of it is love. The love that Leontes holds for Hermione and how it drove him to do atrocious things. How the love between Florizel and Perdita mends those horrors and heals his madness. Technically speaking it’s one of his ‘problem plays,’ but I would argue it fits in quite well with the romances.”

Elara hummed thoughtfully and let the book fall shut around her thumb. They arrived back at their table, at which waited their coffees and their jackets. This place, this combination café–bookshop was one of their favorite haunts. A place to grade school work, fuss over lesson plans, and complain about administration meetings. But today had been reserved for something else. Obi-Wan was in the process of choosing which Shakespeare he was going to get his class to perform this year. In years past, he’d send her a simple text––usually something simple like ‘Hamlet?’––to which she’d always helpfully respond––’ahh, nothing better than teaching fifth graders what the word ‘fratricide’ means.’ But this year, he’d asked her to sit down and read with him, have a decent conversation about it over a cup of coffee.

Who was she to turn it down?

“Y’know,” Elara sat down and set The Winter’s Tale aside, “I’m genuinely shocked that you don’t have all of Shakespeare’s works at home.”

“I do!” Obi-Wan defended.

“Then why all this?” Elara gestured to the books he placed between them.

“My Complete Works are all antique. I’d rather not mark them up with pen,” he replied with a cheeky smirk. He nudged the stack of plays towards her. “So. Where would you like to start?”

Elara cocked her head to the side slightly, reading the names scrawled across the spines. Then, with a growing smile, she pulled one out of the middle of the stack. She turned it so he could see the illustrated image of a woman and a man in masquerade masks on its cover.

“Much Ado About Nothing.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows jumped. “A little... adult, don’t you think? War, sex, contempt..."

With a hum, Elara shrugged as she started to thumb through the script. “You’re the one that pulled it...” she sang with a smirk. “Let me enjoy doing this before you ultimately decide to go with Romeo and Juliet.”

A chuckle warmed the air as Obi-Wan stood from his seat and grabbed his coffee. Elara fixed him with a perturbed look, but instead of answering, he started reciting. “I will live in thy heart,” he stepped around the table, “die in thy lap,” he sat in the seat beside Elara’s and met her gaze, “and be buried in thine eyes.” Silence hung heavily between them before Obi-Wan darted his eyes to the script in her hand. “I can’t very well read from the other side of the table, can I?”

With a laugh distinctly more shaky than any other she’d uttered previously, Elara averted her gaze to turn to the first page of the scene. “Seems like you’ve already got it memorized...”

“Only partly.” He smirked roguishly. “Now. Shall we begin?”

#a very balance valentine's day #Valentine’s prompt #letobilaragetfluffy2k21 #balance blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 3 years

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A Moment of Peace

A valentine’s fluff request from @chasethememori3s–blog : ”sneaking into each others room at 4 a.m. for cuddles!” It’s a wee bit short, but I really loved writing something slower paced; it’s been a while since there’s been anything like that in Balance!

The Jedi Temple was a place seemingly always at peace. There was a reverent sort of quiet that always filled its halls, the likes of which made you want to keep your voice down. Nighttime only elevated this feeling. As the halls darkened and everyone turned in for the evening, the thought of breaking the quietude inspired anxiety. Or, perhaps, that was just what it made Elara feel. For as she wove through the Jedi dormitories, she walked on the balls of her feet in an attempt to stay the sound of her footsteps. It was incredibly late––or incredibly early––and she didn’t want to risk waking anyone up. Though it was known that Elara did enjoy a nighttime stroll when she couldn’t sleep, it would be hard to explain why she was meandering the dormitory halls with a strange, sneaking purpose.

When she arrived at a familiar door, she quickly pressed the button for its chime and then keyed in its access code. The door hissed open, she slipped through, and then immediately shut it via its interior access panel. The room was dark, illuminated only by the cool light seeping in through the windows. It cast a bluish hue across the space, creating inky shadows in the nooks and crannies of the room. Most notably, it allowed Elara to see the sleepy figure half-propped up in the bed to the side of the room. Obi-Wan had propped himself up on an elbow, eyes half open and bleary. Sleep rumpled hair had slouched across his forehead and into his eyes. It was obvious that she had woken him, and part of her felt guilty for that. But there was no grumbling, no sighing in discontent. Instead, Obi-Wan peeled back the corner of his blanket for her and settled back into the mattress.

Elara approached the bed, tiredly shrugging off her robe. Beneath it she wore her sleep clothes, which were just as rumpled as she felt she looked. The robe slouched to the floor in a heap, and once she toed off her boots, they remained beside the haphazard slump of fabric. Obi-Wan’s eyes had fallen shut again, but he hadn’t fallen back asleep yet. He’d unfurled an arm, laying it out flat in an open invitation. It was one that she accepted thankfully and with ease. Elara crawled into bed, worming her way between the mattress and the blanket. She quietly cuddled herself up against Obi-Wan’s chest, and his arm wrapped around her with a sleepy fondness. A contented, sleepy hum buzzed in the back of her throat, and his head lethargically rolled so he could press his lips to the top of her head.

There were no words exchanged. None needed to be. This had become a routine of sorts. These late nights or early mornings were, truly, some of the only chances they got to be together truly, wholly, and completely alone. They were to be cherished whether or not they were sleepy or invigorated, wordless or talkative. These were their moments of peace; and they took them whenever they could.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #obi lara blurb

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