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legobiwan · 5 years

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Whumptober #3 (delirium)

TW: some gory imagery, more than what is considered a reasonable word count

Fandom: Star Wars (Obi-wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano)

Notes: this got out of control so a lot is under the cut and yet I’m already behind and hopefully going to work on Day 4 RIGHT NOW. Learning how to let go of my obsessive need to edit and just churn it out, for better or worse.

—–

Obi-wan strode down the abandoned corridor of the Star Destroyer. If his steps tapped a click too fast, rhythm disjointed, anxious - well, it had been an exhausting week.

Not that Anakin was helping matters at all.

Still, for once Obi-wan couldn’t criticize his former student’s tetchy behavior, at least not entirely. One did not touch the Dark Side, have it fill their unwilling body, without consequence.

Obi-wan paused, reaching out with the Force. Not that he needed to extend much effort - the agitated waves were likely being broadcast all the way back to Coruscant.

Ahsoka, resilient as always, seemed to be faring a bit better. If she hung around Rex a bit more than usual, spent twice the time necessary doing inventory checks, and joined in the secret sabaac-tournament with some of the shinys - well, no one saw fit to say anything, especially Obi-wan himself. For now, distraction was the best strategy. There would be time, he hoped, when they returned to the Temple - after the inevitable debrief, the mandatory meeting with a mindhealer, the consultation with another member of the Council - there would be time for her to grapple face-to-face with she had briefly become. Her faith might be shaken, but Ahsoka was solid, a series of roots reaching deep into an albino plains, a landscape neither of the light or dark, but something else entirely. Obi-wan would be lying if he said it didn’t concern him just a bit, this idea that Ahsoka seemed to drifting from how the Jedi would traditionally define the light.

Then again, being a student of one Anakin Skywalker was bound to place one on a more nontraditional path.

Obi-wan paused the the intersection of two hallways, long, grey expanses stretching on either side, dark pinpricks looming at the the edge of his vision somehow casting a long shadow curling near his boots. He ran a tired hand over his face, ignoring the slight flutter in his chest.

There. In the secondary mechanic’s bay. Not that he had needed to use the Force to deduct that turn of events. Anakin tinkering with old droids had been his favored coping mechanism since he had been a small, blonde ragamuffin. Obi-wan would know, having hauled his oil-streaked, wayward Padawan from every possible room that even breathed the promise of chaotic mechanics.

It had been easier, then.

Well, in a manner of speaking. As a child, Anakin had still been prone to bouts of temper and melacholy, but it was far easier to mollify a nine-year old boy with the promise of a trip to the junk heaps and a sweet than it was a twenty-something man burdened by unfair expectations of prophecy.

Obi-wan preferred not to think about where those expectations had originated.

It was craven, in a way, sneaking up on Anakin like this, shrouding his Force presence from his former student. Force knew the two of them had had so many confrontations over the years, adding one more to the list wasn’t going to change the balance of anything.

But Obi-wan was concerned, and even a short glimpse into Anakin’s unprotected Force presence might tell him something.

And besides, Obi-wan was so very tired.

True to form, Anakin was hunched over some ridiculous piece of machinery eight-armed, head whirring as it made angry buzzes, spewing a stream of night-black lubricant Obi-wan managed to avoid by a careful inch.

Anakin let loose a string of curses, throwing his hydrospanner to the floor.

Some things didn’t change.

“It’s not supposed to do that,” Anakin muttered, kicking at the disposed tool, sending it skittering across the bay.

Irritation, impatience, guilt - these were all par for the course with Anakin. Not that Council would approve of a Jedi Knight broadcasting his ill-temper but at the very least, Obi-wan couldn’t sense anything more malevolent.

“Do what,” the older Jedi drawled, “imitate a swarm of angry bees or act as a rather disgusting garden hose?”

Anakin jerked around, wide-eyed expression folding in to a practiced pout as he swung around to the droid in question with an irritated grunt.

“You again.”

Obi-wan crossed his arms over his abdomen, frowning. “Yes, me again, Anakin.”

The beleaguered hydrospanner flew into Anakin’s open had. Obi-wan bit back a comment regarding inappropriate use of the Force as Anakin attacked the droid’s mechanism with vindictive dedication. Whatever Anakin’s plan (or lack thereof), his newest ministrations resulted in the droid hopping off the table, all eight arms akimbo, flailing wildly as it let out of violent buzz before it crashed out of the mechanic’s bay with a series of loud, clunky hops.

The cacophony was not doing wonders for the beginnings of the headache curling behind Obi-wan’s eyes.

“Well, that was…something,” Obi-wan observed, pressing his thumb and forefingers into his eye sockets, hoping to forestall the inevitable headache and series of stimsticks needed to pretend it wasn’t there.

Anakin whacked the side of the abandoned metal table with his hydrospanner.

“I know what you’re doing, Master.”

This time, Obi-wan did allow himself a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Anakin, I told you before - “

“Yeah, I know. That you needed to keep an eye on me in case I’m contaminated, in case I go dark side on you.”

“That’s not at all what I said - “

In one step Anakin’s angry face filled his vision, his breath hot on Obi-wan’s nose. “You didn’t need to,” he hissed. “I see the way you look at me, how you prod at my Force presence, like I’m something dangerous.”

Obi-wan winced, memories of an ill-timed comment made in the heat of frustration threatening surface.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re too much of a perfect Jedi, wouldn’t understand how we could be so weak, to let the Brother take us, to fail!” Anakin’s voice rose, the Force swirling in tandem as he hurled the hydrospanner across the room.

“I never asked for any of it!”

Obi-wan swallowed over the panic balling in his throat, the image of Anakin’s yellowed eyes overlaying the angry brown eyes staring back at him.

“Please, Anakin,” the words tumbled from Obi-wan’s lips before he could stop them, a plea, anything to keep that terrible visage from Mortis away from Anakin. “You need to know, I should have told you - “

But Obi-wan’s overture played to deaf ears as Anakin huffed, anger draining to a shadow of frustration, of well-worn feelings of betrayal.

“Save it for the Council, Obi-wan,” Anakin said, sweeping from the room without a second glance back, footsteps fading down the long, grey corridor, leaving Obi-wan at the mercy of an oppressive, accusatory vacuum.

The confession died, foul and rotting on his tongue.

I did feel the Dark Side on Mortis.

You just weren’t there to witness it.

No one was.

Knees buckling, Obi-wan lowered himself to the floor, back sliding against the side of the mechanic’s table. It would be against every tenet of the Jedi Code to compel the nearest sentient being into bringing a bottle of something cheap and alcoholic, and the only stopping him was the complete lack of company in this section of the ship.

Abandoned, even by his own Padawan.

It wasn’t that he had only felt the Dark Side on Mortis - they all had borne the overwhelming weight of it, the impossibly density of the Son’s increasingly malevolent presence, Anakin most of all.

I did feel the Dark Side on Mortis. Not only felt, but was taken by it, allowed it in.

It had been the cave. Ahsoka slept as Obi-wan had taken first watch.

And then the specter of his dead Master had come to converse.

Obi-wan chuckled, a dark and twisted sound.

Hadn’t been much of a conversation. They had picked up right where they had left off, Qui-gon dying in his arms, his final moments in the universe dedicated to his ridiculous prophecies, extracting a promise Obi-wan could not in any way deny.

I didn’t believe in the prophecy. I believed for him.

I still do.

This illusory Qui-gon - it was too real, his old Master returning with nary a word for Obi-wan, his whole attention (so hard to gain, yet overwhelming when granted) focused on Anakin’s progress, on the promise made for Anakin, on the prophecy about Anakin -

Even now, the Force shrieked, metal grinding on metal, an echo of the discordant psalm of his anger.

On Mortis, that same sensation had swollen, sickly and throbbing, an untreated, festering boil growing rotted teeth, jaws, a fecund mandible unhinging in an impossible manner, devouring Obi-wan in his entirety.

Qui-gon’s ghost had been but the prelude to a terrible symphony.

Warmth trickled down his chin, sputtering a path from nose to beard. Obi-wan felt at his face, frowning as his gloved fingers came back sticky and viscous.

“I’m sorry, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon’s specter looked on with stony disapproval. “You’ve failed the test.”

Something hooked at Obi-wan’s stomach, sharp and painful. It pulled at him, waist first, legs and arms trailing his midsection. Qui-gon remained steady, his stare fixed as Obi-wan was wrenched through the air, slamming onto his back as he fell to the unforgiving, stony earth.

He tried opening his eyes, but the lids were too heavy, his skull to rattled as his brain tried to throb out of his head. Finally, he wrenched one bloodshot eye open, only to be met with a long corridor of grey stone in either direction, Qui-gon nowhere to be seen.

Failure. That’s all he had been. All those years, every effort he made to obey, to predict what Qui-gon wanted (an impossible task) - and for what?

Capable.

Not good, not even trying. Just…capable.

Obi-wan sat up, groaning as he clenched his battered midsection.

Too fast. The world tilted at a sickening angle and immediately Obi-wan leaned over, retching, his stomach empty for too many hours to produce anything but a thin, interrupted stream of bile.

Failure.

It shouldn’t tear at his fragile stomach the way it did. He had accepted this fact, come to terms with it years ago. And still, it ripped open that unhealed sore, a vulnerability he had long since considered well and buried.

So much time, so much effort following the Code, adhering to the Council, trying, with all due diligence, to combat the invisible mark upon himself, to prove that it was only an illusory scar, some minor inconvenience rather than a virus embedded into his cells, a virus that would always resurface, no matter how many time he would lance the wound with white-hot repentance.

And for what?

Hours spent for someone else’s vision, for someone else’s development, for someone else’s betterment. And there Obi-wan was, capable, reliable Obi-wan, the bedrock, never-changing, steady and solid and ground digging into his flesh.

Obi-wan burned.

It was like Qui-gon had said.

He was a failure.

Velvet temptation coiled in Obi-wan’s chest.

Without faith in the Light, his path to being a Jedi, to being the Master of the so-called Chosen One, to occupying a seat on the Council - his path’s true form was exposed. An iron lattice wrought from lies and condescensions, from last-ditch choices and desperate measures.

Nothing but a convenient excuse, a capable beast of burden for Qui-gon’s prophecies, for the Council’s unsolvable problems.

Obi-wan stood in one fluid motion. He reached to his side, weapon igniting as he held it over his head.

(He’s on Mandalore, the terrorists who would dare threaten Satine impaled on his weapon, one by one. He eliminates Tal Merrick with an easy gesture, an open hand, fingers curled as the useless traitor falls to the ground, face ashen. He sees his mortal enemy, the red and black phantom, now bisected once, twice, his head lopped bouncing off the sides of the reactor shaft with a series of satisfying plops. He raises his weapon again, blue turned a darker shade, violet as he eliminates the criminals who wish terrorize some poor defenseless farmers. He’s dressed in a black cape, hidden in shadow, the corrupt Senator falling dead to the floor, the untraceable poison having done its work, securing a brighter future for Thy’llda. He confronts the cowardly Rael Aveross, does what the Council should have done decades ago, leaving his fresh corpse as a monument to Pijal’s bloody history. His weapon turns darker again and he’s in the Council room, angry, the Jedi have become as corrupt as the Senate and skwers Mace Windu with his crimson blade, lops off the arms of Kit Fisto with a sharp smile, and there’s Anakin and Ahsoka, hands bloody with their own crimes, and he raises his weapon to, satisfaction pooling in his stomach and brings it down - )

Obi-wan opens his eyes and screams.

The floor of the cave is cold and damp, the chill seeping past his robes, past his clammy skin, burrowing into his chest, which rises and falls in sharp, shaky movements. Obi-wan shivers, craving a warmth he think he’ll never touch again, the memory of that sickly, viscous satisfaction still lying heavy in his groin.

He runs a hand over wet eyes, arm bumping against cool metal on his side. Obi-wan jumps to his feet, world spinning, illuminating his lightsaber, his eyes closed.

He’s afraid to look, doesn’t want to know what judgement has been passed on him in this terrible place the sees past all his defenses into his darkest desires.

But Jedi or not, he has to know, and so he peels his eyelids open, relief and disbelief flooding his body as a familiar blue light shines in the dark.

Ahsoka is still asleep and Obi-wan watches the steady and fall of her shoulders with a strange cocktail of relief and guilt.

He would have killed her. Killed Anakin. Killed them all.

Shutting down his saber with a shaky breath, Obi-wan comes to his knees in a simple meditation pose. He won’t meditate, he knows, but the gesture of penitence - the small, sharp rocks digging into his skin, the cramp in his muscles after hours of not moving - it will be something, a mere drop contrition weighed against the vast ocean of his imagined crimes.

He will let Ahsoka sleep into the second watch, allow the innocent, the unmarked the kindness of oblivion on this cursed planet.

legobiwan does whumptober

#whumptober #whumptober 3 #writing #the eternal struggle #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #WHY AM I GOING SO DARK ON THESE JEEEEEZZZZ #sorry guys apparently i am DEALING with some shit right now but its not obvious unless im writing yikes #and my favorite punching bad happens to be obi wan #mortis #okay now on to crowley angst in whumptober 4 #will try and get this out tonight YIKES

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tarisilmarwen · 5 years

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Splinters: Console

(It be time for Space Dad and Space Son feels. :)

I am so happy with this chapter aslfkhalsf.)

---

Ezra's presence in the Force was turbulent, a quiet storm of fear and anxiety. Kanan could almost pinpoint his location from that alone.

He walked up behind the boy, careful to give him plenty of time to notice his approaching footsteps.

Despite his caution he still heard Ezra startle, scraping the ground as he shifted position, scrambling to his feet.

"Kanan! I--" he started to say.

Kanan raised a hand. "Don't get up," he told Ezra. "I'll join you."

He moved to take a kneeling position next to his padawan. Ezra's feet were moving anxiously, shifting his weight back and forth with indecision. Kanan could feel his nervous energy, pulsing through the Force.

"Actually I needed to... um..." Ezra stammered. An awkward pause followed. Apparently failing to find a convincing excuse, he sat back down with a soft rustle. "Never mind," he sighed.

They sat in silence for a while. Ezra fidgeted as Kanan faced towards the jungle.

The Jedi breathed in the warm, damp air, letting it clear his mind. The stillness of the Force came easily to him, and he used it to wrap an aura of calm around Ezra, trying to put him more at ease.

Gradually, Ezra's fidgeting grew quieter until he finally stilled, arms draping over his knees.

Kanan gave him a couple more moments. Then:

"I understand you've been having trouble sleeping," he commented casually.

The sound of a tired exhale. Kanan could picture him hanging his head between his legs, raising it back up, leaning his chin on his forearms. "Zeb and Sabine tell you?" Ezra guessed, wearily.

"Didn't have to." Kanan tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Force Bond, remember?" It would have been impossible for him to miss the disturbance Ezra made in the Force, his mess of chaotic emotions. Ezra had been trying to shield it, but Kanan could feel it projecting out past his walls every time the boy walked past. It ached him to know how much his padawan was struggling.

Kanan softened his eyes and voice.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"What's there to talk about?" Ezra said bitterly. "There was a mission, it went bad, I got hurt. That's all there is to it."

Kanan frowned. "Are you sure that's all there is?" he pressed.

"Kanan, I'm fine," Ezra said, exasperated. "You don't need to worry about..." A slight waft in the air told Kanan the boy was gesturing inarticulately with his hand. "...this," he finished.

Kanan turned his head to face him, sightless eyes full of concern.

"Ezra..."

The boy was silent a long time, but Kanan could feel the conflict within him. He waited in tense anticipation, quietly praying the boy would be open with him.

Talk to me, he urged inside his own mind. Don't shut me out.

For several agonizing moments, there was only the distant clamor of the base and the whisper of the wind in the trees.

When Ezra finally spoke, his voice was soft and strained.

"I don't... know what's wrong with me," he said.

His voice trembled, and Kanan heard his hands moving up into his hair and grabbing chunkfuls tightly.

"I can't sleep," Ezra went on. "When I do sleep I get nightmares. I startle at everything. Everything reminds of that ship. Stupid little things like... like the sound the Ghost's life support makes or... electric tools buzzing." His head shook. "My thoughts keep racing. I start... shaking all over. It gets so bad I can't breathe. I don't... I don't feel safe anymore, Kanan," he confessed, his voice wavering.

Kanan's heart wrenched and all he could offer was a somber, "I'm sorry."

"And that's another thing!" Ezra burst out, unexpectedly angry. "I'm tired of people saying that to me, like--like it's their fault it happened!" Displaced air and clothing rustles signified Ezra's agitated arm gestures. "It's not your fault, or Hera's fault, or Zeb's, or anyone's! It's my--it just happened, okay?" he covered quickly. His arms returned to holding his legs tightly. "It just... happened," he said into his knees.

"Ezra..." Kanan called, eyes pinching, focusing in on Ezra's verbal slip with no small amount of alarm. "Do you think it's your--"

"I don't know!" Ezra yelled, interrupting him. "I'm just... tired of it all. Okay? I just want to feel normal again." His next words were slightly muffled, like he was covering his face with his hands. "Why can't I just get over this?" he said.

Hearing the strain in his padawan's voice, the exhaustion, the weariness... Kanan once again cursed that he hadn't been there when Ezra was first released from the medbay. That he hadn't approached Ezra sooner.

He sat there absorbing Ezra's words and his emotions through the Force, carefully constructing his next words. When he thought they were ready, he felt out for Ezra's shoulder, gripping it tightly once he found it.

"First of all, Ezra, there's nothing wrong with you," he insisted. "You're having a perfectly natural, logical reaction to what happened, what they did to you."

Ezra snorted softly. "Yeah, that's what Dr. Leslynn said too."

Kanan let a faint smile pass over his lips. "Second, this... this kind of thing isn't something you just 'get over'. It takes time," he continued, a bit more gently. "And even then, sometimes it doesn't ever fully go away."

He let the implications hang there, for Ezra to catch them.

Ezra tilted his head. "You?" he guessed, accurately.

Kanan nodded. "Not every night, but often enough." A self-deprecating expression settled onto his face. "Not just my time as a guest of Tarkin's but other things... Things from the war, from before I met Hera."

"You never told me."

He shrugged. "Just never got around to it, I guess." He let go of Ezra's shoulder, shifting position, bringing his legs out from underneath him. "Everything was a such whirlwind after Mustafar, with us joining the larger Rebellion, and Hera teaching you how to fly, and you and Sabine taking on more responsibility in missions. You already had so much to think about. I didn't think I should burden you with my problems too." He gave a groaning sigh, realizing how hypocritical he was about to sound. "And... I didn't want you to worry," he said.

Ezra chuckled. "Sounds familiar."

Like master, like stubborn padawan.

Kanan smiled warmly. "You and I both try so hard to be strong for everyone. Sometimes it's hard for us to let our guards down and be vulnerable," he said, reaching over to touch Ezra's cheek. "But if talking about what happened to me helps you..." He gave another shrug. "I think I can get over myself."

Ezra seemed to think for a moment, processing Kanan's offer. Kanan gave him space, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to know.

"What was--" Ezra started abruptly, then stopped. "Did they--" he tried again. He struggled to form a complete thought. His voice dropped, going quieter. "Can... can you tell me something about it?" he asked.

Kanan's gaze grew distant as he thought for a moment. Behind them, a droid rolled by, warbling, and two or three X-wings took off from the landing pad. Ezra waited, listening intently.

"The worst part wasn't actually the pain," Kanan said. He looked towards Ezra, all serious. "The worst part was when the Inquisitor showed me things. Images he planted in my mind. Visions of him... hurting you." Kanan squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head. Phantom pain crawled through his chest at the memories. "I don't know how many times I watched you die... watched him kill you. When you fell off the causeway, I thought... one of those visions was finally coming true."

He looked back up at Ezra with a smile.

"I'm glad it didn't."

Warmth passed through the bond, Ezra sharing the sentiment. It cooled as Ezra drifted off into his own memories. He was quiet a second or two. Then--

"I started... sometimes I welcomed the pain," he admitted, quietly. One hand curled tightly around his forearm. "They drugged me up so much I barely knew what I was saying, so... when the pain started again I knew... they hadn't gotten any answers." The breaths between his words were tightening. Kanan heard his voice hitch, sensed Ezra's trembling emotions in the Force. "I was... I was almost relieved," Ezra strained.

There was a sound from him like a choked sob. Kanan was reaching for him at once, thumbs finding the tear tracks on his cheeks as both hands took hold of Ezra's face.

"Hey. Hey. It's okay," he told the boy, leaning in until their foreheads were almost touching. "You don't have to be alone this time," he promised. This wouldn't be like Malachor. This time, Kanan wouldn't leave his padawan to flounder, lost and confused and hurting.

Ezra was furiously wiping away his tears, smearing his hands underneath his eyes. "I know. I know I don't, I just..." The emotion clogged his throat and he couldn't say anymore. He swallowed thickly. "I hate this," he whispered.

Kanan urged Ezra into him for a hug. "C'mere." His arms wrapped tight around the shaking teen, tucking the boy's head under his chin. "I'm right here, Ezra," he said softly. "We'll get through this together." Assurance rolled out of him through the Force. "I promise."

Against his chest, he felt Ezra's stuttering inhale and then... his faint smile.

"Yes master," he said.

Kanan clung on to him a little longer.

---

Chapter noooootes!

1. Kanan's POV post-Malachor is always kind of a fun challenge to do. I like figuring out how to describe things with different senses.

2. Ezra's trauma triggers are starting to emerge! Namely: needles (as mentioned per the last two chapters), and certain auditory cues that sound a little too close to the IT-O droid and the electrical torture he was subjected to. More to be developed on that end later.

3. Oh and Ezra's massive "Everything is all my fault." guilt complex is showing up to absorb this latest calamity into the list of things he blames himself for too. That will also be revisited in upcoming chapters.

4. I never minded that Kanan didn't get a recovery arc after Season One (plot gotta happen, can't waste time lingering on the healing process, kid's show, that's what fanfiction is for, all that jazz), but I also figured it was always there, just hovering in the background and under the subtext. So of course I brought it out into the open for an excuse for Space Dad-Space Son bonding. :)

Some relief for Ezra this chapter! We'll see how long that lasts, mwah-ha-ha.

#star wars #star wars rebels #ezra bridger #space dad and his precious pumpkin child #fanfiction #prompt fics

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kyberled · 7 years

Note

1, 16, 19, 31, 38, & 41 !! ( ik that's a lot i'm sorry lol )

42 character development questions!

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

I will start by saying that Braig talks with his hands. Unless he’s holding his hands behind his back, like at parade rest, or carrying something, chances are he’ll be gesturing with every other word. Part of it is because he’s just that energetic, part of it is because it’s easier for him to get his point across with gestures, and a third part of it is that talking with your hands has combative applications. I am not kidding. It’s a way to have your hands up and ready if you need them, without seeming aggressive.

He usually walks at a steady pace, with speed depending on where he’s going, and why and when he needs to be there. His hands are often behind his back, resting at his hips, or with his thumbs hooked through his belt, if they’re not hanging loose. He tends to like fiddling with or holding things, though, so he’s not usually just sitting with his hands idle.

His posture is straight, whether he’s walking, sitting, or sparring, since it makes him look taller, reduces the likelihood of back problems, and helps with balance and stances and the like. He doesn’t tend to slouch unless it’s to express a mood or emphasise a word, and he would never do this in formal conversation - it’s hard enough to get people to take him seriously, as is.

A few people have described his overall movements as ‘fluid’ and ‘flowy’, and that’s a good way to put it. It’s a result of his training, mostly, but also the areas he’s focused on, and his general body type. He’s got muscle, sure, but he’s not a Dwane Johnson or John Cena. He’s lean, I suppose, is what I’m getting at. He doesn’t have a lot of bulk to hinder his movement, and, on top of that, his training helps him be as graceful as any other Jedi.

Energy, for him, depends on what mood he’s in. Like most people, he has highs and lows, and it all depends on what’s happening around him. If he’s excited or angry, it’s more high-energy, sad or tired or content are low, confused is somewhere in between. Of course, even then, it can vary, but that’s the usual.

Braig gestures a lot, so I’m just going to list a few of them here. When he’s nervous, he’ll tug on his scarf; when he loses his scarf, he tugs on his sleeves, his collar, the hems of his shirt/tunic, or his padawan braid, if he still has it. When he gets his infamous facial scar, he scratches at it idly, and often has no idea if he’s doing it. When he’s ashamed, being scolded, or uncomfortable, he’ll hunch his shoulders and avoid eye contact, maybe bunch his fists around the hems of his sleeves. If he feels unsafe, he’ll have his hands resting on his lightsabers, and he’ll be gathering strands of the Force around him. If he’s angry, he’ll be tensed, gritting his teeth, and making eye contact with his shoulders back, possibly with his hands held behind his back and tightly clasped, depending on the situation. Another thing he’ll do if he’s nervous is run his fingers through his hair, but he’ll do that idly, too. If he’s afraid or unsafe and Obi-Wan is around, he’ll hold on to Obi’s sleeve (It’s a habit developed over long years, and it’s gotten to the point in threads where Obidad just holds his arm out automatically; Braig appreciates it). When he’s thoughtful, he’ll stroke his chin with his right hand, usually look to the floor with his brow furrowed; If he’s excited, he’ll rock/bounce onto the balls of his feet. He’ll puff air out of his cheeks if he’s frustrated, stretch and rub his eyes if he’s sleepy or just waking up. He doesn’t bite or chew on his lips often, but he might, sometimes, on the rare occasion. He tilts his head to the side when he’s listening to someone, curious, or confused, and arches his brow usually; he’ll smother smirks or little laughs behind his hand or fist. If he’s saying hello to someone, or thank you, there’s usually a little bow thrown in - Usually this is for knights and masters, but he’s done to to shop keepers, other padawans, and even a youngling once; It’s a habit that just springs up from time to time, and it can cause some pretty humorous situations. There are more, but I think this is enough for now.

16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?

Oh, he dreams a lot, almost every night, and it’s almost never pleasant. He sees the faces of those he hasn’t been able to save, of those he wasn’t supposed to save, of places he’s been (those aren’t too bad), battles he’s fought in, traumatic things he’s been through… But he’ll also have dreams about his friends, people he knows well, and the most abstract things. Sometimes it’s nothing.

It depends.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?

Depends on the group. In his best friends (the gathering group), he’s sort of the unsung mastermind. While most people assume that the twins are the ones behind it all, or Lohata or Naweh, he’s actually usually the one coming up with their game plans. Not always, of course. The others have their schemes, too. And once they get going, they all have their own roles and do their own thing, but someone’s gotta get the initial spark.

If Obi-Wan’s part of the group, or any Jedi master or knight he likes or is even remotely curious about, he’ll let them take the lead quite happily, tagging along and asking them as many questions as he thinks he can get away with, and maybe a few more than that, depending. He’s been described as a ‘puppy’ by a lot of people, and that’s not at all inaccurate. He can get very enthusiastic about learning from or spending time with people he likes.

The older he is the more comfortable he is taking an explicit leading position in a group, so, when he’s just starting out in the GAR, he’s more likely to let Cody take charge, since he’s still finding his footing, but the older he gets the more comfortable he is leading on his own.

Chances are if he’s in a group of of strangers and has to take the lead, it’s because there’s some kind of crisis going on. Believe it or not, he’d feel more equipped to handle that than other moments. If it’s not in this context, he’s less of a fan of groups of strangers. He can navigate them fine (it’s a lot easier if he can sense them in the Force, to pick up their emotions), but it’s a lot more comfortable for him to be with familiar people, though that’s not just for him. I think that’s pretty common.

Lastly, since I didn’t mention this earlier, if Braig’s put with a master he doesn’t like (which, given his track record, probably isn’t likely), he will do as he’s told as best he can, but he will trust his gut above anything else, and is way more likely to second-guess what he’s being told to do or think. It’ll be fairly clear that he doesn’t want to be there, but he won’t put civilian or clone lives at risk just because he has a bone to pick. Besides, being too stubborn or difficult would only leave him with punishments, and he’d rather not deal with it. (But he will complain to someone he likes better at a later date.)

31. Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?

The first bad-thing that comes to mind is excluding someone based on irrelevant or outright ridiculous logic or prejudice. For example, he understands not inviting the clones to games of push-feather, since that requires Force-sensitivity to play, but if it’s like ‘we don’t want Rodians playing boloball because they have different noses’, I don’t know, he’ll promptly leave as soon as he possibly can. If someone acts really pompous and arrogant and high-and-mighty, he probably won’t want anything to do with them. Anything that involves flying or mechanics work, he’s out; he’s not big on those. If it’s high-energy and he’s just had a long day, that’s a no-go; Anything that glamorises or romanticises the war is right out, so there are a lot of holovids he won’t see, a lot of video games he wouldn’t play even if he were allowed, a lot of books he won’t read, songs he won’t listen to, and so on and so forth. When he’s younger, he’s not a big fan of public speaking or crowds, so that’s out until he gets used to it. Anything that involves breaking the law is right out, in almost all verses, so that’s another thing. When it comes to food, he’s not a fan of carrots and broccoli, so that is also a no. He doesn’t like anything to do with excessive eating, or wastefulness, or even anything to do with buying expensive or luxurious material goods in general. On a ‘bad’ day, he’s not a fan of sitting down for long periods of time unless he has something to feel accomplished or productive with, but on better days, he’s grateful to take some time to meditate or stargaze or go on walks or take tea with his friends and/or master(s). Also, talking with politicians about negotiating treaties to help their people get the food they desperately need while said politician is shovelling imported delicacies into their mouth and complaining about everything. That’s a bad-day maker.

Things that would make a day/activity better include being invited out to something, since that means he’s actually wanted there, or doing anything with people he cares about, so anything to do with the Space Fam or the Gathering Group are right in. Things that involve sparring or building lightsabers, he’s probably down for. He likes flowers and stars and books and tea, so, chances are, he’ll be down for activities involving those. He likes swimming, so he would be glad to do that (though he doesn’t like getting wet, otherwise). If someone wants to brush, braid, or otherwise style or toy with his hair, he’s all for it, depending on who it is (and, obviously, no scissors). He doesn’t like things that are too loud or chaotic, since he gets enough of that when he’s at war; He also isn’t a fan of large crowds, just ‘cause the Force can get a little noisy on top of people themselves, so he’ll enjoy things with smaller groups (And by large crowds, I mean anywhere where people are all packed into a place with not a lot of room. If he’s in a large, open place with a few people, he’ll be chill; But put him in a crowded train car, and he’ll be pretty :/ about it). He likes high-energy things sometimes, but he also likes quiet moments, so something that fits his mood makes it better. Being around people with relatively peaceful Force signatures is another good thing. He likes cooking, and some chores, and he likes being warm, and he likes things he can learn from and challenges.

Over all, it really depends on his mood - there are a lot of things that change and shift on a day-to-day basis. You can usually tell what he’d be interested in or if an idea entices him just by watching his reactions.

38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why?

He wishes that he wasn’t so emotional, so empathetic, that it was easier for him to detach himself from the things he’s seen and had to do. It would be a lot easier to handle being a Jedi, that way. He also wishes he knew more about the actual situation in the galaxy. The older he gets, the more he realises he’s been drinking the propaganda kool-aide just like everyone else. He doesn’t know the Mandalorian’s side of the story, for example. He doesn’t know why people like Mina Bonteri would join the Separatists. He doesn’t even know why he’s fighting, some days.

41. What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?

Aside from the typical stars and galaxies, the images Braig brings to mind are flowers, leather-bound books and blank parchment, fountain pens and ink blotches, gentle scrawls of text, cups of tea or hot chocolate, bandages - often bloody - tiny weapons parts and tools, dirty hands, flying birds, long dark hair, scars, brown fabric (esp. rough), small boxes of candy, pastries, lightsabers, leather boots, etc.

Phrases include ‘kill them with kindness’, ‘someday I’ll be better’, pretty much the entirety of Phil Collins’ ‘Son of Man’, ‘The strong must protect the weak’, ‘I found my family’, ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’, ‘no pain no gain’, ‘my pain is irrelevant, as long as you’re okay’, ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’, ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’, ‘spit your blood and wipe your mouth’, ‘a cup of tea a day keeps the doctor away’, ‘he was your father, but he wasn’t your dad’, and a bunch more - I’m not the best with remembering quotes, honestly. There’s a tag for it.

Honestly I- Have a mental collage for Braig, really? It’s just putting them into words. He’s my boy tho. I think about him a lot.

#long post //#thanks for the ask love <3!!#fiighters #&& as best i can; answers #&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& temple archives; headcanons

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