Some Soft And Very Messy Sketches 🌙

on the topic of hmc i always felt bad for markl when howl was losing it over his hair like poor kids standing there with the exact same hair color

Bro this is so freakin good. I read the whole story up until chapter 16 in one night last week. This is the only thing that is consoling me after TCW.

THE JEDI AND HIS DUCHESS -- Chapter 17

SUMMARY: Present day Obi-Wan and Satine are finally alone and talking to each other like grownups. They make a decision that may alter both their futures forever.

Things change very quickly for Obi-Wan, Satine, and Qui-Gon as they receive an urgent message from Mandalore. In this chapter you’ll enjoy shirtless yoga on the beach, romantic book reading under the Force tree, and Foreboding™.

Guys, I really can’t handle how many hits, comments, and love this story is getting! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I appreciate every single one of you so much!!!

——————– CHAPTER 17

Coruscant

Obi-Wan and Satine silently ambled along Coruscant streets that were equally scattered with rabble-rousers and the often-unnoticed overnight shifters. The city never slept.

The two walked arm in arm, making their way toward the senate apartments where Satine kept an opulent suite of rooms. Their history hung heavily between them, neither quite sure how to be amiable now that the night had overstretched their emotions and patience.

“I wondered if I would recognize you,” Satine said, suddenly breaking the silence.

Obi-Wan calmed as the tension between them released with her tender confession. “When?” he asked quietly, glancing at her profile.

“When you arrived on Mandalore only a few days ago.”

“You must have had little time to prepare for my coming.” He knew the idea of seeing him again would have caused her anxiety, and very likely a great deal of pain. Stepping into the Sundari palace’s throne room had taken all his self-control, especially considering that he had vowed never to return to the wretched place. The building was full of painful memories for both of them.

“I must confess, it caused me considerable distress,” she replied. “I was afraid to face you.”

Obi-Wan looked at her in shock. “You afraid to face me? After what happened between us, I had no right to show my face in your court. I was mortified to force you into that position, but the Council insisted that I be the one to investigate. I knew seeing me again would only make you angry… open old wounds. And that’s exactly what it has done.”

Satine paused a moment, her heart resisting the truth Obi-Wan spoke. She wished their reunion had strengthened their friendship, but in reality it had been like pouring salt on a cut. “Why did the Council insist on you?” she asked gently.

Kenobi visibly blanched but recovered quickly. “Because with Qui-Gon gone they believe I am the only remaining link between your government and the Jedi.”

The Duchess’s heart dropped at the allusion to Qui-Gon’s death. “It’s true, for years Mandalore has resisted the Jedi and the Senate’s interference in our autonomy.”

“The Council hoped our personal friendship would foster more trusting relations.”

“They clearly aren’t aware of our past.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. She was right, the Council knew nothing.

Satine sighed heavily before almost inaudibly whispering, “Qui-Gon.” She tightened her grip on Obi-Wan’s bicep and pulled closer to his side.

“Do you ever think of him?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice unnaturally even and controlled, as though afraid to show his vulnerability.

“Nearly everyday.” Satine’s throat became tight as familiar heartache crept into her core. “He was dear to me. I was devastated when I learned of his death. I mourned him.”

Obi-Wan was almost jealous. Satine had been allowed to formally mourn the Jedi Master, whereas Kenobi, to avoid rebuke from the Council, was forced to pretend he had put his grief aside.

“Why didn’t you come to me after it happen?” the Duchess asked as she pulled Obi-Wan even closer, their shared pain binding their spirits.

“I wanted to,” he confessed unexpectedly. “I thought of it often. But I couldn’t. The Council was watching me like a hawk. I’d killed a Sith and they thought the only way I was able to do so was through anger or revenge. They scrutinized every move I made for years, looking for any sign of corruption or wrong doing. Plus I had Anakin. He was so young. I was so young, too fresh to have a Padawan. Things happened so fast; my life was suddenly very different.” He swallowed the lump in his throat that always seemed to appear when thinking of his dead Master. “In truth, I didn’t think you’d agree to see me.”

“Do you believe I would have turned you away in such a moment of need?”

“No, of course not. But I loathed the selfishness of the desire. To arrive on your doorstep, with no consideration for how it might affect you, simply because I needed comfort? I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Noble, as always. Suffering alone, as always. Stubborn, as always.” Satine stopped walking and faced Obi-Wan “You are very hard on yourself.” She placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart. “The pain you carry in here, I carry it too.”

He clutched her hand in his and squeezed, surprised by the balm her words provided, surprised that they made him feel less alone. Satine knew Qui-Gon in a way no one at the Jedi Temple ever could. She had spent a year living with him under the most difficult, life-altering circumstances, and had come away with a tender yet fierce loyalty that could only be matched by Kenobi’s. “Thank you,” he replied.

They carried on walking in companionable silence and arrived at the senate apartment complex in a few minutes. As they approached the door Obi-Wan hesitated.

“You think it imprudent to be seen escorting me in?” Satine questioned.

“Perhaps,” the Jedi replied, secretly more concerned that if he escorted the Duchess in, he would merely be providing more opportunities for them to further wound each other. He wished their encounter to end on a pleasant note. “It is very late.”

“Indeed,” Satine replied. “I’m tired and I must rise earlier than I wish.”

He noticed that she did not release her hold on his arm.

“You’re leaving for Mandalore in the morning?”

“Yes.”

Though neither wanted to admit it out loud, they both knew this could be their final meeting. The last time they parted ways, nearly fifteen years passed before their paths crossed again by chance. Something seemed to twist up inside Obi-Wan’s muscles, as though he couldn’t bring himself to take another step in any direction. How could he let her go again? Without a word he looked down into her pale blue eyes.

His expression made everything clear to Satine. They both accepted this could cause more pain than pleasure, but they both knew there were too many things that remained unsaid between them. Silently understanding him, she took Obi-Wan by the hand and led him inside.

——————–

Draboon

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Satine met for breakfast every morning, and at least one of the Jedi always accompanied her throughout the day. Living in the Temple of the Whills provided them with a desperately needed respite where they were able to escape the anxiety caused by constantly being hunted. Instead, they spent their time more as friends rather than as Duchess and bodyguards. One evening they all went down to the shore where Satine and Qui-Gon sat on a pile of rocks while Obi-Wan began a new training regimen designed to increase his endurance. The young Jedi stripped down to just his leggings and went several yards away to the water’s edge.

“He’s going to freeze, Qui-Gon.” The crisp evening air was so cold Satine’s breath came out in smoky puffs when she spoke. “At least let him have his boots.”

“Trust me, my dear, he will not be cold for long.”

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i think the world is ready to see this one :)

“Women do not simply have faces, as men do; they are identified with their faces. Men have a naturalistic relation to their faces. Certainly they care whether they are good-looking or not. They suffer over acne, protruding ears, tiny eyes; they hate getting bald. But there is a much wider latitude in what is esthetically acceptable in a man’s face than what is in a woman’s. A man’s face is defined as something he basically doesn’t need to tamper with; all he has to do is keep it clean. He can avail himself of the options for ornament supplied by nature: a beard, a mustache, longer or shorter hair. But he is not supposed to disguise himself. What he is “really” like is supposed to show. A man lives through his face; it records the progressive stages of his life. And since he doesn’t tamper with his face, it is not separate from but is completed by his body – which is judged attractive by the impression it gives of virility and energy. By contrast, a woman’s face is potentially separate from her body. She does not treat it naturalistically. A woman’s face is the canvas upon which she paints a revised, corrected portrait of herself. One of the rules of this creation is that the face not show what she doesn’t want it to show. Her face is an emblem, an icon, a flag. How she arranges her hair, the type of make-up she uses, the quality of her complexion – all these are signs, not of what she is “really” like, but of how she asks to be treated by others, especially men. They establish her status as an “object.”

Susan Sontag, The Double Standard of Aging

Now I be like “oh fuck i forgot my mask” like im spiderman or something

Since these are apparently the new Thing and y’all know I can’t resist a trend:

A very important quiz I spent way too much time making - determine what Literary Archetype you are.

[image description: it's a drawing of Leia Organa as a Jedi. She's wearing all white, with a hood and a purple lightsaber. She has Silka beads hanging from the fabric that covers her head, instead of a padawan braid. End of i.d]

Enjoyed this one a little too much?

“I never expected you to love me, but neither did I want you to hate me, because that would have made it impossible to extract the most from you. All I wanted was for you to respect me and follow my instructions.”

one fairly common experience of gifted children is wishing for pain. wishing you had some great big horrible thing in your past so that you can justify the pain you’re in, and so that you’ll deserve help. it’s exhausting and it fucks you up and to anyone out there who feels like they haven’t suffered enough to get help: you’re allowed to want help. you’re in enough pain. you deserve to feel better

please do draw Anakin & Ahsoka in ponchos! at your own pace of course :) Love your drawing in the show's style. Keep up the great work!

aaahhh you saw my tags!! thank you for the message;;; i still have a lot to learn, but here it iiiiis~ Snips and Skyguy sporting some giant colorful ponchos (and transparent hoods for a little bit of an extra edge hahah)folks, please give some love to @meandmyechoes‘ poncho gifset with the kids, which was my initial inspiration, we indeed need more cute and light hearted content like that <3