#obi wan needs a hug

Ewan McGregor has a great purpose in our world!

from time to time he comes back to remind us the true meaning of dilf

Time can only

heal the entry wound of the

poison barb

you left inside me:

rotting love,

festering longing -

purple toxin living in my

blood.

My once known shadow,

but my forever estranged enemy,

held me so tenderly when I gave him what he longed for:

goodbye.

You love that little blade:

cradle it’s handle oh so gently.

Sing it soft songs to sleep.

Warm it’s metal with your rest laden body.

You love that little blade -

even when it cuts.

Have you ever loved in scales?

Perfect balance?

Perfect symmetry?

Each step mirrored -

where one goes, the other

follows?

The smallest shift in weight can

jar the balance -

a breath,

a kiss,

a tear,

a moment.

A clang as joints disband.

A crash to the floor as you

spin out of orbit.

It will never be the same.

You will never be the same.

But -

But,

once,

you were lucky enough to

love

in scales.

Once,

you were whole and

perfect.

And he saved you from

disaster and ruin,

your beautiful fire-starting boy.

The flames he lets lick your

salt-soaked remains

don’t change that.

Many times,

he saved you.

Many times.

(It only takes once for

destruction

to lay waste.)

(It only takes

forever for a

heart to break.)

And I am begging:

Don’t do this to him

(Don’t do this to yourself).

His end is not just his own.

Land of two setting suns.

I would let you

bury your dagger

of

deceit and accusations,

as long as you did it

while

you held me

one

last

time.

I’m still surprised

whenever I exhale and

there’s

no frost.

This beloved ice inside of me:

endless devotion to a

heartache

that’ll

never stray.

A snow angel in moonlight.

Do you remember how I loved you most?

I remember you.

Beloved boy,

my hands are shaking

and

the familiar tears are in my eyes once more.

I love you

but

I must be kind to myself, too,

so I close my shaking palms

(forever empty)

and blink my

forever wet eyes.

Beloved boy:

beloved heartbreak.

I love you most of all.

Cruelty held in my mouth,

I shape your name so

sweetly

with my lips:

absolutions.

Lonely boy turns into lonely man -

lonely boy with ever-empty hands.

Lonely boy ripped from his mother -

lonely boy who never believed love from another.

Lonely boy who was so sweet -

lonely boy, now picking blood from his teeth.

Lonely boy, let reason wake.

Lonely boy, let go of your heartbreak.

Lonely boy, you’re all I hold dear.

Lonely boy, you’re all that I fear.

Lonely boy, enshrouded with sorrow -

lonely boy, don’t leave me tomorrow.

Lonely boy, please don’t go.

Lonely boy, I love you so.

Lonely boy, please trust my love.

Lonely boy, aren’t I enough?

An open circle

of

salt and fire -

never complete.

I wandered into your

haunted house

and you made me put on

a ghost’s clothes and smile.

And,

for a moment,

the joy in your eyes was enough

(I was enough)

before it turned into

rage,

hurt,

longing.

My poltergeist boy,

with betrayal in your bones,

I love you.

Let specters dance between us -

for they can’t dry any tears.

Bury me in this

wailing graveyard

beside you.

Bury me holding you close.

My whole world and my

whole goddamn heart break:

beloved berserker

in my porcelain

hands.

The brightest star I orbited

fell out of the sky

and

crashed into me.

And it was the

loveliest pain

staring into your shine.

It was the loveliest pain

until

the inevitable destruction.

Sunlight and

fire.

Dewdrops and

tears.

Today is your birthday.

At first:

Joy, excitement,

love.

Then:

Bitter memories,

grief, pain, and

still

love.

Across the universe,

the tide of you sweeps in and

destroys

my sandcastle court

once again.

The pounding riptide

inevitability of

sorrow.

Today is your birthday.

Lingering longing

cupped in

shaking hands;

beloved boy forever

watched

behind

closed eyes;

shuddering sobs

stifled through

smiling teeth.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I want you, I want you, I want you.

I fear you, I fear you, I fear you.

Hiding light in

shadowed sorrow.

Darling,

your

love and devotion

is worth more than a

collar

around your neck.

One day,

beloved,

you will learn that

love

doesn’t have to taste of

sacrifice,

longing,

and

pain.

One day,

beloved,

you will be enough.

rsblmng:

I loved you in all the ways that mattered:

The clasp of my hand when it lifted yours;

The curl of my lips to hide a shared joke;

My ever present self at your back.

I love you

But

You don’t believe me

As

Those words can never cross my lips.

Dear one,

The vow I’ve never had the courage to say,

Burns eternal -

Eating up the last one I ever said aloud.

Don’t leave me.

I am too weak for goodbyes.

I do not know who I am

Without you

Beside me.

rsblmng:

I never told you but

I kept a small box

of keepsakes from moments

I treasured.

When the dust cleared and the box was

returned to me,

I opened that box and saw

all the pieces I saved of you.

Every memento I kept

was a glowing reminder of

my love for you.

I buried them in the sand -

all those bits of happiness -

tilted my head down and

watered them with my

tears.

Let them blossom in the

heart of the dessert

and let me

burn

under your unforgiving wrath.

(“I still love you,”

is the secret

that blooms between them.)

I cried.

Later on with just the

moon and stars to watch me

(the same stars we cradled each other through fire and hurt)

I cried -

for me,

for us,

and,

most of all,

for You.

You,

who are what I made you to be.

(Everything but

mine.)

Hurt me one last time,

Beloved.

Just say my name when you

let me go.

Your paper-dry hands,

still the warmest I’ve ever held,

that last time.

I still love you.

you cant understand how much i love the kenobi serie. it’s so great and i was so happy to see leia here. i was hoping to see qui-gon. when obi talked about padmé i cried yes. and the last scene omg anakin is darth vader sorry obi. i cant wait until next week

Quinlan’s tone is lighthearted, the only way he knows how to be in these situations. “Hey Kenobi,” he calls as he knocks on the door. “Anybody home?”

Anakin answers the door in pajamas. “Hello, Knight Vos,” the little padawan says politely.

“Hey kiddo, I heard from Tachi that you weren’t in your classes today or yesterday,” says Quinlan.

“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Anakin mumbles.

“Is there a reason why?”

Anakin shrugs. “Obi-Wan is in the living room.”

Quinlan takes off his boots at the door, because old Kenobi has always had strong opinions about the tracking of mud and the cleanliness of living spaces. But looking around, it strikes him that the place is not up to Obi-Wan’s usual standards.

“Hey Kenobi,” Quinlan says as he enters the living room. Obi-Wan is curled up in a ball, staring out the window with a blank expression. “Everything going alright?”

Obi-Wan ignores him.

“Buddy, nobody’s seen or heard from you two in a few days. What’s going on here?”

Obi-Wan’s head tilts slightly, glancing towards Quinlan and then quickly away again. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“Areyou feeling alright?” Quinlan falls silent when Obi-Wan meets his gaze again. “I’m sorry, Obes.”

Quinlan knows what this is about. The same thing it’s always about. In the first few months after Qui-Gon’s death, it had been dark and incessant. In the past month or so, Obi-Wan had become less open about his grief, maybe starting to wonder if the socially acceptable period for mourning had passed, but they all knew it was still a heavy weight on him.

Too heavy to lift himself off the couch, some days.

“I’ll make us some tea, would that be alright?”

Obi-Wan gives no response, which is a yes as far as Quinlan is concerned.

Anakin hovers in the kitchenette while Quinlan puts water on to boil.

“You had lunch yet, kid?” he asks over his shoulder.

“No.”

The afternoon is quickly waning into evening; it’s going to be a very late lunch indeed. Quinlan opens the refrigeration unit, and there really isn’t much inside. He files that away under concerning observations about Obi-Wan’s current mental state, but decides he’ll think about it later. He checks a few cupboards before he finds one with some dehydrated soup packets.

“Hey Anakin, is there anything in here that both of you like?” he asks, inviting the young padawan to come pick one out. Anakin frowns over the choices.

“What does this word mean?” he asks, pointing to one of the boxes.

“Haranfruit. It’s a savory vegetable, like a squash.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose and puts the box back. He picks up another one that is just rice and roast nerf.

“This?” he offers.

Quinlan nods. “Sure thing. Do you want to go put on some daytime clothes? I assume those are last night’s pajamas,” he says.

“Okay!” Anakin scurries away.

The tea is ready before the soup. Quinlan sets a cup down on the coffee table in front of Obi-Wan.

“Hey, far be it from me to judge whatever’s going on here,” he says. “I get it. I do. Sometimes you just need to sit in a pile of blankets in yesterday’s clothes. But if you need help, especially with Anakin, you know you can ask any of us, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers.

“You don’t owe any apologies tome,” Quinlan says pointedly. “Do you mind if I take him out into the city this afternoon? It’ll give you a little break, and him some fresh air. We can ride up to that huge supermarket, the one where you found Tatooine food that one time.”

In his mind, Quinlan is already brainstorming ideas for simple meals that don’t require a stove or anything that Anakin shouldn’t be operating unsupervised. As a harm-reduction strategy, there should at least be food in the apartment that Anakin could prepare for himself if he got hungry.

Obi-Wan only manages to nod. When the soup is ready, Quinlan sets a bowl next to the teacup, but doesn’t press the issue. Anakin eats his at the kitchen table.

Grief is like this, sometimes. It leaves Obi-Wan feeling helpless.

They’re getting to be old friends now (honestly, Quin feels like they’re getting to be old, period.) Quinlan knows how to provide what comfort he can, same as they would do for any of their friends. He’ll spread the word, and Bant will probably stop by the next morning to offer to take some laundry to the quartermaster and walk Anakin to his morning class. Garen can’t often call from the Starfighter Corps, but he’ll reach out and leave Obi-Wan a message even if Obi-Wan doesn’t pick up.

“It’s okay,” he says, just as a reminder while he’s cleaning up the dishes and getting ready for his outing with Anakin. Obi-Wan doesn’t respond, but Quinlan doesn’t expect him to. “It sucks. But we’re here for you.”