do you ever think about how it took leia organa 20 years to realize exactly how and to what degree luke had loved anakin skywalker

because leia organa does not love/forgive/take pity on anakin skywalker, does not understand how the mother she & luke share could have ever forgiven him—that monstrous plastiform Imperial, awful and black—how could anyone forgive him; witness at best and assassin at worst and even when he didn’t-kill, didn’t-hate, unconscionable and unmitigated—

but then leia gives birth to a screaming child, a boy who tears at the fabric of the world every time he moves, and leia loves him in a way that eclipses all else. Nothing will ever match her love for ben organa-solo-skywalker—his surname doesn’t matter, she carried him in her belly for nine months, and she will love him forever, despite-for-always. But….

Even he defects to the Order—the Imperials, or their remainders, and leia grieves but he is still hers. I’m sorry, leia whispers; ben is somewhere full of sand. She sings to him, even when—and yes, when—then too—-

her son kills a planet,  and sings about it. 

leia murmurs to him, I yes, and I love, and never go.

proustianrecall  asked:

Do you think anyone bothered to mention Padme to Ben?

OH MAN so my favorite (super painful) headcanon is that no one knows that padme is the mother of luke and leia skywalker

Luke has to be told by both Yoda and Obi-Wan that Anakin/Vader is his father, but no one mentions Padme, she is incidental to the pater familias story being told; I like to think that Leia was told about Bail’s close friend, Senator Amidala, but nothing more than that she was a colleague, a founder of the Rebellion (Bail and Breha are Good People, but they are jealous of their daughter, she is theirs theirs theirs, and however human and foolish, they resent any suggestion she is not)

which means that Padme Amidala, secret wife to the Chosen One, the Reason that destruction fell upon the galaxy and the Jedi Order in particular, quietly passes into myth and fiction (who tells her story, beyond the starspace of Naboo? who remembers her but Darth Vader, who is a shell of plastiform and rage and obedience, however unwilling?)

……when Leia dreams of a queen mantled in sadness, she imagines it is her mother, though the nose is wrong; when Luke asks the force ghosts, they mutter and flee, for she was not among their number, just a girl, full of anger and longing and silliness but not the Force.

(she would say: I was twenty-one, and a girl, not a tragedy—I had not signed up to be a tragedy, that was not in the contract. I wanted to live, and love and fight and burn burn burn

………..he burned in my place, and I quietly passed from the stories told. I am not certain that was just.)

anonymous asked:

fuck FCUK i don't want you to fail your finals but if you could write some of ben's interactions with poe that would be the Best Thing Ever. Especially after poe being mentally fucked up by kylo because i want my favorite characters to Suffer and you are the best at that.

There’s a double-vision to it, like a holoproj on the fritz—here is Ben Organa, resurrected from Poe’s sepia memories of childhood and two foot taller; there is the shape of Poe’s nightmares, hulking and black, the same voice cracked and bleeding through the respirator. Poe can flick between the two, tracing the space they overlap. Ben has the nightmare’s hands. The nightmare has Ben’s name. They both have the same choked laugh, startled from their throats as though they hadn’t been expecting it. 

(Poe doesn’t like to think about how he knows the nightmare can laugh. It’s—that’s—it’s done. It’s done.)

He goes numb and hollow the first time he hears it from Ben, even in the sun-dappled mess hall on D’Qar, with the remainder of Black Squadron chattering around them—Poe has to force himself to keep breathing, to smile, make some excuse about having to log his hours. He knows how he got from the mess hall to his quarters, how he ended up crouched down beside his bed and sobbing, but he doesn’t remember much of it, muffled by soft grey that won’t hold its shape.

The General, gods bless her, says nothing when he comes late to the briefing that afternoon, flightsuit sticking to the cold-sweat small of his back.

He’s still trying to decide if it makes it worse, knowing who lurked behind the mask. On his knees in the Jakku sand, thinking I hope someone remembers to tell papa, it hadn’t occurred to Poe there was anything beneath the plastiform, just ash and malice and death. Or maybe a clanker, like in the old Clone Wars holodramas, the best kind of enemy—you couldn’t feel guilty about killing a soulless, dickless thing.

(He should have known better. Not even Darth Vader was that convenient, in the end.)

Poe can—he can tell Ben is trying, attempting to respect lines he can’t see and histories he hasn’t lived. Poe can’t count the number of times Ben has swallowed his grin because Poe looked bewildered at a punchline, or reached for Poe’s shoulder only to yank his hand away when Poe flinched. Ben is trying and so Poe tries too, tries to smile and breathe, tries not to hate him. Tries not to see the places where Ben overlaps with the nightmare.

Poe has new nightmares now. The sun-dappled mess hall, quiet and still except for that choked-off laugh.(He spends too long in the refresher these days, trying to scrub phantom blood from his feet, his ankles.)

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brightoncemore  asked:

Obi-Wan Kenobi, "So there are temples yet./A—star—probably still has light." (Paul Celan, The Straitening) [NB: Let it be known that my first impulse was to torture Luke Skywalker with this instead, so go with that if you find it more inspiring.]

there are temples yet

It is Bail Organa who finds him there first, burrowed in the sand of Tatooine like one of the crawling things that only come out at night. (Obi-Wan Ben comes out only under darkness too, to prowl the edges of the Lars’ farm and run his Force-sense over the bright-burning spark of Luke Skywalker, assuring himself the boy is still there. Still breathing.)

I grieve for your loss, Bail says to the man who was once Obi-Wan Kenobi. Bail wears fatherhood well, Ben Kenobi thinks. It sits lighter on him than it did— 

I cannot imagine the depth of your grief, Bail Organa says. But the Rebellion needs you. The—Jedi Order-that-was needs you.

Bail Organa gives him a name, a name that Obi-Wan Kenobi knew. He tells Ben that she is in danger, the new-born Empire is still hunting Jedi. They have a new weapon fitted to just that purpose, a man swathed in black plastiform, and carrying the red lightsaber of a Sith.

Bail Organa does not say, you should have killed him when you had the chance now you must eat the rotten fruit of your weakness, but Ben Kenobi hears it, all the same.

Obi-Wan Kenobi picks up his lightsaber. He goes.

(When he returns, Luke Skywalker is no longer a babe in arms, but a young boy, almost as old as his father was when—

Luke stares with wide eyes, tugging on the hem of his uncle’s tunic when Obi-Wan disembarks from the cruiser with the remnants of the Jedi Order-that-was. Owen Lars greets him grudgingly as Old Ben, and Obi-Wan smiles, mostly down at Luke. These are my friends, he says, leans in. Some of them knew your father, you know.)

Send me a ship/fandom/character and title, and I’ll post a summary of the fic with that title I won’t write.

I mean, look. I was talking to @wildehack a while ago (because I love wildehack’s luke) about the word “inchoate” and how luke feels everything so much, with such burning-bright unflinching belief in the honesty and rightness of his feelings—faith in a murky, badly defined, embryonic feeling is pretty much the only way you hurl yourself into a firefight with your eyes closed, or refuse to arm yourself against the six foot tall pillar of black plastiform that has waged a war of terror against the galaxy since about five minutes before you were born.

(trust your feelings, luke, is the song luke skywalker sings to himself, that keeps the stars burning above him, it orders the cosmos)

but what he feels is so ill-defined, fuzzily articulated—he knows he feels it, and that it’s enormous and full of light and real, real enough to move planets and choke lifeforms and make the shot, but that’s it.

and for some reason, the idea of luke as this….ball of formless emotions he doesn’t understand but believes in, religiously, also keeping detailed, concrete lists of things that have happened to him??? makes me so emotional