strongvoice.

            ^{the jedi life style doesn’t allow for attachment but he’d tossed the notion of adhering to that rule out the window when they’d married on naboo, under the name of mythical lovers from childhood lore. HUMBLE isn’t the first word that comes to mind for anakin, and it’s part of his charm, the same swagger that she’s partly sure had been picked up over time from his master.   ( they have a similar swagger, though obi-wan’s is an outward persona and anakin’s only seems to come out to those he already knows.   ——   at least that’s how she sees it. )   a jedi must own nothing, be tied to nothing, but they are bound at the heart. they’re MARRIED, living in secrecy   ——}

            ^{it’s a downward spiral that her thoughts traverse every time the the jedi are mentioned. fierce realist battling the hopeless romantic though both whisper to her that SECRET ROMANCES have rarely ever had happy endings. they’ll make it one. part of her imagines that maybe one day he’ll LEAVE the jedi order, peacefully. optimism, it’s another of the traits that seem to define her.}

            ^{❝ the heroes of the republic,”             she offers, ignoring mention of the jedi  just as firmly as he seemed to derail from the chancellor   ( HE’D been the one to mention palpatine too, she assumed she’d hit a nerve. )   padme settles a hand on his back, running her fingers in small,   ( what she means to me )   soothing circles as she moves them to sit. their food’ll take time.            ❝ sons and daughters across the galaxy play jedi. and here you are, are actually fighting to save them. the stories people tell about what the jedi are doing in this war it’s   ——   well, it certainly keeps morale up, no matter how tall the tales may get, ❞            she smiles at him, corners of her lips tugging like she has a secret.            ❝ not to MENTION the younglings, whenever they’re able to be seen they’re playing one war game or another. you’re their hero. ❞            you’re special.}

            ^{a whole three days. she has him for three days and it’s back to the fray.  she leans in to kiss his cheek, letting her head rest against his shoulder. fingers rubbing circles on his back stop to trace a line along his spine.            ❝ i love you, ani. ❞}

     ❝ I WISH IT was that simple. ❞ There are no real heroes in war, only survivors && victims. Where one side might tote a man like Anakin as their savior, the other will vilify him, && deem the defense of his people as an injustice && an attack on their freedom. Every day he questions the necessity of what they’re fighting for. Can anything be worth this many lives? 

      Of course it can, says a shadow choking the crown of Anakin’s spine. Your mother’s death was worth the lives of the sand people that murdered her, wasn’t it?

               Wasn’t it? 

               A hot, familiar surge washes through the Jedi, sweeping through his right hand so that he finds it wound into a fist at his side— so tight his shoulder aches with sonic feedback from the mechno. Anakin holds his mouth tight against his trembling lower lip, refusing weakness even as it rises in sharp pangs against the back of his mouth. He’s been cannibalizing his own sorrows for years now, straining out words && memories of violence: the transmitters of dark pain. It’s this same kind of despair that had him running from the war && into Padme’s arms in the first place. He can’t allow himself to be consumed by it in the rare moments of peace they can afford together. 

               Anakin likes to think that one day, after the war, he won’t have to fight himself so hard to find serenity; && he won’t have to fight the thing inside him anymore. It’ll be gone, or will’ve eaten him up along the way. Whatever comes first.

     You know what comes first.

     ❝ I just swing my lightsaber around, it’s Obi-Wan who does all the thinking. ❞ He has no need for his self-constructed ego in front of Padme. All that savage pride he armors himself with whittled away in front of her, revealing what he really is without the titles, without the honors: a very young man fighting a very bloody war. 

     ❝ I love you…so much. ❞ He nearly looks away, fingers clenching around where he holds her wrist, as if his feelings are too much for him to bear. Blue eyes drift across her face, searching for some kind of truth or anchor with near-desperate intensity. ❝ I can’t stand being away from you for so long. ❞