Okay But The Worst Thing About Obi-wan Having Ewan's Singing Voice Is... How Would He Know? The Jedi

okay but the worst thing about obi-wan having ewan's singing voice is... how would he know? The jedi don't seem likely to engage in frivolous things like lullabies or singing - maybe the republic itself doesn't do music! I mean, their idea of opera is giant space bubbles! So obes has never sung before in his life until he's off to tattoonie with fussy baby luke and a woman on a ship starts singing a lullaby to quiet him and obes picks it up and BAM ewan voice, while the lady sits back like daamn

OH MY GOD OK, I have a LOT of feelings about Obi-Wan and Baby Luke on that initial trip to Tatooine. Like…how long did it take? Did they have to take the equivalent of Space Bus transportation so as not to arouse suspicion? How the hell did Obi-Wan hold it together?

This combined with the above is killing me. Poor Broken Obi-Wan and teeny newborn Luke. They are all the other has right now, and Obi-Wan knows next to nothing about newborns (even if he has met tiny kids at the Temple before, they’re not day-old babies which are a WHOLE different world.) 

And Luke is SUPER hungry and he hasn’t been sleeping and he’s really, really, fussy. And Obi-Wan is exhausted and traumatized, and worried all this crying is going to attract attention. And then Obi-Wan notices some mother on the Space Bus sing-songily calming her baby and he’s like…well, maybe I can try that. I’ve heard people singing before on various planets. He knows some traditional Mandalorian songs, maybe. 

And so he tries it. And he sounds like Obi-Wan McGregor. And Baby Luke is like 😲 followed by 😴. 

Luke always likes hearing people sing after that. He’s not entirely sure why, but it’s always been soothing. 

This scene hits differently now 🥺

Met my friends’s nephews so I got this idea.

Timothee and reader have a baby together and one day both Timothee and the baby are sick and reader is stressed out cuz she’s carrying for both of them all day and night.

Like Father, Like Daughter

Internal monologue in italics.

>> warning: lots of puke <<

A piercing wail amplified by the baby monitor next to my head wrenched me from a deep sleep. I sat up in bed, heart racing. What time is it? I looked around in the dark for the red numbers of the alarm clock. 3:43am. Ugh.

I turned on the monitor's video screen to see Aimée squirming, butt up in the air. Despite my best efforts to make her sleep on her back, she always flipped herself over in the night. Timothée laid next to me, still dead asleep - and also on his stomach. Like father, like daughter, I suppose. Part of me wanted to smack him in the head with a pillow. Misery loves company after all, but I refrained.

I grumbled when I heard more whining. At that point, I knew she wasn't going to fall back to sleep on her own this time. I'm coming, I'm coming. I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the light in the hallway. I was nearly knocked over by the putrid smell that hit me like a ton of bricks when I opened Aimée's bedroom door.

Upon seeing me, the little one pulled herself up using the crib rail for support and lifted her arms to beckon me, whimpering. From the ribbon of warm light that gently filled her room from the open door, I could see the source of the smell...

...and Aimée was covered in it.

Oh no.

I held my breath as I picked her up, trying desperately not to gag and add to the mess. She had vomited in the night and rolled in it in her attempts to get comfortable again. Her normally bouncy curls were matted to her head by orange gunk.

"Mamaaaaa....," Aimée groaned.

"I know, baby. We'll get you cleaned up."

I didn't even take two full steps toward the door before she puked down the front of my nightgown. I could feel it dripping onto my foot. Time to call in reinforcements.

I cradled the baby to my chest and padded back to our room. Using my clean foot, I jostled his side of the mattress.

"Timmy!" I whisper-yelled, trying to get his attention without scaring him or the baby. "Timmy!" I tried again, kicking a little harder.

"Huh?" He pushed himself up groggily.

"I need your help. Aimée is sick. Can you change out her sheets while I wash her - well, us - off?"

He responded with a groan and a nod, throwing off the blanket and tossing his feet over the side of the bed. I took Aimée to the bathroom next to her room so I would have her tearless shampoo available. We sat on the floor as we waited for the water to warm up. I carefully peeled off her onesie and my nightgown. I briefly considered just throwing them away rather than attempt to salvage them. When I tried to push her hair back out of her eyes, that's when I felt it. Fever.

I picked her up and gingerly stepped into the tub. I let the warm water flow over us both, hoping it would loosen up the now caked vomit in her hair. I knew she was feeling bad when she just laid there against my chest. Normally, giving her a bath sounded remarkably similar to an exorcism in a horror film.

Without warning, Timothée bolted into the bathroom, startling both of us. Aimée cried as he retched over the toilet.

"Overcome by the smell?" I asked before soothingly shhshing the girl and opening the shower curtain to see.

He spat out the string of saliva dripping from his mouth and looked over at me. I could tell by the unfocused glaze of his eyes and dark circles below that it was more than just sympathetic vomiting.

"Uh oh. Not you, too."

Timothée wordlessly flopped down and leaned against the sink cabinet as I bathed our daughter the best I could while holding onto her. He mustered up the energy to bring me towels and help me step out of the tub once done. He took the bundled baby into his arms so I could dry myself off and put on my robe. I took it as a chance to feel his forehead. He leaned into my touch.

"Dammit. Must be that stomach bug going around."

Ugh, why today of all days? I whined internally. I have an important meeting at 8:30 that I really can't postpone. Maybe if I...

My thoughts were interrupted by Timothée quickly handing Aimée back to me so he could puke once more.

No choice but to reschedule. He won't be able to care for the baby in this state.

I held Aimée on one hip and helped Timothée up from the floor with my other hand. "Time to get the two of you back to bed."

"I changed her sheets, but some vomit had spilled over to the crib rails and carpet. Her room smells awful," he said quietly, as the baby was nodding off on my shoulder. "I'm already sick, and you've already been exposed, so she may as well sleep in our bed. We can take care of her room in the morning."

I laughed internally at his use of "we." This was probably going to take at least 24 hours to run its course based on recent tales from friends and family. And historically, Timothée was a big baby when sick. This was the first time I had to care for them both at the same time.

Once he laid back down in bed, I followed suit and placed Aimée between us. They were both out like a light. I tried to sleep, but my wired brain kept running through my to-do list. I got up and made a makeshift bumper out of pillows to keep Aimée from rolling off the bed. Timothée was curled protectively around her on the opposite side. I would enjoy the cuteness more if I weren't so damned tired.

I set to work hosing off the bedding and clothes outside before putting them in the washing machine. I placed a delivery order for crackers, gingerale, and electrolyte drinks for both sickies. I wiped down the crib and all commonly touched surfaces and all but gassed the house with disinfectant spray. I got out my trusted enzyme cleaner and carpet spot cleaning machine to take care of the spillover. I was focused on that - and nearly done - when my normal morning alarm went off. I rushed to the bedroom to shut it off, praying that it didn't wake my patients.

They didn't budge. And I never went back to sleep. At this rate, I may as well stay up.

I finished the carpet, switched out the laundry, and anxiously started cleaning the kitchen. When the business day began at 8:00am, I started making phone calls to reschedule meetings for the day. Of course, Aimée waited until I was on the phone to start crying. With my phone to my ear, I started walking to the bedroom when I saw Timothée exit, carting the baby to her room to change her diaper. "Thank you," I mouthed. He nodded and half-smiled.

When I hung up a couple of minutes later, I peeked in to check on them. Timothée was humming as Aimée babbled back at him from the changing table.

"I know you're back there. I need to put WD-40 on those squeaky hinges," he joked. I crossed the room and put my chin on his shoulder to gaze down at our daughter.

"Did you ever go to sleep?" he asked, knowing the answer. I silently shook my head. "I figured that when I saw that her room was clean." He shot me a fake stern look.

"I was wired and couldn't settle," I said, trying but failing to stifle a yawn. "She seems to be feeling at least a little better. How about you?"

"I feel drained, but not awful. You should take advantage and go rest while you can. I heard you call into work." He picked the baby up and set her down on the floor to crawl and play.

I shook my head. "I need to wait for the grocery delivery and make you breakfast."

"Or, let me make breakfast while I actually have some energy, and you can handle lunch," he argued. "Go, sneak out while she's distracted."

I had to admit his proposal was appealing. "Promise to wake me if you need me?"

"I promise, love. Now go."

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Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess, @bluizh, @jindongdongie, @groovyqueer, @pmak2002

Oh. I have not seen this one before. T looks so good with damp hair.

Timothée Chalamet And Oscar Isaac On The Set Of "Dune"

To all the pending asks in my inbox....know that I have them all started, I just can't create on a whim

heyyy is requests open or closed AND I LOVE YOUR STORIES BTW

Aww, shucks. You made me blush 😊

Asks are open...BUT I have been slow to answer because, well, life. I am working through my queue, though!