#author unhinged about kit fisto

[maiaspen]

Unless Obi-Wan can melt through durasteel, he’s Anakin’s. He has nowhere to go but into Anakin.

🖤Thank you again to the extraordinarily talented @xxviolet for this gorgeous art! Another preview for ‘Oblivion Gin’ Chapter 5.

Read on ao3

I am aiming to finish and post Ch 5 this weekend 🤞 thank you to all of my readers for their amazingly enthusiastic support! Please keep the love (comments, kudos, tumblr asks) coming… they FEEEEEED MY MUSE!😈💕 love you all!

xo Maia

And if you are a new reader: WELCOME! Please say “HELLO THERE”.

[maiaspen]

🔥Kit Fisto in Leia’s slave outfit!🥲

You’re welcome.

Thank you to the mega-talented Wooserr for creating this amazing ‘Oblivion Gin’ story art!

In this scene: Fisto is flirting with Obi-Wan and Anakin does not like it! So he fantasizes about knocking Fisto out and selling him as a slave to Gardulla the Hutt! 🤣

Zoom in to appreciate every detail 🥵

Excerpt below. Read full fic on ao3 HERE.

Art inspired by this . . .

Story excerpt 

Fisto picks up his luggage to rummage through it, large biceps flexing unnecessarily as he does. Anakin scrutinizes Fisto up and down, as though he were assessing the repairs involved for some defunct droid . . .

Where Obi-Wan would start a pleasure slave bidding war, Fisto would never even make it to sale's stage. The moment Fisto landed in Mos Espa he'd be brought directly to Gardulla the Hutt. Every savvy slaver knows she would pay an unbeatable sum for a flesh trinket like Fisto. Though Anakin was a youngling when Gardulla owned him and his mother, he still remembers her fondness for cranial appendages. The Hutt collects male Twi'leks and Togrutas - the sort who would have been professional models had they not been born as slaves- and she chains these skull-endowed trophies to her wrist, toting them about like ornate fashion accessories. Due to the climate, Nautolans don't fare well on Tatooine, which is why Gardulla hadn't been able to obtain one. But Jedi Master Fisto handled the Oleh Minor desert just fine, and so he'd probably survive on Tatooine. He would be Gardulla's ultimate tentacle jackpot.

As much as Anakin loathes slavery, he can't stop his imagiation from flaring. He envisions himself knocking Fisto out, redirecting their flightpath to Tatooine, and then selling the Nautolan to Gardulla. Anakin would give his flesh arm to see Fisto's face as he came-to - chained and grabbed in something absurdly skimpy- to that big, stinking blob. Of course, Fisto would easily break his chains and bust out of there; but, basking in those few blissful seconds of his horrified shock would be worth it all.

🥲

[maiaspen]

“Tell me, Master Kenobi, what do you enjoy most— fighting or f*cking?”

Once again: THANK YOU to the crazy talented @bakaramia for **yet another** piece of ‘Oblivion Gin’ story art! It’s so 🤩 to see scenes from my story come to life🥲 Anakin’s expression is amazing 😆

[maiaspen]

💕🥂HAPPY NEW YEAR🥂💕

🖤OBLIVION GIN🖤 Chapter 6 is posted!

I sliced open my chest and put my ♥️ into this one. Please give me feedback (comments, kudos, tumblr asks) that will suffice for a heart transplant.

Read it on ao3

While you wait for Chapter 7, enjoy this gorgeous art by Wooserr! A teaser for what is coming (whump is coming).

[maiaspen]

NEW ‘OBLIVION GIN’ STORY ART! AHHHHH!! I am giggling and swooning and THRILLED with this piece by @bakaramia! THANK YOU for allowing me to commission your talents (again).

Art depicting a certain scene… if you’ve read the story, you’ll know! But, I’ll pop the excerpt below 😉 The boys play a drinking game (called ‘Truth or Drink’) and learn a lot more about each other than they expected… aka THINGS GET MESSY!😵‍💫

Please click to read my story on ao3.

Fisto tosses his stone and gets the Anehta. If he had eyelashes to bat at Obi-Wan, he’d be doing it. “Obi-Wan, have you ever had any unusual sexual experiences? With a unique species, or perhaps in a peculiar location?”

Anakin holds his breath. Is Obi-Wan actually going to talk about his sex life with him in the same room? Anakin is sure that his Master will keep his answer quite tame— a story about some diplomatic mission he went on, locked eyes with a respectable-looking sentient and partook in missionary-style intercourse.

“Hmmm.” Obi-Wan scratches his beard as he trolls his memory banks for something vanilla. “When I was seventeen Master Qui-Gon and I were abducted by a fascinating species called the Vindigians on Ifnor Four. Have you heard of them?”

Anakin has not heard of the Vindigians, but Fisto nods, asking: “They are an avian species, yes?"

Just imagining a seventeen-year-old Obi-Wan makes Anakin’s body temperature spike. In an effort to hide his blush, he takes a sip of the disgusting gin.

“Oh, yes. Quite avian.” Obi-Wan laughs uncomfortably. “Long story short— their empress would not release us unless I agreed to breed her—”

Anakin spits out his gin!

His cohorts glance at him as though he has behaved rudely. Anakin wipes his mouth on his forearm, shaking his head. Did he hear Obi-Wan correctly? Breed her?

Obi-Wan disregards his former Padawan and continues his story. “I did try to negotiate around this outcome, but the empress was most insistent and we were very pressed for time. Things could have turned hostile. Anyway, to your question, Kit— the empress was unique. Her nose was as firm as any beak, and goodness, she had feathers galore! A wingspan of six meters, at least, oh, and very sharp taloned feet. But everything else was, you know, as it usually is on a female humanoid. In order to ensure my cooperation — that I was not trying to trick her and would not escape— the empress grabbed a hold of me as though I were prey!” Obi-Wan throws his hands upward to accentuate his surprise. “She then launched into the air, easily disrobing me with those talons, and flew me all over the mountain ranges of Ifnor Four. I got quite a tour of the countryside while we copulated. This was a true test of my multitasking abilities, as letting go of her meant falling to my death. It was a memorable experience to be sure. Fortunately, the empress was a lady of her word. Afterward she set us free with an open invitation to visit again anytime.”

“No doubt,” Fisto says and, for the first time, Anakin thinks that he and the Nautolan are actually making the same expression, because Fisto’s face is a hybrid of ‘awestruck’ and just straight-up ‘what-the-fuck-struck’. “I am certain that Master Qui-Gon appreciated your . . . sacrifice.”

Obi-Wan shrugs, making a face like the experience was just par for the course. “That sort of thing sometimes happened on our adventures.”

Wait—wha—? Anakin and Obi-Wan have been abducted loads of times and nothing like that has ever happened. Obi-Wan usually goes into private negotiations with their captors, and returns having chatted and charmed his way to their freedom— Oh.

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn. He rolls the Semreh and considers Fisto. “Do you have a fetish?”

Obi-Wan just said fetish!

[maiaspen]

“OBLIVION GIN” 🌟CHAPTER 8 PREVIEW 🌟

Hello to my darling readers! I am writing and editing away on Chapter 8. 💪 As a gift for your support, I’m sharing both some little art teaser snippets and a taste of the next chapter. As always when I post a preview: please know that this is not a tidy edited beauty… yet. My writing process is to word-vomit everything that comes into my head, and then give it a makeover (or a million makeovers) from there. What ultimately “makes the cut” to ao3 could read differently.

Check out the story on ao3.

Wooserr Art snippets… hmm 🤔 what will the finished work look like?

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Chapter 8 (preview)

Anakin’s mind reels so wildly, he can’t get a grip on a single thought. But gripping thoughts is irrelevant – he only needs to grip Obi-Wan. With his hands, and with the Force. Anakin is trembling. He feels like he’s wearing sweat as a second skin as he squeezes his signature around Obi-Wan’s, maintaining a constricting barrier to prevent any midi-chlorians from escaping. The mental effort is akin to clenching every muscle in his body beyond exhaustion – like he’s trying to play tug-of-war against the suction of a blackhole. And, dare he unclench, if his grip slips . . .

Then Obi-Wan dies.

Anakin’s consciousness flashes him its middle finger– taunting, threatening to bail on him. He hears himself sob – a pitiful mishmash of frustration, fear and fevered agony. He doesn’t know what to do. Anakin needs Fisto’s help. Obi-Wan needs Fisto’s help. But Fisto is single-handedly taking on The Ass Face Army, submitting to the lethal pull of Form I . . .

The Force seizes a hold of the Nautolan’s signature – greedily stretching and yanking — as though the Force is composed of billions of Master Kit Fisto fans, all wanting to tear off a piece of him for their own. Despite the chaotic energy around him, Fisto’s fighting stance remains solid as fuck. Like Fisto is the plant, rooted perfectly in place; and he belongs in this jungle, while the ass plants are the intruders. And the superior, fearless way in which the Nautolan is staring at them; the way sun and shadow paint a spectrum of green stripes over his skin . . . The ass faces might be wondering the same thing as Anakin: if they’ve just encountered Areh 7’s Jungle King?

The monsters rushing at Fisto make an abrupt stop, and Anakin thinks they might actually submit and surrender?

Nope.

Faster than a discharging bowcaster, a needle-tooth is fired. With his non-saber hand, Fisto reaches upward and . . . catches it. Snatching the poisonous dart out of the air so easily – as though the ass face had given him a polite heads-up that it was coming his way. Fisto maneuvers the needle in-between his middle and ring fingers so that it’s sticking straight up, makes a fist, and then juts it toward the plants. It looks like he’s flashing them a big, pointy ‘FUCK YOU’ – even larger than the one Anakin’s consciousness has been flashing at him.

Before Anakin’s heart can even beat again, Fisto lobs the needle back at the hoard — presumably, straight at the ass face who launched it. The Clones must hate playing darts with Fisto, because the Master hits the bullseye–er, butthole center, dead-on. The oomph throws the plant backward as though Fisto has nailed it with a plasmatic cannon ball!

The Nautolan doesn’t wait for the ass faces to retaliate. With a savage snarl, Fisto accelerates into a blur of motion. Even with Force-enhancement, Anakin’s eyes can’t maintain their lock on him. Fisto moves like a ricocheting blaster bolt – he’s everywhere at once! Anakin’s gaze only snags glints of green light. The Nautolan is flipping overhead, somersaulting to the left; diving into the dirt; appearing meters away one moment, then practically scorching Anakin’s hair the next. Now he’s in the treetops, sending smoking leaves and branches hailing down. It’s like Fisto is shoving the entire jungle through a vibro-shredder— green goo and singed leaves are splattering near and far! And Anakin can feel Form I shoving Fisto’s control through a vibro-shredder, too.

The Nautolan is unraveling. Becoming more and more like some animal who does belong in this jungle. Reacting on instinct versus intellect. His speed only seems to ratchet up-up-up— a living typhoon – becoming stronger and faster the longer he spins within the Force. Hells, those ass faces really ought to turn vine-tail and run away. It doesn’t seem like they are even landing a single blow. Trying to peg Fisto with one of their vines or needles is about as effective as trying to take down an actual typhoon with one of their vines or needles.

Anakin clutches Obi-Wan tightly, trying to shield his body from the downpour of flaming leaves and plant guts. He’s tired. So tired. But watching – feeling – Fisto has jump-started Anakin’s adrenaline again, giving him enough pep to swat unconsciousness’ middle finger away.

As though the jungle is birthing them, ass faces continue to emerge from the ground. And, like sand lemmings following one another off a suicide cliffside drop, they keep attacking Fisto. The Form I Master sends each one crashing and burning to the jungle floor. But—

Anxiety descends upon Anakin like a meteor shower, obliterating the after-bliss of Obi-Wan’s survival and Fisto’s well-timed rescue. Because-because-because— sustaining Obi-Wan’s life depends upon Fisto doing two things: kicking the asses of the ass faces, which he’s nailing. And the Nautolan himself has to survive the ass kicking in order to heal Obi-Wan. Fisto’s body will be okay, but he's losing himself, his coherence. Anakin can feel it.

Fisto is doing far more than flirting with battle fever — he’s fucking that bitch, and he’s doing it raw. Allowing his sanity to be torn off and replaced with savagery. And this savage power that the Force is feeding Fisto– it feels good, tastes good. Like walking by a confectionery, Anakin catches the hints of an addictive and cloying ecstasy. A sort of Force Spice bubbling over Anakin’s signature. If Fisto doesn’t pull out, and soon, he’ll be too Force-high to control himself.

Fisto either has everything well in hand or he’s obliviously, blissfully, about to go under. Anakin assumes the worst.

“Dammit, Fisto!” Anakin yells at the Master, but only with his voice. He can’t spare any Force power, Obi-Wan needs it all. But he’s certain that Fisto can feel his panic. “Get ahold of yourself! I need you to save Obi-Wan!”

Fisto shrugs off Anakin’s panic like it’s some hindering cloak. He wants none of it. Fisto continues to fight and fight and fight, nuclear jade streaking and striking like some unnatural lightning storm.

Anakin curses. He has to yank Fisto out of the Force! But he can’t march over and punch him, though he’d love to, so – what can he do?

The Knight remembers that he’s clutching more than Obi-Wan. His lightsaber is in his hand. While Anakin won’t spend Force energy on Fisto, his mechno hand isn’t tired.

Using mundane albeit robotically enhanced strength alone, Anakin hurls his lightsaber hilt at Fisto. The Force tells Anakin exactly where Fisto will be and–

Direct hit.

The hilt pelts the Nautolan on his unnecessarily perfect ass. Packing a wallop! The typhoon of jade lighting stops.

Chest heaving, cranial tentacles erect as spikes, Fisto spits a wad of mulchy-goop. He swipes his forearm over his face, clearing plant remnants from his unblinking black eyes. He then casts those eyes down, at Anakin’s offending lightsaber hilt. Fisto’s head snaps toward Anakin, glaring. But there’s no time for a verbal exchange. There are three remaining ass monsters pressing in around the Master, and seeking blood for their creepy worm babies.

Fisto lashes with his saber, shearing the vine-limbs from one beast, ending it; then slides to the right and ducks a volley of swiping vines. But one vines snakes through his guard and actually . . . tags him. The razor-leaves scrape the left-side of Fisto’s face, directly over his highly-sensitive ear-slits. Fisto stumbles backward, hissing vehemently, as his slits weep blood. His pain is intense – radiating through the Force, making Anakin flinch. Flinch because– yes, it hurts– but also because it digs out a memory.

Anakin heard Fisto hiss once before, when Obi-Wan touched– rather, fingered– those same ear-slits. From the darkest corner of Anakin’s mind, something else hisses . . . it would be rather convenient if the ass faces slayed the Nautolan, wouldn’t it? If Fisto dies in the jungle, then he’s out of Obi-Wan’s life. No longer a sexual temptation. And—

What? No! I need Fisto to heal Obi-Wan! If Fisto dies, then so does Obi-Wan!

Anakin shakes his head like it’s infested with sand mites, trying to dislodge the sinister thought. Before him, Fisto has seemingly blotted-out his own pain. The Nautolan twirls his lightsaber in his right hand and reaches out with his left – Force pulling Anakin’s lightsaber into it. Fisto spins the twin blades expertly, blurs of green and blue create an aquamarine smokeshow. His teeth gleam wickedly; looking unnaturally white in the shadows. The powerful muscles of Fisto’s back, legs and arms flex. He’s so strong. Anakin is pretty sure that Fisto’s muscles have muscles and, right now, Anakin is glad for them all.

The final two ass faces launch for Fisto. Their combined vines like eight lethal lassos, aiming to ensnare him and drag him down.

TBC on ao3. . .

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A fun fact about Kit’s lightsaber form, Form I (Shii-Cho). He flirts with battle fever, to resist the pull NOT to loose himself within the Force and KILL his opponents when he fights. This might be important later 😜

Here are examples from the book “The Cestus Deception” and from Wookieepedia.

[maiaspen]

Chapter 4 is 🥵, even if I don't really lust Fisto, like the author 🤭

Also, you capture Anakin so well, his jealousy, his despair, his love, his light and his dark

I'm ready for the next chapter, release the angst.

Hello! 💚

Thank you so very much for reading ‘Oblivion Gin’ Ch 4, AND taking the time to send me this wonderful message! 🥰

I am super flattered, thrilled, bouncing-off-the walls that you are enjoying my portrayal of Anakin! 🖤 Fun (or pathetic?) fact— I originally wrote over 100 pages of this story in the 1st person POV, and have been painstakingly going back and re-doing it the 3rd. 🤪 It’s easier for me to write emotions when I write them from the *i /my* 😅 Much of Anakin’s inner ramblings were because *I* was inner rambling and just vomiting words much like he vomited on— well, you know. You read Ch 4. 😅 So, Ch 5 will be the last chapter from that original draft and 6&7 will be totally from scratch. This has been a time-consuming story to write, but I love it! And receiving encouraging messages (thank you!) makes it SO WORTH IT! 😘

xo Maia 💚

PS— thanks for finding the chapter 🥵. I don’t think many people have Fisto lust on my unhinged level 😆 Also, Kenobi sittin’ like this ⤵️ during Council meetings….! I know Fisto was inwardly 😵‍💫 every time.