#cause you know Quinlan’s been writing his for years and years and years

[tennessoui]

hello hello! I just spent pretty much the entire day reading backwards from post #1 on your blog for the kuwsk tag. screaming, crying, giggling, throwing up.. the whole nine yards really! two immediate things on my mind: 1) I REALLY need someone to draw obi wan fondly watching sick anakin on the couch with a sleeping luke and barely awake leia, face and arms covered in (hello kitty) band aids. 2) I desperately need to know what their wedding vows said please I beg. tysm for this amazing verse!

ahhh this is so sweet !! I can’t help you with the first thing cause I’m really not great at drawing but I agree that I would love the fuck out of a picture of that moment + the following moment when obi-wan puts anakin to bed and he pretends that they’re dancing in the living room when the twins ask because he can’t fess up to having let them drug their father lmao

but the second thing!! That’s a great question I bet their wedding vows are really soppy. Obi-Wan probably thanks him for giving him a family and also for the infinite amount of patience and kindness anakin showed him until he figured out he could want happiness and love in his life again & anakin’s vows start by thanking obi-wan for waking the fuck up and realizing he deserved happiness and it was already living down the hall from him lol

[infernaleikon]

BEFORE THE BEGINNING — three sentences (or more) about something that happened before the plot of my current project.

I think it always interesting to make something up what could happen before a story, because most of the time you can think of something that happens after but not before. But maybe that's just me, or you idea has already the perfect before.

that's true, anon. it's funny cos i did think about what happened before this fic which i don't always do when i write tbh. this snippet isn't set *right* before the fic starts but a few days before.

another anon asked for before the beginning, so here you go!

“It’s not you to be so very last minute,” Quinlan points out as he settles himself on Obi-Wan’s desk chair and kicks his feet up, which Obi-Wan promptly knocks back down with an annoyed huff.

“I have to keep you on your toes somehow,” he says with a shrug. 

“Sure.” Quinlan grins at him easily. His fingers dance across the surface of Obi-Wan’s desk. “Any costume ideas?”

“I thought I could borrow one of yours from one of the last few years,” Obi-Wan suggests because he has absolutely no ideas for a costume and quite frankly also doesn’t care much. He just needs one. Quinlan doesn’t recycle but he does keep his favorites.

Quinlan snorts unattractively. “I don’t have any you can pull off.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “Anything you wear I wear twice as good,” he argues, just for the sake of it.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Quinlan says with a smirk. “I do still have that stripper cop outfit from last year—”

“Pass.” Obi-Wan shudders, remembering the costume. There are things he can never unsee, can never purge from his memory, no matter how hard he tries, and that’s one of them. It’s a miracle Quinlan hadn’t been reported for public indecency. 

Quinlan snickers like the child he is. His gaze grows thoughtful as turns over the book in his hands, fingers tapping against the cover, before holding it up for Obi-Wan to see. “What about Peter Pan? I even have some stuff from other costumes I could help you repurpose to make this fit.”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes at him. “How much of my body will be covered by this costume?” 

“Unclench,” Quinlan says with a roll of his eyes and a grin. “You won’t be able to flash anyone even if you tried.”

“I don’t want to try.”

“That’s ‘cause ya boring,” Quinlan sniffs. Mischief dances in his eyes. “So? Peter Pan?”

Obi-Wan stares at him, hard. He has a feeling he’s walking straight into something and even though he knows better, he sighs and says, “Okay.”

thank you! <3

[nevertheless-moving]

I hurt myself with feels on your pop star wars AU. Many years ago LiveForLife's Star Wars - How To Save A Life fanvid created a wound in my heart which was apparently permanent because that wound totally broke back open when I found your AU and imagined Obi-Wan singing it himself. And like, even people who know who know or suspect KB's identity would have no idea where this is coming from. Thank-you-you're-welcome for the angst inspired by this fluffcrack AU.

i looked up the video and there were several fanvids to this song and OH MY GOSH—I have had a very specific scene in mind for this au way later down the road where he writes a wistfully angsty song about him and Vaderkin. At some point (after most of the plot has happened in this au and everything’s been revealed except the whole time-travel thing) he’s chilling with Quinlan and some of his friends and is encouraged in performing some of his songs just for fun. He’s not really sure how to perform because he usually sings in a recording studio. So when the song is slow enough or has a long enough instrumental section he kind of does a modified kata—think that one dance party scene in atla where katara and aang modify their waterbending into a dance routine.

and this one angsty song is fast enough to sort-of dance-fight to but slow enough to realistically sing-dance to—this is where your ask comes in cause damn this is a perfect choice.

Alright, so, picture: obi-wan starts out with normal soresu forms. Than it starts getting more and more modified, he’s clearly miming a response to an attacker of some kind, but even to a trained eye it’s extremely confusing who.

Because it’s halfway between recreating a battle to the death and a sparring match between old partners—flurries of half aborted moves born of over-familiarity with your opponent and desperate last moment defense from certain death.

Yeah so at some point he inadvertently recreates his half of the Mustafar duel (because of COURSE he remembers every parry and blow in perfect detail) while singing about Anakin from the original timeline and then has a quiet breakdown in a closet.

[kenobispunk]

okay so I've been writing this jedi!Maul au for my gf but I've seen great art so you guys inspired me and gave me enough confidence to share some headcanons for you!

Instead of giving baby Maul to Sidious, Maul's mother Kycina (Legends canon oop!) encounters a pirate ship stuck on Dathomir and she pleads them to take him out of the planet so he can avoid a life as a slave

Pirates are evil but not as evil as Sidious of course They try to sell this baby red zabrak but it scares the shit out of posible clients so he ends up in the pirate ship for almost three years

He learns how to play sabbac and use a vibroblade

A jedi shadow finds him and takes him to the Jedi Temple

Now imagine this tiny zabrak really really strong that scares everyone cause he is red and FERAL and knows how to win at sabbac and bites people

Of course he bites Obi-wan at least twice during his first month at the Jedi Temple

But actually Maul is pretty discipline and he really wants to be a jedi (once he learns what is a jedi)

Although he is a couple of year younger, he ends up in Obi-wan's class cause this👏kid👏 was👏 born👏 to👏 be👏 a👏 jedi

He definitely beats the shit out of Obi-wan and even Quinlan a couple of times during training

The three of them fight over a sandwich once

Maul is the first youngling of his class to become a padawan.

Pong Krell chooses him as his padawan and teaches him to use two lightsabers although Maul ends up picking a saberstaff

His blades are yellow

He is a great padawan, okay?

Some of his most relevant missions? Rescuing a force sensitive child, Eldra Kaitis, from the Xrexus Cartel, and going undercover into Cog Hive Seven to secure nuclear bombs.

The mission to Cog Hive 7 is his Trial of Courage

When he becomes Jedi Knight, he chooses Eldra Kaitis as his padawan

[crispyjenkins]

“Chosen One Obi” sequel sneak peek

(i’ve been fighting the same prompt for a month now, and this chapter of hunger is even worse and it is just   n  o  t   happening this week. seriously, this is the worst block i’ve had on a story in years, and it’s exhausting and i’ve tried giving them both breaks, tried scrapping it all and starting over, flipping povs, changing the outline, butttt nada.

so! while i can’t give a sneak peek of my current secret project, i have been thinking about that chosen one obi prompt again, and thought y’all might like to see what i’ve been playing with in terms of a sequel. ‘think i might get the next dha kar’ta out while i figure out what tf is going on with my brain (ღT◡Tღ)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

-

  When Quinlan steps into his buir’s cantina in Foxsoll, looking like he’d seen the second coming of the Sith, Obi-Wan is too surprised to focus on the whispers the Force is trying to weasel into his mind. 

  Frozen behind the bar, Quinlan comes to him through the early-evening crowds, and how many times had he thought about visiting the Temple? About checking in on his friends? How many times had he talked himself out of it?

  “Obi-Wan?” Quinlan asks, as if afraid of the answer; Obi-Wan hasn’t heard that name here in far too long, not since Jango and Jaster had last been around.

  “Quinlan,” he whispers back, and wonders if someone had spiked the papuur’gal at lunch.

  Blinking, Quinlan looks him up and down quickly as something seems to connect in his mind. “Oh,” he says, looking floored, and the Force refuses to tell Obi-Wan what conclusion he had come to. “It’s you?”

  Obi-Wan frowns worriedly. “Are you alright, Quin?”

  “It’s you? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

  Chalmun senses the change in mood immediately, latching onto the edges of Obi-Wan’s mind as he all but storms out of the back storeroom with a few choice Xaczik swears on his lips. Obi-Wan doesn’t get the chance to tell him Quinlan is a friend, because Chalmun takes one look at Quinlan’s expression and comes to a realisation of his own, before grabbing the both of them by the back of their tunics to drag them to the private lounge. Obi-Wan knows better than to protest, but Quinlan yelps in surprise.

   Chalmun hasn’t been a Journeyman Protector in almost five years, but he hasn’t lost the bearing, nor the wall of blasters and bowcasters at the back of the lounge; Quinlan takes this all in quickly, but as soon as Chalmun sets them on their feet, he’s right back Obi-Wan’s space.

  “Why the kriff didn’t you say anything?” he demands, distressed and angry, and Obi-Wan automatically reaches out for his mind, trying to project calm and peace.

  “I’m so sorry, Quin, but there was Xanatos, and the Mand’alor found me and I didn’t– I didn’t think the Temple would want me–”

  Stunned, Quinlan looks from Obi-Wan to Chalmun and back again. “Wait, no– No, Obi, why didn’t you tell us you were the Chosen One.”

  Ah, this nonsense again.

  Obi-Wan deflates and glares at his buir over Quinlan’s shoulder. “It’s nice to see the crazies hadn’t died out,” he scoffs, and Chalmun just shakes his head.

  “You know everyone can feel it, cub.”

  Quinlan knows enough Shyriiwook to at least guess what Chalmun says. “How long has he been like this?”

  It takes Obi-Wan a moment to realise Quinlan isn’t even speaking to him anymore, Chalmun giving a great shrug. “Always.”

  “But that...” Quilan reaches out a gloved hand, Obi-Wan allowing him to almost touch him, to skate over the Force just above his skin.

  “Anyone with a midichlorian count above baseline can feel it,” his buir adds unhelpfully. “It’s caused us quite a few problems, when the less savoury sort have come poking around.”

  “Buir,” he sighs, but allows Quinlan to touch him fully, hand pressed along and down his neck. “Quin, you knew what I felt like before, I don’t–”

  “Yeah, you’ve always felt like this,” Quinlan breathes. “But not like this.”

  “What the kriff does that even mean.”

  “If... Kriff, you’d been at the Temple longer than anybody in the crèche!”

  “I am even less sure of what you’re trying to say now.”

  Shaking his head, Quinlan looks up at Chalmun with a mutual understanding that Obi-Wan does not share. “Does it get easier to look at, the longer you’re around him?”

  “Indeed. He is still a lantern, I could find him from the other side of the planet, but you stop thinking about it.”

  At Quinlan’s sheepish expression, Obi-Wan sighs and translates for him. 

  “Master Plo called you that, too,” he says to Obi-Wan after a moment. “A lantern.”

  “I’m not the ‘Chosen One’, Quinlan.” He steps out from under Quinlan’s hand and glares at the both of them, trying to ignore the way the Force chimes in his head like he’d chosen the wrong answer on a gameshow holo. “Why wouldn’t the masters have sensed it?” If what he remembers about the prophecy is correct, someone would have noticed before now, before Bandomeer.

  “Obes, I think we were all just used to you. Kriff, hey, you remember the Zabraki woman, who came to write about the architecture of the Temple? Maker, we should have realised then, she even called you ‘the chosen’...”

  “Perhaps you will have better luck with him,” Chalmun rumbles. “He will not listen to me.”

  “That sounds in character.” Smiling, Quinlan shuffles to pull a datapad out of the pack over his shoulders. “I’m a Shadow now, Obes, Master Tholm wouldn’t hear of it until I’d given it a shot. I’m here on a mission from the High Council, from Master Windu, there’s some rumours in the lower levels of Coruscant about a Force Sensitive on Concord Dawn. And, when Master Qui-Gon finally faced du Crion, he let slip he’d been looking for the Chosen One as well.”

  Xanatos du Crion. The reason Obi-Wan is even hiding in Mandalore Space in the first place, a dark shadow that has not left his mind since he had tracked Obi-Wan here through Jango. 

  “Master Ti thought it all too much to be coincidence,” Quinlan is saying, holding out the datapad that Obi-Wan doesn’t even bother looking at. It is time, the Force whispers to him, we can hide you no longer. “And then as soon as I touched down, I felt you, Obi-wan. The– The Agricorp masters said you never made it to them, that you would were still in the spaceport when du Crion bombed it. No one knows you’re alive.”

 Chalmun takes the pad instead, looking it over even though Aurebesh isn’t his strong point. “The Mand’alor and I have been keeping him safe out here, we knew others would seek out his power. And I knew we could only do that for so long; it seems we’ve finally run out of luck.”

-

Mando’a: buir —“parent”, gender neutral papuur’gal — a Mandalorian wine, probably akin to a white wine

[hellowkatey]

~✨obi-wan gen exchange fics✨~

in case you haven't heard, there are 40 new obi-wan gen fics hot and ready as of today👀this was my first time participating in a fic exchange and it was a ton of fun to write for others! below are the three fics I wrote if you feel like checking them out:)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

i'll be on your side when the dreams run dry ~ for @kittsfics

8.5k words / no warnings apply

summary: Quinlan returns to the Jedi Temple to find a newly-knighted Obi-Wan exhausted and overwhelmed. To give his friend a break, he padawan-sits Anakin for the day, and of course, they find some chaos to cause.

"The short answer is, you look like hell, Obes."

"Wow, thanks," Obi-Wan says dryly.

"No really. I saw you sparring Muln from the observation deck yesterday. Asked Nara if you just got back on-world 'cause you looked like you came out of some deep-cover mission. Horrific torture and all. And she said you haven't left Coruscant in months," Obi-Wan looks away as shame tugs at his throat. Quin's tone softens. "Why'd they give you a padawan so soon? They've never made us take a student the first cycle."

"I volunteered to take Anakin."

"And they agreed? A kid with zero Temple training? Padawan's aren't tookas, Obi. I didn't think I had to tell you of all people that."

_ _ _

J'adoube ~ for @calltomuster

7.7k words / no warnings apply

summary: There are only two scenarios that make sense in this moment: 1. The Force has caused a divergence in the flow of time for reasons still unknown. or 2. Obi-Wan has a more active imagination than he thought, and the last twenty-eight years of his life have been one very long, very elaborate dream.

[or, the Force gets fed up with Obi-Wan not taking care of himself and takes matters into its own hands.]

"Master?" he yells, slamming the lights on and heading straight for the bed. He tears off the covers, only to jump back in surprise. It isn't Obi-Wan under the covers at all, but a child somehow sleeping soundly despite how loud he was being. He's curled in a ball his wavy auburn hair splayed out on the pillow and falling into his eyes.

Where did this kid come from? Anakin's mind races. And where the hell is Obi-Wan?

Though he asks himself the question, Anakin already knows the answer. The youngling lying in Obi-Wan's bed has a strong presence in the Force. A presence that Anakin would recognize anywhere.

This kid is Obi-Wan?

_ _ _

Adventures in Padawan-Sitting ~ another one for KittsFics

3.9k words ~ no warnings apply

summary: Ahsoka has to spend a week with Obi-Wan and the 212th while Anakin is away. Obi-Wan is excited to have his grand-padawan visiting and tries to make it as fun and exciting for her as possible.

"Be sure to cause a little bit of trouble over there."

She grins, "I would never want to steal your job, Master."

"You're representing me, and I have a reputation to uphold."

Ahsoka laughs, shaking her head and giving a final last wave as the doors to the shuttle close. She hardly has time to strap herself in before the pilot pulls out of The Resolute's hanger. Probably another order by her master to ensure she doesn't sneak off after he walks away.

She didn't plan on causing any trouble. Considering the 212th is headed back to port and have no battle orders, there aren't exactly opportunities for trouble.

_ _ _

definitely go check out all the other fics in the exchange

[bardicindignation]

April Fool's Day Fic Snippet

In honor of April fools, I offer unto y'all an extremely cracky scene from a Star Wars fix-it au that I may or may not eventually get around to actually writing.

For context: Anakin started coming back to the light just a few years after the rise of the Empire and has, along with Cody and another person, been leading an undercover rebellion against the empire. Their general modus operandi for finding jedi is to a. let them go if they can without arousing suspicion, b. fake a pirate attack while in transit to let them escape, or c. fake their deaths.

They've just reported the death of Quinlan Vos when this starts.

(Also, if this looks at all familiar, it's because it was inspired by this fic by cosmicocean on ao3.)

Fuck fuck kriffing-bantha-nerf-herding-motherfucking-hutts.

Anakin...might have been panicking. Just a bit.

He’d prepared for a lot, but Moff karking-son-of-a-bantha Tarkin sweeping unannounced onto his kriffing bridge while he was in the midst of informing a jedi that he was supposed to have already killed that he, you know, wasn’t going to be killed. Or tortured. Or used as bait for other jedi.

(‘In the midst of’ was an exaggeration. ‘About to’ was more accurate.)

And said jedi was standing in full fucking view of the entire fucking bridge because the bridge was supposed to be full of people he trusted and not Wilhulf fucking Tarkin and HOW HAD THIS HAPPENED???

Tarkin looked at Anakin, at a very much alive and entirely unrestrained Quinlan Vos (thank the Force Anakin hadn’t returned the man’s lightsabre yet), at Cody, Appo, and the others (frozen and also panicking under their blank stormtrooper armor), at the bridge crew (Captain Piett was going to start hyperventilating any moment now), and back to Anakin.

“I’m sure,” he said smoothly, an insufferably smug smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “that you have a very good explanation as to why you have not executed the jedi scum as reported, Lord Vader. I’m sure the Emperor would love to hear it.”

So. Anakin was panicking, reminding himself that, as insufferably horrible as he was, Tarkin was one of the few men he couldn’t get away with killing without a good reason and, had he mentioned, panicking. So. Much. Panic. So he really couldn’t be blamed when all higher brain function fled, and what came out of his mouth was,

“What jedi scum?”

Kriff, kriff, kriff. He could feel Cody judging him from across the room.

Tarkin spluttered.

“What jedi scum?! The-the one standing right there beside you!”

Fuuuuuuck.

“I see no jedi.” Anakin told him.

So. Much. Judgement.

Tarkin lost his temper.

“THE JEDI TRAITOR QUINLAN VOS IS STANDING DIRECTLY TO YOUR RIGHT! HE IS HOLDING A TEA CUP!”

Mmhm. Yep. Okay, here he went, one Anakin Skywalker BS special, coming right up.

“This is not the jedi traitor Quinlan Vos.”

“What?” said Tarkin, eyebrows shooting up.

“What?” said definitely-jedi Quinlan Vos at the same time, though thankfully Tarkin hadn’t seemed to hear him.

Anakin groaned inwardly, drew himself up to Darth Vader’s impressive height and loomed.

“This,” he repeated impatiently, “is not Quinlan Vos, nor is he a jedi. This is…” Anakin frantically scoured his brain for a name and plausible explanation, “Informant Sergei.”

Complete silence fell. Anakin heard Cody cough slightly. If Captain Piett wasn’t careful, his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Vos was staring at him. He was pretty sure that Aphra (and when had she gotten here?) had started to film.

“Informant Sergei.” Tarkin said flatly.

Anakin loomed more aggressively. He was committed now. This was what he was going with and so help him, he was going to make this padawan-framing bastard believe it.

“Did you not hear me the first time?” he asked scathingly, channeling his master at his most irritated, and went on without waiting for an answer. “Informant Sergei has been working with me since the Clone Wars, and has stayed loyal to our cause throughout. His resemblance to his cousin Quinlan Vos has been a boon in gathering intelligence from those more...sympathetic to the old Order and was instrumental in leading Vos to his demise.”

There. He could work with that. Now, he just had to (somehow) get Tarkin to buy it. Which, going by the look on his face, hadn’t happened.

That was okay. Anakin hadn’t had the chance to bullshit someone this thoroughly since the Clone Wars; he had backlog.

The ball was in Tarkin’s court now. Immediately, he turned on Vos.

“What’s your name and what are you doing here?” he demanded sharply.

Vos glanced at Anakin, who was panicking again, then back to Tarkin. A lazy smile spread across his face.

“I’m Sergei Vos, that bastard Quinlan’s cousin on our dad’s side. I’m here to collect my reward for aiding in his capture.”

Anakin held back a sigh of relief, and his sense of Cody and the men relaxed fractionally. Vos hadn’t been one of the best undercover jedi for nothing, even Obi-Wan would’ve had a hard time beating that poker face.

Tarkin wasn’t done yet.

“Trooper! Have you worked with this Informant Sergei,” said, of course, in tones of deep disgust, “on previous assignments?”

Cody, bless him, didn’t miss a beat.

“Infromant Sergei has been a fine asset to the Empire.”

Anakin was going to have to get him something good the next time they went planet side. And it didn’t stop there.

“He’s a killer sabacc player,” Aphra chimed in, still filming.

“If you get them in good light, you can tell the difference pretty easily.” Lieutenant Needa, fresh out of the academy.

“Vos had a scar on his arm where Sergei bit him when they were young.” Grey.

“I lost my virginity to Informant Sergei.”

It took every ounce of willpower Anakin had not to turn and stare at Piett in utter disbelief. What the fuck was that?

...Vos winked lasciviously in Piett’s direction.

“And what a night it was.”

Okay. Whatever. Anakin had started this, he’d bear the consequences.

Tarkin looked nonplussed, but less certain of himself. Time to drive it home.

“If,” he said forbiddingly, “you are quite finished interrogating my staff, Grand Moff Tarkin.”

Tarkin glared at him.

“I expect Informant Sergei’s information to have arrived at my desk when I reach it.”

“Of course.”

“And if I find out that any of it is inaccurate…”

“You will not.”

One last incredulous look around the bridge later, Tarkin was striding out as abruptly as he came.

[sebsmetal-arm]

Sex (f)or Breakfast || Bryce and Hunt

Summary: The morning after Bryce takes care of Hunt, the two are met with some unspoken truths lingering in the air. When their worlds - and lips - finally collide, there is going to be more than just eggs on the table for breakfast.

Disclaimer: These characters and world are the sole intellectual property of Sarah J Maas. I claim no right to this property, this is a work of fan fiction. I tried my best to stay true to Sarah's writing style and characterization but any difference in character aspects or dialogue is intentional. Please do not copy or repost my work. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone on Instagram that helped me with ideas of what was in Bryce's nightstand, and THANK YOU to my beta readers! You know who you are and I love all of you!

After the prior night’s events, Bryce had spent the better part of the morning laying awake in bed, waiting for a text, a call, anything to break the damning silence of the apartment. She knew eventually that bedroom door opposite hers would open and she would have to face the reality of what had transpired between the two of them. She couldn’t seem to shake the images of all that she had seen the night before - the dark emptiness in Hunt’s eyes when he had come through the front door. The way she discovered him sitting in the shower an hour later, letting the scalding hot water batter and burn him relentlessly. How she could feel the pain and remorse and inner hatred roiling off him in waves as thick and suffocating as the steam from the shower. The horrifying realization that this was not the first time he had done this, that he had become accustomed to this act of self-inflicted torture following each of Micah’s depraved missions. 

The world had been so wrong about him, he didn’t wear the title of Umbra Mortis with pride; he wore it with shame. In that moment, he was nothing but a shell of himself, of the Hunt that she knew. It was akin to staring at a reflection of herself, of her soul, and of the torment and guilt that had plagued her every day since Danika’s murder. 

So she did what she had wished for those past two years. She took care of him, the way she had wanted someone to take care of her. She had been alone, with no one left, and she would never let him feel that sort of hollow loneliness again. 

She lathered his hair and his wings, and carefully scrubbed his raw skin free of any grime and blood that remained. With her hands, she gently coaxed as much pain from his body as she could, washing it down the drain along with any physical trace of what had happened that evening. He remained resolute in his silence, with his head downcast and the wet strands of midnight hair framing his face, only giving her the barest recognition when she asked him to stand. But it was enough. Enough for her to know that he was still in there, however deeply buried beneath the weight of contrition. 

After slinging a towel around his waist, she gently patted him dry, and led him to his bedroom and into a pair of shorts before helping him into bed. When Hunt sank down into the mattress, the groan of the bed seemed to shake the stillness of the room, as if Hunt was piling on those invisible chains he had worn for over two centuries. He had been designed by Urd for the heavens, gifted with wings for great and magnificent things, but had spent most of his life shackled to the ground by the thorned halo across his forehead. That wretched tool of enslavement, which was a bastardization and mockery of the Malakim, placed a chokehold on his magic so strong that it had become nothing but a trickle. 

When Bryce made to leave, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, giving a barely there squeeze as if silently pleading for her to stay. So she did. Letting him nestle his head in her lap, she stroked his hair until the restless heaves of his chest stilled into a calm rising and falling as sleep consumed him. Once content with his sleeping form she eased out from under him, carefully letting his head fall back onto the pillow. There had been nothing sensual about that evening, but as Bryce crept back to her room she couldn’t deny the inkling that something had changed. Since they had begun their partnership, their lives had simply been locked in orbit. Revolving around the same fixed position, tethered by gravity that held together the shattered pieces of their lives. But with every stroke of her fingers through his hair and each desperate lean into her touch, their worlds had begun to eclipse. 

***

When Hunt awoke, the first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of Bryce’s skin. He stretched out to reach for her, hoping to ground himself once more, but was met with nothing but crumpled bed sheets. She had definitely been there last night, there was no denying the scent of her that lingered heavily. 

He had spent so long coping with his own nightmares in solitude, that when she was suddenly kneeling in front of him on the tile floor, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what to say, his own mind numb and void of anything remotely human. It wasn’t until Bryce was coaxing him into bed that he realized what it felt like not to be alone. And when her caressing touch dragged the last dregs of tension from his shoulders, he had slept soundly for the first time in ages. 

The intoxicating comfort of her presence called to him. He knew he needed to seek her out, to thank her, and to let her know that he was okay. He flipped off the covers and threw on a pair of sweatpants, silently padding to the door as the smell of coffee wafted through the apartment. As he approached the kitchen island, Bryce scowled at her phone before throwing it down in protest. He leaned against the marble countertop.

***

“Hey.”

Hunt’s voice, gruff with sleep, startled her out of her furious haze and she spun to find him leaning against the island. She couldn’t help but notice he was shirtless, a grey pair of sweatpants hugging his lean hips. 

“Fucking Hel Hunt, you need a warning bell or something.” Bryce cursed, her fists clenched in surprise. His shoulders shook, his mouth crooking up slightly. A smile, good. “How are you?” 

His brows furrowed, pain washing over his face momentarily. “Fine.” he stated in a pinched but gentle manner.

She took that as a clue to leave him be, not wanting to pry but worry overtook her so she averted her gaze, toeing the ground nervously before attempting to change the subject, “Do you want some-”

“Wait, Bryce,” he blurted, interrupting her, “I- I’m okay, really. I mean, I don’t think anything will ever change the- the person I have to be.” He ground out, his voice full of disdain, “Or the consequences of that. Not as long as I still bear this,” he said gravely, gesturing to the halo, “but-” he stammered, taking a breath to school his thoughts.

He closed the distance between them hesitantly, his statuesque form now towering over her. She couldn’t help the way her breath hitched at the closeness of him or the smell of his bare skin. As he looked down at her sun-kissed face, her lips already parted in anticipation, he could see the hope and trepidation swirling in her amber eyes. He took one of her hands in his, a gentle and intentional embrace.

“I’m more okay than I’ve ever been… Thank you.” he breathed, his words skittering across her skin like electricity. 

Her eyes lit up, as if they had soaked in the morning rays beaming through the living room windows. Any fear that had once lingered on her face had been chased away and the smile that broke across her face, Urd help him, was brighter than any star in the realm. They shared a silent moment, her hand still in his before she averted her gaze, a secret blush creeping into her cheeks. 

He broke the silence first, sensing her uncertainty of what to do or say next, “So, how about that coffee?”

***

As they milled about the kitchen, the routine was much of the same. But the unspoken truths hung in the air, smothering the very oxygen from the room until they were both choking on it. And when Hunt unexpectedly pressed a gentle kiss to Bryce’s cheek in a gesture of thanks, she was left reeling. She tried to fight the heat piquing in her cheeks as she became hyper aware of the hairs on her arms raising at his touch. Of the muscles between his wings flexing as he tended to breakfast. Of her thighs clenching to quell the rush at her core, and the subsequent absence of underwear causing the color to drain from her face. She was wearing nothing under the shirt. His shirt. 

Without warning his shoulders went tight, his wings tucking in, and he slowly turned on her with a curious but predatory gaze. The sudden quickening of her heart rate had likely alerted him. Or maybe it was the newfound heat pooling between her legs that had incited the almost feral way his eyes were roving over her. 

“You okay, Quinlan?” He asked, giving a smug perk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I- I’m great.” She choked out, barely able to breathe under the weight of his stare.

As he scanned the length of her body once more, his eyes narrowed, “Is that my shirt?”

She nervously fingered the hem, which fell to mid-thigh, tugging it down for good measure but not daring to look away. “Uh, yeah, I hope you don’t mind.” she breathed, her usual bravado now a simpering and demure thing hiding in the corner. He continued to examine her for another few seconds too long, causing her to resign to embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’ll go change” she stammered, turning to escape to her room. But as she went to step, he grabbed on to the hem and tugged her back to him. 

“No, Quinlan, I don’t mind.” He said, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem. “I like seeing you in my shirt.” he confessed, his voice rumbling over her skin as he dropped his own gaze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly.

In the movement of him pulling her back, she was now wedged between him and the island, suddenly aware of the cool marble against her spine. She knew her next move could be detrimental, that she was toeing the line between staying professional or diving headlong into something she might never be able to come back from. But in truth, she was already drowning in his presence and her own arousal. She willed her hand to move, placing her palm against his chest and he became violently still. Neither of them dared look at the other, their attention solely on her hand which was now drawing lazy circles on his tan skin. 

“What about…” she trailed off, her nerves jolting her into momentary submission before she steeled herself, practically shouting at that part of her quivering in the corner to pull up her fucking bootstraps, “what about out of it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He became preternaturally still, not even a feather rustling out of place. Before she could register what was happening, not even lifting his head he stepped away, letting her hand fall to her side, and turned back around to the eggs cooking on the stovetop. Bryce watched him for a moment, letting the realization of her mistake sink in, before whirling around to escape the sight of his rejection, the distance now separating them. She crossed the line that she had stood on the precipice of for so long, and she had fucked up. She silently admonished herself, pressing her palms against the countertop in agitation. The sound of the burner clicking off echoed through the morose quiet of the room. Not even she could muster the confidence to eat breakfast with him, not after what had just happened.

She was about to excuse herself from the room when a strong hand snaked around her from behind, palming her stomach, as another hand ghosted down the length of her arm sending chills racing along her skin. His lips were suddenly at her ear, his voice dripping with desire as it consumed every nerve in her body. 

“I would like that even more, Bryce.” He murmured, her name rolling off of his lips like a prayer. His body was pressed against hers, conforming to every curve, and the evidence of his arousal was pushing into her backside. The only thing louder than the stark silence of the room was the thunderous beating of their hearts. 

Hunt reached up, pushing aside her red-wine hair, and Bryce trembled at the cool draft suddenly whispering against her bare neck. Even though she knew what was coming, nothing could prepare her for the state of catatonic shock her body plunged into when his lips pressed against the silken skin of her shoulder. Everything became narrowed to that singular point of contact. She turned to putty in his hands. He trailed his lips up her neck, her mouth dropping open when his teeth grazed against her skin until he reached the shell of her ear once more. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice a tremor beneath her, threatening to shift and rupture her entire existence.

“Everywhere.” she moaned, gasping for a breath she had been holding. 

“Show me.” he said. A two word command that had her body aching and quivering. 

His hand that had been tracing up and down her arm nestled into her cupped palm, hanging limp at her side. Silently begging for permission. For direction. 

Fighting through the erotic haze fogging her brain, she found the wherewithal to respond and gripped his strong, callused hand. As she guided his hand down her leg, she turned her head to look at him, holding his gaze as their hands crept toward the inner apex of her thighs. It was when his fingers brushed across her center and the physical evidence of her aroused state that she whispered a single word. 

“Here.” 

His eyes went dark with primal lust and when his lips met hers, they were rough. Needy. No longer gently asking permission but rather desperately demanding entrance. She would let him take and take from her until they were both sweating and limp with satiation. 

Her lips parted, his tongue diving in to entwine with hers. She grazed his bottom lip with her teeth and a guttural growl rumbled from his chest. In a swift movement, he spun her around and gripped her behind her thighs, lifting her to sit on the edge of the cool, marble countertop. It was as if he had read her mind, seen the fantasies she had imagined many a morning.

He pressed himself between her legs, the feathered tips of his wings tickling her calves as they flexed and shifted around them. His hands roved the surface of her body, fitting into every crook of her curves, each voluptuous swell nesting perfectly in his palm, his grip greedy and unforgiving. As they kissed, their gasps and moans the only sound in the room, Hunt pushed his hands up her thighs, working the shirt up to her waist. When his thumb pressed and circled around her delicate clit, her jaw slackened as she exhaled a whimpering moan into his mouth. She grappled for something to hold onto, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. He continued to work her, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves as he kissed along her jawline. 

He hooked his arm under her knee, lifting it up and spreading her wider on the marble, causing her to drop one hand and lean back on the counter to support herself. With their faces mere inches apart, he held her gaze as he continued the rhythmic movements of his hand against her center, watching the way she reacted to him with delightful hunger. When he teased her entrance with one finger, her grip on his neck tightened and she bit her lip. She was aching for him and that drove him wild. He was becoming unhinged at the sight of her, her heaving chest pressing her pebbled nipples against his shirt, her thighs spread wide for him, and the way she had just bitten her pink, kiss-swollen lip.

Before Bryce could even beg, he slowly thrust one finger into her, making her head tilt back with euphoria, “Fuck, Bryce.” he cursed. The feeling of her wrapped around him, warm and wet, made his cock ache even more. Attaching his lips to her neck, he kissed and sucked and licked from her chin to the hollow of her throat. He wanted to draw this out, to tease her until she was trembling and gasping with pleasure. He wanted to taste her. Gods, he needed to taste her. But not yet. 

After a few moments, he withdrew his finger before inserting a second. Bryce brought her head up and with her eyes closed and lips parted in a pant, she focused on the sensation of his strong fingers teasing and stretching her, her arousal surely glistening on his skin. She wanted him to fill her, make her ache and scream with pleasure until there was nothing left of her. 

The next word she uttered made him groan in approval, “Faster.” she pleaded, knowing exactly what she needed to find her release. Hunt brought his forehead to hers, their lips barely touching as they shared breath, and he quickened his pace. The skin-to-skin contact and the way his strong fingers moved in and out of her, would bring her to the edge soon. When his free hand slid under and up her shirt to palm her bare breast, his thumb flicking her hardened nipple, she gasped, “Yes- yes, keep doing that, please!” she begged.

He did as she asked, his fingers unrelenting in their actions, and soon enough she was tipping her head back in ecstasy, her body shaking with pleasure. Hunt feathered kisses along her neck and chest, seeing her through her orgasm and when she was done, when her chest no longer heaved, he withdrew his fingers. He sucked them into his mouth, rolling his eyes back at the sweet and all-consuming taste of her. When his eyes opened again he realized she had been watching him, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her flushed face. 

“Are you done?” she asked pointedly, her eyebrow perking. 

“Not even close.” he growled, catching her lips in his. When he dropped her leg, letting her straighten on the island, she broke from the kiss and gave a sharp intake of breath. The sound of pain sobered his mind and he discovered her face wrenched in a grimace. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he blurted out, gently gripping the sides of her face with concern. 

“Oh stop fussing, it’s just my leg.” she told him off, “As much as I fantasized about this exact moment, I didn’t really take into account the comfort level of a countertop.” she laughed.

When Hunt didn’t laugh along, Bryce searched his face and found it set in a look as grim as his sudden demeanor. He was gently running his fingers along the brutal scar on her leg, his mind somewhere else entirely. She reached out, tipping his chin up to look at her and his gaze met hers, full of remorse. 

“No one could have changed what happened, not even you. If it weren’t for you being in that alley, I might have died that night… so stop blaming yourself.” Bryce said, her voice soft with forgiveness. 

Hunt gave a terse nod, cradling her hand that was pressed to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm. 

“Now, for the love of Urd, can we go somewhere more comfortable?” Bryce laughed in feigned exasperation. 

“Alright, c’mon, we’re going to your room.” he said, sliding his hands under her and picking her up, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He walked toward her bedroom determinedly and she eyed him with curiosity.

“You just want to look in my nightstand, don’t you?” she asked with suspicion.

“Oh, you fucking know I do.” he purred, giving her ass a possessive squeeze. 

When they entered the room, Syrinx jumped off of Bryce’s unmade bed with a yowl and ran out of the room. Hunt kicked the door shut before laying her down carefully on the bed.

She swatted his hands away, “Fucking Hel Hunt, I’m not an invalid. I just need a second to stretch, okay? Go do what you came here for.” she said, gesturing to the side of the bed. As she began stretching her leg, he turned to the notorious nightstand, grabbing the handle and pulling the drawer open with contained excitement and curiosity.

Silence, and then,“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, her back turned to him as she stretched. The contents of the drawer jostled as he plucked an object from inside. 

“Oh c’mon Athalar, don’t act like you’ve never seen nipple clamps before.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning around to see that looming giant of a man clutching a tiny Jelly Jubilee to his chest, his other hand shielding the toy’s face like a child. 

“Don’t look Juby!” He proclaimed, gasping in a playful tone. “Why in the Hel is she in your left nightstand?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I decided to bring her in here for safekeeping after someone rifled through my linen closet!” she spat in accusation. 

He leaned in, whispering as if performing an aside, “Y’know, I don’t think I can, in good conscience, continue this with her in the room.” 

“Oh for fuck sake, Hunt, just give her to me.” Bryce demanded in endeared exasperation, reaching up and snatching the glittery pegasus unicorn from his clutches before tossing it into the opposite nightstand. 

The contents of the drawer clattered again and when she turned back over, he was gripping her trusty vibrator in one hand, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold swinging from one outstretched finger. “I see you found Bob.” She winked.

“Who the fuck is Bob?” he asked, genuine confusion lacing his voice.

She snorted. “Battery. Operated. Boyfriend.” she punctuated, pointing towards the purple, silicone vibrator in his left hand. 

He looked back and forth between her and the toy, contemplating what to say next before gulping in a breath. “Well besides that, uh, interesting bit of information, I have so many questions.” he mused, climbing onto the bed and crawling over to kneel between her legs, already spread for him. 

“For starters, where did you get these cuffs? They feel alarmingly real. Not just some cheap, adult store replica.” 

Setting down the other two items, he focused on the metal handcuffs, unlocking them with the key he had also pulled from the drawer before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Those?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and feigning forgetfulness, “Oh I, uh, may or may not have stolen them…” she said, “...from the 33rd.” she added, her face breaking out into a sheepish grin.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he let her words sink in. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because,” she sat up, peeling off his white t-shirt, her body in all its glory now visible to him. He gulped, his eyes growing wider and he shifted on the bed. “Just like the rest of this gods forsaken city, you’ve heard the stories. My reputation precedes me…” she said. He saw the hurt flash through her eyes momentarily, but as quick as it had happened, it was gone. 

“So,” she stretched out two upturned fists to him, “cuff me officer.” she pouted, jutting out her bottom lip and giving him the saddest looking doe eyes.

His cock throbbed at the tone of her voice, at the way she was looking up at him so innocently, but he could see the wicked glint in her eyes. He took her hands, ratcheting the cuffs around each wrist and then picked up the blindfold, sliding his rough fingers along the silk material. He pushed a few stray strands of her hand behind her ears before stretching the elastic and sliding the blindfold down over her eyes. He ghosted his hands down the length of her arm, lifting them above her head and gently laying her back to rest on the bed. A knowing smirk played across her face.

“What are you up to, Athalar?”

He was hovering over her, his hard groin pressed against her aching center, his lips inches from hers. “Keep your arms up, and don’t move.” his voice was low and hungry, his command reverberating off her bones. 

With his hands planted on either side of her torso, he began kissing his way down her body, his lips trailing a tortuous path along her skin. When he reached her breasts, her skin pebbled at the contact. At his lips savoring each taste, his teeth grazing her teasingly, and at the cool breath he blew across her skin. He took each pert nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue around them, meanwhile flicking the other with his thumb.

Suddenly, he pulled his hands away, releasing her nipple from his lips. As much as it killed him, he stopped touching her altogether, admiring the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. She began to squirm and his grin turned devilish. 

“Hunt, what the fuck? Why did you stop?” Her voice was wanting, needy.

He didn’t respond. Just continued to watch her squirm in the wake of his silence, enjoying the sight of her missing his touch. After a few moments he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the static spark come to life. Pressing the pads of his fingers to her skin, he circled them around her breasts, dragging a small electric current along her skin and causing her back to arch off the bed.

“Fucking Hel Hunt!” she yelped, bringing her hands down to her chest where he caught them by the chain of the handcuff.

“I told you not to move your hands.” He scolded, his voice a deep bass. 

“But I-”

“Does it hurt?” He asked, a tinge of concern edging his voice.

She paused, considering her response carefully. 

“No.”

“Then,” he pushed her arms back, guiding her hands once more to their resting place above her head. “Do what I say and don’t move, understand?”

She nodded, obeying willingly, and he sat back to work his remaining undergarment off and reposition himself. Laying down on his stomach, he nestled himself between her legs and wrapped his arms around her hips, bringing his hands up to rest on her abdomen. He looked down at the junction of her thighs, humming in approval at the sight of her gloriously aching center, the wetness of her arousal glistening in the morning light that shone through the penthouse windows. 

He called forth that static again, that small kernel of power that was only a fraction of the full might of his gift. As he kissed down the inside of her thigh, the one that had been injured two years before, he traced his fingers down the inside of the opposite thigh. She let out a gasp, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced. He repeated the action of kissing her other thigh, this time not using his power, taking care not to cause her further pain. When he could no longer contain himself, he pounced upon her, his tongue lavishing erotic pleasure to her sensitive clit. When he electrified her skin once more, her back arched into his mouth as he feasted upon the taste of her. The delicious mixture of sensations - the soft press of his lips and the sharp tingling of his fingers against her skin - sent her reeling.

He repeated the tantalizing of her skin, diving his tongue into her entrance. “Holy fucking Urd, Bryce, you taste so good.” he groaned in delight, each word a tantric vibration through her core. 

Each languid swipe and thrust of his tongue was breaking her down and tearing her apart from inside. She could feel herself tightening, feel herself building to that eventual climax, but she didn’t want it to end that way. She wanted him inside her, filling her up so she could fall apart wrapped around his cock. She let him have a few more moments, let him savor the taste of her with delicious appreciation before setting her ruse into action. 

“Hunt, stop,” she moaned, lacing her voice with a whimper. He pulled himself up, sliding his body over hers so that he was once more hovering above her face, his arms pinned on either side of her torso. 

“What- what is it?” he asked. She could hear the panic in his voice. He had taken her bait.

She couldn’t help the devious smirk that spread across her face as she, with surprising strength, rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. She pushed the blindfold off and reached over, grabbing the key off of the nightstand. With quick precision, she unlocked the cuffs and chucked them, and the key, across the room. In this position, she could easily and selfishly find her release but she wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. He reached up to caress her arms but she pushed them above his head, her body parallel to his, her breasts pressed against his hard chest. 

“I want you inside me.” She moaned in a whisper, nipping his lip playfully. She felt his abs clench underneath her in response, heard the growl hum in his chest. 

Reaching back, she grabbed his already hard cock, positioning it at her entrance, teasing herself and delighting in the way his jaw clenched at her touch. His eyes were dark with hunger, his face schooled into a look of lethal and predatory calm. When she finally shifted her hips, pressing herself down onto his throbbing length and taking him in fully, their jaws both slackened and the moans they let out were loud enough for even the wretched souls at the bottom of the Istros to hear. With her hands planted on his chest and her nails digging into his skin, Bryce sank down onto him over and over, her lithe dancer’s body affording her grace and flexibility as she gyrated up and down. Hunt reached around, his wide grip claiming her ass with devious possessiveness, bringing her hips down harder as he thrust himself up to meet her. The change in force made Bryce whimper and dig her nails in deeper, threatening to draw blood. 

“So, is it just like you imagined?” Bryce asked, her words breathless and unhinged.

“If you’re referring to this,” Hunt said, giving a pointed squeeze of her ass, “it is so much better.” he growled, before pulling her down to catch her lips in his, his tongue invading her mouth with reckless abandon. Bringing his hands up to either side of her face, his fingers slid into her hair and he gripped a section, giving a tug to bare her neck to him. 

“I have one more idea that I think you’ll enjoy.” she said as he feathered kisses along her skin from her chin to the hollow of her throat.

“What could I possibly enjoy more than this?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

Without answering, Bryce lifted herself off of his cock, the absence of him instantly making her ache even more. She crawled down to the edge of the bed and on all fours, perked her perfect rear into the air and gave a beckoning wiggle. She wasn’t looking, but she knew as the bed shifted with his movement, that he was prowling towards her with a voracious hunger. She could practically feel the tension and sexual energy sizzling in the air. She felt his hands grip her ass again and then she felt his teeth sink into the tender skin of her rear, followed by a gentle but territorial spank.

His callused hands traced along her back and up to her neck, reaching around to gently grip her throat. His body was confirmed to hers and when his lips were once more at her ear, his deep voice rumbling through her, the fire inside of her was reignited with damning ferocity. 

“The kitchen counter may have been your fantasy, but this is mine.” he groaned, tracing his tongue along the shell of her ear.

“Oh, I know.” she moaned with a smirk, her voice dripping with arrogance. 

Hunt dipped two fingers into her, giving a few quick thrusts before withdrawing and sliding his cock in, letting her wrap around his sensitive erection. In this position, his reach was even deeper and their gasps and groans intermingled, filling the otherwise silent room. With his right hand still gripping her throat, Hunt reached his free hand around her abdomen, his fingers finding her clit. When they made contact, her body shuddered around him, writhing at the sensory overload assaulting her body. 

Bryce heard an airy snap as Hunt unfurled his wings fully and a moment later the room became a torrent of air. With both hands occupied, he was using the flap of his feathered wings to both balance himself and provide him further leverage to sink into Bryce with each thrust. The currents of air made her nipples harden, made her skin tingle with delight, and she could feel the coil deep within her tightening again. 

“You’re going to wake up the entire building with all that flapping.” Bryce snapped, her sex-mussed hair billowing like a curtain of fire.

“Good.” Hunt grunted, “Let them hear.” His wings beat faster, bringing his thrusts against her backside harder and deeper. His fingers still worked her clit, massaging her in circles that made her legs tremble. When he dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, biting her earlobe and groaning into her ear, it was her undoing. 

The coil within that was threatening to rupture sprang alive and it was everything she could do to keep herself on all fours. Her body shook with unrelenting pleasure and her moans echoed off of every wall. When she tightened around his cock he, too, found his release. The windows vibrated from his roar as he spilled into her, every muscle in his body tense, his skin gleaming with sweat.  When they both stilled, their chests heaving and legs trembling, they collapsed onto their backs in a sweaty but satiated heap, laying shoulder-to-shoulder. 

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their gasping pants. Hunt’s wings were still extended, cascading over the edge of the bed in a blanket of white, Bryce’s blood red hair a stark contrast. 

Bryce squirmed, reaching under her and yanking our the purple vibrator. 

“I guess we didn’t need Bob after all.” She exhaled, tossing it to the other end of the bed. Hunt chuckled, his laughter shaking the bed, a smug smile forming. 

“I-,” Bryce started, still gulping in air, “I guess it’s a little late to ask, but do you take the tonic?”

“Every month on the dot, as per Micah’s contract.” Hunt said, his voice now a sharp edge at the mention of his servitude, “It doesn’t bode well to have a bunch of slave offspring running around I suppose.”

Bryce looked over and saw the way his face was set into hard lines, his eyes turning dark as he became lost in thought. She rolled over onto her side, taking his tattooed wrist into her hand. She pressed her kiss-swollen lips against the inside of his wrist where the slave tattoo was etched into his skin. She repeated the action, kissing the spot several times before angling herself up to do the same across his forehead, trailing her lips gently across the thorned halo.When she was finished, she pulled back and looked him in the eyes with absolution.

“I’ve seen who you are Hunt, who you truly are, and you are so much more than those markings.” she spoke quietly, the tender admission lingering in the air between them. His eyes grew softer as he looked into the amber ones peering into his soul. Like so many other times, his breath caught at how beautiful she was. How the morning sun made her glow with an otherworldly radiance. How her face was so soft, a smattering of freckles bedecking her skin like a constellation. How her red hair spilled over her shoulders and back like a velvet curtain. 

In that moment, he wanted so badly to say what had tortured him every day since his exploration of her linen closet, and the innocent way she had divulged a part of herself that no one else had seen. He could taste the words on his lips, could feel them forming, but before he could utter a word Bryce broke the silence with a contented sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.

“Alright Athalar, can we actually go make breakfast now? I’m fucking starving!” she exclaimed, making the bed shake from their laughter.

Hunt rolled over to hover over top of her, his sable hair hanging down around his face and tickling her skin. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering once more at the taste of her.

He spoke, his words coming out muffled against her mouth. “The last one there has to do the dishes!” he grinned wickedly, making a dash for his underwear discarded across the room.

“It’s on alphahole!” she shouted, leaping off the bed, knocking her bedside lamp off with a clatter in the process. She shrugged on his t-shirt once more, dodging the forgotten handcuffs he chucked at her which hit the closed bedroom with a metallic crash. From across the apartment, Syrinx gave a whine at the commotion, leaping down off of the couch to wait patiently for Bryce to fill his food bowl. 

[purplecroissant2]

A Post-Hardeen One-Shot

I found this in my drafts today, and I liked my own writing more than I probably should have. Lol, it was meant to be quite a bit longer, but works so well as a scene that I can’t help but post it. Let’s see... established relationship!Obikin, they’re on a mission during the Clone Wars just a little bit after the snafu on Naboo, blah blah blah.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Anakin says.

“You haven’t looked me in the eye since we boarded the ship two weeks ago, Anakin. If you’re still angry, release it into the Force. We have a job to do,” Obi-Wan shoots back. He pushes forward into Anakin’s space, and Anakin backs into the wall to keep him away.

“I’m not angry!” Anakin hisses back. He doesn’t want to yell anymore, though he certainly did not long ago. When he’d first found out about the deception, he’d wanted to rend everything to pieces, tear at his own hair and face—tear at Obi-Wan’s false face—until nothing remained. He felt trapped, over-stimulated and burdened with things he couldn’t express. Not there in front of the Council and the Nabooian leadership. Not to Obi-Wan. Not to himself. He’d said things he didn’t mean, blamed people he shouldn’t have, and he isn’t sure how to move forward now. “I’m not angry. I’m not. I don’t know how to make you understand, I— I never thought I’d see you again.”

Obi-Wan sucks in a harsh breath, as if shocked. Is it so surprising that Anakin would miss him? Would feel grief and loss? He searches for the words again, “I— I don’t know how to look at you. You died in my arms. You’re a ghost, I grieved you, Master.”

“I— “ Obi-Wan pauses for a moment. He looks as broken open as he ever has been, honest in his surprise. Then his face shutters again, and Anakin wonders if the disappointment that runs through him is directed at Obi-Wan’s repression or his own hopes. “The mission— It was for the greater good. To save the life of the Chancellor of the Republic, your friend, our political leader. It was the only way.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Anakin rages, “That’s— everyone’s said that to me already. If you think I’m so horrible of a Jedi that I don’t get it, then I don’t know why the Council knighted me at all. I know about the greater good. I know what the Chancellor means to the Republic, to the war effort. I know what he means to me personally, for kriff’s sake!” He’s shaking, the tremor in his heaving chest so severe that his mechanical arm trembles. It’s hard to speak through the lump in his throat and the burn in his eyes, but he will get through this.

“It’s—“ He’s been thinking about this non-stop, since his anger cooled and was replaced with an empty hopelessness he couldn’t release or repress. Since he boarded this stupid fucking ship with Master to keep fighting the war like nothing had happened. “I still lost you. I don’t know how to make you understand that. You died and I was supposed to accept that?”

“We’re in the middle of a war, Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice is tight and getting louder. He presses forward into Anakin’s space again. They’re face to face, nose to nose. Anakin doesn’t want to look, but he has no where to run. He stares directly into Obi-Wan’s blue, blue eyes, bright with anger. “Yes, you’re supposed to accept that. Your grief is— is— It’s pathological. It’s extreme. It’s attachment.”

“Ten rotations!” Anakin yells back, now that the gauntlet’s been dropped and they’re fighting anyway. “You were gone for ten rotations. Pathological? You raised me, Master. I loved you. Ten rotations to get over the death of my partner? My best friend? Some Jedi lose their padawans and disappear into meditation for years!”

He shoves at Obi-Wan’s shoulder to get away from the wall, get some space. He’s a little surprised that it’s so easy to blow past him. His master could do a stunning impression of a brick wall when he felt the urge. Obi-Wan might mutter something as he slips by, but it’s barely audible. Anakin continues, “And then you were back. And everything was fine. And I don’t know how they did it—Ahsoka, and Quinlan, and Aayla—I don’t know how they can look at you, and not still feel it. Feel like you’re missing.”

Obi-Wan stares at him blankly. He’s mouthing something, some word, but Anakin sees red. There’s a rushing in his ears and his words won’t stop running, and running and, “And it’s worse, because you used me specifically. You said it, that my grief was what would sell it to Dooku, that you were really dead. I— I— It felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was alone. I felt like I was dying, Master, I— You died, and I was alone, and it was like I was dying too, and you wanted that to happen. You wanted me to feel like that, and I don’t know how to look at you, and not hate you for that.”

“Anakin—“ Obi-Wan starts. He’s stretching out a hand, to try and stop him, try and say something, but Anakin’s not finished. “I know there’s a war. I know I’m a General, that I have responsibilities, but this is cruel. It’s cruel to make me look at you. It’s cruel to make me feel this way. I’m not ready. I was dealing with it, but now I can’t and I don’t—“

“Anakin! Anakin, please, will you just—“ Obi-Wan sniffs hard, and suddenly Anakin realizes that his master is crying. Hard. He’s shaking just as much as Anakin is, and it sends another bolt of painful emotion through him. “Loved?”

“What?”

“You loved me. Past tense. I—“ Obi-Wan brings a hand to scrub at his eyes. “Will you just, please take my hand?”

Anakin looks down. In the chasm between them is Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. It’s shaking, just a little. He wonders what it will cost to close the gap. What it will do to him to reach out with his left hand, and touch, skin to skin, for the first time since Obi-Wan’s death.

It feels a lot like relief. The first brush of his fingers is almost profound, for all that it doesn’t feel like anything at all. He cups their palms together and the warmth of Obi-Wan’s hand, the beat of his pulse, feels like confirmation. His master is alive. It wasn’t real before, but it is now. The emotion burns in the hollow of his palm and buzzes in his fingers.

He looks up and he is not alone. Obi-Wan looks exhausted, the droop of his shoulders and the sag at the corners of his mouth enough to make that clear. Tears are still dripping down his cheeks, but this feels like the eye of the storm.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says finally, “I don’t think I’ve said it at all, actually, but I hope you know that I am. I am so incredibly sorry.” It hits like absolution, like bacta on a ‘saber burn, and the relief is so overwhelming that he squeezes Obi-Wan’s fingers tight. “I knew it would hurt you. I did it anyway. I won’t make excuses, I thought it was the right thing, the only thing, but I caused you harm, dear one.

“I love you, dear one. I don’t want to hurt you. I— We’re Jedi Knights, not military leaders and certainly not spies. We don’t fake our deaths and pull clandestine missions. How could I have expected you to be okay with this? I couldn’t have survived the same myself.”

“You couldn’t?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan smiles ruefully, guiltily. “Truthfully, I don’t believe I’d ever have to. I think you’re invincible, irrationally enough. The things you do—the stunts you pull—I don’t know if there’s a force in this galaxy that could bring you down.

“I love you.” Obi-Wan repeats. “I am sorry. You’re under no obligation to forgive me, to love me again. I wanted us to go back to normal. I pushed for you to join me on this supply run. I thought I could— I don’t even know. Convince you you were being irrational? It was selfish.”

“I do still love you,” Anakin cuts in. That’s important, in the aftermath, to say—for Obi-Wan to know. “I didn’t stop. I could never stop.

“I don’t think I said it either, but I’m glad you’re okay. I’m so kriffin’ happy you’re okay.” He wants to hold on, drag this moment on forever and ever, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are so, so blue, and suddenly he’s hard to look at again.

“I— Give me some time? Please? I— I’ll see you at the bridge for the briefing, okay, I’ll see you soon.”

Obi-Wan squeezes his hand, then lets go. “Okay, however long you need.”

[ironhoshi]

My dumb ass meant 16 XD still QuinObi cuz they babie

Well, in that case-

16. one person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person. ---

It wasn’t like he expected his Master to make a big deal of it, nor anyone really, but a simple happy life day would have been nice. Obi-Wan was rather used to lackluster life days, as he should be; since Jedi didn’t really embrace such things. The day he was born was merely another day. Another day of shoving some grey stuff around on his plate while he glanced glumly out at the rest of the dining hall. Most of his friends were out on missions of their own and he was, once again, grounded with Master Jinn. They may have caused chaos yet again according to the Council. He saw things differently and it all could have logically been explained if his Master hadn’t argued. 

Master Jinn loved to argue.

He sighed as he rested his chin on his fist. He supposed there were worse ways to spend today, in fact, he had spent previous ones far worse. Obi-Wan wasn’t even sure why he was dwelling on something so useless. There were reports left to write since Qui-Gon certainly wasn’t going to remember and he had a decent amount of clothes to mend. With that plan in mind, he forced himself to finish the food before getting up from the table. A nice cup of tea and doing the various tasks while in his room would at least be better than just sulking in the dining room. The plate was set in the collection bin and he couldn’t help pulling a face. Where was his Master anyway? The unkind thought that Jinn was playing sabacc and drinking with his friends flitted through his mind. If his Master wanted to catch up with his friends then he wasn’t going to fault him. He would merely pout while he wondered if there were still any sticky buns left in the cabinets back in the apartment he shared with Qui-Gon. They were both partial to the sweet tuber ones which meant it was unlikely any of that particular flavor was gone. The hallway was empty as he walked, boots echoing against the floor, and he missed the normal sound of younglings rushing about. 

He was just about to the apartment door when he had to admit defeat. Obi-Wan acknowledged he was pouting because he hadn’t wanted this day to be just another day. His pout only grew as he typed in the unlock code for the door. There probably weren’t even any sticky buns left in the cabinet with his luck. The door hissed open to reveal Quinlan Vos. There was no warning as his friend grabbed the front of his robes to yank him inside the apartment nor was there a warning before he found himself being kissed. Well, it certainly was hard to pout when Quin was paying him that sort of attention. He grinned into the kiss and gladly threw his arms around the other’s neck. 

“Congrats at making it another year,” Quinlan whispered against his lips and Obi-Wan felt warmth spread through his body. He pressed into the kiss before finally pulling back to study his friend’s face. 

“I thought you were on a mission?” “Got done early, thought I’d surprise my second- wait, no- third favorite person.” Obi-Wan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Glad to know I am moving up on the list, last we talked I was fifth favorite. I am not even going to ask.” “Probably for the best. Now come on, I know just how I want to celebrate today,” Quinlan informed him with a dramatic eye waggle. A laugh escaped him and then he was leaning his forehead against his friend’s shoulder as their laughter mixed together around them. 

“You are, as always, the worst.”

[elsapheonix]

Wolffe with a halo

“Hey Wolffe, look there's a letter here” Gregor called

“Alright” I called

“It’s for you can I read it?” Gregor asked

“For me? Uhh no I’ll be there in just a second” I said and I left the Bedroom and went the table where Gregor was. He handed me the Letter. My breath caught when I saw the handwriting on the envelope

Return Address:

Wild space Coordinates

G-9 76937-O-930

Commander Wolffe Koon

Seelos

AT-AT Imperial Walker

“Oh my….” I said trailing off and then I tore into the letter before my fear caused me to throw it away.

My Beloved Wolffe Koon,

Kah-ta-yar Wolffe, how are you after all these years? These year go by slow without you here by my side, it’s been so long. I still love you more than anything else. Especially more than my own life. I even discarded rules for you. The Jedi Code was probably the biggest one, but I didn't care and i still don't. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you, not a day goes by without me missing you, my Angel. It’s so hard being away from you day in and day out. It’s hard to do anything without you. You were, still are, and will always be my everything, my life, my world, my angel and my reason for living, for fighting, for existing. I believe it’s the will of the force that we meet and that I fell in love with you. Too me you are an Angel from the force. I could go on but then I’d need an entire notebook and it’s not easy to put a notebook in a envelope. You would know.

Do you ever think of the good times, Angel? About the Clone wars? I know I do. Almost everyday. The wolfpack was my family, My clan, My Aliit. Although they are not really my Brothers It sometimes felt as they were. Aliit ori'shya tal'din, Family is more than blood. I loved each and everyone of them, no man was just a clone. Losing then was the worst part of Order 66.

I miss everything of the clone wars, i guess when you grow up in a war zone you come too miss it when life changes. I miss taking down clankers, pranking shinnies with boost, leading assaults, hanging out with boost and sinker, destroying astromechs, fighting the sith, disobeying direct orders, Pissing off Rex, being able to use my lightsabers, spending countless hours with you doing ship duties, us breaking rules just so Master Plo would put us on deck duty while they all went down to battle, our countless arguments, even the ones over stupid things, scaring you with my piloting, you spending the night with me when I had the bad dreams, goofing off while doing paper work with you and the time we spent in the med after one of us had gotten hurt. I miss you're singing, and the silly little pet names you had for me. Most of all I miss Master Plo and you. I miss you more than him, Angel.

I had thought I had lost you forever after the purge, I wish I had not left you Angel, it has bothered me for longer than i can remember. I was a fool when I thought we were better a part, when in reality we are always better together. I had an harder time hiding from the empire on my own, I actually have been captured and escaped many times each time changing my name. I now go by Elisa Koon and have not been captured since Ahsoka and I started the rebels. I’ve made many reckless and stupid decisions. Some of them i’m sure would had been prevented had you been with me or had I stayed with you. I was a coward for leaving you and running like i did. I was afraid. I didn't even thank you for saving my life, Didn't even say goodbye. I abandoned you and I’m so so sorry.

I would like to see you again even if you don't look the same as you did before. It’s been so long and Rex says I need to stop pushing people away, I haven’t let anyone get close to me. He’s right I need to stop pushing people away and locking them out, Especially my Angelic Riduur. Speaking of Rex he couldn't figure out who I was and I eventually had to tell him who I was then he told me that you and gregor were camping out in an Imperial Walker on Seelos hunting Juppa's. That doesn't seem like a good way to spend the rest of your days.

Personally I think you’d be better off here with me Angel. I know you don't want too join our fight against the empire and you don't have to if you don't want too. I would never make you do anything. If you were to come I will protect you, I won't let anyone hurt you, never again. You remember that promise I made too you after Kholum right? Well, I’ll still stand too it. No one is ever going to hurt you again on my watch, not if I can help it, Angel.

I don't use my Lightsabers much anymore unless I have too, but I do keep them on me at all times, hidden of course. I mentioned I had to use a different name right? Elisa Koon, I have it as the shortened version of my real name Elizabeth Koon, Force how I hate that name. I’ve lost count of how many I have had. All have been shortened versions of my real one. I’ve used a different last name every time. I’ve been El Vizsla, Eliz Diana, Lily Uma, Lisa Tiana, Lisbeth Bonjo, Ela Vila, Izzy Tuttle, Libby Gulo, Beth Di Angelo, Bess Lupus, Bette Kyzie, Bessie Humble, and once I even used my full name Elizabeth Phoenix. Now I am Elisa Koon.

I decided it was time that I went back to my married name. I have even started to wear the diamond band you gave me again. If you do come I would like to redo our vows or even do a public wedding since the one we had was private. I’m sure you’d like that to.

We have found many of our Vods, Angel. Several of them, like yourself, don't want too fight so we provide them shelter and protection, I’m over that part of the rebellion. Some of them fight only as a last resort if we are really in a pickle, actually that's how all of them are. They like to help with planning and spare small jobs we have that need to be done, Comet, Sinker and Boost are some of the ones that are around.

The rebellion is lead by Ahsoka Tano, Separatist leader Commander Sato, Hera Syndulla and myself. We have been helping many systems who are in need because of the empire. Oh yeah, Senator bail Organa and princess Leia Organa secretly lead us in our fight while pretending to support the empire. I’ve edited my Armor, added extensions to it and made it bigger so it would fit me, I also changed it’s color from purple to grey. It’s markings match the ones on you're clone armor.

If you and Gregor do come I’ll find a cure for your fast aging. We’ve found cures for the ones that are here, aside from Rex, but it’s different for every clone, we have a serem but it has to be altered for every clone, we are currently altering it for Rex and I’m sure we could alter the serum for gregor. Not so sure about yourself since at one point you were a Werewolf. We may have to unblock the werewolf part of your blood, which would make you a wolf again.

I know you might not be too keen too that Idea but I highly doubt the serum could be altered for you seeing as you have wolfblood in you still. It wasn't actually removed like you thought I just used the force to contain it and make it inactive. We will try to do the serum but if we can't i’m going to free the wolf-blood. I don’t want you to die on me anytime soon. I don’t think I could live without you my beautiful Angel. It’s not fair that we are the same age yet you're near the end of your life.

It’s boring here, some of these guys have less personality than some of than some of the shinnes fresh off of Kamino did. And that’s saying something.

After battles were always fun with you and the wolfpack. Especially if Rex and the 501st were involved. Those boys were always having a party. I remember Rex’s favorite phrase at those times “It’s always a party in the 501st”

Master Skywalker is not Darth Vader like we thought he was. So the mystery of who Darth Vader is, is still open. Master Skywalker is currently being held at an imperial complex. Highest security one. I think the emperor is keeping him alive too use his force signature too give to whomever darth vader is too make it seem as if master Skywalker is Darth Vader.

I know for a fact he’s not I came across files, imperial files of where he is being kept and his cell number. That's not information I can put in this letter. I have a few guesses at who Vader is.

I think he is Master Jrul, Master Pong Krell, or Master Quinlan Vos. Though he could be another fallen Jedi I think these three are the most likely. This would be a conversation best for comms or better yet being face to face.

I really wish you were here with me Angel, I need someone who understands me. I need you more than I ever thought my Angel.

If you decide to come you can write and I’ll come pick you up or you can just call Rex, I’m not in the command center often so the chances of them getting a comm message to me is slim.

Hope too see you again Angel,

Love,

Elsa Phoenix-Koon

“I...She….” I stumbled over the words I wanted to say. Gregor took the letter from my hands, I was in complete shock and could feel my eyes starting to water. “She still loves me” I finally choke out

“Of course she does Wolffe, she’s your wife, she’ll love you no matter what” Gregor says

“She’d be safer finding someone else” I say

“You don’t really belive that do you?” Gregor says

“I miss her, but I don’t want to risk hurting her” I say

“I doubt you could ever hurt her, she’s a strong kid” Gregor says, “We should go, sounds too me that she really wants you there”

“But…”

“No buts” Gregor says “I’m comning Rex”

“Wonderful” I say when Gregor leaves the room.

[xcertaindarkthingsx]

chapter 1 - reunion

a/n: hi everyone :) this is my first time posting my writing on here and writing for star wars in general, i hope you like it!  it’s going to be a series.  feel free to leave any comments or constructive criticism, it’s greatly appreciated.  if you’d prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x oc (you can learn more about her here)

warnings: none for this chapter, i think.  just some fluff and two people checking each other out haha

word count: 4.162k

tag list: @a-dorin if you’d like to be tagged, feel free to message me :)

Fingers fidgeted, twisting a lock of hair over and over again.  Nerves began to creep up on the Jedi, but the steady rumble and thrum of the Republic cruiser helped keep them at bay.  

“You’re nervous,” her companion, Cordé, stated. Seraphine turned to face her; their faces bathed in the soft, blue light of hyperspace.  She was right of course, but there was no way in hell Seraphine was going to admit it.  

“Am I?” she tried to play cheeky but the waver in her voice betrayed her.  Kriff, she thought.  

“I can’t imagine why; you haven’t any bad blood with anyone there.  Unless,” Cordé paused, “this has something to do with a certain Jedi Master you left behind,” adding an arched brow and a smirk.  Seraphine shot her best murderous glare towards her friend before wrapping herself tighter in her robes.  An old habit from when she was a youngling.

“Oh, please,” she enunciated with an eyeroll. “It’s not that it’s just… I wonder how different ‘home’ will be now.”  Home being the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where she grew up.  

For the past 4, almost 5 years, Seraphine had been on a long-term undercover mission on Kessel, a lawless planet in the outer rim territories.  There, she met Cordé, and together they worked with locals and other Jedi stationed in nearby outposts to uncover and destroy an extensive trafficking ring. It was difficult, and they suffered great losses, but within 2 and a half years their mission was a success. Seraphine longed to return home, but instead decided to stay and deal with the fallout of their mission and further assist the victims.  

That quickly came to an end after the events on Geonosis.  When word broke out of the battle and upcoming war, a distress call was sent out to the far reaches of every system, warning every Jedi Temple of what was to come. Those who were able, or those originally from Coruscant, were to come as soon as possible to aid in the war effort.

Just a few days ago, Seraphine received her own transmission from Master Yoda and her old Master, Plo Koon.  They urged her to come back home and bring any extra hands if possible.  So, there they were, aboard a cruiser en route to Coruscant.  

Seraphine’s mind wandered to what she had left behind all those years ago.  Her friends— Aayla, Quinlan, Kit, Nejaa, Bant; her master and mentors.  Not to mention little Anakin training as a Padawan, and his master— Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Her closest friend, her partner in crime, and the most honorable man she knew.  His old master, Qui-Gon, had been partially responsible for bringing her to the Temple as a child.  They had grown up together on Coruscant; trained as Padawans, became Knighted within a few years of each other, and carried out plenty of adventurous missions before she left.  

Her heart skipped at the thought of him.   They had grown so close over time, and she realized too late that her feelings for him had turned into something forbidden, something they were sworn to deny.  

It was no secret to Obi-Wan that Seraphine didn’t fully agree with the way the Jedi Code was conducted, especially when it came to casting aside emotions and preventing attachments.  Her abilities within the Force made doing so very difficult. They had many spirited discussions with each other and their masters when they were younger.  Obi-Wan did not find it amusing how much Qui-Gon and her agreed on such sentiments at the time.  

Nevertheless, Seraphine never revealed how she felt about him.  How could she?  There was that whole situation with Satine, and more importantly— she knew what kind of man he was.  While he had his disagreements with the Council at times, he was fiercely loyal to the Order.  The probability of him reciprocating such intimate feelings for her just seemed impossible.

However, she knew how much he cared.  Obi-Wan had always done well in preventing emotions from clouding his actions in important situations, but that didn’t mean he was callous.    He was compassionate and cared deeply, and always made sure, in his own little way, to show it.  They entrusted each other with their lives.  

But Seraphine had grown weak and tired of burying herself away, so she did what she thought best: she ran away.  

Confessing that she was leaving was difficult.  While he tried to mask it, there was no denying the wave of hurt and disappointment that radiated from Obi-Wan.  There was no doubt that if he knew how big a part he really played in her departure that it would hurt him even more.  So when asked why, Seraphine held back, and he could tell.  Her failure to tell the whole truth had left a bit of a ridge in their relationship.  

They tried to keep in touch, but it became difficult when she went deep undercover, so their communications died out. Something sat heavy in Seraphine’s gut and chest, like a boulder, whenever she thought of him for too long. Guilt, her mind told her.  What you’re feeling is guilt.  It felt like she was losing a part of herself.  

Being so far away, she worried constantly for his wellbeing.  Regardless of how capable she knew he was.  But something ensured that if anything were to happen, she would feel it.

By some twisted form of fate, a Force Bond had developed between them during a mission they had carried out just before she was Knighted.  If one of them was in trouble, the other would know.  Seraphine wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t the most convenient thing to possess when trying to hide her true feelings.  However, Master Plo’s teachings and training made reigning in her emotions doable.  To her, the pros outweighed the cons.  It was nice being able to reach out and feel Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force when she was missing him.  

She always wondered if he did the same.

Foolishly, she thought time would subdue her feelings. She was wrong.  All the kriffing training in the world couldn’t prepare her for being forced to face the very thing she’d been avoiding for years.              

It’s not that Seraphine didn’t want to see him, but she didn’t know if she could handle his reaction to her return. Resentment?  Would he even be on the platform when they landed? Insecurity seeded itself back into her mind, making her feel like the ugly duckling she always saw herself as when they were Padawans.  Seraphine buried her body deeper into her robes, painfully conscious of herself. Doubts continued in her mind in a torturous cycle until Cordé interrupted.

“We’re about to make the drop out of hyperspace. We’re here, Seraphine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Obi-Wan’s hands fidgeted with his forearm armor while he stood, waiting in the landing bay of the Jedi Temple.  His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he began to pace, one hand absentmindedly stroking his beard.  

“You’re nervous,” Anakin pointed out to his former Master, amused.  He’d never seen him act like this.  

“I most certainly am not,” Obi-Wan insisted. He most certainly was, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to Anakin.

“Really, Master?  Cause’ I haven’t felt you this tense since—”

“Oh, don’t start.”

Obi-Wan believed he had every right to be nervous. In a few moments he’d be seeing his oldest friend, his closest friend— Seraphine.  They had grown up together, here at the Temple.  And while she was 6 years his junior, they had trained closely as Initiates and Padawans together, and she became Knighted just a few years after him.  She had been there for him during one of the most difficult times of their lives, when Qui-Gon had died.

They had been inseparable since they were younglings, so when she decided all those years ago to leave so abruptly, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing a part of himself.  But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let it show.  He was aware there was more to why she left— their Force Bond had told him that much— but when he pressed her, she refused to disclose.  

She had been his rock in taking care of Anakin, and he’d been fearful of what would happen when she left.  It was difficult the first few months, and it didn’t help that his heart had suffered a blow as well.  Obi-Wan recognized his hurt reaction as indication of feelings he was not supposed to have, so he told himself it was truly for the best. Though, it was hard to get his heart on board with his head.  

They had tried to stay in touch when she had first left, but it quickly became difficult with their differing schedules, and almost impossible when she went deep undercover.  He worried for her but knew that if something bad happened he would feel it.  Once in a while, he would reach out in the Force just to feel a touch of her presence and make sure she was still there.  

He wondered if she ever did the same.  

News came around the Temple of her successful mission a few years later, and he remembered being incredibly proud.  As quiet as she was, Seraphine was also the fiercest person he knew, and it showed in all her actions.  Not only was he proud, he was excited.  A successful mission meant she’d be coming home soon.  

However, he was disappointed to find out she’d be staying out there for who knows how long, to clean up the fallout of the mission. Somehow that news hurt more than watching her leave, but he couldn’t be angry with her.  Most people go in, get the job done, and leave without any regard for the long-term consequences of their actions.  But Seraphine always took responsibility for her actions, good or bad. It was just the kind of person she was, and one of the many qualities he admired in her.

And now, he was finally getting what he’d been looking forward to all these years.  With the war looming over them, they were in dire need of assistance from any Jedi they could spare.  Not only that, he knew that her incredible skills would transfer over well to becoming a General for the Republic, and the Council knew it too.  Just a few days ago, Master Yoda and Plo Koon had reached out to her directly to come home.  He couldn’t bring himself to be in the briefing room when they called.  

“Why is he nervous?” Ahsoka whispered loudly to Anakin, interrupting Obi-Wan’s reminiscing.

“Oh, for the last time, I’m not nervous,” Obi-Wan insisted.  “It’s simply been a long time since I’ve seen her, she’s a dear friend.”  He reminded himself to keep a reign on his emotions.

“I have some memories of her, but they’re a bit fuzzy.  In bits and pieces,” Anakin murmured.  

“You knew her too?” Ahsoka questioned, trying to get as much information about this mystery woman that seemed to have Obi-Wan on edge.  Anakin nodded.

“She helped Obi-Wan take care of me when I first came to the Temple.  We’d always train out in the back courtyards, under that big blossom tree,” Anakin paused and chuckled.  “I’d sit and watch her sketch in her notebook, or she’d tell me all these crazy stories.”

The memory caused a burst of warmth in Obi-Wan’s chest; those days seemed so far away now.  He’d already heard all her crazy myths, legends she had buried her nose in or remembered from her homeworld and recited as a child, but he loved to listen to her retell them to his young Padawan.  His thoughts went to those very sketchbooks Anakin had mentioned, which were hidden away under his mattress, along with a small box of her belongings. She had given them to him as a sort of parting gift.  A promise; something for him to hold onto until she came back.

“So, why did she leave?” Ahsoka probed further.

“She left for that Kessel trafficking mission a few years ago,” the older Jedi responded.  The younger furrowed her brows, realizing it was something she’d learned in her classes.

“That was her?” Ahsoka was stunned.  “We’ve talked about her in our studies, she’s amazing.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself.  “Yes, she is.”

Something about that mission sparked a faint memory in Ahsoka, something she’d read in an Archive file.  “Wait, didn’t the same girl destroy that sect of Black Knights that emerged a long time ago?”

The memory of that mission left a sour taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth.  He’d almost lost her that day.  He opened his mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted by Commander Cody’s voice crackling on his commlink.  

“General Kenobi, we’ve got an incoming ship from the east.  Looks like they’re here.”  Obi-Wan nodded at his Commander from across the platform, steeling his nerves as he watched the ship land.  

He held his breath as the hatch opened, watching two figures emerge.  Seraphine. He picked her out immediately as the one in front, knapsack hanging off her slight figure.  The one trailing behind must have been her friend that Master Yoda mentioned.  Obi-Wan urged himself to calm his emotions; stay cool and collected.  

That silly notion completely disappeared upon seeing her walk down the platform.

Oh, Maker, she was beautiful, he thought. Just like she had been the day she left, but things were a bit different now.  Her face had matured and while she always had a hardened demeanor, there was something else she wore on her face now.  A sort of defiance in her brow that wasn’t there before.  

Back then, Seraphine had buried herself in her Jedi robes like a security blanket.  Always trying to make herself smaller, quieter.  But now?  Obi-Wan was in awe at how much taller she stood on that platform.  Without even thinking, his eyes roved up and down her body. Her robes kept her somewhat obscured, but he could make out the new fabric underneath.  It was still modest, but he never remembered seeing so much of her skin before, especially her legs.  The thought made his face blaze and he quickly tried to think about anything else.  She mirrored Anakin in her dark colored wardrobe— not a traditional Jedi look but then again, she was not a traditional Jedi.  

He willed his eyes to shift their focus back to her face, noting how long her hair had grown.  When she had left, it was still short and choppy from her Knighting, when she had impulsively cut it along with her Padawan braid.  Now, it was long and flowing, like when they were younglings.  A silver circlet sat at the top of her head, attached to a chain that weaved into her violet locks and made her look like an angel, her namesake.  

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened as they got closer, and realized it was because he hadn’t taken a single breath since she stepped off the ship. Reminding himself to breathe, his eyes fell on the familiar swirl of tattoos on the edges of her face and down her neck.  Others often found her markings too striking, too stark of a contrast on her skin and features, but Obi-Wan always thought it suited her perfectly.  

He desperately tried to make out her expression, but her head was tilted towards Cody as she walked and talked.  Her presence was immediately soothing to him, a pulse of comfort in the Force, but there was a cloud of uncertainty that hung in the air.  Whether it was hers, or his own, he couldn’t tell.  Would she even be happy to see him?

Those thoughts dissipated when Seraphine finally looked away from Cody.  Obi-Wan watched as those golden brown eyes lit up and she broke into that wide, toothy smile of hers that always made him melt.  It was a smile that rivaled even Master Fisto’s trademark grin.  

His heart was in his throat, but he managed to smile back.  In the blink of an eye, the space between them was erased and her arms had enveloped him in a hug that was too big for someone of her size.  He stiffened on reflex, but quickly relaxed.  Obi-Wan was never one for public displays of affection but for her he would make an exception.  

“Obi-Wan,” she breathed into his ear, clutching him tight. Disbelief tinged her voice and the air around them, like she wasn’t sure if any of this was real.  He clutched her just as hard, assuring her that it was. Her touch had stoked something in him, and he realized how long it’d been since he hugged another human being.

“Seraphine, my darling,” the term of endearment slipping out.  Obi-Wan rarely called her that with so many people around, but frankly he was too happy to care.  Gone were the days of having to reach out into the Force just to feel a taste of her presence.  Now, he was almost overwhelmed by it.  Their Bond seemed to swirl in harmony, sending waves of bliss and relief over them.

He didn’t mind.  All that mattered to him was the fact that she was finally back home with him, where she belonged.  

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Seraphine’s stomach somersaulted as the ship dropped out of hyperspace and made its descent onto the landing platform.  The nerves were overwhelming, but a tiny ball of excitement sat in her chest as well.  She’d be seeing her best friend again.  

The hatch of the ship opened with a hiss and she willed her legs to move forward, half aware of Cordé trailing behind. The two were greeted by a Commander Cody at the bottom before making their way towards the Temple entrance.

From afar, Seraphine could see a small group of people gathered that seemed to be waiting.  She squinted, trying to make out any faces while making small talk with Cody.  Her heart caught in her throat when she was close enough to see him.  Obi-Wan.

Oh, still as handsome as the day I left him, she thought.  He looked a bit different, but that familiar twinkle in his eyes let Seraphine know that it was still her best friend standing before her.  Not to mention the signature smirk he so often wore.  Smug bastard.  

He had grown older, but not in a bad way. The smile lines that crinkled around his eyes made him look even more distinguished.  His hair had grown out, accompanied by a well-groomed beard that suited him perfectly.  Maker, that beard, she thought.  Seraphine willed her mind to keep itself in check, but that kriffing beard was raising all sorts of sinful thoughts in her head.  Thoughts she quickly shook away as her face began to heat up.  

The traditional Jedi attire he usually wore included additions of battle armor that broadened his shoulders and heightened his build.  Seraphine never thought she’d live to see the day where Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ever “peaceful negotiator”, donned an outfit for war but he looked good.  It should be a damn crime to look that good.  

The excitement in her chest was crushing and her feet surged forward on their own.  A huge grin was plastered on her face as she threw her arms around him, whispering his name. She felt Obi-Wan stiffen for a split second, but his arms dropped and encircled her just as quick.  

“Seraphine, my darling,” he whispered softly in her hair. A stronger flush rose on her cheeks at the sound of his nickname for her, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her face. She breathed in his scent and smiled. Still the same as before: warm, clean, with a hint of oak.  Seraphine squeezed tighter, wanting to make sure it was really him standing in front of her.  No more reaching out into the Force just to feel a faint taste of his presence.  Now his signature shined brightly, blazing through their Bond.  He was really here, and she was finally home.

The grin never left her face as she took a step back to look at him.  Stormy blue eyes meeting hers and making her heart melt.  A wave of relief washed over them, and neither was able to tell whose it was.

There was so much Seraphine wanted to say, but the right words just wouldn’t seem to form.  Instead, she resorted to what she knew best with him— teasing.  She playfully tapped the end of his beard with a small smirk.  

“You look… different,” she said with a laugh, and thankfully he did too.  “In a good way.”  A smile spread across Obi-Wan’s face, along with that twinkle in his eye.  

“I could say the same about you,” he countered, and Seraphine’s face betrayed her with another blush.  The older Jedi thought it was endearing how easily flustered she was, even if she found it mortifying.  He watched in amusement as she tried to force it down and cover it up with an eyeroll.

Remembering they weren’t alone, Seraphine turned to the man standing next to Obi-Wan.  Her brows furrowed, trying to identify him.  He seemed to enjoy watching her try and figure it out, judging from the mischievous smile on his face.  Something about it made him look so familiar, almost like…

“Anakin?” Seraphine asked, dumbfounded.  Anakin responded with an even bigger grin than hers before reaching out for his own hug.  “Gods, I can’t believe it.  You’re not a little kid anymore,” she mumbled, feeling bittersweet.  He had completely grown up in her absence, his figure towering over hers.  The thought was sobering.  Seraphine felt like it was just yesterday she was wrapping him in blankets, acclimating him to the cold of Coruscant.  

“It’s good to see you again, Seraphine,” he punctuated with a tight squeeze.  As she looked over his shoulder, she met the eyes of a young Togruta girl.  She wondered why a Padawan would be here, but still gave a polite smile as she pulled back from Anakin.  

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet, what’s your name?” Seraphine inquired, extending an arm out as a greeting.  The girl seemed to be skeptical at first, but with a small nod from Anakin she took Seraphine’s hand.  

“I’m Ahsoka Tano.  I’m Master Skywalker’s Padawan,” she answered, pride clear in her voice.  Seraphine tried to hide her surprise as she let go of her hand.  While Anakin had been a very skilled and powerful student when she left, he was still wild and headstrong.  The fact that he’d been Knighted, let alone given a Padwan, shocked her.  I supposed if anyone could get a Padawan so early, it’d be the Chosen One, she thought.  

“Seraphine Kharis, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I know,” Ahsoka replied, much to Seraphine’s confusion.  “We’ve talked about the Kessel mission in our studies.  Your work is looked up to by a lot of us.”

Seraphine tilted her head at her, a look of puzzlement on her face.  They talked about us in their classes?  “Well, it certainly wasn’t just me, I had a lot of help.  Especially from her,” she assured, putting a hand on Cordé’s shoulder.

After everyone was introduced, the group made their way towards the inside of the Temple.  Falling into stride with Obi-Wan, Seraphine leaned to his side to whisper.

“They gave him a Padawan already?”

“Hey!” Anakin interjected, shooting a glare my way.  Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Oh, trust me.  I expressed the same sentiment at first, but he seems to be doing alright so far,” Obi-Wan assured.  Seraphine could only imagine his initial reaction but knew that he trusted Anakin.  That didn’t stop her from teasing though.

“Right, I can tell from the number of new grays you’re sporting.”

Ahsoka’s mouth fell open in shock and laughter while Anakin snickered.  Obi-Wan simply glared back, but Seraphine knew there was a small smile threatening to take over.

“It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor while you were gone,” he countered.  

“Never,” she smirked.  Obi-Wan shook his head at her.  

“Now, you two can drop your bags off in your rooms, but I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight into the briefing after.  The Council is waiting, and you’ll be introduced to your clone divisions.”

Anakin and Ahsoka announced they’d be going ahead while Obi-Wan led the remaining duo to the main sleeping quarters.  Seraphine was surprised to see that they had decided to give her old room back, with Cordé being given the one right across.  

Seraphine peered into the old room, not sure what to expect.  The quaint space she had spent almost her entire life in was void of any artifacts or trinkets that once branded it her own, but strangely still felt like home.

Some things never change.

They dropped off their things and made their way towards the briefing rooms.  

[cinna-wanroll]

*Is not writing the Obitine novel since apparently Disney cant fit it into their schedule*

That was a lie, in case you hadn’t already guessed lol. Anywho, here’s an excerpt from the first chapter since I’ve been a bit slow on uploading any original content. Keep in mind that this is a first draft, so I’ll probably end up editing it later

“Hey, buddy,” Vos clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically. 

“Hello, Quin,” Obi-Wan offered the Kiffar a good-natured smile and continued his walk. 

“Off to the races again already, I hear,” Quinlan continued, following his friend. 

Obi-Wan cocked a suspicious brow, “Yes,” he kept his tone mild, almost adding ‘unfortunately’ to the end of his sentence, “who told you?”

Quin shrugged and turned, beginning to walk backwards casually, “Oh, you know, my usual informants. Word travels fast around these parts, especially if you’ve got connections.”

Obi-Wan grinned disbelievingly, “Mm.”

“So,” his friend gave him a little nudge as he pivoted back around, “who’s this lady you’re off to rescue, hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan hated to admit it,, but Quinlan was actually quite charming, so he let the insinuation slide. 

“The duchess of Mandalore.”

Vos’ eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “The duchess?” Quin repeated in shock, “Damn, Obi-Wan. Aren’t people like her, like, hardcore Jedi haters or somethin’?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “Not anymore, since the treaty of Kal’desh almost 82 years ago,” he cast a pointed gaze at the Kiffar who he’d obviously lost at the word ‘treaty’, “You’d know this if you’d paid any attention in Galactic History. 

Quinlan grinned, “Hey, I passed that class.”

“Only because you bribed Bant with Gumbah pudding for a month and a half.”

“Whatever, man.”

Obi-Wan smiled adding, “Not to mention, she’s supposedly the leader of some pacifist group there. The New Mandalorians.”

Quinlan wrinkled his nose, “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me. Nothing ever got done by pacifist legions in the past- at least not anything that lasted longer than a couple of years. This galaxy needs structure, not some peaceful delusionists. Besides, how peaceful can a Mandalorian organization be?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and looked down, forced to admit he’d thought the same things. How peaceful was a group that’d managed to stay alive among even the harshest of cultural climates? Obi-Wan was guessing not very peaceful at all. 

“I’m not sure, but Master Windu said that this mission is of utmost importance.”

Quinlan sniffed, “Yeah, to his paycheck, probably.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Quinlan, you know Jedi don’t get paid.”

“Most Jedi. I’m just saying, those council members always seem to be a little concerned with issues outside the Republic, than with issues at home.”

Obi-Wan grimaced- he and Vos had never agreed on that particular subject, “We are defenders of the galaxy, Quin.”

His friend shrugged again, changing his tone immediately and smiling, “Yeah, well, just don’t fall too in love with her, mmkay? She might chop that pretty little head of yours off for peace”

“Isn’t that technically what we do sometimes?” Obi-Wan made a pained expression, despite the fact that he was willing to admit it. There was just something about it that made him feel guilty. 

“Yeah, but at least we’re upfront about it.”

“And who’s to say they’re not?”

“Fair enough.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

Although unlikely friends at first glance, Obi-Wan and Quinlan actually got along quite well. They were both calculated, witty, mischievous, and sarcastic fighters with a knack for getting themselves in trouble. 

 Except while Quinlan owned up to causing his antics, Obi-Wan was always the unfortunate person who could be convinced to join in for a cause when things were already taking a turn for the worst. 

They stepped up to the entrance of the mess hall, which was bustling with masters and padawans alike cramming generous heapfuls of muja muffins and mist-pudding onto their trays. 

“Mm-mm,” Quin rubbed his hands together, “I am starving!”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but nod eagerly in agreement, eyeing the tantalizing food as a group of creche students passed them. 

He wasn’t surprised to spot Qui-Gon at the very front of the extensive line, on time for the food, of course. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Good morning, boys.”

Obi-Wan turned around towards the direction of the voice, lighting up.

A familiar emerald face greeted him, serene and kind. 

Quin turned his head to her as well, “Mornin’ Luminara.”

Obi-Wan bowed and nodded towards the food line. 

“Can you believe this?”

Luminara smiled faintly and sniffed, peering in, “On buffet day? Certainly.”

“Aka the only day they serve real food in this Force-forsaken place,” Vos chimed in.

Obi-Wan and Luminara shared a look, but inside Obi-Wan couldn’t help but agree.

The Temple was many things, but it definitely wasn’t a diner. 

“What do you think our chances are of paying off some people at the front for their spots?” The Kiffar queried, gazing back at Obi-Wan and Luminara for suggestions. 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help the sarcasm that snuck into his tone, “and with what credits do you intend to do that?” 

“Dunno. I was thinking more… services,” Quin countered.

 Just as Obi-Wan was about to ask what services Vos was implying, Luminara interjected, “At this point, I doubt we’d even get close enough to the masters at the front of the line without being taken away.” 

Obi-Wan nodded as he followed her gaze to where a group of large, burly-looking masters stood glaring at the passerby. It looked like they hadn’t gotten their caff yet that morning. He gulped.

“Luminara’s right, Quin, we should forget it and wait until the line dies down.”

His friend glanced over at him, “Don’t you have to leave by then?”

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath as Luminara frowned.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He nodded, glaring daggers at Vos and refsing to look at Luminara. 

“Yes, I was just notified about it this morning. Had I known sooner, I would’ve told you.”

“And yet Quin knows,” she quipped, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms indignantly.

“I’m tellin’ you people, I’ve got connections,” Vos emphasized, leaning against the entrance wall. 

Ignoring the Kiffar, Luminara began, “They’re over-working you again.”

Obi-Wan threw Quinlan an accusatory look that was responded to with a simple ‘here we go again’ eyeroll.

“It’s not fair to you, or to the other padawans who want mission opportunities. They want and deserve experience too! I cannot understand why the council is doing this. My suggestion would be-” she was cut off by an approaching figure, which turned out to be her master. 

Obi-Wan winced.

“Padawan Unduli, do you really think your time is best spent here, dawdling with these hooligans?”

Obi-Wan disregarded the snide comment, instead trying to throw an apologetic gaze at his friend. Although out of the corner of his eye he saw Quinlan bristle at the remark.

Luminara bowed and lowered her head, “No, master.”

“Then come along, it’s no wonder you’re always hungry.”

She followed obediently, but not before shooting Obi-Wan and Quinlan a sad, apologetic gaze as she left.

Quin snarled when they were out of earshot, “Now there’s someone I’d like to pay off. With a good kick in the-”

“Vos,” Obi-Wan chided sternly. 

His friend huffed and glowered, “What?”

“Don’t be crass. At least, not this early in the morning.”

 Quin shrugged and rolled his eyes, finally stepping away to look for an open table. 

“Besides,” Obi-Wan added while following, “I’m pretty sure you’’l have plenty of chances to do that when I’m gone, and am unable to provide you with proper impulse control.”

Quin laughed.

“Nah, it’s not as much fun without someone there sassing me.”

He returned his friend's cheerful look, “That’s a fair point.”

Luckily for the pair, Obi-Wan spotted a good amount of free space beside Qui-Gon, mostly because his master had a reputation of being a messy eater- not to mention, he had taken two trays. 

“Bingo,” Obi-Wan grinned at Vos.

The two padawans approached Jinn and sat beside him, Obi-Wan respectfully nodding while Quinlan eyed the food on the second tray. 

“Hello, master,” Obi-Wan greeted. 

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied after swallowing a mouthful of food. He took a swig of blue milk and then turned to acknowledge Quin, “Padawan Vos.”

The Kiffar snapped his gaze away from the food, nodding quickly.

“So,” Obi-Wan began, “are there any other details I should be aware of during this mission?” 

Jinn turned his full attention on Obi-Wan, “The duchess is young- about your age, I believe. She’s said to be stubborn but kind, with a deep passion for all living things… much like someone else I know.” A playful spark lit up Qui-Gon’s eyes, something about them very knowing. 

Obi-Wan did his best to concentrate on what his master was saying instead of Vos’ waggling eyebrows and his hand, which swiped a biscuit from Qui-Gon’s tray. He nodded, encouraging his master to continue.

“She’s also just returned home from a political academy located here. But most importantly, she probably won’t take kindly to our help. This mission was administered by her advisor, not her. And, despite the current peace, I’m sure she hasn’t been brought up in an environment that is… encouraging of the Jedi.”

Point two, Quinlan grinned like a fool as he stole a piece of meat of Jinn’s tray. 

“Not to mention,” Qui-Gon continued, oblivious, “her father was a warlord.” 

Oh, Force. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was a whole lot less enthusiastic about this whole thing, and that wasn’t saying much considering his attitude towards it was already pretty negative. 

He had to protect a war-monger’s daughter? Perfect.

“Wow,” Vos mused, “talk about impressing the father in-law,” he chuckled as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan turned to glare at him, “she better be really worth it Obi-Wan. Is she at least ho-”

He was interrupted by Qui-Gon’s harsh tone, “her father is dead, padawan Vos.”

“Oh,” Quinlan replied faintly, looking down, “my condolences.”

Qui-Gon shook his head and turned back to Obi-Wan, “All in all, our goal is to be an unseen protection service. After all, we don’t want her getting into more trouble just because we put her off.”

“Why is it that we don’t want her getting into any more trouble, master?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning slightly.

Qui-Gon mirrored his expression, “Because, padawan, she requested our help.”

“I thought her advisor was the one who requested our help,” Obi-Wan retorted under his breath, although he knew he shouldn't've. Although he was surprised to admit to himself that he didn’t quite care- after all, the burly masters in line weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had their caff yet.

 Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, “She is her people’s last hope for peace and civility, Obi-Wan. And you will do best not to question her, our assignment, or the council again.”

Obi-Wan looked away dejectedly, “Yes, master.”

He left out any remarks he could’ve made about Qui-Gon doing both of the aforementioned things constantly. 

“Now, just let me finish my-,” Qui-Gon turned to his practically empty tray, where Vos had mysteriously disappeared, and sighed.

Obi-Wan stifled a chuckle, leaving behind only a mischievous sparkle  in his grey-blue eyes. 

“Master?” He asked, encouraging Qui-Gon to wrap up his thought. 

“Let’s just be on our way then, Obi-Wan.”

They rose and exited the mess hall, out into the long corridors and what would be a much more eventful trip than what young Obi-Wan was expecting. 

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

The temple docking bay was huge, containing as large as a republic freighter to as small as a landspeeder. 

 Droids whizzed about everywhere, attending to some business or another. A few officials or Jedi stood out against the field of endless gleaming metal, but besides that there was nothing else living operating within the place. 

Enormous ceilings towered over Obi-Wan’s head as his master led him through the maze of docking bays and landing platforms, until they finally reached a small doorway towards the back. 

A droid met them there to provide them with a datapad of information on the ship; mostly a run-down of the controls and its condition. 

Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction, “Everything seems to be in order here.” He handed it back to the droid, who whisked it away immediately.

“How long will our journey be, master?” Obi-Wan inquired, hoping he didn’t sound whiny. 

“Not very long. About six standard hours, providing there aren't any hyperspace issues.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stepping out of the doorway and into the bright light of Coruscant. 

The ship was a pretty good size; a standard model with red stripes running along its sides. 

The Trial, curious. Obi-Wan didn’t pay ship names much mind, but that was just rather odd. 

Qui-Gon went to go check with the official while Obi-Wan spotted Quinlan leaning against a couple of crates near the door. 

“Vos? How did you know this is where I’d be?”

“Relax man, I just came to say goodbye before you left to go out and find your true love or whatever.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Vos grinned and pulled him into a tight hug, Obi-Wan squirming beneath him.

“Stop that,” he said, finally managing to push his friend back.

“Was Qui-Gon pissed about his food?” Quin asked, gazing hopefully to where Obi-Wan’s master and the other man were still conversing.

“Probably, although not any more than me- I still haven’t had any food yet.” His stomach growled, as if to prove a point.

“Eh, you snooze you lose.”

Obi-Wan grimaced as Vos began to saunter away, his finally parting words being, “Later, buddy! Don’t, like, become a father or anything while you’re gone- I’d hate to miss that.”

Eyeroll. “Goodbye, Vos!”

He shook his head at the sound of his friend’s distant laughter, pacing over to Qui-Gon without so much as a glance backwards. 

“Is everything alright, master?”

“Yes, just making conversation while you and Quinlan said your goodbyes.”

So he did know. Well, that showed Obi-Wan not to underestimate his master. 

“Then lets away.”

Obi-Wan nodded to the man and walked up the ramp into the ship, glancing back at the gleaming building one last time before he took a seat in the cockpit, not even bothering to explore the rest of the ship. He already knew what this model’s interior looked like, and wanted to get this assignment over with as quickly as possible.

Later, Obi-Wan found irony in that wish as he sat in the exact same seat upon the departure of his mission, where the room and his heart had seemed a lot more empty. 

Qui-Gon sat beside him, taking control and handing Obi-Wan the mission log from earlier. 

“What am I to do with this?” He asked, frowning at the tablet-like device. 

“Make notes of the journey,” Qui-Gon replied, “the council emphasized everything is to be included, and since I can’t ever seem to write it the way they want, I thought I’d have you do it.”

“But-”

“Do you have something more productive you could be doing, padawan?”

He shook his head and took the log obligingly without further complaint. It was light in his hands, and he placed it in his lap as he strapped himself in. 

“Our belongings have already been loaded on, everything is in order,” Qui-Gon said, still fiddling with the ship’s settings. 

“Do we have any food?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully. 

Qui-Gon nodded, “It’s back in the kitchen area. Why didn’t you eat earlier?”

Obi-Wan scoffed, “You saw the line, right?”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “How about caff?”

Qui-Gon shook his head no, and Obi-Wan deflated. 

“Something tells me that despite my hopes, this is going to be a very long couple of months,” Obi-Wan pouted, leaning his head back against the seat. 

Qui-Gon smiled, “You’re such a pessimist, Obi-Wan. Ready?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I suppose.”

“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

The ship lifted off, soared out of the atmosphere and into space, and Obi-Wan made sure to note in his report that Qui-Gon forgot which lever to guide forward for hyperspace. When he did find it, darkness and impossibly bright specks of light blended together, and they rocketed forwards before coasting through space, towards destiny. 

[sirikenobi12]

Creator Tag Game

I was tagged by the absolutely wonderful @mahizli (Meysun on AO3) - 2020 has been overall terrible for many reasons, but it brought me back to the world of Star Wars fanfiction and introduced me to so many amazing writers such as Meysun who continue to inspire my work!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Deception -  Back from an undercover mission Siri Tachi learns of Obi-Wan’s “death” at the hand of assassin Rako Hardeen – but she sees through the Deception (set during The Clone Wars animated series episode 4.15 entitled Deception).

So, this was the very first fic that I wrote after a decade and it’s very dear to my heart! Watching TCW for the first time re-ignited my passion for Star Wars (Obi-Wan in particular) and this arc felt just perfect to bring Siri Tachi into the world of the animated series. This one also started my first series which is finding ways to include Siri into TCW. 

It Takes a Village - The events, consequences and aftermath of the Phantom Menace as seen through the eyes of Obi-Wan’s closest friends. And when they see their friend grieving the loss of his Master, dealing with the fame associated with killing a Sith while also taking on a Padawan (the Chosen One no less) they step in to help because they realize he is in WAY over his head.

This is probably hands down my favorite story that I’ve ever written (so far). This fic not only allowed me to write about not just the difficulties Obi-Wan faced after Naboo, but also Siri having to prepare for her Krayn mission. It gave me an opportunity to discover my love of writing this group of friends and caused me to want to include Quinlan Vos in nearly everything I write! This fic also was special because it was a sort of collaboration with @mahizli and just how much fun it was to write our two fics at the same time! 

Aftermath, the Fall of Kenobi - Obi-wan is struggling, the darkness he felt on Zigoola has come back full force after the death of Satine and he is close to falling. It doesn’t help that Sidious was injured after his duel with Darth Maul and he is now looking to transfer his essence into someone.

This fic nearly killed me, but I am so oddly proud of it! It all started when someone prompted me to try and write a “realistic” depiction of a Dark Obi-Wan and it ended up in the most complicated story I’ve ever written. I have never felt comfortable writing duels or battle scenes and I ended up with huge chapters that showcased probably 15 different characters dueling and battling. This also took me on a wild deep Wookiepedia dive to learn about ancient Sith prophecies and tactics. Even though it was a struggle to write I am so very happy with how it turned out, and it’s one of my more popular stories which is also pretty cool. 

Tested - There is an unspoken rule throughout the galaxy - if you go after a Jedi Padawan you better make sure the Master isn’t breathing. Unfortunately, not everyone follows that particular rule. 15 year old Obi-Wan Kenobi is kidnapped and experimented on by an old enemy and Qui-Gon races to his rescue. 

This is my most recent story and is currently a WIP. I wasn’t expecting this one to be as fun to write as it was, it was really just supposed to be a short writing exercise to see if I could write other characters (like Qui-Gon, Tahl and Mace Windu). It was a super fun surprise to learn just how enjoyable writing these other characters were. Plus, this is so full of angst and Obi-whump how could it not be one of my top 5?? 

It’s also overwhelming just how popular this story is!! Definitely my most popular to date. 

Memoirs of Kadavo - Siri Tachi was the spy who gave Obi-Wan and Anakin the intel on the Zygerrian Queen in order to help rescue the people of Kiros. She did not agree with their plan to infiltrate the slave market undercover, but of course our boys didn’t listen to her warnings. Now, she has to pick up the pieces of three traumatized Jedi.

This was another installment of bringing Siri Tachi into the world of the Clone Wars series and what was supposed to be a simple story that dealt more with Obi-Wan’s mental health after Zygerria instead of his physical turned into a crazy ride through the Force and Obi-Wan’s past. 

This story became a character study of Obi-Wan and also it dealt with the difference between attachment and love. Not to mention it had some quality Siri and Ahsoka bonding which was such a treasure to write (and can’t wait to write more). 

The Jedi Virus -   A deadly and highly contagious virus which specifically targets Midi-chlorians has been secretly created by unknown forces. Siri Tachi and Obi-Wan Kenobi have unknowingly been infected with the virus, and now both are under strict quarantine orders. As they face their fate together in isolation another team of Jedi race to find an antidote before it’s too late.

So, I know this game is only 5 fics, but I’d be remise if for 2020 I didn’t include my quarantine fanfic. I wrote this at the beginning of the lock down in March when it was only supposed to be a couple of weeks and here we are 9 months later and it still relevant. This story started out as just a fun short story with the idea of how fun it’d be to have Obi-Wan and Siri stuck in quarantine together and it became a huge plot that will come into play in some of my future fics. I really enjoyed writing this one!

 Well, there you have it my friends. Thank you again to the wonderful @mahizli for tagging me in this game! I’m tagging other authors who have really inspired my work this year (besides Meysun’s). No pressure tags (I’m sure you’ve all already been tagged): @luvvewan @stolen-pen-name23 @kckenobi harpforhim  @meantforinfinitesadness​  kyitsya @firondoiel 

[gainaxvel3o]

The Imaginary Love Lives of Superman #6: Steve Lombard

There was something about Clark Kent.

Steve Lombard didn’t think much of the man when he first met him nor does he think much of him now that he’s been here for years. He’s a tall guy, but such a friggin’ wimp that he might as well be invisible. Even the janitor looks down on Kent, and Jerry’s barely got dignity as is.

Even so, Lombard knew. He just knew that Kent was messing with him. A few times his toupee got caught on fire, or his chair broke, Lombard could see a crack of a smile or an flare in Kent’s eyes. Steve had to figure him out.

He did his research. Lived in Smallville, graduated Metropolis University, did some freelance work before settling for the Planet. Not much really interested him. It proved what he already knew. Clark was a mouse that somehow managed to keep up with the wolves.

There was one thing that caught his interest. One thing that Lombard decided to test out when he saw Kent talking to Jimmy and Lois about helping an old lady or some crap.

“Hey Kent! Catch!”



Clark caught the football heading his way instinctively. He frowned upon seeing Lombard’s smug grin.



“Quick. I knew it.” Steve crossed his arms. “Still got instincts eh Clark?”



Clark raised an eyebrow, confused. Lois wasn’t having much of it.

“Give it a rest Lombard. We’re busy talking about a story.” Lois said. “You, what you’re supposed to be doing.”



“Oh but I am.” Steve grinned. “I just found out that Kent over here used to play for the Crows back in the old hometown! How come you haven’t said a thing?” 


Jimmy looked at his friend amazed. “Whoah is that true Clark?”

“Yeah. It was a long time ago.” Clark adjusted his glasses. “I don’t get much into sports these days.”



“What a shame.” Steve continued. “How tall you are, you’d probably still got some moves. Why you don’t you and I go a few rounds? I used play for Metropolis Badgers.”



Clark had to keep himself from laughing. Lombard’s nothing but a pain since they first met, their prank war being the stuff of legend. Clark would probably easily clobber him given the chance.

“I might be up for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lois said. “You’re not giving him attention just ‘cause he demanded it right?”



“Trust me Lois, I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope ya do.” Lombard gripped Clark’s hand. “It’s a date.”



Clark gripped it back. “Likewise.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Steve was getting frustrated.

Clark agreed to meet him at the park. They’ve been catching the ball for an hour. Thing was, Clark was skippin’ out. Oh sure he made it look like an accident, a clumsy mistake, but Steve knew. He was faking.

“Get your ass up Kent.” Lombard picked up Clark from the ground. “You’re not foolin’ anyone.”



Clark, in his oversized sweater and tacky pants, frowned.



“What do you mean?”



“You’re strong than ya look.” Steve said. “You’re a clumsy ox in a china shop back in the newsroom but this is the fields, the real world. No one’s gonna save your ass from a beating.”



Lombard poked Clark’s arm. “See here? This is muscle. Show me more of what ya got.”



“I… I don’t think I can do that.” Clark said. “I’m not-“



“You want it doncha?” Steve diffused. “You hate me. Maybe ya don’t wanna hurt me, but I know ya. No one’s a saint Kent. Even the big guy in the sky probably needs some time off. Now toss the ball back and start over.”



That seemed to get through Kent. A smirk formed,



“You’re on Lombard.”

They spent a few more hours in the park, then went to get drinks. Lombard never liked Kent. Probably still doesn’t. But... seeing Kent in a more relaxed environment, Lombard could say he was okay enough to hang around. He had a inoffensive, cute face.

Steve blinked.



Did Lombard just think Clark was cute? He really needs to get laid.

Author’s Notes:



I know nothing about sports. This was a request by @o-w-quinlan. It’s not a ship I’d normally do honestly, but I had fun writing it. I don’t have a lot of feelings about Lombard, he’s a jock in the newsroom and he’s fun to have around as a supporting character.

Next chapter: Brainiac 5.

[crispyjenkins]

Omg! Dookus padawan au is fabulous! I love it! Although now im curious about how melida daan would go with a more confident obi and a master whos supportive of him and listens

(i originally planned this to be a dramatic harrowing recounting of obi’s time on Melida/Daan, but it did not turn out like that ಥ_ಥ 

thank you for enabling me with this au, anon, i love it so much and i somehow don’t write little-shit-obi nearly as much as i should. i hope this satisfies! ( ˘ ³˘) bonus nield ‘cause he’s dead in dha kar’ta and i got big sad about it)

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 "Obi-Wan, did you fuck the Mand'alor."

  Obi-Wan grins at Nield from the cell across from him, sitting in half-lotus like any proper Jedi on a routine kidnapping, and Jango sighs in the next cell over.

  "You overestimate how much either of us would like that," Obi-Wan chirps, even though they all know that's not really what Nield is asking. 

  And he makes his feelings about that clear, leveling Obi-Wan with an unimpressed deadpan that Obi-Wan really doesn't think is warranted. "Is this what you thought I meant when I told you to lay low?" he asks gruffly. "Become the youngest Jedi Master in two centuries and shack up with another Anti-Republic System's leader?"

  Jango slants a look at him. "What do you mean 'another'?"

  "Well, technically, Nield, I never shacked up with you either," Obi-Wan reasons. "And you were only governor for about three days."

  "That still counts!"

  "De'jate werda, this is about the Young?"

  "Language, dear," Obi-Wan chides blandly, and Jango throws his stale roll at him through the bars; it misses him by a foot anyways. "But yes, I'm afraid so. I did tell you the Daan regularly kidnap me for ransom from the Jedi, didn't I?"

  Grumbling, Jango flops against the back wall to scowl. "I was under the impression they had stopped after your Cerasi renamed the planet."

  "They did," Nield pipes up, poking at his own inedible roll. "Since I'm here, it probably still does have to do with the leaders of Tahl, but why they nabbed your boyfriend is beyond me."

  Jango rolls his eyes. "Probably because I was with him when they grabbed him."

  "Don't sound so put-upon, we hadn't seen each other in months." Aside from a single holocall before Obi-Wan had gone undercover with a Mid-Rim diplomatic convoy, both he and Jango had been too busy to take the time off for even a quick visit, and they'd had all of twenty minutes together before their kidnappers had broken into Jango's apartment on Coruscant. They had been in the middle of dinner and everything, and Obi-Wan mourns the tiingilar left on their table.

  Though, he supposes, he had made it with Rodian chillies instead of Mandalorian ones just to kark with Jango, so Maker knows if it had even been edible.

  Snorting, Nield runs his hands through his hair and leans as far over as he can to look down the halls of their cellblock, as if he and Jango hadn't already done that. "I imagine you haven't broken out yet because you're the only one of us in cuffs?"

  Obi-Wan helpfully raises his bound hands to show him the new-fangled force-suppressing manacles that have become more popular over the last few years, what with the sudden spike in number of Jedi. "I’ve never seen them before," he offers. "They're not nearly as strong as Ventress' collar, but I'm afraid I'm of no use to you unless we get them off."

  Nield sighs. "I said to lay low, Kenobi. You were the one to bag Ventress?"

  "I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, my dear: she rather forced my hand."

  "No, no, we're not glossing over this again," Jango growls, getting to his feet to lean on his bars so he can glare at the both of them. "Why'd you tell him to lay low? When did you tell him to lay low?"

  “I’ve been telling him for years!”

  “But especially since the last attempt on Cerasi’s life.”

  “Ner ca’tra,” Jango sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you have a bounty on you again?”

  Nield waves emphatically, as if finally proven right. “‘Again’! What does he mean ‘again’, Obi-Wan?”

  Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan knows it’s not nearly as bad as they’re both making it out to be. “To my knowledge, no, I don’t think I currently have a bounty out on my head, and Neild, it would only be the second time.” He unfolds himself and pushes upright, stretching his legs before sticking his bound hands through the bars. “Now, if you two would stop nagging, I need you to try shorting out the locking mechanism with your water cups.”

  Jango sighs but still moves to grab the single cup of water that had been in the cells when they arrived; Nield stays at his door and scowls. “You’re not sure if it’ll work?”

  Obi-Wan raises a brow. “No, I’m actually quite confident it will: Quinlan and I have escaped the Daan twice like this. I just wasn’t sure if your arms would reach.”

  “Ha ha,” Jango drawls, sticking his own arms out to try and reach across the narrow walkway between their lines of cells. “Was that before or after you liberated the planet.”

  Nield is absolutely no help, groaning and laughing both as he ducks back to get his own water. “I’ve yet to meet this mysterious Quinlan that you assure me is actually real, but it’s been a decade and a half, ‘Nobi.”

  He sniffs in offense, stretching out as far as he can for Jango to tip his cup over his wrists. “He’s doing it on purpose. Quinlan Vos is never more amused than when he is making my life more difficult, so I’m afraid he’s been avoiding you, my dear.”

  “A likely story,” Nield snorts, and his significantly-longer arms easily allow him to pour his water directly into the locking mechanism. It starts sparking immediately, Obi-Wan jerking to the side to protect his face while Nield yelps and pulls back. 

  Feeling the Force rush back into his bones like a splash of tihaar, Obi-Wan easily snaps the cuffs down the centre and kicks open his cell door.

-

  Obi-Wan wasn't even supposed to be here, but when he's on his way back from Ilum to finally build a second lightsaber so he can move up from the jar’kai practice ’sabers Master Windu has him using, the Force sidelines him by forcing the Crucible into an emergency landing for the first time since Huyang's creation. A problem with the hyperdrive or something, nothing crucial to replace, something easily fixed once planetside, but just bad enough that they have to land on the nearest planet to fix it.

  Where Qui-Gon Jinn just so happens to be already on a mission attempting to rescue another Jedi master. Where there are actual children fighting for control of the capital city. 

  It takes Obi-Wan less than an hour to find Jinn and the Young, and perhaps an hour more to decide he would be sending Masters Tahl and Jinn back to the Temple without him. Master Yan would understand, it would hardly be the first time he had taken advantage of his master’s absence to do what the Force was telling him to.

  He is there a month before Master Yan returns with four Jedi Masters and their padawans, and permission from the Senate to aid the Young until a treaty could be reached. Obi-Wan is frankly too intimidated by his master securing the warrant nobody had managed to in seventy-five years to ask just how he’d done it; and Master Yan doesn’t scold him except to tell him in no uncertain terms that he is never to trust Qui-Gon Jinn’s judgement on anything to do with children. 

  Luckily his following lecture about the faults of jar’kai and the importance of proper dueling technique is cut off by an ambush from the Melida, and he never gets back around to it even after the Young retake the planet. Obi-Wan is still unsure whether he prefers the three days of sexual education he gets instead, when Cerasi admits she had caught Nield and Obi-Wan kissing in the hall after her election.

-

  Yan meets them outside, not looking very surprised to see them simply walking from the brig that had been their home for the last eight hours. Their human kidnappers are cuffed and being processed by a pair of Judiciary Branch clerks Yan had evidently brought with him, which would rather explain why there had been no one to hinder their escape.

  Raising a brow, a million questions in the simple gesture, Yan holds out Obi-Wan’s cloak, waiting for him to put it on before giving him his ’sabers as well. “I fear I must apologise, your honor,” he rumbles like the words simultaneously amuse him and burn his mouth. “My former apprentice still has not learned how to keep others safe from his continued imbroglios.”

  Jango snorts, accepting one of Obi-Wan’s ’sabers to hold until he can get his blasters back; Nield’s eyes almost bug out of his head. “Do we know what they were after?”

  Yan’s lips curl almost-mockingly. “A trade agreement, I believe. President Cerasi and the Delegates of Tahl had already turned them away, so they thought to strong-arm the Melidaan system instead.”

  “So you weren’t even a political prisoner,” Obi-Wan teases a Nield already burying his face in his hands, “just a familial hostage, my dear.”

  “Shut him up before I do,” Nield tells Jango.

  Who simply smirks and holds up his hands. “You overestimate how much control I have over anything he does.”

  “Maker, he really does have you wrapped around his finger.”

  “To be fair, I’ve known Jango far more intimately.”

  “I’m leaving,” Nield announces, spinning on heel to stalk towards the rescue cruiser from Tahl despite knowing Obi-Wan simply means he’s never had visions of Nield, even as far back as the Civil War. 

  Jango leans over and surreptitiously whispers, "Was Nield the bad wall-makeout?"

  "Maker, he was horrible, my dear." 

Mando’a: Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. "De'jate werda" — "By the Great Darkness", slang from Concord Dawn, used as an expletive similar to "Christ!" or "Good lord." tiingilar — Mandalorian casserole specified to be “blisteringly spicy” ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment  tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit

*also obi is a master earlier ‘cause of his clairvoyance, since i’m subscribing to the “you become a master jedi when you master a part of yourself” version of the master trials in this. anyways.*