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amylillian22 · 4 years

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What If I Never Get Over You (Part 3) - Chris Evans Imagine

Summary: It’s the day of Y/N and Cody’s wedding, and Chris has every intention to stop the love of his life marrying someone else.

Word Count: 2892

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of unable to carry children/get pregnant

Author's Note: Final chapter of the mini-series, and it was NOT easy to write. I wrote two completely different drafts before I decided THIS one was the perfect way to end it. I hope you like it.

[Part 1] /// [Part 2]

Chris sat in the back of the church in his best black suit. His heart ached as he watched Y/N in a beautiful white dress slowly walk down the aisle. A small part of him was hoping Y/N would look back at the crowd and see him sitting in the back row. It killed him knowing it wasn't him at the other end of the aisle. For years, he always knew Y/N was the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with, build a home with, and fill it up with as many kids as possible.

The pastor said, "If anyone can show cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Chris stood up from his seat and shouted, "I object!"

Except something came out. No one heard him. He tried again, but no one flinched at his words. He realized nothing came out, no matter how many times he opened his mouth and shouted. He got out of the pew and rushed towards Y/N. He literally stood in front of her and Cody, as they continued with the wedding as if he was invisible.

He fell down to his knees, feeling like he can't breathe as tears slowly fell down Chris' cheeks. He knew this was it. It was over for him as Y/N kissed her newly wedded husband.

Chris sat up from his bed, his chest heaving as he panted heavily. A sense of relief washed over him as he realized it was just a nightmare. The clock on his nightstand read 3:05AM. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He swung his legs over and carefully got out of bed.

In the dark, Chris made his way to the kitchen. He turned on the stove light to illuminate the kitchen as he made himself a cup of hot tea. He put a tea bag in his favorite mug before he watched a cup of water go in circles in the microwave. His mind drifted back to a moment he'll never forget three years ago.

The drive to the church wasn't far. Although Chris was speeding down the familiar streets of Boston, it felt like he was never gonna get there. Time was going by so slow and it didn't help that he had a million things running on his mind.

How does he stop a wedding? He's never witnessed one in real life. He's only seen them on movies and tv shows, but those have always been overly dramatic and unrealistic for his liking. His anxiety picked up as he wondered what the guest would say or do, how fast they would put it out on the social media world. For a split second, he worried what the headlines would say and what the whole world had to say.

He shook his head, letting his mind wonder about something more important. He wondered what he would do if she still didn't pick him, what if she goes on with the wedding and forever leaves Chris behind?

He slammed on the brakes in front of the church, not caring about parking in front of a No Parking Zone. He ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and opened the double wooden doors. The lobby was empty for the most part except for one person who was on the phone. He ignored her and walked to the other set of doors that led to the main church. It wasn't empty, but it wasn't full either. A few people were fixing the decorations. Chris furrowed his eyebrows, he knew the wedding was starting soon. He wasn't early. The church should be filled with people.

Chris stopped a woman who walked towards his direction with a vase of flowers in her hands. "Excuse me, could you tell me where the bride's room is?"

"Sure. Go back out to the lobby, take a left. Then, go down the hall until you reach the fourth door on the right," she instructed.

"Thanks!" Chris quickly said before taking off to the bride's room.

It didn't take long to get there. He opened the door and was surprised to see it empty except for a girl standing in the middle of the room. She wore a black pencil skirt with a matching blazer. She spoke to her headset as she looked down at her clipboard, too focused on what was written while talking to someone on the other line.

Chris took a step towards her, causing her to look up and gasp. She placed a hand on her racing heart. "I'm sorry, there's someone here, I have to go. Chow!" She pressed the end button. "How can I help you, sir?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm looking for the bride," Chris said. "Any chance I can speak to her real quick? It's important."

"There is no bride."

Chris' heart dropped to his stomach. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She called off the wedding about an hour ago. My team and I are trying as quickly as we can to inform the guest. I'm sorry we didn't tell you any sooner to save yourself the trip," she said before she eyed him down. He wore a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a long sleeve, that showed off his very muscular arms. "But I'm guessing you weren't here to see the wedding," she said, knowing this wasn't the first wedding to be stopped by an ex.

"Okay, thanks," Chris pulled out his phone from his pocket as he walked out of the church. Luckily, no one hadn't towed his car or given him a ticket yet. He looked down at his phone, staring at her contact information. He hadn't called her since the break up. He doesn't even know if that's still her number. He dialed, his heart ready to explode out of his chest after each ring.

"Hello?" A guy spoke on the other line.

Chris didn't know who it was. "Is Y/N there?"

"You know, a lot of people ask for her, but you have the wrong number, dude. But I hope you find her, and if you do, can you tell her to tell everyone she knows she changed her number so they can stop calling me," the gentleman hung up, extremely annoyed that someone else had called for a woman he didn't even know.

Chris quickly got in the car and slowly drove off, not knowing where to go. He thought about going to her place, but he figured if he was in her situation, being at home is the last place he would want to be after calling off his own wedding.

She's not getting married, he kept thinking to himself. Tears welled up in his eyes as he was overwhelmed with mixed emotions. He wanted to find her and see what happened. He wanted to know why she called off the wedding. More importantly, he still wanted to tell her how much he still loves her.

Chris let out a high sigh as he pulled up to his driveway. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back on the headrest. He was grateful Scott offered to take Kayla for the day. It was bad enough he knew it was her wedding day, but somehow it felt worse that there was no wedding and he didn't know how to get a hold of her. He didn't know where she could be.

He stepped out of the car and walked around to the side entrance of his house. He stopped on his tracks when he saw Y/N sitting down on the steps, waiting for him. She looked up as she heard his footsteps. Chris immediately noticed her red, puffy eyes. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he wanted to run up to her, wrap his arms around her, kiss her, and never let her go again. Instead, he sat down next to her on the steps, waiting for her to say the first word.

"I called off the wedding," she finally said after a few minutes of silence. She couldn't look at him though. She was too scared to see his reaction.

"I know. I went to the church." She quickly turned her head to see him, her heart stopping at his words. He looked into her tear filled eyes and said, "I wanted to stop you from getting married."

She felt a small weight off her shoulders, a sense of relief that he didn't show up to the wedding to give her his best wishes. But, she still had some questions and she still needed some answers.

"Why did you do it, Chris?" Her voice cracked.

Chris looked away from her, knowing she wasn't asking about why he showed up to the church. She was referring to what happened years ago. He wasn't gonna sugar coat it. He also didn't want to elaborate on the details more than he needed to.

"I was overwhelmed with everything going on at the time. I hadn't seen you in almost a year. That was the longest we had never gone without seeing each other. One night, I was feeling extra lonely and I got drunk at a party with the cast and crew, and then..." Chris stopped, unable to say the next words, but Y/N knew exactly what happened next. Chris closed his eyes and shook his head, mad at himself for what he did.

"I didn't tell you at first when it happened." Chris noticed the shock expression on her face, but continued on with the story. "Because it meant nothing. It didn't mean anything to me. When she told me she was pregnant a couple of months later, I didn't believe her. She agreed to do a DNA test. Turns out, she was right. Kayla is mine."

Y/N noticed his lips forming a smile as he said the last sentence for a few minutes before it vanished.

"But now, I can't say I regret what happened and I wished it had never happened, because then I wouldn't have Kayla."

Y/N heart broke a little bit. Since they dated in high school, she knew how much Chris wanted to be a father and have a big family. It killed her that she couldn't give him that.

"It was easier to break up with you then to tell you the truth. I thought it would hurt less to break up with you than finding out I cheated and having a baby with someone else. I knew the truth wasn't gonna get out there because Abby and I agreed we were going to keep Kayla as quiet as possible. We didn't want the media to constantly be harassing an innocent child. It's worked so far. No one knows I'm a father. People think she's one of my nieces' friends when I take them all out together."

Y/N nodded completely understanding why Chris kept Kayla away from the public. A part of her was really impressed he's managed to keep it a secret this long.

"Y/N," he looked into her eyes. "These are not excuses. It doesn't justify what I did wrong. I know what I did was wrong and completely unforgivable. So unforgivable, I still haven't forgiven myself for it."

Chris buried his face in his hands, unable to look at her. He was too scared about what would happen next. What would she say? He couldn't watch her walk away if she decided she still wants nothing to do with him.

"Chris..." he heard the sadness and brokenness in her small voice. "There's a reason why we didn't see each other that year. That's my fault. I purposely made it impossible not to see you."

He looked up at her. Her eyes welled up with tears. The sad look on her face made his heart race in fear.

"Why?" Was all he could say.

"At the beginning of my tour, I noticed I was late. I thought maybe I was pregnant. I had my assistant set up an appointment in Houston since we had only one extra day off. Turns out, I wasn't pregnant-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Chris asked. "I would have been there for you-"

"Because you were filming. I knew they wouldn't let you leave and take days off, even if you are Captain America."

"That still doesn't explain why we didn't see each other for a whole year," he said.

Tears fell down her cheek. "The doctor said there was no way I could be pregnant because I didn't have any eggs. She says it's very rare for a young woman to lose all her eggs, but it's possible." Y/N paused for a second as the pain in her heart grew. "I couldn't see you knowing I couldn't give you what you wanted most in life, Chris. I made sure I agreed to any and all new dates added to the tour, which led to having a European tour right after our American tour. It was easier to run away from you than to tell you I can't give you your dream."

She finally let go and sobbed, Chris immediately engulfed her in his arms, crying with her knowing how much this was killing her. As a father now, he can't fathom the idea of not being able to have kids, let alone the love of his life unable to bear his children.

He cried with her as he held her tight. He wanted to take away all the pain she's dealt with since she found out. He wished he had been there for her, to reassure her everything would be fine and they would figure something out together.

"I'm sorry, Chris," she pulled back and looked at his broken blue eyes.

"I'm sorry too," he said.

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped around her shoulder as he held her hand in his, enjoying this moment together- being able to touch her and hold her.

"Why were you going to stop my wedding?" Y/N asked after a few minutes of silence.

Chris let out a deep breath. "I couldn't let you get married without knowing I never got over you," he said without hesitation. He looked down at her. "Why did you call off the wedding?"

"Chris, I never got over you," she admitted. "No matter how hard I tried, I never stopped loving you."

Chris leaned forward and released the butterflies in her stomach the second he kissed her. She didn't waste a second to kiss him back as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Chris' hands moved to her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. The kiss was deep and passionate, making up for lost time.

They pulled back with their foreheads pressing against each other. Y/N cupped Chris' cheek as she looked deep into his ocean blue eyes. Chris' grip tightened on her waist, too scared to let her go.

"Where do we go from here?" She whispered against his lips.

"Hey." A soft voice pulled Chris out of his memory. He turned around to see Y/N walking towards him in his shirt. "What are you doing up, babe? It's late."

Chris sighed and wrapped his arms around Y/N's waist, pulling her closer to his chest. "Horrible nightmare. I couldn't sleep," he buried his face at the crook of her neck.

"Aww, babe," she cooed as she ran her fingers through his soft hair. Her other hand slowly ran up and down his back, trying to soothe him. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No. I rather focus on right now, my reality, because it's so much better." He licked his lips before gently and softly peppered her neck with soft kisses. His lips trailed up to her jaw before capturing her lips for a deep and passionate kiss. His hands moved down to her butt. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he grabbed her butt firmly as she jumped and wrapped her legs around his hips.

"I love you, so much," he said in between kisses.

She pulled back to look at him. With her left hand, she pushed his hair back, taking in every one of his features for the millionth time. She loved the way his blue eyes sparked and the way they looked when he was in awe with her every time his eyes locked with hers. Her fingertips traced his well structured jaw, his beard tickling her in the process. She smiled at him as she rested her hand above his heart. She felt it thundering against his bare chest. Her smile grew wider as she stared at the silver wedding band on her wedding finger.

Her eyes flickered up, "are you sure you're not nervous about tomorrow?"

"No. I'm ready. I'm actually very excited. Are you nervous?"

"A little bit," she admitted with a smile. "But I'm more excited. We're flying out to pick up a baby. Our baby."

Chris' eyes welled up as the day had finally arrived after years of going through the long and hard process of adopting.

"I love you, so damn much," he said.

"I love you too," she whispered against his lips before she kissed him.

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans fan fiction #Chris Evans x reader

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morganas-pendragons · 4 years

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take us back | obi-wan

as soon as i got this ask, i couldn’t pass it up. i also woke up in a mood to write obi-wan because i actually wrote this exact prompt into a oneshot for my oc last night while listening to this song and yeah.. this happened. have fun!

requested by: @kaminobiwan + connecting to his fake death in the rako hardeen arc

the song used is the night we met by lord huron and the reader is the jedi!reader from the other obi fics i’ve written, so this is for a female reader :) screw canon

tag: @dressed-up-heartbreak // @obiorbenkenobi // @anakinsahsoka

obi-wan tag is open! if this angst sucks, blame (SPOILER) jesse for dying because i haven’t been able to angst well since tcw finale

***

You only have one thought in your mind whenever you watch - in indescribably slow motion - the body fall from the rooftop in which Obi-Wan had chased the owner of the rogue bullet that had broken your quiet camaraderie with Anakin and Ahsoka. You’re almost naive and oblivious enough to miss the flash of auburn hair.

I’m not fast enough, I’m not-

“Master!” Your grandpadawan cries your name from the shadows as you sharply turn the corner and come to an abrupt stop at the sight in front of you. Ahsoka Tano - your grandpadawan who is so close to your heart - has collapsed in the alleyway with Obi-Wan Kenobi cradled in her arms. He’s not moving. Not breathing.

Your heart stops in your chest and you lose all ability to breathe. This isn’t the first time you’ve lost Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh no. Jabiim left a scar on both you and Anakin.

“No, no.. you cannot leave. Not yet! Not yet! She-She needs you.”

I am not the only traveler

who has not repaid his debt

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt helpless around him either. You’d long surrendered to the idea of loving him despite The Jedi Code years ago. That was why the wedding band hanging on the chain around your neck feels like it now carries the weight of the world.

Your shoulders sag in defeat.

i’ve been searching for a trail to follow again

“I need you.”

You do need him, but you don’t have that luxury now. You lost him. He’s gone.

Take me back to the night we met

***

You and Obi-Wan Kenobi met at the tender age of ten and twelve. Even though you’d grown up in the same créche as him and Aayla Secura, somehow The Force had kept the two of you apart until the most convenient moment where he’d been in the midst of fighting Bruck of all people, and you’d been the one who’d pulled him out of it. The calm to his storm.

He had stuck close to you ever since. Your Force - the very essence of your soul that exuded light - was the thing that kept him grounded in the midst of all the suffering he’d endured since he was a child. Even after Siri and Xanatos and Naboo and all the death he faced.. Obi-Wan always came back to you.

And years later, you were always waiting.

***

You weren’t waiting anymore.

The funeral is as all Jedi funerals are. There is no mourning, no grieving, only expressionless masks of Jedi Masters and Knights as you and Anakin watch your husband and brother be put into the ground. You hate it. Despise it. Just the sight alone is enough to make her leave The Order and never look back.

But then Anakin would be alone, and Ahsoka would be helpless to look after him. You couldn’t do that.

He died and you weren’t there to save him.

Not to them.

His Padawan braid weighs heavily in your hand. One of the bands that had been attached to your own had been for kriffing force healing, for Makers sake, and you could’ve saved him from this had you just been faster. He’s dead. He’s dead, and you can’t mourn him because you have to focus on Anakin and Ahsoka, and Maker- Satine will not stop sobbing-

And then it hits you full force just as his body is lowered into the ground. Cody and the 212th are not aware that their father has just been buried. That their jettise is dead.

Your son will never forgive himself for it. Cody is just that type. Loyal to a fault, and guilty beyond comprehension when he feels as if he hasn’t performed his duty.

And his duty is always going to be to his jetti-buir.

“Where are you going?” Anakin has the audacity to yell after the funeral is over, unaware of how closely he’s being watched, as his Former Master flees the room and moves towards the hangar where their speeder is waiting for you. “We need you here!”

A monster, born of repressed grief and rage over the circumstances in which you and Obi-Wan were in when he was lost to you again, flashes in your eyes and it’s enough to make Anakin wince and slowly back in the opposite direction.

“i have a company of clones-“ You meanssons, and he knows that. “Who need my attention more then you do right now, Anakin. Go home.”

The Hero With No Fear has one fear in that moment as he watches his former Master walk away: It’s that he will lose you too.

***

“Why didn’t you save me? You were right there, we were together and happy and you were just.. useless.”

I had all and then most of you

Something that I never knew

Your dreams are haunted by him. He’s everywhere. And the cruel thing is? He looks exactly the same as he has since you were both knighted. He looks like Obi-Wan - the very soul that yours was drawn to - and that stings because there’s nothing you want more in this world at the moment then the ability to just... hold him. Kiss him. Have him.

Take me back to the night we met

If you dwell on him any more then you already have, you will succumb to your desire to just slip away and be with him in the peace of eternity forever. The Cosmic Force sounds like bliss compared to the hell you endure every time you open your eyes and find yourself met with a cold bed and an even colder home.

That doesn’t even begin to cover the broken force bond. Your skull thrums with the ache of the emptiness inside your mind - the spot where Obi-Wan used to occupy - and there comes a point where you’re in so much pain that you cannot move from your bed.

He hovers over you while you sleep. Your dreams are not kind to you. They’re taunting. All the what-could’ve-beens that the two of you had not had the time to experience together.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

“Take me back to the night we met.” You whisper. To who, no one knows, but you like to imagine that even in death, he’s waiting for you the way you spent so many years waiting for him.

Your grief turns into an irrevocable numbness. You go for so long without social contact from anybody for fear they’ll unravel you. So long without feeling the love of your family in the Order that you start hallucinating him. He looks real, he feels real-

“Kark you, Obi-Wan Kenobi! For dying and for leaving me alone and for not telling me you love me before you go!” You yell in the dead of night until your voice is hoarse and your fingers are clenched so tightly that they’ve begun going white, and part of you wonders if you stopped living and started existing when you watched his body fall from that rooftop. “Stop haunting me!”

when the night was full of terror

and your eyes were filled with tears

You almost wish you hadn’t said it because as soon as you do, the apparition dissipates and you are alone.

when you had not touched me yet

The sound of your heart breaking in your hands is what lulls you to sleep.

oh take me back to the night we met

***

When you meet Rako Hardeen and he has Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes, you’re not sure if you want to kill him or kiss him.

So while Anakin Skywalker goes supernova in his anger against his former Master for lying about his whereabouts and his mission for the Council, you bask in your silence by the cruiser that transported you and the clones to Naboo’s surface. You’re not sure what to say, if anything. You just want to look at him.

It’s not until you’re safely ensconced in your quarters that you can act on touching him.

“Darling, I-”

You hesitantly approach him, hand outstretched and eyes shining because you are so close to breaking - and then your fingers graze the skin of his collarbone and his knees buckle.

“You’re-” You swallow the knot in your throat as he winds his arm around your waist and presses your back to his front so he can bury your face in his hair. “You’re real.”

You waited for him.

“I’m real.” He whispers in your ear. “And I’m never leaving you. Never again.”

And he’d come back to you.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader #Obi-Wan x Reader #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots

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tragedy-for-sale · 4 years

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The Value of a Jedi

Ya'll as I'm making gifs my mind is like 'yo- how about I torture you with this thought' so now ya'll have to deal with it too.

Ahsoka and Rex are trapped and being deep under ground means deep conversations.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Rex kicked the wall of the cave in frustration after he and Ahsoka had searched for a way out for the last hour. He leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh, looking to Ahsoka who'd been meditating. He wondered how long she'd been doing that, he'd been so lost in his own mind.

Ahsoka sat on the cold stone, trying to reach out to Anakin or Obi-Wan. She was trying so hard, sensing them faintly, it grew stronger, but not fast enough. The air was going stale, or maybe it was poisonous, it wasn't long until Rex and Ahsoka ran out of air, or something collapsed.

As Rex relaxed he felt a pain, looking down to his chest he pushed on his abdomin and let out a grunt. A lot of pain flooded into his system. How long had he'd been hurt? Rex groaned, he hadn't even realized he was hurt until now. Which annoyed him, he could be suffocating in his own blood right now, and instead of resting he was moving and probably making it worse. The Captain sank to the floor as his body processed the pain he'd been oblivious to.

Ahsoka opened her eyes, turning to look at the Captain, he hadn't realized she was looking at him. Ahsoka watched Rex, his breathing was getting ragged and she could sense pain in him, and a lot of annoyance. "Rex?" She spoke, causing him to jump and hit the back of his head on the stone.

"I'm fine, Commander." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head, not looking up. Ahsoka sensed the Captain was seemingly relaxed, completely fine with the fact he had an injury and he just slammed his head into jagged stone. "Are you alright? Come up with an escape plan yet?" He asked, letting out a cough.

Ahsoka was relieved to hear her friend's voice, but she could sense a lot of pain surrounding Rex. "Yes, I am, and no, not yet. I was trying to sense Master Kenobi or Skywalker, but no luck" she sighed. "What happened?" Ahsoka asked, causing Rex to look up, he'd been trying to hide his pain.

"Ah, well I'm sure the Generals will find you soon" he commented as he shifted his weight off his aching side. "Oh, I landed on a rock, gonna have a heck of a bruise later" he chuckled, "Cody's gonna punch me if he finds out so don't tell him"

Ahsoka tried to smile even though she didn't beliveve him, her smiled twitched. He'd lied to her. "Wait-" She stopped, recalling all he'd said, "Don't you mean us? Skyguy's coming for both of us," Ahsoka stated with growing confusion. She looked to Rex, he was pain, but he was smiling and he could still laugh, that was a good sign.

The young padawan didn't realize Rex was only smiling because if he was meant to die he didn't want Ahsoka to be scared, so he'd keep talking to her and keep her laughing until she was found. "Ah, kid," he sighed, looking down, "You're pretty smart... You already know the answer"

Ahsoka shook her head, frankly, she didn't know what he meant. "Why don't you think Master Skywalker will want to rescue you too? You're our Captain, after all" she repeated the question, she didn't know the answer to it. At least, she didn't want to, she didn't want to admit what she knew.

Rex's head shot up, he wished he'd never said anything, Ahsoka was probably too young to realize the real position Rex was in. "You're a Jedi," He begun. Ahsoka stopped to think, part of herself didn't want to think he was talking ranks now. She didn't say anything though, just listening to his ragged breathing, "You really wanna know why I don't think I'm getting out of this?"

Ahsoka nodded, wanting an explanation. Rex believed in the Jedi, in Anakin, believed in her. His words didn't match the Rex she knew. As if the injured man was speaking truths he'd never say aloud. And she couldn't bring herself to say anything else, so Ahsoka just listened. "Why, Rex?"

"Above all, General Skywalker is your master, he's to lead us clones into battle, but on top of everything he's your teacher, and in a choice of life or death, he's supposed to choose and protect you." Rex begun to explain, "Skywalker's suppose to choose your life if he could only save one of us, just as if I had the choice, I'd choose my brothers."

If? If he had a choice? What the heck did that mean?! Of course he had a choice! Didn't he? Ahsoka shook her head, recalling all the times she'd see him be waved away, inturrupted, dismissed. And how he always took it. "Why do you.. You have a choice Rex, you're a person."

The Captain turned to Ahsoka, who's eyes were big and sorrowful, it broke Rex's heart knowing what he was going to say, that saying the truth, would make her so sad, "....I'm not a person, Ahsoka, not like you anyways. You- you know that."

Ahsoka tried to speak, but nothing came out, she looked around the cave as she felt her eyes tear up. Eventually she turned to Rex, his eyes watery just the same. Ahsoka had never felt worse in her entire life "Rex," she started, "You're talking as if you're prisoner, or..." She stopped, every inch of her heart shattering,

"... a slave"

#then they were rescued and they never brought it up again #okay i think my brain stopped piecing words and sentences together #so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense #captain rex #ahsoka tano #star wars #clones #clone wars

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isitmadness · 4 years

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What Keeps Us Alive

summary: Obi-Wan, Cody, and the very few remnants of the 212th make their way back to Coruscant after Order 66. Beyond dealing with the emotional fallout, they need to find a way to locate the inhibitor chips and remove them before they're triggered again.

characters/relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, Longshot, Boil, Cross (original clone character); established Obi-Wan/Cody

words: 3.5k

a/n: This was written for day 1 of @codywanweek 2020 - the theme for which was hurt/comfort. It’s part two of ‘The War is Over.’ This is also chapter 1 of part 2 (sorry for the confusion lol)...so there will be 1 more chapter coming!

Read it on a03

It was a relief to be back on board the Vigilance even if it was still in orbit above Utapau. The planet where everything felt like it was finally starting to go right...and instead went horribly wrong. General Grievous had been defeated, after years of the chase. But the victory felt hollow, meaningless.

He ended up not only fighting Grievous, but Cody. Cody had tried to kill him, too, and if this truly was the entire Galactic Army of the Republic...if all the clones had faithfully carried out Order 66 throughout the galaxy, the Jedi were...gone. Obi-Wan was desperate to get home to Coruscant but afraid of what he’d find there.

His bond with Anakin was also gone - ripped from his mind like Qui-Gon’s once was. He couldn’t even comprehend the loss. How could his former padawan, friend, and brother have been taken from him, too?

Grief was an attachment, he knew this...and yet…

Focus on the here and now. He needed medical assistance. Cody definitely needed medical assistance, as did Boil and Longshot. The rest of the 212th Attack Battalion? Well, they were also gone. Another ache that sat like an anchor on Obi-Wan’s chest.

After making the jump to hyperspace, Obi-Wan strode from the command center to the medbay, afraid of what he would find. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and held it in his hand, ready. He had no real intention of using it, no matter what he promised Cody, but…

-----

In the medbay, Cody had stripped down to his blacks and sat on the edge of an exam table. His broken and dented armor was piled on the floor at his feet. The orange markings were a point of pride only a few hours ago: pride in his battalion, pride in their general, and if he was honest, a little pride in himself in what he had been able to accomplish. It was an honor to be sent on such an important mission.

He rather felt like his armor, a broken mess of a man. Every bone and muscle in his body ached, outdone only by the throbbing thunderstorm raging in his head. His eyes followed the medic, Cross, as he worked his way between Boil and Longshot, tending to their worst injuries.

Beyond the physical pain, the emotional and mental turmoil of losing so many of his brothers AND turning on his general was crushing. Not even to mention remembering that he hadn’t truly believed Fives about the inhibitor chips. Like everyone else, he accepted the report that he and Tup had succumbed to a virus picked up on Ringo Vinda. If he could go back and...no. He couldn’t change the past.

“Cody?” All their heads snapped towards the door where their general hovered, unsure. He looked tired, worn, and unusually small. Cody’s attention was drawn from Obi-Wan’s face when he noticed the movement of his hand near his waist. He was clipping his lightsaber to his belt. Good, Cody thought, he at least came prepared.

“General,” Cross looked away from where he was splinting Boil's wrist and nodded. The other men followed suit.

Obi-Wan cautiously walked in and stood in the middle of the room, assessing the situation. He took in the four remaining men's nearly-identical faces. "How are you all feeling? What’s the status on these...these inhibitor chips?”

Despite what he had just been through, Obi-Wan was back to General Kenobi. Something twisted in Cody’s gut.

“Well, we’ve all had a scan from the medical droid,” Cross started. “And...they show nothing.”

That was unexpected and incredibly concerning. Obi-Wan stroked his beard, deep in thought. Cody smiled to himself at the gesture. “That is some unfortunate news. But how do you all feel?"

“The inside of my head feels like there’s a herd of banthas stomping around,” Boil murmured in a gravelly voice. “Sir.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand through the air dismissively. “I think, Boil, that we don’t need to stand on ceremony. Call me Obi-Wan. I have a feeling I am no longer a general.”

Longshot scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “So, why do you trust us? How do you know we aren’t going to snap again any second and take you out? Which undoubtedly will be the last thing we do...”

Cody jumped off the table and came to stand next to Obi-Wan. “Longshot, that’s enough. We don’t need--”

“It’s quite alright, Commander,” Obi-Wan settled a hand on Cody’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. Cody flushed - sometimes Obi-Wan had such an intense way of looking at him, that Cody had to look away. “You seem like Longshot, Boil, Cross, and Cody, and that’s enough for me right now. How many times have you all been right beside me on the battlefield? How is this battle any different? And I...may be a Jedi, but I have no plans whatsoever to hurt any of you,” Obi-Wan said sternly.

He walked over to Boil’s bedside. “Are you in terrible pain, Boil?”

Boil shrugged, removed his arm and squinted at his general, “I mean...it’s a pretty bad headache, but nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

Obi-Wan looked up and around at all the troopers. They all nodded, indicating they felt the same way. “What can we do, Cross? For all of you.”

Cross shook his head slowly and exhaled. “I admit, I’m at a loss...I don’t know what to do. If I can't locate a chip on the scan, I don't know where to look...obviously. I can't just open up Longshot's head, for example, and dig around."

"He might deserve that though," Boil snarked.

Obi-Wan smiled softly, appreciative that the men had kept their sense of humor. “Well, I think this is going to take more thought and research. But, in the meantime, the least I could do is try to give you all some measure of relief? That is, if you trust me to accomplish such a thing.”

“Sir, you don’t have to--” Cody started.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cody. I'm no healer, but I would do it gladly, especially if it would help you.”

“All of us?” Longshot questioned, quietly.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "Of course. So, who’s first?”

All four men hesitated and looked at each other. “Why not Cross? So he can go about his medic business for the rest of us without the pain?” Cody suggested.

Obi-Wan nodded, “I think that’s an excellent idea, Commander.”

Cross sat down on the end of the exam bed where Boil lay. “Well then, do your worst, General.”

Obi-Wan spent time with Cross, Longshot, and Boil, giving them all the Force healing he could, hoping it would stick around long enough to help them feel somewhat better. Now that his head was throbbing less, Cross sat at his desk and continued his research since he was able to focus again. Longshot and Boil left the medbay to return to their own quarters for some much-needed rest. It was finally Cody’s turn.

Obi-Wan walked over and stood in front of where Cody had sat back down on the exam table. “General, I can tell when you’re drained...please do not worry about me. We have painkillers and that will help cut through the worst of it for now.”

He put a warm hand on the top of Cody’s left thigh and moved closer to stand between his knees. “Commander, I feel like it’s my duty to tell you when you’re being ridiculous,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “This is one of those times.”

With the general this close, Cody could finally see how worn, bruised, and tired Obi-Wan was himself. There were holes and tears all over his clothes, and he was pretty sure they were even still damp. He also could see that the bruise on his right cheek was darker now. And knowing that he was the one who put it there, hurt Cody more than he could say. He desperately wished to wrap his arms around his Jedi and pull him close. Instead, he laid a hand over Obi-Wan’s and just shook his head. “Fine.”

Obi-Wan lifted his hands to either side of Cody’s face, wanting nothing more than to pull his face close and kiss him, but well, Cross was still around and that wouldn’t exactly be a good idea. Somehow Cody knew what Obi-Wan was thinking anyway and gave him a small smile. It was Obi-Wan’s turn to flush. He cleared his throat. “Well, let’s see what I can do.” Obi-Wan adjusted his hands, rubbing his thumbs across Cody’s cheekbones, and closed his eyes to slowly sink into the Force one more time.

With the Jedi's eyes closed, Cody took the opportunity to take in the face he loved so well. The bruise would fade in time, thankfully, but otherwise, he was still his Obi-Wan. Those crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the freckles that dusted his cheeks, that mole in the middle of this forehead, the grey in his beard and at both temples - they were all details that Cody had fallen in love with. But then beyond those features he loved, he noticed the twitching behind his eyelids, the furrowed brow, and even a drop of sweat that had suddenly formed at his hairline and was slowly rolling down his forehead. He was displaying signs of overtaxing himself and Cody wanted to stop him.

Why was he giving of his life-force for someone who had just tried to kill him?

Because I love you. His general’s lips didn’t move, but Cody heard the answer as clear as day. He sat up straighter wondering how it was possible.

Finally, Obi-Wan’s eyes slowly fluttered open, those stormy blue irises meeting warm, dark amber. “Well?” Obi-Wan’s warm smile nearly made Cody melt.

Cody blinked a few times. “I...it’s so much better. Thank you, sir.”

“Obi-Wan,” he reminded him as he caressed his cheek with his thumb once more then dropped his hands. Cody reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan’s fingers to give them two quick squeezes - their code for ‘I love you.’

“You need some rest, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, finally backing out of Cody’s personal space. “Why not go join the men and sleep?”

“I must admit the offer is very tempting. But what about the ship?” He leaned forward slightly and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s waist. “What about you? Who’s going to make sure you get rest and medical attention?”

Obi-Wan smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Well, Cross is busy, but I’m sure I can beg him for some medical attention. And I can keep the ship flying, don’t worry about me. You need the rest. No arguments.”

Cody slid off the table and stood, stretching. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

Obi-Wan put his hand on Cody’s cheek and smiled, “I know.”

They walked out of the medbay together then separated in the hall. Obi-Wan watched Cody’s back as he slowly walked away, hoping that he would still be Cody when he saw him again.

----

Cross patched up Obi-Wan the best he could then ordered him to go rest, too. And while he was deeply exhausted, and knew he could benefit from sleeping, he was unsure how he could knowing there were four clones on the ship who could snap at any time and try to kill him again. So instead, he stood at the viewport on the bridge looking out on the familiar rushing vortex of blue. They were approximately four days from Coruscant.

It seemed as if everything they had been told by the Kaminoans about the inhibitor chips was a lie. He no longer felt sure he knew anything about the chips or what had been done to the millions of clones during the cloning process. There was obviously a trigger, but he didn't know what it was. And could they be re-triggered? How did they malfunction in Cody, Boil, Cross, and Longshot? How would they locate them in their heads? Was there anything in Arc Trooper Fives' old file? If so, he hoped Cross was looking and would find it.

He tried to focus on the chip issue, but the reminder that they were heading back home only made his thoughts turn back to his people, to the temple and the younglings there, as well as his friends and family scattered throughout the galaxy. He searched his bond once again for Anakin but it was still silent. He worried, too, about Ahsoka, Rex, and the troopers they took to Mandalore. Did they capture Maul? But was she attacked by her men, too?

He had to refocus his mind or lose himself to his grief completely. He sat down in one of the command center chairs and attempted to meditate. However, he found quickly that the Force was empty and in mourning. The amount of grief he felt, in addition to the darkness, was suddenly overwhelming.

His eyes flew open and he was panting and gasping for air. He looked around the empty command center expecting to see at least one trooper or officer. He realized, too, that the emptiness he was feeling was not only the rift in the Force, but in the Vigilance itself. It was always bustling with life - he was used to feeling the bright Force signatures of every single one of his men. Now that was also gone. Even Cody, Longshot, Boil, and Cross felt dim and far away. It took every ounce of strength he had to not collapse on his knees.

“General,” a voice suddenly rang behind him. Obi-Wan whipped around quickly, pulling his lightsaber off his belt and igniting it.

Cross' hands flew up in defense, “Whoa! It’s just me...Cross!”

Obi-Wan turned off the blade once more and willed himself to calm his breathing. “I’m so sorry, Cross. I can’t...I’m…”

“General, I thought I told you to rest,” Cross said, walking closer, slowly dropping his hands. “I am wide awake and dedicated to this research, please go try to sleep. Doctor’s orders.” He smiled.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged and nodded his assent. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with you, is there?”

Cross chuckled, “No, sir. I know what you just went through for the four of us, and honestly, it’s a bit astounding that you’re still upright after what you went through on Utapau.”

“I...know you’re right,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Because I am having problems meditating right now. Are you sure you’re okay here on your own?”

“Of course, sir,” Cross nodded. “I will wake you all should the need arise.”

Obi-Wan walked closer and put his hand on Cross' shoulder. “Obi-Wan...please. You’re a good man, Cross. Thank you.”

“Then, Obi-Wan...after what you did for us? It’s truly the least I could do.”

Obi-Wan nodded and headed out of the command center.

----

Once in the common fresher, he stripped off his sweat and water-logged tunics and pants, and took a long shower. The warm water was soothing on his aching muscles. He finished and wrapped a towel around his waist to head back towards his quarters. It was a small comfort to finally feel clean. He wasn't worried that anyone would see him dressed so inappropriately - or not dressed, rather - there was no one else on board.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the door to his quarters was cracked and there was a light coming from inside. He didn’t remember turning one on, but perhaps he had and forgotten. Or else Cody had done it for him anticipating his returning and needing it.

He stood at the door and opened it the rest of the way. The sight was not at all what he expected. Cody was tucked under the blankets, sprawled on his stomach and snoring lightly. The small breathing noises brought a warmth to Obi-Wan’s chest - Cody needed the sleep and Obi-Wan was grateful he was able to.

Obi-Wan needed to get dressed but he hesitated, wondering what he should do beyond that. The thought of crawling into bed next to Cody was incredibly inviting. And on some level, Cody must have expected Obi-Wan to do this otherwise he wouldn’t have fallen asleep in his bed.

Or maybe Cody expected Obi-Wan to stay awake and took his bed knowing he wouldn’t be using it. In which case, maybe he should leave him alone.

Or maybe--

“I can hear you thinking,” a voice rough with sleep suddenly said. Obi-Wan hadn't even noticed the snoring had ceased. “Come to bed.” Cody rolled over to face Obi-Wan. "Oh."

Obi-Wan didn't miss the way Cody's eyes quickly raked over his body. He loved Cody the most when he looked like this - eyelids heavy with sleep and hair slightly mussed. And now there was a warm, almost seductive smile on his face. Yet he still hesitated, and that wasn’t lost on Cody.

“Unless you don’t trust me?” He furrowed his brow and propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his general.

Obi-Wan dried off and slipped on a pair of comfortable sleep pants. Cody had seen Obi-Wan like this many times. He appreciated Obi-Wan’s lithe form, toned by years of training and discipline. But he also knew all of his scars and old wounds and appreciated those, too. They spoke of someone unafraid. A general he himself was not afraid to follow because he knew he put his life on the line for his men, his Jedi family, and the Republic time and time again.

Obi-Wan walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. A gentle hand rubbed his bare back. The touch pulled Obi-Wan out of his own reverie and he melted under Cody's hand. He finally looked over his shoulder, “I do trust you. I’m just...you can’t blame me for being slightly hesitant.” Cody looked down. “That hurts more than I can say.”

“I understand,” Cody sat up and made to get out of the bed, but a hand pushed against his shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave...unless you just want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then, stay.” Obi-Wan twisted slightly to watch Cody's face.

Cody laid back down and lifted up the corner of the blanket for Obi-Wan to crawl in beside him, which he did. Cody was just as warm as Obi-Wan thought he’d be, and the skin-to-skin contact sent a pulse of electricity through his entire body. The familiar comfort was as overwhelming as the earlier grief.

Obi-Wan tucked his head under Cody’s chin as two strong arms wrapped around his torso. Cody sighed. “This feels normal and right.”

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to the hollow of Cody’s throat. “How are you always so warm?” Cody chuckled and Obi-Wan felt the low rumble in his chest.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan shifted and reached out towards the light to turn it off. Cody laughed again. “Don’t say it,” Obi-Wan warned with a smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Okay, lights are out, it’s time to sleep,” Cody said, sounding like he was halfway to drifting off already. Obi-Wan nodded against his chest. They laid there basking in each other’s comfort, both thinking about what they had been through only hours before but trying to avoid the conversation. Cody ran a hand up and down Obi-Wan’s back.

“What happens when we get to Coruscant?” He finally asked. Obi-Wan was silent so long, Cody thought he had already drifted to sleep. In truth, Obi-Wan was silent because he had no idea. This situation was unprecedented. “I don’t...I wouldn't blame you for turning us all over to the Coruscant Guard as soon as we land."

"That's never happening. Don't be ridiculous,” he murmured against his chest.

Cody pushed him away to look at him. In the cabin's dim light he could just barely make out Obi-Wan's face. It was set and determined.

"But, sir, we attacked you. I attacked you. I tried to kill you."

"First of all, please do not call me sir while we're in bed." Cody huffed fondly. "And secondly, you were not yourselves. I cannot pretend to fully understand this situation and the destructive power in your head, but it wasn't you."

Cody pulled him close again, squeezing harder, wanting to never let go. "I'm so…sorry." The sob he had been desperately trying to hold in finally escaped.

Obi-Wan reached up and ran a soothing hand over Cody’s face and shoulders. "Shhh, dear one. No apologies."

Obi-Wan could feel Cody shaking silently. Seeing the man cry twice in one day was breaking Obi-Wan’s heart. He shifted upwards and tucked Cody under his chin, wrapping his arms around him instead. This wasn't something either of them were going to come back from easily, but they would do it together.

#codywanweek2020 #my writing #fanfic #codywan #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan x cody #the war is over #post-order 66

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ver-writes-things · 4 years

Text

How I Long for Things to be Restored

A/N: I am not Muslim. I have been researching and have had a great deal of help and patience from Ayat @royalhandmaidens, but that doesn't mean I know everything I need to in order to make this the best story possible. I've done my best to be respectful while also staying true to Pova's sensory sensitivities and the history of these characters, and if anyone has any suggestions for how to be even more respectful and understanding, please feel free to leave them in the comments.

Pova tossed their headscarf unceremoniously onto their bed and slumped against the wall.

Obi-Wan followed them into the room a second later. “Are we going to talk about this?” he asked, and his gentle voice had an edge to it. His arms crossed in front of his chest, and his lips folded down in a frown.

It itches! Pova signed again. I don’t like it.

Obi-Wan groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. Raising an eleven-year-old was surprisingly difficult the second time around, and he was suddenly and almost uncomfortably glad that the Larses wouldn’t let him near Luke. At least he wouldn’t have to do this a third time. “Will you please put it away nicely, then?” he asked, trying desperately to keep the sigh out of his voice.

Pova’s expression became frustrated in a way only an eleven-year-old’s could, and they stood up only to storm over to their bed and pick up the headscarf. Nonetheless, they folded the fabric neatly and set it in a drawer that contained a stack of similar folded squares.

Pova and Obi-Wan didn’t talk much the rest of the day.

:::

Pova tossed their headscarf unceremoniously onto their bed and slumped against the wall.

“Kid,” Cody began, loitering in the doorway, “why are you and Obi-Wan fighting?”

Cody could hardly even understand Pova, so they said nothing, only giving him a glare.

“Well, I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Obi-Wan says to put it away nicely, though.” Cody watched Pova fold up the piece of fabric and set it in the drawer. “Thanks, kid.”

:::

Pova folded their headscarf and slammed the drawer closed before slumping against the wall.

“Thank you for putting it away,” Obi-Wan sighed, “but please don’t slam things.”

Why not? Pova signed, but they knew they were just being contrary. They flicked their thumb out from beneath their chin with more aggression than was strictly necessary, and then crossed their arms to glare at Obi-Wan, the way Cody always did right before Obi-Wan caved.

“Well, for one thing, I can’t afford to buy you a new dresser if you break it.” Obi-Wan’s tone was starting to get that edge to it. “I don’t understand why you have such qualms about the headscarf. Please just talk to me.”

Pova kept their silent glare for five minutes, shoulders against the wall, unmoving.

Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, little one.” He turned away, tired--thirteen-year-olds were much more work than eleven-year-olds, and he was sure Pova was giving him more grey hairs with this behavior than Anakin or the war ever had.

:::

“I want to show you something.”

Pova raised an eyebrow and looked up over the edge of their book, one of the real flimsi ones that Obi-Wan had managed to purchase from the antiques dealer in town.

Obi-Wan smiled, because Pova wasn’t ignoring him anymore, and sat next to the little Mirialan, datapad in hand.

On the screen was a pair of people with green skin and geometric markings on their faces, wearing dark clothing. Each of them wore a head-covering. The smaller of the pair had a hooded style that seemed to be connected to a short cape, two-toned with an irregular pattern. She was tucked under the arm of the taller, whose head-covering was folded in such a way that it stood tall and broad over her head. Pova had a sudden itch to learn how to do that.

They did not laugh at the irony of itching to learn how to do something that would just make their scalp crawl, but it was a close thing.

Both of them smiled in the direction of the camera, expressions warm and happy and good. Pova realized they recognized these two from the Temple. They had never been formally introduced that Pova remembered, what with the war on, but Pova knew those faces.

Pova set their book down to sign up at Obi-Wan. Who are they?

Obi-Wan’s expression turned reminiscent, somewhere between melancholy and happy. “This,” he said, pointing to the taller woman, “was Jedi Master Luminara Unduli. She was a dear friend of mine; we grew up together. And this,” he continued, and pointed at the smaller one, “was Barriss Offee. She was Luminara’s Padawan at the time this was taken. It was customary for Mirialans to take each other on as Padawans, so Luminara taught Barriss at the same time that I taught--” he cut off, coughed, the sound sad and choked and aching in Pova’s heart.

Pova nodded, thoughtful, and tried to send a flash of reassurance through their still-growing Force bond. They pointed to the head-coverings Luminara and Barriss wore.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, his voice thick with something. “Head-coverings like these are common for Mirialans. It is a cultural tradition. Luminara explained that it was an outward expression of modesty, and of cultural identity. According to some--although this is somewhat disputed--you Mirialans also have more sensory receptors under your skin than most humanoid species do. Dressing modestly is also a way to protect your senses. Luminara never told me whether that was true or not; I don’t think I ever asked.”

Pova considered curling up next to their father, but instead chose to stand, abruptly, almost startling Obi-Wan. They went to their room and gently opened the drawer containing a dozen or so headscarves Obi-Wan had purchased for them over the years. They grabbed the one at the top, because it was the softest--still itchy, but the softest. Obi-Wan had really tried, had made an effort to connect them to their culture and they had fought him every step of the way.

Obi-Wan was halfway down the hall when Pova left their room. “Are you alright, little one?” he asked, gentle as anything, all hints of his earlier hurt gone.

Pova held up the headscarf before wrapping it, carefully, around their head, leaving their hands free to sign. It itches. I can’t wear it all the time. But thank you for teaching me. They gave a little, regretful smirk. Sorry I was mad about it before.

Obi-Wan smiled. It was soft and warm, and he held his arms out just a little to the sides.

Pova leaned into the embrace.

“I only wish Luminara or Barriss could teach you, my little one. You deserve to learn from people who know more.”

Pova pulled back. You’re doing your best. And then, I love you, Papa.

#swpocweek2020 #cultural identity #pova ibonek #obi-wan kenobi #hope in front of me #commander cody #background codywan

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

I'm very grateful I work from home so no one can see me crying over the latest slo chapter

OH NO. There’s really so much sad. Though we’ve reached a crest, to be honest.

I’ve got some more asks about the slo!au. Some of them are dealing with chapters 2 and 3, so I’m putting them under the cut. Just in case:

Anonymous said:

"no alphas wanted him after they had him anyway" ooooof that put a real physical ache in my chest. do it again. also cody needs to hurry UP and give obi-wan all the hugs that saddest little omega dESERVES.

T_T There’s definitely a lot more aching come up. CODY COME ON. Please, get over here right NOW.

Anonymous said:

i saw in the slo comments you were considering a snippet from qui gons pov, and i wanted to say you’ve done a fantastic job with his character especially considering obi wan is an unreliable narrator. i was disgusted by him in ch 2 but once i read ch 3 i saw the layers and depth and realized instantly it wasn’t black and white. i’m still not fond of him, i think it was unforgivably inappropriate no matter how compelling the reasons, but now i’m dying to see his pov of their relationship

Yeah, I’m definitely leaning towards writing at least a little bit from his POV, because, like you said, Obi-Wan isn’t close to 100% reliable. Partially because he doesn’t have all the information and partially because he’s just so hurt. (Q still caused a LOT of pain, though, yeah).

Anonymous said:

I know it’s not QuiObi and I’ve never really particularly enjoyed QuiObi but GAWD I wish, it would ease my pain :(

Oooh, yeah, there’s an AU (of this au) somewhere where Qui-Gon chooses to take a different path after the Xanatos incident. I’m not really a QuiObi fan, either, but... there’s an appeal to thinking about Obi-Wan maybe avoiding SOME of his pain.

Anonymous said:

satine telling obi wan she loves him during his heat, but then later saying they can’t be together and she can’t keep their child, is like a punch straight in the esophagus because you know he’s gonna draw the most awful conclusions, thinking he’s unloveable, that he’s only desirable during a heat, reinforcing his belief that no alpha wants him more than once. i will be inconsolable until cody makes his entrance (you don’t have to reply right away if you don’t want to spoil the chapter)

T_T Yeah, that’s just really... feeding right into his self-image, isn’t it? She had her reasons and made the choices she thought were best, but... T_T

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #slo!au #A Slow Fall Towards Grace

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francoiserenaldt · 4 years

Text

the emancipation of dizzy

desirée ashton is tired of being tired and the pills don’t hit like they used to. happy @it-lives-week.

word count: around 3k warnings: some ableist language, cruelty, destructive coping mechanisms, lots of parentheses in here, negative thoughts, references to depression, strong language, there are sweet moments but a lot happens before then

“No.”

The word leaves her in a shout, crippling her as the nicks and scratches that litter her aching body give way to immeasurable pain.

But it’s not the wounds that hurt her most.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

She vaguely hears it behind her as she holds her brother in her arms for the last time.

Or so she thinks.

None of this makes any sense, she thinks.

Nothing she sees is real. None of this is real.

(Not when she puts Devon’s arm around her neck and drags him out of the cave to a stretcher, not when Noah tells them how unbelievably sorry he is for everything, and especially not when his body is found covered in blood 3 hours later.)

That night was a mistake; a terrible, terrible dream. Devon will be in his room when she inevitably has to go wake him up and Andy’s leg is fine and N–

No.

She refuses to think of him.

He fucked off and gave himself to the Power that night, effectively ending his life. She knows she should be thankful; after all, she knows herself enough to know that he wouldn’t stand a chance if he stayed in town after what he’d done. But the thought that he’d never truly get what had been coming to him, the thought that he’d gotten away with it, infuriated her.

Maybe he wouldn’t get what was coming to him, but it’s not too late to get the revenge she’d been itching for.

Jocelyn had been reduced to a sad sack of bones after she lost vision in her right eye and function in both legs and Cody–

There was no need to rehash that; he wouldn’t be a problem.

Unfortunately, Britney is still around; even more so now that Lily gave her another chance. She’s been making her idea of an effort, forcing a Joker-esque smile on her face any time Lily drags her over to the group and gritting out a compliment when she sees Ava’s new piercing or Stacy’s new shoes for the past two weeks.

It’s not enough.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you just went back to ignoring or insulting us like you usually do,” Desirée smirks, shutting her locker. “It’s obvious you don’t want to be here.”

And we don’t want you here goes unsaid for Lily’s sake.

“Yeah, Britney,” Stacy chimes in. “Don’t hold back on our accounts.”

“Guys, please,” Lily pleads, glancing between the girls. “Can’t we just be civil for once?”

“Sure, I’ll go first.” Ava huffs, pursing her lips. “When’s the last time you put someone in a garbage bin?”

“I’ve never done that, you–” Britney pauses, taking a breath. “Ava.”

“Oh shit, you’re right. You had Jocelyn and Cody do it for you. How is Jocelyn, by the way?”

“You can’t even be nice for two minutes, can you?” Lily scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

Once Lily stomps out of sight, Britney rolls her eyes and whirls on the remaining girls. “The only reason I’m even letting myself be seen with you losers is for Lily’s sake, alright? So you need to get over whatever little beef you have with me.”

“Little beef?” Desirée spits, glaring venomously. “You’ve tormented Lily, Devon, and Ava for years.”

“And you blackmailed Stacy, which is a felony, by the way,” Ava adds, crossing her arms. “You’re lucky the Green’s haven’t sued your bitch ass.”

“You have no idea how extremely lucky you are that I care about Lily–”

“No, you’re lucky we care about Lily. It’s the only thing that’s keeping you from getting jumped.” Stacy snaps.

“Since you care about her so much, you should probably try showing a little restraint.”

“The fact that I’m not wearing you like a shoe right now is me showing restraint.” Desirée retorts before smiling innocently. “But if you really want me to drop the act, that can be arranged.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Desirée quips, crossing her arms. “No, seriously. Leave.”

With yet another eye roll, she finally struts away.

“While I don’t disagree with you—like in any shape or form—saying what you said, you kinda threatened her. In public.”

“Yeah, it would be a really bad look if you hit her, Dizzy.”

“Well, I didn’t, okay?” Desirée snaps, grabbing the last of her things. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

She stomps off without another word, just missing the concerned looks Ava and Stacy send her way as she goes.

“Desirée, wait up!”

Devon jogs up to her. Or tries to, anyway. She never stopped walking.

“Hey, do you mind chilling the fuck out?” Devon admonishes, stepping in front of her. “Lily is really upset.”

“I do, actually.” She sneers. “She’s always around, making these snide fucking remarks, and I wanted her out of my face.”

“And you think being a dick to her is the answer? ‘Cause it’s not.”

“Then what is the answer, Devon? Aren’t you tired of letting yourself get pummeled day in and day out by Britney’s goon squad for all for Lily to go running back to her in the end?” She growls. “Aren’t you tired of being everyone’s little bitch?”

His eyes harden just as hers soften. “Fuck you.”

“I didn’t mean that–”

“Yes, you did. You’re just the only one who’s enough of an asshole to say it to my face.” Devon turns to walk away. “You’re acting just like her, you know.”

“Don’t pull that shit on me, Devon. I’m not doing anything that she doesn’t deserve.”

He bites back a reply before sighing. “Getting revenge isn’t going to make you happy.”

“Our lives are permanently fucked, Devon. Nothing is going to make me happy.” She forces a smile onto her lips. “At least this way I get something out of this nightmare.”

“How long do you think that’s going to last?”

“Until she’s gone.”

Doing away with Britney is the easy part; the bitch is entirely too sloppy with her misdeeds and Stacy knows her pass code like the back of her hand. A mass text from an unknown number full of screenshots does her in and the family moves to the next town over within the month.

(She could always count on Stacy to have her back, especially when it came to Britney.)

Seeing the tears in Lily’s eyes and the disappointment in Lucas and Devon’s faces as Desirée watches Britney walk out of Westchester High for the last time makes it infinitely harder to keep the smirk on her face.

Hard, but not impossible.

(The high inevitably wears off and her friends won’t stop looking at her like she’s some kind of monster, but Britney is gone and that’s all that matters.)

(Until it isn’t.)

Two weeks pass before Lily speaks to her again.

“Do you regret it?” She whispers.

“I regret hurting you,” Desirée whispers back. It’s the closest thing to an apology she can muster.

It’s not enough.

“I wish you were sorry.” Lily loses the whisper then and there, glaring.

“I wish you understood where I was coming from.”

“Why aren’t you sorry?”

“Because I hate her, Lily.” Desirée snaps. She’s had to say this too many times. “And she treats you and Devon like complete and utter shit and I’m tired of you sitting back and letting her do it.”

“So you made her leave.”

“So I made her leave.”

Lily scoffs and turns away.

“I did it for you, Lily,” Desirée whispers. “Everything that I’ve done has been for you.”

“You have no idea how much I want to believe that.”

Devon returns and the conversation is over as quickly as it began.

No.

She feels the word creep up her spine and lodge itself into her throat before she hears it fall into a loop in her head, spiraling quickly out of control.

(She’s lost control again. What a surprise.)

She shakes the empty pill bottle until it flies from her shaking hand to her bed.

Her phone is in her hand within seconds and her fingers fly across the screen. Her vision blurs with unshed frustrated tears but she taps away relentlessly—desperately—until the solution she needs pops up and she can finally stop acting like her life is falling apart.

“Hello?”

Shit.

“Hey,” she replies, trying desperately not to sound like she’s on the verge of tears and failing miserably.

(All she seems to do is fail these days.)

“What happened, Desirée? Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice breaks her resolve and she lets a few tears fall, sniffling.

“Okay. Stupid question.” He shuffles around, then curses. Even in her chaos, she finds it in her to wince. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know if you can. Help me. I don’t know why I called you.” She murmurs, running a hand over her face. “I don’t know about much of anything anymore.”

“There has to be something I can do,” Andy mutters quietly, probably to himself. “Hey, what if I stayed on the phone with you? Just until you can sleep.”

The painful—and frankly embarrassing—reminder that it is two in the morning is more than enough to calm her hysterics. “Oh, um…that would be great. And extremely nice of you, which I’m not sure I deserve considering–”

“Nope. None of that.”

“Okay,” she sighs, effectively ridding herself of her wobbly voice. “I gratefully and humbly accept your help, your Majesty.”

His laugh is probably—no, definitely—the best sound in the world and for the half hour it takes for her to find peace, she gets to hear it over and over again. The magic of him dissipates the anxiety that had lodged itself into her chest and for a moment—and not a second longer—she seems to float.

Then she wakes up.

Her phone is dead, naturally, so she goes up to the corner store. Common sense tells her that Devon won’t let her walk to the store without insisting on getting Lucas to drive them.

You know he means well. Why aren’t you letting him help you?

“No.” She smiles at the cashier manning the register. “Thank you, though.”

She learns that faking a smile becomes easy once you spend enough time doing it. Enough time has passed that no one questions it and those who can see through it don’t have the heart to draw attention to you.

The silence is almost peaceful.

You’re not letting him help you because you know you don’t deserve it.

(Until it isn’t.)

Her earlier turbulent and destructive thoughts were good for one thing; they distracted from the whispers and stares that followed her every move. She doesn’t bother listening to what they’re saying at this point—it can’t be anything the mayor or her parents or Cid haven’t told her—but they come from everyone; even the teachers mutter when she lingers too long on a test question or takes a little longer to answer a question.

(“It’s not like her to take so long.”)

The comments should make her angry. They should make her want to cover up her abnormal habits or threaten to have their jobs if they don’t mind their own fucking business.

But there’s nothing. Nothing they say matters. Nothing anyone says or does matters.

She eventually stops speaking to people. Anything urgent will be said to her directly and repeatedly, like a newborn puppy that’s just learning commands.

(“Please call Mom and Dad, Dizzy. They’re worried about you.”)

(“Please talk to me, Rée. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”)

(“Desirée, please pick up the phone.”)

For people who’ve known her all their lives, they’re terrible at taking hints.

Her own brother has given up on getting her to have dinner with him consistently; he just goes to Lucas’s house when he wants company.

Lucas, of all people, has become more approachable than her.

Why would Devon want to spend time with you? Why would anyone after the way you acted?

Her mind—for its many, many faults—is the only thing that hasn’t left her. It buzzes about incessantly, asking questions it has no answers to. This time, she doesn’t wait to answer them.

You told him that he was the world’s punching bag, that he was weak. At least he didn’t turn out anything like you. You have enough weaknesses to fill an encyclopedia.

Devon may be a little bitch, but he’s a little bitch with a boyfriend who hasn’t given up on him. Can you say the same?

No, the voice prattles on gleefully. Of course not. Andy’s already got pain in his legs; he doesn’t need a pain in the ass on top of that.

What’s the point?

Why bother picking up the phone? It’s not like anyone is calling her, or anyone would pick up the phone.

Why bother going downstairs for dinner? She’s just going to be eating it alone.

Why even bother leaving her room? No one wants to see her and, for once in her life, she doesn’t want to be seen.

So she’s content to stay right where she is. She can’t hurt anyone but herself here.

The universe, naturally, has other plans.

One day, Devon throws open her bedroom door. “Get dressed.”

“What the hell are you doing in my room? Get out!”

“Yeah, not happening. If you’re not done in 20 minutes, I’m dragging your ass out of bed myself.”

“As if you could pick me in the first place. Please fuck off.”

“Maybe not by myself. I’m sure Lucas and Dan would be happy to help, though.” He smirks as he turns away. As he goes, he sings, “20 minutes.”

Ughhhhhhh.

In her annoyance, she had failed to realize that all of her friends had been invited to the house.

He said that Lucas and Dan were here earlier, idiot.

“Hey, stranger,” Ava drawled when Desirée appeared at the banister. She was sprawled across a sofa by the coffee table, which she was promptly shoved off of once the words passed her lips.

“Seriously, Ava?” Stacy hisses before turning to face Desirée. “It’s good to see you again.”

It’s at this moment that she realizes that she dropped off the face of the Earth and stopped talking to her friends without an explanation.

You’re actually the worst friend ever. Why do they even bother with you?

“Hey, guys,” she says, looking at everyone. They all seem to be happy—relieved, probably—to see her, but something about the situation feels…off. “What’re you all doing here?”

“I thought we could have a game night,” Devon smiles (carefully? hesitantly?) at her as he gestures to the setup. He’s got just about every board game they’ve ever had on the table, from Candyland to Cards Against Humanity. “It’s been a long time since we’ve all done something together.”

All because you decided to be antisocial and moody.

“Right.” She swallows. “So what’s first?”

The afternoon passes easily. She’s far too wrapped up in the ecstasy of being around her best friends to think about anything other than kicking their asses in board games, let alone–

No. We’re having fun.

At least they were until Lily walked over to her after a particularly successful round of Cards Against Humanity.

(She doesn’t need to ask if they can talk in the kitchen, which just so happens to be tucked away from the living room where everyone sits.)

(Desirée doesn’t need to ask her if they’re speaking again now or if Lily plans on this being the last time they speak.)

Lily taps Desirée on the shoulder and they find the corner of the kitchen furthest from the living room.

“I forgive you,” Lily says once they’re alone.

“I’m not sorry,” Desirée warns. Lily can’t hate her any more than she already does; there’s no use being backward about how she feels.

“I don’t care.” Lily steps forward and before Desirée knows it, they’re hugging. “I’m not losing you over a girl.”

“Wait, wait…you’re not mad anymore?”

“I was being unfair,” Lily says, letting a hand come up to rub her bicep. “On a lot of fronts.”

In the spirit of not ruining her good mood by unpacking her behavior, Desirée opts for humor: “I was being a total bitch myself, so I’ll forgive you. Just this once.”

“Do I get another pass if you get first dibs on the unicorn plushie?”

“Maybe,” she smiles genuinely for once and tugs Lily back into a hug. “Now come back. I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you.” Lily replies, hugging her even tighter. “Now let’s go before someone tells Andy that he’s out a girlfriend.”

It’s easy to forget how good of a friend Lily is when she’s not simping over Britney.

Desirée slings an arm around Lily’s shoulders as they leave the kitchen. “You’re ridiculous, Lil.”

Devon raises an eyebrow when they walk back to the group. “Are we all good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Lily grins.

Yeah, we are good. Until you fuck it up again.

Eventually they leave (everyone leaves) and Devon sits next to her once they finish cleaning up the games.

“This is the first time you’ve come out of your room in–”

“Three weeks, Devon. I know.” She sighs and walks over to the staircase. “I’m going to bed.”

“No, wait,” Devon rushes, grabbing her hand. “Just be still and shut up for a second. I need to say this.”

“Fine.” She walks back over to him, albeit a bit petulantly.

“Remember how I was when Noah,” he pauses carefully and continues when he doesn’t see her flinch, “first came back to school and he said all that stuff about how Jane was gone because I didn’t blow the whistle? And how I completely shut down? You told me that you’d never thought you’d see the day where I’d stop talking to you completely and I couldn’t make sense of it. I guess this is what it must’ve felt like.”

“You’ve been angry, you’ve been really fucking jumpy, and now you’ve completely shut me out for three weeks, Desiree. I haven’t been away from you for that long since, like, the womb. So I guess what I’m saying is,” he pauses again and sighs. “You’ve never given up on me, even when I was being a self-pitying asshole who would have deserved it. So you take all the time you need because I’m never, ever giving up on you.”

“Does this mean that you’re gonna drag me out of bed every day?”

“No, it means that I’m gonna to let you stay in this slump you’re in. That being said, I’m probably going to drag you to the dinner table. Eating alone sucks.”

“Eating alone has been rough,” she agrees.

“So you understand?”

“Yeah…yeah, I understand. I’ll try to be better.”

“That’s all I can ask from you.”

He steps closer and she puts a hand up. “Oh my God, do not hug me, you dork. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. And Devon,” Desiree frowns. “You wouldn’t have deserved to be given up on. No one does.”

He nods once and they head up the stairs together.

She finds herself back in her therapist’s office a month later, fielding the usual questions.

“Have you spent an entire day in your room this week?”

“No. I haven’t been back there in about a month now.”

Okay, it’s really been more like three and a half weeks, but semantics. It’s not like she’s the only one who lies to her therapist.

Dr. Chamberlain smiles gently. “That’s good.”

“It was hard, but I’ve learned not to hate him.” She clears her throat. “Noah, that is.”

“Could you forgive him one day?”

“Every day I look at the people I care about and I see how they’re still affected by the things he’s done. I don’t–” She pauses. “I don’t know if I could ever forgive him.”

“Every step in the right direction is a good step, Desirée.”

It’s far from the first time that her therapist has said those words and she knows it most certainly won’t be the last.

“Desirée?”

“Oh, sorry.” Desirée sits up. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that it’s been a crazy few months for you, but you’ve come such a long way.”

“What if it’s not enough? I did a lot of things I can’t come back from, Dr.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Dr. Chamberlain glances at her watch and sighs. “We’re just about out of time.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll see you next week.”

“One more thing, Desirée?”

“Yes?”

“Give your friends more credit.”

Desirée nods as she closes the door.

Her phone rings.

“Desirée, thank God! Can you please tell this man that studying is a portmanteau of “student dying” for a reason?”

“I’m probably the worst person you could’ve called for this.”

Devon groans. “Ugh, I forgot how much of a nerd you were.”

She hears a throat clear itself on the other end.

“Right. Lucas wanted to know if you were down to form a study group for finals. I completely understand if you’d rather swallow nails one by one or whatever weirdly specific torture you’re into–”

“If I say yes, does that mean you’ll stop talking?”

“…for now.”

“Deal. I’ll be there in 20.”

She ends the call and sends him a text.

desirée: you don’t have to tell me that I’m the best, or that you’ll actually buy me food the next time you go out. I just know you’ll do it bc you love me so much.

devon: …i really don’t like you, you know that?

desirée: sure, and I know you’re lying your ass off <3 see you at home.

#ilaweek #mc: desiree ashton #ship: desiree x andy #ship: devon x lucas #if you squint #ilitw #the way this piece beat my ass #please take it away from me #also zorah learn how to write endings challenge #day 1

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ionfusionpunk · 3 years

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For the Fic title ask game: tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

[Did a little editing bc this got real long, lol]

Thank you, Nonnie! asdfghjkl I actually kinda blushed when I saw people had sent me asks for this, truly.

Now, for this title, I had a lot of feels. It’s very poetically put, and I had to put some thought into what I might write because this sort of title, in my book, deserves that level of forethought. Ultimately there were two stories I might write based on this, the first a tad more generic than the second, but I would read them both if someone else wrote them, so I kept them, lol. Seeing as I’m currently in a SW state of mind, I stuck with that fandom, though if you’d like to see something for another fandom (Naruto, The Hobbit, LOTR, TMNT, BBC Sherlock, BBC Musketeers, Supernatural, LEGO Ninjago - all of the fandoms I’ve dabbled in), send another ask! I love hearing from others. Out of curiosity, before I give you the story, though, do you mind if I ask how you came up with this title? It’s just - so lovely, Nonnie <3

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow (First Idea)

Everyday is hard. Obi-Wan knows this. He lives this. He leads men into battle, he sends others off without his protection. He watches many, so many, fall, and feels the hundreds across the Third System Army snuffed with each campaign.

He fights with Anakin, struggles to come to terms with the idea that his former Padawan is now a Knight with a Padawan of his own - that Anakin doesn’t need him anymore. He tries to fill in Ahsoka’s education where Anakin, in his inexperience, falls short.

He takes on extra duties because he can, because the Republic needs him to, because he can’t bear to foist even more onto Cody’s shoulders (willing as his commander may be). He does everything he can to keep the morale and health of his men up, to spread hope and Light despite the dreary darkness the war saturates them all with.

Obi-Wan does everything he can. He does. He tries so, so hard. He trudges through each day until he once more finds himself at his desk with yet another datapad and cup of lukewarm tea, staying up all through the night to fulfill each of his duties to the best of his ability. Then the day cycle restarts or an emergency comes up, and he’s right back at it again.

It’s not all chaos, of course. There’s sparring with Anakin and Ahsoka. There’s the brief moments spent in the presence of his friends and fellow Councilors. There’s infrequent calls from Bant and Garen and even Quinlan.

There’s his men.

The 212th is, without a doubt, Obi-Wan’s second-greatest pride and weakness, tied with Ashoka herself. He loves them all - their individuality, their creativity, their dogged determination to push on as long as he does, and then more when they’re forced to carry him. Nothing brings quite as much joy or peace as walking through the halls of the Negotiator and greeting each clone by name or designation, nothing quite as satisfying as spending a quiet evening with Cody filling out paperwork and laughing over the latest stunts pulled by the 501st.

And Obi-Wan finds that, if he focuses on those good things, those small moments of peace, then he can push off his own worries and nightmares and needs until tomorrow. He can ignore the Darkness slowly spreading for another day. He can endure one more sunset on some Force-forsaken planet where the Separatist forces seem to keep coming without end and the elements conspire against them.

Until tomorrow.

Just think of Waxer and Boil exchanging their latest updates from Numa.

Think of Fives and Echo and the chaos they caused when Obi-Wan requested their presence for extra training for Ghost Company.

Think of Rex and his exasperated comm-calls about Anakin’s latest antics.

Remember the way Cody tore through two squad’s worth of droids with Obi-Wan’s ‘saber just to give it back to him - the way his eyes rolled in fond exasperation once the battle was over and he berated his “ridiculous general” for never managing to hold on to his weapon.

Everyday, think of them again. Drive the Darkness back until tomorrow.

And tomorrow.

Do that, and victory will come. Trust in your men, in yourself, in the Force.

The Force will be with you.

Always.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow (Idea Two)

Obi-Wan is killed on Mustafar. Anakin overpowers him and drives his lightsaber through Obi-Wan’s heart.

And Obi-Wan wakes up.

He wakes up in his quarters in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He wakes up with a tiny Anakin pressed against his side and hair an awkward, chin-length tangle. He doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know if this is the Force or a vision or real, but he makes the best of it regardless. He spends two months teaching Anakin again, doing things he had often wished he had Before. And just as he finally thinks things are changing…

Obi-Wan wakes up in his quarters on the Negotiator. His chrono tells him it’s nine months into the war, and his heart aches with the phantom pains of his death. He still doesn’t know what’s happening. But still he forges on. He has a duty to do his best regardless of his own limitations, his growing insecurities and confusions. For one month, this time, he fights alongside his men, does his best to prevent the various disasters that had occurred the first time around. And if he notices that Anakin is a bit Lighter now, well. Obi-Wan is still swallowed by grief every time he looks at his former Padawan.

He wakes up, this time, on Manda’yaim, Satine Kryze a few feet away and snoring softly. Qui-Gon isn’t there, and Obi-Wan ignores the ache in his chest. For seven months they evade Kyr’tsad’s grasp, and he uses all the negotiating skill he’d lacked back then to keep Satine from falling into such a black-and-white world view. He wakes before he knows if he succeeds.

This time he doesn’t recognize where he is. It’s hot, though, and unbearably bright. He walks outside into the waning daylight and counts two suns, observes nothing but sand and cliffs all around. He spends the next two days exploring, making his way to the settlement a few klicks west. He leaves more confused than before, because this is not the Tatooine he remembers. That night, as he meditates out beneath the triplet moons on the still-warm sand, he sees Qui-Gon. In fact, Qui-Gon talks to him. Obi-Wan is so overwhelmed, so confused, his heart pounding so sharply in his chest, that he cries. He cries for an hour, Qui-Gon hovering anxiously nearby until he can recover himself and explain in halting sentences everything that’s gone on. Qui-Gon promises to try and find some answers, then fades into the night.

And Obi-Wan wakes up in the embrace of the Force. Peace, it whispers.

He asks it why he’s here, why he’s seen the things he has.

To teach you, it admits. To offer you a chance.

Chance? What chance? A chance to torture himself with things that could never be?

To offer you a chance to go back and change things.

He’s shocked. Floored. All of that… was real?

Yes. You needed to see all the things you could change so that you can decide what would best be changed.

Me. You want… me to choose? Where I go, what I alter?

Yes. And wherever you go, we will place the knowledge you need to succeed in your path. It will be up to you to recognize it.

Obi-Wan thinks of all the good he could do, thinks of the Darkness he could prevent. “I want,” he says at last, “to be surrounded by Light. I want to go where I have the most chances of succeeding.”

The Force hums around him, cradles him close. He, in turn, basks in its Light, in the comfort of home. And he lets the Force lull him back to sleep.

He wakes up on the ground in one of the only dog piles he’d ever participated in. Cody has an arm thrown over his chest, and Waxer’s stomach pillows his head. Boil’s head rests on Obi-Wan’s arm, and someone else is curled around his feet. Everywhere he is surrounded by the peaceful quiet of men fast asleep, of men who radiate love and contentment into the Force.

Obi-Wan weeps silently for the Light that surrounds them.

And when he wakes again, it's the same Tomorrow.

#title ask game #anonymous #star wars #my writing #oneshot #well #two oneshots #which one do you like more?#this was a ton of fun #gosh i love writing #especially when i give myself feels in the process lmao

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codyfernmorelikedaddyfern · 5 years

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Medicine - Jim x fem!reader // Part Four

This chapter was inspired by the first verse and chorus of James Arthur’s Say You Won’t Let Go.

You can read part One, part Two and part Three here.

Description: As Jim and (Y/N)’s family celebrate his release from the hospital, words are spoken and feelings are left untamed.

Warnings: Mild smut (Dry humping) and feelings. So many feelings. Mention of alcohol and drug abuse ofc. Jim Mason is my favourite little bean and Cody Fern is a beautiful human.

Word count: 2.8k+

Every aching minutes of Jim's stay became bearable whenever (Y/N) was around and luckily for him, she was around whenever she wasn't kicked out of the hospital for staying too much. None of them dared saying the words. “I really like you” or “I want to be with you” were replaced by “you look beautiful” and “I think you're really cool”.

A few kisses were exchanged when the room was quiet of any other presences, some more desperate than other. Some hotter than other. Some more intrusive than other once he shed his doubt and shyness and chased her tongue with his.

Every touches were savoured, their bodies always thankful for the other's attention even when it was just her sitting at the edge of her bed and angering herself during a game of UNO or when he would brush the hair from her face when her she would fall asleep in his arms.

The more they allowed, the more they craved. The brunette cursed himself plenty of times for acting so recklessly, his body not allowing him to satiate the needs they felt burning in their chests. But he also thanked the situation for bringing him in his arms.

He could not get over the way she looked at him whenever their heated embraces would be cut short. That hint of something else in her eyes, he could not pray hard enough for it to be love. But what if it wasn't and they cared too much about each other? That was fine with him as long as she kept her words and stayed by his side.

A couple of days shy of the 4th of July, Jim was finally out of the hospital and his father had his girl's and her family over for dinner to honour his release. No bonfire this time. Just the few of them gathered around table piled with takeaway boxes until both Medina and her friend were offered a celebratory glass of wine.

The kids sat together by the pool once the food had been devoured. The adults remained inside, keeping a quite eye on the teenagers. Rolling up the legs of her trousers and kicking off her shoes, (Y/N) sat by the edge of the pool, the red liquid helping her to reach her tipsy high. After being joined by her boy, she leaned on the broad shoulder to rest her cheek against the denim he seemed to always being wrapped in.

That lovely smile she adored was pulling his lips in her favourite way and for a second, she considered pushing her smile against his mouth to kiss him once more. Oh how she missed it. The intimate taste she grew to love. And for the same second, he wished he didn't care about his father and sister watching their display of affection.

During that second, his hand fell against her knee, pulling her against his legs. She looked up to him while her clumsy stare tried focusing on his eyes.

“Can we go to the beach, please?” (Y/N)'s request was shy and reserved. She just wanted him all for herself, was it so bad? With a bashful nod, he pulled his legs out of the water and walked to open glass door leading back inside of the house to inform the group of adults that they would be sitting in the sand for a bit.

They nodded after the clumsy girl pulled herself out of the water, ready to accompany the boy down the slope she walked up and down so many times before already. They felt reassured he wasn't going to run to his old group of friends that helped with his spiral. She waved to Medina in a silent invitation to join them but the blonde declined, not even making eye contact with her friend before she climbed back in to her bedroom.

Jim held out his hand, aware that the light buzz in his girl's mind would likely get her to tumble down. He felt like she needed his full attention and maybe that's why he let himself spiral down in his twisted need for alcohol. The lack of attention he felt. But now she had his attention and he had hers and he guided her down to the stretch of humid sand.

She plopped down on the floor and extended her arms towards him. Settling down next to her, the contact of their hips helping with the lack of touch that had been shattering their heart throughout the day.

Her fingertips grazed his skin like she had done many times when he laid in his hospital bed. This time, no one was going to knock on the door and their parents were, hopefully, too busy discussing their important matters to ask her to collect her things and come home. Maybe this time, they would be okay with her staying over.

He hoped they would let her stay. He wanted her against him. He wanted too fall asleep and wake up by her side. He wanted her tonight and tomorrow and the days after that. And she wanted it too.

Laying her figure in the sand, he admired her unconventional type of pretty features basking in the moonlight. He remembered the night where he met her in the dark. He drank too much but tonight, he was more sober he had been in months and he was sure she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on.

Tipsy stars danced in her (E/C) because it was her turn to have had too much. Drinking her beauty, he was high off of something else tonight and not being able to make her feel it ached in his chest.

“Are you going to kiss me at some point, silly?” her voice teased, pushing a cocky smile on his lips and a scoff out of his chest. “Only if you promise you won't let go of this” his fingers laced with hers, he got lost in the glimmer in her eyes. (Y/N) pulled her pinky in front of his face, wiggling it while waiting for him to hook his to her small digit. “Pinky promise” she whispered, another laugh escaping from his throat while he linked their fingers. His mouth lowered against hers to fulfil her request.

Quickly, the heat spread between their bodies and she found herself crashing on top of him, her thighs parted above his, her tongue desperately fighting Jim's for dominance. And she won her little battle as he crumbled in a soft moan when her hips clumsily grinding against him.

The fire clenched at her belly and his coil tightened and spiralled, too fucking fast for his liking. Jim had been with girls before. He had fucked girls. But once again, this was (Y/N) and she wasn't Heather or the couple of one night stands he slammed into after getting too intoxicated. He didn't even want to fuck her. No. He wanted to lover her. Desperately.

He wrapped his hot arms around the small of her back, twisting their bodies to assert his own dominance. She was the better kisser but he prayed to be the better lover. She allowed a small yelp to pass her lips when he pulled from her burning body to adjusted himself in his boxers. His hips joined hers, pushing against her core.

She had never felt this way before. She had never moaned like this before. Never gripped his arms like this. The fluttering of the butterflies were gone, replace by a burning flame and the only thing she wanted was to let it engulf her and combust against Jim.

His fist wrapped in the sand, suddenly aware of his approaching climax. What was happening? He had never felt his release shatter so quickly before. It was just because it was her and she was against him. He didn't feel the need to pull on her hair, smack his hand across her arse or choke her to get his rocks on. He needed her. Only her.

As she mewled and whimpered under him, he hoped he needed her too. Another heated kiss, another occasion for his tongue to taste hers. (Y/N)'s nails dug in his toned arms as he remained perched on top of her. A grunt or two rocked his chest and pushed her closer to release. Her whines became desperate and he pushed his hips harder, the newly increased friction causing her arms to snake underneath his tee-shirt, marking the flesh of his back red and white claw marks.

“Please, James” her moans begged, threatening for the flames to spill and soil her underwear. He was thankful for the loud crashing of the waves covering the sound that was quickly escaping his chest. His thrusts slowed, the intensity of it remaining while he edged himself, on the cusp of tumbling down his climax. “Say it again, please” he asked before she whispered his name again.

Ticking the last boxes she required, the could in her stomach snapped with the sweetest and most languid way she has ever said “James”. He was there already, playing with the fire of the edge and hearing her desperate release, he was thrown over the edge as well, moaning her name over and over as he coated the fabric of his boxers.

His lips linked to her neck as he allowed his body to lay next to her, their chests bouncing up and down with each pants filling their lungs. “Sorry I couldn't hold longer” he blushed, crossing his arms behind his head while trying his best to calm his breathing. “It's only going to make the real thing better if we learn about each other's body beforehand” she whispered, ticking another box in a corner of Jim's mind. He hoped she meant it when she said there will be a “real thing”. Wincing at the mess in his underwear, he tried to adjust himself at the best of his ability before propping himself on his elbow.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now, he asked, his lips getting captured between his teeth.

- Do you really think I am?

- I do. You take my breath away and it's driving me crazy, (Y/N), he confessed sheepishly, the red blooming his cheeks.

- Well, I guess I am then. I will be whatever you want me to be, she flashed him a cheeky smile.”

He swallowed thickly, the pad of his fingertips pushing her (H/C) out of her face. His eyes wandered across her features. He loved everything that was displayed right in front of him. Was it love? He wasn't sure of it. He was sure of one thing. “If you want to be anything I want you to be, would you be my girlfriend?” he raised an eyebrow, earning a soft giggle from her before she kissed him gently. “Of course I will be” she answered.

His dorky smile sprawled on his masculine features and his girl in his arms, he let the sound of the waves lull him. But they didn't have infinity and soon, her mother called out her name. A heavy sigh left her chest before Jim answered for her “Don't worry, Mrs. (Y/L/N), I will bring her home safe” he reassured the woman perched by the railing.

She didn't fail to notice how tightly laced their legs were and how her daughter was cooped up against the chest of the recovered teenager. She didn't fail to notice the obvious affection that seeped out of their helpless embrace. Where she failed was when her little girl was not her little girl any more. She failed to notice how she was rapidly growing attached to Jim. She failed to notice how deeply (Y/N) was falling for the boy and how he looked like he was feeling the same way.

“Thank you Jim, keep her safe!” the mother mumbled before her figure disappeared. She will need to talk to her husband about it.

Her little girl snuggled deeper against her the her Jimmy's frame, letting him wrap his arms tighter against her. Silence fell around them while they held each other closer and closer with every passing minutes. When the bitter taste of her alcohol induced nausea came to bite, she whimpered out of his grasp, concern laced in his gaze while the quickly stood to her feet, stumbling as far away from him as her feet could carry her.

Unfortunately for her, he was right on her tail, enquiring about what was wrong. She could barely mumble about the twisting in her stomach that the content in her tummy spewed out of her. He quickly wrapped his fingers around her (H/C) locks, pulling it in a messing ponytail and soothing gentle rubs against her skin while she emptied herself on the sand.

A minute passed and she gently unbent herself from her position, wiping her mouth quickly before looking at Jim over her shoulder. Whatever feeling he had been getting himself drunk off of was gone now. His hand pushed her back against his chest and in that instant, he could picture her, grey and old, still wrapped in his arms. He had the clearest picture of how he would drop on his knee and ask her to say she wouldn't let go from him and take his name.

Girlfriend wasn't good enough in this moment. Because he knew he loved her. In this very moment, he was sure of it. In this very moment, he would do anything to spend the rest of his days with her. “Time to take you home, babe, you need to sleep” he whispered, not letting go of her hand, trying to muffle the quickening of his heart with a distracting smile.

Jim guided her up to grab her shoes. Just like that night he met her in the dark, she ended up wrapped in his Sherpa and denim jacket. The smell of cigarette was nearly gone from it and he sort of wished she had been wearing it earlier. The idea of her sweating her arousal onto the fabric nearly made him pin her against the closet wall and make her exude her passion in a symphony of sweet little moans she had delivered earlier.

(Y/N) stood by the door, hoping Medina would come downstairs and say goodbye once Jim announced he would be taking her back now. But she didn't. Could she not keep both of the twins? Right now, the choice was easy as the brunette laced his fingers through hers, suddenly not caring about the idea of his parents seeing their small display of PDA. In fact, he even pushed his luck further and place a long kiss on her lips before they could exit the house by the front door.

And he would not let go of her hand. He held their palm tightly as they walked down the stairs of Palos Verdes. The empty streets made stealing kisses from her the most pleasant game he could have taken part in.

The view of her house shattered her heart. She did not want to let got. She promised, after all. But when their cheeky play abruptly stopped when she stood in front of the door. She climbed the couple of stairs leading up to the entrance, looking proud of being able to be at eye level with him.

“If I'm whatever you want me to be and I'm your girlfriend, could I also be a princess so you can tuck me in?” she gently teased. He giggled. She loved every second of it. “Okay but let's make it a quick one, Missy” he bit back before being pulled into her house. She kicked off her shoes and he was surprised to notice the layout of their house was completely different. He had never stepped foot inside the (Y/L/N) house.

Jim slipped off her shoes and followed her discreet footstep to what appeared to be her bedroom. The waves were crashing outside of her window and he couldn't help but look at the beauty of the ocean and wishing he could stay here forever.

She shed his coat, giving it back to his rightful owner. His eyes wondered against her skin for a moment and he closed the door behind them. Burning (Y/N)'s skin in their path, his fingertips gently caressed her tee shirt off, then her shorts and his breath itched in his throat as he noticed her body at his full mercy.

In a thought of clarity, he turned around, allowing her to fully change into her pyjamas. “Would you stay with me tonight?” her voice sounded more desperate than she intended but she didn't care. She needed to be around him. Against him.

“You need to rest, (Y/N), I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” he answered, stroking her soft cheek before she dived between the covers of her bed. Jim's eyes wondered against her and, in a sigh, he came back on his words, letting his top and his pair of jeans join her clothes on the floor and pulling himself between her arms.

He had dreamed about this too many times. He needed her and now that he had her, he was not letting go. They promised.

#jim mason #jim mason x reader #jim mason x reader smut #tribes of palos verdes

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witchqueenofthemoon · 5 years

Text

BODY AND SOUL Part 11 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: AHHH I CAN’T STOP WRITINGGGGG okay, so, the Tiffany moon necklace is real, you can find it on their website here (now I want it for myself, but it’s almost $3000 sob). I debated over whether or not Duncan and Melody should have had an awkward rendezvous in the past and ultimately decided that if I were working in close proximity with Duncan Shepherd as a 21-year-old intern I too would have tried to put my hand drunkenly on his crotch at some point, so my point of view towards her is one of empathy and solidarity and honestly it just made sense to my story (lolol). Bill Shepherd is going to show up at some point, but the impression I got from the show is that he and Duncan only interact when they absolutely have to as they don’t get along; Duncan gravitates to his mother and she acts as a mediator, so Bill will have a very minor role in this story. Not sure if Beau Willimon ever came up with a middle name for Duncan, but I couldn’t find one and made one up (Malcolm). At this point I’m sort of trying to follow the timeline of the show in a VERY loose sense (and I guess this is a spoiler, but I am going to bring in the fact that Duncan finds out Annette is not his real mother into my fic soon, mostly so Kenzie can comfort him and stroke his hair and give him soft, sweet, sympathetic kisses cuz I am a sucker for that sweet comforting shit); the upcoming show Duncan, Melody and Seth go over in this chapter is meant to be the one where Melody talks about Claire Underwood’s “public breakdown” in episode 5; I’m not going to include Duncan getting arrested in this fic though, because it’s my fic and I can do whatever I want and I hated the fact that they chose to end Duncan’s character that way. Had to add that line from O Fortuna...because the Duncan/Michael parallels will never end. “She walks in beauty like the night...” is Lord Byron, a poem I was obsessed with when I was younger and have always wanted to put in a story. Kenzie making chicken and dumplings is a reference to the fact that Billie Lourd is fucking obsessed with chicken. Most people know Hades was the God of the Underworld; few people know he was also the god of gold and riches, which is very Duncan. It was important for me to imply Duncan had extensive cooking wares in his penthouse; that he cooks for himself. Dudes who can’t cook are a turn-off. Kenzie cooked for him because it made her happy to do it; it’s a way she’s showing him how much she loves him, not something she felt like she had to do, and I plan on them cooking together in future chapters. That moment Duncan leans against the wall across from Kenzie as they look out the window is my homage to the Cody lean. The prayer to Nike is a real one. Full-disclosure, the passing-out after really great sex is something that happens to me pretty often; I go into post-coital daze pretty hard, so Kenzie doing that is literally based on my own experiences, haha! Duncan will finally meet Madeline in the next part, but we’ll be seeing it all through Kenzie’s eyes.

Duncan had left the interview with Gretchen Friedrichs with his mind buzzing; he stepped out of the elevator with a vague pressure humming between his temples, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand, trying to calm the simmering anger that was still hovering over him. He wondered, with some alarm, when the gossip website was planning on publishing Kenzie’s name and occupation. He wrestled with the idea of telling her; no, he thought, I have to do everything I can to ease her into this world carefully. God, I know she’s afraid and that kills me; I have to do everything I can to soothe her fear, not exacerbate it. One thing at a time.

He pulled his phone out, opening the Uber app and ordering a Black car; then, he opened his texts and sent one out to Kenzie; telling her about the Gala, about his mother’s stylist, about the theme (the theme is you, angel).

Kenzie: That’s beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. And he knew it was true. She was filling this thoughts and his heart and his senses; nothing else seemed to matter, not the show or the company or the app or his mother, not Uncle Bill (who would I will likely hear from soon, he thought, hand coming up to his jaw, and he won’t like this at all). The emptiness and shallowness of the work his mother had enveloped him in since he was barely out of high school suddenly overwhelmed him; beside the luminous, boundless, sublime emotion of Mackenzie, her glittering, effulgent reality, the rest of the world had lost its brightness; it was black and white, and she was made of colors he had never seen and couldn’t begin to describe.

He looked back down at his phone. Kenzie had replied.

Kenzie: I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office.

Fuck, he thought, rapidly typing. She’s going to need a bodyguard. I don’t want to scare her, but that’s going to have to happen very soon. He sent her Samuel’s contact; he’d given Samuel hers earlier that day after they’d dropped her off at One Franklin Square. “Please help me keep her safe,” he’d asked Samuel, his eyes meeting the warm brown gaze of his chauffeur in the mirror; as they always did.

“You have my word, Mr. Shepherd.”

Kenzie: Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan’s heart resounded painfully in his chest; oh god, baby, he thought. I want to hold you so much right now. I want to shield you from all of this. He thought of the tender, aching way she’d brought her little hand down to his cock that morning, her little moans as she stirred awake under his kisses. He longed to soothe her in his arms; the anticipation of waiting for tonight felt like a thousand tiny, sharp knives were pressing into his skin, jarring and disconcerting. He wanted to be alone with her; he wanted the world to melt away, turn its eyes from them. I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Kenzie: I’m dreaming about you too, baby. She’d left a lipstick-stain emoji at the end; he shivered, looking down at it, his mind drifting back to her mouth around his length that morning, the kisses she’d pressed against him outside One Franklin Square, in view of two dozen people, and how he’d gripped her against him, unable to care; lost in her, immediately aching as she ran away from him.

He walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton (“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shepherd,” the doorman said cordially; holding it open for him, and Duncan gave him a nod, trying to maintain his mask of calm) and stepped into the car waiting for him in front of the hotel. He had a meeting with Melody and Seth that would take a few hours; he winced at the withering look he knew was coming from Melody in particular. Oh well. It all had to come out; it was coming out, and he’d just have to weather the anger and annoyance that was coming his way, weather the disapproval and disbelief. Kenzie deserved that from it; she deserved everything. His patience, his courage, his resolve, and his love.

He opened the Instagram app; he glanced at his mentions, wincing. There was one of the photos the woman had snapped; I look fucking pissed, he thought. Kenzie looks like an angel. He loved the way she was tucked under his arm in the photo; loved the fall of her hair against his leather jacket, her little hand around her necklace. She fits there as though that’s where she was always meant to be. The piece of me once cut away, and now reunited. And me; the piece of her, now wrapped around her again, as if some fateful prophecy has finally been fulfilled. I'm not going to let anything tear us apart now.

Duncan saw her handle in his mentions; @kenzielouwho. He smiled, gazing down at his phone screen. I love that. Her sweetness. He hit the follow button, scrolled through her pictures, goggling at them, his face alight. He double-tapped again and again; here she was, her lovely taste and her coordinated little outfits and plants and the moons and stars of her world, her hair falling like a cascade of gold, laughing at the camera, smiling next to Claire, grinning over plates of food, snapshots of sunsets and evening lights and cute animals she met, books she was reading, songs she was listening to. He felt overcome again; overcome with the affection he felt for her, overcome with how much her happiness affected him, how much he wanted to bring her the joy he saw in her face in the photos, how much he wanted to be the source of her comfort and her love. He couldn’t help it; I’d do anything for this woman. I’d do anything. He found the photo of her looking out from the table at the coffee shop, a little moon at her throat, her sweater falling off her shoulder; he left the pierced hearts at the bottom with a feeling of wild abandon. You’ve pierced not just my heart, but my soul, and your happiness is my happiness, your comfort my comfort, your joy my greatest joy. He wished she was here so he could press the words against her skin with his lips; press into her and breathe deep, breathe her into him. To be away from her was such sweet torture. Looking through her pictures made him feel like there were flowers blooming and closing in quick succession in the center of his chest. He felt completely overwhelmed by them; again, he felt overwhelmed by her realness, her reality; the fact that she existed was astonishing again and again. I never want to wake up from this dream.

He found the video that had been taken of them (oh god, that went up fast) and blushed at the ardency with which he clutched her in them. And I thought the other picture was obvious, he thought sheepishly. But in that moment it had felt like no one else was there. He’d forgotten the world entirely, lost in her eyes and the waist of her skirt on her hips and her bare arms and the way she’d looked up into his eyes, the way she fit against him. There hadn’t been anyone else there, he thought. Not really. It was only us. It was only Kenzie.

-----

Duncan stepped into Shepherd Hall towards the upstairs offices and the Beltway studio where he was supposed to meet Melody and Seth, glancing down as his phone echoed out its soft text chime; Mom.

Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. You’ve exacerbated this situation considerably. What the fuck were you thinking? Clearly you are infatuated and it’s making you behave like a drunk frat boy. I understand that public encounters are somewhat inevitable, but kissing this girl in front of a crowd is absolutely unacceptable. Your uncle is furious. I can only control him if you control yourself. Get yourself under fucking control, Duncan. Focus on our objectives.

Shit, he thought. Shit, meet fan. Fuck Uncle Bill. He’s dying and he’s bitter about it and he wants to make someone else suffer before he kicks it. And I’m not going to play into it. He didn’t reply. You know we’re together, Mom, he thought. I told you I love her. What else do you want from me? I’m not a fucking child. I’ll do what you want when it comes to the company, but not when it comes to her.

He took the back staircase up a floor to where the offices were; the studio was set up at the end of the hall. As he came through the doorway, he was met with the very annoyed gaze of Melody Cruz; his eyes glanced over to where Seth sat beside her, nervously focusing on the memo pad in front of him, eyes skirting between the two of them, then back down.

“Oh, hello, Duncan,” Melody simpered, plastering a painful-looking smile on her face. Murder, her eyes shot out at him. Stone cold murder. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, I know how busy you are lately.”

“Melody. Seth.” Duncan ignored her tone, pulling the chair at the head of the rectangular table in the far corner of the studio out, sitting in it neatly, putting his phone face-down on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, using all his will to keep his expression neutral; cool, calm, collected, impenetrable Duncan Shepherd. Everyone seemed hellbent on getting a rise out of him this morning; of all the people in his life he considered close, it seemed only Samuel was happy for his good fortune. Fine. Perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to reevaluate the roles of others in his life in the first place. “Let’s go over everything for the taping tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t been making a total mockery lately of all the work we’ve done, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean, Melody.”

Seth’s eyes fluttered between them again, licking his lips, clicking a pen nervously in one hand. “Um, everything’s fine, Melody, I’m...I’m sure there won’t be any effect on the show.”

“Are you fucking dense, Seth? Of course it will fucking affect the fucking show! Madeline Stone’s fuck-ing daugh-ter!” She slapped her hand against the edge of the table, enunciating sharply. “You think our audience is primarily comprised of intersectional feminists and people who buy cage-free eggs?”

“Melody, you’re out of line.” Duncan felt his temper rising; a temper that hadn’t really settled since Gretchen Friedrichs tried to blackmail him half an hour ago.

Melody went quiet, her eyes burning, her expression infuriated.

“I understand the reasons my relationship may be a shock to you--”

“You better fucking believe it’s a fucking shock. I’ve never known you to be one to even call back for a second date, let alone whatever it going on with you right now. What, you fucking love her?”

Duncan gazed at her; her dark eyes met his icy blue stare evenly. He felt his tendency towards manipulation and coercion begin to try to float to the surface of his composure; for a moment, he considered firing her. It’s what last week’s Duncan would have done, he thought, and strangely, he felt a nervous edge creep into his composure; he was rubbing a hand along his bottom lip before realized he was doing it, looking away from her. This Duncan had been unutterably shaken by a little gold angel in a black dress. This Duncan was not the same man who had last sat in this studio, last plotted out the trajectory of how best to unseat the sitting President of the United States, last given Melody sheets of propaganda to read on air. I’m not totally sure who this Duncan is, he thought; Melody still stared, her expression seeping into confusion at his metamorphosing reaction. I just know I don’t want the same things I wanted a few days ago. I want her. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I care what she thinks first and how she feels first and I don’t care who her mother is and I don’t care how many times people see us kiss on the street and I don’t want to be away from her, not for all the money in the world, not for all the power, not for the world itself or a hundred worlds. And nothing any of you say is going to make me leave her.

“Yes. Melody. I love her.”

Melody scoffed, leaning her head back into the headrest of her swivel chair, crossing her arms under her chest, turning away from him. Once, long ago, when Melody had been an intern for Shepherd Unlimited, they’d slept together. It was a hasty, short-lived event; neither of them had even really undressed for it, and Duncan hadn’t been able to come; they’d both been drunk and she had pressed a hand suggestively against his crotch and the scotch in his blood had convinced him that it was a good idea and it wouldn’t matter the next day, the way the scotch in his blood had decided halfway through that his cock was ready to go to sleep. Neither of them had ever really mentioned it again; but Duncan knew that Melody had never really let it go. Not in words; it was always in looks. But he wasn’t sure if her anger really had all that much to do with who Kenzie’s mother was as it had to do with the fact that this girl, whoever she was, was the girl Duncan Shepherd had decided was the one for him, kissing her openly in the street, standing in line with her in coffee shops with his arm around her, holding her hand on the way to private rooms in posh French bistros, cameras be damned.

“I guess this is why you fucked up your interview so many times the other day,” she said icily. “Thinking about her perfect little pink pussy.”

“Melody.”

“Seth, give him the fucking outline.”

“Melody. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that time.”

Melody’s eyes fell on him, shining; shocked.

“I’m truly sorry about that night. I appreciate you and the work you do immensely; I see the long hours you put into the show and Gardner Analytics. I haven’t told you that enough. I know that happened a long time ago, but it was stupid, and we should have talked about it after it happened, and we didn’t. I should have said something to you, apologized, and I didn’t. This apology is far too late, and my timing is terrible. But I am sorry.”

Seth was carefully drawing circles on his memo pad; he pretended to look at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever he saw there, but Duncan could see how rigid his body was.

Melody continued to stare at him, not speaking. He uncrossed his legs and sat up; sat with his arms resting on his knees. He cleared his throat a little.

“I know it’s not convenient. But the truth is, I love Mackenzie Stone. It wasn’t expected; it wasn’t planned. It happened. Annette knows, and she knew before the video and the photo from today. I understand your hesitation and your concern for the future of Gardner Analytics and the show. But the reality is, my relationship will continue regardless of whether or not you approve of it; whether or not anyone approves of it who isn’t Mackenzie or me. But I am sorry, Melody. I respect you deeply as a friend and as a coworker. And I’m sorry my apology took so long.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, and he could see her arms clenching against her torso where she had them crossed. Then, she looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it, and passed him the sheet of paper on top.

“Outline for Episode 153.”

Duncan nodded, reaching for the paper, pulling it toward him, as Melody blew out a long breath, and began her overview.

--------

It was after 6 by the time Duncan left Shepherd Hall; he looked down at his phone (he hadn’t for hours as they went over the episode--as this one was supposed to be about President Underwood’s thus far very public breakdown, it had to be flawless) as Seth and Melody walked away from him. Melody had looked over her shoulder, giving him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher, then waved shortly, turning away--it gave him the feeling that something minute and ever-present had been vaguely fixed between them, though. Kenzie and Samuel had texted him; Samuel’s was at the top, more recent, so he saw it first: Mr. Shepherd, Miss Mackenzie is safely at home. If you need my services, I am now available to you.

Yes, please, Samuel. I’m at Shepherd Hall. I need to go to Tiffany’s.

Samuel responded right away. Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I will be there in ten minutes.

He scrolled down to the text from baby, angel, beloved

Kenzie: There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

Oh, no, he thought, his heart sinking. Someone beat buzzpopfeed to their info. He knew how clever people could be online; they found the tiniest clues and used them to sleuth vast swaths of information (once, a fan on Instagram had zoomed in on every toiletry behind him in a selfie he’d drunkenly taken in his bathroom and made a list of “Duncan Shepherd’s Go-To Grooming Must Haves”, which was published by a gossip site soon after). Seeing Kenzie run into One Franklin Square on camera was a dead giveaway, and he raked a hand through the curls at the side of his face in frustration. That was so fucking stupid of me. I should never have gotten out of the car after her. I should have controlled myself. And now people are trying to molest her at work. That’s my fucking fault. He wondered if it was buzzpopfeed that had found Kenzie on the opposite side of her building; they were notorious for breaking into private residences and crossing police lines, inventing elaborate scenarios to get onto upper hotel floors where they knew celebrities were staying, and wearing hidden cameras. That’s just the sort of shit they’d do, he thought. And if they got her on camera I don’t doubt it’ll be on their site soon.

He thought about going to the site to check, but stopped himself. I’m sure I’ll get another angry text soon enough from Mom if there’s something new, he told himself. And what, she’ll be angry at Kenzie for trying to leave work. As if there was an alternative.

But Mom: she’s easy to love. She’s so lovely. When you meet her, how could you not see it? Mom, I love her. You’ll see why; and then, you can’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Then you won’t be able to say I’m making a mistake.

The thought was like one he would have had when he was a child; lost in the orb of his mother, always admiring her, always certain with an unshakable conviction that she was right. Always sure that she knew what was best. The innocence of the thought struck him; even if he knew now that his mother was far from perfect, and that her intentions were often underhanded, he couldn’t shake the hope that she would warm to Kenzie in time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Samuel pulled up, Ella drifting quietly from the interior: your daddy’s rich, and your mamma’s good-lookin’...so hush little baby...baby, don’t you cry...Duncan pulled the door open, letting the warm evening air drift over him and push his hair back, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him; a mixture of sadness and hopeful longing. If such a wonderful, fateful thing could happen to him; meeting her at all, finding her at all, in a world of so many people walking past each other every day without a second glance, surely the miracle of his mother accepting and loving her could, too, come to pass. O Fortune, like the Moon of ever-changing fate, ever waxing, ever waning...where had he heard that before? The line echoed in his mind as Samuel pulled away from the curb, and they were both silent, a quiet understanding passing between them; Duncan nodded to Samuel through the mirror; thank you. Thank you for taking care of my Kenzie today. Samuel’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light; seemed to him like twin moons in a black sky.

I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, he texted Kenzie. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

------

An hour later, Duncan stepped out of the BMW in front of his high-rise with a very distinct blue box tucked carefully under his arm; his eyes glided up to the 30th floor, where he knew he could sometimes see into the long window of his penthouse if the light was right in the evening. He could see the reading lamps near the window were turned low; could see the reflection of light coming from where the kitchen and dining room were to the north end of building, but he couldn’t see Kenzie; she wasn’t near the window, it seemed. An almost-vanished sliver of moon hung over it, like the rind of a melon devoured. He walked quickly into the building, anxious to be near her; the doorman, Jerry, nodded to him with familiarity. “Mr. Shepherd, fine night.”

“It really is, Jerry, hey,” Duncan moved past him, giving Anchaly a nod. Anchaly gave him a knowing smile; his copy of Tropic of Cancer catching Duncan’s eye for a moment. “Enchanting,” Anchaly said as he walked past, eyeing the blue box under his arm. “She walks in beauty, like the night / of cloudless climes and starry skies--” Duncan grinned at him, heading to the elevators, feeling flushed. “And all that’s best of dark and bright / meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he finished, as the doors slid open.

“Just so,” Anchaly agreed, and turned back to his book.

Duncan looked at himself in the long mirror as it climbed, unaware that Kenzie had done the same only a few short hours before; his hand pressed along the smooth line of his leather jacket, only just now remembering he’d worn the same clothes for two days. He sniffed his armpit carefully; not too bad, considering. He ran a nervous hand through his hair; still nervous, he wondered. Still trembling to behold her grace. I hope that feeling never fades. I don’t know how it could. He thought of how she’d looked clutched against him in this mirror, in that haze of their first night together; how it had made his cock throb, his nerves set on fire, her little body pressed to him, his hands in her hair. He felt his cock growing hard now, pressing with urgency into the lining of his tailored slacks (her little tongue in my mouth, her little nipples in my fingers, my hand between her legs, her laugh, her smile, the light falling on her); he ran his fingers along the edge of the blue box, swallowing carefully, pressing a thumb along his jaw. The doors slid open, achingly, seemingly impossibly slow. He walked to his own door, heart thumping wildly, as though it belonged to her now; it’s because I belong to her now, he thought. And I’m happy to obey her every whim.

He used the second keycard he carried in his wallet to unlock the door; it was usually tucked into the inner lining of his wallet, but he’d moved it to the spot where the old one used to be in his billfold; the one that now belonged to her. As Duncan opened the familiar doorway of his apartment, warm, wonderful smells enveloped him; food smells, lovely and enticing and comforting.

“Kenzie?”

She emerged to his left; from the dining room, a room he never used, a room that would be gathering dust but for the housekeepers’ attentions. Kenzie’s face looked tired; there were small dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and her cheeks were pale, but her lips were pink (like roses), as if rosy from hot liquid; she was wearing a little slip dress that fell almost to the floor, one of the straps falling down her arm, and its color reminded him of wine grapes firming on twisting vines. Her neck was bare and her hair fell around her shoulders, catching the light of the diamond-drop chandelier.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed dark again as they stared at each other for a long moment; green and bronze. “Hi.”

He put the blue box down on the stand by the front door, his eyes not moving from her face.

“Baby...” he whispered. He closed the distance between them, his hand coming behind her head and cradling it, the other falling down her cheek and neck to her shoulder and down her arm, feeling insistently, hungrily, with terrible relief. She fell into him with urgency, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket with tight little fingers, her mouth opening to him with need. They stood this way for a moment that felt like an eon, a lifetime, pressing into each other, lost in the solace of each other; he thought again that he’d be happy to die now, breathing into her. She lifted her mouth away a little and he tried to follow her; “baby, today was the strangest day,” she whispered into him, closing her eyes, face lifted up to him, hands pressing up his arms.

“I’m so sorry I followed you out of the car--” he started, his voice tinged with the remorse he felt, tinged with regret.

“I’m not.” She looked into his eyes, her little body sighing. “I’m glad you did. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

He smiled; his hands fell through her hair and down the small of her back, loving the smooth feeling of the dress through his fingers, the silky strands of her. He turned his face, kissing the corner of her mouth; he moved his lips so they trailed along her bottom lip, biting a little, sucking gently, and he was thrilled at the moan that seeped out of her, her eyes fluttering.

“I got something for you.” He stepped away from her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her along with him, towards where he’d left the blue box on the stand by the door. He stroked the contours of her knuckles and fingers for a moment as she glanced at the box, her face curious; then, with a small burst of excitement scattering through her eyes. He handed it to her with both hands, stepping close. “Oh, Duncan,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes again, making him shiver with the devotion he felt, frozen in her gaze.

She pulled at the white ribbon around it, the black lettering emerging from underneath it; Tiffany & Co. He took the ribbon gently so she could lift the lid, and as her eyes fell on what was inside, the little laugh of delight that escaped her filled his heart with tenderness that made him want to press his face to her neck. Inside the box was a platinum necklace on a long chain; the charm at the end of it was a crescent moon set with brilliant round diamonds, which immediately threw their glow against her face, under her eyes. “A moon,” she whispered.

“The moon on a string, for you,” he replied, grasping her hand again, pressing his thumb over it. “My beloved.”

“It’s perfect. It’s too much--” Her eyes took on that overwhelmed glimmer; he shook his head, pulling her mouth onto his again, shushing her worry.

“It’s not. It’s not nearly enough. I wish I could pull the real moon down and give it to you.”

She grinned into his lips. “That’s beautiful. But I don’t know what I’d do with the moon all to myself. The world needs her. I love her best where she is.”

“Of course you would say something like that,” he whispered into her, his thumb brushing a gently trail from her cheek to her earlobe, twisting a strand of golden-brown hair through his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Something so lovely, and so kind, and gentle.”

Her eyelids fluttered downwards as she blushed; he could feel her shaking a little under his touch. He gently lifted the necklace from the box, and he reached out with his long fingers, pressing the index of his left hand into the hollow of her throat, trailing it there.

“May I?”

She nodded, her green-tinted eyes staring at him again, her mouth open ever-so-little. She lifted her hair and turned, exposing the whiteness at the back of her throat, the bumps of her spine and the incline of her shoulder blades above the dip of the dress; he resisted the urge to kiss her there, later, and unclasped the hook, lifting it around her head, his fingers brushing against her with longing as he clasped it at the nape of her neck. She turned around again, facing him, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips; “how do I look,” she asked, her eyes falling into him.

“Like an angel,” he said, hands against her shoulders, fingers trailing. “Like a goddess.” And she did to him; the soft light on her skin and her hair, dazzling against the little round diamonds in the crescent moon, the shape of her little breasts pressing against the soft velvet of the lilac-colored dress. “You look like Persephone, goddess of spring.”

A strange look came into Kenzie’s eyes; one of a dawning realization, or a familiar deja vu; she brought her little hands to his cheeks, trailing them softly along the stubble on his jaw, onto the bottom of his lip; he pressed his mouth against her fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then that makes you my Hades, God of Wealth, King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dark Places.”

“Spooky.”

She giggled.

“Thank you, baby. I love it so much. I love you...so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie. I love you.” He opened his eyes again to her; everything I have is yours now, he thought. Everything is for you. All of me.

“Come have dinner.” She smiled mischievously, pulling back from him. She held his hand and pulled him through the doorway into the room he never used; its centerpiece was the long cherrywood dining table that once belonged to Duncan’s great-grandfather, a piece passed down to him by his mother when he moved into his penthouse years ago. Kenzie had found one of the linen tablecloths packed away in the drawers of the darkwood sliding-door china cabinet Duncan never touched; it was carefully tucked around the table, and on it was a lovely spread; she’d moved some of the pillar candles from the coffee table into this room, lighting them in the center, and their warm glow dazzled into his eyes, making them tear.

“I made chicken and dumplings,” he heard Kenzie say softly. “It’s one of my favorites, my mom always made it for me when I was growing up, especially after she’d had a particularly hard day; now, to me, it’s always comfort food.” His eyes roved hungrily over the spread she’d created; his favorite shallow cooking pot full of fluffy dumplings covered in speckled parsley, and steamy, bright chicken stew; another platter had smoky tendrils of broccoli rabe, and a third had an array of colorful root vegetables, yellow beets and dark orange chopped carrots and purple turnips.

“Kenzie, this is wonderful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for cooking for me. I’m so happy you did this for me.”

“I wanted to,” she said, shyly, the diamonds around her neck catching the light, her cheeks, pale when his eyes had first fallen on her, now glowing with her emotions and the touch of his fingers. “I wanted to make you something because you’ve been so wonderful...because you’ve made me feel so wonderful…”

“Kenzie, baby,” he couldn’t stop, he pulled her into him again, aching, his body shuddering into her, his lips falling along the side of her face, and she sighed into him, “God, I missed you so much today, I wanted to see you so much…”

“I felt the same way baby, I’m so happy you’re home--”

He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her open palm with terrible softness, overcome.

“I’m starving,” he said, grinning at her, and she smiled back (my moonlight), kissing him, nodding, saying “Me too, let’s eat, let’s eat.”

-------

Over the dinner Kenzie had created for him, Kenzie told him about everything that had happened to her after she ran into One Franklin Square; “Ben Wilder is basically the Annette Shepherd of the Washington Post,” she said to him, her eyes flashing. “Everyone is terrified of him, and he demanded I get you to give him an interview. It’s impossible to hide any modicum of gossip from him.”

“I’ll give him an interview,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of Kenzie’s savory chicken and dumplings. God, this girl can cook. I can’t wait for us to cook something together, he thought. I can’t wait for us to cook together for so many nights to come. He watched her eyes goes dark with surprise at his words. “...You will?” He watched her fingers fall to the diamond moon hanging at her beautiful throat; Kenzie, baby, I love your fingers there, I love your fingers, my little moon, my Persephone--

“Of course.”

“Duncan, I work for The Washington Post.”

He laughed a little, drinking down a mouthful of the Grand Cru he’d opened for them, bringing the bottle over to him, pouring more into his crystal glass, pouring some into hers carefully. “Kenzie. I know.”

“So...how is that going to be okay with your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

Her eyes shone out at a him from where she sat across from him; he was at the head of the beautiful cherrywood table, and she was sitting in the seat to his left, facing the doorway to the kitchen, her little face soft in the candlelight.

“Okay,” she said, and the smile that spread over her cheeks was like the blush of spring flowers in the rain. He reached over to her; her fingers curled through his, and the energy that passed between them was like the rolling crash of thunder over an open plain; wide and intense and open and circling down into the cores of their bodies, through the fingers that touched. They gazed at each other for a moment, hands tightly together. Then, Kenzie grasped her wine glass in her little slender fingers, stood, and, still clasping his hand against hers, said, “I seem to recall a bold claim from this morning.”

He looked up at her; she glowed, and his breath fell away from him.

“A certain Prince of the Underworld, he of vast fortune and troves of gold and black flowers with silver stems, told me he was going to make me come...so...fucking...hard.”

Duncan smiled; smiled with an all-encompassing happiness that pierced into the center of him, one that made him want to scream with its intensity; he let go of her (I don’t want to) and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin at his lap, but as he stood, she moved away from him, gazing coyly into his eyes as she did, over her shoulder, cradling the wine glass against her; come and get me, her eyes whispered. His groin shuddered with a coiled sort of agony and he pulled his own wine glass with him, languidly, following her slowly, leaning against the door to watch her move through the kitchen and the wide front room, flipping the light switch so they were bathed in darkness, as she moved towards where the long glass window stretched, its blank face gazing down on the city lights; the silky movement of the dress against her back and her ass, one of the straps falling down again, the incline of her breast almost completely visible to him, the waves of her hair down her back; Duncan imagined flowers tangled in the strands, peonies like the little flowers on the glass of water he’d pulled in her hand, roses like the roses on the balcony and in the bathtub, the candles clustered around them, her body hovering over him in the water, her fingers clutching at his stubble.

She gazed out onto the city, quietly, lost in her own thoughts again, it seemed; he felt like he could almost see the gentle cascade of her thoughts in this moment, the hazy warmth of the wine spreading through her, the pain and confusion of the day fading and spreading down into the city, away from them; he put this moment, looking at her, bathed in a soft glow, into the memories of her he would always cherish, always have locked in his heart. He watched as she sipped the wine, the crystal edge of the glass reflecting the golden helmet of Pallas Athena beside her.

“You know,” she said, as he moved towards her, carefully, “today, after I got here, I looked at your home for a long time. Its energy. Its spirit.”

“What did you see?” He couldn’t remove the longing from his voice; everything I want, everything I need, he thought. It’s you. Only you. He came up against the other side, against the wall of his study; he leaned against it, his arm propped up, trying to look out at the capital city’s glow; but his eyes turned to her, almost involuntary, lost in her.

She dipped her head down for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes to the steep incline of the ground, thirty stories down; the crystal glass glinted in her hand again, throwing stardust against her cheek.

“That you love art and beauty. That you love books. That you love the strength of women; the strength and yes, the beauty, and the beauty of men, too, I think. I think so. And that you have a great and hidden depth in you, Duncan Shepherd, one that perhaps not everyone around you sees; one that you hold secret, pressed against your heart.”

He kept his eyes on her. She turned to him, dazzling, soft, and he noticed her wine glass was almost empty now.

“I think you really are like the God of the Underworld; a prince on a cold throne. And I think you need a Queen made of Light who sees the light in you. And I think I am her.”

She stepped away from him once more; looking over her shoulder again, setting the crystal glass next to Athena, a swirl of red still in the bottom, moving on to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His breath seemed caught in his chest; he put his own glass, a little wine left in it, an offering, next to Nike, whom he stood near; bring me Victory, blessed Nike, whence I toil like the bees, you bring me honey--

As he entered the bedroom (quiet black sheets, the cover thrown back) he saw her pushing the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it; she was naked underneath, and his nerves thrilled to realize she had been naked underneath it since he came home; thrilled at the secret she’d held that he had not realized, but she left the necklace on, the moon made of diamonds, and Kenzie looked over her shoulder at him, her long lashes languid as she laid down on the bed, sighing into it, bending one of her knees so her thigh fell over her sex, hidden from him just a little, her face turned to where he stood there at the door, leaning against it, staring over her.

Kenzie moved her legs apart, her sweet little sex opening to him, reminding him of that first night, days ago--

He pulled his jacket off quickly, about to pull his shirt off just as quick--but she murmured “slow, baby, I wanna watch you,” and he slowed himself; anything you want, angel, he thought. Whatever you want, now and always, and as he unbuckled his belt, now shirtless, he watched her little fingers go down between her legs and rub at her little clit, her mouth falling open.

“Baby, stop,” he said, firmly.

Her eyes widened at him; her finger paused its circles at her core.

“Put your hands up above your head. Against the headboard.”

Her eyes went darker; that glow, forest-green, haunting. Kenzie lifted her hands up, grasping onto the slats above her. Her mouth was still open, lips parted just a little, her breath coming out in tiny, quiet gasps.

“I’m gonna make you come.”

He watched the shiver fall down her body, starting at her shoulder, through her torso, her hips, her legs, to her toes. She gripped the slats harder, opening her mouth a little more. He pushed his pants and his briefs off his body, staring at her, his cock falling against his fingers for a moment, making him moan, and then he reached down and picked up his belt where he had dropped it; he let it hang carefully down from his hand for a moment, watched her eyes travel over it, a mixture of desire and apprehension in them, then he climbed onto the bed, between her legs; he didn’t touch her, but she wrapped her legs around his thighs, the head of his cock brushing for a second against the open lips of her sex, and they both shuddered. He lifted his arms up and pressed the smooth leather strap against her little wrists; she let out a moaning little cry that made his heart feel as thought it was going to burst out of him, but he concentrated on the task at hand; he wrapped the straps around two of the slats, buckling them together behind it, pulling the strap tight against her, not too tight, but enough to make it so she couldn’t move her wrists out of the belt; he watched her hands flex for a moment, and then he looked down into her wide hazel eyes; she nodded to him, eyes fluttering, and he moved his long hands down her arms, fingers closing over her round breasts and gripping the diamond moon above her breasts for a moment, down further as he moved his body back, hands on her waist and now her hips and now her thighs, pushing then further apart; he saw the little tears glittering in the corners of her eyes, felt the shiver of her body under his hot hands.

“Is it okay, baby?” he whispered, hesitating.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whimpered, an edge in her voice that made him shake. “Yes, fuck, yes…”

He moved his head down to hover just above her folds, above the lip of her clit; his hair fell over his forehead, brushing her belly, the dip of her bellybutton; she shivered, crying out again; then he pressed his lips into her, his tongue laving out to urge against her core; he looked up as he did, watching her arms resist the constraint of his belt holding her for a moment, tight on her wrists, pressing into her skin, her little mouth stretching in need; “Duncan, fuck, ohhhh--”

“You like being tied up like that, baby?” he whispered, then he pressed his tongue against her again, long and slow and aching, and her hips bucked into him, and she let out a little shuddering cry that made him painfully hard, made his cock jump against the sheet.

“Y-y-es, baby, yes…”

He brought one of his large, long hands up, fingers curling; then he brought it down suddenly, a soft but sharp little slap onto the sensitive slit between her legs, and she cried out again, leather pressing into her little wrists.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.” The tears glimmered in her eyes again; her cheeks were rosy, and he could see her pussy slowly turning dark pink from his attentions. “Yes. Do it again, baby.”

He lifted his hand again, his palm and fingers flat; this time he brought his hand down again, harder this time, slapping her clit with a rough immediacy.

“Fuuuuck, fuck!” Kenzie moaned. “Please, suck my clit, baby…”

Duncan leaned down, eagerly, his lips closing around the bud of her; he sucked deeply, carefully, his tongue swirling over her, and he felt her hips buck into him again, her moans strangled and needy and unwinding.

“Kenzie, I’m gonna make you come hard,” he whispered into her, his breath making her buck into him again, and again, her mouth a little O, her wrists shaking, “and then I’m gonna make you come again after that.”

“O-okay, baby,” and her voice was shuddering, high, driving him into white feelings of madness.

He worked his tongue against her again, and his fingers came up; he pressed two, his index and middle fingers, into the wet core of her body, curling them, flexing back and forth, his lips sucking into her clit again. She cried out again; “Baby, I am gonna fucking c-cu-um,” and he kept his mouth pressed heavily into her clit as she shuddered under him, his fingers still buried inside her pussy as her wetness fell against them, moisture gathering between the spaces of his digits, sweet-smelling and thick. She continued to shudder for some time; he laid his head gently into her abdomen, his fingers coming out of her, soaked with her, his hands pressing into her jutting hipbones, tracing them and leaving traces of wetness and his lips pressed into her skin, ignoring his own hardness, his own need, for the moment.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking godddd,” Kenzie moaned, and he looked up; tears coursed down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking. Her hands were still clamped in the confines of his tight leather belt; he leaned up, reaching behind the slats, untying it, tossing it aside, gently grasping her wrists, bringing his lips to where they’d left red marks on her, kissing her tenderly.

“Are you okay, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whimpered, though tears still coursed from her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you again now. And you’re gonna come for me again.”

Her eyes opened wide, wide from their fluttering, hazy half-lids; she gasped a little, and then she nodded, and she whispered “yes, baby, my Prince, fuck me hard now.”

He pulled her up, gripping her under her arms; “come here, baby, come with me,” he whispered, and her little naked body slipped off the bed as he pulled her, and he kissed her with his mouth open with fierce admonition, fingering the diamond moon at her breast in his large elegant hand and she lifted herself up to him and her tongue tangled against his and as he pulled her towards him he saw a glitter of moisture that slipped down her leg from her release. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her from the bedroom; he led her to the window, his glass window, surveying all of the city, a wall of glass, and he pressed her hands against it tenderly in the darkness, the only light now shining below them, his mouth open under her ear, his body pressed against her back and her thighs, his cock hard between her legs, brushing against her cunt, sensitive and soaking wet, and she moaned again, her eyes looking back at him for a moment, then back at the lights below as his large hand came around her throat and he pressed his length into her, his other hand coming around to her clit, rubbing insistently.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he fucked her, raw and rough and with wild desire, and her little mouth hovered over the glass, her breath cascading in clouds against it, her fingers curling where they were pressed, fingers splayed, her knees buckling just a little against him, her ass moving back to press into him as his fingers bored into her core and pressed harshly into her neck, her hips moving against him, her feel tip-toed to reach up to his height, her eyes looking out, glancing up at their reflection over her shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you are, but nothing is, no one is, nobody is as beautiful as you are, Kenzie, my angel--” Duncan could see the outline of them there too, in the reflection, his hair tossed against his forehead, his mouth open in a mixture of lust and concentration, her wide eyes turned up almost into her head as she gasped, and he moved the hand from her neck to twist around her chestnut hair, pulling it tight, bringing her head back with a soft jerk, and she moaned “oh goddd--” and ground against him again, ground down onto him so he was completely buried inside her. His index finger was grinding circles into the side of her clit; he moved it down to where moisture was dripping down her leg, dripping down the length of his cock as he pulled in and out of her, and gathered it on his finger, bringing it back to her clit, soaking wet--

“Baby, I’m--I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna--”

This time, Kenzie’s little body rocked back onto him, her fingers clenching into fists on the glass, her cunt spasming down onto his length with a force that brought stars behind his eyes, and he watched the glitter of the diamonds at her neck reflect in the glass. “Fu-u-uuck my pussy, fuck my little cunt with your big cock,” Kenzie cried out, and he lifted out of her and plunged back, feeling the vague outline of her cervix brushing his head; then, Kenzie screamed; she screamed and her body began to shake, to vibrate against him, the lips of her so far down on his cock that they brushed against his balls, and he felt another cascade of moisture seep out of her, this one more intense than the first, dripping down his testicles in rivulets, and he shuddered a hallucinatory release into her that made him blind for a moment, his cock immediately sensitive and painful with its intensity, his voice crying out “Fuck, fuuuck, I wanna be inside you forever, Kenzie, goddess, I wanna fuck you until I die--”

They leaned heavily into each other for a moment; her cunt spasming up onto his cock, his cock shuddering into tenderness inside her; then he pulled out and Kenzie slid, weakly, to the floor, breathing heavily, her little breasts shuddering.

“Oh baby, are you alright--” Duncan immediately crouched to her, avoiding the sensitive area between his thighs, his eyes widening with alarm; he tucked a hand around the crook of her neck, the other hand coming around her waist and holding her up as he gently pushed her head towards him; her breathing was heavy and her eyes fluttered once more, half in and half out of consciousness. He pressed his fingers against her cheek softly, tapping it a little; her eyes trembled open, and the look she gave him was one of supple, dream-like trust.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Duncan.” Her eyes hovered between opening and closing; her breath slowed, and she murmured “I’m so sleepy, baby,” and they closed and she was hovering there in his arms, breathing softly, lost in her post-coital euphoria.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek; he hovered there, breathing in the smell of her skin, then he hitched his arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders, and he picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed, where he pulled the sheets and the duvet over her little body; my poor angel, my poor sweet baby, he thought. I have to talk to her about a bodyguard tomorrow, I know she won’t want one, but I have to convince her it’s for the best, god, I have to. He watched the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the slow breath that moved her body under the blanket, the slow shadow of her heartbeat against her throat. Then he moved towards the bathroom; his groin was still soaked in her release, his cock still throbbing as he came down from his orgasm; he went to one of the drawers under the bathroom sink to get the wet wipes he always stored there (a million uses) and paused, his heart in his mouth, as he saw her little toiletries lined along one side of the sink, the side he’d cleared for her; his on the left, hers on the right. The dark red bottle of her perfume; he pulled it over to him and brought his nose to the nozzle, breathing in; roses, vetiver, geranium, and his body sighed into the smell, the smell that was her. A little black hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink; strands of her chestnut hair glinting in it. A little eyeliner stick, a tube of lipstick, a stick of mascara, a bottle of face wash. All her little things, the little pieces of her. His immaculate grooming supplies were on the opposite side, spotless and still; hers threw warmth into the space, made his cheeks blush; he wanted to touch everything, kiss each of her belongings, memorize their shape. Duncan felt overcome again; it was as if her things had always been missing before, leaving a Kenzie-shaped hole, one he didn’t know existed, but could feel, somewhere in his hidden heart. And now, they weren’t missing anymore. Here they were. He could reach out and touch them, like he could reach out and touch the smooth contour of her skin, the waves of her hair, where she slept in his bed. Our bed, he thought, smoky desire drifting, cleaning himself up, shivering as the cold wipe touched his still-sensitive cock; using another one under his arms, at the back of his neck. Our bathroom. Our apartment. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. How can I keep her safe if she isn’t here with me? How can I sleep without her now? He imagined reporters hounding her as she tried to leave for work in the morning; imagined people trying to get into her apartment building at night, trying to look in her windows. The thought absolutely chilled him. I’ll ask her. I want to soothe the worry I saw in her eyes tonight. I don’t want her to worry about anything, or anyone. And I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

Duncan left the bathroom, naked, flipping the light-switch, but not before one long, last glance at Kenzie’s little things on the sink; he smiled, his heart full. He turned towards the closet, eyes falling over Kenzie where she slept again; she was breathing slowly now, far away, the diamonds still glinting at her throat; he went to her softly, unclasping the necklace at the nape of her neck, gently lifting it away from her so she wouldn’t wake, pressing the softest, lightest of kisses into her cheek, his heart on fire. He put it on the side-table, noticing her phone there; it was turned over so he could see its gold case and the moon sticker on it, fading away from use; he trailed one finger over it, lovingly, then turned and walked into his closet. Duncan bent to the drawer, in search of sweatpants, but he stopped, noticing the little outfits that now hung in the space he’d cleared for them; her clothes in my closet--our closet, he thought, and looked down on the shelf below, where there were a few other things stacked in a row; a little black bag, some little moon and star jewelry. Her little things. His chest swelled with longing; he wanted all of her things here, all of her, kissing him, blessing him; he longed not to be greedy, not to ask too much of her too soon, but he thought again of paparazzi outside her house and his mind clouded with concern, resolving to ask her in the morning. He pulled on the sweatpants, wincing as the waistband brushed against his cock, then, he moved out towards the kitchen (he paused, eyes falling on her hair tossed over the pillow tenderly, her little hand clutched against her mouth) and into the dining room, to clean up the dishes.

#millory #millory au #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #house of cards au #michael x mallory #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan shepherd x mallory #cody fern #billie lourd #cody x billie #collie #ahs apocalypse #body and soul #body and soul au #my fic

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mesdea · 6 years

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Chapters: 31/? Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Yoda, Anakin Skywalker, Shmi Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CC-2224 | Cody, Garen Muln, Padmé Amidala, CT-7567 | Rex Additional Tags: Mace is Obi-Wan's Master, Yoda is always meddling, Angst with a Happy Ending, Qui-Gon is broken, mention of violence, Anakin is a sweet kiddo, Shmi is my ultimate Creche mom, With Love there is always hope, Sith Qui-Gon, Darth Acheros, Protective Cody, Jango makes a great dad, Minor Cody/Rex

Blue eyes struggled to open as the first rays of sunlight came through the temple windows, Qui-Gon had managed to get a restful sleep after the force suggestion from Mace, but his body still ached from the abuse. Thinking of the master, he looked over to find those eyes fixed on his as they both sat up to look upon the other. “Really, Mace, A force suggestion?” Qui-Gon quipped with little venom to his voice.

“It worked didn’t it? You had no more dreams that I could sense.” Mace gave him a slight smirk and knew that the man could not argue the results, even if he hated playing tricks to get him there. Mace had spent the night in a chair beside the bed in a meditative state, he didn’t dare sleep in order to keep his word to Obi-Wan.

The sheet that covered the large body fell from Qui-Gon’s chest as he turned to move from the warm bed, realizing that he was still in the buff after last nights impromptu bath, his face turning a shade of pink. “Could you hand me a pair of sleep pants from the drawer, Mace?”

Mace nodded and plucked a pair of larger pants from the top dresser drawer and threw them to his friend, just in time to hear the faint knocking at the bedroom door. “M..Master?” Both the masters looked at each other and knew that Quint deserved answers after last nights episode, to be reassured and comforted.

Trying to keep his voice low enough to not be heard by the boy Mace spoke, “If you truly intend to stay this course, my friend, you need to talk to him. It won’t be easy, but you need to find a way to explain to him what happened to you.”

“I know that.” The simple statement was painful, but he knew that in order to succeed with Quint he needed to trust in him as much as the lad did his master. “Can, you…Will you stay close Mace?”

“Of course.” The force felt lighter to Mace in a way, this was the right way of things. The dark-skinned master opened the door and smiled at the nervous boy. “I’ll be in the kitchen preparing us some tea and breakfast.” It was the best way to let the boy know, help was close by if needed. Mace passed him, letting his hand rest on his shoulder for a brief moment of reassurance. “All will be well, Quint.”

The boy gazed up at Mace shyly and gave a faint smile. “Thank you Master Windu.”

They were both interrupted by the rumbling voice coming from the bed, “Quint, please come in. I promised you an explanation and I should have given one from the beginning of our bonding.” The boy pressed closer as Mace looked back at the two and proceeded to the kitchen, watching the door close shut behind him. “I wish you were here, Obi.” The words were almost a whispered prayer.

Inside the room, the boy seemed to shy away from the master that was resting in the bed atop the blankets in nothing much but a pair of sleep pants and light tunic. His hair was a knotted mess but Quint could tell that his color was better than the night before. He looked more rested. “Are you feeling better, my Master?”

“Thanks to you and Mace, I am feeling better. I know I scared you last night and I am sorry for that. You know much about the last few years of my life, at least what has been made public. I fought to stay in the light while exposing the Sith, but now that you are my Padawan… well you need to know more than just what is in the records.” Qui-Gon inhaled deeply and patted the bed next to him, watching the boy almost run to the spot for needed comfort, relaxing as he pressed against his side.

“I know he hurt you, I’ve seen your scars. It’s ok if you don’t want to talk to me, i’m just…” The boy paused and glanced down at his smaller hands. “I’m just a boy.”

“You are not just anything, Young Quint, you are my Padawan. The connection is strong when the teacher learns from the student as much as the student learns from the teacher. We have to depend on the other and that means sometimes I will need to lean on you as well. Because of this you need to understand what I have been through.” Just as Qui-Gon shut his eyes in attempt to calm his heart he felt the light of his life, his Obi-Wan sending warmth through their bond, but it wasn’t muffled as the night before, it was closer. Oh, his light was almost home. Taking a deeper breath Qui-Gon began from the beginning and spoke of his first padawan, and how simple it had been and quickly went into the details of his blind faith in his second. “In the end Xanatos fell…”

Quint grasped the larger hand in his at those last words and stared intensely into pained eyes. “I could promise you so many things, but it wouldn’t matter. My actions will prove that I am not your fallen padawan.” Qui-Gon returned his gaze and let his lips upturn to a small smile.

“There is more that you need to tell me, isn’t there?” Quint braced himself for the real reason for last nights incident, there was more to the story he knew.

Qui-Gon inclined his head in response and started the second part of his story. “It all started when I ran into a young Knight in the halls, before the battle of Naboo…” The first part of the story was easy to tell, his pull toward Obi-wan, the person whom owned half his heart. As he moved passed Mace’s injury and into his abduction, he started to struggle with the words. “Quint, I need you to understand something, there are certain things that will forever trigger me. The healers tell me I will learn to cope, but I still, as you saw last night, have panic attacks. When the Sith abducted me, the torture was mental, physical and…sexual. That experience will always taint who I am. ”

The words spilled from his lips and this was the crutch of his continued problems, he could see nothing that was done to him that didn’t taint who he was in this moment and who he would forever be. Neither Master, nor apprentice had noticed that the door opened, someone creeping closer to the bed, as he listened. “Oh, Qui. You were never tainted by that man or anything that was done to you. You were a victim, what was done to you…” Qui-Gon sobbed as he felt Obi-Wan wrap both his mind and body in a gentle hug.

The boy had moved quietly out of the way, his own tears filling his eyes as he ached for the man he now called Master. There was more pride and love that filled the boy now that he knew the full story that was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. The man whom had fought the darkness inside and won. He was no victim, Qui-Gon was a survivor. Obi-Wan tilted his head as he held his mate, peering at the boy questionably. “Qui, my love? Is there something you need to tell me?”

The body still wrapped tightly into his chest just chuckled a bit and choked out. “It’s a boy?”

Quint couldn't help but laugh at the humor that was truly needed after so much seriousness. “It is a pleasure to meet you Knight Kenobi. I hope that I won’t intrude into your life too much.” The boy was unsure of his place now that he was faced with his master’s bondmate. What if the knight didn’t like him? What if he demanded that Qui-Gon turn him away?

Obi-Wan gently pushed Qui-Gon back and wiped the tears from his cheeks to address the young boy that was projecting too much fear and nervousness. “Please call me Obi-Wan, young one. It would seem that we both have a thing for tall, slightly dented Jedi Masters.” He hoped to lessen the lads fear.

“I hope that you aren’t upset…” Quint started only to be quickly interrupted by both men, “No one is upset at you.” Qui-Gon stopped speaking to allow Obi-Wan continue. “I will be honest, I am surprised that I left only two days ago to find our rooms filled with a new padawan, but in truth I shouldn’t be. Your Master has so much love in his heart that I couldn’t hope to contain it all to myself.”

Once again the boy blushed at the words and felt hope for the future as the door slid open again to reveal Master Mace with a tray of tea. “This room is getting crowded.” Obi-Wan jumped to his feet and took the tray from his former master, hugging him tightly after he set it by the bedside table. “Thank you for helping while I was gone, Mace.”

“You never need to thank me, Obi, you both have a special place in my heart, but I do have a padawan that is yelling in my head about how a growing boy needs his master and lots of home cooked meals.” Mace bowed to them all and looked one last time at the three, realizing that they had suddenly formed a family as much as none of them had realized it just yet. He couldn't’ help but smile at the thought, there were interesting times ahead for the Jinn-Kenobi household and he only hoped they were as happy as he was the with Obi-Wan and Anakin. One thing was for sure, only time would tell.

#quiobi #qui gon #obi wan #the philosophy of lost chances #mace #jinnobi

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dendral · 7 years

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@generallkenobi this is primarily your fault. @darthluminescent because I said I’d tag you.

AO3 Crosspost

Summary: In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi falls to General Grievous’s blades. In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi does not live to see the end of the war. In another universe, Anakin Skywalker hunts down General Grievous, intent on revenge.

someday when i’m gone away we’ll be all okay

The Force goes frighteningly silent.

Anakin doesn’t know what to make of it. He feels numb, empty, as though his insides have been scooped out and thrown away. The sounds of the dogfight taking place around him are muffled, like someone is covering his ears with cotton.

“...ght! Bank right, General Skywalker, bank right!” breaks through to him over his comm, and without thinking he obeys, jerking the yoke of the starfighter hard. His starfighter turns, slamming him up against the side of its interior. He barely avoids smacking his head against the transparisteel.

“General, are you alright?” asks Ropes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Anakin says. “Just… something strange happened in the Force, just now.”

“Try to keep your head in the now, sir,” Rex says, and his starfighter pulls up to Anakin’s right side. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t get shot down, and I’m certain General Kenobi wouldn’t be too pleased either.”

“Have we had any word from Obi-Wan on Grievous?” asks Anakin as he moves left, avoiding an oncoming hail of blaster fire. An awful feeling slithers into his gut and churns like a writhing nest of profoggs, all pointy teeth and sharp claws.

“Negative, sir,” Tulip replies, and the feeling gets worse.

With a growl, Anakin jerks his starfighter up and over the wreckage of an exploding droid. He tries to keep his tone light when he says, “It’d be great if he could hurry it up. I’m getting bored out here.”

“How about a little friendly competition, General?” Ropes asks.

“No, absolutely not,” Rex replies, and Catchall and Tulip laugh boisterously as they form up behind Anakin.

“Can’t we, Captain?” Catchall says. “After all, we don’t want the general getting bored, do we?”

“It does sound like it could be fun,” Anakin says.

“I can’t believe you all,” Rex grumbles.

Anakin’s ship comms beep, and a text message is outputted in bold green letters on the screen. He frowns as he reads it, brows furrowing. “Looks like our competition is getting postponed, men. We’re being ordered to retreat.”

“Retreat?” Tulip asks, skeptical. “But we’re winning. Why would we be retreating?”

“Are you questioning orders, Lieutenant?” Rex asks.

“No, sir,” Tulip replies. “Just curious, is all.”

“The order’s from Commander Cody,” Anakin says, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out. The silence in the Force is overwhelming. “Something’s gone wrong.”

It’s while she’s in the lower levels of Coruscant, trying to figure out where she’ll go next now that she’s not a Jedi—now that she has no home—that Ahsoka hears the news.

She’s walking past a club—some seedy place that smells overwhelmingly of sweat and alcohol—when she overhears the tail-end of a news report. The uproarious laughter and chatter dies for just a moment, enough that she can catch what’s being said.

All she manages to catch is that something big happened, something so big the future of the Republic is now in question. She doesn’t know the context, though, so she enters the club to find out. The bouncer doesn’t even check her for ID, eyes transfixed on the nearest screen.

Every monitor is playing the same channel. The holonews reporters are repeating the report. Both are sullen; one looks like she’s been crying for hours, eyes red and swollen, a pile of tissues next to her on the table she’s sitting at. The headline fixed in the bottom of every screen says the same thing in bold, white letters atop a blue background: GENERAL KENOBI FALLS IN BATTLE.

Her heart doesn’t stop, but it’s a near thing.

“What?” she asks aloud to no one and pushes past unmoving club goers to get closer to the monitors. She blinks once. Twice. A third time, but the image in front of her doesn’t change, and the headline doesn’t disappear, and the droning of the reporters doesn’t cease.

Eventually, the channel changes, and the club goers return to their previous activities of dancing and drinking, though subdued. Ahsoka stands frozen in her spot, staring blankly at the podrace being broadcast. The world around her feels slowed. She feels like she’s floating, like she’s in some awful dream because only in a nightmare could Master Obi-Wan be gone.

She wishes. She hopes. She prays to the Force that it’s not real, that she’s dreaming. She pinches herself. She leaves the club and wanders aimlessly, wondering if it’s another fucked up mission like Rako Hardeen. She finds another monitor playing a holonews channel and stands inside the damp shop, watching as the story continues to unravel, feeling her throat close up. People push roughly past her—some almost knock her over completely—and she still stands there, unable to force her legs to move, and she hopes desperately that she’ll wake up in her cheap, shitty motel room with its lumpy mattress and its hole-riddled blanket. She hopes desperately that, given enough time, Master Obi-Wan will come back, just like he did before, and he’ll reveal it was all a ruse to fool the Separatists and save lives, and the public will herald him as a hero, will praise him for being willing to do such a terrible thing for the Republic’s sake.

Time moves without her. She wanders to Dex’s place for information, but he has the same thing to tell her every day she goes: it’s real, kiddo. It’s real. He’s gone.

She doesn’t want to believe him.

Two weeks go by and the dream never ends.

Ahsoka realizes with a horrible, aching emptiness in her chest that she’s already wide awake.

Anakin watches the recording obsessively. He spends hours in the war room, watching it in wrathful silence, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill over. No one bothers him, not even Master Windu or Master Yoda. He doesn’t know if they’re just giving him space (how couldn’t they?), if they’re worried for him (how could they not be?), or if they are afraid (why should they be when they aren’t the ones who killed him?). Anakin notes every detail, memorizes every second. If asked, he could parrot back the entire message that Grievous sent, every inflection of his voice and every emphasized word, every time he coughed and uttered Obi-Wan’s name as though he had any right to do so.

But he’s not interested in that.

He’s not interested in anything Grievous even has to say.

All he cares about is finding him and killing him, and rewatching the recording keeps the anger alive and burning like a wildfire behind his ribs.

It’s like some sick joke, Anakin thinks. He’d been so angry at Obi-Wan before they were shipped out again. The last handful of things he’d ever said to his former master had been full of venom and accusation; he hadn’t had a single word of kindness to give. And Obi-Wan had taken it like he always did, quietly and with a sad look on his face, like he thought he deserved exactly what he was being told.

He had been cruel to his old master. And now he’s dead.

Anakin slams a fist on the war room table. He wishes he could go back. He wishes he could apologize. He wishes—

He wishes Obi-Wan had died like he was supposed to, fighting side-by-side with Anakin. That’s what Anakin had always thought would happen—that they would die together, and their bodies would be laid to rest next to each other in the crypt in the heart of the Jedi Temple.

Instead, there’s not even a body to bury. There’s a body somewhere, maybe, in the wreckage of the battle where Obi-Wan died, but they haven’t found it. Anakin fears they never will.

Perhaps it’s fitting. Perhaps that’s the best place for Obi-Wan now—at rest among the stars because he was nothing less than a star himself, overwhelmingly bright in the Force, so full of Light that sometimes Anakin had to squint just to see him, or else look away to shield his eyes.

But there’s nothing to remember him by. No physical evidence of his time in the galaxy. Not even his lightsaber.

Grievous has Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. A trophy for his collection. A trophy for him to use against the Jedi.

Anakin’s grip on the table tightens. His metal fingers leave indents. The thought makes him feel sick. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, being used to kill Jedi. Being used to kill innocents, to spill innocent blood. It’s a desecration of everything Obi-Wan held dear and all the ideals of peace and justice he fought for.

He starts the recording over from the beginning.

He will kill Grievous, no matter what it takes.

(Your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is how you die:

You catch up to Grievous in the hangar of his ship. It’s a wide, open space. The magnetic shield is already down and predictably, Grievous runs to his personal vessel to make a hasty escape, like all the previous times you’ve faced him. He is beaten but he will not get away. You refuse to lose him again.

You will capture him this time.

You force shove his vessel into the hangar wall and it crumples into a heap, sparking. Grievous skids to a stop and growls. “There’s nowhere to run this time, Grievous,” you say.

Eyes narrowed, Grievous turns to you and ignites his four lightsabers.

You battle. It’s a familiar dance and you’ve fought Grievous enough times that you know how he moves, know what tricks he likes to pull. He can’t break through your defenses and you begin to push him to the back of the hangar.

You swing down and Grievous blocks your blade with two of his. He ducks under his own guard and snags your ankle with one clawed hand. He pulls, sweeping you off your feet, and throws you across the hanger. You hit the ground hard and roll. Your lightsaber slips out of your hand and you slide away from it. Dazed, you push yourself up onto your elbows, then to your knees.

Grievous is already upon you. He grabs you by the neck, hauls you up, and slams you into the ground. The breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

He grabs you again, this time by your tunics. As he walks over to the opening in the hangar, he picks up your dropped lightsaber.

Grievous holds you up against the containment shield that protects the hangar from the vacuum of space and its endless silence. You struggle against his grip but cannot break free.

“Count Dooku wanted you alive,” Grievous rasps in his rattling voice. “But I’ll just tell him you were more trouble than it was worth.”

Pain burns across your chest in a straight, diagonal line, stretching shoulder to hip. It feels like your flesh is on fire and you flail, kicking out and gasping as your vision tunnels. Grievous drops you and you collapse to your knees.

“Any last words, Kenobi?” he says.

You look up and push the smell and feel of your skin cooking to the back of your mind. You reach for the Force and it whispers around you, embraces you. The Force will be with you, always and forever, and it tells you not to be frightened; it will take care of you.

You smirk. “I hope the Count will finally respect you more than he respects me,” you say.

Grievous growls and jams a lightsaber through your chest. You choke on pain as it fills your throat until you cannot breathe, can barely think. You don’t know how to describe how much it hurts; you no longer need to. Dying is more horrifying and more painful than you could’ve ever thought possible, but you aren’t afraid.

You are merely disappointed to realize that you are not dying while fighting by Anakin’s side.

Grievous pulls the lightsaber out of you. Places his foot on your face and shoves.

You fall through the containment shield, your body passing through as though there was nothing there at all.

You’re gone before you can even feel the cold.)

There are memories everywhere and Anakin can’t escape them, not for long, anyway. He tries—he tries his damndest to stay away from the Temple. He takes mission after mission that sends him far away, far away from the halls that Obi-Wan no longer walks through and the rooms Obi-Wan no longer meditates in and the salles that Obi-Wan no longer trains in because Anakin cannot imagine a Jedi Temple without Obi-Wan.

So he takes himself far away from Coruscant, from his wife’s warm embrace, because even she cannot make the memories of Obi-Wan go away.

At least on missions, on the hunt, the memories leave him alone for a little while.

He obsesses. He watches video after video of Grievous’s fighting, looking for weaknesses in his four-armed technique. He even finds some of Obi-Wan fighting Grievous, his impenetrable defense only broken with a trick or a distraction.

They were always at a stalemate, and Anakin’s own fighting style is woefully unequipped for facing Grievous. If even Obi-Wan couldn’t win, how could Anakin hope to?

So he trains on the ship, against his men, against holograms, against the air. He goes through form after form until his legs and arms are shaking and he’s soaked through with sweat. Sometimes he goes until he collapses and opens his eyes to the glaring lights of the ceiling, Rex kneeling over him with a worried look on his face.

The fifth time it happens, Rex drags him over to a bench and forces a bottle of water into his hands. Rex stands in front of him with his arms crossed, inclines his head at the bottle. He doesn’t move or speak until Anakin has sucked all of it down.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Rex says suddenly.

“Of course, Rex,” Anakin replies, and waves a hand. “Go ahead.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this,” Rex says bluntly.

“What’re you talking about?” Anakin asks.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Rex accuses. “You know who I’m talking about, sir.”

Anakin looks away, feeling his face heat up with shame.

“You’re killing yourself,” Rex says. “He wouldn’t want that for you. He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

“How the fuck would you know, Rex?” Anakin growls. “You think you knew him better than me?”

A traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispers that Anakin barely knew Obi-Wan at all, but he pushes it away stubbornly. Of course he knew Obi-Wan. They were a team. The Team.

“That’s not what I’m saying, sir,” Rex says, and he sounds exasperated. “But you seem to have forgotten you’re not the only one who lost him.” Rex spreads his arms out, palms up. “All of us did. The entire damn 212th is lost. Cody’s falling apart and thinks his brothers can’t see it happening. We’re looking to you for guidance and reassurance and… not finding it.”

Rex sighs, drops down on the bench next to Anakin and leans forward, holding his forehead in his hands. He sighs again, a weary, sad sound. “General Skywalker, sir… He’d want you to move on,” Rex murmurs. “You know he would.”

I can’t, Anakin doesn’t say. I can’t forget him, he doesn’t say. I’m afraid if I move on I’ll forget the way he smiled, he doesn’t say.

“I know,” he says instead, and stares at his lap. “I know.”

(This is how it feels to be Padmé Amidala:

Your husband has left again. He comes and goes like the wind. He stays for a night, wrapping you up in his arms and holding you close as you lay together in bed, then he goes away to fight, and you never know if this will be the time he doesn’t come home. He never smiles anymore. You find it hard to smile too, these days, and you think there was a time when both of you smiled frequently and freely, but those days have passed.

It’s hard to find reasons to smile, nowadays.

The Senate is in disarray still, weeks on. With the loss of Obi-Wan, the Republic is more fearful than ever. The war’s stalemate has broken and the Republic is on the losing side. As senators scramble to reassure their people and prevent uprisings on their own planets, the GAR tries to replace an irreplaceable man.

You had never liked the idea of making the Jedi fight for the Republic. They weren’t military leaders, never had been. The moment Palpatine had gotten emergency powers and declared the war was the moment the Jedi’s fate was sealed.

And look at what it’s cost them, you think.

Look at what it’s cost you.

You miss your friend. You miss him dearly. You miss Obi-Wan’s dry wit and his effortless charm and his steady companionship. You miss the way Anakin would complain about him in one breath and praise him endlessly in the next. You miss sharing cups of tea with him in Bail’s office as you discuss legislature and exchange political gossip. You miss the way Bail would light up before a visit from Obi-Wan. You miss the ease you felt in his company, how weightless his presence made you feel, as though all the problems of the Senate were far away, and it was just you, Obi-Wan, and Bail laughing over plates of Bail’s homemade Alderaanian kärleksmums and cups of tea made from Obi-Wan’s endless collection.

In the silence of your office and your home, you feel heavy.

The future feels that much bleaker without Obi-Wan to help light it up.)

Anakin catches up to Grievous eventually.

Predictably, Grievous escapes. He always escapes in the end. The frustration makes Anakin angry, makes the Force around him feel thick like sludge.

He finds Grievous again, and again Grievous escapes. Like in a game of lothcat and mouse, Anakin feels as though he’s being played with, except he’s the lothcat and Grievous the mouse that keeps slipping through his claws, taunting.

The Council doesn’t disapprove of his hunt—if they do, they don’t let it show. They let him take the missions he chooses without complaint. They ask how he is, occasionally, but Anakin has nothing to say to them. He hasn’t had anything to say to them since Ahsoka’s trial.

It takes months, but Anakin finally corners Grievous. They duel on the bridge of Grievous’s flagship, surrounded by smoking, sparking droids resting in pieces on the floor.

Grievous is using Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. Their ‘sabers collide and Grievous leans in, laughing, pressing down against Anakin’s guard. “How does it feel, Skywalker,” he rasps, “to fight against Kenobi’s blade?”

Grievous shoves and Anakin is pushed back. He flips and lands, changes his stance to a guard. He tries not to let the well of rage bubble up and overtake him, but he feels darkness nipping at his heels and it would be so easy to just give in.

“How does it feel,” Grievous says, and he starts spinning his blades, whirlwinds of light that Anakin can’t track, “to fight against the blade that killed him?”

Anakin screams. He screams out all his pain, all his anger, all his grief. His vision goes red and he jumps in, striking and lashing and chopping. None of his blows land and he feels angrier, feels more hopeless as he reaches for the Force, feels the darkness of his soul screeching for release. Grievous’s own blades land blows on him, slicing his robes and cutting his skin.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Anakin thinks. I’m supposed to be winning, he thinks. I’m supposed to avenge Obi-Wan, he thinks.

Grievous’s claws lash out and catch him by the throat, constricting his breath. Anakin turns off his lightsaber and grasps at the metal arm, tries to pry pointed fingers from his skin but he’s held fast, airways restricted. Dark tendrils claw at the edges of his vision. Grievous throws Anakin against the transparisteel and he collapses against the floor, coughing, sucking air into his lungs.

“How fitting that you should die as your master did,” Grievous chortles. “On your knees, at my feet.”

I can’t win like this, Anakin realizes slowly as Grievous stands over him and raises Obi-Wan’s blade. Its hum fills the air, and Anakin remembers when Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hadn’t been raised against him but for him, and he thinks of Obi-Wan standing over him on the battlefield, deflecting blast bolts and protecting him because Anakin needed protecting. He remembers Obi-Wan doing the same for countless other beings because he believed in giving his own life to protect someone else’s.

He thinks of how bright blue Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was when he wielded it. Like Naboo’s skies on a sunny, cloudless day.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t want vengeance. He wouldn’t want Anakin to defeat Grievous for him. He’d want Anakin to do it because lives would be saved. Because they’d be one step closer to ending the war.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

Anakin closes his eyes. He reaches for the Force. He raises his lightsaber, feels hands over his and a presence just over his shoulder, like when he was a child and Obi-Wan was showing him the proper way to hold a training ‘saber in the salles.

“Have faith,” he hears, and he does.

He slices upwards.

Grievous yells. Anakin opens his eyes. One of Grievous’s arms—the one that held Obi-Wan’s lightsaber—is on the floor, still twitches as the last impulses shoot through its wires. Anakin reaches out and calls the lightsaber to his hand.

It feels familiar. Its weight, its worn grip, its shape.

He could never forget it, even if he tried to.

Last time he used two lightsabers it hadn’t went well, but—Anakin must try.

The fight doesn’t last long. Anakin doesn’t know what he expected, but he wins, and the killing blow is with Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, like it was always meant to be. Grievous falls before him and takes his last, shuddering breath at Anakin’s feet before going still.

The victory feels hollow.

“I’m not giving it to you,” Anakin says, standing tall in the center of the Council Chamber, glaring defiantly at the Council members present.

Master Windu raises a brow. “Not giving what to us?” he asks.

“Obi-Wan’s lightsaber,” Anakin says, lifting his chin. He wants to dare them to challenge him. Dare them to try and take it from him.

Master Koon looks surprised. “We weren’t going to ask for it,” he says.

That isn’t what Anakin expected. Shocked, he asks, “Wait, why?” He then wants to punch himself for asking.

With a grunt, Master Yoda gets out of his chair and walks up to Anakin, each step punctuated by the tap of his gimer stick. He stops in front of Anakin and smiles up at him.

“Think of no better place for young Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, we can,” Master Yoda tells him, then hobbles through the doors.

Master Windu sighs. “Meeting adjourned,” he announces, and gets up. Anakin is rooted to the spot, staring at the place Master Yoda had been standing in front of him, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks up when Master Windu pauses next to him. Master Windu rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder for just a moment before nodding and following Master Yoda out the door.

It feels a little bit like benediction.

The war ends.

The news breaks alongside the news of Chancellor Palpatine being a traitor. He had been feeding information to the Separatists, the news reports, and the Hero with No Fear brought the traitor to justice himself. He is to stand trial. If past trials are anything to go by, he will be executed.

Ahsoka doesn’t know the full story, but she knows enough to know that the news doesn’t have it either. She wonders what the truth is, and she has her suspicions, but she decides she doesn’t want to know, not really. All she knows is the repeated times Master Obi-Wan had said, “something feels wrong,” after being in Chancellor Palpatine’s presence and how much it must be crushing Anakin to know one of his closest, most trusted friends was betraying them all along.

She wants to see him. Talk to him.

Before, she was too afraid to reach out. Before, she feared what would happen if she did. Mostly, she was too afraid to go back to the Temple; too afraid to see her former home, too afraid of the ghosts that would haunt her there.

But now, the war is over. Anakin is home on Coruscant.

The war, she has to remind herself, is over.

Ahsoka calls Padmé and asks her if she can meet up with Anakin at her apartment. Padmé readily agrees, tells Ahsoka that he’s missed her, he’ll be glad to see her. They set up the meeting for two days from now and Ahsoka promises to be there.

Two anxiety filled days pass. Ahsoka finds herself standing at the door to Padmé’s personal apartments, debating whether or not to knock.

But she promised. She promised she’d be here. She wanted this.

Ahsoka knocks.

The door opens and standing there is Anakin, looking disheveled. Ahsoka cracks a weak smile. “Hi, Skyguy,” she manages before he scoops her up into a bone-crushing hug, lifting her feet off the ground.

“Hey, Snips,” he says, voice muffled in Ahsoka’s shoulder, and she wants to laugh, but mostly she wants to cry, because he’s alive, she can still feel his love for her in the Force, can feel how happy he is to see her. She’s happy to see him too.

He sets her down and ushers her inside, leads her over to a lavish dinner table and sits her down in one of the cushioned chairs. “Wait here, I’ll get us something to eat,” he says, then vanishes into another room before she can get a word in.

She folds her hands together on the table and bounces her leg, tries not to feel horribly out of place among the expensive decor and the elaborately stitched tablecloth when she’s wearing clothing she haggled for and repaired on her own.

Anakin arrives with plates with pastries, probably from Naboo. The smell of them makes her mouth water. He sets a plate down in front of her and takes his own seat across the table from her. She nods her thanks and picks what she wants from the selection.

Anakin doesn’t say anything for a while, merely watches her as she eats.

When she finally finishes, he says, “I’m glad you stopped by.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too. I’ve missed you.” And Master Obi-Wan, she doesn’t say.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, his voice thick. “And I want you to know, I’m really, really proud of you. And… And Obi-Wan was too. Still would be, if he could see you now.”

Ahsoka stands. She walks around the table to his side and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She shudders. His arms come up to clutch at her shoulders, curling solidly around her back.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Ahsoka says. “But I kept going to Dex’s and asking and it was the same thing every time.” She takes a shaky breath. “He’s really gone. I can’t believe he’s really gone. I didn’t even get to… I didn’t get to say…” She breaks off with a strangled noise.

She had wanted to say thank you.

She hadn’t even known she wanted to until he was already gone.

“Yeah,” Anakin croaks, and Ahsoka starts crying. “He’s gone. I still can’t believe it either.”

“It’s not fair,” Ahsoka sobs. “He was supposed to make it. He was supposed to see peace.”

“I know,” Anakin replies, and it sounds like he’s crying as well. “I wish he could’ve.”

“Master Yoda,” Anakin greets. “May I speak to you privately?”

Master Yoda glances up, then nods. “Of course, young Skywalker. Come, come.” He gestures for Anakin to follow him. They make their way through the halls—still more empty than they should’ve been, and Anakin wonders if they’ll ever be as busy as they were before the war—and to the gardens. Master Yoda takes a seat on the steps in front of the Force tree. He pats the space next to him and Anakin takes a seat.

Anakin had rehearsed what he wanted to say in his head for days, but now that he’s going to say it, he doesn’t remember the words.

“Retire from the Council, I will,” Master Yoda says.

Anakin glances over at the old master. “Really? May I ask why?”

“Old, I am,” Master Yoda says. “Planned to retire years ago, I did, but needed, I was, when the war started. Asked to stay, I was.” He hums and lays his gimer stick across his lap.

“Rest, I need,” he continues, and looks up at Anakin with a smile. “Grown much you have, young Skywalker. Offer you a place on the Council, I would like to.”

And Anakin understands the gravity of the request, how important such an offer is, but…

“I am honored, Master Yoda,” he says and looks away. “But I cannot accept such a position.”

Master Yoda’s ears quirk. “Reached an important decision, you have, hm?”

“Yes,” Anakin admits. “I wish to leave the Order. I have realized my path is not with the Jedi.”

“Hm,” Master Yoda grunts. “Disappointed, I am, but understand I do. Not for everyone, the path of a Jedi is. Came to this conclusion long ago, you did, yes?”

“I did.”

“Honor your vows to Senator Amidala you will, then?”

Anakin starts. “Wait. You knew? How did—”

Master Yoda starts laughing. “Knew, I did. Subtle you are not, young Skywalker. Knew of it, Obi-Wan did as well, from the beginning. Hoped, we did, that realize two different vows you could not keep. Too important, each are, to split your loyalty between.”

Then he sighs, a sad sound. “Selfish, we were. Needed you to fight, we did. Broken our vows all Jedi have in this war.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin says. “I would stay and help rebuild, but…”

“For what is in your heart, do not apologize, young Skywalker,” Master Yoda says, smiling again. “Beautiful, young love is. Take our vows, we do, so that others may exist in peace. But jailers, the Jedi are not. Free to leave, everyone is.”

Anakin doesn’t know what to say. He’d been prepared for disappointment, resentment. He expected to be thrown out. He hadn’t expected this. “Thank you, Master Yoda,” he says, and means it. He unclips his lightsaber and Obi-Wan’s and gives them to the old master. Master Yoda holds them up, investigates them.

He lifts them with the Force and opens them up, extracts the kyber crystals, then seals them again. The crystals fall into his outstretched claws. “Keep the frames, you may,” he tells Anakin. “With a crystal, a weapon the lightsaber is. But without a crystal, merely a shell, it is.”

Anakin accepts the lightsaber frames, cradles them in his hands with reverence. He stands and bows deep. “May the Force be with you, Master Yoda,” he says.

“May the Force be with you, Anakin Skywalker,” Master Yoda says.

(This is how you, Anakin Skywalker, finally make peace with Obi-Wan’s death, mere weeks after the war ends:

Out of the blue, you decide to give meditation an honest shot. You want to honor Obi-Wan's teachings, try to do the one thing you always stubbornly refused to all your life.

You go to the Room of a Thousand Fountains and sit under Obi-Wan’s favorite tree. You sit in silence for a while and work on clearing your mind, on calming the ever-present noise in your head. You focus on counting your breaths: inhale one two three, exhale one two three. Repeat. You go through your tumultuous emotions and you analyze them; you search for where they came from and you find their causes and you accept how and why they exist, and then you let them go. It’s a struggle, but you manage it.

With your mind now quiet for once in your life, you tap into the Force.

You open your eyes to a field. The sky is bright, blinding blue and long green grass spreads out for miles and miles around you, ebbing back and forth in the wind. The air smells sweet, like flowers, and you inhale and think of Padmé and her expensive perfume.

“I’m so proud of you,” a voice says at your right, and you turn to look. Obi-Wan sits next to you, cross-legged and palms open upwards, fingers curling loosely. He looks relaxed, the lines in his face smoothed away. There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes out across the open field in front of you both.

“Obi-Wan,” you say, your voice cracking. He looks at you with those gentle blue eyes, eyes you haven’t seen in forever and you choke out a sob, reach out with a shaking hand to touch his face.

He lets you do so and cradles your palm against his cheek, and he feels warm, feels alive.

“I’m proud of you,” he says again. “And I’m sorry for what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry nevertheless,” he replies.

You take him in, scan your eyes over every inch of him, try to burn this image into your brain forever: Obi-Wan smiling, no longer weighed down by exhaustion and grief, no longer sad in the eyes. Obi-Wan, with a fond expression on his face, hair greying at his temples, looking content, looking rested. You don’t want to forget this—don’t want to go the rest of your life without remembering how Obi-Wan looked when he was finally at peace.

“It hurt, didn’t it?” you ask. “Dying, that is.”

One corner of Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. “Of course it did,” he says.

“Were you afraid?” you whisper.

Obi-Wan tilts his head. Hums. “No,” he says. “I was disappointed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get to die fighting by your side.”

Your heart stutters. Your throat closes up. You feel tears in your eyes, hot and burning.

“I'm glad to have lived and fought alongside you,” Obi-Wan says. He moves so he faces you, kneeling, and he gently leads your hand away from his face. He clasps it between his own hands in his lap, warm and reassuring. “Thank you for all you've done, and all you will do. I'll always be with you, Anakin—just look to the Force, and you will find me."

“I love you,” you say, frantic and desperate, because you need him to know. You need him to know before he’s gone forever, before you lose your chance. “I love you, Master. I did. I still do. I will, no matter how much time passes. Thank you. For everything.”

Obi-Wan smiles again. “I love you too. I always have, and I always will.” He stands and your hand slips out of his. “May the Force be with you always, my friend.” You reach for him again, not quite certain what it is you want, and you watch as Obi-Wan’s body breaks apart, shattering into thousands of vibrant blue flower petals, blue like Naboo’s cloudless skies. The petals scatter, dancing across the endless green grass.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan,” you whisper to the wind.

You open your eyes to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Your cheeks are wet. You wipe your face with the backs of your hands. You feel more tears stinging your eyes, but you don’t feel sad.

In fact, you’ve never been more at peace.)

“C’mon Luke, Leia. Not much farther to go,” Anakin calls and adjusts his grip on his satchel. His children sprint up the hill after him, faces pink with exertion and laughter. They’re five, now, and their faces are still squishy and their bodies are wiry and thin and full of energy, and sometimes Anakin doesn’t think he can keep up with them. He already misses the extra pairs of hands Ahsoka and her girlfriend provide.

“Dad,” Leia says, grasping his hand and tugging, “where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You said that a hundred times!” Luke complains. “I’m tired.”

“Well, I’ll carry you, then,” Anakin says and crouches down to pick Luke up, but Luke crosses his arms and pouts.

“No!” he protests. “I can do it by myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Anakin shrugs. “Leia, do you want Daddy to carry you?”

“Yes!” Leia says. She giggles as Anakin hefts her up and settles her on his shoulders. She grips his hair and yanks, but he doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to it.

“I wanna go up,” Luke says and points at Leia.

“I thought you wanted to walk on your own,” Anakin replies. “Leia’s already got your spot. Guess you’ll have to be faster next time, Luke-y.”

Luke glares up at his twin from the ground. “Fine,” he huffs and crosses his arms.

Anakin laughs and offers a hand to his son. Luke begrudgingly takes it and follows his father along the path.

They enter the gardens, a ways off from their estate on Varykino, and go into the cemetery. It’s not too severe a hike that Anakin is worried about getting both of the kids home safely, and Padmé had insisted he take them by himself. “Go spend some time alone with them,” she’d said. “They need quality dad time.”

Anakin leads them to a blank marker in a secluded corner, surrounded by bushes of blue flowers, and sets Leia down on the grass. She runs to Luke and they start a conversation that Anakin pays no attention to. He puts his satchel down and pulls a blanket from it, settles it over the grass and lays out the sandwiches and snacks. The kids have wandered off, reading off the words etched onto other gravestones.

“Lunch is ready, kids,” he says, and they come running over and flop onto the cloth.

“Why are we here?” Leia asks.

“See this grave?” Anakin asks, pointing to the blank marker.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Why’s there no name?”

Anakin smiles sadly. “It’s for your Uncle Obi-Wan. You remember the stories I told you about him, right?”

Leia nods. “He was the bravest person ever to exist ever,” she says.

“Yes,” Anakin laughs. “He was. He isn’t buried here, but I still wanted to bring you here to say hello to him.”

“If he’s not here, how will he hear us?” Leia asks, ever perceptive.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin says. “He’ll hear you.”

Luke crawls over to the empty headstone. “Hi, Uncle Obi-Wan,” he says. “I don’t know you but I’m glad you were friends with Daddy.”

“Daddy told us all about you,” Leia adds. “He told us all the stories, but my favorite is the story about…”

Leia launches into a retelling of a mission Anakin had told her about, one of the many kid-friendly and epic adventures in which Obi-Wan had been the hero of the day, and Anakin can’t help the grin spreading across his lips.

Obi-Wan would’ve loved them. Anakin knows he would’ve. And he knows Luke and Leia would’ve adored him too.

If this moment is anything to go by, they already do.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #padme amidala #general grievous #dendrals fanfics #completely unbeta'd so apologies for mistakes #tip: click the link imbedded in the title for the song that goes with this piece #@ everyone who cried bc of this: it's ok i cried writing it #we're all crying together

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pumpkin-lith · 7 years

Text

Tide pool

I’m in love with @the-last-hair-bender ‘s wonderful Coppertail story and I LOVE the spinoff with fisherman Cody and the side of Echo/Fives that I’m really reallyyyy happy happened. Go read it, it’s awesooome. Mermen AUs are a real weakness of mine, and it’s been gnawing at my mind for several days, so. I got the-last-hair-bender authorisation to play in her sandbox (seabox ?) and I present you more mermen clones :) I hope I did her truly amazing work and worldbuilding justice ! Under a cut, it got long !

Kix stretched as he exited the refuge, smiling when the strong outside wind hit his face. It was always a wonderful thing after being stuck inside for hours. The sun was setting, no clouds above to foretell rain after the large storm of the previous day, nothing prevented him to go back home while walking along the beach. Longer than walking on the pavement, going through the town, but far more beautiful.

He could never understand summer vacationers who fled the beach as soon as it was not bright daylight, with blue sky and sun shining. The sea was beautiful under the darkening sky, mysterious under the moon, awe-striking during a tempest… Moreover, it was always soothing for him. Grounding. After years of chaotic life, something as unchanging as the sea was the best thing in the world. Kix walked along the shore, letting the crashing waves almost lick at his shoes, whistling and letting his mind wander. The peaceful evening took a turn for the weird once he spotted the body.

No sane mer left the safety of their reefs during a storm. Most of them loved when the sea came alive, and the currents were strong enough to play, but leaving the reef was a very stupid thing to do. Either you’d get into the open waters and find yourself nose to snout with a predator, or you’d get close to the shore and would end up thrown against the rocks. Neither of those choices were wise.

But, well, Jesse had never said he was used to following his peers expectations. He prefered spending his days at a low pace, drifting close to the sands and talking with the nurse mersharks, than swimming everywhere at once. Prefered making music rather than train for being a guard or something like that. He was a good hunter, had the teeth to prove it, spending his days brawling… no thanks. And, during a storm, he loved nothing more than jump between high waves and let the currents throw him around, swimming faster while pulled along their streams…

But Jesse miscalculated his speed, and ended up too far from the safe limits of the reef barrier and by the time he realized he was too close to the shore, he had hit the first rocks. The currents turned from playful to vicious as they threw him against sharps boulders, plastered him against the sand and choked him, flung him across wooden posts.

Jesse saw the cliffside just before he hit it and tried to protect what he could, curling on himself and his tail wrapping around him, his head between his arms. The shock knocked him out instantly, as the backwash threw him against the rocks again, and again, and again.

It was laying in one of the tide pools, next to the cliff, behind the breakwater posts. Something on it had glinted with the setting sun and, if Kix’s eyes hadn’t been sharp, he would never have seen it. As he made his way through the rocks, Kix still hoped it was a shop mannequin, flung to the sea by yesterday’s strong win, rather than a real human. His wish was only half granted. It was real. But it wasn’t quite human. That part stopped at the hips. Under that, it was a long, powerful… tail. Shark, if Kix’s dumbfounded brain could be trusted, a guitar one maybe, with those fins and spots. Persuaded that he was dreaming, probably after falling asleep at his desk at the refuge, Kix kneeled next to the… merman. Well then. He was hurt, that much was clear, cuts and bruise everywhere on his back and arms, deep wounds crusted with blood and sand, the tail twisted unusually on its side. There were bright blue spots all over his body, both tail and skin, a large cluster of it on the side of his face like a tattoo, gills on his neck and flanks, and a large belt made with teeth around his hips. Eyes used to search for anomalies spotted the unusually large torso, a pair or two more ribs than a human, the webbed fingers… This was far too elaborate to be a scam, Kix mused, running a hand across the place where skin left place to the slick tail. He saw no traces of stitches or even glue… And then the corpse opened his eyes and jumped on him. He was heavy and Kix fell back, splashing into the water, the mer flashing teeth as sharp as razors at him, screeching and bearing on him. Kix held him at bay like he could, thrashing and thrusting his hands against the mer’s chest, but his mouth was at the same level as the water and he choked on seawater, the salt of it stinging at his eyes, the mer trying to push him under the surface. Kix did the only thing he could think of, basing his guess on how you could deal with sharks, and hit the gills on the creature’s flank as hard as he could. The mer screeched and bolted away from him, raking a clawed hand against Kix’s scalp, making him cry out and curse. Human and mer faced one another, and then the mer turned away and swam away… Until he realised he was trapped. It was low tide, and he was in a pool, dozens of miles away from the sea.

The mer turned wary eyes towards Kix, hissing and spitting like daring him to come closer. Like if. Kix was very happy to stay away from the clawed, toothed impossibility in front of him, thank you.

Jesse might have panicked slightly when he woke, in pain and aching, to too-warm fingers proding at his hip and the first thing he saw was legs. All guilt he might have had for jumping the human fled when the damn landwalker kicked him in the gills, though, and he had been fully ready for a very dignified fleeing. Except he couldn’t. Because the sea had gone and left him behind and until it came back… he was trapped, at the human’s mercy.

And he had just tried to kill him. Good job, dolphin-brain.

Jesse settles for hissing and looking menacing, hoping the human will go away. Because now that surprise isn’t on Jesse’s side, he isn’t sure he’ll win if the landwalker attacks. Sure, he’s more powerful and he has his teeth and his claws. But he can feel pain in his tail, twisted cartilage and pulled muscles, and his whole torso aches. Adrenaline fades, leaving him tired. He just wants to lie in the shallow water and wait for the tide, not fight. The human doesn’t attack. But he doesn’t leave, either. He settles on a rock, his… fett in the water and watches him, blood leaking from the wounds Jesse put on the side of his face. And then he starts to talk. Well. Maybe Jesse should have learned human, then.

Kix watches as the merman acts like a cornered, wounded animal. He knows better than to go near, he doesn’t want a matched set of wounds on the other side of his head, but he also can’t leave. Instincts, old and new, medic ones and vet ones, are telling him to help but he has no idea where to even begin. Or even approach the frightened, hostile mer. And that’s still a bit of a mindfuck, and Kix isn’t hundred percent sure he’s not hallucinating.

Short of any other ideas, Kix starts to talk to him, soothing words and promises and low, non-threatening voice. Like the fearful or abused animals he gets at the shelter, it’s not what he’s saying that counts but the tone.

He tries it for a few minutes then moves slightly forward. The merman trashes into the water, his tail flinging itself at him, the long, heavy caudal fin almost hitting him in the face. Kix backs off and starts again with the low, soothing sounds. He has time, the tide won’t be back for a few hours yet.

Three times, the human talking to him in gibberish with the obvious intent of trying to calm him down tries to approach. Three times, Jesse trashes in the water and snarls, spits water at him and makes shows of lunging forward, claws and teeth bared. But it’s exhausting and he’s feeling his head spin a bit, and the tide is still so far away… The fourth time, Jesse lets the human come close. He’ll let him believe he’s given up and the moment the human tries to do anything, he’ll bury his teeth in his neck and that will solve the problem easily. Except. Except the human doesn’t try to steal his belt, or attack, or drag him to shore. He sits waist deep in the water and touches him fleetingly, a few seconds at most and then his hands retreat and does he takes Jesse for an otter, to pet or to scritches ?? But then, he cups water in his hands and… pours it on Jesse’s injured shoulder ? Uh. Is the human trying to help ?

Turns out he is. He’s rinsing Jesse’s wounds and softly touching the bruises to check for broken bones and he has a thing in a metal can that stinks and stings but does help with the pain when he slathers it on the cuts. And Jesse is tired and the human is strangely warm, so he lets go, relaxing until his back is pressed against the human’s knees, letting him work. Humans are very strange. It’s when the water’s edge starts to rise that Jesse realises what he’s doing. Half lying in a human’s lap, almost purring like a pet ! He throws himself out of the human’s hold, finally able to leave the pool to go back to the sea, ignoring the human’s shouts as he dives far away from the shore.

* Kix stares, a bit dumbfounded, as the merman runs… well, swims out of his reach like the hounds of hell are after him. He looks like an idiot, sitting waist deep into cold seawater, freezing his ass off, the sun gone since long, a half empty tin of antiseptic balm in his hand, his head hurting and itching with his own wounds.

The following morning, the cold and the three deep gouges on the right side of his scalp are the only proofs he has that he hasn’t just had the weirdest dream ever. Kix carefully shaves the hair around the cuts to treat them, debates going to the hospital and decides that he has no idea how to even begin an explanation so in the end, he doesn’t. Won’t be the first time he take care of his own injuries.

As time passes, the cuts heal though they scar and Kix… finds he like the look of them, a bit ragged, one even has sharp angles like a lightning bolt, and he keeps his hair buzzed short on the sides, to show them off. Answering questions about them becomes almost a game and ‘I was attacked by a clawed mershark’ is actually something he says quite often. Most people rolls their eyes or think it’s hilarious.

When he’s working at the shelter, helping the owner clean up or taking care of the paperwork, when his mind can wander, though… he thinks about the mer. Kix hopes he’s okay.

Jesse has acted like a rough, uneducated, ungrateful urchin. Once he got chewed out for going near the shore during a storm, the healer congratulated him, though begrudgingly, for taking such care of his wounds. Except, Jesse did not. He hasn’t even touched them. That was all… that was all the human with his weird stinging stinking goo.

The human helped heal his wounds and Jesse almost bit his head off. He deserves to be called a dolphin-brained urchin, he swears. Worse, urchin-brained dolphin. So he goes back -not during a storm, thank you- and waits as long as he dares near to the spot that becomes a tide pool when the sea retreats. Of course, the human isn’t here. Maybe he never does, or only during the low tide, or a thousands other reasons. Jesse just wishes he’ll be lucky, sticks a long piece of wood into the sand and ties the bag to it, before swimming back to the caves.

Kix will admit it, he’s stupidly looking forwards to Fridays, when he gets off at just the right time to walk home along the beachfront. And if he stops by a tide pool and grins like an idiot, still hardly believing he got to see a real merman, stroking the three scars on his scalp because they are the proof he did not just had a bad trip… Well. Nobody needs to know. So it understandably pisses him off when he sees trash floating in the tide pool. Litterers are the worst, especially when it comes to the sea. A single plastic bag can kill so many species, it’s ridiculous. With a muttered curse, Kix goes past the breakwaters posts to the pool and frowns at the bag. It’s been tied to a stick, planted in the sand. It looks deliberate rather than just floating trash. Carefully, Kix unties it… and almost gets a fish tail in the face, as two large fishes fret in a panic inside the bag. Startled, Kix drops the bag and the two fishes flee in the water. Uh. A trap, then, rather than trash? But it would not be a very useful one, few fishes are usually stuck in tide pools, even large ones, usually it’s more shrimps and the likes, and the trap was too high, barely hanging in the water instead of submerged… Kix looks the bag over. It’s… strangely made, with a material that looks like a plant, seaweed maybe, and the tie doesn’t look like something that could wield the bag shut once something swam in. The fishes were already in the trap when it was left in the pool. And at the bottom of it...

Kix retrieves the necklace, looking at it with wide eyes. The pendant is truly lovely, a simple stone, shining under the light of the setting sun, blue striped with yellow. It’s transparent and so clear Kix has the very powerful doubt this is a gemstone, not a rock. But it’s the two small shark teeth on each side that make him believe that this was, maybe, left here deliberately.. The last time he saw those kind of teeth, they were on a merman’s decorative belt. Now, he can’t be sure it was intended for him. It could be a thank you, it could be an apology, but it could also very well be some kind of gift to the pool, for keeping the mer alive while he was unconscious or… anything, really. Kix has no idea how that could work, and he does not want to be irrespectful and take something meant for a god or deity or the like. Leaving it in the pool, though, it’s a risk someone else will find and take it…

Kix puts the necklace around his neck. As soon as he’s home, he’ll check the high tide times for the next week, and call the manager to work his timetable around them. Better to be sure, and all that, maybe the mer will come back to check.

And Kix would lie if he pretended he wasn’t excited at the idea of seeing him again.

Jesse waits four days before going back to check, partly because he had some things to do and cannot leave the caves all the times, mainly because he’s worried he’ll find his bag untouched, either because the human did not came, or because he refused his apology.

When he gets here, the stick of wood is still planted in the sand, but there is no bag. There is, however, a large shape stuck to it, made with metallic wire, forming an arrow pointing upwards. The tide is high, the surface is at least four meters above him, and Jesse swims up, torn between excitement and anxiety. The human is sitting on the rocks, out of reach of the waves. His smile is blinding, even from afar and he waves and climbs down until he’s at the edge of the water, Jesse carefully winding his way through the submerged rocks to join him. And then he dies, because the human is wearing the necklace, which means his apology is accepted, but he also… he has cut his hair, and Jesse knows the three scars on the side of his head were made by his claws, and the human is putting them on display, for everyone to see and Jesse is blushing so hard at the obvious courtship. Are all landwalkers that forward ?

(Have a bonus MerJesse thanks to that lovely dollmaker and please ignore the awful attempts at designing a big shark teeth)

#star wars #merman au #coppertail #coppertail au? kinda ?#the-last-hair-bender #is letting me play with her amazing au #my fic #jessix #Jesse #Kix #cultural misunderstandings #are a favorite trope of mine #if you can't tell

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mesdea · 7 years

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This chapter was kicking my ass. I don’t think I’ve ever taken this long to write a chapter. I started at 8am this morning and it’s now around 3pm. *looks at the word count* I’m just over 2.5k words. Typically I’m at least at 3.5 to 5k for each chapter.

I am giving up until next week. I guess a short update is better than nothing. I just wish I knew what was wrong with me today, feel like I can’t sit still or concentrate. Anyways, I hope people will forgive me. I don’t think I can stare at this chapter any longer. Qui-Gon I love you, but you were just an awful dick to my muse today!

*Translations at the end*

The solitary sound in the apartment was the harsh pant of the man who had raced down the passages in pursuit of a quest. It wasn’t his standard assignment, mind you; it was something that had been steeping inside his mind for almost a day. Had it only been one day since he had observed the emergency Senate meeting on the holo-vid with more than a dozen clones surrounding him? Garen reflected that it had been an eternity since he had looked upon the one time smiling padawan turned knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but this was not that same individual. What he observed on the screen caused his skin to crawl and his body ache to embrace his old friend. He seem to be everything that Jedi should be. His tunics were pristine, his posture perfect and most of all his tone rang with the hollow unemotional tinge that only the eldest Jedi mastered. In short, his friend, no his brother looked grown-up, wiser and utterly broken at the words he was meant to say.

Acheros massaged at his chest, not fighting off the young man in the least. He deserved this and more, but he wouldn’t fight with him. “Would you care for some tea, Garen? I seem to have…spilt mine.” The lanky man just gestured over the coffee table at the spilled liquid as if this was just an everyday visit.

“How could you watch that display, in person no less, and allow this all to continue, Qui-Gon? You left him in the dark, totally alone!” The questions gushed off his tongue with a deep hatred only to patter out in the end as he whispered the master’s given name.

Acheros turned to the kitchen, setting the kettle to simmer once more. He was dithering and they both knew it, but Garen allowed it anyway. He knew not to pressure this man who was precariously standing on the edge of a cliff between the darkness and the light. They had gone down that road when they met in an obscure corridor on an outer rim planet just weeks ago. In fact, had the Sith not been toying with him, they would both be worse for the wear. Garen had quickly ignited his saber and attacked. He thought to maim now and ask questions later. Garen had decided he wasn’t going to be number forty-one on this monster’s execution list.

It happened to be a long drawn out bout that had the Sith completely on the defensive, he would not launch an attack at the young Jedi. The battle had meant to wear him down both physically and emotionally but Garen persisted to press forward until the Sith stretched out his hand and without any effort held him against the filthy wall. Garen recalled that moment with perfect clarity, which his life looked to be at an end. He seized the moment to whisper a prayer to his friend, knowing how this would break Obi-Wan. To know that his greatest hope had destroyed his oldest friend, it all felt too fresh as Garen watched the man before him make tea.

“I would ask that you not use that name, even in private. Qui-Gon Jinn died on Naboo.” The words were bitter, but brooked no argument.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like my honesty but to be fair I don’t like your lies.” Garen wasn’t so forgiving this time.

Acheros tightened his hands on the clean white surface of the counter, bowing his head to the darkness that threatened his every waking moment. “Truth gets you killed. Love gets you hurt and being real gets you hated.”

“You don’t get off that easy, QUI-GON.” Garen was known for being a little shit when his hackles were raised, especially when it involved his friends. “I want an explanation as to why you aren’t letting him in on your secret?”

“I gave you the answer. If I tell him the truth, he will not play his part. The truth will get him killed and I can live with many things, but not that.” He gestured for the Jedi to sit at the table, two cups sat before them as he poured the steaming water. “I know you think I’m a monster and I can live with that, because it’s simply the truth. However, in order for my plans to continue, he must believe me to be that monster. It’s for his protection, Garen. Do you think if he even suspected there was a sliver of light left in my soul that he would give up?”

Garen palmed the warm cup in his hands, not wanting the comfort of the liquid set before him. “So this is all for his protection? What of his soul, Qui…Acheros?” He really couldn’t stand that name on his lips “He may live, but what good is living without the beautiful soul that has always made him our Obi-Wan?”

“I’ve had enough of this questioning. I made a decision, and you will either have to live with it or I WILL turn our secret into a reality. This is bigger than you or I and I will see him survive.” Acheros rose to his full height before the new Knight, his eyes going from a crystal blue to deep amber.

“He will not forgive you.” The words were soft, as Garen stood to leave.

“If he lives to be happy one day, then it is something I can live with. That is what love is, you know?” Acheros paused for a moment, thinking back to Obi-Wan’s first smile. “Wanting what’s best for someone, even if it’s not you.” Garen paused and stared into the strangely glowing amber. He looked like he was going to say something but only continued on towards the door.

“If you believe any of that, you are a bigger fool than I ever believed, Qui-Gon Jinn.” The words had a sad inflection as he stepped through the open door to his own quarters. He would stay on Kamino for now, ready for a future that was in the hands of a rogue Sith, my how things had changed.

As the door slid shut, Acheros tried to ease the headache that was brewing within the force. “That could have gone better.” He sat with his tea between his hands for comfort, his head pounding from stress and lack of sleep when the door chimed once more. If Garen had come back for more, he might forget he was once Jedi and gag and chain the young man to the wall. “What else could you…Oh, Cody?”

The clone had a bewildered look on his face as if he wished he had not chosen this moment to have an audience with his leader. “I’m sorry, Sir. I can come back.” Cody took in his appearance and sighed. “Sir, are you ok?” Acheros had come to depend heavily on this clone, no this man. The more he thought of them as men, the more humanity he held onto, the light.

“Yes, Cody. I’m sorry to growl at you. It’s been a rough day, month, year….lifetime?” The tall figure gestured for him to enter and lightly rubbed at his sore head.

“It’s no wonder you have a headache you know. You hide from your master; you hide from the Jedi, hell you even hide from your allies. Qui-Gon, when are you going to let anyone in?” Cody had no fear of the Sith, he never had. Acheros marked it down to regarding him and his brothers as human and not a commodity to be bought and paid for as they had been bred for. Cody observed as the elder man collapsed into the sofa, his bathrobe untying somewhat to expose battered and bruised flesh. “You’re hurt? Why didn’t you report to medical? Kix would gladly assist with those.”

“It’s just my body and will mend. Sidious has this fixation with me. I suppose deep down he believes he loves me.” It was such an unorthodox statement to make to a subordinate, but Cody had turn out to be his greatest confidant. He was someone that under no circumstance appeared to judge him for his past or his present. His friend didn’t entice him to stay in the light and in no way attempted to seduce him to the dark. He could just be himself. He had grown to depend on their quiet moments.

“Please be careful, obsession can lead even the most powerful to their demise, and he could bring you with him, Ner kotir verd.” Cody rested next to him, not uttering another word, just allowing him the companionship that had been missing for so many years.

“Cody, are you happy?” The question stunned him.

“I haven’t really thought about it. I am content.” Cody regarded the man fretting with the cord to his robe, deep in his reflections.

“Content is not necessarily happy. Is this the life you would choose if we weren’t all pulling your strings?” It was a topic that they had both talked about in detail, but his Commander never appeared to let it go. It was hard to put in plain words to someone born to freedom, to choice. It just wasn’t something that Cody or his Vods had thought much about. They were born, they were instructed and they did their job. It was only when the long haired man was introduced to them did they learn to question. It was then that they met Jango, whom was ever protective of them, like a true father would be.

“Honestly, I don’t know that I could tell you what happy means. I have my vods around me. I have met my Buir that seems to honor us. I thought I would pay tribute to my clan and die to guard the Senate’s wishes.” Cody hesitated and turned the worn face towards him, gently caressing the slightly greyed whiskers. “Through all this, I met you. You don’t see the man we see, the nobleman I see. You see a destroyed Jedi, a reviled Sith. It’s black and white for you, and others that would know you, but we see beneath your façade.”

Acheros all of a sudden felt uncomfortable in his skin. He had portrayed this game for so long, that he wasn’t used to anyone glimpsing underneath that hard exterior. “Cody, I…” That gaze was set so firmly on him that he didn’t know how to react to the moment.

“You will never love me that way, I know. However, knowing I’m in a world where you exist, Yes, I am happy.” Cody looked away and let his fingers linger just a moment longer before letting go.

Acheros sighed, reaching out to take his friend’s hand inside his. “I will always love you, Cody. I just…”

“I understand, Qui-Gon. Your heart will always ache for your lost chances. I hope he knows one day how lucky he’s been to have you in his life.” Cody just stood and pulled the exhausted form to his feet. “Time for bed, no arguments.”

“I wouldn’t argue. You would have the entire platoon in here sitting on top of me.” Cody laughed and it brightened the darkened room. “Thank you Cody, for being my friend and understanding…” Qui-Gon pulled the cord from his robe and let it fall to the ground, quickly slipping between the cool sheets. Cody tried to turn from the sight, the sight that wasn’t meant for him, and the bruises that he wanted to soothe. “Jate ca ner cabur.” They were the last words Qui-Gon spoke as sleep finally overtook him.

Cody lingered just a moment longer, wanting to keep the nightmares that plagued him at bay. “Ni Kelir ratiin kar’taylir darasuum gar. Ni vercopa kaysh buyca pehea pirusti kaysh cyuir cyare.”

Cody returned to the sparse room, putting up the tea cups and cleaning up the mess on the coffee table. He would not leave just yet; he wanted to ensure that their leader rested this time. “I am happy with you, even if you don’t love me in return.” The words were spoken to no one in particular as he picked up a book and started to read, he wouldn’t leave just yet, he still had a place here.

“Anakin, you’re still leading with your left.” Mace yelled down toward the mat as he watched his former padawan spar with his new one. He was hesitant to let Obi-Wan out of his sight after the senate hearing and then after the tree incident. Anakin was a blessing in disguise as he bolted after the new Knight and begged for a saber lesson.

“Sorry…” The youngling looked a bit dejected, but readied his saber once more.

“I think that is enough for today. Thank you for my lesson, Ani.” The Knight bowed to his brother padawan and saw the shocked smile form.

“But, You…Won.”

“There are still lessons to be learned when you win. The world is a classroom, Ani, and you will never stop learning, even from those younger than you.” Obi-Wan brushed the shaggy haircut and smiled at his master. “I think I’ve had enough for one day.” Mace’s smile turned to a frown. “I just need a shower, some sleep and honestly…I need some time alone to meditate. I’m ok, Master, I promise.”

Mace just nodded at Obi-Wan and quickly ushered his padawan to the showers. “You know where I am if you need me?”

“Of course, but I’m not going to break.”

“Never thought you would, but you do tend to brood.” The master smirked.

“I do NOT brood.” Obi-Wan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a white towel.

“Brood you do.” They both chuckled as the gimmer stick came in contact with his delicate shins. “Proud of you, I am. Easy, today was not. Jedi you were.”

Obi-Wan let the towel rest over his head, his ears heating with the compliment. “Thank you, Master Yoda, but I just did what anyone…”

This time the gimmer stick connected much harder with his bone. “Learn to take a compliment you did not. Fault your master, I do.”

The two masters just laugh quietly at each other. “Well if you two are quite done, I’m going to get a shower and sleep.” He suddenly felt a deep guilt wrench at his insides. How could he laugh and joke after what he had done today? He denounced Qui-Gon Jinn forever. No longer to be spoken about in public, forever shamed and shunned in the eyes of the Jedi. Every bit of hope was gone.

“Ben?” Mace had been speaking to him.

“Sorry, I still. I guess I still need some time. Forgive me, masters.” Obi-Wan quickly bowed and practically ran to his quarters. Feeling the door shut behind him he finally let go of his emotions and wept. “I’m so sorry, Garen. I should have stopped him. I should have been by your side not his. I’m not even sure I’m worthy of the name Jedi any longer.” He was speaking to no one in particular, but he had hoped to feel his friend within the force. “They said there is no death, only the force. Where are you Garen?”

Obi-Wan forwent the shower and just drug his body to the unmade bed. Tomorrow he would have to get up and plan for the future. Tomorrow would start a new mission, a new life, but tonight he could mourn for the tomorrow that his friend would never see. “I will find him, Garen. I will make sure Darth Acheros pays with his last breath. He will not harm another Jedi, another innocent. It may destroy me, but I will do what I must.” Tears fell to the pillow as sleep finally overcame the knight. Tomorrow was truly a new day, with a new purpose.

Translations:

Jate ca ner cabur = Good night my protector.

Vod(s) = Brother(s)

Buir = Father

Ner kotir verd = My Brave Soldier

Ni Kelir ratiin kar’taylir darasuum gar. Ni vercopa kaysh buyca pehea pirusti kaysh cyuir cyare. = I shall always love you. I hope he recognizes how well he is loved.

#quiobi #obi wan/qui gon #Qui Gon Jinn #obi wan kenobi #the philosophy of lost chaces #obiqui #jinnobi #Obi-Wan was never Qui-Gon's padawan

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