#Quinlan looked away for one second!!!!

[adhd-coyote]

QuinFox and #34 for the kiss meme??

34 - A kiss after a bite

This ended up a lot softer than I meant it to, but I love it <3

-

“Mine.”

The word is nothing but a soft puff of air against Quinlan’s neck, and yet it sends shivers down his spine. Fox presses a kiss to his pulse point and moves lower, to his collarbone.

“Mine.”

Another soft kiss, followed by a teasing nip. Quinlan’s breath stutters, hand tightening in Fox’s hair, but he holds still, as Fox had told him to. Fox’s displays of affection aren’t usually this soft, but Quinlan certainly doesn’t mind. Especially not when Fox’s crystalline presence is sparkling so beautifully. There’s fractals of color being thrown across the walls, lighting up Fox’s dim bunkroom. Quinlan wishes Fox could see it.

“Mine.”

The next kiss is on Quinlan’s jaw. Fox’s chapped lips brush against his stubble, tracing Quinlan’s jawline until he reaches the shell of Quinlan’s ear. Fox nuzzles and whispers again,

“Mine.”

Another kiss. They both run hot, but Fox runs hotter. His touch feels like brands against Quinlan’s skin, burning him, sending fire through his veins. Quinlan craves more of it. He can never get enough of Fox, even now, both of them stripped down and pressed together, nothing but skin-on-skin.

“Mine.”

The next one has more possessiveness in it. Quinlan can feel Fox’s lips moving against his temple as he repeats the claim, voice breathy and rough. As a Jedi, Quinlan should shy away from possessiveness like this, but he’s a Shadow. He knows how to walk the line between Light and Dark. And Obi-Wan has always said he has a thirst for danger. Fox is very dangerous.

“Mine.”

The corner of Quinlan’s mouth. Quinlan wants to tilt his head and catch Fox’s lips in a proper kiss, wants to devour him and be devoured in return. But that will come later. He may not look it, but Quinlan knows how to be patient.

“Mine.”

Back down to his neck, on the curve of his Adam’s apple. There’s another nip with this one, and the tiny flash of teeth against skin shoots a thrill through Quinlan’s limbs. Still, he waits.

Fox returns to the side of Quinlan’s neck. His lips brush over Quinlan’s pulse point again, and then his tongue, a wet heat that never fails to drive Quinlan out of his mind. Quinlan can hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel his blood rushing with anticipation, but keeps his breathing even and his eyes fixed on the dancing colors of Fox’s presence in the Force.

Fox licks again, and then his teeth are positioned over a familiar spot. His favorite spot to bite, right over Quinlan’s pulse point, high enough that the mark will be seen over the collars of any of Quinlan’s tops.

“Mine.”

Fox bites, and Quinlan moans as sharp canines dig in just hard enough to bruise without breaking skin. Fox has never gone that far, says he never will, but honestly, Quinlan certainly wouldn’t mind if he did. He’s a little fucked up that way.

The bite lasts for exactly five seconds, and then the pressure vanishes, leaving a throbbing ache that is quickly soothed by Fox’s tongue lapping over the slowly-forming bruise. Then, chapped lips again, pressing a gentle kiss where sharp teeth had been just moments before.

“Mine.”

-

Kiss ask game - still accepting asks!

[danikamariewrites]

A New King

Ruhn x reader

Notes: Happy last day of @ruhnweek ! For Ruhn’s fall from grace I thought what would cause him to be disowned. Could he finally have partied too hard? Spent too much of daddy’s money? But none of that would piss the Autumn King off or make him pay attention to Ruhn. What would really piss the Autumn King off is if Ruhn started getting into politics, shadowing his father, attending important meetings.

Getting into a large disagreement about how to rule the Valbaran and Avallen Fae, the Autumn King casts his son out. Angry and on his own, Ruhn leaves Lunathion with his most loyal subjects following him. Establishing his new rule in the north, just outside of Nena, the rogue prince starts his campaign for his father’s throne. Ruhn is looking for alliances, even if it means getting married. The prince will go to any lengths to take down his father.

Warnings: none

Watching the snow covered country side blur past the car window you fidget with the fur gloves in your hands. Your winter ensemble was fit for a princess, which made sense, as you were going to be one in a week.

The maid had dressed you in a snow blue dress, heeled boots of the same color. Diamonds dangled from your ears with the matching pendant around your neck. The set was a gift from Ruhn, along with the promise of a ring to match.

You had been counting down the minutes until you would arrive at King Ruhn’s stronghold. Once a headquarters for the Asteri they abandoned, Ruhn thought it the perfect place to take up residence. It was out of reach from his father and any unwanted visitors would surely die of frostbite or hypothermia if they didn’t travel in from the main road, which was heavily guarded.

You were getting closer now. The increase of military vehicles on the side of the road gave away your proximity. When Ruhn left Lunathion he took a good chunk of the Aux and the 33rd with him. Once the news broke of the war between the king and his son more defected to his side, including some of the Asteri’s army.

Whether the Asteri sent the soldiers or not remained a mystery to the public. Questions ran through your mind when your parents told you they were allying with Ruhn. Would the Asteri let this happen? Would the fae and the city change for the better? You had even more questions when they told you you’d be his bride.

You had no issue about marrying Ruhn, besides the fact that your parents just gave you up without warning. Ruhn wasn’t cruel or crazy. You had never really thought he was serious about ruling in all honesty.

Your family was the wealthiest and oldest fae families after Ruhn’s. They had power and influence, everything the new king was looking for. Clearly your parents liked his idea of ruling better than the Autumn King’s. Otherwise you’d still be at home in the city, not hiding away in the country side.

The car pulled to a stop a little ways away from the entrance, parking near a row of military vehicles. Your nerves had your stomach in knots. Taking a deep breath you slip your gloves back on in anticipation of the few minutes you’d be outdoors.

“Ready?” Your mother asks enthusiastically. Shooting her a nasty scowl you open the door, sliding out of the black SUV.

Looking around you spot angels and fae dressed in thick winter wear, checking crates and cars, standing guard armed with guns and knives strapped to their thighs.

The old metal doors creaked open, catching your attention. A familiar looking red headed female makes her way over to you, her smile dazzling and welcoming. “Hello, I’m Bryce Quinlan, the king’s second hand.” She said in greeting, clearly very pleased with what her brother is doing. “You must be y/n. I’m here to take you to Ruhn.” You slightly bow to her, “It’s wonderful to meet you Bryce. Thank you for greeting us.”

“Come, I don’t want to keep him. The King has a packed schedule unfortunately today so you might not see him again until dinner.” Bryce turns to lead you and your parents into the stronghold.

Walking through the halls you expected the place to be more run down. It was quite the opposite, everything was polished and pristine. Everything was updated to be more modern looking from the flooring to the first lights.

Before you knew it you were all entering the “throne room”. Bryce had used air quotes when describing it because it wasn’t exactly that. More of a meeting room with a slightly larger chair for Ruhn. He was intent on an ostentatious display of power. You figured it was to not be anything like his father, which you respected him for.

Bryce cleared her throat, breaking up the conversation between Ruhn and three males you didn’t know. The one with angel wings gave the princess a loving look, only snapping on a cold look when he realized the company she was with.

The three males stood to the side, leaving the dark mysterious prince and you to just stare at each other. You couldn’t help but be captivated by his beauty. You’d only ever seen pictures of him on your phone and thought he was hot. Up close was something else. Ruhn’s blue eyes sparkled as they roved your body as your own took in each of his exposed tattoos and muscles outlined by his tight shirt.

Remembering your position you cleared your throat dipping into a small curtesy. “It’s an honor to meet you, your grace.” You didn’t know if he preferred prince or king. Ruhn, a slight smirk pulling at his full lips, bowed his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, y/n. I also want to thank you for agreeing to this, and for your support.”

“Of course,” you respond quietly. You could feel your parents staring intensely at the back of your head making your nerves return. It seemed Ruhn could sense your discomfort. Standing taller, commanding the attention of the Ruhn, all eyes went to him. “Could I have a moment alone with my bride-to-be,” he phrased it as more of a command than a question.

The three nameless males nodded along with Bryce, leaving with your parents in tow. Your mother seemed reluctant to leave you alone with Ruhn. Not for safety concerns, more because she was nosy and wanted to control the situation.

Once the doors shut and you were alone together you felt more relaxed. A shyness you had never felt before in your life took over, making your cheeks heat. Ruhn approached you, pulling out a chair for you from the long meeting table. “Thank you,” you whispered, taking a seat.

Sitting next to you he gives you a reassuring smile. “I know our marriage is not something you anticipated or even wanted. It’s a sacrifice whether you think so or not, and I will do everything in my power to make this as easy for you as possible. If there is anything you want or need please don’t be afraid to ask.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart soar.

When contemplating an arranged marriage by your parents you had always pictured them choosing a male who was stuck up and in his own world. While Ruhn is in his own world there is a kindness to him you’ve never seen in other males.

Ruhn continued asking you questions about yourself. What you went to school for, your interests, favorite foods, stuff like that. Before you knew it over an hour had passed. Staring at the clock you slightly jolted, remembering Bryce saying Ruhn had a busy schedule. “What is it?” Ruhn asks, worry lacing his tone.

“Oh, umm Bryce said you have a busy day and I didn’t mean to keep you this long,” that shyness came creeping back in, a blush dusting your cheeks again. Ruhn smiles sweetly at you. “Don’t worry about it. I am prince of this place, remember.” He teases with a raised brow, his piercing glinting in the sunlight coming through the tall windows.

“I don’t want to stress you out by thinking you’re keeping me.” He says, standing from the table and holding out his hand for you. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” You laced your fingers with his, letting Ruhn pull you along.

As he gave you a history of the stronghold you let your mind wander. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. Ruhn seemed to want to get to know you and he was quite charming. With time maybe your relationship can grow into something…more.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“The Lesser of Two Wars” pt.6

Commander Fox x Reader X Commander Thorn

The Senator didn’t move right away. Fox hadn’t left yet.

His presence lingered like a storm cloud—helmet still on, posture rigid, arms crossed as if restraining something darker beneath the surface. She watched him from the threshold of the corridor, neither of them speaking, the silence dense with unspoken heat.

“You disapproved,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer. “But you didn’t look away.”

Fox’s chin dipped, visor tilted down as if to hide the twitch in his jaw.

“Careful, Senator,” he said, voice low, cold, and shaken in a way only she could catch. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And you’re already in it.” Her tone sharpened, but her eyes stayed locked on his visor. “Don’t act like you haven’t been circling me like a hawk since day one.”

Silence.

Then,“You don’t know what I feel.”

“Then say it,” she challenged. “Say something real for once.”

Fox took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them—his body tense, his words tight and deliberate, repeating what she once said to him. “You don’t get to blame me for not hearing the things you’re too kriffing scared to say yourself.”

Her breath caught.

He stared at her for a moment longer. Then turned and walked away before either of them could cross a line they wouldn’t come back from.

⸻

The door to the barracks slammed open.

Fox stormed inside, the hard stomp of his boots warning enough that Thorn didn’t need to look up from the locker he’d been staring into for ten solid minutes.

“You disobeyed every line of protocol.”

Thorn stood. “So now you want to talk about it?”

“You kissed her on duty.”

“You watched it happen.”

Fox ripped off his gloves. “And you still did it.”

There was a pause—just long enough for tension to turn electric.

Thorn’s voice was quiet, but sharp: “You don’t get to pull rank on feelings, Fox. We both want her. Don’t pretend this is about regulation.”

That was it.

Fox swung.

Thorn caught it—barely—and shoved back hard. A scuffle broke out, fists colliding with durasteel lockers, helmets clattering to the floor. Fox grabbed Thorn by the collar, slamming him against the wall.

“You crossed a line.”

“You already crossed it—you’re just mad I got there first.”

A loud bark broke the chaos.

Grizzer lunged.

Hound rushed in a second too late as the mastiff clamped down on Fox’s arm with a growl. Stone grabbed Grizzer’s collar, Thire threw himself between the commanders, and Hound pried the dog off with a sharp command.

Fox’s arm bled. Thorn’s knuckles were bruised. Tension crackled like static.

Everyone froze.

“Stand. Down,” Thire barked, out of breath, eyes darting between them.

Fox wrenched his arm away from Hound, teeth gritted. “Keep that beast on a leash.”

“You two need to sort your osik out,” Hound snapped, patting Grizzer’s head with one hand and pointing at them both with the other. “Because if you don’t, you’re going to get someone killed. And I don’t mean each other.”

They stood in silence—breathing hard, eyes still locked.

It wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The medbay was dim, quiet. Just the way Fox liked it.

He sat on the edge of the cot, undersuit peeled down to his waist, jaw clenched as the auto-dispenser hissed out a cauterizing agent onto the bite wound on his arm. Grizzer had strong jaws. Too strong. The bastard left deep teeth marks, even through his sleeve.

Fox didn’t flinch.

He never did.

But rage simmered just beneath his skin—about the senator, Thorn, himself.

He’d lost control.

Again.

The door slid open.

Fox didn’t look up. “I said I wanted to be alone.”

“You say that every time you get mauled, Foxy.”

Fox’s spine stiffened.

No.

Not him.

Quinlan Vos strolled in like he owned the place, clad in his usual half-buttoned robes, smug grin painted across his face, and Force help the galaxy, his hair was down. That ridiculous mop of beach-bum locks falling into his eyes like he hadn’t just walked into the nerve center of the Republic Guard.

Vos whistled when he saw the blood. “Damn. That a Mastiff, or did Thorn finally snap and bite you?”

Fox didn’t answer.

“You know, for a guy with so much discipline, you really do attract violence like a magnet. It’s almost poetic.”

“Get out.”

“Now now, is that any way to talk to a Jedi Master who just happened to be in the neighborhood and heard a juicy rumor about a senator and two commanders trying to kill each other over her?”

Fox finally turned his head, slow and deliberate, eyes burning. “This is none of your business.”

Vos grinned wider. “That’s the thing about me, Foxy. I make everything my business.”

He walked over, casually picking up a bacta patch. “So which one of you kissed her first?”

Fox didn’t answer. Vos hummed.

“Ah. That’s how it is.”

He peeled the wrapper off the patch and handed it to him. Fox snatched it, slapping it over the wound with unnecessary force.

“You’re in deep, huh?” Vos said quietly now. His voice lost some of the usual lilt, turning thoughtful. “I can see it.”

Fox didn’t look at him.

“I’ve seen men go down this road,” Vos continued, watching him. “Some of them clawed their way back. Most didn’t.”

“She’s not yours,” Fox snapped.

Vos raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say she was.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because whether you like it or not, you’re coming undone, Commander. And I have orders to keep the Guard functioning. You spiral out, the whole tower burns with you.”

Fox stood. “I am not spiraling.”

Vos looked him up and down—shirtless, bleeding, jaw bruised, and still trembling with rage.

“Sure,” Vos said, slow and sarcastic. “Totally fine.”

Fox grabbed his gloves and helmet off the tray and stalked past him.

Vos called out as he left, “Tell Thorn I’ll be by to heal his bruises too. Or at least watch Hound chew him out again.”

Fox didn’t stop.

But the door nearly dented when it slammed behind him.

⸻

Thorn sat alone in the barracks’ quiet lounge, nursing a bruised knuckle and a splitting headache. Hound’s lecture was still ringing in his ears. Stone had suggested they cool off with a drink—Thire offered him a frozen steak for his eye. Grizzer, after biting Fox, had the audacity to curl up beside Thorn like he hadn’t instigated an all-out brawl.

The door slid open.

“You know,” came that too-smooth voice, “for a guy named after a sharp object, you sure wear your heart like it’s blunt.”

Thorn groaned and leaned back without looking. “Vos.”

“Commander,” Quinlan said, dropping onto the couch beside him uninvited. “Heard you and Fox went a few rounds over a senator.”

Thorn said nothing.

Vos smirked. “You’re both lucky Grizzer didn’t go for the face.”

Thorn rubbed his temple. “Why are you here?”

“Curiosity,” Vos said breezily. “And because I happen to be good friends with a certain Jedi who served with your senator. Back when she wasn’t a senator, but a commander. Small galaxy.”

Thorn looked over slowly. “You know someone who served with her?”

Vos held up a hand. “Before you ask—no, I won’t tell you who. Jedi confidentiality and all that. But I could get them to talk to her. Maybe help… unravel this whole little triangle you’ve got going on.”

Thorn tensed, then forced himself to relax. “She’s not in a triangle.”

Vos laughed. “Oh, my friend. She is the triangle.”

Thorn didn’t answer.

Instead, his tone shifted. “So it’s true. She really was a commander.”

Vos tilted his head. “Didn’t Fox tell you that already?”

“I wanted to hear it again.”

Vos grew slightly more serious. “Yeah. She was a hell of a one, too. Decorated. Respected. Feared.”

“Feared?” Thorn asked, brow furrowing.

Vos shrugged. “Depends on which side of the war you were on. But most of it’s been buried. Whole campaigns sealed. Records redacted. Even my Jedi friend won’t talk much. Said it’s classified—need-to-know.”

Thorn was silent.

“Truth is,” Vos continued, “you’ll only ever get her side of the story… if she wants you to have it.”

Thorn looked down at his bruised hand.

Vos added, softer, “Don’t push too hard, Thorn. That kind of past doesn’t stay buried without a reason.”

And with that, Vos stood and stretched like he’d done nothing more than offer career advice over caf.

“Tell Fox I say hi,” he called as he walked out. “And maybe try not to murder each other tomorrow. I’ve got credits on both of you for different reasons.”

The door hissed shut, leaving Thorn in a sea of silence… and questions he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to.

⸻

The tension had a scent—subtle, metallic. Like ozone before a storm.

She felt it in the way the guards shifted in the halls, in how Fox’s voice had lost its usual edge and become tightly controlled. In how Thorn hadn’t so much as looked her in the eye since yesterday. Something had changed.

She wasn’t surprised when her door chimed. But the man standing on the other side wasn’t Fox. Or Thorn. Or a summons from the Chancellor’s office.

“Kenobi,” she said.

Obi-Wan offered a patient, polite smile. “You always answer like I’ve come bearing bad news.”

“You usually do.”

He sighed. “Well, you’ll be relieved to know this time I only come bearing a headache.”

She stepped aside to let him in. “Vos?”

“Vos.”

That earned a smirk from her. “You want a drink?”

“Desperately

They settled on her balcony, the city golden and low in the sky, just shy of sunset. Ed She poured them both a drink—Alderaanian, smooth, aged. Obi-Wan accepted it with a look of wary gratitude.

“Why do I feel like this is some kind of delayed consequence for my past?” she asked.

“Because it absolutely is,” he replied. “But mostly, Vos sent me.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “He’s enjoying himself, isn’t he?”

“Far too much,” Obi-Wan muttered. “You know how he is. Any hint of personal drama and he acts like he’s watching theatre.”

“I should’ve let him get shot.”

“I was there. You tried to let him get shot.”

That earned a grin from her.

They sat for a moment, quiet. Comfortable. The kind of silence only people with shared history could sit in without it feeling heavy.

“You’ve seen them,” she said eventually. “The commanders.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And I’d say your presence is… significantly disruptive to their equilibrium.”

She snorted. “That’s a very Jedi way of calling me a problem.”

“I didn’t say you were a problem. I said you’re the gravity. They’re just circling.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Do you think Vos said anything to them?”

Obi-Wan arched a brow. “About?”

“About the war. About what I did.”

There was a beat. The drink in her hand warmed between her fingers.

“Vos knows more than he lets on,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “He always has.”

She looked away, toward the skyline. “I can’t afford them knowing everything. Not yet.”

“I doubt he told them everything. But he may have let enough slip to stir their curiosity.”

“I don’t want their curiosity. I want their professionalism.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything to that. He simply sipped his drink, contemplative.

“You were there too,” she said quietly. “You and Vos. You know what it was like.”

“I remember,” he said. “And I remember what you did. I also remember how much of it was buried under politics and repainted as something else.”

“That was the deal,” she said, bitterly. “Be the hero they needed, and maybe they’d forget I started as the villain.”

Obi-Wan set his glass down. “You were never the villain. You were a soldier. A leader. Same as the rest of us.”

“Tell that to the people I buried.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just watched her with those clear, tired eyes that had seen too much and judged too little.

“Do you regret it?” he asked finally.

“I regret that people like me had to exist at all,” she said. “But no. I don’t regret surviving.”

There was a long pause.

“I’ll keep Vos in check,” Obi-Wan said softly. “But I can’t stop the past from catching up.”

“Just slow it down,” she murmured. “Long enough for me to decide how I want to be seen.”

He offered a nod. “You always did like to control your narrative.”

“And yet,” she said with a small smirk, “I let you and Vos tell it for me.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “You never let us do anything. You were just smart enough to make us think we had the choice.”

She toasted him with her glass. “Still am.”

⸻

It hit faster than a bomb and spread twice as far.

By midmorning, every data terminal in the Senate complex buzzed with alerts. Security systems scrambled, slicing units raced against the breach, and a hush fell over the halls more damning than a public outcry—because silence meant everyone was reading.

The cyber attack had been surgical. Dozens of files lifted from the most secure systems on Coruscant. All senators. All sensitive. Not even the Chancellor was spared. But some were worse than others.

Her file made front-page headlines on five Core Worlds within the hour.

Her face stared back at her from an unauthorized holonet broadcast, grainy war footage playing behind text that read: SENATOR OR WARLORD?

It was all there.

The use of the enemy’s uniform in the infamous ambush at Ridge 17.

The unarmed surrendering prisoners shot in the back after being marched into a ravine.

The nighttime raid that ended with a half-dozen civilians caught in the fire.

The public executions. The battlefield tribunals.

The bloody calculus of survival, simplified and repackaged for mass consumption.

And worse—each sealed report had her name etched in full: Commander [LAST NAME], leader of the 3rd Resistance Legion.

Nowhere to hide.

By the time she reached the Senate floor, the stares had already changed. They weren’t hostile, not outright. But the quiet had grown pointed. Even the senators who’d once embraced her at functions stepped back just slightly, their warmth tempered by uncertainty. Some averted their eyes. A few didn’t bother.

Senator Mon Mothma was the only one who stepped forward.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” she said gently. “You led a war. Most of them haven’t even led a debate.”

The senator gave her a tight smile. “You’re kinder than I expected, Mon.”

“I’m pragmatic. And I’ve seen what war does. You don’t owe them anything.”

Except she did. She owed something. Even if it wasn’t an apology.

In her office, she didn’t sit. She stared at the screen instead—at her own record splayed out across a dozen news outlets. There was no way to know how the public would react. A war hero to some. A butcher to others. To the commanders who now guarded her, she wondered what she was.

A knock at the door startled her.

“Enter.”

Thorn stepped inside, helmet under his arm. He didn’t speak. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held weight.

“Say it,” she said. “Whatever you’re thinking.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“It does.”

His jaw clenched. “I’ve fought beside men who did far worse than what’s written here. And I’ve fought beside better men who never made it through a single battle. You made it. You survived. You did what you had to.”

“And if I hadn’t? If I hadn’t done what I did?”

“You wouldn’t be here.”

“Would you still respect me?”

He didn’t answer. That was the answer.

“I didn’t enjoy it,” she said. “But I did it.”

“I know.”

She turned away from him, gripping the edge of her desk.

“And Fox?” she asked quietly. “What does he think?”

“I don’t know,” Thorn admitted. “He hasn’t said a word since the report came out.”

Of course he hadn’t. Fox would carry his judgment in silence. He’d probably carry it straight to the Chancellor’s office and beyond.

But it was Thorn still standing in front of her. Thorn who hadn’t walked away.

That counted for something.

That counted for everything.

⸻

Previous Part | Next Part

[whyamismall]

I'd like to request another kiss prompt, if I may. 21 (WILDCARD! Dealer's choice) with Blyla.

Ooh this was a hard one! I've never written for Blyla before so hopefully this is ok! I think I did the wildcard right!

“You’re not nervous are you?” Bly immediately abandoned his sixth subtle wipe of his palms against the grey fabric of his civilian uniform. His head snapped towards Aayla, giving himself away without even having to utter a word. “I’m not nervous,” he denied, knowing he was digging himself into a deeper hole while trying to resist the aching need to rub at the back of his neck, a trait he had unfortunately passed onto his vod’ika Rex. Her warm smile made his cheeks heat up with a blush. “There’s no need to be nervous my love. It is only Quinlan we are seeing.”  “That’s exactly why I'm nervous,” he said to the toes of his boots, suddenly worried about what he would find on Aayla’s face. Cool hands cupped the sides of his face, imploring him to look up.  Aayla’s eyes were swimming with love and joy. “I promise Bly, Quinlan will be happy to see us.” Bly couldn’t help but melt into the kiss that Aayla bestowed upon him. He tried to keep it chaste, knowing that General Vos was due to arrive any time now, but their kiss became anything but innocent within seconds. “Well,” boomed a voice from the shadows that immediately had Bly whirling around. “If you kiss me like that Commander, I'll definitely be happy to see you!”

[skylarstark4826]

Quinlan felt it the moment they entered Pabu's airspace.

It was elusive, just a brief suggestion of something striking and familiar, but still made his breath catch in his chest.

Asajj brought the ship down low near the largest island's west side, dipped beneath the marine layer, and followed a moss-covered headland north. The planet was stunning even in the dimness of the blue dawn. Golden lights illuminated winding tiled streets, and bright foliage and vines climbed up short limestone walls surrounding globe-shaped residences.

Quinlan peered into the fog. "Fennec say anything about landing?"

"Considering she doesn't know where they are, no. But," Asajj said, pointing to the ship's navigation panel, "this cove looks big enough."

They landed without issue, the ship slipping easily into the squat inlet. They had some time before Asajj would venture out to look for the clones and figure out why they were poking around at things better left alone.

But in no time at all, they came to her. How convenient.

*

Quinlan was under firm orders from Asajj to stay on the ship.

Fennec mentioned that this particular group was operating independently of the swaths of clones throughout the Galaxy enforcing the Empire's orders, acting as mercenaries for hire more than a special forces unit. But as far as Asajj was concerned, an independent clone was still a clone; all of them were hostiles until proven otherwise. She was resting in Dathomir's waters for what should have been eternity when the Republic and Jedi fell, but it didn't take long for her to get caught up on the clones' ruthless turn against their beloved Generals and Commanders.

Any clone, regardless of how different they seemed and how subtle Quinlan was, presented a risk greater than she was willing to take. And as much as he wanted to argue, he understood what it felt like to lose more than he could ever get back. And anyway, subtlety had never been his strong suit.

So he stayed on the ship away from viewports where someone might see him and trusted that Asajj could handle herself if things went sideways. Quinlan wouldn't be far away in the unlikely event she couldn't.

*

The first day, it was easy to push that familiar feeling away. Quinlan kept his senses passively tuned to Asajj as he worked.

Despite sharing the Wraith, they had their own contacts and jobs completely separate from one another. It took some creative shuffling of their schedules and resources, but it was in their best interests considering their combined reputations. He finished consolidating their supplies and created a list of items they'd need to pick up at their next visit to port. Then he mapped the jumps to their next job (his, this time) and worked out the necessary clearances (forged, but reliable).

He perked up a bit in the late afternoon when he felt a quick spike of consternation from Asajj. He carefully peeked out of the viewport and saw a rush of movement: Asajj grabbing one of the clones by the arm and twisting, then throwing him into the rocky ground like a sack of mussagrain.

Well, Quinlan couldn't say he was totally surprised.

A few moments later, he checked again when he heard blasterfire echoing throughout the cavern, and popped his head up just in time to see Asajj's yellow saber cutting through the air in a wide arc, sending the bolts flying back. Hand held over his own saber, Quinlan considered rushing out, but talked himself down when, in a matter of seconds, she had all three clones laid out yet again. He pursed his lips, let out a huh, and turned back to his datapad.

But by the second morning, the feeling was nagging, persistent.

This job wasn't supposed to last as long as it had — they planned for a few hours at most, certainly not two days. But, after a debrief the first evening (and thorough discussion of the scuffle), Quinlan got the impression the mission had moved beyond the simple job Fennec described. Asajj had left most of her enemies in her past life, and despite the rocky start, she had no intention of treating this group of clones like she handled bounties: quickly, quietly, and for a hefty commission that outweighed any sort of doubt.

No, she'd see this job through, for the benefit of the girl more than anything.

When Asajj left the cove that morning, her emotions were clearer, the rawness from their accusations and subsequent row fading.

Asajj had barely made it to the lower docks before Quinlan slipped out of the ship into the salty morning air.

*

It took a few Force suggestions for Quinlan to make to the top of the seemingly endless flights of sandstone stairs relatively unseen. He didn't know if anyone would pay him any mind if he hadn't, but figured it best to not take any chances.

Once he'd made it to the crest of the island, he was deposited onto a courtyard with a handful of people milling about, wearing brightly-colored, patterned clothing. The sun had risen while he was climbing and long shadows stretched across the colonnade.

In the center of the colonnade was a blaster-burned, malevolent-looking attack shuttle, outrageously out of place — clunky and sharp against a backdrop of warm, gauzy colors and soft shapes, a stunning reminder of war in a place that seemed like it couldn't be further from it.

The feeling wasn't drawing him to the shuttle, luckily. He would have had to turn around and retreat if it had. Quinlan was many things — daring, cunning, impulsive, but certainly not a fool. The shuttle could only belong to the clones Asajj had been sent searching for (because who else?) and as such, was probably wired with more security measures than he could reasonably count.

Quinlan scanned the courtyard and was drawn to the towering stone structure on the far side. He approached it casually, staying along the outskirts and shaded walkways and considered how he might get in. It didn't strike him as someone's home. A lighthouse perhaps, or a temple. Maybe both, or something else entirely.

To his surprise, the doors opened on their own as he approached, and he quickly slipped in.

Quinlan was met with low ceilings and archways lined with stone. The overhead lights — warm and gentle — just barely illuminated winding walkways, and shone on the nearly organized shelves embedded in the stone walls, lined with various items. Nothing had any sort of indication of what it was. However, it hadn't been left there like some sort of forgotten crypt. No, it was maintained, thoughtful. The shelves were immaculately clean. The items were spaced evenly, propped up or laying on delicate pieces of fabric. Quinlan took a few steps around, the sound of his boots swallowed by thick patterned rugs that lined the floor.

The feeling was overwhelming now, and with only the hope that he wasn't rummaging through someone's personal belongings, he allowed himself to be drawn toward one of the lower shelves.

A few clumps of gray stone rested in a neat little line, side-by-side. They were relatively unattractive; gray and sharp, like they had been chipped away and were ready to crumble. He picked on up and carefully turned it to the other side, and...ah. 

Just as he suspected.

The other side was streaked with rivulets of crystallized oranges, pinks, and blues. The colors moved languidly under a hardened glassy surface, swirling like syrup but never truly blending, and twinkled with delicate sparks, illuminating Quinlan's face as he peered down at it.

He hadn't seen one in years, but Kiffar lightning crystals were distinct — he'd know one anywhere. Or in this case, would know one as soon as he felt it, even miles away.

For the most part, Kiffu and Kiffex orbited around each other seamlessly. They were close enough for each to to serve as a perpetual cyan star in the other's sky, hazy during the day, and glittering and distinct at night. But it was when the two planets' elliptical orbit brought them nearly to collision once every few cycles that their respective electrical fields collided. The storm that followed was violent; the sky filled with pockets of bright purple electricity, turning angrily with booms of thunder and streaks of lightning. It went on for days until the planets crept away from each other again.

One of the results, aside from the influx of harnessed electricity that went on to power Kiffu and Kiffex's cities, was lightning crystals. They were rare; the result of a lightning bolt hitting a stone perfectly enough to cause the inside to melt, then cool and split open, revealing the near-crystallized colors with small pinpricks of lightning preserved forever within it. An eternal storm, it was called. The intensity of it caused a tingling in one's palm when held, but for Quinlan, it was more than that. Comfort flooded him entirely, a feeling so resounding and yet, so foreign, he almost felt sick from it.

Finding one was a fortuitous, cherished token of good luck. Children often hopped around after the electric storms, turning over every rock they could in hopes of finding one to take home. Their efforts were rarely rewarded. So, it was exceptionally curious that three perfect Kiffar lightning crystals were sitting on an unassuming Outer Rim planet.

He closed his hand around the crystal and let the world fade.

An adult and a child — mother and son, presumably — had held the crystal. They each had familiar yellow tattoos on their temples and chins, but Quinlan couldn't place what clan they were from. They were here, and the mother was reminding her son of the Kiffar legend of Trezia, a paragon of generosity and selflessness. 

Quinlan reached a little further, hoping for a glimpse of Kiffu or Kiffex.

Instead, he saw a woman analyzing one of the crystals closely, turning it over in her hand. She was seated at a shiny, glossy table, with the other two crystals resting on its surface. The lights around her were soft. "How much for them?" 

"For you, Liberator," a voice replied, raspy and slow. "Might I propose a trade? I know you have a lead on—"

"Put that down."

He was pulled out with a jolt, the sharp click of a blaster's safety switching off cutting through the conversation still playing in his head.

Quinlan froze, his vision still coming back to him. The person behind him, he sensed, was perfectly steady. The trepidation that usually came off someone pointing a blaster at another was notably absent. They were completely calm, and undoubtedly confident. A dangerous combination.

He delicately placed the crystal back on the shelf as he'd found it, the magnificent wash of colors face-down, put his hands up palms-out, then turned.

He was met with a woman standing tall, her feet planted firmly and blaster arm perfectly poised, with a satchel hanging from her other shoulder. She looked every bit as confident as she felt in the Force; yes, she would absolutely shoot him if he didn't mind his manners.

Her blaster was unusual; curved slightly at the metal grip, and undoubtedly eye-catching (likely due in part to it being pointed at him). It was decorative, what with the delicate etchings on the barrel and gold ring around the muzzle. A far cry from the surplus of bulky and monochromatic standard-issue blasters kicking around after the end of the war — those didn't care much for being polished up and plated. Frankly, they'd probably look worse as a result.

Her other hand was pushing back her thick leather coat to rest on the hilt of a sizable cutlass, just as ornamented as the blaster. Decorative as they both were, the ease with which she stood assured him that the weapons were not accessories.

More interesting than the blaster and cutlass, however, was that she was familiar. Quinlan didn't have to think back too far — she was the woman from the memory, inquiring about the value of the crystals.

So perhaps he had been rummaging around someone's things after all.

The woman spoke again, "I don't take too kindly to people sneaking around here."

"I really don't want any trouble," Quinlan tried.

She bristled. "A bit late for that, I think."

"Well, the door was unlocked."

The woman turned to look at the aforementioned door, then looked back at Quinlan from the corner of her eye. That look told him he was on borrowed time. "You just walk through every unlocked door you see?"

Quinlan tried to shrug, but given his hands were already up, he just sort of twitched. "Should I have knocked? I figured it was open for visitors."

"Visitors, sure. Not strangers."

"I'd say I'm visiting."

"I don't know who you are, so no."

"And you know everyone here?"

She squared her shoulders. "I make a point of it."

Quinlan glared at her. As intriguing as the crystals were, he was starting to regret leaving the ship. He didn't realize he'd be interrogated here, rather than at any other point on his trek up. Was it too late to trade places with Asajj? Seemed like she was having a better time.

"We were…sent here."

The crease between the woman's eyebrows eased somewhat. "By who?"

"Well, technically she sent one of us. Not me."

The crease returned. "Get to the point."

"Well, we kind of have this thing about identities. We're going for the…" he thought about it, waved his hands a little, "covert thing, you know? Don't want to give ourselves away, if we can help it."

"The same could be said for the people here," the woman said sharply. "Who sent you?"

Quinlan considered his options. If he didn't tell her, he likely wouldn't be getting out of here without a few blaster burns and slashes from that cutlass. He could lie, but nothing would hold up against any sort of cross-examination. Mentioning Fennec was risky; on the one hand, the woman may have never heard of Fennec. In that case, telling her would be harmless. On the other, if she did know, she could logically jump to the conclusion he was here on Fennec's behalf, doing her dirty work. But, perhaps the woman would be reassured that he was apparently doing a pretty shoddy job, weaponless and cornered after stopping at a makeshift museum before going after a target.

None of those options were particularly good, he decided.

Well, here went nothing:

"Fennec."

If all else failed, he'd just run. His arms were getting tired, anyway.

"Fennec," the woman repeated. She tilted her head just slightly. A flash of familiarity, perhaps?

"You know Fennec?"

"Not exactly."

"But you know of her."

"I know of a lot of people."

"So maybe you know why she sent us here?" Another shot in the dark.

"That's none of your business. Besides, if Fennec sent you, it wasn't to talk to me, and it definitely wasn't to explore." Her fingers tapped on her cutlass. "Still waiting on that name, by the way."

"My partner is the one Fennec sent. I'm just…" Quinlan turned his upper body to the left and right, signifying the shelves, "looking around."

"You're sneaking around."

Quinlan studied her for a few seconds. She studied him right back, unblinking. "You're a real stickler for details, you know that?"

"Details matter," she shot back. "You want to protect yourself, I want to protect my people. This is their home. So I'm asking you again: who are you?"

He sighed. He was losing his touch. He hadn't capitulated this quickly since he was a Padawan trying to lie is way out of admitting he'd accidentally destuffed Master Mundi's chair in the Council chambers. "Quinlan."

"Just Quinlan?"

"If I can be."

"Fine," the woman said. "Anything on you?"

Quinlan had considered bringing his lightsaber with him, but was glad he hadn't. He'd left his blaster too, as foolish as it might have been. The only blip of danger he'd registered was the apprehension from the three clones Asajj was dealing with, plus some rumbling of disquiet coming from the sapphire waters surrounding the island. He held open the insides of his coat for a moment, patted his pockets. "Nothing."

The woman nodded and slowly brought the blaster down. "No funny business."

"No funny business," he echoed and dropped his arms, savoring the feeling of the blood rushing back to his fingers. "Do you have a name?"

The woman slipped the blaster back in its holster. "Now you're asking questions?"

"Only seems fair. You did pull a blaster on me."

The woman snorted. "Phee."

"Phee," he nodded. "Just Phee?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Quinlan clicked his tongue, shook his head. "Ah, was worth a shot."

The woman crossed her arms and took an easy step toward him. "So, where's this partner of yours?"

"She's, uh," Quinlan looked down at his feet for a second, then back up. "Working."

"Actually working?"

Quinlan shrugged. "Last I checked."

"Huh," Phee said, tone skeptical. "She's not giving anyone a hard time, is she?"

The image of Asajj body-checking a clone three times her size flashed across Quinlan's mind. "Not at all."

Phee narrowed her eyes a little. "I sure hope not."

Quinlan decided now was a great time to change the subject. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd call you a pirate."

She unfolded her arms and placed one hand on her hip, right above her cutlass. "And what makes you say that?"

"Your blaster," he gestured to it. "Too showy for anyone else."

"Clever." Phee gave him a crooked smile, and her eyes glinted dangerously. "You're a Jedi."

And now, Quinlan was regretting changing the subject. "The Jedi don't exist anymore," he said weakly.

"Well, tell me something I don't know, Smart Guy. You werea Jedi, then."

He blinked, taken aback. She wasn't asking, and certainly didn't seem to be guessing. She was speaking with all the confidence of someone who knew. Perhaps she was Force-sensitive herself and had smelled it on him like a heavy cologne, except Quinlan likely would have felt it at about the same time she had.

Another possibility was that Phee was playing dumb with the whole identity charade, and wanted to trick him into giving himself up. If so, he'd been outplayed before he even knew the game was on. Quinlan wasn't ignorant to the bounty on his head, or that of any other surviving Jedi. The Empire had been throwing time and resources at the space he'd left when his body never turned up after the Clones turned. It only took a cursory effort to find his name on the Empire's encrypted channels. He was referred to in the present tense; nothing dead about him.

Searching for Asajj's name, on the other hand, yielded nothing. News of her death had spread far and wide through the Republic and the Separatist Alliance. When those two fell, so did any concern for the late Asajj Ventress. Luckily for her, the Empire didn't seem to concern itself with ghosts, and he desperately wanted it to stay that way.

If Phee knew Fennec, even in passing, she could know any number of other bounty hunters who had target lists circulating far and wide. At the top of those lists were undoubtedly Jedi, and the payout of catching one was no small amount. That much money made people rash, made them willing to—

She seemed to pick up on his unease, cut off his spiraling thoughts with a waved hand. "What you did with the crystal. I've seen it before."

Quinlan just stared.

"There was a Jedi I met when I was a kid that could do it."

Quinlan crinkled his eyebrows, his thoughts still slowing down. "They told you?" He winced at the triviality of the question.

A fair one, though; it wasn't something psychometrics advertised, if they could help it. Quinlan would have blown his cover a thousand times over on past missions if his eyes glazed over and he became catatonic every time he picked up a glass or touched a door handle. Of course, he figured he was alone when he read the crystal, so didn't feel the need to keep up appearances.

A mistake, in retrospect. Phee was both observant enough to track that something was happening and familiar enough with it to know what it meant.

"I figured it out. She wasn't obvious about it, but for a second she'd get that look on her face. Same one you had, like she was somewhere else," Phee thought for a moment. "Which she was, really. I asked her about it one day. I was too curious for my own good, but she told me. Asked me to keep it a secret."

So "pirate" was code for many things then. Perhaps not "bounty hunter," but almost certainly "smuggler." A damn good one at that, if her attention to detail was any indication.

"Did you?"

Phee scoffed. "Of course I did. The fact she'd told me at all was a treasure in itself. I wasn't about to spill that to everyone. I asked her to teach me, but, alas," Phee wiggled her fingers. "I don't have the magic touch."

"It's not just Jedi that can do that, you know," Quinlan said, by way of weak rebuttal.

"And yet, you haven't denied it."

Quinlan licked his lips and nodded. "I was trying to be a little subtle."

"Yeah, we'd know all about that. But don't worry," she leaned against one of the stone pillars. "Your secret is safe with me."

Quinlan exhaled slowly, not totally sure if that was completely reassuring.

"So," Phee gestured to the crystals. "What'd you learn?"

Quinlan told her about the woman and child and story of Trezia.

Phee remained silent as she listened, not giving any clue that she agreed or disagreed with what he was saying. Protecting her people, as she'd said.

"I saw you, too," Quinlan added.

That got her attention. "Did you now?"

Quinlan mmhmmed, and watched Phee for a moment. She didn't seem perturbed by it, just met his eye with a little lift of her chin. "What did you end up trading for them?"

"Oh, a bit of this and that," she said lightly, then turned away and toward one of the shelves, opening her satchel. She pulled out a shallow little stone bowl that had intricate detailing of small leaves impressed on the outside and placed it in an empty space.

"Was it worth it?"

She turned back to him with an amused smile. "Oh, absolutely."

"What are you planning on doing with them?"

Phee closed up her satchel and set it on a nearby bench, then wiped her hands on the front of her pants. "No plans. That's not why I brought them here."

"It's just rare seeing so many in one place. They're worth a lot. I've seen them sold—"

"They're worth a lot of credits, sure." A lot was an understatement — it must have shown on his face. She continued. "But the credits don't matter. What matters is that they're worth a lot to people."

It also must have shown on his face that he didn't totally believe her.

Phee took a long breath. "I find things for people, Quinlan. It's what I do. The Empire has taken a lot. Everything, in some cases." The longer she spoke, the more her defensive tone faded to make way for sincerity. "I just want to give a little bit back. And a few lightning crystals aren't gonna fix things, but they at least tell someone that something they know still exists."

Quinlan turned her words over in his mind for a moment. The Empire had taken, and taken, and taken. The past two years felt terribly long as he reflected on them. Moment by moment time stretched, cursing him with enough opportunity to wrestle with the past and the darkness he felt surrounding the future. And yet, time moved to the Empire's whim. Whenever he looked around after staring down for too long, the Empire was, yet again, three steps ahead, making use of time in a way only those with power could.

He and Asajj used their time the only way they knew how: hoping they were somehow chipping away at the Empire, and not thinking too hard about what would happen if they weren't. It seemed Phee had been spending her own time doing what she could too.

Quinlan cocked his head. "A pirate, you said?"

Phee smiled, a dimple on her cheek flickering. "Something like that."

Perhaps his impression of pirates was due for an adjustment. "And that's what all this is?"

Phee looked around, "Mhmm, little pieces of home from all over the Galaxy."

Quinlan stared at the crystals again, "I...felt the crystals when we landed. That's how I ended up in here. They're pretty distinct in" — he waved his hand — "the Force."

Phee's features softened. "Of course they are."

"I haven't seen any in a long time, so I guess I just wanted to see if I was right, about what I felt."

"We all need a little reminder of home, sometimes," she said. She ran a finger from below her left eye and across the bridge of her nose, tracing his tattoo onto her own features.

Quinlan's throat closed for a moment. "Yeah. Or what's left of it, anyway."

"Well," Phee began. "I'm glad you found them. Or that they found you."

"Ah, considering I had to trek from my ship all the way up here, I'd say I'm the one that was doing the searching."

"Speaking of that," Phee's brow furrowed. "Where did you land?"

Quinlan pointed vaguely in the direction of the Wraith.��"Cove near the water, west side."

Phee frowned. "No one saw you come up?"

Quinlan hovered his hand over his forehead and wiggled his fingers.

"Huh. Right," she raised her eyebrows, then lowered her voice to a whisper: "Jedi."

"Nothing too crazy, don't worry." He'd only lightly suggested people turn the other way when he passed. If they reflected on it, they would remember their attention being caught by a bird flying by or a child laughing, nothing more.

Phee was silent for a moment and chewed on her lip, considering him carefully. "I was really sorry to hear about the Jedi, you know," she finally said. "You all didn't deserve any of what happened. All of it was...it was really awful. For everyone."

Quinlan just nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn't feel he'd earned condolences, nor did Phee have any responsibility to him to offer them. Quinlan had escaped with his life, which is more than could be said for most of the Jedi he'd spent his entire life with. They were the ones who deserved the apology — not that they'd ever get one. He settled on a soft "thanks."

Phee nodded once, and didn't seem interested in belaboring the point. She instead gestured to the shelves around her, "You can look around, if you haven't already. Seeing as you already broke in and all."

Quinlan huffed. "The door opened on its own."

Phee smiled again, clearly savoring his reaction. "I'm just playing, Quinlan."

She turned away from him to shrug off her coat, and placed it across the back of one of the stone benches.

Touching anything else was probably out, though Quinlan did take a moment to consider the possibility of reading a memory just for the sake of it, not to catch a criminal or uncover some black market trading ring or chase a bounty. To read a memory and obtain a feeling other than trepidation or excitement, as much as he loved wading through both of those things for answers.

His psychometry had always been called a gift. By his master, his seniors, his peers, his friends, by curious younglings who'd never heard of such a thing, and everyone in between. And it certainly was — it pushed him right to the front of the line of the most secretive missions on behalf of the Jedi (back when that sort of thing mattered to him) and gave him an ability he could use for something larger than himself: for the good of the Galaxy and the beings within. It brought him to the very brightest of the Light and to the very suffocating depths of the Dark and then back again. It certainly was a gift, from a certain point of view.

The Empire wasn't one for gifts these days, but they still cropped up from time to time, and Quinlan would take what he could get. One of them was when he got to read something perfectly ordinary: a tree, a painting, a book. Lightning crystals were hardly ordinary, but the feeling that came off of them — love and calmness and mundanity — was.

He imagined many of the items there were awash in the same feeling.

Vases, delicate pieces of blown glass in warm colors, a brightly-colored children's flimsibook, a small jagged knife with an iridescent blade, a dish of tiny flattened coins, a stone tablet inscribed with an alphabet system he didn't recognize, a red stuffed animal with large, pointed ears…

…a pair of cracked goggles.

Quinlan stopped in front of them. Compared to the rest of the artifacts, they were clearly personal, the way the stuffie likely was. The goggles were not a delicate piece of art that had changed hands and sustained chips and cracks before ending up on Pabu, or in the case of the lightning crystals, the revered and rare result of a natural phenomenon. They were someone's despite being unusable, given the state of them.

"Those belonged to someone here," Phee said quietly from behind him. "He…" her voice cracked, "he died, a little while ago."

"I'm really sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too."

Quinlan looked up and around, pondering. "A nice resting place, I'd say."

Phee smiled sadly. "He deserves a much better one. A proper one. He was really important to all of us."

Quinlan felt his stomach twist. He didn't need psychometry to relive a particular memory, just for a single terrible moment. A foggy funeral on Dathomir, rites being read, sisters reunited after so much time... 

"It's never too late, you know."

"He, uh…" She took a breath, shook her head quickly. "His body didn't—didn't make it back. Just his goggles, so we made do. If you can even call it that."

"You were with him?"

"No, I—" she wiped one of her eyes quickly with the side of her index finger. "I wasn't with him. His siblings were. They said he fell." She cleared her throat. "But they didn't bring his body back. Or couldn't. I don't know."

"He was yours?"

"Not exactly. "

"You cared about him though."

Phee didn't hesitate: "I still do. A lot."

"What was his name?"

Phee was quiet for a moment. "Tech." She said it reverently, softly, with a small smile, as though just the name itself brought her joy.

Tech.

Phee stepped forward and took the goggles in her hands, cradled them gently.

"I didn't know it would be the last time I'd see him. But, you never do, I guess." She took a deep breath, and traced the lenses with a thumb. "The worst part is that he was alone when he died. He was so far away and they couldn't get to him and—the irrational part of me wants to hop in my ship and bring him back. That maybe if I knew where to look, he'll be there waiting like nothing ever happened. Like this was one of his...experiments or something. Just some big test." She shook her head ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Phee." Here they were, back again at misplaced condolences, two people apologizing for loss they played no part in causing.

"It wasn't your fault," she said heavily. "But thanks."

The words tumbled out of Quinlan's mouth before he could stop them: "Maybe I can give you a lead on him."

It was that irresistible urge to use his gift for something good, to try to make up for all the bad that had happened. Or some of it, at least.

Phee's face tightened in a mix of shock and sadness. "I can't ask you to do that, Quinlan."

"I'm offering," Quinlan assured her. "My partner...I'd want to bring her back. If something ever happened to her. If there was a chance."

And he had. He'd taken Asajj's body from Christophsis to Coruscant then back to Dathomir, a grim cortege through the winding hyperspace lanes of the Core and Outer Rim. It was agony seeing her in stasis, knowing he couldn't brush the blood from her temples and wrap up her injuries and tell her to rest until they were healed, even though he knew she'd argue with him about it had she been able to. He'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant she would be at peace.

Phee was brave for wanting to subject herself to that. To look for someone irreversibly broken with no way to fix him, to cradle him, and bring him home one last time.

"He wasn't my partner."

Quinlan didn't know if he believed her. Certainly Tech was someone to her, more than she was letting on. But, she didn't owe him an explanation. Quinlan was barely more than a stranger to Phee. He'd already overstepped and was risking continuing to do so by reaching into Tech's — herTech's, by his estimation — final moments.

"But he's part of your family."

Phee nodded.

Reading a memory of death was risky at best and excruciating at worst, depending on the circumstances. Based on the state of the goggles, Tech didn't exactly go out peacefully, placing the memory closer to the excruciating category than Quinlan would normally be comfortable with.

Quinlan weighed this against the time it would take him to recover. Any violence associated with the end of life was not inherently Dark, but an item like the goggles, worn frequently and during death meant the memory would be tightly-woven and as clear as if Quinlan himself had been there. He had experience with that, though he couldn't decide if it was lucky or not. He was at least comforted knowing he'd faced worse. And this time, it was his choice.

Quinlan took a deep breath. He'd tracked down missing people before. He'd never tracked down a body specifically, but this Galaxy was full of firsts.

Phee moved suddenly, back toward the shelf to put the goggles back. "Quinlan, I really can't have you—"

"Phee, it's okay." Quinlan held out his hand. "Let me see."

She hesitated and looked down at the goggles for a few moments, then handed them to him, taking care that they didn't fall.

Studying the shattered lenses, Quinlan hoped Tech's death was quick. If it wasn't, he'd experience every moment of anguish until he pulled himself out of the memory or it ended. He'd have to be a good liar and not let on to Phee that Tech had suffered as much as he most likely had — not that she didn't already know. She that keen attention to detail of hers to thank.

Quinlan balanced the goggles in his palms. Best not to overthink what he was getting into. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and searched.

*

One of the greatest downsides of his ability was how little control he had over where within a memory he landed. The items told him what he needed to know, certainly, but with little care for viscerality or chronology. He pushed to find what he needed, untying the messy knot of the memories surrounding the goggles, an eddy not unlike the eternal storm in the lightning crystals.

The further he went, the more the memories shimmered and swam in his vision. He wouldn't be surprised if Asajj picked up on it in their connection; it tended to unsettle the Force around him, made him restive and tense. He already knew he'd have a lot to explain when he returned to the Wraith.

The goggles being tossed to the ground, a voice hardly above a whisper: "This is all I could salvage…" 

A young girl cradling the goggles gently, explaining the feeling of "home." 

Quinlan pushed further.

A foggy, cloud-filled sky. The screaming of fighters in his ears, the rush of adrenaline, the clamor of a helmet's comm system, a mix of frantic voices, a distinct lack of ground below him, and nothing but open air around him. 

Yes, that was correct.

Quinlan focused, grit his teeth, and attempted to sharpen the memory's focus in his mind's eye, ignoring the prickling spreading down his neck.

An argument, yelling, words overlapping into a chaotic jumble, nearly drowned out by the screaming of starfighters. And finally, clearly above the cacophony: "When have we ever followed orders?"

Quinlan's stomach dropped out as Tech fell, seemingly forever. His focus was breaking as he planted his feet. The pull of gravity on Tech, however many systems away and however many rotations ago, was enough to sway the earth beneath Quinlan.

Unsettling calm for a few moments as Tech allowed his arms and legs to move languidly, as if he were floating on water. Then, disjointed movements as he scrambled in the air, pulling himself up by the ascension cable hooked to his waist, up to the metal car it was attached to.

A blaster firing, once, twice, three times to break a clearing in the car's paneling, several desperate kicks to break it open. The strain of every single part of his body as he climbed into the car, braced himself against one of the corners. 

A collision against a rocky treeline. 

Metal twisting as it tore through trees, snapping trunks. Tech's body thrown forward with the impact followed by the grisly crunch of ribs being knocked out of place, duraplast armor bending in ways that defied its engineering. His head hit the metal floor, cracking the orange-tinted lenses of his goggles, and the titanium frames slammed into soft skin and shattered orbital bones. It all happened in a single moment, felt all at once and yet, completely distinctly, leaving nothing but searing hot pain in its wake. 

On Pabu, meanwhile, Quinlan reminded himself to breathe, to relax his shoulders, unclench his jaw, to feel the ground under his feet. He'd been standing there holdibg the goggles for several moments. Longer than usual, and much longer than was smart or safe. Yes, he was absolutely pushing it. But the memory continued.

Tech was still. Completely still. 

Quinlan exhaled sharply, this was it—

With a gasp and a grunt, Tech rolled to his side. 

Or not.

He all but dragged himself out of the car, plodding on all fours painfully slowly on account of his injuries, stopping every few feet to collapse, breathe raggedly through his mouth and clutch at different parts of his body with shaking hands. 

He reached the clearing and dropped into the snow. He tore his goggles from his head and pressed around his eyes gently, winced at the blood and swelling and at the shards of polycarbonate that had embedded—

Quinlan's head screamed, and pinpricks from the cold climbed up his legs and back.

He'd tell Phee to look for...for the...

Focus.

...for the metal car and the rocky treeline. Quinlan had smelled something spicy. From the trees, maybe. He'd tell Phee about that too.

Tech had made it out of the car and was in the snow. He was underneath the fragrant trees.

The memory shifted again.

The sky had darkened, and a chattering of voices broke the silence. Several figures had surrounded Tech, poking at his injuries, discussing. Tech yelped as a few of them picked him up and placed him on a flat board and began moving him away from the crumpled remains of the skycar. 

The movement jostled him, and the goggles fell from his hand and landed in the snow with a muted thump. The soft voices faded as they moved into the icy dusk. 

And just like that, he was gone. 

*

Quinlan staggered as the memory ended, nearly falling to his knees until Phee caught him under his arms and moved him to the bench a few steps back. She gently took the goggles and placed them on the stone shelf next to the stuffie, then crouched in front of him.

It wasn't the most reassuring display, sitting curled in on himself, gasping for air and clutching his head. But there was no hiding it; Tech had suffered. Terribly and excruciatingly. His injuries were severe, and a large swath of them were likely irreversible, even with immediate attention and proper care.

But the fall hadn't killed him. This was great news, Quinlan thought almost irreverently. Quite the unexpected outcome, really. He was very much alive, as far as the memory was concerned.

Quinlan couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse, and sucked in a breath as he recalled the way Tech's head cracked against metal. He winced, pressed his back against the bench and squeezed his eyes shut. He vaguely registered Phee moving and digging around her satchel. He opened his eyes to her holding a canteen out to him, her face nothing short of regretful.

"You okay?" she asked gently, her voice low.

Quinlan needed a few more minutes to formulate a response to that question. Instead, he let his body recalibrate and readjust to being on solid ground, though he'd technically never left.

Yes, water was a good start. He took the canteen carefully from Phee.

"He's, uh…" Quinlan's vision was swimming. He took a sip and tried not to spill all over himself on account of his shaking hands. The adrenaline coursing hot through his veins was in his head, creating a chasm between his brain and the rest of his body. He swore he still heard the screaming of starfighters, even in the silence surrounding him. "He's not dead."

Phee's eyes widened. She started to say something, but her words caught in her throat.

"He's hurt. Really hurt, but," Quinlan swallowed, "but not dead. Or, wasn't dead. Someone h-has him."

Phee crouched down in front of him again. "Who?"

Quinlan took another drink. "I couldn't tell. They weren't hurting him, I don't think. Trying to help him, maybe."

"The Empire?"

Quinlan only shook his head. The Empire could mean many things. But no, it wasn't them, not as far as he could tell.

Phee was perfectly still. "And they didn't take his goggles?"

Quinlan's breathing began to steady, finally. "He took them off. His eyes got pretty smashed up." Quinlan used his fingertip to draw a circle around one of his own. "He took them off to try to take care of it. Try to—" his lungs burned as he took another deep breath, "try to stop the bleeding, I think. When they picked him up he dropped them."

"They didn't take his goggles. He left them." Phee let out a sharp, incredulous laugh and stood up. "He's alive. He left his goggles." She turned away from him and covered her face with her hands, whispered a curse into them.

Quinlan recalled the whispering voice, the goggles being tossed. The "they" in this equation, perhaps.

He watched as Phee put the pieces together. She looked elated, understandably so.

Phee had come to terms with losing Tech and missing him, rather than knowing him, for the rest of her life. She was willing to let Quinlan look for answers, not with the goal of finding him alive, but for planning a funeral and putting him to rest. But now, there was a true, real chance that Tech had done the impossible and outsmarted death. That her pipe dream of wishing for him had come true and he really was out there somewhere, somehow.

And now, here she was, throwing her coat back on and putting her satchel on her shoulder and pacing, her hands twisting together, formulating a plan that likely including nothing short of jumping in a ship without waiting another moment. It struck Quinlan hard in his chest. Impossibly, he knew how Phee felt. What a strange experience to share with another person.

But, the collision aside, Tech still had his injuries to contend with.

"Phee, I just have to tell you, he's hurt. He could have survived the fall but...I only saw so much. I don't know how long it's been..."

"You're right," Phee fixed Quinlan with a stare that made his hair stand on end. "But you don't know Tech."

She was right. He didn't know Tech. Not well, anyway. The little he did know revealed a terribly selfless man, almost certainly to his detriment.

Quinlan nodded. He recounted what he remembered: the metal car that fell with him, the treeline. The group that found him and picked him up to carry him off somewhere.

Voice firm, she asked, "Anything else?"

"The uh, the trees. They were fragrant. Sort of spicy, maybe." Quinlan felt silly relaying that detail, a bit of intel that struck him as almost whimsical compared to everything else.

Phee seemed to allow herself a little smile at that. "Spicy trees. Got it." Her smile dropped when Quinlan began pushing himself off the bunch.

"Hey, don't get up yet. Just...give yourself a second." She placed her hands on his shoulders and guided him back down.

"Yeah..." Quinlan winced, his head spinning from just that small movement. "Agreed."

He sat still for a few minutes, waiting for his temples to stop pounding. When they finally did, he cracked his eyes open.

"You okay?"

Quinlan had an answer to that now, thankfully. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Phee regarded him, "Anything I can get you?"

He started to shake his head, but before he could fully respond, his comm beeped once. "Quin?"

Asajj. As always, her timing was impeccable.

Quinlan raised his comm. "Copy."

"You're a terrible listener." 

"Oh, you love to remind me."

"You have ten minutes to get here, unless you prefer staying. Company isn't bad, but I'm not making this trip again to swing back for you if you change your mind." 

"Don't threaten me with a good time. I'll be there in a minute." Quinlan pocketed his comm and turned back to Phee. "That's my cue."

Phee smirked. "Your partner?"

Quinlan felt his cheeks heat a little. "In all her glory." He slowly eased himself up to stand.

Phee chuckled, then turned toward the crystals. She picked one up and held it out to him. "Here. It's not nearly enough but, as a thank you."

"Phee, you don't—"

Phee pressed it into his palm. "Take it, please." She gave him a quick smile. "And if you ever need a place to hunker down for a little while, you'd be welcome here. No sneaking around next time."

Quinlan felt the crystal's tiny electric flashes tingling in his palm, then closed his fingers around it. "Thank you, Phee. Really. And I hope you find him."

"I will. I have my ways."

The way Phee said that made him believe without a shadow of a doubt that she would.

Quinlan began to turn, then stopped and met her eyes again. "You know, you don't usually get a second chance with people," he said. "I know you said he isn't yours but…things change."

Phee smiled almost shyly. "They really do, don't they?"

Quinlan tucked the crystal into his pocket and touched two fingers to his temple in a quick salute. "Until next time, Liberator."

Her eyes widened at the nickname, then softened. "Until then next time."

*

Phee watched Quinlan go, then reached for her comm. "Hunter?"

"Yeah, Phee."

"I need you to get to the Archium." She turned to the goggles. "It's about Tech."

Now you hold on, Brown Eyes.

Fulgurite

[allwormdiet]

Shell 4.1

As much as I wish Taylor could ride this high forever, unfortunately looks like it's back to school

Taylor. Honey. Dearheart. You keep being really complimentary about your bullies' physical looks, and this does not in any way undermine the hurt they've done to you or your resentment thereof, but it does muddy the waters a little bit as to whether resentment is the only thing you're feeling

The back-and-forth actually feels so refreshing compared to every previous interaction with the bullies, like. My god. Did Taylor just have to rob a bank to get the confidence she needs to not worry about these fuckers? I never thought that John Dillinger therapy would take off but maybe there's a future in that

Better the devil in plain sight than the devil you can't see at all.

John Dillinger therapy! This is what I'm talking about! Let's go Taylor, show that inner strength! Shed the burden!

I mean hell, maybe, or maybe this is an upturn where she finally gets sure enough in herself to get these jerks off her back forever. We'll see how it plays out, right?

The idle speculation on Mr. Quinlan is a little wild but well in keeping with my own experiences. Sometimes teachers just passively generate rumors around them.

This one stupid bit about John Dillinger therapy keeps paying off, this is great, real joke investment opportunity

Honestly Taylor I think you can feel bad about it while also living with it, I'm not gonna pretend to be some expert on morality or philosophy or whatever but I feel like you're allowed a certain number of felonies after enough suffering in your life

Technically not a career boost for the Undersiders, at least not as far as public renown, but making your enemies look like clowns is just as good if not better. Like yeah, those tools on the other side are getting their pay docked because of that bigass hole in the roof of the bank, and you're way richer from the same event

Expanding our understanding of the city a bit more, and honestly this sounds dope as fuck. I'd love to visit every once in a while and just soak in the culture, although not if it meant living in Brockton Bay. That seems. Bad.

Ugh, these kids

Honestly I'm not quite this hardcore but damn if it isn't a mood. I've yet to see proof of Rachel being wrong

Yeah I know she had her dogs attack Taylor, Taylor's an aspiring snitch, it's okay to maul a snitch

I think I knew this part already but honestly I'm more excited to have Rachel lore than anything

I wonder how much leniency can be provided for crimes that happen in the immediate aftermath or because of a trigger event. Maybe not a ton, or maybe enough to get away with murder. I'd be curious to learn more about that, if it ever comes up.

And uhh, yeah, that'd fucking get you dead bodies alright. Wonder if that's why she's so hardcore about the training, making sure that never happens again. Entirely for the dogs' benefit, or only mostly and then there's some part of her that thrives with that kind of control?

Alec you cheeky little shit, you're endearing yourself to me

Honestly Taylor, just try and breathe easy for a little bit, I don't think you've been able to do that in over a year. Take your time, enjoy your walk on the wild side.

Maybe I'm biased but I love these two interacting on their own, so I'm fully in favor of this plan Lisa

Well I'm sure if Lisa ever killed anybody they deserved it, or if nothing else she arranged circumstances so that they ended up deserving it after some mild provocation

it's fiiiiiiiiine

Current Thoughts

This story has such good slice of life, I want more of it every time and every time I get cut off before I'm satisfied. Is that on purpose? If that's on purpose Wildbow might be a more sinister intelligence than I'd thought.

School segment was so blissfully short and Taylor managed to fight Emma to a standstill so this is a huge improvement over every other second she's spent at school

If Rachel ever kills anyone on purpose they deserved it, and if Rachel ever kills anyone on accident it's okay bc everyone makes mistakes

Honestly I'd be willing to accept any of these kids as having a good reason to render someone cadaverrific. Brian and Lisa have good heads on their shoulders and at this point I'm starting to suspect that the lazy gamer thing Alec has going on is like, at least partially a front for a deeper personality, and he's trying to be shallow on purpose, so idk what that means for him being a killer but I somehow doubt he's a fucking Hannibal Lecter type when we're not looking

...Actually come to think on it the only two members the Protectorate has info on is Grue and Bitch, right? Tattletale is an unknown and Regent has almost nothing about him. I'd suspect Grue to be the second killer but I'm not sure if that's a red herring.

Find out eventually, I guess.

...I might have another chapter in me before sacking out for the night. We'll see.

[lothcatthree]

37 for QuinFox for the kiss roulette? ❤️

37. kiss on the back of the neck

send me an ask for a lil kiss with your pairing of choice <3

thank you for the ask, anon!! you know I am weak for these two..

also due to circumstances outside of my control, this has turned into 687 words written in 30 minutes with two different kinds of kisses in addition to the request. hope u understand

(placing under the cut)

In hindsight, maybe Quinlan should’ve warned him.

He tends to forget that not everyone can sense the presence of other beings as easily as they can smell a pastry or taste blood on their tongue. The concept of being painfully aware of every damned sentient being in the vicinity has become second nature to Quinlan, something that’s familiar to him as the curves of the sconces in the Temple halls or the way that Mace’s scowl twitches just to the left when Quinlan smiles at him for too long. 

But, still.

He should’ve warned him.

It’s not like Quinlan could help himself. Fox was standing with his back turned away from the doorway to his office, something that Quinlan would’ve teased him over (Didn’t the Kaminoans teach you how to watch the damn entrances?), but he could see the way Fox’s shoulders were pinched around his neck and the way that his hand was gripping the belt of his lower armor so tightly that Quinlan’s not sure how the plastoid didn’t snap in two.

Every single cord of muscle in Fox’s body seemed to be in a competition for who could kill Fox the fastest… And it appeared like the one on the back of his neck was currently winning, judging by the way that Fox’s head was hunched over into his datapad like he was trying to either eat it or whisper sweet, sweet nothings into its deepest pixels.

Before Quinlan knew it, he was slinking across the room and slightly bumping Fox’s unarmored back with his chest, placing gentle hands on his waist and brushing his mouth over the mess of gray-streaked curls that sit gracefully on the nape of Fox’s neck.

“Hey, sw–”

Ah, and now there’s a blaster in his stomach paired with wild brown eyes and bared teeth. Somehow, Fox didn’t even drop the datapad.

Quinlan only smiles softly in the face of his own beautiful mortality. 

“Fuck,” Fox turns from a rabid animal to a slightly less rabid animal with a sigh and a scrub of his hand (still holding the datapad) over his face. “You scared me.”

Fox puts his blaster that was one press from rearranging Quinlan’s kidney back into the holster with a click. And right before Quinlan was about to make a joke regarding if Fox was happy to see him. Next time. 

“Sorry,” Quinlan lies.

Fox attempts to narrow his eyes, but it falls terribly short when the prestigious Commander exhales and leans forward, reacquainting his forehead to Quinlan’s shoulder with a dull thunk. Quinlan breathes his own little chuckle and buries his hand into Fox’s hair, scratching his scalp. Fox melts and Quinlan takes more of his weight with a quirk of his lips.

“Was gonna ask if you wanted to go to Dex’s with me,” Quinlan murmurs to the ratty couch shoved against the wall, wondering how easily he could get Fox onto it later. 

Fox hums and picks his weight up so he can look at Quinlan properly. Any hint of his scowl has cleared away with the clouds and there’s only a hard-fought trusting gaze that cuts through a fallen dark curl. Quinlan clears it away with gentle fingers that still hum against the storyboard of Fox’s skin.

“You buying?” Fox raises an eyebrow. The silvery scar that runs through it like a stream catches the sunlight outside. 

Quinlan kisses his forehead and lingers for a moment, just long enough to whisper there, “Stole some credits from Obi’s robes. He owes me anyway.”

Fox snorts and pulls away, finally placing the datapad on the desk. He sets it right next to the tiny holopicture of the two of them from a few rotations ago. Fox runs a loving finger over the frame, shrugs and responds, “Good enough for me.”

He puts his upper armor back on, steals a proper kiss, and then they’re walking through the halls again and making fun of the worst Senator of the week.

Quinlan’s heart sings the entire time because while the Force may not be second nature to Commander Fox, Quinlan Vos sure as hell is.

[ninjigma]

For 'Of Honor and Force', a Royalty AU Track: 'Second Child, Restless Child' - The Oh Hellos (Spotify / YouTube)

"And here I was, thinking that fighting tooth and nail to survive would finally give me an edge against you."

"Dull your edges, more like."

Quinlan made an exaggerated offended noise, hand grasping at his chest. Fox showed as much sympathy as usual though, and Quinlan didn't have more then a second to be dramatic before he was rapidly blocking quick movements.

Sharp and swift the two danced, feet sliding silently over grass and the sharp noises of metal echoing on the long forgotten ruins. The day was joyous, and Quinlan was thankful for it. He had missed his friend, and between being thrown off a mountain as a form of training and traveling an extra two weeks to get foreign noodles, he had been gone so much longer then he ever cared to be. And he hoped the rare foods would make up for the fact that he knew this time would be even longer still. The inevitable that he would leave, that Quinlan always left.

And he wished the burning in his chest was simply his lungs trying to keep up with the fight.

"And it seems my absence has made your aim a bit…" Quinlan lunged, using his height to Force Fox back rapidly so as not to fall. "Wild."

Fox sneered, and twisted rapidly, the sun bouncing off the sheen of his bare shoulders. "You think way too much of yourself."

"I think of you a lot too." Quinlan had dodged to the side and bowed slightly, hands splayed outward and relaxed even as Fox raised his rapier between them. "My dear prince-"

Fox's angry scoff was lost to the new flurry of movements. Quinlan had pushed enough buttons that their little fight had devolved into something that took a lot more attention, something that left them both beginning to breath heavier, tips of their weapons to scrape and scratch across their exposed torso's. Hair loose and forms tight, wrists twisting and bodies swaying. The grass bent beneath them as neither gave up ground, as they moved together like the currents that carried the storms.

Until Quinlan saw red.

The drip of it as it bubbled up, bright and angry. They had been twisting past each other, and Fox had ducked when Quinlan feigned an upward cut only to then fall low as well. His rapier had pierced the skin, a slash marring across the left side of Fox's chest. A long cut. Red.

In his shock he had hesitated, had hyper focused on that slowed moment his rapier flicked away, scarlet on the tip. He had his eyes on nothing but the wound he had given Fox, the hurt he had inflicted.

And Fox stood back to stance with ne'er a blink, lunged without any time lost, fast to slice Quinlan's sword out of his hand and plant one strong foot to the sternum of his off balanced opponent, flattening him into the ground beneath him.

"What the kriff was that?"

Finally, the knock of the ground chasing his breath away, Quinlan's eyes focused back on Fox's face. On how he was breathing hard, but wore only a look of confusion and annoyance rather then victory. "What?"

Fox huffed, rapier coming to hover just over the right side of Quinlan. "You hesitated. Why did you hesitate? You haven't been going easy on me have you? I swear Vos if you-"

"No no I-," Quinlan's eyes trailed down again. "You're bleeding."

Finally Fox seemed to take notice of the cut. With the iconic raise of one eyebrow his family was know for he flickered his attention to the wound, seemingly expecting it to be a trap perhaps, a distraction. But instead of the pain or anger Quinlan thought would come, the upset at being injured or the panic at the sight, Fox actually laughed. Outright chuffed and even smiled, looking back down to a startled Quinlan.

"Do you stop every time you give an enemy an ouchie?"

"Fox-"

"It is barely even bleeding, for kark's sake. Might scar a bit but-"

"Fox stop. I-"

"No, Quinlan." The rapier's tip lowered against Quinlan's skin, Fox managing to raise his chin even as he stared down hard. "You shut your mouth for once and know that, actually, I am not your dear prince. I am not some fragile thing. I brought the rapiers for a reason, and I am more then aware of the risks, we have been through this plenty of times. I wanted the fight, and it has been so much more fun then putting up with Cody's pointers and Bly's warnings."

Eyes now boring into Quinlan, Fox tilted his head down ever so slightly. "I trust you, even if you are such a fool that I am surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed yet. Got it?"

Quinlan blinked a moment, the silence derived from Fox's tone had been clear and left him in a moment of hesitation before speaking. "Yes sir."

Then that slick smile was back, and Fox was tilting his head like the most clever being in the world. "Besides, that was a pretty good attempt."

Quinlan raised his own brow, but otherwise didn't attempt to move, watching the light through the canopy dance on Fox's face. "Oh? A compliment?"

Fox shook his head, tight lips still smiling. "Pity actually. That is the closest you are ever going to get, shadow boy, and you blew it. Now get back up so I can kick your ass properly this time"

Finally, Quinlan's own smile broke across his face, a new confidence in his friend. The friend who complained about him, sneered at his courting, huffed at his stories. The same friend who came to the ruins every week to look for him despite the months he would never be there, the same friend who would sit with him late enough in the night that his family would be angry with him when he arrived back home, the same friend that he had just cut across the heart of only to receive a smile and an insult.

The same friend that now stepped back and swung the rapier away with such a poise that Quinlan had to simply gaze up a moment in awe from where Fox had laid him so thoroughly flat. That as the prince offered his hand and that sideways smirk, Quinlan once again couldn't believe how lucky he was for any of this. That taking Fox's hand and accepting the help up made his stomach flip in a very different way before once again taking up his rapier and facing Fox squarely.

Beneath the sun and bird song, a canopy of life and story, the prince of the shadows faced the fourth son of Fett and reaffirmed that, no matter what he came against, he would fight to his last breath for just this.

Because Quinlan always came back.

It was just supposed to be a lighting test but uhhhhhh... well, you can see for yourself XD

Enjoy!

View early previews and WIPS of this piece and more on my Patreon!

[setokaibapetty]

Fic Friday 5 + 1 Roundup: Misunderstanding

Some fics with a miscommunication or misunderstanding; both unintentional and those that were encouraged once the gap in understanding is recognized.

Valentine's Day: An Observance in Memoriam (AO3) - “Are you telling us,” Izzy started, then stopped. Jace picked up her thread a few seconds later when it was clear that Izzy was out of words for the moment. “The Downworld celebrates a day in memory of Valentine?” Alec didn’t respond for a long moment. “I think ‘observes’ may be more accurate than celebrates,” he eventually clarified carefully."

In Which Tony Stark is a Philanthropist and All-Around Great Guy (AO3) - "Tony is determined to get Coulson laid. It's the least he can do."

only we know (AO3) - "Quinlan Vos starts spending more and more time hovering around the Republic military base. Fox starts sustaining... mysterious injuries. Thire can only assume the Jedi isn't treating his Commander right. (And so, the Coruscant Guard puts two and two together and gets five.)"

love and bruises (AO3) - "Jason kind of hates the people who say they have a gaydar, but the thing is, he doesn’t need a gaydar to tell with Bruce. He can just tell. Anyone with eyes can tell. The suits, the shoes, that one time Bruce couldn’t stop staring at some random nerdy reporter’s ass, the list goes on. Also, Bruce’s frequent liaisons with Batman are kind of a dead give away."

I Can't Believe It's Not Aliens! (AO3) - "Maybe Jason would condescend to look at Tim twice if he managed to conform more to the alpha ideal? There's nothing he can do about his height, but he's muscled enough to pull off a swagger. He can definitely trade his loose skater clothes for tighter fashion. He could even start projecting his scent and showing his teeth. It's a dumb plan. He knows it's a dumb plan. But if there's one thing he's learned with his Titans, it's that some plans are just dumb enough to work."

Bonus: with every inch of my heart (AO3) - "The apology in Nile’s eyes tells Nicky he’s let his expression slip in a way he hasn’t in centuries, his whole broken heart on display."

[thetenthsunrise]

assorted facts, tidbits, and little anecdotes from the world of the horizon in your eyes---most of which are in the post fic era but whatever

obi wan does not rag on kote (cody) for the whole 'not telling him his real name debacle'...his siblings, however

it became a Thing because really, Kote. fox does not let cody live it down for a while

however, much to fox's despair, arla really likes quinlan and so whenever kote sees fox, he asks how his bf is--claiming that "arla asked"

shortly after the war, the journeymen protectors did a whole big recruitment scheme w jangos kids. fenn rau considers it his greatest political acomplishment

they get jesse (after much cajoling from his family bc hes afraid of resposibility) and bly, who likes it bc being a journeyman gives him excuses to go visit aayla (fenn pretends hes unaware he is doing so)

boba attempted to join up but was told to wait. he was really not happy especially because fox called him a baby right after

that resulted in a throw down that boba did not win. though kote did come by half way through, comment "go get him boba" and then walk away

(jango dragged them off one another)

bacara does not reply to his comms. ever. he has to be physically called to be reached. as such, he's got exactly three chatlogs--two are with his second and third in command

the other one is with omega, who exclusively sends him memes made about the GAR

he has never replied beyond a single thumbs up to the one he found funny (but he watches every single one)

the domino twins got SO MANY write ups during the war. only two were for serious things but rex was still kinda pissed that they'd been given free reign

and since theyre about his grandkids, they go straight to jaster. jaster just started dismissing writeups from the 501st after a while

omega looks SO much like arla. like it gets genuinely freaky as she gets older and jango lowkey wonders about it all sometimes

ponds takes well over a year to admit he even likes mace. mace realised a long time ago but was like 'if ponds doesnt want to say anything i wont either and this will all be fine'

their matchmaker was bly. neither ponds or mace were really pleased about that because bly roped aayla into it, who roped quinlan into it, who somehow got fox to help

fox still visits coruscant sometimes---but ONLY for little keldabe. hes got too many places he's a regular at to leave

he brings jaster one time. they nearly caused a riot (much to thorns (who was working with the csf by that point) displeasure) and jaster was all sad because he just wanted to buy some food

wolffe really struggles in the post war era. he ends up working in the mando military, where he basically becomes kote's guy he sends when someone is pissing him off

bc, without fail, wolffe will turn up an hour later and vaguely say "problem solved" before leaving kote to just be like ????

kix becomes an EMT in Keldabe. he actively refuses to work as a army doctor again

dogma gets his tattoo a year after the war ends :) he cried a little but jango held his hand and tup surprised him with some homemade candies when he got home

his fave comment he got about it was from boba, who said it looked "baller". hes not sure what that means but it sounded nice

anyway if you want more i have more. even for other series.

[decomposing-writer]

Blaze Prologue

A/N: So in case anyone's wondering this fic is a re-write of my fic Autumn Princess. I didn't like how I wrote it, so I restructured it. Same characters with a slightly different plot. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it.

Description: Blakely Quinlan is the younger twin of Bryce Quinlan. Though preferring to keep out of any and all great conflicts, she is left with no choice when she discovers that Bryce has fled Midgard. What will become of her though, when she gets wrapped up in the mess her sister left behind in Prythian. Especially, with how little she knows about what her sister has been up to in these last few months.

Blakely Quinlan had always tried to live her life away from any conflict. Now, that was not to say that she was a coward. But that she was cautious and preferred to weigh her odds. This meaning that when things seemed like they could go wrong, she made a point of being the first out of the door. 

This is why, when she had come up with this reckless plan, her best friend Beau had looked at her like she had lost her mind. In fact, he still was as he adjusted her armor. Which he had given Blake after realizing how serious she was. Are you sure about this? He asked for the thousandth time, and while that cautious part of her wanted to say no, she nodded.

Blake was only ever capable of this type of recklessness where her family was concerned, and with it being her older sister, she felt that she had little other choice but to be sure. Though it did not stop her friends continued fretting as he went over the plan again, almost as if trying to convince himself to the extent that she was. 

“So this synthetic magic will hit your half of the horn. Which will hopefully transport you to the plane your sister is on. However, that will not guarantee landing exactly where Bryce is, even with your bond.” Beau said, but it only seemed to make his fretting worse as he grew more frustrated. 

Which is why Blake ignored him, knowing that any more fuss would only make her think about the risks too. The female nstead holding out her hand for her weapons, which Beau passed to her, one at a time. 

The pistol her dad had given her. 

The semi-automatic her brothers friends had given her. 

The few knives she had collected throughout her travels.

And her phone. 

Blake frowned at the addition of that last one. But Beau merely shoved it at her anyway. The male commenting that if things go wrong, she would at least have some way to remember him. 

Blake resisted the urge to scowl at the Fae male, though she did pocket it. Before moving to the center of the atrium, one of the largest in the male's home, and turning to face him. She could feel her hands begin to shake and the look on Beau's face a mix of worry and something else as he watched her from his place at the top of the steps didn’t help. Blake tried her best to smile however she knew it was a pathetic waste when he did not return it. Instead, shakily raising the bottle full of vibrating synthetic magic. 

He never mentioned why his family kept something so dangerous in the royal household. However, she supposed it was likely the safest place when compared to other places in this territory. “Are you sure about this?” He asked again, and while usually Blake would have snapped at him, by this point. She knew that if she opened her mouth, it likely would not be words that came out. So she instead nodded. Beau taking that as his queue. 

However, he seemed to hesitate several times before delaying for a second longer. As if wanting to say more or perhaps trying to remember her as she was. Blake couldn’t help but do the same as she looked at him, from his dark brown skin to his onyx hair and amber eyes. She certainly had much she would have liked to do with him, hell even say. But this was too important. Which is why she was grateful when he made up his mind. 

Beau closed his eyes and with as much precision as a fae prince could have chucked the delicate bottle at her. The glass shattering upon impact with her armor and a hollowness filling her ears before she was transported away. 

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Can we see the recess kids teacher rules?

Akuma Class

Science Kids

Alonzo Grotke’s Rules For Taking Care Of His Students

The first rule of Recess Club is don’t talk about Recess Club

Pronouns. Matter.

There are 16 stim toys in the desk drawer at all times

Beck King does NOT count as adult supervision

Karan and Saanvi Tomassian have full permission to pull Austins Armbruster, Boulet, and Quinlan out of class for any appointments

Lotta is not allowed to go down the stairs by herself

Check your chair for any whoopie cushions, if chalk is taped to your eraser, and if your coffee mug is glued to your desk. (I won’t tell you what’s the fourth prank you need to look out for)

Austin Quinlan is allowed to answer any phone calls from his brother

In the event you need to speak with one of them about a grade, do not do it in front of the others

Lotta is NOT allowed to have coffee

Only refer to Austin Spinelli by his last name

If Victoria does not have her crutches and needs to use the bathroom, send someone with her to help her down the stairs (She prefers Gerard)

Listen to Mason when she’s reading something from her binder. It just might save your life

In the event you’re sending any AFAB students out of class for supplies or they need to use the bathroom between 10:00 am and 10:15 am, make sure an AMAB student or any student who can fight goes with them

Austin Boulet is allowed to bring his cat with him to class for emotional support during tests

If a student named Jean Duparc walks in saying a teacher needs to see Austin Tomassian, do not send Austin with him

Gia and Mindy are not allowed to leave the classroom together

Gerard and Victoria are not allowed to leave the classroom together

The Game is not allowed to be played no matter what anyone says. No one counts as adult supervision

If Gia begins to rant in military jargon, do not interrupt her

Leave a homework pass on Gerard’s desk every three days

Gerard has full permission to take naps in class

The second you see them wearing black robes and surrounding DJ who likely has a hundred googly eyes glued to them, just walk away

If what Rochelle is telling you sounds urgent, you better go and look into it

[meandmyechoes]

Tales of the Underworld #1 liveblog

#1 "A Way Forward"

i knew what is coming i am a brave one

NOOOOOO

oh my god Dathomir looks so Dead? The environment is barely moving

That central pit is still STILL

imagine how entrancing Dathomir could've been during the training sessions in dark disciple!

oh my god it's so much more heartbreaking on the small screen that I can actually see the weight on him and her posture instead of that screen from 20 metres away in Celebration

But I know an updated character model when I see one!

His hands are humongous it's almost hilarious

OHMYGOD go back I don't want to see that tear as clearly

that shot of her submerging underwater looks so realistic (positive)

the sheerness of that face covering??? (positive)

WHEN HE HELD ON TO HER HAND!!!!!!!!!

That man looks like he aged a hundred years… (going to the dark side and have your girlfriend die to bring you back for plot reason does that to one)

01:43 this shot is CRAZY and i guess we finally know how Ventress's chin tattoo goes?

When his hand goes after her for a bit!!!! (re: op is obsessed with how Ahsoka's hand hover-hesitate for a second before opening Anakin's gift for her in S7)

Just so you know the entire epilogue of Dark Disciple and Obi-wan's words echo in my head all through this scene

It's so surreal to hear Asajj says "Quinlan"

Know that I and the girlies out there rehearsed "Talzin revives Ventress" a thousand times in our heads so it's not a surprise at all haha

oooh Mother Talzin offered Ventress a second life at the cost of her "heart's desire" I took that to mean Talzin erased Quinlan from her mind somehow but apparently that doesn't line up with later events. Now I understand it means she'll only keep the second life if she stays away from Vos - her heart's desire at the moment the pact was made. Alternatively she would fade away if she decides to talk to Quinlan again (and fulfill her "regrets" - common trope for returning ghosts). Girl is little mermaid 😭

Messy hair Ventress you'll always be my beloved

And it looks like Talzin teleport her some time away from the burial too…

TITLE CARD!

Town might be Tatooine Lite bit look how much details animation add

Dying and coming back to life vs being 30, which makes you seek the peace and quiet and ocassional butt-kicking as a security guard?

Sad puppy alert!!

Let's see those lightsabers!!

Asajj can write an autobiography on a life being ruined by Jedi scum

the "old people like you" line got the whole room laughing at swcj lol

the internal screams i let out hearing "The Path" and Vos's name! the memory of hearing it for the first time as a perfect cameo in OBK!!

whole room was boiling when the inquisitor showed up to be obliterated

Apparently that duel was so awesome it blackouted my memory of it from celebration

Oh but I remember very well the line "And I probably killed several people you know personally"

Oooh it's a Davey story. okay i'm cool with that.

so we didn't learn the boy's name yet in the first episode!

[roppongi-division]

ARB Birthday Special 2024: Mireya Quinlan

~~ July 31st ~~

"The question isn't who's going to let me, it's who's going to stop me."

Login Lines:

"Oh, you're here early! I was just wrapping up today's session at the center. These girls, they're picking up the dance so quickly! It's still not perfect, but they're steadily getting better."

"A gift? Now, why would… Oh! It's that time of the year again, isn't it? How could I forget my own birthday? And here I was giving Kai crap for forgetting his birthday a few months ago. Must be all the late nights at the club. ...But anyway, thank you, dear, you're a sweetheart."

Voice Lines:

" 35 years old. ...Well, I can't say I'm 'young' anymore. You know I almost let it slip by this year, the day I turn another page in my life's story. The girls at the rec center, they threw me this surprise party. They even put on a dance, just for me. It was their way of saying thanks, but really, it's me who should be thanking them. They've given me so much more than they realize: purpose, laughter, and a reminder of the power of second chances."

"My mother… not even a whisper from her today. But then again, what did I expect? We're two worlds apart now, and I prefer it that way. Sometimes, I catch myself wondering, 'What's she doing now? Does she ever think of me?' But those thoughts, they're like shadows: fleeting and better left behind. I've got my own life, a life filled with music, love, and the laughter of my son. That's all the family I need."

"My childhood wasn't the stuff of fairy tales, far from it. A controlling mother, an absent father, spending most of time being dressed up like some doll for people to gawk and stare at… But look where that road led me. To Kai, to Zakari, to a nightclub that's my realm. Every step, every misstep, it's all been part of this dance. And for that, for all of it, I'm thankful. I’m exactly where I’m meant to be."

"...You know, it's funny. Society has this way of labeling us, telling us what we can or cannot do at certain ages. But me? I've never been one to dance to anyone else's rhythm but my own. I'm not 'young' by the books, but I've got more fire in me than those half my age. Let them dare to call me 'old,' and they'll learn just how fierce this 'Gypsy Queen' can be. Age is just a number, and I refuse to be defined by it. I'll keep living, dancing, and loving with all the passion I've always had. That's a promise."

"Ah, mi amor. ...Thank you. I'm glad to see you took time out of your busy schedule of making music to wish me a 'happy birthday'. ...Oh, don't be silly, love. That was just a small threat. But I am glad that you remembered. ...Ha, yes it has been a long time since we've met and we are still here. I've said it before, but I am eternally thankful for you, my husband."

"Oh? And what's this now? You always find new ones to surprise me, love. Oh, a custom necklace with my name? 'My Gypsy Queen'. ...Oh. It's beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much, Kai. You've made this day even more special. I love you, mi amor."

"Zakari, good to see you up and about today. Usually, you insist on sleeping past noon when you don't have classes. ...Oh, so my birthday is the reason you're up. Well, thank you. Anything to keep you from wasting the day away. ...Because you are my son and you don't know better, I'll let that one slide. But for your sake, my son, do not refer to me by the 'three-letter word' again, okay dear? ...Good, glad you understand."

"So, I assume you're heading out now to freelance across the city again? ...Oh, and what are these now? …Belly dancing CDs? You chose these yourself? ...Oh, that’s so thoughtful of you. I can't wait to dance to these. Thank you, my dear son, you've made your mother very happy."

Kai Lines:

"Happy birthday, Mireya. ...Well, of course I remembered. I seem to remember a certain someone threatening me on my birthday that if I forgot theirs, I'd be confined to the living room sofa for the foreseeable future. ...Ha, if you say so, love. But, really and truly, I didn't need a reminder to help me remember one of the most important days of the year. It's the day you were born, so if I ever forget, then shame on me."

"And to show I haven't forgotten, I have this for you. It's a necklace. Read what's one the front. ...Thank you, I'm glad you like it. ...And I love you, my darling wife."

Zakari Lines:

"Hey mom! ...Hey, if I don't need a reason to get up early, why not sleep in? Besides, most of my classes are in the afternoon anyway. But truthfully, I woke up cause its your special day! Happy birthday, by the way! How does it feel to be '35'? Your so old now! ...Haha. Come on, mom, it was just a joke. You still look beautiful, really! I'm sorry! ...Sheesh, remind me never to mention anything about numbers around you..."

"Yeah, I'm about to head out. But first... happy birthday! Yup, they're belly-dancing CDs! I saw them while browsing the store one day and thought you'd like them. ...Glad you like them, mom! Enjoy them! I'm about to head out! Happy birthday again!"

[thejediandthemandalorian]

🚨 quinfox

Okay, this one is a lot longer than I meant for it to be 🙈 Hopefully the length of these makes up for how long it's taking me to get them done lol 💜

"Commander, you have a visitor." Hound sounded way too smug, even through the vocoder in his helmet, as he stood in front of the cell's forcefield. 

"Tell whoever it is to leave. I haven't had my caf yet, so I really don't want to see anybody." Fox lifted his head enough to scowl over his arms that were wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest. 

His head was pounding still and every once in a while he could still feel a small zap from the after effects of getting stunned. 

50,000 volts of electricity 3 times in the span of 1.67 milliseconds; that's how much it took to knock him unconscious. He should work on that, slowly build up a tolerance to make it harder to get knocked out next time. What good was he as the Commander of the Coruscant Guard if he passed out from a couple thousand volts of electricity. 

Spending the night in this holding cell hadn't been as bad as he thought it might be. Of course, he'd be reporting to the Supreme Chancellor at some point after his release for a reprimand and any punishment that may be served towards him for his 'crimes.'

It wouldn't be the first time he added marks to his record, but it didn't mean he was any happier about it than the other times. 

"You can go in now. Be cautious though, he's a cold-blooded killing machine when he hasn't had his morning cup of caf." Hound barked out a laugh and opened the force field for Fox's visitor. 

"It's alright, Sergeant. I think I can handle Commander grouchy pants before his caf." An all too familiar and cheerful voice made it's way towards his cell.

Fox immediately groaned and laid his head back down on his arms, the pounding in his head immediately increasing with this unexpected visitor. He totally should've seen it coming, though in his defense his head was still pounding making it harder to think. 

"You sure you don't want to talk to him on the outside of the cell, General Vos?" Fox was going to make Hound regret this as soon as he was out of here and back to work. 

"No, Sergeant, I think I'll be able to deal with the little delinquent just fine from the inside." Quinlan's tone was already too flirty for such an early hour. 

Fox desperately wished he had his armor to hide himself in, it was always easier to talk to the jetii through his helmet. The upper half of his armor had been stripped away and confiscated before he'd been tossed in this cramped cell, though it had to have been while he was still unconscious.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the high and mighty Commander Fox, occupying a cell."

"Vos--"

"Oh how the tables have turned." Quinlan laughed and Fox looked up, shooting him a glare that he knew was just as effective as any blaster bolt. 

"Get out." Fox hissed, trying to keep from wincing at the pain in his head, knowing it would only show a weakness. 

Quinlan was somehow even more irritating inside a cell, and this time it wasn't even his own. On the other hand, there was something calming about him being here, perhaps it meant that he wouldn't be sent to Kamino for rectification. 

"Now is that any way to talk to the man who could very well press charges against you?" Vos took a step forward and Fox simply scowled more, trying to keep him back. 

"You know it wasn't my fault!" He snapped and gnashed his teeth. "If you hadn't dragged me down to the lower levels for another one of your 'ideas' I wouldn't be in this mess anyways."

Last night wasn't some of his best work, and he wanted to forget it ever happened but he knew this jetii well enough to know that--

"I think a cell suits you. The force field really brings out that streak in your hair…" Quinlan stepped forward again, the cell small enough that it had only taken him two steps to reach Fox. 

"You deserve that black eye." Fox's teeth were so tight he was sure they would snap any second from the pressure. 

Alpha 17 had always told him to stop clenching his teeth or one day he'd no longer be able to bite whoever he was fighting. He was sure if he asked Alpha 17 would(n't) admit that he had several scars from where Fox had bit him. 

"Maybe I should press charges since you're in such a bantha shit mood." Quinlan reached a hand towards him and Fox found himself jumping back, body hitting the durasteel behind him.

For all he knew Quinlan was about to return the favor and give him a shiner just as bad as his own; it didn't help that his helmet had been confiscated. Besides, he didn't need his head pounding more than it did. 

"Relax. I'm here to take you back to your barracks. You've been released." Quinlan reached out again and adjusted a strand of Fox's hair. 

At that same moment he felt another jolt go through his body, sadly an after effect of his assailants solution to the fight they'd started and not a response to the affection from the jetii. 

"Are you sure you're not taking me on another 'lower level patrol' where I've been assigned by the council to accompany you?" Quinlan rolled his eyes and held out a hand. 

Fox stared at it suspiciously for a moment, wondering if it was going to morph itself into a saberjowl and snap at him. 

The events of the night prior would be best if forgotten by everyone He'd been requested to escort a Jedi in the lower levels; it had actually turned out to be Quinlan's plan to get him on a date and away from work. The evening was…tolerable, and they had simply walked around the streets and chatted for a bit. 

Of course, however, he had still been on the look out for anything out of place or that might have needed authority to step in. That had been a mistake. 

A couple people had been hidden away in an alleyway, hidden by the shadows to the untrained eye. Fox had locked in on them immediately, which also drew Quinlan's attention. 

They had gone over to take a look, to make sure nothing illegal was transpiring, when both had been attacked from behind. Fox only remembered fighting and fighting hard, so hard he'd lost control. 

Quinlan had grabbed him from behind to support himself after a nasty punch from his assailant and Fox had turned and landed a punch square in his face. From there everything else became a blur.

The assailants had blasted him with a stun gun several times before fleeing. 

Next thing he knew he was waking up in a cell and being read his charges, Quinlan nowhere to be found. 

"I promise. We're getting you your armor, then you're going to be confined to your barracks until the Chancellor has time to review your case." Quinlan started to pull his hand back, but Fox quickly snatched it.

He used it for leverage to pull himself up off the bench, still a little out of sorts, but no worse for wear. Quinlan gave him the most irritating grin that had him ripping his hand away immediately. 

"Why aren't you pressing charges? I assaulted my superior officer." 

Quinlan walked towards the cell door and threw a rage inducing grin over his shoulder. Fox wanted to punch him again, harder…maybe with his lips.

"Quit asking so many questions." He paused for a moment, turning back towards Fox. "Maybe we should stop at the communal freshers before I start my watch."

"What!?" Fox's eyes widened in horror at the prospect of being Vos's charge. 

"You smell like delinquency and burning flesh. You need a sonic." 

[zealfruity]

I gotta know more about Jedi Cutup

How does he handle his antics totally not getting under Quinlan's skin?

On a scale of 1-10, how hard does their shitposting break that scale?

Is he any good with his saber? What's his favorite form of the seven? Does Quinlan teach him any -non- Jedi forms?~

How resonant in the Force does he become/what are favored "powers"?

I’m so happy you asked me this. Mostly because i love Cutup but also because I didn’t really think beyond that? So here’s what I’ve cooked up for you:

1. He keeps upping the antics. If Quinlan is unphased or perfectly in tune with whatever's Cutup's cooking up (which is most of the time that guy gets up to so much bs)? Cutup gets more ambitious. At some point he does realise that it's not going to work, but it takes a lot of trying and failing. The only time he ever threw Quinlan off his stride was the first time Quinlan heard about him from Obi-Wan, and then maybe after Cutup catches onto a Force trick very quickly Vos didn’t expect it. Afterwards Cutup didn't have much luck, which is annoying when part of your whole Thing is that you imbalance and inconvenience authority 24/7.

2. I'm not really sure what you mean here, my reading comprehension can be iffy. The Vos and Cutup duo get into a lot of shenanigans, they're a good apprenticeship match. Shit gets done but the way it gets done always ends up being…. Out of the box. So I guess 9/10, knowing eachother def raised their individual Hijinks Magnets’ strenghts.

3. He's alright with it, just not used to close range stuff. He was trained as a grenadier, which involves a lot of aiming+throwing explosives far away and then shooting deadly blaster fire at ennemies. He's good at aiming blaster bolts when deflecting them, and he's not a very traditional fighter so that definetely helps him out. Form V is the one he's best at and likes the most, and when learning with the practice saber, it was definetely the one he had to use the most if ever he needed to (still being at war on the frontlines and all). he has the physical capabilities energy to use Form IV (he was always a little bit of a showoff, he's the kid who does sick flips on the trampoline and then probs hurts himself doing a backflip wrong). It saps him of his force strenght quickly though and he hasn't quite mastered the spatial awareness it needs, so he has to be careful.

4. Cutup's gotten good at some niche hand-to-hand techniques that Quinlan knows. He learns how to use a blaster/saber way of fighting where the saber is mostly used for defence and some close combat, and the blaster used for offence and long range. Quinlan helps him merge what he’s been taught his whole life being a trooper and the new things he’s learning from the Jedi in peacetime.

5. He's not the strongest Jedi in the room, he's pretty average and the years of uncontiously supressing something like that for self preservation reasons (kamino + war = bad mixture for an untrained force sensitive, also some story and lore stuff that I don't feel like getting into right now). He's good at the whole "something is about to happen" feeling and can manage to get decently specific with it. he's learned how to concentrate his usage of the Force in one big, short burst that can have pretty cool results (but tire him out emmediately afterwards, any further Force usage is difficult and can leave some damage to him). It's the longer lasting, consistent usage (used for say, deep meditation, holding smth up for longer than 30 seconds, and sensing larger amounts of people) that he has a lot of trouble with. Gets really good at timing when to enhance his strenght and speed with the Force in short moments, but again: keeping it consistent during a fight is not his strong suit.

Hope this helped :)) As always, my ask box is open ✨

I like how little guy he looks here.