#Quinlan looked away for one second!!!!

[tennessoui]

😧

^^ quinlans face after he leaves his buddy to terrorize a few senators, comes back to find him talking to the one guy he really should not be talking with while pulling all his usual flirting moves, looks away only for the pair of them to disappear, blinks and sees his buddy running after his other buddy, doesn’t see him for a while before seeing him again looking very recently mauled and clearly disassociating only to lose track of him again, see that one guy he shouldn’t be talking with following him up to a restricted area only to be told not even an hour later that his buddy was stabbed by a sith who kidnapped the chancellor elect and now he’s in the halls of healing, unconscious and injured

[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.

[shootingstarpilot]

You know, occasionally you might be struggling with a particular scene, trying to figure out how to get over that bump, and then A Certain Someone drops seven DELIGHTFULLY LENGTHY COMMENTS on back then, i was dauntless and you manage to hammer out 300 words over your lunch break and then that same person hits you with AN EIGHTH LOVELY AND THOUGHTFUL COMMENT on the same fic and suddenly the way through the thicket of a scene becomes visible-

Anyway, have a section of that scene, spoiler alert for a plot point in the next chapter- I'd appreciate any feedback!

Eventually, Quinlan’s shoulders steady and still. He pulls back just enough to make eye contact.

He does not let go.

“Obi-Wan,” he says. “Focus on me, please. Okay?”

Fear is not helpful here, present though it may be. Obi-Wan breathes in, breathes out, and listens. He drops his hand, squeezes Quinlan’s, feels the tendons stretch and flex as Quinlan mirrors his grip. He notes the tickle of hair on the back of his neck, the ever-present ache in his chest, the way his boots scuff against the pockmarked concrete. The acrid smell of fuel is a constant companion in this district, and not even the pollutant disposal system is enough to completely disperse the settled smog that casts a yellow pall over the surrounding structures.

“Okay,” he says, and then again, firmer this time– “Okay. Tell me?”

Quinlan closes his eyes. Leans forward. Presses their foreheads together. 

And does.

Footage.

The footage.

Discovered in Palpatine’s– the Sith’s– files.

They’d called Mace to deal with it. As soon as he’d realized what it was.

Copies of the footage may have been saved– elsewhere.

They’re searching, now. Poring over lines and lines of code.

For a dead man’s switch. Release onto the holonet.

Irretrievable. Inescapable.

Obi-Wan sets the words aside. A safe distance away. Picks them up, one by one. Studying them.

They.

“Who else saw?”

“Just me.”

“Tell me.”

“I was the only one looking at the screen. I was the only one who saw it. No one went further, after I realized–”

“Tell me who else was there.”

Yaddle, as it turns out. Tholme. Names Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize.

Too many.

“As soon as. You said. How long did– how much did you–”

“Four seconds.”

Too much. Too long.

“I didn’t– recognize you. At first.”

“No.”

Metal in his mouth. Prying open. Jaw popping, dislocating– no breath left–

(The pain had ceased to matter, after a bit. Meaningless next to the supreme and unmatched agony of being bent out of shape.)

“I don’t think I would have, either.”

Yellow sky. Sour bile. Warm hands.

Shaking. Disbelieving. Fingers at his pulse point.

Bare hands.

Psychometry is a powerful tool. Furniture. Flimsiwork.

Data chips.

“What did it feel like?”

A breath. Two breaths. The two of them, matching.

“Bloated,” Quinlan whispers. “Like an infection. Septic joy.”

Obi-Wan nods.

Yes.

That tracks.

[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.

[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!”

[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!

[lamaenthel]

Bite Down On This

[read on ao3] [Febuwhump prompt: "Bite Down On This"]

Bly has to do the unthinkable to his General to save her life after a mortar strike wipes out their company.

Characters: CC-5052|Bly, Aayla Secura, Quinlan Vos Wordcount: 868

" …hear me? Bly? Bly, are you alive?"

Bly blinks, takes a deep breath, and almost passes out again. He's face-down in a pile of… something. Something that smells like copper, fire, and human shit. He pushes himself up, his head spinning, and vomits on top of the bisected abdomen of the clone trooper he landed on.

"Get up!" He's yanked sideways, dragged on his back away from the body. Bodies. They're everywhere, he can see that now. "Get it together trooper, I need you."

"Yes, General," Bly tries to say; it comes out more of a blurry, slurred yrrrs gurnnnll.

"Hold on, Blue. We're coming. I got him. See? You were worried for nothing." General Vos tugs him up and forces him to walk on nerveless legs.

"Bly?" His stomach flips at how weak she sounds. "Oh, Bly, I—ah!" She breaks off with a shriek of agony. His stomach flips again.

"We're here. We're here, Blue." General Vos lets go of Bly's cuirass and drops down beside her. "I'm so sorry, honey. This is going to hurt. Bite down on this and take a deep breath, okay?"

Bly focuses on not falling down. His brain is unscrambling, reassembling his memories like scattered puzzle pieces. Aayla was leading their small scouting company from the front, trying to keep up with her old Master's massive stride. Bly was bringing up the rear, avoiding Vos and the looks he kept throwing over his shoulder. There was a whistle over their heads, then…

Mortar! Spread out!

He was at the rear. She was at the front. He was thrown back. She…

"It's okay, Blue. I know, I'm sorry it hurts. I've got you." Vos tightens the tourniquet around her ruined leg, right above what used to be her knee. 

They had some sausages once on Dantooine, made from roba hogs by the locals. They were so grateful for the Republic's arrival. They donated crates upon crates of fresh meat, vegetables, and fragrant blue rice. They'd never eaten so well. Aayla helped them all find sticks to cook the sausages on over the bonfire—her skin glows like midnight in the firelight—and laughed like a bell when he burned his mouth. 

Bard had overcooked his sausage. The end had burst open and split apart in strips, just like Aayla's leg.

"Get down here, Commander." General Vos adjusts them so that Aayla is cradled in his lap, his tree-trunk legs sticking straight out. He puts a hand on her forehead and whispers something Bly can't hear. Her head falls to the side, lekku drooping limp and lifeless. "Take my lightsaber and cut above the tourniquet," Vos orders, tossing it to the dirt in front of him. 

Bly's legs give out. He falls hard onto his shebs, head spinning. "What?"

"You heard me, Commander." Aayla stirs to life in his arms. Vos scowls and closes his eyes. "Sleep," he orders her, loud enough for Bly to hear this time.

There's two sabers laying in the dirt in front of him. Bly unsteadily reaches for the one on the right, grabs a handful of dirt instead. 

"Now!" Vos growls at him. "Sleep." His voice turns gentle when it's directed at her. He's like a father to me. "Good girl. It'll be over soon."

Aayla is dripping sweat and drooling around the leather strap her Master shoved in her mouth. Her head tosses from side to side, struggling to stay awake. Her lekku come to life only to curl up in tight, distressed spirals.

"I…" Bly swallows down a second surge of vomit. They need a medic. Where's their medic? He suddenly remembers the paintjob of the trooper he woke up on.

"Do it!" The Kiffar General—both of them—shoots him a glare that could melt beskar. "I can't keep her unaware much longer, Commander, she's fighting too hard. Do it before she wakes up!"

"Wake up, Commander," she whispers, her lek curling lovingly around his wrist. She trails a graceful finger down his nose, tickles his lips, chases the touch with a delicate kiss. 

"Do it, now!"

Bly pushes the button, goes blind from the green light. He blinks away the spots, stares down at his Aayla's beautiful leg—she hooks it over his hip, uses it to pull him closer as she cries out his name—and stops. "I can't," he says hoarsely. "I can't hurt a Jedi." My Jedi.

"You want her to be awake and screaming while you cut her leg off?" Vos' fury is incandescent, burning like a corona. "Do it, you useless son of a bitch!"

Bly's double vision isn't helped by his tears. "I can't."

"If you don't I will fucking gut you." Vos means it, but he still can't bring himself to bring down the beam. "Do it now, or so help me—"

"Bly," Aayla whimpers around the strap. Her big, beautiful brown eyes flicker open.

"SLEEP." Vos mouths the command directly against her ear cone. Her eyes close, her head falls limply to the side. Vos' eyes meet Bly's, and his vision is finally steady enough to see that the Kiffar is crying. "Do it. Do it while she's asleep, I'm begging you." 

Bly swallows hard, nods, and brings down the blade.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[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. 

[tennessoui]

wherein anakin leaves the order

for @kana7o who requested anakin leaving the order when he’s 14 or so and obi-wan leaving with him which catches anakin completely by surprise. 

(2.7k)

It’s the balino pasta that does it. 

Sort of.

Well, okay, it’s a lot of things if Anakin is being honest.

But it’s the balino pasta that really, actually, finally does it.

Anakin stares down at the bowl in front of him, feeling the excitement curdling in his chest as Briyel digs her fork into a red noodle and raises it to her mouth with alacrity. 

“Oh stars,” Vun says from beside him, breaking a chunk of bread and dipping it into the still-bubbling yellow sauce. “Oh stars, thank the Force Master Renwal let us go early for lunch.”

“They put souan bird in it!” Lana reports, sounding so kriffing excited.

“Oh that’s bantha shit then,” Rangok says, pushing the bowl away. “Souan’s the worst.”

Anakin can’t tear his eyes away from the pasta in his bowl the same way he can’t escape the sinking feeling in his gut, the one that tells him what he already knows:

He doesn’t belong here.

Just from the smell, he can tell it’s bland, that even though the colors in his bowl are reminiscent of fire, it will taste like nothing when it slides down his throat.

“Chin up, Skywalker,” Briyel nudges at him underneath the table with her fin. “I thought you liked Souan bird.”

“I do,” Anakin says and forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah definitely.”

He reaches for the excitement that he’d felt two hours ago when the first whispers of the lunch menu circulated through his age mates. Balino pasta.

He hadn’t known what it was, but he’s gotten very good at pretending he does with this sort of thing. He’s found it’s much easier to fake excitement than it is to face his peers’ incredulity when they remember again and again that he is different from the rest of them, raised speaking a different language, on a different planet, with a different understanding of—of everything.

Even something as simple as food. 

“Yeah, it’s good,” Anakin nods and tries to make it look happy, spearing a noodle on his fork and lifting it to his mouth. “Oh, wow,” he says. “That’s wizard.”

“Oh, what?” Vun looks up from his fourth forkful. “Wait, do you actually like balino pasta?” 

Anakin freezes mid-chew. The question feels like a trap, but he can’t understand how. They’re all eating it, they were all so excited about it. Surely that means they like it. And surely that means that Anakin should as well. 

“Yeah,” he swallows. Frankly, he thinks, the ration bars he ate with his master while they took cover under a shipwreck tasted better than this. Kark, if Anakin’s being honest, the bugs he’d eaten roasted over the smallest fire imaginable on Tatooine tasted better than this.

But just a few months ago, he’d overheard his master talking with Master Vos in their quarters. Anakin was meant to be asleep, but he’d been so thirsty, still recovering from a sickness that had left him bedridden for two weeks. He’d just needed water, but then his master had been talking to Vos and it had taken Anakin all of two seconds to realize he was talking about him.

So of course he’d stayed. Of course he’d crouched in the shadows of the hallway leading to the living area and listened to his master’s words.

“It is like he does not want to be accepted by his age mates,” Obi-Wan had muttered, and Anakin could see the way he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Like he does not care nor desire the community they can bring him. That the Jedi can bring him.”

“From where I’m sitting, he wants to be accepted by you,” Quinlan Vos had replied, and Anakin had felt mortification deep down to his bones. “Maybe he doesn’t need agemates if he has you.”

“He won’t always have me,” Obi-Wan had said. “Not to mention that that way of thinking leads to dangerous attachment. He needs—kriff, Quinlan, I want him to feel as if he belongs here at the Temple, but he—he never wants to attend activities with his agemates, he never wakes in time for morning meditation, he hid the fact that he was sick until he almost collapsed in Mid Rim Contextual Histories class! I don’t know if—if he truly does not need the connection with his peers or if he doesn’t want to try or if he still does not trust the Jedi enough to seek his agemates out, but—” his master had cut himself off with a frustrated groan and gone quiet.

His friend hadn’t. “Obi-Wan, you’ve been given a difficult task, one that’s not been done in living memory for very good reason. Your padawan’s rough adjustment to Temple life is not a reflection of you as a master, nor of how much you care for the boy.”

“How could it not be?” Anakin’s master had said, and Anakin had gone back to his bed with a dry throat and a pit in his stomach which solidified into a resolution overnight: he would try. For that wavering note of dismay in his master’s voice, he would try harder than ever before to belong here in the Temple.

But then—but now—-

“I’ve never met someone who likes the balino pasta,” Vun says.

Anakin looks to Briyel, because nothing makes sense, but she’s smiling slightly too.

“But then—” he stutters out, setting down his fork in his still full bowl of food. “I don’t—”

Lana takes pity on him. “Everyone in the entire Temple thinks balino pasta is disgusting,” she tells him after she swallows her mouthful. “And so the cooks always give us the best dessert after to make up for it. Balino pasta means Bavaugan cream puffs, and if you eat really fast, Chef Faj gives you extra cream puffs.”

“Since you like the pasta so much, can I have your cream puffs?” Rangok asks, and Anakin’s chest feels tight, like all the pasta he’s just forced himself to swallow has gummed up his lungs.

He stands and walks out of the refectory without another word.

—----------

So it’s a lot of things, but it’s the balino pasta that really does it, really makes him understand that he can learn the rules and he can play nice as anything, he can join the outings his agemates schedule and he can stay silent during morning meditation, but he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know how to, will never be able to learn every hidden rule and tacit understanding that binds the Jedi together.

He can recite the Code in four different languages, but he’ll never know about the balino pastas of the Jedi Temple, the silent rituals that bind all Jedi together.

And he can’t think of one reason why he should keep trying. 

—------------

Anakin wouldn’t say he’s an expert at leaving homes behind, but he’s done it once already, so he understands the basics.

He understands that it’s important to go fast and to not look back. He has a bit of credits, a lot more than any fourteen year old should have. He has a bit of credits and a loose plan. He’s going to leave the Jedi Order one night, and he’s not going to come back. He won all the credits he has by podracing in the lower levels, so he’ll go there first, bet on himself under a fake name, and collect his winnings. Then he’ll get off of Coruscant for good.

Out of necessity, he waits one week between the day balino pasta was served in the refectory and the night he leaves. He tells himself it’s because of the podracing schedule, but he knows it’s not.

His master is gone. He’d been sent on a solo mission a few weeks ago, and Anakin wants to say goodbye to him. He doesn’t want to just leave.

But Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found, even when Anakin thinks he should be back, and Anakin can feel the resolve in his stomach wavering.

More importantly, he can feel his disquiet slowly harden into resentment—of his agemates, of the Order, of his master.

He doesn’t want to hate anything, especially not the Jedi. Especially not his master.

So when the night of his self-imposed departure rolls around, Anakin walks to his master’s room. It’s empty still, the bed carefully made and every surface clean and devoid of personality.

He leaves his padawan braid on the blanket. His master should have that at least. It’s always been his more than it’s been Anakin’s.

It’s incredibly difficult not to linger as he walks through their quarters. He spent five years of his life here. There, the third caf table that Master had had to request because Anakin had destroyed the first two. The kitchen where Master had taught him how to make an omelet.

It doesn’t get any easier as he moves through the Jedi Temple, quiet as a mouse-droid and leaving half-hearted goodbyes in his wake even as he tries not to linger.

He knows what he should do because this is not his first time leaving a home.

But he doesn’t think he can do it, leave and not look back. He isn’t sure he has it in him.

It tears at his heart, standing in the hangar bay, hugging the shadows of the room as he waits for the last worker to leave.

He wonders when his bond with his master will fade, when his master will get another padawan. He thinks about some strange boy sleeping in his bed, and his heart falters. Maybe he can try harder. Maybe there’s still time to turn back, run back to their quarters, and unpack his bag.

He can explain away the shorn padawan braid as a training accident, he can—he can stuff this hurt deep down into his chest and try to be the padawan his master deserves. The Jedi Order can be his family, they can, he can just—he just has to pretend a little more and then he—

A hand, rough and familiar, falls onto his shoulder and it’s only when Anakin raises his head to blink tear-filled eyes at his master that he realizes he’s sunk down against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as his mind tears into his heart.

“Hello there,” his master murmurs, kneeling in front of him. “What are you doing on the floor, padawan?”

Anakin promptly bursts into tears.

When his master sucks in a startled breath and guides him into his chest, Anakin feels rotten. He’s leaving but his master is still being so nice to him. And in a few years—a few months—his master will find a new padawan, and he won’t be his master anymore and this is what Anakin wants because he doesn’t belong at the Temple, this is what he needs. 

But it hurts. It hurts so much.

“Hush, padawan,” his master murmurs, and Anakin buries his face in the tunic of Obi-Wan’s robe.

“Not your padawan,” he mumbles, gripping tighter to the fabric. “‘M leaving.”

Obi-Wan huffs something that could be a laugh or could be scoff. “Oh, Anakin,” he says, free hand rubbing his back. “I know. But you must give me a few weeks to get used to the idea. You have been my padawan for five years. I’ll probably slip up and call you so for five more.”

Anakin sniffles and pulls back, wiping at his eyes. “You mean you’re not mad?” he asks, far more timidly than he means to. “You’re still going to want to talk to me even though I’m not gonna be a Jedi? And probably do a lot of illegal things to make a living?”

His master’s eyes are twinkling. “I hope we can meet in the middle when it comes to those criminal tendencies,” he says. “But as for talking to you…as your legal guardian in the eyes of the Coruscanti and Stewjoni governments, I would like to see you try to ignore me until you come of age.”

“What?”

“Ah, but please do not take that as a challenge, dear one. I imagine your teenage years will be hard enough as it is.”

“What?”

“Not to say that I’m dreading them,” his master says distractedly. “Though I suppose the accommodations I secured for us on Stewjon are modest compared to having a whole Temple that you can put between us when you’re feeling stroppy. But dreading feels much too harsh, even though I can already hear the doors slamming hard enough to shake the walls—”

“Master, what!” Anakin pushes himself fully away from Obi-Wan’s arms, frowning at his master’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a moment, as if debating something very serious before he sighs and stands, offering a hand to Anakin who takes it automatically.

“Anakin, when you stopped attending your classes a week ago, your masters let me know. It didn’t come as a shock, not to any of us, and I had several long talks with Master Yoda and the Jedi Council. We…decided that if you were to indicate that you believed you wanted to leave the Order, my resignation would be effective immediately as well.

“What they didn’t quite understand and I knew intrinsically is that you would never indicate your intentions. You would simply act upon them. Master Yoda agreed to allow me a sort of…soft exit from the Jedi Order. Enough time to find lodgings for us, to complete the paperwork necessary to make me your legal guardian so that I may take you off-world, to say my own goodbyes.”

Anakin doesn’t know when he starts shaking his head, but he can’t seem to stop. “Master, no, you’re a Jedi, you can’t just leave for me—”

“Nonsense,” his master says. “The Jedi Order is not a prison, nor is it a cult. I can leave whenever I want for whatever reason I choose. And besides, I’ve already found myself a rather good entry-level job near our lodgings in Stewjon. I’m quite excited, if I’m being honest. I’ve never paid taxes before.”

Anakin blinks and tries once more with a furious shake of his head. “I don’t—master, I never asked for this—I can do it myself, I don’t need you to—”

“Yes, I wager you probably could find your own way,” Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully. “And I know you’ve never asked this of me and that you probably never even thought to. But the truth of the matter is this, dear one: you never had to.”

Tears bead at Anakin’s eyes again as fear and guilt and relief war within him. “Master,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan’s hand lands on his head in a friendly pat before his fingers slide down to rub at the shorn end of his hair where his braid used to be. “I believe you can call me Obi-Wan, Anakin. I’m hardly your master anymore.”

Anakin sucks in a breath and lets the relief win out and flood his chest. “Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, testing the syllables on his tongue. Just Obi-Wan. His face breaks out into a smile at the way they sound, the gentle hold Obi-Wan has on his shoulder. “Obi-Wan,” he says again, and Obi-Wan laughs.

“I have a ship fueled,” Obi-Wan tells him, and Anakin looks at him in wonder.

He could have done this all alone. He knows that. But it’s an amazing feeling, knowing that he doesn’t have to, that he has someone with him to think about the little things like fueling the ship and paying taxes.

He probably has a dozen ration bars tucked away in his bag as well.

“Unless you would rather walk to Stewjon,” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow raises in an expression that’s painfully and giddly familiar. “Which would be rather hard to do as it’s several planets away.”

Anakin doesn’t say that right now he feels as if he could do it, could walk all the way to Stewjon and back. He doesn’t think he has to. It feels written all over his face.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says instead, the same way he used to say master. But it feels better somehow.

Even more perfect now that they’re not master and padawan anymore, that they’re just Obi-Wan and Anakin and the galaxy is spread out before them.

[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."

[artzychic27]

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

[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." 

[wickerwax]

plausible deniability

“I’m pretty sure we’re doing this assignment wrong.” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. His sketchbook, previously neglected, had a carefully labelled diagram of a type of shrub that did not, strictly speaking, quite exist as depicted. Or at all.

“Really?” Bant said, flaring her gills in the way that approximated rolling eyes for Mon Calamari, “Gosh, I can’t imagine how you came to that conclusion, mister ‘technically not at fault’.”

“And I technically wasn’t!” he returned with a grin. “If Masters want the whole truth then they should word their questions better. Between shielding and diplomacy, we’re literally being taught to be evasive little shitheads, sorry, specialists in precision and specificity. Knight Billaba told me it was a right of passage and evidence of having learned the fundamentals well.”

“I’d say Quinlan’s rubbed off on you but luckily I’m too smart for that.” she said, tugging another spindly stem to study the leaves more closely. “You’ve always been a little shithead. I think you should make the leaves attenuate more, we’re saying this is a fairly low-water environment.”

“Bant!” he mock-gasped, clutching at his chest in dramatised horror, sketchpad bouncing into the moss. “What language!”

She flipped him off, which was especially emphatic with the webbing. “If you can’t handle attenuate, I’m not sure how you’ll ever survive spinescent-”

He snorted at her but retrieved the sketch book. “I suppose we haven’t covered defence mechanisms yet, sure.”

Technically, they were probably expected to be in the archives right now researching a real plant, but. Sometimes you had to be creative and make it sound real, and they were still applying the knowledge, and he only had so much patience for plants. Plus the phrasing of the assignment had been vague enough that he’d convinced Bant into this nonsense and that meant the loophole was obvious enough to be pretty safe – Bant wasn’t anything like a flighty nunabird, but she did tend to take slightly fewer risks just for the fun of it.

Not to mention, her last mission off-world had been on a dry world without many accommodations for more aquatic species, and her skin was still looking a touch irritated. So this way, they could take a break and sneak a dip in a fountain.

They headed for one of their favourites – deep and bordered with wide, flat stones and soft grasses, disappearing into dense ferns on the far side. The fountain itself played gentle and soothing from a second stony tier and misted the ferns occasionally. And it was just tucked away enough to not be a favourite of any Masters or youngling hordes that they knew of.

Bant could get some short laps in and snuggle in the ferns or the soft silty mud of the bottom, while he could sprawl on the warm stones and bask after a refreshing dive.

Only, when he came up for air, he found himself abruptly face-to-face with Quinlan Vos, kneeling on the stones and leaning over the pool with a grin.

Obi-Wan yelped and jerked backwards, sinking back down with a splash. He surfaced a moment later, spluttering, to both of his friends cackling like mad nexu. Treading water and shoving his hair back out of his face, he narrowed his eyes at Quin, who was too busy rolling around the edge of the pool to expect retaliation. He braced his feet against the rocky side, shot out his hands to grip in Quinlan’s robes, and yanked as hard as he could; the shout he got when Quin hit the water was gratifying.

Bant was mostly submerged, and the bubbles streaming up were the equivalent of screaming with laughter while Obi-Wan let his waterlogged friend sink and scrambled out onto the stones before his foot could be grabbed. His robes, and the sketchpad, were tucked far enough away that Quinlan’s splash hadn’t bothered them. He flopped onto his belly directly onto the stones and tucked his hands under his chin as Quin bobbed back up, cursing at him. But he was grinning and his eyes were gleaming as he tried to sign to Bant to team up with him from behind his back.

“I am not getting involved.” Bant said, kicking up so her head was above the water. “Last time we caused an actual blockage in the Temple water system, an actual blockage – I won that round pretty comprehensively and I will be resting on my splaurels about it forever.

“But, Bant-” Quinlan whined, and Obi-Wan dragged a hand through the water and splashed him when he glanced back at her.“Bant, I’m being bullied!”

“Quinlan, you literally started this.”

“Well, Quin, you know what Chancellor Valorum would say-”

“Obi, don’t you dare-”

“Then perish.”

Quinlan shrieked and threw himself at Obi-Wan, who not only had the high ground but also the ground at all, and rolled to escape him. He had to scramble to his feet when he realised Quin was dead-set on clawing his way out of the pool, and that moment of hesitation cost him. He hadn’t quite hit his stride leaping up and away when Quinlan hurled himself bodily at centre mass and took both of them down in a sprawl of limbs and surprisingly heavy wet robes.

“Force, Quin, you weigh a ton right now.” he wheezed, and in response, Quinlan got a handful of grass and scrubbed it vigorously through Obi-Wan’s hair, using the sheer weight of his sodden clothes to keep him trapped as he flailed about.

“Yield?” Quinlan growled theatrically.

Obi-Wan grunted something that sounded almost conciliatory, then managed to hook an elbow and a calf around Quinlan’s and flip them, Quin landing with an oof with Obi-Wan’s back to his chest.

He laughed, breathless and nearly soundless, feeling Quin’s heart thud against his back. He was still a bit gangly but he was mostly past it – but Quin was more past it, broader and taller and -

He dropped his head onto his shoulder -for a moment, nearly cheek to cheek, and joked, “See, Quin, you’re a better mattress than a blanket.”

Quinlan made an offended tea-kettle noise and lifted his head, just as Obi-Wan turned his.

His lips dragged over Quin’s qukuuf and cheekbone and settled near one eye. Quinlan froze.

Obi-Wan froze.

Quin’s skin was soft against his, and he let out a slightly panicked huff of breath from his nose. His lips parted on a reflex for air and his friend made a tiny choked sound practically in his ear.

Obi-Wan flinched back and flopped gracelessly off of Quinlan to sprawl next to him. He met his wide-eyed gaze while trying to contain the twitching in his skin, his mind replaying the hitch in Quin’s breathing almost against his will.

Quinlan pushed up onto his elbows, still staring with those big dark eyes that Obi-Wan couldn’t look away from. He very valiantly did not let his gaze wander lower, which really only meant that he saw every second of Quin’s eyebrow raising, and then the deliberate shift of his eyes down to Obi-Wan’s mouth. He swallowed, and wet his lips, and watched Quin’s eyes get somehow deeper and darker.

He rolled to one side – the side that brought him closer – and he should have looked silly in his drenched robes sticking in weird places and his hair in wet ropes dripping everywhere. Instead he just looked – like his friend, Quin, who was a pain in the ass and a menace always and never wore sleeves when he could avoid it, and who was beautiful.

“Obi,” Quinlan said, whisper-rough, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the edge of his jaw. He was actually quite close, they were actually quite close, he hadn’t really moved very far away, and Quin’s thumb was tracing a line under his chin, and his fingers were curled lightly along the side of his face, and Quin was smiling-

“Obi,” he said again, “Stop me if I’m wrong but I’d like to kiss you and I don’t think you’re opposed.”

“Not opposed is one way of putting it.” Obi-Wan said, very glad he was lying prone and equally wishing he was wearing more clothes.

For a moment, Quinlan’s shields slipped, and his lovely forest-at-moonrise presence lapped cool and steady and buzzing with life against his. His eyelids drooped in the face of it, leaning into Quin’s hand with a smile curling lazily across his face as his friend shifted closer. It wasn’t as if he’d never kissed anyone before, or been tempted to kiss anyone, or propositioned by anyone – but anyone wasn’t Quin gleaming with water and mischief.

“How would you put it then?” Quinlan murmured, and his face was so close, lips almost brushing. Oh, to be the target of Quinlan Vos’ sincere and gentle seductions.

And, well, rather starstruck realisations aside, they had been friends for a long time. There were patterns. They’d spent several years at this point tossing the worst sort of innuendo back and forth just to hear the rest of their friends make their bestworst impressions of vomiting.

...and he could feel Bant heading over now that the obvious rough-housing had stopped for too long.

“Why, Quin darling,” he said in his most infuriating drawl, even as he curled his fingers around Quin’s wrist and his Force presence around the rest of him, radiating the warmth and joy and interest he felt as pointedly as he could manage, “I would say I’m simply gagging for it-”

“NO!” Bant wailed and a chunk of moss hit the back of his head as he ducked forwards, tucking his face under Quinlan’s chin. Bant’s splaurels might be in danger of abandonment in favour of revenge. “Not in front of my favourite fountain, you gremlins!”