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teaandjumpers · 2 months ago

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🎄Holiday Attire Required - Obikin WIP🎄

“Ever hear of an e-vite? “asked Professor Vos, leaning over the administrative desk in the department office.

He and Anakin were watching Professor Kenobi place tiny festive envelopes in the instructor cubicles adjacent to the front desk. The man ignored them both, plopping red and green invites into each cube.

“You’re the only person I know who still sends out actual invitations,” said Vos.

Professor Kenobi, or Obi-Wan as Anakin liked to think of him, it’s what the man had asked him to call him after all, leveled a look at Vos before pressing an envelope against the other man’s chest.

“Don’t be late,” he said. “You’re in charge of drinks.”

Vos rolled his eyes but took the invite, slipping it open and reading off the card.

“Holiday attire required?” He asked with a moan. “Was it not enough to force the entire department to dress up today. You’re bringing this energy to the end-of the-year party, too?”

“When you’re department chair,” said Obi-Wan, using that lecturer voice that always made Anakin’s neck heat, “you can make the rules.”

Anakin watched the exchange from his station at the desk. He had only been working as an administrative assistant for a semester, filling in for the last assistant who had left suddenly the first week of classes. He was a last-minute hire brought in by the previous department chair, Qui-Gon Jinn, a family friend. It wasn’t unusual for students to work jobs on campus, but it was odd for a doctoral candidate in Biotechnology to be working at the Comparative Literature department.

As it was, Anakin did a decent enough job that no one complained.

Vos took off with a salute to Anakin which left him alone with Obi-Wan. The older man was always the last one to leave the office, even waiting for Anakin whose job description asked that he “ensure the facilities are locked at the end of daily operations.”

Anakin turned off his monitor and grabbed his backpack, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish delivering his invites before addressing him.

“Need anything else from me?”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. He approached Anakin and held out an invite just out of arms reach, the way one might hold out a bone for their dog, waiting for the animal to perform a trick before relenquishing the treat.

Slowly, Anakin reached for the envelope and pulled, but Obi-Wan held onto it tightly.

“And where is your holiday attire, Anakin,” asked Obi-Wan, that stern tone returning. He regarded Anakin with a critical eye, his gaze raking across Anakin’s frame from the soles of his shoes to the black stud he started wearing on his helix last month.

“I um—“ started Anakin, fiddling with his earring and feeling his cheeks flush. “It’s um not visible.”

“Your holiday attire is invisible,” asked Obi-Wan, not releasing his hold on the card.

“No,” said Anakin, his cheeks burning.

It was a stupid idea. He had read the reminder email early in the morning, the bolded subject line—BRING YOUR HOLIDAY CHEER TODAY—sounding more urgent than it actually was, and he grabbed the first festive thing he found and put it on. It was a tacky red thong with the words Do Not Open Until Christmas on it gifted to him by Ahsoka as a joke.

Now, under the scrutiny of the man who was sort of his boss, he realized how inappropriate it was. And mortifying.

“No, it’s—it’s not visible because it’s umm under my clothes.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open and he let go of the card.

Anakin pretended to examine the invite with great interest while silently praying for an impromptu fire drill—or better yet, a real fire, anything to make this conversation end.

“I see,” said Obi-Wan, after a moment.

“Yeah,” said Anakin, unable to stop himself. He always ran off at the mouth when he was nervous, and now, with Obi-Wan standing too close, having just told the older man that he was wearing holiday-themed underwear, Anakin was ready to go into full ramble mode.

“It was a joke. Stupid. Have you ever worn a thong? Not fun—they bunch up like crazy.” He fingered the strap just beneath his belted jeans as he had been doing all day and tugged it out from under the band. When he let it go, it gently snapped against his skin.

Obi-Wan started at him dumbly, seemingly speechless.

And yeah, Anakin could see why. He had just flashed his underwear to the department chair. He was grateful that the semester was almost over and that he only had a few more days of working this job before finally being able to focus on his doctoral project.

“Not that you would ever wear a thong,” said Anakin, glancing up to look at Obi-Wan. “You seem like a—a sensible guy,” he finished lamely.

Obi-Wan was still staring at him, lips slightly parted and a slight furrow to his brows. But he composed himself and adopted that authoritative stance once more.

He pulled in close and dropped his hand to Anakin’s hip, tucking the strap back under Anakin’s jeans.

“I do hope you can make it to the party, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, pressing his thumb firmly against the band of the thong. “You and your holiday attire.”

Wrote more of this! Read it on AO3.

#going off the deep end here #obikin fic #obikin wip #obikin #my fic #the hyperfixation is getting worse

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jacks347 · 17 days ago

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When's the last time I gave Makkaro some love, I can't remember. Unacceptable, I must fix this immediately

(This genuinely took forever fucking HELL)

~~~

It cost his life, took more than he gave

Now he watches from the grave

Makkaro knew he was never going to see the gates of heaven. He knew better than to expect any misgiving of his to be forgiven after all he'd done. He had made his peace with eternal flames and torment.

But this...

This was different. This was neither.

An endless chasm of darkness, devoid of anything other than him. Well, him and a massive window playing his memories. Over and over, making him watch his rise and fall on loop for an eternity without any way to change the outcome.

How fitting for him. A trial of insanity until he overcame it or lost himself in it. Only this time, there would be no reprieve from his mind tearing itself apart in the sweet release of death. It was only right for him.

Saw his hand built kingdom burn

Misses home and can't return

It wasn't his fault. He hadn't meant for it to get so out of hand. He never wanted her to be caught in the middle of this. She swore she would always stand by his side, that was what she'd promised him! What she had vowed to him! It wasn't his fault if she decided to walk out on those promises.

He didn't need her, he never did. Sure, her cause was the spark that caused the flame but now that he had things burning he had no use for her simple-minded desires anymore. No, he had much bigger plans. He was going to tear this city down and cleanse it in vengeful fire. He'd build it back up the way it was supposed to be the entire time. And he'd do it all himself.

All by himself.

All alone.

Always alone.

So very lonely.

When did it get so cold-

No, he couldn't think like that. This was his masterpiece, his life's work, the thing he'd given up everything for. He had to see it through. If he didn't, all that sacrifice would be for nothing. So what if he had skewed so far off the original path that he no longer recognized the destination he was going to? So what if the woman he'd sworn to do this all for had tried to pull him back from going too far? So what if he no longer recognized himself in the mirror with all the blood on his hands? So. What.

None of it mattered. It couldn't matter. If it mattered, it would mean he was wrong and he couldn't be wrong. Not after he'd gone this far. He was long past the point of no return, having doubts now would end in his death. This was his cross to bear.

But he missed her.

Gods forgive him, every heartbeat was a reminder that it beat for someone who was no longer with him. Every second without her ached like a wound that wouldn't heal; scabbing over and granting the relief of numbness until something reminded him that she was gone and would rip it back open, bleeding with the agony of loss again.

He wanted her back. Her sweet eyes, her kind smile, her forgiving heart, he just wanted her back. He wanted their simple life back, the house in the woods where they hid their love from the world, that place where it was just the two of them. Not a princess and a detective, not a runaway and a wanted criminal, not anything the world was expecting them to be. Just Makarro and Gienne, husband and wife.

And he had pushed it all away. The best thing that had ever happened to him and he decided he didn't need her. But that couldn't be further from the truth. He needed her like oxygen, he needed her to keep him grounded in reality. He was losing his mind without her, he'd never survive without her. He had to fix this. He'd go crazy if he didn't.

He just didn't know how.

Says he's happy, he's a liar

Blame the arson for the fire

Where had it all gone so wrong? Actually, he knew exactly where it went wrong. The day she'd showed up with that child of the woman tyrant, there to stop him. The day he'd looked into her eyes and saw them set against him instead of standing with him. Somewhere deep in his heart, he knew then that something was horribly wrong. That he was horribly wrong. But he couldn't admit it, not now, not after everything he'd done to get here. But she was right there. She was back. If he reached out, he could touch her, and she wouldn't vanish like the delirious visions he was so familiar with when sleep evaded him for days. She was there. His darling had returned to him.

But at the same time, she wasn't. No, his darling's eyes never held such brokenhearted contempt for him. His beloved never looked so tired because of him. His wife never stood opposing him like this. But here they were. She was speaking but the words weren't reaching him. He could only process the sound of her voice, like a choir of angels that had all had their wings clipped. He could only stare at her, caught between his lonely heart's relief and his crazed mind's anger. How had he gotten this bad to where he could possibly be angry at the one he held so dear? At a different time, he would've balked at the mere idea of actually turning his righteous anger against the one who had caused it in the first place.

But this was not a different time.

And he was not that same man.

"All of this...I did all of this for you. My entire life I dedicated to you and this is how you thank me?!" He spat the words like they tasted bad, venom lacing his tone.

"I never asked for this, Makkaro!" She shot back like driving a knife into his chest. Makkaro? When was the last time he'd heard her call him by his name? Where had the warm, soothing nicknames that had tamed his worst fears and soothed his every worry gone? Had he driven them away?

He heard himself laugh, an ugly, bitter sound. It didn't sound like him. "No one asks for war, princess. But if it's change you want, then it's war you get. Every royal decree has a price in blood."

No...what was he saying? He felt like he was watching someone that wasn't him puppet his body. A monster, set on death and destruction no matter who or what stood in his way. A monster that would sacrifice the wife he held so dear simply because she dared to challenge him. Was this how far he had fallen? Was this who he had become?

No, it couldn't be. It was the necromancy talking. That dark, perverse power that fueled him had possessed him. That was it, that had to be it. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't even him. It was this power that corrupted him. This power that made him push Gienne away, gods forgive him for the sadness he saw in her eyes she never deserved it, the power that made him fall so far that this was what he became.

It wasn't his fault, he couldn't be blamed for this. It was this power, this uncontrollable urge to destroy.

Maybe if he kept saying it, he'd start believing it.

That phrase kept running through his mind, even as he lay dying in the ruins of everything he'd built. What could he blame now? His fortress was reduced to rubble, his cause was in tatters, his spirit was broken. He could only stare up at the acrid sky in defeat, left to ponder where he'd lost his way.

"Makkaro!"

What was that?

"Mak!"

Was someone calling for him?

"My love, please!"

It sounded like an angel. Was one coming for his soul?

"There you are!"

A figure came into his line of sight, dropping by his side and beginning to check over his injuries. She looked so familiar but it couldn't be. No, she would never come back to him, not after all he'd done.

"Darling...?"

"I'm here, my love, I'm here." Gienne soothed, lacing her hand with his as she pulled his upper body into her lap. "Oh, I was so worried, I thought I'd lost you."

She'd actually come back for him...

She hadn't left him...

She still loved him...

"Darling...I'm so sorry." He wheezed, the words scraping his throat raw.

Sorry wasn't enough. She deserved so much more than sorry. Regret racked every fiber of his being, sorrow pounded against his skull like a drum, defeat weighed so heavy on his chest it was hard to breathe. But he didn't have strength for anything more than sorry. He could only hope she knew he meant so much more than sorry.

"Shh, I know, save your strength and stay alive." She fussed, moving the hair from his face. He could only stare into her eyes, memorizing the color he'd taken for granted for so long. Had they always been that beautiful or had he just not been appreciating them enough?

He wasn't going to make it. A piece of him knew it from the start but now he knew for sure. He was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only solace he could take was that he was dying in the arms of his wife.

He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he loved her before he lost all strength, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't break the gentle silence that wrapped around them like a shield. He just stared into her eyes, hoping his held all the love and regret he felt. She smiled down at him, that perfect smile that warmed his very soul. "I forgive you, Makkaro. I can only hope you learn to forgive yourself."

His vision slowly blurred until it faded to black, taking in the last vestiges of the woman he loved. How could he ever forgive himself for betraying her? How could he ever rest knowing what he'd done to her? This wasn't right, it couldn't be over until he made it right.

He had to make it right.

He had to rewrite his ending.

He just didn't know how.

But someone did. Someone who was always listening. Someone who had an idea.

If he wants to cleanse his blame

He'll have to invoke my name

"So you wish to return, is that it?" The voice was coy, knowing it held his fate in it's hands and relishing in it. He couldn't see the person's entire face, only from the mouth down. And the amused grin they held made his stomach churn.

Makkaro swallowed hard. He had one chance to get this right. If he messed up here, he risked erasing his entire existence. "Yes. I wish to go back. I want a chance to fix things. I-I realize what I did was wrong, I need to fix this I can't lose her-"

The voice laughed, leaning forward to rest their chin in their hand. "Oh? Is that what this is about? Her? The fact you betrayed her for power? Pushed her aside for your own plans instead of the ones you made together? Abandoned everything you promised her for your own selfish reasons?"

Makkaro winced with every reason they gave, each one like a further knife twist in his chest. "I messed up, I know-" "Messed up? Is that what you're calling it?" "What do you want me to say?" He asked, exasperated. "What do you want from me? Do I need to grovel, beg for forgiveness, must I languish myself for you to accept that I know I am broken and selfish and unworthy of her love? I know I am undeserving of her and she had every reason to leave me but I have fought my way to you for a second chance. Isn't that enough?"

The person paused. He couldn't see their eyes but he could feel them watching him, scorching his skin with a stare that judged his every action.

"Fine."

"Wait...what?"

"Fine. I'll let you go back and try again. But not like how you came. If you really want to earn your happy ending, you'll have to find someone else's first."

Someone else's happy ending. Live another's life until he could return to his own. "Will I remember before? My previous life? What I'm fighting for?" "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know until you get there." The voice had regained its teasing lilt. "So, we got a deal?"

Makkaro contemplated for a minute. If he went though with this, he'd be stuck in someone else's life for gods know how long and he wouldn't even remember what he was living for. If he screwed up again, he'd never be able to see his precious darling again. Gienne and her story would be lost to time forever.

But he had to.

He had to see her.

"Deal."

The smile widened, knuckles cracking before coming to rest on the familiar keys. "Then you know what to do."

He did. He took a breath, reciting a prayer he didn't even realize he knew until the words began to spill out of him.

"Great weaver of stories I invoke you, change my fate from the cruel hands who brought me to ruin. Give me the ending you so desire in a hope of one better than reality."

"And a new ending you shall receive." The hands started to move, clicking away on the keys as they rewrote his fate. His vision blurred and faded, falling into the darkness as he heard an excited giggle. "This is gonna be fun."

One way to absolve his crime

A different form, a different time

"Crow? You still with me?" Raven's voice snapped Crow out of his daze. "Yes Raven, I am here. I did not go anywhere."

Raven raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure? You seemed pretty in your head there. Whatcha thinking about?" It was an interesting question. What was he thinking about? He honestly couldn't remember. But he couldn't shake the cold feeling of fear and dread in his chest. Memories at the very edge of his consciousness that seemed just out of reach, not that they felt like his to remember anyway. "It was nothing. Old memories. They are gone now." Raven stared at him for a moment before letting it go with a shrug. "If you insist. Now come on, we've got work to do."

Crow followed behind Raven, the cold in his chest melting into warmth. Something told him this time would be different. He'd protect her this time. No matter what it cost.

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