Summary: Daniel Howell is next in line to become King of the Southern Kingdom...and literally could not care less. In a perfect world, he wouldn't have to be a royal or worry about running a Kingdom, and could just be...free. So when he learns he is to be wed off to the Duke of the Northern Kingdom, he decides to take matters into his own hands to pursue his freedom. Little does he know...the Duke is thinking the same thing.
Philip Lester, Duke of the North, develops a plan to escape this marriage, starting by disguising himself, then darting into the wilderness.
So, when Dan bumps into a handsome blond stranger in the middle of the woods, he and said stranger soon realize that nothing will be the same again. In a world of gods, superstition, and vengeance, things are about to get pretty medieval. Is the pursuit of freedom even worth it? Will they make it out alive?
And can their true identities remain a secret forever...even from each other?
As the World Caves In (ao3) - cosmic_angel_writes
Summary: Dan and Phil vs The Zombie Apocalypse
after all the things that I've done wrong (ao3) - starrytoast
Summary: Six years after Dan and Phil's university relationship ends in flames, they find themselves unexpectedly reunited when Dan is set to have an author's signing at the bookstore where Phil works.
Grey Wings (ao3) - phansauce97
Summary: each day, though they mainly choose to remain unseen. Relations with humans have caused some issues in the past, resulting in the fairly well documented half-angel-half-human species known as the Nephilim, of whom Phil Lester currently rules over. Once thought to have been wiped out, the Nephilim were merely hidden in a realm of their own, where they now thrive and live happily.
On the boarders of the Nephilim Kingdom though runs a large wall, and on the other side, a city of slums where the other half-breeds reside: the Cambions, half-human, half-demon. Dan Howell is their ruler, desperately wanting to liberate his people. So desperate, in fact, after making a terrifying discovery, that he finds himself with no choice but to ask for help from someone he can't stand: the Nephilim King, Phil Lester.
Yet Dan's idea is genius, and Phil can't deny that. What begins as a political alliance though, slowly builds into something much more heated...and much more terrifying.
Know What You Want (ao3) - homegrownlesbian
Summary: It’s 2009. Philene Lester likes rowing, photography, she’s totally over her ex, and getting ready to graduate. She’s certainly not about to crash and burn for her closeted flatmate, Dani.
“What, you’re going to put me in my place?”
Yes, Phil wanted to say. I’ll show you. Instead, she pushed herself off the sofa and went to bed.
Like a Bowl of Oranges (ao3) - cloej88
Summary: Dan has built a solid career for himself as a ghostwriter. He safely hides behind other people’s words, crafting their tales and pocketing the cash without any threat of notoriety. But lately he has been working on a book of his own, itching for a change.
Phil is an indie filmmaker who happened into some huge breaks over the last few years. He wants to use his influence to uplift queer stories for the screen, so he puts out an open call for story submissions. At his agent’s behest, Dan submits his story.
The writer!Dan and director!Phil friends/co-workers to lovers AU that we never knew we needed.
OnlyPhans (ao3) - Scuddleduck
Summary: It's been on the white board. Phil bought the domain. What kinds of things would Dan and Phil be willing to put on OnlyPhans?
*imagined* OnlyPhans content
please please please (ao3) - scemodan
Summary: Phil Lester is a world renowned pop-star, currently finishing a world tour and beginning to plan a new album.
Daniel Howell is a world renowned actor, who’s biggest movie is currently out and doing better than ever.
And of course, he’s a huge AmazingPhil fan, I mean who isn't?
But, what if he had a secret superfan of his own..?
(AKA Phil Lester popstar au Dan Howell actor au)
stop the world (ao3) - purpurussy
Summary: Dan resumes the call, and turns his camera on this time, glancing at himself in the thumbnail while he waits for Phil to re-join. He realizes just in time that the empty bottle is still in frame, and he shoves it to the side as Phil flickers into view.
“Hey, emo boy,” he grins, and for the first time, sending sparks down his spine, he can see Phil grinning right back at him.
An AU where they never met in 2009, and Dan became a 33-year-old depressed lawyer living a secret double life as his marriage and career fall apart.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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BOND. (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/410133631-bond?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=the_romance_reaper
On the eve of your wedding night to a horrible man, you're forced to watch werewolves slaughter each other for sport.
When you sneak into the kennels to save a young, dying wolfboy, you act recklessly out of spite, and hand the captured Blood Pride Alpha the key to every cell.
He repays you by demanding you run away with him and his pack. Taking you was never part of the plan, but you'd be stupid to refuse.
So you follow, your fate now in the claw-tipped hands of the wolves of the Northern Mountain.
(Updates weekly every Saturday morning. No use of Y/N. Minimum chapter word count of 5.5k, average 7.5k. CAN BE FOUND ON AO3 and TikTok UNDER SAME USERNAME.)
Set in New York City, months after the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. This story follows Bucky Barnes as he joins the lucrative career of private security for the city's elite. Bucky's path leads him to Arlo Winslow, a former District Attorney who experienced a violent attack. Tasked with ensuring Arlo's safety, Bucky soon uncovers a more delicate mission: Arlo has hired him to watch over his adult daughter, Lucille, who is a Kindergarten teacher. As Bucky delves deeper into his assignment, he quickly learns that not everything is as it seems. The former sleeper agent soon becomes entangled in intrigue, responsibility, and unexpected romance.
Click here to read this story on A03 from the beginning.
Fandom: Marvel
Chapters: 12/?
Pairing: Bucky x Female OC
Rating: M
CW: language, violence, illness, sexual content, political
Below I have provided the entirety of my most recent chapter, chapter twelve for your reading pleasure.
Chapter 12: The Space Between
Lucy was not one to frequent men's department stores, but as she wandered around, she was pleasantly surprised. The aisle of suit jackets, ties, and shirts was an OCD paradise, color-coordinated, meticulously organized by style and size. It was clean and surprisingly quiet. She was waiting for Bucky to emerge from the dressing room, but he seemed to be taking forever. So, she decided to distract herself by browsing through a selection of ties near the fitting room.
Just then, a TV mounted on the wall of the seating area caught her attention. The ad blared the hopeful voice of the city’s Governor candidate, Arlo Winslow. Describing New York as the city that never sleeps, he argued it should be the city that never gives up. "For five long years, we have faced heartache," he declared. "But now, as we welcome our loved ones home, a new dawn approaches—one where no one gets left behind." As he spoke passionately about economic struggles, the housing crisis, and rising crime rates running rampant across the state, Lucy felt her heart swell with pride. She had never heard her father’s platform until now, and it was better than she could have imagined. Maybe she had underestimated him after all.
A sales associate approached her. “Ms. Winslow, Mr. Barnes is asking for your assistance.”
Lucy blinked, shaking off her admiration as she turned to the man. “Okay,” she replied, forcing herself to compose her feelings. Bucky must have wanted her opinion on the tux.
“He has my vote,” the associate added with a warm smile before walking away.
Lucy watched him leave, her thoughts swirling. Her father had a real shot at winning.
Knocking gently on Bucky's dressing room door, she called, “What’s going on in there? You have been in for a while.”
After a brief shuffle, Bucky's voice emerged, laced with frustration. “This is stupid, and I hate it!”
Rolling her eyes, Lucy could not help but tease, “Yeah, I’m sure you look really terrible!” She was positive Bucky could not look bad, no matter how hard he tried.
“No, it’s not that…” Bucky’s voice faltered, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. He paused for a moment, the silence thick with tension, before finally asking, “Could you come in here?”
Lucy stiffened at the request. She shot a glance at the dressing room door, uncertainty settling in. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” she stammered, her heart racing.
“Are you alone?” His voice was steadier now, but there was an edge of urgency to it.
Lucy surveyed the dressing area, confirming they were indeed the only ones there. “Yes, why?”
“I--” Bucky hesitated, with a breath escaping his lips. “Never mind. Everything is fine.” But Lucy could hear the unease that lingered in his tone.
Not used to this side of Bucky, whose confidence usually filled the room, she felt a wave of concern wash over her. “You can talk to me,” Lucy urged, her voice soft yet firm.
“Okay, look.” Bucky’s embarrassment was palpable as he spoke, each word laced with reluctance. “I’m having a hard time with these buttons because of my arm…”
The admission landed heavily in the air. Lucy felt a rush of empathy mixed with pride; it took real courage for him to ask for help. Here was Bucky Barnes, a man of strength and resilience, struggling with something so simple. A civilian for the first time, he was learning to navigate life with a prosthetic meant for more than just fighting. It explained his wardrobe choices, the t-shirts and zippered jeans that made his daily life a bit easier.
“I’m coming in,” she finally stated, determination fueling her steps.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Lucy stepped into the cramped dressing room. It felt more like a closet with the two of them squeezed in, their bodies nearly touching. Both of them shifted awkwardly, attempting to find a comfortable position. “This isn’t working,” Lucy finally declared, frustration edging her voice. “Maybe we should go out there.”
“No!” Bucky replied, a note of urgency in his voice. “I don’t want prying eyes.”
Confused, Lucy arched an eyebrow, processing his words. After a moment, she quipped, “The tailor is prying eyes?”
Her attempt to lighten the mood hung between them, a flicker of humor in the tense atmosphere, as they both navigated an unexpected moment of vulnerability.
Believe it or not, Bucky found some humor in the situation, ending up thinking maybe he was being a tad ridiculous. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Lucy wasted no time and began to adjust his shirt with expert hands.
“First, let’s take care of that collar; it’s upsetting to look at,” she declared, her tone both playful and serious. The tiny gap that had once separated them vanished as Lucy stepped closer, her hands reaching up to smooth the collar down. In that moment, they were so near that Lucy could feel Bucky’s warm breath brushing against her cheek, mingling with the subtle fragrance of his cologne.
Bucky, being on the taller side, Lucy balanced on her tiptoes, but Bucky noticed her wobble and instinctively placed his hands gently on her waist, steadying her as she found her footing.
Doing her best to ignore her growing heart rate and how intimate the moment felt, Lucy did her best to keep her attention on the task at hand. But it was difficult for her to ignore how nicely the shirt fit his solid frame. He looked so rugged and charming at the same time. Clearing her throat, she began to talk to fill the silence, “It looks like you got these first few.” She noticed how the front of his shirt was half-buttoned at the bottom.
“It was taking too long, so I gave up,” Bucky admitted calmly. While Lucy focused on his dress shirt, Bucky focused his attention on her. He watched as her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers delicately handling each button with care. He was so focused on what Lucy was doing, he forgot he was still holding her waist and did not realize he was doing it until she stepped back slightly to give them more room to observe her handiwork.
The proximity and the lingering hand placement. Lucy was a wreck on the inside. She kept telling herself that their relationship was strictly professional, bound by a contractual agreement; nothing more, nothing less. However, she was determined not to let her feelings get the best of her. As they continued to find themselves in situations that strayed outside the terms of the agreement, her resolve became increasingly fragile.
Lucy felt a flutter of anxiety; one glance up at Bucky and he might see all the thoughts in her mind. So, she focused intently on the cuffs of his shirt, desperately trying to keep her thoughts at bay. “Look at this, though, why do these shirts even need buttons?” she huffed, her fingers struggling with the tiny fastenings. “They were clearly designed for aesthetic, not for practicality. And don’t even get me started on women’s pants! Either they are nonexistent or they are not functional. Which makes no sense, we carry more stuff than you guys do. It’s like they think, ‘Oh, women have purses, what do they need pockets for?’ Sometimes, I want to freestyle it, you know?” Lucy rambled on, hoping her complaints would help shift Bucky’s mind into thinking it was the product that was the problem and not him.
Bucky watched her, a small smile creeping onto his face. He appreciated her quirky way of bringing him back to reality, reminding him of his humanity.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asked suddenly, eager to join in the conversation.
“Right now? Frustrated! Why are these buttons so small? Who designed this?” Lucy exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
“No, I mean, how are you feeling, like, health-wise?” he clarified, genuine concern lacing his voice.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lucy shrugged, diverting her focus to the other arm’s cuffs.
“Really? Because you seemed like you weren’t quite yourself again today,” he replied, obviously hesitant but sincere.
“I wasn't,” Lucy said, pausing her tasks to focus on him. A playful smirk danced across her lips as she continued, “It’s funny. Once we stepped out of that school, I actually started to feel better. Maybe I am just spending too much time there and catching some... phantom sickness.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Phantom sickness? That sounds made up. I don’t think that is a thing.”
“ Yes, because phantom smells are a thing.”
“Phantom smells? Come on.”
“It absolutely could be,” she shot back, her challenge hanging in the air between them.
Bucky shook his head, a grin forming on his face. “Well, it is definitely not.”
They shared a stubborn stare, each holding their ground.
“ Don't be a smart ass. Think you can handle this?” Lucy teased, a playful smirk dancing across her lips as she reached for the tux jacket and handed it to him. She then swung open the dressing room door.
“Yes, Mother,” Bucky replied, his tone light, but the unease gnawed at him. Deep down, he was worried. What Lucy was experiencing was anything but normal, and he had a sinking feeling she was aware of it, too. He just hoped it would not spiral out of control before they got a handle on it. As he watched Lucy walk away, his gaze returned to the tux jacket, which was far easier to put on.
As Bucky stepped out of the dressing room, Lucy could not help but do a double-take. She had anticipated he would look sharp, but the way that tuxedo hugged each curve of his form was nothing short of jaw-dropping. She found herself captivated, her gaze fixed on him as he twisted and turned, taking in every angle of his reflection.
Running a nervous hand through his hair, Bucky pivoted to seek Lucy's thoughts, his expression serious, yet a spark of excitement danced in his eyes at the sight of himself in the sleek tux.
“What do you think?” Bucky asked, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty. It had been ages since he had worn anything close to a suit; his last experience was back in 1943, when his uniform had been a far cry from the sophisticated style of the day. He reminisced about the elegant occasions that called for tailored suits, a world so different from today. But standing there in that tuxedo reignited a long-dormant part of him, bringing back memories of a time he truly missed.
“I think you are going to have to fend off the ladies with a stick!” Lucy teased, her smile playful.
With a graceful move, she rose from her chair and strolled over to Bucky. Gently, she guided him to face the mirror, smoothing the fabric of his tux with care. When she turned to look at their reflections, her smile widened. “Look at you, 007,” she said, admiration sparkling in her eyes.
Bucky’s face lit up with pride. “I actually know who that is!” he responded, a hint of swagger in his tone.
“Impressive,” Lucy quipped.
After a brief pause, she glanced at her phone, the time pulling her back to reality. “We should probably check out,” Lucy announced, a touch of reluctance coloring her words .
Bucky also felt that familiar tug of reluctance creeping in. They had spent countless hours together, often surrounded by the chaos of little kids. But today was different; it had been genuinely enjoyable, and he found himself embracing that feeling more than ever, especially when it came to Lucy. The thought of returning to the house and parting ways settled heavily in his chest.
Suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, Bucky blurted out, “Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?” It was an unexpected move for him, yet Dr. Raynor’s encouragement to embrace what frightened him echoed in his mind.
Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise as she caught his gaze through the mirror's reflection. A warm smile broke across her face. “I’m starving,” she replied, her excitement infectious.
They stumbled upon a pub down the street from the shop. The moment they stepped inside, the warm, casual vibe embraced them, and they found a table near the bar. As they settled in, they ordered a round of appetizers and grabbed a couple of cold beers, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. It felt surprisingly familiar, like catching up with an old friend.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he took a sip of his beer.
“Seriously, how did you score that Tux for free?”
Lucy chuckled, giving her shoulders a light shrug as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I just flashed him a smile,” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “Turns out he is a fan of Arlo. But you, my friend, will have to brag to everyone about where you got that tux tomorrow night.” Her cheeky grin widened as she picked at the plate of nachos between them.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Bucky replied, taking a last swig of his beer. He stood up and gestured to Lucy, "One more?” He did not wait for an answer before strolling over to the bar.
The atmosphere shifted; the place was buzzing now, the bartender slower than before due to the crowd. While he waited, Bucky leaned casually against the counter, scanning the room as if he were on some secret mission to protect Lucy from any potential trouble.
Suddenly, a light nudge shook him from his thoughts. He turned to find a young guy, probably around twenty-two, looking at him with wide eyes. “You’re that guy…” the stranger began, his body language suggesting he meant no harm—perhaps a bit tipsy, too. “Uh, the Winter Soldier! No way, bro!”
“I don’t go by that anymore. Call me Bucky,” he replied, shaking the guy's hand.
“Bucky? Cool!” The guy glanced over his shoulder at his friends, excitement bubbling in his voice. “I’m Tanner. Dude, the way you tossed those TV cameras? Classic! Can I get a picture?”
Bucky shot a glance back at Lucy, who was trying hard not to burst into laughter. Their eyes met, and she quickly looked away, stifling a grin. Before he could protest, Tanner whipped out his phone and began posing.
The beers finally arrived, a welcome sight. Bucky made a swift retreat back to their table, careful not to spill a drop. He set the drinks down with exaggerated flair, taking his seat across from Lucy, who looked ready to burst with laughter.
Without missing a beat, he leaned in, grabbed a straw from his water glass, and playfully spritzed her with a splash of water.
Lucy laughed, raising her hands in mock defense, “Okay, I deserved that!” She took a sip from her fresh beer, as she glanced around the bar before focusing back on Bucky. “You know, that blonde woman over there has been staring at you all night.”
“I didn’t notice,” he replied, feigning nonchalance, although he was acutely aware.
“Maybe you should go talk to her?” Lucy ventured, raising an eyebrow playfully.
“Nope, not my type,” he said, shaking his head. Leaning back, he met her gaze directly. “Besides, I like the company I have right here.”
Her cheeks tinged a soft pink under the dim bar lights, and she looked away, trying to hide her cheesy smile. Just then, a voice boomed from the bar, cutting through the ambient chatter.
“Turn the TV up!” Someone shouted urgently, drawing all eyes to the screen as the atmosphere crackled with intrigue.
The bartender behind the counter complied, turning up the volume so everyone could hear the news.
“Breaking News: The Governor of Minnesota has declared a state of emergency following the burning of Our Lady of Faith Catholic School in the middle of the night. The school specialized in rehabilitation education for children affected by the Blipp. The FBI believes it was a terrorist attack carried out by a group they have identified as the Resurgence. This attack resembles similar incidents linked to the terrorist organization. The event has sparked protests across the state. There is no new information available at this time.”
The voice of the female news anchor shifted as she turned to her colleague. “What do we know about the Resurgence, and how serious a threat do they pose?”
“Good riddance,” another man called from the end of the bar. “Life was so much easier when they were all gone.”
“Hey, buddy!” the first man responded, turning toward the other voice as he pulled himself off his stool. “My kid goes to one of those schools!”
“No one cares!”
The bar was alive with a chaotic symphony of raised voices, the tension so thick you could slice it. Two men, fueled by bravado and perhaps a few too many drinks, stood toe-to-toe, their muscles flexing as they prepared for a fight. Shouts and insults echoed off the walls, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. It was clear which side the crowd was leaning toward, and the atmosphere was ripe for conflict.
Bucky was well aware that he should have stayed seated, but an instinct kicked in that he could not ignore. He shot a glance at Lucy, motioning for her to remain at their table, then surged forward. With his arms stretched wide, he positioned himself between the two men, trying to create a barrier. But his efforts were in vain; anger flared, and fists flew, leaving him as an unwilling buffer.
When the first man dared to bring up his kid, Bucky felt a surge of indignation. “He’s not worth it,” he asserted, trying to defuse the situation. Just as he spoke, the second man landed a punch squarely on the back of Bucky’s head. It barely fazed him, but it ignited something deeper inside. Slowly, he turned to face the man who had struck him, determination burning in his eyes.
" You hit me again. It will be the last thing you do." Bucky warned. “Maybe you should leave,” Bucky said, his tone sharp and unwavering, more of a command than a suggestion.
The man’s eyes flicked nervously between Bucky and his formidable vibranium arm, which held him firmly in place, and then he caught sight of the gun peeking through his waistband. A tense moment passed as he weighed his options, uncertainty etched across his face. Finally, he took a cautious step back, clearly deciding it was best not to test Bucky’s resolve. Bucky remained still, a silent guardian ensuring the man did not change his mind.
“Thanks, man,” the other guy said, relief washing over him.
Bucky turned slightly, offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder before striding back to Lucy at the table. “We need to go. Now,” he said, urgency threading through his voice.
In Chapter Two, the rest of the Batch is surprised when Crosshair returns with a rescued stranger. She doesn't seem particularly grateful.
Chapters posted 1-2x weekly.
Read Chapter 1 here.
Crosshair felt the woman stir in his lap before he heard the groan. They were just cresting the hilltop on the speeder bike when she began to wake.
“Crosshair,” he heard from his comm. “We’re loading up the Marauder. Let’s get outta here.”
“On our way,” he replied to Hunter.
“Our?”
He didn’t bother to reply; the squad would see them soon enough.
“Ship,” she moaned. “Back to my ship.” The pained, needy sound of her voice stirred something in him briefly before he could push it aside.
“That shuttle’s not going anywhere anymore,” he drawled as they came to a stop nearby the Marauder. He swung himself off the speeder bike and helped the woman to her feet, wrapping one of her arms over his shoulders and supporting her at the waist. The blaster bolt had skimmed her at the hip, and his fingertips just barely brushed the flesh at the edge of her wound, laid bare by the scorched tear in her clothing. He twitched for a moment at the unexpected feel of her, soft and round.
She cried out in pain, pushing back at him. “Hands off,” she managed to pant out.
“Fine.” He dropped her unceremoniously, stalking off toward the ramp of the Marauder. “Stay here, for all I care.”
“Crosshair, who is that?” Hunter demanded from the top of the ramp as he pushed past him.
“I don’t know.” He crossed his arms, scowling petulantly back at the woman as she made a painful effort to rise to her knees in the dirt. “Imperials were after her.”
“Well, we can’t just leave her here,” the Sergeant growled with frustration. “Wrecker, get her on board.”
“Not to worry, lil’ lady,” Wrecker declared exuberantly as he scooped the woman up into his arms. She was too out-of-it to do anything more than slap, halfheartedly, at his chest plate as he brought her onboard. “We’ll take good care of ya.”
Crosshair kept the scowl plastered to his face, inserting a toothpick between his lips as the ship took off, only minutes passing by before they left the atmosphere. Wrecker had laid the woman down on the bench opposite, where she continued stirring faintly. Once they had entered hyperspace, Tech exited the cockpit, approaching the woman so he could examine her.
“What happened?” he demanded matter-of-factly, scanning her vitals and pulling equipment from their medical kit.
“She was in an Imperial shuttle. She crashed. Troopers came. She got shot,” Crosshair narrated in his unaffected manner.
“How many times?”
Tech looked more concerned than Crosshair had expected. His response was tinged vaguely with surprise. “Only once.”
His brother shook his head. He gestured to the nasty wound at her hip that he was in the process of disinfecting and treating. “This is only the most recent of her injuries.” Tech’s hands moved deftly, efficiently, while he continued. “It appears that she sustained a mild concussion in the crash, as well as… one additional blaster bolt to the leg, and bruising to her ribs. Perhaps in the process of hijacking the shuttle.”
Crosshair could only shrug as he watched Tech continue to work. With her prior injuries, he was surprised she had lasted against the troopers as long as she had.
“You shouldn’t have dropped her,” Hunter chastised him, arms crossed over his chest.
“She told me to,” he sneered in response. “She’s lucky I didn’t just let them kill her.”
“Yeah…so why didn’t you?” The question came from Wrecker, but the rest of the squad turned their eyes to him to await his answer, even Echo swiveling around in the cockpit to stare at him. Of all of them, Crosshair was the least likely to pick up a stray.
He shrugged, saved from having to explain further by the woman’s groans as she fully came to, her eyes fluttering open. She shifted her gaze to each of them in turn, taking in their gear, their unruly appearances, their serious expressions. For a moment, as she came more fully out of consciousness and looked into his eyes, he actually thought how sweet she looked. Gentle, even.
A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.
TheGreatWicked
Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.
On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.
As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.
Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)
Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.
Chapter Eleven
Something was different. As the remnants of sleep faded further she became acutely aware of the plush cocoon of blankets swaddled around her. The fabric's gentle touch caressed her skin, in a comforting embrace that lulled her deeper into tranquility.
Safe.
That was how she felt when the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden strip across Cressida's closed eyes, making sleeping in later an impossibility. And whereas she used to greet the day with a minor grumble and a desire to send her timepiece flying into the wall, she found it was oddly silent. In fact, she wasn’t tired, true she was comfortable and cozy, and getting up wasn’t something she wanted to do but she didn’t crave more sleep like she usually did.
She rolled over, into the sunlight which was now spilling across her entire face, a sleepy smile playing on her lips as she stretched out her limbs, savoring the sensation of being well-rested for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Then confusion took hold.
This morning, there was no chill seeping through the hard ground beneath her; instead, she found herself nestled snugly within her bed, wrapped in blankets that enveloped her with a tenderness akin to a lover's embrace.
It struck her as profoundly odd, to find such comfort in the soft give of a mattress, after a decade of sleeping on solid ground. The subtle plushness of a mattress, even one as firm as the Jedi Temple provided, made it impossible for her to find proper rest. It felt too soft, too unfamiliar, leaving her strangely unsettled by the comfort it offered.
There were far stranger things than waking up in a bed and being well rested, but it was still downright strange for Cressida, given her years of accustomed slumber on the hard ground. Inherently she wanted to temper her skepticism with optimism and gratuity as for the first time in a long time her sleep was uninterrupted by the specter of nightmares, she was well-rested and for once felt completely ready to greet the day, but she would still have her cup of caf, of course.
Had she maybe crawled into the bed in her sleep? It seemed unlikely, though not improbable, that maybe she was finally growing accustomed to being back at the temple and finally feeling safe enough to let her guard down. She rolled away from the sunlight to look at the timepiece, curious as to just how long she could stay in this comfortable loaf of blankets, but her eyes widened in shock at the sight before her– she wasn't alone.
There, lying peacefully beside her, was none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi.
His usually tidy hair was mussed from the pillow's embrace, the morning light casting a more ginger hue over the sandy strands. In sleep, the lines of strain that often furrowed his brow were smoothed away, revealing an unguarded handsomeness, completely free from the burdens of stress and responsibility that weighed heavily on him while awake.
With no one to catch her staring, she allowed herself to stare a little longer at the sleeping Jedi Master, the way his bare chest rose and fell with each steady breath; a picture of pure tranquility. He was close enough to touch and every bit as beautiful to look at in sleep as he was when he was awake. She nearly reached out to touch him. Maybe just push his hair out of his eyes, as it was getting a bit longer, he’d probably be cutting it soon. Shame, the longer length of hair looked good on him.
Her gaze lingered on his long, thick eyelashes – a feature envied by many, not just her, but one she was grateful their son, Solan, had inherited. As an infant, it had been difficult to tell who Solan favored, as she had no idea what she looked like as a child. But as he grew older, it became clear that he was taking after his father and the thought made her smile. If her son continued to resemble his father he’d become a very handsome young man, no doubt following in his father’s footsteps of leaving broken hearts across the galaxy.
Her smile faded when she was a breath away from stroking the warmth of his cheek, it felt so real.
The momentary warmth that bloomed within her at the sight, withered as quickly as it came and her fingers recoiled. Sorrow seeped into the hollow space it left behind, as she realized that this was nothing more than a dream.
She didn’t crawl into her own bed last night any more than Obi-Wan had, and he wasn’t really there sleeping beside her.
As she lay on the too-soft mattress, misery swelled inside her, and she turned away, seeking refuge from her heartache. Even in sleep, she couldn't escape it. With a resigned sigh, she braced herself for the inevitable awakening. The bed would be empty and cold, and she would find herself stiff and a bit sore, just as she had been for the last ten years, still exhausted and still on the floor.
And even worse than the physical discomfort, she would return to the strained coexistence she shared with the father of her son. Hating every moment of it. Hating herself.
Despair hung heavy around her, like a palpable shroud that rippled through the air, touching everything in its path. Reaching beyond, until Obi-Wan's arm found its way around her waist, drawing her back against the solid plane of his chest. His breath danced warmly on her skin, as he gently nuzzled into the back of her neck, stirring strands of her auburn hair with each exhale.
"Good morning, darling,"
She remained still and silent, his voice and the affection in it only making her experience more painful. She stayed stiff in his arms, tightly squeezing her eyes shut to prevent any tears from escaping.
"Are you planning to avoid me here too?" he asked softly when she remained silent.
Her silence stretched for a moment before she replied, "Avoidance implies intention, Obi-Wan. One can’t avoid what's not real."
He chuckled softly, the sound melodious and comforting. "You're the only Jedi I know who wouldn't take advantage of a pleasant dream, my dear." he teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Such a wet blanket, you are."
She breathed deeply, committing his scent, and his warmth, to memory.
Obi-Wan's voice, sleep-roughened but playful, teased her. "Are you truly so entrenched with your own sorrow that you won’t allow yourself to enjoy this while you can?"
“This is a dream,”
“Then there’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, is there?” His fingers danced a lighthearted path up her arm, it was so soft it almost tickled and Cressida hated being tickled. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. "Is it such a bad dream, this one? Worse than the ones where you wake up screaming?"
“No,” She replied quietly, her voice sounding so fragile.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You’ve never called me ‘darling’ before.”
“Is that it?” He chuckled again, “Well, perhaps that’s true, but you want me to.” His hand stroked the length of her arm, a tender touch that felt profoundly real. “After all, this is your dream, not mine, darling.” His lips gently brushed against her skin, sending tingles down her spine. "You know, I believe I've figured out why you've been sleeping poorly," he said after a momentary pause. "You're resting where you shouldn't be. I'm in my bed, and you're on the floor. One of us is undoubtedly in the wrong place."
"Always the clever one," she remarked, unable to keep the scoff out of her voice before finally turning her head to look at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself.
When she pinched his arm, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as if wondering why she would do that.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but I believe you’re supposed to pinch yourself if you wish to wake up.” He suggested with a grin, gently pinching her arm in return, which she, of course, didn’t feel. “Seems to me like you don't really want to leave this place."
It was true, painfully so.
“I’m not sure what’s worse, the reality that’s waiting for me when I wake up or this,” Her voice was soft as her fingers lightly grazed against his, while he continued to gently stroke her arm.
"Reality can be shaped by will, my love," he countered, pressing another more firm kiss to her neck. "If you truly desire this, all you need to do is pursue it," he responded, his grip around her a little more secure, his voice tender and affectionate, it was lovely but it wasn’t right.
“You make it sound so simple,”
Her words seemed to roll off him like water off a pelikki’s back, his expression remaining unphased. In fact, he wore a sly smirk and his hand reached up to gently caress her cheek, repositioning her in his embrace so that she faced him directly. His eyes were still heavy with sleep but still held an inviting warmth and tenderness towards her.
“And you think in such two-dimensional terms,”
He gently tilted her chin upwards, his warm hand cradling her jaw as he drew her closer. His lips met hers in a deep, all-consuming kiss. With a teasing flick of his tongue, he deepened the kiss and her heart began to race in her chest. Every nerve electrified by his touch, so close to the real thing.
"Imagine," he murmured softly, releasing her mouth from his. "This is how we wake up every day, safely wrapped in each other's arms." He paused, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Though preferably with fewer clothes." She smirked softly, feeling the vibrations of his words against her skin. For a man who was all propriety and rules and discipline, it was easy to forget that he had something of a naughty sense of humor.
"No blasted timepieces to rouse us from sleep, only the sunlight of noon or Solan telling us he's hungry for waffles. The three of us exploring the galaxy together as a family, our attachments making us stronger, not weaker. Training our son to be the Jedi he's meant to be, as the Force deems, no pesky High Council to shake their heads disapprovingly at us, or tell us what we’re feeling is wrong or dangerous."
Her smirk turned to a smile, her heart swelling at the thought. Obi-Wan had never boasted any particularly artistic abilities, but the portrait he was creating was undoubtedly breathtaking.
"And our nights..." he trailed off, tilting his head down to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Our nights are filled with staying up late, entwined in passionate love-making until we can no longer keep our eyes open, blissfully drained of all energy. And yet, every day it starts all over again."
She let her fingers intertwine with his, feeling the rough calluses on his palm and fingers born of years of lightsaber use. She observed him with fascination wishing all her dreams could be as peaceful as this moment. A somber smile formed on her lips.
“Growing stronger, as a family,” His hand cradling her hip, his lips leaving a trail of fire along her jaw and up to her ear. “Perhaps, we might even add to it,” She turned her head sharply, expecting to see a playful smirk but finding only honest sincerity in his gaze.
"Can you see it?" Obi-Wan whispered between gentle kisses.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing and she did a double take. Was he actually serious? He couldn’t be. She felt foolish even considering the thoughts as being his in the first place, knowing that this was all just a dream concocted by her own mind to ease her loneliness. But as Obi-wan had suggested; what was the harm in a little dream-like indulgence?
"It does sound nice,"
"Nice? Darling, it could be ours," His voice was dripping with longing and desire as he spoke, his hand moving to gently caress her stomach. His thumb traced over faint lines that were barely visible that she often covered up, she instinctively reached to cover the perceived vulnerability, but Obi-Wan’s hands encased her own in a firm grasp.
“Now, now, none of that.” His possessive tone sent shivers down her spine as his lips grazed her knuckles. "I missed so much of Solan's life.” His voice was filled with remorse and longing. “I never got to see your body swell with my child, never held him as a newborn, heard his first words, or watched him take his first steps. But it can be different this time. And Solan wants brothers and sisters, you know."
“How could you possibly know that?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
Obi-Wan’s smile widened.
"I've seen the way he looks at other younglings, and he told me so himself," he confessed. "And I promise you, this time, I'll be by your side for every single one of them, supporting you and loving you as a true partner should."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes blinking in surprise. Did she hear him correctly?
"Every single one?" She repeated, trying to control the warmth spreading through her chest. She looked down, pretending not to notice the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Just how many children are you expecting in this imagined scenario?"
"As many as the Force sees fit," he answered mischievously, his playful side finally breaking through and wrapping around her like the blankets they lay under.
Her mind began spinning with visions of a life entwined with Obi-Wan and their children. Children. Plural. She could see them under the golden hue of the setting sun, filled with laughter and unrestrained love. Solan, with eyes sparkling with pride, demonstrated his growing mastery of the Force, while his younger siblings gazed up at him in wonder.
Obi-Wan's presence and determination slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself. He spoke of a future where they could share the weight of their burdens and she could finally let go of the loneliness she had carried for so long. He promised to care for her deeply with every fiber of his being.
Yet, one last shred of resistance remained.
"It’s not that simple, I need to protect you," She whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes downcast to avoid his gaze.
"Protect me from what, darling?"
"From me," she replied, her voice barely audible.
He laughed, a sound not mocking but filled with gentle understanding, and then his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that spoke volumes, asserting that his attachment to her was irrevocable.
"Obi-Wan," she breathed, her voice cracking with emotion. "I-"
She tried to continue, to tell him how perfectly serious she was being and maybe scold him, but her words were cut off by more passionate kisses from him. Each one deeper than the last, and to further prove his point and silence any protest, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him. Her words were muffled against his lips.
The words rolled off his tongue in a low, rumbling murmur as he reluctantly pulled their lips apart.
It was clear he was hesitant to end the kiss.
"My dear, it is far too late for that realization. My heart has been hopelessly entwined with yours since the first moment I saw your face in the council chamber. And when I learned of our son, you became my fate." His warm breath mingled with hers as he spoke, the crackle of electricity still pulsing between them.
She had been about to bring up the Jedi Order's strict stance on attachments, but before she could even form the words, he stopped her with another soul-scorching kiss. The heat of his touch branded her skin and the power of their connection seemed to surge through them both.
"The Force is not the Jedi Order; it has no owner,” he said solemnly, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “It is not bound by any rules. It has existed since time immemorial and will continue to exist long after the Jedi are dust and less than memories." He paused, a seriousness settling over him.
The idea of leaving the Order was both thrilling and terrifying to her, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
"Never again will you walk alone," he vowed. "No more running. I'll protect you, always."
It seemed such a big thing, too big a decision to let him make and she shook her head in uncertainty.
“Cress,” he whispered gently with a soft touch, brushing away a strand of hair from her face as he stroked her cheek. “I see how tired you are, and I know you've carried far too much alone for too long.” Her eyes welled up with tears, unable to resist the truth in his words and she tried to look away but she couldn’t.
“I know about the nightmares and the sickness, and I know why they plague you. It's time for you to let someone take care of you."
She blinked back a tear. "And that someone is you?"
"Absolutely," Obi-Wan declared with unwavering conviction. "It's my duty to take care of you now, and I swear I'll protect you and treat you like my queen if you'll only let me."
She hesitated, torn between the dreamlike world he painted and the reality they lived in.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was insane. But in this moment, as his arms enveloped her and she felt the comforting warmth of his body, the idea of a life together consumed her. And though it was going to hurt later, she allowed herself to indulge in the dream, savoring every second of it.
What was the harm in enjoying a dream, if only a little bit?
The wounds from her time in the healing chambers may have healed physically, but nothing could ease the ache in her heart like these stolen moments with him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel their gentle warmth, and all she had to do was lean in to make contact. So she did.
Without hesitation, she met his lips with her own, losing herself in his kisses that grew more passionate by the second
"Let's pretend," he whispered breathlessly between kisses, his touch tracing a delicate path along her collarbone. "Just for now... let's pretend that this is ours," his voice thick and husky with emotion.
“That nothing exists outside this room, it’s been far too long since I’ve touched you, darling,”
Drawing her closer, he captured her lips in another kiss, and as their mouths melded together, all thoughts of the outside world faded away and she gave in, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms.
Her longing for him, built up over countless nights of loneliness, surged within her and drowned out any remaining doubts. With an urgency she couldn't contain, she pulled him closer, desperate to fill the void that had grown insatiable in the ten years since she last felt his touch.
"See?" Obi-Wan murmured, his breath mingling with hers as their kisses grew more frantic and hurried. "We deserve this, Cressida. A moment of peace amidst the chaos we've faced."
Cressida nodded silently in agreement. His voice was a soothing balm to her, and she could listen to him speak for hours, but right now she had other plans for his quick-witted mouth.
"Just until my timepiece wakes me." She breathed against his lips before kissing him again, teasingly licking at his mouth.
"That's all I ask, darling," Obi-Wan replied, his smile evident in his voice.
Her hands traveled up his chest and tangled in his tousled hair, gently pulling at the locks she remembered he enjoyed, he’d positively melted at the sensation. She felt his approval reverberate through his body in a low moan, the hum of satisfaction warming her from the inside out.
Memories of the last time she had felt him unravel at her touch surged forward, emboldening her to take more from this dream-like moment and fully indulge in its pleasures, savoring each sensation as if it were a rare delicacy.
"Was that so difficult?" he teased with a playful smirk. The warmth of his hand cradling her jaw sent shivers down her spine as his lips left hers and planted kisses along her neck.
Every touch sent a flurry of sparks through her body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment and hungry kiss.
But then something changed.
The hand that had been caressing her jaw gently, suddenly clamped down on her neck with a vicious hold, cutting off her oxygen supply. A blackness crept over him like a shroud, shadowy tendrils wrapped around him obscuring his handsome face until he became an unrecognizable mass of darkness and malice. Her breathing became labored, each gasp a desperate struggle for air. Panic surged through her body as she gasped for air, each breath a frantic struggle against the tightening grip.
She was unable to take a breath, let alone speak. Her words trapped in her throat, and all that came out was a garbled response.
She clawed at his hand, trying to pry it away, but he only squeezed harder, sending sharp waves of pain through her throat. No longer recognizable, he was consumed by the darkness, a vessel for its insidious influence. Her heart clenched with impending doom, a crushing weight bearing down on her as she fought for every precious breath and she grew weaker.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure on her neck vanished and she was left gasping and choking in the darkness. Clutching her neck and coughing, her head whipped around searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Obi-Wan?" Her raspy voice echoed into the endless void, but there was no response.
The warmth of the bed was replaced with a chilling emptiness, and the sunlight that once filled the room had faded to a distant memory. She was alone and vulnerable in this pitch-black world. Where had he gone? What had happened?
But there were no answers—only a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume her completely.
The eerie emptiness swallowed the warmth of the dream, leaving Cressida adrift in an endless void.
"Obi-Wan!" Her voice quavered, reaching out into the abyss for the man who had been by her side moments before. She fought against the panic in her heart. That wasn’t her Obi-Wan, it was something else. He was here somewhere, she had to find him.
A distorted echo of his voice responded, but she couldn’t understand his words, only the fear in his voice. The chilling sound sent shivers down her spine, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Desperate to find him, she stumbled through the nightmare landscape until she kicked something, she looked down to see her lightsaber at her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief and ignited the blade, feeling a bit more secure in its radiant orange glow.
"It's just a dream," she repeated, her voice trembling as she clung to the reassurance that none of it was real. "Only a dream." She could control this dream, she was the master of her subconscious.
"Obi-Wan!" she called out, her desperation evident as she sought the familiar presence that could anchor her amidst the chaos. "Where are you?"
In the nightmare's depths, she scanned the shadowy expanse, but there was no sign of Obi-Wan.
"Obi-Wan!" she cried again, her voice tinged with desperation. Each breath formed icy clouds in the cold air, dissipating into nothingness.
A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned slipping into the Guard pose of form three, Soresu, to face a spectral figure emerging from the shadows. Her blood went cold in her veins. It bore the likeness of her Master, Deva L'rue, his eyes ablaze with an otherworldly intensity that accused and condemned her without a single word spoken. Cressida recoiled in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the haunting visage before her.
“Master?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
She reached out tentatively with her senses, trying to determine if this was just another trick of her mind or a genuine message from beyond. She felt small once more, like the terrified padawan she had been all those years ago.
The phantom's form began to shift and warp, changing shape until it resembled Obi-Wan himself, but his eyes continued to burn with that same corrupted stare – a dark shadow of the man she cared for.
“It’s not real," Cressida muttered, shaking her head and taking a step back.
The menacing voice of the twisted apparition echoed through the darkness.
"Oh, but I am, Cressida, and you've led me here, to the darkness, just as you led your master."
He drew his lightsaber and ignited a red blade, adopting a stance she knew anywhere; form seven – Juyo. The same form her master had favored.
Phantom Stance.
Obi-Wan sank into a crouched position, resembling a feral beast more than a man; his lightsaber held high, poised for a strike, while the other hand was raised in a claw-like gesture toward Cressida as if beckoning her into the darkness.
"Tell me, darling," he sneered, venom dripping from the word 'darling', "Will you murder me too?"
As her heart pounded in her chest, Cressida gripped her lightsaber tightly, her body coiled with tension as she assumed Ataru's Gale Strike Pose. Her feet planted firmly, one leg slightly forward, and her lightsaber held high above her head, poised for a swift and aggressive strike.
With a guttural snarl, Obi-Wan lunged forward and their blades clashed in a whirlwind of searing hatred and fear. The crimson and burnt orange light danced around them, their weapons moved too fast for the eye to track, creating an otherworldly aura of fury and despair.
Obi-Wan's skills were unparalleled, parrying her strikes with alarming ease, he wielded this dark form of combat with a prowess that seemed to mock his serene mastery of Soresu. His eyes blazed with an intensity that deviated starkly from the calm focus usually associated with his fighting style. Every aggressive strike of his current form was somehow taunting the disciplined and centered approach he typically embraced.
Every strike of her blade against his felt weak and fragile, each movement she made felt slower and less effective than his. As if she didn’t have the decade of experience as a battle-proven sentinel, nor the skill to match it. Panic began to gnaw at her as she struggled to understand why she couldn't gain the upper hand, why this battle felt eerily familiar in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
It was as if some unseen force guided their movements, leading them down a path of destruction that they couldn't deviate from. Every strike felt preordained and filled her with dread and a sense of deja vu as if she had fought this battle before in another life.
Because she had.
A terrible feeling of foreboding crept up her spine
Her instincts screamed at her to end this nightmare, but she was powerless to stop it, she couldn’t lower her blade, couldn’t disarm him, couldn’t even allow him to strike her down. As though someone else was controlling her actions like a horrific marionette, she could offer no deviation. Trapped by the shadows of the past.
In an instant, their movements stilled, and the world around them froze.
Time seemed to grind to a halt as Obi-Wan loomed over Cressida, his lightsaber poised to strike. Every second stretched out in agonizing detail, etching itself into her mind with razor-sharp clarity.
With a surge of adrenaline, Cressida lunged forward, her senses heightened to an almost painful degree.
In a deafening cacophony, the sound of her lightsaber sizzling and then reigniting reverberated through the chamber, drowning out all other noise. The once pure and harmonic hum had twisted into a menacing growl, mirroring the corrupted state of Obi-Wan's blade.
The unmistakable scent of burning kyber crystals filled the air, assaulting her senses with an acrid tang. It was as if the very fabric of the Force recoiled in agony at the clash of their lightsabers, the tortured cries of the crystals reverberating through the chamber.
The metallic stench of blood flooded her senses, overpowering all other senses until it was the only thing she could taste. There should have been no smell of blood, lightsabers cauterized wounds in an instant, burning hotter than the surface of suns and stars. And yet, there she was, surrounded by the coppery scent of death.
At best it should have been the smell of burning flesh but that too was horrific sensory input.
She looked down in horror at the glowing blade protruding from Obi-Wan's chest, his once vibrant blue eyes now dull and lifeless. His lightsaber clattered to the ground and he slumped to his knees before falling back with a dull horrible thud.
Waves of guilt and despair crashed over her as she trembled uncontrollably, memories flooding back of a similar scene long ago.
"Obi-Wan, no," she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. “Not again,”
The invisible force that held sway over her movements released her from its grip finally allowing her lightsaber to fall from her grasp. And a deafening tinnitus screamed in her ears, piercing through her skull like shards of broken glass, growing louder and more shrill until it was almost unbearable. She fell to her knees, hands pressed tightly over her ears as the relentless ringing threatened to shatter her eardrums. Even her screams were drowned out by the agony of the never-ending sound.
Suddenly, she jolted to wakefulness with a waterlogged scream.
Her body thrashed and flailed, violently in the bacta tank's healing waters, desperate to escape the torturous nightmare that had gripped her mind.
The tank now felt like a watery prison, determined to hold her captive within her mind.
And although the respirator provided her oxygen beneath the waters, in her panic it felt like she couldn’t breathe with it on and she clawed at the mask attached to her face, ripping it free in a frenzy as she broke the surface of the tank.
Gasping for air, she clambered out frantically, landing with a thud on the hard floor, convulsing and heaving as if trying to expel the memory from her being. Retching violently, the once peaceful Halls of Healing now echoing with her screams and cries for mercy.
Obi-Wan sat across from his son, observing him with a sort of morbid fascination as he devoured his breakfast. The boy's enthusiasm for the stack of waffles before him was reminiscent of a snake unhinging its jaw to accommodate larger prey. In contrast, Obi-Wan's meal was far simpler: Tythonian yogurt and honey, a bowl of fruit, spiced eggs, and a steaming cup of sapir tea.
Solan shoveled another absurdly large forkful of waffles into his mouth with no signs of slowing and Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder if his master, Qui-Gon, had ever regarded a young Obi-Wan with similar awe and slight horror. His once steaming breakfast was quickly growing cold, forgotten in the face of this bizarrely captivating sight.
"What?" Solan mumbled through a mouthful of waffles, catching Obi-Wan's gaze.
"Nothing," Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head with a small smile. He took a sip of his sapir tea, savoring its calming warmth. The foul mood that had greeted him upon waking was long gone, replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity at the sight of his son, seated alone in the refectory.
He could feel the weight of their connection, both through blood and through the Force. Solan's blue and gray eyes, mirroring his parents, held an inquisitiveness that reminded him so much of himself at that age. The boy was eager to learn, ready to further his Jedi training, yet Obi-Wan sensed an underlying awareness of the implications of his heritage.
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered around the refectory, noting the empty chairs and half-eaten meals on the tables. The murmur of quiet conversations filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension that seemed to thrum through the room, as though a storm was brewing just beyond the walls. He turned his attention back to Solan, who remained oblivious to it all.
"Solan, you never said where your mother was. Do you think she’ll be joining us soon?"
Obi-Wan asked, not missing the way Solan's eyes darted away from his for a few moments, avoiding the question. Taking a bite of his eggs and chewing thoughtfully and slowly, Obi-Wan studied his son, trying to read the emotions that danced across the boy's expressive face.
"She went to the halls of healing late last night," Solan finally admitted, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.
Obi-Wan paused, a bite of eggs halfway to his mouth but the pause was brief, and he quickly finished the gesture. A shadow of uncertainty clouded his eyes as he looked up at Obi-Wan, clearly unsure if he should be sharing this information. It came as no surprise to Obi-Wan that his son offered up the answer so reluctantly; Solan carried his own wealth of secrets, and at times the psychological burden of such made him physically shrink. This was one of those times.
Obi-Wan chose his next words very carefully, he could see the worry in Solan’s eyes, and he didn’t want to give Solan any reason to feel as though he shared what was meant to be kept secret. He considered reaching out with the Force, trying to sense any disturbances or hidden truths in Solan's mind, but thought it too invasive.
"Is she not feeling well?" Obi-Wan pressed gently, trying to mask his concern with curiosity.
Solan hesitated, picking at the remnants of his waffles and looking down to avoid his father's gaze and Obi-Wan recognized the subtle tug-of-war within Solan – the desire to share what was happening with his mother, but also the fear of betraying her trust.
He could sense the weight of this information pressing down on Solan's young shoulders. Obi-Wan's heart tightened as he observed Solan's downcast eyes, the boy's small hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.
“I’m not sure,” Uncertainty colored his words and his eyes darted around the room before finally settling back on his father.
Obi-Wan understood he was holding a tool in his hands far more powerful than any lightsaber, the ability to ease his sons fears. With a sip of his tea and a nod of his head, he smiled softly. The warmth of the tea spread through him, granting him a momentary sense of calm. He tried to project this serenity onto Solan, knowing how important it was to keep his son's trust.
"Well, it's coming upon that time of year; colds and illness tend to spike a bit with the changing of seasons, and your mother's been off-world for some time. It could be that she's getting used to it again." He gave a soft chuckle, “It does tend to kick one in the backside though,”
Solan's eyes widened in surprise, the green pools reflecting the overhead lights as he looked up from his tea, its surface rippling with each tiny movement. "Really?" he asked.
"Oh yes," Obi-Wan replied, allowing himself a small smile as he watched the petals dance around his son. "The halls of healing will be a busy place soon, younglings, padawans, knights, and even masters tend to come down with a little something, I wouldn't worry though. But you'd do best to watch your own health as well, Solan, if you feel unwell, we need to make sure you're well-rested."
“A tired mind doesn’t learn,” Obi-Wan said gently, brushing away the unease coiling inside him. "I'm sure your mother will be fine."
He watched Solan's expression soften, the lines of tension easing from his brow. Relief flooded Obi-Wan, knowing that he had reassured his son, even if only for a moment. His concerns remained, however, burrowed deep within his thoughts, like a shadowy whisper he couldn't quite silence.
Why was she in the Halls of Healing?
"Did she say anything else before she left?" Obi-Wan probed, hoping to glean more information without pushing Solan too far. “Maybe any symptoms she was experiencing?”
Solan shook his head, his gaze skittering away once more. "N-no, just that she needed to go."
He hoped the words would bring comfort, and they appeared to as Solan offered a weak smile but a seemingly genuine one. The kind of smile given when the worry remains but the doubt is gone and he picked up his fork again.
But it was all a lie.
Obi-Wan didn’t like the way falsehoods tasted in his mouth - he had always prided himself on honesty, as any Jedi would. But at times a little misdirection to allay greater fears was the better option. Yes, the seasons were changing but not in any way that saw colds and illnesses the way Obi-Wan had described. There were an abundance of allergies, and casualties of the pollen in the air, and as someone who was often afflicted, Obi-Wan knew the difference all too well.
He glanced at Solan, who was staring down at his plate, breaking off another smaller bite of waffles. The morning light filtering through the windows cast a gentle glow on his son's face, emphasizing the resemblance to his own features. He knew Solan was hiding something about Cressida's condition, but pressing for more information would only make the boy withdraw further.
He had to be smart about this and form a strategy. So he opted for a change of subject that would ease Solan’s mind.
"Let’s talk about your training, are you ready to continue?"
“Are we going back to the archives?” Solan's eyes lit up with excitement, the topic of training after two days of rest did the job rather splendidly.
“Not yet, Solan, we need to discuss what happened.”
Solan's voracious appetite diminished almost instantly, and he paused, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he swallowed his food. Despite his youthful optimism, there was a noticeable change in his demeanor, a subtle acknowledgment of the seriousness of the situation.
"Am I in trouble?"
Before Obi-Wan could answer with a thought-out response, a delicate hand found its way into Solan’s hair, ruffling it playfully.
“Why? Did you do something or did you simply get caught?”
Cressida appeared giving them both a warm smile, a steaming cup of caf cradled in her other hand, as she took a seat next to Obi-Wan as though she had been right behind them the whole time.
With her arrival came a wave of pure relief, Solan smiled and fixed his hair, notably parting it back the way it had been which seemed to mirror how Obi-Wan styled his. Making Solan look like a smaller cleaner cleaner-shaven Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan too felt relief but it was short-lived as his keen eye began to take notice of small things, the tips of her hair were slightly damp, her olive pallor was a bit diffused giving her a slightly paler countenance and the almost indiscernible scent of bacta clung to her. He’d spent more than his fair share of time inside the damn tanks and he personally hated them, he didn’t like how trapped he felt, nor did he like the sterile smell, especially after the Clone Wars.
"Curiosity is no sin, Solan," she said softly, her voice carrying an underlying note of exhaustion. "But your father is right, we need to talk about what happened."
Her words seemed steadfast and certain, but there was a frailty to how she looked. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots between her appearance and the overwhelming sense of dread he'd experienced earlier that morning. The sudden chill he’d felt, had been all-encompassing like a bucket of icey water had been dumped on his and he’d felt every hair on his body standing on end.
Something was wrong, and it felt like it was lurking just beneath the surface, ready to emerge when least expected.
"Mom, are you okay?" Solan asked. “Dad said you might be getting sick from the change of seasons, are you feeling better?”
She didn’t miss a beat and nodded, “Well, your father would certainly know, and yes, it seems being back on world has finally caught up with me.” Cressida offered a weak smile. "I’m fine, just a little tired. Now, let's talk about your training, sounds like your father has quite the morning planned."
As they discussed Solan's progress and areas for improvement, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling that they were dancing around a hidden truth. His instincts screamed at him to delve deeper, but it would have to wait until later, he made a mental note to investigate the matter.
"Solan, there’s someone I- your mother, and I want you to meet.” He corrected himself, remembering how this was meant to be a unified decision between them despite the disparity they felt. “There's a Jedi Master who shares your ability to touch objects and read their histories," Obi-Wan explained, noting the shift in Solan's expression from worry to wonder.
"Really?" Solan's eyes widened in amazement until Cressida gently nudged his open mouth closed, again. "I thought no one else could do it."
Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, “Not at all, psychometry is indeed a rare skill and few Jedi have the aptitude for it, but I know of one who does. His name is Quinlan Voss and I’ve known him for many years.”
Solan’s waffles sat forgotten and he blinked in disbelief and awe. “Now? When can I meet him? Can I meet him today? Is he here?” His questions came off as rapid fire and he began to practically vibrate in his seat.
“He’s currently off-world but he will be back in two cycles. I've reached out to him and asked for some of his time, he’s agreed to meet with us, all of us. That we might better be able to help understand and help you in learning to master your ability.”
Solan nodded, not to a question but merely as an excited gesture, his appetite returned to full force and he began shoveling waffles back into his mouth.
“Until then we’ll work on your training and when we all have a better understanding of how to help you, then we’ll return to the archives.”
"If we're not going to the archives, then what’re we doing today?"
"How about some lightsaber training?" Solan's excitement radiated boundlessly as he bounced in his seat.
"Really!" Solan exclaimed eagerly.
Obi-Wan nodded, "And some meditation of course,”
"I think I'm ready to try the shielding exercise again," Solan declared confidently, earning a surprised smile from Obi-Wan.
"That's wonderful. Your enthusiasm is commendable, if you feel ready we will try it again." Obi-Wan praised, his satisfaction evident. "After our training, your mother has something planned, doesn't she?”
“Since your father seems to have the more physical aspect of training for the day, I think we’ll focus on force sensitivity and control as well as a discussion on ethics and morality and maybe we’ll talk about the Jedi Initiate Trials and what that entails of, they’re a few months away. I think if you focus, we could see you ready to take the trials this year.”
Her goals were lofty and Solan looked a bit worried and overwhelmed but Obiwan seemed pleased and he also seemed to agree with her assessment.
“Your mother’s right, if we focus and you tackle your training there’s no stopping you. A master could be right around the corner for you, and maybe a padawan braid along with it.”
With the vote of confidence from his parents and the mention of a braid possibly in his near future, he nodded and sat a little straighter before taking a large bite of his waffles.
"Solan, as delicious as those waffles may be, there's no need to make a spectacle of it," Cressida gently scolded, reaching to cover his mouth with a napkin. "You eat like your father," She remarked with a smile, and Solan grinned back, his face adorned with a crumb-filled smile.
"Meaning what, exactly?" Obi-Wan quipped a hint of indignation in his gaze, he looked to Solan who was stifling a laugh, and then back to Cressida. "If you mean a healthy appetite, then yes, it appears he takes after me,"
"Hollow leg and all,"
However, as she smirked and sipped her caf, it dawned on him that she was teasing him. The subtle curve of her lips betrayed her amusement, catching him off guard, especially considering their previous encounters. He was relieved to see it and a bit of the worry he was carrying slipped from his shoulders.
"Mom, aren’t you hungry?”
The relief he'd just felt vanished, replaced by a renewed heaviness in his chest.
She shook off Solan's concern with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll eat later," she assured them, a subtle resignation creeping into her voice, leaving Obi-Wan unsettled.
His eyes darted between them, catching the tension in Cressida's stance and her reluctance to look at him, in fact, she hadn’t really looked at him at all. Yet, it struck him that she wasn't even looking at Solan either.
Carefully tracking her line of sight, he had a strong hunch she was staring at a nondescript spot on the opposite wall, her expression vacant, as if only half there, hiding something.
The tension from their earlier talk resurfaced, and he felt disappointed to suspect her initial playfulness might have just been a trick to divert Solan's attention. Yet, Obi-Wan stayed quiet, sensing it wasn't the right time for a confrontation. Luckily, Solan seemed oblivious to the subtle tension, happily focused on his breakfast. Although Obi-Wan wished to address the underlying issue, he couldn't quite figure out how to bridge the gap.
She glanced back at him, giving a brief nod that seemed almost rehearsed, her emotional walls still firmly in place. It puzzled him, like trying to solve an unsolvable riddle. Despite the tension between them, she appeared outwardly composed. Never had he felt so bewildered by a relationship. She wasn't his wife, nor were they involved romantically, though they once had been very intimately connected—she was the mother of his son. His mind raced with questions. What did he expect from her? A warm smile, a hug, maybe even a kiss?
Despite the invisible divide between them, it amazed him how quickly he had grown accustomed to enjoying their presence, how effortless it felt. Guiding Solan with a hand on his shoulder felt natural, as did sitting beside Cressida, whether as a partner or a parental figure. Uncertain of his own desires, he simply wished to understand Cressida's thoughts about him, whether there was something more between them—romantic or not. Or if there ever could be.
Those thoughts were vexing, everything about his relationship with Cressida was. He turned back to his tea, it was growing cold.
Obi-Wan handed Solan a training saber, then took a few steps away putting a distance of maybe two meters between them, igniting his own lightsaber, its weight was vastly different compared to a proper lightsaber though it still emitted a soft glow that cast shadows across the room. Solan hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the hilt of the saber before he looked up at Obi-Wan.
"Are you going to ignite your saber, Solan?" Obi-Wan asked, curiously.
Solan shook his head. "No, Master.”
“Why not?”
There was a genuine confusion in his question. Solan had been so excited to train with lightsabers, had he somehow misread his son?
“There's no need for it. A lightsaber should only be drawn when de-escalation, retreat, or negotiation isn't an option," he replied calmly, catching Obi-Wan by surprise with the eloquent and diplomatic answer.
He nodded in agreement, impressed by Solan's understanding of the importance of exhausting all other alternatives before embracing combat.
"Very well said, Solan," Obi-Wan commended. "You have a keen grasp of the Jedi way."
Solan smiled modestly, but then Obi-Wan stepped towards him and Solan retreated the same distance.
“But, noble as your logic is, I still have a weapon drawn on you and there is nowhere for you to run to, what will you do now?”
“Is negotiation not an option?” Obi-Wan chuckled heartily at his son.
“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I won’t be swayed away from combat either, what will you do now?”
Solan heaved out a breath and ignited the training blade, slipping into the Guard pose of form three; Soresu. His blade held horizontally across his body, parallel to the ground, weight balanced on his back right foot. Obi-Wan smiled at the familiar pose and Solan’s impeccable posture.
"Now, let's begin with lightsaber forms," Obi-Wan continued, readying himself for the training. He raised his training saber in preparation to strike. "Why form three, Solan?" Obi-Wan inquired, observing Solan's stance with interest and a bit of pride.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, his expression determined.
"I need to be defensive, Master. I don't know what form you're using, and I don't know my opponent. Form three allows me to adapt quickly and defend against any attack," he explained confidently, his words laced with tactical insight.
"Impressive, Solan. Your tactical thinking will serve you well in your Jedi training." Obi-Wan nods approvingly, a sense of pride swelling within him. “Tell me, by what other name is form three known by?”
“The Way of the Mynock. It was developed in the Old Republic in response to the growing use of blasters by Sith and enemies of the Jedi, by Jedi Master Cin Drallig during the Jedi Order's study of lightsaber combat.”
Solan's in-depth and concise answer was surprising and Obi-Wan nodded approvingly, he took another step toward Solan. The hum of lightsabers filled the room as Obi-Wan's lightsaber clashed against Solan's in an overhead parry.
Sensing Solan's struggle as he attempted to maintain his defensive block, Obi-Wan advised, "You can't maintain a block forever, Solan. Eventually, you'll need to counter or find another way to defend yourself."
Solan considered Obi-Wan's words carefully, realizing the truth in his father’s advice. With a quick nod and a subtle shift in his position, Solan disengaged from the block with a push and took several steps back, creating distance between himself and Obi-Wan.
“A tactical retreat? Very well,” Obi-Wan watched Solan's movement with keen interest, noting the shift in forms. "Form four or five, Solan?" he mused aloud, recognizing the deliberate choice to create distance. “Aggression or balance?”
Solan gave a coy little shrug and a smirk.
"Why the switch from form three, Solan? Form three was working well for you. You had a solid defense." Obi-Wan inquired, curiosity evident in his tone.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, determination shining in his eyes. "I know you're a master of form three, Master Obi-Wan. I didn't want you to predict my next move," Solan explained calmly, his words reflecting a practical mindset beyond his years.
Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgment, impressed by Solan's strategic thinking. "Your logic is sound, Solan. But be mindful—constantly switching forms can be tiring and may appear unfocused to your opponent," he advised.
“That would be their mistake,” Solan replied, bringing a smile to Obi-Wan’s face, Solan slipped back into a defensive posture.
Obi-Wan offers a small smile of approval. "Indeed it would be, Solan," he agrees. "But you must also remember that victory in combat often requires a balance between defense and offense. Sometimes, you need to seize the initiative and take the fight to your opponent."
Obi-Wan raised his blade and lunged to strike.
In a chamber of the Northwestern Tower, Cressida stood surrounded by holographic displays, each revealing a different aspect of Anakin Skywalker's life. Her deft fingers navigated the many displays, allowing her to pull focus, pause, or zoom in on any particular bit of information at any time.
From the dusty plains of Tatooine where Master Qui-Gon Jinn first discovered him, to the recent HoloNet broadcast of his somewhat scandalous marriage to Senator Padmé Amidala, no detail escaped her scrutiny.
Anakin's mysterious birth and the absence of any biological father shrouded in mystery, yet underscored by Qui-Gon Jinn's steadfast belief in the prophecy of the Chosen One.
Medical reports detailed his remarkable midichlorian count, sparking speculation and debate among the Jedi. His history unfolded as a tale of resilience, intertwined with the story of his enslavement alongside his mother, Shmi, and her tragic fate. Details of his family on Tatooine provided insight into his past. Records also highlighted Qui-Gon Jinn's involvement until his death on Naboo, at the hands of the re-emerging Sith. Obi-Wan Kenobi's pivotal role as Anakin's mentor, including archival footage of his impassioned plea to the council to honor Qui-Gon's dying wish, and the Jedi High Council's decision to allow Skywalker's Jedi training.
After becoming a knight, reports detailed General Skywalker's achievements in the Clone Wars. His bravery in battle made his name famous, but there were also controversial moments, such as his execution of Count Dooku. His relationship with his former Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, was rocky, from her trial and expulsion to her eventual exoneration and departure. Despite the fact, he had been vocal in his belief in her innocence. Skywalker's appointment to the Jedi High Council by Chancellor Palpatine raised eyebrows, and there was controversy when he was denied the rank of Jedi Master. However, his recent arrest of Senator Palpatine led to him finally being promoted to Master.
She’d read over it all many times, yet despite the work ahead of her and the vast amount of information available at her fingertips, her thoughts on her investigation stagnated and her mind wandered elsewhere. Her encounter with Yoda after she’d left Solan and Obi-Wan to train was still fresh in her mind, and it had left her pondering the extent of his knowledge regarding her personal situation. Yoda's ability to discern more than he let on didn't surprise her; he had always seemed to possess insights beyond the obvious. But it did worry her, she’d thought she was guarding her secrets well, yet after their discussion on the way to the Tower of First Knowledge, she was doubting herself as Yoda's words echoed in her thoughts, each line carrying a weight that she couldn't shake.
"Strength from burdens can be gained, yes. But weariness, they also bring. And weariness over time, erodes strength, it does."
"All Jedi are your family, including Obi-Wan. Do not forget."
"Over you, tiredness hangs, and only caf for breakfast, no breakfast at all is. Closely, the smell of bacta follows you. Neglecting one's well-being in favor of stubbornness, it does not do well."
Her contemplations were interrupted by the mechanical hiss of the heavy blast doors opening, for a brief moment the barrier that sequestered her from the rest of the Tower waivered announcing the intrusion into her solitude. Noxella’s shadowy figure seamlessly melded into the room's dimly lit corners. A practiced nod acknowledged her presence, unfazed by Noxella's otherworldly entrances; they had become routine. Yet, this was different. A solemn aura clung to Noxella, the uncharacteristic shift in her demeanor unsettled Cressida. It was as if the usually detached figure had been touched by an unfamiliar sorrow, casting an unexpected shadow over the chamber and stirring unease.
"Cressida," Noxella greeted quietly wearing a soft smile that looked so unnaturally forced, her hands clasped behind her back.
Cressida's apprehensive smile faltered at the sight of Noxella's unusual expression. It wasn’t to say that Noxella was often the bearer of bad news but rather if she was smiling in any capacity, it was usually to cushion the incoming blow.
"Noxella, what brings you here?"
"I have news," Noxella replied, her tone grave. "About Obi-Wan."
Cressida's interest piqued at the mention of Obi-Wan, "What news? Is he alright?"
Noxella paused for a moment, steeling herself before delivering her message. "You were aware of Obi-Wan's formal request to be briefed on your off-world mission, were you not?"
A glimmer of hope ignited within Cressida's heart. "I was. Did the council reach a decision?"
The darkness in Noxella's expression told a story all its own. "Yes, but the council's decision requires unanimity.” Noxella hesitated before delivering the crushing blow. “And I regret to inform you that it wasn't achieved."
Her hope plummeted like a falling star, replaced by a sense of disappointment and frustration.
“So, they denied his request?"
Noxella nodded solemnly, her eyes betraying her own disappointment in the council's decision. "I'm afraid so."
"I see," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. With a wave of her hand over the holo displays all traces of the investigation went black and the room darkened briefly before the lights shifted the illumination to a more acceptable lever.
Noxella's gaze softened, her expression sympathetic. "It wasn't my decision, you must know that," she reassured, her tone tinged with regret. "I share your belief that Obi-Wan deserves to know everything."
Despite her disappointment, Cressida nodded, her resolve unyielding. "I trust in the council's judgment, even if I don't understand it," she admitted, a hint of resignation in her voice. "Thank you for informing me, Noxella."
The news delivered, though it could have been communicated over a com, there was no reason for Noxella to remain, yet she didn’t leave, she took a step closer standing opposite Cressida. Her expression softened, her concern deepening
"How is your investigation proceeding?"
Cressida exhaled wearily, her posture drooping as she pondered the inquiry. "I've thoroughly reviewed all available information, and although there have been a few minor missteps, there's no evidence to indicate that Anakin Skywalker was aware of Palpatine's ulterior motives. Considering recent developments, his connection to the Force appears stronger than ever, and he remains steadfastly aligned with the light side. Anakin Skywalker poses no danger, in my estimation."
Noxella's brow furrowed in concern, "But you suspect Palpatine did have plans for him?" she asked, seeking clarification.
Cressida's nod was solemn, her demeanor grave. "Indeed, strategically speaking, Anakin would have been a prime candidate for an apprentice," she began, her tone measured. "His midichlorian count, the highest ever documented, coupled with his remarkable achievements at such a young age, would have undoubtedly caught Palpatine's attention." She paused, her expression thoughtful. "It's likely that Palpatine would have manipulated circumstances to lure Anakin, putting his friends, allies, and loved ones at risk. While the immediate threat has subsided, it's imperative that we remain vigilant, keeping a close watch on anyone in Master Skywalker's circle for any signs of danger."
Noxella's relief was palpable, though tempered by lingering worry. "I see," she murmured, her tone thoughtful.
Curiosity flickered in Cressida's eyes as she observed her friend's reaction. "Is something wrong, Noxella?" she inquired, sensing there was more to her mentor’s unease.
Noxella hesitated, "Extended stays in the bacta can cause one to lose their appetite," she began carefully, her words measured. “You look a little thin,”
Cressida looked weak and apprehensive, but didn’t bother to hide it, hiding things from Noxella would go over about as well as hiding things from Yoda. They simply couldn’t be done. Cressida's discomfort was palpable as she shifted uneasily in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor.
With a gentle yet probing tone, Noxella ventured, "Another nightmare?" Cressida's response was a terse nod. “They are growing worse, aren’t they?”
This time Cressida didn’t answer, maybe too afraid of what she might say.
Noxella regarded her with a mix of concern and hesitation. "It’s been my greatest desire to protect you from the time you came into my mentorship as a teen girl after the loss of your master, as such I've been hesitant to send you off-world since your return," she admitted, her voice soft but firm. "I am well aware of the pressures you are under."
Cressida's brows furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to piece together Noxella's concern. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"I worry that sitting here, surrounded by holos, may be doing more harm than good." Noxella's expression softened, her concern evident in her gaze. "And with each nightmare, every dip into the bacta’s waters I realize that perhaps my concern for your well-being, is in fact, hampering it," she admitted gently. "But, perhaps it's time for a change of scenery, a new focus now that it seems your investigation is running its course."
"An assignment?" Interest sparked in Cressida's gaze, a faint curiosity that rose like the first star at twilight, her guarded demeanor relaxing ever so slightly.
Noxella nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. "Yes," she confirmed. "Low risk, just information gathering. And you wouldn't be alone; you'd have a partner. No thrilling heroics, I’m afraid."
Cressida's lips parted, then closed, as if she weighed her words against the weeks of isolation and convalescence that had become her world. Then, with a lift of her chin that echoed the lineage of countless warriors before her, she met Noxella's gaze squarely.
"I'm ready."
Solan had started mimicking his father’s mannerisms not long after the nature of their relationship became known to him, both his parents had seen it and at first, Obi-wan wasn’t sure what to think of it but it quickly became a source of amusement for him. It was quite entertaining to see a ten-year-old boy stroking his chin in the same absent-minded way that Obi-Wan often did when lost in thought.
He even had Obi-Wan’s controlled and graceful gait nailed as well; confidently, head held high, shoulders back, hand clasped behind him, taking slow measured strides, though admittedly Solan had to keep to a quicker gait due to his father’s longer legs. He looked very much like a much smaller Obi-Wan, minus the facial hair.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but be flattered by this imitation; after all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
It reminded him of his days as a young Jedi Knight, trying so hard to mimic the perfect poise and stoicism of the Jedi Masters whom he looked up to and admired. But ultimately found himself carrying himself more like his late master, Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, who had very much so, always moved to the beat of his own drum.
But even that too felt a bit forced, and eventually, he developed his own unique way of carrying himself, which his son more often than not mimicked.
Solan wore a wide grin on his face that outshone even the brightest stars in the galaxy as they strolled through the halls after their busy morning of lightsaber instruction, a meditation session, and finishing off their time with a shared afternoon meal.
Their discussion of combat forms and principles had invigorated him in a way he hadn't felt in ages. Solan was always full of surprises when it came to his knowledge and insights. Not like Anakin, who used to butt heads with him over the proper techniques, and an endless barrage of questions that often felt combative. But Solan soaked it all up like a sponge, hungry to learn more, hanging off every word his father said.
Solan's true self began to emerge. His steps took on a lighter and more carefree cadence, with a hint of excitement in each bounce.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile as he watched his son, it was contagious, so much that he found himself smiling brightly too. And with Solan by his side, Obi-Wan found himself walking with a newfound casualness reminiscent of his early days mentoring Anakin.
No need to be so formal all the time, he mused.
"You did exceptionally well today, Solan," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice filled with genuine pride. "Your understanding of the forms is remarkable for one so young."
Solan beamed with pride, his chest swelling a little with each word of his father’s praise. "Thanks, Obi-wan,"
Obi-Wan studied his son carefully as they walked, questions brimming in his eyes, "I'm curious, though. How did you become so proficient with the forms, given the... unconventional nature of your upbringing?"
Solan's expression softened, a faraway look on his face as he recalled fond memories.
“Well, mom couldn't teach me like other younglings, but she said it was important and that we had to be sneaky about it."
He smiled slightly, reminiscing. "And we had to hide what we were doing, so no one would find out who we were or what she was really teaching me, so she taught me like she was teaching me a dance."
Obi-Wan's eyebrows raised in surprise at the revelation. "A dance?"
Solan nodded happily, “She started with form one when I was four, it was just before she had to leave me for a mission, and she told me to practice while she was gone and we would work on them together when she got back. She said I had to learn the footwork perfectly first. And while she was gone I would practice all day and all night until I fell asleep, when she came home, I’d show her what I learned, we would practice together and then she’d teach me more."
It was such a simple solution and it wasn’t unheard of for combat to be compared to a dance. In fact, the two boasted many similarities. What a delightful way to teach an excitable child!
"That's quite clever indeed."
“The tricky part was learning how to do the forms without being able to use a lightsaber,”
Obi-Wan paused, he hadn’t considered that, Solan’s form with even the training saber seemed as natural as breathing, like he’d been doing it for years.
“What did your mother use in place of a lightsaber?”
“She stole a scarf from a merchant!” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow shot up in surprise.
“Your mother did what?”
Solan laughed loudly and nodded, “Yup! She went to the market at night, snuck in, stole a bright blue scarf from a merchant, and told me to pretend it was a lightsaber.”
His voice grew more animated as he explained. "It felt really silly doing it at first,” Obi-Wan nodded, that he could certainly understand, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “But then she told me it would make learning look more like it was really a dance and not lightsaber forms. She said it was all about precision and control, and when the time came all I would need to adjust to was the weight of a lightsaber."
Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully, a newfound appreciation for Cressida's methods dawning on him. Solan's movements did have a certain grace and fluidity to them. A scarf as a training tool? Obi-Wan chuckled at the simplicity of the solution, meant to keep Solan accustomed to something in his hand and be mindful of how his movements dictated the movement of something as simple as a scarf. And indeed, the more he thought of it, the more it did seem like the graceful forms of combat might look like an elegant dance to an untrained eye. Who looks for a Jedi with a lightsaber when all they can see is a boy with a colored scarf, dancing?
Obi-Wan stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, “Do you still have the scarf?” Solan nodded and reached into his robes pulling out a slightly faded blue scarf that looked like it had been his most treasured possession.
Obi-Wan smiled “Show me.”
Solan stood at the center of the large empty hall and began with his feet shoulder-width apart, holding the scarf in both hands. The pose was Whirwinds Embrace; he spun swiftly, using the momentum to propel himself forward in a lunging motion. As he extended his arms outward, the scarf flew forward as a lightsaber might deflect an incoming attack, creating a protective barrier around him. He moved seamlessly into Cascade of Serenity; beginning with a series of quick, evasive steps, weaving between imaginary opponents, the azure scarf fluttering in a way reminiscent of the blurred light of a lightsaber. He lowered his arms as if striking down adversaries with precise, flowing movements, the scarf acting as an extension of his will. Despite the intensity of his actions, his demeanor remained calm and composed, reflecting his mastery of the Force.
Obi-Wan watched transfixed at his son, as he executed these very same movements just hours earlier with a training saber but this was somehow different and it did, indeed look like a stunning piece of performance art. Who would have thought a mere scarf could be an effective training tool? Yet here was living proof of Cressida's resourcefulness as an unorthodox teacher.
The series of quick and agile spins of Zephyrs Dance flowed as beautifully as a ballet, evading imaginary attacks from all directions. Each whirl of the scarf disarmed imaginary opponents and created openings for counterattacks, his movements still graceful yet unpredictable to a degree, it would surely keep adversaries off balance and unable to predict his next move. It would be a perfect form for a craft assassin to get close to a target.
Obi-Wan watched attentively as Solan moved through the elegant motions of Form I, admiring the boy's natural talent and dedication to the art of lightsaber combat. Despite his unconventional upbringing, it was clear he had a natural aptitude for the art of combat.
His final pose was Cresting Wave; Solan exploded into motion surging forward with a spriteful leap, the scarf trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. As he moved, the scar flew before him creating an artful barrier that mimicked a flurry of attacks, each strike of the scarf delivered with precision. His movements like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless as a wave crashing on the shore, embodying the strength and ferocity of a Jedi in battle.
The scarf fluttered to his side as he came to rest in a ready pose completing the motions and looking to his father who simply watched in fascination before offering applause, clapping at his son who beamed brightly. To the casual observer, it may have looked like dancing, but Obi-Wan recognized the solid foundations of Form One.
"Remarkable," mused Obi-Wan. "Your graceful style is a testament to your mother’s wisdom."
Solan tucked the scarf back into his robes, and suddenly looked around and shrunk back slightly as a few Jedi passed through the halls, his voice was soft and he looked uncertain.
"That's ok, right Obi-Wan?” he asked, brow furrowing. “That Mom taught me with a scarf instead of a real lightsaber? It’s not, disrespectful or anything, right?"
Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Not at all, my boy. In fact, I believe your training has prepared you remarkably well. You show a grace and fluidity in your movements that surpass many trainees your age.”
Obi-Wan's hand rested reassuringly on Solan's shoulder as they continued walking, a simple gesture that spoke volumes to the boy. Though Solan tried to exude confidence, there was an unmistakable spring in his step now, a lightness that came from his father's praise.
“Solan, your understanding of Shii-Cho is well-rounded, few grasp the form so quickly. You're going to make a fine duelist someday."
Solan beamed, relief washing over his face, his cheeks reddened at the praise. "You really think so?" He had spent his young life concealing his abilities, but to have them recognized and encouraged lit a fire in him.
"I do," Obi-Wan affirmed. He was certain the boy would grow to be a skilled warrior.
And yet, glimpses of playfulness peeked through Solan's studious exterior - the bounce in his step. He was still a child at heart.
"The unconventional nature of your instruction is a testament to your mother's wisdom and creativity, the fundamentals are all there" Obi-Wan continued. "She did well to start you on the right path." As they continued on, Obi-Wan made a mental note to thank Cressida for instilling such a solid foundation in the boy. Her ingenious methods had served Solan well.
Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a paternal squeeze.
"You have nothing to worry about," the Jedi Master said warmly. "Now come, your mother awaits us. And I am certain she will be most pleased to hear of your progress today."
“When can I go to Illum and make my lightsaber?”
His enthusiasm was infectious and Obi-Wan chuckled. "All in due time, young one. For now, let's continue honing your skills."
As they stepped off the turbolift and neared Solan and Cressida’s quarters an idea struck him.
"You know, Solan," he began, a playful glint in his eyes, "I suppose I'll have to make sure you know how to dance properly as well."
Solan looked up quizzically. "Dance? Like, real dancing?”
Obi-Wan nodded. "Indeed. Combat and dance have much in common - precision, fluidity, reading your partner."
Solan arched an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Why would I need to learn that?"
Obi-Wan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You never know when it might come in handy," he replied cryptically. "Charm and poise can be as great a tool as a lightsaber sometimes."
Solan looked unconvinced, nose still wrinkled in distaste. Obi-Wan suppressed another laugh. The boy had his mother's stubborn streak, that much was clear.
"Come now, dancing isn't so dreadful," Obi-Wan cajoled. "It can even be fun, with the right partner."
Solan made a face. "Do I have to dance with girls?"
The thought seemed to disturb him greatly. Now Obi-Wan did laugh out loud at the boy's reaction, as it reminded him so much of himself at that age. He too had found the idea of dancing with girls thoroughly unappealing, long ago.
"Perhaps someday you won't mind so much," he said, eyes dancing with mirth. "After all, your mother is a girl, and you love her, don't you?"
"That's different," Solan insisted, though his expression had softened a bit. "She's my mom."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding, an amused smile still playing about his lips. "Yes, I suppose you're right about that, “Regardless, a gentleman should know the basics. No lightsabers on the dance floor."
He added with a smile. “Manners matter, Solan, I should need to make sure you at least can grasp the fundaments of actual dancing. Perhaps we’ll get your mother to help teach you, no doubt she could probably use a lesson too, she was about as keen as you are when she was young.”
Solan didn’t seem interested, "Well, you can dance with Mom, and I'll stick to lightsabers." Obi-wan smiled at the thought. What would Solan do when he saw a girl he found pretty?
The doors to their quarters slid open and Solan strode on in, Obi-Wan braced himself for a conversation that he knew might not go as he would have liked but he wanted to continue to be present for Solan's training. Yes, that was it, he would simply ask if she minded if he stayed put for whatever lesson she had to teach. It wasn’t such a difficult thing, they were both mature adults and could certainly behave as such, couldn’t they?
He followed Solan inside and immediately sensed something was wrong. The boy's shoulders were slumped, his footsteps lacking their usual lively bounce. Obi-Wan noticed the somber expression on his young companion's face as he stared at the table in the living space. Following Solan's gaze, Obi-Wan spotted the objects that had given the boy pause - a data stick and a lightsaber.
Obi-Wan's heart sank, though he tried not to outwardly react. He had a dreadful feeling he knew what Solan had realized. The data stick and lightsaber could only mean one thing - Cressida had left unexpectedly. Though Obi-Wan was surprised by this development, he remained calm, not wanting to upset Solan further.
"Solan," he began gently. "Is everything alright?"
He did not respond right away, still processing this discovery. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's gone."
Obi-Wan's heart ached at the quiver in Solan's voice.
Solan's face fell as he lifted the cylindrical hilt, running his fingers over the ridged metal grip of his mother's lightsaber. Though unlit, he could almost see the brilliant orange blade humming before him. With reverent care, he looped the data stick's cord around his neck, tucking the precious drive out of sight beneath his robes.
"Even if," he murmured, gaze distant.
Obi-Wan's brows knitted together, perplexed by the odd remark. But the Jedi Master held his tongue, unwilling to pry into such an intimate, vulnerable moment. Whatever Solan's whispered words had meant, some sorrows were too tender to be touched so soon.
Solan's eyes refocused, meeting his father's concerned stare. "You can go, father. I think I'll meditate and eat, then I'll go to bed. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast." Though his words were polite, his tone was flat and lifeless.
Obi-Wan frowned. The complete lack of emotion in the boy's voice bothered him deeply. This was not the Solan he knew - usually so quick to laughter and enthusiasm.
"No," he said firmly, a decision made in an instant.
Solan looked up, confusion flickering across his features.
"Solan, go and gather your things. You'll stay with me in my quarters until your mother returns."
For a minute the boy didn't move, uncertainty plain on his face. Then, with a gentle nudge through the Force from Obi-Wan, he stepped towards his bedroom, movements slow and hesitant. Still, there was a spark of excitement in his aura at the prospect of spending this time with his father.
As Solan busied himself packing, Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the window. The sun was setting over Coruscant, staining the sky crimson and gold.
"May the Force be with you, Cressida," he whispered into the fading light, hoping with all his heart for her safe return.
A few moments later Solan emerged from his bedroom, a small bag clutched in one hand. He hovered in the doorway, shoulders hunched, as if reluctant to leave the familiar comfort of his room.
Obi-Wan gave him an encouraging smile and held out an encouraging arm to beckon him. "Come, let's be off."
Together they left the quarters Solan had shared with his mother, Solan walked slowly, dragging his feet. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, eyes troubled.
Obi-Wan set a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.
"I know you're worried for your mother. But have faith, my boy. She is resourceful and strong in the Force. No harm will come to her, that much I am certain of"
Solan bit his lip but nodded, some of the tension easing from his slender frame.
They continued on in silence through the maze of corridors that made up the Jedi Temple as they entered into parts that Solan had never been to before. Up a turbolift into one of the rising towers that often houses masters. Solan seemed deep in thought, though Obi-Wan could sense his curiosity about visiting his father's living space for the first time.
When they arrived at Obi-Wan's modest quarters, the door opened with the same mechanical hiss as all others did.
"Come in, make yourself at home."
Solan stepped cautiously into the inviting space, his gaze wandering over the sparse yet cozy furnishings. The room exuded warmth, with soft lighting casting gentle shadows across the walls adorned with rows of holobooks. Among the few artifacts carefully displayed were a couple of holocrons, their ancient wisdom quietly beckoning from their resting places.
"I know it's not much to look at, but I hope you'll be comfortable here," Obi-Wan said, suddenly self-conscious about his humble abode.
Solan set his bag down and turned to Obi-Wan with a shy smile. "It's nice. Thank you, Father."
Obi-Wan's heart swelled. Perhaps this arrangement would be good for both of them, a chance to truly get to know one another.
"You're quite welcome, my son."
Twelve
Hopefully, the length of this chapter makes up for my lack of posting on this story! What do you guys think? Do we have more answers or only more questions??? Well, hopefully, I'm over this writer's slump and I hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter installment of my story. If you liked it then feel free to reblog and give me a comment on what your thoughts are, you guys make my day with your hilarious tags! Here's hoping Cressida's dream (at least the good part of it) turns to reality sooner rather than later! If you'd like to join my small but lovely taglist reblog or leave me a fun comment and let me know what you thought of it!
And for all of you who liked my Padawan one-shot Obi-Wan/reader insert/Master/Padawan story I am currently working on a second chapter! So stay tuned! Alright! Enough pandering, back to work, these stories don't write themselves!
@burnthecheshirewitch. @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle. @split-spectrum(I know I've never tagged you in this story before but I thought you'd appreciate the Obi-Cress fluff in the beginning!) @bad4amficideasYo asked to be tagged in future Obi-Wan works and this is a longer story but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway and if it's not your thing no hard feelings at all and I will be posting a second chapter to Padawan soon! Gotta sere that smut nice and hot! ;)
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They could find me, say the words, put me in that fucking chair and fry my brain again, and I swear I would still remember you. My body would remember you even if my mind didn’t, you are so much a part of me. You are engraved on my bones, imprinted on my soul.
I can't believe I'm posting the final chapter of this on Monday! It's the biggest thing I've ever written and the first I've ever finished!
——————Hey,Not sure if this is okay to ask. If it’s not please ignore this. But I kinda need your help on finding a Ereri Fic,it was basically Eren but he was Originally a titan (the dumb one’s) and Levi somehow got hurt While he was on a mission outside the walls and Eren helped him get back to the walls. Then I guess Eren just figured out how to change his appearance to a human to fit in then he met Mikasa and Armin. Then Eren and Levi met while Eren was trying to get in the training corps.
I don’t know the rest of it because I lost it before I could finish.I think the Name is ‘To Be Human’ but no matter what I do I can’t find it. (I Also remember this very specific detail about the fact that Eren needs to control his titan side because he was around humans,so he kinda bit a thief?) -—-—-—-
can you help me find it? ♡´･ᴗ･`♡
Becoming Human by Upside down cakes (Erratus)
Set in a world where Eren isn't a human but rather a titna. Having spent his days watching the scouts from the other side of the wall he becomes fascinated by them, trying to protect them and learn about them from a safe distance. But then wall Maria falls and he finds himself trapped inside the walls and hiding in his smaller form. Luckily for him no one seems to pick that he's a titan. Now he just needs to find a way outside the walls without alerting the humans to his true nature.
genre: college!au, rommates!au, strangers to best friends to lovers, very very slow burn, eventual smut, slice of life, fluff
warnings: M (18+)
summary: Sophmore Harper is incredibly satisfied with how her life is going. Seems like this didn't sit right with the universe. Why else would her boyfriend be swapped with the world famous idol Jungkook of BTS?
