#but anyways i'm posting it now this morning

[theonottsbxtch]

TIMEZONE | OP81

an: i promised after oscar’s pole id promise fluff and also because i got peer pressured by @amyelevenn im a victim fr, enjoy our soft boy - warning it does start off a bit angsty. this was a request from @n0vazsq for my 2k celly thank you ml <3 ALSO THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD IM SORRY

wc: 3.1k

synopsis: oscar let the one go, but the longer he spends away from her the more he realises what a stupid mistake it was.

OSCAR WAS MISERABLE.

He'd just won his first ever pole-to-win conversion, and he was bloody miserable.

The champagne was still dripping from his race suit, the taste of victory lingering on his tongue, but it all felt hollow. The cheers from the crowd rang in his ears, deafening, but none of it mattered. Because she wasn’t there.

She should have been. She should have been in the paddock, wrapped up in his fireproof jacket, rolling her eyes at his cocky post-race grin but kissing him breathless anyway. She should have been the first person he saw when he climbed out of the car, arms flung around his neck before he'd even peeled off his gloves.

Instead, she was seven thousand miles away, living a life that no longer included him.

The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut as he stood on the podium, trophy in hand, the cameras flashing. He should have felt elated, triumphant. Instead, he felt empty. He'd sacrificed so much for this—pushed himself to the absolute limit, given everything he had to his career. But in doing so, he’d lost the one person who made it all mean something.

He barely heard the post-race interviews, barely registered his own answers. His PR manager nudged him at the right moments, and he went through the motions; smiling, nodding, thanking the team. But his heart wasn’t in it. It was still in London, curled up in a tiny uni flat with a girl who used to wear his hoodies to bed and steal his socks when hers went missing.

She used to joke that they spent more time apart than together. At first, she’d said it with a laugh, teasing him about their ridiculous time zone differences, about how she’d wake up just as he was finishing free practice on the other side of the world. But as the months passed, as the late-night FaceTime calls turned into missed texts and unreturned voicemails, the laughter had faded.

And then, one day, she’d stopped waiting.

He should have fought harder. He should have told her she was more important than all of this. That she was the only thing in the world that felt like home.

But he hadn’t.

And even now, standing on the top step of the podium, the world at his feet, he had never felt further away from where he truly wanted to be.

By the time he finally escaped to the driver's room, the buzz of victory had been drowned out by the quiet hum of regret sitting in his chest. His race suit was damp with sweat and champagne, the adrenaline fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion.

He grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it earlier, the screen lighting up as he pressed the button. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing.

His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked to the clock widget at the top.

London: 10:00 AM

He could never bring himself to delete it. No matter where he was in the world—Australia, Japan, the Middle East—he always knew exactly what time it was for her. He used to check it before calling, before sending stupid voice notes at ungodly hours, before whispering a sleepy “Goodnight, love” when she was already halfway through her morning coffee.

Now, it was just another reminder of how far away she was.

With a frustrated sigh, he chucked his phone onto the massage bed and peeled off his race suit, yanking it down to his waist before grabbing a towel. The knock on the door came exactly two seconds before it was shoved open.

"Oi, I'm changing!" Oscar snapped, instinctively pulling the towel higher over his shoulder.

Lando stood in the doorway, completely unfazed. "Yeah, don’t care." He strolled in like he owned the place, tossing a sweaty towel onto the table before flopping onto the small sofa in the corner. "Right, what’s your problem?"

Oscar frowned. "What?"

Lando gestured vaguely at him. "You won the race, mate. First pole-to-win conversion, team's over the bloody moon. But you look like someone just ran over your cat."

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks," Lando said flatly. "You barely said two words after the race, you legged it out of the debrief like your arse was on fire, and you’re sitting here staring at your phone like you're waiting for it to apologise to you."

Oscar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "Just... tired."

Lando snorted. "Tired, my arse. Come on, out with it."

Oscar hesitated. He could dodge, change the subject, pretend that he wasn’t slowly losing his mind over someone who didn’t even call him anymore.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out.

"I broke up with her." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "I mean, she broke up with me. But only 'cause I was never bloody there. Time zones, flights, races, all of it—it was too much. She got sick of waiting for me to show up, and I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I let her go."

Lando didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with a look that was more knowing than Oscar would have liked. "Shit."

"Yeah." Oscar let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. "I won the biggest race of my career today, and the only thing I can think about is how she should’ve been in the crowd. She should’ve been the first person I saw when I got out of the car." He exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "But she wasn’t. And that’s my fault."

Lando was quiet for a beat, then sighed. "Mate, that’s brutal."

Oscar let out a bitter chuckle. "Tell me about it."

Lando leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "So... what are you gonna do about it?"

Oscar blinked. "What?"

"You love her, right?"

Oscar opened his mouth, ready to protest, but stopped himself. Love. The word sat heavy on his tongue, because of course he did. He always had.

Lando shrugged. "Well, then. Go and fix it."

Oscar shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I can't."

Lando raised a brow. "I can."

And with that, he stood up, clapped Oscar once on the shoulder, and walked out of the room—leaving Oscar sitting there, half-dressed, with a thousand unanswered questions.

What the hell did that even mean?

He stared at the door for a moment, running through every possible way Lando could have just ruined his life. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had a flight to Nice that night, back to his apartment, back to his too-quiet routine of training, simulator work, and pretending he wasn’t thinking about her.

Except an hour later, when he was in his hotel room, shoving his clothes and essentials into his suitcase, there was a knock at the door.

Frowning, he padded over, running a hand through his damp hair before swinging it open.

Max stood there, hands in the pockets of his team-branded joggers, looking like he had about two minutes of patience left before he lost interest and walked away.

Oscar blinked. "Uh—"

"I'm leaving for London at six," Max said.

Oscar frowned. "Okay?"

Max tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for Oscar to catch up. When it became clear that wasn’t happening, he sighed, shifting his weight onto one foot. "I've got a spare seat on the jet."

Oscar's brain still wasn’t putting one and one together. He looked over Max’s shoulder, half-expecting Lando to be standing there smirking, but the corridor was empty. "Right. And why exactly are you telling me this?"

Max exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted getting involved. "Lando said you were miserable. You broke up with your girlfriend and need to get back to London to fix things. I know you probably have a flight to Nice booked, and Lando seems convinced you’re just going to sit there and wallow until the next race." He paused, glancing at the half-packed suitcase on the bed. "So finish packing. Let’s go. I don’t do well with tardiness."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

Oscar stood there for a solid five seconds, staring at the now-empty hallway, his thoughts scrambling to catch up.

Lando. That meddling little—

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Then, without hesitating, he turned back into the room and shoved the rest of his things into his suitcase.

London. He was going to London.

To fix things.

To fix everything.e

It was 7 AM when they landed, and the first thing Oscar did—besides being absolutely jetlagged—was check her schedule.

He never deleted it from his camera roll.

It was an old photo, scribbled notes in her handwriting detailing lectures, seminars, deadlines. He used to check it religiously before calling, making sure he wasn’t waking her up before an important class or messaging when she was in the library. Even now, he found himself doing the same, as if he still had the right to.

Mondays. No morning lectures.

That gave him time.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, then turned to Max, who was stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t just crossed multiple time zones. "Cheers, mate. For, you know… all of this."

Max just shrugged. "You can thank Lando. I don’t usually offer free therapy and private jet rides to sad bastards."

Oscar let out a breath of laughter. "Duly noted."

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, headed outside, and hailed a cab.

The drive to her flat was a blur of grey London streets, his heart pounding harder with every passing second. The nerves only set in when he stepped out of the taxi, staring up at her building like it was a bloody racetrack he’d never driven before.

What if she didn’t want to see him?

What if she had moved on?

What if he was about to make an absolute fool of himself?

Still, his feet carried him forward. Up the stairs. To her door.

He raised his hand and knocked.

There was shuffling from inside—soft footsteps, the creak of the floorboards. And then, the door swung open.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat.

She stood there, blinking at him in sleepy confusion, dressed in nothing but his hoodie, a pair of socks, and—Jesus Christ—his old boxer shorts, worn as makeshift pyjamas.

His hoodie was too big on her, hanging off one shoulder, the sleeves bunched up where she’d pushed them past her wrists. The sight of it, of her, in his clothes like she always used to be, knocked the air from his lungs.

His throat felt tight. "Hi."

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him, like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

Oscar swallowed hard, heart hammering. "Can I come in?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, gripping the edge of the door like she needed to steady herself. "What are you doing here?"

Her voice was quiet, still laced with sleep, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, something hesitant.

Oscar swallowed. "I—" He exhaled, shaking his head like even he couldn't believe it. "I needed to see you."

She blinked again, like she was still processing his sudden appearance. Then her brow furrowed slightly. "You were in China yesterday. You won your race. Now you’re here."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You watched?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Of course, I did."

Something in his chest squeezed tight. He didn't deserve that—didn't deserve her still watching, still caring. But he was selfish enough to let it fuel the courage he needed to say what he’d come here to say.

"I’ve been miserable," he admitted, voice rough. "Since the moment I let you walk away. Since the moment I realised I was losing you, and instead of doing something about it, I just let it happen. I thought I could handle it, you know? Thought I could just keep my head down, focus on racing, distract myself with the next flight, the next circuit, the next podium. But it didn’t work. None of it worked. I won, and it didn’t feel like winning, because you weren’t there. You weren’t insulting me for making you cry and ruining your makeup. I'd check my phone and see the time in London, and I’d realise I had nothing to text you anymore. I kept waiting for it to get easier, but it never did. And I—"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying, I didn’t plan this—"

And then she kissed him.

Just like that. No warning, no hesitation. She reached up, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and pulled him down to her. His words died instantly, swallowed by the warmth of her lips, by the way she pressed against him like she’d been waiting for this just as much as he had.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud as his hands found her waist, gripping tight as he walked her backwards into the flat, not bothering to close the door. He had barley registered the sound of his bag, too caught up in the way she sighed against his mouth, the way her fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to send heat racing through him.

He backed her up until she hit the wall, a quiet gasp escaping her as he pressed closer, deepening the kiss. He’d had dreams about this. Stupid, torturous dreams where he’d wake up in hotel rooms alone, still reaching for her. But this—this was real. She was real, warm and soft under his touch, her nails raking lightly over his shoulder blades as his hands slid up beneath the fabric of his hoodie—his hoodie—to feel the warmth of her skin.

Then—

"Ahem."

They froze.

Oscar pulled back just enough to see over his shoulder, his stomach immediately plummeting.

Mrs Hart—her elderly neighbour—stood in the hallway, wrapped in a thick cardigan and holding a shopping bag. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"If you're going to take part in passionate rendezvous before 8 AM," she said dryly, "at least do it with the door closed."

Heat flooded Oscar’s face. He heard her let out a mortified laugh, peaking from in front of him just enough to mumble, "Sorry, Mrs Hart."

Mrs Hart hummed, clearly unimpressed, then shuffled off down the hallway, muttering something under her breath about "young people these days."

The second the front door clicked shut, she turned back to Oscar, biting her lip, eyes full of amusement. "That was—"

"Mortifying?" he supplied, still half-dazed from kissing her.

She grinned. "Hilarious."

And then she kissed him again.

Oscar was so gone for her.

He let out a breath, still slightly dazed, before remembering his bag was still abandoned in the corridor. He pulled away, bent down, grabbed it, and kicked the door shut properly this time. When he turned back, she was watching him, arms crossed, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"So," she said, tilting her head. "You flew across the world to tell me you’re miserable?"

Oscar exhaled a laugh, dropping his bag by the wall. "I guess I did."

"Idiot," she murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just fondness.

His chest ached. God, he’d missed her.

They stood there for a second, neither speaking, neither moving. Then, wordlessly, she reached for his hand.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just curled her fingers around his wrist and pulled.

Oscar followed without resistance, letting her lead him down the hall, into her bedroom, and straight to her bed. He barely had time to react before she gave him a firm shove, sending him tumbling onto the mattress with a surprised grunt.

She stood at the edge, hands on her hips, looking down at him with a raised brow. "First," she said, voice firm, "sleep. Those bags under your eyes are giving me a run for my money, and I’m a uni student."

Oscar huffed a laugh, opening his mouth to argue—only for her to crawl onto the bed, straddle him, and press her lips to his before he could get a single word out.

It wasn’t a soft kiss this time. It was deep, heated, like she was trying to make up for all the time they’d lost.

Oscar groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding under her hoodie, fingers skimming warm skin. He felt her shiver, heard the little gasp she let out when he pulled her closer, felt her shift slightly and—

Yeah. Yeah, she definitely felt that.

She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, grabbing his wrists and shoving them away. "Naughty!" she scolded, grinning as she sat back. "First, we’re sleeping."

Oscar let out a dramatic groan, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "That’s just cruel. You’re a cruel woman."

She smirked, rolling off him and slipping under the duvet. "You’re the one who looks half dead. Get in."

Oscar stared at her for a moment, something warm curling in his chest. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed this—the casual intimacy, the way she just knew when he needed to rest, the way she could tease him one second and make his heart ache with how much he loved her the next.

He exhaled, then kicked off his shoes and climbed in beside her.

But Oscar didn’t hesitate. The second he was under the covers, he pulled her tight against him, slotting her perfectly against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other tangled in her hair as he breathed her in.

She was warm, soft, real.

For months, he’d fallen asleep with nothing but the hum of hotel air conditioning and the occasional distant city noise to keep him company. No whispered conversations under the covers, no sleepy kisses before sunrise, no warmth beside him. Just cold sheets and silence.

But now—now she was here. In his arms. Where she belonged.

She let out a small sigh, nuzzling into his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his side. "You know, I meant what I said earlier," she murmured.

Oscar hummed, his thumb brushing along her spine. "What?"

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with a teasing glint in her eye. "That you’re an idiot."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

She huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue, just curled in closer.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out, her body relaxing completely against his. Oscar lay awake a little longer, just holding her, letting it all sink in. The ache that had lived in his chest for months—the one he’d ignored, buried under podium celebrations and press conferences—finally eased.

No win, no pole position, and no championship could ever make Oscar feel as happy as he felt then and there.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @obxstiles @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who offers you to stay with him until you've found a new apartment — a small part of him hopes he doesn't seem too eager, another small one wondering if being so close to your ex is going to end up hurting you, but the biggest part of him really hopes that you'll say yes regardless.

who thinks that kenma would snort into his hand if he could see the level of excitement kuroo has to swallow once you agree, apologise for taking up space only to agree vehemently again.

everyday, in the morning when both of you found each other in the kitchen, he opens the newspaper wide for any new apartment postings while you scour the internet; the smell of coffee and breakfast soothing and familiar. a flat far away enough from your ex-boyfriend that you don't have to worry anymore, but secretly he hopes that it's not so far away that he won't ever see you again.

neighbour!kuroo who bids you goodbye when you leave for work first, waiting at the door until he sees you board the elevator safely lest your ex-boyfriend gets the prime idea of harassing you on your way out.

who cackles to himself at the notice hanging on the wall in the entrance hall: the landlord asking for the culprit who taped a tenant's mailbox shut to come forward for community service or to face a fine upon refusal.

kuroo thinks he's got enough money to pay double the fine. (he does plan to mess with it again — to maintain his youthfulness, of course.)

neighbour!kuroo who learns that your work place is not that far away from his own. who wonders if it's far too forward to ask you to spend lunch hour together down the street at the really good coffee shop.

whose heart stutters when he gets a call forwarded from an unknown number only for his ear to meet your voice to ask whether he wanted to meet up for lunch.

(his assistant, looking through the glass wall, raises her eyebrow at the fist pump he throws into the air; her other joining in as soon as she watches kuroo trying to tame his hair but to no avail — stubborn as the head it sits on.)

kuroo also happens to forget to mention that he doesn't like almond paste but when you excitedly show him your favourite pastry with hopeful eyes, lashes caressing your cheeks, a wide grin on your face, he can't help but put his entire life on the line fighting the blush that theatens to overtake his own.

for a second he thinks of refusing, but then he tries the almond riddled pastry, anyway.

he does not like it.

neighbour!kuroo who gets off work half an hour earlier and waits in front of your work place so that he could drive both of you home.

who, with a cocked eyebrow and a sharp retort ready on his tongue, notices a familiar loser linger around the entrance.

"i sure as hell hope you're not here to see who i think you wanna see," he says, looking down his nose at your ex. kuroo, who makes sure to bear his teeth in a resemblance of a sharp smile, who delights in the shifting of uneasy eyes, "but in case you need a reminder of why to stay away, i'm more than happy to help out."

who acts brilliantly inconspicuous once you walk towards him; your boyfriend long gone, shooed away, bullied away, sneered away. (he didn't even have to try that hard.)

neighbour!kuroo who finds it easy to match his long strides to your shorter ones; whose hand swings next to yours. now and then, your knuckles meet his for a split second in a way that makes him want to take your fingers in a tight hold so they can't tease him anymore.

you tell him about an interview you booked for an apartment viewing, excited, asking him whether he had time on the upcoming wednesday at 11 am.

he doesn't, but he says he'll be there with you, anyway.

who tries to ignore the little stab through his ribcage at the thought that he would lose out on your presence before he could even enjoy it to the fullest.

neighbour!kuroo who sends you a smile, void of any cutting edges, eyes crinkling, and tells you, "let's look for more viewings at home."

whose chest squeezes in consolation when you gift him a smile back and nod as you eat the same damn almond pastry; when you don't correct him about home.

neighbour!kuroo who innocently forgets to remind you of looking for more viewings, and instead relishes in the space you occupy on his couch next to him as you settle in with hot tea and a blanket to tackle on the many movies you borrowed from the library.

who gets into a routine with you of making breakfast, washing dishes, saying goodnight and good morning, bickering and teasing, late-night talks and dawn-kissed chats.

who thinks that really, maybe you could just stay here.

taglist | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

@monikosman1311 (i know you didn't ask for a tag, but since you asked for a continuation in the first place—)

[tonix3]

TONIX3 IM CRASHING OUT BC OF THE OBSERVER RN!;!:$/&@-:@ HELP WHAT DO U THINK IS HAPPENING??

Hello 👋🏻

I'm crashing out several times of the day hahahaha so I feel you 😅

I don't know what's happening... Yesterday evening was eventful to say the least... I feel like we have no time to try and let it all settle. And in the morning we were told to observe yet another account. I'm excited to see what kind of picture puzzle is ahead of us on Insta.

I also wanted to say again - I enjoy this and I love how (a big part of) the fandom comes together to figure stuff out regardless of who is behind it. As of now I only see fun and education.

Buttttttt ... If it doesn't bring you joy or you fear to get your hopes up for something big only to be disappointed later - don't follow & don't engage. Take care of yourself & mental health everyone 🫶🏻

I wanted to link all 'The Observer' posts here for now:

Day 20 + today | Day 20 thoughts | Day 20 initial thoughts

Day 17, FIG, 2 Ghosts Leak, 18, 19

Day 15, 16, 17 + FIG

Day 12, 13, 14, 15 + dart knowledge

Day 9 - 11 I seem to have not mentioned them on posts myself but I wanted to link @delicateperspective post(s) anyways. It was updated over the whole time, is very detailed & beautifully written so here it is X

Day 0 - Day 8

[Edit: additional Observer posts X | X ]

Also all waiting asks/anons - I try to get back to you but cut me some slack - a lot is going on & I also have other responsibilities 🫶🏻

Thanks, peeps ✨

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 6

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (spoilers for this chapter!!) slow burn, pining, injuries and angst, force bond shenanigans, tending to wounds, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

Link to read on AO3 here!

✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: If you saw me misfire and post this draft 30 minutes ago no you didn't lmao. Sorry for the delay in posting this one - I got married last week!!!!??!! It still feels surreal lol. Thank you for bearing with me :) I hope you're all doing very well. Your comments have all been so kind, I'm always so very happy to read them.<3

Thanks as always to @whenyourfavouritedies for beta'ing this chapter!!!

Wordcount: 10.2k

Prev chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

✷✷✷✷✷

It first finds Cody in the early hours of the morning, just as he’s donning his armour in preparation for the final briefing before they touch down on Mekrun. It’s been a little over two weeks since his last deployment, and truth be told, he’s itching to get back into the fight.

He’s in a meditative state in his quarters as he slips on his bracers, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of the mission ahead. He’s looking forward to being on the ground again, blaster in hand - it’s been a while since he and his General have been able to work together like that on the battlefield.

There’s nothing like that exhilaration, the feeling of being so entwined with another person that you may as well be one singular weapon, the movements of your bodies like a dance - always in sync, always in tandem.

It’s while Cody’s mulling over that thought, an absent smile tugging at his lips, when… something happens.

A small crack; a splintering at the back of his consciousness.

The pressure is small, gentle; breaking through to him like a baby bird hatching cautiously from an egg. Cody freezes, his body tensing at the foreign sensation.

It’s subtle - incredibly subtle. To any normal person’s mind, it might be something altogether ignorable. 

Cody, trained from birth to zero in on any potential danger and neutralise it, is far from a ‘normal person’.

The Commander gets the instinctive, incredibly disorienting sense that he’s not quite alone.

His head whips around to face the door, desperately trying to figure out if an intruder has slipped into his room. Could that be the source…?

All the while, that sensation in his mind continues scratching, tapping, fracturing.

It’s not that it gets stronger as the seconds pass, but it feels like it’s settling - burrowing deeper. Cody doesn’t know how, exactly, he’s able to identify what it’s doing, it just feels… strangely intuitive.

His mind races, trying to pin down the threat. 

Something is here. Something that shouldn’t be.

Cautiously, with a shaky intake of breath, he begins to probe at it - as much as one can probe at something that exists entirely within the brain, anyway - trying to get a sense of what this tiny, budding thing wants with him. His back finds the wall as his eyes continue to dart around, doing his best to keep himself steady. 

Why does it feel warm?

Not uncomfortable warm, like the trickle of blood down the side of the temple after a hit to the head, or like being choked by fire in the middle of the battlefield. No, it feels more like… basking in an expected beam of sunlight after a storm, feeling those first rays kiss your skin.

It’s almost as if it’s alive, Cody thinks faintly, partially hoping that this is all just some dream, the result of a fever he didn’t know he had. 

After the minute or two of analysis prove unfruitful, he pulls away from inspecting the sensation. The feeling of it at the back of his mind quickly returns to a light background hum at the corner of his consciousness, nearly unremarkable in how unobtrusive it is. Cody curses under his breath.

All he knows: this is far from normal.

He stays against the wall, unmoving and heart pounding, for what feels like an eternity before he pulls himself together enough to pull on his helmet.

He prods at it once more as he uncertainly ventures out into the hallway, each step weighing on him heavily. This… thing, certainly doesn’t feel hostile, but…

It might not want to hurt him, but it’s definitely, undoubtedly a concern.

Whatever it is might well pass, but Cody decides that he has enough time before his meeting with Obi-Wan this morning to make a quick drop in to see Helix anyway. If this is the result of some sickness, it would be better to deal with it now than in the middle of a firefight, if possible.

Helix is one of the best medics in the GAR - perhaps the best, by Cody’s estimate - and as such, he is exceedingly well versed in the art of giving bad news. There’s a particularly sympathetic type of expression that he makes that any seasoned member of the 212th could identify from a mile off - calm, neutral, expertly schooled to never look overly worried or condescending. The type of look that tells you that something’s probably wrong, but that it’s going to be dealt with as efficiently as possible.

… Which is why it’s of particular concern to Cody that right now, after he’s just patiently sat through a million scans, the man is making a face.

“What?” Cody asks stiffly, swinging his legs over the side of the medbay bed. Helix doesn’t immediately respond, instead continuing to gaze down at his datapad. His frown, unnervingly, deepens.

The nervous anticipation builds further in Cody with each second that ticks by in silence. The agony of it is almost comparable to a kick in the ribs from a varactyl - and Force knows he’s been on the wrong end of Boga enough times to know intimately what that feels like.

Helix lets out a grumble under his breath, and Cody swiftly revises his thoughts. No, actually: this experience is assuredly worse. 

He knows he should wait until the medic has had time to look over the results properly, but he’s getting more and more restless by the moment. Cody can’t help but press again, beginning to get a little desperate for a response - any would do, at this point, even just a word or two. 

“Is it the–” Cody hesitates briefly, unsure if he wants to give voice to this particular worry. “--Whatever that thing was that you found the other day? The… blip?”

Cody fidgets uneasily for a few more moments before Helix finally glances his way with a shake of his head. The Commander isn’t sure whether he should feel relieved or even more anxious at the blankness that’s overtaken the stoic medic’s features. 

His nervous system decides for him, settling on a strange, gut twisting tension. “No,” he replies. “The anomaly we found on the scan the other day seems to be… unrelated.” 

Right. That should be reassuring, Cody thinks. Somehow, it isn’t.

Putting his datapad down on his desk, Helix crosses the room in measured steps. He stops just short of Cody, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, and then his facade falls. He… suddenly looks terribly concerned. Oh, Gods. Cody meets his gaze with what he’s sure is an equal amount of panic. 

“Commander,” he begins, taking a moment to gather together his words.

Cody decides that he must be dying. There’s no other explanation for this, surely.

Ah, well, he thinks, dazed, as he waits for Helix to continue. Twelve years old. I’ve had a better run than most. 

Still, Cody considers upon reflection, he’s always been of the opinion that he would die with a blaster in hand. The idea of some parasite in his brain taking him down is almost insulting.

Helix shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the verdict he’s going to have to dish out. “You might be in charge of the battalion, sir, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” His voice is firm, bordering on reproachful, and Cody braces himself for impact. “Not from physical wounds, or…” he presses his lips into a thin line, “emotional ones.”

What?

“We’ve been built to be more mentally resistant than the average civilian, but post traumatic stress disorder can still–”

Cody chokes.

“I– Helix, that’s– it’s really not the problem,” he interrupts in a frantic stammer, wanting to be anywhere in the galaxy but here, having this conversation. Yes, he has the nightmares, they all do, but that has absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand.

It becomes swiftly, humiliatingly clear that Helix isn’t convinced by his weak protest. 

“I’m just saying, the scans all turned up clean,” he responds sympathetically - and now there’s that face that he’s so damned good at. The medic’s calm demeanour is usually a reassurance to Cody, but in this moment it’s quickly becoming an irritant. He’s highly aware that he’s not going to be believed no matter what he follows up with. 

Cody frowns, craning his neck to try and get a look at the words written on the medic’s datapad over on his desk. “I’m not going insane,” he insists.

“I never said those words exactly,” Helix responds carefully, drawing the Commander’s attention back to him by moving to block his view. “But… a ‘cracking sensation’ in your mind..” he repeats with a raised brow, and Cody winces. It does sound bad out loud, admittedly. 

Helix sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “I think you’re incredibly stressed, Commander,” he continues, “and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Anyone would be, with the responsibility you carry. But it means you need to go on medical leave, soon. After today’s mission.”

Absolutely not. Cody levels him with a scowl. It’s petulant of him, perhaps, but he knows he’s not going crazy - this is real. It probably won’t be fixed by resting this off. “We both know that’s not going to happen,” he returns.

Helix sets his jaw, holding his gaze in challenge. After a few tense seconds, he relents with a sigh, stepping aside and gesturing resignedly to the door. Cody feels his body relax, just a little, now that he’s allowed to leave. He hates feeling cornered, being spoken to like a child - though quietly, he’s grateful that the medic has enough gall to do it. It’s saved him before.

“I expected as much,” Helix mutters, moving back to his desk and fixing the Commander with a warning glare. “No, I can’t order it unless I have outright evidence that stress is absolutely the cause, but I’m sure the General will agree with my assessment when I send the report over - which, make no mistake, I will be doing first thing when we return this evening.”

Cody, unfortunately, has no doubt about that.

He slinks out of the medbay with his tail between his legs, mulling over Helix’s words of concern as he makes his way through the winding hallways of the ship towards the meeting room. Perhaps if he gets in before Obi-Wan, he can make them both some breakfast. 

A result of stress… Cody’s expression darkens. Helix is incredible at what he does, but he’s categorically wrong in this case. He’s not losing his mind, he’s sure of it. 

(It occurs to Cody, briefly, that most people who lose sanity believe themselves to be fully of sound mind throughout the process, but he quashes the treacherous thought as quickly as it rears its head. That might be true for other people, but not for him.)

And then there’s the secondary concern - that whatever it is, it’s apparently completely separate from the blip that had been detected on the scan a few weeks ago. So there are two undetected unidentifiable things running amok in his brain right this second. Lovely.

Perhaps, he thinks, he can get a second opinion from the Jedi. Surely Obi-Wan can… scan him, or something, using the Force - then he can figure out what the real cause is, and fix that from there. If it is a living thing like he’d guessed, then it should be easily detectable, right?

That’s a good idea, Cody affirms to himself. Obi-Wan is already inside, I can speak to him about this after we’ve gone over the initial plans. Cody pauses just outside the door to the meeting room, his hand hovering over the controls as he blinks rapidly. 

He just thought that with a remarkable amount of confidence. It’s very early in the morning and the door is closed, why wouldn’t Cody be the first one in?

And yet, somehow, he’s certain. Obi-Wan is inside the room with two cups of caf, waiting for him to arrive. One of the cups, his mind tells him calmly, has sweetener in it.

That fact strikes Cody as odd.

Unusual, he protests internally, not entirely sure why this, specifically, is the sticking point for him amidst this rather unorthodox situation. Why sweetener?

Because, his mind supplies easily, we ran out of sugar reserves this morning.

Cody decides faintly that the possibility he’s lost his mind has just increased tenfold.

He shakes his head, trying to shake the strange thoughts that have been placed there by who-knows-what - there is still a meeting to be had, strange feeling or no. Cody presses his hand to the door controls with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel, and the door swooshes open smoothly ahead of him. 

Inside, Obi-Wan stands, his brow furrowed as he looks over the rudimentary battle plans they’d prepared last night. He looks like he hasn’t slept all that much, which is a strangely comforting piece of normality within this very disorienting morning.  

Cody’s eyes fall to the two mugs of caf that sit on the surface in front of him. A packet of opened sweetener sits on the counter nearby, fetched unhappily from the far back of one of the supply cupboards.

Ah.

For the first time in his military career, Cody doesn’t feel particularly smug about the fact that he was right about an impossible hunch.

Obi-Wan glances up from his work with a tired smile, oblivious to the war being waged in his Commander’s head. “Good morning, my friend. Shall we get started?”

Cody just about manages to nod and smile weakly in return. Later, he resolves. He can tell him about what’s going on in his head later. 

For now, there’s a battle to plan.

_____________________________

As it turns out, ‘later’ may mean not today at all.

There have been far too many updates from the ground to consider, far too many new plans to be made for Cody to rationalise being able to bring up anything new and potentially worrying to Obi-Wan. The promise of ‘later’ quickly becomes ‘when we’re safely back on the Venator and have probably had some sleep’. 

It also doesn’t hurt that Cody has spent most of the meeting fretting about Obi-Wan’s reaction and inevitable overblown concern, and as such is incredibly willing to put off the conversation for as long as possible.

It probably should feel more urgent, given the nature of it, but he decides that it can at least wait a few hours. They have lives to save on the ground, after all.

The Negotiator hangs stoically above the planet of Mekrun as they deliver the briefing to their men. It’ll be a hot landing - right in the centre of one of the biggest zones of the firefight - and the promise of action still sends a thrill through Cody, despite the worry this morning. 

He was literally created and raised for this, and in these moments, Cody finds that he doesn’t care as much as he probably should. Something in his blood that flourishes under fire, he supposes, and he knows that most of the Vode share that same spark, the love of the adrenaline, right or wrong.

“We will be splitting into two teams,” Cody announces, looking out across the sea of 212th gold gathered before the two of them. There are a few shinies present, not quite having earned their paint stripes yet - a shipment from Kamino that arrived barely a week prior. Today will be an exciting start for them, he hopes - and it shouldn’t be too dangerous of an assignment, to boot. 

Cody looks forward to seeing how they decorate themselves after today. Pride stirs in his chest as he sees the eagerness in their eyes, the evident excitement at becoming officially part of such a renowned battalion. He hopes to get to know them all properly tonight, safely returned and in good health.

Stepping forwards, he gestures to the hologram that’s rotating above the centre console in the room. It’s currently displaying a layout of the battlefield below, the layout of the local geography, and most importantly, the system’s Communications tower - the protection of which is the reason for their presence here today. 

“Alpha team will accompany the General into the comms tower on the north side, in the hopes of intercepting and disabling the bombs being planted there. We’re not expecting many of the Separatists to be present, but the ones that will be are priority for takedown.”

He zooms out a little on the holomap.

“The rest of us will make up Bravo team, coming in to hit the droids on their flank here,” he says, pointing to the southern fields a few kilometres away from the tower. “With any luck, we can repel the ground forces before they’ll have a chance to call in too many reinforcements.”

“There’s already a squadron down there made up of the local guard,” Obi-Wan adds calmly, stroking a thoughtful hand over his beard. “Cody’s team will join them in their base, creating a distraction so that my team can - hopefully - slip in and out of the comms tower without drawing too much notice. This infrastructure is vital to both the civilians and Republic operations of this sector, so we must ensure it isn’t destroyed outright.”

He glances at Cody, giving a subtle nod for him to continue.

“The distraction will be conducted in a way to draw the enemy down to us in the southern quadrant,” the Commander explains, taking over smoothly. Delivering a strategy briefing clearly and efficiently is almost like an art in Cody’s mind, and he would like to think that he and Obi-Wan are exceedingly well practiced at it. “It’s the safest place to engage, away from both the tower and the living space of the engineers that work there. Once we see that they’re turning their attention to us, I will rendezvous with Alpha team and we’ll regroup from there.”

Adrenaline creeps through Cody’s veins, anticipation of the fight to come building within him. He powers down the holomap, his eyes drifting over his men one by one, seeing the same emotion stirring within each of them as they stand, that spark in their eyes unmissable. 

“To recap, then,” he says evenly, folding his hands behind his back. “Alpha team, with Obi-Wan: stealthing into the tower, disarming the bombs, getting any civvies to safety. Bravo team, with me: get in fast, cause enough mayhem to draw as many troops as possible south. I’ll split to rendezvous with Alpha once my team is sufficiently set up, and we’ll progress with any impromptu plans then. Any questions?”

It takes less than 5 minutes for all queries to be sufficiently answered, and a further 10 for the 212th to be gathered at the dropships. 

Exactly 20 minutes later, they’re planetside.

The familiar smell of smoke and burnt circuits fills the air as Cody disembarks from the ship, plasma flying through the air in all directions and a cacophony of violence filling his ears.

The excitement in his veins is, he imagines, as potent as any hit of spice.

Maybe Helix was right in that there’s something wrong with him, but being on enough battlefields throughout his life has Cody's mind strangely tangling up the feeling with the thought of ‘belonging’. 

Perhaps it's a natural reaction. He's a clone; he has nowhere, he owns nothing - nothing but the fire and ash of war, the rifle placed in his hand, the brothers who he fights alongside.

… And the Jedi he was sworn to protect. 

As the last of Bravo team exit the ship behind him, Cody makes sure to distance himself from that particular train of thought before it can do any damage. Now is not the time for such distractions.

“With me!” he calls, signalling for his men to follow as he makes a rush for the cover of a fallen tree.

Swiftly, Cody assesses the battlefield ahead from his current vantage point. The local guard here have put up a formidable defence considering their numbers, but this level of warfare is not something they’d been trained for. Now’s the time to free them of that burden. 

The communications tower looms in the distance a few klicks northwest of their location. It stands a little ways up a cliff, overlooking a ravine below - all points for potential reinforcements to be stationed, if Obi-Wan’s team is particularly unlucky. 

Cody knows he’ll need to bring out all of the stops to divert the clankers’ attention exclusively to the fight down here, but he’s got enough tricks up his sleeve that he’s not particularly worried. They have around seven minutes before Alpha team will be sneaking their way into the tower - that’s five more than Cody needs. 

He allows himself a small smirk behind his helmet. Showtime.

Cockiness is not a trait of Cody’s that he likes having - it irritates him when he sees it excessively in his peers, and he is more than aware that giving himself over to it is a surefire way to get himself killed - but sometimes he can’t help himself. He’s damned good at what he does, and he knows it. On a mission like this, he can indulge himself a little.

With a practiced hand, he carefully removes an EMP from the pouch at his hip. He rolls it in his palm as he watches a large group of clankers in the field ahead marching towards the dugout base their allies are camped in. They’re likely preparing an ambush. Cody’s eyes narrow. 

Not on his watch. 

“Droid poppers at the ready, men,” he instructs quietly. “We rush the platoon on my signal.”

Behind him, he hears the squad prepare themselves, a series of quiet rustles as they draw out their grenades in unison.

“Hold…”

It’s as if Mekrun itself is holding its breath along with them - the moment of calm before the storm hits.

Cody lets out a slow breath to keep his movements steady, tilting his arm back as the droids gather together, ever closer… his eyes track the droids, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Now!” he barks.

A volley of EMPs launch overhead, scattering amongst the feet of the enemy. The droids don’t even get the chance to panic before the poppers all go off in unison, pulses of electromagnetic energy causing the entire group to collapse in on themselves in a shower of sparks.

Cody launches out of cover alongside his men, picking off the clankers before they have time to reactivate.

“Keep moving! We don’t stop until the bastards are sending everything they’ve got to us!” he yells. “Get to the dugout, go!”

The battle, once they successfully gun their way down to the hastily made guard station, proves to be one of attrition.

Over the next hour, Bravo team make their stand, slowly but surely cutting down the waves of droids sent to their location.

It’s an odd thing to be relieved about facing down a group of destroyers, but when the droidekas come, Cody knows without question that they’ve drawn the worst of the horde away from the tower. 

It quickly becomes a pattern - Cody leads a small group above ground, drawing the encroaching clankers nearer to the dugout. Once they’re close enough, the rest of the squad dash above ground to surround them and take advantage of their surprise. 

It’s not the most elegant of battle plans, admittedly, but it works damned well. It seems the Seps here weren’t expecting any form of meaningful, planned resistance, and they’re paying the price for that now.

By the time Cody feels satisfied that the rest of his men can take care of themselves, they’ve started carving a tally to track their kill counts on an old wooden pallet inside the base. Cody is content enough with being in second - he’d be far out in first place if not for the combination of a conveniently clustered group of B1s and a particularly well aimed grenade by Wooley.

One of the shinies, a fairly diminutive sniper named Blackbird, is in dead last and not particularly pleased about it. They’ve been repeatedly warned of the consequences - the tragic fate of being the one to cover the first round back at 79’s when they make it home. As Cody prepares to head off to the rendezvous point, he hears another officer trying to bolster their spirits by promising that most of the boys will probably only order something cheap. It doesn’t seem to cheer them up much.

The Commander can’t quite stifle his chuckle, patting the kid on the shoulder as he passes.

“Rite of passage, rookie. You’ll manage. Just make sure you don’t fall in the field to get out of the punishment, yeah? Eyes sharp and watch your flank.”

The young clone nods, sitting a little straighter after the acknowledgement from Cody. “Y-yes sir.” they reply, offering a sharp salute. They haven’t yet managed to speak to him without stuttering, at least a little. 

Over the years, Cody has become more than aware that he’s inspired a certain… mythos from the Vode back on Kamino. More often than not, any newly assigned troops have stars shining in their eyes during their first few weeks of deployment whenever they speak to him. Apparently Rex and a few of the 501st ARCs have had the same issue. 

It’s flattering really, just… misplaced. He might be a decorated name, but off-duty they’re all equal. The last thing Cody wants is to make his brothers intimidated by him. It’s an uncomfortable notion.

Still, he offers a smile, giving Blackbird a short nod before he begins to jog away. 

Once safely clear of the danger of the open field, Cody activates the comms at his wrist. “Alpha team, I’m heading for the rendezvous at the scheduled time. I believe our distraction has been successful, but the fight is ongoing. What’s your status?”

Only static and silence greets him in response. Cody frowns. He gives it a minute before he tries again.

“Alpha team, status report.”

Nothing.

Great.

It would be incredibly nice, Cody reflects as he picks up the pace with a groan, for things in the field to go as planned just once.  

_____________________________

The rendezvous point isn’t far, thankfully, and a majority of Alpha team – currently headed by Waxer – are already there and waiting by the time Cody arrives.

They offer salutes as he approaches. Obi-Wan, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem to be with them.

“At ease,” Cody nods, a question in his gaze as he gestures for Waxer to go ahead. 

“Commander,” the Lieutenant begins, clearing his throat before giving his report. “We disarmed the bombs successfully, but the Seps did a number to the tower during the fight. It’s fixable, but comms are gonna be out in the system until the engineers can get back to work.”

Cody had suspected as much, but it’s a relief to hear the tower hadn’t been damaged beyond repair. It’ll certainly make the imminent cleanup efforts much simpler. 

“The General and a few others split off to sweep for more survivors,” Waxer continues, “but he shouldn’t be long. There were only a few members of the maintenance team missing by our count, and he said he sensed they were nearby.”

Cody relaxes a little at the news. It looks like they arrived quickly enough to prevent too many civilian casualties - an unfortunately rare circumstance as of late, so it’s not something he’ll take for granted. It’s looking so far like this will be an easy win for the Republic. 

“Understood,” he replies. “Good work. Bravo team are holding strong at the southern quadrant. The distraction there has been successful, and with your team going to support them, we should be able to take out the remaining stragglers easily enough. The Seps are turning their attentions to–”

Cody freezes unexpectedly, his blood turning to ice. Nausea settles over him as his mind prickles with an altogether horrifying sense of knowing.

Obi-Wan is hurt.

Waxer blinks over at his suddenly-motionless Commander. “Uh…” He waits for a few moments in bewilderment, glancing back to the rest of his men before he clears his throat quietly. “... You were saying, sir?”

Obi-Wan is hurt. There’s not much time. 

The strange sensation that Cody had tucked away at the back of his mind this morning rings out with alarm. It doesn’t feel like speculation, or a voice speaking from anxiety and fear - it feels like concrete, unmistakable fact. 

Not much time? Cody thinks desperately in return, trying his best to communicate with the feeling. It doesn’t respond.

Oh, Stars, no.

For a long few seconds, all he can do is just stare at Waxer, dazed and disoriented as he tries to find his voice again.

“The–” his throat sticks. He tries again. “The General is– injured.” Cody stammers, his voice coming out weak. 

His stomach churns with a sense of dread that won’t subside, and he momentarily forgets how to breathe. He catches himself reaching for his comm-link instinctively, before he remembers that there is absolutely no way he can get a message to his General right now, or in the immediate future, not with the tower damaged. Damn it all. “Where did he and his squad go when they split?”

Waxer shifts in surprise. “What? None of us can reach him sir, how did you–?”

Finally, Cody’s training kicks in and he manages to wrangle some sense of control from the haze. Some strange divine force is connecting him to his Jedi, and if it’s telling him the truth, then it might be enough to save Obi-Wan’s life. His prime directive above all else is to keep his Jedi safe, and he will move the stars themselves to do so if he has to. The feeling is disorienting and his fear is mounting, but he can cope with that. He has to act.

His gaze snaps back to Waxer, grasping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “Tell me where he went, Lieutenant,” he commands, hearing his words coming out much stronger than before, to his relief. “That’s an order.”

Waxer straightens up. “The north ridge, Commander, right by the chasm. But I don’t know if he took the road up to the cliff, or–”

No. He took the path to the ravine. He’s still there.

Cody’s mind is suddenly, sickeningly overtaken by images of his General laying face down in a stream, his blood seeping out into the water around him. Was it the presence in his head showing him that, or was it just the result of his own terror? Gods help him, he can’t tell.

“Understood,” Cody says, beginning to stride away.

He feels his stomach twist - he’s actually believing everything this damn voice is telling him. If it turns out that some parasite or Separatist chip has infected him, he might be walking right into a trap… but Cody knows that he can’t afford to take that risk. Not when so much might be at stake.

He begins to run, barking orders over his shoulder. “I have flares. Prepare a med-evac to sweep over the ravine if I don’t signal in the next thirty minutes. Until then, the team at the south field needs backup - I’m counting on you, Lieutenant!” 

The run turns into a sprint, spurred on by the alarm bells inside him screaming at him to move, move, move.

“Sir–!” Waxer calls after him. “The weather– there might be a flood incoming, are you sure you want to–?”

The Commander pays the warning no mind. A sudden flood in the ravine might well be both possible and deadly, but as long as there’s a chance that Obi-Wan’s down there, his job is to drag him out before then. He can’t afford to waste a second.

If you’re lying, I’ll make you regret it, he thinks pointedly to the voice in his head, on the off chance that this is some malicious, external force peering into his mind. Once again, Cody’s attempts at communication go unacknowledged. He’s strangely glad of it - at this point, he’s fairly sure that having it respond would make him feel worse. The threat serves to make him feel marginally better, at least.

As the path down to the ravine comes into view, Cody feels his chest tighten, sending a silent prayer out to any god that will listen that he makes it on time.

Just hang on. I’m coming.

_____________________________

The ground beneath Cody’s feet changes from mud, to pebbles, to the splash of shallow water as he makes it to the base of the chasm.

Please be nearby, Cody thinks desperately as he searches, the strange sensation in his head giving way to an intuition about the directions he needs to take. He doesn’t like the feeling of trusting it blindly, but he doesn’t have much choice. Please be alive.

Further in, it whispers to him, faster.

Cody doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life, but he spurs himself on even so.

The water is fast-flowing but still mercifully shallow, though Cody doesn’t want to imagine just how quickly that could change with the threatening rainclouds that have started to gather overhead. Waxer might have been right in his warning, but it’s far too late for worrying about that now.

He skids down a small slope, taking himself ever lower into the winding chasm. His heart pounds wildly against his ribs as he spots a body near the bend ahead, a flash of gold and white armour, unmoving. The sound of blaster fire has been steadily getting closer with each footstep.

Fuck.

Sprinting around the curve in the rock, Cody’s worst fear is confirmed.

Ahead of him, the ravine widens, the cliffs on either side rising imposingly, impassive observers to the carnage happening within. 

The group of his brothers that had splintered from Alpha team are dead. Their bodies are scattered, cast aside as they wait for the rain to wash their corpses into the lake downstream.

A collection of droids and a group of people - mercenaries? - clad in dark gear are engaged in a shootout with one another within the canyon. This would ordinarily be enough to stop Cody in his tracks - they hadn’t been informed of another faction’s presence here, and he doesn’t know where their allegiances lie - but right now, he doesn’t have the time to try and work out what’s happening or why. 

Instead, his gaze is glued to the body being dragged further through the chasm by the hands of one of the mercenaries - the body clad in a thick brown cloak that’s enveloping lighter, fawn coloured robes; the body that’s currently slowly bleeding out from a gash in its side; the body of the man he loves.  

Cody doesn’t stop to observe further.

He’s - recklessly, certainly, but he can’t just sit and just wait - storming out into the open in seconds, beelining straight for the man pulling Obi-Wan along behind him like some prized prey from a hunt. 

His blaster is raised, and they’re not expecting him - one clean shot to the back of the head is all it takes. 

A snarl rips itself from Cody’s throat as the mercenary tumbles forwards to the ground, dropping Obi-Wan’s body unceremoniously into the shallow stream - by some mercy landing on his back, and not face down into the water. 

The attention of the surrounding hostiles are all now very decidedly on Cody as he continues to sprint ahead.

It’s an open space with no cover, and Obi-Wan’s body is in the centre of it all. He can’t exactly fight back with his blaster, so he does the only thing he can reasonably think of to do in the time allotted to him. 

Reaching his Jedi’s side, he swiftly reaches down to unclip the lightsaber that - miraculously - had remained at his belt throughout whatever fight he’d faced earlier. 

Cody presses his thumb firmly into the activator as he plants his feet over the body of his fallen General, sparing only a quick glance downwards to the pallid face of the Jedi beneath him. He doesn’t have the time to check his pulse or breathing now, not while they’re surrounded by enemies. Please, please be alive. 

The hum of the saber and the gentle vibration that buzzes through the hilt is a steadying force as blaster bolts continue to fly around him in all directions. He’d love to have the luxury of stopping to ask questions, but it doesn’t seem as if he’s going to get the chance before he or everyone else here lies dead.

One afternoon, long ago, Obi-Wan had shown him the basics of Soresu - Cody hopes that he remembers enough to make it through this.

His addition to the fray certainly seems to have confused both factions. The droids enter into a panic, shooting at anything that moves, including their own numbers. Most of the mercenaries stand their ground, though a handful decide that it would be in their better interest to abandon their quarry (and presumably, their paycheck) and retreat further into the ravine. 

They wanted to take Obi-Wan’s body. Why?

Cody stays above the Jedi, pivoting on the spot to parry incoming bolts back to their senders. Without the use of the Force to aid him in intuiting where the shots are coming from, he can only try his best amidst the chaos. Every shower of sparks or yelp of pain from a returned bolt that connects is a victory, buying himself a few more precious seconds before the next projectile comes his way.

Cody can barely find the ability to think, let alone to form a cohesive plan. All of his thoughts are concentrated on surviving second to second until he can safely reach the flare gun at his hip.

He brings down the lightsaber in an arc to slice through the shoulder of a mercenary that had unwisely decided to chance running his way, before twisting around his body to block an incoming bolt from the right. His joints aren’t loose enough for this type of thing, he thinks with a grimace. It suddenly makes sense to him why Obi-Wan insists on warming up each day with dancer-like stretches and movements before he trains - all of these acrobatics are hell on the hips.

Keeping the saber in front of him swinging rapidly, Cody does his best to estimate a count of the enemies that remain. The two groups around him are carving through one another at such a rate that hopefully this won’t last too much longer. 

A splash of water drips from the visor of his helmet, followed by another, then another. If Cody’s body could tense further, it would.

The drizzle of rain would be welcomingly cooling if it weren’t for the threat the worsening weather represents. He’s all too aware that all of his efforts would be for nothing if they both drown down here.

Centering himself as best as he can, Cody remains steadfast. Fighting so desperately as the heavens open above him - a part of him is reminded of Kamino, of his training. The headspace is a welcome one to slip into, and he allows himself to draw focus from it. This is no different to then, he tells himself. I survived every day back then, I’ll survive now.

A volley of shots come his way, and he spins the lightsaber around himself in an approximation of a move he’s seen from Obi-Wan in the past to deflect them. It proves mostly effective, but one bolt nearly finds its mark, tearing a scorch mark through his right pauldron. 

The shootout intensifies for a few unsettling seconds, and then, to Cody’s unease, all falls unnaturally still. 

He doesn’t waste the opportunity, surging forwards in a hope to cut down the last of the droids, but before he can reach it, it crumples in on itself, crushed by… nothing. Before Cody has time to react, the last two mercenaries fall to their knees, their faces turned to the cliffs above, one uttering a hoarse cry of the word “Master!” 

There’s a chuckle from somewhere high above him, and Cody tears his eyes from the men, risking the glance upwards. 

Something is very, very wrong.

A cloaked figure stands on an outcropping, watching him as a wild predator watches its prey. 

Cody grits his teeth, raising the lightsaber a little higher.

“So, Kenobi has found himself a little pet, has he?” the figure calls down to him, sounding sickeningly amused. Their head turns toward the mercenaries. “You… have failed me. Run, and be grateful for your lives.”

His voice, gravelly and low, echoes through the ravine, and Cody becomes incredibly aware as the mercenaries scramble to escape that it is now only him, the Jedi on the ground, and this stranger. Alone for miles in any direction.

The figure - a man, by the sounds of his voice - leaps down into the ravine proper. It’s a drop that would kill anyone else, or at the very least break some bones - this person, however, lands with a feline-like grace. 

He must be a Force user then, Cody concludes, his eyes never leaving the threat and his feet remaining rooted to the ground over the Jedi. 

It is, unquestionably, his duty to keep his General safe. If Obi-Wan lives, then Cody will drag him out of here or die trying, but if – the thought almost causes his heart to rip apart here and now - if Obi-Wan is dead, then he will protect his body to the last. No one else will touch him, not while Cody still draws breath.

“Come now, clone,” the stranger rasps. He sounds winded - potentially injured from an earlier fight, Cody notes. He’ll take any advantage he can get, right now. The man lifts his hood to reveal himself as a Zabrak, distinctive red and black markings carving up the sections of his face into sharp, jagged portions. A striking visage - Cody’s never seen anything like it. “Surely you don’t wish to throw away your life to protect a dead man’s honour. Hand him over.”

Cody focuses on the weight of the saber’s hilt in his hand, taking a deep breath and easing his white-knuckle grip as much as he can. Obi-Wan had told him once that you need to treat a lightsaber like a dancing partner, not like a tool. 

Work with it, and trust that it will work with you, he hears his words echo in his mind. It shouldn’t be swung like you would a simple club, or an axe.

He is tense, alert, but in this moment, he is not scared. He is Commander Cody of the 212th Battalion. He has never faltered in the face of death, and he faces it down with the same steadiness now, dogged and unflinching. If this man truly is a Force user - a Sith - then let the stories of this final stand be sung by his brothers into eternity.

Cody holds the Zabrak’s unblinking gaze. “If you want him,” he says, trying to channel that effortlessly calm, firm tone that his Jedi flaunts in the worst of situations, “then I’m afraid you’ll have to go through me.”

The Sith’s lip curls up in a cruel sneer, all pretense of composure discarded in an instant. “Your blind loyalty to the one who holds your leash is touching,” he spits, venomously. “But in the end, it won’t save either of you.” 

He reaches into his cloak, drawing his own lightsaber and activating it, crimson red and double-bladed.

Cody’s eyes widen in horror and recognition, a cold shiver creeping up his spine. That blade… he knows exactly who this is.

With the knowledge of his name comes the knowledge that his chances of seeing tomorrow are slim, but Cody feels his resolve only grow in the face of it. Knowing that this is the bastard who has made it his mission to hound and torture Obi-Wan over the course of his life, he’s even more determined to keep him away from his Jedi at all costs.

“Maul,” Cody states, his voice low. The Sith begins to stalk around Cody in a slow circle, a viper waiting to strike. Cody leans a little further back on his left foot as he turns in place to meet him, the lesson on Soresu lingering at the back of his mind.

Maul smiles at Cody’s recognition. “It’s so nice to hear that he still talks of me, even after all this time.”

All hell breaks loose.

Cody narrowly avoids being struck as Maul launches forwards with an unnatural speed. He brings up Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to block at the last second, the force of the clash reverberating through his arm, up into his shoulder with a stinging pain.

Relax the muscles, he remembers Obi-Wan telling him as he corrected his form, fighting while tense will only harm you.

As the Zabrak darts over to the other side of him, Cody acts, striking him with the back of the lightsaber hilt. He leaps backwards in a desperate attempt to gain a few seconds of freedom, using them to pull out the flare gun and fire into the air. 

Maul snarls, pressing the attack once more. Cody throws the gun to the side, redoubling his efforts on blocking and redirecting hits. If Waxer saw the flare go up - and Force, he hopes he did - all he needs to do is survive for a few more minutes.

… A few more minutes against the man that killed Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn in less than five when fighting one on one. A bead of sweat trickles down Cody’s temple.

Easy.

He grunts as Maul lands a kick to his abdomen, stumbling back a few steps but being sure to maintain his grip on the lightsaber. Being disarmed here would be a remarkably quick way to die. 

They trade blows back and forth, Cody focusing on the defensive, Maul pushing in every chance he gets. It’s an exhausting effort, and he’s sure his panting is audible through his helmet, but he’s still on his feet, scrapping for every inch he can take.

Commander Cody, as he has done in so many battles before today, holds the line.

Each second he stalls is another second won of analysis; learning how Maul moves, the speed at which he’s about to rush in and attack, the patterns he’s about to swing his saber in - and then Cody sees it.

His left side. 

He’s favouring his left side.

Each of his attacks are weighted, so his right arm must be damaged. If Cody can exploit that–

He grunts as he wards off a particularly strong slash to his side.

– then he might stand a chance of survival.

Cody draws back, loath to move too far from Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, but knowing that he has to risk it in order to press this advantage. Shielding, he reminds himself. He has to shield, or else Maul will be able to anticipate what he’s about to do.

The Sith smirks, his expression near manic in his relentless pursuit. “Scared, little clone?” he taunts, watching in clear sadistic amusement as Cody retreats a few more steps. 

Cody subtly adjusts his stance, as if he’s going to continue to block. He raises his chin in defiance, his eyes narrowing. It’s what Maul will expect to see.

“No.”

Maul smiles. “The tremor in your voice betrays you.”

Time seems to slow as the Zabrak charges, his blade raised overhead to strike.

Cody plants his feet, feigning a block before darting to the right at the very last second and bringing Obi-Wan’s blade down to catch the top of his shoulder.

It doesn’t go deep, but the damage is done. Maul hisses in pain, backing up rapidly as his right arm hangs limply by his side. Cody doesn’t dare let his guard down yet, repositioning himself in front of Obi-Wan.

Maul snarls, his eyes flashing with anger. “You dare–”

Just as he begins to speak, thunder rolls in the distance. The threat of a sudden flood looms heavily over the both of them on this impromptu battlefield, and Cody lets out a shuddering breath. It’s bad news, but all the same, it might be the best news possible for him.

He sees the moment the truth dawns on the Sith - by staying here, they’re both risking certain death by drowning - a ravine this narrow and deep would fill with water in seconds. Even if Maul wasted time killing Cody here - and he could, even when injured, no doubt - he couldn’t drag away Obi-Wan’s body as he had his lackeys trying to do earlier, not with his injured arm.

For whatever reason, his motive was to take the Jedi’s body along with him, and now there’s not enough time. 

Either all three of them die here and now, or Maul gets the chance to escape before their med-evac arrives.

Cody keeps the saber raised, even as the Sith takes another step back, evidently considering his options. His expression turns unnervingly blank as his eyes alight on Cody once more. There’s something more in his gaze now, something that wasn’t there before - recognition? Respect? 

“Clever boy,” he murmurs, dipping his head. He deactivates his lightsaber, holstering it at his side and clutching at his injured arm with a grimace. “You’ve forced my hand. Very well.”

Cody watches as Maul begins his retreat further into the canyon, the hand gripping Obi-Wan’s lightsaber beginning to tremble with the receding adrenaline. 

“The next time we meet, you will not have the privilege of hiding behind your owner’s weapon,” Maul snarls, his voice echoing through the canyon with that one last lingering threat before he disappears from view entirely. It’s true, Cody knows. He has a target on his back now, the size of a planet - and he’s sure it will be collected on.

For one long, long moment, the Commander simply stands, panting for breath, not quite sure if this is all a stress induced hallucination, or whether he actually survived the encounter. 

The rain, though still light, has been getting progressively worse. It collects at the base of his visor, creating small waterfalls that dance in the periphery of his vision. Briefly, Cody allows himself to close his eyes.

He’s pulled out of his dizzying sense of disbelief by the sound of a soft groan below him.

Alive. 

Cody’s eyes snap open.

A strangled gasp escapes him as he falls to his knees, pulling off his helmet and letting it clatter to the rocks below, scratches be damned, as he sees the Jedi’s breath stutter - not a sign he’s doing well, of course, but there is breath to be had.  

The sheer relief at seeing Obi-Wan alive, the lingering adrenaline from the duel and the sheer shock that his own heart’s still beating all combine to make a dizzying amalgam of uninhibited recklessness. 

He cradles Obi-Wan’s face in his hands, lowering his forehead to press to the other man’s. One of his hands slips to curl at the nape of his neck, and his heart pounds as Obi-Wan weakly reaches up to do the same.

If any of their men could see them now, sharing a keldabe kiss in the middle of the battlefield, they’d never hear the end of it. Cody is very aware that he should be reprimanding himself for this lapse in judgement, should be pulling away to a respectful distance, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s still breathing heavily, and he’s fairly sure that holding Obi-Wan this close means they’re both bleeding onto one another. He doesn’t quite have it in him to care.

“I’ve got you, General,” he manages to choke out, his fingers curling tighter in the Jedi’s hair, afraid that he’ll disappear if he lets go for even a second.

Obi-Wan smiles - Stars, he’s so glad to see that smile - “Quite… the display there, Commander,” he rasps, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked and bloodied lips. Cody swallows. How long had the other man been out here before he arrived, fighting for his life? His free hand slips down to apply some pressure to the wound at his side, trying his best to stem the bleeding. 

Cody feels nauseous with the weight of his worry, and he knows Obi-Wan will be able to sense it. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to give voice to it, instead trying to smile. To his credit, he manages, even if it’s considerably watery. “Ah, I was… trying to impress you. Angling for a promotion, you know.” 

He draws back to raise his head as he hears the distinctive whirr of a LAAT/i approaching, and feels some of the tension drain from him. Not long now. He carefully shifts Obi-Wan, pulling him away from the stream and into his lap, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort the other man is so clearly in. Obi-Wan lets out a breath that sounds more like a wheeze than anything else.

“I believe… the only position you could be promoted to would be mine, Cody,” he comments. He sounds incredibly weary, and his eyes fall shut with the effort of his words.

“Never let it be said that my ambition is held back by common sense,” Cody jokes softly. He gently brushes a few strands of hair away from his Jedi’s face, his gloved fingers lingering at his temple. Obi-Wan’s brows are pinched together, clearly in terrible pain. Cody can almost see the way he’s slipping, losing his grip on his consciousness. 

“Hey. Stay with me,” he implores, his chest tight.

It’ll only be a minute or so at most before the medical evac will arrive, but Cody is incredibly aware that he can’t let the Jedi fall asleep before then. He racks his brain frantically for anything he can say to hold Obi-Wan’s attention, to give him any reason to keep talking.

“Shit,” Cody mutters under his breath, “Obi-Wan, you–”

“I’m trying,” the Jedi mumbles softly, and Cody’s plea dies on his lips. 

Instead, he just clings to him a little tighter. “... I know.”

For a moment there is silence, pierced only by the rushing of the stream beneath them and the uneven, laboured breaths of Obi-Wan. The Commander watches him, swallowing thickly before he speaks. Hopefully this will be enough.

“My name… it’s not actually Cody,” he says. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker open at that, hazy and bewildered, and Cody can’t stop a fondness from entering his expression, despite his concern. A temporary victory. Now to keep it going. “Thought that’d get your attention.”

“It’s not…?” 

Cody shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his General. The fingers at his temple have long since shifted to tenderly stroking through the wet strands of his hair.

“Well, it is now, I suppose. But it wasn’t initially.” 

Obi-Wan looks like he doesn’t have the strength to keep speaking, but there’s curiosity in his gaze. Cody blinks away the sudden stinging of tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes. 

Just stay with me for a few more moments, please. You’re nearly there.

“Kamino,” he forces himself to say, even as the words come out hoarse. “During training. My brothers had decided to name me, after I....” 

Cody trails off, deciding that now is not the time to detail the abuses he had (quite stupidly) decided to take the brunt of to take some heat away from the rest of the Vode. Obi-Wan doesn’t need distressing further, today.

“... Well. Kote,” he continues. “They named me Kote. Except, over the years, most people misheard it, and… well, Cody was the one that stuck.” 

Obi-Wan blinks slowly, clearly at war with himself to keep himself conscious. Cody is unsure that the other man has even heard him, let alone taken in his words, but after a long pause, the Jedi gathers himself to speak again.

“‘Glory’,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Isn’t it?”

A tear escapes down Cody’s cheek as the evac ship finally comes into view above them, lowering into the chasm. Half dead and the man is focusing his energy on accurately translating a fairly archaic word in Mando’a. That’s his Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” he affirms, his tone hushed. “That’s right.”

The Jedi smiles, finally losing his internal battle as his eyelids flutter closed once more. “You wear it well.”

Sudden shouts erupt from behind them as the LAAT/i lands and the medics start to rush their way over to them.

Cody sucks in a shuddering breath. Obi-Wan will make it. He will.

He reaches for his discarded helmet, slipping it back onto his head. With a grunt of effort, Cody lifts the Jedi up into his arms, turning towards the ship. 

“I’ve got him,” he insists to the already-fussing medic as they approach. They reach out to try and take Obi-Wan from him, but Cody adjusts to hold the Jedi tighter, slipping past them.

“I’ve got him,” Cody repeats, his tone probably harsher than it needs to be. He’ll apologise for it later, but for the moment he’s just relieved that they back off.

No one else tries to bother him as he takes a seat on the gunship, holding Obi-Wan securely across his lap. Bacta first, then rest, he thinks wearily.

Somehow, though, he doubts he’ll get much rest in the near future. The weight of the other man in his lap is a reminder of everything he has to lose, and Cody knows himself well enough to be sure that he won’t be doing much more than pacing until his General is conscious and back with him. 

A matter of hours, if he’s lucky. Days, if he’s not.

A deep sigh escapes him as the ship takes off and someone comes over with a scanner to check their vitals.

At least he’s alive. At least they’re both alive, somehow. Cody’s still not entirely sure how he managed it, but he’s incredibly grateful.

He thinks of the squad that will be still on the ground, fighting to take out the last of the Separatist forces. He has confidence enough in Waxer to know that they’ll be doing fine on their own, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel uneasy at being pulled out of the fight like this. 

Outside, the rain worsens, battering against the side of the ship as it continues to ascend. Cody glances down, taking in the states of the ravine he was fighting for his life in mere moments before. The water is filling up in there rapidly, the speed of it already something terrifying to behold.

Cody really, really hopes that Maul didn’t make it.

He knows that he probably did.

_____________________________

Back on the Venator, Cody stands in only his underclothes, a handful of bacta patches plastered over his arms and his back as he stares absently at the bacta tank in front of him. His Jedi floats inside, having been immersed practically upon arrival, his eyes closed and his expression oddly peaceful, given the circumstances.

The lance in his side will likely be a permanent one, but better a scar than a cause of death. 

Helix had left the two of them alone ten minutes ago, charging Cody with calling him if Obi-Wan’s condition suddenly changes, though Cody suspects that the request was only made to keep him inside the medbay and not disappearing off to his room to treat his pain alone, as he has in the past. Even knowing that, it’s working. 

Cody doesn’t want to leave Obi-Wan’s side, not yet.

He begins to pace slowly, his exhausted mind overflowing with everything he needs to tell the Jedi of when he wakes. The mission status, Maul, and… 

Cody pauses in his steps briefly, pinching his brow. And whatever is going on inside his head.  

Whatever the meaning of the feeling, Cody has at least worked out one thing: it seems to be wholly and inextricably tied to Obi-Wan. It lies dormant now, having retreated into the back of his mind at the same time that the Jedi had lost consciousness, but it’s unmistakably still present. Steady, warm - not unlike Obi-Wan himself, he supposes.

It was telling him the truth. That’s the main thing he can’t quite wrap his head around, and in the past hour or so, he’s done nothing but try.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispers aloud to no one in particular. He’s not generally one for angst, nor for lamenting over situations in which he has no control. Something about all of this, though - it feels significant, important for him to understand, though he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know a lot of things today, it seems.

Cody takes a seat on the edge of one of the medbay beds with a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. 

He’ll wait here, he decides, until duty calls him away, or until Obi-Wan wakes up - whichever comes first. The quiet yet incessant beeping of various medical equipment isn’t exactly conducive to his ideal working environments, but he’s completed paperwork in worse places.  

He types out a quick message on his datapad, a request for a mug of caf to be brought to him, along with a blanket. Cody hesitates, glancing over to where Obi-Wan is still healing, then adds an amendment. A double shot, he thinks, would be more sufficient.

Despite his exhaustion, it’s still only the early afternoon.

The Commander sighs again, opening up a few tabs worth of backlogged reports to start reading through.

It’s going to be a very long day.

✷✷✷✷✷

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @mitth-eli-vanto

[littlemissrobinblue]

HEY, HEY, HEY!!! Okay, soooo, I know I have been offline, but it has been for a good reason! I'm building my website, and not just my portfolio, but my actual WEBSITE! It will hopefully be up by this weekend, but in the mean time I did want to show you all that I have in fact been working in the background whilst also working on my website.

These all are comic pages I have been working on, along side building my website and working on other long term projects!

The two images above me are from the same comic short I'm working on, mainly focusing on stories from her past.

This one right here is more of a comic based on the request of someone on TikTok, not related to the WIP I posted a while ago, and will be in color.

Anyways, I will be posting more on here, but right now I have to go make pizza and chill my brain cause I've been working like since this morning, hahahahaha, like a freaking lighting bolt of energy!

[marzipaint]

zzz

[ubtendo]

Ouaw doodles as I'm preparing the style for the next piece

[front-facing-pokemon]

[beneathsilverstars]

been doing research on writing plural systems for sif+loop in mundane modern aus, and i think i've got a solid idea of what i want to do! specifics may vary by au but i wanted a base set of headcanons to vary from, so sif+loop being a system can be a background fact of my au musings instead of something i have to reinvent every time.

(i'm a singlet so if any systems have concrit or thoughts they want to share i'd be happy to hear it! i'm not like planning a fic or anything currently, but it's still nice to not be working off of misconceptions for my silly little posts.)

siffrin took over as the main host in their late teens and doesn't remember anything from before that. in their early-mid 20s their work/housing situation was horrible and when they couldn't take another day like that, siffrin split into loop (who kept the mid 20s memories, with a new personality) and siffrin take two (who remembers the 17-20 era a bit better, but then there's a big gap). between the two of them they were able to cope better and hold a not-as-awful job and get a shitty apartment all to themselves!

siffrin fronts more often on average, because they're better at quietly accomplishing day-to-day tasks. but if he gets too overwhelmed or anxious (think their mini loop-backs in canon) then loop takes over, bc loop dgaf about some of the things siffrin worries about, and doesn't shut down as easily. but since they don't bottle up their feelings as severely, they're more likely to react outwardly and make rash choices like quitting their job, being rude, splurging on little treats, etc. so that's why siffrin is the default fronter for things like work and chores, when he's feeling up to it.

loop is fairly aware of what's going on while siffrin is fronting - sometimes they choose to tune more of it out, but they can catch most of it if they want to, and sometimes siffrin will talk to them or nudge them to pay attention. since they know at least the basics of what siffrin was up to, they can usually step in pretty smoothly when they need to take over! and it's very easy for them to take over, with or without siffrin's say-so, though they try to ask if it's not an emergency (and if it is an emergency, siffrin is likely trying to back away from the front anyway).

when loop is fronting, though, siffrin is entirely away, dreaming in the void. loop can nudge them for a vague opinion or relevant memory, but they can't hold a full conversation and they're not aware of what loop's doing. when loop puts them in the front again they're usually disoriented and need a moment for loop to tell them what's been happening. and again, loop is the one deciding to switch; sometimes siffrin might resist getting pulled back if they're still feeling bad, or get antsy and start reaching out if they've been asleep a while or are having bad dreams, but they're not gonna react to environmental situations since they're not aware of them.

mal is in there too but doesn't front. its role is to be socially hyper-vigilant, pointing out when other people might be upset at them so the alter who's fronting knows to fix it or avoid the person. it's been around longer than siffrin, and was helpful way back then, but now that siffrin and loop have worked out an effective balance and are fairly safe, mal's behavior is somewhat maladaptive (ha!). it's not super directly aware of the outside world like loop is, not anymore at least, but it does get secondhand memories from both siffrin and loop. it actually sometimes remembers facts and details that sif and loop both quickly forgot, because maybe those details will end up relevant to spotting and avoiding future problems - but since it got the memories secondhand and filtered them through a particularly paranoid worldview, it's likely to misremember subjective interpretations as literal truth, so you gotta take its claims with a grain of salt.

it mostly hangs out in the void imagining fractals and whatnot these days, keeping an eye on siffrin while they sleep. it occasionally perks up and chimes in with its pessimistic point of view when siffrin is really upset - it can communicate better with sleeping siffrin than loop can. loop is not on speaking terms with it because they're mad that it goes behind loop's back and makes siffrin more upset right when loop is trying to shield him from the upsetting situation. but siffrin doesn't mind it bc it's just trying to help in its own way, and sometimes it is helpful to face their fears in plain words instead of avoiding them. and siffrin will sometimes ask it for help with like, puzzles, because it's good at pattern recognition.

there's also a no-longer-quite-dormant alter that presumably fronted for much of the body's childhood. they don't hang out in siffrin and mal's void, and they don't talk to anyone else within the system. but now that the system is more safe and stable, every once in a while something will catch their attention and they'll gently push to the front and start talking. as soon as their train of thought is interrupted they're gone again, and the other alters don't even remember that they got usurped for a moment, a la siffrin's bits of telling childhood anecdotes in canon. loop and siffrin have surmised that they exist, and call them the lost one.

mal has also implied that there's at least one more dormant alter, but it's from before siffrin-and-loop's time and possibly mal's as well.

if something happens that's so distressing that siffrin retreats into headspace and loop won't take over either, the body goes into dissociated autopilot. it will follow basic one-step instructions (such as "follow me" or "eat this"), speak in a couple simple scripts (such as answering "how are you" with "i'm fine"), and complete rote tasks such as taking a familiar route home from work or going to bed. loop doesn't pay much attention because that would defeat the point / put them back in front, so they usually have very little if any idea of what happened in this state, but it is possible for outside events to catch their attention enough for them to try fronting again. otherwise they'll be back next time the body wakes up. siffrin, on the other hand, usually won't front for at least a day or two after this happens, and will likely have forgotten the events leading up to it as well.

it doesn't happen very often since it's the very last resort, after siffrin dissociating, loop taking over, and loop dissociating. loop and siffrin don't consider the autopilot an alter because it doesn't form memories, have emotions or opinions, or interact in the headspace; it just follows where it's led, by habit or outside influence. loop has argued in favor of trying to imbue it with more personhood so it's less uncanny for other people to interact with and can get loop's attention when the distressing thing is over, but siffrin argues that if it can think that defeats the point, and they'd just end up with this new alter and a new autopilot.

past all that, the specifics will depend on the exact au; particularly the ratio of loop time to siffrin time will depend on how much siffrin works and how awful their job is, whether siffrin and/or loop have friends yet, etc. but i think when they're doing pretty well they'd be happy with siffrin doing work/chores and most of the activities that they both enjoy (since then they'll both remember it), and loop fronting for maybe a third of their free time to do their own thing, and maybe here and there if something goes wrong at work. and then if siffrin starts feeling burnt out, they swap for a couple days of loop doing most things and siffrin just coming out for an hour or two. siffrin and mal probably talk maybe a couple times a month, unless siffrin is really going through it, in which case they might talk a lot for a couple days. it also might be possible for mal to eventually adapt a little more to being safe, and start providing a wider range of possible interpretations instead of just the worst case scenario.

ok that's all! and as i said, i'm totally open to feedback. :3

[sainz100]

some Max moments from the 2024 Qatar GP

[wildsaltair]

This will be my single controversial rant about Gladiator and its sequel (specifically my thoughts on Maximus being retconned as Lucius' father), and then I will be silent on the matter because this blog is meant to be A Good Time and I just enjoy sharing my love for Gladiator with everyone on here :)

KIND OF SPOILERS FOR GLADIATOR AND THE SEQUEL (BUT NOT REALLY) BELOW

As everyone knows, Ridley Scott made the choice to reveal in Gladiator 2 that Lucius is actually the son of Maximus from a secret affair with Lucilla. In G2, it's apparently implied that Lucilla was trapped in a bad marriage, fell in love with Maximus, and kept the truth about Lucius' father a secret. Lots of viewers have been split about this, with some thinking that plot point was implied in Gladiator and others feeling that it contradicts what was established in Gladiator.

I am strongly of the opinion that this choice was a bad one, that it does interfere with the integrity of the original film, and that Gladiator 2 would have been much better without that change. I'll give my reasons below.

1. Yes, rewriting Maximus as a cheater does destroy his entire character arc in Gladiator.

We've all seen Gladiator, right? The one where the hero has everything life can offer but longs only to return home to be with his beloved wife and son? Carries their figurines with him into battle, cares only for them when his own life is threatened, lays down to die by their graves after he finds them dead? Spends the whole movie only wanting to meet them again in the afterlife and only gets peace once he's there?

Yeah. Apparently that guy cheated on his wife with a princess. His son and Lucilla's sons are the same age, which means Maximus would have to have been married to his wife while also sleeping with Lucilla.

Maximus' entire character arc relies on his pure, unconditional, self-sacrificial love for his family. Take that away, and you have a generic action movie about a guy who wants revenge because the Emperor tried to kill him once. Even when Maximus has lost everything inside himself and cares about nothing else, he still honors the memory of his family and fights to avenge them as well as join them. He is shown still talking to his wife in the afterlife through prayer and believing she can hear him. As @streets-in-paradise pointed out, it's the equivalent of having Aragon or Hector of Troy cheat on their wives — it's just painfully out of character for them.

There's also an element of Maximus' love and respect for his Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, another driving force in his characterization. I think Maximus has too much respect for Marcus to have had an affair with Marcus' married daughter, even if he knew Marcus maybe would have wished Maximus had married Lucilla. We never get much insight into that part of the past, but if we go by the virtues Maximus upholds throughout the movie, I just don't think Maximus would have considered sneaking behind Marcus' back to sleep with his daughter.

Either way, the emotional heart of Maximus' character is his love for his family, and retconning that so your sequel has a "bigger emotional impact" is nothing short of undignified and sloppy.

2. All the conversations between Maximus and Lucilla in Gladiator imply that they did have a romantic relationship — but that it was public (not clandestine) and took place before either of them were married.

Yes, Maximus and Lucilla definitely were in love at some point. Russell Crowe and Connie Nielsen have great chemistry, and their conversations (both of them) hold so much weight with "what could have been." Lucilla talks about how she wounded Maximus deeply as he did her, and their conversations are full of things like, "Is it so terrible seeing me again?" The weight of their previous emotional attachment pervades the movie in a way that is inextricable from the plot.

BUT. Maximus and Lucilla had their relationship A LONG TIME AGO. This is very clearly established by the way they talk to each other. Maximus has been in Germania for twelve years (taking breaks only to go home, but NEVER to visit Rome). He and Lucilla presumably met sometime before that, probably while the royal family was visiting some city where Maximus was serving in / commanding the army. The details are never established.

However, Maximus and Lucilla clearly had a public enough relationship that Marcus and Commodus knew about it, but there is never the slightest mention in Gladiator that Lucius might be Maximus' son — something Commodus surely would have exploited had he known it was a possibility.

Maximus and Lucilla were in love, but it was before they married other people. They were probably teenagers or young adults who fell madly in love, wanted to marry, but were stopped for whatever reason (probably Maximus not wanting to play politician's games, as he implies). Maximus met the woman he eventually married, Lucilla married Lucius Verus, and they carried on with their lives until they met again at the beginning of Gladiator.

Also, Maximus talks about the respect he had for Lucilla's husband (a far cry from what Gladiator 2 implies about Lucius Verus), and she talks about how she mourned Maximus' family. Sure, you can read into the script and find stuff about how Maximus could have been Lucius' father, but it explicitly goes against the values and implications of the overall acript.

Connie Nielsen stated that she played her scenes thinking that Maximus was Lucius' father. She's an actress, and she plays Lucilla brilliantly. But she's not the scriptwriter, and no matter what her intentions were, the script implies that their relationship took place much longer ago, before either of them were married. @becomelions made a great post about how Lucilla, too, can wish as much as she wants that Maximus was Lucius' father, but he couldn't have been. Not unless you retcon all of Gladiator as fanfiction.

3. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are not meant to replace those he had with his wife and son — they are meant to be reflections of some of the bigger themes of the film.

With all that said, this is not a hate post about how Gladiator should have been about Maximus and his wife and son, and how I hate Lucilla and Lucius' story and think it contradicts that blah blah blah. NO. The storyline with Lucilla, Lucius, and Maximus is one of the strong points of the whole movie — but not as a replacement for the family he has lost.

In a lot of ways, Lucilla represents Rome as the ideal Maximus always believed in: beautiful, noble, and proud. When he becomes disillusioned with Rome, he becomes disillusioned with Lucilla; when he starts to believe in the hope of Rome again, he starts to believe in Lucilla again. They're always linked. Lucilla is not the woman he wants to start over with and marry now that his wife is gone. She is an old friend and ally whom he eventually learns to trust again.

Lucius, on the other hand, represents what Rome can be again. Lucius is the grandson of Marcus Aurelius, and I think Maximus longs to honor his mentor by preserving the life of his last living heir. Lucius reminds Maximus of his son, yes, and he brings out the protectiveness and the desire to do for Lucius what he couldn't do for his own son. But that doesn't mean Lucius has to be his son for that relationship to have emotional impact, as I will explain further in point 5.

4. Maximus' relationships with Lucilla and Lucius are genuinely integral to the film, but as they are — not as what they could be.

Again, I absolutely love the dynamics between Maximus, Lucilla, and Lucius throughout Gladiator. Russell and Connie play off each other so well with those "I remember how you used to be but that was a long time ago" vibes. Russell and Spencer Treat Clark only share one scene, but it's one of the film's most memorable scenes.

However, we are not meant to question those relationships as "oooooh but what if Lucius is actually Maximus' son????" Maybe Ridley left that door open for the audience to consider, but again, I feel like the film contradicts that by implying that Lucilla and Maximus loved each other much longer ago.

When you make Lucius Maximus' son, Lucilla's seeking out of Maximus as his savior becomes less interesting. It becomes "I'm calling on you to save your son even though you don't know he's your son" instead of "I'm asking you to act out of the goodness inside you to save a boy who doesn't deserve to die any more than your own son did." The version we see in Gladiator is so much more impactful.

It also cheapens what Lucius' journey could have been in Gladiator 2! Again, @streets-in-paradise pointed out how much better the sequel could have been if Lucius had been acting in the shadow of a brilliant man who captivated the city of Rome but also was his friend for a little while. As I'll discuss in point 6, having the reveal of Lucius as Maximus' son is just the laziest possible route for a sequel, and it certainly drags down the dignity of the relationships we see in Gladiator.

5. One of the strengths of Maximus' choice to fight for Lucius' survival in Gladiator lies in the fact that he doesn't have any familial obligation to him.

This is one of my favorite points, because I do love the dynamics between Maximus and little Lucius! Maximus has a bone-deep obligation to save his family — he rides for days and nights to get home and save them, but he misses them by a matter of hours. He wrestles with guilt and misery because he feels like he failed them. He was supposed to be their protector, and he couldn't save them.

BUT. Maximus has no such blood ties to Lucius. This kid is the son of Maximus' ex, the grandson of Maximus' dead mentor, and the nephew of his most hated enemy. Maximus doesn't have an obligation to Lucius as his father: he doesn't even know him until Lucius approaches him in the arena.

And that's what makes his decision to fight for Lucius so powerful. Maximus sees Lucius as the hope of Rome, and he decides that's still worth fighting for — something he had given up on before. Even though he has no obligation to save Lucius as his son, he wants to save him as an innocent young boy caught in political matters over his head.

Again, making Lucius Maximus' son cheapens the impact of that decision. Ridley Scott built up so many amazing plot points and relationships, and it really disappoints me that he just cast them aside to make some easy money by relying on the success of the original.

6. Relying on such a trite, overused plot point to make up the emotional foundation of your sequel can only weaken your sequel and ruin the dignity of your original film.

My final point is simply that Gladiator 2 could have been really well done. They could have done something original with it (or something totally off-the-wall like Russell Crowe's vision LOL). But I think Ridley Scott was banking on that nostalgia factor, and he chose a plot point that he knew would be easily marketable — the hero of the second film is the son of the hero of the first film.

We've seen it done literally hundreds of times, from Star Wars to Superman to Toy Story, and having that be the big reveal of Gladiator 2 is just lazy writing. To have Lucius trying to live up to the legacy of Maximus the hero would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of literally anyone else would have been interesting. To have Lucius discover that he's the son of Maximus is an eye-roll-inducing move that should have been trailer bait and nothing more.

Primarily! Because it can't be the emotional foundation of the movie! Lucius has to have his own journey if it's his movie; he can't just walk in Maximus' footsteps and be like, "Father, speak to me," if he's not going on his own individual emotional journey. We as the audience have to relate to our hero because he's our hero, not because he's the son of our hero.

I'll be honest — I probably wouldn't go see a sequel to Gladiator no matter what it was about because I think Gladiator is a perfect standalone movie and should have stayed that way. I just don't think you can recreate the scale and impact and simplicity of Gladiator in today's film industry.

However, I could at least have had respect for a sequel to Gladiator if Ridley Scott had shown some respect for his own movie. I just hate the fact that Maximus' noble, honorable character is reduced to a cheating husband whose only character trait of note is that he served Rome. Maximus is one of the best characters of the 21st century, and I love him too much to support a movie that trashes that legacy (as well as tries to replicate the beauty of my favorite film of all time).

Final thoughts:

Gladiator is a movie. You can read into it whatever you want, and it doesn't hurt anyone.

I love Gladiator more than I can say, and it's really important to me not just as a cultural icon but on a personal level as well.

Anyone who knows this blog knows how much I love Maximus Decimus Meridius, and Ridley's choice to change Maximus' character so drastically is one that really just ticks me off.

To me personally, Gladiator 2 is not canon, and I will never consider it so on this blog.

[essenceofarda]

👀 for the aus, maybe farawyn 1920s au? I feel like eowyn would fuck so hard with flapper subculture

it's the roaring 1920's in Middle Earth, despite the war looming on the horizon for Gondor and Rohan. Faramir runs a infamous club that doubly serves as a information center... he knows all the secrets coming in and out of Gondor. Too bad he's completely oblivious to the fact that Dernhelm, his valet/bartender/assistant, is actually the missing niece of the king of Rohan...

Eowyn runs away from home to live a more adventurous life, getting caught up in Faramir's espionage business, and quickly falls for her boss/friend. She ends up leading a double (Triple??) life when she has to balance pretending to be a man (Dernhelm) and a flapper dancer as equally infamous as the club she dances at.

Things get even more complicated when Faramir finds himself falling not just for "the woman of his dreams", but his valet Dernhelm too, completely oblivious to the fact that they are, in fact, the same person...

Farawyn 1920's AU ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Thanks so much for the prompt!! Had so much fun with this :D

[applestorms]

two ways that i think you could potentially read this panel (and o!ciel's reaction to his brother coming back more generally):

OPTION 1: o!ciel has given in, fallen for the allure of the power that holding the title of Earl Ciel Phantomhive has granted him. he has gone on w/ this revenge plot (revenge for himself, as he specifically states during EWA, not his dead family) for long enough that he has essentially given up on all of his old familial attachments.

nobody matters except Him now, and maybe the people he can use to get what he wants (sebastian most notably, but perhaps also the other servants, so long as they stay useful). it is the Title and Power and Status that he holds dearly here and that he wants to retrieve, everything associated with the Earl name and his job as the queen's watchdog that he has so painstakingly worked at over the last three years. he wants his land and his life back, and he will do anything and shove anyone down to get that power back.

OPTION 2: o!ciel does not see the undertaker-revived bizarre doll r!ciel as his real brother. rather, o!ciel sees undertaker's revived r!ciel as a fake-- an imposter, if you will. amogus.mp3. and not only that, but this particular ciel is an even worse copy than he is in his eyes, less deserving of the name Earl Ciel Phantomhive than o!ciel himself, who at least can truthfully claim his right as the original ciel's twin brother. he doesn’t just want everything associated with the name, but the name Itself in the case.

when undertaker's true identity as a shinigami and plot regarding the bizarre dolls is first revealed on the campania, o!ciel is visibly disgusted by the very concept:

similarly, earlier (in the timeline) when he is first making his deal with sebastian, one of the first things he catches sebastian off guard about is seeing straight through his lie about the possibility of bringing his brother back from the dead (ft. one of the best seb faces ever):

note o!ciel's wording here in particular: "In other words, it's impossible to bring the dead back to life. You are incapable of turning back time."

even at what is essentially his absolute lowest point in the entire series, when minutes earlier his despair and onslaught of emotion managed to summon a literal fucking demon, o!ciel still has absolutely no doubts that his brother is Dead and going to stay that way. his first act in tethering sebastian here is motivated by this clarity of mind-- in fact, this is one of the ways in which o!ciel and sebastian are completely in agreement imo, and why undertaker himself works so well as the ultimate antagonist of the series, since he is essentially perverting this natural order that both seb & o!ciel are so attached to, one where death is Final and Absolute and Complete.

in other words: just the same as his twin, o!ciel Will Not settle for any fake brothers. a replacement, particularly one created and raised and under such horrendous circumstances, is entirely unacceptable.

honestly, i think there's at least a little bit of both of these options in o!ciel's claim to the Earl Ciel Phantomhive name up in that first panel at the top of this post. but personally, i definitely lean towards the second one holding more weight-- o!ciel is not someone who we see showing all that much respect or care for all the Earl rich boy bullshit, other than through the connections and power it grants him in the process of enacting his revenge. hell, in his whole angry spiel before this, he even explicitly calls the job itself "bothersome":

certainly, he calls r!ciel, "the real one," here. but more notably, i think his internal logic is revealed more by this other line-- "No one suspected me as fake! For three whole years!"

o!ciel might not be the "real" earl ciel phantomhive, the one born to the name and the title, but he is certainly a better, more deserving fake than this bitch that has had the audacity to drag himself out of the grave three years after his destined end. thus it is o!ciel alone who deserves this name and title and everything associated with it-- nobody else.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Oooh I had the cause and effect of Venat appearing here backwards. I mean, like, obviously we didn't know as much pre-EW, so I was assuming she could manifest on the shore of the lake here because maybe aside from the ambient radioactivity of Mor Dhona in general, because she made a pact with Middy she had a stronger connection to him and therefore this location (he talks about drinking of the land's aether among other things sort of makes it sound like mutual aetheric cannibalism at times depending on who is weaker and needs the pick me up in this scenario I was imagining, which is fucked up and therefore I liked it :P)

And we saw with all the finding Minfilia stuff in HW it's also easier to travel back and forth in a Hydaelyn-wards direction along paths that were already made, so I thought that was why she found it easier to catch us along the shore here. If she'd specifically charged Middy with guarding the lake then she probably took him here and manifested in this spot before.

In hindsight this whole encounter takes place on top of the entrance to the Omphalos, which is turns out is why she even asked Midgardsormr to guard the lake in the first place (I HAD guessed pre-EW that this specific manifestation might be linked to why here and we'd find out the backstory, but then I forgot about this link once we were months later and unlocking alliances so I never put 2 and 2 together about this cutscene specifically :P).

THAT maybe even explains why Mor Dhona is SO radioactive with multiple calamity related nonsense all over the landscape - the area just draws stuff in like gravity because of how strong the ambient weirdness has always been since as far back as a week after the sundering, before a single calamity hit. Idk, like, the big chunk of Dalamud over thataways curved its fall magnetically towards the zone because it's so messed up here. Allagans just liked the vibe here when scouting for their big tower.

So Venat can manifest here not just because of all the other reasons she might be strengthened to appear here that accumulated over the years, and would have given her a reason to be tenuously connected to the land. She's STRONGLY connected to the land and been here many times.

It does rather amuse me that what amounts to the Official Religion of Hydaelyn (aka the Scions) ended up based literally up the road from all this just because the land was so radioactive no one else wanted to live out here except foolhardy adventurers, who are exactly also Venat's favourite sort of people :D In 100s of years time there might be quite the hub for people taking this a lot more seriously, since the whole Mothercrystal thing has only been known in a recent lifetime.

I mean, also, that might count as being magnetically drawn in like it's fate by the general ambient weirdness, so who can really say what came first.

[misspoetree]

[2/24]

❄❄ kp + text post advent calendar ❄❄

[bookwyrminspiration]

i thought i had a single discord acquaintance who liked captive prince and rec'd it once or twice a year or so ago but it turns out several of you really really like it and are ecstatic i'm reading it and now im like oh shit okay i need to pay attention